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“NUH-UH! You absolutely cannot enter the sacred bounds of my design citadel just yet!” August declares, throwing his arm out theatrically as his foot wedges against the door. “NO NO NO, SHOO! OUT!” He’s half-laughing, half-serious, pushing the door with wild-eyed panic.
You shove back harder, trying to wrestle him out of the way. “Don’t shoo me, freak! We need to update the itinerary for the trip—let me in!”
“Give me twenty minutes! THRITY! TOPS!”
The letter arrived few days ago. You’ve been invited to oversee the preparations for the upcoming Doll Festival, happening in just three weeks. Both of you terribly adore it—every detail, every overstuffed booth of toy components and handmade dolls. You scored backstage access, an absolute dream for you to get to know every nook and cranny.
Backstage passes? Early access to the merch tables? It’s going to be sick.
Since he’s also been asked to tailor costumes for the Doll Giver Showcase, this trip becomes the perfect harmony: him creating, you admiring lightheartedly. August has to meet with the givers beforehand, carefully analyzing each request in detail so he can craft the perfect outfits.
So that means you get to see them too, UP CLOSE! AAAAAAH!
And, most importantly, it’s your very first festival—together. Like “we’re a thing” kinda together.
Two hours later, you don’t even bother knocking.
“Hey.”
No response. Only the unsteady beat of his foot trying to keep up with the music, hunched over his desk, muttering along off-key to a playlist you can barely catch over the whirlwind of fabric.
Seeing you, his eyes bulge, hair a tangled mess. He lets out an exaggerated roar as he swings his hands toward your face.
“BABY, NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT! NO PEEKING!”
“You told me half an hour! Are you already working on the Doll Giver designs? Did they send in the measurements? Why can’t I just see what you’re—”
“NOPE! PERSONAL PROJECT!” August gestures dramatically, nearly tripping over a heap of chiffon. “WHY DON’T YOU…uhhh—“ he grazes your back, putting you in motion. “Go sit on the bed and meditate on my greatness for like fifteen minutes and I’ll be done! PROMISE! BUT KEEP THOSE EYES SHUT for, like—uh—five seconds, okay? I need to—”
There’s a loud crash, followed by frantic shuffling. You can’t hold back and blink one eye open.
“HEYYY! I SAW THAT! DON’T YOU DARE!”
He’s been distant for the past few days since you got the letter, holed up inside the quarters, completely absorbed in his work, whatever that might be. When you open your eyes and take in his room—the so-called “atelier” —it looks like a tornado tore through it. Though, honestly, not much worse than the usual chaos.
You sigh, perching on the edge of the bed and carefully move aside a pile of shimmering scraps. You’ve only come to finalize details for your trip as you were supposed to be leaving in two days. August usually gets lost in his work, yes, but not like this. Now he’s pretty much completely unaware of your presence…what could be so important that it demands this much of him?
“Is it going to take much longer?” you call. “I’m halfway through planning everything and could really use your advice. By the way, limited edition Whimsy Doll Minis are back in stock, baby! Or so I’ve heard. You told me you missed them last year.”
“Yeah…That’s wonderful. JUST AN HOUR! MAXIMUM!” he replies, without looking up, too busy working the sewing machine.
So it’s an hour now.
“Yo—is that the guy with the freaky mecha-squid? Is he going to be there??” you ask, pointing at a photo half-buried on the bed.
Nothing.
You try again, gentler this time. “So, about the—”
“TEN MINUTES, MY TREASURE! TEN! I swear on every stitch I’ve ever sewn!!”
You let out a long huff and flop backward on the bed, flipping through pamphlets and festival leaflets—special guest list speculations, ceremony schedules, venue maps. All the things you brought just so you could browse through together, to plan the trip hand in hand.
The hour is late and a yawn slips past your lips. You’ve been waiting around for quite some time.
A quiet laugh escapes you as you leaf through the catalogs. You turn to share the funny discovery with him, but the words catch in your throat. August loves this shit—so why isn’t he excited? You wonder if he even realizes how much you just want him next to you.
Staring at the ceiling, with the faint hum of music and his sewing machine buzzing in the background, you eventually drift into sleep.
