#i am sorry in advance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bryhoney · 1 month

Text

Recognisance pt. 1

This is literally my first post, please go easy on me lmao - the slowest of slow burns between AdoptedWalker!Reader x Keegan P. Russ. TW: Kidnapping and Torture. Set two years after the events of COD Ghosts.

On AO3! Semi-Regular updates :)

This has barely been proofed - so, sorry in advance!

Pt.2

"NO!"

It's a man's voice, you don't recognise it. He sounds panicked, his voice is ragged and hoarse. His scream grows louder and louder until it's a deafening ring and-

You jolt awake, crying out in pain. Every part of your body hurts and the ringing in your ears is agony.

Your chest feels tight as you try to orientate yourself, you're in a room you don't recognise. It's sparsely decorated and looks medical, it's not often used.

It takes you only a second to notice the three silhouettes that stand in the corner of the room, effectively blocking your only exit. You lurch into a sitting position, pushing yourself backwards in the bed.

Panic floods your system, you don't recognise any of them. You have to get up, get back to-?

Get back to who?

The man standing closest to your bed is older, with greying hair and lines around his eyes. He pushes himself of the wall and you take note of the sheer size of him. He's muscular and clearly disciplined. A threat.

Your eyes scan rapidly for any sort of weapon, something that could offer some vestige of protection. Nothing.

He raises his arms in mock surrender as he approaches, "How do you feel?" His voice is deep, gentle and entirely unfamiliar.

W--g. Wrong. Wrong.

Your voice wavers, "Stay back!" You're pushing yourself even further away from him as you frantically try to assess the best way to escape these men.

"Hey, hey" he continues, your breathing is rapid and shallow.

Where's ----? I am - ------ and I am ---. I have been ---------.

Your hand instinctively reaches to the top of your thigh, your fingers find only the thin medical gown you're wearing.

Where's my -----?

What are you looking for?

"Do you know where you are?" He asks, he's at the end of your bed now. You realise that you can't escape this situation in your current state, you try and level your breathing and maintain eye contact.

"No." You grit the words out, you hate the way your heart sinks.

The man nods, a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips.

Stop it. Stop it.

"Do you know who I am?" He continues, his voice still calm as he moves to sit at the foot of the bed. His movement spurs you into action, you carefully swing your legs off the bed, just in case.

"No" You answer again, your hands fisting the bedsheets as you focus on keeping your breathing level. What the fuck is happening.

"Control your breathing ----. You're --- ------- when --- -"

Whose voice was that?

"I don't-" your voice falters and cracks. If they didn't know you were scared before, they do now. Stupid.

"Stop giving them the advantage"

His eyes meet yours and he exhales deeply, "My name is Gabriel. You and I work together, you were part of the Federation. Do you know what the Federation is?" As he speaks you realise he is truly unarmed, dressed in civilian clothing. The other two men are in standardised uniform, armed to the teeth.

At his words, you almost sigh in relief. It's the first bit of information you recognise. The Federation sounds familiar. It's-? E--m-. What was the Federation?

"Yes, but- I...I thought the Federation where-? I'm not part of the Federation? My house was-?" You're stumbling through scattered memories, trying desperately to assign meaning to abstract thoughts. The more you try to pin something down, the quicker it escapes.

A sudden wave of nausea washes over you. The man in front of you will hurt you. What?

"Dad! Wait! I'm not as fast as ----" It's your voice. You're young.

Where's my Dad?

The man at the end of your bed reaches towards you, covering the hand that's clutching the sheets, "It'll come back to you in time, Sweetheart". You would have flinched if you hadn't locked up in fear. Your heart thundering in your chest.

"Why can't I remember", you feel a tear roll down your cheek. You're not sure if it's borne from frustration or fear.

Safe. You're safe. Calm down.

He tenses and stands abruptly, "You were taken from us, you-" he cuts himself off, "we will get the men that did this to you- I'm just sorry it took us so long to find you".

His back is turned to you, the men that stand guarding the door seem to stand further to attention under his gaze.

