#> i just think it could become somethin so sweet + beautiful + healthy in the group dynamic ehehes in a little way...

[waloeders]

gm i woke up thinkin abt sleipnir. but then i was listenin to deftones and what happened to you? and its such a slepnir/barnabas song i. tearin up. :')

LIKE ????? 😭😭😭

[its-not-a-phase-mom-i-d8-demons]

pairings: Lucifer x Fem!Reader, Mammon x Fem!Reader, Leviathan x Fem!Reader

warnings: tw abandonment (but it turns out okay, I promise), mentions of the act of birthing,

A/N: you came to the right place! as the second oldest of six children, I have some experience when it comes to pregnancy:) I hope you don't mind, nonny, but I'm gonna split this up into a few parts so I can do the dateables as well!

Lucifer

The moment you had shyly produced the positive pregnancy test from the pocket of your hoodie, it felt like Lucifer had entered into a fever dream filled with nursery designs, baby names, the expenses that pile up before the baby even arrives, researching human pregnancy, keeping you out of harm's way and healthy and happy...

So when you first stagger out of bed and rush to his bathroom, hand clamped over your mouth and one shaky hand on your slightly swollen tummy, Lucifer isn't surprised

He is very concerned, however. You had been so nervous to tell him of your pregnancy, you waited until the last moment before your bump was noticeable to tell him

That meant you had been suffering from all of these pregnancy side effects before he'd permanently moved you to sleep in his room

Lucifer hoists himself out of bed and pads into the bathroom, gathering up your hair, if any, into his fist and pulling your hunched form between his legs for support

You hate this feeling with a passion; throbbing stomach and a lump in your throat with little to no vertigo and tears rolling down your face as you try and catch your breath

You tell him it hurts, you ask him if he can take the pain away as your head rests on his chest, lashes fluttering with wooziness

Lightheadedness was unbearably common; you would suddenly grip his sleeve and he could watch the color drain from your face and your knees get shaky, body beginning to sway

He always catches you though, finding a place for you to sit or lie down and gather yourself

Tummy rubs become more common; the feeling of his hands against your bare tummy, spreading their warmth and nullifying the ache, allowing you to relax

He's extremely attentive as well and can tell whenever you need something

Water? Here's a cup sweetheart, remember, you're hydrating and eating for two people!

Craving something? Chocolate? Fried pickles? Chips of some kind? sweets? He's stockpiled anything you could want and locked it away just for you.

I feel like Lucifer would want your baby to be a little girl. A little princess he can carry on his shoulders and spoil with his love and gifts.

Satan ruined him for having another baby boy, but if that's how the cards fall, he certainly wouldn't mind. Unfortunately, he'd be constantly walking on eggshells, afraid he'll make your little boy into another rebellious child

That's the last thing he wants

Lucifer does his best to keep his kid away from Satan and Belphie and out of the 'Formerly Anti-Lucifer League', but sometimes you're taking a nap or out shopping with Asmodeus, and Satan and his brothers manage to coerce the little one into their shenanigans

One thing is for sure though, even if Lucifer didn't want any kids and the creation of one was unplanned, he would never ever turn you away

He's very responsible and does anything in his power to make the pregnancy as easy and happy as possible

On the day you are to give birth, he's a mess

He has already sweat through 3 shirts by the time the IV has been secured to your hand

Everything he says doesn't come without a stutter

He's squeezing your hand and kissing your hair during labor, trying to distract you from the burn between your legs as much as he can

You probably need extra stitches from baby's horns ngl

Definitely cries before the baby is even put in your arms

Refuses to let his brothers come and see you, "They can wait until we go home."

Lucifer is Smitten™

He smooches the tiredness under your eyes and tells you to get some rest

Surprisingly, he enjoys a lot of the names from the human world you discuss and will most likely pick one of those

But if it's a girl, her name is Lilith. I'm sorry MC, your input is invalid at this time

You don't regret 'final day in the devildom sex' at all when you get to witness the Avatar of Pride reduced to tears when the nurse puts the child in his arms

P-P-Pregnant? MC, ya better be jokin'...

Mammon

You weren't, judging by the pregnancy test(s) clutched in your fist

He's not mad at you, he's not upset, (in fact, he's the happiest he's ever been), he just scared

Broken Condom Victim™

He loved you just a bit too hard last week...

but let's be real here, HIS MC, carrying HIS baby?

That's like the highest level of ownership on his lovely human you could get! Levi, Asmo, Beel, Lucifer, everyone would be SOOOO JEALOUS!!!

AND

He gets to have a little one running around again!

You saw how sweet he was to babified Satan in the obey me anime premier! He LOVES little kids and nothing would make him happier than someone to play with (besides MC of course) that wouldn't make fun of him for messing up and being silly!

AND

You're so pretty!!

I mean, ya were always pretty, but somethin' about ya is different and yer even more beautiful than before somehow!

Mammon said, his entire face the shade of a pomegranate

Pregnancy glow is REAL

Asmo agrees, after stealing you away from an extremely overprotective mammon and hiding in the attic to chat without disturbance (mammon)

But as much as YOU know he would be the BEST father, comments from his brothers continue to drag him down and the evenings he cried into your shoulder became more and more frequent as your pregnancy progresses

Mammon, as we all know, is, in fact, a tiddy man

He likes to touch and squeeze them, and just gently hold them while cuddling or even browsing in a store, he'd just come up behind you and touch your boobs

(also, mammon likes all sizes, so if you have next to no tiddy like me, you'll be at his mercy as well. those with the large honkers, however, watch yourself)

Now that there's a miracle growing in your tummy, other parts of your body are preparing for its arrival, including your chest

Swelling, swelling, soreness, growing and darkening of the nipples, and swelling make it so Mammon can no longer touch your pretty tiddies :(((

(grammarly didn't like that word)

On the day mammon snack size was to be born, mammon is silent but extremely fidgety

It was early in the morning when you'd shaken him awake like, "mammoney, I'm going into labor" and he was out of bed and out the door with your luggage before you finished blinking

After grabbing your DDD's and you, he carries you down to the car (what dysfunctional family doesn't have a car? a nice one (Mercedes, Audi, you get the idea) for lucifer and a Volkswagon bus or something for his siblings to share) and drives quickly, but very carefully drives to the hospital, holding your hand the whole way.

He covers your eyes when they put the IV in, just in case you're squeamish, and rubs your arms as the drugs begin to take effect and there's a little fear in your eyes at the thought of pushing an entire human/demon being out of your coochie

He assures you and never lets go of your hand no matter how long you're in labor

When it's all over with and you are resting in your hospital bed waiting for the doctors to finish the Apgar tests and give you your baby

Mammon is speechless as the nurse places the baby in your arms

That's HIS KID!!

Immediately starts crying

The little horns poking out of the blanket? Those look just like his!!

Judging by the bit of hair on it's head, it looks like the baby will have hair like yours

If it's a baby boy, he thinks it should be named "Mammon II" but you just giggle and remind him of the deal he made with lucifer long ago, that his first born child, no matter the gender, had to have 'Lucifer' somewhere in their name

Human names are dumb, except for yours of course, so he searches for suitable demon names

The last thing he wants is a kid named Lucifer, so that will be the kid's middle name

He really regrets his past decisions now

Leviathan

"Levi?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"I'm pregnant."

*leviathan has been KO'd*

No joke, this man is literally floored and didn't wake up for a while and you were afraid you had just slain the fucking Lord of Shadows

Some Henry you were

You had to call Lucifer in to wake him up because he was still flat on the floor a half and hour later

Mammon is more that happy to tip a bucket of ice water on the face of the son of a bitch that impregnated HIS MC

Levi wakes up and pounces on you, gripping you tightly by the arms

"You're k-kidding r-right?"

Him? A father?

Uhhhhhhh

Unfortunately, Leviathan.exe has stopped working, try again in two thousand years

I hate to say this, but he definitely detaches himself for a while until his brothers, especially Asmodeus, literally beat him into shape

He comes back to you, a little bruised and sobbing, but not from the beating he just received

He's so sorry he neglected you! He's such a horrible demon, undeserving of your welcoming nature

He's gonna be the worst dad, and he's not good enough for you, and his kid will hate him just like everyone else does, he doesn't deserve you, he's so sorry for making you suffer the side effects and feel all alone,

Sir, I-

FALSE

It's your turn to shake some sense into him, reminding him that he would be the. best. dad!!

Not to mention the fact that you were just happy he realized his mistakes and came back to you

He begs you to sleep in his bed tub with him for security, and you have to admit his tail is very comforting

Levi does extensive research on human pregnancy and now at the dinner table, instead of talking about the latest slice of life anime he'd been watching, he's just spouting random pregnancy facts and you're laughing so hard it brings you to tears

When the weird dreams and vivid nightmares happen, Levi is right behind you, rubbing your swollen tummy, and letting you talk about them

A lot of them were about him and about your future child

Most of them were about how they got hurt in some way, either that or YOU got hurt and the baby died

These, more often than not, brought you to tears and stress you out, but Levi is right there, okay? Nothing can hurt you, nor would he let anything happen to you on his watch

Learns how to massage you (safely) to reduce stress

Definitely talks to the baby a lot

Levi begged you to be induced so the birth was safe and not a sudden occasion and you agree

On the day the doctor recommended, you arrived at the hospital and got down to business

Levi didn't really want to be in the room with you, but he knew he had to for your sake and he'd played a few birth simulators from both perspectives and you really needed him

Kinda sits there awkwardly comforting you and encouraging you, holding your hand and caressing your cheeks, a bit flushed from exertion and tears

Listen

If the baby is a boy, his name will be Henry and that's final

If it's a girl, he doesn't really care, as long as you don't name her 'mammonia' or something dumb like that

definitely crashes your hospital bed to snuggle until the baby is ready

cries when the baby wraps its extremely small digits around one of his own

also at the little horns protruding from its head

and the tuft of purple in its head

Also Smitten™

He's so excited to get home and show off his beautiful baby to his brothers and then formulate a plan to raise the kid to live and breathe TSL just like his daddy <3

--

July 9th: VIP MEMBERS, GET YALLS JUICE!!

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[muffindaddystyles]

Summary: Y/N's feeling icky about her body, but Harry loves her to bits and pieces, through thick and thin, in health and sick — and he always waits for her to come back to him.

TW: Body dysmorphia.

Y/N's healthy.

All she sucks in is having a sane sleeping schedule due to her UNI otherwise she eats natural goodies, cook and bake home because it comforts her more that way and she works out every evening to stay fit.

Sometimes though, she’s lazy and lacks behind which’s proper humane but deep down it effects her and her mental health more than she admits and she isn’t able to start over again – it mostly happens after her periods.

Harry loves her the way she’s.

Even if she’s clumsy, bumbling, procrastinating, overly enthusiastic to mend her life at 3 am, snotty and sloth-y in her periods, confident and positive around people, kind and loving whenever she comes to meet him, whiny and cuddly when she’s sick, jealous and grumpy with his attention not on her —- he loves her in every way possible, to rivers and to sea his love could never stutter for her ever.

He loves how she’s not overly toned, having soft squishy spots which Harry undeniably wants to admire and kiss shamelessly amount of times -- like -- her plummy pretty thighs that Harry likes to nestle his head in-between making her wriggle and squirm under his grasp, her overly cute tummy that Harry dies to pepper sweet adoring kisses and petal his lips round her belly button, everytime they’re cuddled up his bicep’s always looped her around her tummy to feel it rising up and down in calm rhythm, and oh! her tender titties, they’re actually his favourite babies and he loves to fondle them in his big calloused palms brushing his thumb over the sensitive perky nub and basks in the glittery whimpery mewls of hers.

He loves that she’s curvy and gives zero fucks if she’s skinny or not.

He thinks his baby’s perfect.

So perfect he actually feels the bubbling of devotion and affection filling to the brim of his heart’s chambers and leaking out and upon his ribs tickling him.

Y/N's his person and he worships her with his whole heart.

From some days though, she’s feeling devastatingly insecure about all her things Harry’s in love with and she has no-control over it how much she tries.

Harry’s observing that all with optimism (one of his great quality's that like a lion sly about his prey, he keeps an eye on everything but pretends otherwise). He has his intense gaze fixed on her when she’s taking a look of herself in the mirror for rather too long, running her hands down her body and practically shuddering.

He glances from over his laptop and drops everything he's doing watching her go monkies, sweating buckets and over exercising than her usual time.

He brings her closer and infront of him, pressing her to his chest and coiling his forearm around her shoulders whining a, “Baby..!” when they were brushing their teeth and despite of standing beside him and teasing him occasionally like she usually does she stuffs her face into the crest of his back and hides herself there to have minimal contact with her reflection in the mirror.

Her body dysmorphia spiking dangerously high.

“Deprived me of your cuddles. woke me up so early, granny.” She huffs lying through her teeth and how much his embrace was strong enough to keep her in place she still managed to wiggle out taking her previous cosy position, but he could feel her muscles tensing and an awkward silence falling over them.

He didn’t pry much. He wants to give her as much space as she requires to come back to him hale and hearty, as she always does and whatever happens he never forgets to remind her how much he loves her every night.

..

They were watching rom-coms on Netflix back to back with her curled up into his side with a spongy white wool knitted blanket thrown over them and his cheek was smashed atop her head popping in peanuts every now and then when out of certain she spoke pointing at the actress, “You know she got her ribs removed to get that shrinky waist.” Harry frowned at that. His face itching into disbelief and concern under the bouncing glow of telly.

He affixes his gaze down at her trying to read what’s cooking up in that genius brain of her's which isn’t being very rational and genius right now, they immediately turns soft and caring when she blinks up at him purely.

She squeaks, nose crashing against his collarbones when he scooches her up in his lap grabbing onto her knees to make her straddle his torso and he grumbles cutely when she tries not put all of her weight on him and doesn’t melts into him as his sweet lovie would used to do receiving a smack on her bum on his end.

He’s afraid that an evil version of her chomped onto his dear baby alive.

“Nothing else matters if all ye’ organs are packed safely and healthily inside you,” He tells her brushing loose frays of her hair behind her earlobe and rubs his thumb in gentle strokes over her treacly pulsing point, “Was just telling you ...” She mumbles, dotting touches on his knuckles and playing with his bare cold fingers.

It’s true, she was rambling out facts about the movie and cast out of habit because no-way she’d ever go through any surgeries to change herself to become someone she isn’t.

“Swear!” She yawps out in convincing high pitch when Harry squints down at her with his lips scrunched, one eye twitching in doing so.

“Alrighty. I believe you.” He cradles her cheeks in his palms and brings her mighty close to him to peck her cupid bow, then her bottom lip and the corners of her smiling mouth to suckle generous amount of whines from her and then kisses her lovingly – hands streaming down her spine and then resting atop her dip.

He thought she was ready to come back to him, to share her problem with him and Harry really wanted to bug in, to not let her fight her battle alone and take half of her hardships from her fretting self but guess not.

They were about to have sex when panic seeped in Y/N's eyes and her cheeks blazed up in that of embarrassment as she rushed to switch off the lamps that were the only source of light in their room.

“Moppet.” Harry sighed, knowing exactly what’s happening and she isn’t as foxy in covering it up as she’s thinking herself to be.

“Why wouldn’t y'want me t'see gorgeous self of yours?” His tone punctured and hurt, feeling useless for not knowing how to cheer her up and break her worries down. He smoothens his hands behind her to lock his arm around her waist, fingertips making grape sized indents into the flesh of her hip-bone as she streaks the tip of her nose up and down the crook of his neck, murmuring meekly against his salty skin while he hugs her warmly.

“’M just feelin’ shy.” He giggles at her response puckering his lips against her hairline to pet tiny, tiny kisses there as she fists her hands against his taught chest.

“Not somethin’ I haven’t seen before, love bug.” He blows raspberries against the underside of her jaw and their mouths meet into a messy, giggling, teeth clanking kiss when she sinks into pillows allowing him to cocoon her in his heat.

“I love you, Y/N. No matter what.”

.

The last dam breaker for them was this little get together at Sarah and Mitch's baby shower.

She matched her outfit with Harry. Cute lavender coloured little sweater blouse that was familiar to the baggy baby yarn cardigan Harry was wearing, it accentuated her curves and her bosom so prettily -- her midriff peeking from where the buttons weren’t closed and their jeans were painted (they did it themselves one Sunday when it was extra boring and inactive).

Y/N felt uncomfortable in her own clothes. A bitterness spreading inside her for herself and all she wanted was to escape away from her own skin.

She knows she’s loved and welcomed and cherished by her friends and family and the love of her life, most importantly. Then why was she feeling so icky about herself? Why everything's draining her and exhausting her?

Harry obviously could see through the gloomy tenebrous energy overshadowing her as he stood in the corner of the room grabbing the sorbet he poured in two glasses for them.

A sour guzzle of tears choking his throat and his limbs weakening letting the painful heartbreak seep into him when he watches her being fidgety and fiddling with the loops of her jeans, tugging her blouse every passing second and he’s sniffling a hiccup deep in his lungs when she shrinks into herself in dejection staring out of the window without any purpose.

Harry feels awful to startle her when he plops down beside her, coodling her closer to himself and tucks her head beneath his chin subtly and cups his palm under her jaw to make her look in eyes his eyes.

“Hi beautiful,” His tone had a saddening waver in it and his irises mossed bleak when Y/N remains unresponsive, zoning in and out of her own head feeling herself prisoned into her own invasive thoughts.

“You w'na go home darling?” He gives her a wet smile clearing his throat and blinking the stubborn moisture in his eyes away when Y/N nodded without any vivid expression.

All the way back home he denounced himself of not making her feel loved enough, to not to pest her soon about what she’s feeling and letting her slide deeper into the dark hole.

He thinks he’s a piece of shit.

.

Y/N wanted to dig the earth with her own nails and hide into it and never show her face again, she was overly ashamed of herself.

His hand was holding onto hers tightly, never letting it go as he led them through the hallway and his head perked up in confusion when she stopped them abruptly and lunged to wrap herself around him like he’s the last silver of her hope and the reason to live.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.” There comes the first sob after ages of suffering and bottling it all in, not shocked at all he was expecting it to happen. Gently he picks her up and wraps her legs around him, keeping his support firm under her bum as she cried into his soft white t-shirt.

