#Difference between Surface Laptop and Book | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aylacavebear · 6 months ago

Text

Innuendos

Hunting with the brothers had been interesting at first. You were used to hunting alone, thanks to what you were. But when you crossed their path on a werewolf case, and after several hours of convincing, they decided to give you a chance. Luckily, Cas had helped on that front; the only angel you were friends with happened to be their friend as well. Two months later, they offered you a room in the bunker that was their home. Here it was, six months later, and you’d been trying and failing, to catch Dean’s eye.

Word Count: 4693

Dean x OC Reader/You

Warnings: Lots of Innuendos, some Fluff, some Angst, Dean being Dean (yes, this is a warning).

AN: Sorry I don't have the next Soulmate chapter up but wanted to give everyone something today. I hope you all like this one.

----------------------------------------- It was late afternoon, but being in the bunker, you couldn’t tell, thanks to the lack of windows. The library mostly quiet, the occasional clicking of keys from Sam’s laptop or the turning of the pages from the book in front of you. Dean was leaned back in his chair, flipping through another book, sipping a glass of whiskey like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You glanced up at him without moving, knowing the motion would have pulled his attention. The man was infuriating you. For the last month, you had done everything you could think of to get his attention. Bed shorts hadn’t worked, no matter what top you had paired them with. An elegant black evening gown paired with simple heels for a case hadn’t even earned you more than a single compliment.

Not even regular jeans with any top worked, either. I need something sweet. The moment you moved to get up, you felt both their eyes on you, but you ignored it and headed into the kitchen. In the freezer, hiding in the back behind the vegetables, were your freezer pops. You licked your lips, pulling out one of your favorite flavors.

After slipping off the plastic covering and throwing it away, you slipped the chilled deliciousness between your lips and returned to your seat in the library, not even glancing at the brothers. You held the stick in your hand but would occasionally let go of it to turn the next page, holding it carefully in your mouth between your lips.

Dean hadn’t moved when you returned to the library, but now his eyes were on you and the way you slid that popsicle in and out of your mouth between your soft lips. It was the only time he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, imagining something else between your lips. He’d spent the last six months trying to keep things to just friendship, just hunting, but you were making it utterly difficult for him.

Those damned sleep shorts of yours always made his cock stir, and he had to deliberately think of anything, but you pinned under him on any surface. It was that dress that had taken his breath away. He lost track of the demon they were supposed to be watching three different times that night, watching you just mingle with the other people there. The things you wore daily, though, that was where he was having the hardest time, literally. Your jeans hugged your curves in all the right places, sending his mind on tangents he knew he shouldn’t be having.

And to top things off, you were teasing him with a fucking popsicle. He swore you were doing it on purpose. Dean couldn’t give in, though, not after all the shit he gave Sam after the Ruby incident, even if you were nothing like her. You weren’t a demon, and you weren’t attempting to start the apocalypse. Then there was the werewolf Sam had slept with, who tried to kill him that same night. When you noticed him staring at you, you popped the popsicle out of your mouth, your elbow leaning on the table next to the book. “You okay?”

Your voice instantly pulled Dean from his thoughts, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat, returning his gaze to his book. “Yup,” he replied, as casually as he could manage with what was going through his head, thanks to that popsicle and your lips.

Your brows dipped, now curious as to why he’d been staring at you. Was he just zoning off in my direction? He didn’t look back over at you, though. The way his nose was stuck in that book almost made you wonder if he had an issue of Busty Asian Beauties hiding inside. Just before the popsicle could drip, you stuck your tongue out, catching the drop before it could fall, then sucked on it sideways to get some extra juices.

The movement was not lost on Dean, but this time, you caught his gaze and the hunger in his eyes, which had nothing to do with the popsicle. It’s about fucking time, you thought to yourself as you deliberately teased him while sucking on your popsicle. All the while, you kept your attention on the book before you.

Sam glanced between the two of you, wondering just how much longer his brother was going to manage to hold out. It wasn’t like your advances had been subtle, while at the same time, you weren’t throwing yourself at him, either. He’d confronted his brother about it a few times, but Dean always responded the same way, brushing the topic aside.

While helping the two with research, your mind was in two places: the case and how you were going to tease the hell out of Dean until he couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t that you only wanted sex from him. If that was all you wanted, you would have just picked up some random guy from a bar for a night. Near dinner time, you needed to give your eyes a break. You’d been reading for hours and no closer to finding the information you’d been looking for. Dean let his gaze follow you to the kitchen, watching as your hips swayed gently as you walked, unable to keep from licking his lips.

“How long do you plan on ignoring her?” Sam asked without looking up from his laptop.

Dean’s head snapped to his brother, realizing he hadn’t been nearly as sly about watching you as he thought he had. “I don’t know what you mean,” deciding to play dumb on this one.

Sam chuckled, “Dude, she likes you. She has for a while. Why not-”

“Don’t,” Dean cut him off in that tone that typically meant to drop the topic.

“I’m just saying,” Sam continued, ignoring Dean’s tone and finally looking over at him. “She’s nice. Plus, you two have a lot in common. What the hell are you so worried about?”

Dean sighed, knowing Sam wasn’t going to drop this, and straightened up in his chair. “She’s a Touched. I can’t.”

Sam just shook his head. “Really? That’s what this is about. She’s not human, so you won’t go past being just friends?”

Dean set the book down, then picked up his drink, tossing it back and finishing it off, wishing it would help the thoughts in his head stop. “It’s one thing to be friends with certain supernatural creatures. It’s another to…” he paused, glancing briefly to the kitchen. “It’s just not right. She should be with her own kind.” There was a hint of longing in his tone that Sam didn’t miss.

“Kinda hard since she’s the only one of her kind,” Sam sighed, returning his attention to his laptop and the research at hand.

Of course, he’d have to say that. Now I feel guilty. Dean had hoped they’d find others like you, but even Cas had confirmed that you were alone. He also knew you couldn’t have a normal relationship with just anyone. The thought of you in a relationship with someone made his stomach twist in a weird way, and he didn’t like it.

It wasn’t much longer after that when you returned to the library, but you didn’t sit down. “I’m gonna go watch a movie, then hit the sack.” You had a sucker in your hand, then cupped your tongue before sucking on it for a moment, only barely keeping Dean in your peripheral view.

When his eyes found you, he clenched his jaw. She’s definitely doing it on purpose. He’d never wanted to be a sucker so badly in his life, the way you twisted it over your tongue, sucking it into your mouth, then pulling it halfway out to rest between your lips. Then, you’d do it all over again. Dean shifted slightly in his seat, trying to relieve the growing pressure against his jeans. Damnit woman.

“Alright. See you in the morning,” Sam replied nonchalantly, finally glancing over at you. An amused half-smirk found his lips when he saw the sucker, then he turned away, shaking his head a bit. She knows. Dean’s in trouble now.

“Sleep well,” Dean coughed out, leaning his arms on the table and attempting to focus on the book again. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was conflicted. He wanted to be closer to you, but at the same time, it scared the shit out of him.

You smirked, knowingly, “Night, guys. Don’t stay up all night.” And with that, you headed to your room, a light skip to your step. Sam just waved you on while Dean watched you walk away.

Once in your room, you changed into sleep shorts and a slightly baggy shirt, your favorite pajama combination for comfort. You got comfortable on your bed with your laptop, pulled up a movie, and enjoyed it while thinking of all the new ways you were going to tease Dean until he gave in enough for you to confront him.

—--------------------------

Over the next month, you took every opportunity you could find with every item of food that you could eat in any sort of teasing way. The man had a stubborn streak, and now it was a battle of wills. Who would give in first? Him out of sexual frustration, or you out of just sheer frustration of feeling invisible to him.

There were all sorts of foods that you managed to find. Pickles had been interesting to tease him with, sucking the juices out while also needing to suck the juices off of it. Then there were bananas. Dean did his damnest not to watch or let you catch him watching, but he wasn’t always as slick as he tried to be.

You kept suckers on hand, even keeping one or two in the pockets of your jeans to easily tease him at any given moment. One time, you thought you heard him groan before he shifted in his seat, but even with your hearing, it was nearly inaudible. Sam was doing his best to keep his composure, finding the entire thing hilarious while also wanting the two of you to be happy. Any utensil you ate with, you made sure to wrap your lips carefully around each bite. Strawberries and whipped cream had been fun to eat in front of him, even if he didn’t seem to be reacting outwardly much. You could smell the change in his scent, smirking slightly. Dean thought it had been difficult before to keep his thoughts in check, but now you were making it utterly impossible. He had lost count of how many times he’d had to take care of himself due to the way you were teasing him, incessantly these days. You had even managed to make eating bacon look far more delicious than just the flavor of it. He really wasn’t sure how much longer he could last before he finally snapped, mainly from sexual frustration and the fears that wouldn’t leave him.

Sam had finally had enough of it and needed a break a week into the second month. “I’m heading out to make a supply run,” he stated, already heading toward the garage.

“I’ll go with you,” Dean told him quickly, rising from where he sat in the library.

“No. You’re gonna stay here. I need a break from this- whatever it is between you and Y/N.” Sam stated bluntly, not even slowing down before disappearing into the garage, leaving Dean where he stood between the library and the war room. Thankfully for Dean, you were currently in the Dean Cave watching a movie.

With a huff, he returned to his seat and his drink, lost in thought. Things between the two of you had gotten quite tense. He just had no idea what the right course of action was. You were a supernatural creature, a Touched. He wasn’t supposed to get closer than friendship, and that was what he constantly told himself. It was far easier than letting the emotions surface that terrified him.

“Where’s Sam,” your voice behind him made him jump. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Dean took a deep breath. He didn’t want to turn around, not with what you’d chosen to wear for the day. Those damned cut-off jean shorts and the tank top that hugged your curves and accentuated the plumpness of your breasts. It was driving him up the wall, even if he wasn’t letting it show.

“He went on a supply run,” he replied without looking over at you, sipping his whiskey and attempting to focus on his laptop. When you heard the frustration in his tone, you went over and sat adjacent to him, watching him for a few moments. “You okay?” concern laced into your words, pulling Dean’s gaze. The two of you were friends, after all.

The way your hair dipped partially over your shoulders, framing your face, made his breath hitch in his chest. Then there was the softness in your eyes, a stark contrast to the look you typically gave him when you would tease him. “Yeah. Just hope he doesn’t forget the pie this time,” Dean replied, trying to keep his thoughts from wandering.

Something in the way he looked at you made you tilt your head a bit, like there was something he wanted to say but was refusing to. “Why don’t you like me like you do human women?” you finally asked him, figuring now was as good a time as any to broach the topic.

It was the question he didn’t want to answer. Hell, how could he without sounding like a complete jerk? Dean had thought about it far too frequently since meeting you, and it only got worse as the days passed. “I don’t know what you mean,” he played dumb, trying to bide for time.

You deadpanned at his response, knowing he was playing dumb, but at the same time, not sure you wanted to call him on. With a sigh, you looked away from him, ignoring the hurt his words had brought. “Never mind,” you mumbled before just walking away, which had Dean cursing under his breath.

Two weeks later, it was your turn to go on a supply run, and god knew you needed to get out of the bunker before you went stir-crazy. There hadn’t been a single case, and it was driving you crazier than it was the brothers. Once you left, though, Sam was going to take the opportunity to confront his brother.

Dean was scrolling through a webpage, looking for a case on his laptop, sipping a glass of whiskey, and thankful you had been the one to go out. He needed a breather from you, even if you had stopped teasing him with anything you put in your mouth. At the moment, he was desperately trying to push aside the thought of you sucking on a popsicle.

Sam was only partially paying attention to what he was scrolling through, glancing often at his brother, carefully debating his words before finally leaning back in his seat. “So, what’s up with you and Y/N?”

The sudden break in the silence made Dean jump, “Nothing’s up. We’re friends and hunting partners,” he answered absentmindedly, not wanting to talk about it.

Crossing his arms, Sam continued watching him, wondering if he could get to the truth Dean was clearly hiding. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She likes you.” Dean gave Sam a dumb look, like he had no idea what he was talking about. Playing stupid was easier than arguing with him right now, at least for Dean. “No she doesn’t. She’s just naturally nice,” he countered, as it wasn’t a complete lie. You were naturally nice, to everyone.

“You really are an idiot,” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “That, or you’re playing dumb.” He met his brother's gaze, determined to get him to see the truth. “She likes you. She might even have a crush on you. I know you aren’t blind. Y/N has tried everything short of stripping in front of you to get your attention. What’s keeping you from seeing how things might go between the two of you? If only Sam knew that you’d almost done that, walking from the bathroom clad in only a towel on more occasions than Dean cared to admit to. “Just drop it, Sam.” Dean attempted to stop the conversation dead in its tracks. Sam just stared at his brother for a moment, debating his next set of words, carefully. “What are you so afraid of then? That you’ll lose her? She can’t die.” Dean practically glared at him, sucking his teeth as his jaw clenched slightly. “She may not be able to die, but that doesn’t mean a monster couldn’t use her to get to me.” “So, you’re going to take away her choice in the matter. If a monster wanted to use her, they already could because she hunts with us. Or did you forget about that part?” Sam countered, an almost proud, slightly smug smirk on his lips as he crossed his arms.

Far too many things went through Dean’s brain that he quickly dismissed letting out of his mouth. What argument could he use that Sam wouldn’t counter with some other sort of logic? Yeah, you were a Touched, a supernatural creature, but at the same time, you were so human. “I just can’t, alright,” Dean stated, but there was no conviction in his tone.

Sam’s expression softened as his heart went out to his brother’s plight. “Would you stop worrying about things you can’t control? I really think the two of you could be happy together. I wish you could see that.” The compassion in his words made Dean look away from him and back at the laptop.

Dean hated the logic his brother used and even though he was staring at the current webpage, looking for a case, his mind was elsewhere. He didn’t want to admit that he not only found you physically attractive but that you had one of the kindest souls he had ever met. Then, there was everything in between.

You were a smartass, sassy, stubborn, and confident. It was those moments when he had caught you purring that he had to fight against. The sound pulled at him, wanting to feel the vibrations against his body. He and Sam had both looked up information on cats, especially when you would sit on things that typically weren’t meant for sitting.

Dean ran a hand through his hair just as Sam opened his mouth again. “I know you don’t think you’re worth her affection or that somehow you’ll bring her down into your darkness. Personally, I think she’s exactly what you need, and you’re what she needs.” And with that, Sam went back to his laptop, letting Dean stew over the things he had said.

—---------------------------

The store had been far busier than your liking, but you did manage to get everything on the list. You weren’t much of a people person, but just being out of the bunker for a few hours had been precisely what you needed. A couple of guys flirted with you in the store, so you had flirted back, but left it at that. You didn’t want to admit that you more than liked Dean, feeling utterly stupid for falling for a hunter. When you pulled into the bunker’s garage and parked, you let your head fall against the top of the steering wheel. “Stupid emotions,” you mumbled as you turned off the engine with a sigh.

After taking a deep breath, you got out of your car and began grabbing the groceries, loading your arms up with several bags. You were trying not to be lost in your thoughts, but these days, that was nearly impossible, and when you stepped through the garage door, you bumped right into Dean.

He quickly reached out and held your upper arms to keep you from falling just as your eyes met his. “Sorry,” you quickly apologized, then moved past him toward the kitchen.

Dean followed you with his eyes as his brow furrowed slightly. To him, you seemed off. “Talk to her,” Sam told him in a hushed tone, walking past him into the garage to help unload.

An annoyed groan left Dean’s lips as he followed his brother, grabbing the last of the bags, but when he grabbed the last one, his heart fluttered. You hadn’t forgotten his pie. You never forgot his pie. That realization made his head snap up and to the garage door. Sam had been right, and it was in all the little things that had nothing to do with you teasing the hell out of him.

He sighed as his head fell a little, making his way into the kitchen to join you and Sam. The two of you were moving around each other as you both put things away. Sam teasing you at the moment because you were short and couldn’t reach to put the flour in the cabinet. Dean chuckled to himself as he set the bags down on the island, then began helping to put it all away.

Your focus was on the groceries, forcing yourself not to look at Dean. When he had kept you from stumbling earlier, you swore you had stopped breathing for a moment with as close as he was. Then there was the warmth of his hands through your flannel, and before you could let your mind or emotions wander, you had to pull away.

If I was human…

The thought made you frown as you put the six-pack of beer in the fridge. Just focus on the groceries, you kept telling yourself, and it helped you do just that. So much so that you didn’t notice Dean give his brother a look or that Sam had left the kitchen only moments later. You were focusing on the cereal at the moment, moving the open boxes so you could put the new ones in the back.

“Thanks, for remembering the pie,” Dean told you, both appreciative and tenderly.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, keeping your eyes on your task. Now is not the time to get lost in his eyes, you told yourself.

You felt him standing near you, but you couldn’t let yourself look over at him. “Want some help?” he asked, a little nervous that he was letting himself get this close to you.

“It’s okay. I’ve got it,” you replied, keeping your tone as normal as possible.

Dean frowned, This is harder than I thought. He watched you as you slipped another new box of cereal into the cabinet, standing on your tiptoes to do so. It brought a slight smirk to his lips, but he reached up, setting his hand over yours to help you push the box further onto the shelf. His touch made you jump a little, your heart sped up, and it felt like it was hard to take a deep breath. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. He hadn’t moved his hand from yours, even after the box of cereal was put away and you tried to grab another one. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, still looking down at you.

Goosebumps danced their way down your arms as you dared to look up at him. There was something in his eyes that you were almost afraid to acknowledge. As your mind raced, you kept your emotions masked. “Sorry for what?” you asked, tilting your head just a bit in that curious cat way Dean always found adorable. Playing completely clueless seemed easier than hoping.

She’s gonna make me say it, he thought to himself, groaning internally. He’d never been good with words. “For the other day. I do like you. I just don’t want to…” he answered nervously, but still hadn’t taken his hand off yours even after you rested it on the countertop. You could see his internal struggle, although you didn’t completely understand why he’d be having one. The way you watched him curiously brought a small smile to his lips. He couldn’t help it since he’d said he liked you. “Don’t want to what?” you asked, more curious than you were a moment ago, especially when you saw that smile toying with his lips.

He took a shaky breath, giving himself a mental pep-talk that he could do this. Monsters were easy to deal with. Being vulnerable like this, with you, that scared the shit out of him. “...lose you,” he whispered, swallowing down the lump in his throat at the mere thought of it.

Even though you weren’t his, he couldn’t lose you, not to a monster. But if you rejected him or walked away, that would have hurt more. He didn’t want more pain, more loss, and you could see it in his eyes.

Dean watched as your expression softened and nearly jumped when he felt your palm against his chest over his heart. “You can’t lose me. I’m in here,” you whispered.

Without warning, he pulled you against him, one hand cupping your cheek, the other on your hip as his lips found yours. He groaned into your lips when you kissed him back with just as much passion as he had. Then there was the way your fingers tangled in his hair, and he knew he was a goner.

Your other hand was still over his heart, but now you were holding onto his shirt as your eyes closed, getting lost in the moment. Please don’t let me be dreaming. Wanting to be that much closer to him, you stood on your tiptoes, deepening the kiss further. His lips felt like soft pillows against your own, and when his tongue teased your lips, asking for entrance, you parted your lips so your tongues could dance.

Neither of you noticed Sam leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed with the biggest smile on his face. It’s about fucking time. And with that thought, he went back to the library, back to his research, praying that the two of you would finally find some peace in each other’s arms.

He eventually pulled away, but only far enough so he could rest his forehead against yours. Your lips were everything he had imagined in his mind and so much more. His heart was pounding, his breathing ragged, his nerves buzzing, and you saw all of it when he looked into your eyes again.

A smirk slowly found your lips. It was playful, mischievous, teasing, and it had Dean’s heart fluttering as his breath hitched in his chest. There were questions behind your gaze, but there was something else, something he didn’t want to hope for.

You leaned up, “Bet you taste better than a popsicle,” you whispered teasingly, then pulled away, still smirking as you sauntered out of the kitchen.

Dean’s jaw nearly hit the floor as he watched you. He figured the two of you would take things far slower than what you had insinuated, and for a moment, all he could do was stand there, dumbfounded. A moment or two passed before he could shake his head and come back to his senses. Then he dashed out of the kitchen, finding you only halfway through the war room.

Minx. He licked his lips, a knowing smirk finding them afterward as he began to move toward you just as you looked over your shoulder. He’d know that look anywhere. That come get me look, and it was all for him. Just as he took another step toward you, you giggled and took off toward the hallway.

