#nylon teddy

[meltedsatin]

If Nikki Glaser was in a 1980s lingerie ad

[b-hell-splashed]

[modernmutiny]

if lupus decides to make me randomly allergic to One More Thing im gonna McFreaking Lose It

[pantyhose-xdressing]

Pantyhose and Crossdressing Love

My love of pantyhose and crossdressing!

Hello world! My name is Debbie and I am a crossdresser!

From an early age I have always been excited by women's clothes. The softness and textures of women's clothing was so alluring. My earliest crossdressing memories was dreaming of trying on the panties of the girls I went to school with. I felt warm inside thinking of how their panties would feel on my skin.

As I got older, I was obsessed with skirts, dresses and heels and how they made women's legs look so feminine and sexy. And then there was pantyhose. The silkiness, the colors, the styles, and how they made women so beautiful. I happened to brush my hand on a girls legs in pantyhose and was amazed how they felt. I had to try these wonderful garments myself.

So at 9, I snuck into moms bedroom and opened her lingerie drawer. I was shocked, she had 30 pairs of pantyhose in all different styles and colors. I picked out a pair of nude Legg's sheer to waist pantyhose and took them to her bathroom. I stripped naked and slowly put on her pantyhose. The moment I pulled her hose up over my waist Debbie was born. I looked in the mirror and saw a beautiful girl. My body was on fire with feminine sensations as the silky nylon encased my legs. I was hooked on pantyhose and crossdressing for life.

Things naturally progressed as I experimented wearing all her clothing. Next was her bra. I loved pretending to have breasts and loved the tightness of the bra across my chest. Then her silky and lace panties. Lace slips, then to her dresses, skirts and heels. As I experimented with her clothing I always started with a pair of her silky pantyhose.

Mom had a kinky side and a wide array of lingerie. Garter belts and stockings. Crotchless panties and pantyhose. Silky and lace teddies and camisoles. I wore them all. The clothes she had sex in were all worn by her son.

Eventually I wore every piece of clothing she owned. She must have known I was wearing her clothes. I left runs in her hose and probably stains in her clothes. She never said a word, and to this day I am not sure why.

Into present day, I still love pantyhose, dresses, heels, makeup and dressing fully as a woman.

I would love to meet other crossdressers and chat about our experiences. I have come to learn that crossdressing and loving women's clothing is what makes me special and unique. I would love to share my love of pantyhose and crossdressing as a woman with others!

Love

Debbie

[hotwritergf]

Im not sure if theres anything you can do with this, i often see fics about waking up with a boner but what about nocturnal emissions? Where Eddie is sharing a bed with reader/bestfriend reader and hes woken up covered in cum

👽

Eddie has a wet dream. Eddie Munson x female reader. Smut. Blurb.

I hope you enjoy, ty for the request! ♱

Waking up in Eddie’s bed was always the most comfortable way for you to wake up. His bed sheets always felt cooler, the wind through his window always hit you just right. This morning’s weather was miserable, rain drops slapping on the trailer caused you to stir in your sleep, waking you up. Peeking your eyes open, squinting them to adjust the bright light shining through his cheap nylon curtains. Eddie was turned to face away from you, a mound of his curls spread across your pillow. That man has no sense of personal space, one of his legs was laying across yours and his ass was tucked up against your hips. Looks like you took the role of the big spoon last night.

Rubbing your eyes, you take in your surroundings. Smiling down at your snoring boyfriend, you rub your palm up and down his back, tracing the freckles like they were a dot to dot puzzle. Eddie begins to stir, groaning and turning his body around to face you, smiling with his eyes still firmly closed, not wanting to wake up.

“Morning beautiful” he whispers, his voice hoarse and deeper than usual. His hand cups your cheek, pulling your face into a kiss.

“Morning Teddy.” You sigh, Eddie turns his body around completely. He’s laying on his back, his arm wraps around you pulling you closer to him as if he didn’t get enough cuddles the night before. Your hand travels to his chest, running your fingers down his skin and slipping through his body hair. It’s a dance the pair of you do every morning, he always wakes up with morning wood and you love nothing more than to wake him up with your fist for him to fuck.

Your nails reach his chest pubes, you scratch through them lightly, teasing him as you usually down. But your skin touches them, they’re damp, wet even. “Eds?” You question, assuming he’s so worked up already that pre-cum has leaked onto him. You look up at him, his face flushed and his hands covering his eyes. You feel down to his cock, and it’s soft, even more wet than his hair. Looking back up at Eddie, you smirk.

“Oh sweetheart..” you tease, “I won’t mention this again.. on one condition.” Giggling and removing his hands from his blushing face. Planting gentle kisses all over his pink cheeks, you take a handful of his ass cheek and spank him jokingly.

“What would that be, you evil little fiend.” Eddie groans, rubbing the sleep out the corner of his eyes. Smirking down at you, desperately trying to regain any control of the situation. He feels vulnerable and cracking jokes seems to be his escape plan.

“You tell me what you dreamt about, because clearly it was good.” You giggle against his arm and he feels the vibration travel through him. With his length still in your hand you squeeze the bottom of his cock playfully as you speak.

“Fiend.” Eddie repeats his words, kissing and licking your cheek as an act of rebellion. “You are a fiend, little maiden.” He chuckles, a deep belly laugh rippling through his stomach. “If you must know, I dreamt of you. All night long.” He winks and laughs again, grabbing your cheeks by his hands and you puff out your cheeks.

“Looks like you’ll have to wait a little longer for your morning glory then Eds. Until then, I guess I just get to tease you.” Smirking at him, watching as his eyes widen at your words.

“Heathen.” His words spat out like playful venom, but they’re in one ear and out the other as you straddle his waist, feeling his cum soaked cock underneath your underwear clad pussy. Nibbling down his chest, paying special attention to his nipples while you rut your hips over him. Feeling his cock immediately begin to harden, rubbing against your lacey underwear. Eddie adjusts his position and slips his silky tip inside you, moaning as he feels you clench your warm wet walls around him.

With the both of you giggling and getting worked up simultaneously, you hope Eddie gets blessed with another dream like this again.

[skele-bunny]

Bunny. (CW) Aether/Dewdrop

CW - Blood/Knife Play

Tags: NSFW, Blood play, Knife play, Shibari & Suspension, Trans Dewdrop, Vaginal Fingering, Crying, Sub/Dom relationship, Rigger/Rope Bunny

Characters: Dewdrop, Aether

(Ghostober day #5 Dom/Sub by @kroas-adtam ! Divider by @/wrathofrats , no beta, we die like men. My ghostober will be short fics!)

Nylon laid around warm skin, shibari thorns digging deep into flesh to cause discomfort and indents. The suspension hoop connected tight to the rope that held Dewdrop upside down, armbinders and futos connected to a harness that laid between his folds for a full wrap around. Exposed and open. Vulnerable.

Aether crouched down, tilting his head at his mate's closed eyes and blissed face. "Feel good, bunny?"

"Uh-huh..." There was a soft whisper, Dew fluttering his eyes open just in time for Aether to unfold their play pocket knife.

The metal placed against Dew's skin, causing him to shiver. "Gonna make you feel even more good in a second."

Standing back up, the quintessence bent some to place a kiss on Dew's hard tdick that sat proudly out, fingers touching down curly pubic hair. The pad of Aether's fingers rubbed between, hearing Dew's quivering sigh only encouraging him more to slowly sink two fingers into his exposed cunt.

His fingers became coated in slick, dipping in and out methodically. The pocket knife came back up, tip grazing against Dew's genitalia as it left red irritation marks with each gliding movement. Aether continued pumping his fingers as the blade laid against his mate's exposed thigh and slid across. A bubble cry came from below, Dew's muscles flexing before going to a still state with tension. Another cut came after, delicate and easily searing as Dew began to heat up.

"Teddy—" More babbles came out following a sharper cry with the next few.

Blood blossomed to the surface, dripping down and creating a snake trail that covered the rope and down to Dewdrop's exposed chest. Aether licked over the open wounds, kissing each delicately before moving to the next thigh, repeating his process and stepping back as Dew struggled against his binds. The metal posts rattled some from his movement, now stuck in a soft spin without Aether's body keeping him still.

The droplets reached Dew's chin as it mixed with his sweat, Aether purring over the sight. "What's your color, sweetheart?"

It took a moment before Dew could respond, exhaling with a whine once more. "Green."

"Good boy. Now, remember your manners." Aether crouched again to show the bloodied blade, the holographic pentagram even more shiny.

Dewdrop smiled wide despite the tears going down his forehead, opening his mouth compliantly. The flat end ran across Dew's wet tongue, watching Aether with full eyes as he lapped up his own crimson blood. His lips closed around, Aether sighing and squeezing his crotch as he pulled the knife slowly out.

"Very, very good boy." Aether stood once more, pressing himself against Dew's front and bringing his mouth to Dew's cunt—knife resting on his ass and ready to cut. "Gonna make you scream for it, bunny."

All Dewdrop could do was groan, mouthing at Aether's tent before more tears and screams left him.

[bebemoon]

"90's bitch", requested by anonymous . | fornarina technical denim overall dress, unif "imp" baby tee, tank girl (issue #3, 1995), paperback copy of "sybil" by flora rheta schreiber, heaven by marc jacobs double-headed teddy friendship necklaces, demonia "pace-01" wedge platform sandal, sandy liang "ninety" bandana in flower grid, ultimo cosmetics (on etsy) "jade monkey" loose green shimmer eyeshadow, peace sign silver-tone toe ring, heretic "poltergeist" eau de parfum, ashley williams "cute" crystal hair pins, yoshitomo nara zippo lighter, baggu small nylon crescent bag in lemongrass, bikini kill buttons, bonne bell: lip smacker "lip sparkles" clear vanilla-scented glitter lipgloss, bonne bell: nail gear nail polish "lucky-scented" top coat, & vivienne westwood "jasha" safety pin earrings

[mrsalwayswrite]

What Words Can't Say - Chapter 5

a/n: hope the length makes up for the wait.

Warnings: swearing, unwanted physical contact, mild violence, Gale is a teddy bear

Words: 10k

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

July 1943

Dusk painted the sky in colorful hues when the mechanics finally packed away their tools. Tonight, the small crew decided to go out to the local pub to celebrate Simon's birthday, and everyone was eager to get started. The consensus was the guys would come collect Abby from her hut once they were cleaned up and ready to go. 

Abby would never admit out loud how fast she ran to her hut so she would have even a smidgen more of time. She raced the clock to take the fastest shower of her life and even then she could still feel stubborn spots of oil and grease on her. With the lack of time, she was forced to towel dry her hair as best as she could and then let it fall naturally down her back, so her straight brunette locks ended just past her shoulder blades. She giggled at the mental image of the shocked faces of some of the nurses who painstakingly and religiously used curlers in their hair. 

Slipping into the only dress she brought to England with her, a fond smile arose with the memories attached to the dress. It was a simple navy blue dress with white polka dots all over, the hem dancing about her knees. Her Aunt Hassel gifted the handmade dress to Abby when she arrived to live with them. The first of many gifts and ways that her aunt and uncle showed they were happy she moved in with them. A decision she would never regret. 

Lastly, Abby swiped on Ada's Victory Red lipstick she left on her nightstand, thinking Ada would not mind. More likely, Ada would fuss and want to help her get ready. All the other nurses were off at the Club or doing their assigned rounds, so Abby had the hut to herself. A rarity but especially helpful tonight when she did not want to answer any questions about why she was dressing up. 

Steeling herself, she took a glance in Ada's small compact and fought the immediate urge to wipe the lipstick off and crawl into bed, claiming illness. Warring thoughts and voices buzzed like bees inside her mind. Their sting, an almost palpable thing, as she fought to control her breathing. She could do this. There was no one she was dressing up for, just herself. This was supposed to be fun. It would be fun. No one was going to berate her. She trusted the men she was with. She had promised Ken she would go. 

