sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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Prompting Part XXXV

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I hope you enjoy this continuation. Still haven't gotten to the confrontation, oops :) but there's some fluffy anxiety for you?

Four weeks later

Molly emerged from the shower, in the middle of rubbing her hair dry when she noticed that Sherlock was inside their room, staring into space. Her lips quirked into a smile and she leaned down in order to kiss his nape. It was still damp from histurn. It had been difficult getting him to take regular showers, but that was nothing in comparison to trying to make him eat. She leaned down further, sliding his arms around his waist so she could get at his scent gland. He stiffened as her breasts pressed against his back, but it wasn’t in pleasurable anticipation.

“Sherlock?” She turned his head, expecting to see something other than the blank look on his face. “Are you all right?” He didn’t normally look like this.

“Fine.” He seemed to recover suddenly, his face now to the brim with contentment. Molly wasn’t an idiot; she knew how easily he could falsify his emotions.

“Sherlock,” she said, standing up so she could face him. He was faster, sweeping past her with the excuse that he had work to do. Molly didn’t want to be one of the alphas that forced their mate to talk, so she let him stew on whatever was bothering him. She padded into the living room and sat opposite to him, gazing at him briefly before she turned to her novel. I’m here. Talk to me.

On his end, Sherlock looked calm. He knew that Molly could sense—and likely see—how distraught he was, but she had no idea what he was truly feeling inside. Panic. Pure, utter panic.

Pregnant. Pregnant. The word kept repeating inside his head on a look, over and over. This turn of events was completely unexpected. Normally Sherlock would have sections of his mind palace for specific events, but on pregnancy, he had nothing. The idea of a having a child had never occurred to him. He wasn’t entirely sure Molly wanted one, let alone himself.

He typed a few words into Google and watched as the search engine brought up thousands of photos of happy parents holding their children. Omegas with their alphas, mostly. He recognized an alpha-alpha couple that was famous for their efforts towards better adoption options for alphas. Between them they held a child, pink and happy. Sherlock didn’t remember their names.

When he looked up, Molly was staring at him. He opened his mouth.

“I’m pregnant,” he didn’t say. He couldn’t. Instead he said, “what’s for dinner? I thought I might actually eat tonight.” The lines between Molly’s brows smoothed and she smiled at him, gorgeous in her small, but brilliant alpha nature. People tended to ignore this side of Molly, only seeing the shy omega. She was ferocious and protective. Sherlock could say that he truly loved her, even if he hadn’t worked up the courage to say it to her face yet.

“Okay you madman. I was thinking curry. How does that sound?”

She always asked his opinion, even when he didn’t eat. If I had a baby, that would change. He could feel panic lick at his the edges of his mind. His stomach flipped uncomfortably. “Curry is acceptable.” Molly stood, arranged her jumper, and walked into the kitchen. Her arse was exposed with each sway of her hips. Another time Sherlock would have grabbed the firm globes and suggested something naughty to distract her. Right now, he just felt fragile.

Turning back to his laptop, he tried to ignore what multiple pregnancy tests had told him and focused on looking on his blog.

****

After a few bites of the curry, Sherlock began to feel nauseous. He forced the feeling down and continued to eat. He didn’t want to be sick; being sick would mean that Molly would take notice, and she always grew keen when she took notice. There would be no hiding that something was wrong when he threw up.

So he forced the dread and nauseous down, eating methodically until his entire plate was clean. “I see someone was hungry,” Molly remarked proudly. “Good?”

“Good,” Sherlock agreed. He felt marginally safe. He’d probably nap the nauseous off if it persisted. “Do you—“ before he could answer he burped. Molly giggled. Sherlock smiled, covering his mouth as another burp worked its way up his throat. Only it wasn’t a normal burp; Sherlock’s eyes widened as the nauseous rose to a dangerously high level and lunged for the sink. With a sob he heaved the curry down the drain, hating himself for letting his happen. I shouldn’t have eaten. Stupid! Vainly, he hoped that Molly would just walk away and ignore him.

“Oh God, oh Sherlock. What’s wrong?” But sweet, caring Molly rubbed his back and whispered sweet nothings until he stopped, rinsed his mouth, and sagged against her comforting weight. “You should have told me you weren’t feeling well. Was that it? I thought something else was wrong. Come on—let’s get you to bed.”

