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not-a-space-alien · 3 years ago

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Watch Your Step: Chapter 5: Diurnal Predators

AO3 link

Another big thanks to my beta reader @appelsiinilight and to @static-stars for all the great ideas!! :D

Chapter 5 is 5.6k words. If you want notified of updates, as this is def. not the last chapter, may I recommend subscribing over on AO3? ☞ (oXo)☞

UPDATE: adding link to other chapters, and letting everyone know you can request to be added to a tag list going forward :)

Masterpost link

Marcy had moved Thistle’s little bed into the cooler that night. She wasn’t sure how that would go over considering the fight they’d just had, but overnight was a long time to leave him unattended.

She was worried about his safety, after the way he’d hurt himself trying to get away from her. And if Thistle was part of a social species that depended on each other to survive, she was more convinced than ever he would die if he escaped. Which she still wasn’t completely convinced he wouldn’t try to do with how upset he had been.

But it was more than that. Marcy was ready to admit she was selfish. She didn’t want him to escape. Yes, because it would be dangerous for him. But even if he wanted to take the risk, even if he would rather die than stay with her...she wouldn’t let him make that sacrifice.

So she put the bed in the cooler. Luckily Thistle seemed okay with this. In fact, he looked a bit guilty, as though he were a disobedient child Marcy was punishing. She wanted to tell him that wasn’t the case, but the truth was too complicated to be confident she could convey it with their limited shared vocabulary.

He settled in comfortably before Marcy closed it over his head and going to sleep herself. She had more anxiety dreams, bad enough that she couldn’t fall back asleep after waking up around 4AM. She rolled over and looked at the cooler.

After a few minutes, she got up, walked over, and cracked the cooler open. It was too dark to see too much, but he appeared to be sleeping peacefully, curled up and still.

She slid it shut and quietly got her car keys. Not even bothering to change out of her pajama pants, she padded downstairs, put her shoes on, and went out to the car.

It was nice to miss rush hour traffic on the way to the lab for once. Her commute took nearly half the time it usually did.

The lab was empty when she got there, of course. It was also a complete mess. It looked like someone had been working frantically and not cleaned up after themselves. Marcy felt a twinge of guilt, thinking of how she had dumped all the lab maintenance work on her undergrads. Not enough guilt to do anything about it, though.

Marcy rifled through the mess and found the glue, the self-closing forceps, and the dull spreader. She grabbed them and headed back out to the car, driving back well before the city had started to come awake for the work day.

She tiptoed back up to her room, closing the door as quietly as she could. She put the materials she’d nicked on her desk.

She cracked the cooler open again. From the faint light of the rising sun streaming in through the window, she could see him now, chest moving steadily with calm breaths.

She was struck fresh by how delicate he seemed each time she looked at him, even more so when he was asleep. She decided to let him sleep, leaving the cooler cracked open and sitting at her desk.

What to do in the meantime? She’d been so consumed with paying attention to him, she hadn’t really thought of anything else recently. Maybe she should start working on her thesis again.

She opened her laptop and resumed the data analysis she’d been working on a few days ago, before she’d realized she needed to go to the field. It had seemed so important before, but now she could barely bring herself to care about it.

She half-heartedly fiddled with the fonts on her figures until he woke up.

Thistle hated to admit it with how much he despised the idea of being trapped in that box, but….Even with his wing hurting, and the horrible emotional upset, he slept better in the cooler than he had open on the desk.

He was used to sleeping in the hive, where the sleeping areas were enclosed, cozy, and dark...Usually they were also full of other Pixies to pile with, though, but there was no way to replicate that here.

He missed the other Pixies, for many reasons. He could feel his innate magic starting to dim...But maybe Marcy could do something about that.

It would never be quite the same, but maybe he could survive out here.

His eyes drifted open as he sensed the warmth of the rising sun on his cheek, the walls of the cooler fading into existence. The lid was cracked open slightly, and he could hear some strange intermittent sound from elsewhere on the desk that indicated Marcy was awake and, in all likelihood, doing some of the usual human nonsense she was prone to.

He felt foolish. He’d jumped to a lot of conclusions yesterday, assigned a lot of intentions and thoughts to Marcy that he couldn’t necessarily assume. He hadn’t been fair to her. And he’d gotten so upset he’d hurt himself.

But it was a new day, and they were both probably feeling better enough to have a talk about it.

Thistle’s head appeared over the lip of the cooler, looking at her with half-lidded eyes under a mess of bedhead.

“Good morning!” Marcy said, leaving the chair and kneeling next to him. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Good morning.” He muzzily clambered into the hand she offered to help him climb out. She set him on the desk, fussing over him in a way that was probably overwhelming for someone who’d been awake for five seconds after a stressful day.

She clasped her hands together. “Are you...Ardo angry?”

Thistle rubbed his eyes, looking up at her. “No, not angry.”

“Marcy sorry. Arlou.”

“It’s okay.” He hid his hands behind his back. “Marcy...Marcy angry? Olea?”

“No,” said Marcy. “No, no, not angry. Sorry.”

“Dak. Ardo sorry.”

She wanted to cry. She felt he didn’t have anything to be sorry for, that he didn’t need to apologize, that nothing had been his fault, that he was well within his right to be scared and angry at the situation she had put him in. But she wasn’t sure how to say so without the risk of it sounding like she was rejecting his apology. So she gently scooped him up, lifting him and planting a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

When she drew him back, he’d gone red to the tips of his ears, eyes wide. “Was that okay?”

He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and averted his eyes. “It’s okay.”

She rubbed the side of his head with a gentle finger, and he leaned into it, not breaking eye contact.

“Come on, let’s fix your wing back up. Fugio.” She moved the glue bottle and the forceps closer.

He climbed down onto the desk, lying flat and spreading his wing out. There was much more trust in it this time, no trembling, no thinly veiled fear that she had sinister ulterior motives as she moved the clamp onto his wing.

Marcy very gently re-did the section of the wing that had come unfastened, using more glue this time. She noted with a frown that a section that hadn’t previously torn had been damaged, ripping under the strain of bearing the weight of the grafted wing without the assistance of the surrounding tissue which had come undone.

That wasn’t good. If he was risking further injury, and not just re-injury, by flying, he needed to be really, really careful.

There was a knock on her bedroom door, which startled Marcy. She released a string of curses at the flinch in her hands, but luckily the sudden movement hadn’t hurt Thistle at all.

“Marcy, do you have any dirty dishes in there?” said Teddy’s voice through the door. “A bunch are missing from the kitchen.”

Completely ignoring Teddy’s query as well as the guilty pile of dishes on her desk, Marcy said, “No, sorry.”

Thoroughly brushed off, Teddy moved off from the door.

Thistle was now looking very nervous not because of questioning Marcy’s motives, but her competency. The sudden jerking of her big hands hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Esus igada. Bonou estisinada. Vioustre fasie - vi povus foiri ĝin. Bonou.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry--I’m--I promise I’m being as careful as I can. I know it’d be easy for there to be an accident.”

Thistle settled down and let her finish gluing down the fragments of wing, clamping them and letting them dry. He rested his chin on his hands, looking contemplative.

Marcy’s phone rang while they were waiting for the glue to dry. She stepped away. The caller ID said it was Anmar, one of the undergrads who worked in the lab.

Cringing, she answered. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Marcy, I know you said you’re working from home, but I can’t stay longer than three hours today.” He sounded on the verge of tears. “I have a final later this week, and I need to go home and study. And nobody else was signed up to come in today, but it’s definitely going to take longer than three hours to feed the spiders, not to mention no one did the caterpillars yesterday, and-”

“Okay, okay, calm down.”

“I just don’t know what you want me to do. Dr. Meritt isn’t in today either. I didn’t know I was going to be the only one in today.”

Marcy exhaled a deep breath, leaning into the wall and looking at Thistle, who was kicking his legs idly. “Okay,” she sighed. “Okay, don’t worry, I’ll come in to make sure everything gets done.”

“Thank you, Marcy, I’m really sorry, I just can’t stay to finish everything myself, and no one else is in.”

“It’s okay. Give me like an hour. I’ll be in.”

“Thank you, Marcy.”

Marcy turned her phone off and slid it back into her pocket. She had been brushing her obligations completely off for so long it was inevitable something like this would happen, but she was still frustrated.

She turned to Thistle. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Marcy left him lying on the desk, carefully shutting the door behind her and shooing Mochi away.

“Marcy, are you sure you don’t have any dishes in your room?” Teddy said as Marcy came down the stairs. “We’re out of plates.”

“No, sorry,” said Marcy, moving past her to get into the kitchen, barely listening.

Marcy got a bowl and rifled in the fridge for more of the food she’d seen Thistle eating the most of--the cheese, the fruit, and the bread. They were out of plates for some reason, so Marcy took a handful in a paper towel and went upstairs. She stopped to fill the bowl with water from the faucet in the bathroom before getting back into her room. She battled Mochi once again, balancing the water and food and using her leg to block Mochi while she pushed the door open.

“Kioasas?” Thistle said as Marcy came in and started setting things on the desk.

“Just a sec.” Marcy leaned down and examined the wing. The glue seemed to be dry enough. She pinched it gently and released it from the clamp, setting the self-closing forceps aside and offering Thistle a finger to help him stand up.

“Okay, listen,” said Marcy. “Avae.”

Thistle flickered his wings and stood at attention.

Marcy got a piece of paper and drew a square, a large stick figure, and a small stick figure inside: what they had already agreed meant Marcy and Thistle inside the house.

“I have to leave,” she said, drawing a motion arrow from herself to the outside.

He nodded enthusiastically.

She drew a line down to the floor of the house. “But you have to stay here, okay?”

He looked at her uneasily.

She went down on the paper and drew Thistle in the house, her outside of it with a motion arrow indicating she was coming back in. “I’ll be back at….” She looked around and suddenly realized she did not have any clocks in her room. She had always just checked the time on her phone or computer. “...sunset. I’ll return before it gets dark.” She drew the sun peeking out from behind a hill just behind the house.

He wrung his hands.

“Don’t leave this room, okay?” She drew a motion arrow with him going outside, then a big X over it. “Stay here.” For emphasis, she drew a motion line pointing to the floor of the house. “Do not go outside. Understand? Iompreas?”

“Miomprea, ve …”

“It’ll be okay. I’ll be back in a little bit. Will you be okay?”

Thistle rubbed the back of his head, averting his eyes for a moment. Then, he squared his shoulders and got a very serious look on his face. “It’s okay.”

“Okay. I promise I’ll be back.” She walked over to the window, pausing for a moment, unsure.

Besides Thistle trying to get out the window, she was suddenly struck by the possibility that something could fly in. Unlikely, but not impossible.

She shut the window. “Okay?”

“It’s okay.”

“Okay.” She walked over to the door. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

Looking over her shoulder one last time, praying this wasn’t a huge mistake, she shut the door behind her. But she couldn’t just stay in her room forever, right? This had to happen eventually.

***

Thistle was extremely good with his hands. He had no natural talent for magic, but he was one of the best pixies in the hive at constructing things. He had done most of the work expanding the honeycombs last year when they’d all decided they needed more space. He’d gotten caught by that fateful mantis because he’d been out on a trip to explore and look for new materials to make clothes out of.

His natural inclination when given materials and left to it, was to start making things. He got bored of drawing quite quickly without Marcy there, so he clambered into the sewing kit to see what he had access to.

There was a decent supply of fabric scraps, so Thistle decided to make himself some more clothes. After all, he probably wouldn’t be back to the hive anytime soon to get anything more than the clothes on his back…

He decided to make pajamas, since Marcy seemed keen on always changing clothes before she slept. He would have been able to work a lot faster with materials that were scaled appropriately to him, but he still managed to do a decent job.

Decent was not really what he wanted, though. He frowned looking at himself. The cloth was too coarse, the seams too big, and the stitches too thick. He wished for some spidersilk. That made the best clothes, when you could get it. Collecting and processing it was dangerous...for obvious reasons.

Maybe he could convince Marcy to help him get some. It wouldn’t be dangerous for her. His optimism slowly started coming back. Maybe there would be some advantages to this. He’d been enjoying the endless supply of food, as well.

Disappointed with his work, he dropped the clothes onto the desk and changed back into his regular outfit. He turned his attention back towards his wing. It still hurt, but really only when he moved it. Whatever substance Marcy was using on it, it seemed to work even better than whatever it was that made spider webs sticky.

He shuddered thinking of webs. Spiders, and...other things that made webs. But maybe with Marcy, he would be safe from them as well.

And snakes. And other scaly things that slithered, scarier than snakes. And things that flew, more intelligence in their eye than birds. Pixies had many predators.

He shook his head. No need to worry about that. But he could at least test his flight.

He stepped to the edge of the desk, looked at the floor, then chickened out and settled for testing with a flight-assisted leap onto the desk chair. He repeated it to get back up onto the desk, then moved straight down onto the floor.

Not bad. He was still hesitant to try and stay in the air too long, especially with Marcy gone and unable to help if he tore it again. But this was all he really needed for now.

The room looked different from the floor. He’d spent most of his time on the desk. There had been no reason for him to be down there with Marcy’s feet.

He suddenly realized he had the opportunity to explore the room without Marcy being there to tell him to stop. Maybe he shouldn’t...maybe it would be an invasion of her privacy.

He rubbed his hands together. Well, she’d told him to stay here. She hadn’t given him any restrictions on where he could go in the room.

He walked across the carpet--it was plush, softer than any soil he’d walked on, and it felt good on his aching feet. The bed seemed so impossibly tall, and he craned his neck to look up at it.

He leapt up, fluttering and tumbling down onto the rumpled sheets. The comforter was still pulled back from the pillow, because Marcy never made her bed. Thistle found himself disapproving of that.

He ducked under the covers and crawled in. It was not as soft as his bed back home, but it was more comfortable than the Kleenex box. And pulling the covers over his head, blocking the light from the window...it was cozy.

All he’d need would be someone to sleep next to, and it would maybe be just close enough to how it was in the hive.

He got up and hiked across the bed, opening the pillow case and poking his head inside.

He dropped down from the bed, noticing the underbed area. It was dreadfully dusty, and there was only a long, thin box under there.

He tapped his chin. Would Marcy be angry if he opened things to look inside? She hadn’t scolded him when he’d looked inside the desk drawer.

“I won’t take anything. She’ll never know I was in there.”

He walked under the bed, sneezing at the dust. He was disappointed to find the lid was too heavy for him to lift, so he got on his hands and knees and looked in through the transparent side.

It looked to be full of papers of some kind, and small trinkets he couldn’t make sense of, some made of metal, some of other, unknown materials.

He stood, looking around. There was another box under the nightstand, this one smaller. The lid looked lighter.

He walked over and undid the snap, pushing the lid back and peeking inside.

There was some longer, slender object inside, nestled among a pile of cords and bottles. It was purple and felt soft under his touch. There was a button on it, similar to the kind Marcy pressed to get her computer to work.

He reached his hand out and pushed, leaning into the motion to get enough force to hear it depress.

The object started to vibrate. Thistle went bright red as he realized what it must be. “Oh. Oh, please stop that.”

He slammed the lid back down and walked quickly away from it. The box continued to hum with the vibration, but it was quiet enough he couldn’t hear it once he got a few feet away from it, so he could just ignore it. He decided to just pretend he had no idea how it had gotten that way. He would just claim the tiny, dusty handprint on the box was from someone else.

Thistle rubbed the back of his head. Well… Whenever she got back, she would probably be so focused on that she wouldn’t notice if Thistle messed anything else up.

He hopped up to the top of the night stand, looking at the various toiletries there. Corrective lenses--the Pixies had these for the rare occasion one of them was born unable to see things up close, but these ones looked to be made out of glass. A stick of some white, powdery substance that smelled like artificial flowers. A bottle with a pump he had seen her putting on her hands, the substance therein also smelling like artificial flowers. Some elastic bands, which he’d seen her using to tie her hair back. A water bottle, which definitely looked like it needed to be washed. More miscellaneous scraps of paper and rubbish on the floor.

He jumped off the nightstand. There was a big, flat rectangle against the opposing wall, which looked similar to the screen on Marcy’s computer. This one didn’t have a keyboard though, so he had no idea how you’d turn it on.

And of course, the shelf with the dead insects on it. He tried not to look at it too long, lest the creeping anxieties return.

He turned to the dresser near the door. He knew it was where she stored her clothes, but he’d been curious about the objects on top. They looked like crude renditions of animals--a cat, a dog, some bizarre hybrid animals. They looked very soft and had black, beady eyes.

They looked a little like the toys young Pixies played with. But Marcy was an adult, right? Thistle shuddered at the thought of a young giant. He didn’t have strong feelings about children, but just the thought worried him… a being so much larger than him, but which might not have yet developed the fine motor controls, self-restraint, and ability to understand it was causing harm that Marcy had. He could easily imagine a human toddler picking him up like a toy and ripping him limb from limb in excitement.

He shook his head, clearing the thought away, then vaulted up on top of the dresser.

The plush animals were a bit dusty. Maybe they were just for decoration.

The top drawer was just slightly open, and Thistle could see a glimpse of cloth inside. Should he keep snooping? Maybe if Marcy had any clothes with holes in them, he could fix them up and surprise her.

He wiggled down into the crevice, bracing his feet on the dresser and his hands against the drawer, and pushed. It slid open, and he scrambled to perch on the lip of the drawer, looking down in.

It was a drawer of underthings, socks and underwear.

He blushed red again. “Oh.”

He stared for a little bit longer than he should have, unburdened by the thoughts of anyone watching him. The scale just boggled his mind, this close up.

He froze as footsteps approached outside the bedroom door. They would just be passing by, right?

But the footsteps came directly at the door. Thistle bit his lip, brain whirring to calculate what he should do.

The door opened.

Thistle would swear up and down that he would never do this in any other circumstances, but the instinct to hide was too strong. He dove into the drawer and buried himself under a pile of socks.

The footsteps passed by the dresser, and he heard the voice of the other giantess--Teddy, he’d heard her being called.

Teddy made a disgusted noise, and Thistle heard clinking and rustling. He crawled forward silently, peeking up just over the edge of the drawer.

Teddy was at the desk, facing away from Thistle. She was collecting the dishes Marcy had been feeding him off of, piling them up in her arms. Thistle caught snatches of what she was saying, including the words for “food,” “water,” “bugs,” “plate,” and “kitchen,” that Thistle had learned in the language Marcy spoke--which he’d mentally been calling Giantese.