Despite her own mental encouragement, she knew it would be so easy to crawl into bed. To hide the dress in the bottom of her footlocker again. To erase the lipstick. To tie her hair back up. To return to the feeling of safety. She could do it…

Before she surrendered to the urge, she stalked out of the hut with her black Mary Janes clicking on the hard floor. 

Dusk transformed into darkness by the time she stepped out. Taking several deep breaths, she stared up at the stars as if silently seeking strength. The cool night air slid around her legs, only protected by the nylons she wore. She relished the shiver it shot through her, displacing the heat generated from her turbulent mind and insecurities. 

Luckily the rest of the mechanics came around the corner only a couple minutes after she stepped out. 

“Did you dress up for me, love?” Simon teased, after a long whistle. 

“Only because it's your birthday.” 

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

Ken slung an arm around her shoulders, smelling much better than he did previously, as they followed the rest of the crew. “You look nice.”

“Nice?” Winks snorted from Ken's other side. He peeked over at her through the gloom. “Abby looks beautiful.”

“Thanks, John.” She smiled at him, a flush on her cheeks from all the attention. 

Conversations ebbed and flowed amongst their small group as they made the walk through the airbase and onward to the village. A renewed liveliness danced around them, the laughter and teasing increased the further they walked from base. As if a heavy cloak was dropped at the gate leading onto the base and now they could celebrate unimpeded. A warmth filled Abby as she watched and listened to the men around her. This was what they all needed, a temporary release from the weight of their work and all it entailed. A reminder that they were all still young and alive. 

Well, most of the crew. 

Simon was the oldest, turning twenty-eight today. When he signed up, he initially wanted to be a P-51 pilot but as he progressed in the training, decided he liked working on the planes more than flying them and was transferred to ground crew. He left a wife and toddler back home in Michigan. However much he joked that he joined the war effort to get a break from the wife and toddler, no one commented on the way he carried a photo of them in his pocket at all times. 

John “Winks” Herrmann was from Connecticut and Ken's best friend. He was a sweet guy that felt like an honorary ‘Lemmons’ with how quickly Ken and his friendship blossomed into a brotherhood. He hardly ever said a negative word about anybody and was always willing to help out. He was a bit naive in certain ways but mostly because he was young and this was his first time away from home. 

The rest of their group contained: Allen “Al” Hendricks from Missouri, Cricket Cox from Alabama, Paul Wilson from New Hampshire and Lincoln “Dog-Face” Miller from Montana. 

Without any outside light due to the blackout, it was hard to truly tell what the pub looked like. From what she could tell, it reminded Abby of the stereotypical English pub - small and quaint and lively. The only problem was a lot more noise drifted from behind the door as they walked up to it than she expected. 

“I thought you said no one would be here.” Abby quietly asked Ken. 

“Maybe it's locals?”

But something in her gut told her that was not the case, and when they opened the door, light and noise spilling out to encase them and drag them into its confines, like a spider into its web…Abby knew she had made a mistake. 

A handful of locals were scattered throughout the pub, some old men talking and grumbling and several young women either on the dance floor or drinking with the soldiers, but the pub was swarmed with uniforms boasting those of the 100th Bomb Group and RAF. 

As if sensing her urge to abandon the night, Ken snaked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. He put his mouth close to her ear to be heard over the noise. “It's fine. We'll find somewhere in the back.” 

She nodded mutely. 

Al found a table off to the side, snagging it as the locals headed out, most likely wanting to retain the use of their hearing due to the sheer volume echoing in the place. Abby found herself sandwiched between Ken and Simon in mismatched chairs, but instead of feeling claustrophobic, she felt she could breathe again. She was surrounded by people she trusted and they were out of the main view of people. Not that she was hiding, per se, but she was not here to show off. 

Lincoln and Al came back with the first round of beers and whiskey, and without a second thought, she took a generous swallow of the whiskey placed in front of her, hoping the alcohol would settle her nerves. She wanted to enjoy her time out, she really did. So she resolved to ignore those around them and try to focus on the men at her table. 

She could do this…

*****

“So there I was naked, and hidin’ in the hay pile, prayin’ to God ‘imself that her daddy couldn't see me.” Al told his story, much to the amusement of those around the table. “I waited about two damn hours for the man to leave. I swear, he was like a coon-dog, tryin’ to find me. Well, that damn hay is itchin’ me somethin’ terrible but I don't dare move, right? Who knows if he could see the hay shiftin’?”

“You said it was night. I doubt he'd see you.” Paul countered, leaning back in his chair, as he twirled a screwdriver around his fingers. He never went anywhere without some sort of tool on his person, claiming you never knew when something needed to be fixed. Abby thought it had more to do with superstitions but kept that to herself. 

Al ran a hand down his face. “I was seventeen! And terrified! That man could make even the devil himself shit his pants.”

“What were you doing messing with his daughter then?” Simon countered, ever the voice of wisdom.

“Swear to God, she's the prettiest thing you'll ever see! Even puts Rita Hayworth to shame!” Al placed a hand over his heart, his brown eyes twinkling merrily. 

“No!” 

“I don't believe you!”

“Don't you blaspheme about Rita!”

“Fine, fine.” Al smirked, leaning forward as if to share a secret with his companions. “She had the biggest breasts I’d ever seen and said I could touch them. What dumbass would say no? Not me.”

“There it is!” Simon laughed. 

Abby giggled, playing with a strand of her hair. She was feeling good. Two whiskeys sloshed in her system while she nursed her first beer of the night sitting before her. She was not drunk, she knew that feeling and did not like it, but gloriously tipsy and everything felt light and easy and she wanted to revel in the feeling. Laughter spilled from her lips and she could not remember the last time she had so much fun. 

“So, what happened? Did he catch you?” Ken asked from beside her, a flush on his cheeks betraying his own intoxication. 

Al wagged a thick finger. “No. No. The bastard didn't catch me that day. No. It was worse.” He leaned forward again, a forearm on the table and tapping his finger on the table to punctuate his words. “No, turns out I'm allergic to hay. Who knew? Broke out in goddamn hives that lasted for days. It was awful! Don't laugh at me!” 

But the group laughed anyway at the turn of events in the story. With the embarrassing and hilarious stories being shared, all focused on their group, it felt like they were in a world of their own. The talking and laughter of the others in the pub was only white noise, drifting in and out with the music playing. 

“Alright, whose turn for the next round? Huh?” Paul asked, scratching his thin black beard.  

“I'll go.” Abby said, pushing back her chair to stand up. A wave of vertigo smacked into her and she gripped onto Ken's shoulder to steady herself. 

“You good?” Ken questioned. 

With a smile on her face, she shook her head, dislodging the strange sensation. “Yeah, just been sitting too long, that's all.” She reached out and ruffled his hair, causing him to smack her hand away with a grimace and whine like when they were younger. 

“I'll come with you.” Lincoln said, his thick jowls and thin lips highlighted by the lights. “Gotta step outside for a minute anyway.” 

A new conversation started up around the table as the two skirted away and methodically weaved through those filling the small pub. Abby appreciated Lincoln leading the way, his wide shoulders and thick frame cleared an easy path for her to follow. 

She felt like a fairy, moving around the dancing crowd and seeing the twinkling lights. With a stupid giggle, she spun in a circle, making her dress fan out around her knees. Unfortunately, she bumped into a soldier, but before he could say anything, Lincoln grabbed her hand and dragged her the rest of the way to the bar counter. 

She leaned against the wooden counter, sticky form spilled alcohol and decorated with dents and circle stains from years of use. “Sorry.” She giggled again, tipping her head back to look at the much taller man. “I haven't walked in heels in some time.” At least, she thought it was the Mary Janes that caused her to momentarily lose her balance. 

“It's fine.” He smiled down at her, something indiscernible in his dark eyes. 

She blinked for a long moment, wondering if she was missing something. Why was he still smiling at her? Unsure, she went to brush her hair behind her ear and realized his hand was still in hers. 

Oh. 

“Oh, I'm sorry. Sorry. I just–” 

He chuckled as he pulled back his hand. “It's fine, Abby.” He glanced towards the door and then shuffled from foot to foot next to her. “Is it– I mean, I can stay–”

“Go.” She awkwardly pushed his shoulder, probably looking like a kitten bothering a German Shepherd. “I'll wait for you here.”

“Oh-okay. I won't be long.” He waited for a moment as if she would change her mind, but after she pushed him once again, he quickly stepped out of the pub. 

Turning her back towards the pub, she idly traced the circle stains on the wood. The bartender was helping a group of patrons further down and she did not mind waiting. 

Her thoughts drifted towards her departed companion. She disliked the nickname ‘Dog-Face’ for Lincoln but unfortunately it held merit. He was incredibly kind and humble but his countenance resembled that of a bulldog. To his credit, Lincoln rolled with the nickname. He was a good mechanic and a good friend. Ken had confessed to her early on that Lincoln had a crush on her, although he had never acted upon it and she had never witnessed it herself. She figured it was just boy gossip and Ken trying to tease her. 

As she glanced down the bar counter again, her attention was caught by Captain Dye and Lil, the two coyly flirting with one other. She had met Lil once when traveling into the village to pick up something from the small, local store they had. Abby was fairly certain she had heard rumors that Lil and Major Egan were seen together. The nurses had plenty of thoughts about Lil and some of the other local women, but maybe that was just rumors? 

“I dare say, it's quite a shame to see a beautiful woman standing alone at a bar. A true disgrace.”

Abby turned back, a wave of surprise coursing through her and dissipating some of the clouds in her brain, as she noted the man standing quite close to her. Upon hearing his British accent and seeing the uniform he wore, her mind quickly put together that he must be RAF. 

“Who said I'm alone?” 

He was handsome enough, she guessed. The slicked-back dark hair, the mustache and the cocky grin he wore most likely made many women swoon. But it was the way his gaze appraised her, like he knew he had already caught her without even having to try…that immediately erected her walls and sobered her further. 

He made a show of looking around her. “I do not see anyone or am I mistaken?”

“I'm just getting the next round for the group I came with.”

“Ah.” His grin widened and with a half step, crowded her against the counter. “I'm positive they won't mind waiting a little longer as we get to know each other.”

“No, thank you.” 

“No? May I at least have the honor of knowing your name, love?”

“I don't think that's necessary right now.” She hissed, one of her hands against his chest to keep him from moving closer. 

“I promise to be a perfect gentleman. What do you say, love?”

Yet his actions sang their own tune. 

While he spoke, his hand hovered on her lower back, an unwanted weight to pin her in place. She almost missed his last statement, a final plea for her attention because his hand crossed into turbulent waters and unknowingly released a storm. 

His back faced outward, a shield, a barrier, from the eyes of those in the pub. An illusion of privacy. For residing in that illusion, his hands chose to wander. The left was firmly placed on her lower back, while the right gripped the fabric of her dress covering her thigh. 

“Care to dance?” He breathed into her ear, alcohol wafting like a fog over her face. His hand though, slippery as eel, slipped under the hem of her dress and slid up her inner thigh.

“Get your hands off me.” She quietly snarled, grabbing his hand to cease its further exploration. 

She could feel his sigh against her cheek, that hot exhale of breath. More importantly, she felt his hand on her lower back drift downward…and she saw red. 

On instinct, she stomped the heel of her Mary Jane into the top of his leather shoe, and used her hand still against his chest to shove him hard. 

He hissed, teetering for a moment but catching his balance with a hand on the countertop. 

Slowly, she turned to face him after brushing the hem of her dress back into place, warily watching him for retaliation. She would rather not make a scene but if he came at her again, she had no problem with showing him her infamous right hook. 