-
You slowly flutter your eyes open to him hovering between your legs, arms wrapped around your tummy, soft kisses pressing against your skin as lets your pajama top slide over his head. His hands caress your waist, gentle and purposeful, waking you slowly so as not to startle you.
It's 4 AM.
"I'm sorry."
“I”—kiss—“am”—kiss—“sorry”—kiss.
“Forgive”—kiss—“me”—kiss.
His usual voice drops several octaves, just as he always does when you’re intimate, almost like a murmur that sends warmth curling into your stomach.
Whenever August realizes he hasn’t shown it enough, he worries, an awful lot—how carefree, how distant to other people’s feelings he must seem. He cares and he shows it in the ways he knows, but sometimes that can be mistaken for pure indifference.
He continues to leave soft pecks along your body, each one chasing away the last traces of your sleepy daze.
“It’s fine, really...it happens. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your creative flow.”
"No, it’s not,” he whispers, voice low. “I lost track of time. I got too caught up in it. I…I suck.”
He lifts his head from under your top and you see it: wet eyes rimmed with deep red under his glasses, either from exhaustion or emotions he hasn’t articulated. Or both.
“I was finishing a little project, you’ll see soon enough. It will...uh-well, I hope it will be worth the way I made you upset..."
A slow, teasing brush of his nose moves downward, pressing another soft kiss lower on your abdomen; inhaling your scent with each touch and leaving tiny, teasing licks in his wake.
Head descending to your pulsing core, August exhales warmly into your clothed pussy.
"Let me make it up to you." His palms skim up your thighs while he kisses and nuzzles against the fabric of your crotch; moaning when he feels your building wetness.
"Please, can I taste you?"
You swallow nervously as you lean to take off his foggy sunglasses—the lenses clouded with the warmth of his breath—then perch them on your head.
"Yeah."
With those dazzling purple eyes fixed on you, he continues planting gentle smooches over your bottoms. Gradually, he drags the damp fabric down your legs, tossing it behind him with dramatic flair.
You let out a soft giggle. His long fingers find the waistband of your underwear and you lift your hips, giving him easy access as he pulls them off. Teasingly, his lips press along your naked thighs; a sharp inhale and a low groan escaping him at the intoxicating scent.
August finally dares to snuggle his face against your cunt, taking his first taste; licking a long stripe along your slit without dipping inside.
Fully scissoring and parting your lips now, he teases you again and laps his tongue faster over your fully-exposed folds. You both groan when his tongue finds your hole, leisurely dipping in and out while he starts to open you more, holding your knees apart.
He teases the entrance a little more before moving to trace circles along your puffy clit, smearing slick and drool all over the flushed pussy lips.
The overwhelming sensation of your dripping wet cunt urges him to hold you down while dragging your trembling legs all over his shoulders. One hand moves to clutch your waist, leaving tiny dents along your soft flesh while the other snuggles under your ass; both pulling you closer and securing you into his needy mouth.
He moves to your entrance again, flicking his tongue back and forth at an agonizingly slow pace—making you curl your toes in need while gripping hard onto the sheets.
"Mmm—I could cum just by eating this pretty pussy," he breathes against your core before getting back to work.
August eats you out like he fucks: deep, raw and slow. Undulating, heavy thrusts sending his fat tip kissing your cervix everytime you fuck. Though normally full of restless energy, he discovers an enchanting stillness when he's with you.
You start whining as one of his fingers move to massage the swollen bud. Tugging his blonde hair, you roll your hips against his mouth when his pace turns out to be too excruciatingly slow. He only hums in approval.
"Oh, yeahhhh. Use me, fuck my face just like that."
Your hips grind faster and faster, chasing the rush. Unexpectedly, he raises one of your knees up as far as possible before plunging his tongue fully inside your pussy. Zapped and tingling all over, you arch your back, threatening to just float off the bed as all of your muscles go rigid.
Even the quiet of the room seems to shiver with the rhythm of his of slurping sounds and your obscene moans.
You reach your peak with loud sobs while his tongue continues to lavish your insides; legs straddling his head fully in place as you fuck his face mindlessly. August ruts his hips against the soft mattress, humping into the bed when he feels your cunt clench on his tongue.
