#I just don’t think I could’ve ever been prepared enough for how painful this was

[captain-cheeseboi]

I’m literally never recovering

[mgparker]

keep your eyes on me

joel miller x f!reader

warnings: ANGST, stab wound, mentions of violence and blood, lots of violence actually, protective!joel, reader being moody and angsty, some gore (wound details), inaccurate stuff probably (definitely), inconsistencies for sure

word count: 6.63k UNEDITED

here’s the full version of ‘keep your eyes on me.’ i apologize in advance for the reader’s moody and angsty monologue in the intro and all that follows after. prepare the tissues?

The mission was simple.

A quick in and out, a regular check for supplies in one of the surrounding buildings of the QZ and that was it. Nothing you hadn’t done countless times already, even before Joel entered your life, and it was relatively easy.

The hardest part was sneaking past the supervised borders and even that had been figured out when you started paying one of the guards to turn a blind eye whenever you went out for a run.

It just so happened that this run had to occur in the smack-dab middle of a feud you’d found yourself in simply because you associated yourself with Joel Miller and Tess Servopoulos. 

It didn’t help that Joel, in particular, rarely associated himself with anyone at all. Perhaps that’s what made you a prime target in his dispute with his former partner Robert Navarro. 

Because Joel went out of his way to join your side more often than either of you cared to admit, it made sense that, in turn, Robert’s fury would extend to you. 

That’s how you found yourself a little more jumpy than usual, on edge as you scoured the few abandoned buildings in the far east of Boston that hadn’t been touched by common smugglers… or you. 

A crash tore you out of your compulsive thinking and you sprang into action before you could even blink. 

The end of your newly sharpened blade found Joel standing on the other side of it, a scorned look on his face mixed with a hint of annoyance. 

“You could’ve taken my eye out,” he grumbled with a slight shove as he moved past.

It wasn’t enough for you to lose your footing, but you scowled at him anyway. “Don’t expect me to apologize for your foolishness.”

“Never,” he called back from the next room. 

You pocketed the knife and sighed. 

Despite your banter, you’d consider Joel a good friend. And even that was an understatement; despite the code of living you’d created and stuck to since life had been uprooted and torn from beneath you nearly two decades ago.

Truth is, since the moment you met him, Joel Miller somehow dug his way into your rigid heart, along with Tess in some ways, but Joel was different. You weren’t sure if it was the hardened exterior that masked a broken person underneath, much like you, or something else, but it didn’t take long for his acquaintance to become friendly and then something more. 

Like it or not, the warm feeling you’d get whenever Joel would reveal a new piece of himself, no matter how meticulously small, or when he’d simply exist around you was something you couldn’t ignore.

And nowadays, as the world was quickly becoming even colder and harsher, it was a feeling you found yourself unwilling to let go.

It was near impossible to find something that inspired feelings that didn’t match the gloominess and grayness of the world around you, and now that you had, it was like a drug.

But if his knee-jerk reaction to pulling away from any type of affection or semblance of love is any indication, Joel Miller could not and would not ever feel as deeply for you as you did for him. 

And though it left a painful lump in your throat, you’d accepted it long ago.

For now, you’d stick to the passive aggressive flow you two seemed to fall into in each other’s company. It was how you two had first treated each other before you got involved in each other’s lives and it wasn’t going to change now. 

You knew for sure, despite all other uncertainties revolving your relationship, consistency is something you both needed in these trying days. 

You’d settle for it as long as he stayed in your life. 

“Find anything interesting?” You’d been silent for too long. You realized it with an awkward jolt and you set yourself back into motion.

“No,” you called back. “You?”

“The whole place has been swept clean,” Joel sighed as he came back into the room.

“That can’t be right,” you leaned against the wall and stared at your feet in confusion. “The smugglers haven’t gotten this far, I’m sure of it.”

You looked up to find Joel staring down at you with a hint of sympathy. He knew how excited you were about this one—it was a medical building. Tall with a few stories of what you’d assumed had been doctors’ offices and reception areas.