Thankfully, he had a few brain cells that still worked. Anger burned in his eyes but he kept his lips closed. His gaze scanned over her with unrestrained disgust. With a shake of his head and a snort, he turned and walked away without a word. 

Her heart raced like an engine being pressed to the max. Placing her elbows on the counter she covered her eyes with her hands and she focused on steadying her breathing. An alcohol-induced fog skittered at the edges of her brain, shoved away by the ugly encounter but easing back in to soften her heightened emotions. 

A minute later, the barman finally made his way to her, apologies pouring off his tongue. She ordered and waited as he filled the new glasses, hoping she appeared confident. The encounter with the RAF pilot had left her shaken. She knew logically she was unhurt and had handled the situation as best as she could. Yet her gaze darted around, perceptions high to make sure no one else snuck up on her. Her hand repeatedly brushed at the thigh that he touched as if she could wipe away his stain on her skin. 

Lincoln reappeared as the barman loaded up the drinks onto a tray. Before he could move the tray to their table, Abby snatched one of the glasses of whiskey and tossed it back. She hissed, eyes smarting as the liquor burned down her throat. Leaving the empty glass on the counter, she led the way this time back to their table, purposefully ignoring Lincoln's quizzical glances at her. 

Back with the group, she tried to embrace the same lightness as before, that feeling of being wholly relaxed and having fun. The shot of whiskey and being back with the mechanics alleviated some of her jitters but she could not entirely erase the twitching nerves or how her gaze frequently swept the pub for that RAF pilot. A vine of resentment twisted around her heart for that pilot, how he ruined her freedom for his own amusement. It was a painful reminder that no matter where she was, she always had to be on guard. 

After she finally finished her warm beer, the clouds were back in her mind and her nerves had dissipated somewhat. At this point, sleep called to her as if from a distance and she was ready to beckon its approach. 

“Ken–” She said in a hush, her head leaning on his shoulder and his arm behind her back. 

“Yeah, me too.” Her cousin replied quietly. “Ready?”

At her nod, the two carefully got up. Ken spoke to those at the table. “I'm going to take Abby back. I'll see you fellas in the morning.”

The chorus of farewells echoed from those remaining. The two mechanics meandered through the crowded pub, dodging the patrons both drunk and mildly sober. Ken led the way, cutting through like a schooner through the waves. With all of her attention focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not being knocked into, she barely noted when Ken took a detour away from the door, her feet faithfully following him. 

“Kenny!” 

“Hey ya, Ken!” 

The familiar cheers for her cousin erupted from the large table in front of them. She briefly wondered how he knew the majors were sitting over here, tucked away in the corner like they had been. The question flitted away from her mind almost as quickly as it emerged. 

“Hey fellas. Just poppin’ over to wish you a good night.” Ken explained, unnecessarily waving like a kid on a playground. 

Abby attempted to cover a giggle with her hand, hiding behind her cousin's back. Was he drunk? He appeared steady enough standing there. She decided to poke his back to make sure. 

“No! Sit down!”

“Yeah, join us! Where's that extra chair?”

“It's here! Sit down!”

Ken shrugged his shoulders, swatting away her hand like a fly. “That's ‘right. Thank you though.”

He did not tip so Abby concluded he was not drunk but she decided to poke him again for good measure. 

“Ouch!” Ken squirmed, turning around to grab her hands to prevent any more pokes. Mischief danced along her veins, so she stuck her tongue out at him. 

“Hey, who's that with ya?” 

By this point, Abby was feeling all three glasses of the whiskey flowing through her veins and the beer she had been sipping on. She would be the first to admit she was a lightweight, not drinking often did that to a person. Plus with her slimmer stature, alcohol raced through her faster than a fart through a fan. 

Hearing Biddick's voice, she shifted to the side to look around Ken. Directly in front of her at the large wooden table was seated someone from the 100th she recognized but could not figure out his name but thought he was a navigator. Beside him was Major Veal, then Major Egan, Major Cleven, Lieutenant Biddick and Major Kidd, while across from them sat three other men in uniforms but she could not see their faces easily. 

“Hey, boys.” She smiled at the familiar officers. That very smile lighting up her face at the looks of momentary shock crossing the faces of the men she knew. 

“Holy shit! Slugger, is that you?” Egan almost spit out his drink, wiping away what dribbled down his chin. 

Biddick let out a wolf whistle. “Lookin’ good, Abby!” 

“Alright, you're going to embarrass her.” Ken waved off any more rowdy compliments, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side.  

“Now you gotta sit with us!” Egan demanded. “Hey, Bubbles, go tell Croz to get something for Kenny and Sluggar here!” 

“Yes, sir.” The man she couldn't put a name with -apparently Bubbles- got up next to them and held out his chair. “You can have my seat. I'll sit on the other side with Croz.”

“Thanks, Bubbles.” Ken said. He bumped her with his hip, directing her towards the vacated seat while he slid into the empty chair between Bubbles’ chair and the unknown men. 

Once she finally seated between Veal and Ken, she was finally able to discern the faces of the other men at the table. All three were clearly RAF, but when she locked eyes with the one in the middle, seeing the familiar sleazy smirk on his face and his rakish gaze, she wondered if she might end up resorting to violence tonight after all. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you never left the hardstands.” Veal teased Ken. 

“Just out celebrating, sir. We're not allowed to have whiskey at the hut or hardstands.”

“That sounds terrible.” Egan dramatically lamented, then leaned forward and pointed a finger at Ken. “We should fix that! Can't have good work go without rewards!” 

“No, Bucky.” Kidd glared.

“Come on, Jack!”

Abby smiled at the one sided argument Egan was trying to put up. Her gaze slid around the table to land on Gale, and to her shock, locked on her already were his baby blue eyes. Once their eyes connected, the corner of his mouth lifted and he sent a cheeky wink her way. A giggle bubbled up within her, spilling out even as she tried to suppress it with her hand. The sound seemed to unlock something within him for a genuine smile rolled across his face, eyes softening as he continued to stare at her. 

Seemingly continuing an interrupted conversation, the RAF pilot in the middle began speaking, throwing a proverbial wet blanket over the jovial group. “I admire you Americans, you're up there in broad daylight, seemingly oblivious to the downsides.”

“I…I don't understand what you're saying, Captain.” Kidd slowly said. 

“Nevermind, old boy. It's one for the higher ups.”

“It's a question of philosophies.” The RAF on the left continued the train of thought of his comrade, not even trying to hide his patronizing tone. “We bomb at night because it doesn't matter what we hit as long as it's German. Bombing during the day is suicide. I could foresee in the future, American strategy adjusting due to the unfortunate losses you'll no doubt continue to suffer. Maths.”

Abby squinted her eyes at the Brits, wondering what kind of churlish conversation took place prior to Ken and her arrival. Even with her sluggish thoughts, she could feel the strife floating in the air like a cheap perfume. 

Egan inhaled sharply, gaze narrowed at the men across the table from him. “Maths?”

“I mean, maybe if you bombed during the day, you'd hit your targets.” Biddick snarked. 

“And why the hell do you Brits add an ‘s’ to the end of math?” 

The cocky RAF smirked, slowing his tone like he was talking to a child. “Because there's more than one of them.”

Biddick mocked. “There's more than one of them.”

“I can see more than one of you too.” Egan raised his hand, seemingly illustrating his point. “I could knock all of you out.” Veal smacked his hand down but the major kept going. “Probably in one punch. In one punch.”

Thankfully, the arrival of alcohol distracted from the rising violence. 

“This outta wet your whistles, boys!” Crosby announced carrying a tray of drinks over. 

The drinks were quickly passed around, slid along the tabletop or handed to its owner. Abby noted how Crosby specifically handed Gale his ginger beer, a hint of reverence in his action. Yet Gale never took his gaze off the RAF pilots, accepting the drink without looking at the apparent admirer behind him. 

“Here ya go.” Bubbles’ voice snagged Abby's attention away as he placed a whiskey in front of Abby and one for Ken. “I wasn't sure what you wanted.”

“Thank you.” She murmured to the soft spoken man. 

He nodded, then retreated to the opposite side of the table. She witnessed them elbowing each other out of the way and being a nuisance to one another as they settled in their seats. 

“Ken…”

Her cousin looked down at her, “hmmm?”

“We need to go.”

“Hold on, another minute.” His attention turning back to the Brits, sucked into the turbulent conversation. 

With a sigh, she leaned her head on Ken's shoulder. Without looking, he twitched his shoulder, making her head move. Giggling, she smacked his arm but laid her head against him again. She could feel him scoot closer and settle his arm against the back of her chair, before taking a sip of his new whiskey.  

“How about a song?” The youngest of the RAF eagerly changed the subject, directing his particular question to Egan. “I hear you sing, Major.”

Those that knew the major either cheered or grimaced, depending on their opinions of John Egan's vocal talents. 

“Pick one. What's your favorite?” The young Brit encouraged. 

Egan grinned like he had won some kind of award. “Good idea!” Even though many around the table loudly disagreed with this assumption. 

To her hazy recollection Abby had never heard Major Egan sing, she almost opened her mouth to add encouragement when Biddick broke through the ruckus of voices. 

“Hey! You want to get Major excited? Baseball!” 

Egan pointed a finger at Biddick. “Specifically Yankees.” He clarified because apparently the distinction was important. His attention slid to his best friend by his side, a silly grin steadily growing as he gazed at him. “Oh my buddy, Buck, here, he thinks they're a waste of time, don't you?” 

Leaning forward to slip into Gale's space, Biddick added. “It's not just sports he doesn't follow. I mean, you don't follow anyone, do you?”

Gale nodded, allowing a pregnant pause as he bit into a toothpick before casually stating, “I follow you, Curt.” 

“And he would still find a way to show off!” Biddick chuckled, further leaning over Gale, now invested in this strange conversation. “For example, you remember Walla Walla. We had a visit from wing Cleven here, slow-timing Hollenbeck's engines. Just so they remembered who he was. He buzzed the Tower, all engines feathered. I–”

“No. Three, three engines–” Major Veal interrupted, holding up three fingers. “He still had one.”

Bubbles agreed. “I remember he called you ‘One Engine Cleven’.”

Biddick hushed the interruption. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey. I'm– I'm telling the story here, All right? It's my story. It's four engines. Next thing I see this fort sailing twenty-five feet over the runway. Yeah,” Biddick clicked his tongue, giving a dramatic pause, “silent as the grave.”

“Beautiful.” 

“Hmm.”

“Wanted to do that all my life.” Egan murmured, smiling at Gale. 

Those around the table collectively laughed or agreed, a comradery between those of the 100th and their experiences together. Gale shook his head, a hint of color on his cheeks from the attention. 

A barely heard laugh escaped Abby's lips as she watched Egan squeeze Gale's cheeks, further embarrassing the man. 

Kidd raised his whiskey. “I'll drink to that. No Engine Cleven.”

“No Engine Cleven. Here we go. Hear hear!” Those of the 100th tapped their drinks together, too caught up in their own merriment to see the side-eyes and mocking looks by the RAF pilots.  “And here's to Ken and Sluggar for being there to fix us up after!”

With the attention of them, Abby raised her head and grabbed her drink. After clinking her glass against those within reach, she took a sip and licked her lips. She stared at the amber liquid, wondering if she should be worried that it no longer burned when traveling down her throat. Maybe her body was used to it by now? For experimental reasons, she sipped again. What warmth filled her belly was dashed with an icy blast as her gaze locked with the RAF pilot-Byron she thought she heard his companion say. He raised his own glass to her, a mock salute, before taking a sip. Meanwhile his rakish gaze never left her. With a repressed shudder, she looked away and tossed the rest of her whiskey back. She could feel his hands on her again, even if it was only in her mind. 

