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invitationtowine · 3 months
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OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH IM DEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD
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iamsexytrash · 3 years
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Are you sure I’m not high? Pt 23
[Authors note: hey look, it’s a 2 for 1 special since it’s my day off from work. I want to apologize in advance, this might be one of the biggest plot reveals for this series, and i’m planning on an in between scene that expands more on it, but yeah. It’s gonna hurt.]
In this chapter: Luther’s walk of shame, a huge reveal, and a breakdown of epic proportions. 
TW: Cursing, depression, suicidal ideation mention, mental breakdowns
<<<First <<Previous Next>> Masterlist
In between scenes: Words of wisdom from Daddy Hargreeves
Taglist: @80strashbag, @weird-pale-blonde-person, @youcandalekmyballs, @stitchers-in-stitches, @gretaamyk, @slytherin2319, @residentdormouse
                                              I heard a rumor Pt 1                           I'm bound to break if you keep me bending
Waking up the next morning was quite possibly the most...annoying thing out there. And you've had some annoying mornings. And It was all because Klaus found a damn bell, and was ringing it like some kind of school marm.
You opened the door, walking out of his room and saw Five stomping down the steps, a manic look in his eye. Remembering that he had just been patched up after having shrapnel removed you quickly call out "Five! Five!" He turns around and winces at the pull to his stitches. "Oh, good. You're here. Listen, you wouldn't mind if I kill your boyfriend, would you?" You honestly can't tell if he's being serious or not. "Are-Are you serious?" "Well, no. But I will be if he doesn't stop RINGING THAT DAMN BELL!" You can see Klaus come sauntering into the hallway a half second later, still ringing the bell, and you have to personally hold Five back to keep him from throttling Klaus. Note to self: Five is a feral bastard without his coffee in the mornings. "Oh, good! You're both up!" "Hard not to be with all that damn racket." Five grumbles and winces again. "Hey. You okay? And don't lie and say you are cause I know you just got patched up last night." Five looks down at your words, remembering the shrine of you in Harold’s attic. "I-I don't know if 'okay' is the word I would use. We found something in Harold’s house that I think you'll need to hear about."
"Well, you'll have to say it downstairs in the kitchen, cause I'm calling a family meeting!" Ringing the bell again for emphasis, you have hold Five back again from killing him. "No, Five. No murdering my boyfriend." Five huffs and you let him go. Glaring, he blinks away down to the kitchen, and you only just now noticed he's in his little umbrella academy Pjs. You look over at Klaus, who still has shit-eating grin on his face. "Must you?" "Oh, yes. I must." wrapping an arm around your waist, Klaus leads you down the hall to Luther's room, ringing the bell and singing, "~Wakey wakey, eggs and bakeyy~" You look to see Luther stepping out with a sheet around his waist, looking really confused and hungover. "Oh, there's the big man. You pulled a disappearing act on us last night. What mischief did you get into?" "What? I, I didn't." Luther vehemently denies and you grin a little, looking over his shoulder at the rave girl in his bed. "Oh really?" Your grin grows a bit wider. "Why don't we ask her, then? Good morning sunshine! The sun says hello!" Klaus grins and waves the hand holding the bell, and you both laugh a bit when she waves back. Gasping a bit, Luther runs to shut the door to his bedroom. You giggle a bit. "Oh come on, Luther. I'd hate to say it, but you kinda needed it. The getting laid, bit. Not the excessive drinking and taking of ecstacy bit." "Yeah," Klaus adds, "Not a lot of ladies on the moon, I assume." he looks like he's trying so hard not to laugh right now.
"And all that pressure resting on those big...hairy...shoulders of yours." You both crack up and laugh, leaning against each other. "Guys, enough." Luther's face is beat red and you gasp a little. "Holy shit, I forgot! This is your first time, isn't it?" "No way!" Klaus gasps. "We are not having this conversation." "Whoo-hoo!" Klaus lets go of you to dance in place a little. "He popped his cherry!" "Mm." You fold your arms against your chest. "Looks like your gonna have to marry her now." "Would you keep your voice down?" Luther is pleading at this point, and Klaus just sighs a little before dragging you into his arms again. "Oh, I don't even remember my first time, but the only one that matters is standing right beside me." You can't help but smile and shake your head at his words. "Stop it, flatterer!" "Make me." "I just might." "Guys! What is it?" Luther interrupts your flirt fest and you both look over at him. "What? Oh, the uh...Important Family business. Meet us downstairs, okay?" "And Luther?" You add. "No dilly-dallying, all right? Chop-chop!" You both walk away, laughing like idiots and once you get downstairs in the foyer, you turn and wrap your arms around Klaus' neck. "Well, it's no steamy make-out session, but I'd say that was some well executed revenge against your brother for the crap he pulled on us last night." "You never know, the day is young. And you are incredibly sexy. There's every possibility we could get caught by him making out right here. Wanna test it?" "Oh, I thought you'd never ask." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- After a five minute break, The two of you (and Ben) found Luther stumbling into the kitchen and plop into the chair, with a hoodie pulled over his head. He's groaning and rubbing his temples. Klaus finished up the coffee he had made and you see Five blink into the chair next to him. "Nice Pj’s." You smirk. "Shut up, it was all we had available in my size." Guess he's still pissed about the whole eternal baby face thing. "Here we go. This'll fix ya." Klaus places a mug and pours some coffee in front of Luther before going to pour some for the everyone else. Five steals it before he has a chance to take a sip and you quickly hand Luther your mug. He sends you a tired grin in thanks. "Jesus, who do I gotta kill to get a decent cup of coffee?" "You know, he didn't HAVE to make that. We could have just...let you go without." You point out the glaringly obvious and Five just rolls his eyes at you. "Can we please, just get started?" Luther is half-begging by this point. "Anyone seen any of the others? Diego? Allison?" Klaus asks. "Diego might be with Patch and Allison is off investigating Harold Jenkins, if my memory serves." "If?" Luther asks. "Well, Patch was supposed to die, and Diego would have gotten arrested on trumped up charges and spent the night in jail. Now that she isn't dead..." You let the sentence trail off. So much of Diego’s storyline was wrapped around her death, now that she isn't dead, you don't really know what his scenes will end up being. "Well, this is the closest thing to a quorum..." Klaus starts banging on the table with a metal spatula. "...That we're gonna get. Now, listening up, there's no easy way to say this. So I'm just gonna let [Y/N] say it." You look over and glare at Klaus, who gives you a little smile and makes a 'go on' motion with his hands. Sighing, you stand up and move to the head of the table. "This is a bad idea, you two." Ben tosses out and normally you'd agree, but it needs to be done. You take a deep breath, close your eyes, and..."Your dad offed himself. Klaus found out after conjuring him while he was dead last night." "While he was WHAT?!" Five exclaims, and Luther just looks confused. "I thought he couldn't conjure him?" "Well, yeah. But that was because there was nothing left to conjure. No spirit attached to this mortal coil. Not like with us and Ben. Klaus had to literally die to contact him." "Also, I've been 100% clean for like 3 days now, so that definitely helped." Klaus throws in and Ben just sighs and his head in disbelief. "Wait, no, hang on. That's not possible. I mean, I know he was paranoid and depressed, but he wasn't suicidal. There are signs, patterns." You raise a brow at Luther. "As someone who has depression, I can tell you, there are no visible signs. There are no visible patterns. Some days, you just wanna...end it all. Suicidal ideation is a bitch." "And you would know all about that." Your brow lowers and you glare at Luther a bit. "Yeah." You say. "I would." The implication is pretty obvious. "Alright, I'll bite." Five lets out after a minute of silence. "What did the old man have to say?" "Basically he committed suicide to give you all a reason to be together again, and reprogrammed your mom so that she couldn't help. Murder mystery? Assisted suicide. Literally everything he's done was so that you could all be together again to stop the apocalypse." You figure it was best to just get it out in the open now, rather than drag it out later. "Yeah, that... wasn't all he had to say." Looking over at Klaus, you remember the "enlightening conversation" he had with Reginald. "I...uh..." Klaus looks between everyone and swallows a bit. "He...talked about you. Um...don't take this the wrong way but - " "Klaus, just spit it out." Luther demands, and Klaus just moves and grabs your hands, bringing them to his lips. "Okay, you're starting to freak me out a bit here. What aren't you telling me?" Klaus inhales before- "Welcome to the family, Number Eight." You stare at him for a moment, in silence before quietly letting out a "Klaus, that isn't funny. That's just sick." "I'm not joking! After I raked his ass over the coals and gave him the telling off of a lifetime, he told me that you were one of his experiments. He sent people in to document your life. Apparently you've had powers for years and they've been lying dormant until now. Look!" And he pulls out the photos of you he had stuffed in his back pocket and hands them to you. You take them with cautious hands and look through them, eyes growing larger with every photo. At some point you found yourself sitting down at the table, photos strewn everywhere. Luther picks up the ones of you at the various funerals throughout your life. "How many...?" "At least 4." You mumble, looking down at the table. Five looks you, and remembers the shrine of you in Harold Jenkins attic. He decides not to say anything for right now, you're overwhelmed enough as it is. You can feel tears pooling around your eyes. "This can't be right, I mean...I would have known about this! I SHOULD have known about this!" you barely feel Klaus' hand on your shoulder or Five grabbing your hand and rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. "I'm just a idiot from another universe! What the hell could he want with me?!" "Master Klaus is right, I'm afraid." You all look over at Pogo, walking into the room. "As are you, Master/Miss [Y/N]. I helped Master Hargreeves enact this plan. Both of them." "What?" "So did Grace. It, was a difficult decision to make. But before we get into all of that, I believe there is something that you need to see, Master/Miss [Y/N]. If you would all follow me?" The Five of you look at each other and follow pogo out of the room, curious and slightly afraid to see where this leads. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When you all made it to the security room, Pogo moves to a side door and grabs a set of keys. "What are we doing here?" Klaus asks and you can see Pogo's shoulders hunch in a little more on themselves. "Your father, Master Klaus, when he discovered that other world, he became...obsessed with it. Or rather, your partner." Opening the door the five of you look up to see stacks of VHS tapes. You grab one off the pile and read it aloud. "Number Eight, 10/01/96. Pogo, what the hell is all of this? That's my second birthday!" Five and Luther's eyes whip over to you in shock, and Pogo looks down in shame. "Yes, well...we discovered, there's a time difference here compared to there. About five years, to be exact. Your 1994, was our 1989." Which means..."Oh, my god." please god no let this just be a cruel joke. You look over and see hundreds of tapes. "Shield manifestation, age 3." "attempt at contact #17." "High school graduation." "Disownment, age 23." "Number Eight, removal and integration." You place that one in the tape player and hit play. What you see is...shocking. Because you don't even remember what had happened to get you here. You remember Tessa's bachelorette party, and then...Klaus. But if this tape was right...That means you were missing at least 12 hours of your life. Because you don't remember any of this at all. You don't remember the men grabbing you and chucking you through the portal, you don't remember the late night talk with Tessa. You don't remember her getting shot. There's a massive black hole where that memory should be. You all watch the tape play in stunned silence and nobody notices pogo slip out, sending you a look of shameful apologies. You feel your hands tremble and shake and you think you might be sick. Klaus grabs your face and caresses it while sending everyone else a look to "Get lost." Fives lets out an "I need to think." and blinks away, while Luther pats your shoulder in comfort and walks out of the room. Ben simply sits on one of the chairs, quiet, but sending you sympathetic looks every now and again. "My life is a lie..." You look up at Klaus with red rimmed eyes and tears streaming down your face. "Was any of this real?" Taking your hand, Klaus places it above his heart, where the crescent moon tattoo sits. You can feel his heartbeats and it calms you down slightly. "Do you feel that? What I feel for you is real. My love for you, is real. Everything we experienced since you dropped into my life, it. Is. Real. I love you. I will never stop loving you. Alright?" You can feel your lower lip quiver before you lunge forward and embrace Klaus in a desperate hug. You feel him wrap his arms around you before letting out a sob and collapsing against him and sinking to the floor, Ben’s ghostly arms wrapping around you both as best he could. You didn't think this would ever happen. You've always wanted to be a part of this family. Turns out you were from the start.