Teddy seemed annoyed at something Marcy had done, though Thistle couldn’t figure out what exactly it was. She took all the plates and dishes and paper towels.

Thistle ducked back in the drawer as Teddy turned around, still muttering. The door opened again.

Thistle waited for a few moments, waiting for more sounds, but Teddy’s footsteps receded down the hallway and faded into the distance.

He peeked over. The door was still open. Just a crack. Teddy had pulled it shut, but not actually secured it. There was enough space that Thistle could get his hand in there and push it open, probably, unless it was too heavy to even move on the hinges.

The dresser was close enough to the door that he could take a peek if he stretched far enough. He tiptoed over and leaned.

He saw the hallway from yesterday, when Marcy had taken him to the bathroom, and beyond that another room, door open, with another bed. Thistle couldn’t figure out what kind of relationship Marcy had with the other two humans who lived here...they barely seemed to be friends, let alone family. Was it normal for their kind to live with strangers?

His eyes drifted down to a second desk out in the hallway. He very badly wanted to know what was in the drawers, for reasons he couldn’t fully understand. In fact, he was desperate with curiosity to see the rest of the house.

He withdrew from the door, crouching and putting his hand to his mouth. No, he shouldn’t do that. He shouldn’t go out to the rest of the house, especially not with the other two giants home. That could be disastrous.

He peered back out. The hallway seemed clear. What harm could it do to run over and take a quick peek at the desk, right?

No, no, he definitely shouldn’t. It wasn’t safe. Especially not with the cat.

But he could stay in the air long enough to get away from the cat, right?

No, that was stupid. If he was curious to see the rest of the house, he could ask Marcy to show it to him later, in a way that was safe.

He walked over to the edge of the dresser and slid down it. Yes, that’s what he’d do. When Marcy got back, he’d ask her to show him the rest of the house. Maybe after the other two had gone to sleep.

He hit the carpet, then turned back towards the door, at the crack. Now his thoughts swerved in the other direction, that maybe he should try to close the door, because he remembered the cat. Surely the cat would be able to push it open like that, and come in, and then he’d have no safe space.

He tiptoed forward and peeked out through the crack one more time. Just in time to see the cat trundle out into the hallway from the other bedroom, that fearsome, fluffy beast. Thistle didn’t even come up to its shoulder. It yawned, face splitting open to reveal teeth as long as his forearm, and shook, then padded forward, towards Marcy’s room door.

He knew one curse in Giantese, and he decided this was an appropriate moment to deploy it. “Fuck.”

The cat was definitely coming for the bedroom, for him. He braced his hands on the door, pushing, but couldn’t work up enough momentum to push it over the hump into the lock.

The cat seemed to see the movement and trilled, trotting excitedly.

Thistle cursed and scrambled backwards, giving himself a runway and launching himself at the door. He slammed his shoulder into it, wings pumping to speed him up, pushing with all his might. He was a hairsbreadth away from pushing the door far enough into the frame to engage the locking mechanism when the cat reached it, pushing in with its head and paw.

The door swung back open, knocking Thistle flat on his ass. He tumbled over, then caught his footing and started to dash away.

The cat gave an intrigued trill, pouncing, battering him to the floor with one big, soft paw. It was like being knocked down by a very dangerous beanbag chair.

Thistle froze on the ground, stock still, nose in the carpet and limbs splayed out, chest tightening in terror.

The cat pawed at him curiously. The claws weren’t out yet, but he was acutely aware of how precipitously close to death he was.

Massive shivers went up his spine as he felt hot breath on his neck, the in and out of a demure sniff. “Good...Good kitty…”

He cried out as the rough sandpaper tongue came out and swiped up his body, up through his hair. He clamped his hands over his mouth, trembling, squeezing his eyes shut.

The cat’s mouth came down and nipped him up by the back of the shirt and a good chunk of hair. The floor jerked away from him in a blur of movement.

His legs flailed wildly, hands flying up to his collar. “No! No! Put me down!”

It turned around and carried him out of the room. He continued to flutter and struggle as he was bounced by the cat’s hops down the staircase.

Well...he had wanted to see the rest of the house.

But the cat simply took him down to the bottom of the stairs, where a soft, round, cat-sized bed lay on the floor. It plopped him into the center. He lay there paralyzed with fear of being impaled if he moved.

The cat slithered into the bed and curled up around him, giving him a few more licks with that massive hooked tongue, spiking his hair straight up. Then, it tucked its nose into his side, closed its eyes, and started purring.

Oh. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. He allowed himself to lean back slightly into the soft fur. The rumble of the purring was like a massage.

He heard a human voice give a startled exclamation, and looked up to see Teddy staring at him with wide eyes.

Ah.

They’d made eye contact, but that wouldn’t stop Thistle from trying to hide and convince her she hadn’t seen anything. Teddy gave another hollered exclamation in Giantese as he pushed off the cat bed and darted away, into the base of a nearby closet, which was cracked open just enough for him to wiggle into.

It was almost completely dark in the closet, and the sounds of Teddy and the other giant talking were muffled outside. As he heard Teddy receding, calling out to the other human home, he elbowed and shoved his way past boxes and bags to bury himself further in the closet.

He crouched down in the furthest corner, balling up, listening, waiting. If he could hide until Marcy came home...no, that was ridiculous. Was there anything he could do?

He wanted to cry with frustration. It didn’t seem so. Just hide and hope they went away. It hardly seemed fair.

He heard their two gigantic voices outside the closet, raised in curiosity and speculating to each other. He could tell by the tone. He heard the word “bug” multiple times, as well as the words he knew meant “big” and “wings.”

I’m not a bug! he wanted to scream. He had no idea how these two new humans would react to him. Marcy had hidden him from them for a reason. All the terror from his initial meeting with Marcy surged fresh up in him, imagination running wild with every possible scenario.

The closet door opened, flooding the space with light. Thistle tensed up, drawing his limbs closer to his body, flattening his wings. Please go away. Please please please…

There was an enormous rustling sound as one of them started moving things in front of him, clawing the boxes and bags and cover away. The two baffled voices continued. He clamped his hands over his ears, rocking anxiously.

The box that was shielding Thistle moved. His pupils contracted to pinpricks and his head snapped up to the two of them, looking incredulously down at him.

He scuttled away. A hand came down and closed around the empty space where he’d just been, and he lunged, cursing and shaking, scrambling to put distance between himself and them.

The hand finally closed around his leg, yanking him backwards. He cried out as the ground flew away from him, lifted bodily way, way into the air.

He beat his wings furiously, trying to fly off, but only succeeded in flailing aimlessly in the air, anchored in place by the crushing pressure on his leg.

He figured this was as good a time as any to break out the scraps of language he knew they could understand. “No! Gentle! Stop!”

He craned his neck, twisting to look at them. The male giant was the one holding him, and his hands were big and rough and ungentle in a way Marcy’s weren’t, but both of them were staring at him with mouths open, leaning in.

He hid his face in his hands. “Marcy,” he said as loudly as he could, voice cracking in terror. “Marcy. Get Marcy.”

He heard the metallic clink of metal on glass, and peeked through his fingers to see the giantess had retrieved a large jar, which she was opening.

This prompted a fresh wave of flapping and thrashing. “No!”

He braced himself on either side of the lip of the jar, locking his arms to try and stay out, but it only delayed the inevitable. The strong hands shoved him directly in, then twisted the lid back on.

Thistle landed upside-down on the ground, then clambered to right himself in the narrow space. He fell back down as the jar moved, finally coming to rest stationary on a flat surface.

Once again feeling the terrible mix of absolute exposure and absolute restriction, Thistle stumbled upright and fell against the wall behind him, trembling under the scrutinizing gaze of the two unknown giants leaning to peer at him.

#giant/tiny #gt #gianttiny #fairy #fearplay #angst #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #my writing #my original writing

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along-the-devils-backbone · 3 years ago

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Tw: ED, Tw: Weight loss, tw: self-harm (?)

I'm tired of being huge. I'm tired of being the "wrong shape". I look at other girls that are my size and bigger -- beautiful people that I admire and have helped me so much in my self-love journey... and I see them and realize we're not even shaped the same.

I feel like I would give anything to be a pear-shape. A decent waist, and round hips... but instead, I have a fucking "B" belly, where it looks like I wore my jeans too tight & all my fat deformed into two bellies instead of one... Shirts cling to my upper belly and make me look like i'm smuggling two pool noodles around my waist at all times. High-waisted pants make me look like Tweedle-Dee. If i turn sideways, I look like a really sad floppy caramel apple with the stick shoved all the way through both sides.

I hate it. I hate me.

I've been trying so so hard lately to not hate myself. To work on my confidence and love my body. Some days I can look down and think "wow, i'm so soft. I'm so warm. I can't wait for Adrian to lay his head on my belly and nap." but more often that not lately, I see myself in mirrors and think "Holy fuck, what the fuck was I thinking?? This looks bad. REALLY bad."

And this week... This week got REALLY bad.

We're house-sitting for my MIL and in the 17 years i've been with Jim, her bathroom has been the bane of my existence. Floor-to-Ceiling mirrors line 3 out of 4 walls. BRIGHT fucking lights. I get to see every bad angle of myself in fucking hi-def 4d 1080p. Every roll, every imperfection, every weird dimple... And you can't just... NOT look. It's everywhere. I spend my entire time using the toilet/shower staring at her ugly pink flooring wishing I was literally anywhere else. I can't even walk PAST the bathroom, because the door is always open (so the dog can use her potty pads bc she's old) and i'll catch myself in the mirror, not thinking.

It feels like being drop-kicked by surprise every time I have to fetch something from the bedroom or go pee...

It's gotten so bad though, I feel like every step i've taken towards loving myself, has been undone. Like a bigass house of cards, it just came tumbling the fuck down and i've no idea how to begin rebuilding it.

I tried today, to dress up. To challenge myself & wear something I hadn't worn in public yet, because I saw so many plus-sized goddesses on tiktok trying it, and i thought "I'm going to do that. I'm going to dress up in this expensive dress i bought, and i'm going to do my makeup, wear fishnets & heels, and get gorgeous, then go to a park & do a photoshoot to PROVE how good I look!"

It backfired so hard.

I cried on a park bench.

I felt like a sad, sweaty apple in a sausage-casing that shouldn't have tried to be something other than a gross rotting apple. I came home & immediately changed into shorts and a tanktop and refused to look in the mirrors. I wiped all my makeup off to hide that i'd been crying. I faked being okay to Jimmy because I know he'd just tell me he doesn't care & loves me any way I look... but what's it matter if someone else loves you, if you don't love yourself? When you can't see what they possibly love about your body when they won't even touch it?

On top of all of this, i'm in pain. Literal physical pain. I can't get jack-shit done IRL because of it. I'm always holed up on a couch or in bed crying because it hurts so much. My doctors just shrug and tell me "Well if you lost weight, it probably wouldn't hurt so bad." as if there's not a knot of nerves that if you barely graze my back, i crumple into a heap because of the fucking pain. But let's not see a neurologist -- that's obviously just me being too fat :) right? :)

It makes me not want to eat. I want to starve myself and eat only coffee and boiled eggs for months on end until I lose enough weight for my doctors to go "holy shit, we were wrong! it's NOT your weight! Let's actually get you tested for things NOT related to your weight!!" But I don't do that. Instead, I sit here and eat, because food = happiness. It doesn't need me to rely on somebody to leave the house. It doesn't need me to spend forever walking and standing. It makes me happy, in a life where the only happiness I get comes from my partners. So i fucking eat. And it's not that I eat a lot. I eat maybe 3x a day. 4 if i have an extra snack. My portions aren't crazy huge. I have vegetables & cut out a lot of carbs & dairy whenever I can. I fucking went Keto for 3 months before I got fed up making everything out of cauliflower & spending fortunes on alt flours because i'm allergic to fucking coconut everything...

If i'm not eating to make myself happy, i'm starving myself. Because the idea of food makes me sick. Food = weight gain, and while i know i need nutrients to survive, I'd rather not eat & hope I lose the weight, than eat & have a chance of just gaining more and more...

Is it healthy? fuck no. Is it an eating disorder? oh hell yeah. Do I want to do something about it? fucking of course. Do i know what to do? Not one fucking bit.

I just know i'm not happy. I hate my body. I hate looking at myself from the fucking shoulders on down, and I've no idea how to change it without having surgery -- and i've come to the realization that i'm beginning to be okay with that.

I'm sitting on a park bench today, crying, thinking "It can't be that bad... right?" to want to be cut open & have my stomach stapled, or be rubber-banded so small that all i can eat is a boiled egg and half a coffee, because obviously I can't do it myself.

I'm lying in bed last night, picturing what would happen if I just took a butcher knife and hacked off my "upper" belly, so maybe i'd start to look like a "normal" fat person, instead of this B-belly bullshit that nature so graciously gifted me...

I'm sitting here, remembering every time my mother calls herself fucking ugly, horrendous, disgusting, because she's fat... and she weighs almost 100lbs less than me. Or the time my German Teacher joked about hating her body so much, she mentioned wanting to take a shotgun & position it so it would only catch her belly fat, and nothing else, so they'd be FORCED to liposuction all of the buckshot out & she'd be "normal"...

I know my gyno prescribed a lap-band surgery once. My fucking OBGYN... I ended up cancelling the appointment because I thought I could do it on my own.

I can't.

I know my insurance would cover it. I know i'd be stuck with flabby gross skin afterward & not have any money to get the tummy-tuck needed to make me look normal...

I'm thinking of going through with it anyway though... because i fucking hate my body, and i hate the pain I'm in, and I just want to be done with it all.

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lorencourtier · 4 years ago

Text

discord thread || Loren & Jace

DISCORD THREAD FEATURING: Loren and Jace ( @jace-matthews )

MENTIONS: None

WHEN: July 15th

DESCRIPTION: Jace takes Loren on a date to see Hamilton and they spend the night in a hotel.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: NSFW!!

Jace

"Alright! What'd you think!?" Jace asked, walking hand in hand with Loren. "And uh don't forget, we're not going home. haha. I got us a room."

Loren. ”I thought it was amazing of course! I love Hamilton and the cast was so good.” He held onto Jaces hand and smiled contently. “Oh, I didn’t forget. You got me out here feeling like a prince.”

Jace "You are a prince. I know royalty when I see it." He laughed, kissing the back of his hand. "It's actually just down this way. It's the hilton. 5 star."

Loren. ”You are too sweet to me, I swear” he blushed. Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as Jace kissed the back of his hand. “Oooh fancy. I like”

Jace "We can do room service for dinner, if that's okay?" He said, leading them down the sidewalk.

Loren. ”That is totally okay. The room service at Hilton’s is to die for” he nodded. His curls bouncing in the wind as he started to walk a bit faster toward the hotel. Stopping right before the entrance and pulling Jace back. “Kiss me”

Jace "Yeah I think so too! The salmon is so delicate." He agreed, as they got there and stopped with him, smiling at Loren as they stopped in front of the building. He didn't even have to ask. He wanted to kiss him over and over. Pulling him in, he smiled, kissing him gently and then pulling away. "Come on. Our room awaits."

Loren. The way Jace kisses him without even a second thought left him breathless every time. He was truly addicted to those lips the other possessed. He sighed contently as a Jace pulled away and he nodded before following along. “Yes, the salmon is parfaite” he agreed. “I’d that what you’re gonna order?”

Jace Jace nodded as he lead them both in and loaded them up on the elevator. “I I’m gonna get the salmon with roasted veggies and creme brûlée.” He smiled. “Then a bath. Also this is all on me.”

Loren. ”Sounds amazing. I’m gonna get that too” he smiled leaning against the elevator wall. “A bath huh?” He raises his brow and licked his lips before smiling again. “Well thank you. You’re amazing”

Jace "I am so far from amazing but i'm glad you think so." He smiled, pulling Loren along with him as they got to room, fumbling for the key and finally getting it. "Welcome to our temporary home for the night. Your menu, bed, and bath awaits."

Loren. ”Thats not true. You are so amazing” he grinned. Grabbing his face with his free hand and squeezing it while making a kissy face. Once they were out of the elevator and standing at the door to their room, Loren felt a sudden urge. Waiting for Jace to get the door open and following him inside before pushing him back onto the bed. “I wanna give you a proper kiss now” he insisted. Straddling over him and leaning down to press his lips to the others.

Jace Jace propped himself up on his elbows, returning the kiss and kissing Loren as passionately as he could. He hands ran up his thighs, smirking against his lips before pulling away. “That was nice.” He turned to look at the menu that sat on the table. “Maybe I’m not so hungry after all?” He joked.

Loren. Loren smiled as he pulled away and licked his lips to taste Jaces mouth as long as he could. “Yeah it was” he nodded. His hands pushing up the others chest as he watched him. “No?” He asked with a soft chuckle. “Should I help you build an appetite?”

Jace Jace shrugged, smirking up at Loren. “Nah I think I can def still order.” He sat up, pressing his lips to him again before grabbing the phone and ordering them both what they originally planned to order. Hanging up, he turned to Loren. “They said 45 minutes....so let’s build that appetite”

Loren. Lorens heart sank into his stomach when Jace suddenly turned and reached for the phone. Placing their order before bringing his attention back to him and making Loren question his motives. “How do you want me?” he asked with an almost way too straight face. Climbing into his hands and knees on the bed as he looked back over his shoulder

Jace Jace frowned, looking at him. “Loren, baby I-“ he could see the expression in his face change and it made him sit up and kiss the back of Loren’s shoulder. “I’m...not going to control you like that...” he said to him, looking into his eyes. “You do what is comfortable.”

Loren. Loren just watched him for a moment as he kissed the back of his shoulder. He felt quite embarrassed honestly. “Okay” he nodded. “I’ll be right back.” He climbed off the bed and made his way to the bathroom before closing the door and sliding down to the floor against it. His head in his hands as he tried to understand what he just did.

Jace Oh no. Noooo this is not what Jace wanted. But he could see what had just happened. Loren opened up to him the first night with him about this. “Loren.” Jace said, watching him go to the bathroom. “No, baby...” he sighed, getting up and walking to the door. Slowly trying to open it, he couldn’t, feeling Loren’s body weight against it. “Loren talk to me. Please.”