Carefully he sits them on the edge of the bed and tries to pry her soaky flushed face in his cradle but she refuses to show him, clutching onto his cardigan and whimpering brokenly.

“I just feel so disgusting,” Her sob scratches out of her throat and for a second he thought he heard her wrong, that her feeble crying’s playing some kind of a sick game with his heart.

“Harry do something I don’t want to feel disgusting.” But, when she pleaded helplessly a cold shiver settled in his bone marrow spreading an agonising burn in his stomach.

Gently he stirs her away from his chest to look at her, meeting their foreheads together while his thumb wiped her tears away and smoothed over her wabbly lips in profound tenderness.

“My beloved,” He whispers fondling his nose against hers and her eyes flutters into realm of calms, shaky breath falling over his lips as he brings her trembling fingertips towards them and pecks them feverishly.

“The love of me life, me heart.” He continues, “Shhh. Shh baby ‘s okay to cry but don’t tire y'self.” He hushes her when she whimpers loudly at his coy affirmation.

“I’m here with you, waiting f'you, watching y’goin’ through a stony path so I could be there to hold you whenever you trip –-,” He pets her hair, cupping the back of her neck to plant his lips bitten red from worry to her puffy damp eyelids and Y/N becomes a gooey lax of candle that’s been burning for tiring amount and finally her lover came to blew the agonising flame away putting her to peace as he coos snuggling her in his cordial embrace, “You’ve been so strong to yourself and ‘m so proud of me baby.”

“I’m always here. Never away from you, always right by y'side.” His palms bending around her ribs to smush her as intimately close as possible.

“How d'ya want your huggies babylove?” He simpers down at her darlingly, huffing out in relief seeing her relaxing -- her shoulders sinking from him massaging the knots in them.

“Tight.” She mumbles timidly. The gleam in her glossy eyes returning when Harry hugs her as she wished, squishing her in right places and not suffocating her at all – their breaths in sync chests flushed against eachother.

“I love you cuddly, and care f’you.” He kisses her on lips then goes to hug her right back.

“I love you too, Har. Thank you.” She sniffs in his woodsy scent grazing her touch up and down his back, smooching a soft kiss at his cheek.

[theyscreamjade]

Heyy can you do a Headcannon with Kirishima, Bakugou, Todoroki, and Midoriya; their S/O has eating disorder and they help her through kinda comfort, if it makes you uncomfortable you don't have to

S/O With a Eating Disorder.

Actually, My best friend had a eating disorder as well, while I dealt with my problems with self harm. I hope this makes your day and please keep trying. I know it may seem hard and it’s the best thing to do, it’s not. If you ever need someone to talk to my dear Anon, I’m here for you! I’ll Detroit Smash all those thoughts in a millisecond.

——————————————

Izuku Midoriya

* This poor sweet boy, he cares so much about you that when he finds out. He’s hurt.

* It takes him a minute to discover this and when he does, he’s heartbroken. You’ve dealt with this alone and he wasn’t there to help you.

* “Puppy? Do you have an eating disorder?”

* When he confronts you, he may be gentle about it. He’ll mention it when you two are alone and there’s no one else around. If you cry, he’ll hold you until you calm down.

* He’s usually observant of you and how you are, but he couldn’t see past that mask you often wore or how your weight decreased dramatically.

* If you decide to let him help, he’s standing beside you each part of the way. He’s throwing away every diet pill, laxative, or anything that’ll make you either sick or anything.

* From then on, he might learn how to cook or ask his mother for meals for you two.

* He’s going to be a lot more observant to you and your weight though, he might go a bit overboard but please understand he’s writing it down to keep you safe and healthy.

* His affection is going to increased to the max, if you stop and stare at a model during you two’s date. He’ll stop and look at the before kissing your cheek. “You don’t even compare to them, you’re way better than them.”

* God, He’s going to express himself through sex. Every mark, hickey, bruise, and more on your body will be a constant reminder of how much he loves you. Every time he touches it, your body just flashes that memory of him whispering every little amazing fact about you that he has in his book.

* Those anger bursts, depressive nights, the days when you can’t get up or even get dressed, just know he’s going to be there.

* I don’t doubt, he’d ask All Might what would he recommend for this situation or even recommend counseling for you so you can become that smiling beckon that kept him going again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katsuki Bakugo

* He ALREADY knew something was up.

* The moment he brought you his shirt and it didn’t fit like it normally would, he immediately suspected something.

* His suspicions were confirmed when you, him and the Baku-Squad were out at a restaurant. Mina, being the observant gal she is, asked if you were losing weight. The nail was in the coffin when you didn’t eat either, claiming you weren’t hungry though he was with you all day and you hadn’t eaten a single bite.

* Once you two leave the restaurant and we’re walking home, he just asks.

* “Do you have a problem with eating or somethin?” He’d ask, making you freeze on the sidewalk.

* Don’t try to lie to him either, it’ll make him even angrier than he was already.

* He’s not angry at you, he’s angry at himself. He’s ticked that he didn’t avoid this from happening to you. Was his insults too much? What can he do to fix the damage he thinks he’s caused to you?

* Once you two are home, please expect to have THOROUGH CLEAN home. I mean everything, Laxatives, diet pills, magazines. YEP, MAGAZINES. They’re the reason for some of the issues.

* His insults will be less frequent and he might act like a softie more around you. He's going to be a bit more affectionate too.

* I FUCKING DARE YOU to TRY and say something negative about yourself.

* I FUCKING DARE YOU.

* You will experience the wrath of Ground Zero deep in you, you’ll become a whimpering mess underneath his hold until you cry out and say how great you are.

* He’s cooking every meal, no matter how tired he is. THIS MAN MIGHT HAVE A CAST ON HIS LEG AND HE WILL BE COOKING IN THAT KITCHEN STILL.

* He’s going to track your weight every night until he feels as if he can trust you a bit more. He never lost trust in you, he knows you were swallowed by the depression that blinded you and wants you to be better again.

* He’s going to try to be patient with you, but with him it’s a three strike system. Once you’re at the third, you’re going to have to make a sacrifice. Him or your problem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shoto Todoroki

* Please know, Shoto’s not obvious to things. Of course, he noticed how different you were acting, how small your body was becoming, how you often were cold and many others.

* He just simply thought you were training harder to be better or something. He wouldn’t even bother you while you trained.

* That was until you just passed out. You passed out in front of him and his family at a family gathering and wouldn’t wake up.

* That honestly triggered the poor man.

* His brother discovered in your records, that the last normal weight you had was months back.

* His heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he starts to blame himself completely until his sister calms him down.

* While you’re still in the hospital recovering, him and Midoriya are cleaning up the home. Every last item that reminded you of the body you wanted to strive for or the imperfections that you thought you had was gone.

* When you were released, you were immediately placed on a strict diet placed from his brother and the family physician. Shoto normally doesn’t be the pushy type in these situations but..he doesn’t want to see you like that ever again.

* “I never...want to see you like that again, I thought I lost you.”

* He’s going to watch every item you eat, so you won’t either binge out or anything.

* ...the locks in the bathroom may be..gone. BUT JUST KNOW HE CARES OKAY?!

* Shoto might be a bit more affectionate with you as well, always holding you, reminding you every single day just how much you mean to him.

* This may include a SIGNIFICANT increase in sexual activities which includes him whispering in your ear about how much you mean to him and how amazing you are.

* This poor peppermint’s been through a lot.

* He’s going to be patient, All he wants is to see you well again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eijiro Kirishima

* This man’s attention to you IS ON FUCKING POINT.

* You have to realize, he dealt with confidence issues too. So when he notices how you degrade yourself in a joking way at first. He’ll try to boost you up with his love for you.

* But when he notices how much smaller you were and how your clothes seemed to be baggy items on your body. He’s going to push you right back into your home, holding your shoulders as he stared deeply into your eyes.

* “Don’t lie to me okay? Do you have an eating disorder or something? Are you sick? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

* The questions were frequently and blunt, very unlike him. Your silence was an absolute confirmation for him.

* He’s going to beat himself up and call him unmanly for not even being able to help you through this. He was so blind! So oblivious to you and your needs.

* He’s going to cry and hold you as tightly as he could, his arms holding you as tight as he could. He’s going apologize for all those nights you slept alone, those days you hid your feelings from him, those moments when you probably needed him and never called.

* After you two confided, he’s going through every item. Now, the difference with this. He’s making you trash every item you use. I mean every single one. Dumping each pill, rip each magazine and everything.

* Afterwards, he’ll lead you to a secluded area where he often came to when he was younger. There, you two pour your feelings out until you two are laughing at the insecurities you have from a different point of view.

* You two are going to switch when you make meals though. Like for instance, he may have one week and you have the other. When he feels as if you don’t have enough to eat, he’ll feed you.

* If you ever feel depressed, sad, or anything. Just call him, because he’s going to come as soon as you even dial his number. Before the phone can even ring, he’s at your door.

* He’s going to CONSTANTLY REMIND you of just how amazing, sexy, and everything you are. He’s expressing it in more ways than anyone can expect.

* Honestly, Kirishima would probably wait to see results. He won’t be over your shoulder to check your weight constantly but rather to see you gain some a bit.

* Just know he’s not going to give up on you. He’s going to be patient with you because you’re his Beauty Cool.

* Don’t disappoint him please, I’d hate for anyone to experience a distant Kirishima. It’s like having a day without sunshine nor rain.

[tinalostgirl]

Harley and Kaylee | JoTina

Who: Tina Cohen-Chang and Jo Fabray ( @jofabray )

Where: Jo’s Suite

When: Tuesday night 9.8.20

What: Bingo - Anonymous Hookup + Wear a Strap-On All Day

The strap-on felt heavy around Tina as she sported it all day. She wasn't a stranger to wearing one. Before coming to Lima, she had a very healthy sex life and women often liked being fucked by a strap on. What was new to her was wearing it all day. She liked the choice of pink her and Jo chose together. There were some moments when she didn't even remember she was wearing it, mostly when she was sitting in class. But then she would stand up and star moving and it would rub against her leg. She kind of liked the way it made her feel, if only because it reminded her of what was to come after classes. There were some looks when people noticed the bulge in her tight jeans, but she didn't mind that. Instead, she grabbed her 'junk' and made an obscene face to make them go away. It was empowering almost. Once the day was done, she made her way straight over to Jo's place. She was a little tired and definitely hungry, but neither feeling was going to satisfy her like finally getting this hookup with Jo. She made her way inside the dorm and called out as she closed the door behind her, putting on the mask that would make this hook-up anonymous. "Anybody home?" She called out.

Jo couldn't deny the appeal of the roleplay card she'd received.  It was entirely too much fun to take on new personas and new scenarios with people who were familiar, and Tina was high on the small list of people that she enjoyed spending time with.  The day passed in a drone of classes and notes, and by the time she finally got home she felt like she'd been gone for a week.  But knowing that she'd be having an "unexpected" visitor, she cleaned up a little and threw on the sleep shorts and cami she'd be wearing on any other night.  When the door opened and Tina called out, she sat up on the couch with a hand on her chest.  "I think you've got the wrong room - I wasn't expecting anyone tonight."

Jo looked so cute laying there in nothing but her short shorts and tank top. It was almost impossible for her to stay in character and she broke a little, flashing Jo a bright smile before settling back into her role. She looked around. "I mean, I could be in the wrong room. But looking at you laying there all inviting tells me that none of this could possible be wrong." Tina took a step forward. "I don't have to go anywhere," she went on, rubbing the toy from the outside of her jeans. "In fact, I could make this a night for both of us to remember and no one would even have to know." She took another tentative step. "We don't even have to exchange names. Just a good time for both of us." Tina took another step, this time bringing her close enough to touch the other's leg. "What do you say?"

Tina's smile was actually a nice moment - it made Jo feel a little more grounded in the roleplay knowing that they could both take things with a little bit of fun and humor instead of completely buying in.  She pulled back a little on the couch, looking for the right combination of hesitance and want in her eyes.  When Tina stroked herself through her jeans, Jo licked her lips in a gesture that wasn't at all part of the act.  "I dunno," she put on her best Southern Belle voice.  "Daddy sent me to school to keep me away from all the people who tried to seduce me.  He'd be awful sore if I let some gorgeous stranger have her way with me."

Jo must have known that the Southern drawl in her voice was driving Tina mad, she loved that and it seemed to be more emphasized during this roleplay. Tina shook her head and took a seat on the coffee table in front of the couch. The hand on Jo's leg moved up to cup her face. "C'mon sweetheart. What Daddy doesn't know won't hurt him. I could be in and out in a matter of one night and no one will ever find out, least of all Daddy."

Jo leaned into the touch, biting her lip in the best impression she could do of a shy girl - she'd never been shy, so it was a stretch, but still.  She had to at least pretend.  "I mean...I guess if no one ever found out it'd be like it didn't happen, right?  Just y'all and I would ever remember it.  My roommate's not supposed to be home for hours..." she looked at Tina with the widest eyes she could manage.  "Y'all'll be gentle with me right?"

While Jo was struggling with the role she was playing, Tina was absolutely comfortable with playing the more outgoing one trying to convince the other to just have a night of fun with her. Tina had been there a couple of times before. Still, she was laying it on a little more thickly than she normally had to. It certainly helped move the scene along. "Oh, I'll be the gentlest you've ever had," Tina lied. She stood up and held her hand out to the other girl. "Let's take this into the bedroom, shall we?"

If they hadn't been in the middle of the scene, Jo would have admitted some quiet amusement over what they were doing.  Playing the shy flower was funny, and she knew that Tina was laying on her performance just as thick.  But she also knew that neither of them minded, and that they were both going to have some fun.  "Long as y'all promise," she drawled, accepting the hand and letting Tina lead her toward the bedroom.  She started and stopped in the process of asking a few questions, working on giving the impression of someone who wanted to know more about the stranger but didn't want to spoil the night, before finally forcing one out.  "I don't need y'all's name or anythin' but - is there somethin' I can call ya?"

There were flickers of normalcy and their usual banter woven into the roles they were playing. That was what kept the momentum going in Tina's mind. At the Jo's question, Tina thought about it for a moment. "How about Harley?" Tina loved the comic book character so used this as an opportunity to use that. "What about you, gorgeous? What should I call you?" Tina closed the door behind them and locked it before moving towards Jo and cupping her face, waiting for the answer then pressing a fierce kiss to her lips.

"Harley it is," Jo nodded.  It was easy to remember.  What stumped her for a second was the question of what she could use for a name.  Then it hit her, and she leaned closer.  "Y'all can call me Kaylee," she nodded, watching with wide eyes as Tina locked the door for them.  A moment later lips were pressed to hers and she moaned softly against them, pressing back into the kiss.

"Kaylee." Tina said it to really cement the name into her mind. "Kaylee," she said again, moving the other girl back towards the bed. She pushed her back onto the bed before leaning down and catching her plump lips in another kiss. "Kaylee is a beautiful name for a beautiful, sweet girl." Harley moved her lips to her neck, then to her shoulder, then lifted her arms up over her head so she could peel the tank top off of her, tossing it to the floor. "Goddamn, your gorgeous." She nipped at both of her nipples before pulling back and pulling her own shirt off.

The name was only ripped from a tv show, but it sounded good from Tina's mouth all the same.  Jo didn't mind at all that she'd hopefully be hearing it many more times before the night was over.  She gasped softly as she was pushed onto the bed, all part of the act.  "I...oh wow, you feel so good - I'm glad y'all like it.  Harley's a real nice one, makes ya sound gruff and dangerous-like."  Talking was going to become an issue as Tina kissed her all over, but there was no objection as her tank top was peeled from her body and tossed aside.  "Shit," she gasped at the attention to her nipples, leaning up on her elbows afterward to watch Tina's shirt disappear.  "Oh wow..."

"Gruff and dangerous. Perhaps that's exactly what I was going for," Tina cooed. Her mind was moving a mile a minute and it felt like her actions were following suit. So she took a few moments to settle down her hyperactive mind to ensure this remained enjoyable for both of them. After she regained composure, Tina jumped right back into it, grabbing and jiggling her breasts as she smirked down at Jo. Like what you see, Kaylee?" Wait till you see what I'm packing." Tina unbuckled her jeans and pulled them down just enough for her strap on to bounce out and up at attention.

There was no impatience in Jo as she waited for Tina to settle.  She'd never pressed for details, but the incident during their threesome had shown her that sometimes the other woman could get overwhelmed.  And if that was the case, then she'd get as much time as she needed.  "Y'all play the part well," she smiled.  Once Tina had started again, Jo's eyes widened as the visual of her jiggling breasts was followed up with the strap on making its first appearance.  "Holy...wow," she murmured like an innocent college girl.  "I never seen anything like that.  But I want it."

A little snort escaped at Jo's reaction. It was funny because this wasn't even her toy, it belonged to the other girl. She managed to keep from outright laughing, but the smile was still evident. "You want it huh? Well that's good cause I'm planning on giving it to you. But not before I get you nice and ready for it. So take off the rest of your clothes, hm? I'm going to get you nice and wet with my mouth first." In the meantime, Tina rid herself of her jeans, making herself as comfortable as possible for what was to come.

Jo had to hold in a giggle as Tina snorted.  Apparently she'd laid it on just a little too thick for a moment, but the slight break in character actually gave them a moment to decompress.  "Oh, I want it, Harley," she nodded eagerly.  Eyes wide with anticipation, Jo shoved the sleep shorts down her legs and kicked them aside, looking with clear want in her eyes at Tina's body.  She didn't have to fake that, Tina was gorgeous.

The next part seemed more natural, more in her wheelhouse. Once the shorts were gone, Tina was falling to her knees and spreading the other girl's legs wide open. The strap on she'd been wearing all day was starting to weigh on her, but her mouth watering was the perfect distraction from that weight. She leaned down, resting Jo's legs on either of her shoulders so she could dip down and lick her slit, moaning at the taste. "Fuck you taste good."

They'd been here before, but it'd never get old - if having a beautiful girl between her legs didn't excite her, Jo was pretty certain that would mean she was dead.  Letting her head fall back against the pillow as her legs were lifted, she gasped without any acting required when the girl's tongue met heated skin.  "Y'all do that so good, Harley," she whimpered.  "Real, real good."