You’d been kind of right. It definitely seemed to have been an office building of some sort, desks still neatly organized in separate cubicles, but everything was pristinely empty.

No medicine, no supplies, no tools. Nothing.

“Goddamnit!” You furiously kicked a nearby desk over.

Joel continued to stare at you with the same brewing frustration. With what you were both expecting to steal and sell off, it would’ve been enough to get the battery Joel needed to get the hell out of dodge. 

Despite the trip being for the sole purpose of finding his brother, Joel knew from the moment you started splitting your illegal earnings with him, you had both feet in the door. Getting out of Boston was just as important to you as it was for him. And while it may have started out for personal gain, you started caring about Joel’s mission somewhere along the way.

And despite his best efforts against it, Joel started caring about you. Battery or not, you were here to stay. 

You were in his life.

When he focused back into the real world, you were pacing the office space, mumbling to yourself with waving hands.

“Seriously, even yesterday these cabinets had been full—”

“Yesterday?” Joel cut in with furrowed brows. “You were here yesterday?”

“Where do you think I got those prescription lenses?” You’d returned yesterday with a box full of glass lenses, not the cheap shit—actual optometrist lenses, shit that would make you a fortune on the black market once you came back for the rest. When Joel got back from work yesterday to where you, him and Tess had been shacking up (an ‘apartment unit’ that was falling apart), he’d found you sitting on your bed, grinning from ear to ear with a small box full of them.

It'd made you a good amount of ration cards and you made enough to quietly pay a man who claimed he had a functioning battery on the market. Joel didn’t know yet— you weren’t going to tell him until the deal went through and the battery was in your hand.

No point in bringing anyone’s hopes up until it was a sure thing, right?

You brushed past Joel, bristling at the thought of someone taking your fortune.

He followed you towards the door, hot on your heels. 

“You went this far out by yourself? Are you crazy?” He realized how pathetic he sounded. How it teetered too close to sounding like he cared more than he should, but he did. 

And the mere thought of you putting yourself in serious danger irked him in a raging way.

“Our options were getting limited, Joel,” you whipped around with flames in your eyes. “And it would’ve got us what we needed. If that makes me crazy, so be it.”

Protectiveness wasn’t unusual for Joel. You’d see it when anyone spoke to you in the wrong tone. How he’d snap at whoever for even looking at you the wrong way. You’ve seen it with his insistency in finding his brother. 

And you’re seeing it now.

Only this time, it didn’t cause those stubborn butterflies in your gut. It only fueled your ever-growing frustration.

Joel grabbed your arm firmly. “If something had happened to you—"

Slam!

It cut off Joel before he could finish, both of you whipping towards the doorway and looking at the stairs that led to the first floor.

“Spread out,” a gruff voice commanded below you. “They’re in here somewhere.”

“Shit,” you cursed quietly, ripping your arm from Joel’s tight grip, rushing over to hide against the wall next to the open door.

Joel did the same, a loaded pistol in his right hand, aimed across his chest toward his left. He stared at you across the doorway, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

You fell into immediate silence as Joel brought a finger to his lips, hushing you before you could utter another word.

“This is stupid, man. Everything’s untouched, are you sure they even came through—”

“Shut the fuck up. We follow his rules. We do our job, and we get paid and that’s it.”

Breath hitched in your throat, you stared over at Joel, watching his face contort with every piece of information the two idiots revealed.

“Isn’t he scared of this dude? I mean, if he wants them gone, why not come after them himself? Who knows what this Miller guy is capable of—”

“Get a fuckin’ grip, Santiago,” you nearly jumped out of your skin when his gruff voice sounded much closer. “It’s two of them against all of us. You’re a fuckin’ pussy. Don’t know why Robert chose you in the first place.”

Joel threw his head against the concrete with a roll of his eyes. But his fingers curled over the trigger and you did the same.

“I’m lookin’ out for myself,” their footsteps echoed up the stairwell. “You should do the same.”

Slowly raising your gun, your lips silently counted down.