As if summoned, her hazel eyes connected to the baby blues of Gale's. A slight furrow between his brows betrayed his relaxed posture. She saw his gaze shift to look at the Brits and then back at her. A question there but one she did not want to answer. Even if she tried, the words tangled on her tongue in knots. She leaned her head back against Ken's shoulder, lazily watching the lights around them. 

When Byron spoke up again, Abby wondered if the idiot liked confrontation, especially with his haunty, arrogant tone. “Would you have rather been a fighter pilot, major?” 

Egan snapped, clearly hearing the Brit's tone also. “Buck is a fighter pilot. A fighter pilot who happens to fly a bus.”

“And so are you, Bucky.” Bubbles added. 

Egan shook Bubbles’ hand. “And so are you.”

“So, let me get this straight.” The visibly confused younger RAF leaned forward, pointing a finger between the two majors across from him. “You're Buck and he's Bucky?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there a shortage of nicknames in the 100th?” Byron asked, causing laughter between himself and his two companions. 

Yet Egan's response instantly sobered the group, reminding everyone of the truth of war. 

“No. Just a shortage of crews.”

Bryon stated. “Hmm. Pity.”

Egan nodded along, head bouncing in a way that hinted at his lack of sobriety. “Pity. Pity. Yeah. Pity, pity, pity. What?”

“I said it's a pity.” The RAF explained. “You'd have more if you flew your missions at night.”

The underlying tension returned like a heavy cloud just above their heads. 

Abby watched, shocked the Brit would bring the topic back up again. When his gaze darted her way, everything clicked in her mind. Confrontation. The bastard liked the tension and arguments. She had hurt his ego or something else equally foolish and now he needed to feel…something. Her brain could not even fathom what at this point. Her hazy thoughts darted away like minnows in a pond, back and forth, but there was one she finally scooped up. Without a second thought to the legitimacy of it, she poured it out onto the table. 

“Ohhh I get it.” She sat up and tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing to see past the fog in her mind. “You're just taking the piss outta them cause you're mad I wouldn't let you stick your hand up my dress.”

Byron barely looked her way as he sneered. “With the way you've portrayed yourself, it's clear you have a deficient lack of taste and standards.”

What tension hung over the table immediately redoubled at the scathing remark. What once had been a brewing storm cloud now transformed into a hurricane. 

“Sonofabitch.” Ken muttered, starting to rise from his chair. 

Abby narrowed her eyes and glared at the smug bastard. Yet in the back of her mind, the stinging thoughts from earlier hovered, as if the Brit's comment had unknowingly opened the door for their return. Stinging thoughts of inadequacy, of never being good enough…

To her surprise, Major Egan was the first to speak, breaking the shocked silence. “Why'd you have to go and say something like that? Especially about Slugger.” 

“Well, perhaps I was getting bored of all the heavy petting going on at your end of the table.”

Egan squinted his eyes. “I don't even know what that means. What's that mean?”

Veal echoed beside him. “What does that mean?”

The two men continued to question, seemingly conversing with only each other as everyone else remained silent.  

“What's that mean?”

“I don't know.”

“What's that mean?”  Egan finally turned back to the Brits, a hard glint in his eyes. 

Byron grinned, as if enjoying every moment of this. “Let's make a bit of sport ourselves. How about it? For the lady's honor.”

To Abby's further surprise, Gale was the first to reply, eyes like steel as he stared down the RAF pilot. “I think that's an excellent idea.”

Biddick's quiet, “Oh, here we go,” was lost as Egan started to stand only to be roughly shoved back into his seat by Gale. 

“Abby.” Ken got her attention, his own focus jumping between the Brits and herself. She could clearly see his want to protect her honor himself but also his concern for her wellbeing. “We can leave if you want…you-we don't have to watch.”

“No…no. I want to.”

“Okay.”

The two mechanics followed the crowd spilling out onto the dark street in front of the pub, only the full moon and stars illuminating them. Somehow word about the fight must have circulated since more members of the 100th emerged from the pub, drinks in hand and drunken cheers on their lips. 

“What does RAF mean?” Biddick called out as he finally stepped outside. 

“Riffraff.” Someone answered, much to the other's amusement. 

Abby was mildly stunned when she saw Biddick taking his jacket off and shaking his arms out. She thought Gale was the one to pick up the verbal gauntlet but she must have missed something. Perhaps he only meant he thought a fight was a good idea, not that he would be throwing the punches. From what gossip she heard, Gale was not much of a fighter, typically having to break up fights instead. But she could have sworn there was something in his eyes when he voiced his agreement….

Not that it mattered now. 

Her feet guided her to the edge of the impromptu boxing ring. A part of her envied Biddick, the foolish wish to trade places with him so she could defend her own honor and punch the asshole. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest, forcing herself to remain on for sidelines. However wonderful the retribution would feel, she could not risk the discipline. Not again. 

“You alright there, Abby?”

Caught up in her own swirling thoughts and wishes, she had not realized she placed herself between her cousin and Gale, the major standing within arm's reach. She glanced at him, noting his gaze focused on her. Warmth flooded her cheeks that was certainly a delayed reaction to all the alcohol she consumed. “I'm fine.” 

Before Gale could comment or refute her statement, Egan slung an arm around his shoulder, tugging him close. “Now why does this sport interest you?”

“Boxing?”

“Mm-mmm.”

Gale fiddled with the toothpick still in his mouth. “Test of manhood.”

“That so?”

“About as true a measure of your will to fight as any, and it's man-to-man.”

“Oh, so you just don't like team sports? How'd you end up commander of a plane leading a squadron in a war, where you don't want to be on the losing side, and still not like team sports?” Bucky nudged Gale's cheek with his fist. 

“I just don't lose sleep over whether the pinstripes beat the polka dots.”

Abby giggled to herself at Gale's response. 

Egan sighed, clearly not as amused at his best friend's humor. “Right. Well, we're all just uniforms anyway. You know that?”

Gale did not reply, his attention focused as the boxing ring solidified. Spectators, made up almost entirely of 100th Bomb Group, stood in a circle exchanging bets or holding onto their pints as they drunkenly cheered Biddick on. 

Cracking his knuckles, Byron stepped forward but instead of looking at his opponent, his gaze landed on Abby. She stilled under his brazen gaze, shocked by the audacity of him. 

“Hey, Curt!” She called out, holding the Brit's gaze. 

“Yeah, Abby?”

“Kick his ass.”

Biddick barked a laugh. “Yes, ma'am!”

If looks could kill, she would have been cremated twice over and that still would not satisfy the RAF pilot. His gaze had turned glacial cold and the corners of his mouth lifted in a sneer. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the company around her and the knowledge that the bastard could not hurt her with so many of the 100th surrounding her. With a shit-eating grin, she continued to hold his gaze until he looked away with a huff and roll of his shoulders. 

“Ya heard the lady, sounds like I've gotta kick your ass!” Biddick taunted, bringing his fists up. 

Byron scoffed. “I'll try not to step on you.” 

Biddick and the RAF pilot began circling each other, sizing one another up while those around threw out jeers of their own. 

“Now, seems like you like to do your fighting at night, Byron.” Biddick taunted. 

The Brit threw a swing that Biddick easily dodged. A few cheers sounded and as the Brit prepared to take another swing, but Biddick made his move. He lashed out with his own well-timed shot, knocking his opponent immediately to the dirty cobblestones.  

“Oof. Must have felt that, right?” Curt gloated, standing above his downed opponent. “Guess who can hit their target at night!”

The other RAF pilots call for space, pushing away spectators and gathering up their unconscious captain.

“How'd I do, dollface?” Biddick asked as he slid over between Egan and Gale, earning pats on the back from those around him. 

“You did good, Biddick.”

He wagged his finger at her. “No, no. You called me ‘Curt’, don't start this again.”

She giggled, despite herself. “Thank you, Curt.”

“As my lady commands.” Curt snagged her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. 

She laughed at the comical scene along with those standing around. After he released her hand, Egan lifted the victorious pilot and swung him around to the cheers of the men. 

“Never mess with the Irish!” Curt yelled with his hands up in the air. 

“It's a pity!”

“Oh, what a shame!”

Abby giggled as the merriment wandered down the dark road, with Egan almost dropping Biddick as he stumbled on the uneven cobblestones. She reached over and wrapped her arm around Ken's then leaned her head against his shoulder. By now she could feel the effects of the whiskey further, that loose tipsy feeling now held an strong undercurrent of tiredness. Her eyelids slipped closed for a moment as she sighed. 

“This was fun.” She murmured to her cousin. 

But the drawl that answered was most certainly not that of her cousin. “I'm glad you think so.” 

Her eyes snapped open and she wheeled back, stumbling on the cobblestones. Only the fast hands of Gale reaching out to steady her saved her from the embarrassment of falling onto her backside. 

“I'm so sorry…I thought you were Ken.”

“It's alright. Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

He slowly released her forearms, as if worried she would slip to the ground without his touch. Which truthfully was not an irrational notion. Hyper aware of her body and how the ground seemed to shift ever so slightly under her feet, she took a cautious step forward and then another, arms held out for balance.  

“I did it!” 

He chuckled, taking the two steps to stand by her. “That's real good, Abby. Can you make it back to base?”

“Ohhh.” She glanced around. “Where's Ken?”

“I'm not certain. I think he left with the group.”

She sighed, eyes still looking around like Ken would pop out of the shadows. “He was next to me I thought…and we were going to walk back together…now I'm here alone.”

“I'll walk you back.” 

“You don't have too, I'm sure you want to walk with your Bucky and the others.”

He chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think they left me behind as well.”

She looked around their surroundings, truly realizing that the group was no longer in sight. Actually, no one was in sight. “Oh. Where did they go?” They could not have gotten far in this short of time, she figured, mostly likely hidden by the buildings further up the road.

“I would assume back to base.”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.”

“Shall we?”

She nodded, happy she would not have to make the trek alone. At this point she was unsure if she would even know where to go. Her thoughts were fuzzy like little caterpillars inching along, without direction or reason. But pretty at least. 

After one last look at the dark exterior of the pub behind them, Abby fell into step beside Gale. A companionable silence drifted around them like the breeze. Her mind wandered with each step, admiring the stars to dodging the potholes to eyeing the landscape on either side of the road they walked. Memories of the time at the pub glided through occasionally, bringing a smile to her face. She hoped they could go out again soon. 

While her mind wandered, her body remained alert to the man beside her; whose hand barely caressed her lower back when she misstepped, whose hand tentatively held her forearm when they maneuvered around a pothole, whose body radiated a warmth that was addicting…

Time was an abstract thought, all that mattered was the current moment…and at the current moment, her feet hurt. With each step she took, it was becoming harder and harder to stay steady. The cobblestones kept gripping onto her Mary Janes like vines trying to wrap around her feet and yank her down. The heels pinched and rubbed along her feet, having been unused for so long, what calluses she once had softened. 

“Ugh.” She stopped, unable to take it any longer. Reaching a hand over to grip Gale's arm and steady herself, she started on the buckles. 

“Are you hurt?” 

She barely heard his question as she mumbled under breath about stupid shoes and uneven roads. Finally, with a triumphant grin, she held up both shoes in her free hand. “Ta da! Now my feet are safe!”

He shook his head. “You'll tear your feet up without shoes on this road.”

She waved away his concern. “It's fine. I did it all the time as a child.”

“Abby–”

Giggling, she hugged his arm against her body and gazed up at him. “Please, Gale? Please?” 

He stared down at her. The surrounding darkness shielding some of their features, masking their expressions. After a long moment, he murmured a quiet ‘shit’ followed by a slightly louder, “alright, Abby.”

She giggled, nuzzling into his arm for a brief moment, closing her eyes to allow her brain to stop suddenly spinning. 

“You alright there?” He softly asked. 

“Hmmm…my head hurts.”

“Yeah? Do you need to go to medical?”