There was no pretense at all when she was finally in between the other girl's legs, with her mouth on her most sensitive parts. "I've had lots of practice," she bragged. "But none of them have tasted as good as you do." Tina thought about the scene again, wanting to incorporate more of it into the moment. "Aren't you glad you let me stay the night?" Moving her tongue up to her clit, she joined her fingers, fucking Jo as her lips wrapped around her clit.

Jo wasn't going to be coherent for long, she was sure, but that wasn't a bad thing either - if she was an innocent college girl, then how would she be used to what Tina was doing?  "I bet you do," she gasped, clutching the sheets with both hands.  "So glad."  The words were coming out as whimpers.  "Holy...hell," she whined, hips rolling to meet Tina's fingers.  "Harley," she begged in a haze.  "Harley, please...."

It was so weird to hear the whimpering and begging from Jo, but all she could focus on was how hot she was. She continued what she was doing, moving her fingers faster, making her nice and wet as her lips on her clit moved her closer to orgasm. "Please what? I want you to cum at least once before I fuck you nice and hard with my cock."

"Please...more...faster...anything," Jo whined.  The logic of the roleplay was only barely holding now that they were in bed, but she was determined to play the part of the co-ed for as long as humanly possible.  There might come a point when they'd switched to the strap that her instinct to take over might kick in but she'd keep that at bay as long as possible.  "Please, Harley..."

There was no way Tina or Harley in this instance was able to deny Jo or in this case Kaylee. So she moved her fingers faster and harder, adding another one as she did so. All the while she moved her tongue to flick at her clit, determined for the other girl to cum right into her mouth.

That innate need for control didn't matter much in the moment, because Jo was going to need Tina to get her over the line so there was nothing to do but surrender.  It only took a few more moments of hard and fast fucking before she came apart, arching up into Tina's mouth as she cried out the fake name she'd used - an act of roleplaying that Jo thought she deserved some credit for.

Jo was doing an amazing job at her role, Tina on the other hand couldn't get even keep her thoughts straight. Not when Jo was cumming into her mouth like that. She tasted like peaches and she fucking loved it. "So fucking gorgeous, Jo. I mean, Kaylee." Tina shook her head again, unsure how much longer she could put on this pretense. So she would just get right to the next part. So Tina stood up and lined up her cock with the other girl's drenched pussy. "Think you're ready now?" She asked.

Jo looked up through lidded eyes and breathed hard as she tried to come down from the high that Tina had taken her to.  "So good, Harley," she breathed, smiling.  The little lapse didn't hurt the scene, and the roleplay wasn't likely to survive the next part in any case.  "Oh yes," she nodded frantically, giving what was probably not her most subtle look - her hair was mussed and she looked like she'd already been thoroughly fucked.  "I'm so ready, Harley, please let me feel it.  Y'all are going to be so good to me."

Tina's legs were starting to burn and she planned on going on for as long as she possibly could. So she pushed Jo forward on the bed so she could crawl up onto the edge. From this new position, she could relax a little bit, bending down to line herself up with her opening once again. As she slowly pushed her cock inside the other girl, she pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips. Then another to her lips full force as she started rocking her hips. "How's that, gorgeous?"

Jo wriggled back on the bed as she was directed, wanting to make sure that the position was going to be as comfortable as possible for the remainder of the scene.  This was meant to be a fun one, after all, and having to stop for cramps in the middle would be no fun at all.  "Fuck," she cried as the toy was pushed into her, although it did put a damper on Kaylee's innocent routine.  The kiss smothered a moan, and she felt incredible being filled up.  "So good, Harley.  So good."  She moved to meet Tina's hips, trying to match her pace and take her as deeply as she could.

Tina sat up briefly, so that she could reposition them again, this time pulling a pillow from the top of the bed and sliding it under Jo's hips and moving her legs to drape over Tina's legs. This way she could penetrate deeper than before, moving the toy in long slow strokes. "And that's even better isn't it?" She asked with a cocky grin. "Teasing you with slow strokes as I push deep into you."

Jo's eyes had closed briefly, but when Tina sat up she cracked them open a little to see what was up.  The pillow was a good idea, leaving her in position to take the toy deeper without it being a huge effort on both of their parts.  The slow strokes made her whine, though, and she reached out for Tina desperately.  "So amazing, Harley," she promised, nodding a few times before she let her head fall back.  "I need...I need..." she managed, not even sure what she would have said.  Her Kaylee persona was definitely breaking down now.

It was like music to her ears. The sounds Jo were making were addictive and she needed more. So she kept going at that agonizingly  slow pace even if her own pussy ached and throbbed and her thighs burned. She held on for as long as she possibly could, pushing through the burn. Sweat collected on her brow as she pressed her head against Jo's. Harley was long gone as Tina started into the other woman's eyes. Jo's, not Kaylee's. "What do you need?"

The roleplay had collapsed, and she was okay with that.  They'd played the scene out well, and now it was time to be themselves until they both went home satisfied.  "I need to ride ya, darlin'.  That'll get me there.  And then I'm gonna take such good care of ya.  You just get me over the edge one more time first."

Tina just nodded, but closed in for a quick kiss before finally pulling back and away from the other girl. She pressed another kiss to her legs then her stomach before moving to a new part of the bed ad laying back. The strap-on glistened in the low light of the room and she absolutely loved that as she relaxed back onto the bad. She then reached for Jo, beckoning her to come closer. "Climb on top."

Jo was definitely not turning down the kiss.  She leaned into it instead, drinking it in and hoping that Tina was having just as good a time as she was.  The secondary kisses as Tina pulled away felt amazing, and seeing herself on the toy was one of the highlights of the night.  "Your wish, darlin', my command."  Her drawl was still there, but nothing like the exaggerated version she'd been putting on, and Jo lowered herself onto the dildo with a soft moan of pleasure.  "So fucking good, Tina.  You ready?"

Tina was very close to hyperventilating at the very sight of Jo sinking down onto the toy like that. She held one hand onto her hip and the other reached up to grab her breast and flick her thumb across her taut nipple. The weight of her body felt like heaven and she was lost in it all, unsure on which aspect to focus on. "Holy fuck. I'm more than ready. Fuck this cock. Ride me, gorgeous."

It made her more than a little proud that even with the roleplay element of things finished, Tina was just as enamoured with her as she'd been with Kaylee.  The bold move of reaching up and thumbing her nipple made Jo moan in surprise, and she didn't need any further prompting once Tina had given her the green light.  Putting on a show for the girl, Jo began a slow ride of the cock - rising up as far as she could without taking it out before slamming back down onto it hard.  Pupils wide, sweat turning her blonde hair dark, Jo repeated the motion - over and over.

Jo really didn't need to put on anymore of a show than she already did. She looked perfect just sitting on top of her. But when she started moving, there was no way Tina could take her eyes off of her. Not the mention the sounds she was making... Tina could feel anything through the toy, but she still met every thrust with one of her own. The hand on her hip moved to settle on her clit, circling on her bundle of nerves to help her reach her climax. She needed to see that look on her face again.

It was a boost to Jo's ego, for sure, the way that Tina watched her.  With one hand she pushed her hair back out of her face, shooting the girl a wink and a smile.  As she'd predicted, though, being on top was going to get her where she needed to go really quickly.  "Cum with me," she implored Tina.  "I'm so fucking close.  Cum with me, alright?"  Jo could hold on until Tina got there, but it was going to be a close race.

Eventually, her thrusts forward really just became her humping her side of the toy. She was sure the vision of Jo itself was could make her cum, but the added stimulation was certain to make it come to her faster. Especially when Jo was asking her to lose control with her. So she turned her body ever so slightly so she could get a better angle on the harness. "Oh fuck yes okay. You gonna cum?" She asked, her face contorted with pleasure. "Cause I'm gonna fucking cum!"

The smooth motions she'd been making slowly devolved into stuttering thrusts, and when Tina confirmed that she was ready to go Jo nodded a shaky confirmation.  This was going to be a fucking great orgasm, and the build was so strong that it felt like her blood was singing in her veins.  "Here we go," she cried.  "Here we go, let's go..." a few thrusts later and the climax she'd been anticipating rolled her like she'd stepped into a tidal wave.  There was no time, no direction, nothing but the pleasure washing over her as she screamed Tina's name - Tina's, this time, and definitely not Harley's.  It lasted an eternity, and when she finally came down she felt like they'd run a marathon together.  "Fuck...me..." Jo gasped.  "Holy shit."

Tina wanted to scream, but her mouth opened up with no sound. Instead, her body shook and shuddered as her body rocked her through her orgasm. She went blind for a second then saw stars when she finally blinked. It really did seem to go on forever, her blood pumping and her ears ringing. Until they were just a heap of limbs together on the bed. "Holy shit is right." Their bodies were covered in sweat and it was hotter than hell, but Tina couldn't have been closer to Jo. "That was amazing, Jo." Tina pressed a kiss to the other girl's shoulder as she pushed the hair out of her face.

The tangled mess of their bodies would have to get sorted out at some point, but Jo was in no hurry.  They could lie there in post orgasmic bliss for just as long as they wanted, because she was not going to get up until she absolutely had to.  "Yeah, it was," she breathed.  "You were amazin', Tina.  Or Harley," Jo teased gently.  "That was a great scene - thank you for helpin' me out, and I think maybe y'all need to wear that all the time.  Looks damn good on ya."

"Thank me? Thank you!" Tina exclaimed. She looked down at the toy and moved to take it off, tossing it to the side and sighing with relief once the weight of it was gone. Her thighs were chafed a little but it was worth it all. "I would love to use it on you again and again." She moved in closer, wanting to feel Jo flush against her. "I'm thinking when we can finally walk again, we can order some Chinese and set up Netflix in the bathroom and watch and eat in the tub?"

"You're welcome, darlin' - it was literally my pleasure."  She pulled back just a little, allowing Tina easier access to the harness so that she could take the heavy toy off for a while.  "We'll keep an eye out for some chances, how's that?"  Jo wrapped her arms around Tina, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.  "That sounds like a hell of a plan.  I could use a feast right now, I think I burned off the last three days of food I've eaten."

"Perfect," Tina murmured simply before letting her eyes rest for a while.

[artificialqueens]

To New Hytes (Group-fic) 7/? - Mac

AN: Again, all my love to Meggie and Grapefruit for betaing and being amazing humans. Also, I took some liberties with Russain politics….

Summary: Kameron and Blair talk about their past, Scarlet is acting strange, Trixie uncovers Katya’s secret, and Brooke is having girl problems.

Kameron made it a habit of dancing late at night. After all the other dancers were gone after the moon was high in the sky.

She let herself dance.

Sometimes Blair would come watch.

It had become almost routine for them.

Blair would sit in the audience and cheer and applaud like a lunatic. Other times she would draw in her sketchbook and smile as Kameron tried to figure out what turn came next, or what would look better, a jump or a dip.

Even if Blair was just napping quietly, she always made Kameron’s heart soar.

Tonight was one of those nights where Blair sat, bleary-eyed, sketchbook in hand, staring up at Kameron like she was the most beautiful creature on earth.

Kameron finished her performance with a dramatic bow just to make Blair laugh. Kameron liked the sound of Blair’s laugh. Like pretty much everything about Blair.

The older girl hopped off the stage and crawled over the first few rows of seats to come sit a row in front of the young designer, straddling the old theatre seat backwards so she could see Blair’s smile.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Blair spoke in her soft voice. “I made somethin’ for ya.”

“Oh yeah? For me?”

“Well, I mean, I ain’t made it yet, but I drawn it.”

Blair turned the notebook in her hands around to show Kameron.

It was her. It was her, styled in one of the most beautiful dresses Kameron had ever seen. She was being dramatic, sure - but despite the small size of the gesture it filled her heart with joy.

And it was her, not just some model for the gown, it was Kameron. All 5 feet 11 inches of her. All muscles bulging out in a way that always made her a bit self-conscious. She didn’t feel self-conscious now, she felt… beautiful.

The dress was gorgeous. Long flowing blue fabric that looked like it floated out around her legs, the sweetheart neckline delicately clinging to her body in all the right places. The silver flecks from Blair’s pencil littered the dress with a glimmer, a shine that somehow seemed to add depth to the otherwise simple drawing.

But the details in her eyes were what really made Kameron melt.

They were deep brown, but still somehow shifted in the light. They spoke of pencil shavings and barely-there eraser marks, and time.

Kameron didn’t have words, she tried and failed to find words that weren’t going to scare Blair away.

That’s when she took notice of the pad Blair was sketching on.

It was the same one filled with sketch after sketch of Brianna.

Blair seemed to realize this at the same time Kameron did.

“I ran outta paper so I had ta use this one.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kameron spoke, trying not to let the jealousy and anger seep into her words. She stood up, making her way back to the stage, the lightness in her chest dimmed with every step she took.

“Kameron, what’s wrong?” Blair called after her.

“I’m not her,” Kameron said, not hiding the contempt in her voice any longer.

“I’m not sayin’ you are. Kameron, darlin’, listen-”

“No, angel. If you were hoping I’d wake up one day and be her, be a bitch to you, it’s not gonna happen. I would never do that to you. Never. I would never hurt you like that. I’d never hurt you period.”

“I know, Kameron, please I know.”

“I haven’t ever felt this way for somebody before.” Kameron softened her voice as she spoke mostly to herself. “I want to keep you safe.”

“You do.” Blair stood up, moving to stand within an arm’s reach of Kameron.

“No, clearly I don’t. You wouldn’t feel the need to put on the back of the page of your ex then.”

Blair was silent.

She looked up at Kameron, who sighed and sat down on the stage so they could look at each other.

Kameron took Blair’s hands in her own, trying to ground them both. “You think you’re ready but you aren’t. I’m tellin’ you, angel. You gotta believe me on this one.” Kameron tucked a piece of Blair’s hair behind her ear, and the younger girl smiled sadly as Kameron’s hand lingered for a moment before slowly falling from her face.

Blair rested her head on Kameron’s thigh. It was an awkward position, with Blair standing nearly bent in half to be close to the older girl, but she didn’t mind. Kameron trailed her fingers lightly through the long blonde waves, perfectly soft and sweet, perfectly representative of the girl it belonged to.

“What happened?” Blair asked softly after a bit of silence. “Why’d ya stop dancin’? You love it, clearly, you do.” Kameron’s fingers stopped, and for a moment Blair thought she’d overstepped. But her fingers continued their small caresses a moment later.

Kameron sighed. “We were fucking around in our theatre. The one we have now. Brooke and I had just finished signing the lease and we couldn’t wait a damn minute to celebrate. It doesn’t look the same now as it did back then. It was old, probably the oldest thing in town. Tech hadn’t been looked at, I mean, we had hardly looked at the damn thing. We were young, we thought we knew everything.”

Kameron breathed in and out, and Blair took her head off her lap to intertwine their fingers. “A stage light fell on me. It was old. We shoulda fucking checked before doing anything stupid.”

“We were dancing, fucking around, making our dream come true. And there was this loud crack and it fell. Right on my foot, shattered the thing up to my ankle pretty much. I fell on the stage and banged up my head real good. Doctors said I’d never walk again. Said I had a brain bleed.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah. I went through months and months of therapy, physical and otherwise. They told me not to push it, but I did. I pushed every day to walk again. To get the chance to dance again.” Kameron smiled. “They said I couldn’t ever be that strong again. So I spent my life proving them wrong. I worked out every day, ate so healthy. I got my body to where it is today and I’m strong… physically.”

Kameron paused. “Not so much on the inside, but that’s a work in progress.”

“Oh darlin’, you’re the strongest person I know.” Blair squeezed her hands and tilted Kameron’s face down to meet her eyes. “Thank you for tellin’ me.”

“Do you believe me when I say you aren’t ready to handle all this yet? You need to take time for yourself, figure out what it is you want. I’ll be here when you figure it out.”

“I believe ya,” Blair said. And she meant it. “But I also know that I got feelins’ for you.”

Kameron’s smile took over her face, but she tried to school it. This wasn’t about her right now. This was about Blair. “I’m not saying you gotta stop, actually please don’t stop liking me, it feeds my ego.”

Blair laughed a bit.

Kameron held Blair’s face in her hands. “I think I’m falling in love with you too, angel, and I’m scared, ‘cause the last time I fell in love with something I was told I’d never walk again.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Kameron. You got me.”

Kameron nodded and took her hands off Blair’s face before she could do anything stupid.

Blair smiled sadly at the gesture but tried to not let it show as she made her way out of the theatre.  

“Hey, angel?” Kameron called after her.

Blair whipped around.

“I’ll be here.”

Blair smiled. “I know.”

…

Yvie was perched atop the couch in her dressing room, Scarlet coming in every five minutes to double-check that she really was feeling better and had not, in fact, changed her mind at the last second.

“Scar, honey, you’re making me nervous with how much you’re pacing. I’m fine.”

“Yves, don’t you think you should take a break? I’m sure Nina wouldn’t mind letting you off for a few cities.”

“Scar, I wanna stay. I have to stay.”

“You have to recover and take it easy. You keep pushing yourself this hard and you’re gonna get really hurt.”

“I know. I know.” Yvie dismissed.

Scarlet lingered by the door, looking on as Yvie tied up the laces on her shoes. “We could make a mini-vacation out of it,” Scarlet suggested. “Go back to Albany. Have some time away. I think it would put some things into perspective.” Scarlet paused. “For both of us.”

Yvie looked up warily. “Scar, what are you saying?”

Scarlet wouldn’t meet Yvie’s eyes. “Nothing, I just thought it would be nice.”

“Miss Envy!”

Scarlet turned on her heel and walked quickly to the door at the sound of her name being called.

“Wait, no Scar-”

“It’s fine. Just rest.” Scarlet spoke with a small soft smile as she closed the door behind her.

Yvie tried not to get too in her head about what the fuck just happened. She had a show to do. She couldn’t focus on Scarlet’s recent weird behavior. Her overbearingness on Yvie suddenly, her reluctance to sleep, her frankly panicked tone of voice. And now this.