A deep, needy groan rumbled in his chest as he chased after you, your laughter only spurring him on. Sam just sat at the library table, trying to focus on his laptop, but upon hearing the two of you like this, he smiled, knowing that you’d both find something with each other that neither of you were ready to voice.

----------------------------------------- Touched Master List Main Master List

Permanent Tag List: @roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309

55 notes · View notes

thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels · 10 months ago

Text

Is there a home to be found in these history books (is there something good to be held in these hands)

Day 4 of Thank You, Haikyuu - event masterlist here

pairing: bokuto koutarou x reader (gn) x akaashi keiji

length: 7.3k

genre: archeologist au !! fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: they get trapped in an ancient tomb but they make it out in the end obvs, there's a lot of talk of privilege and financial obstacles and burdens, we don't all get to choose the life we live, you get what I mean

a/n: we can't even talk abt how late I'm posting this there's a finish line and I'm crawling to it

tags: @love-and-lore

"Darling, this is not all coming with us to Cairo," Keiji's voice is tired as he stares at his kitchen table and the various bags and bins and piles strewn across the wooden surface. Koutarou pauses where he's standing in their home, a climbing harness hanging off of his shoulders as he tugs at the carabiner to test it.

"Of course not, Keiji," he says simply. "That bin's staying here." Keiji looks wearily at the small box at the end of the table and then steps forward to shift some things around, carving out a space for himself and his laptop across from his partner.

"Why are they sending us out there again, anyway?" Koutarou mumbles, his hands busy sifting through a pile of carabiners and harnesses, all moderately the same, while Keiji opens his laptop and begins clicking through files.

"Well, apparently they've found something new - they think we might be able to actually find the tomb now… let me look," Keiji murmurs, squinting at his screen. Koutarou, half wearing three different climbing harnesses, jingles across the kitchen to grab Keiji's reading glasses and place them gently on his face. Keiji murmurs his thanks and clicks open one of the files he's been sent by their research facility, scanning through it.

"So?" prompts Koutarou, picking up a water bottle and shaking it to see if it's empty.

"Well, apparently there was a sarcophagus recently taken to the British National Museum that some of the other researchers think was related," Keiji says slowly, scrolling through the documents as Koutarou frowns and picks up another water bottle.

"The tomb of Ammit has been lost for centuries - no one's been able to find it," he whines, earning a sympathetic look from Keiji over his laptop. "It's a waste of time for them to send us looking again."

"Most likely, yes," Keiji sighs wearily, just as fatigued by the endless search as his partner. "But it's still our job to - oh my god…" But then he stops, leaning in and squinting at the files on his laptop. Koutarou perks up at the change in Keiji's voice and rounds the table once more, four water bottles held in his arms as he stands by his partner's shoulder and peers down at his laptop.

"What is it, baby?" He murmurs. Keiji leans back in his chair, taking his glasses off so that he can rub the spot between his eyebrows.

"It's been stolen," he says bluntly.

"What?"

"The sarcophagus in Britain… " Keiji says slowly. "There was a break-in at the museum the night it arrived. The cartonnage of the sarcophagus was taken, but nothing else was damaged or stolen." Koutarou's frown deepens at his words, leaning in further to scroll through the document and look over the evidence that's been sent.

"Looks like a professional job," he says tightly. Keiji hums in agreement. "Looks… clean, tidy, precise."

"Looks like…" Keiji trails off, letting Koutarou finish scanning through the file before straightening and looking down at him.

"Looks like our thief's back in the business," Koutarou finishes. Keiji's lips press into a thin line and he clicks on another email that contains flight information for the two of them.

"And… it looks like we're taking a trip to London first."

Thankfully, the two of them realized when they touched down in London that the museum had done an excellent job of cataloging and filing everything meticulously before the break-in happened. Once the two of them had arrived and flashed their credentials, they were given access to the winding back rooms of the museum and the images and information that they'd indexed of the sarcophagus.

"Look at these photos," Keiji says quietly, his eyes focused on the files in front of him as he hunches over a table, boxes strewn around him. Koutarou stands and leans over his shoulder, humming in understanding at the sight.

"That's the stolen cartonnage, yea," he mumbles. "But why take that?"

"It's the pattern on it," Keiji explains thoughtfully. "It... it looks like a star map."

"Oh my god," Koutarou perks up, grabbing Keiji by the shoulders to shake him slightly in his excitement. "This is it, Keiji - this is the map to the lost tomb."

"Likely, yes," Keiji responds, and he can't help but let a small spark of excitement bleed into his own voice.

"Can you read it? You can read it, right?" Koutarou grabs one of the photos, staring at it and narrowing his eyes.

"I can," says Keiji lightly. "But this map is thousands of years old… the stars looked a lot different then. It'll take some time for me to sort it out." Koutarou just shrugs at Keiji's words, unbothered by the timeline.

"Good thing we have that long ass flight to Cairo," he offers, but Keiji's busy pursing his lips and squinting at one of the photos. "What is it?"

"There's something else," Keiji says slowly. "It's… it's like it's in some sort of code. There should be a cypher somewhere for this." Koutarou frowns at his words, scanning through the images that are strewn across the table as he crosses his arms over his broad chest.

"There's nothing else here… they said the entire sarcophagus was catalogued, right? And nothing else was taken besides the cartonnage?" Koutarou looks to Keiji for confirmation and the man nods, frowning as he sifts through the photos again.

"I'm sure of it," he says firmly. "If there is a cypher, it was never here."

"If our little thief's already been here, we have to assume they're on their way to the tomb already - they might have more information on this than we do," Koutarou says, an annoyed edge hardening his voice. Keji scowls at the thought.

"Yes," he says as he stands, slamming the file closed. "But that doesn't mean they'll figure out how to read the map faster than me. Come on."

It's three days into their stay in Cairo that the hotel suite Koutarou and Keiji are staying in is broken into - but the three of you have been practicing this song and dance long enough that, by now, they know your steps. That's what you assume, at least, when a light is clicked on and Keiji's frowning face appears in the doorway, eyeing the way you have your hands on the documents and files that are spread over the kitchen counter.

"Kou," he calls into the room behind him, keeping his gaze locked on you as you remain frozen, leaning over the counter. There's a part of you that refuses to acknowledge that you've been caught, that refuses to face the fact that you've gotten sloppy, rushed in a way that you aren't normally.

But then Koutarou's standing next to Keiji in the doorway, the corners of his mouth tugged down into a deep frown as he glares at you, and you can't really think about anything beyond fight or flight.

"Most people would be asleep at this time of night," you quip, straightening to round on them and face them both fully. There's no point, you think, in us all dodging one another again and again.

"Most people don't worry about their hotel rooms being broken into," Keiji responds dryly. "Why don't you step away from the files."

You cross your arms, instead, rocking back on your heels and humming in mock thoughtfulness.

"Do you know," you ponder aloud, ignoring the weary sigh that escapes Keiji, "how much Ammit's ushabti is being sold for if it's found?"

"We don't really concern ourselves with black market pricings," Keiji shoots back as Koutarou lets his eye flicker down to the way you shift your stance, balancing evenly on your feet as if ready to move, ready to run at a moment's notice.

"Well, fortunately for all of us," you quip back. "I do. There's big, big money for anyone who gets their hands on it and I, personally, would love for those hands to be mine."

"If you have a point, I'd suggest getting to it before the police get here," Koutarou snaps, but you just grin.

"You wouldn't call the police on me. Who else in your life shows you this much of a good time?" But at the matching frowns of the two men, you sober and press your lips together, sighing through your nose and switching tactics.

"How's the, uh, star map coming along? Hm?" You say instead, letting your eyes wander down to the files on the counter once more. This time it's Koutatou's turn to grin and laugh and you snap your head up to scowl at him.

"Oh," he says. "Oh… you haven't figured it out, have you? That's why you're here." You bristle at that, a small, quick sort of thing before you right yourself and glare at him.

"Well, what can I say, not all of us went to school for this," you offer dryly, but your comment is ignored as Keiji steps forward. He walks past both you and Koutarou to stand on the opposite side of the counter as you, gathering documents into his hands and shoving them back into files.

"I'm not sure why you think," he says quietly, a sharp edge to his voice. "That we'd ever help you find the tomb."

"Because," you say breezily, the lack of concern in your voice making him pause. "You don't have the cypher." That's enough to make both of them freeze, Keiji dropping the file he's holding down onto the table and Koutarou stepping towards you, an action that makes you brace yourself on your feet and angle yourself towards the open window behind you and the lock that you'd broken to get in.

"You have the cypher?" Koutarou asks bluntly. You grin a bit wickedly and reach into your jacket, pulling something out of the inner pocket and placing it on the counter between you and Keiji. When you lift your hand, a shining, golden scarab sits on the cool marble, intricate designs of blue lapis winding around it.

"If you open it," you point out, "the cypher's inside… it's not much to crack, really, but I've already done that part, anyway." Keiji picks up the scarab, holding it up to the dull, yellow light and turning it over as he looks at the symbols on it.

"How long have you had this?" He murmurs distractedly.

"A while," you shrug. He shoots you a scathing look and you smile.

"But why… why are you giving it to us?" Koutarou asks, stepping forward to peer at it as it sits in Keiji's hand.

"I'm not," you say simply. "I'm just letting you look at it." Koutarou arches a brow in question and you continue. "See, here's the thing. You can't figure out the map's code. I… can't figure out how to follow stars from thousands of years ago. I figure… we can help each other." Keiji grips the scarab tightly in his hand and scowls at you.

"Why do you think we'd do that?" An annoyed edge seeps into his voice. "We have the scarab now." You just look at Keiji rather patronizingly and raise a brow.

"I've been running circles around both of you for three years," you point out "Do you really think I couldn't get that back if I wanted to?" Keiji just sniffs indignantly and places the scarab back on the counter between you, crossing his arms instead.

"Either way," Koutarou jumps in. "Why do you think we'd help you? You're a thief, you've been stealing from us for three years. We could just call the police on you right now."

"Yes, it is interesting that you didn't," you say, snatching the scarab up from the counter and grinning when Koutarou shoots a hand out just a bit too slowly to stop you. "But, by the way, I'm not sure me raiding a tomb before you have a chance to is really me stealing from you." Keiji scoffs at your words and Koutarou scowls as he points a finger accusingly at you.

"We don't raid," he snaps. "We're researchers. Most of those artifacts, we catalogue and leave behind, only to find the dig sites looted by you days later. We're trying to preserve history. You're trying to stomp it out."

"Not to mention," Keiji adds, "you do have a habit of hacking into our systems and pilfering my research. If nothing else, that has to be stealing from us."

"Alright, alright," you hold your hands up defensively, the scarab safely in your pocket. "I'm suddenly feeling a bit unpopular here."

"You've always been unpopular here," Koutarou says dryly and you measure him with an unimpressed look.

"Whatever," you say pointedly, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from their moral judgements. "Do we have a deal or not?"

"No," the two of them snap at you at the same time, making you click your tongue in annoyance and rock back on your heels, your arms crossed firmly over your chest.

"Then you won't find the tomb," you shrug. Keiji huffs and looks at you disapprovingly.

"Neither will you," he points out, but you just shake your head.

"I can always find someone else to read the map. You, on the other hand, won't be able to do anything with that code without the cypher… ever." The two of them glare at you for a moment, twin looks of annoyance boring into you before Koutarou speaks again.

"If it would be so simple for you, why don't you just do it on your own? Why come to us at all?"

"Because I need to be quick about this," you offer quietly. Keiji gestures for you to elaborate as he leans forward to prop his forearms on the counter and look at you closely. "Well, it's like I said. There are a lot of eyes on this tomb right now and I'm not the only seller going after it."

"Ah," Keiji nods in mock understanding. "So it really is just about stealing profits."

"Oh, bite your fucking tongue," you snap tiredly. "You've got too much moral high ground to care about the fights I have with other thieves." You say the word in a mocking sort of way, impersonating the way that the two of them have spit it at you in the past. Keiji just hums thoughtfully and stands straight again, exchanging a look with his partner. In response, Koutarou merely shrugs in an unbothered sort of way and turns to you once more.

"You know," he points out, "even if we help each other find the tomb, we'd never let you loot it."

"Yes, I had thought of that," you say rather sourly. "But I suppose the artifacts being safely passed over to you two means that no one else can grab them, either… I don't get a profit, sure, but neither does anyone else."

"Do you care that much about winning this game of yours?" Keiji asks bitterly. You fix him with a hard stare.

"I care that much about keeping my livelihood intact and operational," you point out plainly. "Do we have a deal or not."

"Fine," Keiji sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead to ward off his oncoming headache. "We'll map out the location of the tomb together. You won't take anything, you won't touch anything, you'll get nothing from this," he says harshly. You purse your lips in annoyance.

"And in return… you two will say nothing of this," you request firmly. "I don't need the cops sniffing around here looking for me and I'm sure you don't need the headache of all that questioning. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Koutarou nods firmly. You sigh and roll your shoulders back, willing away the tension in them. It's a horrible deal for you, really - and you know that, of course. But sometimes, you think, losing is worth it to drag a few others down with you. You're sure your newfound partners wouldn't agree - but you're also quite sure you don't care.

It's three more days and nights after that of all of you pouring over the sharing information that you'd gathered, Keiji focused on tracing routes over maps and planning out the logistics, while Koutarou busies himself with preparing for the expedition. It's… tense, of course, the two of them weary of any sudden backstabbing from you while you remain alert, half-convinced that they will have called the authorities on you in any of your moments of relaxation.

But perhaps they're more understanding than you thought they were, because the path to the tomb that the three of you can finally journey to remains undisturbed by their assumed betrayal. And perhaps you're a more honest person than they thought you were, because you remain faithfully helpful and measured throughout the voyage.

When you're finally faced with the entrance of the tomb, crumbling and half buried under centuries-old mounds of sand, there's a spark that zips through the three of you at the thrill of it. It's a sort of static in the air, a tangible kind of hunger that's shared amongst you as you look into the dark, gaping maw of the tomb's entrance.

"This is going to be dangerous," Koutarou says honestly as he kneels, pulling grappling equipment out of his bag.

"You're welcome to stay here, then," you say flippantly, and a little breeze of delight blows through you at Koutarou's responding cheeky grin.

"Not a chance," he quips back, tossing a climbing harness to Keiji.

"I didn't think you usually came out on the actual expeditions," you say as you watch him heft on the harness. Keiji looks at you pointedly, like you should already know the answer.

"I don't… but this is different," he says simply.

"Why, because I'm here?" You ask, half-jokingly. When he stays quiet, though, you frown. "What do you think I'm going to do? Off him in the middle of the desert and steal the ushabti?" Your voice catches with disbelief and Keiji looks at you almost apologetically - almost.

"I think," he says carefully, "that it would be a bad idea for anyone to be out here alone. Koutarou isn't always by himself on these expeditions - we have colleagues, you know."

"In Cairo?" You point out. Koutarou just shrugs.

"Yea," he says easily. "Our research facility operates pretty globally." You hum in annoyed understanding and secure your own climbing harness, preparing to grapple down into the depths of the ancient tomb.

"What about you?" Koutarou prompts. You look at him, puzzled.

"What about me?"

"Who do you go with?" He clarifies. You just shrug your shoulders, shuffling a bit on your feet.

"I… don't," you explain. "I do this on my own." Koutarou gawks at your words and Keiji pulls a sour face.

"That's not safe, you know," he chastises. "What if something were to happen to you?" He's walking past you towards the tomb entrance as he speaks, and you step quickly in front of him to block his path, leaning in to look at him closely.

"What, are you worried about me?" You tease. He looks past you pointedly, a blush beginning to show on his cheeks as the rising sun peaks high in the sky, bathing the endless golden dunes around you in a hot, wavering glow.

"It's time to get going," he says in lieu of answering, and Koutarou barks out a laugh at the spectacle of it all.

"Uh huh," you agree in mocking seriousness, throwing a grin to Koutarou over Keiji's shoulder. It's… nice, you realize in a painful sort of way. It's not just the safety of going with them that assures you, but something else… something that makes your heart thump a bit too loudly in your chest.

It feels almost like… home - the thought comes to you in a striking, panicky sort of way as the three of you grapple down into the tomb, the realization making you waver as your hands tighten on the rope. Fortunately - or rather unfortunately, the shifting of the sand above the three of you and the winds of the wide, endless desert begin to blow the dunes. As sand begins to trickle onto your heads, larger rocks and debris from the once-standing structure begin to crumble under the force, caving in above and in front of you.

There's a bit of a scramble, Koutarou grabbing you by the harness when the three of you land on your feet and hauling you back as what was left of the entrance caves in completely, bathing the three of you in endless darkness and the quiet of the world below. As you and Koutarou both crack open large emergency glowsticks from your bags, the light of them illuminates the smooth, sandstone walls and the way that Koutarou's hand is still rooted on the front of your harness, his arm wrapped around you from behind to pull you to his chest.

You clear your throat pointedly and he lets you go like he's been burned, an apologetic, sheepish sort of grin crossing his face in the hollow light of the glowsticks. Keiji, all the while, is using the light to poke around the passage that you've all found yourselves in, searching for a way through the debris,

"We're… trapped," he says haltingly, and you turn to shine your light onto the crumbled pile of sand and stone that was once the entrance, as if illuminating it will show some crack in the darkness, some way to escape.

"What?" You snap.

"There's always a way out, though," he says patiently. "You just have to find it." Keiji dutifully ignores your obvious disbelief at his mentality as he continues staring at the fallen rocks.

"That… might be difficult," Koutarou's voice has Keiji straightening and you turning to the sound, walking slowly down the passage to where he's approaching you.

"You can't wander off like that, Kou," Keiji says tightly, but his partner just shoots him an apologetic sort of look.

"It's really not a big deal - I get stuck in places like this all the time!" He says brightly. "That's what the satellite phone is for - I've already sent a distress signal, they'll come and dig us out."

"Right, your globally sourced colleagues," you say dryly, but Keiji makes an indignant sort of sound.

"All the time? What do you mean you get stuck like this all the time?" But Koutarou's already shining his light down the passage he's wandered down, showing you the beginning of the twists and turns in it.

"It's a… maze, I think," he says slowly. You make a humming, high-pitched sound as you peer down through the endless paths.

"Of course," you say sarcastically, "because things really just weren't bad enough before."

"Did you bring the scarab with you?" Keiji asks quickly. You frown and pull it from your bag.

"Obviously, yes," you say as you hold it out to him, letting him snatch it from you and begin pulling it open under the light of the glowsticks. It stirs something in you, something nervous and longing deep within the recesses of your soul, the way that the three of you begin to work together and fall into step.

You suppose, as Keiji finds whatever he's looking for within the scarab, that the three of you really have been in step for all these years, you dancing around them and remaining just out of reach so constantly. You wonder, sort of guiltily and sort of earnestly, if they ever think of you when you get to dig sites before them and snatch artifacts, or when their crates are stolen in transit before they make it home, or when they're researching on-site and they go back the next morning to find their site plundered.

You wonder, through it all, if you've really been alone this whole time, or if the shadows that you leave behind have intertwined enough with them to keep you company in the sprawling, endless deserts of this life of yours.

Keiji's voice, thankfully, interrupts your desperate spiralling as he announces that he's found the key to the path through the maze and Koutarou puts his hand on your shoulder, a concerned look on his face at your ashen, hurt demeanour.

"The scarab has more in it than just the cypher," Keiji mumbles, squinting as he looks at it. "I'll lead… if we're waiting for the rescue team to get here, we might as well find what we came here for."

As you step slowly after him, your legs weighed down by the heaviness of Keiji's words, you begin to wonder what you really are doing here. You consider, with a hint of panic, what you've been doing all these years, trailing after the two of them and keeping yourself just out of reach, just far enough away from something that you could call home.

Nightfall, within the depths of the maze, feels odd. The three of you know that it's time to rest only from the watches on your wrists and the fatigue that begins to weigh you all down. Laying in thinly padded sleeping bags on the hard, sandy floor, with the darkness stretching endlessly in every direction, sleep is hard to come by even for those of you who find yourselves used to nights like this.

Somewhere to your right, Keiji sighs and rolls over again, shifting his back against the hard rock as if somehow he'll be able to find some comfortable space, as if trying over and over will yield a new result.

"Why do you do this?" he blurts out into the darkness eventually, seemingly too wound and uncomfortable to sleep.

"Me?" You ask.

"Yes, you," he clarifies, and his voice… is kinder than you remember, gentler than you think you've heard before. "Why did you choose to make this your life? Sleeping on the ground alone in a tomb chasing after stolen pieces of history."