Loren. Loren could feel his heart sink again when Jace tried opening the door. He was so embarrassed and he really just wanted to open it but he was scared. “I’m okay” he replied. Standing up and finally pulling the door open with a look of defeat. “I’m so sorry. I don’t... I didn’t mean to do that” he said softly before pressing his lips together and shrugging pitifully

Jace Jace didn’t even give Loren any time to continue saying sorry before he walked in and wrapped his arms around him. “I’d never hurt you. I promise.” He said truthfully, pressing his forehead to Loren’s. “You’re okay.”

Loren. Loren placed his hands on Jaces shoulders and he pressed their foreheads together. His eyes closing as he took a couple of deep breaths. “I know that, I do” he nodded against the others head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I just thought you’d like it”

Jace he frowned, bringing his hands up to cup Loren’s face. “I love rough sex. I love when someone takes control of me but not to the extent of what you’ve been through.” He said, kissing Loren’s lips. “But we can make love. We can do it gently and get aggressive. Whatever you want but I just don’t want to touch you like he did.” He said, looking in his eyes. “Don’t be embarrassed. I want you Loren. I really do.”

Loren. Jaces words brought tears to his eyes and he felt even more embarrassed. Was this all he was going to do with Jace! Cry like a little fucking wuss? “Okay” he nodded again. Licking his lips to try and stop them from shaking. “I want you too. So bad. I just want to be whatever you need.”

Jace “Loren.” He choked out. Watching him cry made his heart burst. It was so hard to see him so upset. He used the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears that fell from his eyes, kissing each cheek as if he could kiss them away. “Don’t cry baby. Please don’t cry.” He said to him looking in his eyes. “What I need is for you to be comfy in your own skin, baby. I want you for you. I need you for you.”

Loren. Loren wished so badly that he didn’t have to go through the things that he did recently. He was pretty confident in the way things were before he tried to end things. But now he was just broken. He wasn’t sure how to act or feel anymore. All he really wanted was to be needed and wanted the way Jace claimed he was. Which made his heart speed up in his chest as he leaned in to kiss the beautiful man standing before him. “You have me” he breathed out against his lips. Walking him backwards toward the bed again before turning around and laying down, pulling Jace on top of him.

Jace He saw the hurt in Loren and needed to find a way to fix this. Following Loren back to the bed, he hovered over him and kissed his lips softly, moving down his neck and chest. knock knock. Shit. Of course the food would be there now. Jace sat up, turning his head towards the door. “Just leave it by the door way! We’ll be out in a minute! Thank you!” He smiled, hearing the person walk away and looking back at Loren, moving to grab the hem of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head so he could kiss him further down his abs.

Loren. Loren was loosing himself in the feeling of Jaces lips as his eyes fell shut and he hummed softly. His entire body practically jumping out of his skin once he heard the knock though. “Holy shit that scared me” he laughed. Hiding his face behind his lovers arm as he called to the person behind the door. “We can eat if you want to” he breathed out as Jace trailed his kisses down his chest. His hands grabbing at his head as his head lulled back.

Jace “Me too.” He laughed, continuing to move down his body and stopping just above his waist line. “I’ll leave it up to you. We can eat or I’ll continue. Either way, something is going in my mouth.” Jace told him with a smirk, in hopes it would lighten the mood. “But seriously baby, we can eat if you want to.”

Loren. The further his lips moved down his body the more aroused he became. His hands clenching at jaces head before moving to cup his face as he looked up at him. “Baby if you stop now I’m literally going to have to finish without you” he mused. Dropping his hands to his waistline to undo his pants as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and watched Jaces reaction to him

Jace “That’s What I thought.” He smirked, watching the boy undo his pants, watching intently and using his own hands to pull them down, along with his underwear and looking up at him from his almond brown eyes, his tongue grazing the tip of his cock. “You sure...?” He said, flicking his tongue against the tip. “The food might get cold.” He smirked, trailing his tongue the whole way down and back up.

Loren. God Damn Jace could be a tease when he wanted to be. But Loren was absolutely loving it. His head eagerly nodding at the other males question as he lifted his hips. “I’m definitely sure” he moaned. Feeling Jaces tongue along his tip as he parted his lips. “Shit baby” he body trembled with need. “I want to fuck that pretty little mouth or yours so bad”

Jace “Do you?” Jace said, raising a brow and swirling his tongue over the tip of Loren’s cock, moving forward as he completely took him in his mouth, using one hand to stroke what his mouth wasn’t covering when he’d bob his head up and down, increasing his speed slightly so that Loren was fucking his mouth.“You care if i take pics of you? I need something to show you off.”

Loren.

“Mmm oh yeah” he hummed. His hips jerking up as Jace finally took him completely into his mouth. “Oh shit that feels so good” he moaned out with pleasure. His hips lifting to each stroke as Jace bobbed up and down on him. He reached down to grip at his hair and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Mmmm yes. I love your mouth” he grinned. “Sure, go for it”

Jace his mouth popped off of Loren, smiling as he pulled his phone and handed it to him. “I’ll take that photo in just a second but let me finish here. I have to please my boy.” He smirked, pulling his hips towards him and draping his legs over his own shoulders, taking him in and starting to deep throat him, moaning so it would send vibrations all through his body.

Loren. Loren couldn’t help but smirk as Jace handed him his phone. Of course he was gonna use this opportunity to film him sucking his cock. He held up the camera and pressed record before Jace pulled him closer and took his entire length. His legs tightening over his shoulders as his mouth dropped open. “Oh fuck baby” he moaned loudly. His free hand gripping his hair again as his hip lifted and pushed down his lovers throat. “Holy shit that feels amazing. Don’t stop.” His head tilted back as his hips continued to moved with Jaces mouth and he felt his release already building. “Shiiiit” he hissed. Tightening his body to try and hold back from cumming so fast

Jace Jace smirked, seeing the camera. He had a slight hope hed film this. He wanted it for his own pleasure too and of course, he’d send a copy to Loren too. Gripping his thighs, he let his fingers dig into his skin, continuing to deep throat the boy and seeing, and hearing him, trying to fight his urge to cum. “Don’t fight it baby...” Jace said pulling off and stroking him. “Don’t fight it and let me taste you.” He smirked, applying his mouth again as he reached down to undo his own pants, releasing himself to start stroking as he started to deep throat him again. Z

Loren. There was no way this man was real. Loren had to have dreamt him up. This was just too damn good. His body could barely handle the pleasure it was receiving right now. His hips practically begging for more as his release finally caught up to him. “Aahhhh, fuckkk” he moaned loudly. His hand gripping Jaces hair as his hips jerked deep to the back of his throat with his release. “Yesss baby” he hummed as he started to come down. Sitting up and pulling Jace to him to replace his hand on his cock with his own. “let me help you” he pleaded. Handing jace his phone as he took his length into his mouth

Jace Their food was no match for foreplay. There was so much sexual tension in the room, it could not go ignored. He swallowed every drip of the boy, humming as he savored the taste and stood up only to be taken off gaurd by Loren taking over. “Oh shit!” He said, Taking his phone from Loren, and starting to record as his hips buckled to the touch of Loren’s mouth. “Fuck baby. That’s it.” He moaned out, slowly thrusting into his mouth.

Loren. Looking up at Jace as he had his cock completely down his throat he hummed with the intent of added pleasure. The vibrations of his voice causing him to gag softly as he began to bob his head back and forth. Letting Jaces cock hit the back of his throat as he used his hand to stroke the rest of his length. God, he was so big, and delicious. He would rather suck this mans dick over and over than ever even consider worrying about the food sitting in the hallway. He pulled his head back to let his tongue roll around Jaces tip before slapping his length against his tongue and eagerly taking him again. His hands moving to his ass to squeeze tightly as he continued to moan around him.

Jace God Damn. Jace was not expecting the way Loren worked his cock. He was better than Jace himself and Jace was starting to realize just how much he had to learn. “You’re so fucking hot.” Jace breathed out, stopping the video and placing his phone to the side and replacing his hands with Loren’s hair, thrusting into his mouth over and over. “You feel so fucking amazing.” He praised, his legs already trembling with pleasure

Loren. He smirked up at Jaces’s comments, with his cock still fully engulfed. He loved tasting him, and when he dropped his phone to really fuck his mouth, he moaned deeply. One of his hands dropping to caress his balls as he continued to suck hard, pressing his tongue to Jaces length and he awaited his release to the back of his throat

Jace Fuck, he was too skilled for his own good, but he could not complain. He was loving every moment, partially regretting that he did put his phone down but he knew this would happen again. “I’m cumming...fuck.” Jace said, pounding into Loren’s throat and coating his throat with his hot cum, pulsating through his mouth.

Loren. Feeling his cum hit the back of his throat he swallowed hard. Pulling back with a pop as he dipped down to suck each of his lovers balls into his mouth. Making sure he was nice and clean before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “So fucking delicious” he grinned. Pulling Jace down for a heated kiss before laying back on the bed and getting his pants back up.

Jace he smiled, kissing him back before falling back and fixing his own pants before turning to look at him. “Let’s eat and then sleep.” He smiled, walking out to get the food and bringing it back.

Loren. Loren nodded and chewed his bottom lip while watching him get the food. This date was definitely one to remember that was for sure

#chats:jace #chats:discord #ft.jace #{Jace Matthews;; Your pretty lips leave me so inspired}#tw::nsfw

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bubble-tea-bunny · 6 years ago

Text

the missus

[august walker x reader]

author’s note: yay finally wrote for august! def down to write some more, i have one other idea i’m still playing around w. it’s fun writing secret agent stuff haha

word count: 10,280

This morning, the sun is out and shining, no clouds are in sight, and the turbulence forecast reads nothing but smooth skies. In other words: it’s a good day to fly.

The forest green duffel sits at the foot of the bed, unzipped and flap pulled back to allow for the last few items to be placed inside. Packing for a short work trip is routine in this household, and done with a practiced precision. It’s with utmost care that you roll the neckties before setting them inside the bag. August always lets you choose which ones he should wear while away. You keep me looking sharp he’d remarked once while reviewing your selection of ties for a previous business excursion. People do say the Walkers are always so well-dressed, and August has no problem admitting that it’s owed to you. He says you’d look right at home in the fashion industry, but you just laugh it off. Maybe in another life.

August emerges from the bathroom with his hair already styled. His clothes are laid out on the bed for him to put on, and he does just that, untucking the towel around his waist and tossing it to the side. (You can’t help sneaking a glance at him when he does, and he catches you. He just smirks and carries on with his current task. There’s no time to get sidetracked.)

“I can’t believe you’re leaving again so soon,” you state, breaking the silence. “It feels like you just got home.”

August sighs, shrugging on his button-up. “You know how she is. All work and no play. There’s things that need doing.”

“Maybe I should have a talk with her about giving you a break…”

“Honey.” The tone isn’t harsh. Gentle, rather, with a hint of warning. You look up shyly to find him raising a brow. You know know it’s hardly a good idea to bring something up like that to someone as austere as Sloane. The most you’d get in return is a laugh. Sometimes you wonder if she knows what the word “vacation” even means. Everyone is on call every hour of the day.

“I know, but can you blame me? I just want to spend time with you.”

August smiles as he grabs his tie and walks over, holding it out to you. He knows how to tie one, but he likes when you do it because he gets to look at you and be close. “Well how about when I’m back, we go on a little getaway? I’ll see if I can convince Sloane to give a me a few days off.”

You think about this proposition as you slip the tie around his neck and tie it with deft fingers. And you can’t help the little grin that forms on your lips. “Really?”

August hums. He sets his hands on your waist to keep you near as you work, his thumb stroking back and forth. When you slide the knot up until the tie fits snugly, you trail a hand down to grab the tail and lightly pull him down to you. He gives you what you want gladly, one hand leaving your waist to tangle in your hair so he can angle your head appropriately and kiss you better. Your arms wrap around his neck but your fingers don’t go to mess with the hair at the nape, and part of him wishes you would because he loves the way it feels. However, he understands his meticulously styled hair can’t be ruined now. And if you did that, you’d both get too carried away, and then he would be late. It's happened before, and Sloane was not a happy woman. She said he’s lucky he has the skillset he does, or someone else would be getting these jobs (“I don’t like my time to be wasted.”) He didn’t doubt she was telling the truth.

But you, on the other hand, are not going anywhere (in fact, you’re still in your pajamas, which consists of lace panties and one of his powder-blue button-ups). So he curls his fingers in your soft locks and tug just a little, and you moan quietly. It causes a heat to ignite in his belly, and that’s when he forces himself to pull away. If he hears anymore, he’ll definitely get sidetracked.

You pant quietly, the tip of your finger lightly running up and down the back of his neck. Goosebumps break out on his skin from the ghost-like touch, and his arms feel comfortable around you. For a few moments it’s just you two and the warmth of the sun pouring in through the window and given there are no clocks in the room, one might think time wasn’t moving at all.

“I hate when you have to leave,” you murmur.

“Me too,” August responds.

It’s silent again, both of you content to stay where you are, but then you sigh heavily and back up out of his grip (he’s reluctant to let go, but he knows he needs to get a move on). His hands fall back to his sides. “Come on,” you state. He’s not sure if you’re saying that to him or to yourself (or maybe both). “Your ride will be here soon.”

August grabs his watch and wallet from the top of the dresser and slips on his shoes as you zip up the duffel. There’s a manila folder sitting next to it, which you know contains his mission briefing. In the past, curiosity would bite at you to peek inside and see what was in it, and you’d had to force yourself away from the idea. What’s in there is not your place to read. However, these days you no longer feel any sort of temptation to steal a glance. Maybe it comes with having been through this so many times before. While you worry for him every time he’s away, you think if you found out the details of the operation that your concern would only increase, knowing for certain what he was going into. But August always comes back safe. He knows what he’s doing.

A hand gently touches the small of your back and you turn your head to find August behind you. You smile and stand to the side to give him space to grab his bag, which he slings over his shoulder, and then he swipes up the folder. Out in the living room, you push aside the curtain and sigh quietly when you see a car parked right on the curb. This is it. Another few days in an empty house.

“Car here?” August inquires, as you let the curtain fall back into place. You nod, and he can see well enough in your eyes that you already miss him even though he hasn’t left yet. The grin he gives you is equal parts fond and sad. For as often as mornings like these occur, he doubts either of you will ever grow used to this part. He extends his free hand, beckoning you closer, and you step into his embrace without having to be told twice. His arm curls around your shoulders and he kisses your head, nuzzling your hair and smelling lavender, smelling home. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Be safe,” you tell him.

“I will. I promise.”

You stand in the open doorway, watching until the car turns the corner and the street is quiet again.

One way you keep yourself busy while home alone is cleaning the house. But given that it hadn’t been long since August’s last job, everything is still spotless. You tidy up the bedroom and the ensuite bathroom and wipe down the counters in the kitchen. You sweep the floors and when you fluff the pillows in the lounge despite the fact they’re still positioned perfectly from when you’d arranged them a few days prior, that’s when you come to the conclusion that there truly is nothing else left to clean. The Walker household is pristine.

You never really like how quiet the house is when it’s just you here. You’ve always been light-footed so even your footsteps do nothing to alleviate the silence as you pad through the hallway. In the morning your company is the gurgling of the coffee machine and the birds. In the afternoon it’s the mailman as he comes by and slips your mail for the day into the mailbox (mostly spam mail and bills). You always know he’s there because the mailbox lid creaks. He’s come between 12:30 and 12:35 each day so far—a punctual and well-maintained schedule. In the evenings, the clacking of the keyboard is what fills the air as you work, sifting through mail of the electronic sort and downloading attachments from messages and sending attachments of your own.

All the while August is in the back of your mind. You hope he’s staying safe and you think about how much you’re looking forward to him coming home, and it makes you smile as you delete some older e-mails. Parting from one another is difficult, but it makes the reunion that much better. It helps the days pass just a little faster too.

He never calls when he’s on a mission, but you understand. He’s busy, and not to mention calling someone so close to him is a liability. If anyone were to overhear or learn of your existence while he was in the field, you’d be in danger. You don’t even know where in the world he is, and you’re left wondering if the sun is rising for him or if he’s staring at the moon just like you are, when the light of the laptop screen is burning your retinas and you have to look away to give your eyes a break.

On the fourth night, the vibration of your work phone stops you short. Your brows furrow as you look at it where it rests next to your regular phone, and you reach out a hand to grab it, the other still positioned over the keyboard. It hasn’t rung in a while, and you know when it does, it’s important. The name on the caller ID is the only one saved to this phone, and you waste no more time in answering. She hates waiting.

You greet her simply and succinctly. “Hello?”

“You’re needed.” Her voice is ironclad as she gets right to the point, and you can imagine the steely expression on her face.

You take a deep breath and sit back, the hand you’d had on the keyboard slipping and dropping into your lap. The response is automatic. “Yes, ma’am.”

———

II.

Five hours later, you’re en route to your destination, a manila folder open on your lap. You flip through the dossier, scanning and processing the information expertly. You’ll need to be well acquainted with all of this by the time the plane touches down. Most pictures of the mark are from the most recent function he’d attended, and where he’d become a topic of interest to your employer.

Seen in discussion with foreign diplomats… Security liability… You pinpoint the key phrases, a small frown on your face as you take it all in. He’s a scientist with knowledge of some valuable tech. The kind that can be weaponized. The files state this is why he’s been in talks with so many dignitaries—he’s interested in selling that information to the highest bidder. Your boss isn’t taking kindly to that. She wants the information and she wants him brought in for interrogation. There are bold red words at the bottom of the mark’s profile that read Do not kill.

The original game plan for the mission entailed stealing the blueprints before capturing him, since he wouldn’t willingly give them up in custody, not without a good bit of convincing. It would just be faster this way. But sometimes these things don’t go over so smoothly…

“August requires assistance,” Sloane explains.

“Is he okay?” you ask. You’re good about being professional, but you can’t help the twinge of worry that bubbles in your stomach when she mentions him. Maybe she’s annoyed at the question or maybe she’s not, but all you care about is that she answers it.

“He is.” You let out a silent, relieved sigh when she says this. “It seems this operation needs a steadier hand than previously thought, and he asked specifically for you to be brought in.”

“How soon can you put me on a plane?”

“How soon can you be ready?”

You wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but you found August’s methods to be brutish. He was only stealthy up to a certain extent and much preferred to go in guns blazing. The total opposite of the way you work. As such, you cross your fingers that there’s no need for damage control once you arrive (though four days is plenty of time for damage to be done). It’s a little counterintuitive to be sending the scalpel after the hammer but you don’t dwell on it too long. The point is you do as instructed and you work around the obstacles. You wouldn’t be in this kind of position if you weren’t adaptive.

You’re flattered that August would suggest you in particular. He didn’t need just anyone’s help; he needed yours. Sloane might’ve suspected bias but even she knows it’s more than that. You’re good at what you do and August trusts that you’ll get the job done. You’re pretty certain that even if he hadn’t said your name, Sloane would’ve sent you over anyway. August is already one of her top agents, and if he can’t finish an operation alone, she’ll only pick those of similar caliber to head in and help.

There’s a thick blanket of clouds and the plane rocks slightly as it descends, the wind catching beneath the wings. You close the folder and glance out the window. When the haze of clouds fades as the plane clears it, you see the bright lights of a bustling city down below. August is there somewhere, and you smile a little to yourself. You’re excited to see him again, even if it’s not under the circumstances you’d been expecting. This would be a premature reunion, but a nice one all the same.

A black car with tinted windows waits for you on the tarmac. You carry your roller luggage down the stairs they’ve set up next to the plane door, and the chauffeur takes it from you to place in the trunk. The pilot is standing at the base of the stairs. You don’t know him personally, but you know he’s one of Sloane’s. He nods, as if to say Good luck, and you nod back before getting in the car.

For the purposes of this mission, all communication with your husband will be through your work phone. When on the job, you’re not husband and wife. You’re two operatives out on the field. You’re professional before everything else. You grab said phone from your handbag to find that he’s already texted you: I’ll meet you in the lobby.

Your accommodation is a swanky five-star hotel. There are steps leading up to the front doors which slide back to let you through, and you take a look around at the expansive lobby. A large chandelier hangs down in the center and your boots echo off the perfectly polished flooring. You scan the room in search of August and find him on one of the couches, flipping through a magazine.

“Hey, stranger,” you greet as you walk up to him.

August looks up and he smiles so warmly that you quickly forget the chill of the outside. It’s contagious, and you smile too as he stands and approaches, arms wrapping around you. Your hand leaves the handle of your luggage as you hug him close, eyes sliding closed as you take him in. It’s the same every time you see him. You need a moment to remind yourself that he’s safe. Well, that he’s home and he’s safe, but one of those things isn’t really possible currently, considering now you’re both hours away from home. But you’ll take what you can get.

“I missed you,” August says as he pulls back and looks down at you. “Would’ve been home sooner if not for some… road blocks.”

You nod once. “Sloane talked about that. What’s wrong?”

He purses his lips. “I’ll tell you in the room.”

It’s only the two of you in the elevator and you lean back against the railing, watching the numbers light up as they count off each floor. August is staring at your reflection in the elevator doors. They’re hardly perfect mirrors, your form distorted and barely discernible, but it’s you. And he grins slightly as his gaze slides from the blurred images on the doors over to you, where you don’t seem to have noticed his staring. You tap a finger on the railing, the metal clanging quietly. There’s no music playing in here (thank goodness).

“Thanks for thinking of me,” you state finally, looking at him. If you’ve realized he’d already been watching you, you don’t bring it up, simply smiling lopsidedly at him. It makes him want to kiss you. “I mean, we both know Sloane would’ve sent me in anyway, but you know what I mean.”

August laughs. It’s true, and he loves that you’re so confident about it. The two of you aren’t afraid to talk big about your skills and it’s because you can back it up. You can prove yourselves. And you have, many times. “I guess I just did it because I like saying your name; wanted another reason to do it.”

You raise a brow but can’t help laughing at his coy smile. “Such a smooth talker.”

“’s why you fell in love with me, isn’t it?”

The elevator dings, signaling your arrival on the appropriate floor. The doors slide apart and you step out first, August following close behind and pulling along your luggage. You glance back at him. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Room 915 is at the end of the hallway. As August digs the keycard out from his pocket, you look down the length you’ve just walked. You’d always found it creepy how every corridor in a hotel looked identical. It’s so easy to get lost. Add some flickering lights and you have yourself a horror movie.

Fatigue seems to catch up to you all at once when you spot the bed. You walk over to it and plop down on the edge, toeing off your shoes. You want nothing more than to shower and go to sleep, but there’s business to take care of. August sets your bag down by his duffel and turns around to face you.

“So,” you begin, “tell me about the road blocks.”

August crosses his arms and sighs. “The mission was to steal blueprints off our mark Lombardi, but…”

“But…?” You tilt your head, beckoning for him to continue.

“There are no blueprints. Not physical ones at least.”

You’re quiet for a second as you try to understand what this means. “You’re not saying…”

August hums in confirmation, setting a finger on his temple and tapping twice. “The schematics are all in his head.”

“Wow,” you breathe out. “That’s genius.” You had to hand it to the man. Plans for weaponized tech are difficult enough to get onto paper with how complex they are, much less retain it in one’s brain for long periods of time. You can understand why he did it. There’s no rocket science behind that. Making physical schematics puts it at risk of ending up in the wrong hands—in his case, the hands of people who haven’t paid the demanded sum. But just because you understand the reason doesn’t mean you like this mode of thinking. The notion had been just a little too crazy for anyone to predict at the onset of this operation, hence the changes that have had to be made last minute (that is to say, your presence for this opertion).

“Too genius,” August responds. “And that’s why I needed you here.” He rifles through the papers on the table in the corner and pulls out an invitation. You gently take it from him when he offers it and you read over the information: a charity event, scheduled for tomorrow night. “You’re gonna have to talk to him, get it out of him somehow. You have a better track record with things like this. I could’ve tried myself but there was no guarantee, and this party is our only shot. If he finds out about what we’re trying to do, he might sell the information immediately.”

It’s been a while since you’ve had a mission like this. Lately, they’ve just been your run of the mill work-in-the-shadows-and-steal-the-intel type jobs. You can’t say you mind these though. You have fun dressing up and pretending to be someone else. It’s like a masquerade but without the masks and you’re the only one who’s treating the fete as if it were a masquerade, trying to hide your identity. (So… technically it’s not like a masquerade at all, but you don’t care about the details anyway.) You set the invitation down on the bed next to you and look over at your husband where he’s leaning against the table.

“But I don’t have a dress.”

“I already got one for you. I’m picking it up tomorrow, along with my suit.” You open your mouth, and he knows you’re about to complain that you didn’t get to pick it yourself (that’s your favorite part), but he didn’t have a choice, and he tells you as much. “I’m sorry, but I had to let them know today if I wanted them to be ready in time for the party.”

You sigh, and he stays quiet, waiting patiently for what you have to say. “Is it a nice dress?” you inquire quietly.

August chuckles and nods. “I think it’s perfect.”

That seems to satisfy you. “Well then, I can’t wait to see it.”

The next morning, you and August eat breakfast at a café near the hotel upon the recommendation of the receptionist. You take a corner booth, and the first topic of the meal is what you’d been up to the past four days. Same old, same old you state with a shrug. This time it was two days before I got bored. It’s quite the record. More often than not, you’re bored and itching to fill the silence of the house by the first evening. Going out to the farmer’s market or running other errands does well enough at keeping you occupied and the boredom at bay, but the truth is none of it feels the same without your husband around.

But then the conversation shifts to more serious matters, and you lower your voices out of habit. August had caught you up last night on what he’d been up to so far—tailing the mark, attempting to steal the schematics (and failing when he realized there was no actual copy to be taken), getting hold of a couple of invitations for the charity event. Today you’re focused on the goings-on of later tonight.

You bite off a piece of toast and chew thoughtfully as you gaze out the window, watching the tree branches sway in the breeze. “What names did you put down on the invites list?”

“Garrett Redfield and Ziva Prescott.”

“Can you change it to Ziva Redfield?”

August raises a brow. “I can. Why?”

“It helps with… convincing the mark to engage with me,” you explain. “There’s excitement in dealing with a married woman.”

He stares at you, a little taken aback. It’s not that he’s not impressed. He is. People are your speciality after all, and you know all the right buttons to push, all the ticks to capitalize on. So he supposes he’s at a loss for words because it’s then that he fully realizes what the operation now entails. The new plan of attack involves you getting close to the mark and August has never been one to let emotions compromise a mission, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get awfully close to doing so on this one. If it’s not envy seeing you sweet talk another man, it’s concern. Because he knows he’ll be worrying about your safety as soon as you’re out of sight. Security’s too tight at the venue—neither of you will have a weapon.

“Smart,” he states. “I’ll change it once we’re back at the hotel room.”

You smile in thanks, and your eyes trail down to his left hand, where a ring is absent from his ring finger. It’s not surprising. He keeps it tucked away in his bag for the duration of his missions. It goes in the moment he’s sitting on the plane on the way to his destination, and comes out and is slipped back onto his finger the moment he’s in the car being driven to the airport to go home. As for you, you’re still wearing yours. (And in your defense, you haven’t forgotten to put it away—you would have in time for tonight, but the plan lets you keep it on now, so that’s nice.)

“Don’t forget to put your ring back on,” you remind him.

August grins. “I won’t.”

And he doesn’t. It’s the first thing he does when you return. He fishes it out of the inside pocket of his duffel and slides it on as he sits down at the table and turns on his laptop. You grab yours as well and plop down on the bed. Sloane had texted you this morning asking for an update and you were in charge of that while August took care of changing the name on the invites list. There’s no issue of being too late to update it. The invite list wouldn’t be printed, but rather would be handled electronically, via a tablet.

While August steps out to pick up the clothes for the party, you occupy yourself by reviewing all the details on the mark. You’ll need to know his work backwards and forwards for when you talk with him. The dossier the agency has on him is incredibly thorough, and you feel like you’re studying for a test. Nathaniel Lombardi has been in the game for a long time, having papers going all the way back to when he was in his early 20s, fresh out of college. It’s a lot of information to take in, and one day is hardly enough time to familiarize yourself to the point of comfort, but you’re not always afforded that sort of time. You’ll just need to make do.

As evening approaches, you start getting ready. Since August hasn’t returned yet, you remain in leggings and a t-shirt while you do your hair and makeup. You’re in the bathroom, leaning against the counter to be closer to the mirror as you work. Your hair’s in a French braid updo and now you’re applying makeup—nothing too complicated, just enough to look appropriate for an event like this. It’s a little difficult to figure out colors to use when you don’t know what color the dress is, so you settle for keeping color absent for the most part. Just eyeliner and mascara on the lids, and a tiny bit of blush for a healthy flush. Lipstick has to wait until you actually see what you’re wearing. It’s when you’re dusting blush onto the apples of your cheeks that the door to the room opens.

“I’m back,” August announces.

You set the brush and compact down and peek out of the bathroom, one hand gripping the doorframe as you lean. August smiles when he spots you and sets two garment bags down on the bed. He motions to you as if to say Well, come take a look.

Eagerly you walk over and unzip the one he points out is yours. Your eyes light up as the dress is exposed to you. It’s black and floor-length with an A-line cut and a slit going up one side. There’s a deep V neckline and when you take it out to observe the back as well, you see there’s a similarly daring plunge in the back. Your smile grows the more you take in all the features. The material is soft against your fingers.

August stands to the side, arms crossed as he watches you, gauging the reaction on your face. “Did I choose well?”

You aim your grin at him and nod. “You chose really well. I’m impressed.”

“I won’t lie, it was a bit nerve-wracking dress-shopping for you. You’re very picky.”

You laugh. “Well it’s a good thing you do well under pressure.”

While August is taking a shower, you slip the dress on. It drapes perfectly over your form. This had to be custom-fit. You own enough dresses to know when one has been tailored to your exact measurements, and it would explain why August needed to get it in advance. You smile to yourself as you twist and turn in front of the mirror hanging on the wall. He’d always been good about remembering all the small details.

August exits the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, and takes precisely one step before he sees you. He stays where he is, admiring the way you seem to glow. He can see it in your eyes, soft in the wash of lights in the room. And it shows in that little grin he loves so much, and all along the expanse of your skin, to the point he thinks he might burn his fingers if he runs them along your arms or your collarbone or your spine. But they’re burns he’d gladly accept, marks on the sensitive pads he’d keep forever, as proof of the sorts of wonders he’d seen, he’d felt, he’d loved.

Maybe he’s getting carried away waxing lyrical because it’s just you in a mirror in a hotel room, but he never gets tired observing you. Call it an out of body experience. Watching you on the far side of the room is like watching a part of his soul—the most beautiful, and the most free.

“You look great.” He breaks the silence and lets you know he’s there.

“You think so?” you ask, twirling once so he can see the dress from all angles, then strike a small pose, setting both hands on your hips which are shown off so prominently with the way the fabric hugs your curves.

“I knew you’d look great before you even put it on.”

“You’re very confident in your styling skills.”

“More like I was more confident in your ability to pull off anything.” August flashes you a small smile as he starts putting on his own outfit, and you chuckle, cheeks warming at the compliment. He always knows the sweetest things to say.

The final step you had left was applying lipstick. Your job has steadied your hand over the years from all the high-stakes situations you’d found yourself in, where one wrong move could mess everything up, and it comes in handy when it comes to makeup. You slowly drag the wand across your lips, careful not to get any of the product on your skin. Especially with such a bold red, it needs to look flawless. Once it’s on, you relax and exhale, tucking the lipstick tube back into your makeup bag. August holds out his tie to you, and you take it.

“You know”—you slip the tie around his neck and begin to tie it while he sets his hands on your waist—”when you talked about romantic getaways the other day, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

August laughs. “Well we can plan it when we get back. Over dinner.” When you finish up the tie he bends down, prepared to kiss you, but you stop him by putting a finger to his lips.

“Lipstick’s still drying,” you inform him.

He shakes his head and smiles and settles for kissing you on the cheek instead.

———

III.

The drive to the venue isn’t a very long one. In the car, August hands you an earpiece, and you put it in while double-checking that the strands of hair you’d left hanging out of your updo are enough to conceal it.

“We know Lombardi had plans to bring up his research tonight. There are some diplomats in attendance who are interested. So the quicker you can get to him, the better.”

“Understood,” you respond quietly, occupied with making sure your hair is secured properly (you have a bunch of hair pins in your clutch just in case).

August glances over and smiles as you mess with it. “It looks perfect.” He gently takes your hand and kisses the back of it.

You’re far from the first ones to arrive. You fall into the line of people waiting to be admitted, your arms linked together, and once at the front, August lists off your fake names. The man scrolls through the tablet in search of them, and you subtly scan the exterior to get an idea of what security is like. There are numerous others dressed like him patrolling the perimeter, and you know inside won’t be much different. If it’s not these guards playing the all-watchful eye, it’s the cameras.

“Redfield, Garrett and Ziva,” the man reads out once he’s found the names. “Go on in. Enjoy.”

You smile sweetly as August says thank you and guides you inside. The ballroom is spacious, the floor already teeming with other guests. There’s a staircase at the head of the room leading up to the second floor. People seem to part for you as you walk farther in, and a waiter passes with a tray of champagne. August grabs flutes for you both and you sip on it slowly as you scope the room for the target. Neither of you is going to be drinking much tonight. You have a job to do, after all, and it requires every single one of your wits.

August spots him before you do. “He’s in the corner, by the bar,” he murmurs.

You look in the direction he indicates. Nathaniel Lombardi is in the midst of conversation, one hand wrapped around a flute like the one you hold and the other gesturing enthusiastically as he speaks. You attempt to lip-read, but one of the men he’s speaking to adjusts his stance and blocks him from view.

“Think he’s a talkative drunk?” you ponder.

August smirks and brings the flute up to his mouth to take another sip. “Might be. Looks to me like he’s had a good bit already.”

He’s right about that one, and you chuckle. For the most part you’d been wandering aimlessly, but then you’re approached by an older couple who greet you with wide smiles. They introduce themselves and ask what it is you do, and your connections to the one who’d organized this event in the first place. You and August mostly play it by ear, only having slightly worked on a background for your alter egos, but they don’t read much into any of it and simply nod along as you speak.

You try not to be too obvious about the way you glance in Lombardi’s direction, waiting for an opening to insert yourself into a conversation with him. August is doing most of the talking, but the man and woman take it as just you being shy. From what you’ve witnessed so far, Lombardi is an incredibly sociable man. Maybe the drinks are helping that along, but still. He slowly works his way over to the bar, leaning against it as he talks with someone else. You watch him wave the bartender over, and the man Lombardi’s speaking with pats him on the shoulder before making his leave. That’s it. That’s your opening.

“Um…” you start softly, turning back to the couple in front of you. “If you’ll excuse me, I just saw a friend of mine over there and I’d like to go say hi.”

“Yes, of course,” the woman says with a bright smile.

You pat August’s arm and smile up at him, and he looks down at you and nods once. Though he’s smiling too, there’s a sense of gravity to it as well, a reminder to be careful. And you will be. You always are.

“I’ll be right back.” You slip your arm out from his and make a beeline towards your mark.

You take up the empty spot next to him and order a drink for yourself just as the bartender sets down Lombardi’s. Your eyes never leave the bartender as you state what you want, but you can feel his eyes on you, and honestly, deep down, you kind of want to hurl. You hope this goes quickly and smoothly.

He tips his head back to take a swig of his drink, and you glance over as if you’ve just noticed him there. Your smile widely, teeth showing, as you exclaim “Hey, I think I know you!”

Lombardi raises a brow in question as he sets his glass back down on the coaster. “Do you?”

“Yeah! Nathaniel Lombardi, right? The nuclear physicist. I love your work.”

That seems to warm him up to you right away. If looking over all his past research earlier today was your studying, you’re inclined to think you’re acing the test. You recognize the topics he mentions and you refer back to his papers with ease. He’d ordered two more drinks over the course of this conversation and though you can tell his eyes are a little hazy, he’s still mostly coherent. He can really hold his alcohol.

As he tops off his current glass, you spare a glance out towards the rest of the room in search of August. You don’t spot him in those few seconds so you turn your attention back to Lombardi. When the bartender walks past asking if he’d like another, he holds a hand up and says no thank you. You need to get a move on.

“So… is there any research you haven’t published yet?” you begin, trying to make it sound like a passing thought.

