#it’s hard to say whether or not they’d have thought that far ahead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

squigglywindy · 2 years

Text

The Loaf

This one's for you, @bllaaaaarrgh

Title: The Loaf

Warnings: Implied major character death. The loaf wins. Unironic use of the word "Yonkers".

Summary: Wild fist fights a massive loaf of bread. Read all about it here: https://at.tumblr.com/bllaaaaarrgh/imagine-this-wild-fist-fighting-a-massive-loaf-of/lsi6mmc4dpb6

General Notes: I tried something different with this one; it switches back and forth between past and present. Past will be in italics.

More Notes: This is sheer insanity. I had a lot of fun with it, and am fully prepared to face the consequences of my actions.

It was a curse, he was sure of it. Whether it was the bread or himself that was cursed, he may never know for sure. But he did know, with absolute certainty, that normal bread didn't behave in such a manner.

But he didn’t have time to question the origins of the loaf. Barely had time to arm himself with a spoon. By the time he saw the loaf, it was too late.

It had all started hours earlier, when Time had called for a break and the Links had settled down in a clearing to rest their legs, refill their waterskins, or take a quick nap. It had taken minimal convincing for everyone to agree to let Wild wander; go off on his own to run off some energy and scavenge for interesting mushrooms. And that, if he had been able to look back on the occasion, may have been his first mistake.

The loaf towered over him, easily five feet tall. It was just bread, really, but he could swear it had a face. The perfectly baked crust flaked in such a way as to give it the impression of angry eyebrows, glaring down at Wild as if he had, somehow, personally wronged the bread. As if he weren’t solely responsible for giving it life.

He found the mushroom beside a tree, nestled between a mess of roots as mushrooms so often are. It was bigger than any mushroom he’d ever seen, and glowing a bright intense orange. It seemed alive, in a way that far surpassed all other fungi. The glow pulsated in the evening light, and a grin broke across Wild’s face as ran forward, clutching the stalk of the mushroom between his hands. It was hard to pull up, the mycelium reaching far into the ground. The mushroom was strong, but Wild was stronger. Eventually, the roots snapped and Wild stumbled backwards with the loss of resistance, landing hard on the ground but grinning from ear to ear at the massive mushroom in his hands. It was going to make a fantastic snack, he thought. And that, anyone would agree, was his second mistake.

Wild was a gentleman, so he let the bread throw the first punch. If what the bread did could, in fact, be called a punch. It moved in ways that shouldn’t have been possible for such a massive wall of freshly cooked yeasty goodness, traveling on invisible feet to hurl itself at Wild, whacking his head with the usually-satisfying crackle of crisp bread crust being torn. It didn’t sound as nice, up close; not when the bread was pounding into his skull.

He swung the spoon, then; whacking it into the side of the bread in a desperate attempt to bring down his biggest mistake. To undo the monster he had created. But the bread was a step ahead, as it always seemed to be. It made sense, he realized as it happened, that a bread that could come to life would also be able to absorb a wooden spoon.

The spoon disappeared into the side of the bread, consumed just like every other chance he had at defending himself. It was just him and his fists, now. Just Wild’s bare hands against the bread.

He didn’t take the mushroom back to the makeshift camp to show the others; if he did, they’d only tell him not to eat it. They’d say it’s ‘too big’ and ‘too orange’ and ‘doesn’t even grow around here where’d you find it put it back’. There were times he was absolutely sure that they didn’t want him to have any fun at all.

And so he set up right where he was. Started a fire, heated up his portable cooking pot, and set to work on preparing his latest creation.

The mushroom was powdery; almost flour-like, when he crushed it with a rock and sprinkled it into the pot. With a texture like that, only one course of action made sense: he was going to make bread. Or a pancake, really, given the supplies he had to work with. But it would be huge and delicious and when he brought it back to camp, everyone would ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over how good it was. Just as long as they never found out what it was made out of.

He tossed in the other ingredients; some milk of questionable origins, an egg he’d found in a hot spring three or four months prior, and a sprinkle of his live yeast culture. Afterall, there was nothing worse than flat bread.

Once the last few ingredients were added, he stirred it all up with his spoon and sat on a rock to wait; humming quietly to himself as he watched the pot patiently. Alone, in the woods, cooking bread made out of mushrooms. It was truly the recipe for his third mistake.

With nothing left to fight back with, Wild flung his fists with all his might. They impacted against the side of the loaf, bread flakes flying but doing nothing to halt the path of carnage the loaf was creating. The fifth time his fist connected with the crust, he was forcefully reminded of the fate of his favorite spoon.

He was absorbed. Slowly, to give him the illusion of hope. His hand sunk into the bread, encased within the warm interior of his latest baking endeavor. “Yonkers!” He shouted in panic as the bread sucked him in up to her shoulder. He was powerless to fight back against the loaf; he had no weapons, and bread would not hear reason. He was well and truly trapped.

The bread didn’t stop rising when it hit pancake-height, but he didn’t really question it until it crested the rim of the pan. It just kept going up, and Wild could only stare in wonder at the cooking miracle he had discovered. They would be eating this bread for weeks; and he wouldn’t be leaving the area without a stockpile of the magical mushroom that had made it all possible.

He didn’t worry until the bread actually stepped over the edge of the pan and onto the forest floor, dried leaves sizzling under its heat.

He jumped up, then, reaching for his sword out of instinct. But the bread beat him to it. It moved as a single unit; just one hulking loaf that took everything in its path, pressing into Wild and consuming his sword. His shield, his slate, his cloak. The loaf was after his very dignity, and he wouldn’t stand for it.

He grabbed his spoon from where he had leaned it against a tree and stood his ground. He didn’t call for help, he didn’t fetch the others, he faced the consequences of his experimental cooking all on his own. An undeniable fourth mistake.

It was painless, being taken by the bread; a bright spot he would ponder briefly as he was absorbed. It was warm, and cozy, and almost felt like a hug. A hug he couldn’t escape from, delivered by a loaf of bread, but a hug all the same. He fought with everything he had, but it was a futile battle from the start. He had spent his whole life fighting; at least as much of it as he was aware of. He had taken down guardians and yiga and hinoxes a hundred times his size. He had ridden a lynel as he took it down, and laughed in the face of Ganon himself. But this, he knew now, was his weakness. He could never have been prepared for the loaf.

“Yonkers,” He whispered sadly as the bread worked its way up to his head. It was a cool story, at least. He only hoped that somebody could defeat the loaf in time to tell it.

#Story Time With Squiggles #Linked Universe #LU Wild #The Loaf #Wild cooks #Wild picks a mushroom #Bread of questionable sentience #Implied major character death #But don't take that too seriously this is full on crack #Don't take any of this seriously #Wild loses his favorite spoon #LU Time #He's mentioned by name so I'll tag him I guess #Guys this is poetry for real #Squiggles gets really really sleep deprived and really really stressed? Something like this was bound to happen #Yonkers!

380 notes · View notes

sheetsonfire · 2 years

Text

Dead and Waiting | Part 8

Fandom: Chicago PD

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Genre: Drama, angst, romance, thriller

Warnings: smut, violence, harassment, swearing, gun mentions, fire, injuries, sickness

Word Count: 5598

Requested By Anon: hi! can i request a jay halstead x reader where you work in intelligence with him and for some reason (maybe undercover work) you have to fake your death and no one knows, not even jay… but you end up returning once it’s safe again and he’s mad but also relieved?

thanks and totally understand if you pass over this request <3

This is Part 8, click for Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 9 (FINAL PART), EPILOGUE |

A/N: Whew. First off, I am so very sorry it took so long to get this next part out to you. Between work and excessive heat, my brain was fried. I hope it’s worth the wait, and I will try to make sure part 9 isn’t so far away! Enjoy! I promise the angst will be easing up soon!

Hank didn’t know what Huffman could have meant by his words, but he knew as soon as Jay heard “It’s about Y/N Y/LN” there would be no sense in even attempting to drop him back at the 21st, before heading to the location Huffman had sent him. It was listed as a private government building, but there was not much detail provided after that fact.

Jay was pensive on the journey, Hank was starting to think it was contagious like he could hear Jay's every curious and agitated thought - his own body rigid with anticipation. He knew that he couldn’t keep the rest of the team in the dark forever, but he figured that whatever they were about to learn of your death should be heard by him and Jay first.

“What do you think they have?” Jay’s voice is sharp, on edge, eyes looking dead ahead at the open road. Hank’s not quite sure whether the question is directed at him or at the general silence that hung in the SUV.

“I don’t know, kid. We’re about to find out, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.” Hank huffs, he really didn’t want to let his stress present itself, but he was finding it hard not to be aggravated by the possibility and likelihood that the ATF had been keeping more secrets.

Jay let out a sad half-laugh at Hank’s use of “kid”, they’d worked together for so long he couldn’t feel further from a kid, so much had changed in the last month that Jay felt he had aged another decade.

Yet Hank had become this all-seeing, all-knowing, fatherly protector of late. If not for Hank, Jay's not convinced that he wouldn't have found a way to go off the rails. So maybe ‘kid’ wasn’t such a stretch.

As they pull up to the marker on Maps, Jay’s stomach sours. The sign outside the avenue of trees leading up to an industrial-looking building read “Federal Medical Centre”, prefaced with the name of some benefactor who presumably funded the facility. Whatever ATF had to say, Jay at this point could bet it was to do with your body. Had they recovered you from the river? The mere thought of having to ID your body makes him want to hurl all over Hank’s dash.

Hank turns into the long drive, trees looming and casting shadows over the SUV. Jay’s fingers clench into the material of his jeans, shifting nervously.

[Inside the Medical Centre]

You paced your room, glancing at yourself in the mirror of the tiny bathroom every so often, looking at your tired eyes, the faded cuts and bruises, your arm still in its sling, hair somewhat unkempt despite your efforts to look like you hadn’t gone feral being stuck in the secluded hospital. To put it lightly, you looked stressed.

And you were.

You had packed up what small collection of belongings they had brought you in with from the river, it fits easily into the miniature non-descript backpack they had provided you with. Tucked in there was the short-term course of the anti-anxiety medication the doctor had given you for your nightmares, some hair ties, toiletries you decided to take with you, your own personal case notes, and the letter you’d written to Jay.

It was hard to encapsulate just how giddy and terrified you were to see your fiancé again, not knowing what to say or what to expect from his end. You knew Voight would be coming to get you, and you wondered if Jay would be in tow. From what you gathered the agents hadn’t given your boss many specifics, so you didn’t hold out hope to be reunited with your partner immediately.

Maybe it was for the best, you pondered. Maybe you could use the time in the car with Hank to think some things through, get your head on straight so you could be strong when you saw Jay again.

“Who am I kidding?” You mutter to yourself. You knew you’d collapse into Jay’s arms the second he was in front of you.

Your heart is hammering rapidly, fluttering like a bird’s, it was so strange for the idea of seeing Jay to invoke such apprehension within you - but you knew the burden he had been forced to bear, to experience your death must have been overwhelming and you weren’t able to tell him the truth nor give him peace when you most wanted to - it made you worry where this left your future together.

As you sat yourself down in an attempt to calm down, the door opened, Huffman stood with a hand on the door, holding it open for you to exit.

“They’re here, Detective.”

You swallowed. “They? Plural?” You felt the world spin, gripping the armrest of the chair tightly.

“Yes, Sergeant Voight and Detective Halstead.”

Your knee bounced nervously, willing yourself to get up from the chair but suddenly terrified to do so.

“Detective?” Huffman prompts, nodding with his head in the direction of the corridor beyond your room.

His voice brings you back, and you blink, “Yeah, sorry.” You silently count to 3 and then spring from the chair, wincing at the tug that the motion gives on your still healing gunshot wound.

With one last glance at what had essentially been your isolation room for the past month, you swoop up the small bag and follow the agent down the hall.

Stensing stood, arms folded, resting against the desk in the meeting room Hank and Jay had been ushered into. Huffman had promised to be “right back” and had left the other three men in total silence.

Jay could not take his eyes off the door, waiting for Huffman to return and explain what the hell was happening. Voight’s jaw was set tight, occasionally staring at Stensing who made a point to avoid the Sergeant’s gaze, pretending to be interested in his phone.

There was movement outside the door, both Jay and Hank stand to almost attention, Huffman appears and gestures to an unseen figure behind him, encouraging them to step forward.

Cautiously, you enter the meeting space, body cold with nerves as you step slowly into the lion’s den. You meet Hank’s eyes first, the utter shock blooms in his expression, you then cast your eyes to a gaunt, detached-looking, Jay, his eyes wide. You’re frozen to the spot, willing yourself to move further but you can’t. It’s by some mercy that your vocal cords still work.

“Hey…” You take a shaky breath, you note Stensing and Huffman heading towards the door, and Hank’s gaze turns sharply to them.

“We’ll return once you’ve got reacquainted with Detective Y/L/N, we will… debrief then.” Hank doesn’t speak, his lips couldn’t be pressed any tighter and yet. He would absolutely not leave the building without ensuring they would take the heat for the shitshow that was your ‘death’.

With that, the door closes and you’re left in the strange silence with Voight and Jay.

You thought it would maybe be more jubilant, more like the movies where you'd go running into Jay's arms and be kissed senseless, but it's not. You're not sure what to do with that.

To your surprise, Voight moves first, Jay’s eyes never leave you, simply staring in disbelief as you feel Hank wrapping an arm around you, careful of your sling. You’re trying to discern the look in Jay’s eyes, whatever it was it wasn’t comforting, it only made you more unsettled than you had been. It’s only Hank’s voice that brings you back to his attention.

“Sarge.” You exhale, your voice is muffled against his shoulder, and you feel a strange wave of emotion come over you, it was bliss to be held by someone familiar, someone who cared about you. You hadn't been around anyone like that since before the undercover had started. The feeling was surreal. You can’t stop the tears welling up, both in relief for your safety and in rapidly growing worry at Jay’s reaction.

“You’re safe now, kid. I’m so sorry we didn’t know, we searched…” He cups your cheek gently, you are not used to seeing this side of Hank Voight, especially not towards you.

You sniff, swiping at the tears, “I know, it’s okay, they screwed us over and I had no way of getting a message to you.” When you say “They” you gesture towards the door, meaning the ATF.

“Knowing everybody would think I was dead was the worst feeling in the world, it felt like I was betraying every single person I know.”

Your head drops, that pang of guilt ever-present, Hank tilts your head back up. "You did nothing wrong, Y/N, you hear me? They let you stay as bait in that boat warehouse, they took you from the river and they didn't tell us. Believe me, hell is gonna rain down on them... What the hell happened in there, kid?" Hank queries, glancing at Jay who leans against a table, hands in a knuckle-tight grip on the edge, he looks as though he's in a trance.

You don't mean for your voice to get quieter, but you can tell Jay's struggling and you don't want to draw attention to him. "It's a long story, and I wanna tell you... It's just, maybe me and Jay could get a sec, alone?"

Hank blinks, nodding, "Of course, I'm sorry, yeah. I'll be outside if you need me." He squeezes your arm gently, eyeing Jay for one last time, before going to stand outside the room.

When the door shuts you almost flinch, putting your backpack on the table as you slowly approach Jay. Taking a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally for whatever was about to happen.

"Jay?" You whisper, not wanting to startle him from his vacant stare. "Jay, I'm so sorry, you must be in total shock. I understand, okay? I want you to know if you need time...I understand, I just... I missed you so much, and I want you to know that I love you. I love you and I have been counting the days till I could be in front of you again."

Jay's eyes are glazed with tears, and you can see his bottom lip fighting the urge to cry.

You get braver, using your good arm to reach out and touch his cheek, your hand shakes as it makes contact with warm stubbled skin. "Jay. Look at me. It's okay, I'm real, I'm here, baby."

Slowly, Jay blinks, the tears rolling down his face make you want to cry too, you can feel it coming in fact. Bubbling up from your stomach into your chest, your throat, a small sob escapes you. Stroking along Jay’s jaw as his attention turns to you. He swallows, and you smile through your tears.

“Y/N?” He murmurs, leaning into your touch, almost nuzzling.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me. I’m so sorry.” His whole body shudders with soft sobs, tucking his face into your neck as you stand between his legs, wrapping your arm around his waist. You press your lips to his hair, smelling his shampoo, planting kisses on the top of his head, his ears, “I’m right here, I’m not leaving again. I promise, and they’d have to shoot me…again.”

Jay’s head snaps up, scowling and you instantly have the good grace to look sheepish.

“Sorry, poor taste, but the sentiment still stands.” You try for a weak smile, holding on to Jay so tight, inhaling his scent, relishing his warmth, the feel of him is as commonplace for your senses as breathing.

“What happened to you?” Jay’s mouth is dry, eyes darkening at his own question.

You clear your throat, moving your hand to grasp Jay’s. “Maybe let’s call Hank in now then, hm?”

Jay nods but squeezes your hand before you move away. “Y/N, I love you so much. I never want you out of my sight.”

You want to laugh, but honestly, you felt the same right now, nodding. “I love you, Jay. More than I can stand it.”

You look at each other for several moments, and you get butterflies as you lean back in, like you were about to kiss for the very first time. You close your eyes, feeling the brush of his lips against yours, it was sweet bliss. A soft sigh escapes as you part, you feel grounded in his eyes, pressing another kiss to his lips before you will yourself to go get your sergeant.

There was some explaining to do.

It was difficult to explain how everything had escalated so fast, you had tried like hell to keep the operation in play, but once enough people on Burden’s side knew of your real identity, it was all over. ATF should have pulled you, but instead, they let it go to the ultimate extreme. It was pure luck that they had found you on the other side of the building in the river, and it was worse luck that they were the first ones there. So much could have been different if CPD or CFD had been able to get to you first.

You told them about getting shot, falling through the rotten floorboards, struggling to stay afloat in the water, screaming for help with nobody to hear over the ruckus of flames and sirens, about your pneumonia, about your ‘ban’ from communication with the outside world. You had physically and mentally been through the wringer. Voight was visibly angry, of course, and you knew he would absolutely kick up a stink on your behalf. True, witness protection was par for the course in a case like this, but it usually came with counselling for the witness and a confidentiality agreement that Hank should have been privy to.

Throughout, Jay sits beside you, that glazed-over look returns and his body is vibrating with rage. You want to hold his hand, to just go somewhere where the both of you can be left alone, but there’s something about Jay’s posturing, about his lack of communication that grows a seed of worry in your gut and chest.

You had the privilege of knowing there would probably be a time where you could go back to your life, Jay had to live each day thinking you were gone from his for good.

Voight had mentioned that he wanted to schedule an appointment for you with a CPD therapist, and now as you were sitting listening to Hank talk about what would happen next, you made a subconscious note that you would enquire with Hank privately about whether Jay could be given some sessions but with Dr Charles. You knew how your partner felt about strangers from the CPD getting into his head.