This man, Gabriel, is important. He said you were someone he worked with. Were you important too?

He came back for you. He said you were taken and he came back for you.

"I don't-" you feel overwhelmed, unable to breathe.

You were taken? Why? Who took you? When? What did they do? How did you get out? Are they coming back? Are-

You shake your head, as though you can physically dispel these thoughts.

Gabriel turns to you again, "you will remember us, and you will help us get revenge for what they did to us".

Your eyes snap to his, "Us?" You stop trying to hide your fear.

He returns to your bedside and clasps your hand before he repeats, "Us".

3 Weeks Later

The chair is still the same uncomfortable plastic one as last time. You fought every urge to make yet another complaint to the man opposite you. You'd asked him to replace it for you, he'd raised his eyebrow, made some notes and said nothing.

You can remember everything since you woke up in the hospital room, just not a lot before that. However, the nightmares and flashbacks of your time with the Ghosts were becoming more vivid and frequent with each week. Sam made more notes about that.

You'd see this man almost every day, his name was Sam and that was about all you knew about him. He was assessing you apparently, monitoring your progress before you could go back to work. He applauded your short-term memory progress in the most unenthused tone you'd ever heard.

He clearly didn't want to be here any more than you did.

He'd ask the same questions every time before delving into other recovery topics.

"What's your name" his voice was monotonous, uninterested.

You reeled off your first name easily, before meeting his unamused gaze and sighing, "I'm not sure". You slouched in your seat, eyes scanning each crack in the cold concrete walls that surrounded the two of you.

"----? st-----! Get ----!" A man's voice, deep, urgent.

You fidget in the seat, "Something with a W in it? I don't know". It's the first time since you regained consciousness that you heard one of the voices. You decide not to tell the man opposite you that fun tidbit of information, you're not crazy.

He looks momentarily surprised at the omission before resuming the blank facade and furiously jotting down notes.

You knew your first name but Gabriel made it clear he wanted you to recall as much information as possible before he told you anything else. He said it would set a good foundation and allow them to track your progress better. It sounded like bullshit to you at the time but you had agreed to it all the same.

"What's your mother's name?" he continues.

You wait for another voice, a scattered memory. Nothing.

"I don't know," your teeth hurt from clenching them, you have to wriggle your jaw to ease the tension.

"Any brothers or sisters?" he pushes his glasses further up his face. Dickhead.

You hear laughing. "Got---! Yo--- -- ---o-" your hands are skimming the top of water, throwing it suddenly as ----. You hear a laugh and then your own. The sun is blinding and you can't focus on anything. Ha--y. Yo--- -a---.

"I don't know, maybe?" your eyes are closed as you try to concentrate. The sudden onslaught of shattered, unclear memories hurt to try to piece together.

"How do you know Rorke?" It's a new question.

"We worked together," you reply almost instantly. It's the only question you can confidently answer. The only answer you've been told the answer to.

“Where's —-? You came back witho—--?! —---” This time, you recognise it’s your voice. You’re scared. You’re angry. You’re screaming.

You bring your palms up to rub your eyes at the screaming. A headache is taking root and your eyes sting in frustration.

"Who is Elias Walker?" Another new question, you don't like this.

There are no memories, except a heaviness that settles on your chest. You physically shift in the chair to accommodate the weight and hope he doesn't notice.

"I wish I knew," your head is still in your hands, your elbows resting on the table.

The name is a whisper. It should mean something.

"Are you alright to continue?" His voice is absent of any concern that should be present in that question. God, you hated him.

"Yes, just annoyed" you manage.

Annoyed with you, with my situation.

Why the Federation believes that this is the most effective way of getting back your memories is beyond you. You make little to no progress with piecing together your life. Your memories are still undecipherable and scattered.

You're escorted back to your room, which lies opposite Gabriel's. You're aware that everyone on the base calls him Rorke except for you. He introduced himself as Gabriel and so you're hesitant to deviate away from this name.

He spends most of his time in the control room, meticulously planning the Federation's next move.