"Well…" you begin carefully. "Why did you choose this?"

"That's different," he says quickly. "What Koutarou and I do is different."

"It's not, really," you say nonchalantly, but you hear the rustling of Koutarou sitting up on the other side of you before his voice rings through the darkness.

"It is," he assures. "We educate, we preserve, we… we're here to pass history forward, not to destroy it."

"Sure," you say easily, but Koutarou, you realize, isn't finished with his tirade.

"What you do is different - you're desecrating these sites, not saving them." You're quiet for a long moment after that, listening to the thump of him laying back down and shuffling endlessly to try to find some kind of comfort where he lies.

"I don't desecrate them," you say quietly, finally, your voice quiet enough to almost be swallowed by the vast emptiness of the night. Kieji makes a humming, indignant sort of sound and you continue. "I don't. There are others who do things a lot worse than I do. I… I've always done it as respectfully as I can."

"There is no respectful way to steal from the dead," Keiji says firmly, a finality in his tone.

"I wouldn't," you begin, your voice wavering as you continue in a halting sort of way. "I wouldn't do it like this… if I had a choice."

"There's always a choice," Koutarou says easily, but you scoff and sniff angrily.

"You don't understand," you say, your voice thinner and weaker than you ever would've liked - and than they've ever heard before. "There's not always a way out… not for all of us."

"I didn't mean -" Koutarou starts, admittedly panicked by your wet sniffling, but you just barrel on.

"Not all of us have the money that you do have," you say earnestly. "We can't go to Ivy League schools and get degrees and good jobs. And if you don't have that, then you go off and do it on your own - just a little, just, you know, for the fun of it… to say you did it once. To say you lived the life you'd wanted, just once."

Keiji says your name quietly, a strained sort of guilt pulling at his voice, but you've started now - you've let the floodgates open and you find yourself unable, really, to close them back up again.

"And then you find something that sells," you continue, tears beginning to drip down your cheeks, disappearing into the blackness of the endless passage as your voice carries on, melting into the vast darkness. "And then something else, and then something else. You think about how you have enough money now to go to school, to get that life that you didn't have before…"

"And then?" Koutarou asks quietly, a sombre care in his voice that makes your heart clench painfully.

"And then your little sister wants to go to university. She wants to but she can't afford it and you think that you'd do anything to make sure she doesn't turn out like you. And then your mom gets sick and she's got medical bills that she can't pay on her own and… and it all just seems so selfish, to try to use your hands for something good when all that's going on."

Things are quiet for a bit too long after you speak, nothing but your stifled, sniffling hiccups heard as the two men lay in silence on either side of you. But then Keiji speaks, very cautiously, very slowly.

"I think," he begins, "that anyone who gives up their life to help others like that has done more good with their hands than most people do in their entire lives." As he speaks, Koutarou reaches out to you, through the endless darkness, to take your hand in his and intertwine your trembling fingers with his own.

"And I think," says Koutarou gently, "that there are some people who wouldn't really understand that… if they grew up with privilege and opportunity. I think that people like that would be wrong to judge people like you." You squeeze his hand gently, just once, before letting go of him, rolling onto your side so that you can put your back to him.

"But they are still those people," you say quietly, the stretching darkness swallowing your words. "And I am still this thing." You've miscalculated, though, of course, because turning away from Koutarou has just put you face-to-face with Keiji. He slides closer to you on the rough, stone ground, reaching to brush the tears from your cheeks with gentle thumbs as he cups your face in his palms.

You wonder, in a bit of anguish, when touch had ever been this kind, this loving, and it brings fresh tears to your eyes that stream down your cheeks.

"You can't cry so much right now, darling," Keiji says gently, wiping the tears dutifully from your skin. "We're rationing our water and we're stuck down here." You laugh wetly at his words, sniffing once more.

"I thought there was always a way out?" You quip gently, a quiet sort of jab at the blind privilege that the two men have often displayed. But they take it in stride, both of them, which is apparent by Koutarou's quiet, muffled laugh and the delicate kiss that Keiji pressed to your forehead.

"What can I say," he begins softly. "I worry about keeping the people I care about safe." That sobers you greatly, and you feel Koutarou's hand reaching through the thick darkness to grab onto your hand again.

"There will be a way out this time," Koutarou squeezes your fingers gently. "We'll make sure of it."

You do find it, eventually, the heart of Ammit's tomb where the sarcophagus lays. And there it is again, of course, that static-like hunger that hazes the air between the three of you - the feeling of the grandness of it all, of standing in places uncharted and finding things long lost.

You think once more, as you exchange shining, hope-filled looks, that there really is such little difference between what you are and what they claim to be. Perhaps, you think as you peer down at your hands, spreading your palms to stare at them under the glow of the Koutarou's light, perhaps these hands of yours can shape something good, after all.

You don't look for the ushabti - you figure that, since you've sworn not to take it, there's no point in searching. You know, by now, that there's no use in pushing for something impossible. So you stand, instead, off to the side while Koutarou and Keiji commence their business of taking photos and cataloguing and doing whatever else it is that they do.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Keiji says quietly, standing next to you for a moment to look you up and down over his glasses, as if he's waiting for you to kick the lid off of the sarcophagus and loot whatever you find inside.

"Yea," you say instead, your voice quiet against the thrumming power of the tomb. "It is."

"It makes it all worth it, right?" Koutarou chirps happily, an excited bounce to his step as he moves around the space like it's home to him, like he's settled into the comfortable grooves of this life that he's built.

As the two of them work, stepping around each other with the ease that only comes from calling someone home for so long, you spend your time standing under the dull hue of the glowsticks, staring at the ancient sarcophagus in front of you - at the grave of someone who died thousands of years ago. As you peer at it, at the intensity and the endlessness of it all, you wonder what it is you're really doing here. As history crumbles behind you and the future stretches on ahead, you consider, for a halting moment, if you really have the time to keep yourself hidden away like this. You wonder if there's space in the endless turn of time for you to stray so far from home.

The walk back to the entrance of the tomb, after the whole spectacle, is slower than you'd like - there's an itch under your skin now, a desperation to breathe in the clear air of the endless sky and get away from this place of becoming - this place of taking. With every step that you take, you feel the weight of your life grow heavier, dragging you further down into the sands as you consider everything that you are and are not and maybe could've been if you'd given yourself the chance.

The relief that you feel is immeasurable when the three of you finally plod back to the entrance and find Koutarou and Keiji's rescue team hauling rocks and debris away, a sliver of light growing and growing and becoming something more in front of you, bathing you in the shining, golden glow of the sun once more.

Koutarou bounds forward, eager to see the team as he waves to them.

"Konoha, hey," he calls. "You took too long."

"You're lucky we came at all, Kou!" The man, clearly joking, calls down as he throws two grappling lines down. You stare at the two twin ropes as Keiji and Koutarou step forward, and Keiji is about to call up that they need a third when you stop him.

"Don't bother. There's… there's no room for a third. You just go, I'll come up after you," you say quietly, and the two of them stare at you hard for a minute before Koutarou speaks up.

"There is," he assures. "We'll make room. We'll… we can make space."

"But," Keiji adds. "It's up to you. We'll go up and…"

"I'll follow," you say easily, smiling a bit as the sun finally hits your face, ricocheting past you and into the endless passages that dig their way deep below the sands. "I'll be right behind you - I always am." That's reassurance enough, thankfully, and they begin hauling themselves up out of the tomb. You, once more, you find, are left to chase after them, never given quite what they've always had.

Konoha, when you pull yourself up, makes a comment about the two of them picking up a stray. When Koutarou reaches one firm hand to haul you up by your climbing harness, effectively picking you up with one of his arms, you try not to take the quip personally.

"You alright?" Koutarou's eyes are gentler than they should be when he asks you, the sun bathing the world around you once more as he brushes sand off of your shoulders.

"Of course I am," you say gently, and as you stare out towards the endless, rolling dunes of sand and the way that the desert stretches on infinitely, you can't help but feel as if you've stepped out into a different world. You feel almost as if a part of you was left down there, in that timeless tomb, and nothing will ever fall into place in quite the same way ever again.

"Alright, come on you two," Konoho claps a hand onto Koutarou's shoulder and jerks his head towards the paramedic on the team.

"I feel fine," Koutaoru nearly pouts as he watches Keiji already beginning to be checked over.

"You've been in a hole for three days, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't believe you," Konoha responds dryly, dragging Koutarou along with him and away from you.

It's easy after that, you find, to sort of just… slip away. By the time the paramedic's finished checking over Koutarou and Keiji, you're nowhere to be found, disappeared into the line of the horizon and the endlessness of the life that you've chosen to live.

"Do you think they'll come back?" Koutarou asks quietly, fiddling with Keiji's fingers as he stares out toward the immensity of the desert.

"I'm sure they will… when they're ready," Keiji assures quietly, but his brows furrow as he, too, stares out, and he wonders where in the endlessness you are.

It's later that night, in fact, in the peace of their hotel suite, that you tap your knuckles gently against the balcony door. As Koutarou scrambles to his feet to let you in, Keiji smiles at the understanding that you've done that entirely for their benefit - that you could easily come and go from any locked part of their life if you wanted.

"You came back," Koutarou says as he brings you into a crushing hug. You look at Keiji over Koutarou's bicep as it squishes your cheeks together and he laughs at the sight, swinging his legs up and off of the bed to come save you.

"I'm glad, darling," he says quietly, extracting you from Koutarou's embrace to hold you delicately in his own hug, letting his partner press a kiss to the crown of your head during the process.

"I just… I just came to say goodbye," you say weakly, stepping away from both of them.

"No -" Koutarou starts, but you smile sadly and he snaps his mouth shut.

"I am sorry, you know, for all the trouble I caused you both," you continue, twisting your fingers nervously as you look between them. "I don't think I really cared about it but… but I - I do now and I'm sorry."

"It's alright, darling," Keiji says softly, a care in his voice that rattles you.

"Anyway," you plow on, "I won't do it anymore."

"What?" Koutarou says, bewildered.

"I won't - if I know it's you, I'll stay away," you continue. "I promise, I'll… when I see you, I'll duck. If I hear your names on a job, I'll back out. You won't have to worry about me anymore."

"And if we want to?" Koutarou challenges, and you hesitate at his words.

"Well, why… would you?" You say slowly, but your choice of words just has him rolling his eyes before grabbing you by your arm and pulling you forward until you stumble against his chest and he can slam his lips to yours.

Keiji, while he looks on, goes to the nightstand next to their hotel bed and pulls out a business card, scribbling something on it. By the time you and Koutarou part, your face heated and lips reddened, he's pressing it into your hand. In your dazed state, you don't even check to see what it is - you just look to Keiji in expectation.

He laughs, an honest, unencumbered sort of thing before holding your face gently in his hands and pressing a firm, sweet kiss to your lips.

"It's a mutually shared sentiment, I promise," he murmurs as you part, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks before he finally pulls away. It's then that you finally look down at the card in your hand and see the stamp of their research facility on it.

"What's this for?" You mumble, staring down at it.

"I'd really rather you didn't keep yourself from us," Keiji says easily. "You know, our department is always looking for more contract employees, people who are willing to travel and work wherever's needed, whenever's needed."

"The three of us work well together," Koutarou adds, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone gently. "It'd be nice to do it again."

"Oh, sure," you murmur, thumbing the corner of the card. "And, uh, what's their policy on hiring criminals, do you think?" Keiji frowns at your words, feigning thoughtfulness.

"I don't think you've ever been charged with anything," he says simply. "Why ever would they think you're a criminal?"

"Now that you mention it," Koutarou copies Keiji's fake consideration as you gawk at the two of them. "We never did discover who that thief was, did we? It's a shame, I mean, but I guess that's one of life's great mysteries."

"I suppose it is," Keiji nods solemnly, ignoring your spluttering shock. "And, you know, if the thefts suddenly… stopped, well, I can't imagine people would keep caring about it, can you?" They both look to you then, waiting for your confirmation as you stand, dazed and staring at them.

"Well… sure," you say eventually, a breathy quality to your voice. "I mean… I guess some things just… go away. I guess there are things we get to just… put down."

"Exactly," Koutarou says, booping your nose and laughing at the way it scrunches up at the contact. "Let your hands relax," he coos, swinging your intertwined hands with his. "Just put it down." You sigh at his words, letting yourself relax against the two of them - much to their delight as Koutarou wraps his arms around you, keeping you upright. "Stay here with us tonight," he continues softly, a gentle plea in his voice. "Don't disappear just yet."

"We'll pick it up when someone needs to," Keiji offers softly, taking your face gently in his hands to press fleeting kisses across your cheeks. "We'll give these hands of yours a break."

It's three weeks after that, when Keiji and Koutarou are en route to Greece, when their phones both ping. It's a group chat made by an unknown number, with coordinates and the pictures of a cypher sent to them.

"Huh," Koutarou says as he and Keiji both flick through the photos. "This feels… familiar, doesn't it?" Keiji smiles at his partner's words, looking down at the messages. They both know their thief well enough to know that it's you, and they recognize the folder in the background of the photo - the stamp in the top right corner that shows the symbol of their research facility.

They know that this is what it looks like when you use those hands of yours for something good.

58 notes · View notes

punkypiscesell-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Give me a minute

Frankie Morales x f!/gn! reader

Summary: Frankie has been your best friend for a long time. You can share everything with him, except this time you’ve been dealing with your anxiety alone and have been having trouble putting it all into words.

warnings: soft!Frankie, anxiety, fluff, not canon compliant, no use of y/n, no pronouns or physical descriptions mentioned for reader. Not beta read.

word count: 3.6k

Notes: This is totally self-indulgent after having a bit of a rough patch in the past month. If you’ve been struggling lately, I’m sending you tenderness. It's only temporary and we will get through this.

Divider by saradika-graphics

Your Fridays with Frankie have become a tradition. You might go out for dinner, just the two of you, grab a drink somewhere, have a quiet night in, ordering takeout and watching a movie.

You always look forward to it, the moment when you see his dark curls peeking under his cap, his button-down shirts over his broad shoulders, the way he walks over to you with his head down, his hand tucked into the pocket of his tight jeans.

When he lifts his head up, his face lights up and it’s easy to answer the smile he offers you. Frankie always greets you with a hug. You don’t remember when you started to hug each other, but the longer you’ve known each other, the longer and softer the hugs have become. They linger and let you take a breath before you separate and go about your plans together.

You arranged to meet up at your place this week. You’ve had to cancel for the past three times, with the same apologies and explanations, “I just need a bit of time to get adjusted to my new job, I promise it won’t take long now, it’s already better.” Even Frankie’s invites for you to join him, Santiago, Will and Ben have gotten you to offer him the same answer. You know he can pick your words apart by now. He knows you’re saying it all because you want to believe it to be true.

Since the last time you saw him, you haven’t really had time or energy to take care of your home. You’ve piled dishes in the sink and now they’re spilling onto the counter next to it. You have clothes scattered here and there, the laundry basket full and your wardrobe getting emptier of possible clothes you could wear. Random piles of random things litter different surfaces, mail on the table next to the front door, your work laptop, and some papers you’ve dragged home with it on the dining table, only a small space cleared for you to eat at.

The coffee table next to your couch is covered with small bowls and mugs, some that you tried to pile and clear out but realized there’s no more space in the sink. A few books and magazines in different stages of reading, some with bookmarks, some with random pieces of paper sticking out between the pages.

You spilled your drink from one of the mugs a few days ago and the paper towels you used to dry it up with are still on the table, in crumbled balls. They left behind white fibers that stuck to the wood and now the table looks even worse.

The doorbell rings and you let Frankie in. You smile when you see him, but he can see the strain in it, how it’s like a change of clothes that you can take off when the door closes behind him at the end of the night.

Frankie leaves his usual blue cap onto the table next to your door, right beside your home keys, as he always does when he comes around. It’s a spot that you’ve started to leave empty just because you know he’ll leave it there. He pushes his fingers through his hair, mussing the flattened curls back into place. He reaches for you, closing you into a hug that makes you shut your eyes and take a deep breath.

“I’ve missed you,” he confesses with gentleness in his eye, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“Missed you too.” There’s a genuine glimmer of happiness on your face, until it reverts back into the forced strain against your cheeks.

He follows behind you into the living room and you can pick apart every inch of your apartment that you usually keep organized. You look at him over your shoulder, sensing the pulled together brows even before you see them. “I’m good, just a bit tired, don’t worry. Sorry about the mess.”

It has become a weird habit for you to clean before anyone comes over. That you have to have everything in order, comfortably homey but still kept together. Now the clutter stands out even more, out of place and out of the ordinary. Frankie has said it multiple times now, that you don’t have to clean for him at all. “I’m here to see you, not your apartment,” and he finished his words with that familiar warm smile that you answer every time almost reflexively.

“No, no reason to be sorry, I’ve said it before –“

“Yeah, that you don’t mind if it’s messy, your apartment is messy most of the time as well.” You laugh but the sound splutters out of your throat painfully.

He offers you the snacks he brought; some new popcorn flavor that sounded good just a couple of days ago when he said he had seen them at the store. Now even the thought of them makes you grimace. He already pops a grape into his mouth when you leave him to make the popcorn in the microwave.

You stare at the puffing bag rotating on the glass plate, the smell of the cooking kernels wafting in the air already.

“Did you hear me?” The words settle into your ears slowly, one letter at a time, until you realize Frankie is talking to you.

“What?” The microwave dings and you take the hot bag out, dropping it into a bowl.

“I asked if you’d like to watch the movie you mentioned last week?” He cranes his neck when he hears your footsteps getting closer, the comfortable softness on his face giving you a moment of solace before your head is forcing you out of this moment with your friend again.

“Yeah, sounds good.” In reality you can’t remember what movie you had mentioned. You settle on your couch next to him and make room for the bowl beside the grapes that are still beading with water after you washed them. You pop the steaming bag open and dump the fresh, savory treats into the awaiting bowl.

“Oh shit, I forgot the beer,” you gasp out and are already standing up when Frankie stops you with his palm landing on your arm.

You see that softness on his face that you’ve become to find comforting in the time you’ve known him, but you can also see the worry underneath. The kind that is watching you, trying to understand what is going on through your actions since you’re not telling him what is on your mind. “It’s okay, we can drink later if we feel like it.” You nod your head almost in a robotic, twitchy way.

He presses play on the movie and the TV screen is filled with vibrant colors. The music from the intro is supposed to give you a sense of what’s to come. You only get more anxious from the booming instrumental and the echoing singing of a choir.

It’s a movie everyone is talking about. The memory of mentioning it to Frankie comes back to you slowly. You had wanted to see it, so you’d have something to talk about with the colleagues in your team at work who had gone out to see it together.

You’re not completely sure what the premise of the movie is but when the main character is the one looking in, watching others laughing and enjoying their time together, the feelings you’ve been swallowing come crashing down.

The lack of connections. The smile you have to force yourself to wear at work when you see your colleagues making plans with each other, discreetly turning their backs on you. The way you’ve started to believe your voice doesn’t really matter when no one answers you.

It's hard enough at your new job when you’re automatically the odd one out, the new one. Someone who needs a bit of time to find out their own place, the one who is always a little on the sidelines, always welcomed to join but doesn’t get an invite.

You act like you understand what the others are talking about. You listen to their stories of people you have no idea who they are. You laugh when they do, only to find out it’s an inside joke when someone says that you should’ve been there to really know what is so funny about it.

When you get back home you try to convince yourself you just need to work a little harder to show them that you’re a valuable part of the team already. You just need to push a little harder, do a bit more, be a bit more active to be seen for the person you are.

The first week you were glad to do it. Now you don’t know what has happened. Why are you feeling so discouraged, so dismissed, so empty and invisible. Your head feels so full and all these thoughts are suffocating you from the inside out.

Your thigh is pressed against Frankie’s as he focuses on the movie. You pull away from him, wrap yourself protectively in your blanket and curl in yourself, like a little turtle hiding itself in its shell. You feel the familiar sting in your eyes. It has been a while since you cried. You’ve been adamant in not letting those tears fall.

Now, watching this movie that is so far from what you’re experiencing, it somehow digs itself into your chest and forces out the tears that you’ve been holding in the whole day. You clear your throat, and discreetly wipe away the tears that spill from your eyes, breathe through your mouth to hide the sniffles from your nose. It doesn’t stop the salty droplets from falling. Hiding is only making you feel worse and the irrational need to escape takes over.

“Keep the movie on, I’ll be back in a sec,” you choke out and push yourself off the couch, dropping the blanket in the process. Frankie hears you cursing under your breath, but you don’t stay to lift it off the floor.

