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etz-ashashiyot · 5 months ago

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Chapter 4: Executed Jews

By Dara Horn, excerpted from People Love Dead Jews

ALA ZUSKIN PERELMAN AND I HAD BEEN IN TOUCH ONLINE before I finally met her in person, and I still cannot quite believe she exists. Years ago, I wrote a novel about Marc Chagall and the Yiddish-language artists whom he once knew in Russia, all of whom were eventually murdered by the Soviet regime. While researching the novel, I found myself sucked into the bizarre story of these people's exploitation and destruction: how the Soviet Union first welcomed these artists as exemplars of universal human ideals, then used them for its own purposes, and finally executed them. I named my main character after the executed Yiddish actor Benjamin Zuskin, a comic performer known for playing fools. After the book came out, I heard from Ala in an email written in halting English: "I am Benjamin Zuskin's daughter." That winter I was speaking at a literary conference in Israel, where Ala lived, and she and I arranged to meet. It was like meeting a character from a book.

My hosts had generously put me up with other writers in a beautiful stone house in Jerusalem. We were there during Hanukkah, the celebration of Jewish independence. On the first night of the holiday, I walked to Jerusalem's Old City and watched as people lit enormous Hanukkah torches at the Western Wall. I thought of my home in New Jersey, where in school growing up I sang fake English Hanukkah songs created by American music education companies at school Christmas concerts, with lyrics describing Hanukkah as being about "joy and peace and love." Joy and peace and love describe Hanukkah, a commemoration of an underdog military victory over a powerful empire, about as well as they describe the Fourth of July. I remembered challenging a chorus teacher about one such song, and being told that I was a poor sport for disliking joy and peace and love. (Imagine a "Christmas song" with lyrics celebrating Christmas, the holiday of freedom. Doesn't everyone like freedom? What pedant would reject such a song?) I sang those words in front of hundreds of people to satisfy my neighbors that my tradition was universal — meaning, just like theirs. The night before meeting Ala, I walked back to the house through the dense stone streets of the Old City's Jewish Quarter, where every home had a glass case by its door, displaying the holiday's oil lamps. It was strange to see those hundreds of glowing lights. They were like a shining announcement that this night of celebration was shared by all these strangers around me, that it was universal. The experience was so unfamiliar that I didn't know what to make of it.

The next morning, Ala knocked on the door of the stone house and sat down in its living room, with its view of the Old City. She was a small dark-haired woman whose perfect posture showed a firmness that belied her age. She looked at me and said in Hebrew, "I feel as if you knew my father, like you understood what he went through. How did you know?"

The answer to that question goes back several thousand years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The teenage boys who participated in competitive athletics in the gymnasium in Jerusalem 2,200 years ago had their circumcisions reversed, because otherwise they wouldn't have been allowed to play. In the Hellenistic empire that had conquered Judea, sports were sacred, the entry point to being a person who mattered, the ultimate height of cool — and sports, of course, were always played in the nude. As one can imagine, ancient genital surgery of this nature was excruciating and potentially fatal. But the boys did not want to miss out.

I learned this fun fact in seventh grade, from a Hebrew school teacher who was instructing me and my pubescent classmates about the Hanukkah story — about how Hellenistic tyranny gained a foothold in ancient Judea with the help of Jews who wanted to fit in. This teacher seemed overly jazzed to talk about penises with a bunch of adolescents, and I suspected he'd made the whole thing up. At home, I decided to fact-check. I pulled a dusty old book off my parents' shelf, Volume One of Heinrich Graetz's opus History of the Jews.

In nineteenth-century academic prose, Graetz explained how the leaders of Judea demonstrated their loyalty to the occupying Hellenistic empire by building a gymnasium and recruiting teenage athletes — only to discover that "in uncovering their bodies they could immediately be recognized as Judeans. But were they to take part in the Olympian games, and expose themselves to the mockery of Greek scoffers? Even this difficulty they evaded by undergoing a painful operation, so as to disguise the fact that they were Judeans." Their Zeus-worshipping overlords were not fooled. Within a few years, the regime outlawed not only circumcision but all of Jewish religious practice, and put to death anyone who didn't comply.

Sometime after that, the Maccabees showed up. That's the part of the story we usually hear.

Those ancient Jewish teenagers were on my mind that Hanukkah when Ala came to tell me about her father's terrifying life, because I sensed that something profound united them — something that doesn't match what we're usually taught about what bigotry looks or feels like. It doesn't involve "intolerance" or "persecution," at least not at first. Instead, it looks like the Jews themselves are choosing to reject their own traditions. It is a form of weaponized shame.

Two distinct patterns of antisemitism can be identified by the Jewish holidays that celebrate triumphs over them: Purim and Hanukkah. In the Purim version of antisemitism, exemplified by the Persian genocidal decrees in the biblical Book of Esther, the goal is openly stated and unambiguous: Kill all the Jews. In the Hanukkah version of antisemitism, whose appearances range from the Spanish Inquisition to the Soviet regime, the goal is still to eliminate Jewish civilization. But in the Hanukkah version, this goal could theoretically be accomplished simply by destroying Jewish civilization, while leaving the warm, de-Jewed bodies of its former practitioners intact.

For this reason, the Hanukkah version of antisemitism often employs Jews as its agents. It requires not dead Jews but cool Jews: those willing to give up whatever specific aspect of Jewish civilization is currently uncool. Of course, Judaism has always been uncool, going back to its origins as the planet's only monotheism, featuring a bossy and unsexy invisible God. Uncoolness is pretty much Judaism's brand, which is why cool people find it so threatening — and why Jews who are willing to become cool are absolutely necessary to Hanukkah antisemitism's success. These "converted" Jews are used to demonstrate the good intentions of the regime — which of course isn't antisemitic but merely requires that its Jews publicly flush thousands of years of Jewish civilization down the toilet in exchange for the worthy prize of not being treated like dirt, or not being murdered. For a few years. Maybe.

I wish I could tell the story of Ala's father concisely, compellingly, the way everyone prefers to hear about dead Jews. I regret to say that Benjamin Zuskin wasn't minding his own business and then randomly stuffed into a gas chamber, that his thirteen-year-old daughter did not sit in a closet writing an uplifting diary about the inherent goodness of humanity, that he did not leave behind sad-but-beautiful aphorisms pondering the absence of God while conveniently letting his fellow humans off the hook. He didn't even get crucified for his beliefs. Instead, he and his fellow Soviet Jewish artists — extraordinarily intelligent, creative, talented, and empathetic adults — were played for fools, falling into a slow-motion psychological horror story brimming with suspense and twisted self-blame. They were lured into a long game of appeasing and accommodating, giving up one inch after another of who they were in order to win that grand prize of being allowed to live.

Spoiler alert: they lost.

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I was in graduate school studying Yiddish literature, itself a rich vein of discussion about such impossible choices, when I became interested in Soviet Jewish artists like Ala's father. As I dug through library collections of early-twentieth-century Yiddish works, I came across a startling number of poetry books illustrated by Marc Chagall. I wondered if Chagall had known these Yiddish writers whose works he illustrated, and it turned out that he had. One of Chagall's first jobs as a young man was as an art teacher at a Jewish orphanage near Moscow, built for children orphaned by Russia's 1919-1920 civil war pogroms. This orphanage had a rather renowned faculty, populated by famous Yiddish writers who trained these traumatized children in the healing art of creativity.

It all sounded very lovely, until I noticed something else. That Chagall's art did not rely on a Jewish language — that it had, to use that insidious phrase, "universal appeal" — allowed him a chance to succeed as an artist in the West. The rest of the faculty, like Chagall, had also spent years in western Europe before the Russian revolution, but they chose to return to Russia because of the Soviet Union's policy of endorsing Yiddish as a "national Soviet language." In the 1920s and 30s, the USSR offered unprecedented material support to Yiddish culture, paying for Yiddish-language schools, theaters, publishing houses, and more, to the extent that there were Yiddish literary critics who were salaried by the Soviet government. This support led the major Yiddish novelist Dovid Bergelson to publish his landmark 1926 essay "Three Centers," about New York, Warsaw, and Moscow as centers of Yiddish-speaking culture, asking which city offered Yiddish writers the brightest prospects. His unequivocal answer was Moscow, a choice that brought him back to Russia the following year, where many other Jewish artists joined him.

But Soviet support for Jewish culture was part of a larger plan to brainwash and coerce national minorities into submitting to the Soviet regime — and for Jews, it came at a very specific price. From the beginning, the regime eliminated anything that celebrated Jewish "nationality" that didn't suit its needs. Jews were awesome, provided they weren't practicing Jewish religion, studying traditional Jewish texts, using Hebrew, or supporting Zionism. The Soviet Union thus pioneered a versatile gaslighting slogan, which it later spread through its client states in the developing world and which remains popular today: it was not antisemitic, merely anti-Zionist. (In the process of not being antisemitic and merely being anti-Zionist, the regime managed to persecute, imprison, torture, and murder thousands of Jews.) What's left of Jewish culture once you surgically remove religious practice, traditional texts, Hebrew, and Zionism? In the Soviet Empire, one answer was Yiddish, but Yiddish was also suspect for its supposedly backwards elements. Nearly 15 percent of its words came directly from biblical and rabbinic Hebrew, so Soviet Yiddish schools and publishers, under the guise of "simplifying" spelling, implemented a new and quite literally antisemitic spelling system that eliminated those words' Near Eastern roots. Another answer was "folklore" — music, visual art, theater, and other creative work reflecting Jewish life — but of course most of that cultural material was also deeply rooted in biblical and rabbinic sources, or reflected common religious practices like Jewish holidays and customs, so that was treacherous too.

No, what the regime required were Yiddish stories that showed how horrible traditional Jewish practice was, stories in which happy, enlightened Yiddish-speaking heroes rejected both religion and Zionism (which, aside from its modern political form, is also a fundamental feature of ancient Jewish texts and prayers traditionally recited at least three times daily). This de-Jewing process is clear from the repertoire of the government-sponsored Moscow State Yiddish Theater, which could only present or adapt Yiddish plays that denounced traditional Judaism as backward, bourgeois, corrupt, or even more explicitly — as in the many productions involving ghosts or graveyard scenes — as dead. As its actors would be, soon enough.

The Soviet Union's destruction of Jewish culture commenced, in a calculated move, with Jews positioned as the destroyers. It began with the Yevsektsiya, committees of Jewish Bolsheviks whose paid government jobs from 1918 through 1930 were to persecute, imprison, and occasionally murder Jews who participated in religious or Zionist institutions — categories that included everything from synagogues to sports clubs, all of which were shut down and their leaders either exiled or "purged." This went on, of course, until the regime purged the Yevsektsiya members themselves.

The pattern repeated in the 1940s. As sordid as the Yeveksiya chapter was, I found myself more intrigued by the undoing of the Jewish Antifascist Committee, a board of prominent Soviet Jewish artists and intellectuals established by Joseph Stalin in 1942 to drum up financial support from Jews overseas for the Soviet war effort. Two of the more prominent names on the JAC's roster of talent were Solomon Mikhoels, the director of the Moscow State Yiddish Theater, and Ala's father Benjamin Zuskin, the theater's leading actor. After promoting these people during the war, Stalin decided these loyal Soviet Jews were no longer useful, and charged them all with treason. He had decided that this committee he himself created was in fact a secret Zionist cabal, designed to bring down the Soviet state. Mikhoels was murdered first, in a 1948 hit staged to look like a traffic accident. Nearly all the others — Zuskin and twelve more Jewish luminaries, including the novelist Dovid Bergelson, who had proclaimed Moscow as the center of the Yiddish future — were executed by firing squad on August 1952.

Just as the regime accused these Jewish artists and intellectuals of being too "nationalist" (read: Jewish), today's long hindsight makes it strangely tempting to read this history and accuse them of not being "nationalist" enough — that is, of being so foolishly committed to the Soviet regime that they were unable to see the writing on the wall. Many works on this subject have said as much. In Stalin's Secret Pogrom, the indispensable English translation of transcripts from the JAC "trial," Russia scholar Joshua Rubenstein concludes his lengthy introduction with the following:

As for the defendants at the trial, it is not clear what they believed about the system they each served. Their lives darkly embodied the tragedy of Soviet Jewry. A combination of revolutionary commitment and naive idealism had tied them to a system they could not renounce. Whatever doubts or misgivings they had, they kept to themselves, and served the Kremlin with the required enthusiasm. They were not dissidents. They were Jewish martyrs. They were also Soviet patriots. Stalin repaid their loyalty by destroying them.

This is completely true, and also completely unfair. The tragedy — even the term seems unjust, with its implied blaming of the victim — was not that these Soviet Jews sold their souls to the devil, though many clearly did. The tragedy was that integrity was never an option in the first place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ala was almost thirteen years old when her father was arrested and until that moment she was immersed in the Soviet Yiddish artistic scene. Her mother was also an actor in the Moscow State Yiddish Theater; her family lived in the same building as the murdered theater director Solomon Mikhoels, and moved in the same circles as other Jewish actors and writers. After seeing her parents perform countless times, Ala had a front-row seat to the destruction of their world. She attended Mikhoel's state funeral, heard about the arrest of the brilliant Yiddish author Der Nister from an actor friend who witnessed it from her apartment across the hall, and was present when secret police ransacked her home in conjunction with her father's arrest. In her biography, The Travels of Benjamin Zuskin, she provides for her readers what she gave me that morning in Jerusalem: an emotional recounting, with the benefit of hindsight, of what it was really like to live through the Soviet Jewish nightmare.

It's as close as we can get, anyway. Her father Benjamin Zuskin's own thoughts on the topic are available only from state interrogations extracted under unknown tortures. (One typical interrogation document from his three and a half years in the notorious Lubyanka Prison announces that the day's interrogation lasted four hours, but the transcript is only half a page long — leaving to the imagination how the interrogator and interrogatee may have spent their time together. Suffice it to say that another JAC detainee didn't make it to trial alive.) His years in prison began when he was arrested in December of 1948 in a Moscow hospital room, where he was being treated for chronic insomnia brought on by the murder of his boss and career-long acting partner, Mikhoels; the secret police strapped him to a gurney and carted him to prison in his hospital gown while he was still sedated.

But in order to truly appreciate the loss here, one needs to know what was lost — to return to the world of the great Yiddish writer Sholem Aleichem, the author of Benjamin Zuskin's first role on the Yiddish stage, in a play fittingly titled It's a Lie!

Benjamin Zuskin's path to the Yiddish theater and later to the Soviet firing squad began in a shtetl comparable to those immortalized in Sholem Aleichem's work. Zuskin, a child from a traditional family who was exposed to theater only through traveling Yiddish troupes and clowning relatives, experienced that world's destruction: his native Lithuanian shtetl, Ponievezh, was among the many Jewish towns forcibly evacuated during the First World War, catapulting him and hundreds of thousands of other Jewish refugees into modernity. He landed in Penza, a city with professional Russian theater and Yiddish amateur troupes. In 1920, the Moscow State Yiddish Theater opened, and by 1921, Zuskin was starring alongside Mikhoels, the theater's leading light.

In the one acting class I have ever attended, I learned only one thing: acting isn't about pretending to be someone you aren't, but rather about emotional communication. Zuskin, who not only starred in most productions but also taught in the theater's acting school, embodied the concept. His very first audition was a one-man sketch he created, consisting of nothing more than a bumbling old tailor threading a needle — without words, costumes, or props. It became so popular that he performed it to entranced crowds for years. This physical artistry animated his every role. As one critic wrote, "Even the slightest breeze and he is already air-bound."

Zuskin specialized in playing figures like the Fool in King Lear — as his daughter puts it in her book, characters who "are supposed to make you laugh, but they have an additional dimension, and they arouse poignant reflections about the cruelty of the world." Discussing his favorite roles, Zuskin once explained that "my heart is captivated particularly by the image of the person who is derided and humiliated, but who loves life, even though he encounters obstacles placed before him through no fault of his own."

The first half of Ala's book seems to recount only triumphs. The theater's repertoire in its early years was largely adopted from classic Yiddish writers like Sholem Aleichem, I. L. Peretz, and Mendele Moykher Seforim. The book's title is drawn from Zuskin's most famous role: Senderl, the Sancho Panza figure in Mendele's Don Quixote-inspired work, Travels of Benjamin the Third, about a pair of shtetl idiots who set out for the Land of Israel and wind up walking around the block. These productions were artistically inventive, brilliantly acted, and played to packed houses both at home and on tour. Travels of Benjamin the Third, in a 1928 review typical of the play's reception, was lauded by the New York Times as "one of the most originally conceived and beautifully executed evenings in the modern theater."

One of the theater's landmark productions, I. L. Peretz's surrealist masterpiece At Night in the Old Marketplace, was first performed in 1925. The play, set in a graveyard, is a kind of carnival for the graveyard's gathered ghosts. Those who come back from the dead are misfits like drunks and prostitutes, and also specific figures from shtetl life - yeshiva idlers, synagogue beadles, and the like. Leading them all is a badkhn, or wedding jester — divided in this production into two mirror-characters played by Mikhoels and Zuskin — whose repeated chorus among the living corpses is "The dead will rise!" "Within this play there was something hidden, something with an ungraspable depth," Ala writes, and then relates how after a performance in Vienna, one theatergoer came backstage to tell the director that "the play had shaken him as something that went beyond all imagination." The theatergoer was Sigmund Freud.