Scarlet was always the work-driven one. She never took sick days, never took more than a thirty-minute nap, and always had her phone on her. She was a machine when it came to this company. The fact that she was willingly suggesting that they take time off was more than a bit worrying.

Yvie brushed it off for now, but the little voice in the back of her head said this was the beginning of the end.

Yvie ignored it and proceeded to get ready for the show.

…

Trixie smiled at her phone for the millionth time that hour.

K: I’ll be seeing you soon

Katya had sent it hours ago, and yet Trixie was still staring at it like the message would change. Like it would disappear along with Katya herself and the whole thing would just be some big joke at her expense.

But the text didn’t disappear. Nor the memories of their wild adventure nearly a month ago.

The memories stuck in her brain, along with Katya’s name. Her full name. Trixie couldn’t get it out of her head.

Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova

She was sounding the letters out in her head over and over again on a loop when an idea suddenly hit her. Back ram-rod straight and eyes wide as she grabbed at her computer.

She was curious, so she spelled - to the best of her abilities - Katya’s name, her real name. No results were found at first, so after twenty or so minutes of putting her computer analytics degree to the test and fucking around with google translate, she finally got some results.

But the results that came up were all of some Russian princess who had gone missing a few years back. Trixie nearly gave up on the whole venture, but a strange curiosity got the better of her and she clicked on the first article.

She came face to face with her Russian lover.

Wait. What?

Katya, her Katya, the one with the frizzy dye job and horrible fashion and mysterious past was splayed all over countless magazines.

Trixie put each of the titles in the translator, each title confirming the sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Russia’s Lost Queen”

“Princess and Duke to Wed in May”

“Beloved Ruler Goes Missing”

“Three Years Later: The Effects of the Disappearance”

Trixie doesn’t think twice about calling Katya.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what, myshka?”

“Don’t call me that, I’m not a mouse.”

“Oh, so you are ‘mad’ mad.”

“You bet your fuckin ass I’m mad.” Trixie paused. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I guess cursing at the fucking Princess of Russia is frowned upon.”

“There is no official royalty in Russia,” Katya said without missing a beat, but the usual joy in her voice was gone, instead it was replaced with an impassive coldness.

“Tell that to all the news outlets calling you the ‘missing future queen’”

"Russia is a republic, the royal family is just a title. Most people don’t even know of the royal family because they are insignificant.”

“It says you have a say in all laws passed and that you can veto whatever you feel like."

“Which I have never done.”

“So it’s true?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You might as well have.”

“Listen, Trix-”

“Is it true you’re engaged too?”

“I was, yeah, but the law legally absolves the engagement after five years.”

Trixie laughed but there was no joy in it.

“You’re the future heir to the Russian throne! You’re engaged! You’re acting like these aren’t important things to tell someone!”

“I was waiting until we got married.”

Trixie didn’t laugh.

“Listen, myshka, it isn’t what it seems.“

“Really? ‘Cause it seems like you lied to me. Lied from the minute I met you.”

“Trixie, please, can you just listen to me for a moment, pozhaluysta?”

Trixie hung up the phone before Katya could convince her to stay on the line.

…

Blair ran through her list one more time with Monet who was rolling her eyes and assuring her that they got everything.

They were back in their home theatre for a week before heading back off to hit the western US cities. Blair saw this as a perfect opportunity to take care of a few ghosts from her past.

Monet nodded once, twice, three times, telling Blair it really was fine.

“What did you say you were going to California for?” Vanessa spoke, as she sat up from her position on Blair’s couch.

“Just some business that needs tendin’ to. I’ll be back ‘fore you know it.”

“You ain’t about to walk out on us, now are you, Miss Blair?”

“Of course not. I could never walk out on you, baby.” Blair threw a wink at Vanessa who fake swooned and fell dramatically back against the couch.

Blair giggled.

She hugged Monet, who gave her a knowing smile.

Blair leaned down to give Vanessa a peck on the cheek, but of course, Vanessa tried to turn her head and get a real kiss. Blair just laughed harder and chastised her lightly “I’m a lady after all,” she joked.

Blair left the theatre slowly, trying not to take notice of the crew members as they passed by her.

She hailed a cab and before she knew it, she was standing outside a gorgeous theatre in San Francisco.

It was one of those fancy old theatres that were reminiscent of Old Hollywood. The glamour and elegance practically dripped off the walls. If Blair weren’t here for a very specific purpose, she would have started snapping pictures to sketch out later.

For now, though, she was being escorted by a security team through the back passages of the gorgeous theatre, and she hardly had a moment to think before she was face to face with a woman she hadn’t seen in person for nearly three years.

“What are you doing here?”

If to further rub salt in old wounds, Brianna’s tone was harsh and demanding.

“I came to see you.”

“Why?”

So nothing had changed.

Blair smiled to herself and knew then that it was truly over. Whatever they had, it had ended a long time ago, but now, now it was over.

“How are the costumes coming?” Blair ignored her question.

“What are you really doing here? Here to scope out the competition?”

“No. Jesus. Do ya really think so lowly of me?”

“Answer my fucking question.” Briana was drunk. Or high. One of the two. Blair used to be able to distinguish between them, but now, now it was like she was talking to a stranger.

“I just needed some closure. After everything.” Blair fought the urge to wring her hands. “We never really talked about it. ”

Brianna’s eyes flashed dangerously at the mention of their past. She looked around to the other people in the room. “Out.” She demanded.

They made themselves scarce.

Brianna sighed as the scrambling entourage took just long enough for her to take another swig from her water bottle, and Blair was positive now there wasn’t water in it.

Brianna sighed again and attempted to stand up and get closer to Blair. She bailed on that idea when she noticed she could barely walk. She sat back down, none too gracefully, and rubbed her forehead worriedly.

“I know what I did to you was shitty.” She paused, and Blair held her breath, hoping she’d get the apology she had so craved these past few years. “But it made me, baby.” Brianna held her arms out to the room around her. “It made me so much more than I was ever gonna be if I stayed.”

Blair didn’t bite back a bitter laugh at the words. “We all make choices in life, but usually we take a minute to think ‘bout other people’s feelins before we do shit like that.”

“I know.”

“No, ya don’t know. You cared ‘bout your career, trust me, I get it. But you never thought ‘bout mine. Not once in your whole plan did you ever imagine me makin’ it big with you. Did ya?”

“No.” It wasn’t said with any particular emotion attached to it, it was just… the truth. Brianna hadn’t ever thought they would make it. Hadn’t ever considered the possibility that they could have worked out.

Blair’s demeanor changed. She plastered on her most professional smile and spoke her next words calmly. “That’s all I came here for. Thank you, Mrs. Panandrani. Good luck with your show tonight.”

“Blair wait-”

But by the time Brianna could stand firmly on her feet, Blair was already out the door.

…

Kameron walked up the familiar stairs to Brooke and Nina’s office.

She smiled at the old scuff mark on the third stair from the top. She still distinctly remembered how Monet had unknowingly walked on the fresh coat of paint and left a trail of brown footprints all over the backstage area.

Kameron shook her head lightly, she didn’t have time for reminiscing. She knocked twice on the office door and let herself in.

“Hey, Kam. What’s up?” Brooke said, not looking up from her computer.

Kameron didn’t even take a breath before she started on her spiel. “I wanna join the company. I know I said I wasn’t ready but I am now. I wanna be up there. I know I’m not up to date on all the dances, but I can learn them. I can do it. Just give me a chance, B. Please.”

Brooke had to ask her to repeat herself once, twice, then one more time because she was crying.

Brooke couldn’t pull Kameron into her arms fast enough.

The two hugged and squealed and generally let themselves rejoice in the fact that after all this time, their dream, their original dream was happening.

Brooke pulled back but stayed close to Kameron, the safety she felt in the younger girl’s presence spurred her on.

“This is perfect timing actually, cause I’m gonna be gone for a bit and I need someone to take my spot in the lineup.”

“Where’re you going on such late notice, Miss Boss Lady?”

Brooke looked at the floor, her hands were clasping and unclasping with her breath. “It’s not a big deal, just need to check up on some things. See the cats, you know.”

Kameron pulled up a chair as Brooke rambled, nodding unconvincingly.

“What did she do?” Kameron probed.

Brooke sighed but couldn’t hide the smile on her face. Of course, Kameron knew. Who didn’t know?

“She didn’t do anything.”

“And that’s the problem.”

Brooke nodded. She may be incredibly obvious, but still. It was nice that she didn’t have to say anything. It was nice that Kameron just knew. Knew what she needed. It wasn’t that Brooke couldn’t talk to Nina or Monet, but those two were still so wrapped up in their honeymoon phase that she didn’t want to bother them with her own spiraling emotions.

“Have you talked to her?”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“‘Hey, Vanessa, I think I’m in love with you’ would probably get the point across.”

“I’m not in love with her! Jesus, no.”

Kameron gave her a withering stare.

“Okay then. How about ‘Hey Vanessa, I really like fucking you and I only want to do that. I don’t think about holding your hand or sleeping next to you or stealing kisses in between rehearsal or going on stupid cheesy dates with you. Nope. Just wanna bang you. That’s all.’”

“This isn’t funny, Kameron.”

“I’m amusing myself. Shall I go on?”

“Look. It’s not love. It can’t be that. I’ve only known her for-”

“Ten months.”

Had it been ten months? Already? It felt like weeks since the ball of chaos and energy that was Vanessa first graced their stage.

“I’ve only really gotten to know her in the past few weeks. And even still I don’t really know her.”

“You know what her pussy tastes like but not her middle name. Gotcha.”

“Not helping, Kam.”

“Sorry, sorry. Look B. I think you like her, and I know for you that’s new, but this is how we regular folk do things. We go up to the person, we ask them out, we keep doing that for a few weeks, then hopefully we start fucking each other’s brains out.”

“Jesus, Kam.”

“It seems like you guys skipped the first couple steps, but that’s okay. That’s fine.”

Brooke bit her lip, not sure what to say.

“Look, B. I know you haven’t done this before, had proper feelings. You had girls in your bed nearly every night in college, but you never really cared about them. Now I dunno if that was you not letting yourself get attached or what, but it was always just-”

“-me and you.”

“Me and you.” Kameron echoed.

Brooke smiled sadly; it spoke her next words for her. “You know I thought I loved you for a little while in there.”

“I know.”

They shared a private smile, no words were spoken, but an understanding passed between them. They both knew. They both had known.

The unspoken words were a mixture of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘It’s fine’ and ‘I love you.’

“We never woulda worked. You know they say don’t mix business with pleasure.” Kameron shot her a wink.

The moment was broken and Brooke was left with her mouth hanging open at Kameron’s comment.

“What’s gotten into you recently?”

Kameron just smiled and shook her head. “Nothing, I’m just happy is all.”

“Well, cut it out. It’s giving you a personality. It’s weird.”

Kameron smacked her arm lightly.

“Ow, bitch.”

The first playful hit quickly devolved into a full-on fight, with Brooke and Kameron running around the small office space in the upstairs of a theatre they bought through their blood sweat and tears with a company they had built together.

And there they were. Acting like children.

Brooke swore she had never been happier.

[aliofvalhalla]

Little Miracle

For the quote, “You haven’t even touched your food.. what’s going on?”

You stared at the lampshade across the room. You hadn’t really noticed how beautiful it’s pattern was before; little, terracotta and maroon diamonds separated by gold criss-cross lines that glowed with the light from within. The material things around it had long since faded from your, what was now, tunnel vision. You don’t know why you’d chosen that lampshade, but it was now so much more interesting than anything else in the room. An interesting distraction. The chosen object for your mind to zone out into and forget what was really important. You must’ve looked like a wide-eyed crazy person to Jesse, who was now desperately waving a hand into your field of view and calling out.

“Y/N? Helloooo? You in there?” He chuckled, before growing more concerned at your lack of response, “Y/N, are you alright, sugar?”

Suddenly his voice penetrated your ears and you were quickly brought back to your reality. Sitting in your apartment, across from the love of your life; your food going cold as he was half-way through his own. You coughed slightly, blinked and painted on a smile, “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Jess. I zoned out.”

“Yeah, I know.” He looked at you; uncertain and worried, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” You picked up your fork and began playing with the spaghetti on the plate in front of you, in danger of ‘zoning out’ again to avoid the issue plaguing your mind.

Jesse sighed and put his own fork down in favour of reaching across the dark wood table to take your hand in his, gently caressing the back of your hand with his thumb as he smiled softly at you. In all the years he’d known you, he’d come to learn that you didn’t like to ‘burden’ him with your problems. You figured he had enough to worry about considering his line of work. He wished you wouldn’t take so much on alone.

“You haven’t even touched your food...what’s going on?”

Despite your nerves taking away your appetite, you took a bite, for his sake, before raising your eyebrows and meeting his gaze fully for the first time this evening, “I’m okay. I was just thinking and got carried away with my thoughts, that’s all.”

You squeezed his hand in reassurance, but he still wasn’t buying it. He pulled his hand away and ran it through his hair, “I know you, Y/N…better than anyone…and I know there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me.”

He was frustrated, you could tell, but he never raised his voice at you.

You closed your eyes for a few seconds before sighing and opening them again. This was bound to happen sooner or later anyway. You had to tell him no matter what the outcome.

“Jess, I…” You paused, not quite knowing how to phrase it. He waited. You looked into his beautiful, chocolate brown irises again, “I fainted at work this morning.”

His brow furrowed in concern as he pushed his plate aside to lean forward; arm resting on the table, “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” He reached out to lay the back of his hand across your forehead, presumably to check your temperature, “Do ya feel alright now, sweetpea?”

You took that hand in both of yours, “I’m fine. I just…”

He cut you off, his teeth gritted, “I swear if they’ve been overworkin’ ya again, I’ll…”

This time you didn’t let him finish, “Jesse, could you listen, baby?”

He nodded and gave an apologetic look as you cleared your throat.

“So, after I fainted, my boss sent me home and told me I should see a doctor.” He nodded again, willing you on; hand still in yours, “I wasn’t going to at first, but then I remembered that I was super sick last week, and I’ve been unusually tired these last few days…so I went to the doctor.”

He looked tortured to know what was wrong, “And?”

“…and I know that we were told I’d never…” His face turned from concern to disbelief and you knew he’d figured it out already, “…never have kids, but, Jess, I’m…”

His voice seemed strained and his second hand gripped tightly around your clasped ones, “Really? You’re…”

“Pregnant.” You almost whispered.

He stood from his chair quicker than you think you’d ever seen him move before and made his way to your side just as you were standing to meet him. He pulled you in for a hug and then pulled back, but never lost contact. His hands remained at your waist and his forehead touched yours. You noticed a single tear leave his right eye as he looked deep into your eyes and whispered, “Really?”

You nodded against him with an uncertain smile playing at your lips before he captured them in a sweet, loving kiss that made you question why you’d ever been scared to tell him. You felt consequent tears fall onto your cheeks from both yours and his eyes as you stood there, just holding each other for a few peaceful moments.

Jesse pulled back, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear as he did so and looked at you with such adoration, heat rose to your face and butterflies danced around the growing life inside of you. You leaned up to peck his nose and smiled, “You’re gonna be a dad.”

He chuckled through his tears as your delicate fingers gently brushed them away. But then it seemed he’d remembered so many questions, so suddenly, “Why didn’t you want to tell me, darlin’? You didn’t think I’d be mad or upset did ya? What did the doc say, everythin’ good? Faintin’ can’t be good, right?”

You giggled at his suddenly flustered state and wrapped your arms around his neck. You tried to address some of his worries, “The doctor ran some tests, and everything looks great right now. I get some more results back in a few days, but she said not to worry too much as baby seems healthy. We also scheduled an official first scan.” You paused briefly to caress his cheek softly, “I did want to tell you Jess, I was just afraid of how you’d react. What with your job and with me being told it was never an option, I didn’t want to scare you away or…”

He cut you off again, but this time with a kiss. Afterwards he grinned wide, “There is no one on this whole damn planet that I would rather start a family with than you…nothing matters more to me than you. Damn…we’re gonna have a baby, baby!”

He picked you off the ground by your waist and spun you as you giggled. He returned you to the steadiness of the ground and glanced towards the abandoned table then back to you, “You’re gonna need to eat something though.”

You looked at the forgotten spaghetti on your plate and sighed. He turned your head to face him with a single finger and pecked your nose. He lay a hand on your stomach and looked at it in awe, “How about the three of us go into town…to that restaurant you love, huh?”

You smiled and hugged him, “That sounds amazing!”

You left his embrace and made a start on clearing the table, but as you picked up a plate of cold spaghetti, he caught your wrist in his hand, took the plate from your grasp and returned it to the table, “Leave it…I’ll deal with it when we get back.”

You smiled as you linked your arm with his and headed for the front door. Jesse put on his jacket and watched you closely as you did the same. You caught him staring, “What?” You chuckled, becoming secretly shy under his unwavering gaze.

“I love you, Y/N.” Was his sincere reply.

“I love you too, Jesse.”

He moved closer and cradled your stomach with both of his hands as you watched in wonder, “And I love you too, little miracle.”

[oghoneytryst]

missing piece.

request: a sweet encounter between harry and y/n, a foreign and artistic contemporary dancer

or

where harry is in search of a muse and is running out of time

a/n: the only experience I have with dance is doing spotlight for dance shows so I apologize if anything is off. the request included specific characteristics but I wanted to avoid that so that everyone could enjoy, but still made sure y/n was foreign. thanks for reading <3

x the song i used was Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan x

Harry adores the summertime. It is something in the way the insects wander cynically on the victims of fresh and delicate skin; something in the way the schoolchildren skip across the concrete sidewalks with a step in their toes; something in the way the two lovers resting amongst the protruded roots of a healthy tree begin to frolic through the busy streets, hand-in-hand, in spite of London’s scorching heat...

It excites him. It is around this time, surrounded by these elements, where the inspiration stuck inside of his soul is usually eager to spill out, taking on the form of his well-recognized art.

Harry ponders on the leather seats of his luxurious sports car, a teasing sweat trailing down his plain and pricey t-shirt. It has only been a month or so since his legendary world tour came to a close. His friends have been caring enough to remind him that 30 days is not nearly enough time to have completely rested up from the constant months of traveling.

Regardless, he has been incapable of sitting still in the aftermath of the tour.