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Well since we’re in this together, how about: Patching up a wound, Klaus x Reader?
A/N: :P I probably should have seen that coming.  Set pre season 1, cus fuck the apocalypse.  Word Count: 1142 Rating: T - swearing, violence/descriptions of significant injury, implied substance abuse (duh, it’s Klaus)
“Hey. Hey! HEY! Stop it! Don’t hit the person trying to help you! What is wrong with you?”
The man standing and shouting above you was blurry, your vision spinning with alternating spots of blackness and bright light. He batted your hands away as you flailed, disorientation leading to fear which manifested as wild aggression. After a moment of struggling, he managed to pin your hands together, though not before you got at least one solid hit to the general area of where you thought his face should be, as evinced by his yelp, which tickled a note of familiarity in the back of your swimming head.
The forced stillness helped things begin to clear, at least enough for you to take account of your surroundings and smile apologetically at your beloved best friend who had not only been in a bar fight (largely of his own making, with you only helping matters along slightly) but then you had probably just punched him. His lip was puffy, and one of his eyebrows had split open, a thin line of blood threatening to trickle into his green eyes and promising one hell of a shiner in the morning. You imagined you probably looked just as bad, or worse.
“Why would you do that?” Klaus shouted, making you wince, wild gesticulating indicating that he meant the fight.
“They were going to kick your ass!” you yelled back, briefly interrupting yourself to fight back a wave of nausea. Combined with the way your head pounded and even the dim glow of the streetlight at the mouth of the alley burned, you were fairly certain the sick feeling was a sign you were at least concussed.
“So you decided to have them kick yours instead?”
You shrugged, flinching as a new pain bloomed in your side at the motion. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
He rolled his eyes dramatically, his whole head moving, and tutted like a disapproving school marm.
“What am I going to do with you, Y/N?”
You sighed, looking around, startled to find that you knew exactly where you were. “We’re only like three blocks from my place. We should rest there instead of this dump. Based on the smell, something already died back here and I’d like to not be next.”
He nodded, slinging your arm over his shoulder to support you when your first step was more of a lurch. With the two of you stumbling into over and around each other, the three block walk took far too long, and the two flights of stairs were the most excruciating thing you had ever done, until finally you collapsed through your front door, sprawling in the entry, to tired and injured to move any further. You planted your face against the cool wood of the floor and groaned.
Suddenly, there was the soft press of a body against you as Klaus dropped, laying by your side, or rather draping himself over it.
“This is cozy,” he sighed contentedly.
“Did you at least close the door first, you ass?” you mumbled.
“Can’t. Yours is in the way love.”
“Well then get off so I can move.”
He giggled, rolling away, and you grunted in irritation, tucking your elbows under you to pull yourself along the floor, too tired and sore to get up properly. As you twisted, something in you strained and you cried out as stabbing pain tore through you.
Almost instantly, you heard your door slam and then Klaus was kneeling just at the edge of your vision.
“What? What is it? Y/N? Are you okay? Tell me what’s wrong.” His questions came rapid fire, adrenaline serving as a short term override for whatever chemicals were in his system tonight.
“I think,” you gasped out through clenched teeth, “that our friends back there…were a little more effective…than originally calculated.”
“Huh?” In any other situation, you would have smiled at the adorable little squeak his confusion caused, but you were too focused on trying to breathe carefully.
“I might be badly injured, idiot.”
Gently, he guided you into a sitting position looking you over for obvious signs.
“I need to take your shirt off. Is that okay?”
“Do what you need to do Klaus. It’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before.”
“Yeah but…I don’t want you to think…untoward thoughts about me.”
You rolled your eyes, breathing slightly easier now that you weren’t putting extra pressure on your own chest.
“I know you better than that.”
You gritted your teeth as he tugged tentatively at your t-shirt, the motion of raising your arms causing another painful pull.
He hissed at the sight of your exposed midriff, already purpling hideously. A number of abrasions oozed blood in red splotches, each flex of your muscles adding to the thin rivulets. He quickly darted into your bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit he knew was under the sink and came back.
You shivered as his cold fingers trailed across your ribcage, bracing you for the sting of the antiseptic. Still, you reeled from it, nearly passing out as the painful sensation threatened to overwhelm you.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he babbled, pulling away.
“Don’t you dare. Get it over with. Please,” your voice cracked, practically begging him. His face pulled into a concerned frown.
“But I–”
“Klaus…” you tried to replace the pitifulness with threat, failing miserably.
“Okay,” the word dragged out and was followed by more apologies as he gently dabbed at the worst of the wounds.
“I still can’t believe you did that. You were like…” he waved his hands around in the air before returning to your care, smearing far more antibiotic ointment than necessary on various gauze pads as if expecting it to act like a glue until he could wrap you in bandages. “A rabid squirrel!”
His voice raised in excitement and you shushed him.
“Seriously, Y/N, why would you do that? For me of all people?”
You frowned. “You’re my best friend, Klaus,” you said as if it were obvious. “I would do anything for you.”
“Oh Y/N…” his voice was soft and he reached up to caress your face, the gesture losing a considerable amount of its romance as extra ointment left a greasy streak along your jaw. “I don’t deserve you.”
You leaned your head into his touch. “You don’t have to. Deserve doesn’t matter. I chose you.”
He bumped his forehead lightly into yours, and this time it was his turn to grimace.
“Your eye is going to be fucked in the morning,” you said matter-of-factly. “And we should take care of that cut. Wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty face with a scar.” You smiled teasingly.
“I don’t know, I think it would make me look dashing.” He sat back, letting you begin your prodding ministrations. 
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fanfic-scribbles · 5 years
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Lunch Buddy: Chapter Sixteen
Masterlist
<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>
Overall Story Facts:
Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers
Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.
Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader
Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense
Chapter 16: Insecure
Chapter Summary: It’s not a date. It’s not. Two out of three people agree.
The third person thinks the first two are morons.
Chapter Word Count: 6340
Chapter Warnings: Insecurity, pining, self-deprecation
A/N: Poor Sam. Also, sorry; I had way too much fun with this chapter. Me every step of the way now: is this too much self-indulgence? Yes, yes it is. [Tosses it right in]. So just a heads-up, there’s a little thing at the end of the chapter that takes us out of the main POV, because it was fun to write. I just love [fist clench] idiots. So much.
      I got dressed up, I got dressed down. I even put my pajamas back on and got into bed. Only to slink out of it five minutes later, grumbling.
I kept up the grousing as I dressed in a comfortable outfit, grumbled as I trudged out of the house, and kept quietly complaining all the way as I went to meet Sam and Steve for dinner. When I was on the platform waiting for the train I actually got a little self-conscious, but that went away fast– I wasn’t the only one talking to myself, so I kept it up in effort to get all my grumpiness out of the way.
It actually kind of worked. I started out as a goblin hunched over in a big jacket cursing to myself, and I ended as a…well, still a goblin trying to curl up in my jacket, but it was more because it was cold and less of wanting to roly-poly my way home. I actually felt better. Hungry, even, although when I got close enough to see the restaurant sign my stomach did a flip.
I tried to peer in through the windows but it was pretty full and I couldn’t see much of anything, so I pulled out my phone to check the time. I was a little early, and I fired off a quick text to both Steve and Sam.
Me: Are you guys here or should I put my name for a table? Sam: Almost there. Don’t worry, we’ve got reservations
That was nice. There were enough people that the line to wait spilled outside, and I hoped that might work in our favor as far as Steve going unnoticed went. But, for the moment, I was a weird woman alone in a crowd of people waiting for tables, and bundled up fairly unfashionably by comparison to boot. Thankfully the people that made me the most self-conscious seemed to be overflow waiting at the bar next door, but I was still…
“Hey.”
Steve’s voice was gentle despite the noise of a busy sidewalk and I turned, already smiling as my stomach did something that made me wonder if I might be sick. Except I realized– no, fucking butterflies? Seriously? Maybe if I ate enough I could crush them under the weight because that was just fucking embarrassing.
“Hey,” I said and opened my arms to meet his hug, and I did not embarrass myself, thank god. When I hugged Sam I even tried to linger for a few seconds more. If I got my way, Steve would never suspect a thing while I worked my way out of these feelings.
“Good to see you too,” Sam said, smiling like he was amused. “Steve told me you were getting better at hugging, but I didn’t think you’d be that enthusiastic.”
I shrugged. “It’s easy to be ‘enthusiastic’ when it’s cold.”
“Well, let’s get you warmed up,” Steve said and with one hand opened the door, while the other was flat against my back. I lost control of my tongue then– not in the sense that I started saying a bunch of stupid shit (thank god) but I was, yes, warm, too warm, what the hell was I supposed to say to that, even.
“What a gentleman,” I finally said when we got our table and I grabbed the chair before Steve could, because gentleman or not, I had lines.
Steve, who never met a boundary he didn’t like to poke at, smiled deviously. To his credit though he backed off and I took off my coat and surveyed the restaurant to give myself a little extra time. I was just out with friends, with two friends, and I was glad Sam was there because I didn’t think I would have been able to be out, with Steve, just the two of us.
Unfortunately as I looked around I spied a familiar face. K was sitting at a table with a large group of friends, including a handful of people from work, and she was staring in my general direction. Our general direction. Shit. I could probably guess what– or rather, who– she was focused on. She noticed me looking so she smiled and waved. I smiled and waved back, and quickly sat down.
“A friend?” Steve asked.
“Co-worker,” I said.
“Ah,” Sam said and thanked the waitress as she filled our water cups on her way. “Sorry; I thought she was staring at Steve.”
“So did I,” Steve admitted bashfully. He looked so cute it almost distracted me from the inevitable awkward conversation to come.
“She probably was,” I said and gave him an apologetic smile. “She’s…a fan. But she’s really nice? Overly friendly, maybe, but she seems like a really good person.”
“Okay,” Steve said as he flipped open his menu. “If she comes over I’ll behave.”
I shared a look with Sam, who looked as unconvinced as I felt.
“Stop it,” Steve said, buried in his menu.
“Shut up; you’ve got no room to talk,” Sam said and opened his own menu, so I did the same. He glanced at me though and added, “If he doesn’t behave, I’ve got a story to share with you. Like all great stories, it involves super glue.”
Steve dropped his menu and looked as betrayed as if Sam had just cut off his hand and told him he was his father. “Sam!” he hissed.