‘5..’ Joel gave you a curt nod.

‘4’ “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Don’t talk about shit chu don’t know about.”

‘3’ You tried to check your ammo as quietly as possible.

‘2’ Something uncomfortable pricked at Joel’s stomach, staring at you as he imagined fighting side-by-side. It wasn’t his first time, but every single time got harder than the last. And this time, he wasn’t even sure how big the ambush would be. 

If something happened to you—

‘1.’

He shook his head a bit more aggressively than he meant, ignoring your questioning gaze, before swinging around the corner with his gun in one hand, blade in the other.

Instantly, the two men went to scream, but you and Joel took care of it quickly. You tried to ignore the pang of guilt in your chest as you fired your muffled weapon directly between one of the men’s eyes. 

Beside him, Joel held his partner against his front, hand over his gurgling mouth, blood spilling out the side of his neck.

Your eyes were locked on his until the man in his arms went limp and Joel let him drop emotionlessly.

You ignored the temptation to follow his body with your eyes and instead hardened your gaze toward Joel. 

It wasn’t his fault that you still hadn’t grown as desensitized as he had over the years, but your envy was hard to swallow. Even if you were better at hiding it, you knew Joel would’ve eventually noticed. Despite his careless exterior, Joel was a nitpicker, constantly inspecting, constantly searching. 

You were just glad that his faith in your abilities hadn’t wavered despite your stubborn empathetic streak. 

You refused to appear weak, especially in front of him. 

A rush of voices and footsteps pulled both you and Joel out of whatever spiral your minds had thrown you into, a calloused hand wrapping around your arm and dragging you to the center of the room and then pushing you to the right side behind a rather large desk. 

Your knees roughly hit the dusty mat in front of the workstation, and you whipped your head around to search for Joel before he could disappear within the room. 

A flash of brown hair was the only indication that your partner hadn’t left you high and dry, but you had no time to dwell on it. The door was busted down and a chorus of voices entered. 

They must’ve seen Santiago and whatever the other guy’s name was because there was a simultaneous shift in which your mind shut down everything else but the need to survive.

The sight of bullets flying registered before the sound of the shots, blood rushing to your ears and fingertips as you flew up instinctively, pulling your own trigger. 

The fight became quickly divided, a few more flocking toward Joel’s side of the floor and you felt the rush of determination more than ever. 

The adrenaline coursing through your veins as your mind chanted one thing only. 

Fight, survive, protect.

“You bitch!” A blonde came rushing toward you, face screwed in anger as he bared his teeth at you. 

He was lifting his gun, looking between you and Santiago’s body from behind your desk. You were quick to respond, lifting your weapon quicker and firing the bullet. 

You didn’t even get to see his body hit the ground. A sudden pain in your jaw blinded you, the force of a fist smashing against your face sending you tumbling into the nearest wall. 

Black spots dusted your vision and you quickly shook them away. You swung back and kicked against whoever had gotten the jump on you. 

His fist was wrapped in your hair, pulling as you fought back tirelessly. You managed to catch a glimpse of your attacker’s eyes before you were finally getting a grip on the pistol strapped to your thigh, firing into his side as he made one final move. 

Your skin tore quickly, stretching down your chest agonizingly, and you almost fell to the ground with him. 

A harrowing yell escaped you before you could help it. You’re not even sure how you managed to stumble away but you found yourself quickly pressing your hands against the knife that was still lodged in your stomach. 

Without hesitation, you ripped the weapon out. 

It was a hinderance to your survival, to Joel’s survival, and you couldn’t afford to wait on the sidelines. But then a wave of agony made you fall to your knees. 

You could hear your name being called over and over again, but then the blood was suddenly rushing into your head, your skull pounding behind your eyes.

Did you answer? Did you call Joel’s name like he did yours? God, the pain was blinding. Your hands shook violently as you tried to rip a piece of your jacket.

The fabric slipped between your fingers like water and you pulled away in frantic confusion.

Red. It was all over the place. It stained your fingers, your shirt— it wouldn’t stop. 