There has been no progress in his songwriting. Harry fears that he lacks the inspiration that is necessary for his second album, though his caring friends have also mentioned to him that he is in no rush to release anything new. He should not consider himself to be in a frustrating slump, but does so anyway, playing the role of his own worst critic while his mind becomes a rambled mess.

And yet, from Modena to Toronto, there is not a single muse in sight until he watches her move across that stage.

The hours-long program has fascinated Harry thus far.

Toddlers in bright and spiffy tutus have opened the show with their precious prancing across the stage. Harry senses relief in the lighthearted ambience that showers over the audience. He feels happy.

Teenage boys clad in only their nude tights take over mid-show, portraying their own expression of contemporary dance. Harry feels a strange and overwhelming sense of pride take control of him. His green eyes glisten with tears 

She appears during the closing piece of the show, and it is then he realizes that she is who captivates him entirely. She is who radiates brighter than the scorching sun and stands taller than the trunk of the lovers’ tree. It is her it is her it is her! 

His pezzo mancante. His pieza perdida, manke moso, peça faltante — whichever language he chooses to express it in does not matter. It is her who has brought the light back in his eyes and curiosity burns alive in his soul because he needs to know her name. 

“Right, well, I’ve got a cousin from me mum’s side, who’s got a friend, who owns a dance studio in London. She was lovely enough to send me an email about the summer show they’re putting on for today only and she insisted that I attend and bring along a friend.”

Harry leans forward in the driver’s seat to hide behind the steering wheel. This is not the first time that Nick has brought him somewhere without his knowledge of the destination. He only wishes that he could have been given a heads up before driving his car into the crowded parking lot and sticking out like a sore thumb.

“A dance show?” Harry questions, scanning over the creamy exterior of the auditorium.

“You’re going t’need these,” Grimmy advises, reaching into his tote to pull out an overused hat-and-sunglasses disguise. “Don’t want to steal away the attention from all the little girls, eh?”

In another life, Harry is not famous. Harry Styles is not a household name. He does not perform to sold out arenas, nor does he travel across the careless oceans. He does not have the privilege of crossing paths with incredible people and build connections with those who serve a great impact on his heavy heart and teach him many wisely lessons.

He does not do a great many things in another life that is far, far away.

Yet, it is in this one where he has discovered the world and all of its darling beauties. He has marveled at the runways of fashion shows; he has educated himself in abstract art galleries; he has cried during soul-gripping concerts that have taken place in venues he now has the honor of performing in himself.

So why it is that in all of his 24 years of life, he has never once been to a dance show?

‘I want to sleep next to you, but that’s all I wanna do right now...’

Harry recognizes the maturity of this final piece. Its dozen or so dancers are attentive to the cues of their music, long and whimsical skirts swaying with every synchronized movement. There is a range between them—tall to short, slim to plump, nervous to at ease—and he is impressed with how their distinctions complement each other and shape them into a single working entity.

 A minute into the song is when the dancers break away from their collective choreography to perform their own individual dynamics. Harry is awestruck by the mix of arches, lunges, contractions, and so forth. There are no two dancers who replicate the same movements at the same time and yet everything still looks so wonderfully put together.

‘If you don’t mind, I’ll walk that line, stuck in the bridge between us...’

These dancers then disappear in the blink of an eye. There is a gracefulness in the way they storm off behind the curtains, out of sight from the audience, leaving one of their own in the spotlight. 

She who remains is an illustrious fragment who portrays her emotions so elegantly through the flow of her dance. This is the first time that Harry sees her; he decides then that it is his favorite part of the show. 

“Maybe from this you can get the gears in your brain turnin’ again,” Nick tells him from their seats in the back row, waiting patiently for the show to start. “Find your muse or somethin’. Get to creatin’.”

“And if I don’t?” Harry retaliates with a cheeky grin.

“It’s still a lovely show, Harold.”

Harry is so intrigued by this woman. He finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from the stage in fear that he might miss even a second of her poise. The applause that erupts at her frozen, heavy-breathing figure is what escapes him from his trance. The music softly fades away as the auditorium turns to a mystical darkness.

Harry thinks to himself: that was not long enough. He has not satisfied himself enough with her artistry.

 The lights turn on. The audience are settling back into their seats and the stage reveals itself vacant of her presence. Harry begins to shortly panic. He skims through his glossy program to read over the limited information provided about that wonderful piece that he has experienced in this life only.

Talk Me Down – Contemporary Sunday Class, 2 pm with Ms. Y/n

“D’ya think I can meet her?” Harry asks Nick after the final bow with all of the teachers and students. His pale hands have gone red from the applause he has given in support of the lovely lady smiling off to the side. “That girl from the last dance, Ms. Y/n or somethin’ like that.” 

Nick grins knowingly at his friend, settling back into his seat while the rest of the audience shuffles out into the lobby with their colorful bouquets. “I think she’s more of a woman, Harry, but yeah, I’m sure that can be arranged. We’ll just have to wait until it cools down in here.”

15 minutes have never gone by slower. Harry had to force himself to sit impatiently in the backrow, smiling at the people who gave him a nice wave on their way out. He even took pictures with those who were courteous enough to ask.

“Junie! What a lovely show that was,” Nick greets the woman backstage, his cousin’s friend, who quite simply is his friend as well.

“Thank you so much for coming, darling. I hope you two enjoyed yourselves.”

“Absolutely,” Harry says, stretching his arms out to her for a welcoming hug. His vision sneakily wanders around the area, catching sight of wide-eyed, star struck females, yet none of them are her. “I must say, that last piece was absolutely amazing.” 

“Oh!” Junie exclaims, jolting out of Harry’s embrace. “Y/n’s class! D’you know what? I am so glad that she decided to move here. She’s proven to be such an important part of this journey.”

Harry repeats her name, “Y/n ... sounds lovely,” and nods to himself. He can already imagine his tongue getting used to those sweet syllables of hers, his lips giving the vibrations a little kiss on their way out.

“D’ya happen to know where she is?” Nick asks nonchalantly, throwing his arm around Junie’s shoulders. “I mean, Harry just adored that dance of hers. Absolutely adored. Perhaps even inspired him, or summat?”

“Thank you, Nicholas,” the younger man stops him, politely clasping his hands in front of him. He’s not one for violence, but he practically wants to slap that shit-eating grin off of his chiseled face.

Junie chuckles at their interaction. “Well, speak of the devil and she shall appear.”

The dance instructor nods her head in the direction behind Harry, and he can see the wiggle in her eyebrows before turning around with such quick desperation.

Speak of the angel and she shall appear. She shall walk through the double doors and crash upon your life without so much as a warning.

His heart drops down to his tummy, cradled by the ferns on his lower hips.

Y/n has taken it upon herself to change out of the costume that once hugged her body. She now suits a comfortable pair of sweats, the hem of a loose tank barely cascading over the thick waistband. There is a quickness in her mindless step, multitasking as she stuffs her belongings into the duffle bag draped over her shoulder. 

Harry hums contentedly and turns back to the pair. “Thank you, Junie,” he says, ignoring their teasing smirks as he begins to walk backwards. “It was lovely talking to you, but if you don’t mind—shit! 

Crash! The angel shall walk and crash upon your life, metaphorically and literally.

Harry covers his sinful lips, embarrassed that the mothers around him are probably scolding him for his foul language. He hears an item drop in the collision, and after he has balanced himself back on his own two feet, he turns around to apologize to the startled woman.

“Um...” Harry breathes out, shaking his head. Y/n looks even more alluring up close. “I’m ... ‘m sorry, y/n, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s fine!”

“I shouldn’t have been walking—”

“It’s okay, I promise.”

“Jesus, ‘m so clumsy...”

Their sentences mix together, no single word being quite coherent to any pesky eavesdroppers. Harry has become exasperated with himself, spotting the frail book that has fallen from y/n’s hands. He does not hesitate to pick it up for her, a string of apologies continuously flowing from his lips.

Then he stops. He reads the title in blue.

BURNING IN WATER DROWNING IN FLAME. Charles Bukowski.

A poet from before his time that he has found himself infatuated in. A collection of written works that have inspired him since his discovery of them. These are some of the stanzas most precious to his heart, found in her possessions as well. 

“Can I ... can I have it back please?”

Harry raises his head to look at her. He doesn’t think it is possible to be even more intrigued with her existence, but the thick accent she swiftly carries makes it obvious to him that she is not from London, but rather someplace alien that he now has the desire to explore.

Her voice is what he imagines the clouds to sound like; he suddenly grows envious of the angels she kisses.

“Right, ‘f course,” he mumbles, smitten by the kind smile that paints her face when he returns her book. “That’s a good read there. Interesting choice.”

Y/n tilts her head. She looks down at the beaten copy, skimming through it as the pages flip against her thumb. “Thank you,” she says genuinely, “it helps me with my ideas.”

“Your ideas?” Harry raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “For your dances?”

Y/n nods, biting the inside of her cheek. “Yes. It is something about the words that ... motivate me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I know what y’mean,” Harry assures her. “Inspiration, right?” 

“Right...” she agrees, the two sharing a quiet laugh. “Um, can I ask how you know my name?”

Her question suddenly throws him off. Harry closes his eyes and curses himself for muttering out her name in the midst of his rambling.

“Uh ... it’s in the program,” he answers, raising the glossy booklet as evidence for her to see. “And Junie, she’s, she said it was you. I was just really blown away by your performance. Wonderful song choice, such incredible taste. I’m Harry, by the way.”

Y/n laughs, her shoulders pushing forward as she looks to the ground. He cannot think of a more melodious gift than her laugh 

“Thank you, Harry,” she says, dropping her poetry book into her duffle bag. She does not notice the way he swallows dryly when she says his name. “I love the song, too.”

There is a brief second in which a strange silence creeps up on the two. Harry doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the awkward background noise of the dancers shuffling around them.

“Did you, um,” he starts, refusing to let the conversation die. “Did you choreograph that piece all by yourself? Junie said it was your class, so I was jus’ wonderin’. 

“I had some help from the students. They were the ones who thought of the solo at the end.”

“Wow, yes, the solo. It was certainly, uh, fantastic. I really, really enjoyed—” 

“Harry?” she abruptly interrupts him, causing his lips to seal in anticipation.

“Hmm?”

The squint in y/n’s eyes makes Harry nervous. He feels like a barcode by the way she scans him up and down. He takes the moment to observe his overall appearance with that of everyone else. The people around him are dressed head-to-toe in a loose-fitting, affordable clothing, whereas Harry has decided to sport a more expensive look: a white Saint Laurent t-shirt, yellow Adidas track pants, and creamy colored Gucci loafers.

This is the first time his clothes have ever made him feel self-conscious.

Y/n, however, does not comment on his designer clothing. She seems to not even notice it when mentioning to him, “You look familiar.” There is perplexity in the way her eyes scream why have I seen these features of his before? “Have I met you before, maybe somewhere else?”

Harry lets out a relieved chuckle and runs a hand through his bouncy curls. “Well, it’s funny that you ask...”

“Are you coming to the after party, y/n?”

Junie interrupts the innocent conversation that has been spread out for almost an hour. Most of the people that once filled the backstage area are now gone. Harry can’t recall when it had become just him and y/n, but he likes this idea of her. She makes his fear of time falter; she even makes him forget.

“It sounds fun,” y/n gushes, hugging her friend goodbye. “But I think I am just going to pass time at the studio, if that’s alright with you?”

“Boo!” Nick suddenly appears, earning a laugh from Junie as she gives the key to the dancer. “What about you?” he asks Harry, nudging him on the arm. “What are you goin’ to do?”

Harry shrugs, stuffing his hands warm inside his pockets. He doesn’t want to go to this so-called after party if y/n isn’t going, but he also doesn’t want to seem rude and reject their invitation.

“You can join me at the studio, Harry,” y/n speaks up, swinging the keychain around a single finger. “If you’re not doing anything else...”

“‘m so sorry, y/n,” Harry apologizes when they enter the studio. “Someone must’ve posted a picture or something,” he realizes, shaking his head at the paparazzi that swarmed them upon leaving the auditorium. “They’ve probably followed us all the way here.”

“Harry,” y/n murmurs with a grin. “It’s fine. They’ll go away eventually. Besides, it is a good way for the word to get out about the studio.”

Harry raises his head, playfully scoffing at the teasing smile she is giving him. “Oh, is that all I’m good for then?”

“Of course not! You’re also excellent company.”

“Sure, I had to see for myself where the magic happens.” Harry stretches his arms out to his side, circling around the area with the large mirror for a wall and breathing in the open space. “I bet it’s got really sick acoustics, huh?”

“A little.” Y/n shrugs. “I like it here, when no one else is around. It’s ... quiet. Gives me a space to think, to dance, sometimes both at the same time.”

“Sounds lovely,” Harry says, adoring the way she looks into the mirror and gives a little twirl after she speaks.

“Can I ask you something, Harry?” she says, changing the topic of conversation with the snap of her fingers. “What is your dream? Something that you desire, and it makes you happy?”

“My ... dream?” he questions, once again thrown off by her questions. She is inquisitive, which makes her all the more intriguing. “My dream, well ... ‘m livin’ it.” 

Y/n scoffs, lowering her arms until they make a slap against her sides. “Besides that,” she says, little space left between them when she walks over to him. “Something else. You accomplished that dream at such a young age, you must have another, right?”

Harry blinks in a pensive manner. He’s trying to control his heartbeat, but at this close proximity, he can practically inhale her soft scent. “Um, I just want ... people to be kind to each other. I think that would be nice. Other than that, I don’t know. Maybe ‘m still trying t’figure it out.”

“You have plenty of time. Something will inspire that dream of yours soon, Harry.”

“Alright.” He laughs, nodding in agreement. “And yours? What’s your dream, y/n?”

The room seems to illuminate when he asks her that question. Perhaps it is because of the way she beams when she thinks of her dream, but Harry can’t recall when that grin of hers had ever left her face. 

“I want to be like Junie,” she answers, but is quick to explain. “I want to open up a studio like this. Dance until I can’t dance anymore. It’s going to take a lot of work, but I think that’ll make me very happy. Don’t you think?” 

Harry is so smitten. The dimples beside his smirk is enough of a hint, and he finds himself crossing his arms across his chest to keep from pulling this imaginative woman any closer.

“Yeah,” he whispers, though he doesn’t think he is in the right position to decide what will make y/n happy or not. Still, he has to agree with her. She’s clearly got a passion. “Um, about the cameras outside, you are aware that it may be hours before they leave?”

“Wow ... okay then.” Y/n exhales, the air flowing past her pursed lips which makes them flap against each other in a silly manner. She pensively tilts her head from side to side, but gasps as she suggests, “Maybe I can show you some techniques in the meantime? If you want to, you don’t have to.”

“Y/n.” Harry reaches down, enveloping her left hand in both of his. “I would love to.”

Harry doesn’t know how long it has been before he’s driving y/n home. He has been caught up in the dances she has performed for him, telling him to follow her movements because “it’s not hard, Harry!” He has even sung her a couple songs, the acoustics in the room proving to be more than exceptional. In a mix of their constant giggles, they’re unsure about when exactly the paparazzi have left them in their privacy.

In fact, the only certainty that Harry has when he drives himself back home is the powerful array of words storming in his mind. He’s practically aching to write them down.

[lastbuckshot]

NSFW: “Abraham” Pritchard/Reader, Wave 2: Part 1 of 3

Words: 9.6K Fandom: listen…… I don’t know…… Devil’s Gate but only 5% Rating: Explicit Title: Make You Wait

this is an extremely belated birthday gift for @vtmiglia this was supposed to be done a month ago but my life went extremely downhill, but still here’s part one of the worst fic ever

“Police reports tonight indicate a robbery—”

Click.

“I can’t help that I love y—”

Click.

“To the flour, add two tablespoons of—"

Click. Click.

“Christ will forgive, so long as you give in to him—”

The click of the television remote was constant in your hand. Head resting in the crook of your arm. Arm sinking into the couch. Couch hugging the contours of your body. Your body turned toward the TV, but with minimal attention. Nothing looked good. Nothing sounded good. Restless boredom was setting in quickly, the TV not being interesting, but nothing else as interesting or attainable as the TV. Sunday afternoons; the last day of comfort and relaxation before real work and errand-running begin. Today had been a churchless Sunday by choice; no heels or aching feet, no itchy stockings, and certainly no dresses. Only house clothes, a television, a blanket, and your couch. Nuzzling your head into your arm, you started into the television and listened, topically engaged, to the dronings of the televangelist on screen.

“So many people think that Christ won’t forgive. That once you’ve sinned, there’s no turning back. Maybe you didn’t go to church this Sunday.”

A pang of guilt rang throughout your chest.

“One mistake, and God will turn His back on you. But I’ve got somethin’ to say about that.”

Your thumb rubbed absently over the button for the next channel, but you listened more attentively than before.

“Our God is a forgiving God. Jesus Christ died for our sins. He died to cleanse us of our sins. So, confess those sins. Pray to Him. And so long as you give yourself to Him, and open your heart to accept His love and guidance… you will still make your way to Heaven. You will still see those pearly gates on judgement day.”

A tingle ran down your spine as you stretched and rubbed your tired eyes. The sun was on the cusp of setting outside, with darkening pinks and yellows breaking through patchy evening cloud cover. A blanket was draped over your body, soft and white, pulled up just beneath your chin. The cushions, the blanket, the couch pillows, all enveloped you in a lazy Sunday comfort. Minutes passed, gazing absently at the television, eyelids growing heavier and heavier as comfort turned to drowsiness, and drowsiness turned into yawns.

Turning your face away from the television, you stretched your back out against the couch cushions. You stared up at the ceiling, your fingers interwoven over your stomach, and closed your eyes. Your loose black skirt rode up toward your waist, leaving your thighs exposed beneath the warmth of your fleece blanket. Inhaling deeply, breathing out a seconds-long sigh, the sounds of the television began to fade away. In its place rose a sense of calm and quiet, your body on the precipice of succumbing to sleep. A resting of the eyes, a short nap, an hour or two to recuperate from a restless night before. Your body sank into the couch, growing more limp and relaxed. Slumping into the couch. Fading consciousness. Your head falling to the side. The sound of the television growing fainter and fainter… dissipating into unintelligible ambient noise—

A knock at the door sent your body into a sudden jerk, lurching forward with an intense pounding in your chest. Your hand slid over your heart automatically to quell the beating beneath your fingers, and your head fell back against the arm of the chair. Rubbing your eyes, you stood, pulled down your skirt, and adjusted your white tank top, which had become wrinkled and bunched up around your chest.