He follows you with his gaze and sees you wiping at your face. You lock the bathroom door and turn on the faucet immediately, drowning out any sounds under the hissing water against the sink. The movie drones on in the background, Frankie’s focus torn far away from it. He wasn’t that into it anyway, the settings and characters a bit too pretentious for his liking.

When you don’t come back in a few minutes, he pauses the movie and listens to the sounds from the bathroom. He hears your sniffles, followed by a whimper that isn’t something he’s used to hearing when he’s with you.

You’ve known each other for a few years now. There was a time when you were just acquaintances, passing each other when Santiago introduced the rest of the group to his new girlfriend and her friend, you. Ben and Will were their usual selves, asking questions and making you both feel welcomed and included.

Santiago kept his girlfriend under his arm the whole night, like they were glued together, and you sipped at your drink and listened to everyone talk with glinting eyes and a wide grin on your lips. You answered when someone asked you a question, and sometimes you got a word in through the excited chatter.

Deep down you were a little shy, just like Frankie. He could recognize a like-minded person a mile away. A little timid at first but after some warming up you dared to let your personality through. After the first time you met you often joined them for a night out at a local bar or came to listen to live music in a small underground club. Sometimes you even came to watch Ben’s MMA fights but those were mostly for meeting the group rather than to watch the match. You were too soft natured for it, you once said.

It happened sneakily, the connection you and Frankie built between each other. It was a surprising realization that you share the same taste in music, had similar opinions about movies you had seen, important core memories from a place you both had visited at some point in your lives.

Even after Santiago and his girlfriend broke up, you still wanted to join a night out. Suddenly the group melted away as you talked only to each other, not caring about the conversations the others were having. Your discussions were always deep and intimate even in loud environments.

There was an urge to always find out more of each other, to talk until you were too tired to form coherent sentences. You both were clinging onto every word, memorizing details that made either of you smile, reach for the other in understanding, laugh in a way that was like you had known each other always, familiar and comforting. It has always been easy between the two of you.

Frankie knows you have your off days. The days when you would much rather be on your own, maybe curl on your bed for a nap, have a bit more time for yourself to process the thoughts that race through your head. Sometimes you crave for the company of your friend, even if it’s only to spend time together and not do anything special in particular. It was a way to get you out of your head, to get you to forget the things that got you down in the first place.

You’ve told him about the experiences you’ve had before. How you’ve felt like an outsider. How it’s hard for you to trust others. How you’re always a little careful when meeting new people until you let them fully in. That made him proud that you had chosen him as your friend, as someone who you share your thoughts with, who you can be yourself with. Most of the time.

Frankie presses his hand against the bathroom door and listens. The muffled crying makes uneasiness settle in his chest.

“You okay?” He taps his knuckles gently against the surface. You clear your throat immediately and a strained “uh-huh,” follows.

“Can you open the door?” There’s a moment of quietness that he’s not sure you’re going to fill.

“You need to use the bathroom?” Your questioning voice is weak and thick. Something’s wrong. The uneasiness sinks heavily from his chest into his stomach.

“No, but I’m worried about you.” The silence that stretches after Frankie’s confession is excruciating as he waits for your decision. Are you going to let him in or pretend that you’re okay.

The continuous sound of water splashing against the sink stops when you turn the tap off. The stillness you offer him becomes unnervingly loud.

The lock klicks and you push the door ajar. Frankie is leaning against the wall with his arms over his chest, peering in to see your face. He reaches his fingers against the edge of the door and opens it more to let you out, to see your reddened eyes, the puffy turn of your lips, tears still streaking your cheeks even when you try to wipe them away.

You try to get some of the worry off his face by attempting a small smile. It only makes more tears spill from your eyes and Frankie’s heart chip from the edges as it thumps uncomfortably when he sees how broken you are.

“Come here,” he pulls you gently against his chest, cradling you in his arms.

The pressure is comforting, his arms around you, his large hands on your back, his fingertips digging into the tight muscles that only tell you about the stress and anxiety that have made their home in the deepest depths of your being. It has been with you for a while again, you just haven’t let it boil over. Until now.

“What happened?”

“It’s just… a lot” Frankie’s hands pause for a moment against your back, until he continues to trail them slowly up and down, warming up your skin under the cotton of your shirt.

“What is?”

“Everything,” you whine, and it feels so pathetic to be weeping against his chest, drying your tears in the worn fabric of his shirt, leaving dark spots against it. You squeeze his button-up on his back gently in your fists to feel his warmth and care against you, to get him closer. His breathing calms you down, the steady rhythm of his inhales and exhales encouraging you to follow his lead to soothe your stammering heart.

“Tell me about it,” he suggests softly, his voice in your ear, his breath against your skin. You nod and let him lead you back to the couch. He picks up the blanket off the floor and sits you down before he wraps it around the both of you.

Your body fits against Frankie’s side, his arm over your shoulders. You tuck your head against the crook of his neck and stare at your joined hands. You play with the hem of his shirt as his thumb caresses the back of your palm as light as a feather.

With every inhale you smell him a little more. His gentle sweetness and saltiness, that familiar scent of a cologne that is somewhere between fresh and warm. You once told him you liked it and since then he always wears it around you.

You notice the TV screen has gone black; the movie long forgotten. The popcorn and the grapes on the coffee table look trivial, like they don’t really belong there. Everything around you is a little tilted, a little off, with you.

“What’s the first thing on your mind?” You close your eyes and open your mouth. You let Frankie in on those thoughts that sometimes feel a little too scary to put into words, the immense loneliness and purposelessness glaring at you straight in the eyes.

It’s sometimes so hard to admit that you have those feelings, how you’ve battled with them for so long. They come and go, sometimes leaving you for longer periods and then sometimes swim in with a tide of other things that don’t go your way.

Frankie listens to you without caring about the soft noises from the street below your apartment that sometimes come in through the closed window. Every now and again his palm strokes down your arm until he squeezes you a little tighter against him.

You let it all out. Some of the tumbling words get accompanied by a fresh wave of tears. Some of them make you shake your head like you can’t believe you’re telling him all of this. Some you hear yourself say but feel as if you’re detaching from them and from you. And some hurt, heavy and agonizing in your body.

Until there’s no words left to describe whatever is left inside your head. It’s all just a jumbled mess of emotions at this point. Memories, words, people’s voices that you remember from years ago.

“Then there’s the clearest emotion.”

“What?” Frankie asks when you start to giggle.

“I feel so stupid.”

“Why?” His voice sounds like his mouth is right against your ear. His breath puffs against your forehead.

“Because I know I’m not alone. I know I have a purpose even if I don’t know it yet exactly. I know it’s all in my head and it still feels as real as everything around us. I just can’t seem to convince myself that I’m not worthless, that it’s all just a bunch of lies my anxiety is telling me.”

“Hey,” his commanding tone and the shift in his body makes you lift your head off his shoulder and look at him in the eye. He’s serious, the worry still ever present on his soft features, the downturn of his brown eyes a little heartbroken at your words.

The expression on Frankie’s face wipes away the self-deprecating jokes you’d want to make in a flash. They remind you to not laugh at yourself or how you feel. “Whatever your head tells you, you’re not worthless. No matter how many times I have to remind you of that, I always will.” His voice is low, almost a whisper, seeping into your consciousness slowly, and with care.

“I know,” you nod your head in confirmation, and hug yourself around him once more, your arm settling over the softness of his middle. You feel his lips press against your forehead, pressing still when you crawl even closer to feel that patient support he offers you in abundance. His scruffy cheek settles against your head as you feel yourself relax against him.

The tears stop flowing. The over critical voice that is always ready to put you down and remind you of your fears and failures in your head is a little quieter than before. The ache in your chest is a little duller. Maybe you needed a good cry, maybe you needed to tell someone that you’re struggling. Maybe it’s them both.

“Whatever you feel, it is as real as everything around us. I’m here for you, just like you’ve been there for me in my darkest moments.” The gentle whisper almost disappears into the setting dark behind your window.

“You can count on me.” You breathe the words in, feel the comfort of them. You nod against the steadiness of Frankie’s shoulder, and he sighs out in relief. He listens to your breaths slowing down until he knows you’ve fallen asleep. The quiet around him and the closeness of your body against his side make his eyes heavy.

The lights are still on when Frankie wakes up. He possibly slept for only a few minutes or maybe it was a few hours. He wouldn’t know. It’s still dark outside and he doesn’t want to jostle you when he sees the calmness on your face. The blanket on top of you both has slipped a little, fallen towards the floor. Frankie fixes it, giving you most of it to keep you warm and safe.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x gn!reader #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #katsheadincloudswrites #give me a minute

131 notes · View notes

nebulastarss · 7 months ago

Text

Catbatfam Wayne family lore pt2 (Mostly Tim cuz I had thoughts)

Next door to the Wayne family are the Drake household. Now, you know how fanon Tim Drake has horrifically neglective parents to the point where he should definitely be dead by 6 years old? Yeah Kitty Timothy has that. Since he is just a cat, they pile food in a few bowls and then leave. They have an automatic litter box (DANGEROUS. ESPECIALLY FOR KITTENS.) so he's not getting infections, but he's definitely running out of food before the weeks are over and they pop back in (also the food is stale. Gross)

Timothy is a well behaved pet regardless, essentially hoping that if he's cute enough they'll stop leaving him to his own devices. Never works. He becomes a real good hunter, and no one ever finds out about the rat infestation. So he's pretty independent, but not feral. He also gets into the habit of watching the streets from the window, catching Bruce walking past multiple times.

(Sometimes the Drakes forget to pay the power bill for a little. Thankfully they gave him his own cat room, and he piles blankets that he lies under with only his nose poking out.)

One day, he has ran out of food and he must've over hunted because the rats aren't there. But Bruce is outside again. And Tim is hungry. So he starts screaming, yelling and rubbing his face against the glass. Bruce stops and runs up to press his nose against the glass, proceeding to break into Drake Manor and steal their kitten

Martha and Thomas are once again rushing to the vet, and once again contacting lawyers over animal neglect. The poor thing is half starved! He's got scratches and illnesses from the rats! He has signs of prolonged exposure to the cold! Bad pet ownership!

They now own 5 cats. They never planned on 5 cats, and the kittens all get along like a house on fire. They're all similar ages, only a few months in between them, with such different personalities.

Dick won't stop hissing at strangers but turns into a loud and clingy kitten the second he's near family. He's curious and constantly overestimating how far he can jump. He's often in the living areas, perched over the fireplace or becoming one with the couch. He's also the most prone to going full Zoomies. He will be running in circles for the next 10 minutes actually.

Jason isn't loud but he's clumsy (he trips on the stairs like. A lot. They think it's because of the lack of tail) and he prefers the library and the kitchen to any other room in the manor. (Some servants will open random books and leave them out, they have lists of which ones he does and doesn't lay on, called "Jason's Favorites") he gets along with Alfred, who also frequents the kitchens.

Tim, despite being initially quiet and loving, has taken a more aloof stance once he's sure they won't just leave he hangs out in the offices a lot, to the point where they get him a little laptop toy (it's actually a real laptop. They enjoy looking through his search history: "afwgvbndnnnnnn nnnn") he does love pets, but won't actively push against someone. He will, however, linger in a room and stand juuust close enough that you could pet him. If you wanted to. Yknow, no pressure or anything. He's a little stalker cat, and prefers to watch everyone from above.

And all of them sneak out. Together. They use the doggy door, of course, but sometimes they all just vanish and then come back in using the door. Literally how, they have CAMERAS. Martha loves her grandbabies but she swears they're giving her gray hair. She's only in her thirties! She should not have gray hair!

Once again though, another video surfaces on the internet. Tim is sitting on a box, watching Dick and Babs play while Jason bats at Bruce's tail, when another cat literally falls on him. A Bengal with a large bell attached to her collar that darts away at Tim's affronted screech. She crouches down, tail flicking, before rolling around like a dog asking to play. Tim watches, unamused.

They end up playing anyway. Bruce also catches her at one point and licks the shit out of her fur, which is dirty as all hell. A post from a tired nurse reveals the kitten to be Stephanie, though Crystal Brown records herself fondly saying hello to her "dear Stephie" and asking how she got outside. Stephanie responds by rolling onto her back and purring.

Tim starts regularly showing up at her window, where they either watch pedestrians or play fight with the window between them (have you ever seen videos of kittens doing that? Cute as shit. They end up bonking their heads against the glass every single time) they officially don't do much more though, as Stephanie is supposed to be a strictly indoor cat. (More videos emerge of Stephanie breaking out while Crystal is at work. Poor nurse is fighting a loosing battle)

After a few weeks, the family relaxes again. Surely that's it, Bruce and his weird kitten collecting is over now.

Then he comes home with a silent Burmese kitten.

Bruce where do you keep getting these. They find nothing on her. As far as they can tell, she's a stray, but she's not injured or ill in any way. There's no identification and she won't speak at all.

(Did you know that cats don't meow into adulthood? Meowing is a baby noise. Cats actual noises are outside of our hearing range, all we can hear are "FUCK OFF LEAVE ME ALONE!" and "IM BABY GIVE ME LOVE!" Cats are taught by those older than them to keep meowing so that they can communicate with us.)

They take her home, and she follows everyone around. She walks on silent feet, often scareing the absolute crap out of however spots her (or trips over her)

One day she's watching Dick intensely, watching the way that Thomas interacts with him. She pads over, sits, and stares at him. He stares back. She tilts her head. He blinks and then Dick calls his attention away by meowing at him. And Cass stares at the both of them. Then she hops up on Thomas's lap, props herself up on his chest with her front legs, and meows at him. He's delighted, she loves being able to ask for shit and communicate, Dick is mostly just grumpy that Thomas stopped petting him.

Then, again surely that's it. Surely. We definitely have the room but Bruce we went from 2 cats to 6 in a month. Slow down. Martha is it just me or does taking care of these cats feel like we just chose to have children in a more convoluted way?

They are wrong.

#catbatfam series #martha wayne #thomas wayne #bruce wayne #dick grayson #richard grayson #jason todd #tim drake #timothy drake #steph brown #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #cass cain #batman au #batman #dc

26 notes · View notes

shycroissanti · 10 months ago

Note

Questions for Irina, Kinshin, Kenta, Satoshi, Alex (I FORGOT HIS REAL NAME IM SORRY MY SON 😭😭😭😭) and Sebastian (AND YOU! YES YOU, YOU CRAZY CROISSANT!!!!):

Do any of you guys like to decorate things randomly? Like water bottles, laptops (just pretend they know what some if these are lol), phones, desks, books basically any surface that can be decorated with things like stickers, paint pens or normal pens, tape stuff like that!

And follow up question for those who don’t:

If I were to give them a sheet of stickers, what would they do with them?

And for those who do decorate things:

Give me some items I should decorate with stickers. I have over 200 (around 300 I think! I’ve used some) stickers to use up 💀

(I’m the type of person who spends $72.00 [AUS dollars] on stickers without thinking where I’ll put them)

What an amazing ask!!! XD✨️

Well, starting with Irina and Kishin:

To sum up: Irina likes to decorate things that are important to her by putting lots of stickers on it. Kishin also likes to decorate things with different colored pens and some stickers on his notebooks and art supplies (which is exactly what I, le croissant, do. Especially the cover of my notebooks/sketchbooks and pencil cases. These are the only things I decorate, the rest of the stickers I keep and leave as a small collection, without knowing where to put them. xD).

As for Alex (or Akio :3), he probably likes to collect stickers, he just keeps them and likes to look at them. Kenta has already ridiculed him for this and stole all of Alex's stickers, but relax, Irina solved that problem xD

And now Satoshi and Sebastian

Sebastian would certainly make a mess of all this and Satoshi doesn't have much patience to decorate his things, so these two start a war between them, sticking the stickers and drawing on each other's faces lol

Le tags💖

@c00kietin @larz-barz @knyinfinity @demonslayerdoodles @night-mince10000000000000000001 @scaredyfurry2 @pinkwisteria @giyubabe @pulim-v @nothingtoseehere1-2-3 @tor-the-tortilla @zenitsustherapist @ayunakatsukiwolfhashira @sunbrokenswords

#Thanks for the ask :D💖#artwork #artists on tumblr #kny #traditional art #art #oc #oc art #doodles #sketch #traditional drawing #Irina Gonshira #Kishin Yakuni #Satoshi Senomi #Sebastian Delyon #Kenta Najiro #Akio Hirai #Sunlight Force

30 notes · View notes

unp0pularl0nerkid · 3 months ago

Text

Cigarettes After Sex

Read To Me

It had been a few weeks since you and Megumi officially started dating, and things between you were still unfolding in the most natural way. Your worlds, though different, had started to weave together—his baseball practices and games, your literature-filled days, and the quiet moments you shared between it all. But there was always this one thing that kept circling in your mind.

You knew how passionate Megumi was about baseball. The way he talked about it, how his focus shifted entirely when he was on the field—it was clear that he lived and breathed the game. But you also knew there was more to him. Something quieter, something that rarely came out in public but had started to surface more and more with you. You’d seen it in the way he observed things, the way his eyes softened when he was lost in his thoughts. It was a late afternoon when you decided to broach the topic.

You’d spent the day in the library, scribbling notes for an essay, when you’d bumped into Megumi as he was leaving practice. His team was still finishing up, but he had decided to stop by for a few minutes before heading home. “You’re still working?” he asked, his voice a little surprised. He’d never quite understood how you could spend hours immersed in your books and assignments, but he respected it. “Yep, one of the perks of being a literature major,” you said with a smile, closing your laptop. “I’m getting a head start on an essay for my creative writing class. It’s about the meaning of escape in literature.” Megumi raised an eyebrow. “Escape? You mean, like, fantasy books?”

You shrugged, gathering your things. “Not just that. More like how characters in any genre leave their current lives to explore something else—whether it’s internal or external. I mean, even you... when you’re playing baseball, you escape into it, don’t you?” Megumi’s eyes flickered with something—maybe a mix of surprise and understanding. “I guess so. Baseball is like that for me. When I’m out there, I’m in my own world.” There it was. The connection. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the words begin to flow in your mind. “Exactly,” you said softly. “It’s like you become someone else, somewhere else. You lose yourself in it.” He nodded, a small smile on his face as he ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s like that.” For a moment, there was a silence between you. Then, with a quiet chuckle, you broke it. “Maybe that’s why I write so much. It’s my way of escaping. I get to create worlds and characters and feel like I’m living in a completely different space.” Megumi studied you for a second, his expression thoughtful. He seemed to be mulling over your words, his gaze soft and calculating. "How does it feel when you're in that space? In your writing?" You thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. “It’s peaceful, I think. Like... everything outside of the story fades away. It’s just me and the world I’m creating. I lose track of time, sometimes. It’s like I go somewhere else.” The first time Megumi said it, you almost thought you’d misheard him. You were both sitting on the worn leather seats, a low hum of conversation filling the background as other students passed by, preparing for their next classes or cramming for exams. But you weren’t paying attention to any of that. You were absorbed in a book, your favorite one—one you’d probably read too many times to count. A little life by Tanya Yanagihara. A small part of you, the writer inside, couldn’t help but scribble notes in the margins. Megumi, who had been lying back, casually scrolling through his phone, glanced over at you. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing your attention away from your book. “Read to me.” You blinked, unsure you heard him right. “What?” He rolled his eyes, his tone a mix of frustration and something you couldn’t quite place. Was he flustered? “I said, read to me. Out loud.” You frowned, confused but intrigued. “Why?” His gaze softened, a faint hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Because you go somewhere else when you read. I want to go there with you.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You’d never really thought about it that way. Whenever you read, it wasn’t just about the story or the characters—it was the escape, the way the words would pull you into another world. Megumi had always been quiet, stoic even, but hearing him say something so... intimate made you feel strangely vulnerable. Like he wanted to understand the part of you that you didn’t always share. A part that you didnt necessarily know how to. You closed the book, marking your page, and looked up at him. His dark eyes were fixed on you, sincere but still slightly guarded, as if unsure if he’d pushed too far by asking you to share something so personal.

“You’re serious?” you asked, your voice small. Megumi gave a small shrug, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. I don’t know. I just thought... it’s different when you’re reading. You kind of light up. I want to see that. If you’re uncomfortable, then forget I asked” For a moment, you were quiet. The request felt odd but sweet. You’d never read to anyone before—not like this. But there was something about him, something about how much he’d always been there for you—his quiet support, his patience. The fact that he saw this side of you and wanted to experience it, too, made your chest feel tight in the best way. You nodded slowly, a little unsure of yourself but willing to try. “Okay. I’ll read.” You reopened the book, your fingers tracing the lines as you found your place. The words felt different in your mouth now. You weren’t just reading to escape anymore—you were reading to share something with him. To let him see that quiet part of yourself, the part that you let no one else into.