It takes another 25 minutes before you’re in the cool early dawn air of the parking lot, walking towards Hank’s SUV as Jay keeps a light supportive hand on your back. It felt like the right thing, yet at the same time, it almost felt forced. You didn’t know if you were being paranoid but you thought Jay might have been more touchy-feely upon your return, but almost immediately after the kiss, it was as though the distance had returned.

You reconcile he might not want to be affectionate in front of company, or that he is probably still in shock. You set it aside, focusing on the bliss of being able to resume your life. Hank would be visiting the ATF field office later in the day, after some shuteye, and giving them a piece of his mind. He had mentioned taking Trudy with him too, you pitied whoever was on the receiving end of that.

The ride home is quiet, and you’re grateful for it. The further you get back into the city, the more the emotions return. Chicago looked glorious under the early morning glow, you found yourself leaning on your good side to watch the world go by. You had ended up using Jay’s jacket as a pillow, a small gesture from your fiance that kept you hopeful.

Tentatively, as you got closer to your neighbourhood, you sit up a little more. Putting Jay’s jacket in your lap, you rolled out your neck and winced at the stiffness in your shoulder. Slowly you turned to look at Jay, he was looking out the other window, his hand sort of close to your leg but almost afraid to commit to touching you - like you’d disappear if he tried. Carefully you reach your hand out and brush your fingers against his, he jolts slightly but recovers, offering you a weak smile as he lets you clasp your fingers with his.

When Jay opens the front door to your apartment you want to cry, it was like being back on dry land after a storm. It smelled like home, it felt safe, it was yours and nobody was going to reach you here if you didn’t want them to.

A clearing of a throat gets your attention, “Are you hungry?” Jay asks, scratching at the back of his head. He carried himself like you weren't a cohabiter in this apartment, and you would have laughed if it weren’t for the fact that it felt so disconnected from how you and he had been with each other before your disappearance.

“Uh… not really, I’m kinda tired actually. Could use a nap, and then maybe breakfast?” You smile, wanting to see that sweet smile on his face return too. He nods, face barely lifting from neutral. There was definitely something wrong, you weren’t surprised, but you knew you had to bide your time on how to approach it. You didn’t want to pressure Jay into feeling emotions or confessing things that were difficult to confess. You could be patient, especially with him.

He gestures to the bathroom, “Sure. I’m…uh, I’m just gonna take a shower, it’s been a long night. I’ll be with you in about 15 minutes.” And with that he’s already wandering down the hall, leaving you to head to the bedroom. Silently wondering how to even process being back, wishing you could know how it was going to turn out for the both of you. You just hoped everyone at the 21st, your friends, and Will would have a reaction that you could handle.

To your total surprise, Jay doesn’t come back from his shower, in fact, he doesn’t stay at all. At around the 30-minute mark after his shower, you hear the front door close, and a message on your now nearly re-charged phone flashes. You’re surprised that Jay hadn’t cancelled the contract by now, but then again you figure he’s had a lot of things on his mind.

[Sorry, had to head back to the District, forgot to finish some things. I’ll see you later, don’t wait on me for breakfast, there’s food in the fridge and the cupboards. Love ya x]

You blinked at the screen, re-reading the words over and over. You couldn’t believe you’d come back from the literal dead and Jay had skipped out on you, and to finish it off you'd got a half-hearted “Love ya x” not an “I love you” or anything closer to sincere. You stared up at the ceiling, fingers drumming on your growling stomach, anxiety the only thing sitting in it. You had been hungry when you got home, but you had also wanted to lie down with Jay and be there whilst he got some rest. Now that was out of the window. You sigh, feeling somewhat stupid for subconsciously thinking it would be easier than this.

First you reply to Jay, hoping that communicating via text might be easier for him.

[Hey, honey. Was a little surprised that you left, but you do what you need to. I’m here if you need to talk, okay? I miss you already, come home safe. x]

Then, you hesitate on ringing Hank, but as far as you knew he was the only other person that was aware of your existence. You decide you might as well chance seeing if he was still awake and whether he could help you reach out to Will without giving your brother-in-law a heart attack.

You get a message from Jay, [Thank you, I know. See you later. X] It wasn’t an essay, but it was something, you half-expected no reply at all.

You’re about a second away from hitting Hank’s name when [BROTHER WILL] flashes up as an incoming call. You blink in surprise, laughing at the ID, it felt good to see it again. You and he had really chuckled over the title for him in your contacts, it made him sound like some sort of priest. If he was calling that meant either Hank or Jay had told him already, you were willing to wager it was your ‘freaking out, missing fiance’ that was the culprit.

Suddenly you feel nervous, hesitating before you slide the icon to answer. You take a breath, scared to speak.

“Y/N, is it really you?”

Your heart thuds, it was weird to announce your 'resurrection', “Uh…yeah, yeah, Will, it’s me. Hi.” You feel your cheeks go a dusty pink, suddenly very self-conscious, like you’d chosen to run off and disappear.

“Oh my god.” Is Will’s response, you can hear the audible exhale of his relieved energy through the phone.

“I know, I’m sorry… Uh, Will, listen this is a lot to explain over the phone. Could we meet soon? Jay’s gone back to the district, and well, I just could use the company. It’s not turning out to be the homecoming I imagined..."

“He called me, Y/N. Believe me, I wanted to chew him out, but I think this is a trauma response and I didn’t want to push it. I told him to stop by Dr Charles’ office after work… I can’t promise he will, but…” Will sighs, “I would love to see you, and we can talk about everything, and whatever you need from hereon out.

“Yeah, no, I know, I’m not mad at him, Will. It’s just, it…stings? You know? I just missed him so much, like I couldn’t breathe, and now… he still feels so far away. I want to help him through this too and to be honest, I’m glad you mentioned Dr Charles, that was going to be my suggestion. You know how he gets about CPD therapists.”

Will scoffs a laugh, humming in agreement. “Oh, I sure do. Listen, I just need to get some sleep, I just got off of shift. As soon as I’ve had a few hours, I’ll be right on over. Will you be okay?”

You do take a second to ponder the question, but decide you needed the rest yourself, a rest that came with the security of being in your own home.

“Will, I’ll be absolutely fine, take the time you need. I’m not going anywhere now.”

“You better not, Jay has been insufferable and I haven’t been much better.”

You laugh quietly, smiling, “You’re sweet. I’ll see you later, Will, it’s so good to hear from you again.”

“You too, Y/N. Like you wouldn’t believe, I’ve missed my best drinking buddy.”

“We’re back in the game, partner. See you soon.”

“See you soon, if you need anything at all, call. Okay?”

“Yeah yeah, alright mother hen. Go sleep.”

“Alright, bye for real.”

The call disconnects and you’re left in the quiet of your bedroom once more. You knew you had to stay strong but you missed Jay, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and forget the world for a while.

In a surprising turn of events, when you woke up you had received an invite from Hank to make a brief return to the district yourself, the team had been informed of the news and understandably they were all eager to see you. They had been there that night by the river, they had been there when Jay's world fell apart, they had been there when they 'buried' you and they had to be there when life had started to carry on without you.

It was a surreal day in the bullpen, you had been pulled into tight squeezes and tearful reunions with your friends and colleagues, and you were convinced that Trudy wasn't going to let you go. From time to time you'd catch Jay's eyes, and each time it made you, in part, in a hurry to wrap up your visit to the district. You had been reading about Jay's behaviour on your phone as you sat and drank your coffee at breakfast. You were more than convinced Jay was experiencing the anger that came with grief during a loved one's passing, but you were actually here to see it.

Part of you thought you should stay at the apartment for when Jay got home from work and therapy, but the minutes alone only made you more anxious as you replayed Jay’s look of utter contempt towards you when Voight and Trudy had gently ushered you into the bullpen. The others had surrounded you with careful embraces and relieved, emotional, words of comfort. Jay’s expression was colder, distant, he had hugged you again but he could have been a stranger for all the familiarity that was lacking from the gesture.

You had no clue what work looked like for you now, you figured you'd have to do a lot of therapy and training to be declared fit for duty again. So you found yourself wrapping up the social call, using Will as the perfect get-out to leave and get away from the fear of losing your partner.

Again, on a day of surprises, Dr Charles was at Will's apartment when you had arrived, something about taking a personal period from his workday to come and see you, for which you were extremely grateful. After a lot of hugs from your brother-in-law and a lot of your own tears, the psychologist tried to reassure you and helped you put together a plan for how this could improve over time.

Yet, you were afraid of encroaching on Jay's personal space.

Later that evening you got another message from Jay, one that sunk a weight into your stomach,

[Hey, I got caught up at work, another case, I'll see you tomorrow maybe. Don't wait up. Sorry again. J x]

Carefully you typed the response, trying to not let your anger show through.

[Okay, Jay. I’m going to be at Will’s, so you can find me there. I hope you know I’m sorry for what you went through, and we can talk about how it made you feel. See you soon x]

And so as you woke up in Will's spare room the next morning, you made a decision. You would stay with Will until Jay was ready to see you, you weren't all that certain you'd cope with the lingering loneliness in an empty apartment and Will was more than accommodating. He could give you updates on his brother's movements, as well as helping you with your medications and change the dressing on your shoulder.

Will did have work so you'd been left to it during the main bulk of the day, but that was alright, it still felt warmer than home.

The team had all messaged you asking if you needed anything, including Voight who was adamant that you call or message for any reason that crossed your mind. In your chat with Jay the last time you had spoken via text caught your eye, it was from a month and two weeks before this whole thing started.

The last message on record read:

[Hey, baby. I know we just said goodbye, and you won’t read this until the operation is over, but I love you so much. And I can’t wait for you to be my wife. Be good, be safe. I’ll see you soon. Love, J x]

You sat like a robot on Will’s couch, a pint glass of water half empty and some crackers half-eaten, your fingers fiddling with a loose thread on the sleeve of your sweatshirt. You had closed the curtains, somehow the daylight made you feel too exposed. Your mind was starting to feel like it did in those early days of your convalescing at the hospital, dark and spiralling.

Will turning the key in the lock made you jump, but you composed yourself by the time he actually saw your face and you saw his. You mustered a smile, and he smiled reassuringly back even though he could clearly see you had sat there all day feeling out of sorts.

He felt like a point of safety to you right now, somehow a connection to Jay but without any of the disappointment. It also helped that he had his own first-hand experience with witness protection, something that made him easier to communicate with.

It was later into the evening now. Will managed to get you to eat some soup and watch a nature documentary with him.

You were back in the spare room now, “I got you a toothbrush, some toiletries, you know just to tide you over. You can stay as long as you need. Whatever you want in the kitchen, anything here, it’s yours alright? If you need me I’m just down the hall, day or night, come get me or ring me. I can pick up some more clothes for you tomorrow if you like…” He opens his mouth to say something about Jay but thinks better of it. You were hurting as it was, and Will needed to speak to his brother properly and work this through with him. He knew Jay was suffering too, but you would have never left him or let him think you were dead if you ever had a say in the matter. Jay would have to understand that soon enough if he didn’t already.

You nod feebly, whispering a tired, “Thanks, Will.” As you curl up on the bed, hugging yourself. Your possibly now ‘ex-brother-in-law to be’ leaves the light in the hallway on, keeping your door ajar so you don’t feel isolated from him. Coming home was supposed to make you complete again, but the hole in your heart had only got more grotesque and painful with every passing hour. The bruises, cuts and discoloured skin from your time trapped with the Burden family and the events subsequent to that were now being exchanged for a far deeper torment. There was one person you only ever wanted at the end of this hell, and now you felt as though he hated you for what you’d ‘done’. You exhale shakily, whispering to the emptiness of Will’s spare room. “I’m so sorry, Jay.” A tear rolls down your cheek as your mind spins into a fitful sleep.

Unbeknownst to you, Jay had been sent to an ‘emergency’ therapy session by Voight, earlier than Jay's scheduled time, and then he was politely albeit firmly ordered to go home and take some furlough to sort things out with you.

Jay had left his therapy session with a mountain of regret sitting on his shoulders, but ultimately clarity on everything that had transpired. Those feelings of loss, betrayal and resentment were perpetually cycling in his mind, but now he could see that you had suffered immeasurably too, and that to have been pushed away by him the past few days must have been unbearable given everything else. You had always told him that he was a safety point for you, and he had taken that away from you against your will.

"For fuck's sake, Halstead." He mutters, slamming his hand on the steering wheel.

When he gets home, he sees a note in your handwriting, Will had left it earlier on your behalf, on his way back from the hospital. It re-iterated what you had said in the message you sent. It talked about where you'd gone and that you’d be there if and when he was ready. He only feels worse to discover his detachment had actually scared you away from the apartment. He felt dizzy with the sense that his whole life, his marriage, his wife-to-be… it was all disintegrating before his very eyes, the one thing he had wished for was falling away from him again.

Getting back in his truck he drives to Will's with the intent of coming to see you and take you home, but he's frozen once he gets to the road outside the complex. He doesn't even know where to begin to apologise and make it up to you. So he sits in his truck, dozing restlessly, keeping watch over Will's apartment complex. Close by if he were needed.

It's around 2am when Jay's phone buzzes loudly along the seat next to him in the back, Jay's eyes snap open and he sits up with a groan from his uncomfortable position across the passenger seats of his truck. Bleary eyes squint at the bright light, fingers fumbling to slide the icon to answer Will's call.

The sounds in the background make his blood run cold, he can hear an edge to Will's tone.

"Man, I don't care where you are or what mood you're in, if you're sober and safe to drive, get here now. It's Y/N, she needs you."

With that, the call ends and before Jay knows it he's sprinting towards the complex's front entrance to get to you.

End of Part 8

Tags: @briannareneea985 - @mrspeacem1nusone - @elius-learns-to-write - @surftrips - @resanoona

#dead and waiting #jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #one chicago #chicago pd

159 notes · View notes

heliads · 2 years

Text

Finality

Based on this entry for my beloved @mystic-writings' 1k celebration, congrats again hailey!!

sirius black from harry potter with the prompts "one last time?" and "you make me feel alive"

masterlist

“Think they’ll remember us when we’re gone?”

There’s a voice to your side, one sound reminding you that you’re not alone in this world. It’s hard to believe otherwise, the night is so dark that you can scarcely see your own hand in front of your face, but the voice is a strong enough anchor to drag you out of even the deepest of seas. There are few people who have such a powerful hold on you, but then again, it shouldn’t really come as a surprise that Sirius Black is one of them.

He’s grinning at you now, you can see him cloaked in the few beams of moonlight daring to stray across your path at such an hour. Perhaps the crescent of white up ahead of you is ashamed of all the trouble you’d cause if she dared give you even a little more light, but just like you, she’s still unable to leave Sirius alone. Even in the dark, all finds him somehow, even the most reluctant of moonbeams.

That’s how it is to be around Sirius Black, after all, like being dragged into a whirlpool labeled with his name in messy scrawl. You don’t remember if you’d originally set out to be Sirius’ friend when you first arrived at Hogwarts, but staying away from him is a losing game, it always has been.

There is nobody at your school that could possibly leave Sirius be, nobody that matters. Even if they try to fight it, they’ll still end up around him, perhaps as an enemy or just a jealous watcher. Sirius is like nothing you’ve ever seen before, nor will you ever see again. Some part of you wonders how you’ll survive once you graduate, if leaving him behind will kill you once and for all. You’re almost certain that it will, which is why nights like tonight matter so much.

After all, graduation looms just around the corner, scarcely a few months away. It should scare you, you think, that after all these years kept safely in school you’ll have to brave the wild world outside the castle gates. In part, it does, but it also just seems like yet another game to play. That’s how this whole scene works, after all, it’s a damned game. That’s what Sirius taught you, but you taught him how to win.

Looking back on it, you’d certainly say that you’ve won. There’s hardly a person around here that doesn’t know your name, whether that’s for academic exploits or friendly hijinks. You’ve been a Marauder since the second you heard the title, and you can’t imagine a life without it, or without Sirius.

You can comfortably say that the Marauders would stay at their full power even if it was just you and Sirius fucking up the school by yourselves. In fact, you might even be worse than you are now. When you’re with Sirius, the brakes are nowhere in sight. The two of you go and go until the whole world lights up with flames, and even then, you just delight in the bright lights until your senses burn away.

That’s why the two of you are here now, after all, having snuck out of your dorms without even having to alert the other that the rendezvous would happen. You know Sirius like the back of your hand, and all it took was one look out your window at such a wonderful night to know instinctively that he would be out. You met him descending the staircase at the exact same time as you. His face had lit up in a moon-bright grin, and all thoughts of possible punishment for being out of bed after curfew had fled, if they’d ever been there at all.

It’ll drag you down eventually, you think, the rest of the world’s rules. You’ve been playing the game as you pleased for far too long, Sirius always by your side. He is a dizzying rush, your favorite boy, but all the best things come to an end eventually.

Sirius can feel it too, that’s why he’s asking you such a question. You turn over to look at him, and notice a furrow in his brow for the first time in quite a while. Usually, whenever he’s with you, Sirius can’t spare a second for his troubles. It seems as if tonight is the exception.

“Of course they’ll remember us, Sirius, we’ve made it quite hard to do anything else. If worst comes to worst, they’ll still see the cracks in the third floor tower and wonder who could have done such a thing, even without names to go with it.”

Sirius chuckles on instinct, remembering that day from long ago. The goal has always been to have pranks that aren’t quite so destructive, but that one had been an exception. No one had been hurt, but the third floor tower now looks like a grandmother with far too many wrinkles.

His face settles eventually, though, and you realize that he’s being honest. “It matters though, doesn’t it, to have our legacies stick around? I can’t imagine that we’ve spent all these years here just to disappear into history without a second thought.”

The two of you have been lying on the roof for quite some time, having snuck out of your dorms together. Sirius sits up now, dark hair settling back around his jawline. The moonlight doesn’t stick to him quite as well, but the shadows stay.

You sigh contemplatively and sit up as well. “It’s hard to judge that sort of thing. We’ll tell the stories if we have to, won’t we? Besides, Sirius, you’re not exactly the kind of person that people forget.”

It’s a little more true than you’d meant to say at such a late hour, but even in the dark Sirius still looks at you as if you’re all he’s ever needed, and it’s hard to keep your tone light in the face of such admiration. He seems pleased by it, anyway, if that’s any indication that you’re not messing up.

He cocks his head to the side, and you swear you can see his usual confidence collecting around him once more, covering up the seams and gaps that he’s always so careful to hide.

“What’s that mean, Y/N? You think I’m famous?” He asks.

You laugh, and Sirius lets his eyes flicker shut to best hear the sound ring around him. “Oh, that was never a question. I just mean that you’re good at all of this, you know. You’ve got your part and you play it. I don’t know how you manage to stay so delighted with life every day. ‘Course, I know you’re faking it half the time, but no one else does. How do you do it?”