She shook her head, face still pressed against his arm. “Just need to sleep.”

“Alright, let's get you back to base.”

They started walking again, Gale leading the way down the dark road. Her arms still contained his arm, like a ship's mast to cling to during a storm, her head sometimes bumping against his shoulder. Her heels dangled from her hand, tapping against her thigh with each step. 

A soothing warmth rolled off of him in waves, skating across her skin and drawing her in. A small rational part of her screamed that her actions were unbecoming and inappropriate, an echo of her mother from far away. Yet that small voice was drowned out by the alcohol blazing through her veins and the chill of the night air, forcing her body to seek warmth where it could. 

Her hazy mind recalled the pub, the angry pilot and the fight outside. The flickering lights of the inside. Blonde hair and blue eyes staring at her from across the table. Those soft blues burning when he stood up to fight the RAF pilot…

“Thank you.”

“Mmm?”

“For…for standing up for me against that bastard.” Abby explained. “He wasn't nice.”

“Did he hurt you?” 

She stumbled, more from the frostiness of his tone than the actual road, but quickly righted herself. “No, but he finally got the message when I stomped on his foot with my heel.”

She could hear the smile in his voice as he replied. “I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Sluggar.”

“He was an asshole.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“An assy-asshole. A big one.”

He chuckled quietly.  

They walked further down the road with only the moon and starlight to guide their step and the distant sound of their companions up ahead, talking loudly in the otherwise quiet countryside. 

Abby tripped, pitching forward and almost dragging her companion down with her, if he had not wrapped both arms around her. 

“Why's the road moving?” She giggled, closing her eyes as she leaned her head against his chest. “I almost dropped my heels…I like these heels!” 

“Hey, you with me, Abby?” 

She ignored Gale's question as she looked down to the offender beneath her bare feet. “Stop moving! You'll hurt my heels!” 

“Christ…” He sighed. “Hold onto your shoes.”

“Why?”

“I'm gonna carry you.”

She owlishly blinked up at him. “Why?”

“You can't walk.”

“...I can't?”

He snorted while shaking his head, mumbling under his breath but all she caught was something vaguely resembling ‘adorable’, still too caught up in why she could not walk. Which made no sense. Her feet were still on the ground…even if the ground rolled like waves and she was a ship being tossed about.  She had been walking. Why was she not walking now? 

“Climb onto my back.” He commanded, keeping a hold of her hands as he turned to crouch in front of her. 

“I can walk…”

He groaned, tugging on her hands to draw them around his neck. “Darling, you're killin’ me. Climb on.”

“Okay, okay.” She tried to gracefully hug his back, but what grace she possessed disappeared about the same time the road was no longer stationary. A flop more described her accession onto his back. Her mind was vaguely aware that she was in a dress and the inappropriateness of the situation. But it was dark and she was tired…

Once her hands were secure around his neck, heels still dangling from her fingers, he slipped his arms under her legs. With a grunt, he stood. The motion caused Abby to burrow her face against the side of his neck. 

“You alright?” His voice rumbled out of him, soaking into her chest as she was pressed against his back.

“Hmmm…you smell nice. Better than Ken.”

He snorted. “Thank you.”

It was now with her feet exposed to the cool night air she could feel the sting of the air against the bottom of her feet. “My feet hurt again.”

“I figured. You kept stumbling and whimpering. I don't think you realized.”

“Oh. I think…I think I'm a little drunk?”

“Perhaps a little.”

The rocking of Gale's gait was making her stomach roll, so she stuck her forehead against his neck, trying to focus on his warmth and his musky cologne. “I don't know why. I only had a few shots of whiskey.”

“Mmm.”

“You know…I bet you're a good dancer.” She was unsure in the muddied pond of her thoughts where that one came from or why it slipped off her tongue so easily. 

“I don't dance often.”

“Why? That's terrible. I bet you're wonderful.”

He shrugged his shoulders, stride never wavering. “Doesn't appeal to me much, I guess.”

“Well, I'll take you dancing. It'll be fun! Maybe under the stars. They're always so pretty.” 

He hummed after a moment. “Alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

“Okay!” She squeezed his neck as she giggled. “Don't go dancing without me! It'll be fun! I mean–I guess unless you find someone really pretty who wants to dance. Then it makes sense. But you should dance. You'd be wonderful.”

“I don't think you need to worry about that, darling.” 

“But there's so many pretty nurses on base…and those radio operators! They're all so pretty…and they like to dance.” She tried to make him understand. It truly was silly he did not dance. 

“Yeah, but I'm not interested in any of them.” The words coated in his raspy drawl floated around her head, something in them trying to catch her notice like little beacons. But their lights went out before her muddled brain could understand. 

“That's terrible for them. A lot of them have a crush on you.”

“Mmm.”

“Don't tell Major Egan. He'll be jealous.”

Gale gave a bark of laughter. “Your secret is safe with me.”

She pressed her forehead back against his neck. His warmth and the repetitive feeling of his breathing against her chest was lulling her to sleep. “I love the stars. No matter where you are, they're always beautiful.” The thought rolled off her tongue unprovoked, even as her eyelids drifted shut. 

“Buck?!”

The loud shout startled her from the inviting blanket of sleep wrapping around her. She blinked for a moment but allowed her eyes to close once again, face still against Gale's neck. 

“Yeah, John. It's me.” Gale called back. 

Two sets of footsteps approached, disrupting the quiet English night. 

“Any chance that's Abby with you?” Kidd asked. 

“Yeah, I've got her.”

“Good.” Kidd stated, falling into step with Gale on his left. “Ken was looking for her. I told him I figured she was walking with you, but apparently not walking.”

“She hurt her feet.” Gale explained softly. 

Egan loudly scoffed from Gale's right side.“Uh huh. That's the excuse you're going with?”

“Bucky–” 

“I'm just saying–”

Kidd interrupted, genuine concern in his voice. “Does she need to go to medical?”

“I'm fine, sir.” Abby sleepily slurred, her words muffled since she refused to move her face from its current position. “Can you tell the other one to stop being a damn loud asshat or I'll kick his ass.”

Gale chuckled, the vibrations going through her chest making her almost purr like a cat. If she snuggled closer to him, hoping to prolong the sensation, no one needed to know. 

“Slugger has a mouth on her!” Egan laughed, poking her arm. 

She grunted at the annoying sensation, hoping the major took the wordless reprimand or she would definitely kick his ass. After a nap. 

“Only when drunk it seems.” Gale answered his best friend.

“I'm not drunk…just a little drunk.” She mumbled. 

“My apologies. Just a little.” Gale softly replied, leaning his head against hers for a brief moment. She sighed at the contact, something loosening in her chest at the sensation although she was too drunk to put it into words. 

“Did you see that swing Curt made! I bet even Dimaggio can't swing like that!” Egan exclaimed. With his volume and enthusiasm, Abby might have noticed his own drunken state if she was sober. “I'm surprised you didn't want to take a swing at him yourself, Slugger.”

“ ‘m not allowed.”

Silence hung heavy over the group for several moments as the men tried to process her muffled response. It was Egan who asked the looming question first. 

“Not allowed? What's that mean?”

She sighed, turning her head to face Egan so he could understand her better. “After last time, Huglin told me he'd kick me off the airbase if I hit anyone else. Said it was unbecoming or something.”

The shocked silence lasted for all of three seconds before Egan exploded like a firecracker. 

“That sonofabitch! I knew I disliked him before but…Jesus Christ! Jack, did you know about this?”

“No.”

“I can't believe–” 

“John, he's gone.” Gale spoke up, trying to soothe his friend's righteous temper. “Nothing to do about it now.” 

“Thank God! I can't believe he's would–”

The tirade of Egan became background noise when Gale turned his head slightly towards her. “Abby.” Slowly she turned her face back towards him. A spark shot through her as his lips skimmed her forehead, while his whisper sunk like a seed planted into fruitful soil. “Next time something like this happens, you give me a nod. I'll take care of him for you.”

“Like tonight? That RAF prick?”

“Yeah. Like tonight…but I'll knock his teeth in instead of Curt doing it.”

She giggled. “I wanna see that.”

The rising and falling of voices up ahead like waves called her attention, guessing it was the group that abandoned them at the pub. She could see they had entered the airbase, although she did not remember her and Gale passing by the gate. Sleep danced around her mind like fireflies, tempting and teasing but she knew she would not be able to catch them yet. 

“I can probably walk now.”

“Are you sure?” Gale questioned without breaking stride. 

She hummed. “I'll be fine. It's not too far from here.”

Gale stopped walking, but instead of setting her down right away, he hesitated. His grip on her thighs twitched, tightening fractionally as if reluctant to let go. With a sharp release of breath, he finally helped her slide down. The warmth and strength of his hands continued to hold her upright as she found her balance back on the hard-packed ground. With her heels in one hand, the other hand ran down her dress, attempting to smooth any wrinkles and to confirm she was in no way indecent. Alcohol was freely skipping through her veins but not enough for her to forget her modesty. Or what was left of it after riding piggyback on Major Gale Cleven…

“Good?” He softly asked, hovering over her like a guardian angel. 

She nodded with faux confidence, standing upright and attempting to brush her hair over her shoulder. Mindful of the lack of space between them, she raised her gaze to meet his, wanting to thank him for helping her. Something he certainly did not have to do. Even though it was dark, she could feel those baby blue eyes earnestly staring down at her. His warm hands still loosely rested just above her elbows, maintaining their connection. 

“Abby?”

Unconsciously, she found herself tipping closer towards him, drawn back into his aura, his presence, that lean, toned body that was safe. It would be so easy to press her head against his chest, to wrap her arms around him and just dive into to the abyss of sleep summoning her. 

“Thank you.” She murmured, closing her eyes and doing just that. Her forehead landed on his breastbone, an initial sting but quickly ignored. Why did he smell so good? 

“You're welcome, darling.” 

His whisper barely floated on the breeze, words she almost missed if she had not felt them in her chest. 

“Mmm…I wanna sleep with you.”

Gale choked. His chest rumbled and sputtered like he was trying desperately to catch his breath, making Abby's head jostle uncomfortably. Something she did not like as she was oh so close to giving into sleep again. 

A sharp bark of laughter sounded nearby but that was irrelevant to Abby at the moment. 

“You're so warm…ugh, I'm so sleepy. Why does alcohol make me sleepy? I don't like it.” 

“Let's get you to bed.” Gale finally said, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

“M'kay…”

Gale led her a few steps, her feet shuffling along. 

“KEN! SHE'S WITH US!” Major Egan shouted loudly. 

Less than a minute later, she could hear her cousin approach, an frantic undertone beneath his words. “Abigail Lemmons! Where'd you go? Shit! Is she hurt?” He directed that last question towards Gale. 

“Go away.” 

“She's fine, just drunk. The road was too rough on her feet.”

They answered at the same time, although her response might have been less words and more of a grunt. 

“Thank heavens.” Ken exhaled in relief, running his hand through his messy curls. “My family would have killed me if something happened to her.”

Ken reached out, attempting to take her hand. “Come on, let's get you back.”

“Nooo…” She swatted his hand away. 

“Abby.”

She swatted at him again, an irrational irritation bubbling up as he disturbed her almost sleep. “Go away, I'm sleeping with Gale.”

She missed the mixture of reactions of those who overheard her declaration, too focused on burrowing closer to the comfy warmth of the man holding her. God, she just needed to sleep! 

“For fuck's sake, Abigail!” Ken half groaned, half swore. 

Suddenly, Simon was there standing beside Ken. “Hey, Abby, I've got you. Let's get you to bed, yeah? You can sleep with the major tomorrow.”

Even as she felt her body being transferred from Gale's lithe form to Simon's muscular body, her mind refused to accept this and fought back with excuses. 

“Nooo…we're going dancin’ tomorrow. He's a good dancer.”