You'd been around him long enough to know that his main objective was the annihilation of the group of men who'd captured you. A particularly tricky group of men known as the Ghosts. An elite task force that managed to use the Federation's own weapons against Rorke. They also had an unnerving ability to kill droves of Federation soldiers without being detected.

From the limited number of redacted reports you'd been allowed to read, the Ghosts had managed to infiltrate the Federation ranks an embarrassing number of times.

It was remarkable, there was only a handful of them and yet the threat they posed was severe and entirely warranted. By the time I was retrieved, only the most loyal remained as active members.

The Ghosts had taken everything.

Rorke had succeeded in killing two of them, a man named Ajax and their former leader, 'The Scarecrow'.

It had been the remaining men, that had ripped you apart over two years of continued torture.

Gabriel had told you that the Ghosts had targeted you to get to him, you didn't ask why. You had ignored the implications of that statement. He also said you had valuable information, so you left it at that.

"Damn ---, what the ---- you doing on this?" It was a deep voice, a new one. It was almost entirely intact. You could hear the smile in their voice. It wasn't Rorke, it wasn't anyone here. It was someone you knew before.

You exhaled deeply as you crossed over the threshold of your room, closing the door and sprawling face down across your bed, groaning. You had wanted to make some notes on the voices you heard. You didn't want to forget them, but you didn't want to share them with Sam.

Any rest that you could have had was ripped away from you by two sharp knocks to the door.

"Just me," Gabriel yelled before opening the door, not waiting for any invitation to do so. He smiled at you as you scrambled off the bed to a presentable, standing position.

"You alright?" You ask, despite your initial unease about Gabriel, he was the only one to reach out to you and make you feel comfortable at the base. He was the closest thing you had to a friend.

"Jus' checking in with you, how was this morning?" He keeps his distance, crossing the room before taking a seat at your desk chair, swivelling it to face you. You follow his lead and sit at the foot of your bed.

You laugh, feeling tension roll off you, "Same as always, delightful" he seems to smile in response but says nothing else for a moment.

Gabriel doesn't come to just check in with you, he wants something.

He moves closer to you, grabbing your shoulder heavily and squeezing. It feels so familiar and yet-?

It shouldn't be him.

What?

"I'm proud of you," he says, "I know what you went through wasn't easy". He looks sincere and you feel your throat tighten.

You shrug him off playfully, smiling, "Alright, alright, what are you actually here for?"

He laughs, sitting back in his seat, "We've got some leads, need you to get on them - might have something for once". He's relaxed, crossing his arms in front of him.

You're taken aback, you'd essentially been signed off indefinitely, "You think I'm ready to - y'know, come back?". You're so hopeful and you can hear it in your voice.

Finally. You could get back to doing something you were good at. Something that had made you important once.

He laughs and you both move to stand, his arm wrapping over your shoulders as he leads you towards the control centre, "never doubted you for a second".

You're smiling. Actually smiling.

It's nice having someone believe in you. Someone who can attest to what you used to be capable of. The rest of the soldiers here avoid you, keep their eyes low as you pass them in corridors. As though you were a higher rank than them. As though you really were important.

Who were you?

#keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #logan walker #cod keegan #call of duty ghosts #what am i doing lol #i am sorry in advance #the slowest of slow burns #not proofread

73 notes · View notes

lilacxquartz · 5 days

Text

Don’t Make Me Feel Alive | Chapter 1

Kenjaku (Pseudo-Geto) x Fem!Reader

[This fic contains Shibuya Arc spoilers and is updated every Saturday.]

ABOUT: Diagnosed at an early age with an illness that slowly deteriorated your body; you went from being a promising sorcerer to a retired husk of your once former self until he found you, offering you an opportunity to live instead—not that you had a choice to refuse.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You used to be so powerful before your illness claimed you and right on your deathbed, rather than finally meeting your end, you met your salvation instead. Or did you?

TAGS/THEMES: (in the future chapters) »yandere, chronically ill reader, forced dynamic, non-con, dub-con, violence, caretaking, unrequited feelings, sorcerer reader, dead-dove, mixed pov, potential interpretations of dubious sorcery«

1. Beginning.

You were born with a disease; a terrible one too.