As Ala traces the theater's trajectory toward doom, it becomes obvious why this performance so affected Freud. The production was a zombie story about the horrifying possibility of something supposedly dead (here, Jewish civilization) coming back to life. The play was written a generation earlier as a Romantic work, but in the Moscow production, it became a means of denigrating traditional Jewish life without mourning it. That fantasy of a culture's death as something compelling and even desirable is not merely reminiscent of Freud's death drive, but also reveals the self-destructive bargain implicit in the entire Soviet-sponsored Jewish enterprise. In her book, Ala beautifully captures this tension as she explains the badkhn's role: "He sends a double message: he denies the very existence of the vanishing shadow world, and simultaneously he mocks it, as if it really does exist."

This double message was at the heart of Benjamin Zuskin's work as a comic Soviet Yiddish actor, a position that required him to mock the traditional Jewish life he came from while also pretending that his art could exist without it. "The chance to make fun of the shtetl which has become a thing of the past charmed me," he claimed early on, but later, according to his daughter, he began to privately express misgivings. The theater's decision to stage King Lear as a way of elevating itself disturbed him, suggesting as it did that the Yiddish repertoire was inferior. His own integrity came from his deep devotion to yiddishkayt, a sense of essential and enduring Jewishness, no matter how stripped-down that identity had become. "With the sharp sense of belonging to everything Jewish, he was tormented by the theater forsaking its expression of this belonging," his daughter writes. Even so, "no, he could not allow himself to oppose the Soviet regime even in his thoughts, the regime that gave him his own theater, but 'the heart and the wit do not meet.'"

In Ala's memory, her father differed from his director, partner, and occasional rival, Mikhoels, in his complete disinterest in politics. Mikhoels was a public figure as well as performer, and his leadership of the Jewish Antifascist Committee, while no more voluntary than any public act in a totalitarian state, was a role he played with gusto, traveling to America in 1943 and speaking to thousands of American Jews to raise money for the Red Army in their battle against the Nazis. Zuskin, on the other hand, was on the JAC roster, but seems to have continued playing the fool. According to both his daughter and his trial testimony, his role in the JAC was almost identical to his role on a Moscow municipal council, limited to playing chess in the back of the room during meetings.

In Jerusalem, Ala told me that her father was "a pure soul." "He had no interest in politics, only in his art," she said, describing his acting style as both classic and contemporary, praised by critics for its timeless qualities that are still evident today in his film work. But his talent was the most nuanced and sophisticated thing about him. Offstage, he was, as she put it in Hebrew, a "tam" — a biblical term sometimes translated as fool or simpleton, but which really means an innocent. (It is the first adjective used to describe the title character in the Book of Job.) It is true that in trial transcripts, Zuskin comes out looking better than many of his co-defendants by playing dumb instead of pointing fingers. But was this ignorance, or a wise acceptance of the futility of trying to save his skin? As King Lear's Fool put it, "They'll have me whipp'd for speaking true; thou'lt have me whipp'd for holding my peace." Reflecting on her father's role as a fool named Pinia in a popular film, Ala writes in her book, "When I imagine the moment when my father heard his death sentence, I see Pinia in close-up . . . his shoulders slumped, despair in his appearance. I hear the tone that cannot be imitated in his last line in the film — and perhaps also the last line in his life? — 'I don't understand anything.'"

Yet it is clear that Zuskin deeply understood how impossible his situation was. In one of the book's more disturbing moments, Ala describes him rehearsing for one of his landmark roles, that of the comic actor Hotsmakh in Sholem Aleichem's Wandering Stars, a work whose subject is the Yiddish theater. He had played the role before, but this production was going up in the wake of Mikhoel's murder. Zuskin was already among the hunted, and he knew it. As Ala writes:

One morning — already after the murder of Mikhoels — I saw my father pacing the room and memorizing the words of Hotsmakh's role. Suddenly, in a gesture revealing a hopeless anguish, Father actually threw himself at me, hugged me, pressed me to his heart, and together with me, continued to pace the room and to memorize the words of the role. That evening I saw the performance . . . "The doctors say that I need rest, air, and the sea . . . For what . . . without the theater?" [Hotsmakh asks], he winds the scarf around his neck — as though it were a noose. For my father, I think those words of Hotsmakh were like the motif of the role and — I think — of his own life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Describing the charges levied against Zuskin and his peers is a degrading exercise, for doing so makes it seem as though these charges are worth considering. They are not. It is at this point that Hanukkah antisemitism transformed, as it inevitably does, into Purim antisemitism. Here Ala offers what hundreds of pages of state archives can't, describing the impending horror of the noose around one's neck.

Her father stopped sleeping, began receiving anonymous threats, and saw that he was being watched. No conversation was safe. When a visitor from Poland waited near his apartment building to give him news of his older daughter Tamara (who was then living in Warsaw), Zuskin instructed the man to walk behind him while speaking to him and then to switch directions, so as to avoid notice. When the man asked Zuskin what he wanted to tell his daughter, Zuskin "approached the guest so closely that there was no space between them, and whispered in Yiddish, 'Tell her that the ground is burning beneath my feet.'" It is true that no one can know what Zuskin or any of the other defendants really believed about the Soviet system they served. It is also true — and far more devastating — that their beliefs were utterly irrelevant.

Ala and her mother were exiled to Kazakhstan after her father's arrest, and learned of his execution only when they were allowed to return to Moscow in 1955. By then, he had already been dead for three years.

In Jerusalem that morning, Ala told me, in a sudden private moment of anger and candor, that the Soviet Union's treatment of the Jews was worse than Nazi Germany's. I tried to argue, but she shut me up. Obviously the Nazi atrocities against Jews were incomparable, a fact Ala later acknowledged in a calmer mood. But over four generations, the Soviet regime forced Jews to participate in and internalize their own humiliation - and in that way, Ala suggested, they destroyed far more souls. And they never, ever, paid for it.

"They never had a Nuremberg," Ala told me that day, with a quiet fury. "They never acknowledged the evil of what they did. The Nazis were open about what they were doing, but the Soviets pretended. They lured the Jews in, they baited them with support and recognition, they used them, they tricked them, and then they killed them. It was a trap. And no one knows about it, even now. People know about the Holocaust, but not this. Even here in Israel, people don't know. How did you know?"

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That evening I went out to the Old City again, to watch the torches being lit at the Western Wall for the second night of Hanukkah. I walked once more through the Jewish Quarter, where the oil lamps, now each bearing one additional flame, were displayed outside every home, following the tradition to publicize the Hanukkah miracle — not merely the legendary long-lasting oil, but the miracle of military and spiritual victory over a coercive empire, the freedom to be uncool, the freedom not to pretend. Somewhere nearby, deep underground, lay the ruins of the gymnasium where de-circumcised Jewish boys once performed naked before approving crowds, stripped of their integrity and left with their private pain. I thought of Benjamin Zuskin performing as the dead wedding jester, proclaiming, "The dead will rise!" and then performing again in a "superior" play, as King Lear's Fool. I thought of the ground burning beneath his feet. I thought of his daughter, Ala, now an old woman, walking through Jerusalem.

I am not a sentimental person. As I returned to the stone house that night, along the streets lit by oil lamps, I was surprised to find myself crying.

#People Love Dead Jews #Dara Horn #Soviet Jewry #Soviet antisemitism #antizionism is not antisemitism #jumblr

337 notes · View notes

rodolfoparras · 10 months ago

Note

ah your professor price drabble done killed me i'm so insane about him.

i love professor student dynamics but they almost always have sub/bottom reader if you can even find male reader which is just... yeah. BUT YOUR WRITING OH MY GODS. it's edible i'm literally gnawing on professor price who finally found a student to challenge him and immediately wants to fuck. so valid. i too am attracted to people who are willing to have academic banter with me, price, you're so real.

also imagine fucking him over his desk after hours and joking about it being for extra credit he would be so annoyed dnajndakd

-🪔

Genuinely nothing brings me more joy than taking stereotypical tropes and roles and swapping them around because why not I want body guard/ royalty trope where price is the royalty and falls for the body guard I want professor price who’s head over heels for a student I want secretary loser price falling for ceo reader

Pt 1 of professor!Price x student!reader

Cw: age gap, reader is in his 20s!!!, professor student relationship, power dynamics, price is a bit of a creep, 18+

Okay but hear me out… jealous professor!Price

Price doesn’t like you. He couldn’t- shouldn’t. He’s a professor and you’re his student. If anything, these little fantasies were just that, fantasies, a way of getting through a boring work day.

Was it wrong? Sure. But it’s not like he plans on acting on them so might as well indulge in them.

Fuck he sounds like a perverted old man but he can’t find it in himself to care as he unbuttons his pants, takes his weeping cock in his hand, while thinking of your interactions from the day, can’t help but wear a plug to work, stretching the tight ring of muscles, preparing himself as if you’d fuck him after the lecture, can’t help but live off of these fantasies til he gets home for the day, and fucks himself with one of his dildos while imaging it’s your cock instead.

Fantasies.

That’s what it is.

Nothing more nothing less.

However he finds himself less sure about his feelings when he’s one day standing at the front of the lecture hall, arms crossed and brow raised, staring at the random student sitting a bit too close to you.

“Professor Price I have a question…”

The sound of another student’s voice snaps him out of his trance, heat creeping up his face and and vehemently avoiding your questioning gaze while proceeding to answer the student’s question.

Later on when the lecture ends he notices you and the same student from earlier walking out together. Price proceeds to packs up his stuff, all while continuously thinking about who that student was.

He hasn’t seen this kid hanging out with you before. The fact that the two of you were friends seemed so bizarre since- No. He shouldn’t dwell on it. He had no business questioning who you were and weren’t friends with. Besides he couldn’t be jealous now right? He didn’t like you that way. He didn’t like you at all.

That random student’s name turned out to be Tim and in a short amount of time you’d become very close friends with him to the point where you and him would be whispering about in class. Price would purposely interrupt your discussion with a question thinking you wouldn’t be able to answer him but you’d always be prepared, sounding and looking as confident as ever while answering his question and - fuck he couldn’t help the blood rushing to his dick as you confidently answered him. You were so clever, so confident and he couldn’t help but like that about you.

Like.

There it was, the word again and he swallows it down like his pride as he continues on with his lecture, allowing you and Tim to return to your discussion.

But he mulls over the word again when he sits all alone in the lecture hall eating his lunch because you and Tim were “going to grab something together”.

As much as Price hated to admit it, he did miss your presence at lunch. Sure you’d chatter his ear off and leave traces of your lunch all over the desk but Price enjoyed the company.

He enjoyed the fact that someone took interest in his lecture- in him after so many years.

He enjoyed having discussions with you even though you’d question everything he said.

And he enjoyed your company at lunch no matter what else he may say.

Weeks passed without the two of you interacting much.

It was better off this way, Price thinks to himself.

Fantasies, that all it was anyway, repeats it so much to himself so that the next time he sees you sitting in one of the extra chairs, legs propped on his desk and eating away at some poor excuse of lunch you made, he thinks that’s a fantasy as well.

He doesn’t ask about Tim and you don’t say anything so Price proceeds to work through the stack of assignments that had been piling up on his desk while silently allowing himself to enjoy this moment.

But soon enough reality hits him in the face or maybe it was when you randomly mentioned Tim that the damn burst inside of him and the words came flowing out of him.

“You should ask the lad out”

“Huh?” You say, seemingly confused by his choice of words since you’d been complaining about morning lectures just seconds before this.

“Tommy?” He tries again, pushing away from his desk, arms now folded over his chest.

You look at him in confusion before it clicks “Tim”

He nods his head, feeling slight annoyance at hearing the name but tries to not let it show on his face. “You should ask him out”.

“Why do you say that?”

“You seem to like him” Price shrugs, seemingly much less confident as he busies himself with cleaning off the stray crumbs you left on his desk.

“Yeah?” Price doesn’t even notice the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Come on kid I’m old but I’m that not old. It’s obvious that you like him.” He says before dumping the pile of crumbs into the trash can.

“Never said you were,” you say completely ignore the latter statement as you smile at him.

For a second Price freezes in place, heat creeping up his face before he clears his throat and looks away. “Either way you should ask him out,”

“I don’t like him” you say with a shrug, still smiling at the older man.

Price scoffs at that.

“You do an awful job at lying, flirting too,”

“Why do you say so?” You say with a small smile on your face neither denying or confirming his suspicions which leaves him feeling tensed

“Well to start off, you’re spending your free time with some old man when you could be with Tom-Tim right now,”

“What if I want to do that though?”

He only scoffs in response, “you don’t want that,”

“I do, though,” you say, sounding firm as ever and for one second it sounds like you’re talking about something else, something he’s been trying to deny for the past months and the implication leaves him speechless and frozen in place, trying to process what you’d just said.

“Professor Price?”

#call of duty #john price x reader #john price x male reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #dom male reader #top male reader #bottom male character #sub male character

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russellsppttemplates · 9 months ago

Text

It's just the beggining (Oscar Piastri)

Oscar hasn't done or said anything, so you're taking matters into your own hands

Note: english is not my first language. It's my first Oscar piece and I'm nervous posting this, but hopefully you enjoy it! 🫶

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: mentions reader's grandparents' health issues, mentions the situation with McLaren and Daniel, insomnia

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Hey, Y/N!", James called you once he saw you walk by his classroom, "hey", you greeted back, adjusting your books on your arms.

"There is a new kid, I'm sure you know, Oscar Piastri his name is, and apparently he's staying the long weekend too, like you", he trailed off, not knowing if he was stepping further than he should.

"Yes, I am staying, it's okay to talk about it", you gave him tight lipped smile, "well, I was hoping you'd keep him company - he's a bit shy, but he's very fun to be around and the teacher also thought it would be good since you're both staying", he reasoned as you nodded.

You had to stay back because your grandparents didn't live in England, and because of their old age and problems that naturally arose with that, your parents had to fly out and spend sometime with them, meaning you didn't have anyone back home, so you stayed. As for Oscar, you found out that he was staying back because his family was in Melbourne.

"At first, I just had online schooling, but it got trickier to manage and my dad needed to go back to work so I had to stay back", he explained when you asked him why he was there, "and I hope I can focus on racing, but you already know that", he scoffed softly.

"I don't think I do, I'm sorry", you narrowed your eyes, genuinely unaware of what he was talking about.

After he told you all about his career until that moment, as well as his hopes and dreams, he chuckled, "you really didn't know?", he wondered.

"I didn't! The girls said something about you moving here but I didn't listen much, I'm not that into gossip and my memory is like Dory's, I can never keep up with the latest who likes who and who flirted with what's his face", you earnestly replied.

For the first time since he arrived at the school, he felt like he could really trust someone and he could hope for new friendships on this side of the world.

You were there for his final race in F4, clapping at him on the podium, and even F3 and F2 despite your university deadlines, always making sure you could support him in every way you could.

"Hey, Osc", you said over the phone, setting your pen down the desk and swivelling in the chair. You wanted to get as much knowledge and experience as possible, so you applied to do a internship in a physiotherapy clinic near your apartment during the summer.

"Hey, Y/N, how are you doing?", he asked as you could notice the antsyness on his voice.

"I'm good, it's a bit of a slow day here, my supervisor said I could read up on a few articles", you mused, "is everything okay?", you asked.

"I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner tonight", he began, "you can come to my flat if that's okay, I'll order something in since I can't be trusted in the kitchen", he suggested.

"Fine by me, I'd like that, sounds really nice", you smiled, "I'll see you soon, then", you added, not wanting to dwell much on the fact that he didn't answer your question.

When you left the clinic, you walked to Oscar's place since the sun had graced you for the day and it was still nice to be out. Knocking on the door, you waited for him to open it, "I'm still in my scrubs as I didn't see the need to change", you said as you walked inside, hugging Oscar after dropping your backpack on the floor.

"Hey, you look nice, don't worry about it", he smiled as he led you to the living room, "I had to go and get the take out myself, but it's still warm", he said as you sat at the dining table.

"Now can you tell me if there's something wrong?", you wondered as you poured some of the wine he kept for you at his place on your glass.

"I have something to tell you actually", he played with his glass while he fought the smile on his lips, "this weekend I finally had some conversations with McLaren", he began.

"McLaren?", you asked as you served yourself of the food in front of you, taking some bimi brocoli and then some of the warm noodles.

"Yes, McLaren. We finally spoke about contracts and, this morning, I signed the official driver contract for next season", he stated as if he was saying that the sun had been out today.