Lombardi nods. “I do. Information I’m still perfecting, cleaning up for the peer review.” He waves his hand.

“Like what?”

“You know I can’t tell you, my dear. Strictly confidential until it’s published in a journal.”

You frown in mock disappointment. “I promise I won’t tell a soul. I just want to hear about what’s captured your attention to write about this time. All your papers make waves in the scientific community.” He doesn’t look so convinced, and you’re not, you’re not panicking, because you have a plan, but you need to get the wheels turning soon.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” he says.

You purse your lips and avert your gaze for a second, as if to think, before you look at him again. You lower your voice as you ask “Would you be more willing to share it if we were somewhere private?”

Lombardi appears caught off by the proposition, given its implications, and his demeanor changes. He watches you a little closer, at the look in your eyes trying to figure out if he’s misunderstanding. So you help him along, propping your elbow up on the bar and setting your head on your hand, charming smile on your red lips. You lift a leg to set one suede black heel on the foot railing, and the movement shifts your dress, the skin of your thigh visible due to the slit in the clothing. You don’t fail to catch the way his gaze drops down just for a second, before it quickly returns to your face.

“Now is that such a good idea?”

You tilt your head, silently inquiring what he means, and he motions to your wedding ring. ��Oh, I’ve been caught.” You laugh lightly. You twist the piece of jewelry as you too glance down at it. “The truth is, I’m in a bit of a rough patch with my husband. We haven’t been talking as much as we used to. I mean, as soon as we got here he left to go speak with big wigs whose names I don’t even know and left me to wander around.”

You sigh heavily and look over at Lombardi again, and you can see he’s genuinely invested in your plight, nodding along with a small frown as you speak. “I’m tired of it. I’m bored here, Mister Lombardi. I wanted some fun and excitement for myself, and I spotted you here. I’ve really enjoyed speaking with you about your research, but I think the night would be even better if we went somewhere quieter. To swap secrets, maybe…” You trail off, head angled downward as you stare at the bar counter. But then you tentatively slide your eyes over to him, and you spot that haziness in his eyes that the alcohol is not entirely responsible for. He’s in the bag. Your new middle name should be Curiosity.

“Yes…” Lombardi answers almost absentmindedly, but then he clears his throat, and speaks up again, more clearly. “Yes, that does sound like a good idea. I would quite like a break from the noise.”

“Then follow me.” You back away from the counter with a sultry grin. He’s quick to follow.

There are rooms on the second floor—private lounges and studies. They’re not in use for the party, but the doors are never locked. As you walk up the large staircase, sticking close to the railing, you glance behind you to make sure Lombardi is there and also to look out over the sea of people to try to spot August. You don’t see him. But apparently he sees you, because then you hear through your ear piece I’m making my way to the bar. Be careful.

August isn’t expecting a response and he sighs quietly as he watches you ascend the stairs with Lombardi on your heels. That’s when it starts to kick in—the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, of jealousy, of worry. Of course he knows you can handle yourself, but he just can’t stand the thought of anyone touching you. He thinks he might start losing his mind not being able to see into the room, to know what exactly Lombardi might attempt to do. With another huff, he forces himself to reign it in and trust that you’ll be all right. You want this to be over quickly just as much as he does.

Once he gets to the bar, he orders a drink. He distracts himself by swirling the contents, listening to the ice cubes clink against the glass, and staring into the amber liquid. It won’t be long before he overhears Lombardi’s and your voices through the earpiece, signaling that you’ve found a room.

There’s a study at the end of the hall. You curl your fingers around the doorknob and twist, feeling it give and allowing you to push the door open. You reach out with your free hand to turn the lights on, then step farther into the room to allow Lombardi space. He closes the door behind him, and you hear a click as the lock is put in place.

“I’ll never understand how a man can do that to his wife,” Lombardi begins, approaching you where you stand in the middle of the study. “Especially not one so pretty as yourself.”

He reaches up to brush back the strands of hair too short to be put into your updo, and you smile, shyly looking at the ground. Your gaze lifts and you spot off to the side a bottle of bourbon, along with a couple of tumblers. “Would you like a drink, Mister Lombardi?”

“I would. Thank you…”

“Ziva,” you finish for him. While he takes a seat you pour the drinks, pulling the stopper off the bottle and pouring an equal amount into both tumblers. When you’ve done that, you grab them and turn to find him sitting in the large chair behind the desk, leaning back comfortably with his arms on each armrest. You smile as you round the desk to be on his side and give him his drink, which he takes gratefully. You take your place just to the right of him with your own drink, half-sitting on the edge of the desk and one hand bracing yourself.

You need to steer the conversation without him realizing you’re doing it. But you think it won’t be too hard. The drink he has currently might finally be the straw to break the camel’s back. His eyes aren’t too focused as you thank him again for the wonderful night you’ve had so far being able to talk with him. You ask him again if there’s any new research, any “inside scoop” he could give you. I’m good at keeping secrets you promise, looking up at him from over your glass.

“I suppose I could share them with you…” Lombardi states, and inside you’re cheering. Now’s the time to get down to business.

The walls of the bar are backlit, casting a glow over all the patrons at the bar. August stares ahead at the shelves full of alcohol as he listens to Lombardi’s voice filtering into his ear. He’s begun to share the schematics with you, outlining his design and the tech he’s developed that would make these weapons possible. The plans he has are incredibly detailed. It’s truly a wonder how he was able to keep it all in his head. August is sure this information has a high price tag. Lombardi had thought everything out.

“Hi there.”

A woman sidles up to August, inserting herself in the spot to his right. He grins thinly, still listening in on Lombardi. “Hello.” He faces forward again.

“Did you come here alone?”

August sighs and glances at her again. She’s smiling, clearly interested. “No, actually. I’m here with my wife.”

The woman nods and pretends to look around. “Where is she? I don’t see anyone else with you.”

August is about to respond, forcing a smile back onto his face as he takes a sip of his drink. But then he hears Lombardi changing the topic now that he’s finished explaining to you all the schematics: And how about your secrets, Miss Ziva? I’m good about keeping quiet about them too. This prompts August to change course.

“Excuse me,” he states curtly. He doesn’t wait for a reply as he starts making his way to the staircase, abandoning his drink on the bar counter.

Your mind is still reeling with all the information Lombardi just shared, and you’re doing your best to remember it as accurately as possible for later on, when you write it all down to send off to Sloane. As such, you don’t immediately process that he’s switching topics and turning it on you.

“And how about your secrets, Miss Ziva? I’m good about keeping quiet about them too.”

You watch as Lombardi empties his glass. It’s the second glass of bourbon you’ve poured for him. You’d brought the bottle over to the desk, and you think he’s about to pour himself a third, but instead he reaches out for you, a hand setting itself on your thigh. His smile is sly but it’s not coming across as smoothly as he probably thinks it is given his increasing levels of drunkenness. You try not to recoil in disgust as he touches your leg, fingers splayed as he starts sliding upward. Okay, it’s time to go.

You open your mouth, about to give an excuse that you’re feeling ill, but there’s a knock at the door, and both of you look towards it. thoroughly confused. Had you been caught? But you made sure no one had seen or tried to follow. There’s no way.

“Who could that be?” Lombardi mumbles, clearly disgruntled. His hand slips from your leg as he stands and takes a moment to steady himself. You stand up straight as well and walk around the desk, pausing just in front of it as he goes to unlock the door. He opens it and you spot August on the other side, towering over the shorter man. Lombardi isn’t able to ask who he is before August knocks him out.

Your eyes widen as Lombardi falls to a crumpled heap on the ground. “August!” you exclaim, not even bothering to call him by his fake name. Your eyes slide up to him and you don’t have to ask your question verbally. It’s written all over your face—what the hell is he doing?

“We got what we came for,” he says simply. “Let’s go.”

It’s not a good enough answer for you but you do as he says, stepping over Lombardi and taking August’s outstretched hand to help you keep your balance in the heels you have on. He turns the lights off and closes the door before digging out his phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. As he dials a number and brings the phone up to his ear, you glance back behind you at the study.

“He’s on the second floor, end of the hallway in the room to the left.” August gets right to the point, and it’s the one thing he says before he hangs up and tucks the phone away. That cleanup crew Sloane had lying in wait to collect Lombardi better get here fast, before he wakes up again and starts causing a fuss.

When you get back to the hustle and bustle of the party, you take a deep breath to collect yourself. August offers you his arm and you hook your own through it. He guides you back down the stairs, in the direction of the exit. You weave through the crowd fluidly, no one paying you any mind as you make your leave. There are taxis parked along the curb and you take the first one. You slide in and August gets in behind you before he shuts the door and tells the driver the name of your hotel. The man nods and pulls out into traffic.

It’s a silent car ride, and halfway through it, August glances over at you. You’re staring out the window, arms crossed. The lights of the city bounce off your face as the vehicle moves down the street, and he can see the flash of irritation in your eyes with every street lamp you pass.

———

IV.

The atmosphere remains tense even when you get back to the hotel. August doesn’t say anything on the elevator, wanting to give you time to cool down. And he still doesn’t say anything back in the room, affording you the silence to concentrate as you write down everything you’ve found out from Lombardi. You’ve kicked off your heels and are currently lounging at the able in the corner, typing away on your laptop. August toes off his own shoes before shrugging off his suit jacket and undoing his tie. He tosses them on the bed just as his phone vibrates, and he checks the message.

From: Sloane

The mark is in custody. No attention drawn. Nicely done.

“They’ve captured Lombardi,” August announces. He’d been aching to break the silence ever since you got into the taxi but had no idea what to say. At least now he has this. “No one had any suspicions.”

“That’s good.” Your answer is short and succinct. It’s distracted. And it might be said this is because you’re busy writing up the report, but August knows that’s not the reason. He’d seen you hit send on the e-mail five minutes ago, but now you’re scrolling through your inbox even though there aren’t any new messages, just as there hadn’t been the last three times you refreshed.

He sighs heavily. It hasn’t been an hour since you’d left the party and he’s tired of the silent treatment. There’s no use dancing around it any longer. “Is something wrong?” he inquires. He has a strong feeling he knows what this is about.

Once the issue is brought out into the open, hanging in the air between you both, you shut your laptop and face your husband. The look in your eyes could cut through steel. “You were out of line tonight.”

“I did what I had to do. And we got what we were there for in the end anyway.”

“That’s not the point!” You stand up but stay where you are as you cross your arms. “You did what you wanted to do. I didn’t need help getting out of that.”

“I wasn’t saying that you couldn’t do it—”

“No, but you let your emotions get in the way! What if someone had seen you?”

“No one did. We still made a clean getaway.”

You take a deep breath to calm down, not wanting to raise your voice. Shouting matches don't solve anything. Truthfully, it’s not that you’re angry at August. You’re not. You’re more scared than anything because of what his actions this evening suggest. And so you sit back down in the chair and tell him of your concerns.

“You—both of us—have spent years training not to let emotions dictate what we do, how we act, during these operations. I don’t want my presence on a mission with you to compromise all that.” Because he’s a great agent, arguably the best you’ve ever seen.

You fear that being out on the field with him might hold him back because of what you mean to him, and to what ends he’d be willing to go to keep you safe. And you’ll admit you have the same fear for yourself. If he were in trouble, you’d drop everything to go help him. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that you’re frustrated with him and yourself. The mission has to come first. It’s your job. But on a personal level, you both hold the other in higher esteem than the mission itself. You always would. You’re simultaneously the strongest and the most precarious team Sloane will ever have in her employ. And maybe she knows that. In fact, you’re confident she does. But maybe she also knows that despite it, you work through it and get the job done, and you do it well. If the risks outweighed the benefits, you and August would never be assigned the same mission.

August watches you as he lets your words sink in. You’re right. What he did was out of line, and it was dangerous. Just because he got off scot-free this time doesn’t mean he would the next time this kind of situation arose. There’s only one person he fears to disappoint more than Sloane, and she’s sitting before him, rubbing her temples, exhausted and stressed but still looking so perfect and put-together in the soft light of the lamp nearby, cloaked in black and cheeks dusted with blush the shade of a summertime flush.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I got carried away.”

Your eyes slide open slowly and you smile. It’s fatigued but not any less loving. “It’s okay.”

“I just hated when you had to do those things. And when I heard the way he talked to you…”

“I hated having to do it too, but we do what we need to in order to finish the job.” You stand up and walk over to him. The dress trails along the floor now that you’re without heels, and with the way they conceal your feet, it’s like you’re gliding along the carpet. “But it’s over now. Like you said, we got what we were there for.”

August opens his arms as you approach and wraps them around you. His hands are warm against the skin of your back, left exposed by the dip in the dress. He bends down to kiss you before leaning his forehead against yours, remaining close enough that your lips brush together. You set your hands on either side of his face and smile up at him sweetly. He’s falling in love all over again.

“I’m ready for that vacation,” he states tiredly, and you laugh.

———

The skies are a deep blue and the water is crystal clear. It’s the storybook perfection you read about in travel brochures or hear from friends who have been there themselves. You have to go! they all say. There’s no experience like it. And you suppose there isn’t. You find yourself rather in awe currently.

“It’s beautiful,” you comment, staring out at the point where the ocean meets the sky. You almost want to reach out for it, to defy the impossible and reach the horizon with nothing more than a simple stretching out of your hand.

August hums from beside you. “It is.”

You smile, cycling through the pictures with a quiet click click click, until you reach the first one again, and you pull the View-Master away from your face. You blink as your eyes adjust to the daylight pouring in through the window, and your eyes settle on your husband, who’s already watching you. He grins.

“You enjoy your trip?” he inquires.

“I did,” you tell him with a nod.

The blankets are rumpled and messy and half falling off the bed but neither of you cares. August is shirtless and clad only in a pair of sweats, and you’re in a tank top and panties. Both of your work phones rest on the dresser and haven’t rung at all since you got home. It’s a welcome change to not have to worry about receiving a call. This is a break you’ve been needing. The original notion of a getaway had seemed pleasant at first, but upon the conclusion of the mission, you were too worn out to entertain the idea anymore. As such, you’ve settled for staying in. It’s still a great vacation because the part that matters most is that you’re together.

You set the stereoscope down and stretch, arms high above your head and back arching. When you relax again, you roll onto your side and snuggle closer to August, who automatically wraps an arm around your shoulders. He leans up to capture your lips in a kiss—one of many you’ve shared today. You haven’t left the bed much at all, but it’s nice to be lazy for once.

He slides his free hand down your side, along your waist and your hip until he gets to your thigh, and he pulls gently, draping your leg across him. His fingers ghost over the soft skin and you shiver, goosebumps rising at his feather-light touch. You break the kiss and he doesn’t open his eyes right away, basking in the moment, in the feel of you.

“I’ll be honest,” you begin. “I wasn’t expecting Sloane to actually agree to giving us a break.”

This prompts August to chuckle as he finally opens his eyes. “We deserved it.”

You hum. “We did.” You kiss him once more quickly before grabbing the View-Master again and pulling out the reel. You reach over him to grab the other reels on the nightstand, and he turns his head to watch as you do. When you’ve grabbed the reels, you sit up and flip through them.

August rests one hand on his stomach and the other is on your thigh again, slowly stroking up and down the heated expanse. His eyes never leave your face and he studies the way your lashes brush against your cheeks as you look down at the photo reels. Your hair is tangled and disheveled from moving around and he knows you’re going to ask him to brush it out later because he’s more patient than you are, and he’ll say yes because brushing your hair is one of his favorite things to do.

He wants to freeze this moment in time forever, immortalize it as a series of photos in a reel like the ones you hold in your hand. If tropical beaches are storybook perfection, you and him in this bedroom right now are the first swirling of the author’s imagination, before anything is put on paper, the brilliance in their mind come to life. Unparalleled, whose magic could never fully be encapsulated by words, playing over and over again behind closed eyelids with the hope that maybe one day the moods evoked from such a scene might accurately be transcribed. The so-called perfection on the pages of the book is a step below what the two of you have right here.

You narrow the options down to two reels and hold them up for August to see. “Should we go to the countryside or the mountains?”

August thinks about it for a second as he sits up, leaning back against the headboard. “Let’s go to the mountains.”

You smile brightly and nod. After you’ve inserted the reel into the View-Master, you cuddle close, and his arms slip around your waist to keep you against him. He kisses your head and picks up the scent of lavender shampoo, and he can’t help smiling too. It feels good to be home.

#august walker x reader #august walker imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine #mission impossible imagine #mission impossible #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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sabraeal · 6 years ago

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#51 sounds really cute! :D

#51: things you said as we danced in our socks

Set a few weeks before graduation

Wide Florida Bay | Previous

Horns rattle from the tinny speaker, and thebriefest bass guitar, before abruptly cutting off. Shirayuki frowns as shescoops up her phone, flicking the screen on – that clip is so unsatisfying, she reallyneeds to fix it –

r u done?im doneim dooooooonnnnne

She glances up from the mixer whirring away, catching the bookbagslumped against the wall of the vestibule, abandoned the moment she walkedthrough the door.

I just got backObi still has one more though

ugh ofctell him hes an overachiever and he should b ashamed

(He’s been sitting like that for almost fifteen minute,pointer hovering over Add Class, hisdesignated selection time bleeding out, only fifteen more before the juniorsgets to start picking their classes too –

“I shouldn’t bother,” he says, toneless. “You have to applyfor it.”

She tucks into his side, laying her head on his shoulder. “Sodoes everyone else. You have just as good a chance as anyone.”

“You’re not doing it.”

She blinks, tilting her head up. “I’m not the one interestedin informatics.”

“It’ll be over my credit load,” he tries instead. “I’d need permissionfrom the dean –”

She tweaks his elbow, just hard enough to make him squirm. “Good thinghe’ll be your graduate advisor.”

It takes a bit for him to blush – or at least for her to see it – but there’s pink just under bronze on his ears, and that’s enough. “That’s not – that’sonly if Admissions all goes temporarily batshit and lets me in.”

His chest shakes, breath coming quick, and she slides her hand down,covering his. “You should do it,” she says, studiedly casual. “What’s the worstthat can happen? They say no?”

His breath steadies, but not easily. “Right. Yeah.”