At first, you didn’t really notice it in your youth as the progression was initially subtle, the signs not really quite there just yet and for that duration, you were bustling with potential, a promising sorcerer with a powerful technique—a future so bright and aglow with promise.

However, all good things must come to an end and that’s exactly where you were headed.

Even if you were once sculpted with such strength and vibrancy—the illness drained away all the colour from your once saturated existence, replacing your present day life with a film of bleak monochrome, anchoring away at your body, soul and mind.

Not even your cursed technique known for its electrifying power was capable of reigniting the spark lost within you; your body relented against you, forcing you to succumb and deteriorate with not a single thing you could do.

It was a little humiliating in a way—like a bitter pill that you weren’t quite ready to swallow and yet here you were, forced to face reality whether you wanted to or not.

It felt strange being on your deathbed in your mid twenties, but it wasn’t all too bad.

The doctor who oversaw you did her best to offer comfort, assuring you that it likely wasn’t your time just yet, but she didn’t feel what you did, she didn’t understand your body the same way that you did. It was close, almost time for you to go, but strangely you didn’t quite mind. Whether it was your final week or your final day, you felt excited; you wanted to rest.

This was a sickness that made you feel weak after all, so tired and terribly sore.

So when you felt that strangely alluring pull invite you to a place you probably shouldn’t quite tempt going to just yet, you found yourself unable to resist the promise of a good sleep. Maybe even, with some luck, it could last forever and you would never have to live out your days in pain again.

To finally be devoid of suffering.

To drift off into oblivion, lost in an eternal void.

And yet, as you succumbed to the total darkness that otherwise awaited you, there was a strange sensation that manifested in the waking world—an interference of some kind? It felt as though unseen hands reached out to grab you, interrupting you from going under a final time and pulling you back to the surface, forcing you to live another day.

Your eyes reluctantly opened, feeling that something was off.

You were being monitored—watched by something, someone.

Your eyes focused on the person who stood before you, meeting with his chilling gaze from a stare so vacant and devoid of humanity, that he could have been the devil himself.

The stranger greeted you with cold indifference, bordering contempt as he continued to guide his gaze, the palms that he had initially planted firm against your chest now slowly moving away, having successfully done something that you couldn’t quite understand; your body still felt sore and yet, the pull of the void wasn’t so strong anymore.

Did he just give you life?

“It would be such a waste of a good technique if you were to die right now, you know,” the stranger spoke, his voice calm and deliberate, laced with a threat that he kept hidden well.

“What good is it if I can’t use it?” you croaked in response.

His lips curled into an amused smile as he heard your question, those soulless eyes finally ablaze with life, a flicker of something almost human.

“You can. Or, at least, I can make it so that you will be able to again.”

“Impossible,” you denied, knowing fully well that your body didn’t work the way you wanted it to, no matter how many times you have tried before.

“Don’t be so sure,” he persisted, his voice ringing almost melodic as he continued to fill your mind with ideas you couldn’t quite believe, “don’t you want to live your life again?”

You sighed into a nod, however not trusting the stranger just yet. There was something incredibly off-putting about him, seeming just a little too calculated and methodic, as if danger lurked behind his promising words.

“I mean, I want to, but…” you began.

“Sleep on it,” he told you, seeming to tease you as his widening grin revealed his teeth, “you were about to anyway, weren’t you?”

“Y-yeah, but-”

“Then do so,” he said, taking a step forward, “dream.”

The strange man’s words felt strangely hypnotic as you found yourself exhausted once again. A part of you wondered if this was some sort of hallucination already, perhaps one of those dreams that people could have as their bodies closed up shop, even if you did clock it as unfortunately real.

You closed your eyes as you let the pull of the void take you under once more, feeling the strangely familiar touch of unseen hands tugging away at your body once again, pulling your soul back up to the surface, preventing you from fading away. It was again that you felt haunted by a looming danger, your eyes blurring to focus awake.