"You did what? Since when has this been in the works?", you gasped, dropping the kitchen utensils and looking at him intently, "you're driving for McLaren next season?", he nodded, "like, driving on track? Oh my Goodness, Oscar! That's amazing!", you got up and hugged him, "why didn't you lead with that?", you pinched the nape of his neck playfully as you kept the tears from falling from your eyes. This was his dream and he was getting to live it as early as the end of the year when pre season preparations began.

"I didn't want to tell you over the phone", he shrugged his shoulders.

"But how? This is huge, Oscar!", you smiled, your teeth showing and eyes squinting with how high your cheeks rose.

"There were a lot of conversations about it, specially the last few weeks", Oscar explained, "they still want to keep it quiet", he warned.

"So you're driving alongside Lando?", you wondered. You only followed motorsport and the Formula series because of your bestfriend, so the assumption you made was based on what you had seen and read.

"Yes, hence why they want to keep it quiet, I've only told you and my family", he mentioned, "my manager knows that, obviously, but I really need you to keep quiet about it", he smiled.

"Absolutely, don't worry!", you assured, "this is so amazing Oscar! You're going to drive in Formula One! Aren't you amazed?", you beamed.

"I put in the work too, you know?", he dramatically feigned offense as you hugged him tighter, "this is your dream, Osc", you cooed, letting the tears fall freely down your cheeks as you swayed you both around, "I'm so proud of you", you hiccuped, holding his head close to your lips so you could kiss his forehead.

"Let's eat, this is getting cold", your best friend urged as the situation for more intimate and brought you closer and closer to the thing he had been avoiding for nearly a year.

The feelings he had been arbouring for you weren't just friendship. How could he keep himself from being in love with you? You had been there with him and for him when he was alone in a new country, being the other shy kid that spent the long weekend im boarding school, and since then you had been attached by the hip. You were kind, caring, intelligent, beautiful inside and outside and anyone would be a fool to not see why Oscar felt the way he did about you.

"I'm just going to a training camp, Y/N, I do these every year!", Oscar reasoned as you groaned.

"Who am I going to complain to about university? Or how noisy my neighbours are? I'm going to die of boredom", you stated, "when you come back, I will have ceased to exist because of boredom and lack of attention", you exaggeratedly threw yourself on your sofa.

"You won't, silly", he chuckled, pulling you up since his trainer was picking him up soon, "you're going to go out and enjoy yourself, okay? You'll barely notice I'm gone", he tried as you helped him with his suitcases down to the door.

"I'll miss you", you muttered as you hugged him, "enjoy your training camp!", you smiled as you pulled away, waving at him before you made your way to your place.

Getting on with the project you had to hand in at the end of the week, you got it all through to the end, leaving time to proofread later.

You clicked on the folder where you kept your photos and videos, looking through them and reliving all of the memories you had in there.

Most of them had Oscar somehow, wether it was a screen grab from one of your FaceTime calls when he was at races, picnics in the park and lazy days at your place.

You had to admit it, for your sake and Oscar's sake as your friendship was on the line. At first you thought it was just the fact that a boy seemed to want to spend time with you, so you put it to that. Recently, however, things changed perspective and you felt stronger feelings and emotions when you thought about him.

You loved spending time with him and cherished every single hour he chose to spend with you whenever he didn't have racing related duties. Every time he hugged you, you clung just a little longer to feel hia body against yours and his arms enveloping you.

Whenever someone approached you in the rare times you went out clubbing with your friends, "I have a boyfriend" became more a wish and a need rather than some made up excuse to get guys to leave you alone.

So, to sum it up, you either had an honest conversation with him or continued to dwell on feelings you couldn't keep to yourself.

"Y/N just sent me a picture of her notes, can you believe they ask them to know all of that?", he showed his trainer Kim while they had lunch after a strenuous workout.

"I had to learn most of that, too", he said nonchalantly, not necessarily diminishing your competences and intelligence but letting Oscar know that maybe his infatuation with you had a source elsewhere.

"Y/N is very smart, I'm sure she'll do really well - oh, she sent me a picture, she's all dressed up!", he said as he inspected the mirror picture. He assumed it was a requirement for your presentation, as you usually preferred comfy attire, since you had a pair of trousers and a shirt, some small heels on your feet and your bright smile that left him feeling butterflies in his stomach every single time, "she looks gorgeous", he said as he texted you the same words along with wishes of good luck.

"Something you'd like to say?", Oscar quesioned when he felt Kim's eyes on him as he put the phone back on the table, screen down.

"I'm just here wondering why you're not together", the trainer offered simply after he wiped his mouth on the napkin.

"No, we are not together, at least not yet", he mused. The thought had crossed his mind, admitting how he felt about you before the season began. If everything went belly up and you didn't feel the same and didn't see him that way, he would occupy his time and channel all of his energy into racing; if you did feel the same, he would have been worrying for nothing and would have a extra spring up his step for his first season in Formula One.

"Good to know you're working on it", Kim waved his fork at Oscar, "now we need to finish this and we'll do some recovery stretches", he announced as Oscar groaned, prolonging his meal as long as he could.

Today, Oscar was coming back from Lanzarote and you couldn't wait to speak to him. Lately, it all dawned on you.

It happened a couple of nights ago, a slight insomnia episode keeping you up when you thought about what things would be like from now on. Oscar would travel a lot more, and he would be in a much public role compared to his previous one. It would seem stupid to other people, but a lot more people would know him, and you were sure they would fall in love with him. How could they not? Hence why you wanted to quit those thoughts while you were ahead of them.

I'm on the cab to your place, it should take another 10 minutes and Can't wait to see you, Oscar texted you just as you finished tidying your living room.

You missed him dearly, so when you threw yourself into his arms, you didn't let go as he kicked his suitcases into your apartment while still holding close to him, "I kind of need to get my backpack off my back, and I can't do that if I don't set you somewhere - only for a bit at the very least", Oscar suggested after trying to balance you against his body with one arm but he didn't feel safe enough to let you go without you falling.

Reluctantly, you got back down, feet back on the floor as he discarded his backpack before he tapped your hip twice, "up again, I want a proper hug", he mumbled as you jumped back, his hands protectively holding your thighs up as he nuzzled his face on your neck, "I need you so, so much", he sighed.

"I missed you too", you replied back, "and I don't ever want to miss you like this when I don't know how to feel about you", you forwarded. Now or never, you thought as you jumped out of his hold and faced him.

"I missed you like I have never missed you before, not even when you go a visit your family or when you went away for triple headers - and I've been trying to understand why and I finally realised what it was. I like you, more than friends like eachother - for Goodness' sake, I'm in love with you", you chuckled nervously as you admitted it out loud to him, "and everyone else will love you too - I just know it -, so soon enough you won't be my Osc anymore and I couldn't not tell you. People - and these gorgeous girls all over the world - are going to like you so much and I won't be able to compete with them, so I'm just telling you how I feel. You can leave if you want or we'll just stay here in silence of that works too, but I needed to admit my feelings", you let out in one go.

Oscar smiled, a big teeth and gums showing smile as his eyes crinkled at your words, "I'm not leaving, and we are not going to be silent - at least immediately - because I want to tell you how I feel", he began, "I'm in love with you too; I have been for about two years and only realised it a year ago, and I don't want to pretend anymore. I want to be able to kiss you, to hug you, to take you with me wherever possible, to sleep next to you, to argue with you, I want all of it. With you", he said, hand cupping your cheek as his eyes asked for consent to kiss your lips.

It was as you dreamed it would be, soft, gentle and caring, lips moving in sync as you held him by his waist, pulling him closer to you.

"I thought I was loosing you to the whole F1 fandom", you chuckled, looking up at him once you pulled away.

"Of course you won't, you're my best girl", he winked, "this is just the beggining for us", he added as he pulled you to cuddle on the sofa, sharing his stories of the past days as you revelled in the feeling of being in his arms.

#oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader

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itoshiexx · 11 months ago

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Hello hello~ Congratulations on 1k! I'd like to request two if that's okay?

Sae Itoshi — Forelsket (n.) - the euphoria experience when you first fall in love.

Michael Kaiser — Cafuné (n.) - running your fingers through the hair of someone you love. (Thought it'd be nice because of the old!Kaiser ahaha)

puzzle piece

you are now reading... LENA'S 1K MILESTONE EVENT FIC!

↳ itoshi sae + forelsket (n.) — the euphoria experience when you first fall in love.

synopsis: itoshi sae thought nothing could break the apathy inside his chest, but everything changed when he found himself falling in love with you.

notes: first of all, happy new year folks! i hope 2024 will be amazing for all of us, and to start off with the right foot, the first little fic of my event is here! with that being said: hello darling! thank you so much, and of course you can — i'll be posting sae's now and kaiser's later, okay? <3 hope you like it and thank you for requesting!

sae vividly remembers the first time his feet touched a football at the tender age of five. it was something curious and hesitant; as if he was scared his little body would trip and roll along the hill. but it was also like the piece of a puzzle finally fitting the right place when the ball rolled.

the feeling was the same when sae learned about football and scored his first goal — the ball flying in a perfect arch and entering the net as if it was only ever meant to be there. he was filled with the most intense excitement, pure happiness coursed through his veins, and sae just knew that was what he was meant for.

this strange euphoria appeared in other moments as well, all related to football. when he first won a championship, when he was chosen as MVP of an important match, when he signed with real madrid and got his first jersey… all of these moments gave him further confirmation that that was what he was supposed to be doing.

and then, things changed. his dream of becoming a striker was crushed at his very own feet, and football just started to lose meaning to the all mighty itoshi sae, japan’s prodigy. he no longer felt excitement or happiness when playing, and nothing in football felt like this puzzle piece fitting the right place. if he was being perfectly honest, it felt more wrong by the minute.

but just like everything changed when he came to spain, the world once again turned on its axis when sae first put his eyes on you. the wind was blowing on your hair and the sun made your pretty eyes shine with a golden layer. sae was never really the type of person who cared about romance or even thought about getting to know someone else, but just one glance was enough for him to want to know everything about you.

what did you like? what did you hate? what hurt you? there were so many questions that the midfielder wanted to know the answer for, and moreso, he wanted all of these answers to be somehow related to him.

sae wanted to be someone you liked — loved even, if he was being selfish. he’d take away everything you disliked and would protect you from anything that could cause you pain. and knowing his usual stoic self was so eager for something someone else could give and represent brought back the familiar feeling of euphoria, with sheer exhilarance coursing through his veins every time your voice greeted him with a sweet hello.

falling in love with you was like falling in love with soccer and having the certainty that this was what itoshi sae was made for. hell, even if he never played a game again in his life, it felt like everything would be fine, because he would still be following his other life purpose: loving you again and again and again. euphorically. endlessly. perpetually.

and when you kissed for the first time…

well, the puzzle piece finally fit the right place once again.

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lanawinterscigarettes · 2 months ago

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hi gorgeous!! can i req pumpkin picking with jennifer and a female reader?? its not kinky but ive been needing some jen fluff! (i livee for your writing btw 🫶🫶)

ofc you can! and thank you so much, you're very sweet 🥰 (so far you're the only person who's requested for something fall/halloween themed that isn't related to kinktober believe it or not) hope you like it 💕💕

Pumpkin Patch (Jennifer Check x fem reader)

Warnings: very brief and mild swearing, Jen is implied to have already been possessed by the demon at this point but the reader doesn't know, fluff other than that <3

"What about this one?" You asked while pointing to one of the many pumpkins that dotted the massive field.

"It's not round enough," your girlfriend Jennifer critiqued, giving it a judgmental look.

Her answer didn't surprise you. It had been almost an hour since you'd arrived at the pumpkin patch, and she still hadn't found one that she liked.

"Jen, c'mon, it's starting to get cold outside," you lightly complained while zipping up your jacket. "Just pick one so we can go."

"Oh, I'm sorry, you're right. The look of the pumpkin doesn't matter, it's the inside that counts," she replied in a snarky tone, placing her hands on her hips. "Which means any old pumpkin will do, even if it's fugly as hell."

You remained quiet while she spoke, pretty used to her attitude by this point. "Seriously, though. We're just going to end up carving it into a Jack-O-Lantern anyway, so why does it need to be perfect?"

She let out an aggravated huff at the question, giving you a look that said, "Are you stupid?" before responding with, "This is kind of, like, my first ever Halloween I've spent doing stupid couples activities. I just want to find one that'll be perfect."

You suddenly felt like the worst girlfriend ever. No wonder she was so deadset on having a perfect pumpkin, she didn't want her first holiday season with a partner that actually cared about her to fall short of her expectations.

"How about we walk back over this way again? Maybe you'll happen to find one that you like," you suggested in a tone that was both soft and understanding while holding your hand out for her to take.

She wanted to roll her eyes and scoff, but she could tell you were really trying your best to make her happy. "Ugh, fine."

Jennifer took your hand, lacing her warm fingers through your cold ones. You had no idea how she always managed to stay so toasty even in such freezing weather conditions, but you weren't complaining.

After what seemed like ages of searching, you were finally able to find a pumpkin that you could both agree on. It was pretty heavy for you, but she didn't even seem to break a sweat when lifting it up.

"You know, I should really be the one carrying it for you so you're not forced to do any hard work," you lightly teased, knowing full well your knees would instantly buckle under the weight.

This time she did roll her eyes, but it was more playful than anything else. "And have you break your back? Absolutely not. I'm not lugging both you and this pumpkin all the way to the emergency room because you decided you wanted to show off."

You grinned at her response, finding it amusing. Despite her aloof personality, you knew if something actually did happen to you she'd be there at an instant in order to help you.

"So how should we carve our pumpkin? Do you want to do the traditional look of a Jack-O-Lantern, or something else?"

"I don't want my pumpkin to look like it was carved by a bunch of nerds, if that's what you're asking," she said with a hair flip, the breeze catching the scent of her perfume and causing it to waft in your direction. You didn't want to sound like a creep, but god did she smell good.

"Well, we can always go online and look for a design there. Maybe Pinterest will have some cool inspos for how we should carve our pumpkin," you began before adding, "Or we could always just freehand it. I mean, if we mess it up we can always just start again with a new one."

Jennifer wasn't even listening at this point, too caught up by the melodious sound of your voice and the exicted sparkle in your eyes to pay much attention to what you were saying. She realized then it didn't even matter how the pumpkin got carved, because she was just happy she got to spend this time with you.

End notes: this was really fun to write <3 I promise I haven't forgotten about Kinktober y'all I'm working on getting a few more days done before I start posting for it again

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open

Main masterlist | Jennifer's Body masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: @missmewts @ghot-girl @taecube @corn3liiia @gilmore-angel @your-next-daydream @alexxavicry @noisy-dumb-piece-of-shit @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous @theonetruepotato87 @madisonbeerssecretwife @caplanreblogsfics @certifiedwomenlover

#jennifers body #jennifers body imagine #jennifers body x reader #jennifers body fic #jennifers body fluff #jennifer check #jennifer check imagine #jennifer check x reader #jennifer check fic #jennifer check fluff #fem reader #x fem reader #jennifer check x fem reader

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justwinginglife · 2 months ago

Text

This Time, It's Different

Dedicated to the only person who will read this, my bestie @minasfwoopyponytail, yall I know I be doin Soshiro all the time, but I got on the Ranpo track cuz we were talking about Ranpo being in our top favs for BSD so I gotta show him some love today (I am so sorry that I bought Chuuya, Dazai, and Akutugawa merch and forgot about you Ranpo my love, this is my apology fic for you).

You were never good at lying.

It was inconvenient in almost all aspects of your life, but you never thought your ineptitude would be the reason someone finally fell in love with you.

After many failed attempts at bending the truth, after attempting to tell your aunt you liked the socks she got for your birthday and instead unknowingly wrinkling your nose at them and breaking her heart, after attempting to tell your boss that you were busy and couldn’t come to work on a Saturday and when she asked follow up questions about your supposed plans you found yourself flushed and floundering, after attempting to tell your ex that you enjoyed meeting his family but then immediately declining any further interaction with them, after multiple awkward interactions and even more disastrous encounters, you decided to give up on lying. It wasn’t for you.

So you resigned yourself to the fact that you would have to tell nothing but the whole, honest truth for the rest of your life. Your lackluster lies may cause catastrophe otherwise.

So when you joined up with the Armed Detective Agency, when you rejected Dazai’s advances by saying, “No offense Dazai, but I’m sure you say that to all the ladies, and while I’m flattered, I’m not into womanizers,” when you offered methods of stress relief to Kunikida because he “always looked like the world was ending,” when you asked when Furukawa would be retiring because you were concerned about him “overworking himself in his old age,” when half the detective agency was against you from your first day, Ranpo Edogawa found himself half in love with you already.

He’d never met a person who didn’t -or just couldn’t- lie, even among his fellow coworkers, and he was at least intrigued by you if nothing else. He found himself eager to see just how far you were willing to go to continue telling the truth.

Going forward, you often found him tagging along on missions with you, peeking over your shoulder while you worked, listening to everything intently, even despite your other coworkers telling you that Ranpo almost never went out of his way to be this personally invested in anything, just because he wanted to hear you talk, to see if you really told everyone everything you thought all the time. And to ask you questions. Lots of questions.