Tantalizing. “Is this story worth me having to find a new job?”
Sam seemed to consider that. “Hm,” he said. “Just might be.”
I patted Steve’s arm. “Never mind– go ahead and be yourself.”
“Asshole,” he mumbled and I burst out laughing.
K made her approach then and Steve, wisely, shut his face while she and I greeted each other. I didn’t do too terribly, but I was mostly just reacting to her small talk and I did not miss her eyes darting every other second to Sam and Steve. Neither did they, because Sam was biting his fist trying not to laugh and Steve was ‘helping’ with half-hearted harsh looks and a badly suppressed smile himself. I decided to put us all out of our misery.
“I’m just out for dinner with friends,” I said to her question and gestured at the other two-thirds of the table. “K, this is Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. Sam, Steve, this is my co-worker, K.”
She gave them her full name as she shook their hands. While she tried to calmly fangirl, I tried to focus on other things– where the waitress was (busy), if any of her other friends were watching (not really), if anyone else noticed (no)– but I kept getting drawn back to watching them. K was naturally magnetic and Steve and Sam looked genuinely charmed and happy to be talking with her.
She said something that made Sam laugh and when she smiled I was struck by how pretty she was. She was a bigger lady but still smaller than me and shaped in all the ways people liked. Her makeup was bold and looked good on her, and her hair was so perfect it made me touch my own head as I noticed all the things I lacked.
“Well, I’ll leave you to eat in peace,” she said and gave a flirty little wink as she stood up straight. “It was nice to meet you both.”
“Likewise,” Sam said and he and Steve and K all said their goodbyes and shook hands.
K then turned to me, as close to beaming as I had ever seen a human smile be. “I’m sorry I crashed your hangout,” she said. “But thank you.”
Her effusiveness took me aback and I regretted not actually listening to their conversation. Did she expect me to know why? Shit; I hoped it wouldn’t come up again. “Of course,” I said. “It was nice to see you.”
She closed her mouth but her smile was still holding back a lot of excitement, and then she surprised me with a quick hug before bouncing back to her friends, her very cute and flattering dress flowing behind her.
I smoothed down my shirt and resisted the urge to pluck a stray thread. “Thanks,” I said to them.
“She really is nice,” Steve said. “Are you okay?”
I wanted to joke, ask if they would rather have K to hang out with, but it felt too real, too close, and I knew it would come out wrong. And Sam and Steve looked happy and I wanted so badly to not bring them down, I knew I had to try. ‘Fake it ‘til you make it’ and all. “I am,” I said as earnestly as I could. Steve’s smile bloomed and I wasn’t sure if coming out with them was the best idea or the worst. I braced myself to think that a lot over the night. “The portions look pretty big,” I said and skimmed the menu. “But it all looks so good.”
“It does,” Steve said. “Do you want to share plates?”
Tempting. “Nah,” I said, eyeing something in particular. “This looks spicy.”
“So?”
I put my menu down and tried to channel my inner school marm to show him just how much he did not impress me with his act. “You hate spicy stuff.”
“I do not hate spicy stuff,” he scoffed. Scoffed.
“You avoid it every time we go out to eat.”
“I don’t avoid it; there are just other things to choose.”
“You almost died when I gave you one spicy-hot Dorito.”
“I– you– I did not. And you surprised me with it!”
“It isn’t bad if you don’t like spicy food, Steve; just admit it.”
“Says the person who mocks me for it.”
“Just that once. You ran to the sink like your head was on fire.”
“You surprised me!”
“It was one chip!”
Sam cleared his throat and I realized Steve and I were leaning close enough to keep our argument quiet, but that meant our foreheads were nearly touching. Sam was smirking and our waitress was giving that patient smile of ‘please fucking order already I have so many tables.’
Steve and I pushed away from each other and I quick flipped through the drink menu. “Shit, what has the most alcohol?” I asked as I scanned through names. “I don’t think I can deal with you sober.”
“Stop it,” Steve said and swatted at me with his menu.
I picked something familiar just to send the poor lady on her way and I was as nice as nice could be in hopes that my drink would get to me safe and sound.
“I got a sample platter of appetizers,” Sam said.
I felt guilty, then. Stupid dumb feelings aside, I really liked Sam a lot– it was mostly that I knew Steve better, so of course I gravitated to him. That instinct was really coming to bite me in the ass now. “Sorry Sam,” I said and scooted another inch away from Steve.
Sam waved a careless hand and looked truly unbothered. Still, I resolved to do better. Maybe next time we went out to eat, Sam could be between me and Steve. Except, judging by Sam’s mischievous smile that flitted from me to Steve and back again, maybe not? I felt a sudden fear that maybe I was being obvious and he knew. “You can pay me back with whatever that ‘Dorito’ story is,” he said. “I couldn’t hear much but I did hear that.”
My heart attack stopped just as it started and the memory of Steve crunching down on a super-spicy chip only to run to wash his mouth out in my kitchen sink was still a memory that made me smile. “I’ll trade it for the superglue story.”
“I guess Steve is safe for now then.” Sam clicked his tongue. “I promised I wouldn’t tell that one except if absolutely necessary.”
“You said you wouldn’t tell at all,” Steve grumbled, raising his voice just loud enough for Sam to hear him over a sudden burst of laughter from a group nearby.
“That’s what you wanted me to promise,” Sam said. “I would never actually promise that and you know it.”
“Because you’re smart,” I said.
“Am I supposed to resent my friends this much?” Steve asked. “I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”
“You love us and you know it,” I said without thinking.
“Yeah, I do,” he said. Casually. It was very casual and very familiar and meant absolutely nothing. Like it always did. Because he was probably working off the same basic script I was and we had that exchange down, we used it so much for such petty, meaningless shit. It was nothing and that was fine.
But the way he smiled at me after he said it felt so different that it hit me in the chest. I wished he meant it, but Steve was just being Steve and I was reading too much into it, into everything.
I had to hide my face in the menu just to cover up how sad that made me.
After a few seconds Steve said my name and, with some more control over my emotions, I put the menu down. “If we’re going to share,” I said. “What are you bringing to the table?”
I hoped for a change of subject to take my mind off of myself, but Steve smiled, opened his menu and said, “Whatever you want.”
It was going to be a long night.
~
I tried. I made a conscious effort to steer the conversation to Sam at every opportunity, but it almost felt like he was thwarting me to talk up Steve. At first I thought it was a cosmic joke and it was just that my focus was constantly drawn to Steve, but our favorite blond was blushing pretty red by the time Sam was finishing up his story about what a good wingman Steve was.
“I swear, I almost left with four people, he talked me up so much,” Sam said.
“Sam…” Steve groaned, but by then there was no food left for him to stuff his face with and hide.
“Did you keep anybody for yourself?” I asked Steve, mostly joking, but the way they both went quiet made something in my chest leap.
“No,” Steve said, but for some reason I didn’t feel relieved. I felt a little sad, a little…actually, a little curious. Maybe that was my solution. Steve was out of my league, but theoretically obtainable. But if he was in a relationship with someone, anyone, that changed things.
And if it made him happy, it was all I needed.
“Do you ever act as his wingman?” I asked Sam. “Aside from the obvious.”
“Man, have you ever tried to set him up?” Sam shook his head. “Best let him come around when he’s ready.”
“I am pretty stubborn,” Steve said.
“And the ocean is wet,” I said, still thinking. As far as ideas went, it wasn’t half bad. “I’ve never been a wingman before, but how hard could it be?” I asked no one in particular. Steve and Sam, however, shared very concerned glances. “Hey! I could talk him up.”
Sam snorted (rude) and Steve smiled and said, “Or embarrass me?” which was double rude.
“It makes you relatable,” I said. “You are so ungrateful sometimes.”
Steve stared at me like he was thinking of a good comeback and I braced myself. But he suddenly flinched and whipped out his phone.
Sam sat up straighter. “Trouble?”
Steve frowned and answered the call. After a few seconds he rolled his eyes, pulled it partially away and turned his face to Sam. “Not an emergency, but I’ll be right back.”
Steve then looked at me, apologetic puppy eyes already kicking in. “Do what you need to do,” I said and watched him go. As soon as he was out the door I said, “Hey Sam?”
Sam, in the middle of sipping his drink, raised both eyebrows and slowly set his cup down. “I do not like the sound of this.”
“I just said your name.”
“Uh huh, in that tone, right after Steve left. What is it?”
I wanted to ask what that tone supposedly was, but I wanted more to get to my actual question before Steve came back. I leaned back in my chair and tried to affect an air of utmost carelessness.
“Do you think Steve’s lonely?”
Sam blinked. “Okay. Yeah, I’m glad I wasn’t drinking anything for that.”
He sounded so surprised that I felt queasy with embarrassment. This was a bad idea and I was an idiot. “I didn’t– I– I’m sorry–”
“No, no.” Sam leaned in. “I didn’t mean anything by that. You just surprised me.”
“Sorry.” I wanted to have extra-human abilities more than ever. Going invisible would have been the best right then. Except Sam still had my number. Shit. “Can we forget I said that?”
“No,” Sam said. “You sound worried.”
“I was trying for mostly aloof, maybe slightly concerned.”
“Missed the mark just a little.” Sam smiled. “But is there a reason you’re asking?”
Oh, right, he was Steve’s friend too; of course he’d want to know if something was wrong. “It’s nothing he’s said,” I said. “Steve is just…a person who likes people. I’m worried sometimes that there are things he’d like to be doing that maybe he’s afraid to. I’m his friend; it’s my job to make him super uncomfortable.”
Sam grinned. “And what about when he comes back at you with that?”
“Obviously he’s just being mean.”
Sam laughed, but not for too long. At least he wasn’t looking at me weird anymore. “It’s harder than you think to set Steve up,” he said.
“Maybe because he’s not thinking about it,” I said. But if he just happened to find someone who made him go ‘oh’ and imagine settling in…I bit my lip. “What kind of partner do you think Steve would like? Who would be good for him?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Well…probably a smartass…someone who doesn’t worship the Captain America ideal; gets along with his friends…smart…doesn’t back down from calling him out when he’s stupid, but is still nice to him and treats him well…”
I frowned. That was way too specific. Well, it was also common sense, but how could I know that about a person unless I knew them. “I get that Steve isn’t shallow but I was kind of hoping to start off with something like ‘brunettes’ or ‘a cute smile’ or something easy. I don’t know a lot of people I can say that about.”
Sam choked on his drink. Hard. I almost went to pat him on the back but he moved away. “Sorry,” he said and wiped the bit of splatter that hit the table. “But are you trying to make Steve a Tinder profile or something?”
“No! No; I would never catfish anyone,” I said and played with my straw. “I just wonder if Steve would like. Someone. In that way. That’s all.”
“Hmm.” Sam was looking at me. I did not know what was going on in his head but I did not like it. “What about you?”
“What about me what?”
“You’re single,” Sam said. “You ever think about Steve as potential?”
Even if I could trust anybody with that one single idea, I could never honestly answer that question and keep my dignity. As it was, Sam was relaxed enough about it that I didn’t meltdown into a panic, and I tried to play it off. “He’s the first friendship I haven’t fucked up in a long time.”
“That’s not answering the question.”