When you finally properly awoke, you took immediate note that you weren’t in the hospital anymore despite being hooked up to similar machinery.

Where exactly were you?

As you sat up to make sense of your surroundings, your eyes scrolled around the room in a surge of desperation—your gaze begging for a clue, only for your stomach to drop as your body froze. Right by the door, he stood there, that same man from before with his creepy, unsettling smile.

“I will be honest with you though, you might not like what you’ll have to do,” the strange man spoke, his words flowing as smoothly as they did before.

“Which is…?” you asked, sounding a little resigned. Of course there was a catch, there always was.

“You’re going to be helping me with something.”

You blinked, “And that’s bad?”

“Given your prior alignment, I’d say so,” he smiled as he took a step closer, his fingertips brushing against your cheek, “but worry not, you will live should you accept.”

“But what if I refuse?” you dared to ask, your voice barely a whisper as his touch seemed to dampen your ability to speak.

“Don’t be silly,” he replied with a softer tone, his black eyes boring into yours as he intensified his unrelenting gaze—his smile falling flat, “I wouldn’t let you.”

(Not even if you tried to do so again and again.)

47 notes · View notes

ladydraculena · 2 months

Text

Keep me alive (6061 words) by Dexmess Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto Characters: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler, Kaiba Seto Additional Tags: puppyshipping - Freeform, Violetshipping, kaijou, Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Unhappy Ending, Heavy Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, References to Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide Summary: For most of the funeral, he was numb. The world had moved on completely without him, as if he was far away in the distance and just a silent observer. He gazed down at the lifeless body, half expecting him to stir from his slumber. And then it crashed into the blonde like a flood. Ugly, thick tears streaked his face, combined with a heart wrenching cry, half stuck in his throat. “You can’t do that! It is not fair!”

#veronarts #puppyshipping #violetshipping #kaijou #seto kaiba #jounouchi katsuya #i am sorry in advance #drawings

29 notes · View notes

chradorya · 3 months

Text

D2 - is it over now? "I think about jumping off of very tall somethings just to see you come running and say the one thing I've been wanting"

#xiaoven #xiao #venti #genshin barbatos #genshin xiao #genshin impact #genshin venti #xiaovenweek2024 #taylor swift #kind of #i made my xvnweek entries very angsty and taylor swift related #i am sorry in advance #or maybe im not #even tho its just two more drawings because i didnt have time #and also late entries but okay bare with me #reupload because i uploaded to the wrong blog

39 notes · View notes

parental-unit-of-chaos · 1 year

Text

Lines drawn in Charcoal : Jason Todd x Male Reader.

This will be the frist writing I've ever posted online, so I hope at least some one enjoys this. @n0cturna1-m3 here ya go!

Cw: mentions of scars, childhood truama, past truama in general, body image issues and self image issues.

Living in a safehouse with Jason has a roommate had it's ups and downs, no matter how many years you've know Jason. It was no secret he had been through a lot, only a small drop of that pain he's shared. Most he keeps in his head, if to remind himself he is still alive or to torture himself to stay in control. You were never sure.

That's what made scenes like this sobering, reminding you that he's still the sweet Jason under all the walls he built up. The Jason that no matter how much he tries to hide it, to cage it, he has a heart bigger than himself. This morning, Jason choose to spend in his favorite reading spot. Slumped in the red padded chair that caught his eye, while walking past the antique store. The thought of leaving the chair or even moving an inch, melted away has soon has your fluff ball decided to join him.

The cat had falling asleep purring hours ago; Jason's attention was only focused on the book that he was half way through. And where were you? You were sat on the couch with your sketchbook and charcoal pencils, capturing each soft and rough line of the handsome man.

Making sure to get every detail and proportion right; his sharp jawline, the soft lines of his lips, his brows knitted in concentration. More importantly how relaxed he was, where he wasn't on edge and paranoid. That the next corner he turns someone will be someone with a gun pointing at him, or worse, someone he cares about.

During one of the times you were looking down at your sketchbook, Jason finally pulled out of the fantasy world he was so engrossed in. Probably from the not so subtle sound of the pencils dragging in short or long strokes on the paper.