Most of them were controversial because he wanted to see if you’d stick to your opinions even if you were in the minority, some of them were philosophical because he wanted to know the way your mind worked, and a few of them were just downright absurd because he was Ranpo.

“Okay. So. You want to know if I would divert the trolley to save the lives of five by killing one?”

“Yes, and when you’re done with that, do you think that dress makes that girl’s butt look fat?”

“Mr. Edogawa, sir, I really don’t see how this is relevant to the case.”

“Oh it’s relevant, alright. Answer the question, I’m your superior and I wanna know.”

“Um. Alright. Well clearly it makes more logical sense to sacrifice the life of the one for the good of the many, just mathematically speaking, and yes, that dress is very unappealing on her, I don’t know why she went with white.”

“Agreed, the white is hideous, you pass my tests. For now.”

And so this bizarre relationship of yours continued.

Ranpo would wait for you to finish up cases, would wait for you to finish in the bathroom, would wait for you to finish up dinner, just so he could pick your brain, just so he could amuse himself with your answers. But the more time he spent with you, the more his reason changed for spending the time. He was always attentive, had always had a keen eye, but when you were around, it seemed every last bit of his attention had devoted itself to you. He knew how long it took for you to finish going to the bathroom, so -much to your embarrassment- he always knew what you were doing in the bathroom depending on the length of time. He knew how long it took for you to eat and which foods took you longer amounts of time to eat them. He knew when it was your time of the month, he knew what you craved during said time, he knew the way you’d react when he brought you said craving. He knew almost everything about you and it still wasn’t enough.

One day, he diverted from his usual barrage of insane questions and he started asking about you: what was your favorite food, where were you born, did you have any pets growing up, what did you like to do outside of work? By now, you had gathered from all his previous questions that he was just having fun interrogating you, but you enjoyed talking with him, so you answered all his questions regardless, personal or otherwise. You were unsure how telling him your favorite color was supposed to entertain him the way his usual ridiculous questions did, but you told him it was green anyway. He brought you a bundle of kiwis the next day because he couldn’t figure out what else was green to give you. You were unaware of the fruit’s connection to his question about your favorite color but to him, he’d pretty much just asked you out.

When you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, because you were unaware he had feelings for you, and unaware he had just presented them to you through said kiwis, he pouted for the remainder of the day.

You couldn’t figure out why the man who had spent every waking second of your career with the ADA by your side had suddenly started avoiding you. You couldn’t figure it out, and it was killing you. Little did he know, you had also started memorizing details about him, and the way his laugh sounded, the way his lips curved into a smile, the way his fingers pushed up his glasses, the way he did anything and everything, the way he said anything and everything had you craving your next interaction before the previous one had even ended. And you couldn’t take the silence he had now forced you into. So you went on a hunt for him.

You found him sulking on the rooftop.

You plopped down beside him without saying a word and when you could tell he might be preparing to run again, preparing to plunge your relationship into further silence, you handed him a Ramune. He froze. And then he snatched the drink out of your hand like it was just another Tuesday for the two of you.

“You remembered my favorite flavor, huh? Not too shabby for a second rate detective.” He chugged down the drink.

You laughed and nudged his shoulder with yours. “If I’m such a second rate detective, how did I know you’d be on the roof?”

He shrugged. “Got lucky, I guess.”

You bit your lip and for the first time in years, considered lying. But you couldn’t do it. “Actually, I didn’t just ‘get lucky.’ I knew you’d be on the roof. You always come to the roof when you’re upset. I notice more than you think. So tell me- why are you upset?”

He sighed. “You’re not into me. No one’s ever into me.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

He sighed again, this time more exasperated. “I gave you a gift, but you didn’t accept my feelings.”

You blinked again. “The… kiwis?? Ranpo. You always give me gifts. You gave me strawberries during my last period even though Yosano told you to get me chocolate because you know I like fruits better than chocolate. You gave me limited edition tickets to a play that was already sold out because you’d preordered it when you heard me vaguely mention that I liked it. You are always giving me things, and they’re perfect, and I love it, and I appreciate it, but how was I supposed to know this time was something different?”

He tapped a finger on his chin. “Yeah okay fine. I see that now.”

You inched up closer to him. “So… this time is different though?”

He suddenly blushed. “Yeah… this time it’s different. This time I wanted… well I wanted…”

“Me?”

He’s suddenly quiet and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. You’ve rendered him speechless and it’s impossible not to find it adorable.

You kiss him.

If he was speechless before, now he’s speechless and breathless.

“I just… you just…so we’re?”

You nod, smiling at him. “Yeah. We are.”

“We’re… together?” He squeaks out.

“I’d like us to be.”

He nods vigorously. “I-I’d like us to be too!” He blurts out.

You kiss him again and this time he savors the feeling of your lips melding with his. This time he kisses you back with fervor, with passion he never knew he could feel. This time, he’s all yours.

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Author's Note: I am too lazy to write a longer fic that delves into their relationship after this, but I did want to write a lil drabble about it, so I will be posting it here.

#ranpo edogawa #bsd #bsd ranpo #ranpo x reader #anime fanfic #oneshot #fluff

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vid-writes · 6 months ago

Text

Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader One Shot

This one shot is absolutely not for anyone under the age of 18.

Word Count: 3,474

TW/CW: Rough sex, sex with a stranger, slight voyeurism, tit fucking, back shots

Satoru was finding it rather hard to stay away from you these days. He wasn’t supposed to be pining over someone who wasn’t a curse user, but watching you work in that high-end clothing store through the window was something of a pastime for him. Your hair was always in a different intricate style every day. Your smile when helping customers was always genuine and reached your eyes. Sometimes, he even heard your laughter peal through the front window when a customer was actually funny, or your coworkers were gossiping to fill the time. He never followed you, never watched longer than a few minutes, but anytime a job brought him to this part of Tokyo, he made sure to stop by. You weren’t his usual tailored clothing store, but he was considering making the change.

The door opened with the soft jingle of the ever-present sleigh bells, and at the same time, Satoru’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Acquiring a new tailor would have to wait for another day, it seemed.

“Go for Gojo,” he said as he answered the phone.

“We need you to get back to the school. Principal Yaga is trying to convince the elders that Itadori is still dead. They’re asking questions again.” Ijichi sounds like he’s one second away from crying. The muffled yelling in the back tells Satoru this is serious.

“I’ll be there in two seconds,” he mutters and hangs up the phone. With a long sigh, he glances at you through the window one last time before vanishing into thin air.

A few days have passed since the last time the sorcerer was in this particular shopping district. Only this time, he was here on purpose and not pure coincidence. He drew in a deep breath as he pulled open the door to the tailor shop. With a vague excuse about an excursion to the other end of the island for the next week, Satoru finally found time to acquire a new tailor. You, to be precise. The familiar soft jingle of the sleigh bells met his ears as he entered the empty shop.

“Welcome to Toshiko’s Tailors; I’ll be with you in just a moment,” calls out a soft voice from somewhere deep in the shop. Satoru pulls off the thick sunglasses he’s wearing and rubs his eyes with one hand. Being able to refresh his brain might always make keeping limitless easier, but sometimes he needed a break. He figured that a tailor shop in this quaint touristy part of Tokyo wouldn’t be too much of an issue. Besides, it’s not like he hadn’t already exorcised all of the curses in this area time and again. Just to keep one particular stranger safe.

“Sorry about the wait,” a soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. He lowered his hand to find you bowed over at the waist. “I was just finishing up this week’s order for more inventory, but I’m all yours now.”

“No need to apologize so formally,” Satoru said as he leaned against the front counter. “I’m just here to take up your time for a few hours. I’ve grown bored with my old tailor and thought I would switch things up.”

You straightened back up, and that pure and genuine smile was already present on your face, “What made you choose this shop in particular?”

“Work often finds me in this area and also often ends with my clothes getting all messed up in some way or another,” he explains as he tries not to study every inch of your body. He’s never been this close to you before.

“Are you planning to overhaul your whole wardrobe as well?” It looks like you might not want to do all that extra work right now, but he wants as much of your time as he can get because he knows any interactions you will have after this will be short.

“Maybe not the whole thing,” Satoru chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck. “I would like a few new outfits, though.”

“Well then, right this way,” you say as you bow again, and he knows because of your training that you won’t straighten back up until he’s walked past. So he stares at your ass until he’s right in front of you. Once he’s passed, he glues his eyes to the wall in front of him and focuses instead on your footsteps. Confident and assured in the heels work requires you to wear.

“The second door on your left is the suite where we take measurements and where you can also try on some of the sample clothes we have available in-house,” you call from a few steps behind him.

“You guys have whole suites for tailoring customers?” He whistles, impressed and irritated with himself that he didn’t come in here sooner. Especially since he can’t get the sight of your ass outlined perfectly by the pencil skirt you were wearing today.

“We have three, actually, but this one is the only one not currently under renovation,” you say as you come around him and open the door for him. Yet again, due to training, you bow, and this time the sight of your ass makes his dick throb in his pants. The suite is almost twice the size of the main entrance, and Satoru finds himself whistling with appreciation again. The whole left wall is lined with mirrors, and on the opposite wall is a dressing room that runs the entire length of the wall. In the middle is a sitting area with tables and couches. Over close to the mirror is a dais.

“You have two options for the measurements,” you say and startle him out of his admiration of the room. “Either we can measure you with the clothes you’re wearing on, and I can adjust the usual few centimeters from there, or you can use the dressing room to strip to your comfort level, though nudity is not allowed, and we can measure you that way.”

Satoru’s dick throbs again. An excuse to be almost naked around you? He was absolutely not going to pass up that opportunity. “I’ll go strip down to my underwear then.”

He turns to the dressing room and walks inside quickly. Before he can try to talk himself out of it, he is stripping off his shirt and jeans. Once, in his boxers, he noticed there might be a slight problem. His dick is rock-hard in his boxers. He tries to will the erection to go away, and when that doesn’t work, he sighs.

After a few minutes of thinking about incredibly gross stuff, Satoru emerges from the dressing room, erection free. You are patiently waiting on one of the steps up to the dais with a measuring tape in your hands. And yup, now he was picturing you wrapping that measuring tape around his dick, and he really needed to stop. He slowly made his way over to the dais, trying his best to look anywhere other than you right now.

Once on the dais, Satoru finds it even harder not to openly stare at the reflection of your ass in the mirror. Its shape was so perfect and round, and he could almost bet you worked out religiously to maintain it that way.

“Arms out to your sides, please,” you politely inquire of him, so Satoru lifts his arms out wide. The measuring tape runs from one wrist to the other, and he watches as you produce a notepad from the inside of your jacket. He takes the time to really study your face now—the shape of your lips, the way your nose curved, how your eyes scrunched at the outside corners as you focused. You were driving this man crazy and had no idea whatsoever.

You took measurements of his torso, arms, and waist so many times he was starting to see this as torture instead of the perverted pleasure he had intended. “You may lower your arms now,” you finally say, and he nearly sighs in relief. Satoru really needed to pick better ways to meet women.

You dropped to your knees in front of him and tapped the outside of his left thigh. With ease, Satoru spread his legs so you could measure his inseam. Your fingers brushed the innermost part of his thigh, and he shuddered. You hesitated in writing the measurement, but otherwise, you maintained composure. As you wrapped the measuring tape around his thigh, Satoru shuddered again, and this time, you looked up at him.

“I get the feeling you’re not being entirely honest about your intentions here, let alone with me,” you said, and he felt every muscle in his body tense. Shit. He had been caught. Just as he opened his mouth to answer you, he noticed your eyes darkening. You moved the measuring tape to his other thigh without taking your eyes off of Satoru’s, and his cock throbbed in his boxers. So much so that not only did he see it, but he knew you had too, by the way you licked your lower lip.

“I know you’ve been watching me for months now,” you started, and he felt the color drain from his face, “and I always wondered when you were going to get up the nerve to come inside and talk to me.”

“Thinking of a valid excuse to not only talk to you but get you into a position where you and I were alone was a lot harder than I thought it would be,” Satoru explains sheepishly.

The measuring tape tightened around his thigh, and Satoru knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back if you gave him the green light. The tape slid from his thigh as your hands abandoned it and instead started to unbutton your suit jacket. Muscles tensed, and breath caught in his throat. Satoru watched the last button come undone and then gasped as your breasts spilled free from the jacket with nothing else underneath it.

“I’ve fantasized about you so many fucking times, so when I saw you come in on the cameras in the office, I took off my top and bra,” you declare as you shrug the jacket off of your shoulders. “Want to help me live out one of those fantasies?”

That was all Satoru needed. His hands dove into your hair, and he pushed his crotch into your face. A moan escaped your lips, so he proceeded to grind his bulge into your face. His hips rutted into your face over and over as his hands held your head firmly in place with fistfuls of hair. After a few minutes of this, he pulled his hips back and looked down at you.

“Are there any chairs in this room,” he asked as he watched you panting a little bit just from him rutting into your face. He was hoping you’d be this slutty and eager.

“No, but I can get the one from the office,” you said breathlessly as his cock throbbed in his pants again.

“Is there anyone else in the shop?”

“No, and what should I call you,” you asked as you cocked your head to the side. He smirked as he pretended to think about it.

“My name’s Gojo, Satoru, but you can call me Daddy.” He winked, and you rolled your eyes. “Go get the chair and lock the front door. Do not cover up.” The red in your cheeks was only outdone by the dark lust in your eyes.

You got up and left the room, making sure the door stayed open. In doing so, you gave Satoru a clear line of view of the front door of the shop. He listened to your still-confident heels click across the floor as your arms hung by your sides. The front door made a loud click, and at the same time, Satoru pushed his boxers off his hips and let them hit the floor.

Satoru grinned deviously as you came back in the room, dragging a chair behind you, and immediately blushed at the sight of his fully erect cock. You brought the chair over to the dais but didn’t put it on the dais. Satoru hummed as he thought about how he wanted to position the chair, but all he did was turn it ninety degrees. Now, he could see you in front of him and in the mirror. He sat down on the edge of the chair and motioned for you to come between his knees.

“Down enough that your breasts are in my lap, I want to fuck them,” he commands. So you lower yourself down until your breasts are resting in front of his cock. It’s an awkward position, but your eyes were locked on his, and your movements never faltered.

“Go on and spit on my cock so it’s wet,” he commands again, so you let a glob of spit slowly leave your mouth and glide down his cock. He groans as you both watch his cock jump from your teasing. You spit on his cock again before grabbing the base and licking up the whole length. Satoru groans again as your tongue laves over his slit a few times, and he buries his fingers in your hair.

After a good few minutes of licking his cock until your spit is running between your fingers freely, you sit back and grab the outsides of your breasts. Without waiting for another command, you lift up and then lower yourself down until his cock is between your tits and sticking out of the top. You squeeze your breasts together tighter and then open your mouth and stick your tongue out. Satoru groans as he watches your drool spill onto your breasts and finally snaps.

“Up until the tip is just barely between your tits, and then I’m going to pound them until your pretty face is painted with my seed,” he growls and lets go of your hair. You slide up until his cock is just pressed between your tits, and then stay still. Satoru moans this time before he starts to slowly thrust up into your tits. He’s still holding back, so you let out the moans you’ve been holding back. With your mouth wide open and drool spilling off your tongue so Satoru’s cock is constantly lubed up, the moans are loud and echo through the room.

His hips drew back and then snapped forward again. Then again. And finally, he was freely fucking your tits. His hips hit the underside hard enough that Satoru knew they would have bruises on them. But he also knew that he would come back tomorrow to soothe those bruises. As his cock throbbed and pounded between your constantly slick breasts, he felt his orgasm coming faster than it had in a while. His hips stuttered and then stopped as his cum spurted out of his cock in thick hot ropes that splattered all over your face, tongue, and breasts. With a loud moan, you swallowed the cum that landed in your mouth, and he groaned again.

“Are you satisfied with your service, or do you still need to be attend to Satoru,” you asked, and his cock throbbed in response.

“Stay here so I can get you something to clean up with,” he said as he slipped out of the chair. He retrieved his shirt from the dressing room and then returned to clean your face off himself. Once it was cleaned off, you opened your eyes, and he could see they were still dark with lust and desire.

“It looks like you still need attending to,” he purred. A shudder ran up your body that made him haul you to your feet and kiss you deeply. His tongue was quick to push between your lips and lay claim to yours. Satoru groaned as the taste of himself mingled with your saliva, and his cock was already hard again. He pulled back from the kiss and stepped away. With a swift movement, he turned the chair back to where the seat was facing the mirror.

“Lose the skirt,” he said as he palmed his cock and stroked it slowly. You pulled the skirt off, and it was just like he suspected you weren’t wearing anything underneath it. How could you when it was such a tight skirt? He pulled you in front of him again and then turned you around and bent you over the back of the chair. Your ass pushed against Satoru’s erect cock, and he moaned again.

“You ready for my cock sweetheart?”