“[Their relationship] existed to no one else but themselves: it seemed something sacred, and fought-for , and unique to them…in it, he played a role for one other person, and that person was his only audience, and no one else ever saw it, no hatter how much they thought they might.” The sound of your voice in the still air felt strange at first, but as you read, you could see Megumi’s gaze softening, his eyes no longer distracted by his phone but fully on you. He was listening—truly listening—and there was something incredibly grounding about that.

The scene you were reading was one you’d read dozens of times before—a quiet, poignant moment between two characters who had been through a lot, Jude and Willem. The book itself had always intrigued you. It felt as if you were with them, as if you knew everyone personally.

You lost yourself in the rhythm of the words, in the imagery of the circus that came alive under the night sky, and for a brief moment, it was as if you were both inside that world—together. There was something magical about it. Something that made the act of reading to him feel like a shared experience, not just a simple exchange of words. Megumi’s presence became a comforting thing, and the tension that had once hung between you both seemed to dissolve with each page you turned. When you finally stopped, you looked up to find Megumi staring at you, his eyes soft and almost... affectionate. His lips parted slightly as he took in a breath, the silence between you both filling with unspoken words. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “That was... amazing. I feel like I was really there.”

You smiled, your heart full. “I’m glad you liked it.” He shifted closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. “Can we do this again? I don’t know what it is, but it feels different when you read to me. Like I’m with you in that place.” You nodded, squeezing his hand lightly. “Of course we can. Anytime.”

In that moment, you realized that the worlds you both escaped to—his on the baseball field, and yours in your books—weren’t so different after all. They were just different ways of feeling alive, of being in the moment. And now, you had a new space to share. A place where you both could be lost together, in stories, in each other, and in the simple magic of being understood.

As the night wore on, you both sat there, the room quiet except for the sound of your voice reading, and for once, it felt like everything was exactly where it was meant to be.

#black fem writer #megumi x you #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk modern au

19 notes · View notes

randomperson99sworld · 8 months ago

Text

Hope

~ Chapter 5 ~

Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester save a young woman —Natalie Johnson, from a coven of witches who are after her deceased grandmothers spell book. At first Dean doesn’t trust her, will he ever? Natalie is just simply a woman who gets roped up in the supernatural world from a mistake her grandmother made.

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warning: Age gap, slow burn, smut (not until the later chapters), language, gore.

Word Count: 2,737

A/N: Please feel free to leave comments! I love reading them. This is my last chapter for the night. I’ve worked all day on these lol

A Few Days Later:

Things had mostly gone back to normal between Dean and Natalie, or at least as normal as things got in the bunker. Dean was still gruff with her, his words often clipped and his tone carrying that familiar edge of impatience, but there was something different now—something softer beneath the surface. Maybe he'd been too hard on her. Hell, he knew he had. He couldn't help it. It was how he was wired—tough, gruff, always on guard.

He'd been the same way with Jack. The kid had never deserved the kind of crap Dean had thrown at him, and Dean knew that now. But it was his defense mechanism, the walls he put up to protect himself from losing more people. Still, after that blow-up with Natalie, he'd been trying—really trying—to be less of an ass. It didn't come naturally, but for her sake, and for Sam's, he was making the effort.

A few days had passed since their argument, and there had been no sign of the witch or the Dark Scroll—the cursed spell book that had gotten Natalie tangled up in all this. She'd been working hard, though, tracking leads and piecing together the book's history. Every time Dean walked past her at the war room table, she was hunched over her laptop, scrolling through old records, auction listings, and black-market websites.

"It's close," she'd said more than once. "I know it's close, I just don't have anything solid yet."

The Dark Scroll had a long, twisted history. Used exclusively for dark magic, it had been passed around for centuries, causing chaos wherever it went. Natalie's grandmother had been the last known owner, but since her death, the book had vanished—likely sold off with the rest of her belongings. Natalie was determined to track it down, though, and Dean couldn't help but respect her determination, even if he still had his doubts about her.

That morning, Sam had burst into the war room with fresh news. "We've got a new case," he said, setting down a stack of papers in front of Natalie. "There's something weird going on in a small town just outside of Lawrence. I think it might be connected to some kind of supernatural entity—a Djinn, maybe—but I need your help with the research."

Natalie glanced up from her laptop, rubbing her tired eyes. "Djinn? Like, grant-wishes-but-then-twist-them kind of Djinn?"

"Exactly," Sam nodded, sifting through his notes. "People have been going missing after making wishes at this creepy old wishing well. I need to cross-reference the town's history with known Djinn activity in the area, but I also want you to keep working on tracking down the Dark Scroll."

"Two things at once," Natalie muttered, stretching her arms. "No problem."

Dean leaned against the doorframe, watching the exchange with crossed arms. "Think you can handle that, geek?"

Natalie shot him a look, half-amused, half-annoyed. "I've been handling it so far, haven't I?"

Dean grunted, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Fair enough."

Sam shot Dean a warning look, but there was no real heat behind it. He was starting to notice that while Dean was still gruff with Natalie, the edges had softened just a little. That, in Winchester terms, was progress.

"I'll be in and out, checking with local contacts," Sam said, gathering up his gear. "Dean and I will handle the fieldwork, but we'll need you to stay back and monitor everything from here."

"Yeah, yeah," Natalie waved him off with a playful roll of her eyes. "You know I'm your tech support. I'll handle it."

The hours ticked by, and Natalie found herself juggling two tasks—tracking down leads on the Dark Scroll while simultaneously researching Djinn lore and cross-referencing local legends for Sam and Dean. She wasn't sure how she'd fallen so easily into this routine of remote support and hacker extraordinaire, but somehow, she had.

Sam had gone off to investigate the case, leaving Dean behind with her at the bunker for a few hours. He'd been unusually quiet, working on weapons maintenance while Natalie clicked away at her laptop.

"I think I've got something," Natalie said suddenly, her voice breaking the silence. Dean glanced up from the silver knife he was sharpening, his eyes narrowed.

"On the case or the book?"

"The book," she replied, scrolling through an old auction catalog from a black-market dealer. "It was sold off to some collector in Massachusetts a few months after my grandmother passed. I'm trying to track where it went after that, but... it's slow."

Dean set down the knife, wiping his hands with a rag. He stared at her for a long moment, his face unreadable. "You really think this book's gonna solve all your problems?"

Natalie frowned, not sure where he was going with this. "No. But it's important. You know that. If this witch gets her hands on it, a lot of people could die."

Dean sighed, leaning back in his chair. He knew she was right, but the whole situation still didn't sit well with him. His instincts screamed that they were walking into another mess, another disaster waiting to happen. But that was their life, wasn't it?

"I get that," he muttered. "I just hope you're not getting too wrapped up in this."

Natalie gave him a curious look, sensing a rare moment of honesty from him. "You think I'm in over my head?"

Dean shrugged, his expression guarded. "I think... this life doesn't give a damn about what you're good at or what you care about. It just takes. And sometimes, it takes everything."

Natalie studied him for a moment, her frustration softening. She knew Dean was still processing everything—Charlie, Jack, everyone he'd lost. She could see the weight of that loss in the way he looked at her, in the way he tried to keep his distance.

"I get it, Dean," she said quietly, her tone softer than before. "You've been through a lot. More than anyone should have to deal with. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying. This book—it's not just about stopping the witch. It's... it's about my grandmother. I can't just let it go."

Dean stared at her for a long moment, then finally nodded, his gruff demeanor slipping just a little. "Alright. Just... be careful. We've lost enough people."

Natalie gave him a small, grateful smile. "I will."

Hours later, Sam called in from the field, his voice crackling through the comms. "We found the Djinn's lair. It's bad, Dean. People are trapped in their heads, reliving some kind of twisted fantasy."

Dean cursed under his breath, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "We'll handle it. You got the antidote ready?"

"Yeah," Sam replied. "But we'll need Natalie to monitor the security system here. We need to make sure no one else gets caught in the crossfire."

Natalie sat up straight, already switching gears. "I'm on it."

"Thanks, Nat," Sam said, his tone appreciative. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

As Dean prepared to leave, he glanced over at her, his expression still serious but no longer hard. "Keep us updated. And... good luck with the book."

Natalie nodded, her fingers already flying over the keyboard. "Good luck with the Djinn. Try not to get yourselves killed, okay?"

Dean chuckled under his breath, a rare sound that surprised even him. "No promises."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Natalie alone in the bunker once again, tackling both the hunt for the Dark Scroll and the Djinn case, her mind buzzing with activity. But for the first time, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she wasn't just a liability or a tag-along.

She was part of the team. And that meant something.

As the hours wore on, and the case unfolded in real-time over the comms, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were getting closer—closer to the truth about the Dark Scroll, closer to finding the witch, and closer to figuring out where they all fit in this strange, broken world.

But for now, all she could do was keep pushing forward.

Natalie sat back in her chair, rubbing her eyes as she scrolled through another old auction listing, her mind wandering. She couldn't help but think about how insane all of this was. A few months ago, her life had been completely normal—working as a cybersecurity analyst, living in her apartment, never worrying about things like witches or cursed books. Now, she was smack in the middle of a supernatural war zone, all because of a dusty old book her grandmother had bought on a whim.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, she thought, glancing at the laptop screen where she'd been piecing together the history of the Dark Scroll. She had told Dean this over and over: her grandmother wasn't a witch, not some secret sorceress hiding spells in her attic. She was just a woman who had an interest in the strange and unusual—kind of like the way people collect crystals or tarot cards, even if they don't believe in them.

Natalie could still remember her grandmother laughing when she first brought home the spell book.

"It's probably nothing," she'd said with a dismissive wave. "But it's a conversation starter, at least."

But now Natalie was caught in this mess—hunted by a witch coven because of that book. It was surreal and terrifying, and sometimes, when she was alone like this, she couldn't help but feel a pang of anger and grief. Not at her grandmother, but at the sheer unfairness of it all. If her grandmother had known what this book would bring into her life, she would've never bought it.

And yet, here Natalie was—tied to a spell book she barely understood and a witch who wanted it more than anything. Every lead felt like another dead end, and she was getting frustrated, though she'd never admit it to the brothers.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Sam's voice coming through her earpiece, his tone tense.

"Natalie, I need your help. Now."

Natalie snapped out of her reverie, immediately shifting her focus. "What's going on, Sam?" she asked, her fingers already flying over the keyboard.

"We've run into a problem," Sam's voice crackled. "The Djinn's stronger than we thought. We're in the lair, but we can't get the hostages out. We need more time."

Natalie's pulse quickened. She glanced at the monitors, tracking the security feed she'd hacked into earlier. "I'm pulling up the museum's internal system now. What do you need me to do?"

Dean's voice came through next, harsh and breathless, like he'd been in the middle of a fight. "Get those damn doors locked. Keep anyone else from getting into this nightmare. We've got enough on our hands in here."

"Got it." Natalie's fingers danced over the keys, her mind focused and clear now. She hacked into the security panel, overriding the local control system. Within seconds, she had full access. "Okay, I've locked down the outer doors. No one's getting in or out."

"Good," Dean grunted, his voice tight with strain. "Now we just need to figure out how to kill this son of a bitch."

Natalie continued to monitor their movements on the security feed, tracking their progress through the museum's darkened halls. She could see flashes of movement on the grainy cameras—Dean swinging his machete at the twisted, shadowy form of the Djinn, Sam pulling unconscious victims from their nightmarish dream worlds. They were holding their own, but just barely.

"Dean," she called through the comms, "the Djinn's moving toward the west wing. You need to head that way before it traps more people."

"We're on it," Sam replied, panting with effort. "Just... keep those cameras rolling. If it moves again, let us know."

Natalie's eyes darted across the screens, scanning for any sign of movement. She felt the familiar rush of adrenaline—the same rush she'd always felt when she was cracking a code or hacking into a system for work. Only now, instead of stopping a cyberattack, she was helping two hunters fight off a supernatural threat.

This wasn't the life she'd chosen, but it was the life she had now. And somehow, she was making it work.

The Djinn was relentless. Dean and Sam were moving as fast as they could, but it was clear from the strain in their voices that they were running out of time.

"Natalie, do we have any other exits?" Sam asked, his voice tight with exhaustion. "We need to get these people out before the Djinn circles back."

Natalie scanned the museum's blueprints. "There's an emergency exit in the north hall. It's not on the usual maps, but I can get it open."

Dean's voice cut in, rough as gravel. "Get it open now."

Natalie hacked into the emergency system, overriding the locked doors. "It's done. You've got five minutes before the system reboots. Get those people out."

"Good work, Nat," Sam said, relief clear in his voice. "We're almost done here."

Dean muttered something under his breath—something that almost sounded like praise. Natalie smiled to herself but didn't press the issue. They were in the middle of a life-or-death situation, after all.

As she continued monitoring the cameras, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye—something darting across one of the screens. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Dean, heads up. It's coming back your way."

Dean's heart pounded in his chest as he and Sam dragged the last of the hostages toward the emergency exit. He could feel the Djinn's presence getting closer, the air growing colder and thicker with every passing second.

"Here it comes," Sam warned, gripping his silver knife tightly.

The Djinn emerged from the shadows, its eyes glowing an eerie blue as it stalked toward them, moving like a predator ready to strike. Dean stepped forward, machete raised.

"Come on, you ugly son of a bitch," he growled. "Let's dance."

The fight was brutal, the Djinn moving faster than either of them had anticipated. It lashed out with supernatural speed, knocking Sam to the ground before turning its glowing eyes on Dean.

Natalie's voice came through the comms, urgent. "Dean, you need to aim for the heart! It's the only way to kill it!"

Dean gritted his teeth, dodging the Djinn's next attack. "Yeah, thanks for the tip."

He lunged forward, swinging the machete in a wide arc. The blade caught the Djinn in the chest, slicing through flesh and bone. The creature let out a piercing scream, its body convulsing before collapsing in a heap on the floor.

Dean stood over it, breathing hard, his muscles aching. "That's right. Stay down."

Sam groaned from the floor, pushing himself up. "We good?"

Dean glanced around, the tension in his body slowly easing. "Yeah. We're good."

Hours later, after the Djinn case was wrapped up and the hostages were safe, Dean and Sam returned to the bunker. Natalie was still at her laptop, her eyes tired but alert.

"How'd it go?" she asked, looking up as they entered the room.

"Djinn's dead," Dean said, collapsing into a chair. "People are safe. Thanks to you."

Sam gave her a grateful smile. "Seriously, Nat. You were a huge help. We couldn't have done it without you."

Natalie smiled, feeling a little warmth bloom in her chest. "Well, I try."

Dean leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "So... any new leads on that damn spell book?"

Natalie sighed, shaking her head. "Nothing concrete yet, but I'm close. I can feel it."

Dean huffed, but there was no real edge to it this time. "Yeah, well. Keep at it. Sooner we get that thing, sooner we deal with this witch."

Natalie nodded, her determination renewed. They still had a long way to go, but for the first time in a while, she felt like she was making progress—on the book, on the witch, and maybe, just maybe, with Dean too.

As the night wore on and the bunker settled into its usual quiet, Natalie couldn't help but think that, despite everything, she was exactly where she needed to be.

11 notes · View notes

biowhore · 1 year ago

Text

Distraction

Gale/female sorcerer Tav

Content: Smut, short, one-shot, porn with feelings, power play, grinding, penis in vagina sex, desk sex, cunnilingus, bratting, modern AU (sort of), married, post-canon, mage hand spell, detect thoughts spell, restraint

Word count: 3.8k

The desk was long and wide, with plenty of surface space left to display a few of his many academic, societal, and guild awards, carefully contained within small crystal display domes. It was an alter to his mind and magic. She had a particular plan to worship upon that altar very soon.

I'm truly very normal about my draconic sorcerer Tasha and Gale. You didn't ask but they have a playlist. If you read Credentials you know these two, though she was just Tav at the time.

Fic List, AO3

Tasha had been building Gale’s ire all day.

She could not help herself. Gale’s anger was too delicious, and she had a craving.

Throughout his day in his study, he worked painstakingly to translate a collection of old spell scrolls from Celestial to Common as a joint effort between Blackstaff Tower and the Watchful Order. He had been in his study for several days, working in long stints to meet his self-imposed deadline. Neither organization offered him hard limits on a timeline, he simply enjoyed the task so much that he worked tirelessly and neglected the other aspects of his life. Tasha was one of those aspects, much to her irritation. He’d barely spoken to her since he began this project, and she and Tara had to force him to eat and sleep. His proclivity for extreme focus on these projects was a work in progress between her and Tara. She understood that it was in his nature, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun with it. It also didn’t mean that she didn’t miss him when he was like this.

Much of the time, he acquiesced to the two of them without incident. Still, she couldn’t resist using these special instances to needle him into a frenzy. Gale did not have a temper, not really, but the rare times she worked him up into overwhelming annoyance sparked a flame inside her that she could not extinguish, and now she sought it out when he was hidden away in his work like this. Her game came with the bonus of helping him break his hyperfocus. A win-win.

She waltzed into the circular central room of Gale’s giant study in their home in Waterdeep for the tenth time that day, her black pumps clicking on the dark wood floor. Gale was seated, as he had been each time she entered, at his ornate rosewood desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he scrutinized his computer screen. Oblivious to her entry, he perched his chin in his hand as he clicked through several different windows of Celestial language references.

Tasha continued walking along the edge of the room, the walls lined with bookshelves that conformed to their unusual curve. The ceiling was high, and natural light spilled through the skylight carved in the center, flooding the room with late afternoon peachy hues. Gale's desk sat directly underneath the skylight. The sunlight brought out the blonde colors in the woodgrain, making it appear brighter, and spilled over his graying dark brown hair. Dust motes wavered in and out of the beams, as if peeking over his shoulders, pondering his notes. His laptop sat atop a matching rosewood stand, the large sleek monitor tucked to one corner so he could spread out his papers and paraphernalia. A crystal scrying orb sat on the other side, pens and pencils scattered about, stacks of overflowing file folders, and all the notes he had been hand writing front and center. The desk was long and wide, with plenty of surface space left to display a few of his many academic, societal, and guild awards, carefully contained within small crystal display domes. It was an alter to his mind and magic.

She had a particular plan to worship upon that altar very soon.

Tasha strode at a leisurely pace along the shelves, stopping occasionally to remove a book and idly flip through the pages before returning it. She pretended she was looking for something, arranging and rearranging a few collections of scrolls, scrutinizing the display cases of their artifacts collected from their foray of saving the world.

She hemmed and hawed as she went, waiting to see how long it would take before he finally asked what she wanted. Unfortunately for her, she made several circuits around the room without him taking notice. On her fifth pass by the marble bust of the Blackstaff, she crossed her arms and huffed at his back. As she tapped her foot, she considered being more obvious, but ultimately, she knew she would have to be aggressive. That was fine by her.

Smoothing a few flyaway hairs from her long, slick, dark braid, she kicked off her pumps and strode around to the front of his desk. Time to get what she wanted. She leaned on the desktop, making sure the angle was right for him to see the small swell of her breasts through the gap in her cream-colored chiffon blouse, hoping to tease him with a glimpse of her umber decolletage.

Now that she was directly in front of him at his desk, Gale looked up from his monitor at her with a mild smile, his eyes peering at her over his reading glasses, “What can I do for you this time, my love?”

He’s so cute, she thought. She cleared her throat, “I suspect you have ideas, based on your tone.”

“Well, it is not lost on me that you have come in here multiple times today,” He chuckled, folding his hands underneath his chin. “While I am always pleased by your presence, I think we both know you want something other than references on the diet of mephits, discussion on the mating habits of ogres, or... What was it you were here for at noon?”

“Dragon liches. But that was genuine!” She grumbled, “Related to my research.”

“Indeed,” he grinned, looking up at her expectantly.

She huffed, stood straight, and rounded the desk to his chair. She pressed into his space, the front of her thighs pressed against the plastic arms, attempting to loom over him as she defended herself.

“I have reason to believe my ancestor has become a lich, and I’d like to ask a favor, so I’m looking into it. But,” she emphasized at the intrigued look that bloomed across his face, “That’s neither here nor there. I was looking for Professor Dekarios, and I found him,” she purred, trailing a finger across the back of his chair, “But the Professor has been very busy lately. So busy he’s neglecting a poor student.”

Gale set his glasses down and ran a hand down his face, rubbing his tired eyes, groaning at her playacting.