One of your legs shifts from his shoulder to gently nudge at his still swollen length.
"I want you. Bad."
He shudders against your gushing cunt, rising onto his knees as he strips his lower half. You notice he’s already removed the rest of his clothes before waking you up with his head between your legs.
His throbbing cock springs free out of his briefs with insatiable globs of precum shining at the top. You want nothing more than to have his oozing load paint your womb.
"Fuck me, please, I need you," you bite your lower lip as your legs part wider with a whine, slick carelessly drenching the sheets.
August leans over you and slots his aching cock between your folds, making you both groan with the sudden warmth. Fitting his length snugly before nudging and burrowing his tip near the hood of your clit. The sensitive bud flushes back to life as the throbbing heat of his member has you whining in delight again.
"N-No, I don't deserve to be inside you. Not yet."
The obscene slick sounds of his shallow humps are irresistible. He fucks against your glimmering pussy lips, letting out small gasps when he feels his thick head threatening to slip within your core. Feeling his restraint start to crumble when he nudges himself inside you just a little bit, before pulling out to let his cock snug and rub your slit once more.
You can’t tell who he’s teasing more—you or himself—when his length twitches again and finds its way back inside your cunt, before withdrawing it forcefully for good with a loud throaty moan.
"Pleaseeee, just put it in, I forgive you, ple—"
Hurriedly, August pulls and holds your legs on his chest while you squeeze and rub your sticky thighs together to create more pressure around his girth as he continues to hump on your pussy.
"Mmmph—No, no, I haven't earned it back."
His cockhead now flicks tightly against your clit while his heavy thrusts turn messy and uncoordinated. Long fingers trace the arches of your feet while his mouth lingers on the tops of your toes—sucking and kissing them hungrily. Suddenly, a guttural groan fills the room when he creams your pretty folds with his bulky load—fat tip completely squished along your puffy clit.
“Yeah, that’s iiit, cum for me.”
Breath hitching, your ears ring at the sticky sound of his length slapping and drowning your pussy in hot cum, making your insides pulse while you come undone with a fiery scream.
He keeps his cock between your folds until your last pulse while he softens; both of you sweaty and huffing. One last kiss brushes your toe before your legs are lowered. A stray piece of material laying on the bed serves him to wipe his load off your twitching folds—then proceeding to collapse against your body, snuggled into your chest.
You stroke his hair, pressing kisses to his forehead, cheeks, nose, eyes and lips; returning every kiss he had given you before.
“Mmm’luhyou…” August mumbles, the words dissolving against your chest.
For a second, you aren’t sure if you’ve heard him or only wished it. The air stills between you. He’s never said it before. Neither have you. You want to answer, to let the words tumble out, but they catch somewhere in your throat.
What if I misheard?
Maybe I’m just tired.
But…
“I lov—” you try to say, but his breathing has already deepened and he’s fast asleep from overwhelming exhaustion. Your heart thuds unevenly, nerves and warmth tangled together, until sleep pulls you under too.
-
You wake up to the sound of clattering metal, the unmistakable rattle of a clothing rack wobbling across the floor. The first thing your eyes lay upon is him, wrestling a covered display stand closer to the bed amidst the disaster that was his room.
“GOOD MORNING, MY MUSE!” he bellows, nearly tripping over a scatter of fabric leftovers and hoarded glinting metal pieces that lay in glorious chaos.
“I—HAVE—DONE—IT!”
August dramatically pulls the sheet off the rack like a magician revealing his finale. The morning light caught him from behind as you rub at your eyes until the blur fades. Warmth seeps into your skin resembling a loud embrace, the kind that feels a little like him.
Displayed is a set of orange overalls with a high-neck, white chiffon blouse stitched underneath, its billowy sleeves clasped at the wrists. At the top of the shirt, two tiny buttons bloom like miniature flowers, holding the collar in place.
The overalls’ front and back pockets are made of a contrasting navy cotton pattern etched with a floral design, the same fabric edging the cuffs and hem. High leather boots complete the ensemble, the tops trimmed with the same navy design for a perfectly unified look.
Still drowsy, your half-lidded eyes could hardly register what was happening before August speaks again, even louder, while starting to explain frivolously, hands waving across the air.