The click is less than a second. “Fuck ‘em, right?”)

i don’t think i’ll tell him that

FINELAMEsuzus been done since yesterday bcuz hes a slackerwhen obi is done we should celebratelike unreal amts of booze celebrate

It’s – it’s not that her heart pounds, it’s just – quiet,now that the mixer is off. Everything is more – noticeable. Now that she – she’s –

She’s thinking about the last time they got drunk at Yuzuri’sbehest, looming over them as she poured more and more shots, tellingthem it’s a celebration, everyone has todrink –

– I don’t think you’dbe so hard to figure out, darlin’. Obi’s drawl is liquid in her memory,pouring over her like honey. Just have toknow where to touch –

uh sureI guess?

u guess?is there some sort of problem?

She thinks of Obi, chest heaving,slack-jawed, eyes wide – if I capsize inyour thighs, high tide – of what he’dlook like with swollen lips, panting down her body, spreading her legs –

Ugh. She shakes her head. Thewhole thing is just – just – a pop-up she can’t shake, an ad that keepsplaying over her day at odd intervals, only instead of it being for somethinglike experimental allergy medication or Cialis, it’s for Obi, like she suddenly needs to be reminded every few minutes thathe’s attractive and also experienced, like maybe she should consider –

no!everything is fine!

It will pass. It always does.

…whatever the ideas r percolating ill let u know what we decide but like def booze

This isn’t – it isn’t a problem. Everything is fine – very fine, the most fine.

All her papers are written, revised, and already sitting in drop-boxes, her only final is a multiple choice test about European History, most of which she learned just from living with Kiki for a year. If anything, she is set, living her best life –

“God.”

Her whole body flushes, toe-tip to hairline, and she’s so busy trying not to think of skin under her lips, of hearing that in an entirely new context, that she nearly misses the slam of the door.

Obi tilts a long-suffering look toward her as he leans against the wall, toeing his shoes into the tray. “I’m glad that’s fucking done.”

There isn’t a problem, because whatever this is, it’s just a phase. Something that will definitely pass.

It just never takes this long.

“Did your test go well?” she asks, clearing her throat, like it might expel the images her mind is supplying as he saunters around the corner, shirt already pulling up taut torso, sun-bronzed abs on display.

“Hope so,” he sighs, balling his T-shirt up in his hand. “Otherwise Lata’s going to give me a few more of these for putting off our action plan.”

It takes her a whole minute to realize what he’s pointing at, to see the thick silver sprawl of scars across his back and not the way his muscles ripple beneath the skin, the way his shoulder blades make his whole back look like an anatomy model.

She frowns. “Professor Forenzo would never –”

“I know, I know,” he says, waving a hand at her as he crosses into his room. “Gimme a minute, I gotta get out of these clothes. It’s killer out there.”

“Right,” she replies, faint, definitely not noticing the way his hands settle on his waistband, definitely not thinking about his skin shining with sweat –

She doesn’t have a problem, it’s just – just that she hasn’t figured out a way to get him back, to close out this prank so she can – can stop thinking about that stupid song, and capsizing on thighs and what it might feel like if he –

plans decidedwe gonna go C L U B B I N G

Shirayuki’s teeth grit down, her hands bracing against the counter. This is fine. They’ve gone before, a nice little place above a bar in downtown Wilant; it’d been all 80s songs and they’d all had a little more than they’d bargain for, and Obi –

– you’re a squeezing hips, neck-kissing girl, aren’t you, darlin’? –

Ah, maybe she…shouldn’t think about that. He didn’t even remember it in the morning.

“You all right, Doc?”

She jolts, watching Obi settle on the couch, bare feet kicked up on the coffee table, arms sprawled out over the back, remote in hand. Her hands tighten on the counter, trying to ground herself, trying not to have her knees go weak as she traces the delicate bones in his feet, the strain of his t-shirt over his biceps –

if obi gives u shit tell him its obligatorythis is the price of fucking friendship okay

“You might not want to get too c-comfortable,” she stammers, stacking cookies, trying to look like she’s doing something in the kitchen, and not just – ogling him. “Yuzuri says we need to go out and celebrate.”

His head turns toward her, just slightly. “Celebrate what?”

“Being done with, you know…school.” It sounds weak, even to her own ears, and the grunt that comes from him tells her he agrees.

“We’re all going to grad school,” he huffs out. “We’re not going to be done with school for the next decade, if Lata has anything to say about it.”

“Well, it’s the end of undergrad,” she presses, feeling flushed. “And the end of our thesis work –”

“And just what is this version of celebrating going to entail?” he asks with a sigh. “I already have my sweat pants on.”

I’ve noticed is not the right thing to say. Neither is dumbly standing there, thinking how good he makes them look. “Yuzuri says we’re going clubbing.”

“Oh, no,” he says, firm. “No. I don’t dance.”

“She wants me to tell you it’s a non-optional social convention.”

“Is that how she’s getting Suzu to go?”

“Probably.” Her shoulders twitch in a shrug. “You know how she feels about this sort of thing.”

His eyebrows lift. “That there’s no better way to celebrated scientific achievement than to get trashed and grind on strangers?”

“Yes.” Not quit how she would have put it. “That.”

His look turns incredulous. “And you went for that?”

“It’s what she wants to do,” Shirayuki insists, because – because it’s not like she cares. It’s not like she’s thinking about the way he was dancing with anyone who showed interest the last time, wondering if he might –“She’s been here longer. Maybe this is the best way to celebrate. When in Rome, you know?”

“That is the exactopposite of an attitude you should have in Florida. Never do what people inFlorida do.” He rolls his head along the back of the couch to give her a flatlook. “It’s like you’ve never seenthe internet.”

She returns itwith a look of equal flatness. “We made it so the Olin maris can be bred in captivity. We’ve saved an entire species.We can spend one night doing what Yuzuri wants to do.”

“Yuzuri wants toget sloppy drunk and see if she can get Suzu to breed in captivity.”

“And we should support that.” She sighs at his incredulous look, padding out to put the plate of cookies in front of him. “Besides, I’ve seen you dance. You seemed – fine.”

That is definitely a word. That she can use. Safely.

“We danced at a gala,” he protests, “I wore a suit. Youstepped on my feet. That is not this. This is – swampy club dancing. It’s acircle of hell, not an activity.”

She refrains from mentioning the other time; she doesn’t think he’d appreciate remembering just how good he dances drunk to Come On Eileen, no matter how impressive it was.

“I think you just need to get excited.” She’s too used to his stare to shrivel under it. “You know, uh – get pumped.”

“Are you evenplanning on drinking?”

She grimaces.“No.”

“That is such awaste, you can’t even drive.”

She frowns. “Ihave my license now.”

He gives her apointed look. “You can’t even drive.”

She stares at himfor what must be a full minute before it hits her, grin breaking out across her face. “I have just thething to get you in the mood.”

“Aw, c’mon,” hemoans as she pulls him upright. “I’ve got so many Cutthroat Kitchens to watch. On this one, theycook spaghetti and meatballs and someone takes some lady’s garlic.”

“Look, you alreadyknow what happens!” She grins at him. “So now you can do my thing instead.”

He grimaces when she pulls out her phone, when he sees her bring up her music library, pleading, “No, don’t –”

“Why do you build me up –”

“I’m honestly concerned,” he mumbles over the tinny piano. “Do you know what kind of music they play in clubs?”

“–Buttercup, baby–”

“This is to pump you up!” she tells him, trying to guide him into a bobbing two-step, one he follows with the enthusiasm of a man walking to the gallows. “Get your blood flowing!”

“Oh my god,” he sighs. “Of course. This is your pump up music. Motown.”

“It’s uplifting.”

“You listen to Angel of the Morning when you get up, don’t you?”

Her mouth pulls thin. “That’s not Motown –”

“That’s not a no.”

“See,” she tries instead, “you’re getting more lively already!”

There’s a flash of teeth behind his lips, but he hides it in his shoulder. “Whatever, the song is ending. How about you put on an actual club song?”

Her finger hovers over her screen.

“This decade.”

“Fine,” she sighs, scrolling past her collection of 80s music. “I can do that.”

“Uh-huh, I’m–”

“Shawty had those Apple Bottom Jeans, boots with the fur –”

He stares. “All right, I’m concerned you don’t know what year it is.”

“They still play this!” she insists, starting to bop to the beat. “It’s on plenty of club mixes.”

“All right,” he sighs, taking her hands. “This is physically painful, Doc. No one dances like that at a club.”

“Plenty of people do,” she insists, leaving out that most of her club experience is seeing them on CSI reruns. She’s got a feeling he already knows.

“Come here,” he guides her closer, until their hips are almost touching. “Let me just – show you. End the embarrassment.”

“I’m not –” Embarrassing gets swallowed along with her tongue, because his hand hooks over her hips, her own right beneath, guiding her into a slower swing that barely involves feet moving at all. He’s not – not touching her anywhere else, but he’s so close he might as well be, and she’s just – aware. Of all of him.

He smells nice.

“Oh is this – grinding?” she squeaks. “I’ve heard about that before –”

“No.” His voice is entirely too deep. “This would be grinding.”

His hands tug on her, yanking her forward until his knee is between her legs, until every shift on her body brings her right down on his thigh and –

Oh, that is – that’s not –

Okay, maybe this is a problem.

“Oh,” she breathes, jolting away, right back into the wall. That should be it, end of moment, but she – she doesn’t let go of his hands, and then he’s crashing into her, just catching himself on the wall, her hands still twined in his –

“Sorry.” He swallows; she’s so close she can hear it. She can see it too, and the way his eyes are all dark, mostly pupil with a thin rim of gold. His leg is still between hers, and her hands press up by her shoulder, and he’s just – so, so tall –

If he’d just bend down a little, maybe she could –

“Eep!” she yelps, pocket buzzing. “That’s just – I think Yuzuri –”

“Oh,” he breathes, pulling back. “Right. Her clubbing thing.”

r u guys gonna be ready soon?i wanna b drinking already

Obi’s already wandered away, back to the couch, and she –

i think our night is already spoken forobi wants to stay inbut let’s do breakfast tomorrow

boobut i get to pick the place

#Anonymous #The Wide Florida Bay #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #my fic #ans #Obi is one of those guys who is like #your extremely attractive friend #and Shirayuki is not like...NEW to thinking about stuff nebulously involving him #but between here and the dinner her struggle is really...#that this is longer and much more sober period than she ever managed before #and stuff with Zen is weird #and so she can't just...start thinking about how her life is all planned out #two years at lyrias and then a PhD and everything is all set!#that's apparently a plan Zen forgot about #and now Obi's attractiveness is OMNIPRESENT #a constant companion #and she doesn't know how to DEAL with real attraction #it's not until the dinner that she finally puts together that OH HUH #she wants to be his GIRLFRIEND #and obv she's telling Yuzuri nothing #because Yuzuri would be like PLEASE JUST BANG AND GET MARRIED ALREADY and she knows it

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urdearestmom · 6 years ago

Text

Airport Ballrooms | Sylvia Is Bae

Here’s part 2!

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332432

(part 1)

Hey :)

Mike has sent the same text every afternoon for the past year. It’s after his last student leaves at five o’clock, and it’s when the clinic El works at closes. She’ll undoubtedly respond within minutes.

Hey loverboy :)

It never fails to make him smile. Everything she does makes him smile, even when she’s not there. Tonight, however, he has plans.

Do you wanna see a movie later

The greatest showman is still in theatres and I know you wanted to see it so

If she says yes, they can go see the movie and then come back to one of their houses and order a pizza or something. Then he’ll have to work up the courage to ask her about a thing he’s been considering for a while.

Ya def

What time

There’s a showing at the Greenwood cinemark at 7 is that enough time

Then we can come back here or to yours and get a pizza or smth

Sounds good

I’ll go home and shower then meet you there at 6:30

Love you <3

Love you too <3

He turns off his phone and puts it down with a smile, getting up to get a glass of water from the kitchen. He almost trips on his cat, who is sitting in the doorway. She does this at least once a day, refusing to let him pass. When Mike tries to step over her she hisses and throws up a paw to claw at his pants, or if he’s very unlucky, his bare legs.

“No- come on, Sylvia! I just want some water,” he says, looking down at the fluffy mass of grey fur on the floor. She looks up, and he notes that she looks deeply unimpressed (she always looks like that). She gives a satisfied meow when he huffs and walks into his bedroom instead.

Stupid cat, he thinks. But then he feels bad. Sylvia has been with him for the last five years since he brought her home from the shelter. He’d originally gone in to look at the dogs, but he had to walk past the cats first and something about Sylvia had spoken to him. He never realized it, but it was probably the very same deeply unimpressed look that he sported himself quite often that he noticed on the cat. They have made use of the same living space since.

Most days she’s like any regular cat, minding her business and sleeping, only coming to bother him when she’s hungry and doesn’t have food. Other days all she does is be bothersome, meowing at Mike’s feet every three seconds for no discernible reason. But the days that really count are the days she can tell he’s upset.

Those are usually days he talks to family or friends, hearing from his older sister about the state of their parents’ marriage, his younger sister about the latest idiot she dumped, his friend Will or cousin Richie about someone who’s told them they deserve to go to hell for being who they are. Sometimes it’s when he himself is having a bad day, either a student isn’t putting in enough effort or he’s frustrating himself with his own shoddy practice. Somehow, Sylvia always knows, and that’s when she comes to curl up on his stomach while he couch surfs at night.

Now that he has El in his life, though, he has a human to confide his deepest secrets in instead of his cat. Still, because his girlfriend doesn’t live with him, Sylvia gets to hear the most. It’s nice to know that she’s judging him but won’t talk back.

Mike flops onto his bed and promptly registers that he hadn’t made it that morning. Gross, how am I gonna convince El that it’s a good idea to move in together if I can’t even make my own bed?

Considering this, he thinks about the rest of his apartment. He lives on the second floor of a duplex, the upright piano he gives lessons on sitting in the room right off the staircase. At the end of the hall is his bedroom, which has a large window in it and is, objectively, the best room in the house. In front of the stairs is a tiny bathroom, and beside that is a doorless doorway that leads to the kitchen, which is open to the living room and back porch. It’s small and cozy, and he likes living there. The problem now is that he’s considering all the flaws. It’s narrow, the shower will boil you alive if a faucet gets turned on somewhere else, the window frames are chipping, and the entire apartment is banana yellow. The floors are also quite hideous, a combination of old linoleum and old wood, as are the pink tiled walls and floor of the bathroom.

None of this is even considering the fact that the place is a mess. Mike has books all over, never quite being able to organize them by level (or by who uses them, really). When a student needs one he always spends about five minutes looking for it because it’s never where he last left it. Their stuff frequently gets mixed up with his, and he’s always surprised he hasn’t managed to forget a recital or competition.

This, coupled with the anxiety he’s felt since morning when he decided that today will be the day he asks El to move in together, catapults him out of his bed and into the bathroom, taking his dirty clothes with him to the hamper. Mike takes the quickest shower he’s ever taken, totalling a whopping three minutes under the water, then rushes back to make his bed the neatest he’s ever made it. He shoots into the piano room and does his best to pick up after his teaching method, although the room looks almost the same after he leaves it. He then makes a running jump over Sylvia, who hisses angrily and turns to look at him as he starts furiously washing dishes.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says. “I’m cleaning up so if we come back here it’ll be good to ask El to move in.”

Sylvia turns away, and Mike thinks that if cats could snort, she would have. It’s a very derisive head turn.

After the dishes are in the second sink drying, Mike makes his best attempt to fold the pile of blankets that he left on the couch the night before. He’s just grabbing a wet cloth to scrub at a cup stain on the table when Sylvia comes over and sits on his feet.

“Are you serious?” He groans, looking down at her. “I’m trying to make this place look half-decent!”

His cat gives him a look as if to say, you’re an idiot. It’s then that he remembers that El has actually been to his apartment before, so he’s stressing over nothing. This is another of the good things about Sylvia; she knows when he’s being stupid, too. She moves off his feet when she decides that he’s calmed down enough, and he sits on the floor with his legs crossed. She comes to sit in the space created, and petting her fluffy body calms him further.

“Thanks, Sylvie. You’re a good cat, you know?” She purrs in response, as if she comprehends what he’s saying. “Do you like El? I think you like her. Would you like it if she lived with us?”

Sometimes he feels stupid talking to a cat, but there’s something about Sylvia that makes him feel like she understands. She purrs again. In fact, Sylvia likes El more than she likes him, Mike thinks. She’s never an asshole when El is over, and never even once has she accidentally scratched the woman. It’s unfair. Maybe she’ll be nicer when El moves in. If! Don’t get ahead of yourself, here.

After a few minutes, Mike realizes he has to go if he doesn’t want to be late, so he puts Sylvia gently on the floor outside of the cradle of his legs and gets up before pouring some food for her. “I’ll be back later, okay?”

Sylvia meows and pads over to her favourite spot, the middle of the couch.

Leaving now! Sylvia sat on my feet lol

Mike gets to the theatre around six-forty to find that El is in line to buy their tickets. “Hey,” he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek and grabbing a hold of her hand.

“Hey,” she says back, smiling. “I love your cat so much, by the way.”

“Hmph. I’m pretty sure she likes you more than she likes me,” he answers.

“It’s okay, at least I like you more than I like her.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her you said so.”

They start to laugh, but quickly shut up before attracting too much attention.

The movie turns out to be pretty interesting, but Mike likes the soundtrack best because he’s a music nerd (as is made blatantly obvious by his profession). It’s phenomenal!

El definitely agrees, but her favourite thing is the love story between P.T. and Charity. “Come on,” she says, tugging on his arm as they walk down the street to where her car is parked. “You can’t look me in the eyes and tell me that that was not the cutest love story you’ve ever seen! They fell in love as kids and they stayed together even through all the shit they went through!”

“I don’t know,” he laughs as they reach the car. “I feel like meeting the love of your life in an airport at three in the morning because you decided to play some Chopin is pretty cute, too.”

She grins at him over the roof. “Yeah. That’s pretty special.”

Getting in, she turns to him. “Yours okay?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Sylvie’s probably dying to see you.”

“Again, I love your cat.”

“Yeah, yeah, Hopper, just drive.”

“COME ALIVE! COME ALIVE!” El is screeching and Sylvia isn’t even hissing or anything. It makes Mike more bitter than he should be, to be honest. Like, he gets that El is literally the most wonderful human to ever grace the planet Earth with her existence, but Mike’s the one who feeds the goddamn cat and lets her live in his house. It’s shameful.