“I’ve been ready for it for months now, Satoru. So please give it to me already,” you whined, and the sound made his cock throb painfully. He was really tempted to make you moan and beg some more, but he didn’t know how he would handle orgasming just from the sounds you’d make. Without any more waiting, Satoru locked his gaze with yours in the mirror as he pushed the head of his cock against your dripping entrance.

Your mouth fell open as he pushed the fat tip of his cock inside of your warm walls, and he growled as your eyes already rolled back in your head. “You might not come out of this the same.”

“I don’t want to,” you moaned as he continued to slowly slide his cock inside of your wetness.

“My cock is incredibly addicting,” he whispered as he finally fully seated himself inside of your warm wet walls. Satoru moaned again as you clenched around his full length and then did so again when your gaze met his in the mirror.

“Ruin me, Satoru,” you commanded him, and he nearly came just from that.

“As you wish,” he purred as he slid his cock back until just the head was resting inside of your pussy. He waited and watched your face until you started to squirm, which only took a few seconds. Then he snapped his hips forward and buried his cock back in you completely. He did this again and again and again. Until you were writing and whining.

“Please, Satoru, give me more,” you whined loudly. He chuckled darkly before he repeated the same motion. Pull out until just the head rested in your walls, wait until you were begging, and then bury himself in one harsh thrust. He could see tears brimming in your eyes and finally stopped teasing.

His his slammed into your ass so fast and demanding that the chair started to scoot across the floor. With a muttered curse, Gojo pulled you up by your hair until he was supporting your weight. He grunted and kicked the chair hard enough that it slid over a few feet. In a quick motion that left you gasping, he hooked his arms underneath your knees and hauled you up until your back was pressed to his chest.

“Oh, you weren’t fucking kidding,” you moaned as he raised and lowered you on his cock with the same speed and harshness as before.

“I really wasn’t,” he whispered as he kissed your ear.

“Fucking cumming,” you whined and clenched tightly around his walls. Then your pussy throbbed over and over and over as your orgasm tried to push him out. But he just kept using your weight to fuck you onto his cock. Your screams of pleasure filled the whole shop as he fucked you through your orgasm. And soon after, he could feel his own coming on.

“I’m about to cum, sweetheart, and I’d hate for my load to go to waste,” he purred in your ear as he continued to fuck you onto his cock.

“I have the implant, so please empty your load into my cunt,” you moaned as you tightened onto his cock more. His arms and hips stuttered as he started to cum, and then stopped as your walls clenched and then throbbed in time with his cock. Your scream from this latest orgasm nearly made his ears ring.

He gently slid you off of his cock and lowered you to your feet. You spun around to face him and then stepped back a few feet.

“Are you satisfied with your service, or do you still need more attention,” you asked him again.

“Oh, I’m satisfied for now, but I will be back for more,” he growled as he looked your naked body up and down and noticed you still had your heels on. You bent over at the waist into your usual bow, and he moaned.

“Then I am glad to have provided your service today and look forward to doing so again as often as you need,” you said, still bent into the bow.

Buy me a coffee?

#writing #writeblr #writer #writers #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #gojo saturo

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missmarveledsblog · 4 months ago

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CALL ME CUPID (JOEL MILLER X READER)

Summary: when Ellie notices the longing looks joel gives the woman in the canteen who does the same when joel isn't looking she take it as her sole mission to set them up and even has a helper in her endeavours

It's a fluff age gap sort of thing. slight angst

when ellie first caught him staring , she thought it was just a fluke like he was lost in thought while his eyes stared off into the distance . that was til the woman in his view was getting up to return her dishes, finishing her food his eyes followed her frame . it happened every time they went to the canteen more and then when tommy held joel's attention this time , ellie saw the woman in question looking over directly at the older miller before turning away small smile on her face. as the woman finished her meal she and walked out.

" hey tommy who is she " ellie pointed out the door.

" oh that's y/n, she's works in the community garden , bit old for you ellie " he teased.

" funny asshole , she's not old like you fucks either right ? " she shot back earning a curious yet confused look back .

" she's 24 been alone for a while , maria found her on patrol she was cornered by couple of raiders, before maria went to help her out she had them on there asses , i didn't believe her til i went on patrol one day and sure enough girl held her own " he shook his head still in disbelief even though he'd seen it himself.

" shit that is so cool " she smiled brightly.

" give me your plate and less of the cussing " joel grumbled before heading off .

" she seeing anybody " she asked .

" why the sudden interest in Y/N , ain't you seeing Cat " tommy asked.

" not for me idiot her and joel, watch them when they're near each other its gross but in a cute way" she said before leaving the table . running out the door before joel could call her back . " Hey Y/N , wait up shit" she panted as the woman turned . " hello i'm ellie , we've never talked before but i wanted to introduce myself " she held her hand out.

" nice to meet you ellie " she smiled softly shaking her hand .

" can you tell me about that gardening shit... sorry stuff" ellie excitedly asked looking for a way to get to know the woman .

" i'm actually going to do the gardening shit if you wanna join " .

" fuck yeah let's go" .

the whole morning was more interrogation instead as the inquisitive front that faded quick . " so how come your on your own" ellie asked .

" my family died , boyfriend left me usual shit " she shrugged hiding the hurt from the teenager.

" that is shit , how long have you been travelling alone " .

" 5 years , why all the question on me " she turned to the girl.

" i like knowing about new friend and joel says i'm too nosey for my own good " .

" is that your dad, you sit with?" .

" I mean , he like my dad kinda " ellie explained the situation and everything before they got to jackson .

" sounds like a dad to me" Y/N smiled. " sunshine , that's that i'ma call you " ellie said offhandedly . the woman said nothing but continue her work and answering all of ellie's questions , shooting some back before the two walked to the canteen .

" come on join us" ellie pulled the woman to the table she and joel sat at .

sure enough tommy could see what his what he classed her as niece was on about . the two looking at each other everytime the other wasn't looking ,like they took turns in stealing glances . " son of a bitch " he chuckled .

it didn't take long for her to worm her way into the man affections , she instantly got the usually cold man to talk to her instead of the usual grunts that the other resident would get anytime they tried to communicate with joel miller .

sunshine as she now was called thanks to ellie the nickname caught on and stuck not that she minded. she found she hit the jackpot the day she met maria finally being apart of something after being alone for so long. Now she was part of community and got to have meal time with her new friends everyday something she only ever dreamed of in the shit show of the world they lived in . only complication was the feeling she harboured for the new man she had the pleasure of calling a friend . how could she not though , you'd have to be blind to not find joel miller attractive , those dark brown eyes alone could have a woman weak in the knee's . she couldn't help getting lost studying the details of his face when he was talking away be it to her, ellie or his brother tommy . she would get lost in his eyes or studying the curve of his nose , from the beard to even his dark curls that had grey's sprinkled throughout .

" so it that ok with you " tommy asked making her snap out of her ogling.

" huh sorry spaced out there for a second " she shook her head .

" of course you did , i was saying since maria is close to giving birth i need to be home more would it be ok with you to go with joel for the next patrol " he chuckled .

" oh yeah of course when is it ? " .

" well my dear sunshine ya'll leave in the morning " tommy got up patting her on the back .

" that ok with you ?" she turned to joel .

" of course it is darling prefer you to tommy either way better company" he winked before heading off maybe to get ready she thought .

" you got a bit of drool right here" ellie teased . " oh shut it " she snorted before checking to see if she was actually drooling sending the teenager into a fit of laughter .

she spent most of the night packing the essentials not that she had much but she did have a few nice clothes she was able to find on her time alone from a few summer dresses to a bundle of nice jeans and tops , she had a eye for finding such finds which made her popular for patrols especially with the women of the community that and her dab hand at fixing clothes something she would do with her mother when she was younger . a past time she missed dearly sitting with the woman while she would talk of the world before the infected all the things like her parent would do date nights and social event with friends something that seemed like a dreamland. the love they had for each other was something she wanted for herself but never thought could happen it was like she was never good enough for anyone in that way .

Her ex,she met on her travels , he would let her know constantly she was lucky he wanted to be with her and that he would of picked someone else . everytime he would let her know he didn't think she was anything special . one day the two bumped into a group and noticing her ex was cosying up with one of the women not caring she was right in front of them that night or that she cried herself to sleep. only to wake up alone and her things all gone all she had was her back pack because it was her pillow , she carried it all time because it contained her parents rings and little things that meant alot for her as well as the hunting knife. leading to her rebuilding herself from the ground up .

that night she woke up in sweats a nightmare of her ex throwing her into a pit of infected calling her awful thing as they attacked her. she didn't realise she was screaming til the sound of her door breaking and her eyes seeing joel miller standing at her door gun drawn looking for the danger . instantly his gaze soften when took in her red puffy eyes and completely terrified expression . " ellie was sneaking out heard you screaming "he said coming closer.

" she got herself in trouble for me " her voice still trembling .

" course she did she loves you alot if you didn't notice " he smiled sitting on side of the bed leaning back as not to be so close.

" i had a nightmare i'll be fine seriously" went to push him out .

" well i kinda broke your door so either i'm staying here or your coming to ours , i can leave you in open like that " he winced.

" how broken is my door " she arched her brow .

" in half but in my defence you were screaming and i was scared you were in danger " he admitted .

" you were scared for little old me " she teases yet shocked.

" course i was darling , ellie ain't the only one who cares for you now mine or yours" he asked .

" i'll get my shoes , you can grab my pillow and blanket " she got out of the bed grabbing her boots and her coat and back pack before following out . reeling in the revelation that joel miller cared for her.

Part two

#joelmiller #ellie williams #the last of us #fluffy #angstwithhappyending #tommy miller #maria miller #au #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n

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wildestdreamsblog · 2 years ago

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Hiraeth II

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Summary: You had always been his, and no one could take you away from him. Idol!AU

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Slight age gap, Murder intention, Mention of death, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: you know what, Kim Seokjin just hits different to me. I miss him and I’m taking u all down with me in my I-miss-u-jin-era.

Masterlist Hiraeth I

After you got over your initial shock in which you thoughtlessly swung your fist to his handsome face, you found yourself sheepishly walking to the kitchen where you could hear him moving. He looked up as soon as you entered the room, one side of his bruised lips tilted up. He watched you moved with a secretive smile on his face that you so badly wanted to erase. Jin looked like he was thoroughly enjoying this. You couldn’t help but notice how much he changed. He matured, no longer the young man who had soft cheeks and undefined body. Instead, your eyes roamed over his sharp features and his muscular back that couldn’t be hidden by his shirt. In front of you was a man who was confident. And you didn’t know how to handle him.

You didn’t know how to handle him when in the first place, you thought you would never see him again, not after you ran from him. Not after he begged you to come back.

“What are you doing here?” You finally asked after enough time had passed and he was still looking at you as though he was waiting for you to crack. And you did. You could’t take his heavy eyes, couldn’t take the silence as he watched you.

Was he this insufferable when you were younger?

Were you just too blind to see him for how he really was?

Additionally…was he this beautiful when you were younger? Or was time just unfairly favorable to him?

He gestured to the noodles he was stirring. “I’m cooking us breakfast, princess.”

His old name for you hindered you from reacting quickly. You blinked owlishly, memories of him calling you that playing in flashback.

“Yes….but why here?”

He turned off the stove leisurely as if his answer wouldn’t rattle your whole world before leaning his body on the counter, his eyes focused on yours. “Where else would I be? I live here.”

“What? B-but, your mother- she didn’t tell me…”

He shrugged, busying himself with plating the food and bringing it to the simple yet elegant dining table. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” He asked in a nonchalant voice, his movements precise and calm.

When you didn’t answer, he tilted his head to the side, his hand inside his pocket as he stalked slowly to where you were standing near the door. If he noticed how you seemed to be one push away from running, he didn’t comment. Instead, there he was, his tall form towering over you. “Do I make you nervous, princess?”

“J-Jin-“

“Tsk,” he shook his head, his dark, unfathomable eyes focused on yours. His hair was pushed back from his forehead, giving him that regal look you always thought he possessed. “What happened to ‘Oppa’?” He asked in what one would thought of as a sincere question, but the mocking glint in his eyes could not fool you.

“I-I don’t-“

“Hmm? You don’t what?” He whispered sweetly, his fingers stroking your hair. He was transfixed with the way time changed you. Yet, he hated how he wasn’t there to experience growing up with you because you took yourself away from his grasp. But no more. He took a deep breath to calm the demons in him, before flashing you his usual, carefree smile.

“Do I still affect you, princess?”

“N-no!”

Jin regarded you for a moment too long, his eyes sparkling with something akin to mischief and danger. “Perfect,” he beamed at you before pulling your wrist to the dining table. “There’s no reason for you not to stay here, then. Come on, let’s eat.”

Despite him acting as though no years passed between the two of you, you simply couldn’t. You could feel the weight of seeing him in person sitting heavily on your shoulders, could hear the unspoken words no one had the strength and courage to say, could feel the guilt and anguish in your heart.

“So,” you began, your eyes focused on the chopsticks in your hand. “H-how have you been, Seokjin?”

He scoffed, his dark eyes boring on yours. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

“It’s just that…it’s been so long.”

“And whose fault is that,” he stated tonelessly, his large hand closing to a fist before calming himself down. He needed to remind himself that he had you now, that he wasn’t going to lose you this time.

He had to remind himself that he needed to forgive you if he wanted a clean start with you.

“Never mind,” you sighed, clearly discouraged with his response. What did you expect? You practically ghosted him the moment your turned eighteen, turning your back on your closest childhood friend, to your remaining family just because you were in pain.

Perhaps, you should acknowledge that you hurt him in the process of healing yourself. You didn’t know if you wanted to fix the ruined relationship between the two of you, didn’t know if you could redeem yourself. You had so much buried feelings that you didn’t know if this was worth it.

You quietly ate your food, already internally planning your living situation. You would sort out your living situation today. You could not live with Jin, not when he made you feel things you thought you had long killed. You could not-

“I’m sorry.”

You blinked owlishly as you looked up at the man sitting in front of you. Your astonished and lost expression softened his resolve, it melted his anger.

Only you could silence the dark thoughts in his head. Ironically, you were the reason why the demons in his mind were born.

“I shouldn’t have said that. You were just trying your best to heal the way you know how. It’s okay,” Jin stated, his eyes trained on you, willing you to see his sincerity. Except that it wasn’t okay you left. Yet, he knew it was the best for you despite it destroying him so monumental it took him years to feel normal.

Should you leave him again, he knew the carefully reconstructed sanity of his will tumble down.

“I’m just sorry you had to do it all alone,” he whispered sadly.

Aside from your therapist, you had never spoken about this with anyone. To you, it was something so tragic that saying it would make you relive the pain, loneliness and desperation it caused you. This was the first time in almost a decade that someone acknowledged your pain, you strength, and the sacrifices made along the way.

“But princess,” he continued, his hand reaching across the table to clasp yours. And once he did, he felt peace the moment he was able to touch you. “You don’t have to be alone. Not anymore.”

It was an hour later when you emerge to the living room where Jin was drying his hair. His movements slowed down when he saw you after you ran once again from him. After he said that you didn’t have to be alone, you walked to the bedroom without a word. You didn’t know how to handle your emotions, and the only way you knew how was to run.

And so ran, you did.

He raised his dark eyebrows at you when you didn’t say anything. “Going somewhere?”

You nodded, looking anywhere but him. Was he always this handsome even when had just showered? Was this fair? You looked like a drenched cat when you finished showering, and yet he looked like he was shooting a commercial.

“D-do you know where the nearest bus stop is?”

He nodded, “It’s more than an hour away.”

“What about taxi?”

He blinked innocently, “This is an exclusive neighborhood, princess. Taxis are not allowed here,” he shared in a thoughtful manner.

You swore under your breath. You had grown up in Korea, but you lived your whole adult life in abroad that you were no longer confident with yourself here. You were so certain that you would get lost.

He watched you with a smirk in his face, “You can borrow one of my cars,” he offered with an innocent look on his face.

“I don’t know how to drive.”

He knew that.

“In that case,” he sighed as he stood up, stretching his hands upwards. You didn’t even have it in you to not look at his toned abs, didn’t have it in you to look away from his leaned, yet muscular arms. Jin smiled innocently at you when he noticed your wandering eyes.

“In that case, I need to drive you,” Jin shook his head slowly as though he was burdened by this when the truth was that this was his plan all along.

Jin sat patiently at the hotel lobby, his legs spread out. He was smiling indulgently as you walked near him with a defeated expression in your face. Jin was wearing a black cap to hide his identity, and besides that, an inconspicuous bodyguard was trailing after the two of you at Jin’s command. He wouldn’t risk his princess, after all.

He looked up at you as you stood in front of him, your expression confused and tired as you informed him that there was no available room. This was the seventh hotel you went to, and so far your plan hadn’t been successful.

“So?”

You shook your head, clearly apparent that you wouldn’t move out today. You were stuck. And you loathed depending on anyone, more so you hated depending on him again just like when you were younger. Just like when he would always take care of you, regardless if he was reluctant or not. You became overly independent when you moved away from everyone. It was a thing that your therapist was still trying to resolve. However, you just couldn’t let yourself depend on anyone on anything ever gain for the fear that one day, they might leave you alone too.