Okay, that was more pointed. Was I somehow exuding ‘want!’ like a pathetic hanger-on? I thought I had been doing all right. “I’m not the kind of person someone would want like that.”
“That’s not true,” Sam said, sounding earnest to such a point that I looked at him. “Steve likes being around you.”
“As a friend,” I said. “Romantic relationships are…something else.”
“Not always,” Sam said. “Sometimes it’s a friendship with more physicality. And only if the people involved are into that. Anyway…” He sat back in his seat. “I was just asking. You two are pretty close.”
“He’s my friend,” I said and looked out the window. Steve was waiting for a few other people to exit, and even caught the door before it could slam on someone. They looked up to thank him and he smiled, like the gracious dork he was. “I want him to be happy. He deserves someone kind, and smart, and strong, and if not pretty, then someone who cares about their body enough to take care of it. Someone good. Someone good enough.”
Sam chuckled. “I like Steve too, but you know him. He ain’t exactly Saint Rogers.”
“Oh, he’s definitely not,” I said, still watching as Steve tried to extricate himself from the thankful person. Poor guy; another good deed gone wrong. “But he still deserves all good things.”
“And what if he wants something else?”
I didn’t get to tell Sam that Steve deserved more than a mess, because Steve managed to sneak away while the woman was looking elsewhere, and he ducked into his seat next to me with a bashful, “I’m so sorry.”
“Did she offer to give you her firstborn or did she want you to help make them?” I asked.
Sam laughed and Steve pushed his face into his arms with a long, drawn-out groan of my name. “Ooo, I don’t think I’ve gotten one that big before,” I said. “That must have been good.”
“You’re both the worst,” Steve said as he sat up, and brushed some of his hair back. There was a stray strand after his hand left and I almost, almost reached to pull it down.
I cleared my throat and sat very, very straight in my chair, and put my hands in my lap. “Is everything okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine.” He waved a hand and the motion moved the hair into place. “Tony being Tony.”
“And you answered?” Sam asked.
“The last time I ignored him like that he left hundreds of one second voicemails and made it so I couldn’t select them all at once,” Steve said. “I had to delete them one by one.”
I snorted so hard I sounded like an actual pig, and when Steve shot me a dirty look I clamped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry,” I said, trying not to smile.
Steve wasn’t helping by holding back his own smile. Enabling jerk. “You would have been so mad if it happened to you.”
“Undeniably pissed,” I agreed. “But…it’s a little funny.”
“Nope,” Steve said primly. “Not when it happens to me.”
“You're both assholes,” Sam said and I toasted him before throwing back the last of my drink. Sam was working on his second glass so I checked my phone to see if I had time for another. It was a little late, but…
“Do you guys want dessert?” Steve asked.
I pushed the glass away and leaned over to scan the menu he pulled out from the stand. Steve turned so he could move the menu closer and I tried not to crowd him too much, but after not finding anything I could eat by myself I turned my head up to ask him if he wanted to split something and came face-to-face, literally, with just how close we were. His arm was behind my chair and my shoulder was touching his chest, and now that I had realized it I couldn’t be anything but hyper-aware of the contact. He was leaning over– to read the menu, of course, since it was mostly in front of me, but I hadn’t noticed that I was practically ensconced by him, until now, and when he said my name, his lips–
“Can I uh…” I scooted away just a little bit, if only to give my brain some room to function. “Can I steal this for a second?”
“Oh, of course.” Steve sat back in his own chair and I was as disappointed as I was relieved. “I know what I want.”
Sam didn’t say anything and I couldn’t bring myself to look up, even after I selected something. I didn’t have anything I could feasibly distract myself with, so I stared at the page. ‘Very subtle; A+ deflection, Self. Idiot,’ I thought sourly.
“What did you pick?” Steve asked and put his hand back on the back of my chair. It was light and more distant than before but it was there and god, I really needed to get over myself. I took a swig of water and sat straight, ignoring the brief brush of his fingers on my back. I could do this. I could not be a desperate creep logging every point of contact with my friend who was just being his normal friendly self.
“There’s a fancy boozy hot chocolate that looks good,” I said. “What are you getting?”
Rather than tell me, he showed me. By coming in even closer than he had before, putting his arm fully along the back of my chair, and pointing excitedly at some peanut-butter-chocolate monstrosity. It was a testament to just how much he fried my brain that I wasn’t more focused on the exact specifications of food, and instead fixated on ‘Steve wow muscles wow he’s warm Steve hi Steve hi oh god I’m in so much trouble.’
So much for non-creepy.
“It– uh– it looks real good,” I said and swallowed hard. Sam snorted and I lifted my eyes, not my head, because I didn’t want Steve to see the look I was giving him. As far as superpowers went though, invisibility was out and telepathy was in, because being able to actually tell Sam ‘if you say one fucking word I will eat your HEART’ would have been invaluable right then.
He was duly unimpressed. And held his hand out. “Can I have a look, or…”
Steve snapped the menu shut and handed it over faster than I could even have a chance to respond. “Sorry Sam,” he said.
“Sorry,” I said, feeling genuinely so. I needed to stop acting like I was a moon in Steve’s gravitational orbit.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Sam said, but he was smug about his magnanimity that I didn’t feel so bad anymore.
Getting dessert was a painless ordeal, at least. I stayed quiet while Sam and Steve talked and tried to center myself. Steve’s dessert looked delicious (and yes, definitely monstrous) and Sam had a piece of cheesecake, and the two of them bickered over which one was better. When they turned to me I had finally pushed aside some of the mountain of whipped cream (that I was definitely going to get to later) and I took a tentative sip. It was hot, but the new burn on my tongue was worth the rich, full, sweet and spiked flavor that rolled in over it.
I glanced up and when I saw Steve staring at me I did a double take that made me hit my lip on the cup in a way that pinched it. Graceful. Great.
Steve smiled. “How is it?”
“It’s, um, good. Really good,” I said and looked at the massive cup with new longing that maybe I could drown in it. Or maybe upend it over my head. At least then I’d have an excuse to leave that would be slightly less embarrassing.
“We can tell,” Sam said and I flipped him off. They both laughed and I managed to pull myself away from the cup, feeling like I was safe.
That was not to be.
Sam snorted. “Uhh…”
I looked at him but he had the strangest smile. “What?” I asked and looked at Steve.
Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing,” he said, but before I could feel okay again he said, “You just have something, right…” and touched my face to wipe away whatever it was with his thumb.
I sat stock-still for a moment and tried to get a handle on that. Steve said my name and I snapped to. “Did you get it?” I asked, shockingly casual to my own ears. Hopefully that wasn’t just a wishful interpretation.
“Yeah, I– sorry; I should have asked,” Steve said and went back to his food. Sam was stifling laughter but I ignored him and tried to enjoy my liquid dessert…but I drank it way too fast just out of nerves.
At the end of our courses Sam stretched and I didn’t bother even fake-haranguing Steve over the bill. I felt exhausted. It was a good thing I still had a day to recover so I wouldn’t be sniping at my co-workers due to social fatigue.
“We can give you a ride back to your place,” Steve said.
“I think I’ll walk,” I said. Some cold air sounded nicer than a stiflingly hot cab at the moment, even if I was worn down.
“I’ll walk with you,” Steve said. I couldn’t think of a good reason to argue, and I was too tired to panic, so I looked at Sam.
“I’m gonna get a ride back and go to bed swearing that I’ll never eat this much again, until I wake up in the morning looking for breakfast,” Sam said and patted his stomach. “But you two have fun with that.”
When we were parting outside the door I stopped and gave Sam a real tight hug. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t the best company, but I’m glad you guys invited me.”
“We’re happy to take you however you are,” Sam said and hugged just as tight. “Ain't that right, Steve?”
“Absolutely,” Steve said fervently.
They were too good to me. I gave Sam one last squeeze and stepped back. “In case I don’t see you again before you leave, don’t be a stranger.”
“Well, maybe you can come out to DC sometime,” he said.
“Hm.” I considered traveling. “We’ll have to discuss our friendship level later. That’s a much longer period away from my couch.”
“I bet my couch is more comfortable.”
That woke me up a little. “You haven’t even been on my couch!”
Sam smirked. He was just as devious as Steve; he just looked better doing it. “Doesn’t matter– now you’re curious.”
I slumped. He was right. “You’re awful and I’m never going to DC if only to spite you.”
“Right, right,” he said, utterly unconvinced. “Good night you two.”
“Bye Sam,” and “See you tomorrow Sam,” came from me and Steve respectively, but we both lingered on the sidewalk awkwardly.
Steve opened his arm to gesture towards home. My home, that was. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” I said, mocking the words just a little before I fell in line next to him. I wasn’t really that affected from the drinks but the cold night air kept me pretty awake and aware and I felt all right, everything considered. I had gone out to a new place with two people I really liked, and I hadn’t abjectly humiliated myself, and the friend who I had a crush on was none the wiser. I was starting to think I could really do this; I could come to grips with these feelings and move past them before he even knew they existed.
“Here.”
That was, naturally, when Steve decided to put his arm around me and pull me in closer. My heart made a single beat within my esophagus and then just gave up entirely. Jesus Christ; I’d have rather lived out hard mode in “Dark Souls.” At least then I knew the torment would end.
“Am I shivering that much?” I asked as non-judgmentally as I could.
“Just a little,” Steve said. I could tell he was looking at me and I couldn’t bring myself to look back at him. “Is this okay? Would you rather have my jacket?”
“No.” Him being a stupid self-sacrificing jerk snapped me out of my own head and I wrapped my arm around his waist. “Don’t you dare.”
“It’s not dirty.”
I looked at him then. Sternly. Or at least, that’s what I tried for. “I know how you feel about the cold,” I said, lowering my voice just in case.
I still wasn’t sure if that was okay to say, but while he got more serious, it was…in a soft way. “I’d be fine,” he said, but he hooked me closer. “I feel pretty warm right now.”
“You only had one sip of my hot chocolate. Did the booze get to you that much?”
“It’s not the booze. Or the hot chocolate,” he said meaningfully.
Oh no. Oh no. If he knew, would he ever–
“You're not going to get sappy on me, are you?” I asked, trying to pull this plane up, up, up.
“Why not?” he said. “You did.”
“I did not.”
“You did.” He grinned and that– that, I could handle. Keep being a little shit and maybe I’ll get through this with some pretend dignity, I thought. Hoped.
“Nope,” I said. “I was being mean. And– and scolding, and stern.”
“Nope,” he said, like the overgrown brat he was. “You were being kind and considerate and sweet–”
I burst out laughing. He looked surprised and I tried to wave it away. “I’m sorry, but I–” I coughed and stifled my laughter into something quieter, to match the white waves of hot breath disappearing into cold air. “Nobody has ever thought of me as sweet.”
“That’s not true,” he said. “I’m thinking it right now.”
Honestly it was too ridiculous to be real. “You’re just doing it because you want to be annoying. You don’t mean it.”
“Why can’t it be both?” he said, but he tugged on my hand and we stopped, off to the side of the walkway as people passed us intermittently. I didn’t know if he meant it, but the look on his face meant something. “I’m glad you felt well enough to come out. Tonight. With us,” he said.
I managed a little smile. “Me too. Thanks for inviting me. And being understanding.”
“Of course,” he said.