“Sooooo, LET ME TELL YOU! On the pockets, I used the scraps from that old skirt you wore on our first ever date, REMEMBER THE ONE WITH THE DAISIES? ON WHICH YOU SPILLED BUNCHA DISGUSTING SLUSHIE ON?” He laughs while the fabric flutters violently when he spins the rack just so he can show you the back pockets too.
“HAHA, I knew I couldn’t just throw it away! Do not fret, I CLEANED IT! TWICE! No-THRICE! I get and RESPECT your passion for balanced color pairs, soooo I dyed it a dashing navy so that it fit the vibe!”
I love you.
Twisting the hanger this way and that, he makes your head spin, overwhelmed by all the colors and textures. Still, you wait quietly for him to continue, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“AND THESE BUTTONS! OH MY! Fresh peonies just for you, YOUR FAVOURITE!” His voice rings out as his thumb glides along the blouse’s collar seam.
“Let me tell you a secret, THEY—ARE—REALLLL! I just stole—uh, carefully took—some blossoms from a dodgy florist. SHH, DON’T TELL ANYONE! I…couldn’t bear to give you those fake ones…” His voice dips in an almost uncharacteristic whisper.
Real flowers are rare and expensive on the Ground, most people would just find it easier to purchase plastic replicas at a lower price.
I love you.
His tone explodes back into its usual roar little by little.
“I had to preserve them somehow, so I put them in resin, making for these perfectly polished buttons! PREEETTY CLEVER, RIGHT?"
August fiddles with the smooth linen between his fingers, smiling softly, like it was something fragile and precious; a surprising counterpoint to the wild intensity he carries himself with.
"OH, OBVIOUSLY, WE'RE MATCHING NOW! Cause they’re overalls, GET IT? HEHE! YEP! And they’re orange, YOUR TOP COLOR PICK!"
Hurriedly, he keeps explaining other small details you otherwise wouldn’t have noticed as your mind drifts off. You can’t even find the words to express yourself.
You’re still tangled in soft blankets, stuck with a dumb grin plastered across your face. The incredible well-thought outfit makes your stomach flip with joy, but it is his smile that fills you with a warmth you can’t contain.
I love you.
Each and every one of his gestures is fast, eager, as though his excitement couldn’t fit inside his body. He pauses, finally catching his breath, then points at the clothing rack.
“WELL?! Perfect for our trip, right?” August demands, hands on hips. “Get up and get dressed! WE MUST SEE IT!!!"
You laugh, dazed, cheeks burning. “Now?”
“DUHHH, NOW! HURRY! We have no time left to lose!”
“Alright, alright!”
Giddiness surging through you from his cheers, you wriggle free of your pajamas, quickly climbing out of bed to slip into your new outfit. He couldn’t contain himself—before you’d even fully pulled it on, zipped it up or fastened the buttons—he is screaming, utterly impressed at how perfectly it matches you.
”SPLENDID! SPECTACULAR! OH, THIS WON'T DO,” he sets down the tiny mirror he’d grabbed from the nightstand.
“Look at yourself! How gorgeous—how incredible! WE NEED A BIGGER MIRROR! STAY HERE!”
And with that, August is out the door, flinging it open with a thunderous crash while you remain in the middle of the bedroom, spellbound. Catching a small glimpse of yourself in the mirror he had just thrown. Your cheeks flush at the sight of the beautiful outfit he’d made, the time he must have spent and just how effortlessly he knows every part of you.
A soft chuckle escapes your lips when you hear him clatter around again, probably yanking the big mirror from the reception, accompanied by loud shouts of “Put it back!” from the others.
It was foolish to ever think there had been malice in his silence yesterday—for mistaking his devotion for neglect. For being upset when all he'd wanted was to surprise you, to finish the outfit in time for your trip. To match. The truth is so tender it makes your lip quiver as your smile grows wider.
Your eyes begin to burn with the weight of gratitude, not for the clothes per se, but for the gift that is to be in his presence and to glow as the subject of his affection.
Remembering his words from last night, you wrap your arms around yourself and finally have the courage to whisper.
“I love you too.”