“I’ll just stay in a motel-“

Jin stood up, his proximity effectively cutting you off. He tilted your chin up, his eyes serious. “I’m not making you leave, princess. You can stay with me as long as you want,” he offered with a sincere smile in his face when all he wanted to say was that your place was beside him, and it should have been the case since the beginning if only he didn’t lose control. He could see the battle in your eyes, the weariness and the stubbornness to not to give in to him was apparent. You needed a nudge.

You entered the quaint restaurant, your eyes roaming around the area as you waited for Jin. He dropped you off in front before parking his car. The restaurant had a homey vibes to it. Sunlight was freely flowing to the room, and the windows were open which allowed the customers to feel the pleasant breeze. You could see customers enjoying their food and talking animatedly with the other- more so the one group on your right who had their heads bowed down, too engrossed with their food while talking and laughing among themselves. You felt a hand on the small of your back. You looked behind you to see Seokjin smiling at you with his cap still on. He was guiding you in when you heard the sound of utensils falling on the floor. You looked to your right where the group of men were eating and realization dawned upon you.

Jungkook’s eyes were the first ones you met. His doe eyes were even bigger from shock, his mouth agape with his chopstick suspended in the air. Beside him was Taehyung who looked at you and Jin with knowing eyes before smiling that rectangular smile of his. Jimin and Hoseok both looked at you in surprised.

“H-hyung?” Jungkook called Jin with confusion in his face as he looked down at Jin’s hand on you. He had never seen his hyung touched someone from another gender willingly. To be honest, Seokjin didn’t care much about anyone outside the members and his own family. Seeing him looking at you with too much emotion in his otherwise emotionless eyes made all of them curious about who you were.

Jin sighed before looking at his members. “You’re all here. Again.”

“We were starving…” the man you recognized as the leader explained sheepishly. He turned to look at you before smiling, “Hi. I’m Namjoon. And you are?”

—

You found yourself sat beside Seokjin who was busy putting food on your plate. If he noticed his members looking at him as though an imposter took his place, he didn’t comment. It was as if the six men looking at the two of you with mixture of bewilderment from Jungkook and Jimin, curiosity from Namjoon and Hoseok, amusement from Taehyung and strangely, indifference from Yoongi, didn’t bother him.

But it bothered you.

You broke eye contact with Taehyung who was sitting beside you with his chin resting on his hand as he examined you with twinkle in his eyes to look at the other man beside you.

“Are you sure it’s fine for me to sit with you? What if someone sees?” You leaned to whisper at Jin.

He merely shrugged. It didn’t matter. In fact, he wanted the world to know you were his. “Eat, princess.”

“I can’t,” you whispered once again, hyperaware of the six pair of eyes on you and him.

“Why?”

“Why are they looking at me?”

Seokjin craned his neck up, frustration evident on his face before looking at his younger members with a terrifying glare. “Why are you always here?”

“We were hungry-“

“And you ate. Now leave.”

“Is that how you treat your customers, hyung?” Jimin teased with a pout before looking at you innocently.

Wait, this was his?

“You’re not my customers because you all rarely pay!”

Chaos ensued as the men bickered and teased each other. You could see the familiarity and the love between them that came with years and years of companionship. You were unknowingly smiling before eating your late lunch. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you actually ate. They were all still arguing, albeit without any claws to their words, when you felt a finger poking your arm.

“I’m Taehyung,” he introduced himself before offering you his hand. You shook his hand warily. “I’m Y/N.”

“So, Y/N, how did you know my hyung?” He asked, uncaring of the bickering of the men in front of him. He was more interested with who you were. His hyung never did once look at any woman, never once did he touch them. In fact, he was irritated whenever some woman would sauntered to him and flirted. Behind his hyung’s pleasant personality and contagious laugh lied his cold persona reserved for people who didn’t matter to him.

Which was exactly why you were a puzzle to the group. For the first time since they met him, they saw their hyung smiled so genuinely at a woman. For the first time, they saw the darkness that somehow terrified them in Jin’s eyes vanished.

“Oh uhm. We’re childhood friends. His parents and my dad were the best of friends.”

Were?

Yoongi, who hadn’t said a thing yet, tilted his head when he heard you. He looked at you with indifferent eyes before slyly shifting his bored gaze to his only hyung who visibly stiffened from your words.

Interesting.

You watched him as he took his pillow and RJ in his arms. Seokjin really looked comfy and yet, so beautiful despite wearing only his pajamas. “You know I can take the sofa. I don’t mind. I really don’t want to be an imposition on-“

“Nonsense, princess. I want you to be comfortable here. You’re my guest after all,” he turned to look at you before smiling. He walked towards the bed where you were sitting. He leaned down and softly placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Good night, my princess,” he whispered, and before you could even react, he was out of the room.

You opened your eyes, and you were back to that nightmare. You saw your father walking away from you to that damned lake. You felt your heart skipped a beat, your legs moving faster and faster to stop him.

You knew what would happened.

You had seen this before.

You had lived this before.

“Dad! Please. Stop!” You shouted on top of your lungs, but it was as though he didn’t hear you. He kept on walking and walking, until he was in the middle of the frozen lake. He paused his movement to look at you. He never aged. His looks frozen in time.

“Run, my daughter,” he said with a serious note in his voice. This was different. He never said this in all your nightmares. “Run far. And don’t come back.”

“What? Dad, please! Just come here!” You shouted, and now you felt tears falling freely on your face. You knew what would happened.

You knew his destiny.

And you could never do anything about it but to see him fall to the icy water.

“Y/N! Wake up.”

“Princess, please. Wake up. It’s okay. You’re safe with me.”

“Wake up.”

And then you woke up. Your breath were ragged as though you were running for your life. You could feel his fingers wiping away your tears. You were full-on sobbing in front of him. And before you knew it, his arms were around you as he maneuvered your body to rest on top of his chest. Your hand fisted his shirt, wanting anything to ground you. Your heart was beating faster despite escaping the nightmare, and for the life of you, you didn’t know why you still felt unsafe.

Soothingly, he was running his hand on your back. Seokjin was patient as he waited for you to calm down. You felt his lips on top of your head. You heard him whisper how you were safe with him and that he would never let anything bad happen to you ever again.

And that night, he didn’t let you go.

—

“My baby looks so handsome!” His mother cooed at the four-year old Seokjin. She fixed his hair gently before holding his tiny hand in hers. She followed her husband inside their closest friend’s home. His wife had just given birth a month ago and this was the first time they would see the little bundle of joy. She was so ecstatic when she learned that the baby was a girl, much to her son’s disgust.

‘Girls are yucky, mommy!’

“Do you wanna see her?”

Did he? He looked thoughtful for a moment, his adorable pout ever so present in his lips. Perhaps, he should see what the fuss was about. He was almost certain- no, he was 100% sure that he was more endearing than that little elf who did nothing but cried.

But fine, he supposed he should look at her one time, then never again.

With a reluctant nod, his mother patted the seat beside her. Once he was fully sat down, his mother lowered the baby to his level which allowed him to peak at the crying Y/N.

Seokjin’s eyes widened at how could someone as little as you cried so loud?

Additionally, how could someone as little as you looked so…wonderful?

As though he was in a trance, Jin moved his face closer to you. His little hand was on its way to caress your hair when he heard his mother gently warn him to be careful. And so, he did. His little hand touched the sparse hair on your small head. He caressed it once, twice, and to the adults’ surprised, you stopped wailing your heart out as thought you were finally at peace.

“She likes you,” your father observed, his eyebags made it apparent that you weren’t letting your parents sleep.

“I think we should keep him with her so she would stop crying, right Jinnie?” He teased the little child.

Jin, on other hand, didn’t say anything. His focus was solely on you. Little Seokjin deemed it okay to stay with you.

It was a sweet moment, really it was. Until Jin dove down to peck your lips, and then chaos ensued.

Hiraeth III

#kim seokjin fic #bts fic #bts yandere #yandere kim seokjin #kim seokjin x you #kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin x y/n #hiraeth #bts fanfic #yandere jin x reader #yandere jin #jin x you

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itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland · 4 months ago

Text

Choosing Peace Pt. 11: Despair (Spike x Y/N)

Requested: No. This is part 11 of the multi fic.

Summary: Actions, even when misconstrued, speak louder than words.

TW: None

Word Count: 2.3k

Previous | Next

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Spike spent his days helping you research your curse. To seek a way to set you free would mean a chance for him to be part of your life. For far too long your only companion has been silence and emptiness, and he would give anything to replace those themes in your life. He didn’t have a full plan, just a gut feeling. He didn’t know for sure but he believed you were both close to a break through, at least he hoped so for his sanity. Spending your days searching book after book was getting tiring. He had to do it for you, for him.

You both worked diligently to find some missing link, some type of information that you had skipped. You became engrossed in an old leather-bound book while spike searched for possible books that could contain the appropriate way to break your curse. You take a pause. Joy bubbles in your chest. Disbelief drowns your thoughts. So many years of searching and finally, finally, you were given a partial answer on how to break the curse.

“I found something!” You exclaim.

Spike rushes to your side. You quickly read that an oracle must be consulted. You identify the place, the time but were unsure about what question to ask. As you go further down you find that your curse, since it was caused by a lover’s anger, can only be solved by a lover’s desire.

You wondered what that meant. It seemed too easy. As you keep reading you find out that you have to ask who your soulmate is. Only then will you find the key to break the curse. You grimace. Why did it have to be a lover? Why couldn’t it be a potion. Love is a sensitive topic, a non-issue if you will. But now, it was the only issue. Identify the soulmate, find them, and be free. Simple. Too simple.

You sat back frustrated. Spike, at your side, was excited and giddy.

“You found the answer. The key.” He exclaims.

“It seems too simple.” You mention.

“I think you’re just jaded. Give it a whirl, see where you end up.” Spike encourages you.

You sigh and close your eyes. You envision your life without the curse with a lover, maybe a family… and it all seems too surreal, too out of reach. You decide against the oracle and soulmate solution.

“I’m not doing it.” You announce.

Spike is surprised, “Why not, love? The worst thing that could happen is that it leads you nowhere. It’s worth a shot.”

“I don’t think so. I’ll keep looking for something more realistic. Right now, I need a break.” Without a another word you get up and leave the Magic Shop.

The Scooby gang witness the exchange. They are surprised at Spike’s investment in your life, your lack of interest in this new lead, and confused as to why you chose to walk away.

Your breath is labored, your thoughts in disarray. What if this was the answer? What if all you need is a mate? Someone to partner with? It surely can’t be that simple. Your pace becomes a jog, a sprint, a run. You don’t know where you’re going but you’re going. You’ve lived with this curse so long that the idea of living without it is scary, unknown. You need space. You need time to think.

Spike, back at The Magic Shop, sits back on the chair next to where y/n sat. He is confused, enraged. It’s selfish of him to want her to break the curse. Almost evil to want this more than her. He had plans, a future with her, and she was resistant to exploring her options.

“You think she’s scared?” Willow asked Buffy.

Buffy was dismissive of the whole situation, having her own thoughts about the curse.

“If she breaks it, does that mean she will age?” Xander pondered.

Buffy eventually chimes in, “Spike, you seem very invested in this.”

Spike turns to her, trapped. “She’s a friend. My only friend.” He digs in deep to hurt Buffy.

The conversation is dropped. Due to it being daylight, Spike is trapped at The Shop. He uses that time to formulate a plan on how to approach you, how to convince you.

Night falls and Spike is alive and on the move. He will find you no matter what. He looks at all the usual places. Your house, his crypt. Nothing. He eventually finds you at the look out, alone and confused. He slowly approaches you.

“Love…”

You don’t move but acknowledge him. He steps closer, cautiously.

“Spike, I’m afraid. It’s been so long, I don’t know how to be a human anymore.”

Spike reaches for your hand and gives it a soft squeeze. “Poppet, your compassion and empathy make you human. Not your mortality.”

You turn to look at him, tears in your eyes. He is surprised. He has never seen you this vulnerable. He pulls you into a hug and holds you tight. You break down and hold him as if he’s the only other person in the whole world.

You both stand in silence while the night air is filled with your sobs and sniffles. You look up at him, desperate for an anchor.

“Will you stand by me?”

“Always.” He says as he places his forehead against yours.

Spike was internally a whirlwind of emotions. Always there for her. Always self-sacrificing. He hoped that one day it would pay off.

The next morning you’ve decided to go through with finding the oracle. You’re mapping out your journey, making sure you’re ready for any tests. Spike observes you from afar, hopeful that you’ll find answers, and maybe -just maybe- a way to be free.

You spend the rest of the day psyching your self up for your journey. You remind yourself that you’re there to explore not to commit to any answers. Any lead is a good lead.

You try to sneak out of the house. Wanting to have this for yourself. Spike is waiting for you on the porch.

“Thought you could slip by me?” He says as he snuffs out his lit cigarette.

You sigh, defeated. You knew there was no way to dissuade him. You both embark on your journey. A treacherous walk up a hill, a shimmy in between rocks, a descent into a cave. You come upon a portal, a gateway to another dimension. Invisible to the naked eye but tangible to those who are connected to the super natural. You take a step forward and so does Spike. You stop him.

“No. I have to do this part alone. Wait for me.” You say as you walk into the portal.

Inside there are ornate ceilings, white walls and marble floors. You look around.

“Oracle, I come with a question.”

A form appears. A golden being with closed eyes. “What do you seek, traveler?”

“I… I need to know who my soulmate is.” You wait impatiently.

The figure stalls, breathes in and answers your plea.

The sound is deafening. The answer is not what you expected. Your mind is in disarray. Before you can ask for a follow up, to question his answer, you’re pulled back into the real world. You land on your butt with a loud thud. Spike is standing a few feet away. He hurries to hold you up. You stand there, awestruck and confused.

“Well?” Spike prods.

You shake your head, afraid to give him an answer. You start walking back the way you came. Spike holds you back by your arm.

“Did you get an answer or not?” He is impatient and scared.

“Yes.” You whisper.

Spike can tell it’s not what you wanted. He is perceptive and can read that you don’t want to elaborate. He nods and starts following you back to the beginning of your journey. The lack of expression on your face has him worried. Did the oracle not say his name? Was this all for naught?

You walk in silence. Deafening and loud. You’re in disbelief and upset. How will you handle this? How will you contend with this new information? You didn’t dare tell anyone. This was yours to keep.

Spike was suspicious and unnerved by your silence. He desperately wanted you to have said his name, to have confirmed that he was your soulmate. Yet, nothing. He decides to not push you, to let you process. That night he decides to stay in his crypt to give you space.

As he sits watching TV, not really paying attention, a knock is heard at his door. An odd occurrence since no one ever knocks. He gets up, hoping it’s you. He opens the door to find Buffy. Shy and vulnerable. He doesn’t have time for this. He plans on shutting the door, but she lets herself in.

“Why not me? When did you stop wanting me?” She asks.

Spike is taken aback, speechless. Before he can answer she is pressed against him, face tilted and eyes searching.

“Is it y/n? Is she better than me?”

Spike takes a step back, appalled by the closeness. He can’t do this, not tonight. She grabs him, holds him against his will. He stands there planning his next step.

As soon as Spike leaves you decide to wander the streets searching for something, but you didn’t know what. After a while you realize that you don’t want to be alone. You find yourself at Spike’s crypt. Addicted to his presence, in need of his attention. As you walk in you see Buffy and Spike pressed against each other. You’re shocked but not really. Spike turns to see you, fear in his eyes. Not this, not now.

You turn around without a word. Of course, Spike would seek respite in Buffy. They were meant to seek each other out. You never knew why but you knew they couldn’t stay apart. You fooled yourself into thinking that there was space in his life for you. It is for this reason you didn’t bother with love. It was never real. You pretend to not feel as you run back home.

Meanwhile Spike fights to get free from buffy.

“So, it is her.” Buffy says disdainfully.

Spike growls in frustration and runs after you. He catches up to you as you enter your porch. He reaches for you, but you turn to him.

“Sorry to interrupt.” You say with a bite.

“It’s not what you think.” He pleads.

“Spike, what you do is none of my business.” You try to be defiant, distant.

“She came to me. She wanted me. I was trying to get away.” He begged.

“Like I said, it’s none of my business. You chose, and I respect that.”

“Choose? I choose you. Always you.” He steps closer while you take a step back.

“I’m glad you can always go back to Buffy. I feel it’s best you stay in your crypt from now on.”

“I can’t do this with you Spike. I have too much going on.” You say with disdain and walk into your house slamming your door.

Spike is speechless. He stammers, begs. He basically gets on his knees.

“Don’t do this. It’s not what you think.”

Spike is left alone, in despair, in disbelief. He is shattered into a million pieces. His eyes prick with tears. He withholds a sob. He doesn’t let himself feel, he’s too vulnerable. Anger overtakes his sadness. That damned slayer. Always ruining things for him. That sick and twisted bitch. He is overflowing with feelings and all of them are a form of anger.