Why won’t it stop? 

A disgruntled breath escaped you, just as you rubbed your hands against your shirt again, and both things hit you like a freight train.

The pain, blossoming from the sharp intake of air and the contact against your ever present wound, was enough to send you tumbling in realization.

You’d ripped the knife out of your stomach. It wasn’t just a scratch. Your fight-or-flight mode seemed to override the severity of what had just happened.

“Shit,” you whispered, putting pressure against the wound despite every part of you wanting to pull away.

A distance away, Joel yelled your name again. It was desperate, enough to cut through your gaze of panic. As calm as you could manage, you threw him a glance over your shoulder. 

He was cornered again, three men surrounding him with knives and pistols. They were putting up a decent fight but it didn’t worry you. You’d seen your partner fight against greater odds and win without breaking a sweat.

As long as he stayed focused.

“I’m fine,” you called back to him, staring down at your blood-soaked hand. “Just got the wind knocked out of me is all.”

You hated lying.

The numbers behind you were slowly dwindling down...

Until suddenly they weren’t. 

A chorus of shouts emerged from the hallway to your right and a sudden rush of adrenaline numbed your pain.

You felt a flood of relief.

Joel couldn’t handle this alone. After everything you two had been through together, a stab wound was not going to take you out.

Not without a good fight before.

The grunts behind you finally died down and Joel was quick to join your side, pulling his handgun from the holster on his belt.

The action quickly started again, men flooding into the room with pointed guns.

Your finger pulled the trigger on instinct, taking down the closest man before he could make a move towards you. 

It was a series of bangs and flashes after that. Purely running off adrenaline and instinct, ducking behind whatever desks were still in one piece and flying back up with a bullet in tow.

Across the room, Joel was holding his own, clearing the room as quick as you were.

Suddenly, a bullet whizzed past your ear, close enough you could feel the rush of wind speed past you and you spun on your feet, firing before you even laid eyes on your final target.

Luckily, by the time you spotted him, the last man was dropping to the floor with a heavy thud.

Your arm fell slack, loosely gripping your pistol. 

It was silent for a few moments as you gazed over at your partner and he seemed just as winded as you.

Joel’s breaths were loud, chest heaving with exhaustion. He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees. 

“They must’ve been tipped off,” he said.

The adrenaline was slowly leaving your body. 

Weakly, you nodded. You didn’t even stop to think that he had his back turned toward you.

The air was suddenly punched out of your lungs. The pain was back, and it felt like the prick of a hundred needles. You weren’t sure you could hold yourself up much longer.

“Joel…” Your lips could barely form the word. Where did all your strength go in an instant?

He must not have heard you over his increasing anger. Joel was a loud thinker; at least, he was with you. 

For anyone else, the man was a damn puzzle that was impossible to solve. It’s what made you feel a pang of guilt, just as your legs gave out, because there was a dreadful feeling in your gut that maybe this wasn’t one that you could come back from. Not this far out from the QZ, and even then. Medical supplies were scarce and expensive, more than both you and Joel could afford even with joint forces, seeing as most of everything you had had gone into this mission.

You hit the ground hard enough to send Joel spinning faster than you’d ever seen him move. His stance was sure, gun back in his hand before you could even see it move toward his belt, ready to take on whoever else had threatened him and you.

Black dots began to fizzle the corners of your vision.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” Joel pocketed the weapon and rushed toward you. “Hey, Y/N, look at me.”

You tried. Your eyelids were too heavy.

A noise of panic left the back of his throat. “Open your eyes,” Joel grabbed your face roughly. “Look at me now!”

Startled, your eyes opened wide and a bit of awareness came back to you.

“What happened?” Joel demanded, scanning your body with urgency. His eyes zeroed in on your hands that were pressed against the wound.

Shakily, you pulled away and for a moment, he thought he was trapped in a nightmare. Blood coated your shaking palms.

“One of those fuckers got me good,” you hissed. Joel was mercilessly pressing his hands against your stomach now.