“Who is it?”

“An old friend, in more ways than one,” a familiar, deepened voice called back. “You know, your boss?”

Opening the door, you were met with the sight of Abraham, his wide frame bathed in blue, dusky light. A pinstriped, white, long-sleeved shirt wrapped around his upper body, brown trousers covered the length of his legs, and a black leather belt secured them at his waist. His face lit up with a gentle smile at the sight of you. His eyes lingered around the hem of your skirt for a fleeting second or two before you broke the silence.

“Mr. Pritchard,” you said, taken aback. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Why,” Abe questioned, peering behind you to scan the interior of your home, “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Not at all, sir. What brings you here?”

“Well,” he started, “It ain’t a work thing or anything like that. I just noticed you weren’t at church today. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

The mention of church made the words of the televangelist, still preaching and commanding on your television, more salient.

One mistake, and God will turn his back on you.

“I’m alright, Mr. Pritchard,” you said. “I appreciate your concern. I do. I’m not sick or anything. I guess my heart just wasn’t in it today.”

Abe smiled, putting his hands in his pockets and nodding.

“I see. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, sweetheart. You seem t’ be awful comfortable today anyways. I’m not used t’ seein’ you in those type’a clothes. Or any clothes at all.”

A warmth rose in your cheeks, and a chuckle escaped from your coy, pursed lips.

“I guess that’s true Mr. Pritchard. Is there anything else I can help you with, then?”

Abe licked his lips, leaving them wet and glistening as he stopped to collect his next words.

“Forgive me for bein’ bold, darlin’,” he said, “But I was wonderin’ if you might allow me to stay here. With you. For a day or two maybe.”

You paused, narrowing your eyes, and processing his request.

“May I ask why, sir?”

“Conjugal visit?”

The two of you shared a laugh, Abe’s teeth baring from his mouth, bright and white. He slicked his graying black hair behind his ear before he continued to explain.

“D’you remember that one time, a while back, when you babysat for me? The first time you did it since Diana had been gone. You said somethin’ t’ me. Somethin’ like, you thought maybe I might be lonely.”

“I remember.”

“I think maybe you might’a been right. I think maybe havin’ somebody t’ talk to would be nice.”

You thought his request over for a few moments more. He was good company, and you knew his company would feel better than watching television alone; that being said, there was an elephant in the room that it would be irresponsible not to address.

“What about the kids? And Diana?”

“They’re outta town for the week. You ain’t gotta worry about them. She and I, and the kids, were all at service this mornin’. I traded ‘em off t’ her then.”

You nodded, slowly. Before you could respond, however, Abraham continued.

“I’m sorry. I know this is a lot to ask all of a sudden like this, beautiful. I just thought I’d ask. I don’t want you t’ feel pressured or nothin’ like that. But if it means anything t’ you, it’d make a great little birthday present for me.”

Your head perked up as you stood in the doorway, your hand resting against your door frame. A sinking feeling settled in your chest and your mouth hung slightly ajar as the realization dawned on you; years working for Abraham, years working alongside him, his wife, and children, and you’d forgotten, as the sun was setting, that his birthday was tomorrow.

“I am so sorry Mr. Pritchard,” you started, your voice laden with guilt. “It completely slipped my mind.”

Abe smiled and straightened his back, his deep brown eyes glowing faintly in the fading sunlight.

“That’s alright, sweetheart. No hard feelin’s. I hardly mention it anyways. It’s not my birthday yet, y’know. But it’s never too early t’ celebrate, right?”

You step aside, out of the doorway, and motion your hand toward the inside of your home.

“Then feel free to come inside, Mr. Pritchard.”

“Thank you, ladybird. I packed a couple bags, though. I’ll see about bringin’ those inside first.”

“Would you like any help?” you offered. “You’re my guest, after all.”

“You’re a sweet young lady,” he said. “Very sweet. But who would I be if I let a pretty young lady like yourself carry bags for me?”

Abe turned away toward his truck, taking his hands from his pockets and opening the passenger side door. You watched as he removed two modestly sized duffel bags from the seat, slamming the door shut again with a familiar thud of aging metal. His keys jingled in his pocket as he walked back up toward your front porch, but before he stepped fully inside of your home, he paused.

“Are those th’ flowers I gave t’ you not too long ago?”

You followed his gaze toward the side of your house, where there was a row of flowers in all different colors. Reds, whites, yellows, pinks, and blues, from a collection of roses, tulips, carnations, and lilies. Over time, Abraham had expressed his appreciation through offerings of flowers, in bouquets and pots alike. A few weeks prior to now, he’d given you his newest assortment of potted flowers as a gift. You’d since planted them and tended to them, trying your best to keep them alive and healthy from how Abe had taught you.

“They are,” you responded. “Am I doing okay growing them so far?”

Abe set his bags down inside of your home, just by the front door, then descended the porch steps again to examine your plants. He knelt down, with know qualms about clean church trousers becoming stained with grass and dirt. Unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves, and pushing his gold watch further up his wrist, he grazed his fingertips over the soil in which the flowers were planted with a couple passes of his hand, then rubbed the dirt between his fingers more intensively, watching the dirt fall back to the ground.

“This soil’s a little dry. When’d you water ‘em last?”

“Yesterday,” you responded. “I was waiting on watering them today. I thought it might rain.”

Abe looked up at the sky, his fingers still rubbing in the dirt. The sky had darkened ever so slightly, and the cloud cover above was still patchy; dense and dark in some areas, sparse and blue in others. Abe’s eyes remained fixated on the clouds for several moments before he looked back down toward the dirt, feeling it again in his hands.

“Good girl. You don’t wanna overwater ‘em. But y’ also don’t wanna let ‘em go too long without some water. It won’t hurt t’ water ‘em a little bit, just in case it don’t rain soon. You got a waterin’ can around here somewhere, darlin?”

From your porch, you grab and carry a small, silver watering can into the house. It takes only several seconds to fill it at the kitchen sink before you’re back outside again, passing it off to Abe. His brush against your own, taking the can from your hand to hold it in his own.

“Thank you very much, sweetheart. Come kneel down next t’ me. I wanna teach you a little somethin’.”

As you kneel down next to him, his fingers wrap gently around your wrist. He guides your hand toward your potted flowers, toward the soil in which they were planted. His hand was soft and warm, covered in soil, resting on top of your own hand to guide your fingers.

You rake your fingers through the dirt, each grain rough against your fingertips. The soil fell through your fingers with ease, your hands remaining dry to the touch each time you rubbed the dirt against the skin of your palm. Abe pushes your fingers deeper into the soil, deeper towards the roots, inches below the soil. He held your hand in place and spoke.

“There. Now feel. How’s that soil feel t’ you?”

You moved your fingers back and forth beneath the surface; the soil still felt as loose as it had on top, and was still grainy against your fingertips.

“It’s pretty dry,” you said.

“And how d’you know that?”

“The way it feels. It’s grainy. My fingers don’t feel wet. It’s a little bit like sand.”

Abe smiled, pulling your hand away from the soil and tipping your watering can over the flowers. The water fell in streams over each petal and stem, dripping from the green and falling into the dirt below. The soil darkened as streams of water fell on its surface and disappeared, soaking down toward the roots below.

You watched Abe’s hands work. He moved back and forth; tipping the watering can, soaking the soil, stopping to feel it between his fingers. Trailing his fingers through the dirt, he took care to uncover and pick stray weeds and blades of grass along the way. With his own crops, his technique was rough; driving his hoes and shovels into the dirt, prying up old crops with force, yanking out unwanted weeds. But now, watching him tend to your own modest garden, he plucked each weed gently, tugging them just hard enough to remove them at the root, but not hard enough to disturb or break the roots of the flowers nearby. His hands were skilled and delicate, deliberate and gentle; a far cry from how you were used to watching him work on his own farm. He continued until he was content, his fingers glistening wet with water, then reached out to grip your wrist again.

“There. Feel it now.”

This time, with Abe’s fingers gliding over your own, the soil felt moist; not too wet, and not too dry. It wasn’t as gritty as before, but still not as wet as it could’ve been. The granules of dirt clumped between your fingers, even inches below the surface, and your hand was left with a film of water.

“Y’feel that?” Abe asked. “How it’s not too wet, not too dry? Just wet enough, right?”

Abe smirked at his own choice of words, but patiently awaited your reply.

“I do.”

“Good. That’s how you want it if you think it might rain. Just wet enough to hold ‘em over, but not so wet that they drown.”

After allowing you to feel the soil for a few moments longer, Abe removed his hand. He directed his attention toward a tall, white lily. He broke it at the stem, prying off a couple leaves, then placed the flower behind your ear. You looked into his eyes, a deep brown that rivaled the soil just next to the two of you, as he adjusted the flower to his liking.

“There,” he said, satisfied. “A beautiful flower for a beautiful young lady.”

Abe stood to dust the dirt off of his trousers, and you likewise stood, brushing dirt off of your exposed knees. Back inside of the house, the two of you washed your hands clean of dirt. As you dried them, there was a healthy silence between the two of you; standing by the kitchen counter, the rustling of kitchen towels, the TV still audible from the living room, this time, with a new preacher in front of his congregation.

“….wanted to talk about how to communicate with God. How to have a relationship, a connection, with God. Many people believe that you can pray any old way and God will listen. But you don’t just pray with your mouth. You pray with your heart. Your heart has to be true—”

Your head was turned toward the television screen, but was quickly turned back toward Abraham’s face. Before you could manage a reaction, his lips pressed into yours, his hands pulling your waist inwards towards his own. With one hand still squeezing your waist, the other snaked up your back and to your neck, cradling your head in his palm, his tongue lapping deeper into your mouth. With your hands gripped onto his sides, dense and muscular beneath his shirt, your lips tingled with the vibration of a growling moan from his mouth, wettened as he pulled your neck in closer for one last kiss.

As he pulled away for the last time, licking his lips, he stroked your lips with his thumb. He admired their shape, their plumpness, and the feel of them against his skin. He stared and ogled, his eyes fixated on your cupid’s bow, his thumb dragging the taste of him off of your lips.

“I’m truly sorry about that, ladybird,” he said. “I just couldn’t help myself. Not with how goddamn beautiful you look in that skirt.”

Your nose rubbed against his, just barely touching. He moved your hand up from his waist, pulling it up toward his chest, and held it in place. Feeling his heart beating beneath his shirt, taking in the gentle wisp of air from his nose that caressed your cheek, you smiled.

“No apology needed, Mr. Pritchard.”

He planted a kiss in the middle of your forehead, one hand cradling your neck, the other still cupping your hand to his chest. He adjusted the flower behind your ear, which had fallen forward in the heat of the kiss, and once he’d decided it was placed just right, lily petals perfectly centered on the side of your head, he turned his attention to the rest of your home.

Leaving the kitchen and stepping into the foyer, his eyes passed freely, scanning one room and then the next. He looked over the dining room, the staircase, the hall, and your living room, where your fleece blanket still laid in disarray. All the while, he pulled his white sleeves back down toward his wrist and began to unbutton his shirt.

“I didn’t realize you were livin’ so nice out here,” he joked. “Plenty’a pretty lights, nice things everywhere, the TV that’s got more channels than mine, I’m sure. I hope you’re not as spoiled as you are pretty.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Pritchard, most of the houses around here are like mine. Probably better. Aren’t there a couple three stories around here?”

Abe smiled, the last button on his shirt unfastened to reveal a tight white t-shirt underneath, and began to patrol your dining room.

“I suppose you got me there. Maybe it’s just me, then. I ain’t really used to all this new stuff. Decorations, indoor plants, lights that ain’t just lightbulbs. Like this fancy one here, over the table. What’s this called again?”

He pointed with his finger, and you followed his gaze upward. From your ceiling hung a crystalline chandelier with six branching lights. They’d been turned off for the day without being used, but as Abe flipped a light switch on the wall, each branching light illuminated, as did a central light from which the other six were centered. A toothy grin spread across his face, flipping the light switch on and off, watching the light glint off of each crystal to light up the room.

“The chandelier?”

“Chandelier,” he said, still gazing up at the lights. “I like that. Sounds fancy, if y’ask me. See? That don’t even sound like anything I’d have in my house. All I got is my tools and family pictures.”

“That’s not a bad thing, you know.”

“I guess not. But still. This is very pretty, ladybird.”

With a final look, Abe turned off the light and left the dining room to explore more of the house. Before stepping into your living room, his eyes were caught by a small table pushed against the wall. On it sat a lamp, and next to it, a polaroid camera which Abe took into his hands.

“Would you mind terribly if I took a couple pictures of you?”

“Why,” you teased. “Are you gonna keep the pictures?”

“Maybe. I think it’d be a nice thing to hold on to. For quite a few reasons.”

With a smile and a coy laugh, you posed for Abe, who was more than happy to snap photo after photo. Some close ups of your face, some only from the waist up, and some others full body, head to toe, in your flimsy black skirt. Some pictures were wholesome smiles, some others more suggestive; photos from the side to showcase your figure, lifting the hem of your skirt to expose your thighs, giving the camera a peek at your stomach beneath your shirt. With each photograph Abe took, he shook them in the open air, then placed them in the table drawer, leaving them be to develop. Once he was satisfied, with ten pictures lined up in two rows in your drawer, he set your camera gently back onto the table, taking care not to let it fall or thud.

“I certainly hope you let me have at least a few of those for the road,” he said. “I’m excited t’ see how those come out already.”

Despite his obvious excitement, Abraham was quick to direct his attention toward the next thing. On your coffee table, in your living room, lay another camera, bigger than the Polaroid. Abe lifted it with care into his hands, flipping and examining it for several seconds.

“What’s this one here?” he asked. “Another camera?”

“It’s a camcorder. The ones you put a little tape in it so you can record videos.”

He fumbled with the camera in his hands, flipping it over, examining the lens, pressing buttons, and looking into the viewfinder. His brows were furrowed and focused, despite not knowing quite what he was doing

“Right. I think I’ve seen this around. You think you could show me how t’ work it?”

With a gentle nod, you rustled through a nearby cabinet, pulling out a blank cassette tape for the camera. You showed Abe how to open it, what direction to put the tape in, and how to turn on the camera to start recording. After showing him some basic controls for zooming and stopping, he pointed the now-recording camera at you, looking through the viewfinder, a sly grin on his face.

“You look absolutely beautiful on here, ladybird,” he said. “I know I say that a lot. But it’s true. Why don’t you turn around for me a second?”

You spun on your heels to turn with your back facing him, and no sooner than your feet had settled back on the ground, you felt Abe’s hand caressing your hips. His fingers slid around your waist, then crept downwards toward your ass, and further down still toward your thigh. He lifted your skirt, pulling it up and out of the way to reveal your lacy pink underwear, and Abe laughed in surprise.

“Jesus, darlin,” he teased. “You sure you didn’t know I was stoppin’ by today? ‘Cause this is enough t’ make an old man cry.”

He slid his fingers inside of the hem of your underwear and tugged them back toward him. As your body bumped up against your own, you could feel him getting hard through his trousers. Bringing his hand back toward the front of your body, he pulled you in closer, grinding his hips into your backside, his length pressing deeper into your skin. He leaned down to hover his lips over your ear, his breath warm, his voice held in a low, steady whisper.

“You feel that, don’t you? I’m bettin’ you want that pretty bad.”

His lips kissed your back, dragging upwards toward your shoulders, and settling into the crook of your neck. Your hand massaged his trousers, stroking back and forth, squeezing at the base, and stroking with your thumb just beneath his head. He kissed up to your jaw and lingered in place, but released his one-handed grip on your waist in restraint.

“We c’n get t’ all that later. Make me wait for it.”

The camcorder clicked as Abe stopped recording, gently setting it back on the table where he’d found it.

“I should put that down before I break it anyways.”

Leading you by the hand, Abe walked over to and sat comfortably on your couch. You sat beside him, nuzzled close against his chest, his arm wrapped behind you, his hand stroking up and down your back. He picked up and adjusted your blanket to drape it over the length of your lower body, then turned his attention to your remote control. Before flipping through your channels, he stopped to the current entertainment.

“You like these TV evangelical types?”

A different man was shown now than the one you’d originally been watching, but the message rang the same as any other. “Love God…. Get into heaven… Repent…”

“Not really,” you replied. “It just caught my eye. You can change it, if you want.”

Abe did so without a second thought, changing channel after channel to find something worth watching. It took him only several seconds for him to offer a small bit of commentary.

“I can tell already you got channels than we got on the farm. Way more. You must be bored to tears every time you babysit.”

“I think I manage okay.”

“Maybe,” he said. “It’s no wonder you didn’t go t’ service today. At your age, I probably woulda picked this over church, too.”

After a minute or two of flipping through sitcoms, game shows, evangelists, and cooking shows, Abe stopped. The TV showed war scenes; men dawned in uniform, shown in black and white, guns in tow. Marching, shooting, killing, running, writhing on the ground. A narrator spoke over the videos and images, discussing the plight of the allies against the Third Reich. Abe watched in deep thought, his eyes glued to the television even when you looked up into his eyes, almost as if you were trying to see what he was thinking.

“Are war documentaries your thing?”

“No…” he said absently. A couple seconds later, he corrected himself.

“Well, I ain’t got nothin’ against ‘em. This just caught my eye, is all. I used t’ wanna be in the army, actually.”

“What happened?” you jeered. “Soldier to preacher to farmer are three very big jumps, Mr, Pritchard.”

“You’re tellin’ me. It wasn’t really a dream. I mean, I guess it was, but not a natural born one. My dad was in the army, and I really looked up t’ him. Wanted to be just like him, do what he was doin’. But he left the army eventually and turned to the church, then he raised me up that way. As you can see, that’s the dream that stuck.”

“What about your mom?” you asked. “What’d she want for you?”