Sherlock allowed her to drag him into the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and rinsed out the disgusting taste. When all he could taste was mint, Molly's hand lingered on his forehead and she clicked her tongue. “You don’t feel very hot…maybe it was the food. But I feel fine.”

“Maybe,” he mumbled, letting his head fall onto her shoulder. She took him into the bedroom and helped him undress. When he was under the sheets he fetched her novel and slid in beside him. “Want my lap?” He took the offer and pressed his head against her soft, warm thighs, clinging to the idea that maybe it had been the curry. Nothing else.

Sherlock fell asleep to soft turning of pages and Molly’s fingers combing through his hair.

Tomorrow, he thought. I’ll tell her tomorrow.

***

Should I reply to the original prompt each time, or should I reply to the last part I posted? What sound better, OP?

Also, it hasn't been proofed so beware of my mistakes!

Edited 2014-05-29 18:30 (UTC)

Just realized I should be nesting my fill, so it will continue from here! OP, if you ever come back I hope you enjoy this <3 I'll keep posting in case there are any Sherlolly shippers out there who have wanted this, and because I enjoy it. Still no name...

---

Sherlock did not, in fact, tell Molly about the pregnancy until about a week later. There was a case, and when Sherlock was on a case there was no room for morning sickness, or the thought of pudgy, small hands gripping onto his fingers and an angel’s smile. No, Sherlock was far too distracted with the case to even bother thinking about the baby inside him.

“Sherlock, this is the eighth time you’ve dry heaved today! You’ve thrown up twice.”

“Thank you for counting me, John!” Sherlock paused, processing this information for a beat. That couldn’t be right. “Are you sure? Math isn’t your strongpoint, I know.” He hoped it would break the tension and derail any questions. John did scowl good-naturedly, but then he grew serious. “Sherlock, if you’re sick, we’re not going to continue. Remember last time we were on a case and you came home sick? I thought Molly was going to kill me.”

That had been a memorable moment. Sherlock reflected on it, wishing it was just that he was sick. Unfortunately, it was more than that.

“I’m pregnant,” Sherlock said.

John choked on his next words, looking at Sherlock like he was a strange creature unbeknownst to him before.

“You- you are? I mean…congratulations?”

“Molly doesn’t know.” John’s silence was deafening. “I haven’t been able to find the right time. You know how busy we are with…things!”

“Sherlock…”

“I don’t know what to do. Or say. How do people normally tell their mates that they’re pregnant?”

“Um, cake? Letters? Some people have small boxes with the answer inside. You’re creative; you could put it in a toe or something.” John laughed, but it was strained. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Sherlock was pregnant.

Sherlock sighed loudly. “Boring. You’re no help. Molly is…I don’t know how she’ll react. We don’t generally see children, and we never talked about it. She’ll probably—“ his voice hitched, betraying that what he said affected him in more ways than he was willing to admit. “She’ll want an abortion. She and I don’t have time for children. They’re messy and annoying and can’t do anything for years! And the mess—”

“But you like them,” John interrupted. “You’ve always liked children. You may not like their mess or their ‘small minds,’ but— you know what? This is something you should talk about with Molly.” He paused. “And I thought you were taking birth control.”

Sherlock shivered. “During heat, birth control is not 100% effective. I thought that we would be fine. We’re always fine. Christ.” Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair, annoyed that this conversation was even happening. “Why couldn’t things just be easy? Don’t bother answering that, John, I know what you’re going to say.” He continued, in a mocking high pitch, “’Sherlock, things are never easy with you!’ Thank you for your input.”

Rather than answer, John drew Sherlock into a hug. He stiffened in surprise, contemplated the merit of giving into his comforting gesture, and then relaxed. It wasn’t terrible: it was…nice. The support was surprisingly comforting and welcome.

“You’re clever, Sherlock. You’ll figure it out.” He pulled away, looking at his friend in the eye. “Now come on, we have a criminal to track down.”

Edited 2014-05-31 17:31 (UTC)

OP here!

Absolutely loving this. Poor Sherlock . . . that has got to be terrifying. John is sweet. =D

Thank you! I hope the rest so far is serving you well.

“Oh God, Sherlock.”

Sherlock waited another week before telling Molly about the pregnancy. At six weeks he didn’t even have a belly yet, so it was very much fine in regards to his size. Unfortunately, that also meant that the cut off for an abortion was fast approaching. He needed to tell her, and he wasn’t very good at the upfront approach.