A yawn overtook me so suddenly I had to rush to cover it. Fucking ‘moodkiller’ was my middle name. “Sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”
But Steve just smiled and brought me back out with him closer to the street. “Then we’ll get a cab, and I’ll see you home.” And he did. He rode the whole way with me, paid the guy to wait, and walked me all the way to my door. Since he had the cab downstairs I was able to keep him outside the apartment, but I still closed the door so slowly, like I could savor every second. As soon as it was shut and locked though exhaustion settled into my every pore and I was thankful for it. I went right to my bed and barely managed to change into my pajamas before I passed out, and found a momentary reprieve from my fears.
    ~bonus~
Steve: So? Sam: I should be asking you Sam: You staying the night? Steve: Sam Steve: You promised Steve: What do you think? Sam: I stand by that I think you need to grow up Steve: You owe me, you said anything Sam: I said I’d do it, I never said I wouldn’t make fun of you Steve: Well? Sam: Well Sam: I think you’re both equal on the low self-esteem Sam: So you have that in common Steve: Oh :( Sam: I’m not the one you should be sad-eyeing Sam: But to the point: Sam: My opinion hasn’t changed; I think you have a shot Sam: But you’re gonna have to put in the work to convince her she’s the one you want Sam: She was more concerned about you having a partner that was ‘good enough’ for you Sam: Do with all that what you will Sam: I love you man but I am out of this Steve: Thank you Sam Steve: I appreciate the help and I promise I have it from here Steve: But Steve: I can’t believe you were going to tell her the super glue story Steve: Worst wingman ever Sam: Hey now Sam: I wasn’t really going to Sam: I knew you’d back down Sam: I was just saving you from yourself Sam: Lesson #1: don’t embarrass your girl in front of her co-workers Steve: Are there other lessons? Sam: Well #2 would have been ‘don’t call your girl an asshole’ Sam: But she seemed pretty okay with that so you’ll have to make your own rules Steve: I will :) Steve: She’s not my girl though Sam: Not with that attitude she’s not Steve: Good point Steve: Night Sam Sam: Night asshole. Do not step foot in here in the morning unless you want it up your ass
Sam flipped away from the conversation before Steve could jam the metaphorical foot down his throat and went to his second-most-recent conversation.
Sam: What does it take to get the good vodka Natasha: Depends on the story Sam: I just spent the last few hours as a 3rd wheel with two people who were on a date but pretending they were not on a date while desperately wanting to be on a date Natasha: Come to Clint’s Natasha: I’ll ready the Beluga Natasha: You bring the story Sam: You keep the good shit at Clint’s???? Natasha: You’ll see why when you get here ;)
Sam knew Natasha better than to question, so he slipped his shoes back on and went to bitch the night away. At the very least, he’d have some good company and commiseration. At best, Steve would have someone else on his ass, and hopefully this whole situation would get resolved before anybody got hurt.
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ineffably-good · 5 years
Text
Good Omens Fic: Because I missed you (and I like it when you bite)
Summary:
It's never a good idea to let an angel get lonely.
——
This is part one of what is either a two or three part story - more coming very soon I hope! Subscribe here to see chapter two later this week!
Chapter One
It all began because Aziraphale got lonely. It’s never a good idea to let an angel get lonely, but particularly when the angel is Aziraphale. When Aziraphale was lonely, he was prone to making poor decisions, seeking company in the most unsuitable of places, and on one memorable occasion, getting downright dejected.
On the day in question, Aziraphale was startled to receive a rather unusual piece of post – somehow a copy of the periodical Reptiles Enthusiast appeared in his letter box, clearly gone astray from its intended recipient. He would normally have blamed Crowley for somehow fending this missive his way, but he was well aware that Crowley was taking one of his longer-than-usual, once-a-century naps right now, so it couldn’t have been his doing.
But, being at loose ends, the angel sat down to flip through it, ended up getting pulled in to an article about myths and misconceptions about snakes, and was surprised to discover all kinds of things he had not previously known.
Two hours later, having read the entire thing cover to cover two times, Aziraphale headed out on a whim to visit the local pet shop.
**
Two months prior
“I’m sorry, Aziraphale, I’m just so exhausted,” Crowley moaned one evening as he lounged on the sofa in the shop. “I think I’m going to need to take a nap.”
Aziraphale turned to look closely at his friend. “Well, that’s no problem, my dear – nap away, you don’t have to let me know whenever you want to sleep!”
“No, I don’t mean a nap, I mean a NAP. Like, a been-building-up-for-the-last-few-decades kind of a nap. it might take a while.” Crowley said, looking unsure of himself. “I didn’t want to not let you know this time.”
Ah, that explained things. The last time Crowley had napped for an extended period, he’d slept away most of the 19th century, and Aziraphale, with no forewarning, had been at first worried senseless about what had happened to his friend and then utterly irate with him when the demon returned. Crowley still had to suppress a flinch when thinking about the chilly, angry reaction he got from the angel when he returned. It was months before Aziraphale stopped glaring balefully at him whenever they met.
“Yes, I appreciate that,” Aziraphale said rather shortly, obviously having a flashback of his own to the same experience. He tried to shake off his irritation, but his voice retained a bit of that irritated school marm tone. “How long will you be gone? And – will it be safe? Where will you be? What if Hell comes looking for you again? Have you actually considered any of these things?”
Crowley sat up and tried not to react to the obvious baiting. “I have, actually,” he said. “Not a century, for sure. Might be a – “ he looked down, feeling a little unsure of his reception. “Might be a year.”
“A year!!” Aziraphale exclaimed, wringing his hands. “Oh dear! Must it be so long?”
“Better than the last time,” Crowley said, which the angel had to admit was true. “As for safety, I was thinking – well I thought – you see –”
Aziraphale frowned, concerned. It wasn’t like Crowley to not just spit out his thoughts. “What is it, Crowley? Please just speak your mind.”
“I was wondering if -- well, that is – I thought maybe I could sleep here.”
Aziraphale’s mind went blank, then went in a hundred different directions at once, with three major thoughts arising to the top of the fray. One, he was absurdly touched that the demon wanted to hibernate in his home, that this was his safe place. Two, it was hardly like he used his own bed. As a rule, Aziraphale didn’t sleep, and if he did it was a short nap bent over a book in an arm chair once every few months. He'd never really miss the use of his bedroom, even if it was tied up for a year.
Three, he was surprised by the vulnerability of the request, and by the warm rush it created in him in response. It wasn’t like Crowley to admit that he needed anyone for anything.
He must have been lost in his thoughts for too long, because suddenly Crowley was on his feet and heading for the door. “Nevermind, angel, stupid idea,” he called as he swung out onto the street.
Aziraphale shook his head clear and hurried after him, just in time to catch him by the sleeve as he reached the Bentley.
“My dear,” he said, “I’m sorry! You just took me by surprise.” Crowley turned around to look at him, a raw and miserable look in his eyes. “Truth is – well, I’d be delighted to be your guardian while you sleep!”
Crowley scoffed. “It’s not that I need a guardian, angel,” he said sharply, fooling absolutely no one. “It’s just that you have a softer bed, and it’s warmer here, and - and then you wouldn’t have to come all the way over to the apartment if you wanted to check up on me.”
Aziraphale smiled softly. “That’s very thoughtful of you, my friend. Thank you. You’re very welcome to stay.”
And thus it was that a day or two later, Crowley appeared with a pile of thick blankets, mumbled his greetings to Aziraphale, and went upstairs. When the angel checked on him later, he was curled under what must be at least five pounds of blankets, sunglasses on the nightstand, fast asleep.
Aziraphale mentally increased the heat in the bedroom by ten degrees, shut the door quietly, and got on with his day.
**
It didn’t bother him at first, missing Crowley, because he got such a little buzz of happiness whenever he peeked in on him. Crowley, to his credit, was good at sleep. He napped like the Olympic champion of napping; unaware of anything and everything around him. Aziraphale watched him sleeping more than he probably should, at first, then slowly backed away and tried to bury himself in his books.
He first began to notice that the absence was affecting him when he started talking even more than usual to his books. Aziraphale was always a putterer, always talking to inanimate objects and whispering little loving little comments and endearments to his favorite books and objects, but after a month or two, he noticed he was beginning to have whole, one-sided conversations with his shelves, and sometimes pausing as if expecting them to comment back. He began to frequent his favorite bakeries a little more often, not just stopping in for a quick hello and a bag of goodies to take away, but sitting down at a table to spend an hour or two and chatting with the proprietors in ways he hadn't in many years. As a result, he came to know a truly amazing amount of information about each and every employee's families, friends, academic careers, hobbies, foibles, and dreams. It began to be a bit hard to keep it all straight. Wherever he sought company, he was welcomed with opened arms. But in the end, it was really just not the same.
He had just begun to realize this when the Reptile magazine arrived. And that was when everything went just ever-so-slightly off the rails.
(More soon here)
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thetaoofzoe · 5 years
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Title: Breaking and Entering
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mission: Impossible (Movies), mission impossible - Fandom Rating: Explicit Relationships: August Walker/Erica Sloane Characters: August Walker, Erica Sloane Summary: Erica Sloane needs a holiday but the CIA thinks she needs to be babysat.
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Relieved, Erica smiled when her ears finally popped in the car ride home.
Criss-crossing the Atlantic in a private plane sounded glamourous on paper, and hell, sometimes it was glamourous, but most of the time the dirty reality of it was anything but. It was hard, tiring and lately her head and stomach hadn’t been able to handle all of the ups and downs of air travel. She had been subsisting on paracetamol and chardonnay for weeks and now on edge, Erica was ready to go home and sleep off the filth of her job.
Grimy white lamp lights flashed rapidly across her face just as the car accelerated to change lanes at the mouth of the traffic circle. She closed her eyes and rolled her head away from the window until she was once again shadowed by the interior. The malicious ache that had taken up residence behind her eyes throbbed causing her to clench her teeth and suck in a soft hissing breath. Erica rubbed her temples and pressed the pads of her thumbs against her closed eyelids. That helped a bit, but not enough.
Grabbing her handbag from across the leather seat she pawed through it, feeling for the paper packet of blister pack tablets. She made a noise of triumph after finding it buried beneath her oversized wallet. Squeezing one tablet into her hand, Erica snagged the squat complimentary water bottle from the hard plastic holder in the door’s armrest and downed both the pill and the water in one gulp.
Water trickled from her mouth down onto the front of her silk blouse and with a muttered swear, she tried to dash it away with the side of her hand. She couldn’t see it, but she knew that the water would leave an unsightly stain right down her front. Erica tugged at the lapels of her suit jacket, but the cut of it was much too narrow for her to close it enough to hide the blemish.
She sighed once again annoyed.
Well what did it matter?
The only person who would see her from that moment until… whenever she decided to come out of hiding, was her driver and Erica was sure that a water stain on a woman’s blouse was the least of his concerns. She put her head back on the upraised rest.
‘Not long now, marm,’ he said some moments later  in a low voice that startled  Erica into opening her eyes.
She mumbled her thanks and absently started gathering her things from the seat, stuffing the bits and bobs into her handbag. Erica was just shrugging into her coat and winding the scarf about her neck when the car pulled up to the outside of her gated home.
Home sweet home. She needed that more than ever now.