“Tasha, please.”

“Please, what?” she mocked.

He looked up at her imploringly, eyes widened for a moment, showing off the deep brown pools. But then his eyebrows lowered, his face changing entirely as he caught on to her game. Quicksilver sparked across his eyes, and his award-winning smile graced her with an appearance. A moment there was Gale, and another there was the Wizard of Waterdeep. This man seemed to have a plan Tasha may or may not like.

It thrilled her.

As he held her eyes a hand snaked around to the small of her back. He pulled her down onto his lap, facing the desk, deliberately positioning her to straddle his thigh. Mage hands held her elbows and wrists together making her lean forward and balance precariously.

He pulled her backward by her long braid, leaning forward to meet her ear, “Is this the sort of attention you were after?”

She nodded, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“Very well. You are going to use my thigh while I finish my work. If you do as I ask, and behave, perhaps I’ll humor you after.”

Her breath hitched in excitement, her chin tucking down with her submission.

“Begin.”

She obeyed, rocking her hips along his thigh, the rustle of the fabric of his trousers as she moved the only sound left in the room. Gale turned back to his notes, writing with one hand and hovering the other over the small of her back. He completely ignored her, focused on the details of his writing. She snuck a peek as she rocked; something about the context of a phrase that would lend different translations if not considered. Her eyes blurred with the tedium of it while she worked herself. He was writing slowly as well, taking his time to form the letters neatly, pausing to consider a sentence, crossing things out on occasion. It drove her mad. It wasn’t enough for her to come, but the friction of her grinding was a perfect tease. She was growing ever wetter, and she hoped he would feel it soon.

She pressed down a little harder and tried a little moan for him, to get his attention.

“Silence,” he quietly admonished her, still not even pausing to look up from his notes.

The spectral hands at her wrists and elbows tightened their grip incrementally. Pressure and tightness added deliciously to the sensation of her grinding on his thigh, causing a genuine whimper at the back of her throat. Her pace picked up, her back arching in a C shape as she bore down, so close now.

But Gale had other ideas. He pulled her back toward him by her braid again, halting her movements.

“You are not behaving as I requested.”

She growled, her frustration reaching its peak.

Enough was enough; she wanted to come and so she would.

Her magic flared to life, dispelling his mage hands and conjuring her own. She stood from his thigh, turned, and pressed a finger to his lips before he could argue. His eyes widened in indignation with the realization that she’d silenced him. Her mage hands took his wrists, his pen discarded onto his notes, and bound them to the arm rests of his wheeled desk chair. Smug, Tasha pushed his chair back with a foot placed between his legs. She surveyed him with a smile, biting her lip when she saw the wet mark she left on his slacks.

“My patience ran out,” she said playfully. Gale only shook his head, looking delightfully incensed. He clenched his fists, his jaw, and her favorite little crease deepened between his brows.

She reached out to smooth it, “Don’t worry my love. You’ll get your fill.”

She hopped up on the desktop, propping her feet on the edge and flipping her flowing red pleated skirt over her knees, all for Gale to see. She reveled in how his pupils dilated once he realized she was bare. Oh yes, she had quickly discarded her lace panties before entering his study, fully intending on having him restrained in that chair and unable to do anything but watch.

Leaning back on one elbow, she trailed her fingers to each button of her blouse, parting the material to show him the black lace bustier underneath. They continued their journey down her umber midriff, through the wet curls between her legs, and finally parting the folds of her eager cunt. She dipped two fingers inside herself, slickening them and circling around her clit. She sighed at the relief, circling faster, adding pressure, giving herself what she had been wanting. Her head tipped back for a moment as she reveled in her pleasure.

Gale sat still in his chair, seemingly content to watch, but she knew by the look in his eyes that he wanted much more. She slowed her fingers, sliding them back and forth through her folds, parting them for him, circling her entrance, teasing him visually. He leaned forward slightly, watching with growing interest, but still sitting prim like the good boy he was.

“Will you taste me, Gale?” she asked huskily.

He looked up at her, gracing her with his wonderous smirk, nodding slightly.

She grinned back at him and reached out with her hand, pulling his chair back toward the desk with magical force. His hands would remain bound, but his mouth was free to do what he did best.

He locked eyes with her as he leaned forward, parting his lips, ghosting his breath across her. She bit her lip in anticipation, but he did not indulge her. He continued blow air across her wet pussy, causing shivers to break out from the base of her spine up to the crown of her scalp, raising the fine hairs along her arms and the back of her neck.

She threw her head back in frustration, “You still tease me?” She whined.

“You’ve taught me well, my love.”

He took pity on her and latched, swirling his tongue around her clit as he sucked. Her body responded instantly, her hips grinding into his face as her pleasure barreled toward that edge she desperately wanted to be thrown over. Her hands fisted his hair, her hips bucked, her muscles tensed, and then... cold.

Gale had freed his hands easily once he had determined they were needed. Those hands, those wicked hands, had then chilled her clit with the lightest touch, halting her orgasm.

She growled and yanked his hair, “I loathe when you use my own element against me, especially when you use it like that.”

“Hmm, it tastes like you rather liked it,” He rumbled, licking at her entrance greedily for her bittersweet taste. His hands gripped her ass, kneading in an apology. “You seemed to enjoy the last few times as well.”

“I think you take denial too literally,” she sighed, already beginning to melt to him, ever the fire to her ice. But he’s not wrong, she thought, I do like it, maybe too much.

“Shall I do it again since you like it so much?” He sneered.

Tasha gasped, “Did you read my thoughts?”

“Mmm,” He answered between a lick through her center. “Forgive me.”

“Well, if you’re going to be in my head let’s make good use of it, shall we?” She shook her head at him in mock admonishment, a smirk across her face until Gale sucked at her clit again.

He could read her thoughts until they were not thoughts at all, only spikes of feeling. It could be rather disorienting, attempting to take direction from someone caught in lust’s haze. Gale was not one to back down from a challenge such as this, however. Tasha collapsed back onto the desktop, her arms limp beside her head. Her hips writhed into his face, as good a signal as any that what he was doing was well received. He felt her need to be filled and provided two fingers; he felt her need pressure and pressed down with the flat of his tongue; he felt her pleasure and drove her higher and higher, his fingers crooking inside her and pushing in and out with the rhythm of his tongue on her clit. Her thighs found their way onto his shoulders, and as he thrust her into a powerful orgasm they squeezed around his head, her toes curling and her cry echoing off the rounded walls of his study. It was sweet music, perfectly paired with the scent and taste of her like this, flooded with her release.

As she went limp, he withdrew his fingers and gently placed her thighs back down, kissing the tender skin on the inside and brushing his beard there. She whimpered with oversensitivity, her chest heaving to catch her breath.

Now he had her where he wanted her, and the picture of her disheveled and spread out over his desk, displacing his achievements and artifacts of his hard work, all his things askew as if she claimed the place for herself, drove him feral.

He sat her up with gentle hand at her back, tucking stray flyaway hairs back behind her ears. She gave him a drunken smile and he erased it with his kiss, biting and commanding. He parted her legs and tugged her to his groin, her chest flush with his.

“I do not much enjoy being made the fool,” he growled in her ear, referring to when she had him restrained in his desk chair.

“It appears you’ve enjoyed it well enough,” Tasha sneered, lifting her hips to feel the firmness in his trousers. She hummed, now sex drunk, but still craving Gale like a sinful treat, “You gave me a reward. What shall my punishment be, archmage?”

Gale grabbed her face over her mouth to silence her, firmly but gently pushing her back on the desk and looming over her. He fumbled with his belt, whispering in her ear angrily, “I'm going to fuck you the way I want and you’re going to be quiet about it.”

A manic giggle burst from her throat, and he hurriedly whipped himself out and pushed inside her. Her giggles cut off on a moan that brought a fiendish grin to his lips. He rose again and yanked her to the edge of the desk, nearly knocking his laptop off. A few of his paper notes were crumpling beneath her but he was the farthest away from caring. He held her thighs tight and wide as he hammered into her in quick, angry thrusts, making the desk lurch slightly each time. Gods, her cunt was like home. No matter how irrational she made him, it was always made up for when he was being gripped by her.

Without his hand stifling her she started moaning in earnest, arching her back and throwing her hands above her head to give him a show of her breasts bouncing with his thrusts, “Finally!”

“I distinctly remember telling you to be quiet,” he chided half-heartedly. He truly enjoyed any praise from her, even if she was breaking his rules.

Tasha giggled again, sat up slowly between his thrusts and pulled him closer by his dark sweater, whispering, “I’ll make you a deal. Fuck me how I want, and I’ll quietly let you know just how much I like it.”

Despite having indulged her quite recently, he could not resist her. He groaned long and low, the way she commanded him lighting fire in his veins, “Tell me.”

She bit his lip and giggled again, “Turn me around and lean over me. I’m starving for you Gale, fuck me hard. Tell me how good it is to be in my pussy again.”

His hips stuttered at her instructions, a small moan leaving his chest. He quickly pulled out and did as she asked, pulling her off the desk, turning her around by her hips, and bending her over it.

Tasha moaned as her chest hit the desktop and she felt his cock slam back into her, “Oh, gods, yes,” she hissed.

He rested his weight over her, pressing his forehead against her temple, the thin scales there tickling his skin. His panting breaths ruffled her black hair as he spoke, “I didn’t realize how much I missed this cunt until you let me taste it. I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

Tasha whimpered, arching her back and widening her stance to have him even deeper. He spoke with such dignity and grace, to hear him say things like that stoked her fire even higher.

“What a fool I am to abstain from this. Your words sharp as blades but your pussy sweet as honey.” He grinned as he thrust deep inside her and stilled, teasing her yet again. To add to her despair, he whispered, “I reach godhood within you.”

Her whine at his teasing broke off into giggles, “Divine my pussy may be, but you belong nowhere near godhood Gale Dekarios.”

“You are right, as always,” He chuckled with her. His hand snaked down between the desk and her sex, his fingers circling her clit as his thrusts continued and quickened. He whispered, “I belong with you.”

No more words were passed between them as they lost themselves to each other. Gale rutted into her as she moaned and whimpered without care, sliding forward on the desk as he fucked her. His free hand caught hers that gripped the desk, lacing their fingers together. His mouth alternated between gracing her neck with open-mouthed kisses and panting in her ear as he rested his forehead against her temple.

“I missed you,” Tasha gasped.

Her confession had him bursting, wholly unexpected and sweet. A deep groan ripped from his chest as his muscles seized, spilling seemingly endlessly inside her, his cock throbbing in time with the flutter of her cunt. She squeezed him as if to milk him, her arm reaching back to grip his ass through his slacks. She hummed with satisfaction as he nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck while he caught his breath, taking small tastes of her sweat there.

When he could think beyond the feel of her cunt enveloping him, he stood up and gently guided her to do the same. He sat her back on the desk and began buttoning her blouse for her after tucking himself away and straightening his sweater. Each button put to rights was concluded with peck on her cheek there, her neck there, and her nose here. Once he finished with the penultimate button, he took her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs across the opalescent scales adorning them.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured solemnly.

Tasha barked a short laugh in surprise, “Whatever for, Gale?”

“For getting so absorbed by this project. I realize I’ve been become somewhat of a hermit in here while you’ve been left to fend for yourself.”

“Oh Gale, I know you love your work. Your mind is only one of the reasons I fell in love with you. I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

Tasha’s hands held his wrists reverently as she melted to his touch. Her icy blue eyes fell into his brown pools. The sunlight through the roof had deepened to red and peach, the rays catching in his irises and revealing the gold and crimson within. Warring aspects of himself that battled endlessly: the golden child, the treasured husband, the honored academic; the formidable battle mage, the power-hungry man, the vainglorious prodigy. She loved them all, even if she didn’t like them all.

“I love you,” she whispered onto his lips, as true now as the first time she said it. “And I love teasing you,” she grinned.

“It is quite astonishing how you manage to bring out the best and worst in me.”

At that she nipped his lip, “No, Gale. There is no worst or best. There is only you, and I love you.”

He sighed, resting his forehead on hers in defeat, having had this conversation many times before. “I know, I know...” his fingers trailed down to her arms, rubbing gently, “Hmm. Someday I may just be worthy of you.”

He shushed her impeding reply with a finger at her lips, “Yes, yes, but enough of that. I think my wife requires a bath and a feast.”

Tasha smiled with the light of Lathander himself, always getting a tiny flutter of butterflies whenever he called her wife. “You wife agrees. To the bath, if you please.”

Gale obliged quickly, wrapping her legs around his waist and hoisting her up to his chest. He placed an affectionate kiss at her chin, looking up at her with all the love in the world as he walked them both down the hall to their bedroom.

----

Merry Chrysler fellow Galemancers! Thank you for reading! I sincerely hope you enjoyed it

#i keep forgetting to add things shit #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale dekarios x tav #gale dekarios romance #gale dekarios smut #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #gale x f!tav #gale/tav

39 notes · View notes

the-blind-assassin-12 · 2 years ago

Text

The Purest Element

1200 words for 1200 followers #8

A/N: Hi friends! Welcome to the 12-A-Palooza! This event is my way of saying thank you for sticking with me. Your support and kindness toward me and my writing is out of this world and I’m grateful for every last one of you! This one takes place in the Bad Idea universe, but could be read as stand alone, too. All you need to know is that Reader is an artist, and these two newlyweds love each other so much it's stupid. Please enjoy this moment of loving, supportive, domestic fluff with more than a hint of spice. 💚

Warnings: language, a little bit of very light smut with heavy suggestion of more to come, little bit of late night toking.

Requested by: @jessahmewren Song: Strangeness and Charm Character Choice: Once again I was given the choice between two characters, and once again I chose against Ezra. Who even am I?! (Don't worry, my favorite spaceman will get his due very soon.) The song is a play on scientific terms and how love, like chemical reactions, can be beautiful and pure as well as volatile and unbalanced. Fun fact: "Strangeness" and "Charm" are characteristics of two types of Quarks, which are subatomic particles that make up all matter. (please note, I am not a scientist and my understanding of these terms is only at a surface level like Dieter's is in this piece.) I hope you enjoy this little science lesson given by none other than Dr. Bravo himself.

Summary: You have to stay up late to take a call for work and Dieter waits up for you... and can't wait to share what he's learned for a new role he's got coming up.

“Thanks again. I know it’s quite late in Los Angeles, so I really do appreciate you setting the time aside to take the call. It was great chatting with you.” Hattie, the owner of a London art gallery that you were arranging a show for, gave you a bright smile. “And I’m very much looking forward to meeting you in person next week.”

Despite how tired you were - the time difference not doing you any favors for a video call that was scheduled at 10 am there - you grinned back at her. “Same here.” You finished up by confirming the details again, and as the clock in the bottom corner of your laptop changed to 3:26 am local time, you closed the window and shut your screen.

It’s happening.

It was going to be your first international show, and you were thrilled about what taking that step meant for your career. Booking in London had been a goal of yours for as long as you could remember. The fact that it was only a few days away from becoming reality hadn’t fully sunk in yet, and you expected that it wouldn’t until you saw your work hanging at Hattie’s place. And the fact that when you did finally get to have that moment, Dieter would be there with you, only made you that much more excited.

He’d been to plenty of your openings in New York and L.A., even one in Denver. But this was the first one he would attend as your husband, the two of you fresh off your honeymoon and just starting to get back to work. In a rare stroke of luck regarding your schedules, Dieter had gotten a role in a movie that was set to start filming in London three days after your collection opened, so him being there wouldn’t even require any extra travel.

It couldn’t have worked out better.

Stretching your shoulders, you rose from the armchair in the corner of the study and flicked the light switch on the wall. You were exhausted, but there was still a baseline hum of excitement buzzing through your veins, and as you padded down the hallway and into the living room, the sight that awaited you there only intensified that feeling.

Oh, would you look at him? Fuck. You bit your bottom lip as you entered the room, smiling around your teeth. That’s my husband.

Sprawled across the couch on his stomach, iPad open in front of him and a joint held between two fingers to create a halo of smoke around his wild curls, Dieter looked up as he heard you come in. “Hey.” He set the joint down in one of the grooves of the ashtray he was using and sat up, one leg tucked under his body and a lopsided grin curving his lips. “How’d it go?”

You let out a sigh as you sunk down into the couch beside him. “Fine.” His arm came around you as you reached for the still-burning joint and took a small hit. This’ll help me wind down for bed at least. Exhaling, you leaned against him, his well-worn pullover sweater soft and comforting. “Hattie just wanted to finalize everything.” You hummed, setting the joint back where you took it from before looking up at him. “Why’re you still awake?” Lifting your hand up, you raked your nails through his hair and around his ear. “You didn’t have to wait up for me. It’s late, and-”

Dieter leaned down to press his lips against yours, cutting you off. “I wanted to take my wife to bed.”

The tone of his voice simultaneously made your heart swell and made heat pool low in your belly - because you knew very well what he was capable of once he got you where he wanted you. You whimpered as you kissed him back. I want that, too, Dieter.

He pulled back with a smirk, clearly pleased with the reaction he’d caused in you. He knows exactly what he does to me. And he likes it. “And - ” He used the arm that was around you to reach for his iPad, picking it up and handing it to you. “I figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to do some more research for the new role. This shit is incredible.”

You let out a small laugh at the way he so easily switched from seducing you to excitedly sharing what he’d learned in his digging. Glancing down at the page he had open, your eyes widened. “Charm Quarks and Antimatter.” Shaking your head and blinking rapidly, you set the device down on the coffee table. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

He snorted and gave a half shrug, your body moving with the movement of his where you were still leaning into him. “Honestly I think I went a little deeper down the rabbit hole than I needed to, because I … They’re… subatomic particles? I think? I don’t know, I just kept clicking links and it just seemed like a wild read.” That got a full fledged laugh out of you, but he went on. “I did start out reading some things that were relevant to the part, though.”

The new movie was called The Purest Element, and it told the story of a Physicist - played by Dieter - who had set out to prove that love was nothing more than a chemical reaction, only to fail and fall in love with one of his test subjects. It was a dramatic role that required the confident delivery of a lot of technical scientific jargon, so Dieter wanted to make sure that he familiarized himself with some of the terms. You had no doubt that while you were in the other room on your Zoom call, he was using his phone to record himself pronouncing things like “electron-positron colliders”.

“Did you?” You asked through a yawn. He nodded, the tip of his nose bumping your cheek as he trailed his lips toward your ear. “Like what?” You mumbled the question as you felt him shift his hold on you to ease you down onto the cushion.

“Like… how when I touch you?” He dragged his hand slowly up your thigh, pinky snagging on the hem of your shorts before he continued his path upwards. “When my skin touches your skin?” You sighed as he inched his fingertips under your top, trailing them over your belly and to your side, your shirt hiking up around his wrist. “And you get all flustered?” He nipped at your earlobe, the contact forcing your lips to part, a ragged breath slipping out. “What you’re really feeling is a catalytic reaction brought on by friction.” His hand slipped all the way up beneath your shirt to cup your breast.

“Sounds…” You swallowed as he worked his tongue around the small stud earring you were wearing, your fingers twining through his hair as you tipped your head back. Fuck that feels amazing. “Sounds very scientific, Dieter. Maybe we should do some more experiments just to be sure.”

There was a spark in his eyes as he responded. “See? Had to stay up. It’s for science.”

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @tentacruels @alraedesigns @practicalghost @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi@imtryingmybeskar @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @Noisynightmarepoetry @haylzcyon

#12 a palooza!#1200 followers 1200 words #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #bad idea dieter #dieter bravo the bubble #dieter bravo fic #pedrostories #pedro pascal character #dieter bravo one shot #strangeness and charm #the purest element #Spotify

36 notes · View notes

luckyshotwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Ch. 97 // Reasons // XXX

Contents (Warnings): Drake and Alexander (Angst, slight blood warning, character and monster info as always). Read full chapter on A03

Wordcount: 3,800+

Song I correlate to this Chapter: Farewell Wanderlust - The Amazing Devil Karaoke

-------------------------------------------------------------------

3 years and several months ago

Drake

How do I put it?

A noose of remorse wound around Drake's neck as he debated his words.

It had been a few months since the incident. He recovered, so did Alexander. They started talking and hanging out a bit more. However, he felt the need to right some wrongs, especially with him.

What could I say, sorry I tried to kill you?

He didn't treat Drake any different than the first day they met and onward. Nor did his heart hold any unsteady beats.

I don't get it. His fingers fiddled with the corner of his book. Despite reading his manga page ten times, Drake couldn't comprehend the images anymore or read the Japanese.