He vied for a distraction.

Molly’s fingers tugged gently at his hair, trying not to grip too hard when it was clear that all she wanted to do was stick her cock down Sherlock’s throat and fuck his face. Sherlock hummed around her prick; he was used to its size and how much he could fit in one sitting, so he bobbed his head and took her deeper. Almost, but not quite, touching her knot with his lips.

Molly’s thighs quivered with each long pull of Sherlock’s lips, and he swallowed her down, going as far as his reflex would allow. It had been difficult to learn how exactly to let himself go and take her, but her sweet moans were worth it. Her fingers tightened as he swallowed hard, flattening his tongue and using it to press against the underside where she liked the pressure best.

“Oh Sherlock, fuck. You gorgeous thing.” She let her head fall for a moment, taking in her pleasure, but when she realized she couldn’t see Sherlock anymore, she whipped it forward and looked back at him. Sherlock met her eyes briefly and pulled back; far enough that the tip of her cock hung just above his shining lips. Then he swallowed her down again, working faster to bring her to orgasm.

“Sherlock, Sherlock,” she whined, pulling at his curls with abandon. He enjoyed it, moaning appreciatively around her thick girth.

He knew another way to pleasure her. One finger snuck between her thighs and pressed at the small seam there. It was rarely used for obvious reasons, but the dual pleasure was never something Molly complained about. Her voice rose higher, her chest heaving as Sherlock took her deep in his throat, fingers working at her cunt.

With only a few more bobs, and another finger, Sherlock had her coming. She pulled on his hair hard as she started to ejaculate, her hips shuddering with short movements. Sherlock allowed her to fuck his throat, swallowing down the annoying amount of semen without any of his usual complaints. Normally he would spit it out, but he liked on occasion to see the look on her face when she realized he was going to swallow.

When she finished, he hid his grimace and licked her clean, pink tongue lapping at the head until it shined. With another small kiss Sherlock pulled away, gauging to see how relaxed Molly appeared to be.

Her eyes were glazed over and her pupils were huge, so she was still in some ways aroused. Molly’s lips, which remained small, were a bit more plump and red from biting, and her thighs still shook slightly from his performance. Perfect.

After meeting his eyes, Molly heaved a few long breaths and then tried to make herself look presentable. When her hair wasn’t a gnarled mess from pressing against the chair, she looked at Sherlock with a look of love an adoration, undisguised like it might have been in a public setting. It made his chest ache. It’s now or never.

“What brought this on?” she asked, at the same time that Sherlock said, “I’m pregnant.”

She froze, her back going stiff. “What did you say?”

Sherlock made a small keening sound in the back of his throat and stood up, turning away. Terrible approach. Stupid!

“I understand if you’re feeling doubts. I’ve already found a suitable doctor that will suit our needs. Omega, naturally. I wouldn’t want an alpha toying around in there—“

“Sherlock, hold on.” Molly pulled up her shorts and chased after Sherlock, who had begun to pace into the other hall. “Sherlock, hold it. You…you’re pregnant?” Molly’s voice caught on the word, barely a squeak.

Sherlock shrugged her off and strolled into the living room, doing his best to act as though his heart wasn’t pounding. “Sherlock,” she snapped, a little out of her mind. Her omega was ignoring her! “Don’t do this. Look at me. Sherlock!”

Finally, he turned to face her. His face, which normally smooth with confidence, was riddled with guilt and an anxiety that Molly felt she had been too stupid to notice. “Oh my god,” she breathed, putting both hands over his cheeks. His face crumpled, like he might cry, but he did nothing but close his eyes.

“I told you, I found us a doctor.”

“Sit down. Come here.” Molly led them to the sofa and sat down, pulling Sherlock next to her. She tried not to smother him and let him fizzle like the bright spark he was. “So, the birth control failed.” At Sherlock’s look, she started giggling, although it sounded more hysterical than she would have liked.

“Okay, okay. Um, Sherlock, how long have you known?”

He shrugged, wrapping his arms around himself. “Six weeks.”

“Right.” She let this process for a beat. “What…what do you want to do about this? I mean, we’ve never talked about this before. I’ve never even thought about it. Okay, that’s a lie. I have thought about it, but never in a literal sense. I mean, this is crazy! I just can’t believe that it’s happening.”