Erica had bought the three storey townhouse about a decade ago when life in the American beltway had become too much to handle. London, especially this quiet area of Kensington, had appealed to her sense of solitude and it was the perfect hideaway about which only a select few people knew. Erica was confident that she could remain undisturbed there for as long as she wanted.
The driver unlatched his seatbelt and got out of the still running car. Cool evening air rushed in through the open door and she shivered a little. He opened her door and she took his outstretched hand allowing him to help her out onto the pavement. Erica moved to the rose entwined wrought iron gate and punched in the key code whilst the driver collected her belongings from the boot. He then followed her through the gate and up the stairs to the dark blue front door. She entered another key code into the security system outside the door and waited for the alarm to switch off. The familiar muffled beeping sounded from inside, the lights on the key pad turned green and she pulled down on the latch to let herself in. The driver waited on the stoop for further instructions.
‘Bring them into the foyer,’ Erica said to him removing her coat and scarf and hanging them together on one of several hooks bolted into the wall.
The driver wiped his feet and carried her luggage into the foyer as she had requested. Erica thanked him, tipped him generously and bid him a goodnight.  Once alone, she closed and locked the door then set the alarm. She took in a long breath and blew it out again. The house smelt unused, but clean and she was glad to have discrete, trustworthy cleaners and groundskeepers. They looked after the house well, whilst she was away.
She walked down the length of the narrow corridor that opened into a large kitchen. The under cupboard track lighting gave the cool clean room a warm welcoming glow so that she didn’t have to switch on any lights in order to see where she was going. Erica moved through the kitchen and leaned across the edge of the butcher’s block in the centre of the room. She laced her fingers together, stretched her back and closed her eyes, letting her thoughts sift through the slurry of mental lists she had going at all times.  She picked out her ‘welcome home’ check list and ran through it.
Nothing in the luggage that I need right away, so they can remain unpacked for the night – check
Erica went to the refrigerator and pulled the handle. It came open with a sucking protest. Inside, she found several  ready-made meals in foil wrapped containers stacked neatly to one side. Bottled water and several bottles of wine lay on their sides on the middle shelf. On the bottom shelf sat a ceramic bowl with a few large peaches, a carton of blueberries and small apple. Erica ducked in and grabbed the apple. She made a noise of delight upon spying the Tim-Tams in the back and helped herself to a few. She closed the door and with her snacks, went back to the butcher’s block to think.
Food for the next few days had been delivered and put into the refrigerator - check
A glance to the other side of the counter confirmed that the coffee maker stood at the ready, programmed to brew for tomorrow morning.
Coffee – check
Just as she had instructed, everything was in place for her homecoming. Erica stood up and turned to leave the kitchen. With a light heart and clear conscious, she went upstairs to her bedroom where she undressed and prepared for a bath.
Even after a long hot shower and a thorough scrubbing, her head still remained foggy and stubbornly painful. She opened the medicine cabinet and contemplated the prescription bottles within. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d taken a tablet and her stomach didn’t seem thrilled by the thought of consuming any more alcohol.
Blood sugar might be low, she thought. Haven’t eaten anything solid in a while.
Wrapping up in her clean fluffy dressing gown, the one with the print of cats playing with balls of twine, Erica flopped down on the edge of the bed.
She ate the Tim-Tams quickly and finished off the apple before looking around. She hadn’t brought up any water. Sure, she could go back into the bathroom and drink from the tap, but she knew that her internal clock was all off from travel and she didn’t want to have to get up when she inevitably woke in the night to drink from the tap when a bottle on the nightstand would be more convenient.
But that means you’ll have to go back downstairs. No one wants that, her internal voice complained.
She ignored it and groaning she pushed herself into motion, plodded bleary-eyed down the stairs, down the corridor and into the kitchen. Back in the corridor, one large bottle of water in hand, she nearly tripped over her luggage when she was distracted by the door to the lower level. It was ajar.
Suspicion tightened her gut.
Had that door always open?
Erica put the bottle on the side table and moved to that door. She put her ear into the opening and listened.
Silence.
She waited.
A soft sound of metal on metal drifted up to her.
Clang, clang.
Clang, clang.
Erica pulled up another mental list.
What could be down there that would make that sound on its own?
She went through the check list and came up empty.
A finger of panic poked around in her chest.
Gun.
No, you’re being paranoid.
The safe in the sitting room - get your gun.
Erica quietly moved from the door and into the sitting room adjoining the kitchen. The wall safe was behind a painting of the London skylight at night. Holding the portrait aside, she punched in the numbers, glad that the keypad made no beeping noises. She opened the safe door and retrieved her pistol. It was already loaded.
Back at the door to the lower level, she toed it open and walked into the dark at the top of the carpeted stairs.
Bare toes clutching at the thick nap to ensure her balance, Erica moved soundlessly downwards. The familiar scent of the indoor pool rose into her nostrils and she could picture what it looked like in her mind. She liked that pool. It had been one of the big features that sold her on the place and she’d spent countless hours doing lap after lap in the cool water.
At the bottom of the stairs she paused then moved into the small changing room that separated the pool and the adjoining gym. A tiny jangle of fear tickled in the back of her mind reminding her that she had to be alert.
Clang, clang.
A little louder now, the noise was rhythmic and slow and she frowned. What she thought was the source of the noise, didn’t seem at all possible to be occurring just on its own. Light streamed from beneath the swinging door leading to the gym and she grimaced. The noise wasn’t possible unless there was someone in there.
What kind of maniac breaks into a house just to work out?
Shouldering the door open and falling into a shooting stance she shouted, ‘Hold it!’
There was a man standing in there facing the mirrored wall at the far side of the room. He wore a thin sweat wet grey tee shirt, long black athletic shorts and clutched two huge barbells. His feet were bare. The face that reflected back at her through the mirror was not only amused but a bit judgmental.
‘You!’ she yelled with anger and surprise.
‘I would say something about your overall observational skills,’ he said, wholly ignoring her outrage, ‘but I’m sure you don’t need me to.’
‘How dare you,’ Erica spluttered. ‘How dare you come into my home!’
August Walker rolled his thick shoulders from front to back, not in a motion of insolence, but one borne of wearily feeling the dead weight of the iron in his hands.
‘Can I put these down?’ he asked. There was laughter in his voice.
Erica stared at him and after a moment saw him raise his brows at her in the mirror.
‘G’awn,’ she grumbled and watched him set the weights back on the rack.
A tingle of admiration burned in the back of her mind. August had been working with weights at the very end of the rack, those heavy bastards that she had never bothered to touch for fear of straining herself, but yet, here he was handling them with ease.
Seeing that she still had her weapon trained on him, August lifted his hands shoulders height. He then slowly turned round to face Erica. Her gut twisted again but not unpleasantly this time and she wondered if she could shoot him and dispose of his body without any fuss.
Waste of a fine specimen, needled the animal part of her brain. Look at that body. Look at that—
‘What are you doing here?’
August put his hands down and sighed.
‘I missed you,’ he replied not trying to hide his insincerity.
‘Fuck you,’ she growled and he had the nerve to grin but not reply.
Idly inspecting his shirt, he found a dry spot close to the hem, which he then used to mop his face. Erica did not miss the hard wet abdomen he exposed and the tease of hairy pecs.  She lowered her weapon and put a hand to her forehead. Her head throbbed miserably and she almost shot him just for being an inconvenience. August let the shirt flop against his belly and with one hand on his hip, he gestured towards her with the other.
‘Did you think they would let you go without someone to keep an eye on you?’
A mix of emotions washed through her. Couldn’t they just leave her in peace? Just for a little while?
‘And they thought that /you/ were the man for the job?’
It was almost an insult. The Hammer – watching her? Preposterous.
‘I volunteered.’
There was a boyish smile beneath that moustache and although she begrudgingly found it charming, she scowled and mocked him nonetheless.
‘You. You volunteered to watch /me/?’
You have no reason to think that highly of yourself, she left unsaid.
‘Yep. Me. I volunteered.’
A moment of silence lapsed between them. She gestured back at him with a lazy wave of her pistol.
‘So you broke in, came down here and what, is it leg day?’
And she couldn’t help herself from indulging in a slow perusal of his heavy muscled thighs straining against the shorts.
‘Shoulders,’ he corrected her and lifted a hand across his body to rub at the big muscle running from his neck to the apex of his wide shoulder.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Not long. I got here just as you did.’
‘You mean before I did.’
‘Yes, of course,’ he grinned again, showing pointy eyeteeth. ‘You just didn’t notice that I’d left the door open, and I—‘
Erica held up a sharp dismissive hand and August knew better than to finish his sentence. He relaxed and clasped his hands behind his back. The tee shirt stretched across his chest and Erica was loath to admit that she liked it.
You could have him if you like, said that animal voice again. Look at him. He’d let you.
Heat curled like a lazy beast in her belly and she remembered that she was stood there with gun in hand, kittycat dressing gown and messy hair. She did not cut the normally imposing and well put together figure of her professional life and she felt angry and embarrassed that August Walker, of all people, saw her at her most intimate and vulnerable. She twitched the weapon in her hand. Burial in the back garden would require too much effort she reminded herself.
She pulled up another mental list of men that she could call to do the job for her but put it back just as quickly.
‘Get dressed,’ she said instead. ‘And get out.’
August’s shoulders drooped and he cast a glance at the black rucksack that he’d tossed in the corner.
‘I’d hate to get dressed like this. Can I at least have a shower?’
A moment passed and she considered telling him to fuck himself and get out anyway.
She twitched the gun towards the adjoining bath and he smiled gratefully. Stripping off his shirt, he walked across the room to the door to the toilet and shower. On the way, August snagged his rucksack and disappeared behind the closed door.
Erica let out a long breath and again put a hand to her throbbing head.
Jesus Christ, this man was the last thing that she wanted to deal with at one-thirty in the morning.
She heard him turn on the squeaky taps and the sound of rushing water issued through the door. Erica closed her eyes and an image of him naked, soapy and wet rose unbidden in her mind. All of her pent up frustrations came to a head and she breathed out with unexpected pleasure.  Weak and light headed,  she put the gun down on the media table beside her where the television stood and leaned against the wall.
August Walker was undeniably beautiful. His body was an absolute work of art and nothing about him seemed weak or soft. When they first met, she was in awe of the effortless dominant power he exuded. He was a man very much in control of himself, both physically and emotionally and confident in his own abilities without being arrogant. Well, not too arrogant. Erica appreciated that.
Sexy, tasty, meaty, whispered the animal and with a sudden fervour, she stomped it down.
Blowing out a long whistling breath, Erica opened her eyes and caught sight of herself in the mirror opposite. The reality of her appearance shocked her and she found herself giggling.
Here you are, half naked, standing in a robe, had a gun in your hand and your hair looks like that?
With a free and easy smile on her face, she stood there for quite a long time, waiting, breathing slowly, and staring at herself. The taps finally squeaked off and August was back in the gym accompanied by a gust of steam and the strong scent of soap and shampoo. Expecting him to be dried and dressed, Erica’s mouth flopped open when she let her head loll to one side only to see him standing there in just a white towel.
He clutched the towel closed with one hand and ran the other hand through his hair to slick back his curls. A useless motion, she saw, because his unruly hair flopped back into his face. He looked at her for a long time, his eyes dark in the overhead lights before he spoke, jerking his head to the neatly folded stack of clothes on the bench that ran along the other wall.