He set it down on the kotatsu table in his 'hidden' room and got off the floor. Since they didn't catch find or catch, Andras, he wasn't allowed to leave the house unsupervised.

He took out his laptop and searched the web for designs, apology cards he could print out. None of these look or sound good. He saw one that had a toilet paper roll that said, 'oh shit, I'm really sorry', the next with vacuums saying, 'I suck, I'm sorry', another with screws, 'sorry I screwed up'. All of them seemed to comical for this situation.

He groaned aloud and pushed his computer aside, I'll just write something.

He went to his notebook and flipped through his guilty pleasures, mostly fanfictions, those at which he'd never show a soul. He took his pen out from the rings and started to write.

He scribbled down what he felt, what he wanted to say, read it back and then tore it out. He did so for the next five, still unsatisfied with what wrote.

Why is this so hard to write! He knew what he wanted to apologize for and still couldn't articulate it.

He moved his pen in between his teeth in absentminded exasperation. His smaller, retracted fangs chewed the flimsy plastic as he pondered silently.

His mind felt like a cleared whiteboard before an apprehensive student afraid of answering the question wrong. Just write it already! He crunched through the upper half of the pen and it's ink—eager to be released—flooded his mouth.

He dropped the remaining pieces and broke into a coughing fit. He grabbed the basket near him with his failed notes and profusely spit into it.

"That's so gross!" He yelled with a few more attempts to clear his tongue.

Mostly anything besides flesh and blood tasted stale to him, specifically the blood and flesh of anything other than human. He unintentionally hit his first craving for sentient blood and attacked one after the whole thing with Andras.

Though, stronger flavors like the pens ink, had a taste, fainter but still effective.

He spit one last time and threw his head back. His hands plopped down on either side behind him. They held him from falling back completely. His bangs slipped from their place over his eyes. His red hue, met with the red LED's he had at the rooms edges, and then to the few over his cases of figurines from his favorite shows or manga's.

He shouted out, incoherently and threw himself up to get another pen. STOP BEING PATHETIC AND FUCKING WRITE THIS DAMN APOLOGY!

He went to his desk and to the pencil holder behind his right monitor. He pulled out a pen and when he twisted on his heels back to the surface, he heard the click of the door.

He scrambled toward it, pushing off the table, and he slid to fast in his socks across the wooden floor. He almost fell.

He grabbed the handle and yanked it toward himself to shut it. "HEY! HAVE YOU ever heARD OF KNOCKING!!" He shouted, his voices pitch dropped then rose, embarrassingly.

He didn't let go of the handle, even after the resistance stopped.

"Sorry."

The familiar, familial ring from beyond the wood replied quietly. The guilt, Drake felt too, controlled their sound.

"Why were you trying to open the door, Ulysses?" Drake asked, cracking it open enough to be heard easier. Not that either of their hearing would have been impaired by the door.

"Mom sent me up here. Her and Dad are with Pete's," they couldn't hear each other's heartbeats, though, his tone held something back. Drake didn't quite know what it was. "They told me to tell you what happened and to tell Wenna after she gets back from Viola's."

"Give me a second," Drake said.

He created an opening big enough for him to slip through, then closed the door to his 'secret' hideaway.

Drake peered up at his older brother. There was another conversation he needed to have with Ulysses too.

Drake's anxious smile dropped. He saw his brothers eyes were lined with a watery gleam and slightly red where there should be white.

He took a step closer, his hand reached out, shakily to grab Ulysses shoulder. "What happened?"

Ulysses lowered his head, "I know you weren't close to any of them, but they're both going to need us..." His brother put his hand on Drake's and with a struggled sigh, he finished. "Because Olcay is dead."

...

About 3 and a half years ago

It had been two months since he was told about Olcay.

Alexander no longer lived with his dad nor came to their house.

In his phone, Drake saw the first and only message he sent since last seeing Alexander. It asked him to join his dad's newly made pizzeria.

Alexander's dad found and disclosed his new address to them. However, Pete refused to overstepp his son's boundaries and go there himself.

Drake originally planned to do the same. Yet, there he was, knocking at Alexander's door.

This is stupid. Drake said in his head. The essay for an apology he wrote held the same weight as 50 pounds of lead in his pockets.

He waited until Alexander answered. Drake immediately scanned over the disheveled, weakened male. The hybrids, lifeless eyes with sunken bags, dropped to the floor. He didn't look at Drake.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Alexander's voice, though threatening, held as much push as a gentle breeze in the middle of a vast ocean.

Drake winced. He couldn't reply—his ears were consumed with the heaviest beats he'd ever heard. They sounded bottomless with thick, struggling thumps like his arteries were filled with tar.

Alexander repeated his question and got ready to shut the door.

Drake stuck his hand in his pocket, fumbling to take out his apology. Alexander leaned on the rim for support and waited.

His fingers traced the paper, and he paused. When I'm upset, what do I do to find comfort? He remembered every time they met, Alexander held a game system.

"Uh," Drake moved to the phone beside the notes in his pocket.

He lifted his phone out and tapped the screen. "I was thinking of starting one of those games you liked," He frantically searched for the game system on his phone and showed the first he found. "Since the console is so expensive online, I thought I'd just ask to borrow it with the game."

Alexander shrugged and moved aside. He left the door open for Drake to follow, and he did. "Which game?"

Drake tried to think of what he saw, "the one with that pink moving sphere in it."

"Battle Brothers Ultimate?" Alexander asked.

"Yeah, that one," there wasn't anything of value in Alexander's space besides a few pillows on the ground, a blanket, and a T.V. with game consoles attached to it. The bedroom looked empty, and the T.V. screen was the only light in the apartment.

Drake recognized it was the game he was playing at the moment. "Oh, you know...I kinda need to learn the controls. Can you teach me?"

"You can learn on your own. It's easy," Alexander said, about to pull it from its dock.

Drake sat down with his resolve. "I wanna learn from you so I can properly beat your ass at it." He chuckled. "Student becoming better than the teacher style."

He took a gamble saying that—he wanted to break the awkward tension.

Alexander stared at the screen in contemplation. He gave up and sat down, "okay."

Drake took the controller handed to him. He had never played with a controller, so the feeling was foreign.

Alexander explained the basic controls in a monotone manner. When the game started, Drake attempted to replicate the repeated combos Alexander lazily threw down.

The hell!? Drake grumbled. He accidentally threw himself off the platform for the second time.

"Are you good?"

Drake uttered back in dejection, "Fine, just making sure you have a fair chance against me."

Alexander stared back at the screen, and within the next few seconds, Drake lost. The same happened match after match. Alexander held no mercy.

"You don't have to keep jumping off the platform to make it 'fair.'" Alexander cracked a smile. It was the first Drake seen in the last hour.

Drake nudged him with his shoulder, "When I can play this game properly, you're finished!"

From then on, Drake played every so often with Alexander at his apartment, and eventually, he even got him to join the pizzeria, too.

Though, Drake never gave a proper apology nor had the chance to talk to Alexander about everything that happened. Anytime it was brought up, Alexander shot him down just like he did the rest of their family.

...

(Present)

Drake

Zetsu escorted them outside their cell when Drake finished saying his shame aloud. And unfortunately for the tall and skinny lad, he didn't shove them both inside when he had the chance.

He didn't tell me to be quiet or exert his power over me. He's naive and scared; I can hear it.

Lynette's tempting heart hummed sympathetically. Drake would have to make it seem like he wasn't coherent enough to attack. Sorry, Lynette, I know you'll unknowingly play along.

"I hope that doesn't make you hate me," he said.

"No," Lynette answered sharply. "You wanted to make it right."

"Of course I did." Drake hadn't expected her to respond so fast and to be honest about it. This makes me feel worse for fake fishing for your pity. When his ears caught Zetsu's rhythm, wanting to reach out to him, he realized Zetsu also held an abundance of shame.

"I was a spoiled brat who never got punished for anything," Drake said, his eyes drifted to Zetsu. "You look like a selfish brat as well." He mocked.

Zetsu timidly denied the claim, "I-."

"Then why are you guilty," Drake flipped toward him and lowered his head enough to slam into Zetsu's chest. He got the both of them on the stone ground.

"Drake!" Lynette called.

Drake got on top of him, bringing his head down as hard as he could into Zetsu's skull. It didn't crack; it simply disoriented the twig enough for Drake, with his hands bound, to open his mouth and lunge in for a bite.

Zetsu barely shielded himself, his arm being bit into instead of his neck. Zetsu howled.

Fuck, he'll just heal it.

Zetsu barely pushed Drake off and held his bleeding arm. He dragged himself back into the bars of their cage. He looked as full of fear as the several eyes that had soundlessly watched them walk the halls of this dark, musty, and old cement basement.

He's weak.

Drake had found the perfect person to exploit. Their chance to kill him and run.

Lynette intervened, "Stop!"

"Get out of the way." Drake moved around Lynette. She then wrapped her arms around him and over his chest. "Lynette, stop it; go back to the elevator."

She couldn't stop Drake from walking toward Zetsu. Why isn't he healing himself?

"He's innocent! He's not a danger to us."

Drake's vocals spewed with annoyance, "Are you serious! HE'S WORKING FOR ANDRAS!"

Zetsu whimpered, his body slumped, "n-not, my c-ch-ch."

Lynette spoke for him, still trying to keep Drake from getting close and failing. "He's not doing it because he wants to. He's friends with Wicks and works at the C.P.P.A. Andras forced him to work after he killed his brother."

Drake stood over his prey that slowly fell victim to his paralyzing venom. "Doesn't mean shit, Lynette. If he's working for Andras, he's evil."

"You worked for Andras."

"That's-" Drake looked back at Zetsu and then wormed his way out of her grip. "Fuck, Lynette, then what do you want to do? Let him lock us up and leave while Andras kills my fucking brother?!"

The desperation reflected back at him from Lynette's orbs. He didn't realize he was on the verge of tears.

Lynette receded. "N-no. I-I think we can work with him to escape." She turned to Zetsu, "r-right?"

She awaited his answer, and Drake thought. It won't work. He'll betray us. For some reason, Zetsu hadn't tried to heal himself. It was almost like he couldn't. He didn't even try to fight me. I can't use magic or my vampire beast form, so why wouldn't he?

Drake sometimes disliked hearing their lies, feelings, and truths. Zetsu was terrified, fearing for his life, and Lynette wholeheartedly believed he was worth helping. That they could all work together.

He figured she planned this before Drake babbled on earlier.

"Zetsu?" Lynette dropped down to his level and pushed at his shoulder. He twitched in response. His eyes pleadingly looked at her.

Drake grit his teeth, turned his head away, and groaned. "He's paralyzed, Lynette. He can't talk." He moved his shoulders back and forth like he could free his hands from the binds at his forearms, "when it wears off, I'll consider what you said."

Drake dropped low, and his piercing gaze locked onto Zetsu, "However, I'll be asking the questions, and if you lie to me, I'll tear out your neck."

...

Alexander

It took a lot out of him to find the place dipped within a valley surrounded by mountains. He followed the tether that the seal on the car provided then pursued it. I would have been here earlier if I had been better with spatial magic.

He stumbled down the side of the smaller mountains until he reached its base. To a human, they'd only see a clear, undisturbed valley—to monsters or magus's like Alexander, the golden barrier was clear as day. It shimmered, a repellant for any humans who neared and a warning to any monsters entering its range without clearance.

With his eyes aglow, he traced the outside of the barrier. He touched it, knowing it'd alert the creator—he didn't care. He had to study and understand its creation and flaws to enter it without hurting himself.

Alexander lacked the power to break it outright.

He walked around the edge and finally found the spot he was looking for. The weakest point was always where it was created.

His hand pressed it, and he slid through it like mail through a mail slot. He was grateful he only received a light sting of rejection. It could have been worse, becoming temporarily paralyzed for the next three days.

He only had a moment to adjust to the sparse forest line ahead because his senses blared when he took his second step.

He launched forward, landed on his hands, and flipped off them. The back of his tank top brushed with the incredible blaze but luckily didn't light.

Alexander delineated the direction of the clawed flamed hand. It held delicate features, slender and sharp, even as a wild inferno of red.

"Damn, I missed."

It wasn't Andras.

Alexander's eyes dipped to her exposed chest first, then back to her face. She held a soured purse to her lips. The hand receded back and formed her normal human-looking one.

The trees and ground roasted quietly where Alexander once stood.

"You're faster than I-"

Alexander didn't wait; he wasn't here for idle chitchat or 'compliments.' The slits of black in her eyes narrowed in.

As he closed the distance, the air increased in heat, and fiery red arrow-like feathers surrounded him. It didn't stop his approach—he deflected those in front with gray barriers. The feathers smashed against them and erupted into flowery bursts.

While those behind him hadn't caught him aflame enough, his cloak protected him. He grabbed the front of her neck and, without hesitation, slammed her into the bark of a tree.

He held her there and put a barrier over her eyes. Most magic used sight.

"Wow." She said, unimpressed.

His fingertips curled tighter. She had much more resistance than he anticipated, so he figured she was a much bigger and denser monster. "Where's Drake and Lynette."

"You'll see em' soon," she replied.

He saw her attempt to break her human case. He sealed it faster than she could fully break out. The red scales along her face faded as fast as they appeared.

"Oh, that's annoying." She inhaled aloud, and Alexander's instincts warned him once more.

He let her go when his hands burned. Her skin smoldered with heat. He couldn't push away in time. His short sweats and compression pants underneath were set aflame. The flesh around them blistered and burned.

He held his tongue, used reversal magic as fast as he could, and recovered them. It helped for now.

She threw her body up and her arm forward. It flurried out in fire, a giant hand mimicking her monster form.

The base of its flaming palm struck his upper body; his cloak couldn't stop it. It crushed him back through not one but three trees. The third, his back was splinted into. She had the hand pull him from the tinder and squeeze. He suffocated in the burn that threatened to cremate his body.

She then threw him to the side like an unwanted toy.

Alexander's orientation metaphorically went out the window. He hit the ground with his back, his knees, ass, and head. The force wasn't enough to kill him, at least. His glasses barely stayed on, though their frames melted.

He didn't breathe. He didn't want to smell any more of his burning, putrid flesh.

He shook, trying to get up even after he had healed his body, clothes, and glasses. She's a dragon. It took him until now, but he recognized what kind. Those that they referred to on Earth as a Phoenix. What Lev's supposed to be.

Alexander had never fought Lev in a battle of magic—he almost regretted it. She seemed in control enough to replicate her dragon body through flames.

"Good, you're not dead." She said. She crouched in front of him, fearlessly.

"Isn't your point to kill me." Alexander had created another cloak over himself.

The woman swayed, "How much I'd love to, one, you're not worth eating. And most importantly, Andras ordered me otherwise." She pulled her arm back, "so are you giving up? Or do I have to keep burning you?"

Dragons excel in their element. He reminded himself, I can't outdo her using water, Earth to smother the flames, nor wind to blow them out. She overwhelmed Alexander in that regard. I can't make a shield strong enough to counter her, either.

Comparatively, she had more energy than him at this time, too. He traveled to countries to get her; it took way too much out of him.

I can win if I seal her magic in her human case for a few minutes. He got ready to move. He sensed the roots underneath him and where they led. I'll need to touch her seal to do something that complex and pray I get everything right.

The ground rumbled, and she knew his choice.

Her hand launched, ready to slam down on him, but those roots sprouted from below, wrapped around his wrists, and yanked him out of the way. His soles were still lit. It flicked him onto his feet.

I can't be reckless. I have to conserve what I can.

The garden's green erupted into flames behind him, and he saw the circling spikes at his back. He threw up another barrier to prevent them from hitting him.

She used that time to send her other hand forward in flame. Alexander dropped to the floor, then rolled out of the way as she slammed it down. She almost crushed him like a bug.

A blazing trail lingered in the air across the stone path that led through the garden. The imitation of her real forms, hand covered in flame, swiped into him like a cat with a mouse. His cloak shattered as he was sent airborne.

He spiraled up and out of control. His glasses came off in the process. Everything mashed together, the green and brown with bits of red from below, and what he believed to be above, white and blue.

He did what he could to stop himself with a barrier, missing at first by putting one below himself, then finally in front.

He banged into it, at least stopping his acescent. Right before he started to fall, he saw the red ball spread out, and the heat hit him before she did.

She successfully wrapped her human-looking hand around his ankle and part of his calf. She pulled him higher by it, and his world began spinning again. This time faster as her burning grip melted groves into his flesh.

He couldn't stop her with the flames engulfing them both.

At this rate, he felt like the muscles and tissue helping hold his femur in the socket were being stretched thinner and thinner. He could almost feel it on the verge of popping out.

He assumed the velocity satisfied her, as there was one last spin before she sent him downward.

He preemptively healed himself, then felt the erupting pain shoot up his spine and along every other part of his back. He'd imagine if he didn't, he might have been crippled.

I have to end this.

His rattled mind echoed with the ringing of his ears in the background. His form didn't want to get up. He was on the verge of shifting into something ugly. I can't let them die.

His sight was shit, and he had to hope she didn't come down after him yet; she didn't. Because if she did, he might have teleported into her body when he used his spatial magic to close the distance.

He hadn't shown her that he could do this. Most Magus couldn't as young as him, not that he was impressive doing it. He was subpar at best; it took far too much for him to perform. He didn't excel in it like Wenna or Wicks.

Though blurry. Her flames made it easy to spot her. So, he used his magic to propel himself up, almost in a blink of minor teleportation that relied on 'sight'.

He could tell he surprised her, as she didn't instantly attack.

He threw his glowing hand out to touch the seal at her chest, but his fingertips barely touched her hot skin. He didn't go up high enough.

Shit.

The woman with the open dress shirt then brought her two flaming hands up and went to smash Alexander between their palms for his misjudgment.

...

Hey, you, thank you so much for reading. I'm glad I put out a story that people can enjoy! I hope you continue to enjoy it as WE have a LOT more to go! YOU BETTER KEEP PROSPERING! (Nonnegotiable, as always~).

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Catch up, see some maps/art, or check the latest release dates down below ↓ ↓ ↓

What I’d do for a Livable Income Part 2 (Synopsis/Chapter - List)

#vore story #widfali #vore writing #v.ore #soft vore #v.0re #v/ore #v/0re #extreme cuddling #nonsexual vore #slight blood mention

12 notes · View notes

commercialcleaningmill · 5 days ago

Text

Is Your Office Hiding These Dirty Secrets?

1. The Under-Desk Jungle

Look under a typical office desk. Cables snake around, dust bunnies multiply, and spilled coffee crystals bake into the carpet. Employees rarely move that chair to sweep beneath it. Over time, crumbs and debris will accumulate. Without regular deep-cleaning, the under-desk area becomes a bacterial hotspot. Your cleaning crew should have a plan for these out-of-sight zones.

2. Keyboard Catastrophes

Keyboards are high-contact surfaces. We snack while working, drink coffee near our laptops, even sneeze onto them. You could actually encounter more bacteria on an office keyboard than on a public restroom handle. Gross, right? Routine wiping with disinfectant wipes barely scratches the surface. Keycaps need to be removed, cleaned individually, dried and replaced. It’s tedious, but skipping this step leaves a sticky, germ-ridden mess.

3. The Conference Room Conundrum

Meeting rooms host dozens of people each week. Pens, notepads, remote controls and shared whiteboard markers pass from hand to hand. Yet conference rooms often get only cursory attention from cleaners. What about the chair arms, the power outlets, the light switches? Every touchpoint deserves sanitizer. And if your team books back-to-back meetings, there’s no time to clean between sessions. Consider scheduling mini-breaks or assigning a staff member to do a quick wipe-down.

4. Forgotten Vent Vandalism

HVAC vents quietly pump air through your office. Over months, dust builds up inside them. Allergens, mold spores and pet dander can hitch a ride on the breeze and soon you have an airborne grime factory. Regular duct cleaning isn’t glamorous, but it’s a must for better air quality. If your office hasn’t had its ducts cleaned in over a year, you’re breathing in yesterday’s dust right now.

5. The Break-Room Backslide

The break room is a communal zone: microwaves, refrigerators, coffee makers. Spills are routine, but cleaning them up isn’t. You may find coffee grounds buried under refrigerator coils, or forgotten containers leaking moldy leftovers. A deep cleaning of kitchen appliances and surfaces once a month helps. Even daily tasks like wiping handles, cleaning sinks, emptying trash can make a huge difference.

6. Shared Technology, Shared Risk

Printers, scanners and copiers are shared tech staples. Everyone touches the paper tray to grab pages. The control panel gets thumbed dozens of times daily. These surfaces rarely make it onto the cleaning checklist. Give these machines a weekly wipe, and your employees will thank you for fewer sick days.