' Whatcha drawing now?' he inquired, with his own hypothesis that you were drawing the fluffy croissant in his lap. 'Just my world' you replied causing a sign to leave Jason's lungs at how cryptic the answer was. Sure it still could very well still be the cat, you drew the little whiskered demon everytime she was still. With the vague answer though, it could be a sketch of the city, to your favorite food.

' Ya gonna give me any hints or am I gonna have to geuss on my own?', Jason knew you loved when people tried to geuss what you were drawing. He also loved the weird ass guinea pig like noise that came from your throat, when someone didn't geuss correctly. 'the sketch is of a living thing' now you were intentionally being vague to draw out the game.

' Let me geuss, is it the ball of fluff in my lap? That for some reason, you took one look at, and named spleens??', Jason interrogates with a humored toned. The unique chuckle coming from your vocal cords, was he needed to hear to know he was wrong. 'for the record I explained why I named her spleens, when I first brought her home with me. And Nope! It's a human, a handsome and strong one at that'.

Handsome and strong? Jason had to think harder with that answer; my world, handsome and strong. Was it a trick answer and you were referring to poetry? 'Atlas??', he replied, perplexed. His answer was met with more of a laugh this time, he assumed he got too far away from the answer. You laughing frustrated him,' Fine, enough of the game. I give up, who are drawing?'. He didn't care about winning anymore, just wanting to know the answer.

' It's you', the answer and smile you gave was so simply, but it cut through Jason deeper and with more weight than of of the League of assassins' blades ever could. Him? Your world? Handsome and strong? Jason couldn't see where you were coming from, or more so his insecurities wouldn't allow him too.

This had to of been a sarcastic answer and you actually drew someone else, it has to be. He's seen himself in the mirror, he knows he's not anything but disgusting. He's not handsome, his body looks like a living corpse, all the damn scars that covered his body. The walls felt like they were closing in, there was ringing in his ears. His image, his face, his body changing in the mirror being distorted. Taunting him, proving that no matter how much he tries to move on from what joker did to him, he'll never be anything more than what Joker made him. The memories of his biological father screaming about how much hates him, Batman -

' Jason!', your worried voice and your gentle hands touching his face, with the other on his arm brought him back to the present. He hadn't realized he had been shaking or the panic that exploded out of his chest. 'Breathe, you're going to past out if you don't. Focus on me, follow my pace of breathing.', he did has you said syncing his breathe with yours.

Once Jason finally calmed down fully you asked why he just had a panic attack, 'You don't have to share all of it, you can just give me the cliff notes'. He doesn't know what he did to deserve someone so understanding. 'When you said those things about me, my thoughts got the better of me. Reminding why I can't be any of those things', he stated still a little shakey.

'Do you want to see what I see you had?', he was hesitant, no he was scared to see it, but your voice sounded so reassuring. He trusted you,' If you think it would help, then yes', you gave him the finished sketch. His mind didn't allow him to believe fully that someone could see him like this, he looked normal, he looked so happy. You held his hand and flinched, like he was still on fight or flight.

'When I see you, I don't see you has your trauma or a victim. I see you has a survivor. You aren't who you are, because of joker or anyone else. You made yourself who you are, despite what happened to you.', you took a breathe giving that chance to look him in the eye.

'I read somewhere that in some Asian cultures, when a plate breaks they mend it back together with gold.', Jason felt like he couldn't breathe, he didn't know what to say. 'You aren't something that needs to be fixed has if you were brand new, that's not how truama works. But if let me, can I help mend those wounds with gold? To help build you back up?' Jason couldn't stop the tears that welded up and fell down his face. He pulled into the strongest hug he could muster, he never knew he need to hear those words, until you said them.

You let him cry has long has needed, he's been holding those emotions in for so long. He finally answers the question in a shaky voice, so small you almost didn't hear it.