“Oh, she loved the church thing. A very God-fearing woman. Always readin’ her bibles and quotin’ her scriptures, teachin’ ‘em to me. I guess I take after her a lot too, now that I talk about it out loud. She’d take me t’ church while my dad was out on duty, and we’d pray for him together. Pray for him t’ come back safe. I entertained it was a kid, I guess you could say. I didn’t mind it, but I wasn’t devoted to God yet. Not until later on.”

“Did she want you in the army?”

“Oh, God, no. No, no, no. She hated it. Hated just the thought of it. She was worried enough, I think. She was dead set on getting me into the church.”

Abe reached into his shirt, pulling out a gold chain. From it hung a simple gold cross.

“Y’know this cross I’m always wearin’? My mom gave it t’ me. It has a little story to it, if you don’t mind hearin’ it.”

You sat up from laying on his chest and straightened your back, giving him full audience.

“I’d love t’ hear it, Mr, Pritchard.”

“Alright. But when you get bored, remember you asked for it.”

You chuckled, and Abraham began his little story.

“Alright. Where do I start? Alright. When I was a little boy, with my dad goin’ on leave all the time, I worried about him a lot. ‘Course I did. He was my father, and I never knew whether or not he’d be comin’ home. I prayed with my mom a lot, and she gave me this cross when I was little so I always had somethin’ with me t’ pray on. But it just didn’t feel like enough sometimes. So I told my mom how I was feelin’. And she took me outside one night. It was clear and beautiful, and I looked up, and I could see all the stars. And my momma told me that all those stars up in the sky were little angels, and those angels could hear me every time I prayed. She said if I prayed outside with them, they’d listen, and I could know they were listenin’. So every night that my dad was gone, I’d go outside, look up at the stars, and just start prayin’ for him t’ come home safe. Saw shootin’ stars a couple of those nights. And y’know what? My daddy always came home just fine. So those stars meant a lot t’ me.

When I was in my teens, I was gettin’ a little more rebellious. I wanted t’ get a tattoo of a star, in honor of all those nights with all those little angels. My dad had a couple tattoos, anyway. But my momma couldn’t stand tattoos, and I knew she’d just kill me if I went and got it behind her back. So I left it alone for a long time. A very long time. I even strayed from the church around my teen years, an’ my early 20s. Crisis of character, I s’pose. But then I met Diana, and we had Jackson. Diana was a very churchy girl, and I wanted t’ keep her. I got heavily back into the church, goin’ every Sunday, tryin’ t’ be a preacher. Then the tattoo thought came up again. I wanted the star, but I wanted a cross, too. But neither one felt quite right. So, I told Diana what I was thinkin’, and she said, “well, a tattoo might be fine, but why not get the cross engraved?” So…”

Abe flipped the cross over and motioned for you to look closer. On the back of the cross, right in the center of its intersection, was a five-point star, etched deeply into the gold.

“There it is,” he said. “My little angel. I hope I didn’t bore you too much.”

“Not at all, Mr. Pritchard. It was a very beautiful story.

Abe let you hold the cross for yourself, holding it and turning it over in your hands, rubbing your thumb over the star. You could see all the scuffs that gave away its age, but it was otherwise in better shape than you expected a decades old necklace to be. The sound of war, shooting and scuffling and cries of pain, still continued in the background, which prompted you to ask a question.

“Have either of the boys ever asked about being in the army?”

“No, never. They know about it, of course. Know about what soldiers do an’ all that. But they haven’t shown any interest. Noah barely wants to step foot in a church, let alone in a trench.”

“Of course not,” you said. “Noah’s always been a little free spirit.”

“I guess you’re right about that. I think he takes after his mom that way.”

Abe continued to peruse channels, stopping several seconds on each channel to take in what he saw. Your hand rose and fell with his chest, and your fingers tingled with each beat of his heart. His hand still steadily stroked your side and upper thigh, caressing and squeezing in the touchy way you’d come to expect from Abraham. Soon, however, you realized it was his left hand stroking your body; and quickly after that, noticed the absence of something familiar. Glancing back at his hand at his hand on your thigh confirmed your suspicion, and you’d decided to inquire about it.

“Mr. Pritchard?”

“Mm-hmm?”, was his placid response, eyes still fixated on the television.

“You took off your wedding ring?”

Abe tore his eyes from he TV to glance at you, then at his own hand. Breathing heavily out of his nose, he spoke.

“Yeah. I did.”

“When?”

“Right before I decided t’ come here. I wore it to church, an’ out in town while I was visitin’ people. But I took it off t’ see you.”

“Why—"

“What does it matter, ladybird?”

His snappy response was somewhat startling, and encouraged you to drop the issue.

“You’re right. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

Abe rubbed his forehead with his fingers, his eyes squeezed shut. His conflict was palpable and written all over his face, but you decided to say nothing more until he was ready to talk.

“No, ladybird, it’s alright,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you like that. You deserve t’ know. It’s just I didn’t think about it much myself. I’m not sure what t’ say.”

There was a silent pause that you decided again not to break, allowing Abraham time and space to collect his words.

“I still care about Diana. I do. She’s my wife. But there’s no point in pretendin’ like we’re not in trouble. We’re goin’ through a hard time. Not even sleepin’ in the same house anymore. And I hope you don’t think you’re the reason D and I split. We were havin’ problems way before we started this thing. She’d already moved out the first time we had sex.”

As he spoke, you knew what he said was true; but that didn’t erase the guilt that had haunted you on and off for weeks.

“I think D and I woulda needed a break regardless. I don’t want you t’ feel like you ruined a marriage, or anything like that. I’m makin’ my own choices. You’re just makin’ a tough time better for me. Much better.”

His hand grazed over your panties and squeezed, and with a sly bite of his lip, he continued.

“Anyway, that’s not the point. I guess I’m tryin’ t’ say I think wearin’ the ring when we’re doin’… this thing we’re doin’, makes me feel like I’m holdin’ on t’ somethin’ that just ain’t there right now. I think me an’ Diana can work it out one day. I hope we can. But if we can’t…”

He stopped to clear his throat, and hesitated on his next few words.

“I just think it’s better t’ be honest about what’s happenin’ right now. Honest t’ you, and honest t’ myself. I hope that makes sense.”

Something came over you then. It felt beyond your control. But looking into Abe’s eyes, their deep woody brown, and down toward his reddened nose and rosy lips, you found yourself wrapping your hand behind his neck and pulling him in. His lips felt warm, and his tongue was warmer, pushing into your mouth. He brought his hand up to caress the back of your neck, his thumb stroking your cheek, just above your jaw line. Each kiss was slow and lingering, your lips pressing still against his to pause and catch your breath. On the last kiss, your lips stayed just a hair’s breath from his. When you open your eyes, Abe eyes are already fixated on your eyes and lips. When he notices that your eyes are open, he meets your gaze and he smiles, brown eyes shining.

“See?” he whispered, his voice low and rumbling in his throat, “You just made my whole day.”

You smile and purse your lips. Abe leaned in closer, his nose rubbing softly against yours as he teased your lips for another kiss. Within seconds, the two of you were back to kissing, back to pulling each other in. You tugged on Abe’s unbuttoned white dress shirt, and his hand slid up your skirt to caress your thigh. Before long, you swung one leg over his lap to straddle him. Both of his hands began to explore eagerly up and down your body. Squeezing your breasts over your shirt, working his hand beneath your shirt to stroke your belly button. His hands wrapped around your back, tracing up the dip of your spine, then gliding back down toward your skirt. He tugged it up and out of the way without breaking the kiss, his tongue still steadily lapping inside of your mouth, and gripped either side of your ass. Your body jolted at his touch, firm and sudden, and you felt him buck his hips up to feel the warmth between your legs. Meanwhile, your hands stroked through and tugged on his graying hair, his goatee scratching against your lips and chin with each deep, passionate kiss. Your thumb stroked against two small moles on his cheek as you kissed. His fingers hesitated for a small while, but soon rubbed the outside of your wettened lace panties, with long strokes up and down, forward and back, from your asshole, down your taint, and further still between the lips of your pussy. You could feel Abe getting harder as you straddled his lap, and heard the attraction in his voice each time he moaned through a kiss. His middle finger grew slicker and wetter, and his appetite for you fiercer with his unrestrained moans. As he paused the kiss to trail kisses down the length of your neck, you took the opportunity to pull away. Noticing your resistance, Abe’s lips pulled away from your neck, and he looked up at you, his hands gripping tightly onto the backs of your thighs.

“Sorry. Did I come on too strong or somethin’?”

“No. Not at all. I just remember you said you wanted me to make you wait for it.”

Abe took pause for a couple seconds, without breaking eye contact. A wide, toothy grin soon replaced his blank expression.

“You’re right about that, darlin,” he joked. “So. Are you gonna make me wait for it?”

Without averting his eyes, he slid his hand between your legs. He stroked between your lips and rubbed his thumb over your clit, all with his hand still over your panties. He bit his lip, feeling your body heat, feeling his fingers coated in wetness, and watching your face as you squirmed at his touch. Sliding your hand between your own legs and pulling his hand away, you replied.

“I’m gonna make you wait for it.”

Abe smiled and raised his eyebrows, surprised bout charmed at your conviction.

“Is that so, ladybird?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bringing his hand to his mouth, Abe licked the taste of you off of his fingers. A smirk remained on his face as he sucked the length of his finger, then licked between each space until nothing was left. His free hand moved down towards his trousers, gripping his own length, stroking back and forth as he savored your wetness on his tongue.

“Alright, ladybird. I like a girl in charge. Just let me know when you’re ready t’ let me have it.”

~

           The rest of the afternoon transitioned into evening on the couch, cuddled into Abe, your head laying on his chest. He took control of the remote, still in relative awe at the variety, commenting every now and again to inquire about what’s, who’s, and why’s. With nightfall approaching just outside your windows, you sat up and stretched. Abe had taken off his dress shirt but left on his gold watch, and looked up at you as you rubbed your eyes.

“You tired, ladybird?”

“Not tired,” you said through a stretch, “Just getting hungry. Would you like something to eat?”

You followed Abe’s eyes as they glanced down toward your thighs, between your legs.

“Oh, I could eat,” he said, without looking up, “And the house special looks real fresh t’night.”

With a subtle roll of your eyes, you stood and walked toward the kitchen, but before you could make much headway, Abe’s hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you back.

“Okay, don’t get slick, now.”

His voice was more stern than it had been all day.

“Tell you what. I c’n cook dinner for us t’night. You got all day tomorrow t’ treat me to whatever I want. The least I can do is treat you t’night.”

Without more talk, Abe stood and walked freely into the kitchen, familiarizing himself with your fridge, freezer, and panty. He settled on cooking smothered pork chops, mashed potatoes, and corn, which he went to work on with ease. Seasoning the pork, peeling potatoes, mashing them by hand, and shucking corn. More delighted was he to know that the potatoes had come from his own farm, which imbued him with a sense of pride as he finished cooking the meal.

As he stood at the stove, putting finishing touches on a pot of mashed potatoes, you walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist. After an initial reflexive tensing of his muscles, he relaxed and smiles, stirring with one hand and cupping your wrist with the other.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, “Is this your way of tellin’ me I’m takin’ too long?”

You kissed his back through his shirt and rubbed the palms of your hands over his stomach. His muscles felt solid beneath his shirt, and you happily allowed your fingertips to travel as you responded.

“Not at all. Just checking in.”

Abe laughed, the vibrations of which you could feel in your hands with the jerky rising and falling of his stomach. He turned off each eye of the stove and turned around again adjusting the flower in your hair that had again become crooked.

“Why, aren’t you cute?” he said. “Well now that you’re all checked in, why don’t you head t’ the table, under that big pretty chandelier? I’ll bring out plates for both of us.”

He left a kiss on your forehead and turned you around, rubbing your shoulders with his hands and kissing the side of your neck. No sooner than you could take a step did you feel his hand smacking into your backside, beneath your skirt, sending a loud smack through the kitchen. When you turned back to look at him, he winked, and turned back to the stove.

“Go’on t’ the table an’ have a seat.”, he said. “Unless you plan on lettin’ me unwrap my present early.”

~

Dinner went on and was over with relatively quickly, and was followed by a round of dish cleaning. With a glass of bourbon in his system, Abe washed, you dried and put away. As the night went on, Abe grew more and more playful; from snarky innuendos at the table, to flinging water in your direction and putting suds on your nose. He smiled, laughed, and joked to his heart’s content, scrubbing and rinsing each pot, pan, and plate until the deed was done. Drying the last dish and stacking it in the cabinet, you glanced up at Abe, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, a smirk spread across his face.

“So,” he started, “What’s next on the menu tonight? Am I gettin’ any dessert?”

You wiped the counter dry of water and soap with the kitchen towel that was still in your hand.

“I need to shower first, you know.”

“Alright. Good. Me, too. I c’n join you.”

You turned to ascend the stairs, and after grabbing his bags from the floor, Abe followed behind. As you opened your bedroom door, Abe took in your room’s size and colors; the walls were clean and white, with flower vases posing as the majority of the decoration. It was a far cry from Abraham’s home, which was notoriously dark and cluttered, and where religious paraphernalia covered nearly every inch of wall space. Setting his bags down, Abe took no time taking off his shirt and beginning to unbuckle his belt. You followed suit, pulling your tank top up and over your head, and pulling your skirt down to the floor. The two of you exchanged words without speaking, keeping an eye on each other as each article of clothing continued to come off. A shy smile as you unclasped your bra, a chuckle as he pulled his trousers down to the floor. Pursed lips as you pulled your panties down toward your ankles, and licking his own lips as his boxers hit the ground. With both of you fully undressed, and Abe’s bare body just in front of you, it was clear that he was already close to hard. You tried not to stare, but looked down at his cock, then back up to his face, which eagerly awaited your commentary.

“I’m still making you wait.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “But I won’t apologize for all the things I wish I could do t’ you.”

You turned way and walked into your bathroom, which was attached to your bedroom by a door on the far wall. You stepped into the tub first, turning each handle and testing the water with your hand, as Abe got his look of the place.

“Bathroom attached t’ your bedroom, huh?” he said. “You really are the fancy type.”

Satisfied with the heat of the water, you stood, pulling Abe in by the wrist.

“Not fancy. I just like convenience.”

Turning on the shower head, there was a slight pause before your chest was beaten with hot streams of water, with water quickly dripping down the length of your stomach and legs. You turned to let the water reach every inch of your body, down the length of your arms and every curve of your ass and hips, and splashed some warm water on your face. Sufficiently soaked, you traded places with Abraham to stand behind him, letting him have his own turn.

As his body began to get drenched, wet and glistening, you took note of every drop of water that rolled down his back. Each muscle in his shoulder blade, and the dip of his spine, all collecting and dropping water down the length of his back, and into the drain. Between hundreds of little water droplets, you could see a collection of dark brown moles, each one a different size, all spotted around different places on his back. You rubbed your hands up and down his back, allowing your palms to feel his smooth, slick skin, as well as barely noticeable imperfections wherever a larger mole was. As Abe ran his fingers through his hair, soaking it in the shower head, your hands stroked down his sides. On his right side were two more small moles, one stacked on top of the other. You teased your fingers over both of them, and Abe paused for only a moment at the sensation of your touch, before he turned back to washing himself. Rubbing turned to kissing, your lips pressing into as many tiny moles and imperfections as you could find. You couldn’t see Abe’s face, but you heard him chuckle after every few kisses, thoroughly amused by the gesture.

With a washcloth in hand, you stood still behind Abe, and squirted a generous helping of body wash onto the cloth. Once it had a full, soft lather, you rubbed the cloth over Abe’s back. Starting at the shoulder blades, you worked down toward the middle of his back, and further down still toward his tail bone. Then, wrapping your arms around the front of him, you scrubbed his stomach, feeling the fine hairs that covered his just above his waist and around his belly button. The same process followed for his arms, then his thighs, wide and muscular, further still to his calves, and then back up to his ass, until you got to the last spot left.

With the rest of his body sufficiently lathered, you set the washcloth aside on your soap dish, and lather the remaining soap on your hands. Reaching around front, you stroke the length of his cock, and can immediately hear a low rumble of relief and satisfaction from Abe. Your pace was slow and gentle, and you stroked only a few times before moving to his balls, giving them the same slow, gentle massage. His hard-on was full and apparent, but you only teased. You only worked your hands for several moments more before you stopped.

“It’s my turn.”

Abe sighed, allowing he shower head to rinse the soap from his body, back and front, before he replied.

“Alright, ladybird. I can play that game, too.”

With a second wettened washcloth, Abe repeated after you. Generous helping of body wash, a rich lather, and his hands exploring the back and front of your body. His hands first rubbed over your breast, leaving a white, sudsy residue over both of them. He rubbed his fingertips over your nipples, and leaned down to kiss your neck, sending a chill up your spine and a tingling in your chest, which left your nipples hard and perky. He worked the cloth over your arms, then over your stomach, down the length of your legs. With the majority of your body lathered up, Abe set the washcloth aside, and allowed his hands to work.

His soapy hands caressed your upper thighs from the back and squeezed. He slid his fingers in the crack of your ass, his middle finger rubbing against your ass and taint. His strokes were slow, and he teased his fingertips at your entrance, pushing gently as if to slide a finger inside. But he resisted, continuing to rub between your cheeks and press his cheeks against you until his attention turned to the next spot.

His hands traveled toward the front of your body, stopping for only a moment at your breasts before dropping down between your legs. He rubbed the front of your pussy with your hand to build up a lather, then slipped his fingers deeper between your legs, working the suds around your lips. The water beating down on both of you, and the slipperiness of the suds hid the fact that you were wet, but somehow, you felt, Abe could still tell that you wanted him. His fingertip began to focus more and more on your clit, as he gauged your reaction. You moaned at his touch, and he moaned to the sound of you moaning, enjoying him, taking him in. Writhing and grinding against his wet body, feeling his stomach hairs graze against your back, he picked up his pace only slightly, massaging your clit, back and forth, in circles, and getting off on the feeling of you squirming beneath his arms.

Just before you could cum, Abe stopped. You gasped at the sudden stop of movement, and pulled his hand back down toward your pussy to get him to continue.