“Molly, you’re babbling.”

“Right.” She hugged herself, chilled in only her shorts. “Sorry. Talk to me. What do you want? An- an abortion?”

Sherlock looked at the floor, occupied with his toes for a few moments. “Do you want an abortion?” He could feel Molly stiffen beside him. Omegas weren’t…encouraged to get abortions, and it wasn’t well accepted. But it was legal and completely in the right of the omega (and resident partner). Sherlock didn’t look over. He didn’t want to deduce what Molly was feeling.

“Sherlock, I honestly don’t know.” She laughed, a pathetic, weak sound. This was a shock to both of them; of course she didn’t know what to do. “I didn’t expect this to come up today, honestly. It’s just been a horrible day, too. Naturally. We had to deal with a child death in the morgue, and the inspector needed me to start the autopsy right away. Said he might have something in him… it was horrid.

“He was just a little boy. And I know that will affect my decision if I make it now. I don’t know, Sherlock. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, an inelegant gesture. “We have time.” It seemed so simply, yet eluded the both of them.

“Time. Yes. Okay.” After toying uselessly with her hair, Molly made a decision. “Can we just sit together? I want to be with you.” Sherlock didn’t protest, craving the attention himself, and lead her head until it rested on his thighs. Now it was his turn to run his fingers through her long hair away and will the answer to reveal itself for them both. A simultaneous moment of “Eureka!” would have been very nice.

OP here

Oof, poor Sherlock! Keeping that a secret for all those weeks must have been terrible.

And Sherlock giving Molly head . . . unnf.

I really like this. Thanks and keep up the great work. =)

I was certainly endeavor to <3 sorry it isn't fluffy yet, but it will get there quickly.

To the anon below, thank you! :D

Wow was that ever hot!

This is one is quite short, but I needed to put something out there.

***

When the talk came, Sherlock didn’t feel prepared. He was testing the acidity of a specific element when Molly approached him, tussled and sleepy-eyed from sleep.

“Sherlock,” she started, wrapping her palms around the top edge of the chair opposite to him. “It’s been a few days, so I think it’s time we talked.”

Pure, blind panic assaulted him. The blood began roaring loudly in his ears, distracting her from what was being said. Even though it hadn't been said, and he had no evidence to back up the claim, he could already hear the sweet tilt in her voice when she said I don’t want the baby. Her answer would not surprise him in the least. Molly had never expressed any desire for children, and Sherlock by proxy would follow in her footsteps. He would never force something like this upon her carefully constructed life.

By the time he snapped back to attention, he realized Molly was looking at him strangely, having said something—probably important.

“Yes?” he croaked, his grip on the tweezers incredibly tight. The pain helped distract him from current events.

“Did you hear a word I said?” There was a smile there. Why was she smiling?

“No.” He set the tweezers down and regarded his mate. She walked over to his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“Sherlock, what do you want to do about the baby?”

He opened his mouth, but was stopped by Molly’s finger. “Let me rephrase that. What do you, the bearer of this child, want? I know you, Sherlock. Don’t answer for me, answer for you.” Her gaze was soft, but stern. She rarely displayed any of the frustrated anger that was so often found in others like John Watson, and yet he cowed equally under her attention.

At his looked of an animal being trapped, Molly slid up beside him, her hand resting gently over his thigh in a means of comfort. Sherlock didn't feel caged, exactly, but his throat was dry and his hands moved on their own to settle over Molly’s. What did he want? If Molly hadn’t carved a space inside his head with the persistency of a starving animal, what would he have wanted? He couldn't exactly imagine some random alpha staying with him, murmuring in his ear as life was created. He would never be that careless. He almost said this to her, and then remembered that this was his own construction; Molly was just asking him a question: what do you want?

“I want..." He waited, microseconds turning into miliseconds, turning into minutes, while Molly waited patiently beside him. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, eyes trained on his hands. "I don’t want an abortion." He knew it was incredibly unlikely for Molly to hit him (even if she had been the stereotypical alpha brute), and he didn’t fear for her reaction, but all the same his eyes cast her way and he waited, watching her face.

Molly wore a small smile, pride shining clearly in her eyes. “I was just thinking about Miranda for a girl. Although I wouldn't mind a mini Sherlock running around, either.”

Sherlock couldn’t help his reaction—he grinned, his cheeks aching from the wide stretch. Molly laughed and hugged him, running one hand possessively down his back. “You will be a wonderful father, Sherlock. Don’t let anyone or discourage you.”