“GO AND LIGHT YOUR LIGHT, LET IT BURN SO BRIGHT!” She’s doing karaoke and dancing across the carpet from the table to the TV and back. She’s not a bad singer if she tries to sing, but what she’s doing right now is exactly the opposite. She’s trying to get her boyfriend to sing with her, but there’s a reason he’s a piano and not voice teacher, as he always says. El finishes the song with an exaggerated bow. “Thank you, thank you!”

Sylvia meows from her place on top of Mike’s slippers. El glares at him. “Jesus, Wheeler, even your cat appreciates me more than you do.”

“I’m eating and my hands are full,” he says, picking up another slice of pizza from the box next to him. “Bite me.”

El laughs. “I would, but you always go off about not letting your students see inappropriate things like hickeys.”

“It was huge and it was visible! She was seven!” He drops the slice on his shirt, leaving a nice grease stain. He groans. “Look what you made me do.”

“Whoa, there, Taylor Swift,” she giggles, dropping onto the couch next to him and grabbing the last slice.

Mike throws her an irritated look. “We may both be musicians, but I am not Taylor Swift. And now my shirt is dirty.”

“So?” She bites into the pizza in her hand. “It’s not like it was gonna stay on you anyway.”

It comes out garbled because of the pizza she’s eating, but he still understands and he flushes. He’s gotten somewhat used to her bluntness over the course of the year they’ve been dating, but sometimes she still says things that make him feel hot all over. However, it means he’s mastered the art of answering her with a straight face.

“You are disgusting.”

She shrugs as he gets up to throw the box out, shoving the last of the slice in her mouth and following. “You love me, so… I’d say that sounds like a you problem.”

He doesn’t turn around for a second, bracing himself on the lip of the sink before whipping around and pulling her up onto the counter, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. She breaks it a few moments later, breathless. “God, I love you,” she says.

Then she hops down and drags him away to his bedroom, ignoring Sylvia hissing in the background.

It’s after, when they lie tangled in his sheets, still ignoring Sylvia who is now scratching at the closed door, that Mike remembers what he’d meant to ask.

“Hey, El?”

“Yeah?” She murmurs. Her hands are cupping his face as she runs her thumbs softly over his lightly freckled cheeks.

“I have a question.”

“What is it?” She presses a tender kiss to the tip of his nose and pulls back, smiling.

“Do you- um- would you, maybe… want to move in together?” There, I’ve said it. God.

She looks into his eyes, and he thinks he’s about to get a yes when she turns over and says, “Good night, Mike.”

“El- what-” He splutters, heart sinking. Fuck, was I too soon?

El flips back, starting to laugh, but then sobers up at the look on his face. “Sorry, that was a little mean. I’d love to. I love you, and I love Sylvia, so getting to see you both all the time doesn’t look like it has any negatives.” She snuggles into the crook of his neck and kisses his collarbone. “But we can talk about that tomorrow. Good night,” she yawns.

Mike feels warm all over, and sighs contentedly before shutting his eyes.

Outside the room, Sylvia purrs. She’s excited too.

#i love sylvia #and the greatest showman #airport ballrooms #mileven #mileven fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #mike wheeler #eleven #au #alternate universe #urdearestmom

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ajokeformur-ray · 7 years ago

Text

Pt.3 poly!Marauder (back because of popular demand)

Co-written with @80s-addict! Love youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu friend!!! :’) Here’s to our late night chats, Marauders spam and utter devotion and adoration of @asktheboywholived, without whom our Marauder!feels would go untreated.

TW FOR NSFW AHEAD

Me = normal

80s = bold

Part 1 | Part 2

- And sleepovers because Remus: "We all literally share the same bed every single night?"

- Sirius: "This is different, Moons! It's a sleepover!"

- Remus: "I'm still confused?"

- James: "And I'm not really into it--IS THAT POPCORN??! I'M IN. C'MON MOONS."

- Remus: *is dragged into the master suite where you and Sirius have set up a literal blanket/pillow nest and set snacks everywhere* "...This could work."

- You: "Wait 'til we get the movies going! I can't wait to cuddle!"

- James: "I'm here for that but also POPCORN and...pillow fights!"

- Sirius: "Yeah and games!"

- Remus: "What games?"

- You: "No, Padfoot. Don't you DARE!"

- Sirius: *smirking and looking at you while talking to Moony* "Oh, you know. Just...Truth or Dare...and...Spin the Bottle."

- You: "Sirius Orion Black that was not the point of this sleepover!" *James and Sirius are sharing shit-eating grins and laughing at your exasperated expression and laugh even harder at Remus' confusion*

- James: "We'll explain it to you later!" *sees your death glare* "Uh...a-after movies, of course! C'mon Moony let's get you into pj's!" *James rushes a confused Remus to the bathroom to get changed leaving a rather uneasy Sirius along with a rather angry you*

- Sirius: "Wait! Prongs! Don't leave me al---HELLO Sweetie, how are you?" *he smiles sweetly but is wary of your temper* "Uh...I love you?" *You are still upset* "What's that Prongs? Uh, Y/N, Jamsie-poo needs me, Moony got stuck...BYE!" *Sirius Orion Black defintiely does not run away from his girlfriend and absolutely walks calmly to his boyfriends. Absolutely. Definitely.*

- Remus is the chef of your little family

- He cooks literally every meal

- Without fail (except for full moons, but even then, he's got food ready in the fridge)

- Remus wears an apron Sirius made him

- It's a night scene in the forest with a beautiful gray wolf howling at the full moon

- Remus definitely was not a fan at first but now it's rare he doesn't wear it

- James definitely does not cook

- He has trouble cracking eggs It's hopeless really

- But he's an absolute grill master

- Like give him steaks, burgers, whatever, and you get a masterpiece

- James gets smoke on his glasses and you have to help clean them and guide him around

- James definitely has the "Kiss the Cook" apron

- You three definitely obey the apron

- You make family recipes and cook dinner sometimes Deviled eggs, brownies, and cookies can always readily be found

- You have a lace-trimmed 1950s-style white apron and another that has a hen standing in front of a rooster that reads "The rooster may crow, but the hen delivers the goods"

- When you wear the 50s apron Sirius kisses you and calls you his "Beautiful wife" (because "Little woman" is not cool)

- When you wear the rooster/hen apron James and Sirius make a big show of walking carefully around you and barking "YES MA'AM" with grand salutes and rushing to whatever you've asked them

- You and Remus just laughing at these dorks

- Okay but like

- Sometimes Sirius wears this more than you

- Like even if he's not cooking

- You can catch him waltzing around the flat in it

- He just loves it so much

- Almost more than you do

- Which is surprising because it's a family heirloom

- Just Sirius in black skinny jeans and a black button down, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair thrown up into a messy bun, and wearing this apron

- You in dark skinny jeans, an oversized Def Leppard t-shirt, your hair also thrown into a messy bun, wearing this apron

- And the marauders just groan because

- James: "How are you //that// attractive just baking? HOW?"

- Remus: "James, is that really necessary? I--"

- Sirius: *Holding James, the both of them rocking back and forth and sobbing dramatically* "I KNOW, PRONGS. I KNOW. WE'LL MAKE IT THROUGH THIS //TOGETHER// HONEY."

- You and Remus: FFS we're married to a couple of drama queens

- You: "You okay there, buddy?"

- James: "SO PRETTY."

- Remus: "Are you quite finished?"

- Sirius: *James and Padfoot share a knowing look and a pair of matching grins* "One more, Moony. Ahem. WHY?!"

- James: "Now we're done. You do look really hot though, Y/N."

- Remus: "Finally!"

- You: *are most definitely very upset with your overly dramatic boyfriends and are defintiely not amused nor are you blushing - nope, not you* "T-Thanks, James, Padfoot." *You give them a half grin because you can't help yourself but you also want to remain neural for Remus' sake*

- James: "Anytime, Love." *He kisses your cheek*

- Sirius: "We really do love you, Sweetheart." *He kisses your temple*

- You: *Very much blushing now* "I love you, too. All of you."

- Remus: *sighs* "I'm married to a bunch of saps." *He scrunches his nose as all three of you move to kiss his face at the same time* *James goes for the left cheek, you go for the right, and Sirius kisses his left temple* *Somehow you all manage not to crash and leave a very bright red Remus standing in the kitchen while you head out to the living room to binge on freshly baked snacks and Netflix*

- "H-hey! W-Wait for me, guys!" *Remus rushes into the room and crawls between you and James*

- *Sirius is on the floor but decides it's absolutely necessary to take a running jump and lay on the three of you*

- Remus: "SIRIUS! NO!"

- You: "OOF! WHY?"

- James: "OW! FUCK! MY BOOB!" *Laughter erupts at that*

- Sirius: "Prongs, you dork."

- Sirius is an exceptionally skilled baker

- Like holy, shit, where did he learn that?

- He never tells you while you're at Hogwarts but instead chooses to march into the kitchen one day, don your rooster/hen apron, and shoo the rest of you out.

- You, Remus, and James all looking worriedly at each other because:

- Remus: "There's gonna to be such a mess!"

- You: "I hope this doesn't go down like the time he tried to build that birdhouse. I'm still finding pieces in the garden. It's been 2 years!"

- James: *Face is paled, he's swallowing a lot and visibly sweating* "A-are we...going to have to...eat...it?"

- Remus and you: "SHUT UP PRONGS! HE CAN HEAR YOU."

- Sirius: *Suanters out of the kitchen sometime later, his hair in a bun, flour on his face and still in your apron* "All finished. You coming?"

- Sirius watches amused as you and Remus try to hide the fact that James needs to be dragged into the kitchen.

- You all three decide to be as supportive as possible and eat a cookie at the same time.

- James acting like he's about to take a shot

- You and Remus rolling your eyes (but are also kind of concerned because it's Sirius and since when does he do anything domestic?)

- All three of you take a bite of the best damn chocolate chip cookies you've ever had

- Not being able to hide the fact that you all most definitely moaned rather loudly over said cookies

- Sirius smirking in the corner because "If I'd have known you'd like them so much I would have provided a change of pants."

- Remus rolls his eyes at Pads but continues to eat his cookie (that surely isn't his third...or was it fourth?)

- James doesn't register Sirius' comment because he's too busy leaning over the plate and stuffing his face with cookies

- You all laughing at James

- You enjoying your (definitely not fourth or fifth) cookie and you're trying to tell Sirius how good they are but you can't get the words together (especially around a mouthful of cookie) so you finish eating and walk up to him

- He doesn't see you immediately because he's looking at James who at that point has eaten most of the cookies and Remus is exasperatedly trying to save some for the rest of you

- You taking advantage of that and pulling Pads to you by the apron strings and kissing him feverently

- He's caught off guard but quickly pulls you to him, wrapping his arms around your waist while you wind yours around his neck

- Sirius: *pulls away to catch his breath* "So...you liked the cookies then?" He smirks as you playfully hit him on the chest

- You: "Yes, you little shit. How come you never told us?" *Remus and Prongs look up from their cookie battle, interest peaked*

- Sirius: *shrugs and rubs the back of his neck* "It, uh, just never came up, I guess. You really like it?"

- You: "Yes, of course we do! They're so good! Thank you, Pads!" *You give a chastise kiss to an absolutely calm Sirius. He is defintiely not blushing*

- Remus: "They really are delicious, Sirius. If only *someone* would share!" *Pointed look at James*

- James: "So, so good, Padfoot!" *Sees Remus' glare* "What? You had some! They're SO good!"

- You and Sirius watch your husbands bicker over the cookies; he's got an arm slung around our shoulder

- Sirius: "I suppose I should make more, huh?"

- You: "In a minute. Let me kiss you first. Besides, this is getting good." You and Pads can't help but laugh as you hear a loud *THWACK* and look over to see a very upset James rubbing his hand and a very stern Moony moving the plate of remaining cookies away from James' reach

- James: "But Moony!"

- Remus: "No! Save some for the rest of us! Besides, you'll spoil your dinner! I'm making pasta!"

- James: "But I--Pasta? Hmm well okay then Moony. Suppose it's for the best. What time did you say dinner was?" Remus rolls his eyes and you and Pads laugh even harder.

- He presses a kiss to your temple as you're still laughing and starts to clean up the kitchen with a very hungry James pestering a very annoyed Remus at the island and you next to Sirius at the sink, doubled over an laughing your ass off

- Never feeling alone, even for a moment. Not ever.

- If one of the Marauders is busy, you have two more who have your back.

- Or, if you’re busy, they have each other.

- Always laughing.

- You joke that you’ll develop crow’s feet earlier than your peers from all the laughter you share.

- The floor is the new wardrobe when you all move in together.

- Until James bustles in, tuts and begins to clean up, ignoring the horrified faces of you, Sirius and Remus.

- Until he picks up one of Remus’ jumpers, pauses and seems to pale.

“Oh. Oh. I’ve turned into my bloody mother!”

- Sirius’ bark like laugh at James’ indignant tone sets everyone else off.

- James doesn’t tidy for months after that.

- So you and Remus take over.

- The boys always reward you, though! ;)

- It gets kinda crowded, but no one really cares or ever mentions it.

- It’s family.

- There’s an entire cupboard filled with chocolate.

- When one of you offend or hurt Remus in anyway, the most obvious apology is to put chocolate in his cupboard without him knowing.

- Once, you put chocolate in his cupboard late at night, dressed in one of Remus’s shrts.

- You were teary because you’d really messed up - you’d spilt tea on one of his favourite books.

- When you turned to leave the kitchen, Remus was leant against the doorframe, arms crossed and watching you with a stony face.

- You tried to slink passed him without saying anything and he’d caught your wrist and spun you to look at him.

- He’d pushed you against the wall and had held you there with hisbody, every plane of him pressed against you.

- “Hush, love. I forgive you.”

- His lips caught yours hungrily and he pressed you back into the wall.

- “Starting without us, I see.”

- Sirius was suddenly in the room, a wolfish smirk on his face.

- James came investigating five minutes later to see where everyone was and, well...

- It was tongues, teeth, sweat, skin, muttered curses, messy, chaotic...

- No one knew who’s teeth were whose, whose limbs were whose...

- It was raw, unbridled passion.

- It was perfect.

- And the most important thing?

- No one died. Ever.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

HP Tags: @bingewatchingmylifegoby @sky-the-llama @chloeolivialuce @ll-kirra-ll @miyakokurono @cardboard-box-of-stuff

#remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #marauders headcanons #marauders era #harry potter #harry potter imagine #remus lupin imagine #sirius black imagine #james potter imagine

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just-kiss-me-you-fool-hehe · 6 years ago

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new year reunion weekend ✨

it was the most amazing weekend to get to see my buddy and have soooooooooo much good quality time with him

its the most amazing feeling in the world to be in an apartment and know that the other person is someone who you want to spend every minute with and share every thought with; it was so fun to mess around and watch tv and cook and create random things and go to the gym and have someone that will do all of those things with you <3

kirill did all of the grocery shopping for our empty fridge when he came over and brought me really cute flowers !!!

we kissed and hugged and did really cute things and then things got super hot and we started making out and had sex but i felt really uncomfortable in my post holiday desserts body and so the sex was kinda strange for me i just didnt remember what it felt like to be hot and then i dont know how he did or why he did it even though hes done it before but he just laid down on the couch with me and told me all about how cute i am and how much he loves each and every part of me; its just so crazy because i genuinely forgot how to do things and how i felt when we were in bed together and he just talked to me for a long time and then we napped together in my bed and then i doodled on my bullet journal feeling super grateful to have in my life like i definitely severely underestimate how much of a boost he creates in my every day self confidence i really dont know what i did to deserve him

anyway we went to the gym and worked out together and it was so fun to actually have a buddy not just someone who goes at the same time and then we showered together and watched tv while we waited for our pad kee mao and then devoured it as soon as it was delivered along with the mango sticky rice :P

the next day we actually woke up on time to go to work except for the fact that we were in our couch bed with our bare legs tangled up and feeling super frisky so we got some fireworks there and still got to work at 11! it was so fun getting ready together for the first day of the year and i got to wear my camo jacket for the first time so we matched and he was so pleased and i was stressed about my bra making my boobs look too big which was a fun and (f)risky conversation to have on our way to work ahahaha

we got home and went to mitchs place for smoothie delivery and watch unboxing and it was fun to chills and then went to his place to redo/undo/redo his iphone sync he was such a jumble of ideas and emotions it was funny to watch him speak and i also got the pink snuggie and just hung out watching my own videos in his room

then we finally walked to apple store and got really fun cute looks on the way there and then we were making out and then he says “ok baby im gonna see you in 20 mins” cause we were making out as if we werent going to see each other in a couple days ahaha

i remember walking down the streets feeling so content and seeing the lights of sf and it just felt so warm and cozy to feel so loved in a city that i love walking alone on a fun night; anyway we came home and cooked cauliflower and potato curry and made swausages and it was fun to do everyday things with him

saturday day i went to barre and trader joes and muji with mitch which was super fun and it was just an amazing feeling to come home to a person thats ready to kiss you :D idk its just really nice to make egg and avocado salad with the sesame seasoning !!! and it was nice to have him console me about the eggs not being fully cooked

the afternoon was amazing because we sat in our couch bed and read our books together !!! we read for a long time but i only got through ten pages because i was reading becoming which feels strange because michelle and barack feel like kirill and i for some reason and we talked about all the things i write in my books and he told how amazing it is that im smart and thoughtful and observant and he always wants to know what im thinking and writing about and i literally died inside

i was just in my happy place with the two of our reading on my couch and then eventually he had 15 mins left of his chapter and i was like can we read those later bc i wanna do other things and we had amazing sex i freaking love this couch because it has seen many great times and it was so fun to have sex in the middle of the day and i was def so turned on and there were stains on the sheets from me oh my jesus

so we fell asleep after making really good fruit salad and basically went the whole day just having eaten the tiny egg salad and tried to make oatmeal while kirill fed me chicken from the leftover pad kee mao and got kinda sad that that it was steel cut oats but idk for some reason he just made me less sad than i was and the oatmeal turned out pretty good!