Simon chuckled, hauling her into his broad chest and carrying her bridal style. “I'm sure he is.”

“Wait…wait! Abigail?” Egan stumbled over, throwing his arm around his best friend's shoulders. “That's her real name?” 

“Yeah.”

“Where'd you think ‘Abby’ came from?”

The dark-haired major threw his head back laughing uproariously, “it's perfect!”

“You're drunk.” Gale tried, unsuccessfully, to corral his friend.

“What's perfect?” Ken asked. 

“Abigail! You get it? Abigail!” Egan drunkenly explained with all his sober confidence. “She's meant to have some 'Gale' inside her. Now all Buck has to do is make his move and stick–” 

But Egan did not get to finish explaining his epiphany as his best friend suddenly and viciously slapped a hand over Egan's mouth and pulled him into a headlock, growling something into his ear. 

“Goddamn children.” Kidd sighed from nearby. 

Abby blinked slowly, hearing the words but her fuzzy brain was unable to string it together to form a coherent thought. “I don't get it.”

“Don't worry about it. Let's get you to bed.” Simon chuckled. 

Ken called out, “night, majors!”

Abby glanced over, wanting to say her own goodbyes but with the way that Gale was attempting to suffocate Egan while Kidd watched on with his arms crossed, she guessed they were busy. 

She barely remembered Simon carrying her to her hut, only the night's cold nipping at her bare skin, and the muffled conversation between Ken, Simon and Winks. How she managed to get into bed will always be a mystery to her, somehow she must have been aware enough to fall onto her cot and not just curl up on the floor. Although in the morning she would wake up still in her dress with a hangover and a lot of explaining to do for those intrusive, inquisitive nurses she bunked with. 

All she did know as she drifted off, that night was the first time she had fallen asleep with a smile on her face in a long time. 

[jacquelinedax]

So maroon lips, with a long jumper covering my teddies with long legs & nylon stockings

[averagejoesolomon]

Welcome back! Here's Matt and Abby being really good friends. These two would not stop talking, and it was a delight to put them together again. If you're new here, you can read all of Full Circle on Ao3. Enjoy!

Chapter Three

Once Cameron starts crying, she doesn’t stop.

From noon to midnight, then midnight to noon. When she’s hungry, when she’s gassy, when she’s tired, and right when she wakes up. She cries before, during, and after every diaper change. She cries in Rachel’s arms. She cries in Matt’s. The bassinet, the bathtub, the backseat of the car—any time, any place, this kid is an equal opportunity crier.

Quiet moments are few and far between, and they’re usually spent staring distantly at the nearest wall, waiting for the next round of crying to begin. The rest of the time, Matt and Rachel operate like a two-man surveillance crew, alternating watches so the other person can eat, and shower, and maybe, maybe get some shut-eye. They haven’t said more than five consecutive words to one another since arriving home. 

Has she eaten? Yes. 

Did she sleep? No. 

When was her last change? Ten minutes ago.

Did she ever stop crying? No.

Everyone from here to Timbuktu told him the newborn stage would be hard, but even so, it’s been wildly undersold. Matt does hard things for a living and before that, he spent a childhood doing hard things on the farm. This ain’t hard. This is impossible.

At least, that’s the conclusion he comes to during his third—or, maybe, fourth—wall-stare of the day. Rachel’s upstairs with the baby, using some sort of motherly magic to coax a ten-minute nap out of the afternoon. Matt tries to make the most of the moment by brushing his teeth for the first time in three days, downstairs in the kitchen, because they already learned the hard way that the bathroom pipes make too much noise in the nursery.

This is the longest break he’ll get for the next twenty-four hours, so he sinks into it. Unwinds the tension in his muscles and settles his shoulders back to the place they’re supposed to sit. The back-and-forth motion of his brush against his teeth serves as a steady rhythm after days of constant chaos.

His brief peace is immediately shattered the moment Abigail Cameron bursts through his front door.

For a woman who was born and raised into a covert lifestyle, Abby sure knows how to make an entrance. She leads with a kick, which leaves a shoe print right next to the deadbolt, then marches in with balloons, teddies, chocolates, and a gift-wrapped bag featuring the word B-A-B-Y written out in wooden blocks. She tops it all off with a delighted, excited, “The cool aunt has finally arrived.”

This, unfortunately, is met with more crying. 

“Shit, sorry,” says Abby, dropping her voice to something that’s shaped like a whisper, but ain’t actually that much quieter than her true voice. “I forgot about baby rules. Is it nap time?”

Matt hangs his head over the sink. He gives up on brushing, which is just as well, because he’s just now realizing he forgot the toothpaste anyway. “Hi Abby.”

She lumbers into the kitchen with all her goodies in tow, dumping everything onto the kitchen table. Her stuff joins the mountain of formula, diapers, blankets, creams, and everything else in their small arsenal of baby supplies. “Sorry I’m late,” she says. “The Peruvian government really makes a stink when they catch you trying to smuggle guns across their border.”

“The trip went well, then?” Matt asks.

“As well as sting operations ever go when there’s a hundred automatic rifles involved.” She gives a casual wave of her hand as she sits, crossing one nyloned leg over the other while a tall red pump bounces with Abby’s trademark restlessness. “How’s the baby—can I see her? Hold her? Squeeze her cheeks, etcetera, etcetera?”

He turns to face her, leaning against the counter to stay upright against his own exhaustion. He’s suddenly all too aware of the scruff on his jaw, the stains on his shirt, and the smell of indeterminate baby fluids lingering on some indeterminate part of his body. “Rachel’s trying to get her down,” he explains. “You’re welcome to wait until she wakes up from her nap.”

Abby’s face twists, like it always does when she doesn’t get her way. “I’m between ops,” she says. “Langley wants me debriefed and on another plane in the next twenty-four hours, so I don’t exactly have a lot of time to spare.”

Matt has to work hard not to laugh right in her face. “You won’t need it,” he says. “The way this kid sleeps, you’ll just need an extra ten minutes.”

By some miracle, Rachel’s managed to reign in the crying a second time, old DC floorboards squeaking overhead as the nursery’s rocking chair rolls over each one, back and forth, back and forth. He eyes Abby, wondering if she knows how lucky she is to experience the quiet twice in such a short amount of time. 

She must not, or else she wouldn’t talk right through it. “I suppose if anyone’s worth waiting for, it’s my niece,” she says. “But she better be cute.”

“Ridiculously cute.”

“Yeah?”

“Even cuter when she’s not crying.”

“Isn’t that kind of what babies do?”

Matt shrugs. “So I’m told.”

“So parenthood is everything you’ve ever dreamed of,” she concludes.

“It’s good,” he says. “Glad to have her home.”

A beat. Abby studies him, in that way only Abby can, and Matt’s too tired to figure out what it means. “That’s great,” she says. “Do you wanna say that again like you mean it, or do you wanna tell me how you actually feel?”

It’s a quick and efficient reminder that before there was Rachel, there was Abby, and those Cameron sisters have always, always been able to get a clean read on him. No sense in hiding from someone who already knows all his covers. “This is torture.”

She smiles, satisfied. “This isn’t torture. You’ve actually been tortured.”

“Not like this,” Matt insists. “This is something else.”

“Weren’t you detained by some Russian mobsters a few years back?” This is phrased like a question, but Abby ain’t looking for an answer. Instead, she says, “You’re telling me your newborn is tougher than the literal Russian mob?”

“At least the Russian mob gave me beans and rice,” he says. “My last three meals have been Wonder Bread straight out of the bag.”

It’s pity, or sympathy, or maybe disgust when she says, “Oh, Matt.”

“The one before that was peanut butter, still on the knife, because Cam started crying before I could make a full sandwich.”

In her eyes, he sees himself once mighty and now fallen. “Get it together, dude.”

“This is what I’m talking about.” He slugs toward the table one heavy footstep at a time, opting to join her rather than waste all that energy standing. “We’re not eating, we’re not sleeping. We haven’t had a normal conversation in days. I’ve been pooped on too many times to count—swear to God, it’s like this little girl’s never even heard of the Geneva Conventions.”

“Hold on,” she says, putting a hand up. “First of all, she’s six days old, of course she hasn’t heard of the Geneva Conventions. Get a grip. Second of all, are you trying to say that getting pooped on by a baby is a war crime? Is that really the claim you’re trying to make right now?”

Matt starts to recite, “Outrages upon personal dignity, in particular, humiliating and degrading treatment are and shall remain prohibited—”

“I know the Geneva Conventions,” she says. “But you seem to have forgotten you’re not currently a prisoner of war.”

“I’m a prisoner of something.”

“Matt.”

“I’ve met actual dictators less oppressive than this.”

“Matt.” She’s as playful as always, but there’s a stern undertone to this particular scolding. “Listen, I don’t have a maternal bone in my body, but even I know you’re not supposed to compare your baby to dictators.”

A lot of folks think espionage is all about gadgets, and stakeouts, and sneaking around. Those things have their place, for sure, but relationships are the real heart of it all. Matt can spot an ally before he even learns their name, and he always knows exactly how to win them over to his side. It’s all about the inflection in their tone, the ease of their laughter, the one little thing that makes them trust him over anyone else for just one fleeting moment.

After years in this business, Matt’s gotten real good at spotting when someone’s on his side. But it doesn’t take years of experience to see that he’s losing Abby quick. 

So he breaks his gaze, backtracking with the shake of his head. “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” she replies.

“It’s the sleep thing,” Matt says, twiddling near his temple. “It’s giving me Dad Brain.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t envy you that.” He spots a tentative allowance in her eye as she slowly comes back around to him. “But it’s worth it, yeah? One look at your kid and you’re, like, the happiest you’ve ever been or whatever?”

Matt’s too tired to name the exact emotion this makes him feel, but it’s something close to shame, something close to guilt, something close to disappointment. While he knows in the deepest parts of his chest that he loves his little girl, would do absolutely anything for his little girl, Matt’s not actually sure he likes his little girl all that much. He can’t blame Abby for asking the question—after all, he’s supposed to feel happy about his own kid—but in the absence of paternal bliss, it sends up his defenses. Makes him feel short and hot. “Sure,” he says. “Yeah. All worth it.”

Abby doesn’t buy it, skepticism written in her features, but she doesn’t press. Changes the subject instead. “How’s Rachel handling everything?” she asks. “Has she cataloged the onesies, yet? Charted the baby’s sleep schedule by the minute?”

All Rachel’s managed to do since the hospital is keep the baby alive. It’s one hell of an accomplishment, but a far cry from the logistical, meticulous, cataloging version of Rachel that Abby has in her head. This ain’t their usual dog and pony show. They’re not the same people they were a week ago. For Matt, the crying has become a steady thrum that sends him into autopilot, but it’s doing something different to Rachel. It’s playing with her instincts, sending her nerves fraying until Matt’s walking on eggshells with someone who never used to crack. 

“She’s,” he begins, searching for the words, “not doing great.”

Abby perks up at this, uncrossing her legs to lean forward. “What do you mean?”

“She seems, I dunno. Frazzled.”

“Rachel doesn’t get frazzled.”

This is true, or at least it was before the baby came. Matt worries, secretly, that it’s still true and frazzled ain't a strong enough word. The books mentioned this sort of thing could happen—discontentment, depression, even psychosis. Throughout her pregnancy, Rachel had insisted that she had too strong a will to succumb to any of it. Now, watching her with Cam, Matt ain’t too certain.

“Maybe not frazzled,” he admits. “It’s normal, I think. Turns out hormones keep messing with, well, everything. Even after the baby’s born.”

"Don't tell me we finally found the one thing Rachel's not good at."

"I'm not kidding."

"Neither am I."

"Well then, that ain't a nice thing to say."

Abby's smile fades, gently admonished. "Right," she says. “But she’s okay?” 