“Ease up, will you?” A flare of annoyance struck you when he pressed harder. “Jesus Christ—"

“I’m a little busy trying to save your life,” Joel gave you a hard glare. There was something in his eyes, a mix of frustration and anger and—and something else.

Joel Miller’s impeccable mask of calmness was cracking, panic seeping through the seams. 

That confirms it, you thought dreadfully. It really is as bad as I thought.

Things suddenly became blurrier than before. You squinted through the haze. “Sorry, I know. Sorry, it just—it just hurts.”

At that, he finally let up and curled his fingers around the hem of your torn shirt. As quickly as you nodded, Joel pulled the fabric up and instantly regretted it.

Though he tried hard to disguise it, you saw the drop in his expression, the disappointment in his gaze as he studied your stomach with a horrible poker face.

You looked up at the ceiling, a deeper pit in your stomach settling. You weren’t leaving this torn-up building. Not alive at least.

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, and you angrily blinked them away before Joel could see them.

“It’s not too bad,” Joel said finally.

If you had the strength, you would’ve scoffed. “Don’t lie.”

“Like you did?” He accused.

You dropped your chin to glare at him through half-lidded eyes. “We were surrounded. You were surrounded. I had no choice.”

He was looking down at your torso again and you dared to follow his gaze.

Torn skin, fiery red around the ragged edges of what had been a rather large, hefty blade. It nearly dragged down to your navel, bleeding profusely down into the fabric of your pants, likely ripped open by the rush of adrenaline that allowed you to finish the rest of Robert’s men.

“Don’t ever lie to me again,” he began to tug on your arm, dragging you up from the ground with a grunt. “Never again.”

A whine escaped you before you could stop it, teeth gritting from the blinding pain, and you had half a mind to whack Joel with all the strength you could muster.

“Fuck,” you coughed. “W-warn me next time.”

An apology was at the tip of Joel’s tongue, but he swallowed it down. He wouldn’t start going easy on you now. Not until he was sure you were out of death’s reach, and he could properly scold you for being so stupid.

“Talk to me,” he demanded as he more or less dragged you down the first flight of stairs, struggling to store his gun in the holster of his belt. His hands were shaking too badly and a wave of nausea hit him. 

“Why?” You hissed in pain, brain still foggy from the blood loss and irritated from the numbness in your legs. You weren’t making sense of anything. 

Joel bit his lip harshly. “So, I can keep you awake. You need to be alert, you hear me?”

You didn’t hear him. 

In fact, all you could hear or think or even see was blinding red, an ache so deep in your bones. You weren’t even sure if you were still dragging your feet along.

Your silence had Joel stumbling to a stop, pushing you against the wall and pinching your cheek desperately. Your eyelids were barely open. A string of mumbles left your lips and Joel firmly shook your shoulders. 

“It—” you centered yourself again. “It hurts—"

The world spun again, and you were suddenly looking straight up at the underside of his jaw, clenched in worry, eyes straight ahead as he began to hustle down the rest of the stairs with you in his arms.

As he finally made it outside, the lump in his throat got harder to swallow and something began to crack in his chest. An anxiety that he hadn’t felt since he had someone else in his arms like this, since spilled blood coated his arms and shirt.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not ever.

It was eerily quiet, only your protests that went unheard by him breaking the silence of sunset over the city, and his mind tortured him even further. 

Plaguing him with memories of when you were alive and well.

Joel knew he was in for a night of trouble when you came through the door that evening with a sly tone in your voice.

“Guess what I found today.”

“Trouble, no doubt,” Joel responded mindlessly, bottom lip pinched between the grip of his calloused fingers, troubled with memories of the past and the horrors of the possible future. 

You shrugged with a cunning smile on your face, sauntering to the ‘kitchen’ and out of his peripheral view. “Could be.”

He heard the clatter of your keys, the familiar rustle of you shrugging off your jacket, and he only looked up once you made your way to the edge of the living room. 