“you know whats really fun this colander sits perfectly across the sink for putting berries in to dry“ “im really happy that thats really fun for you baby”

we ate some of our leftovers in the evening and watched more episodes of the final table and started getting really into in it after a couple of episodes and crossing our fingers and toes for our fave teams to not get cut and it was just so fun to hold onto his finger as we were waiting to see results, it was fun watching a cooking show with him because it felt like something we could do forever; also it was fun to talk about jokes like the rooster came first and finding the ghee spot is hard haha

it was hilarious cause we talked about how wild it is that we still talk about how wild it is that were together !

its also funny because if anyone heard our conversations they would be like what is this they talk about hydration police and bunnies and fruits and fruit salads what is this

he complimented me on having a nice back and nice elbows and nice feet and nice corners of my mouth and its wild bc those are compliments i have never received before !!! and when i told him this he was like “well theyre all missing out” and i was just :DDDDD anyway he said the same thing when i complimented his hands and his feet

we made chia seed pudding with berries and flax seeds and it was super cute because he ate exactly what i was eating on whole30 even though there was bread in the fridge for him1! we watched kalen allen and richard ayoade and talked about how fun it is to understand the things that the other person likes

we slept super late but then woke up kinda early anyway and then i took off my pants cause it was really hot and got into the same blanket and then i took my shirt cause it was really hot too with some help from kirill covering me up with lots of blankets to speed up the process hahaha i had a wad of dollar bills to use for premium services to i gave one of them to him and things were just insanely hot this morning and i was so turned on that my orgasm was just insane and as soon as it happened i told him that he could have all my singles it was amazing; as is probably obvious i was basically screaming and moaning this whole time and one of our neighbors actually knocked on the door and asked “are you okay?” and it was hilarious and i was mortified but it was still hilarious a definite first !!!

by the end of the weekend, like this morning on sunday, i felt so sexy again! it was really all because he managed to make me feel beautiful in the course of a few hours and days its wild

i just love how fun life is when he’s around, even though i try to capture all the fun things that we did together the best part of being with him is just being with him because everything is fun and everything is funny and even if its not its better with him; love you my buddy <3

#personal #kl7

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shinrakirigaya · 7 years ago

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Hello this is my bio for gradient some of it is non canon for exple his story belongs to me and all but the baby drawing of gray is mine :3 The baby picher of ink holding gray belongs to @rainbowsixwolf Gradient Drama CQ Nick Name: Gray, Grad Combo of: Ink- @comyet and Error @loverofpiggies Creator: @askcomboclub ---Stats:--- HP: 36 ATK: 17 DEF: 16 ---Biographical informashion--- Species: skeleton Gender: Male Age: 14 Date of birth: March 5th Hight: 4'6" (so smol, but growing slowly) ----Family---- (tenicly cannon if you add logic) Dad: Error Mom: ink Sister: PaperJam Half Brother: Bluescreen Half Brother: Palette Half Brother: Van Half Brother: Splatter Half Brother: Strike ----about me---- (mix of non and cannon) Roommate: Flip Closes Friends: Serif, Karma Loves: Geno, Mafia Crush: Nightmare, Horror, Error Likes: Digital Art, Scenery Art, Architecture, Pixel Art, Astronomy Dislikes: Insults, Being Surrounded by a Large Group of Strangers, Vegetable Oil, Dream, Blue, panic and asma attacts Hobbies: Creating, Drawing, Sketching, Traveling through the Multiverse, Star Gazing, Doll Making ---favoret food--- (non cannon) What does he like to eat?: Gradient, because he has more Error in him than Ink, he can eat normal food but he particularly has a sweet tooth. Also, at times he will destroy something and devour it’s code. This method is good for him in case he is really injured and it would take a long time for him to heal. Though, because he was born in the anti-void, it’s not a necessity for him, its more of luxury. ---Profile--- (cannon) Personality He is shy and wary when you first meet him, due to him being mistaken as error many times. When you get to know him, though, he is snarky, sarcastic and a bit ornery. ---Appearance--- (cannon) Gradient has greyish purple boans, red puples, turquoise "tears", similar to error, and green teat. His fingers are like error's. He wears a black and blue jacket, long brown pants, tiger print shoes and glasses. He has a red jacket tied around his waist, which holds a paper pad and a pen. ---Attakes--- (non cannon) Power's: ShapeShifting, Error blaster's, bone attake. Specialty's: Creating, healing Power's and Glitched shield ----Official description---- (cannon) Gradient is a digital artist who is in a constant cycle of creating and destroying. He can't help but make art but then he feels the art he did is not good enough and destroys it not long after. Spends a lot of time in the combo club art room. Is very shy and wary of strangers but once you get to know him he can be raver snarky and sarcastic. ----My description---- (mine) Hi im gradient and this is my story When i was born error was still the destroyer and ink the creator heck back then fresh was they protector but that's besides the point. I was born as you would expect in the anti void and neither new the outside world or the love of a parent. Error tried to kill me when he found out called me a glitch and as for ink he tried to look after me but everytime he sore error in me he would snap its never safe when they were together so i hid under tables and beds. When i was 7 i almost had a family ink and error came together and tried to raise me but it didn't last. They were yelling and breaking things i tried to stop them but ink struck me for the first time i ran to my room and started crying. I remember a surge of magic run through me as i started to create my first and only portel the floor glitched and polled me though i remember seeing there sad and desperate faces as they tried to teach me but it was too late. I woke up in the bata void and stayed there in that white abyss of 10 years until error found me again. I watched from my screen error and ink create a new family relaxing me with paperjam so i was reluctant at first there was so much i didn't know until i found bluescreen He's my half brother on errors side his dad is blueberry now let me tell you me and blue screen meet them and was fanboying all over the place i mean come on there the originals the most strongest people in the multiverse they like celebrities not to mentchen we ship everything we see and crash god we're nerds though i guess its also has to have something to do with the fact we had near to 0 contact to the outside world are entire lives. Were like twins it's amazing i found him in the files and brought him with me i also have another half brother his name is pallet on inks side his dad is drem pallet is in love with are cusin goth who is the son of death and geno geno and fresh snd are uncles by the way on errors side and we love them but not as much as paperjam loves fresh. Paper Jam is my little bit bluescreens older brother he was born of ink and error he never had to prove himself to them and they traded him like a son on day one so i guess you can say i feel envy for him but i love him and will protect him to my last breath. ---Gradients Lalaby--- (mine) safe and sound we wait in silence with nothing but are ink, with No one there to harm or hurt us, is in silence that we think, though time mean not, ill wait for you to hold you closs agine, for now im free ill keep you safe, and stare at the stares agine... ---Gradients Story--- (mine) Prologue Nothing is what I see. Silence is what I hear. Numbness is what I feel. Trapped in this never ending void of white is where I stay, alone and afraid. And yet, I’ve never been safer. I’m a glitch you see, an ERroR A BeInG ThAt ShOuLdn’T EXIST! Or at least that’s what I’ve been told, heck my own mother thinks I’m a mistake, welts my father tried to kill me more times than I can count. I do not blame them though it is their nature to hate me after all. I guess I have to explain, my father is called Error or the destroyer, and he is the one that goes around destroying AUs or alternate universes and as expected where there is Destruction there is also Creation. That’s where mom comes in, his name is Ink and yes I know but Gray how do to mails have kids, and there is a good answer to that as well, . . . Magic. Anyways ink is the one that creates the au’s in order to keep the balance. They are the opposite of one another, yin and yang, good and evil, wells one destroys another Protects and like everyone in this situation, they hate each other and fight whenever they meet. It was these two that created me. Half Destroyer. Half Creator. I am nothing compared to them, should I chose to protect in the end there’s not much my kind can do… Ten years I’ve been stuck in this empty void with nothing but my ink, dolls and creators pen, I cannot leave nor can I call for help. . . after all I doubt anyone remembers that I ever existed for who could ever love a glitch. The Escape I sit on the floor of the Bata Voids staring into the empty space of white, all knowledge of the outside world has forever been lost two mw, excepted for two things. “My name is Gradient and this doll in my hand is Error, my dad and one day he will find me, but why do I know that?…” I close my eyes as I try to think, a faint memory comes to mine or perhaps just a dream for something this beautiful could never exist is a world of white, a place filled with glittering lights and the face of a man I long to see. It was his voids I remember most, a song he sang to help me sleep once, if I remember correctly I became ill and he never left my side, for some reason I always wanted to know why he bothered if I’m just another glitch to him. But it was in this action that gives me some hope of escaping this hell. After all no matter where I hid or tried to run away, he would always find me. I get up for a split second before collapsing to the floor agile, all feeling in my legs are gone. I stare blankly as the ink that I tipped in my moment of carelessness and watch as the pitch black liquid engulfs the pure white floor. Tears begin to fall down my face as I try everything in my power to stay sane, I close my eyes as I began to sing the very same lullaby that man used to sing all thoughts years ago. “Safe and sound we wait in silent with nothing but are ink. With no one there to harm or hurt us in silence that we think. Though time means not I’ll wait for you to hold you close again. For now I’m free I’ll keep you safe and stare at the stares again…” A memory comes to me as I stare at my glitches hands. My father holding me close as he cry’s into my shoulder, repeating the same words as I glitch into this white abyss. “I don’t know where you’ll be but, I promise, I will find you and when I do will stare at the stares again for all long as you wish, I’m so sorry my so-” I never did get to hear the end of what he was gone say next. I sigh as I pull out my creator’s pen to see the worlds I’ve been dreading for years. “Low battery, exactly the two worlds I didn’t want to see right now.” I close my eyes as a glitches portal opened up in front of me. It was at that moment I know I was finally free. Chapter Three Lost child It was a normal day when I first learned about him, you see my name is Geno or as some might know me as Aftertale sans I am originally from a genocide run so I get kinda triggered from certain comments. Anyways as I was saying it was like any other day, on this day I was visiting my brother error and his wife? Husband…. Ima says wife ya that sounds right so anyways I was visiting my brother at his house in the anti-void. Now you might be wondering, what's the anti-void, well it's like the void but white. Though seriously the anti-void is a big white endless space that error resided alone. Now a daze it's much more noisy. You see in the past error used to be known as the destroyer of the AUs but that was before he met ink, sure they fought a lot and tried to kill each other but know they're inseparable. Ink and error fell in love and like any love story they got married and had a kid named paper jam, I for one like Paperjam he's a cute kid though I find it weird how he has a crush on my brother who is his uncle and what makes it even weirder I think fresh likes him back. Shakes head. that’s off topic though, so as I was saying, I was visiting my brother when I found that photo. I was sitting on the sofa with error when ink asked me to grab an art book from the cupboard for him. So like any kind person I got up and went to the cuboid, but as I was getting the book I knocked over what seemed to be an old photo from. When I picked it up I knotted that the glass what cracked that must have happened in the fall. On closer inspection I knottiest it was a pitcher of error holding what I assume was paperjam. But there was something off about it, unlike paperjam this baby didn't have ink splat he also had box like blue markings on his gray bones unlike paperjam. This got me thinking that this must be someone else kid, so as the cuross and concerned older brother I decided to ask error about it. I closed the door of the cupboard and made my way to the sofa pitcher in hand as I poke errors cheek, Error turns and faces me with little annoyance. “Is there something you need geno?” he asked me in curiosity. “I was wondering if you knew who this baby is considering that you are in the pitcher.?” I handed the photo over to error and sit in wait for any reaction. Error looks at the photo amused by genos curiosity but the more he stares at it, the more his grin starts to fade. He looks at the photo with dread almost like he regretting something. I continue to watch him as he places a hand on the photo over the child face like he's trying to physically touch the child in the image. Curiosity takes over me as I asked him something I know he didn't want to here. “You do know this child right?” My eyes widen as error starts to cry holding the photo close to his chest. I pull him into a comforting hug, rubbing his back to calm him down. “Hay now it's OK, you don't need to tell me if you don't want to” Error shakes his head. “on its not right that you don't know him it's just we've kept this secret for so long…” “You can tell me anything brother, i'm here for you” I place a hand on his shoulder and give him an encouraging look. Error wipes the tears from his eyes as he stares at Geno. “The child in the photo… the reason I know him is that he is mine and inks child.” My eyes widen in disbelief. “you have another child with ink? Why did you never tell us and why did you need to keep it secret” Error looks down in sadness. “The reason we kept it secret is because I killed him…” I jump up in surprise and scream. “YOU DID WHAT TO HIM!!!” Error cried harder as he shakes. “i-it wasn't my fault, h-he just started glitching a-and then the next moment he was gone, I tried to find him believe me I did but ink… he didn't believe me I know he's alive out there I just need to find him I j-just DAMIT” “error pleases calm down this isn't good for you” Error hugs Geno. “Please big brother you have to find him m-maybe he's in the save screen i'll do anything just…. Bring him home” “i'll see what I can do…” Chapter 4 New Biggings ---Genos pov--- I have been searching everywhere and asking everyone i know if they have seen him, tho it was always the same… They iver didn't know who he was or didn't care because he was errors son. Eventually i tried to ask reaper to confirm if he was even alive and to my happiness he said yes, but then he went quiet. I asked him what was wrong and he told me not to go looking for that child because all he will bring is misfortune and death. I was horrified but not at the child but at reaper for trying to stop me from looking for my nefw. We fought and argued for days until he finally gave up and told me where he was but with a condition. If i bring that child back, then reaper and goth will leave. It was an almost impossible chose to make but i chose that child over my own family, so reaper took me to where the child lays. ---Gradients pov--- I flinch as i stare up at geno with broken gray eyes, he makes a move to come close but i scurry away as much as i can before collapsing again from lack of strength. After that he chose not to come closer instead he sat down and stared at me. I eventually build up the courage to speak and as my voice echoed in the white abuse i said. “who are you?” ---Geno pov--- I was shocked to see this child, he looked just like error but more pale and thin, it also looks like he hasn't slept in days. I move closer to pull him into a hug but he ran away almost like i was about to hurt him. I hesitated but sat down to try and make myself look smol and less threatening. It must of worked because moments later he spoke* “who are you?” “my name is geno, i'm your uncle” “u-uncle g-geno?” “yh that's right, you're safe now i'm gonna take you home.” I smile at the child in a comforting way as his eyes fill with hope and tears, then out of nowhere he hugs me in a accepting way and it was in that moment i know. I finally saved someone. ---Other Discripchion--- (not mine) Gradient is a teenager (14) and he tries to act older than he is(evident of his speech) but he HATES acting his age because he doesn’t wanna be seen as childish. He also has the unique ability that whenever he becomes extremely flustered/embarrassed, his form will start to bubble (much like a lava lamp) as his form starts to change from a solid to a liquid.When Gradient travels through the multiverse, like his father (Ink), he keeps an AU log. He likes to learn about the different AUs before his dad (Error) destroys them. When Gradient is with strangers, most often he might slip and act his age. However, when he’s with his friends or people that knows him, he will do his best to not act his age. Gradient doesn’t need to sleep (because he was born in the anti-void) but on certain occasions he will. Otherwise he rarely sleeps. When he does sleep he most of the time has nightmares Gradient has Haphephobia, like Error, he has a fear of touch. So strangers he ESPECIALLY hates touching him and even if you’re already one of his friends, he still doesn’t like to be touched but he will tolerate it. If Gradient were to receive a gift (and he has so we’ll use the MP3 Player for an example) he would selfish and NOT want to share. He would fear that it would be taken away and he would never get it back. (Kinda linking this to how Error was never around when he was a kid and he doesn’t want something precious, gift or parent, to slip through his fingers again. Plus he’s a teenager so its kinda natural for them to act selfishly here and there. Gradient has heard of AUs and timelines that have made it to the surface, but he has never encountered one before. He also is very naive. He’s not familiar at all with human things or the world above. (Ex: His friend Rip offered him cake once, and he didn’t know what cake was. He was asked if he owned a radio since he likes music but he didn’t know what a radio was) Gradient is also a pacifist. He does not like to fight. However, if the situation absolutely demands it, and if he is pushed over the edge just enough, he won’t hesitate to protect what he cares about. Even to this day, Gradient longs for Error to accept him as his son. He doesn’t hate him and he won’t ever be able to since that is his dad. Gradient doesn’t believe that someone can come to love him because he sees that he has so many problems that he doesn’t seem himself as a desirable catch. (His glitching, his eating habits, how he destroys his creations so willy nilly, etc) Gradient also has a fear of touching things that are nice or pretty because he feels that anything he touches could destroy at the slightest touch of his fingers. Gradient gets jealous of other people’s artwork and it may come to the point where he wishes to destroy their work. Gradient, despite being the eldest, still has a lot to learn about the world. He lived in the Anti-Void his whole life, so he knows nothing about Earth or any human or monster customs. He's very curious and not afraid to say what's on his mind at any given time: he loves to learn about the different AU's before Error destroys them, and keeps an AU log. He also has the unique ability that whenever he becomes extremely flustered/embarrassed, his body will start to bubble (much like a lava lamp) as his form starts to change from a solid to a liquid. Gradient loves to create, but is a perfectionist, dubbing his creations 'hideous' before promptly destroying them. ---Relashion ships--- Paperjam Paperjam is in the middle in terms of age, but definitely acts the most responsible. Gradient admires PJ's resolve and confidence in himself despite the odds being stacked against him. He tries to help PJ take care of Bluescreen and offer his support in times of need. They're very closely knit: Paperjam considers himself the protector of his brothers. Gradient is thankful to have PJ there. Bluescreen Bluescreen is the youngest of the three. Gradient likes to challenge him to contests and games to try and boost his confidence. He doesn't like seeing Blue lonely, as Gradi himself knows the feeling all too well. So he spends as much time as he can with Bluescreen, often asking him to help out with a project. Oftentimes their escapades get out of control, which ends in getting in trouble with Paperjam. Ink When Gradient was born, Error immediately rejected him, whereas Ink took him in. When nothing is too busy, Gradi likes to visit Ink in whatever part of the universe he happens to be in. They know all each others' ins and outs: they're very similar in personality. Ink likes to spend most of his free time with Gray, while Error fawns over Paperjam. Gray tries to include Bluescreen in as much as he can, which Ink deeply appreciates. Error Error hates Gradient with a burning passion, avoiding him as much as possible, and at one point even attacking him for visiting without permission. Gradi, on the other hand, wants Error's love and acceptance more than anything. He tries fruitlessly to prove himself. He wishes Error would love him, and is angered by the fact that he won't accept him. But despite that, Gradient still loves his dad, even if Error will always loathe him.

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