Sirius climbs carefully over to you until you’re side by side again. The tower roof is cold this time of night, the lack of moonlight drenching you in chill, and you can’t help but lean closer to him for any kind of heat. Sirius notices, he always seems to pick up on your every movement. He takes the school robe off of his back without a second thought, draping it between the two of you.

His eyes still remain on you, and up close you’re able to see how quiet his entire face seems. It’s a treat to witness Sirius like this, when he’s not playacting as a constant entertainer. There is another boy deep within the facade, the kind of soul who’s sharper than a blade but never cuts you, who would spend the rest of his days with his friends if he wasn’t so worried that they’d tire of him. Appearance are everything to Sirius, he learned that from a young age, but all that’s taught you is how valuable it is to see him with all walls down.

“You,” he says simply, and you frown, confused.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

Sirius almost smiles, the corners of his lips fighting the urge to tug themselves up. “The reason I’m able to stay so vivacious all the time, it’s you. You make me feel alive, sweetheart. I thought that was obvious.”

You’re grateful for the dark, as it will hopefully cover up the heat currently rushing to your cheeks. The problem with forever being Sirius Black’s partner in crime is that it makes it awfully hard to stay impartial to his charms, especially when he does things like insist on trying out all of his pickup lines on you. You’ve been loving him for quite some time, even in the midst of exams and stress and pranks, but you’ve never dreamed that he could feel the same way.

After all, how could he? Half of Sirius’ allure is that he seems to be made of pure glass, all dazzling edges with absolutely nothing behind it. There’s a reason he was able to introduce you to the game of life, after all, he’s been playing it since the day he was born. Sirius has always been a contestant, the perfect actor. He is a perfect storm sweeping your sunny skies into ruin, but it’s always been a hair too perfect.

You’ve constantly been doubting yourself, reading too much into every line and hoping against hope that the smiles he shoots your way are anything other than practice. With each day’s heartbreak, however, you’ve learned to keep your skin thick. That means you’re afraid to take his words at face value, so you continue the act a little longer, just as you always do.

“I make you feel alive? That’s a dashing compliment, Sirius, but I’m looking for actual answers. Caffeine keeps James alive, for example, and sneaking out after hours works for me. What’s your secret?” You keep your tone neutral, allowing not a shred of hope be seen. It wouldn’t work for Sirius’ grand play, would it?

This rooftop must be messing with his head just as much as yours, though. When it’s the two of you, you’re never sure if he’s being real or just continuing the stage a little longer, but you swear that Sirius’ gaze is more true than you’ve ever seen.

“I’m being honest, Y/N.” Sirius rakes a hand through his hair, dislodging the raven strands yet again. His eyes are just as dark, but tonight they keep enough of the moonlight tucked away inside that you can see everything he’s begging you to understand.

You shiver slightly, and he pulls you closer to him. “Alright, then. I make you feel alive. Is it just my wonderful sense of humor? My incorrigible charm?”

Sirius grins in spite of himself. “I’d go for the fact that you’re the only one who really matters to me. No one else looks at the darkest night of the year and immediately thinks of me, you know. Not even James knows half as many of my habits as you.”

You can’t help feeling like you’ve passed some sort of test, or been able to achieve yet another rank in Sirius’ grand game. “You’re easy enough to know, Sirius. When you’re not doing your best to hide yourself away, that is.”

Arrested by some sort of impulse, Sirius stands, tugging you up with him. The wind has whipped against his cheeks, you notice, leaving them tinged with pink. Your fingers twitch at your sides, wanting nothing more than to brush your knuckles against his face and find out for certain whether it’s just as warm as yours seems to be.

His grin is just as electric as always. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. No one looks as hard as you do. No one ever has.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s trying to tell you something, you’re certain of it. It’s just that Sirius is how he has always been, never one to commit fully to a sentiment unless he’s certain that it will land just as he wishes it. That’s why he’s dragged you up here, isn’t it? So the two of you could be alone just before graduation and he could see if his hopes were just as real as yours.

“Your question earlier. You don’t care about the rest of the world, do you?” You breathe.

Sirius nods. Another successful turn, although the end of the game is getting closer, you can sense it. At any moment, he’ll play his ace. “Only you, love. Only you.”

You reach out and take his hand. It fits within yours perfectly, as if it were made only for you to hold it. After all these years, it feels like a conclusion written ages ago, the end to both of your stories, the one you’ve been waiting on for all eternity.

“It’s the same way for me, you know,” you manage, “I won’t ever forget you, Sirius Black. Just don’t give me a reason I could. Don’t you dare leave me lonely after we leave this school for good.”

Sirius’ eyes sparkle with hope. “Only if you’ll let me. They warned me about this, you know. I wasn’t supposed to tell you how I felt until after we graduated. No one dared mess up the Marauders, even with something as crushing as the fact that I loved you.”

You laugh at last, feeling your heart skip several beats. There’s the confession, there’s the twist you’ve been promised for so long. “The friend group will be fine, Sirius. I’m not letting anything come between the two of us.”

Sirius smiles too, although judging by the assuredness in which he swoops forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, he’s been wanting to do a lot more for a lot longer.

“We have all the time in the world, don’t we? Even after we leave.” He says.

You lean into him, then turn your head slightly so you can look out at the hills and dales of the landscape unrolling before you. The first strands of dawn are beginning to thread through the sky, weaving a new picture of bright colors and best promises.

“That we do. We still have just enough time here for something special, though. So what do you say, Sirius? Shall we rock their worlds one last time?”

Sirius considers the sprawling grounds of the school beneath your feet, then twirls you lazily with your connected hands before kissing you once more. “I believe we shall. One more run, my love, and then we have the rest of time.”

Standing so close to Sirius with the weight of all your confessions keeping you warm, you don’t feel the chill of the night anymore, nor the ever pressing darkness. For once, you’re calm. The future has nothing to do but welcome you in. You can’t wait to see what happens now that you know that Sirius will stay by your side.

harry potter taglist: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie

#mystics1kchallenge #sirius black #sirius black imagines #sirius black x reader #sirius black oneshot #marauders #marauders imagines #marauders x reader #marauders oneshot #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter oneshot #sirius #sirius imagines #sirius x reader #sirius oneshot

51 notes · View notes

officerjennie · 1 year

Text

the softest of treasures

CW: Geralt panicking, mild argument. They're both not the best at communicating

Summary: Geralt can't seem to focus when his thoughts won't stop

Taglist: at the bottom - let me know if you want on/off it

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Story Masterlist

The panic did not set in until several days after their talk. Geralt had a blissful few days where he managed to not think about his little lie, nor delve too deep into the fact that he’d blown his boyfriend. For those few days it just felt natural, as if there was nothing to panic about at all - he messaged Jaskier as he normally had, saved every picture Jaskier sent him, and spoke to him until almost midnight one night until Jaskier’s mind quieted enough to let him fall asleep.

He’d sucked Jaskier’s dick, and it had simply happened. It wasn’t something to overthink on nor was it something to panic over. It simply was a thing that happened that had made Geralt happy.

And then he was supposed to go out to dinner with Jaskier, and Geralt suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself.

Jaskier wasn’t closing that evening but he still had to stay late, which at least meant that Geralt could avoid a phone call. He was becoming more and more fond of calling Geralt, and as much as he didn’t mind all that much he was certain he couldn’t fake being okay even not in person at that moment.

Standing in front of his closet, a button-up shirt in hand, Geralt was stuck. His mind swirling in a whirlpool of what exactly he was supposed to do that night.

They’d had sex, sort of, once. Did that mean they were going to that night as well? Should he prepare for that? It had been so long since he’d been in any sort of sexual relationship that he wasn’t sure whether it was better to be prepared or not - assuming Jaskier would want him in any way that night could come off as wrong, couldn’t it?

It wasn’t like Geralt had been thinking of sex that day. As hot as his boyfriend was, and as frustrating as his lack of getting off was as well, it wasn’t always on his mind. But would that change when he saw Jaskier that night - would he want to get Jaskier off? Would he be going home with Jaskier again? Would Jaskier be coming home with him?

Geralt thought for a second about asking Jaskier, and felt the panic double. Ask Jaskier if he wanted to have sex that night? It felt ridiculous to just out and ask someone that, even if it would help him figure out what the fuck he should do.

Not that sex had much to do with what he’d wear to dinner. He managed to glance down at the button-up and scowl at it. Didn’t really say ‘I’m going to give my boyfriend a handy’, but it didn’t scream ‘I just want to cuddle’ either. Shockingly, his clothes didn’t reflect his openness to sex.

With a soft snort at himself, he managed to unstick his feet from the floor and finish getting dressed. One step at a time, he could at least manage to get there, and then worry about the after whenever it actually mattered.

He found it rather hard to respond to Jaskier’s texts with his brain so busy worrying over how future Geralt would handle the night. Shorter responses than normal, ignoring some of the ones he got, until he finally got the go-ahead to leave for the restaurant.

Though Jaskier was heading straight there after work, Geralt still got there before him and grabbed a booth and two waters from their waiter. He had a good enough reason to bury his nose in the menu as he waited, never having been there before, and even managed to inwardly read it loud enough to drown out his own thoughts.

“Is it too late for coffee?”

Geralt looked up over his menu as Jaskier sat down. Jaskier had the beginnings of crows feet when he smiled, taking off his jacket and folding it up to place on the seat next to him. It was too late for coffee, far too late, but Geralt only pursed his lips and didn't tell Jaskier that.

Though Jaskier had been struggling to fall asleep lately. Caffeine really wasn't a good idea.

"New girl didn't show up for her shift again," Jaskier groused, looking around and waving at a waiter with a polite smile. "Drives me nuts that I can't just fire her. No call, no show twice. Don't have any control over my own store."

"Decaf," Geralt said softly, just before the waiter got to their table. Jaskier blinked at him, his thoughts stopped in their place, but when the waiter asked for his order he went with a carafe of decaf.

Since he'd just gotten there, and Geralt still had his nose stuck in the menu, Jaskier asked for more time before they ordered food. With a thank you to the waiter he turned back to Geralt, menu laid out flat in front of him as he rolled up his long sleeves.

"I'd really hoped for her to be my new closer. Guess I'll be looking through applications again tomorrow." Sleeves rolled up, he ran a finger over the menu, finding what he wanted quickly and folding his hands in front of him on the table. "Every single one I look through takes a year off my life, but I suppose sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

Geralt couldn't help but snort at that, and then the waiter arrived with Jaskier’s decaf.

With Jaskier’s mind already set on a burger (Geralt was beginning to suspect Jaskier would order a burger above anything else anywhere), Geralt forced himself to settle on something. Cherry glazed salmon over a bed of something or another, he didn't really read through it very well. It was fancier than he usually went with but with his thoughts scattering all over the place he'd just went with the first thing that caught his attention.

"Oohhh, their salmon is excellent." Creamer and sugar mixing into his coffee, Jaskier inhaled deeply as he took in the aroma, clutching his mug with both hands as if it was a lifeline. "Never had the cherry glazed but the blackened was delightful."

"Don't like burnt food," Geralt said simply, and he shifted in his seat, looking away from Jaskier.

"I don't usually, but blackened salmon just hits different, ya know?"

Geralt didn't know, but only shook his head and drank some of his water.

Waiting for their food was an ordeal for him. Jaskier was as chatty as ever, telling Geralt about how his father had called him earlier (something he'd already sent Geralt a message about, though he'd been brief), the newest guitar design that was on display, what books kept drawing his eyes and that were practically begging him to buy them. He even lamented about the struggles of keeping a store open with only a handful of employees in a company that prided itself on being a 'part-time company'.

"Their goal is to make me turn grey early, I'm sure of it," Jaskier had sniffed delicately, and then had said with a sly wink, "least I'm into silver foxes."

"I'm only a year older than you," Geralt had countered, though from Jaskier’s frown it hadn't been the reaction he'd wanted.

Geralt wished he could say it got easier from there, but he couldn’t. His shoulders stayed stiff, he found himself losing focus on what Jaskier said, and he just wasn’t sure where the whole date was leading - or if it should be leading anywhere.

Part of him wished he just hadn’t blown Jaskier. That they hadn’t had that talk after. He shifted in his seat, humming at whatever Jaskier had been talking about, and didn’t miss the way Jaskier sighed after - but he just hadn’t caught enough to know how to respond to Jaskier’s frustration either.

He tried to pay attention. Though his mind was all over the place, Geralt cared about what Jaskier had to say. He cared that Jaskier’s old friend was in town (but he missed his name, what he did for a living, where he lived - all details Jaskier would tell him and Geralt was sure he had told him, but he just hadn’t processed any of it), he cared that Jaskier had found a new flavor of coffee.

But his own thoughts were too much, and he didn’t know how to make them leave him alone.

“Excuse me.” Geralt had to step away, so he left the table and went to the bathroom, hoping he could calm himself there.

Washing his face with cold water helped a little. His bangs stuck to his forehead, and the water dripping down his nose tickled, but for a minute Geralt just stood there and breathed. Hands on the sink, face tipped down over the drain, his mind still too fast and too loud for him to hear much outside of himself.

Maybe he shouldn’t have gone out that night. But he was damned if he would let his thoughts ruin their date - Jaskier deserved to have a good time out.

Wiping his face dry, Geralt took a few more deep breaths, wishing his thoughts to quiet down enough to let them enjoy this. And he reminded himself that this didn’t have to be leading anywhere. It was a date, and it could just be that - and it could also mean more but he could think about that if and when it happened.

He could do this. He could be normal and not a nervous wreck about this.

Jaskier was tearing a paper napkin apart when Geralt got back, rolling the tiny pieces into thin, long ones between his fingers. He flashed a quick smile when Geralt sat back down, but his eyes were tight.

“Did you want dessert?”

Geralt hummed softly, and fought back the nerves that were still trying to eat at him. “Not sure what they have.”

“I like their tira masu. We could share if you want?”

Did his voice sound smaller? Geralt’s lips twitched downward but he mentally shook himself. “Alright.”

With that, Jaskier waved down their waiter, and dessert was on its way.

“You didn’t tell me how your day was.” Jaskier sighed softly, leaning his chin on his hand, letting his lower lip jut out in a tiny pout. Geralt was struck with the urge to kiss it and looked away.

“Not much happened.” It was true. Just a normal day for him, with his typical breakfast and packed lunch, but he shifted in his seat and cleared his throat to continue anyway. “Eskel messaged me.”

“Oh?” Jaskier’s fingers tapped on the table, barely audible, though Geralt was certain they were following a rhythm. “What about?”

“Fight with Lambert. Nothing big, don’t expect it to last long.”

“Well, that’s good at least. Do they fight often?”

“Lambert fights everyone.”

Jaskier leaned back in his seat, his fingers twisting around themselves then. For a moment he was quiet, looking away from Geralt, his eyebrows pulled downwards in thought.

Then, he started to say something, but was interrupted by their dessert arriving.

Geralt waited for their waiter to leave, and thought about poking Jaskier into saying what he’d wanted to. But Jaskier had already taken a bite of his cake, so Geralt let it be.

They were mostly quiet while they ate. A table nearby was having a grand old time, bursting into laughter on occasion, which drew Jaskier’s attention. He watched them for a while, taking small bites of the tira misu, twisting his spoon around and around while his eyes flicked between the people talking at that table.

With his attention elsewhere, Geralt’s shoulders slowly started to relax - and though he wanted to feel guilty about that too, he didn’t have the energy to think on it. Instead he listened to the music playing in the background, thankful that the place didn’t have TVs playing, and just let himself enjoy Jaskier’s company in silence.

After a time, their plate was almost clean, and Geralt had almost fully relaxed in his seat. He sipped his water as Jaskier continued to people watch and privately hoped the evening hadn’t been awful for his company. It certainly couldn’t have been all that exciting - Geralt had barely talked, hardly given any input, and had mostly just sat there the whole time, and had only really started to enjoy himself once Jaskier was looking elsewhere.

…yeah, there was the guilt. Geralt looked up at Jaskier, who had come out to have a date with him and had been met with a practical brick wall instead.

He shouldn’t have gone out, not if he was just going to be like this.

Too late for that now. Geralt sighed softly, watching Jaskier’s fingers tap on the table in front of him. He couldn’t go back and make himself stay home, but he could at least try to make it up to Jaskier. Even if just a little, and even if he didn’t really know how.

Pay attention to him. Let him know Geralt cared. Harder to prove when he’d been all but ignoring him earlier and Jaskier had given up trying to carry a conversation, but Geralt had to at least try.

Jaskier’s fingers were still gently tapping away. Not making any noise, his fingertips barely touching the table. If Geralt wanted, he could have found a rhythm to put them to. Some song Jaskier had on in the background last night on their phone call, another that he’d been humming the week before. He wondered if Jaskier was intentionally following one’s beat or if his fingers were just restless, moving on their own.

Without letting himself think much on it, Geralt reached out his own hand. His fingers ran along the underside of Jaskier’s, catching them as they tried to tap their rhythm on the table. Rough calluses caught a little on his skin - Jaskier hadn’t applied lotion at work that day, he could tell. Geralt frowned, rubbing his thumb over the gently caught fingers.

He looked up, and Jaskier’s expression was soft, his eyes on their hands where they laid on the table between them.

“You forgot your lotion,” Geralt said, and Jaskier cracked a small smile as his eyes flicked up to meet Geralt’s.

“That easy to tell?”

“Don’t forget it tonight.”

Jaskier wrinkled his nose, squeezing Geralt’s hand. “I’m sure it’s not pleasant holding sandpaper.”

“Just don’t want them to crack and bleed.”

“I won’t forget. Scout’s honor.” Jaskier held up three fingers, his smile finally reaching his eyes. “Only forgot because I ran out at work, but I’ve got a few bottles at home.”

He nodded as Jaskier put his hand down, satisfied enough that Jaskier would take care of himself. Though he might try to remind him - just a nudge whenever they would be saying goodnight, like he did with dinner when Jaskier worked extra late.

“Geralt, is…”

When Geralt looked up, Jaskier’s smile was gone. His expression was shut off, his lips thin. In Geralt’s hand, Jaskier’s fingers had stopped moving, and all it took was those few seconds of seeing Jaskier so serious for worry to bloom in Geralt’s stomach.

“Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

Ah. Geralt shook his head. Though that didn’t do much to assure Jaskier, the man shifting forward in his seat, leaning closer to Geralt with a scowl on his face.

“Your brothers aren’t fighting with you, too, are they? Did you eat something that didn’t agree with you? Trouble sleeping?”

“I’m fine,” Geralt said, and he mostly was. He wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not.

“Okay.” Jaskier stopped leaning forward, though his scowl hadn’t left. “Okay, I just- do you not want to be here?”

“I want to be here.” That wasn’t a lie.