“Don’t stop, please, Mr. Pritchard,” you pleaded. “Please keep going.”

Regardless, Abe pulled his hand away still, and pushed down on your back for you to bend over.

“I know,” he said. “But remember what you said? Gotta make me wait for it.”

With the feeling of his head near the backs of your thighs, you were ready to feel him push into you. Instead, however, you felt his cock push between your thighs as you held your legs together, and with Abe’s hand holding and pulling your hips into place. He bucked his hips back and forth, His lock squeezed between your thighs. His head poked out from between your legs with each forward thrust, and his shaft stroking back and forth against your clit. He continued to thrust, warm water beating down on both of you continuously, where the sound of wet bodies slapping into one another mixed in with interspersed moans and pressurized streams of water. As his cock continued to stroke between your thighs, the sensation of his shaft and head rubbing against your clit grew more and more intense. Your lower body felt warm, your legs began to tingle, and your toes began to curl as you remained bent over, allowing Abe to control the speed and pace.

Your moans grew louder, and Abe’s thrusts grew faster, until you couldn’t contain yourself any longer; a strong pulse rippled throughout your body and around your clit, and the space between your legs grew warmer and wetter with your own cum beginning to drip between your legs. Abe’s own moans began to grow, his shaft stroking between the lips of your pussy, and now coated and glistening, sticky and wet. His fingertips squeezed close to the bone against your hips as his moans became strained, closer and closer to climax. You listened to him curse, swearing to god and saying your name like it was gospel, until, with one last, room-filling moan, he reached release. Pulses of cum shot out of his cock and onto the floor of the tub, and as they weakened, they shot just far enough to settle on and drip down your thighs. Once Abe’s orgasm was through, you looked down between your legs to see streams of cum being washed away as they traveled the length of your leg, down into the drain. Before the last drops could disappear, you wiped them from your thigh, and then from the tip of Abraham’s cock, which still poked out from between your legs. You wiped his cum onto your tongue, smooth and creamy, and once you were thoroughly rinsed, turned off the shower.

Back inside of your bedroom, and now with both of you having towels in hand, you dried off. As Abe dried off his hair, he restarted conversation.

“Thank you for lettin’ me do that, beautiful. I really needed it. We didn’t have sex, technically. You still get t’ make me wait.”

As you finished drying off, you responded.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“May I ask another favor, then?”

“Depends on the favor.”

After patting his towel against his head a couple more times, he wrapped and tied it around his waist. Parts of his body and face were both rosy and pink, particularly around the nose and lips. With only a towel on, his entire upper half was exposed, showing every small bump and mole along his arms and stomach, including the two on his side which you’d noticed in the shower. The towel knot settled just below his belly button, covering only some of his stomach hair, and a slight bulge was still visible between his legs. He glanced over at your dresser drawer, opened it the top drawer, and was met with the site of every clean pair of bra and panty you had.

“It’s not nice to go through someone’s stuff without permission.”

“You’re probably right,” he said, rummaging through the drawer. He lifted up a black, silk thong, held it up to his nose, and inhaled. “But I want my first little birthday present t’ be pickin’ out what you wear t’ bed. Smellin’ these don’t feel the same when it’s straight out of the drawer, by the way.”

“Because they don’t smell like me yet.”

“Then I know what I want tomorrow morning.”

Abe continued to rummage through your drawer, picking up and examining several pairs before settling on one for you to wear to bed. It was a lacy white thong, with a small bow in the front. He tossed it to you, and then, still in his white towel, turned his attention to your closet.

Flipping through hangers of clothes in your closet took considerably less time, with his eyes immediately drawn toward a silky white nightgown. The top and bottom were both lined with white lace, similar to those on the panties he’d given you to wear. He slid it off the hanger and tossed it to you, as well.

“There. Those’ll be just perfect.”

As you slipped on your panties, Abe dropped his towel and rummaged through one of the bags he’d brought along. From it, he pulled out a pair of dark blue boxers, which he pulled up and around his waist in little time. As you put on your nightgown, Abe cleaned up the room, putting the towels and old clothes of the day into the laundry basket in your bathroom. He dropped his own clothes into the hamper, but stopped with yours. You watched silently as he brought your tank top, skirt, bra, and panties, all in a bundle up to his nose, and inhaled. He licked his lips and took another deep inhale, then dropped the clothes into the basket and turned off the bathroom light.

“Don’t lookit me like that, ladybird,” he scoffed. “I like what I like. Now go’on an’ lay in bed. I’ll turn off the light.”

You heeded his command and crawled into your bed as he walked back towards your bedroom door. He switched off the light switch and followed behind you, his body pressed up against your back. He rests his head on your pillow and exhales, the tickle of which you can feel against your neck. There was a slight scent of bourbon on his breath from behind you, which mixed with the smell of fresh body wash, toothpaste, and cologne. The warm rise and fall of his stomach against his back was soothing and slow, and his legs fit perfectly behind yours. With one hand curled beneath you and the other cupping your breast, he plants a gentle kiss on the back of your shoulder. His lips lingered in place, his goatee prickly against your skin, his hair just barely damp and falling in strands around his face, and your back. His thumb stroked against your breast as he pulled you in closer towards him one last time, before both of you drifted off to sleep.

[commander-writergirl]

Trying

Title: Trying Summary: Going Through IVF with Leonard Rating: PG-13 Theme: Modern AU Word Count: 698 Warning: um pregnancy issues, i think i mentioned miscarriages A/N: This actually hit home for me cause I will possible have similar issues written, also in the words of Leonard McCoy, “I’m a writer not a damn doctor,” I literally wrote this while looking over Invetro info so yea. Tags: @outside-the-government @medicatemedrmccoy @yourtropegirl @dolamrothianlady @starshiphufflebadger @imoutofmyvulcanmind @bkwrm523 @imaginenterprise @imagineangryspacegrump

Leonard McCoy was one of the best doctors in the city. He also believed he had one of the best woman in the world at home. When Ayla married Leonard, she came with her own personal issues, the biggest was her trouble with getting pregnant. Ayla had looked over every pamphlet Leo brought home and she learned the risks, success rates, everything and on her thirty birthday Ayla decided to go through with IVF.

           So, the next day, Ayla went into the hospital and spoke with her OBGYN. Ayla was prescribed hormones, since her imbalance was one of the biggest issues. Leonard worried about Ayla, that her fear of needles would make this almost impossible. But for the next two months Ayla allowed her husband and his steady hands give her a shot every night.

           At the end of the second month Ayla’s doctor gave the all clear for her eggs to be extracted. Leonard even took the day off from work to give his sperm so the procedure could start. Ayla knew the older she got the harder this would become. When the doctors informed Ayla that they had retrieved nine healthy eggs, the couple were excited.

           Four days went by before Ayla was called in for the first implantation. Sadly, Leonard could not get off work this day but Ayla simply stated, “Then I’ll rest on your pull-out bed till your shift is over. I work off my computer Lee, it’s no big deal.” He agreed to the arrangement and felt better knowing she was close.

           A month passed when Ayla took the first pregnancy test, her heart breaking a little seeing the one line. “Darlin’, it may take a few times remember?” Leonard spoke softly to her wife not wanting her to start crying again. Ayla nodded and hugged him closer because she knew as long as Leonard stayed by her side anything was possible.

_____________________________________

           Ayla had started hating her body. Out of the nine embryos she had, five had already failed. IN just one year, she had less than half a chance of getting pregnant. “Ayla, it could be somethin’ with me darlin’.”

           “It’s not you Lee, ok everything is wrong with me.” This had become the normal fight when Ayla found out another implantation failed. “Look, I have to give another sample before we try again. Let’s take some time off from trying ok?” Ayla agreed with him, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle another heartbreak. That night Leonard held his wife close and whispered sweet nothings in her ear till she fell asleep.

__________________________________________

           On Ayla’s 31st birthday she spent it in the hospital and prayed to every god in the world that this time would work. Leonard on his part took less hours and was only on call for big surgeries. He did everything his beautiful wife asked of him, hoping with less stress this time would work. Of course, Ayla had her own plans, knowing sex helped with getting pregnant the natural way, why not help her way.

           A week after the implant, Ayla set her plan in motion. Wore her sexiest lingerie and cooked Leonard’s favorite meal. Sadly, the night did not go as planned since half way through dinner Ayla started feeling nauseous and end up under the care of her doctor husband. “This is a good sign Ayla.” That brought some comfort to Ayla but she wouldn’t feel completely ok till two weeks later when she went in for an ultrasound.

           “Well congratulations Mrs. McCoy, you’re pregnant with twins.” Ayla smiled wide at the screen just barely able to make out the two little peas that were her’s and Leonard’s.

___________________________

           “Ayla, I’m home.” Leonard yelled through the house but heard nothing. He walked to the dining room to find Ayla with pen and paper. “I’m guessing the appointment didn’t go well?”

           “It went as expected.” Ayla spoke as she wrote something down. Leo sighed and walked over and kisses the top of her head. The black and white photo caught his eye and a wide smile grew over his face when he read the note attached”

                                               “Father of two, due November 20th.”

[heirloommtomatoes]

I (really) need you.” (Sam x Reader, fluff, requested drabble)

Happy New Year’s everyone!!! Here’s to a healthy & lively 2017! Haven’t written anything fictional in a while let alone for Sam, but hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Somethin’ short and sweet and calm to start off the new year. Inspired by Mumford & Sons’ Red Rocks performance of ‘Lovers’ Eyes’, if anyone’s so inclined to listen while reading/interested :) Requested by @nataliarmnov xx

P.S. Put the “really” in brackets since I omitted it from the text.

Word Count: 1,951

————

Despite the fact that it had taken several attempts to persuade you and a promise of no pirate puns for a whole month, you had to admit that spending your summer exploring Avery’s ruins in Scotland wasn’t always the worst.

The wind buffets the sides of your tent, the crashing of the ocean far down the cliff barely a fifty metres away from your tent mingling with the sound of Sam’s gentle breathing behind you. The chill of night had settled in the tent, but the only indicator of it was the numbness of your nose poking out from the sleeping bag the two of you had decided to share. Your senses come to you slowly as you wake and you’re suddenly aware of the weight and warmth of Sam’s arm around your middle. You let out an involuntary grunt as you carefully lift his arm. A soft incoherent murmur causes you to look quickly over your shoulder, your fingers still wrapped around his wrist and thankfully, his eyes still closed.

You slip out of the sleeping bag, grabbing the pants and long-sleeve henley you wear over the long underwear Sam had insisted was necessary even in the summer. The almost overwhelming light-headedness you were currently experiencing due to the heat of having a 6”3’ teddy bear at your back all night might disagree. Pulling on your clothes and tugging your hair into a quick ponytail, you reach over your sleeping lover to grab your water bottle, carefully opening both the mesh net and flap of the vestibule to be greeted with a strong, salt-scented wind singing in off the sea.

As much as you complained about the wind waking you up at dawn, you couldn’t deny the view. The world beyond the edge of the grass-covered cliffs is nothing but foam and monochrome, painted in pale blues and greys because the world hasn’t had the time to give it any colour.

The snap of a twig behind you is the only thing preparing you for arms that thread themselves swiftly around your middle, prompting a soft umph from you. As if the fact that there were cliffs and a powerful ocean wind seemingly tugging you toward them wasn’t enough to get your heart racing this early in the damn morning.

“You should learn to watch your back,” Sam’s voice sounds in your ear as he rests his head on your shoulder, lips tickling the flesh of your neck, sending a string of shivers down your spine.

“I don’t need to. I have you,” you say, only to tease him because you know how much he worries and how ridiculously over-the-top sappy it sounds coming out of your mouth.

“Ha ha, you’re a comedian,” he mutters half-heartedly, his disgruntled tone betrayed by the way he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your shoulder, “I’m only half-kidding, you know.”

You turn your head slightly and he huffs in protest as your hair covers his face. You know he wanted to come here; hell, he’d practically begged, despite your initial wishes to go somewhere warm like last year. You smile at the memory of Sam in that ridiculous floral shirt, too-baggy cargo shorts and flip-flops, swaggering with a grin on his face down the streets of Havana.

But you also knew what being here meant for him. The smile begins to fade as you remember why this is the fifth time in two days that he’s brought up teaching you how to fight. This place brought back memories; ones he’d thought he’d left behind years ago now. How long had it been? Barely six years, you think, though it feels longer. Six years since he’d swum away from that burning ship; both literal and proverbial, and the memories still creep on him in hours both young and old. 

It wasn’t as though he’d left the life behind entirely; you and him would take the odd job here and there, if only to bring Cassie back a little gift she would obsess over for months on end and get some extra cash. Not that you necessarily needed it, not with the book Sam had written on the life and times of the Drakes several years ago. 

“I know,” you respond finally, lacing your fingers through one of his and bringing the back of his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there.

He hums in response and sucks in a breath through his nose that warns you he’s about to get up.

And somehow, not even twenty minutes later, you find yourself with a pistol in hand and Sam beside you, swinging his arm forward to show you how to club someone over the head with it.

“No, like this. Why are you snapping your wrist?” he mumbles for what seems like the millionth time of you copying him exactly.

“I am doing it like that,” you protest in return, adjusting your grip on the gun. Who knew it was such an art? you think dryly.

He shifts out of his stance and places a hand over yours to adjust the position, “It helps if you use your middle finger like that.”

You use your middle finger.

“Funny. Get on with it,” he replies with rolling eyes.

“You know, when you told me we’d be spending our summer in Scotland, I somehow pictured more hiking would be involved. And maybe marginally fewer guns. Marginally.”

Sam frowns and sighs. The sun was only now lending the ocean and trees around you some colour, exploding the world in an array of bird calls and blades of light dappling through the pines. It was too beautiful a day to learn how to kill, too beautiful a day for your lover to give you a crash course in the art of soldiers, both destroying them, and becoming one.

“I’m sorry,” he says, a twinge of guilt in his voice as he takes the gun from you, double-checking that the safety is on out of habit. Now there’s that tone you’ve come to recognise all too well.

“Come on, let’s just go for a hike, okay? You can teach me how to clobber someone over the head later. Promise,” you tell him, the hint of a playful, welcoming smile dancing on your face.

Sam refuses to meet your gaze for a moment, gun limp in his grip. He runs a lazy hand through his hair before letting out a soft, humourless laugh and turning to store the gun back near the tent. You let out a soft whoop of victory, if only to hear his laugh. It works.

The sun rises steadily above the two of you as you walk silently hand-in-hand through the old ruins of the monastery, squeezing each other’s hand back and forth in some silly competition that arose out of boredom. A tug on your hand makes you realise he’s stopped walking, and moments later he’s pulling you toward his chest, resting his forehead against yours. He slides a hand down your shoulder to rest on your forearm, the other just above your hip.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. The years have put a bit more gruffness in that voice of his, making his accent lay a bit more thick. There’s more iron in the dark brown hair, worry lines across his forehead. He’d always seemed happier treasure hunting, though you didn’t think content was a word in his vocabulary until months after the day that obsession ended and your lives began. Now he just seemed to be more full of worry; for you, for the lack of certainty in your futures. Perhaps he just needed something to worry about, so he could stop worrying. Something bigger, more distracting.

“I need you,” he adds as almost an afterthought, though you can tell in his tone that he’s been wanting to say it for a while now. You wonder how long. Perhaps before any of this began, before Avery, before Panama.

“I know. Where would you be without the undying love of a good woman?” you tease, lifting your head to press a kiss to his cheek, rough with several day old stubble.

He snorts at that, “Don’t joke,” he murmurs, and somewhere in the back of your mind an intrusive voice tells you that’s the only time you’ll ever hear Samuel Drake tell someone to not joke, but you keep your mouth shut.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right? And neither are you. I know it’s not so simple, and I won’t pretend to understand, but I wanted to…remind you,” you tell him, and he lifts his head, surprise in his eyes as though he’s wondering if you’ve just read his mind. No, Sam, you want to tell him, I’ve loved you for almost half my life. You can stop being surprised that I know you as well as my own mind by now.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, a twinge of a smile on his face, “I’ve never understood how you do that.”

“What?”

“Know what I’m thinking.”

“See, you’d make an awful pirate. It’s all there on your face, darling,” you tell him, voice dripping with a teasing humour.

Sam rolls his eyes and leans in to press a kiss to your cheek in return, “I don’t have to be a good pirate. I have you,” he says, mimicking your words from the morning.

“Aww,” you say, struggling to keep a grin off your face and failing, “I’m swooning. And this pirate Queen wants to enjoy herself while she’s here, so she demands a race back to camp.”

“Does she now?” Sam responds, eyes glittering with delighted humour. There it was. That look on his face, the one he gets when he’s trying to not give in to laughter. The boyish lop-sided smile, the tilt of his head, the mischievous glint in his eyes.

You nod in the most regal and authoritative manner you can muster — which if Sam’s poorly concealed snort is any indicator, is not very regal at all — and barely have time to react before he’s taking off, bounding up the hill and through the trees back to your campsite. The cheeky bastard.

You knew that the years behind were far from easy and the years ahead wouldn’t likely be much different, but if there was anything the Drakes had taught you, it was that an ending was never an ending. It was the start of another adventure. You’d once thought that to be the most cliché thing you’d ever heard, but the older you grew the more truth you saw in it.

Night settles and the fire you two made to cook your dinners on top of crackles and fades, and you settle back into the sleeping bag. Another week here, maybe less, and you'd be flying back home. For now, you listen to Sam’s breathing in front of you, soft and gentle as the crash of waves below. He mumbles incoherent words and you lift your hand to his back out of habit, running your nails softly over his skin.

His dreams were usually not of Panama, not of Avery, but were his own personal show of all the times he had failed his little brother, failed their parents. And failed you, though you don't like to think about that last one, if only because you’d forgiven him years ago and know he can’t do the same for himself.

He doesn’t call out in his dreams as often, and the thrashing about has been kept to a pleasant minimum. It helped that you would lay awake on the more difficult nights and stroke the back of his neck, hold him when he needed to be held. As it approaches 2 in the morning, then 3, you realise this is one of those nights.

The rippling silver sea-light plays on the ceiling of your tent, and the dawn sun paints the cloth gold, and you lay and gaze at the roof, while Sam sleeps, and does not dream of the past.