Sherlock snorted. “You know how much I despise the general public. If I cared about their opinions, I wouldn’t have mated an alpha. You’re all terrible brutes.”

Molly’s eyes were soft as she kissed him. “Yes: what were you thinking, mating me? And a baby, Sherlock? People are going to think you’re getting domestic.”

“God forbid,” he said, pressing a chaste kiss against her mouth. Her lip gloss was cherry flavor. “Also, I’ve heard that Sherlock is becoming a very popular girl’s name, you know.”

Molly giggled, burying her face in Sherlock’s neck. “I know you tried that on John,” she accused. “Don’t even bother.”

OP here

Awwww, they're so adorable!

Sherlock must have been so terrified, poor bb.

Indeed! Sorry for the long wait. I'll have it up tonight, hopefully.

Pregnancy was hard on Sherlock, at first. His tendency to refuse nourishment had weakened his body, and getting him back into a healthy state was more difficult that Molly had anticipated. Sherlock at the beginning seemed fine (especially considering she hadn’t noticed the pregnancy), but within the third month his morning sickness became unbearable. He was constantly in a state of nausea and rarely wanted to leave the house.

Molly tried to encourage him to go out and get fresh air, but he just curled on the sofa and moaned. “My poor, sick baby,” Molly cooed, brushing her fingers through his curls. He leaned into the touch, his face pale. “You need to try and eat something. If you keep throwing it up, how will you help the baby?”

God. Every time she thought about the baby, her mind went blank. Sherlock had clearly made his peace with the idea, but Molly felt like she was still trying to absorb the information. When she’d been little, Molly had imagined that she would be the one carrying the baby, a big strong alpha holding her by her shoulders. Of course, as she grew she learned what was biologically impossible and her tastes changed.

She’d always preferred smaller omegas; the types that could easily curl in one’s arms. Big, burly men or women had never attracted her. Maybe it was the alpha part of her seeking out a smaller, more manageable mate, but she couldn’t help herself. However, when Sherlock had come along, her heart (and her dick) had perked at the sight of him. He was gorgeous and completely, totally alpha. Subsequently, he was the very first person that wasn’t a famous songwriter, actor, or actress to make her question her sexuality. When she learned he was an omega, she held onto her crush for years in hopes he would see her.

And now he was hers, carrying her baby. It made her stomach bubble with something undeniably happy. Molly buried her nose in Sherlock’s hair, smiling. “I love you,” she whispered. Sherlock answered by dry-heaving into the bucket beside him.

Two weeks and a doctor’s visit later and Sherlock was finally swallowing his foods with more anticipation and less dread. The pills really helped, and the pale colour of his skin became pink and flushed. He actually started looking pregnant, too.

“Ugh,” groaned Sherlock, running his hand over his distended belly. Molly slid to her knees, pressing her thumb against his navel.

“I remember you being less pregnant an hour ago,” she teased. Sherlock grunted, his face pained.

“I haven’t been able to swallow for weeks and you expect me to stop when you give me this much food? This is your fault.”

Molly bit her lip. It was true that she had gone a little overboard cooking for him—and there were at least three chicken breasts, a steak, and a heap full of vegetables leftover from Sherlock’s appetite. That didn’t mean that she had force-fed him the food, threatening bodily harm. Sherlock had swallowed every delicious bite all on his own.

“Yes, blame it on me.” Molly sighed, leaning forward to kiss his belly. “You’re going to get heart burn tonight.” At his look, she tried to defend herself. “I didn’t expect you to eat most of it. I just…wanted you to have something nice.” The kind of life she hadn’t been able to have as a child. Her mother had always told her she projected her feelings onto others.

Sherlock’s eyes, sharp even in his food-com agony, followed her movements. “Make it up to me,” he demanded. “Now.”

Molly grinned. “How should I do that?” She kissed her way down his stomach, her hands rubbing gentle circles along his hips. “Would you like a little something, or do you just want me to rub your tummy?”

Sherlock paused, considering the dark look in Molly’s eyes, but ultimately the pain in his stomach stopped him. “Just rub,” he commanded, trying not to moan as Molly’s hands, delicate and experienced as a surgeon’s, ran over the swell.