Clear the Air and Surfaces

Don’t let hidden messes sabotage your team’s health and morale. If you haven’t booked your next office cleaning Minneapolis MN, now’s the time. Invest in professionals who understand these dirty secrets and tackle them head-on. Your office will feel and smell fresher. And you’ll sleep better knowing no grime is left behind.

0 notes

siltrace · 9 days ago

Text

Collisions of Path

The sky above the University of Madhava hung low and gray, thick with tropical clouds that threatened rain but held it back. Under the spreading flame trees, students hurried between lectures, arms full of heavy books, earbuds tangled in backpacks and jackets.

Inside the university’s main building, Clarissa moved with the assurance of someone who belonged. At forty, she had spent over a decade in these kinds of halls and now held the distinction of being the youngest rector in the university’s history. She wore her authority like a well-fitted coat—never loud, never boastful, but unmistakably present.

Though her administrative duties left her little time for teaching, the few lectures she did give were known for their intensity and quiet power. Her voice rarely rose above a calm, measured tone—but when she spoke, people listened. They had to. Her silence said more than most could with words.

“This is why, as designers, you must create based on the client's needs—not your personal taste,” Clarissa told her students, her voice steady and clear. “We are designers, not artists. It’s a distinction you must learn to live with.”

The room was silent but attentive. The students nodded slowly, absorbing the hard truth: style means little if the client isn’t satisfied.

“It doesn’t matter if it matches your aesthetic,” she continued. “This is one of the toughest challenges in this field. Do we hold creative power? Yes. But ultimately, the final say isn’t always ours. When clients prefer something completely different, it’s our job to deliver their vision—even if it stings.”

The lecture shifted seamlessly into a slide presentation, guiding students through the practical realities of the industry. Clarissa shared stories from her own career—unvarnished, instructive, and real. The session stretched across two intense hours before she finally dismissed the class.

Clarissa closed her laptop and held it close to her chest as she left the room. Her slender figure was elegantly framed by a black, cinched-waist midi dress. Today, she had swapped her usual heels for white flats accented in black by Chanel. She looked effortlessly composed—striking in her simplicity. Perhaps her understated appearance mirrored something deeper: a grief she hadn’t fully moved past, but was slowly learning to carry.

Suddenly, a sharp impact hit her side. Clarissa lost her balance, stumbling back against the cold wall before sliding to the floor, breath catching sharply. Her laptop remained pressed tightly to her chest as her world briefly spun.

“Shit—I’m sorry!” came the frantic voice of a man kneeling beside her, one hand still clutching his phone as if reluctant to let go. “Are you okay?”

Clarissa blinked, her gaze steady but cautious. She nodded stiffly, brushing hair away from her face as she steadied her uneven breathing. His hand hovered before reaching out, and after a brief pause, she accepted it, allowing him to help her to her feet.

“I wasn’t paying attention. I should’ve been—” he started, regret clear in his voice.

“It’s fine,” she interrupted quickly, her tone quietly firm, leaving no room for further apology.

She straightened her dress, adjusted the laptop under her arm, and gave him a brief, polite nod. Her eyes revealed nothing but calm professionalism—distant and unreadable.

“Excuse me,” she said softly.

Before he could reply, she turned and walked away with purposeful steps. He stood watching her go—calm, composed, yet carrying an unplaceable weight. For a moment, he was caught off guard by the quiet strength in her movements.

Who was she? He’d never seen her on campus before, and the word “rector” hadn’t come up during his brief orientation. There was something both unfamiliar and oddly familiar about her presence—like a hidden story beneath the surface.

His fingers still curled around his phone as he took a slow breath, the corridor’s noise fading into the background. He wasn’t usually affected by strangers, but something about her lingered—a subtle magnetism that held his attention longer than expected.

He didn’t know her name or anything about her. Yet somehow, he sensed this wouldn’t be the last time their paths crossed.

As Clarissa hurried away, something caught his eye on the floor—a delicate bracelet, resting just where she had fallen. It was simple yet elegant, a thin band of silver with a small charm dangling from it. He bent down and picked it up carefully, turning it over in his hand.

It had to be hers.

For a moment, he considered calling after her, but the words wouldn’t come.

“She must still be around here somewhere. Judging by her age and the way she carries herself, I’m guessing she’s a student… I hope I can find her again next week during class,” Winston muttered under his breath as his gaze landed on the closest classroom door—Room 1016. Quickly, he pulled out his phone and typed a quick note to himself, the number and location etched in his mind. He was determined to return the bracelet to its rightful owner when their paths crossed again, even though she had already begun to fade like a ghost into the bustling campus.

“Hey, Winston!” a familiar voice called from behind. A fellow lecturer, Vincent, swung an arm casually over Winston’s shoulder as he approached. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

Winston turned, holding up the delicate silver bracelet between his fingers. “I found this just now,” he explained. “I accidentally bumped into a girl—she seemed like a student—and she must have dropped it when she fell. I’m hoping to return it to her soon, maybe next week when I see her again.”

Vincent leaned closer, eyeing the bracelet. “That’s quite an elegant piece. Looks expensive.”

“Yeah,” Winston agreed, turning it over thoughtfully. Vincent then glanced down the hallway toward where the corridor led to another building. “By the way, have you seen the new rector around? I heard she was heading this way a little while ago.”

Winston shook his head. “No, I haven’t met her yet. The name ‘rector’ came up during orientation, but I haven’t seen anyone who fits the description. Who was the girl you mentioned earlier?”

Vincent shrugged and sighed softly. “Nothing official, just a bit of campus gossip. She’s attractive, sure, but there’s a heaviness about her. Sad, really.”

“Sad? How so?” Winston’s curiosity piqued.

“Well,” Vincent began, lowering his voice slightly as if sharing a secret, “her fiancé died recently. They’d been together since college, and he was once her lecturer, believe it or not. He came from one of the country’s biggest conglomerate families. After his passing, she moved here to keep going with her family’s business.”

Winston’s eyes narrowed in thought. “So she’s a Madhava?”

Vincent nodded, his expression grave. “That’s what I’ve heard. She’s carrying a lot on her shoulders. It’s why people say she’s more reserved now, and keeps to herself mostly.”

Winston didn’t press for more details. It wasn’t really his concern—not yet, at least. His own priorities lay elsewhere: teaching his courses, overseeing his family’s mining interests here, and preparing for the day he’d return home, just as his parents expected.

Vincent glanced at his watch. “Fancy grabbing a late lunch? I’m starving.”

Winston smiled faintly and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

As they turned the corner toward the campus café, Winston’s thoughts still lingered on the woman with the silver bracelet. There was something about her—an unspoken story, a quiet strength—that pulled at him in a way he couldn’t yet explain. For now, the bracelet in his pocket was a small, tangible link to a chance encounter he wouldn’t soon forget. Whatever lay ahead, Winston felt certain their paths were destined to cross again.

Clarissa closed the door to her office with a soft click, the quiet space instantly swallowing the low murmur of the hallway. She leaned her back against the wood for a moment, closing her eyes and letting the silence settle around her like a weighted blanket.

The day had been long—draining in ways she couldn’t fully describe. Teaching again, even if only for a brief lecture, always stirred something in her. It was a reminder of who she used to be—before the grief, before the quiet unraveling that followed Harvey’s death. She exhaled, the motion slow and deliberate, then crossed the room to her desk and set her laptop down carefully.

It was only when she reached for her drawer that she noticed it.

Her wrist felt… lighter.

She looked down.

The bracelet—her bracelet—was gone.

A hollow pang settled low in her chest. It wasn’t just any bracelet. It had been a gift from Harvey, given to her on the day she was named rector. A thin silver band with a single sapphire charm—something elegant, modest, and deeply personal. Her fingers instinctively traced the skin where it should have been.

Clarissa dropped to her knees, checking the floor beneath her desk, the inside of her bag, the folds of her coat. Nothing.

A sinking feeling grew in her stomach. She pressed her lips together tightly, refusing to give in to the tide of frustration and sadness that threatened to rise. It must have fallen off earlier. Maybe in the lecture hall. Maybe—her breath caught—when she’d been knocked over.

The man.

Her brows drew together, trying to recall his face. She hadn’t looked at him properly. Everything had happened so fast. But if he had seen it… if he had picked it up…

Clarissa stood slowly, gathering her composure like armor. There was no use worrying now. If it was meant to return to her, it would.

And if it didn’t… she would survive that, too.

Like she had with everything else.

Clarissa sank slowly into the chair behind her desk, her fingers still absently brushing the bare skin of her wrist.

“I should’ve been more careful…” she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible in the quiet room.

The loss stung more than she wanted to admit. Not because of the item itself—though it had been exquisite, meaningful—but because it was one of the last things Harvey had ever given her. A piece of memory made tangible. A reminder of a time when her days were still full of certainty, love, and direction.

She leaned forward, elbows on the desk, palms cupping her face. For a moment, the polished surface beneath her blurred with unshed tears. Not for the bracelet. Not entirely.

For everything.

The exhaustion of carrying on. Of putting one foot in front of the other every day while people expected the composed, capable Rector Clarissa Madhava. Of pretending the ache had faded when it had only learned to live quietly in her chest.

She straightened after a moment, drawing in a slow breath. She couldn’t dwell on what was lost. Not again.

If the bracelet returned to her, then fine.

If not, she would have to let it go—like so many other pieces of her past.

Still… a part of her hoped. Hoped that the man who helped her up had noticed. That he had it. That fate, strange and unrelenting, might be kind enough to let her hold on to just this one thing.

Outside, the clouds finally broke open, sending a gentle rain across the old rooftops of the University of Madhava. In her office, Clarissa sat in stillness, her fingers no longer searching but resting, folded neatly in her lap. She had made peace, for now, with the loss—whatever it might symbolize.

A floor below, Winston tucked the silver bracelet carefully into the inner pocket of his coat, unaware of the storm that had just begun above him—or the quiet one he’d stepped into earlier that day. He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know her story. Only that something about her had lingered far longer than a moment should.

Fate had collided with the ordinary today.

Neither knew it yet, but something had shifted. Something small and subtle, like the bracelet itself—precious, personal, and not quite lost.

Only waiting.

END.

0 notes

bontonfurnitureindore · 2 months ago

Text

Which Is the Best Study Table With a Chair for Students in India?

For students of any age, a study space isn’t just about having a table and chair — it’s about creating an environment that supports focus, comfort, and good health. The right setup can make a big difference in how well a student studies and how long they can stay engaged without discomfort.

When a student sits for long hours on furniture that doesn’t support proper posture, it often leads to back pain, neck stiffness, and even lack of concentration. Over time, this can affect their overall learning experience. On the other hand, an ergonomic study table and a supportive chair encourage a natural sitting position, reduce strain, and help students stay focused for longer periods.

In homes where space is limited, choosing a study table with built-in storage or a compact design can keep books and supplies organized without creating clutter. This sense of order also helps reduce distractions and keeps students in a productive mindset.

Whether you’re buying for a child starting school or a college student preparing for exams, investing in the right Study Table and Chair is about more than just furniture. It’s about building a habit of discipline, comfort, and focus that grows with them.

Key Features to Look for in a Study Table and Chair Combination

When choosing a study table and chair for students, it’s important to think beyond just style or price. A good combination should support healthy posture, enhance productivity, and suit the specific needs of the student — whether it’s for school, college, or entrance exam preparation. Here are the key features to consider:

1. Ergonomic Design

Look for a chair with a straight backrest and proper lumbar support. The table height should allow the student’s arms to rest comfortably at a 90-degree angle. Ergonomics directly impact focus and reduce the risk of long-term posture issues.

2. Sturdy Build Quality

Whether it’s solid wood, engineered wood, or metal, the materials should be strong enough to last through years of daily use. A wobbly chair or table can be distracting and uncomfortable.

3. Adequate Tabletop Space

The surface should be wide enough to hold books, a laptop, a desk lamp, and stationery. For younger students, a compact table might work; for older ones, a spacious layout helps with multitasking.

4. Built-In Storage

Drawers, shelves, or side compartments are helpful for keeping books, notebooks, and supplies within reach. A clutter-free desk encourages better concentration and saves time.

5. Adjustability

If you’re buying for a growing child or a shared study setup, an adjustable table and chair can help accommodate different height requirements. This is especially useful for long-term use.

6. Compact & Space-Saving Design

For smaller rooms, go for foldable tables or chairs that tuck in neatly under the desk. Some sets even come with wall-mounted designs or hidden storage, making them perfect for urban homes.

7. Non-Slip and Scratch-Resistant Surface

A smooth, durable finish is essential. It should be easy to clean, scratch-resistant, and stable enough to handle daily wear and tear.

8. Good Aesthetics and Design Appeal

Students are more likely to spend time at a desk that looks good and feels inviting. Whether it’s minimalist, modern, or playful for kids, pick a design that complements the room and feels personal.

Choosing the right features isn’t just about comfort — it’s about creating a space where students feel motivated, organized, and focused every day.

Top 5 Study Tables with Chairs Recommended for Indian Students

Finding the right study table and chair set can feel overwhelming with so many options available. To make your search easier, here’s a curated list of the top 5 study table and chair combos that are well-suited for Indian students — whether you’re shopping for kids, teens, or college learners. These picks strike a balance between design, comfort, quality, and affordability.

1. Godrej Interior Motion Study Set

Best For: Growing kids and teenagers

Why It Stands Out: Adjustable height, ergonomic back support, and a minimalist design. Ideal for long study hours and adaptable to different age groups.

Estimated Price: ₹7,000 — ₹10,000

2. Nilkamal Leo Engineered Wood Study Table Set

Best For: Space-saving needs in urban homes

Why It Stands Out: Compact yet sturdy, with built-in shelves and a comfortable chair. A great pick for school-going children or college students.

Estimated Price: ₹5,000 — ₹7,500

3. Wakefit Study Table with Chair (Combo Set)

Best For: Students looking for durability and premium aesthetics

Why It Stands Out: Solid build with a large tabletop, ideal for laptop users and multitaskers. The chair is well-cushioned and supports long study sessions.

Estimated Price: ₹8,500 — ₹12,000

4. DeckUp Giona Study Desk with Chair

Best For: Budget-conscious buyers

Why It Stands Out: Clean design, multiple storage compartments, and good value for money. Perfect for students in shared rooms or hostels.

Estimated Price: ₹4,500 — ₹6,500

5. Supreme Fusion Multipurpose Study Table and Chair

Best For: Younger students and smaller spaces

Why It Stands Out: Lightweight, easy to move, and made with durable plastic. Great for early learners and compact apartments.

Estimated Price: ₹2,500 — ₹4,000

The Benefits of Investing in a Quality Study Table and Chair Set

When it comes to study furniture, going for the cheapest option might seem practical — but in the long run, a quality Classroom Chairs offers far greater value. It’s not just about looks or brand names; it’s about long-term comfort, better focus, and healthier study habits.

1. Improves Focus and Study Efficiency

A well-designed study table and chair helps students stay seated longer without feeling tired or distracted. The right setup minimizes fidgeting and encourages better concentration, especially during long revision hours or online classes.

2. Supports Healthy Posture

Posture problems start early when children use furniture that doesn’t match their size. A quality chair with back support and a properly aligned table reduces the chances of back pain, shoulder tension, and even eye strain.

3. Built to Last

Investing in durable materials like engineered wood or solid hardwood ensures your furniture can handle daily wear and tear. Quality sets may cost more initially, but they typically last for years without needing repairs or replacements.

4. Encourages Consistent Study Habits

Having a comfortable, dedicated study corner gives students a sense of structure. When the study area feels inviting, students are more likely to stick to their routine and spend more time learning.

5. Enhances Room Organization

Many premium study tables come with smart storage — drawers, bookshelves, cable organizers — keeping supplies neat and accessible. A clean study space directly contributes to a clear mind.

6. Saves Money Over Time

While a cheaper set might need to be replaced every year or two, a good-quality combo reduces the total cost in the long run. It’s a smart investment, especially if multiple children in the family will use it over time.

Choosing a sturdy, ergonomic, and functional study table with a chair is more than just a purchase — it’s an investment in your child’s academic success and overall well-being.

About Bonton Furniture — Leading Store for the Best Study Table & Chair Combos in India

At Bonton Furniture, we offer a wide range of premium study tables and chair combos designed to meet the needs of students. Our curated selection features ergonomic designs, durable materials, and stylish options that enhance both comfort and productivity. Whether you’re looking for a compact setup or a spacious desk, Bonton Furniture ensures top-quality choices to elevate your study experience. Browse our collection to find the perfect study table and chair set for students of all ages.

Conclusion: Make an Informed Choice to Elevate Your Studying Experience Today!

A Study Table and Chair are more than just furniture — they’re the foundation of a productive learning environment. From supporting better posture to boosting concentration, the right setup can transform the way students approach their daily study routine.

Whether you’re a school student starting your academic journey or a college aspirant prepping for competitive exams, investing in a well-designed, ergonomic, and durable study table with a chair can make a noticeable difference.

By understanding what features matter most and exploring trusted options available in India, you can choose a combination that fits your space, budget, and learning style. Remember, your study environment shapes your focus — so choose smartly, and study comfortably

Top 10 FAQ Related to Best Study Table With Chair for Students

Q1: What makes a study table and chair ideal for students in India? Ans: A good study table and chair set should offer the right blend of comfort, support, and durability. For Indian students, it’s important that the table height suits their posture and the chair provides back support. Ergonomic design, adequate legroom, strong material like engineered wood or durable plastic, and extra features like storage drawers or book racks can greatly enhance the study experience.

Q2: Which is the most recommended study table with chair for school students in India? Ans: For school students, the Nilkamal Leo Study Set and the Supreme Fusion Table and Chair Combo are among the top recommendations. These sets are lightweight, safe for kids, and designed to support daily study routines without causing discomfort. They’re also budget-friendly and widely available online and offline.

Q3: What is the best ergonomic study table and chair set for long study hours? Ans: The Wakefit Study Table and Chair Combo stands out for its ergonomic design, offering excellent back support and comfort for long study sessions. The table provides enough space for books, laptops, and stationery, while the chair is cushioned and designed to promote good posture, reducing strain during extended study hours.

Q4: Is it better to buy a wooden or plastic study table and chair? Ans: Wooden study tables are more durable and long-lasting, making them a better investment for students who need robust furniture for years. On the other hand, plastic study tables are lighter, often more affordable, and suitable for younger students or temporary setups. The choice depends on your preference for durability vs. ease of handling.

Q5: What size study table is suitable for a teenager in India? Ans: A table that is around 3.5 to 4 feet wide and 2.5 feet high is generally ideal for teenagers. It provides ample space for laptops, notebooks, and other study materials while maintaining a comfortable workspace. This size is also suitable for accommodating multiple tasks like studying and using electronic devices.

Q6: Can I buy a study table and chair combo online in India? Ans: Yes, you can find a wide range of study table and chair combos online in India. Platforms like Amazon, Flipkart, Pepperfry, and Urban Ladder offer various options with detailed product descriptions, user reviews, and competitive pricing. Online shopping makes it easy to compare features and prices before making a decision.

Q7: What’s the average price range for a quality study table with chair in India? Ans: A good-quality study table and chair set in India typically ranges from ₹4,000 to ₹12,000. The price depends on factors like material, brand, and design. Budget-friendly options are available from ₹2,500, especially for plastic or compact models, while premium sets can cost more depending on features and craftsmanship.

Q8: Are adjustable study tables and chairs worth it for growing children? Ans: Yes, adjustable study tables and chairs are highly beneficial for growing children. They can be easily modified to fit the child’s changing height and posture needs, promoting better ergonomics and ensuring comfort over time. These sets are a great investment for families looking for long-term use as children grow.

Q9: How do I choose the right study set for a small room or hostel? Ans: For small rooms or hostels, space-saving and compact designs are key. Look for foldable study tables, wall-mounted options, or sets with built-in storage to maximize available space. Opt for multifunctional furniture that can be tucked away when not in use, ensuring the room remains neat and organized.

Q10: What features should I prioritize: storage, design, or comfort? Ans: While all features are important, comfort should be the top priority when choosing a study table and chair. A comfortable chair with back support and a well-sized table can help students maintain focus and avoid discomfort. After comfort, look for functional storage and a design that fits the study space, allowing easy access to materials without creating clutter.

#multifunctional furniture #buy classroom chairs #buy school furniture #top study table with chair #study table with chair #best study table with chair design #buy study table with chair

0 notes