Matt wishes he had an answer for her. “She’s just… down.”

Abby considers this, weighing his words behind a scrutinizing squint. She must come to some conclusion because she stands, that Cameron resolve settling into the set of her jaw. “Well,” she says. “Nothing a little sisterly bonding can’t fix.”

Matt knows first-hand that no one can make Rachel happier than Abby can. At the same time, no one can make Rachel angrier than Abby can. That’s a fifty-fifty chance Matt just ain’t willing to take right now, which is why he stands to reach after her. “Abby—”

She starts toward the stairs. “Matt, trust me,” she says. “There are some things only a sister can understand.”

He calls after her again, trying to keep his voice down. “Abby, don’t.”

Abby has no such regard for volume, climbing up one, two, three steps. “I don’t expect you to know—”

“Abby, either you sit back down at the table or you leave.” He doesn’t mean to raise his voice. Hopes to God it doesn’t reach the nursery. He drops back down to a hiss when he says, “Those are your options.”

She turns back, literally looking down on him with an expression she’s only worn once or twice before. Decades of specialized training assess his position, his mental state, his intensity, his words, running through her head like a checklist. Back home, he might just say she’s sizing him up. Trying to decide if she could win whatever fight they’re about to have.

Except Abby ain’t gonna fight him. Abby almost never does.

Instead, she sways back down the steps until they’re eye-to-eye. “Alright, big shot,” she says with a wicked grin. “I’ll stay down here.”

Matt’s gotten better at staring contests with Abby, but he still can’t come close to winning them. He’s the first to drop his gaze. “Thank you.”

“And instead,” she goes on, brushing past him. Her heels click against the hardwood. “You’re going to tell me what’s got you this worked up.”

Matt ain’t an angry guy, but Abby’s got one Hell of a gift for drawing it out of him. “I just told you,” he says, trailing behind her. “Wonder Bread. Geneva Conventions. Frazzled. Can’t a guy get worked up over a hard week?”

“Sure you can,” she says. “You aren’t, but you can.”

“Abby, I’m not sleeping. I’m not eating.”

“So you’ve said.”

“The baby only stops crying when she sleeps, and she only sleeps when she’s not crying.”

“Must be tough.”

“My record for consecutive hours without getting puked on is two.”

“Uh-huh.” She finds a spot on the countertop this time, popping herself next to the microwave. “And what about Joe?”

Matt stops in his tracks. “What about Joe?”

“You’ve got a long fuse, my friend,” she says, drawing an imaginary wire through the air with red-tipped fingers. “And Joe’s the only one who can cut it this short.”

Matt and Abby have been friends for nearly a decade. He’s saved her life. She’s saved his far more. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that she can reach inside his head, root around, and pluck out the one thing he’s not willing to talk about. But every time she does it, he’s still caught flat-footed. “Joe’s fine. He’s fine—he’s…”

Abby drops her chin, leveling him with a single look.

It doesn’t leave him with much wiggle room. “He’s missed a couple of call-ins.”

Abby nods, long and slow. Without the sucker she used to carry around, she bites her bold red lip in thought. “How many is a couple?”

“Two,” Matt admits.

“Joe’s missed two call-ins,” she repeats. “Has that happened before?”

“He’s missed one,” says Matt. “Never misses two. He’s too good for that.”

“So let me get this straight,” she says. “You’ve got a baby that won’t stop crying, a wife who isn’t herself, and your best friend has missed two call-ins.”

She lays each point out on a finger, landing on three total. When she lays it all out, he sees a birds-eye view of his life for the first time in days—and it ain’t pretty. As someone who’s had a lot of hard weeks in his lifetime, this one might just be the hardest.

Rather than own up to the overwhelm, he shifts the focus back to her. “Yeah, maybe, except you’re my best friend.”

“No. You’re my best friend,” she corrects. “But Joe’s your best friend. Nice try.”

This has more truth to it than he cares to admit, but she doesn’t say it with any hurt. It’s a fact, plain and simple, like she’s reciting it from a book. Matt, for his part, would rather not linger on it, so he ping pongs back to himself. He realizes too late that this is probably exactly what she was aiming for. “We got into a, I dunno—a tiff. Before I left.”

“Before you left…?”

“For DC. We were running an op and right from the start, I told him that if Rachel needed me—”

She stops him again, hand held against the center of his sentence. “You were running an op when your wife was thirty-nine weeks pregnant?”

“Rachel had one of your dad’s jets on standby in Frankfurt—”

“You were on a mission in Germany when your wife was thirty-nine weeks pregnant?”

“It was her idea. She had this whole plan to get me back once she started having contractions.” Matt now knows that plans mean nothing when it comes to delivering a baby and has a newfound appreciation for all the angels that made sure he was on time to his kid’s birth, despite the eight hours between them. “We were following up on a lead she had to drop when she went on maternity leave.”

“I will never understand your relationship.” She shakes off her bewilderment and gets back to the matter at hand. “So you and Joe had a fight?”

“A tiff,” Matt insists. “Just a little spat. But it felt—it’s just that I didn’t leave things on a good note. Left in a hurry. And now he’s missing call-ins.”

Missed call-ins are the ghost stories of the spy world. They’re one of the few things that can truly spook the international spooks of the world. Every agent has a story about a phone call they were supposed to get, then didn’t. The unlucky ones also have stories about the funeral that followed, usually kept quiet, always without a body—and that’s if there’s a funeral at all. The worst cases get caught up in the seven years it takes for MIA to become KIA, waiting to be put to rest. It’s nasty business, and it all starts with a silent phone on the hook.

Matt always suspected Joe would go out in silence, but he thought they’d be a little older when he did. Then again, maybe they’re not young men anymore. Maybe the years have finally caught up with them.

“If it helps,” says Abby, “my dad says you don’t have to worry until number three.”

“Yeah?” says Matt, looking for any reason not to worry. “Three’s the magic number?”

“I don’t know about magic,” says Abby. “But statistically, three’s the nail in the coffin. If they miss the third one, it’ll take a miracle to get them back.”

Joe’s third call is scheduled for tomorrow morning and Matt’s not sure what he’ll do if the phone doesn’t ring. Before he has a chance to figure it out, Cameron starts to cry again.

From upstairs, he hears Rachel call out, “Matthew.”

And that’s his cue. “Sounds like I’m up to bat,” he says. “What do you say, Abby? Time to meet your niece?”

[y2sims]

Six Nightcrawler Hairs in The New Hair System.

colors by pooklet.

textures by remi (straight) and poppet (wavy).

binned, familied, tooltipped and compressed.

all four colors are in one .package file.

the meshes are included.

nightcrawler splash was requested by anonymous.

Nightcrawler Drift

mesh conversion by @roxanna-moxie

the lower poly version of the mesh is included, which is around 19k~ polys

all ages

DOWNLOAD: sfs // mf

Nightcrawler Nylon

mesh conversion by @roxanna-moxie

19k~ polys

all ages

DOWNLOAD: sfs // mf

Nightcrawler Pumpkin

mesh conversion by @amidalasims

15k~ polys

all ages

DOWNLOAD: sfs // mf

Nightcrawler Sophia

mesh conversion by @roxanna-moxie

8k~ polys (fixed lower poly mesh incl.)

all ages

DOWNLOAD: sfs // mf

Nightcrawler Splash

mesh conversion by @amidalasims

18,8k~ polys

all ages

DOWNLOAD: sfs // mf

Nightcrawler Teddy - two versions

mesh conversion by @roxanna-moxie

9,6k~ polys (fixed lower poly mesh incl.)

ages cf to ef

two versions: original and an alpha edit by @goatskickin

DOWNLOAD: sfs // mf

[babygirl-diaz]

Nest of Lies and Wonder (Omegaverse)

Based on the prompt by @ofstarlightandbows: Maybe Tommy finding buck building or curled up in his nest or Tommy's/their bed?

***

When Tommy came home, he found Evan's jeep in his driveway and immediately knew the alpha was there.

"Evan?" He called out entering the house but was met with silence. "Baby?" He called out again but got nothing.

Worry settled in the pit of his stomach. It was probably nothing, but all sorts of horror shows started running through Tommy's head.

He looked in the kitchen and the bathroom, but found no sign of Evan.

When Tommy wandered into his bedroom, his heart stopped for a second. There was Evan, sleeping peacefully in Tommy's nest. He had his arms wrapped around the dark brown teddy bear Tommy got from his 3-year-old nephew. Evan's clothes that Tommy had stolen were all still in their place and Evan had paid careful attention not to move them around or sleep on top of them.

Tommy's heart raced in his chest as he approached his nest. Evan looked adorable lying down in the middle of it, but Tommy dreaded what would happen when Evan woke up.

As if sensing his presence, Evan slowly started to come to. The alpha smiled softly when he saw Tommy, much to Tommy's surprise. "Hey," he whispered.

"Hey," Tommy whispered back.

Evan yawned and slowly sat up, while still holding onto the teddy bear. "So... You're an omega?" He asked. "Well, it's either that or you're cheating on me with an omega but I am inclined to think it's the former."

Tommy immediately shook his head. "I'm not cheating on you!" He assured him. Wringing his hands together, Tommy sat down on the edge of the bed. "But I AM an omega."

Evan put the teddy bear away and shifted closer to Tommy. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't," Tommy replied as dread settled in the pit of his stomach. "You, like everyone else, always thought I was an alpha, and I didn't want to correct you. Besides, I look nothing like an omega."

Evan stayed quiet before asking, "Are you ashamed of being an omega?"

"No!" Tommy quickly told him. "I am not. I love being an omega. I just- I love my job more and they don't let omegas into Air Operations. At least they didn't used to until two years ago. But by then it was too late. Everyone already thought I was an alpha and I knew there would be repercussions if they found out I wasn't."

"But you could have told me." Evan sounded hurt. "I wouldn't have ratted you out."

"I know you wouldn't," Tommy sighed. "I just- I- I didn't want you to know. You loved me because I am an alpha and I feared losing you."

"Tommy..." Evan reached out and touched Tommy's face. "I don't love you because you're an alpha. I love you because you're you. The man who's sarcastic but sweet, who cares about others, and who isn't scared to stand up for what's right. That's the man I love."

Tommy felt himself well up a little and he immediately threw his arms around Evan, hugging him tight. "I love you so much, Evan," he told him.

"I love you too," Evan said, wrapping his arms around him. When he pulled away, he asked, "Where did you get my clothes, by the way? I've been looking for them."

"I stole them," Tommy chuckled.

"You sneaky sneaky omega," Evan teased and kissed Tommy's cheek. "Okay, come on, I have some ideas for your nest. How we can make it cozier." Evan told him, getting out of bed. "Oh, by the way, I'm sorry I fell asleep in your nest without your permission."

Tommy shrugged. "It's okay. I don't mind," he replied. "Now give me your ideas."

"Well, we're gonna have to go to Home Depot and possibly a fabric store," Evan replied.

Tommy was a little confused, but he went along. Evan drove them to Home Depot and bought fairy string lights in a cool blue color and then drove them to JoAnn Fabrics to buy an entire roll of nylon tulle fabric in the color white. By the time they got home, Tommy had an idea of what Evan was planning. He draped the tulle fabric over Tommy's bed and nailed the edges to the wall, after which, he hung fairy string lights inside the nest.

"Baby, I hope that doesn't catch fire," Tommy teased.

"Nah, these are safe. They don't heat up," Evan replied and turned on the lights.

Tommy's nest looked like it had been transformed. He stared at it in awe. "Wow."

"Right?" Evan asked, practically bouncing on his feet.

Tommy grinned and kissed Evan's cheek. He got into his nest and held out his hand for Evan.

Evan got into bed with him and held him in his arms as they both looked at the lights together.

"Thank you," Tommy said.