“Then why were you ignoring me?” Jaskier’s expression wasn’t schooled anymore. His nose twitched, his jaw tightened. Eyes alight with irritation, though he kept his fingers gently wrapped around Geralt’s. Still touching him, not letting go despite the anger or annoyance he felt. “I don’t expect anyone to listen to everything I say - fuck, I don’t process any of it - but I’ve had better conversations with my oven.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt flinched, and wanted to snap back. Hadn’t been the first time someone had insulted his social skills, wouldn’t be the last either, but before he could say anything else Jaskier continued.

“You ignored me. I asked you direct questions to your face, and you ignored them. Several times. Now, given you haven’t ever ignored me before, either something is wrong, you don’t want to be here, or you don’t want me here.”

“I didn’t mean to ignore you, I was just-” Geralt exhaled sharply through his nose, irritated at Jaskier and angry at himself for letting this happen. Of course Jaskier would be hurt, of course he’d be annoyed and angry - though apparently he had a sharp tongue when he got that way. All because Geralt had been overthinking and worrying himself into a tither over them having a sexual relationship. “I was just nervous.”

“Nervous?” Jaskier almost sounded like he didn’t believe it, the confusion cracking the anger that had been on his face. “Why are you nervous?”

“I didn’t know what to expect tonight.” Sounded silly, out in the open, and Geralt slumped from it. His thumb started to rub the back of Jaskier’s fingers again, grounding himself in the contact and movement. He couldn’t bring himself to look at anything but their hands then. “Not used to being with someone anymore, so I didn’t know what would happen. Or if I should expect anything to happen. Or if expecting something might happen was presumptuous. Or if asking about it was too forward, even if I didn’t expect anything. Couldn’t focus on anything besides all that.”

“Oh honey.”

Geralt wanted to hide, but Jaskier’s fingers were squeezing his again. And he couldn’t bear to lose that contact.

“Asking isn’t being too forward. I’d rather us talk about it than your thoughts eat you alive.”

“Sorry.” Geralt finally looked back up at Jaskier, and felt his shoulders relax again when he saw he wasn’t angry.

Jaskier lifted Geralt’s hand up to his lips and kissed his fingers.

They split the bill evenly, though only Jaskier had cash on him for the tip. By the time they left the restaurant, the night was cold, their breath fogging the air in front of them. Jaskier’s arms were practically attached to his sides as he shivered dramatically, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, teeth chattering as Geralt put a hand on his back.

He walked Jaskier to his car since Jaskier’s spot in the parking garage was further away from the elevators. Before Geralt could walk away, Jaskier stopped him with a hand on his cheek and a soft kiss on his lips.

Geralt’s eyes fluttered closed, his nose filled with the scent of Jaskier’s shampoo. He wished they didn’t have to say goodnight.

“I’m sorry, too.”

With a frown, Geralt opened his eyes, almost having to go cross eyed just to get a good look at Jaskier with him that close. He looked serious again, with his eyes hard and his jaw set, but this time he thought it looked cute rather than upsetting.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Bit sensitive about being ignored, but I still shouldn’t have done it.”

“Plenty of people have pointed out my poor people skills,” Geralt said softly, though it wasn’t him excusing Jaskier’s behavior.

“I like your people skills.” Jaskier’s lower lip jutted out a bit, and he gave Geralt such a soft look that his heart hurt from it. “I don’t mind that you don’t talk much, I don’t mind that you like quiet things either. I like you as you are.”

“Good.” Geralt dipped down for another quick kiss, then kissed Jaskier’s cheek for good measure. “Would be awkward if it wasn’t mutual.”

Jaskier wormed his arms into Geralt’s coat to hug him, and Geralt thought he could have spent all of winter just like that. Warm in Jaskier’s arms, holding him close and tucked up under his chin, ignoring the rest of the world around them.

@fontegagrilledcheese @damnbert @mothmanismyuncle @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @jaskierswolf @oldandkinky @blooodymoon @kan0chan @silvermintnightprincess @flowercrown-bard @sharinalein @concussed-dragon @hayleynzlive @feral-jaskier @sweetiepieplum @stonedstargazer666 @deafeningnightcollection-things @luteandsword @kmuir1 @little-boats-on-a-lake @dani-dandelino @rurousha @renewlucifer

#geraskier #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #witcher #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier/geralt #jaskier x geralt #witcher fic #witcher fanfic #witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

ricard-blythe-ffxiv · 2 years

Text

Havoc

Part 1

Part 2

In the inky pitch of night, the wreck of the skyship they'd come for became visible courtesy of a dozen specks of light that littered its form. It was keeled over, pressed hard against a jutting crystal formation that lay to its starboard side that climbed high into the sky; another knife on the Khadga-- Or a tombstone as it were, the belly of the vessel partially exposed. Testament to its violent landing, deep gouges in the earth could just barely be made out, trailing from the stern, engine parts scattered amidst.

What was more, the pall that was the storm had been steadily growing in strength, gales turning harsher by the second with strikes of lightning becoming more frequent. Time was of the essence; If they couldn't secure the ship and its hold in time, calling The Skydancer and transferring the cargo to it would be an impossibility. They would have to abandon the mission at best, and wait out the storm itself on top of that at worst.

Neither outcome was appealing to Hakan; he was not one to fail.

Whether the survivors of the wreck had heard the bark of the gunshot or not, he'd taken the liberty of snatching a rifle from one of the dead pirates he'd killed and tossed it to Ricard before they closed with the wreck. If they couldn't have information they'd at least have more firepower, and though it didn't match the quality of his own, Garlean designed firearms were nothing to scoff at – it was also better than having just a pistol.

Ricard’s brow furrowed for a moment as he looked over the weapon for a moment, putting away his pistol in favor of the rifle for the time being. He scowled, his eyes narrowing at something imprinted on the weapon’s side for a moment before scanning the area, his jaw clenching as he focused on a group of nearby supplies for the briefest of moments before turning to look at Hakan, adjusting the weapon in his grip.

“Contact just called in, we’ve an hour at best before the weather overtakes us, and if not the weather then the Radiant Host. They’ve been doing their best to hold them off, but even the best distractions only last for so long. So, let’s see the inside of this ship, shall we?”

With the clock already ticking, Ricard moved forward, still carefully and mindful of their surroundings, weapon at the ready towards the opening in the side of the ship. He knew their numbers were…slim, but he’d thought they’d have found more resistance than what they’d come across so far. Carefully he moved into the ship, the terrain shifting from rock to metal, and his footsteps slowed as he heard voices echoing from just up ahead.

“Captain is with it?”

“Aye, though it won’t matter whose with it if we all die up here will it?”

“Actin’ like we’re never gettin’ off this rock.”

“Ever fought the Radiant Host?”

Ricard glanced back over his shoulder, waving Hakan forward as he continued to take quiet steps forward, carefully checking around each corner and moving swiftly down each hallway, moving further and further into the wreck, towards what he imagined would be the most defensible position. He slowed momentarily as they passed the supplies just outside, eyes narrowing at one of the crests on the boxes and making a mental note.

Behind the goggles, Hakan's eyes narrowed. He didn't say a word, simply covered the ground between them and the wreck. The supplies outside garnered fleeting attention and went mostly ignored; whatever treasures they bore, none of it was what they'd come for. What did nag at him as he was the complete absence of sentries. Gunshot heard or not, it was foolish to just let anyone walk right in without any resistance.

He followed a few steps behind Ricard, rifle sweeping left to right to check the angles as well while he began to heard the voices within. They were calm, the words spoken breezily in spite of the situation. A storm overhead, their position night untenable to all knowledge, the Radiant Host--

Like a switch flipped, realization dawned on Hakan. He practically leapt forward to grab Ricard by the back of his collar to rip him backwards and into cover before he'd finished moving.

In that same moment a click was heard.

A bright flash and blast tore outwards from the lower right of the hall to the left, shrapnel impacting with metal and ricocheting off to hit the opposite wall again. Smoke filled the corridor, the too casual conversation replaced with complete silence.

Then a pair of boots was stomping down the hall, a body barreling through it with a gunblade raised and ready to chop down.

Ricard had barely turned at the hand on his collar before he was yanked back behind cover. Instinctively he curled back,somehow managing to avoid the shrapnel, his grip on the rifle tightening as he heard the boots stomping down the hall.

It took him only a moment to shake his head and gather his thoughts, which was good - as a moment was all he had. He heard the sound of metal on metal, and peeked his head around the edge of the cover for a quick moment, catching a glimpse of their attacker for a brief moment.

Highlander. Armed to the teeth. And clearly not intent on letting them move any further down this hall than they already had.

Ricard’s gaze cut briefly to Hakan for a moment as he adjusted his hold on his rifle. The whole wreck knew they were there now, no point in being quiet.

No sooner had Hakan ripped Ricard back did he release him. His ears rang at the detonation, brief sparks of light going off in the smoke cloud as the rattle echoed through the hall. He was used to such sights and sounds though, the only reason he wasn't disoriented. A good thing, too, as the blade wielding highlander didn't stop his advance after having missed cleaving Ricard.

That wasn’t the all of it however; There was the crack of gunfire and small swirls appeared in the smoke cloud to the right of the pirate as a hail of bullets punched through it. One clipped Hakan in the shoulder, another impacted his side. A harsh grunt escaped, teeth gritting beneath the mask. His armour held, the pain registered briefly and then nothing. Just another thing he was used to enduring.

Ricard had heard the grunt and glanced up, the action leaving him exposed to the hail of bullets. One clipped his ear, another his arm, and a third his side, and since he lacked the armor that Hakan was fortunate enough to have, it was only through adrenaline, and now pure spite, that he managed to turn and fire off a quick burst before ducking into the nearest available cover before the flashbang went off.

Lifting his rifle with one hand, Hakan squeezed the trigger and fired off a quick burst into the visible foe in front of them, forcing the vanguard to erect a shield instead of charging them again. Only a single shot connected, staggering the man due to how little space there was between them. It was enough to buy time for him to slip a sphere no bigger than his palm from a pouch, compress a button with his thumb, and lob it down the hall to where the rest of the crew was.

"Flashbang," he called and warned.

He ducked around a corner and a few seconds after he’d spoken the grenade went off. A clap of thunder, a brilliant flash of light, followed by disoriented shouts.

The Ishgardian attempted to cover his ears while closing his eyes, and once the initial blast was done he quickly did was he could to wrap his arm before adjusting his hold on his weapon once more. After a quick glance at their surroundings he caught sight of two of the shipmates advancing on them through the smoke.

“Not today, fuckers.” Ricard ducked out from cover long enough to fire a couple of quick rounds at the pair, before ducking back into cover once again, cursing to himself for a moment as he looked around for anything in the immediate area that they could exploit.

The flashbang had done its job, disorienting the group beyond the gunblader at the end of the hallway some, left the pair trying to join the vanguard vulnerable to the shots Ricard snapped off. One took two to the chest, was knocked back into the wall; they slumped over, their body becoming hidden in the smoke. The other stumbled and fell to a knee as a bullet ripped into their leg, an unintelligible curse escaping.

"Cover, co--" A harsh growl as their leg buckled when the attempted to immediately stand again, "Cover fire!"

Another series of cracks and a hail tore through the smoke following the order, forcing Hakan back into cover himself to avoid being riddled with holes. His equipment was good, but it wasn't that good. The hallway had turned into a damned killbox. A quick peek and he could already see the man Ricard had wounded picking themselves up, the vanguard beginning their advance again without dropping the barrier. The shipmate knew what they were doing. Veterans, then.

Staying pinned behind cover until the enemy was upon them wasn't an option, nor was retreat. They'd just get run down, shot in the back.

In Hakan's mind that left them with only one viable choice. He slid down the wall, gear scraping against the metal, and went into a crouch. Waited until the firing stopped. When it did he turned the corner and burst from cover to charge the Highlander as they got closer still. Something familiar about the man registered in the recesses of his mind, but it was quickly shunted away.

A series of whip-snaps echoed in the corridor as Hakan unloaded into the magick barrier while he charged, shattering it just as he got in close to leave the highlander exposed for what came next. Moving inside his space, he grabbed at the wrist holding the sword to throw it aside with one hand while thrusting his arm up to catch the man beneath the chin with the palm of his magitek hand. There was a crack that didn’t come from another bullet being discharged– nor was he finished. Grabbing the man by the side of their head while they were disoriented, he smashed it into the wall before spinning the body around to soak up the rain of fire that started once again.

Ricard used Hakan’s movements to his advantage, as he’d drawn the attention of not just the man he was locked in close combat with, but also those further down the hall who had been providing cover fire. Those, who he knew couldn’t be that many in number, including one who was injured. He carefully moved, listening and marking where the gunfire was coming from and when there was a break in the fire popped out to fire off several more rounds in his advance, aiming to take at least one of the remaining three men out as it seemed Hakan already had his hands full.

All the while, that mindful count continued; keeping track of just how much time they had left and just how quickly these assholes needed to die.

The shipmate Ricard had managed to get in the leg earlier grunted in surprise as another of the Ishgardian's rounds found their mark; his head snapped backwards, the back of his skull exploding outwards in a mist of blood and greymatter the bullet tore through. The gun clattered to the ground and followed closely after by the body.

A loud curse. "Julius' down!" Another barrage.

Hakan's meatshield did its job though, the former gunblader in his grip taking the onslaught for him. The pirates at the end of the corridor had either written their crewmate off as dead the moment he was disarmed, or simply didn't care. Hakan was willing to bet the former, though it wasn't as if the corpse in his hold could've screamed 'wait' with a broken jaw and a concussion while they were briefly alive.

Through the storm of bullets, Hakan followed Ricard, albeit more slowly given the cover he was dragging with him weighed almost as much as he did. Knowing what kind of weapons they pirates had possession of, recalling how many shots had been fired already, he began to do the math...The barrage stopped and he made his gamble.

Dropping the bloodied corpse, its purpose having been served, he drew a combat knife and barreled down the corridor past Ricard to close the distance between him and the remaining gunners at the end while they were reloading, boots clanging loudly upon the metal grates.

"Fuck, he's--"

It was all one of the remaining pirates could shout in warning before the Dalmascan was suddenly on them and in their space. A kick to the midsection of one sent them flying back into a wall with a heavy thud, buying Hakan the time he needed to deal with the other. It only took a few movements, one to knock away the gun before it could fire into him, another to slice through tendons in the wrist that held it so the firearm was dropped, and one more to slit the pirates throat.

Fire blossomed in Hakan's back. His spine arched and he fell to a knee first, fell sideways after with his shoulder crashing against the wall before he collapsed into it.

The Captain of the ship made his presence known, the barrels of both his pistols smoking. He continued past Hakan into the hallway, writing him off as taken care of. Ricard was next, the guns pointing toward him and spitting out death.

“Shouldn’ta come tah my ship.”

Ricard dove to cover, a round clipping his calf - his informant hadn’t been lying, the man was quite accurate. “Perhaps you should’ve done a better job of steering your ship and none of us would be in this particular situation!”

The Ishgardian did the math in his head – the other crew members were dead, which meant it was just the captain that remained, but the he’d seen Hakan go down and rushing the captain head on wasn’t an option; not unless he could distract the man for more than a few moments. Ricard weighed the rifle in his hands for a moment before his jaw set as he found some steel resolve and despite everything he decided he wasn’t about to be outdone on a job by a pirate.

"Poor insult makes fer poor last words," the Captain spat. A steady barrage was directed into the wall to keep Ricard down while he inched closer and closer, alternating shots between his two pistols. The man wasn't about to let himself run out of ammo at an inopportune time like the pair behind him had.

Ricard dared to peek around the corner unloading what rounds remained in the rifle as he rushed forward and when none remained he launched the rifle forward with all the momentum he could manage towards the Captain’s hands, anything to try and knock his own weapon loose. He rushed forward, knowing what slowing down would mean, and shoulder tackled the captain, reaching for his knife as he worked to wrestle one of the pistols out of the man’s grasp. The Ishgardian was bold to make the move he did, perhaps the only move he could have given the situation.

He swerved to the side and made himself as small a target as possible, the remaining rounds from Ricard's rifle whistling by, but it left him open to the gun itself being thrown. Unfortunately for the Ricard however, it was only half effective as only one arm was needed to knock it aside, which allowed for the other pistol to bark again and fire into the Ishgardian's leg before he was tackled.

A growl tore from man, scarred face twisting into a grimace as a shoulder collided with his gut and he was pushed back a handful of steps. He didn't collapse though, not as Ricard tried to wrench away the pistol in his left hand, not as the knife that was brought to bear punched into his side. Perhaps up close the Ishgardian would come to realize the difference between them as they struggled, the Captain being in a greater weight class by an order of magnitude. If not, Ricard would realize when the butt of the pistol he still had free reign with came crashing down into Ricard's shoulder before the Captain attempted to hurl him bodily away.

Nearby, Hakan expelled labored breaths into his mask, his head tipped back and gaze fixed briefly on the deck above. He wasn't sure just how many rounds had pierced his body armor beneath the jacket he wore, but he knew the answer was 'enough.'

Across from him the body of the pirate he kicked moaned, began to slowly stir from where they were likewise crumpled into a heap against the wall. He couldn't have that. Lowering his gaze and unholstering his pistol, he brought the weapon and took aim; fired a shot first into the man's head to spatter the wall with blood, then fired twice more into the man's chest out of habit just to be sure.

Only the Captain was left; with that almost-certainty in mind, Hakan started to, painfully, pick himself up, blood smearing up the wall as he used it to support himself.

Ricard grunted as the butt of the Captain’s pistol made contact with his shoulder. He could hear the crack of bone and felt something slip out of place, but there wasn’t time to worry about it and he was nothing if not annoyingly persistent. So, despite the pain radiating through his leg and his shoulder, and despite the waves of nausea he was somehow holding back, he managed to maintain his grip, twisting the knife in the man’s side for good measure. One leg, he realized very quickly, was not going to be able to hold weight but he just needed to knock the man the slightest bit off balance.

The captain choked back a scream at first as the knife was driven deep, loosed a guttral noise into the air accompanied by flecks of blood and spittle as the blade was turned. When Ricard continued to push however, he could contain his pain no longer and a howl tore through the corridor. The gun in his left hand fell so he could grab at the knife in his side, and again the butt of the pistol still in his right came down hard before the strength in him fled entirely.

Staggering back, the Captain created the opportunity that Ricard had been seeking to create. But as it happened, it gave the Captain an opportunity of his own. His pistol shakily rose, fixed to be pointed at the intruder-- "You little shite," he growled behind crimson stained teeth.

Ricard leaned into the the knife already embedded in the man’s side, thrusting it up as he braced on his good leg, trying to push the captain back by not fulms…but ilms, just enough to put the slightest bit of distance between the two of them and allow him to pull his pistol from his belt and fire off one shot. “I’ve been called…worse!”