He stalks back to his crypt, hoping that the slayer is still there. Fortunately for him, she is.

“Kick you out like a dog?” Buffy taunts.

He is enraged and violent. He lunges after her making sure to hurt her as much as possible. However, Spike is no match for Buffy. Buffy makes sure to put him in his place. She is smug and full of herself.

“Don’t fight what is already done.” She walks towards him. “Now that your little fantasy is broken, are you ready to come back to me?”

Spike breathes in deep, choosing his words correctly. He may not be able to hurt her body but he can hurt her ego.

“The only reason you’re here is because you feel like shit, and hurting yourself by giving yourself up to me makes you feel something. You feel like an outcast, and you’ll never belong. Not anymore.” Spike spits out, bloody and bruised.

Buffy bites her lip. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She knew she could beat him into submission if she wanted to. As she thinks about forcing him into being hers, it dawns on her how she is acting. Her reactions are evil and full of hate. She has turned into the monster in this story. She has sunk as low as she can be. Not only does she feel like dirt, she finds ways to bring herself down even more. She steps back and runs out of the crypt. She is in disbelief of how Spike has dragged her down into his pit of despair.

Spike lays in his own puddle of blood, broken and lonely. Tears stain his face as sobs echo in his crypt. He has lost the one good thing in his life. He was so close to salvation and now he’s back to square one. He knew he didn’t deserve y/n but he didn’t have to lose her this way. He hurts not only for his situation but also for the pain he caused you. How will he redeem himself. Having a soul wasn’t enough. Now in your time of need he wasn’t allowed to comfort you, to hold you. He knew cold and lonely nights await him. He knew that despair and anger were going to be his companions. He wondered if he would ever get you back.

#buffy the vampire slayer #william the bloody #btvs #buffyverse #spike x yn #spike y/n #spike x reader #spike x you #spike the bloody #spike btvs #spike imagine

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nordickies · 4 days ago

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SuNor Royalty AU prompt Relationship: Sweden/Norway Characters: Norway (Sigurd), Sweden (Björn), Denmark (Magnus) I had a small oneshot exchange/exercise with @pvffinsdaisies and @ifindus and I feel brave enough to share my oneshot writings for the first time. We were feeling nostalgic and decided to roll some nostalgic AU prompts with a wheel. Mine landed on "Fake Dating" and "Royalty". I just had to go with Norway and Sweden, of course! We also randomized some dialogue prompts, as well and I got: #23 - “You’re doing the right thing.” ; “Then why does it feel so wrong to me?”

Something different this time, enjoy!

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

“You’re doing the right thing.”

The giant man sitting by the desk didn’t react to Magnus’ comment. He kept his eyes firmly on the glass his freckled friend had poured him just moments earlier. Watching the earthy-toned beverage sit still in the crystal snifter as if it could answer all the questions running through his mind. Something about the liquid’s stillness helped him focus — a small reminder that the world wasn’t boiling over, even if it felt like it.

Without raising his glance from the glass, the ashy-haired man pondered out loud, “Then why does it feel so wrong to me?”

Magnus, sitting right next to him on the velvet couch, looked up to the ornamented ceiling, breathing out with a heavy sigh. He was trying to find words to describe the predicament they found themselves in. Uncharacteristically for him, he didn’t feel like mocking his younger friend or dismissing his feelings. Things were less than ideal, and Magnus himself had a lot to lose here. But still, he tried to maintain his professionalism. As much as he could sympathize with his friend’s turmoil, he had to be the steady one.

“I think it’s a sign that you care about Sigurd,” he said calmly and leaned his back deeper into the couch. “Which is admirable, I guess. Considering everything we’ve been through.”

It was hard to comprehend how the three of them would ever refer to each other as friends. Their friendship, if it could even be called that, wasn’t quite built on mutual affection, but on proximity and shared survival. They had grown up tied together by the unrelenting demands of their families. There had been more than enough conflict to go around—bitter rivalries, fractured trust, and old wounds that never truly healed. Yet, in some inexplicable way, they had remained inseparable. Perhaps it was their proximity in age, or constant family cooperation pushing them to spend time together. Or perhaps it was a bond from heritage, diplomacy, and an unspoken understanding that only those who had known such tension could appreciate.

And it all led to this moment. This outrageous marriage proposal. Björn had never imagined that his future would unfold in this way—not so abruptly, and certainly not under such strained circumstances. The bond he shared with Sigurd, once as natural and easy as breathing, now felt tainted, ruined by the very proposal that should have brought them closer.

It wasn’t that Björn didn’t want marriage. No, that’s what he had dreamed of all his life, of building a future with someone who could share his heart. But he did not expect to marry so soon, and to a person so dear and close to him at that. Björn felt conflicted. This marriage wasn’t driven by romantic love, nor was it born of true necessity. It was a strategy, all at the expense of Sigurd— and Björn knew Sigurd did not want this. He knew that his friend, his brother-in-arms, had no desire to be tied down by a union born out of obligation. And yet here he was, about to be thrust into a situation where his freedom would be stolen from him by the very man who called him his dear friend.

“He doesn’t want marriage” Björn sighed, breaking the brief silence with words so heavy you could barely hear him. He finally raised his eyes from the glass, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He met Magnus’ gaze, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if the younger eyes were pleading—do something!

“What’s done is done.” Magnus' answer was brief, but not at all intended as dismissive. His hands were tied, even his witt and games couldn’t get them out of this situation now. “But consider that Sigurd will be safer with you than with anyone else.”

Perhaps Magnus was right. Björn had doubts Sigurd could maintain his freedom for long regardless if he stepped in or not. These decisions weren’t theirs to make. They weren’t even Sigurd’s to make. The ties that bound them weren’t just between him and his family; they were tied up in expectations, traditions, and even obligations that went far beyond their small circle.

Sigurd was in a vulnerable position here, his family’s heyday long gone. His family, once known for their power and prestige, had long been reduced to shadows of their former selves. The house they once owned, grand and full of life, now stood silent, its halls crumbling and burying a history of glory that felt like a distant dream now. The marriage proposal had come as a last-ditch effort to pull them from the gutter.

The decision was not easy, nor something they thought would come so soon. But in the last attempt to upkeep their relevance and have some sort of hope for their heritage, they offered their heir to a longstanding ally. Perhaps accepting the proposal was Björn’s family’s attempt to uplift their image, which had been shattered after the last conflict, turning them unpopular in people’s eyes. His family was convinced Sigurd’s integrity was supposed to conceal the tarnish in Björn’s name.

The troubled prince understood the stakes. This union, fraught with problems, was not just about their personal wishes. It was about preserving something far greater. It was a lifeline for them. But recognizing that still didn’t make the mental anguish any less painful.

Björn snapped out of his thoughts, his mind drifting back to the present as he noticed Magnus slowly pulling himself up to sit straight. The Dane cleared his throat, “A piece of advice, if I may?”

“...For this one time, I’ll allow it.”

“Marriage is just a piece of paper,” he said with a mentor-like warmth to his voice. “No one is going to control how you and Sigurd go about things. As long as you two handle your responsibilities, it’s enough.”

Björn raised his brow, but Magnus continued, “You’re marrying your best friend after all. Sounds better than marrying a stranger, no?”

Magnus didn’t get an answer to his comment—just an empty gaze from his friend. The silence hung thick between them. Though Björn’s face remained stoic, his eyes betrayed him. Conveying a clear unease, which he let out as a grouch.

"He will hate me."

#hws sweden #hws norway #hws denmark #sunor #my writings #AUs

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fixfoxnox · 2 years ago

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Hii gmorning/night/evening! Hope you are having a really nice day.

I don't quite know if you're doing a platonic request, but if you can. Can I request maybe a fic or maybe a scenario, Tf141 and younger reader (younger than gaz himself) whose father is makarov himself and on one mission when Tf141 were capturing makarov the reader were forced to do the interrogation on their own father (the reader did it with professionalism ofc), makarov.

How would the Tf141 react when they found out that makarov was the reader father maybe around a day after the mission ended, the reader been in a both deep thought and sour mood when the mission ended. (Poor reader was trying to not punch cry on spot when he see makarov)

Anyway! Just that I hope it's not that confusing 👉👈 have a nice day!

Fun fact, if we're using Makarov's age in the OG game reader could be like as old as like 27 or so depending on how old Makarov was when they were born (Makarov is 47 when he dies in the OG games so he's like 46-47 during the events of the game)

Task Force 141 With a Platonic! GN! Reader Who is Makarov's Child

Characters: Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap, and Roach

Warnings: Brief injury to reader

"Vladimir Makarov," they made their way into the room carefully, catching the attention of the man currently tied to the chair in the center of the room. Makarov tilted his head at them, a smile quirking up his lips. "We have to talk. If you answer my questions, this will go easy for you. If you don't, I'll have to pass you over to someone with a lot more bloodlust than me."

Makarov paused for a moment before a chuckle left his lips. The sound of it echoed around the room. They grit their teeth as the almost taunting noise bounced around their head. "Makarov? Really? Is that how this is going to be?" Makarov's voice was low and careful and that grin remained on his lips.

"Would you prefer it if I just referred to you as the fucking terrorist?" they shot back, trying to avoid the obvious tension in the room.

"You could call me father. That's what I am, aren't I? Your father."

"Not right now," they stood taller, but all of their body felt tense. This was not a situation they ever wanted to find themself in, but the team had all unanimously voted. They would try Makarov first. If only the team knew why that was such a bad idea. "Right now, you're Vladimir Makarov, head of the Ultranationalists. A Russian terrorist group."

Makarov shook his head, a low tutting noise escaping his lips, "Now, now, that isn't how this works. I'm always your father, whether you're on the," he eyed them disdainfully for a moment, "wrong side of things or not."

Their father was taunting them. He wanted to get a reaction out of them. They could tell with just the way he talked. They'd seen him do it to enough people over the years to know what to watch out for. As odd as it was and as much as they hated to admit it, it helped that Makarov was who he was to them. It helped them see what was happening. They decided to change the subject.

"The girl. Where is she?"

Makarov gave a low hum and leaned back in his seat casually, "You know you used to stand like that when you wanted a treat from a store. A bit of candy or something." They tensed a bit, quickly shifting their position to something different. It pulled a chuckle from Makarov and made their face burn an angry red, "I suppose all things change with time."

"The president's daughter," their voice was a bit harsher than they meant for it to be and they knew it was because of their father's taunting. They took a moment to calm themself, "Where is the president's daughter?"

"I miss the days when you were so little and starry-eyed," Makarov sighed wistfully, "You used to hang off of my arm."

"Answer the question."

"I wish that you would drop this act of rebellion," Makarov narrowed his eyes at them, "Finally come home. There is a welcome place for you right at my side. There is always a place for family."

"This isn't a rebellion!" Their hands clenched at their side. Despite the fact that their father was the one restrained, despite the fact that they were the one standing with supposedly all of the power in the room, they felt like a helpless child. There were warring feelings in their chest, anger toward their father, and an ache for the family that they loved and missed. This was the problem. Their father was a terrible person, they'd accepted that. It didn't mean that they didn't love him. It didn't mean that they didn't feel like a petulant child when their father scolded them like this. They hated it. "This is an interrogation and you are going to tell me what I want to know!"

They stepped closer to their father threateningly, but it only pulled a grin from Makarov. "Am I?"

"Yes!"

Makarov tilted his head at them and gave them a look of pity, "No, I don't think I am."

The sound of a loud pop met their ears and they quickly found themself surrounded by darkness. The only think they remembered after their vision went dark was a brief flash of their father standing over them and a hand briefly stroking over their forehead.

Price:

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"What?" Their head shot up from where they'd been furiously scribbling at their paperwork. Despite their hard scratches, they'd barely managed to get anything done with the reminders of their failed interrogation from the previous day. Their pounding headache and the cut along their face certainly weren't making it easy for them to forget.

Price stepped into the room slowly and closed the door behind hi.. There was a long moment where he just stood and watched them, unmoving. "You're Makarov's kid." They froze and their pen snapped in half in their hand. Price's eyes shot down to it before moving back up to watch their face. There was a long moment of tense quiet that fell over the room before, "The IT department was able to piece together a part of the footage from yesterday."

"Price," they started carefully, their voice quiet, "I don't-"

"Why didn't you tell us," Price asked again, stepping toward them carefully. His voice wasn't harsh. In fact, he sounded almost soft with the way that he spoke, "We wouldn't have sent you in if we knew."

"That's why I didn't tell you," they responded quietly. "I'm capable of doing the interrogations. I'm capable of doing the missions." Their voice steadily grew louder and louder, anger burning at them at the reminder of why they'd been so afraid to tell anyone in the first place. At the reminder of how their father's choices could impact their life so easily. "Just because he is my," they cut themself off with a growl before continuing, "my relationship with him doesn't change how well I can do my job! He's a terrorist, and no matter who they are, my job involves stopping terrorists."

Price settled for a moment, watching them closely. "You should have told us," he settled on after a moment. When they went to respond, they were met with a hand from Price, silencing them. "Not because I don't think you can do your job." Price moved around the table, settling next to them carefully, "Because if I had known, I never would have made you go into that room. Whether you can handle it or not, you shouldn't have to." He paused for another long moment, watching their reaction closely. "Are you alright?"

They had to think about the question for a long moment. Were they alright? After so many years, after hunting him with the rest of the team, after viewing him as nothing more than a dangerous and unhinged man, they'd come face to face with Makarov and were forced to acknowledge the relationship they had with him. Forced to acknowledge the fact that he was still their father and that, despite their best efforts, they still cared about him. They hated it. It had been tearing them up since the wall had been blown open and their father had escaped.

"I don't know," they finally settled on after a moment. They buried their face in their hands, shaking their head at themself. Their father was a terrorist. He didn't deserve their sympathy or love. They could hear Price shift and, a moment later, there was a hand rubbing against their back. "I should be fine. I should only be upset that he escaped but...I don't know. I haven't seen him in so long. Then...that."

Price was silent for several moments, just offering comfort with a hand on their back, rubbing soothing circles against their skin. They just sat like that for a moment and, despite the silence, it actually seemed to help. It was nice just to know that Price was there, to know that the other man cared enough to sit with them like this. "You know," Price started finally, "It's okay to care about him still. He's your family, whether you like it or not. You can care about someone and still know that they're a bad person. It doesn't make you a bad person."

"I don't know if that applies here," they snorted and looked up at Price with wet eyes, "he's a terrorist."

"And you recognize that," Price nodded to them, his face serious. "But you can't just expect all of the memories, all of the love, all of it to just disappear. It's okay." There was a short moment that passed before they were rushing up from their chair to wrap Price up in a hug, their face buried into his shoulder.

"Thank you," they managed to mumble out. They were still conflicted. they still felt guilty. They didn't think that would be going away any time soon. But it certainly helped to have someone like Price around to provide them with a bit of comfort in times like this.

Ghost:

"You know, hiding like this won't do anything for you."

They looked up from where they were moving boxes around, just glancing at where Ghost was leaning in the doorway, watching them as they moved around the room. "I'm not hiding," they called back, turning their attention once again to the boxes they were moving.

Niether themself or Ghost spoke for several moments. They continued moving boxes around the small record room, trying to avoid Ghost's gaze as he watched them. "So," Ghost started finally, "You aren't hiding you just...decided to reorganize the record room on your off time?"

"I'm not off," They responded, still trying to avoid the conversation that Ghost clearly wanted to have.

"You're on medical leave," Ghost responded easily.

"I'm trying to stay busy."

"Boring way to keep busy." They stopped suddenly, dropping the box they'd picked up back onto the table with a huff.

They turned to glare at Ghost, leaning against the box for support, "What do you want?" They threw their hands in the air, "If you're so certain that I'm hiding, why not leave me alone?"

"Because," Ghost pushed himself off of the wall and stepped fully into the room, casually walking toward them, "We need to talk about the fact that Vladimir Makarov is your father."

They tensed at the words, their face crumpling under the gaze of Ghost's unmoving mask. It was times like this that they hated Ghost's mask, times when they wanted to be able to read what their lieutenant was thinking but couldn't because of that stupid mask. They avoided his gaze, desperate to have something other than that blank mask staring at them.

"Look at me," Ghost ordered after a long moment of tense silence. They begrudgingly listened, turning their gaze to meet Ghost's eyes through the mask. "Why didn't you tell us?"

They didn't answer at first, they just clenched their jaw and resisted the urge to look away. "Does it matter?" They finally landed on, "I figure I'm fired anyway."

"Fired?" Ghost tilted his head at them, "Why would you be fired?"

They scoffed, "My dads a terrorist that we've been actively hunting and I never said anything. If that's not grounds for firing I don't know what is."

Ghost gave a low chuckle, "I will admit, it wasn't the best choice on your part, but you aren't fired." Their entire body seemed to deflate at the words and they were quick to lean against the table for support as relief flooded through them, "Is that why you've been hiding? Because you thought you were going to be fired?"