‘I forgot my clothes.’
August put his toiletry bag on the television table next to her gun.
She watched him with disbelief. Was that a lie?
He wants it. He wants you. Take him.
August took a half step towards her, and pointedly not towards his clothes.
A trickle of a noise that wasn’t quite a moan bubbled up in her throat.
In his damnably even voice he said,
‘Unless you don’t want me…’
In the deliberate misleading beat that he remained silent, Erica nearly gasped, I want you.
‘…to get dressed,’ he finished.
She eyed him greedily. August was very well put together and Erica wondered if he felt as hard and sturdy as he looked.
The towel did nothing much to conceal him. Where the edges did not quite meet, her eyes followed the expanse his bare thigh up to the clear outline of his heavy cock. August shifted his bulk from one foot to the other, pressed his shoulders back, and pushed out his chest.
Waiting for orders.
Look at him. Displaying himself for you. He’s not shy. Not shy at all.
Erica’s slim fingers went to the tie of her dressing gown, but instead of loosening it, she tightened it and in response, August’s mouth flattened into a disappointed line. She met his eyes, saw his expression and in that moment made a decision. Without a word, she pointedly looked down at the towel and made a directional motion with her head and eyes before looking up at him again. She hoped he was every bit the clever boy that he touted himself to be because she just didn’t want to have to say it aloud.
August didn’t need for her to say anything. He understood. There was no flourish when he released his grip and the towel fell away in a heap. She felt something unexpected at the sight of him, something unsaid and Erica’s heart pulsed against her ribs. What was it? What was behind that look in his eyes?
August paced slowly towards her, as if to give her enough to time to change her mind before he was upon her. She didn’t make any moves to stop him.
‘Mmmm,’ he hummed luxuriously, backing her against the wall, and undoing the dressing gown.
He opened it, dipped his hands in and caught her about the waist. Her scent rose between them. He inhaled her and smiled. Erica bit her lip and looked away from his open admiration of her. It was too much, too soon and it made her feel impossibly needy.
She held her breath as he trailed elegant electric fingers up her sides and over her belly, stopping just below her breasts. He looked down at her nakedness, rumbling,
‘Beautiful.’
Erica lifted her chin and August came down for her. He kissed her gently and tentatively at first just enjoying the taste of her, before deepening it and yanking her to him making her hands fly up to steady herself against his bare shoulders.
Oh yes, she decided, he was just as hard as he looked. She wanted him to take control, take the power out of her hands but did she trust him enough to give it? Did she trust him to look after her?
August distracted her with slow open mouthed kisses from her mouth, along her arched throat and down across her shoulder. She shivered, her body responding exquisitely to his attention and she hissed and moaned when he cupped her breasts to pluck her nipples between his fingers.
Lifting his head and tasting her lips again, August pressed his wide palm on her belly, and slowly eased to his knees before her. Dazed, she watched him kneel and an expectant grin curled his lips. Big hands slipped up the backs of her thighs and over her bum, squeezing and massaging her intently then slid back down again. He parted her legs and lifted one to drape over his shoulder.
‘Dirty boy,’ Erica groaned appreciatively reaching down to grab his hair. ‘Fucking dirty, naughty, naughty… ohhhh.’
August didn’t wait for her to finish admonishing him. He kissed the inside of her upraised thigh and dove in to where she was the sweetest, stroking his tongue across her tender sensitive flesh. She clenched her fingers in his hair but the pain it elicited didn’t outweigh his intense pleasure. August circled his own cock with his free hand and caressed himself slowly, just enough to keep on the edge. He didn’t want to lose control too quickly, but the taste of her and the fact that Erica fucking Sloane was allowing him such access to her stunning body was mind-blowing.
August supported Erica with a big hand against the small of her back as he licked and suckled her slick cunt.
‘Pleasepleaseplease,’ she hissed breathlessly, still pulling at his curls, and August moaned hotly between her legs. Each flick of his wicked tongue send shock-waves through her, and pushed her closer and closer to where she was nearly incoherent with desire, wanting more and more.
And then, the heat of him was gone and she was standing on her own two feet again.
With his knees spread, cock standing hard and blood hot between his steel thighs, August sat back on his heels and looked up at his gorgeous shimmering woman. Realising that August was no longer touching her, Erica slowly came back to herself, opened her eyes and let her chin drop so that she could look down at him.
August was breathless, eyes bright and hungry, lips and face pink from arousal and his flushed cock just waited to be abused. A decadent thought hit her like a punch to the gut and before her rational mind regained control, Erica pushed the ball of her foot against the base of his cock and pressed down.
Hard.
Pleasure spiked in him and August’s reaction was immediate and violent. He gripped her calf with both hands and arched, throwing his head back releasing an ecstatic cry that slowly dissolved into a low throaty wordless growl.
Erica drank all of this in, greedy for his supplication. Her full lips lengthened into a satisfied smile and she lessened the pressure.
In response, a full body shudder rippled through him but he didn’t move.
‘Please,’ he croaked, head still tipped backwards, baring his vulnerable throat to his superior. ‘Please.’
‘Get up,’ she ordered him as she dropped her dressing gown.
August rose smoothly and stood before her, open and eager, broad chest heaving, looking like an ancient god freshly stepped from a marble shell.
‘You got something in that bag of yours?’ she asked, sliding one hand about his narrow waist.
‘Yes,’ he gasped, grabbing the toiletry bag and unceremoniously dumping the contents out onto the table.
Small items skittered noisily across the glossy table surface and fell to the floor as he groped for one of the shiny dark purple packets. Erica could see that the condoms were new. What did that say about him? Was this all planned?
Now having her permission, his movements were quick and steady and she watched him with heady anticipation. The slight tremor in his fingers as he sheathed himself was the only visible fissure in his confidence.
August grabbed her about the waist again and heaved Erica up against the wall to where she was high enough to wrap her legs about his hips. He was so strong that he held her easily with one hand and with the other guided his thick cock into her.
Time stuttered to a standstill and they both froze in that intoxicating moment, both holding back, both waiting for a glorious sign.
Erica squeezed her eyes shut, listening as a single shaky breath filled her lungs and slowly shuddered out of her again. It had been a long time, a very long time, that someone made her feel small and delicate and fragile. A long time that someone else was the metaphorical shield and she was the damsel. She both hated and loved August for making her feel that way.
August tipped his chin up, eyes meeting Erica’s and she cupped his scruffy beautiful face. She kissed him and wriggled, sliding down onto him with a long voluptuous moan. This young boy, with barely restrained power throbbing beneath his moist skin, broke through her carefully constructed barriers. She watched herself fall for his charm and his boyish smile and good looks.
She let herself shrug off his flagrant breaking and entering and rewarded him with a fuck against the wall. What else was she willing to give up?
August dug his fingers into her hips and she swayed against him, rhythmically, desperately, lifting herself, thrusting down again, and again pleasuring herself with his equally as enthusiastic body. He held her, face against her throat, answering her, mirroring her body language, whining softly to keep himself from climaxing until she was ready. Until she wanted him to because he would do anything for her.
He’d kill for her. He’d die for her.
He’d love her if she let him.
Erica turned her face into his, stroking the tip of her nose against his skin, taking the curve of his ear between her lips and teeth. He suddenly went still with a quick exhalation of air and for a moment she worried if she had hurt him. August clamped his arm about her, squeezing her much tighter than before and pulled back enough so that he could meet her gaze.
He saw her naked desire for him in her eyes and with a growl, he turned and splayed her out on the media table. One big hand on her breast kept her flat and the other hand on her hip held her to the edge where he plunged inside with renewed vigour. Erica arched and shouted with delight, stealing one hand down between her wet trembling thighs to rub herself. August watched her do this and grinned wolfishly. It was probably the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.
‘Fuck,’ he groaned.
Erica clenched her teeth. She was close, so close and she fought to sit up right again, wanting to be close to him, to ease her hands across his tensing shoulders. She curled her arms about him again, body shaking as he teased and possessed her. His lips against hers curved into a smile and he licked white hot fire into her mouth setting off a riot of fireworks behind her eyes and in her belly.
August fit his hand about the nape of her slender neck, taken aback at how delicate and tantalising she was in his rough hands.  He could taste how bad he wanted her, how bad he wanted her to want him in return. And in that moment, he wanted everything.
Erica’s knees bumped up against his ribs, alternately squeezing and scrabbling for purchase on his slick flesh. He loved it. He loved her recklessness, the unabashed sounds of pleasure that she made when he rocked into her. He knew that she could feel him. She could feel him in and around her and he knew that she relished the sensations of being taken by him.
There was bliss being this close to him, and there was danger as well. It was the combination of those conflicting emotions that made Erica’s eyes fly open and her body snap to sudden and crushing attention to gasp his name.
In her voice was a question and in her eyes was amazement.
The molten fervour pooling inside her pulsed golden lava up into her chest and down her legs, filling every neglected pore with hunger and fire and she clutched him still afraid of losing herself. She still held onto that little piece of doubt and fear of losing control, that she wasn’t yet truly free.
August heard the question and kissed her, her lips, her face, her throat and her lips again whispering, ‘Yes, yes, I’m here. I've got you.’
He clenched her and she finally and gratefully let go. She let go of it all.
August held Erica for a long time after until she grew tired and wanted to go to bed. Only then did he release her.
Erica slid off of the table, and with one hand on the wall to steady herself, bent to retrieve her dressing gown. She slid into it and stood for a moment staring at the floor. She was acutely aware of how new and strange her body felt in that surreal moment.  The ground seemed unstable beneath her feet and the world felt fuzzy about the edges. It was a dream. She tied the belt firmly but didn’t turn round to watch August set himself right again.
‘I should go,’ he said.
It was unconvincing.
‘You should stay,’ she answered.
A moment passed.
‘I assume that you know your way around the house. Come up when you’re… ready.’
‘I will.’
Erica left him there and found herself smiling contentedly as she made her way back to her bedroom where she cleaned up and went to bed.
The mattress beside her dipped beneath his weight some time later and she could smell that he’d had a second shower.
‘Good night,’ he murmured leaning in to kiss her shoulder.
She smiled and was at once asleep.
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sclfmastery · 5 years
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‘Papa!’ Alex, a teenager transplant from one of the Master’s trips, yells it out, the wheels of his wheelchair stuck on the side of the console. ‘I’m stuck! Papa!’ There’s a clang and Alexei mumbles a quiet ‘Ow..’ holding his hands out.’ My wheels got stuck..’
Send the Master kids. 
The Master appears as though summoned from a reservoir of hell’s most avenging demons: round face unsuccessful in belying a ferocious protective instinct.  
His black jacket’s half-off; he didn’t bother to properly dress in his couture exoskeleton of Fabulousness, before coming to his son’s aid. 
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     “Patience is a bloody virtue, Alex,” he snaps more marming than stinging, as he reaches down and sets the precocious teen upright.  He pinches his face and squints into his eyes.  “Don’t have a concussion, do you?  Look, you know I’m not done getting the Girl to renovate the Console Room for your chair yet.  I love that you fight against limitations, I love it, but.  You’ve gotta take corners slowly.”  
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eyeofhorus237 · 5 years
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Marmots are large squirrels in the genus Marmota, with 15 species.