Down the corridor and beyond the doorway, Hakan for his part struggled to accomplish his goal. He half fell to the ground a second time, an arm snapping out to slap against the wall in an effort to stop the descent. Far from becoming cold at the loss of blood, his body began to warm, heat building and rolling off in waves as something within beckoned for release. He'd not give it though, not in the belly of a ship filled with who knows what besides ceruleum. Instead he reached for a pouch at his thigh, hand fumbling before attaining access. Bloody, grasping fingers pulled free a syringe. The cap was torn free, the needle stabbed into his leg. One second. Two--

Behind opaque lenses, golden hues contracted, pupils becoming pinpricks, then blowing wide, dilating, until there was only a thin ring of molten gold around black before it settled. As if he hadn’t been injured at all he surged to his feet with a new strength and rounded the corner, the shot of adrenaline clattering to the floor. In its place, a pistol was lifted and pointed at the Captain's back.

He squeezed the trigger.

The hammer of the Captain's pistol fell, the gun barked.

Ricard was given his shot.

And he took advantage of it. He managed to wrestle the pistol free as he landed with a grunt on his back, hearing two shots fire within the span of a single second. He saw the Captain jerk forward, the man’s shot missing him by ilms, if even that, and quickly lifted the pistol and fired off two shots in quick succession.

There was an eerie stillness within the wreck before the clatter of metal on metal echoed throughout as the Captain’s remaining pistol fell from his hand and his corpse toppled to the floor, complete with two new holes between his eyes.

Ricard rolled to his right side, his left was beat to hell, and tried to survey his surroundings. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off the pain was starting to set in and the job still wasn’t done.

“Belgrave? Still alive out there?”

Utilizing a nearby railing Ricard managed to pull himself up onto his good leg and hobbled over to the corpse of the Captain, firing a couple more rounds into the man’s chest for good measure before quickly searching his person for any documents or papers of interest all the while listening out for Hakan’s response.

Expression hidden, Hakan stared at the crumpled body of the Captain, shoulders and chest heaving with each breath he took. He didn't stare long however, shifting his gaze to Ricard as he lay first upon the floor, then rose to begin patting the Captain down for anything of note. There was doubt that he'd find much, but that wasn't of main concern to him.

They were only half finished with the job.

With the pain dulled for the moment, Hakan strode down the corridor. The pistol in his hand was shoved back into its holster, a heavy bag pulled free of his jacket. Pausing by Ricard, he unzipped it and pulled free a vial that he proceeded to unstopper and drink. The bag itself was dropped next to the man, landing with a thud.

"Medkit," was all Hakan said before continuing past, following the corridor until he was at the exit.

Ricard paused in his actions as Hakan moved past, offering the man a nod as the medkit was dropped next to him before continuing his search. His eyes narrowed as he pulled an envelope from the Captain’s vest, labeled with the same crest as the rifle and the other supplies that he’d seen outside.

Another issue for another day, Ricard tucked the envelope away before easing down onto the floor next to the medkit and methodically going about doing his best to wrap his leg and to create a makeshift sling, impressive feats with a barely working left arm. The other nicks and cuts he’d have tended to once they were back on The Skydancer. He searched through the kit, finding something to relieve the pain and downed it quickly. He waited for it to take effect before gritting his teeth and utilizing a nearby railing once again to pull himself to his feet once more, hoisting up the medkit with his good arm and slowly making his way towards the entrance.

Reaching up, Hakan undid a clasp and removed the lower portion of the mask that covered his face. He breathed in the stormy air. A few more steps took him fully outside the wreck, and then he was moving into flats around it. His hand went for a second gun, a large bore pistol. Aiming it up, he squeezed the trigger. A flare round burst into the night a few seconds after, illuminating the dark, signalling The Skydancer to begin their approach. Tossing the gun aside, he procured a few sticks, snapping and shaking them before tossing them here and there so a landing site could be made out in the vicinity.

Making his way back to the wreck, he turned and fell on his ass at the entrance. Tipped his head back. Waited. Now, Hakan was done. The rest could be handled by The Skydancer’s crew.

It took Ricard several minutes to find his way out, taking several stops along the way to lean heavily against the wall, and sinking to the ground as soon as he reached fresh air, which happened to coincide with the landing of The Skydancer. He swallowed roughly, heavy eyelids closing as his head rested back against the warped metal. All that was left to do was wait, let the crew do their job, and ride back to the estate…hopefully in a state of medicated unconsciousness.

He'd see about contacting the medical staff when they got closer.

Collab writing with: @belgravexiv

#collaborative writing #the perceptive smartass #they both made it \o/

6 notes · View notes

peantbutter-honeycombs · 1 year

Text

Nothing Cuts Like a Mother I.

Summary | In the middle of a long day of travel, Imogen notices Illusaiyra’s exhaustion and offers to carry her with the promise of a story.

Author | Full writing credit to, @somethingwritey

Notes | This story was commissioned.

Warnings | Fluff

Parts | I. II.

——

The day was hot.

Imogen could hear grumbling and complaining from various adult members of the Bells Hells, and they still had at least another few hours of foot travel before they could even think about bedding down for the evening.

And if the grown members of the party were tired, Imogen was sure the youngest among them must be exhausted by this point. She kept sneaking glances over at the smallest member of the Hells, who was trudging along in stride with that all-too-familiar stubborn expression sealed on her lips.

Back when it had just been Imogen, Laudna, and Illusaiyra, they’d done loads of foot travel across the continent, and Sai had never once complained. She was tough for a five-year-old—or, what appeared to be a five-year-old, anyway (she and Laudna shared some similarities when it came to their complex aging). Imogen worried sometimes that the little girl pushed herself too hard, trying desperately to keep up with the grown-ups in the party.

Then again, she could hardly point fingers. If Laudna and Sai shared aging traits, Imogen and Sai shared several personality ones—stubbornness among them. Perhaps that was why Imogen could recognize it so easily in Illusaiyra.

Up ahead, Imogen could hear Chetney bragging about his spry and nimble body— “try and keep up with an old man, would you?”— and Imogen just sighed. They still had such a long way to go

“Imogen?” came a voice off to the left.

Laudna, eyes wide and concerned as she jerked her head towards Illusaiyra—eyes narrowing in an unspoken question. Luckily, Imogen knew just what she meant.

“Ily,” Imogen called gently, hoping not to draw too much attention to the interaction. “Are you tired?”

“I can keep going.” The girl’s words were betrayed by the way her feet knocked together—nearly tripping over each other. Imogen’s arms shot out immediately, righting her.

“Careful, now.” Imogen wished they weren’t so far from their destination. She would like to rest (even Letter’s pace was dragging, and they didn’t even have feet to tire), but the party had already lost so much time. Traveling while tired was better than traveling in the dark.

“I’m fine,” Illusaiyra argued, shoulders falling just a little. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, and Imogen could only imagine how much her little legs must hurt.

“Sweet girl,” Imogen sighed. “What if I offered to carry you? Just a little ways?”

Illusaiyra was clearly considering the offer, eyebrows scrunched in concentration.

Desperate to reach some sort of compromise, the gears began turning in Imogen’s mind. She needed a way to sweeten the deal.

“I could tell you a story,” she said at last, trying her best to sound enticing. She’d learned a while back that children tended to respond better to excitement, rather than pity. Scratch that: everyone responded badly to pity.

As it turned out, a story was all Illusaiyra needed to agree. She paused in her tracks, holding her arms out for Imogen to take. Imogen scooped the child into her grasp, and Sai instantly wrapped herself around Imogen.

“Is this alright?” Imogen asked as they started up again, now falling to the back of the pack.

Illusaiyra nodded against Imogen’s neck, tucking her head against her shoulder. A thought flashed uninvited into Imogen’s mind, and she shrugged it off. She didn’t remember much about her own mother, but had often wondered whether Liliana had ever held her like this before leaving Gelvaan for good.

Not that she considered herself to be Sai’s mother or anything.

It wasn’t something she liked to give much weight.

“You promised a story.”

Imogen was brought back to the present by the small girl in her arms, and she laughed—a low rumble that was only slightly tinged with the wistful melancholy of her musings. “I did do that, didn’ I?”

Another nod.

Perhaps it was the memory of her mother or the nostalgia for the Gelvaan of her youth, but when Imogen started her story, it began in the sun-drenched fields of her hometown.

“When I was no bigger than you,” Imogen said, doing her best not to jostle Sai too much as she walked. “I would spend hours crouched along the fence line with my horse. Flora was my best friend, see, even in those days. My father wouldn’t let me ride her just yet—not until I was bigger. But he let me feed her and wash her and play with her.”

“What did she eat?”

“It’s not polite to interrupt a story.” Imogen said it with absolutely no venom. In fact, a smile played at her lips as she tapped Illusaiyra on the nose. “She ate all sorts of things, really, but I loved to feed her sugar cubes best. She’d eat them right out of the palm of my hand with her big, velvety lips. It tickled just a bit, and at that age, I used to be frightened she might one day bite my fingers clean off. But she never did, just so long as I held my palm out real nice and flat.”

Imogen’s family hadn’t been wealthy—not by a longshot. She and her father lived a quiet life tending to their horses and the fields, and sugar had been a luxury at best. Imogen would sometimes forgo her own dessert just to bring a cube or two out to the horse she loved so dearly.

Imogen sometimes missed the simplicity of those days, before her father started hiding from her, before the town started hating her, before everything had become so… confusing.

She didn’t tell Sai any of that, though. She just continued weaving an intricate story of the day she’d first gotten to ride Flora, how free she’d felt sitting all by herself in the saddle, the way every movement of the animal beneath her had been so fluid and steady. Riding was the time Imogen felt most at peace in the whole entire world.

Soon, she felt Illusaiyra’s body grow heavier in her arms, and the little girl’s head lolled against her shoulder—utterly asleep. Imogen smiled a bit, hoisting her up higher so as not to lose her grip. She’d play the part of Flora this afternoon, carefully carrying a tired little girl to safety. Pass it forward, or something of that nature.

She hastened to join the other party members up ahead again, falling back into step with Fearne.

“Oh,” Fearne cooed at the sight of Illusaiyra asleep on Imogen, her wide doe-eyes always just a little too innocent. “How darling. Look how she clings to you.”

“I’ve seen Ashton hold their hammer like that,” Letters offered.

“Shut it.”

“Not like a hammer.” Fearne’s laugh was a refreshing burst of energy. Out of all of them, she seemed the least exerted by the travel day. “More like… a cub of some kind! We have animals in the feywild, all furry and round. They cling to their mammas just like that.”

The word was warm against Imogen’s chest. Almost burning. She wanted to argue that, really, the comparison was ridiculous. Neither of them were furry animals, and Imogen certainly didn’t have the makings of a mother. She wouldn’t know the first place to start with any of that.

Ashton jerked his head towards Sai. “I can take Indy for a bit,” they offered. “If you get tired. I’m doing alright exhaustion-wise.”

But practically in response, the sleeping girl doubled her grip on Imogen’s neck.

“Apparently not,” Ashton grinned, shaking their head. “Fuck. Kids these days.”

“You were a kid once.”

“I still think she’s like a little cub.”

“The old man should not be faring the best out of this troop!”

“Pick up the pace, people.”

“We’re trying to travel quiet, remember?”

As the rest of the Hells’ voices carried up into the sky, conversation shifting and evolving like the sun’s slow descent towards the horizon, Imogen never once let go of Illusaiyra until they reached their destination.

——

If you enjoy the writing, check out @somethingwritey

#bells hells #imogen temult #laudna #matilda bradbury #critical role #crit role #critical role campaign 3 #laura bailey #marisha ray #ashton greymoore #fearne calloway #fresh cut grass #fcg critical role #writing commissions #critical role oc #bells hells oc #just some fluff

6 notes · View notes

flyingflosser09 · 1 year

Text

Cursed / Armando Salazar x OC / Chapter 26

“Here you go, miss.”

This time, I’m fully prepared when the two dimwitted pirates dump a bucket of salt water on me. However, not before contemplating whether or not it will actually work, considering my injuries are internal – a broken back. In those five minutes, I’ve finally learned their names. Murtogg and Mullroy.

But like all the times the ocean healed my wounds, it did the trick and I found myself sitting up a few minutes later.

That was one of the worst injuries I’ve had so far, and that says a lot. It’s not the pain of hitting the deck that left me traumatized, but rather the feeling of not being able to feel anything below my neck. I was completely paralyzed and vulnerable, unable to run to Armando and forced to watch him leave.

And he took Henry with him.

For leverage perhaps? I don’t know, but I hope he won’t hurt him. He knows that I care for Henry.

All I know is, the Trident is the only thing that can save us all now, the Spanish officers, Armando, Henry, even the pirates. And we have to find it quick.

The sun is slowly rising, its golden rays leaking over the rocky hills and revealing the true nature of the island we sailed on. My jaw drops when the light reflects on millions and millions of crystals and gemstones littered all over the land, glittering like the stars in the night sky. It’s a perfect reflection of the heavens.

The pirates around me have gone silent in awe of what they see. Even Murtogg and Mullroy don’t ruin the moment with some dim question or comment.

But the moment ends when Carina, Jack, and Barbosa make their way to the deck. The former two begins climbing down the Pearl to start the search for the Trident, however, the latter stops at me.

“Ready to receive your heritage, Miss Samira?”

I know what he really wants to ask: Am I ready to give him what’s rightfully mine?

But the situation now is more dire than my concern over a power-hungry captain. Fed up with his constant pressure, I decide to make a deal of my own. “How about an accord?”

Oh, how they love that word.

Barbosa’s eyes – blue like Carina’s underneath all that redness – narrow at me. “I’m listening.”

“I will give you everything you asked for on two conditions. One; we break all the curses of the ocean first, and two, you promise to take Henry and Carina to Port Royal, alive and in one piece.” As I doubt either of them would want to sail with a crew of former cursed Spanish officers. I can formerly introduce Armando to my best friend another time.

Barbosa goes silent as he considers my conditions, almost making me roll my eyes. Honestly, it’s two, very simple terms with no grey areas. A yes or no would suffice.

At last, he says, “We have an accord, missy.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Without waiting for him, I begin the climb down the Pearl to catch up with Jack and Carina.

The four of us make our way across the rocky surface of the island. There are no trees or any other plant in sight, only hills encrusted with shiny rocks and gems. Sapphires, diamonds, emerald, every gem under the sun is right here. I’m glad no one has found this place yet. Imagine the damage they’d do if they see all this.

Carina walks ahead with her journal in hand, heading for a rocky pedestal with a ruby at its top. Unlike the other stones, it’s dim and lifeless, and I hardly would’ve seen it if Carina didn’t know to look for it.

We stop at the pedestal and study the stone.

“Why is it not glowing?” Carina wonders out loud, searching her journal for answers.

Barbosa opens his hand to reveal a ruby fragment in his palm. “Finish it, Carina.”

“The missing star,” she mutters as he hands it to her. “For my father.”

“Aye, do it for him.”

In that brief exchange between them, I thought I saw the captain’s demeanor change. Gone is the greedy glint in his eyes when he thinks about the Trident and gone is the hard exterior he carries on his expression. I’m baffled to find him looking at Carina with the softest look I’ve ever seen in his eyes – the same blue and Carina’s.

And that’s when I realize, he is her father.

I’ve said it many times before, I’m not daft. They both know a lot about the stars, they’re both driven to their goals, and their eyes…they’re a dead giveaway.

However, I choose not to say anything for now as Carina places the fragment onto the ruby. The moment it’s become whole again, it lights up and a line of red, glowy light connects it with four other stars a few yards off. To my surprise, the form the same constellation we’ve been following through the storm earlier.

But as soon as the pattern is complete, I feel a force expanding within me, stirring in my chest before spreading to the rest of my body. I gasp as every inch of me comes alive, filling me with so much power and clarity, I can almost see the horizon up close and feel every living creature swimming beneath the waters.

“Samira are you –” Carina begins to ask but never finishes that sentence.

The next thing we know, the island is quaking and shaking beneath our feet. Behind us, the ocean rumbles as waves roll sideways instead of toward the land. My breath hitch in my throat when the sea begins to part, watery walls forming left and right to clear a path to the bottom of the ocean.

But when I look down, the ground beneath us is cracking.

“Brace yourselves!” I cry just before the land gives away, sending us falling.

I only have enough time to shove Barbosa backwards before following Jack and Carina down the steep slope – not because he wants the power of the ocean for himself, but rather because he’s Carina’s father and clearly, she doesn’t know it. If we survive this, there will be a chance for him to tell her.

The slide downward is anything but enjoyable. My arms enclose my face to protect it from damage as rocks and corals grate the back of my attire to shreds, eventually even scraping by shoulders and back.

Below me, Jack and Carina are screaming all the way down, not having the best of luck either on the journey. Even worse, Carina is wearing a dress that keeps getting caught on every obstacle in the way. Despite the agonizing pain I’m experiencing, I’m grateful that I’m still wearing the cabin boy clothes I used to sword fight in.

When we reach the end of the slope, I’m relived to feel myself falling onto the cool, soft sand at the ocean floor. But it doesn’t help to muffle the agonizing gasp that escapes me when I try standing up. I imagine my back is probably scraped raw and red, no doubt bleeding like my elbows and hands.

Come to think about it, ever since this journey started, I’m either constantly falling to my death, or getting myself grated like cheese.

Pushing myself up, I take a moment to gawk at our surroundings. We are literally at the bottom of the ocean. Watery walls tower far above us to the surface, where the sky is turning orange in the early dawn. I slowly turn in circles to admire the coral and reef, ranging from every color under the sun, to the schools of fish passing by in the wall.

It’s so beautiful, I can’t help but laugh.

Reaching out, I dip my hand into the wall and feel the saltwater travel up my arm to heal the wounds in my back. A few curious fish swim up to me and against my hand, and, to my shock, even a whale passes by elegantly, its fin poking through the wall right above my head.

“Amazing,” I breathe, smiling uncontrollably as I run my hand over the fish’s spine.

By now, Carina and Jack have found their feet and are also drinking in the magnificence of this place.

“Poseidon’s tomb,” Jack says as we face the path through the corals and rocks.

“The Trident is here,” I say to no one in particular as a certain pull tells me to venture deeper. “I can feel it. Follow me.”

…

Above the tomb, the Silent Mary keeps close to the island.

The whole crew is gathered on the deck with Henry in Magda’s hold, as Salazar paces in rage.

Why didn’t Samira return to the Mary when he told her to. That way, she’d be here right now and not in the hands of the pirates still.

There are no words to explain what the Capitán felt when he saw her fall from the mast. He could feel the impact she made with the deck all the way from the helm and hear the sickening crack that came after it. And when she didn’t come running at him right away, he knew. He knew.

She was badly hurt this time.

Now, he knows water can heal her, but seeing that happen to the woman he loves, he can’t forget it. What if something like that happens to her after her curse is broken? Water won’t heal her anymore. She’ll be vulnerable to everything.

And this fills him with even more anger. He blames Jack Sparrow from the very start, cursing the day he was born. He will have his revenge and kill the Sparrow for everything he’s taken from him, and once the pirate is dead, he will be free to pursue life with Samira.