“You’d think there are two in there.” Sherlock grunted, not bothering with a rebuttal. He couldn’t imagine handling one, let alone two. He prayed that when the time came that would not be the case.

“Molly Hooper, are you calling me fat?” She then proceeded to rub a sweet spot on him that made Sherlock groan. It was as good as any response.

Edited 2014-06-12 04:22 (UTC)

Molly woke up to something rubbing against her lower body. She blinked her eyes open rapidly, trying to gather an awareness of her surroundings. It didn’t take long. She was used to Sherlock cuddling or rubbing his body along hers in his sleep. This time, though, there seemed to be an air of urgency about him. It took her longer than she would have liked to realise that he had her cock in his hand, stroking her into hardness. “Sher-“ she swallowed, grimacing at the taste in her mouth. “Sherlock? What’s wrong?”

His eyes, bright even in the dark, were wild. “What do you think?” he hissed. “This is your bloody fault. Hormones. I need—“ he reached for her and Molly sat up, taking hold of his shoulders.

“Are you sure? At this stage, I’m not sure...” Even now she worried. Molly didn’t understand how he was so completely insatiable at only five months. After the first few months she had resigned herself to wanking alone, but once his body had started growing big and healthy—well, so had his libido.

Molly reached towards his cock, hot and damp in her palm, and started stroking him. He made a sound, shuddering against her shoulder. “Do you want me to suck you off?” she whispered in his ear, encouraging by his soft moan. He liked missionary, but she knew it hurt his back. “You can fuck my mouth, hm? Or you could ride me if you’re up for it.”

Sherlock nuzzled his damp forehead into her neck, inhaling the fertile scent. He would love to ride her, but his legs already felt like gelatin and he doubted he would be much help. So he reached for the headboard and pulled himself up, allowing Molly to take the initiative and pull down his pants. “Good?”

Sherlock looked down at her and nodded, resting his knees firmly on either side of her head. He knew it was an awkward position for her—one that required the help of a pillow—but he was grateful all the same. “I just want you all the time,” he whined, as if defending his own actions. He hated the tone of his voice—as if he were just some simpering omega that…had the most amazing mate ever.

Sherlock’s head dropped and he rocked his hips into the warmth of Molly’s mouth. “Oh God.” Biting his lip, he dropped one hand and buried it into Molly’s hair, pulling her toward him. Molly moaned and relaxed her mouth before swallowing.

Sherlock squirmed, his hips stuttering. “Molly.” He started with a gentle rhythm, shivering with each hot, wet pull. His pace stayed lazy and sedate, relishing in each drag of his prick between her lips. Molly let him take control, but her tongue stayed pressed firmly on the underside.

“Mmn, Molly.” Sherlock’s mouth hung open, his tongue darting to wet his lips. Molly moved forward until her nose touched the coarse hair around his pelvis and moaned purposefully. Sherlock echoed her, rocking more forcefully into her mouth. “Oh god, your mouth.” He took hold of her hair and shoved his cock as far as it would go. While he was small, Molly still choked in her surprise before she caught herself and forced her throat to relax, breathing through her nose.

Sherlock made those high whimpering noises that signaled he was about to come; and sure enough he froze, sobbing as he shuddered and came. Molly only had to swallow, tasting little to nothing.

When she was sure that Sherlock was spent, she pulled back, pausing to clean him with her tongue. “Better?” She asked, ready to ignore her own need. Sherlock was often too tired after an orgasm this late to even think about her. True to her assumptions, he slumped down and laid his head on her chest, groaning happily. “It was perfect. You’re perfect. Sherlock Jr. is very happy as well.”

“You’re welcome.” Molly laughed. “You’re an odd one, Sherlock. Sherlock Jr.? Is that what we’re naming them?”

“Yep.” Sherlock smacked his lips and turned, sighing with content. Molly twitched, wanting so badly to put a hand on herself, but would have to wait until Sherlock fell asleep and inevitably rolled away. If she didn’t die from sexual frustration at that point.

“The things I do for you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his nearest body part. He giggled, eyes already drooping.

“You love me.”

“I do.” Molly rested her hand on his bloated stomach, smoothing her fingers over the skin. “I really do.”

Edited 2014-06-12 04:25 (UTC)

I feel like this is a good place to end, especially if OP is tired of me :P I feel like I haven't done enough fluffiness, so if you want a last part, I will happily write it (birth scene and after maybe?).

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