Description
Marmots are large rodents with characteristically short but robust legs, enlarged claws well adapted to digging, stout bodies and large heads and incisors to quickly process a variety of vegetation. While most species are various forms of earthen-hued brown, marmots vary in fur coloration based roughly on their surroundings with species in more open habitat types more likely to have a paler color while those partially found in well-forested regions tend to be darker.[1][2] Marmots are the largest members of the squirrel family. Total length varies typically from about 42 to 72 cm (17 to 28 in) and body mass in the smaller species averages about 2 kg (4.4 lb) in spring in the smaller species and 8 kg (18 lb) in autumn, at times exceeding 11 kg (24 lb), in the larger species.[3][4][5] The largest and smallest species are not clearly known.[2][3] In North America, based on mean linear dimensions and body masses through the year, the smallest species appears to be the Alaska marmot and the largest is the Olympic marmot.[4][6][7][8] Some species, such as the Himalayan marmot and Tarbagan marmot, in Asia appear to attain roughly similar body masses to the Olympic marmot but are not known to reach as high a total length as the Olympic species.[9][10] In the traditional definition of hibernation, the largest marmots are considered the largest "true hibernators" (since larger "hibernators" such as bears do not have the same physiological characteristics as obligate hibernating animals such as assorted rodents, bats and insectivores).[11][12]
Biology
Some species live in mountainous areas, such as the Alps, northern Apennines, Carpathians, Tatras, and Pyrenees in Europe; northwestern Asia; the Rocky Mountains, Black Hills, the Cascade and Pacific Ranges, and the Sierra Nevada in North America; and the Deosai Plateau in Pakistan and Ladakh in India. Other species prefer rough grassland and can be found widely across North America and the Eurasian Steppe. The slightly smaller and more social prairie dog is not classified in the genus Marmota, but in the related genus Cynomys.
Marmots typically live in burrows (often within rockpiles, particularly in the case of the yellow-bellied marmot), and hibernate there through the winter. Most marmots are highly social and use loud whistles to communicate with one another, especially when alarmed.
Marmots mainly eat greens and many types of grasses, berries, lichens, mosses, roots, and flowers.
Subgenera and species
The following is a list of all Marmota species recognized by Thorington and Hoffman[13] plus the recently defined M. kastschenkoi.[14] They divide marmots into two subgenera.
Genus Marmota – marmots
Subgenus Marmota
Subgenus Petromarmota
Alaska marmot, Brower's marmot, or Brooks Range marmot, M. broweri found in Alaska
Alpine marmot, M. marmota found only in Europe in the Alps, northern Apennine Mountains in Italy, Carpathian Mountains, Tatra Mountains, and reintroduced in the Pyrenees
Black-capped marmot, M. camtschatica found in eastern Siberia
Bobak marmot, M. bobak found from eastern Europe to central Asia
Forest-steppe marmot, M. kastschenkoi found in south Russia[14]
Gray marmot or Altai marmot, M. baibacina found in Siberia
Groundhog, woodchuck, or whistlepig, M. monax found in much of Canada and east of the Mississippi in northern USA
Himalayan marmot or Tibetan snow pig, M. himalayana found in the Himalayas
Long-tailed marmot, golden marmot, or red marmot, M. caudata found in central Asia
Menzbier's marmot, M. menzbieri found in central Asia
Tarbagan marmot, Mongolian marmot, or tarvaga, M. sibirica found in Siberia
Hoary marmot, M. caligata found in northwestern North America (Canada and Alaska)
Olympic marmot, M. olympus endemic to the Olympic Peninsula, Washington, United States
Vancouver Island marmot, M. vancouverensis endemic to Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada
Yellow-bellied marmot, M. flaviventris found in southwestern Canada and western United States
Additionally, four extinct species of marmots are recognized from the fossil record:
†Marmota arizonae, Arizona, U.S.[15]
†Marmota minor, Nevada, U.S.[16]
†Marmota robusta, China[citation needed]
†Marmota vetus, Nebraska, U.S.[17]
History and etymology
Marmots have been known since antiquity. Research by the French ethnologist Michel Peissel claimed the story of the "Gold-digging ant" reported by the Ancient Greek historian Herodotus, who lived in the fifth century BCE, was founded on the golden Himalayan marmot of the Deosai Plateau and the habit of local tribes such as the Brokpa to collect the gold dust excavated from their burrows.[18]
An anatomically accurate image of a marmot was printed and distributed as early as 1605 by Jacopo Ligozzi who was noted for his images of flora and fauna.
The etymology of the term "marmot" is uncertain. It may have arisen from the Gallo-Romance prefix marm-, meaning to mumble or murmur (an example of onomatopoeia). Another possible origin is post-classical Latin, mus montanus, meaning "mountain mouse".[19]
Beginning in 2010, Alaska celebrates February 2 as "Marmot Day", a holiday intended to observe the prevalence of marmots in that state and take the place of Groundhog Day.[20]
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saxspielercaderface · 7 years
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Fic: A Cursed Whisper’s Promise
Fandom: Runescape
Characters: Marmaros, Thok
Summary: Marmaros’ experience just before the encounter with the Hope Devourer, when his hope, stability, and will to live are waning.
Half of my giveaway prize for @goodbye-susan! Hope you enjoy, and the second half is well underway!
35…
40…
45…
50…
55…
56, 57, 58…
Marmaros eased a dagger from his belt - made of the metal he had named ‘gorgonite’ for its rough, stony texture - and began to carve another notch into the hilt of his sword.
59.
One floor shy of sixty.
How far beneath the surface they were, beneath the rest of the Fremennik explorers that he and his brother had forged ahead of, Marmaros had no idea. This place, these last few floors they had braved, toyed with his mind, scrambling his memory and perception.
It wasn’t so much the stench of undeath or the stuffy air or the ever-present feeling of being watched. He was used to all that by now.
It was the voice.
Barely more than a whisper and the occasional vision - premonition? - plaguing his dreams, it had nagged at him since the dungeon walls became stained with some strange, purple miasma, growing ever stronger as the miasma turned red and lava-like.
Eyes everywhere.
You’ll fail.
Rotting flesh.
Give up.
Maggots. Maggots crawling, feasting, on a lone corpse.
Your corpse.
Bryll, always so tough and optimistic, reduced to alleyway begging and thievery just to survive.
You’ll lose everything.
Thok, his strength and creative madness stripped of him as he lay prone, body festering and being feasted upon by...ferrets?
Skeletal, undead ferrets, he’d say if Thok asked. It’d make for a better story.
Just leave him.
His own body, torn nearly to shreds, at the mercy of some hulking, stone-skinned beast, tongue forced to the back of his throat and lungs choking on the boiling air.
You’ll die, you know.
“Thok,” he began, trying to drown out that voice with his own. “Thok, what do you think is up ahead? In the next room?”
Thok grunted, barely turning his attention from his wound-dressing in-progress.
You’ll die.
Marmaros pinched the bridge of his nose furiously and continued.
“Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t feel right. I can’t...I can’t move, Thok.”
Give up.
His eyes slammed shut, the words now falling from his mouth.
“I don’t want to move.”
End it all. End it here.
The air seemed colder, life-draining - everything was just hopeless. His sword glinted tantalizingly in his lap - perhaps, if he could just draw the blade across his neck…
His hand reached down, fingers closing around the scored hilt.
Yes...
“I just want to...not be anymore, and-”
“MARM!”
Hands slammed down onto his shoulders, jolting the whisper, as well as his own voice, out of existence. Before he could react, he was yanked upright by his furs and held face-to-face with Thok.
“Marm, you listen to Thok, aye?” Thok growled as Marmaros’ sword clanged against the stone below, eyes blazing some odd mix of annoyance and concern. “AYE? YOU LISTEN TO THOK!”
Marmaros nodded, gulping, and Thok finally released his shoulders, letting him stand on his own again.
“Thok does not care what is up ahead, Marm. Monster? Pah. Evil wizard? We see worse every day. Demon? Easy. A stinking Dagger-Moth?!? HA!” Thok thumped his chest, laughter echoing. “Not scary at all. We could eat that for breakfast tomorrow!”
“We couldn’t, though,” Marmaros mumbled, now shaking his head. “Daggermouth meat is poisonous unless cooked right, you know that.”
Thok’s laughter died down, and he stared for a moment. Soon enough, however, his smile - and oh, how Marmaros had missed that silly, carefree, proud smile his brother had always worn before they had ventured this deep into the dungeons - was back, and he clapped a hand on Marmaros’ shoulder.
“Maybe to littul Marm, but not to Thok the Magnificent! To Thok, it is merely spicy like cured yakmeat!”
Marmaros couldn’t laugh - he didn’t even remotely feel like laughing.Yet, he still felt the corners of his mouth quirk into something akin to a smile.
“Marm, write to littul sister.” Thok released Marmaros’ shoulder and rifled through his nearby pack for a moment - a sheaf of leather-wrapped paper emerged, which Thok pressed firmly into Marmaros’ hands. “Write to Bryll. That always brings you back. You write to Bryll, my Marm comes back, and then we’ll go through that door and crush whatever is on the other side, aye?”
Marmaros regarded the sheaf for a moment before looking up at Thok again, nodding.
“Good.” With that, Thok returned to his side of the camp, leaving Marmaros alone.
Alone. You’ll end up alone, and you’ll die.
Mostly alone. That damned whisper was back.
Sighing, Marmaros sat, picked up his charcoal pencil, and began to write.
Thok was right. Sort of, anyway. The scratching of charcoal on paper was cathartic, and, despite the grimness of the words he wrote, he felt himself coming around bit by bit, just as Thok had predicted.
And, though the voice still whispered and the darkness still loomed, he felt, perhaps, the tiniest bit of...something.
Whatever it was, be it the tiniest sliver of hope imaginable, the determination to push forward and prove the whisper wrong, or just Thok’s confidence rubbing off on him, he would try to hold onto it.
No matter how much he wanted to say goodbye, he would hold on for just another room, another hallway, another floor longer.
For Thok. For Bryll. For himself, too.
He would try.
You can try all you like, little Fremennik.
You’ll still fail, and that’s a promise.
***
“Good Guthix, what is that thing?!?”
No!
“THOK, NO!”
“NO, WE HAVE TO RUN!”
“WE CAN’T…”
I can’t...
I…
Aye.
I’ll just...lay down.
I give up.
Go ahead.
Devour me.
I don’t want to be here anymore.
I don’t want to…be.
I’m sorry, Thok.
I’m sorry, Bryll.
I’m…
You were right, you cursed whisper.
You were right.
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invitationtowine · 3 days
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Its my birth………….
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invitationtowine · 5 days
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Oh my god yakuza has me by the ass i cannot stop drooling over goromi
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invitationtowine · 5 months
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HE FUCKING WORKS
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invitationtowine · 5 months
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got backtracked from trying to post bisexual dreadking rathalos gangnam style on here by reading through my talk tag and why do i have no memory of talking about any of that years ago
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invitationtowine · 1 year
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STAY WINNING GIRLS NAMED ME!!!!!!!!
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invitationtowine · 3 months
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hello tumblr i was being insane over the new pkmn dlc over the past few days and i dont think im recovering
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invitationtowine · 4 months
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london is so cold but its not like its any better than where i actually live
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