And that’s where the boy comes in.

Ghosts can’t walk on land, but the boy can. The plan is simple: he will possess the boy, enter the tomb of Poseidon, and kill Jack Sparrow. And once he’s mortal once more, he will personally walk up that island to take what’s his: Samira. And he won’t leave a single man – pirate – alive to tell the tale, this time.

“Capitán , you know the danger. Don’t do it,” Lesaro tries changing his mind about possessing Henry.

“We have no choice,” says Santos as Salazar keeps pacing, “Jack is on land going for the Trident. The pirates have Samira. Both are on land.”

Lesaro nearly flinches at the mentioning of Samira’s name, admitting to himself that he’d too possess a living soul to get her back. But this is madness, and Salazar knows it. “Capitán , there must be another way. Once you possess the living, there is no coming back. You will be trapped in his body forever.”

Henry’s eyes widen at the mentioning of that.

“The Trident will set me free!” Armando barks at the Lieutenant, losing more patience by the second.

“But what if it kills Samira?”

As soon as he said that, Salazar, along with every officer on the Mary, stills. Turning around slowly to face Lesaro, he says gravely, “What makes you think breaking the curse will kill her?”

“Because…” Lesaro hesitates, “…she is the daughter of Poseidon.”

“You believe the lies the pirate told?” He is fuming by now. But Armando has to admit, even he pondered that possibility the day before. He just can’t believe it coming from a pirate.

“Capitán , think about it,” the Lieutenant remains calm despite Salazar’s fury, “the Trident controls the ocean and its curses. If she is indeed the daughter of Poseidon, won’t she lose her power at the cost of our freedom? And I don’t even want to think it but…what if we lose her.”

The conflict between Armando’s head and heart makes it impossible to think rationally. Unable to make a decision, he finds himself trapped between the outcomes of each scenario.

Risk the woman he love’s life for his freedom, or spend an eternity cursed for her live.

Love or freedom?

Freedom or love?

The more conflict he feels, the angrier he gets. But as the rage begins clouding his judgement, it all just…disappears. He knows what he has to do.

Turning to the boy, he says darkly, “Time to kill a sparrow.”

#armando salazar #armando #salazar #pirates of the caribbean: dead men tell no tales #pirates of the caribbean #potc dmtnt #potc #dmtnt #jack sparrow #henry turner

2 notes · View notes

gazelessmenagerie · 2 years

Note

😏 (for ⭐ obviously)

send me ‘ 😏 ’ and my muse will honestly answer the following q’s:

How physically attracted they are to your muse?

★ “ What isn’t there to like about that walking hunk of rock? People go crazy over the ‘ strong and silent ’ types and I’m frankly no better. I mean have you SEEN those cheekbones? That jawline? I tell you, when I mentioned how Santana could get a real good gig being a model, I was bloody right! Honestly! I could go on day talking about every little thing I find hot on that grumpy rock and I’ll gladly say so~ ” Suffice to say he went on with exactly what he proclaimed to do, tireless and jubilant.

How romantically attracted they are to your muse

Romance. Well he hadn’t really thought about it that hard if he were honest with himself. Far as he knew, this was just a friends with benefits sorta deal and he was all but eager for it. Didn’t matter where they stood or what bygones have occurred.. or well it DID matter but they were on amicable enough terms after all was said and done.

★ “ Hmm.. If I had to be honest, I never really pegged him as being that concerned over romanticism. The guy lives for what, thousands of years? Not much of a conversation partner, I tell him a joke and he tells me how much he hates me and my humor. Wouldn’t say he’s much of a romantic but y’know, not that much of a big deal in the grand scheme of things. ”

How often they would like to have sex with yours.

★ “ PFFT, pretty sure no matter what I reply with; it’ll be way more than what San-Tan’s willing to put out. From what I understood, he just plain doesn’t have as much of a libido as other people due to how long Pillarmen live and all that jazz. ”

★ ” Wouldn’t say it’d be breaker for me but I don’t want to necessarily only pester him just to have a good romp every week. While I WOULD prefer as often as I can get away with, I’m pretty okay with whatever the Big Guy’s mood is; But that doesn’t mean I don’t allude to it~ ” Besides, wasn’t like Joseph didn’t talk enough for them both over their bar dates.

Where they would most likely have sex with yours

★ ” Guy’s all big about the wilderness and all that so I figured that’d be the best place to be if I had to choose a place-- So long as there aren’t any bloody snakes, mosquitoes or damn piranhas getting in my business, y’know what I mean? ”

Whether they think yours would be “good” in bed

★ “ Wouldn’t you like to know~? I got my interests and I got my wants. ”

What titles / nicknames my muse would like to call yours during sex

★ “ To be honest, I never really thought that far ahead mainly because Mr. Grouch isn’t one to have as much fun. ”

Up to 3 kinks they would like to explore with yours ( with consent of course )

★ ” A bit of fun with some rope is always up my alley but if I HAD to pick two more things, well.. I could think of having a bit of some sensory deprivation and a dash of dirty talking if we really want to get into that. Granted, I’d be certain I’ll be the one doing most of the lip business as I doubt that ancient fossil wouldn’t even know what to say than growl to get me hard. ”

What sort of sex they’d prefer to have with yours ( slow & sensual, quickie, etc. )

★ “ Slow and sensual but I’m not opposed to a quickie. Main issue is that it takes ages for San to get into the mood and drawing him out for that long afterwards is murder even for me! Not that I’m complaining, I just had to learn to pace myself and usually it works out. ”

What type of relationship my muse would like to form with yours. ( typical couple, friends with benefits, etc. )

★ “ I’m pretty alright with how things are. No matter what Santana says, we’re totally best friends and he’d have nothing to do without me keepin’ him company, Dahahah~ ”

#goddevourd #|| Tag: Answered #|| Suggestive #|| Guest Muse: Joseph #( LNsdlfjg joseph how i missed u. )#( or thotseph I should say with how much stuff he had to say about a particular redhead. alfsjg )

1 note · View note

thewildwaffle · 3 years

Text

Humans are Weird: Antibiotics

A story prompt from a user on a03. Apparently, this is my 50th short story, or at least the 50th installment of m humans are weird short stories. Hurray!

****

Ni Andu watched a dried sickle leaf roll across the empty courtyard from her window. A deep sigh made her breath fog up the glass. The courtyard wasn't supposed to be empty. Especially not this time of year. The Gauru Ni Moon Festival usually brought visitors from around the world and across multiple star systems right about now. But the disease meant no bright banners were hung. No music echoed cheerily through around the corners and down the streets. There were no wafting scents of fresh fruits and fried breads.

It was amazing and terrifying that something so small that it couldn’t be seen had done all this. The Ni were a proud race, rich in culture, and until now, seemingly sturdy in constitution. Diseases had come and gone in the past, but in such small and freak cases that they were hardly given much attention. It was assumed that Ni immune systems were the best in the galaxy and many other races had even requested to study how they were so effective.

Those prideful memories felt hollow now as Ni Andu sighed and pulled herself away from the dreary sight outside. As a new and reluctant head of the house, she had more pressing things to deal with than moping in the past. Several members of her own family were still sick, two of her hatch mates had been very touch-and-go as of late. She slowly made her way to the cushions where they were sleeping to check on them. To her relief, she saw the soft blankets they were wrapped in rose and fell slowly. She stood there, watching them for a bit in the gathering darkness of their shared humble abode. Matki’s breathing sounded like gravel stuck in a child’s rolling skiffer.

“What are we going to do?” Andu’s wide nose scrunched up as she begged the silent house. “What am I supposed to do next?”

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there trying to think of everything and nothing all at once. It was a good while though and was only interrupted when a small light turned on in the meal room. Andu looked up at the light streaming out of the door’s archway. With a sigh, she gathered her strength to move again to see who was up. As she approached, she heard small claws scrabbling on the stonework floor and storage pods opening and closing.

Sure enough, when she peeked in, Andu could see little Piri shuffling through food storage pods that looked even less stocked than she thought they’d been. There were a few bottled foods, a few containers of ingredient-prepped soup containers, but certainly nothing immediately ready for consumption. Most easy and ready-to-eat foods had been eaten long ago or destroyed when they began to decay and grow dangerous molds. And to a small three-year-old Ni, that basically meant there was no food at all.

“Hey Piri, are you hungry?” Even though Andu had kept her voice quiet, little Piri still jumped and tucked his small thin tail like he was ashamed he’d been caught. Andu smiled comfortingly and stepped into the room to pick up one of the soup packs.

“It’s okay, you’re fine,” she patted him on the head softly, “I think it’s time for a meal too. I’m sure everyone else would agree once they wake up and smell the food.”

“There’s not much left,” Piri’s small voice was so sad and only made the words themselves feel sharper to Andu’s hearts. She tried to think of something she could say to make their situation seem less dire, but nothing came to mind. Instead, she scooped up Piri’s small form and waited until his thin arms latched securely around her scruff before she walked over to get a pot to cook in. She was going to have to add quite a bit of water to this if it was going to make enough to sustain everyone for a meal.

Cooking, even making something simple, helped ease Andu’s mind. There was a sense of normalcy in standing in front of a firebox and stirring a bubbling pot of soup. She tried to ignore how thin it was. Still, the smell made her feel warm and it must have wafted across the house as she could soon hear the tell-tale signs of her hatch mates waking up. She gathered bowls and filled each one. Lowering Piri back down, she handed the young Ni a bowl and carried the rest to the cushions where the rest of the family was slowly waking up.

They ate together slowly, trying to make the contents of their bowl last and talking quietly about anything they could to distract themselves from their situation. Matki was recalling a story from four lunar years ago when Andu had entered a fried bread pastry into a competition. Between Matki’s coughing and Andu interjecting to defend herself, the story kept getting interrupted! She’d worked on the recipe for her pastry for so long and was so proud of it, but the night before, something went wrong when she was making her entry. Whether it was nerves, exhaustion, oversight, or Jentala above forbid, sabotage, it went very wrong. From the way Matki described the judges’ reaction, one might have thought Andu had purposefully tried poisoning them! As everyone chuckled, Matki claimed he still had the video recording from the competition and pulled it out, much to Andu’s chagrin.

Andu pretended to be exasperated by the teasing, but really she was just glad everyone felt good enough to laugh again.

It took a while before she and the others noticed that Matki hadn’t pulled up the video. Instead, his eyes locked on the comm tablet screen.

“Matki?”

“Hey, did you find it?”

“Matki are you okay?”

Matki finally looked up, eyes still wide from whatever he’d been looking at. “They’re coming to help.”

Everyone shared a worried look. What?

“Who are you talking about? Who’s coming?” Andu broke the confused silence.

Matki tapped something on-screen with the pad of a finger and a holographic projection display rose up.

Everyone watched enraptured by the newscast. It was about humans. From halfway across the galaxy, they’d heard about the Ni’s plight and had come claiming they had a cure. They were offering aid and resources to run tests to make sure their medicine was safe and effective for Ni use and make alterations if needed. They were even claiming they’d help distribute the finalized cure the moment it was given the go-ahead. In the meantime, they were also sending ships of food and supplies.

Andu could feel the back of her throat tighten. Was this real? Did she dare hope? There’d been so many reports before about help being promised, well, not help to this extent, but help nonetheless. They’d ended up being just for show and were proven empty once those who offered realized how impossible the situation really was.

But humans? She’d heard they were tough. And stubborn. Maybe they were stubborn enough to see their promises through?

The embarrassing video of Andu’s failed pastry was long forgotten, the conversation instead jumped between wild rumors her family had overheard about humans and speculation about how long it would take for the humans to actually lend aid if they were really coming at all. Andu could see a shimmer in the eyes of her hatch mates as they spoke that she hadn’t seen in a while. Although she wished she could feel the same optimism, she could also see how quickly they were all tiring out. Although they’d slept most of the day, the disease was still taking its toll on them all.

Once the meager meal was finished, she stood to gather the now empty bowls. She noticed Piri quickly scrape a finger along the side of his bowl to snag any last morsel before she came along to collect it. ‘Jentala above,’ she prayed mentally, ‘if help truly is coming, send it along soon.”

With bellies no longer completely empty, everyone settled in, and soon the room was full of sleeping or near sleeping Ni.

Andu slept fitfully. She dreamed, but it was fractured and confusing. Even before the disease came, she had a hard time remembering her dreams once she woke up. It was near impossible now. She did remember a loud humming noise though. As she blinked her eyes and lifted her head, she realized the humming was still there. She rose and searched for the source. It almost sounded like… engines? But that, that had to be impossible - the quarantine…

She looked out the window. Dried sickle leaves were flying around wildly as a large shuttle slowly came in for a landing in the courtyard. Andu opened her mouth to call out to the rest of her family, but nothing would come. How were they still asleep with this racket? Apparently, it managed to wake up Piri, who nearly made Andu jump when he bumped into her side while trying to climb up for a better view out the window.

“What’s going on? Who’s outside?” Piri waited to ask until Andu had resettled herself after being startled.

“I’m not sure yet,” she answered as they both watched the shuttle’s doors slowly work through the unsealing process. Across the courtyard, she could see other Ni’s faces peeking out their windows. As far as she could tell, expressions seemed to range anywhere from fear to curiosity to… was that hope? Wait, had they seen the newscast last night? Did they think this was… there’s no way the humans could be here already, right?

They both watched intently as the doors finally opened and a ramp extended. Soon a line of creatures she’d only seen on screens filed down wearing yellow vests and hauling huge boxes in their arms or on carts they pulled behind them.

“It is the humans!” Piri yelled and jumped down from his perch. He ran to where everyone was stirring on the cushions, “Wake up! Wake up! The humans are here!”

Andu wasn’t sure if she should reprimand Piri for disturbing them, or if she should join in. Instead, she watched as the humans in the courtyard started setting up stations and continued hauling load after load filled with what must have been hexaheebs of food, clean water, and various supplies.

She turned to look back at her family who were trying to rise as fast as their weakened bodies would allow. Matki began coughing violently and had to rest against the wall. Andu went to help support him when a knock at the front door startled everyone. They all stared at the old chirrowood door, then around at each other. It had been so long since quarantine had started, they’d almost forgotten what a knock on the door sounded like.

After a pause, the knock came again, this time followed by a worried and drawn-out, “Hello?”

Once she was sure Matki was standing stable, Andu, being the least sick among everyone, walked to and slowly opened the door.

A human from the shuttle stood in the doorway. They were wearing a mask over their mouth and nose, but it was definitely a human! Their eyes closed slightly and creased in the corners as they nodded a greeting. “Hi, my name is Ali, I’m part of the relief team that’s been assigned to this district. We’ve got food and essentials to distribute and I just need to know how many are in this household and if anyone here is in critical condition.”

Andu blinked at the human for a moment as she took in what they’d said.

“We, uh, we have four adults and one child. There, there were more, but…” she couldn’t finish that sentence. From the look the human gave her, she didn’t need to finish it. Her sinuses stung as she fought to not cry. The first visitor in how long and here she was almost crying in the doorway?

“I'm so sorry for your loss,” the human’s head bowed and their shoulders dropped. “I wish we’d known and could have helped earlier. Is anyone here in need of immediate emergency care?”

At that point, Matki started coughing again. Andu and Ali looked back to see him sit back down until his coughing died down.

Andu sighed and turned back to the human. “None of us are great right now. Matki’s probably the worst out of all of us. He sounds bad, but he actually has started to stabilize in the past few days.”

Human Ali gave a short nod and started writing something on a tablet in his hands.

“Do you,” Andu’s voice trembled, “we heard a report last night about you. That you were coming. That you… do you…” she swallowed and fought back desperate tears, “do you really have a cure?”

The human’s eyes creased again. “We do.”

Andu didn’t need to turn around to know the effect this had on her family. She heard it. She felt it. This time, she didn’t fight back the tears.

“Right now,” Human Ali continued, “it’s in the final stages of approval for Ni use, we’re just waiting for the ‘go-ahead’ and we’ll help distribute it as soon as it arrives. Until then, I’ve got some food and supplies for you. I can help unload and unpack if you need?”

“That… that would be... thank you,” she wiped at her tears. “Thank you so much.”

Over the next few days, more shuttles came and went, bringing more supplies, food, tools, and just in general, a brighter outlook and mood to the entire neighborhood. The humans really were here to help, and they seemed happy to do so. Not only were they good with their promises of aid, but they also delivered on the cure they said they had. Ni were instructed on the drug’s use and administration directions thoroughly for both the tablet and liquid forms of the cure. The effects were quick, and from the reports on the newscast, overwhelmingly positive. The Ni were cured! The plague that had once threatened to wipe out their entire population was gone! Celebrations larger than even the Gauru Ni Moon Festival were planned, songs were written, stories shared and spread. It was wholly agreed by all that this was a historic time in Ni history that they all survived through, and all thanked Jentala above for sending the humans to help.

It went without saying that everyone wanted to know more about the cure itself. And that meant everyone, not just the Ni, but the rest of the galactic community who before, had written the Ni off as a lost cause because of the horrific disease. What was this miracle cure? What other things could it do? Where, by all that is bright and shining, did the humans get it, and could it be easily replicated?

The humans, for their part, were again as open and gracious with their information as they had been with their aid. It was an old medicine they’d discovered long ago on their planet. Considered to be the first “antibiotic,” it was widely used on Earth and had saved millions of lives since its discovery. It worked by interfering with bacteria cell walls and destroyed them by causing them to burst.

It was called

Penicillin.

“Amazing!” “Spectacular!” “So simple, yet so ingenious!” many in the galactic community praised. “How ever did you discover this amazing drug?”

The initial answer wasn’t too surprising, for humans at least: it was an accident.

Andu almost snorted as she read the report to the rest of her family. Granted, the end of the plague was the first time any of them had come in direct contact with humans, but they all had heard many of the stories about human escapades. Wild experiments that on paper seemed more like a drunken brainstorm party that ended up advancing rocket fuel technology by at least 8 lunar years. Crash-landings on category 3 death worlds and they ended up liking them so much they decided to set up colonies. Half of what they did seemed to be mistakes that just went right for them. Apparently, the miracle drug penicillin was included in those stories.

She looked up its history and manufacturing.

Andu felt claws dance down her back as she read more. It came… from mold? Mold?! She looked up from the tablet to the faces of her equally horrified hatch mates. It took them a moment to remember how to close their mouths.

"You mean like mold on old bread?" Piri broke the shocked silence.

Andu blinked and looked back at the report. Old bread? How many times had they not eaten bread fast enough in the warm humid seasons only to pick up a bul of bread and find mold growing on it. It was dangerous, it had to be carefully disposed of, it was… able to save lives?

She returned to the report. The more she read, the more comforted she became in the safety of the miracle antibiotic. That, and she couldn't argue with the results. Her family was around her, now loudly being altogether boisterous together as they "discussed" the humans and all the ways they played with death in order to save life.