"Wouldn't you hide too?" They glanced at Ghost out of the corner of their eye, watching him carefully as he watched them. A moment passed before Ghost was moving forward to wrap a comforting arm around their shoulders.

They were frozen at the move. It wasn't often that Ghost did anything like this, so, in the moment, it was a surprise to them. After a long tense moment they relaxed into his arms, accepting the comfort that he was trying to offer them. "Our team," Ghost spoke quietly, "We're a family, you understand that? You're family, no matter where or who you came from."

They tucked closer to Ghost's chest at the words, trying to fight back the tears stinging at their eyes. It was nice to hear those words from Ghost, to be reassured that, just because the team knew the truth, didn't meant that anything would change.

"You know we're still going to have to talk about you keeping this a secret, right?"

"I know," they spoke quietly, "I know."

Ghost gave a short nod, but didn't say anything else. He just continued to press them tight to his chest in a comforting hug.

Gaz:

"Hey, are you in here?" Gaz slowly opened the door to their room. He'd been knocking for the past minute with no response, so he'd decided the best option would be to just open the door and see if they were inside or not.

Their bedroom was dark with all of the lights in the room turned off and any of the windows blocked by heavy blackout curtains. For a brief moment, he was sure that they weren't in the room and that he'd been told wrong by Price, that disappeared when he saw the crumpled lump on their bed.

He gave a deep sigh, a small bit of amusement running through him at the sight of what was clearly his friend tucked into a ball under their sheets. "Were you ignoring me?" he asked after a moment.

"Go away," They groaned from the bed, "I don't want to talk to anyone."

"You can't just sulk in here all day," Gaz moved toward the bed and carefully lowered himself to sit next to them. He didn't try to coax them out from under the blanket, not yet. "I know that the past few days have been hard, but-"

They snorted from under the blanket, "Hard? My dad, a terrorist, kidnapped the Russian presidents daughter, allowed himself to be captured as a distraction and to taunt me and managed to get away completely free. What did I get out of it? A concussion and a scolding from Laswell and Price for not telling them anything. Hard is too light of a descriptor."

Gaz winced a bit, "At least we found the president's daughter?" His word were met with a groan and a hand shooting out to grab a pillow and smack him with it. He gave a short chuckle before leaning back against the bed, purposefully laying over their legs. "You have to understand how we feel, though, right?"

"I know," Their voice was quiet and it sounded weak to Gaz's ears. "I understand if you guys hate me. I know I shouldn't have lied."

"We don't hate you," Gaz assured quickly, "It's just shocking is all. I mean, I personally was firmly on team Makarov is definitely a virgin," he was smacked with a pillow again. Gaz gave a laugh and, even though they tried to hide it, he could feel laughter shaking their body as well. "Also you two just," he shrugged, "don't seem very similar."

"You'd be surprised," they muttered from under the sheets, "I actually take after him in a lot of ways. It's just I'm not a terrorist."

"Well," Gaz grinned, "personally I'm glad to hear that." There was another long moment of silence that sat between the two. They stayed buried under their blankets as Gaz stared up at the ceiling, trying to decide what to say. "You know we don't hate you? Right? None of us do."

They shifted under the sheets and were quiet for a long moment before responding, "Why don't you? I lied. My dad's a fucking terrorist."

"Your dad is a terrorist," Gaz agreed, "You aren't. You can't choose who you were born to. I'm sure if you could, you'd have chosen some celebrity and be living a life of luxury right now." They gave another small laugh from under the covers at those words and Gaz considered it a success. "And, well, we understand why you lied. We might not like it, but we understand. Just, uh, please tell me that your uncle isn't like...a war criminal or something?"

They gave another laugh at the words, "Don't worry, my dad is the only fucked one in the family."

"That's a relief."

The two stayed like that for several more moments. Gaz didn't move, he planned to stay as long as he needed to. As long as it took to cheer them up. After a few minutes, they slowly poked their head out from under the covers, their eyes meeting Gaz's carefully. "Thank you, for this."

"It's what friends are for," Gaz gave them a soft smile. They returned it with one of their own.

Soap:

"You really shouldn't be here," Soap's voice was filled with concern, but they ignored it and continued doing their reps, sweat dripping down their face. "Didn't the doctor say you had a concussion? The last think you should be doing is lifting heavy shit right now."

They gave a deep sigh and racked the weights they were lifting to slowly push themselves into a sitting position on the weight lifting bench. they turned to glare lightly at Soap, a sigh leaving their lips. "I need a distraction."

"There are safe ways to be distracted," Soap responded, stepping closer to them. He was in his own workout gear, likely having come to the little gym on base for his daily session.

"You're right," They responded, standing up from the bench, "I'll go to the gun range instead."

Soap snorted, "Yeah, I'm sure that will be great for the concussion too." He gave a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest, watching them closely. "You know you don't have to do this, right?"

"What?" They responded, grabbing their water and towel. They had an idea of what Soap was talking about, but it really wasn't something they wanted to discuss at the moment. Really, they would probably prefer it if they never had to discuss it again.

"This," Soap motioned to them, "The training and the pushing yourself. I can see what you're doing. You should be resting." He sent them a stern look that really wasn't befitting of him.

"Alright, captain," they rolled their eyes, "I'm not doing anything. I'm just trying to find a distraction, something to pass the time. No need to look into it so much."

It was Soap's turn to roll his eyes at them, "You really think I'm going to buy that?" He gave a deep sigh and stepped forward to put his hands on their shoulders and guide them to sit back down on the weight bench, "Listen, I get that you're upset with yourself and you're blaming yourself."

"Soap-"

"But what happened wasn't your fault, okay?" Soap shook his head at him slowly, "It could have happened to any of us. And if it was any of us but you, I hate to say it but we'd probably be dead right now."

They clenched their jaw and looked away from him. "I should have known what he was doing," they tightened their fists into a ball, "I did know what he was doing and I still couldn't do anything to stop him." They looked up at Soap with harsh eyes, "What good am I to the team if I can't keep my head on straight when he's around?"

"Don't talk like that," Soap dropped into a squat in front of him, his eyes soft as he spoke, "You weren't prepared, none of us were. We all should have been paying more attention, we all should have known that something was going on." He shook his head and took one of their hands into his own, giving it a comforting squeeze, "You can't blame yourself."

"I'm," they hesitated for a moment, "I'm worried. What if he's able to get to me again? When it's more serious?" He shook his head at Soap, "I can't let that happen. I can't put you guys in danger because I can't get past my relationship with him."

"And you won't," Soap assured, "The next time we run into your father, we'll all be more prepared. You won't be alone. We'll be there to keep him from getting in your head." He gave another squeeze to their hand, "You just have to trust us."

There was a moment of silence between the two for a few moments. Finally, they nodded. "I trust you guys," their words were quiet, but they pulled a grin from Soap. "Thanks, you know, for this."

Roach:

"Course, that's what I'm here for." Soap popped up to his feet and held a hand out to help them up, "Now, come on, I say we go get something sweet and see if we can talk Gaz into letting us bully him on Mario Kart."

There was a hesitant knock on their door and they wanted to groan. They knew that it had to be another member of the team come to try to talk to them. The other members of the 141 had been trying for hours to get them to come out of their room, but they'd turned them all away. They didn't want to talk to them. They didn't want to have to explain.

"Go away!" They called, frustration eating at them.

"It's me," they recognized the voice as Roach's immediately.

"I said go away," they huffed, "tell Price that I'll come out to talk when I'm ready."

There was a quiet moment before Roach was calling, "I'm not here to talk about that, not unless you want to. I brought you food."

That caught their attention. They hadn't left their room in hours, too afraid of being cornered by the team. While it had worked great at keeping the team away, it had left them feeling terribly hungry. So the idea of food, food made by Roach especially, sounded incredible at that moment.

"Promise that you actually have food and aren't just trying to get me to open the door?" They stood from their bed and hesitantly started over, waiting for a response from Roach before actually letting him in.

"I promise," Roach called back. "I even brought dessert and drinks."

With those words they were quick to open the door and tug Roach inside, closing and locking it behind him. "Thank god, I'm starving." They were quick to grab the little bag that Roach was carrying and take off toward the small table in their room, unloading the several containers of food, drinks, and plates that Roach had packed for them. "You're a life saver."

"Yeah," Roach chuckled nervously, "Well, I may have lied a bit."

They looked up at him, betrayal on their face, "You're here to talk about my dad, aren't you?" Roach nodded slowly, an apologetic look on his face. "Traitor," They gave a sigh and collapsed into a seat at the table, "I can't believe you would use food against me like this."

"I'm sorry," Roach moved to sit next to them, "it was the only way I could think to get inside. But, hey," he slid one of the containers of food toward them, "Won't it be easier to talk about with a baked potato and steak to eat while we do it?"

They groaned a bit and took the container from him to begin loading food onto their plate. Roach was right, at least if he had to talk about it he could have some good food to go with it.

"Alright," they didn't speak until they finally had all of their food laid out and could start digging in to the meal, "Go on, ask what you need to."

"Why didn't you tell us that Makarov is your dad?" Roach spoke through eating his own food, digging into his own steak casually, as though he wasn't asking them such a loaded question.

They sighed, taking a few bites before responding, "I was worried Price would take me off of the missions. That he wouldn't let me help." There was a moment of silence where the two just ate, letting the words sit between them. "I want to help take down my father."

Roach watched them closely as he took a drink, just observing their face to try and read if what they said was the truth or not. "That's a lot," he finally landed on, "I mean...no matter what, he's your dad, right?"

"He's a terrorist," they snapped quickly.

Roach held his hands up in surrender. "I know that and I know that you know that," he clarified, "it doesn't change the fact that he's still your father." He paused for a moment before adding, "You know it's okay for this to be hard for you, right? None of us are going to judge you struggling with this. We're not going to doubt your ability to do the job."

They seemed to deflate at those words, all of the fight gone from their system. "I don't want to let you guys down."

"You aren't going to let us down," Roach's tone was serious. "You're strong, I've got faith that you can handle this. I just want to make sure that you know that you don't have to handle it. You don't have to be strong."

"I know," their voice was quiet, it was clear that Roach's words had helped a bit with the worry that seemed to be plaguing them. They'd managed to calm down enough to continue talking through the issue with Roach, venting their frustrations as they ate.

At the end of it all, they felt a million times better about everything. Roach had reassured them and talked things over with them. "That was a lot," Roach clicked the lid back on to one of the food containers, packing everything up. "I'm proud of you for talking about it."

"Thanks," they gave him a slight smile, "I feel a lot better. Thanks for listening."

Roach gave them a bright grin, "Of course, I'm always willing to listen. Now," he pulled another container from the bag and pulled the lid off, holding it out to them, "How about some cookies to make you feel even better?"

#gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #captain john price #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #captain john price x reader #gary roach sanderson x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gender neutral reader #task force 141 x reader

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peachymilkandcream · 1 year ago

Text

My Husband, My Monster|Part 1|William Afton x Wife!Reader

(A/N: So this is the fandom that won the poll! I'll try and keep these and Break Me Slowly regular, but still feel free to give me requests for both in my inbox, I do oneshots and headcanons as well as I'll answer your questions and comments! (Please just read the rules first) I think I have a general timeline and idea of the lore [It's FNAF lore it's complicated as fuck] so I'm going with my best guess on things. Hope you guys enjoy!)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, power imbalance, age difference, manipulation, mind breaking, yandere themes, yandere behaviours, domestic violence, misogyny, violence, William's a warning himself, etc.

=============================================

Who knew that a bit of twisted words and cash made all of your problems go away? William had struggled to stay open with Henry Emily's company showing such strides in mechanical technology. He was still wearing homemade cloth suits while his rival had dancing puppets that children adored. His dreams and ideas were being stolen right out from under him in his eyes, rolling in mountains of debt and the threat of closing down looming over his head. They were his characters, his dream, his business idea, and the bastard had to steal it and make it better. Even though he had bought William out of debt all those years back, it didn't change the sting of defeat when the two businesses merged.

Now he didn't regret it, Fredbear's Family Diner was just starting out but it was already projected to be a success. His characters took centre stage and had never been more alive, delighting young and old alike, his legacy started now.

Which is when he noticed the girl sitting at a table with her friend, they were giggling and laughing together over some inside joke. William had always had a soft spot for pretty girls, his more reckless years spent taking what women offered him freely, now he didn't have the time.

However for this girl he might just be able to make the time.

Casually he walks over, pretending to just be passing by, when he spies the job application she's filling out on the table and catching snippets of their conversation.

"I'm just saying, you're not going to have time for school while getting even a part time job." The friend was saying this, a slightly concerned expression on her face. "And now offence, you're not the brightest bulb, you need all the time to study that you can get."

"Well thanks." She mutters, giggling slightly. "But I can't afford college with my situation now. Mom and Dad agreed to pay for most of it, but-" She hesitates with a blush. "I want the full college experience."

"Ooh~" Her friend seems intrigued. "My best friend finally loosing her innocence? Scandalous."

She scoffs. "Look I just haven't found the right guy yet, it'll happen when it happens."

At this William can't help but interject. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but glance over your shoulder and see you're applying for a job here."

She meets his eyes, and man was he a sucker for a pretty face. "Yeah I am, are you a manager here?"

He chuckles a little. "No actually, I'm the owner." While co-owner was technically true he liked to tell people he owned it solely to give himself an ego boost. "If you wanted, I could do the interview right here."

"Wait really?"

"Actually, she's fine, thanks, she's going to get a job with my mom or something. Come on let's go-" Her friend slides out of the booth, trying to drag the woman with her.

"Well I'm going to be brutally honest with you here ma'am, for a girl your age your options are going to be extremely limited. And even though the pay isn't great it's a great experience."

She stops, considering his words before waving off her friend. "Go ahead, I think I'll still fill it out, never hurts."

"If you'd like I can interview you right now, save some time."

"Oh wow that would be awesome-"

"Seriously? Listen, this guy gives me a weird feeling, let's just go okay? And I'll find you something better." The friend again reaches for her to come along, but the girl refuses.

"I'm serious, go on and I'll tell you how it went later."

With a huff her friend leaves, a clearly annoyed expression evident on her face.

William regains his composure before sitting across from her. "So, a job. Tell me what you can do." He crosses his hands on the table in front of her, a smile easily coming to his face.

"Well, I was thinking I would be a good server, I'm good with people, especially kids, and I love to clean. I can cook pretty well too but I think something at this scale would be too much for me." She laughs a little, clearly trying to ease a little nervousness.

He joins in on her laughter, hoping to make her comfortable around him, since that's what he wanted. "I suppose that's fair. Out of curiosity, why is it you want this job?" She was hired already, that he knew, a pretty face with a nice ass? What more could you want from an employee?

"Well I'm in college, and I want to be able to afford just some extras to really experience that life before it's too late."

"College?" He feigns interest, in his opinion all she was doing was wasting her most fertile years and her money. If she's halfway decent at any of her qualifications then she'd easily find a rich enough man like him, pop out a few kids and have a truly fulfilling life. "Can I ask what for?"

"Psychology, the human mind has always fascinated me."

"Oh yes definitely." He suppresses an eye roll, even more of a useless degree, maybe he could help this girl from throwing her life away because she thinks deep thoughts will make her money. "Then I should ask for your class schedule for hours."

"Right, I always keep it with me because I'm always forgetting." She giggles again, pulling it out of her purse and handing it to him. "I cannot work these times but anything else I'm there."

Wanting these hours to know when not to schedule this girl was the last thing on William's mind. "Well I'll do what I can, but it's not that easy, you have to be flexible in the real world."

"Of course, I understand that sir."

"William, call me William. My grandfather was sir and my father was Mr. Afton, so I'm just William." He flashes another smile, coaxing one from her lips as well.

"Alright, William." She tests his name out on her tongue with a soft smile and a subtle blush, the poor girl clearly hasn't been within five feet of a man before.

"Now Miss, have you had any work experience prior to this?"

"No, I haven't, this sounds entitled but I've never really had the need to up until now?"

"There's nothing wrong with that, although I'll need to teach you the proper dynamic between employee and employer. But I trust that won't be a problem, right?"

"Not at all sir-er-William. I'm more than happy to learn."

"Good, all you need to know is that I'm your friend, but I have authority over you so you need to follow what I say without question."

"Why without question?"

Oh she was so naive. "Insubordination, it's grounds with which you can be fired. So best not to stray too far towards that right?" He winks.

"Absolutely-" She shivers slightly.

"Then if that's it..." He draws the moment out for it to seem authentic. "Welcome to Fredbear's Family Diner and we're happy to have you on the team." He extends a hand to shake, which she grasps eagerly, her rows of white teeth on full display.

"Oh thank you so much! When do I start?"

"We'll have you start next week, let's say, Monday."

"That's perfect, that's so perfect-" She glances at the door. "I really should go, I think I've pissed her off enough as it is, thank you for your time." She shakes his hand and hurries out the door.

"Oh trust me, don't worry about it." He watches her go, a small smile coming to his face.

This was just the beginning.

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