"You don't have to thank me. It was nothing," Evan replied.

"No, not for this. For forgiving me," Tommy told him.

"I had nothing to forgive you for. I was never mad. I understand why you did what you did," Evan assured him.

"How did I get so lucky?" Tommy asked, snuggling further against Evan and kissing his chest.

"I always wonder the same thing," Evan replied.

[luvhughes43]

what's in my au girls bags:

blake hughes:

bag: YSL le 5 à 7 supple Large in smooth leather

everything from blakes bag, to her sunglasses, and other items are really expensive/designer because when u give a 15 year old thousands (lowkey a million) dollars from prize / sponsorship money u know shes going to go a little crazy! but she takes care of her things and shes had them for awhile so she deserves it <3

xanax pill box: to hold all her meds/birth control when shes out and about! she has a panic disorder and so she's on xanax for that, and then she's on anti-depressants (?), and she has her birth control.

journal: therapist recommended

yellow smily face ball: stress ball for anxiety

jewelry because she's a little disorganized and definitely has random hoops floating around her bag + her fav bracelet

rosemary:

bag: coach tabby shoulder bag (it was a gift from her mom for her uni graduation)

a book of japanese short stories for when shes out and has free time

AirPods of course

mini marc jacobs daisy perfume + lip balms

a granola bar which quinn eats every single time!

journalist au! mom

bag: wandler (idk the specific bag)

her bag is filled to the brim because shes a busy woman! she also def comes from money and so she has expensive things (how else would she live alone in a nyc apartment so close to everything)

laptop, phone, portable charger, laptop charger: for work but also the portable charger because shes afraid her phone will die when somebody needs to contact her about leighton!

makeup: she 100% does her makeup in her car before walking into work. shes busy in the mornings and doesnt usually have a lot of time.

water bottle: hydrated queen

baby stuff: to keep leighton occupied + clean

mama drysdale (lila au)

bag: polo (?) ralph lauren tote

flyers pacifier (so cute omfg) for baby noah + toys and teddys for both kids when theyre out and need distracting.

glossier makeup bag + makeup: she has to take both small kids grocery shopping alone when jamies gone and the kids are super young so she mentally prepares herself for shopping by doing her makeup in the car before they go in & while both kids are calm

everything else is self explainitory

inez zegras

bag: prada black re-nylon backpack (trevor bought this for her during his all designer phase)

umich hat: its lukes that she stole!

brow gel: she takes her brows SERIOUSLY. brow gel in her bag, brow gel at her house, brow gel in the car... its serious business.

then school supplies because she's a student ! (what major do u think she is? i feel like we talked about this before but i dont remember at all)

hope u guys liked this😁💗

[lamaisongaga]

LADY GAGA SPOTTED DINING IN CELINE

Lady Gaga was seen enjoying some dinner at the Laurent Paris restaurant yesterday night (July 23), clad in one of her favorite go-to fashion brands!

For her quick appearance she opted to wear the Celine Spring/Summer 2024 loose teddy jacket in silver satin-finish nylon. The jacket features everything a classic college jacket should have such as striped knit collar, hem and cuffs, a buttoned front and side pockets.

She also brought back her Celine Spring/Summer 2024 Triomphe XL 01 sunglasses ($550).

Shop:

Celine “Triomphe XL 01″ Sunglasses ($550.00)

Jewelry brand 8 Other Reasons is known for their super affordable designs which have found the likings of megastars Katy Perry, Beyoncé and now, Gaga!

She opted for their brutalist-infused molten dangle earrings in silver with hammered texture (€29,95).

Shop:

8 Other Reasons Molten Dangle Earrings (€29,95)

Another new brand is Melinda Maria, who created her sleek Mama Serpent 16" collar in silver (€148,95).

Shop:

Melinda Maria "Mama Serpent" 16" Collar (€148,95)

Next, her beloved Celine Spring/Summer 2019 medium 16 satinated top handle leather bag with gold-tone hardware ($4,950) which she also debuted in Paris many moons ago!

Shop:

Celine “16″ Satinated Leather Bag ($4,950.00)

Finally, introducing to you NYC-based designer Brandon Blackwood and his Ani ankle boot in Chelsea style with super angled heel and square toe ($325).

Shop:

Brandon Blackwood "Ani" Boots ($325.00)

[bellysoupset]

"Oh no," Bella said when Lucas walked in her room, right after the doctor had just left, "whatever happened to you?"

"What?" he frowned, moving closer to where she was sitting on the edge of the bed, in the hospital gown. Bella reached out, grabbing the neckline of his shirt and opening her legs so he could slot himself between them, her hands coming to cup his cheeks.

"You got rid of the beard," she pouted, nails scratching the now smooth surface of his cheeks, "I liked it."

Luke let out a scoff, leaning in to kiss her, hiding a smile against her lips, "so your type is shipwrecked man abandoned at a desert island?"

"You didn't look like that," Bella hummed against his mouth, pressing her forehead to his, "you missed my mom, she just left."

"No, I caught her in the hallway," Lucas turned his head, pressing his lips to her temple, "she made me promise I'd send her updates every day."

"You know you'll have to, I didn't remember to answer her texts before I got a hole in my brain."

"Don't say that," he whispered, kissing her brow, "ready to go home?"

"Fucking finally," Bella pulled back, opening a bright smile.

Her luminous smile had considerably diminished by the time Lucas helped her change into a new set of clothing, a frown taking it's place.

"Is your head hurting?" Luke asked, an arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders, helping her out of the hospital. He knew for a fact that all their friends wanted to be there, it had been only at his request that they were alone.

"Just a little," Bella pressed her forehead to his collarbone, leaning closer, "it's because of the bright light."

"Hold on..." he opened the passenger door of the car for her and reached in the glove box, getting out a pair of ridiculous sunglasses she had bought during one of the many Halloween hauls, "there you go, you look beautiful."

"You keep saying that, I'm starting to worry I look really awful," Bella scoffed, leaning back against her seat with a yawn, "I've been awake for two hours, how's it possible I'm already sleepy?" she groaned as Luke got in the driver' side.

"Your body needs to heal, take all the naps you need, baby..."

"I'm sick of this," she groaned, leaning to rest her head on his shoulder and Lucas stiffened up.

"Are you sure you wanna do that? What about the stitches?"

"Luke, shut up," Bella yawned again, hugging his bicep to her as if he was a teddy bear.

The drive wasn't long, but still she managed to doze off, waking up only when the car came to a stop and immediately reaching for her head. Lucas turned anxiously, cupping her neck.

"Bell?"

"I'm fine," she said quietly and he raised a skeptical eyebrow. She was really pale and shaky as he helped her walk up the three steps that separated their front door from the streets.

"Home sweet home," Lucas said, shutting the door behind them, "couch or bed?"

"Couch," Bella stumbled forward, tripping over the rug and he caught her before she could go crashing against the coffee table.

"It's okay, I got you," Luke maneuvered her around, sitting her down on the couch and his wife let out a groan, leaning forward and resting her forehead on his belly, since he was still standing in front of her.

"This fucking sucks, Luke..."

"I know babe," he carded his fingers gently through her curls, avoiding the stitches, the nylon poking out tickling his fingertips, "maybe you got out too early..."

"I was going to go insane if I stayed there another day," Bella scoffed, straightening up, "I need a real shower, I feel disgusting."

"In a little bit," he ran a hand down her spine, in soothing circles, "are you hungry?"

A groan answered him, which he took as a negative.

"Are you fee-"

"Stop," Bella pulled back just enough so she could glare at him, "stop, I'm fine. Act like my normal boyfriend, Luke."

"Husband."

"Yeah, that," she rolled her eyes, opening a smile, "I'm fine, I just wanna get back to my life..."

Lucas forced down what he really wanted to say — you're not fine, you had brain surgery six days ago —, opting for nodding, "Well, I'm hungry. I'm gonna order from Fredo's."

Bella looked visibly relieved at the shift and she sunk back against the couch, nodding, "get me some fries... Where's my ring?" she finally seemed to notice her naked finger, frowning.

"They asked me to take it when you went in to surgery," Lucas crouched down in front of her, taking the ring off a necklace he was wearing and slipping it in place, "there you go."

Bella hand brushed against his and she sighed, noticing the tremor, "hey..." she pushed herself up on the couch, tugging at his wrist, "c'mere."

Luke hated the fact that she was the one sporting several wounds but he was the one who needed comforting. Still, he melted into a hug, falling sit on the couch and squeezing her tightly, finally breathing out for the first time in over a week.

"I'm alright," Bella whispered, climbing on his lap and kissing his cheek, running her fingers through his hair, "I know it must've been scary, but I'm fine now, I promise."

He nodded, hiding his face against her neck, squeezing his arms around her ribcage until she let out a groan and huffed "...can't breathe, Luke."

He loosened up the hug and Bella planted a kiss to his forehead, "so, you were gonna order in?"

"Yes," his voice cracked and he blinked quickly against the stinging in his eyes, unhooking himself from her hug, "I'm gonna order you a burger too."

"I'm not hungry," she groaned, falling back against the cushions and Lucas shrugged.

"I don't care, you have to eat something."

Once the food arrived, they ate together while curled up in the living room. For all her whining about not being hungry, once Bella set her eyes on his burger she devoured half of it before Lucas could say anything.

Not that he would, he was far too happy sharing the burger and being used as seat, refusing to move even when Bell started to get heavy, her bones digging on his thigh. He leaned back, pushing all the wrapers away and snaking an arm around her.

Bella mumbled something that made no sense to him, slumping against him and Luke couldn't even be bothered to look away as he watched her eyes grow heavy once more, her cheek meeting his shoulder.

As if a cat had fallen asleep on him, he couldn't move. Instead he settled for planting his feet on the coffee table, leaning his head so he could count the freckles scattered all over her face.

He woke up around midnight, with a text from his phone. Bella was still peacefully asleep on top of him, so Lucas carefully maneuvered them both, carrying her back to bed and tucking her under the pillows, before changing into something more comfortable and glancing at the text.

Vin: hellooo?? just tell me if u guys are ok, i'm worried.

Lucas let out a chuckle, slipping under the covers and snuggling closer to Bella, before snapping a picture and sending it with a bunch of zzZZZ emojis.

It wasn't long before Vince answered with an eyeroll emoji and Lucas dropped the phone, curling up around Bells.

[shy-bambi-slut]

About Me - Bio

Hi! I'm Kasey, a bicurious 29s (she/it/they) blonde haired, blue eyed, engineer in the US exploring my submissive side. I've been enjoying exploring feminization, hypnosis, chastity, bondage, fur, maid/servitude play, and latex. My DM's are open where you can send me tasks, hypnosis, triggers, questions, or just to chat and make friends. May play with any gender.

I am currently serving as a pet to Mommy Svetlana. @svetlana-blonde-doll

Hypnosis References:

Bambi - https://bambicloud.com/triggers

Shibby - https://shibbydex.com/trigger/shibby

For those interested in tasks I have the following available to me and may get more if desired:

Toys:

Butt plugs (various sizes)

Lovesense Edge2

Anal beads

Various dildo sizes

Chastity cage

Lovesense Nipple Clamps

Gags (ring, penis, ball)

Black fuzzy cuffs

Black fuzzy collar

Anal hook

Nylon Rope

Leather belts

Clothes:

PVC Maid Outfit (full)

Panties (varied)

Sports Bras

Leggings

Red Skirt

Green Short Dress

Grey Sweater Dress

Fishnet Stockings

Breastforms

Black pumps, grey tall boots

Black Teddy

Makeup/Hair:

Natural long blonde hair (past my breasts)

Marc Anthony Leave in Conditioner

MoroccanOil Hair Oil

Lip gloss

Mascara

Pink nail polish

Should be clear, blog is NSFW, MDNI. I don't give tribute.