Matki snatched the tablet from her claws, wanting to read the report for himself. As Andu was jostled by her now healthy, energetic family, she was just happy and eternally thankful that the humans were crazy enough to play with something as dangerous as fungus, and then kind enough to share what they discovered.

#humans are weird #aliens #space orcs #disease #penicillin #antibiotics #immune systems #space #hfy #ni #space australians #writeblr #original writing #short story

1K notes · View notes

squigglywindy · 2 years

Note

But he didn’t have time to question the origins of the loaf. Barely had time to arm himself with a spoon. By the time he saw the loaf, it was too late.

The spoon disappeared into the side of the bread, consumed just like every other chance he had at defending himself. It was just him and his fists, now. Just Wild’s bare hands against the bread.

And so he set up right where he was. Started a fire, heated up his portable cooking pot, and set to work on preparing his latest creation.

He didn’t worry until the bread actually stepped over the edge of the pan and onto the forest floor, dried leaves sizzling under its heat.

“Yonkers,” He whispered sadly as the bread worked its way up to his head. It was a cool story, at least. He only hoped that somebody could defeat the loaf in time to tell it.

This haunts me everywhere I go I can’t escape it. I bought bread today and this was all I could think about. What have I done

#Loaf Anon #squiggles answers

5 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Text

Yan Genshin / Being Their Darling.

Childe:

The days of living a peaceful, quaint life will be far behind you. Childe doesn’t allow himself the vulnerability of getting close to many. He doesn’t care how bloody the road ahead to winning you is, as his hands have never been clean. All is fair in love and war, right?

Childe will get his claws deep into your life before you realize what’s happening. Whether it be extortion or threatening, Liyue’s Fatui are at his disposal, to be used however he sees fit. He’d like to have some form of leverage over you as a backup plan if the regular attempt at romancing you is unsuccessful. There’s also an appeal to knowing you’re under his thumb.

Fatui underlings would be assigned on shifts to watch over you. Anyone that Childe perceives as “too friendly” (which he has a rather lenient definition of), is harassed at a later time to deter further interaction with you. The sudden isolation is unexpected, those who used to be close with you seem too frightened to look you in the eye.

He wishes he had more time to spend with you. The times he does get to spend by your side are eventful, but not in ways you can appreciate. Childe is something of a pest by your side. He won’t leave until he feels you’ve given him enough attention, which is difficult since you always leave him wanting more.

“Didn’t you know I had to work overtime to spend this evening together? Really, trying to lose me in a crowd... I’m almost insulted that you thought that’d work. Try that again and I might just have to tie you up. C’mon, don’t look at me like that, I’m just kidding.”

Diluc:

Luxury and pampering at a cost of your autonomy. You won’t know of the latter until later. Diluc’s attention might even feel enthralling at first, Mondstadt’s most desired bachelor seeking you out is a deep honor if nothing else. Gifts are delivered to your residence, ranging from simple to extravagant. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself at first, but it doesn’t take too much investigation to find who the gifts are from.

When you’re asleep at night, Diluc finds himself drawn to your residence while sweeping the city of Mondstadt at night. There’s a certain perch nearby that gives him access to your bedroom window. How the moonlight shines on your sleeping face makes his heart go wild, a sliver of a smile on his lips.

Diluc is already a hard worker, but he pushes himself even further to cleanse the world for your sake. You become another unhealthy obsession and almost a reward for his efforts. The entitlement to your time and love creeps up on him before he knows it. For the most part, he can repress it, but that’s exacerbated by any advances on you.

Overtime will grow more overbearing as these emotions rise to the surface. Insisting on walking you to places, helping with your finances, and even suggesting you quit your job altogether. Diluc makes it clear that he wants to take care of you but won’t say why exactly. To have you relying on him would be ideal, so that’s what he’s going for.

“Your hesitation is understandable, but please give it some thought. Whatever it is that’s stressing you, I can handle, so that it’s no longer an issue. I’m more than capable of that.”

Kaeya:

Underneath a meticulously crafted façade of friendliness are layers of cunning. For every step you feel you’re ahead, Kaeya is ten more. It never hits you until it’s too late how entangled your paths are. Everything was planned — months in advance, even — to bring about the result he desires.

Operates more in the shadows before making a move. Ideal scenarios fall perfectly into place, painting a favorable picture of him to you. Leading monsters to areas you frequent, only to assist you in fending them off, even offering to tend to your wounds should you have obtained any. All the while having his signature charm on full display.

Kaeya desires for you to rely on him to an unhealthy degree. That way you’ll come to return his love, or so he believes, a bond formed under turbulent times. The coincidental eviction and offer to stay with him is a perfect example. When the world is falling apart, Kaeya is there by your side, extending a helping hand. Little do you know that it’s those same hands that manipulated these situations into existence.

He’s done his homework and it shows. Every little accidental brushing over his hand over yours, amorous whispering into your ear, and flirtatious remark is designed to your liking. Kaeya mentions your interests in conversation, anything to warm you up to him. It works like a charm too, as you steadily let down your walls and let him in.

“I’m staring? Oh, you caught me. Though, I can’t bring myself to apologize. It’s unreasonable if you think I could take my eyes off you, when you’re standing there looking like that. Ah... there’s that blush again. See what I mean?”

Zhongli:

The unrelenting favor from Liyue’s Archon is suffocating. He has astounding wisdom on matters often left in the pages of dust-covered texts. He knows your family lineage and situation on an almost intimate level, recounting details that no one else should be privy to. You’ll get the sense there’s more to Zhongli than what he’s letting on.

Zhongli will see to it that you have lots of free time (to be spent with him...). Any business-related ventures, whether it be filling out permits or negotiation contracts will be completed in record time. All he asks in return is to have dinner together. At the time, it feels like a reasonable request, if not a confusing one. Shouldn’t you be the one treating him after all his help? He looks uncertain when you mention this to him, like he hadn’t thought about it before.

Your family will likely encourage your relationship — even if you insist it’s strictly platonic — believing Zhongli to be an ideal match. His work ethic, knowledge, and cordial nature would be brought up to further convince you. They’d reason that should you ever marry, Zhongli would be more than capable of taking care of you (and them, by extension), for the rest of your life.

He’s more than aware of this newfound grievance in your life. Zhongli believes that by earning the approval of your family, he’ll earn yours as well, so that’s where he started. The pressure surrounding from all sides might make you cave eventually. Until then, he will continue to present himself as a desirable bachelor. This methodology feels perfect, since any angst you may have won’t be directed at him, but your family instead.

“So you think talking to them about it would only worsen the situation? While that makes sense, I believe I could be of assistance, should they hear it coming from me. I’m afraid I’ll have to insist this time.”

3K notes · View notes

hawkinsschoolcounselor · 2 years

Text

Was Time After Time foreshadowing?

Time After Time is a 1983 song by Cyndi Lauper. It was featured in Stranger Things season 2 at the Snowball. The lyrics cover someone singing about falling out of step with someone they care about, but promising they will always be waiting for them, time after time.

I feel like this could have been foreshadowing in a couple different ways.

First, the, perhaps more obvious, clock theme. We don’t yet know the entirety of the significance of the Creel Clock, but it has been extremely prominent in marketing. Whether it refers to a countdown, time manipulation, the repeating themes, or something else entirely, we can see how a song called Time After Time could fit with season 4.

Furthermore, though, we can also consider the Snowball the moment where Mike and Will fell out of step with each other. More specifically, it was the moment that Mike was “walking too far ahead” and Will “fell behind.” It can honestly be hard to tell whether Mike or Will would hold Cyndi’s role in this song, though. I feel they’re both caught up in circles, with confusion being nothing new. They’d both have flashbacks of warm nights, almost left behind. I think it’d be strong in both of them, though Will would be more likely to visibly show it.

The hopeful part is that the memories are almost left behind.

I’ll leave you all with the lyrics to come up with your own opinions. This was just a thought I had. It’s nothing too deeply thought out, and it’s sort of outside my wheelhouse. It also might just be my love for 80s music colliding with the hype for season 4 and creating something that isn’t really there.

Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you Caught up in circles Confusion is nothing new Flashback, warm nights Almost left behind Suitcase of memories Time after

Sometimes you picture me I'm walking too far ahead You're calling to me, I can't hear What you've said Then you say, "go slow" And I fall behind The second hand unwinds

If you're lost you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting Time after time If you're lost, you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall, I will catch you, I will be waiting Time after time

After my picture fades and darkness has Turned to gray Watching through windows You're wondering if I'm okay Secrets stolen from deep inside (deep inside) And the drum beats out of time

If you're lost you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting Time after time If you're lost, you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall, I will catch you, I will be waiting Time after time Time after time

I've got a suitcase of memories that I almost left behind Time after time Time, time, time But you say to go slow but I fall behind Time after time after time (after time, oh)

#stranger things #byler #stranger things 4

65 notes · View notes

allisonlol · 3 years

Note

jouno angst p l e a s e

a/n: y'know i low key suck at angst but i really wanted to do this so...here have a lil scenario </3 used unreciprocated love as the theme

warnings: hhh jouno’s really mean in this one :’) being his usual dramatic sadistic self or whatever. i tried not to make the ending TOO angsty??

you used the corner of your cape to wipe the blood off of your saber, looking down at the criminals you’d just killed with disgust. when would they all learn their lesson? you hoped it would be soon, since killing wasn’t your forte despite being the central part of your profession.

jouno was nearby, cleaning off his saber as well. the both of you were commonly dispatched together which, in your case, was both a blessing and a curse.

you stole a glance over at him, only to find that his face was neutral and unreadable. it tended to usually be when he was around you, for some reason. you weren't sure whether to take this as a good or bad sign.

“could you please calm that racing heart of yours?? or should i silence it for you?” jouno said bluntly, sliding his saber back into its scabbard.

you jumped in surprise at the sound of his voice, before taking a shaky breath to try to lower your pulse. you could hear it pounding in your ears, and instantly felt embarrassed knowing he’d heard it as well.

swallowing your nerves, you pushed your own saber back into its scabbard as well before turning to face him. “we should probably head back now…?” you offered.

“‘probably’ is an understatement. we’re already going to be late to the meeting at this point.” jouno turned on his heel and pushed past you, leaving you to scramble to catch up.

despite the fact that both of you would be late, neither seemed to be in a hurry on the walk back to base. you and jouno walked side-by-side in silence, maintaining a leisurely pace. the unsaid words you’d been meaning to say to him for weeks swelled up in your chest, making it hard to breathe. should you take your shot now? your mind raced with nervous thoughts as the silence slowly started to suffocate you.

“i know what you have to say, so spit it out already.” jouno interrupted the solitude, sounding annoyed. you looked at him in a panic; how did he always seem to know what you were thinking??

“um...” you scrambled for an excuse, back tracking on your plan. now wasn’t a good time to confess to him, not after he’d called you out like that...

but then again, when would be a good time? seemingly never...so why not go for it now?

clenching your hands into fists so they’d stop shaking, you drew a breath before saying what had been on your mind for ages: “i was just wondering if you’d want to spend some time together outside of work. maybe we could get coffee or-”

jouno abruptly stopped walking and you bumped into him, not having expected him to stop. “oh! i’m sorry-” you stammered, feeling your heart sinking in your chest. you shouldn’t have said anything, how could you be so stupid?? your thoughts screamed.

jouno smiled, before laughing lowly to himself. you watched fearfully, dreading his reply.

“i’m not entirely sure what possessed you to think it would ever be appropriate to ask me that, y/n.” shaking his head in amusement, he took several steps forward, closing the gap between the two of you. “it’s ironic that you thought i didn’t know already. after all, i’m forced to listen to your insufferable erratic heartbeat every damn day.”

“i-...” your mouth opened to speak but no sound came out. while you hadn’t been entirely sure of what jouno’s reaction would’ve been, you’d never expected it would be like this. you found yourself at a total loss for words, and could hear your pulse thrashing in your ears again.

“you’re a nuisance. and quite honestly, i couldn’t care less about you.” he leaned over you with a threatening smile, tracing his index finger along your jaw to tilt up your head.

it’d be a lie to say that his presence didn’t affect you. even now and in this context, his proximity to you had your stomach twisted into knots.

“oh…” was all you were able to get out, your voice small and shaky. from the way his smile grew, jouno only seemed to take delight in this.

you looked absolutely heartbroken, and he was loving every second of it.

you winced as jouno suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair, using it as leverage to throw you to the ground. you hissed in pain, bringing your hands up to your stinging scalp. from your spot on the ground, you watched in confusion and trepidation as he gracefully drew his saber and placed it against your neck rather gently.

“quite honestly, i’d be doing everyone a favor here. you have no true useful qualities...hell, you struggle to cut down criminals even when your job calls for it. i’ll never understand how you were recruited to be in this unit, but regardless, you’re getting on my last nerve.”

your eyes stung with barely contained tears as you came to the realization that jouno saw you as nothing more than another being to torment and derive his sadistic pleasure from. obviously you’d known he was like this, but you’d never thought he’d turn that behavior onto you. regret weighed heavy on your chest, and you mentally kicked yourself for being so naive.

“then do it.” you seethed, feeling your face flush in anger and embarrassment. you pushed your head forward so his saber dug slightly into your neck, drawing blood. “go ahead and do everyone that favor.”

you watched in mild surprise as jouno’s smile faded and his face became solemn. there was silence between the two of you until he drew back his saber, sliding it back into its scabbard with a metallic ping.

“get up. we were supposed to be back at headquarters ages ago.” jouno finally said bluntly, grabbing you by the collar of your uniform to pull you back up to your feet. you hurridly brushed away the blood trickling down your neck as you watched him begin walking ahead of you.

“we’re co-workers. we can’t be anything more.” jouno said over his shoulder, and you almost didn’t hear it since he’d gotten so far out of earshot. you blinked, contemplating the weight of his words and actions. he was just...so confusing.

the tears you’d been holding back clouded your vision, about to spill. a part of you wished he’d cut you down as he’d threatened to; anything to spare you from the pain you were now feeling.

#bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #jouno x reader #bsd jouno #jouno saigiku #jouno x tecchou #tecchou x reader #bsd tecchou #bsd x you #bsd headcanons #bsd imagines #bsd angst #bsd hunting dogs #hunting dogs bsd

318 notes · View notes

ushidoux · 3 years

Text

Power Struggle - Ushijima x Reader

Summary: You’re set up on a blind date with a man who might just be your match. (~5.1k words)

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, blind date, exhibitionism, public sex

A/N: Part of @cherrytenko’s CEO collab! Surprisingly this is possibly the longest fic I’ve written as a oneshot and it’s a little softer than I expected it to be but please enjoy!

---

It’s about half past 6pm when you add the final touch to your makeup, a smear of matte lipstick (Rouge Hermes #48, to be exact), to your lips.

It’s not often that you’re able to leave work early but your mother and father had called you from overseas in the late afternoon, interrupting their own third honeymoon, to remind you of your final meeting for the day -

A date.

“I know you hate these things, but just go! You might like what you see,” your mother insisted over video chat, her voice muffled by the sound of wind whipping past her as she and your father cruised along on a shaky speedboat they’d purchased just for the day. You weren’t completely sure where they were, only vaguely aware that they were somewhere around Jeju Island, and not exactly sure why they still had phone service, but you weren’t going to ask too many questions.

“No obligation!” Your father adds, just out of view and yelling slightly.

Sure, never any obligations.

As you smack your lips in the mirror to smooth out the lip color, giving yourself a brief once-over to decide whether or not you feel the need to adjust your hair or if you will wear falsies or not, you frown ever so slightly, then let out a sigh.

You hate this.

This is the third “meeting” they’ve arranged for you this month, and they’d been at this for almost six months overall by now. This search for a ‘suitable husband’ was getting stale - not to mention, time-consuming - and you weren’t sure you would be willing to appease your parents any longer.

In fact, you weren’t exactly sure you were interested in a partner anymore. The clock would hit thirty any moment now, and the math of falling in love, getting married, having kids, and still heading a successful company no longer seemed to be adding up. You didn’t know how exactly to tell your sweet parents who were the picture of domestic bliss that they’d probably have to give up on the idea of grandchildren, and consider raising puppies instead.

Regardless, for the time being, you could still bother to meet this stranger for dinner.

There’s a clasp seal envelope atop your dresser - a portfolio that had been left on your desk by your father’s assistant at the beginning of the week - that still seems entirely too formal for the process. This is matchmaking, not a job application, was the first thought that came to mind once you realized the envelope held a set of photos, a resume and an admittedly curt but formally written statement reminiscent of a cover letter.

Ushijima Wakatoshi, the signature at the bottom of the letter read in an extremely neat script. He must be particularly organized and detail-oriented.

There were two pictures, one that looked almost like a passport photo and the other much more relaxed, where he was dressed casually in a t-shirt and pressed jeans, standing with his arms crossed beside a redheaded man whose smile was wide and infectious, his arm around his neck. You wondered if he picked those photos himself.

You’d perused the first photo much more carefully because you could see more of his face. He’s quite handsome, you’d admitted, the faintest warmth in your cheeks, but he seemed awfully uptight. For one, the look on his face was very neutral, not bothering to smile. He was clean shaven and his hair was close cropped at the edges, a woody brown that paired well with serious olive eyes. You wondered if he ever laughed out loud, and what he looked like when he did.

The taxi driver is prompt and waiting outside of the high-rise in which you live by the time you make your way down the elevator. The click of your heels is loud on the tile as you make your way past the revolving doors. As you slip into the back of the car, you wonder if you’re dressed too professionally. You may have forgone the women’s pantsuit, but you’re still wearing a feminine pantsuit-esque ensemble in a creamy beige - pink would have seemed too ditzy, white would have seemed a bit too innocent (not to mention risky) and yellow too juvenile.

You’re not sure why you’re thinking so hard about this, but really years of paying attention to your appearance in public, not being taken seriously because you’re pretty and young and your personality is more bubbly than bossy puts you on your guard, especially when it comes to first impressions.

The location appears to be an upscale sushi restaurant, the type that you have to call ahead for months to get a reservation unless you have some kind of special arrangement with the owner. A staff member checks you in and brings you to the back to a private room, and as you pass through the dimly lit hallway, clutching your purse a little too securely, a scene from a yakuza movie comes to mind.

“Your room, madam,” the young man nods and motions you to enter a room that is brightly lit enough that it is almost blinding, large and round as though you were in a fishbowl yourself. You look up and notice that even the ceiling is curved. Elaborate paintings hang off the wall.

He’s not here.

You glance at the attendant and he raises his eyebrows as though he is expecting you to say something. You must look surprised, and continue to look so as you remove your shoes to sit at one of the thin mattresses set before the low table.

You wish you’d worn stockings perhaps, tucking your bare feet beneath you in a casual seiza position. You can’t recall the last time you’ve been this traditional/formal, and the thought of a man you barely know already knowing what your feet look like bare bothers you just a bit.