'yes'

#i am sorry in advance #jason todd #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x male reader #hurt/comfort #Crow!Writes

173 notes · View notes

elliottexists · 1 month

Text

every couple weeks i find a new male celebrity to obsess over and im so sorry to all of the people that have to deal with that

#and todays man of the week!#christian borle #i am sorry in advance #falsettos

15 notes · View notes

seijorhi · 1 year

Note

I absolutely love how well you characterize Oikawa because before I read your fics, I saw Oikawa as an ambitious playboy who wouldn’t want to settle down or would have commitment issues outside of volleyball. Could you expand on your inspiration for how you drew those different qualities so well out of his canon character?

(You’re so fucking talented and phenomenal, I hope you know that💗💗💗💗💗💗💗)

so my philosophy towards writing any of my oikawa's is simple: hit it til it breaks.

oikawa, once he sets his mind on something, is relentless. he's gonna give everything to get what he wants, and in a yandere setting, that just so happens to be the reader.

now if we're talking commitment issues, as far as yandere fics go it's sort of a moot point. the character is obsessed with the reader, therefore the idea of settling down/commitment because sort of null. of course they're going to want the reader around at all times, away from everyone else, tucked away safe and sound <33

having said that, i know that that's sometimes how oikawa is portrayed in fanon, because he is charming and yes he does have lots of fangirls (and fanboys i'm sure) but... where is the canon evidence??

there is exactly one mention of oikawa having a love life in haikyuu – takeru tells kageyama that oikawa got all sad because his girlfriend dumped him, which to me doesn't give playboy vibes. it gives obsessed with volleyball to the point you forget you have a gf vibes (but you're still bummed out about it).

yes he does have fangirls, but he's not trying to hit on them like we see with say terushima, or even yahaba with yachi or the summer camp guys with kiyoko. he's charming and nice to them, maybe a little flirty but it's pretty harmless.

now in high school, i'd say yeah, volleyball is number one, the only thing on oikawa's mind. however similar to hinata, oikawa's got his own path to figuring out that pushing things to the absolute limit all the time can be hugely detrimental. plus, outside of a dark fic setting, i happen to like the idea of oikawa realising the benefits of having a support system via a partner, coming home and having that comfort/whatever. that same determination still applies, but it's a much healthier, more balanced approach.

as for a yandere oikawa (assuming we're going with a canon setting of him as a pro volleyball player) you dial back the healthy balance and push more of that, 'i want both and i'm going to have both, no matter what stands in the way' mentality. he can dominate at volleyball and work his way to be the very best, and he can and will have the reader to himself as well.

now if we're talking settling down to have a family, it's not something i blindly paint across every single one of my oikawa fics. certain iterations, like say in scion, the usual suspects or even heedless heartless, while not necessarily averse to the idea, aren't racing to knock the reader up any time soon. wife her up, sure, in a heartbeat, but that's more to tie her legally to them, because it strokes their pride and their ego, solidifies that bond.

pregnancies, and subsequently children, do also have that affect, but i think there's a lot to be said for the selfishness too, and wanting to have the reader alllll to themselves before they have to share her with a kid. as was the case with the drabble i wrote, that oikawa wasn't above using said children to manipulate the reader either. it ain't always a wholesome thing haha.

we know oikawa has a big sister, and that he's involved in taking care of takeru – or at the very least involved with babysitting/occasionally minding him. clearly oikawa cares about takeru, to me it's not so much of a leap to think that a) family matters to him and b) he'd one day see himself having kids.

my approach to writing dark takes on canonically good guys – in haikyuu's case at least, is always to take what we're given in canon and twist it to the extreme. oikawa's determined, talented, charming, a little obsessive, he's got a bit of a vindictive mean streak and he's got a bit of a complex. when i write him, i take all of those traits, dial them to eleven and then make the decision exactly how fucked up and cruel i wanna make him this time hgjfkdlknvjfkd

#i am sorry in advance #this was supposed to be like 3 sentences #turns out i have a lot of feelings and thought about oikawa #whoops #i could keep going #for several hours/metaphorical pages but #i will stop now #i promise :))#rhi answers

70 notes · View notes