The attendant pours water and then tea for two wordlessly and slips out of the room.

Your heart pounds once you’re finally alone. Why is this so intense?

You fidget nervously with the thin silver necklace you are wearing, looking for a menu. There is none so far. Just square plates, both chopsticks and forks (odd for sushi, you think), and a steaming cup of tea set right next to a sweltering crystal glass of ice cold water. Opposites.

For a fleeting moment, you actually wonder for once if this man will like you.

“My apologies, Ms. ___.”

You’re startled by a rich voice, a tiny gasp revealing that you’re more spooked than you realize, and your eyes shift towards the direction of the sound to see what looks like your date finally arriving in a hurry.

You instinctively readjust yourself onto your knees to look formal, then realize you should probably stand instead, but before you can get up he waves you to sit back down, now settling down himself across from you.

“I had intended to arrive early but quite a few things happened at the company to make that unfeasible.”

He said this while removing a suit jacket in a way that was in no way intended to be sexy, not at all, then let out what sounded like a single, semi-nervous chuckle.

Wordlessly, you replied with a nod, transfixed as you compared photography to reality. The photos didn’t do him justice, not at all. The suit jacket was picked up quickly by a waiter who you had forgotten was still in the room.

Ushijima extended an arm to you across the table, intending to shake your hand.

“Did you wait long?” He asks as you shakily take his hand for a handshake that consumes your hand almost entirely in his large one.

You shake your head, then embarrassed when you realize you aren’t using your voice, and add, “No, I didn’t wait long...”

“Are you hungry?” He replies, quickly. Your instinct is to say no, no you didn’t need anything, especially not from him, but you are pretty sure your stomach would growl loudly any minute now, and you’d only look like a fool.

Ushijima glances at the waiter, who finally hands the two of you menus.

“Please order anything you like.”

You look down, swallowing hard again, and for a moment it is difficult to focus on the unnecessarily elaborate handwriting on the menu.

Something about him already grates on your nerves and you couldn’t exactly pinpoint what. You could forgive people for being late, and you were used to people being a little forward, but something about the way he was both familiar and unfamiliar in the way he spoke to you seemed to veer into patronizing behavior.

Why wasn’t he nervous? Every man you’d sat across from in the past half a year had just a little waver in their voice when they spoke to you at some point, even those who had started off boasting their fancy degrees and their villas and their large bank accounts.

But he sits perfectly still, all broad shoulders, gently wafting cologne, and a gaze that is both disconcerting and impartial, so you don’t know what to think.

When you look up from the menu to him, his eyes are still heavily focused on you, and you can’t really fault him. There’s nothing else to look at in this room, after all.

You take this opportunity to tease him. No man has ever intimidated you before and this one is no different.

“Are you going to order anything? I barely saw you look at the menu.” Your voice is light and coquettish and it implies, all you’re doing is staring at me.

“I already know my order. I’ve been here enough times,” he replies, immune to the playfulness in your voice. You watch him roll up his sleeves as he answers, and take note of the shape of his hands as he takes a sip of tea.

Maybe you’re the one staring.

“Would you like a recommendation?” He offers as he sets the cup down.

You shake your head no, and wonder again why you’re making gestures instead of talking. He smiles as though he can read your mind.

Once the waiter takes your orders and leaves the room, you’re left in silence, facing your would-be partner. It’s a stalemate of sorts and you lose, asking the first personal question.

But you ask it semi-clinically, refusing to lose the upper hand. You’re not sure why there’s an upper hand, but there is, and it will be yours.

“I read a little about your company before arriving. You gave me quite a few details, which I appreciated,” you state, turning your head to the side politely to take a sip of tea yourself. “You’ve done very well for yourself as CEO,” you add.

His eyes don’t crinkle from the flattery. “My employees do great work at all levels so it’s only natural that there would be positive growth,” he replies matter-of-factly.

You smile politely, but this answer doesn’t give you very much information about him. He’s shifting the success away from him, you remark, however he accepts the compliment as though expected. Is this genuine humility or arrogance?

You lean very slightly forward, just enough to see if he’ll take the opportunity to glance down your blouse, as other suitors have invariably done. He doesn’t, and you proceed to ask the next question.

“What do you do outside of work?”

His eyebrows raise, and you wonder if it’s because he realizes you are pretending you didn’t read that section on his application, but he answers anyway.

“I don’t have very much free time, as you are probably aware, but I garden and paint. And of course, I like to keep fit through team sports.”

A quick look at him makes that last part quite clear. You clear your throat slightly and then it is silent again. It’s not exactly an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not comfortable either.

Just as you wonder why he isn’t asking you any questions, he suddenly speaks up.

“Pardon me if this sounds inappropriate, but you’re beautiful. Why would you need a matchmaking service?”

You’re taken aback, and while your brain is scrambling for understanding of what his intentions are, he adjusts his sitting position so that he’s cross-legged with both hands on his knees and lets out a sigh before continuing.

“You’re also accomplished and clearly articulate. I don’t imagine you’d have trouble finding a partner through more organic means.”

It seems like there are a million butterflies that suddenly inhabit the small space in the pit of your stomach. Again, you’re at a loss for words, something that is rare for someone as opinionated and cordially fierce as you.

Should you be offended? It’s almost as though he’s asking what’s wrong with you?

He asks frankly, “Why a blind date?”

You want to ask him the same question, but you hear the waiter return and you fall silent, letting the butterflies in your stomach die down.

---

“I-is this the first time - ah - you’ve done this?”

You’re no longer laid out on the tatami like you were just an hour earlier, Ushijima nibbling on your lower lip and your collarbones instead of the overpriced, high-quality fish that sat atop your table, but now laid under him, spread eagle save for the hands you use to hold on to his shoulders as he slowly and deliberately thrusts inside you.

Your voice is breathy and catches in your throat every time he moves, but you have to know. How often has he ended up like this?

The heat that fills your whole body now isn’t just from the shame of letting a stranger fondle your body in an upscale restaurant, it’s because Ushijima somehow knows exactly where and how to touch you, as though he’s always known. His fingers have traveled your body like a hiker on a well-beaten path, from the softness behind your earlobes to your squishy center and back, and now have settled into a hold that is firm yet gentle on your hips.

When he replies “no” with immense honesty, his mouth sinks into the crook of your neck and he goes just deep enough that you don’t have time to factor this new information into your impression of him.

So instead you savor the thickness that fills you and the strength that holds you close, the soft grunts that fill your ears before they get drowned out by your equally loud whimpers and moans.

---

You don’t spend the night, partially out of shame that Ushijima bedded you so quickly and partially because you have a full schedule for the next morning. The parting of ways is brief and awkward and you seem to feel it more acutely than he does.

“I enjoyed our time, Miss ___,” he offers. You’ve dressed up faster than he has so you find yourself unwittingly ogling at the expanse of his sculpted chest and the flex of his muscles as he redresses. You’re almost sad to see him cover up.

You nod and walk out of the room, trying your best to hide the fact that your legs feel far too wobbly to be walking on these heels.

---

“Miss ____?”

Your eyes widen as you realize you’ve been daydreaming through a meeting with the board of trustees and now the wrinkled old men who hated the fact that your father thrust you into leadership you “didn’t deserve” are staring at you with disgruntled expressions.

“Oh, um,” you think quickly, recalling where the presentation left off and glancing quickly at the notes you’d jotted down on a notepad before wondering why Ushijima hadn’t called or texted since you met two weeks ago.

“Um?” The most senior of the group repeats, and your stomach turns for a moment before you steel yourself. He bares his teeth every time he’s displeased with you and you get the impression of an ancient and disgruntled wolf.

You clear your throat loudly, and settle back in your chair, crossing your legs and your arms over your chest.

“I have some disagreements with the current approach, but I’ll start with the pertinent positives,” you start.

---

“Was the sex at least good?”

Your best friend from high school glances at you briefly, as you face forward on the Peloton you are riding side by side with her. She’s much less out of shape than you are given that she also is your personal trainer and thus rides hers effortlessly, taking some time to wait for you to respond.

You begrudgingly say yes.

“Wow, for once someone dropped you before you could drop them!” She teases in a sing-song voice. You would slap her on the shoulder if she was close enough and if you weren’t out of breath. It stings just a little bit that you’ve heard nothing from him nor the matchmaking company and don’t have a good response to tell your parents aside from I guess we didn’t click.

“He’s missing out, though.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you huff, and cycle faster. No hard feelings.

---

Scratch that, there were absolutely going to be hard feelings now that he was not just fucking with you but also with your livelihood.

Admittedly, it was strange that despite the fact that your companies had never crossed paths until now despite working in the same consumer domain but this was unacceptable.

You’d opened an email that had just slipped into your peripheral vision as you worked on reviewing a couple of interns’ executive summaries, only to find that Ushijima might have just royally fucked you over.

A curt email from a crucial business partner read,

We apologize but we’ve decided to move forward with Ushijima Industries instead. I understand that this is last minute, but we believe that it will be mutually beneficial to discontinue our relationship at this point in time.

Your blood boiled. What the fuck was this?

Your phone rang, one of your team leaders calling immediately and likely looking at the email at the same time you were. He apologized profusely.

“What happened?”

“It seems like they just showed up and offered twice as much as we offered them last minute.”

This bastard. Then in a moment of horror, you wondered if this was your fault, if you had blabbed a little while slightly tipsy off of sake, and revealed that you had this acquisition in the works.

Voice smaller now, you asked, “So we can’t do anything to woo them back?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just have to make sure our other deal doesn’t fall through,” the slightly frantic man answered, the sounds of keyboard keys clicking rapidly heard in the background of the call.

“Okay, thank you for your hard work,” you stated. “I’ll see what I can do,” you replied with a click.

Maybe calling someone who’d ghosted you as you drove home, fuming and irritated, wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to confront him somehow. The idea of being bested in more ways than one was too much to bear.

The phone rang once, twice, then three times, and you were getting angrier with every tone through the car speaker. You hung up in frustration.

How embarrassing.

You made it home still irritated, indulging yourself in a relaxing bath to quell your anger. By the time you had soaked for close to an hour, you were mad at yourself for reacting impulsively and now having your number in his phone as a missed call… if he recognized it anyway.

It turns out he did.

“Ms. ___, did you call me earlier? I wasn’t able to make it to the phone in time.”

His voice was even lower on the phone, a slightly gravelly quality making you wonder if he’d actually been napping or just had a smoke. You couldn’t imagine him doing either of these things.

“What kind of game are you playing, Mr. Ushijima?”

There was a bit of hesitation on the phone, and you let out a sardonic laugh once he replied, as expected, “What?”

“How did you know about that deal other than what I told you?”

He paused again, and you too, stood still, a towel wrapped around your still dripping body.

“I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he then said, carefully. “I, uh… assume you were calling about something else.”

You grit your teeth. What the fuck else? The fact that he sounded genuinely confused only served to aggravate you further.

“Did you or did you not use the information I gave you to intercept my deal with MNY?”

Finally the lightbulb went on.

“Oh, that was you. Hm.”

If you’d been talking in person, you probably would have slapped him at this point. Or at least considered it.

“I didn’t know you were our competitor in that aspect. I… probably would have reconsidered if I had known.”

“Excuse me?”

That tone of over-familiarity, patronizing… the care when you’re not supposed to care was back and you realized you regretted this phone call.

“How would it be any different? Are you implying that you’d let me win?”

“No, of course not, I…” He trailed off. “Would you like to come over to my apartment and talk? I can give you my address, I would rather talk in person.”

Why? So I can get over there and end up fucking you again?

“I respectfully decline,” you answered curtly, and hung up, tossing your phone onto your bed and letting out an aggravated sigh.

---

The next morning, you leave an early executive meeting only to find that your office had been overrun with flowers between the hours of 7 to 8 am.

There are yellow roses, stating admiration, spilling out of an oversized bouquet on your desk and a separate bouquet of light red carnations and white camellias that imply that he finds you ‘adorable’. A white card is placed in the yellow bouquet, and on it is written Ushijima’s neat script - you realize it’s from him before you even finish reading the note.

I would like to see you again. Please accept my call around 6 pm.

Respectfully,

Ushijima Wakatoshi

Your hands hover over the wastebasket in your room with the flowers in your arms, but instead you sigh, and stuff them behind you on your shelf. At least you won’t have to see them while you work, but they’re pretty. They’re clearly bought from a floral shop, but you recall that he had said he gardened in his free time.

Ushijima calls promptly at 6 pm and you let it ring twice before deciding to block his number just as he’s calling. Something about the action is satisfying.

You can’t be won over with a couple of flowers and kind words. Women aren’t as easily swayed as he may think.

---

It’s another Friday, and surprisingly you haven’t been contacted for a blind date, whether it’s by your parents or the matchmaking service they’ve subscribed you to.

Maybe they’d gotten the message after you’d been ghosted that you were tired of this game. Maybe they were giving you a break. Maybe they’d run out of potential suitors. You were surprised, but not upset.

Ushijima had truly gotten under your skin.

After blocking his call, there were no more attempts at contact for the rest of the week. The only thing left to consider was that if you ever crossed paths in your careers, you would pay him back for snatching your investor.

And snatching your dignity in the process.

It was about 4 pm and most of the employees were wrapping up their tasks for the day. You usually aimed to have everyone out by 5, especially on Friday so this was boding well.

“Hey, Madam President, are you okay with an add-on?” You hear your secretary call from outside your door.

“Oh, I mean, I guess but-”

She’s already letting Ushijima through the door.

You smile sweetly, maintaining professional behavior as best you can, while your secretary leads him to an armchair across from you, up until she exits, your expression souring the moment she closes the door.

“Mr. Ushijima, what are you doing in my office?”

He’s settled into the chair so comfortably that it feels as though you’re in his office, not your own. He’s dressed more casually than he was at the restaurant, no suit jacket, just a brown V-neck sweater over a dress shirt that almost seems too tight and a pair of chinos. He’s also wearing a pair of glasses, which is new.

You hate that he looks good.

“Apologizing and requesting your company.”

He looks at you sincerely, his hands clasped together in his lap. You narrow your eyes.

“Please leave.”

He actually frowns, and the small action actually surprises you.

“Do you actually want me to leave or are you still upset about the investor? Because if it’s that, we can make an arrangement-”

“No, I’m upset because you did that after not following up after our one night stand!” You finally blurt out, then bite your lip realizing you might have said too much.

“I… got busy.”

“Busy screwing me over?” You quip.

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture.

“I didn’t call because I thought you didn’t like me.”

You’re a little stunned by this reply, then decide you don’t believe him. What was there not to like? At least at that point he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Why would you think that?”

His hands leave his hair again and rest on his knees. You notice it seems like a default position for him.

“I’ve been referred to as ‘stiff’. It’s great at work but not great for relationships.”

Ushijima’s brutal honesty is again sending you for a loop. You raise an eyebrow, bidding him to continue. Your arms uncross and you rest your elbows on the table.

“So…?”

“So usually by the time I’ve had sex with someone, it’s all they’re after. And since you didn’t call, I assumed even the sex wasn’t good.”

You unwittingly burst into laughter. Here was this successful, attractive man with a perfect pedigree who was insecure about how good he was in bed?

His eyebrows furrow, and you recollect yourself, realizing that this is a bit cruel.

“You could have sent a text,” you murmur.

“I’m bad at starting conversations.”

You stifle another laugh. “So you just don’t?” You tease. It’s gently mocking but mostly incredulous. It seems that he’s the opposite of the confident man he appears to be.

“That’s why I got excited when you called but then you were upset.”

You purse your lips.

“I promise I didn’t intend to put you in a bad situation,” Ushijima insists.

You sigh, then offer him a small smile. “Are you normally this persistent?”

He glances at the flowers that are only partially hidden from view, which makes your face warm up bashfully, and then looks right back at you.

“No. I just like you.”

Again with the directness, a confidence that is effortless, even when he’s not confident at all.

You don’t want to melt but you do. So instead you rise and clear your desk, stuffing a few items into your handbag as you prepare to leave. He watches, unsure of what you’re up to, sitting still as you walk around towards him and place your hand lightly on his shoulder.

Your body faces the door, but you turn to the side to look at him and grin.

“I’m done with work for today. Take me out.”

---

A couple months later...

“Fuck, you’re - ah - they’re gonna know, I-” Your voice morphs into a mewl instead once his ring finger reaches just the right spot; you’re squirming as much as possible under his touch but he has you laid back on your work desk with both ankles rested on his shoulders and his weight leaning onto you to essentially keep you in place.

“Move your hands,” Ushijima whispers in a hushed tone, leaning in to kiss between your breasts as he readjusts your legs atop him. His pants are down and his cock is already up and ready, the base and swollen balls rubbing against your wet cunt that you are desperately trying to protect from his intrusion. You know there’s absolutely no way you’ll stay quiet when he’s pounding the shit out of you, he likes it entirely too rough, and the walls are thin. You don’t listen, continuing to reach for his hands to swat them away from you.

There’s a part of you that is almost certain that at the very least your secretary knows that every time Ushijima comes for a ‘meeting’, it really is just to fuck the shit out of you before you leave together for the evening, or to relax you right before you once again have to defend your dad’s establishment of you as Company President.

This isn’t a good look.

“I-I can’t…” you whine.

“You can,” he assures you.

He gently kisses your face before prying your hands out of the way and keeping them pinned up against you with one hand and guiding his trajectory with the other before sinking inside of you. You moan at the breach of your privates and he quickly presses his lips to yours to swallow the sound.

Once he’s bottomed out, he rolls his hips, and soon you start to see white once you climax, clenching and cumming around him.

“T-Toshi!” You moan his name, and he clasps a large hand around your mouth before continuing, picking up the pace as he fucks you through your orgasm. He can’t deny that he likes the fact that you’re noisy, that the fact that the heavy desk he’s fucking you against is making a squeaky noise that suggests he’s really putting some force behind these strokes, and that if anyone could see the two of you now, it could be an issue for both of your corporations. Misconduct, they would call it.

He doesn’t care and while you act like you do, you don’t really care either.

When he lets go of your wrists to use the edge of the desk as leverage and tilts backwards, you scream in pleasure, a terribly obvious sound, and it’s enough to have him tip over and spill into you with a groan. He collapses onto you and the two of you almost slip onto the floor, but don’t; you wrap your arms around him.

Your hair is disheveled and so is his, and your legs are sticky with sweat and cum. You sigh, letting him soften inside you and stroke his hair.

“You’re getting me in trouble,” you murmur, and he lets out a breathy laugh.

“We don’t really have to answer to anyone, do we?” He replies with a smirk, and pecks you one more time on the lips.

He’s right - only you two are a match for each other.

#ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ceo!ushijima x reader #ceo collab #ushijima wakatoshi smut #ushijima smut #haikyuu smut #not sfw #fic: power struggle #mae.writing #hqintheclub

850 notes · View notes