There was the hint of a smile on your face, as if you were containing an excitement over God knows what. It wasn’t often that he saw that particular look on your face. He secretly decided that he liked it a lot.

His gaze left your face as you pulled something out from behind your back and held it up with pride.

A dark red bottle dwarfed your hand in size, a peeling label wrapped around its front and he squinted his eyes to read the cursive inscription— ‘Tuscan Vineyards Cabernet.’

He looked up at you with wide eyes and you were full on smiling now. You walked over to him, and Joel had to arch his neck to look up at you from his spot on the floor. Gently, you handed it over.

“Can big and bad Joel Miller handle his liquor?”

“This is wine,” Joel scoffed, inspecting the bottle in his large hands. “I’d hardly consider this liquor.”

You watched as a hint of pink flooded the apples of his cheeks, despite his best efforts to ignore your teasing. The corner of your lips curled up.

“I don’t know,” you slipped the bottle out of his grip with a pointed sigh. “It’s been a while since we’ve had the good stuff. Our tolerance is probably not what it used to be.”

“Speak for yourself. I was never the first to tap out of any drinking game. That was Tommy’s job.”

You tried not to let the surprise show on your face. 

It was rare that Joel spoke about his past, and with how anxious he was to hear from his little brother, you were surprised he was bringing him up so casually. 

Busying yourself by getting up from some glasses, you threw an eyebrow raise over your shoulder. “We’ll see about that.”

Joel rolled his eyes. Even after you turned around, he kept staring at you, entranced by your fluid movements, reaching to set two glasses down and searching for a suitable knife within the stash you had accumulated in the apartment. 

There was something so normal about watching you flounce along the kitchen, eager to indulge in a treat you two hadn’t had since before the world ended. 

It was almost… domestic.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, Joel cast it away just as quickly, sharply looking away from your figure and glaring down at the carpet with a sudden anger. 

Domesticity and anything along the lines ceased to exist for Joel long, long ago. Even if an odd pang in his chest was begging him to look back at you and chase the feeling, he’d ignore it and bury it down deep inside.

He couldn’t afford to entertain such thoughts.

“Ah!” You carefully crossed the living room, two glasses full to the brim in your grip. “Finally.”

Seeing the alcohol had Joel perking up slightly, quickly accepting his cup with a familiar spark in his eye. 

“Thanks,” he grumbled slightly, still bewildered by his impulsive thoughts. Silently, he watched as you carefully lowered yourself to the ground beside him, folding your legs under yourself and letting out a sign of relief as your muscles finally took a much-needed break.

You were tempted to clink your glasses against his, and it seemed Joel had the same beat of hesitation too, but you quickly reeled yourself back in. 

This world hardly allowed for any wins, and now it was just pitiful to raise your glass in this day and age.

A nod will have to do, Joel decided first, and you gratefully tipped your head back toward him. 

The tartness burst along his tongue at the first sip, smooth but shockingly strong, carving its way down his throat slowly.

Beside him, you also drank with a pleased hum. 

“Where’d you find this?” Joel asked as soon as he’d gotten his first fill. 

“The city,” you avoided his eyes, busying your mouth with wine again.

You were a shit liar when it came to personal affairs. 

“I’ll ask again,” Joel corrected with the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Who’d you steal this from?”

“Some guy named John Dean, ’twas the name on the liquor license in the bar. You think I could afford this on the market? We’re lucky John had this stashed in the back.”

“I can see why. It’s pretty damn good,” Joel admitted.

“It is, isn’t it? It’s a shame Tess isn’t here to share with us.”

Right. He’d almost forgotten about her impromptu solo trip to ‘visit some friends’ in Detroit.

If he cared more, Joel would’ve pressed for more information, but Tess had never done him, or you, wrong before. It wasn’t his job to worry about her personal life.

Joel hummed in response. The sun was setting, casting you two in darkness and neither of you made an effort to get up and flick on the light switch...

Time must’ve eluded him because your voice cut through the silence that had settled like a knife. 

“We’ll find him, you know?”

Joel hardened his gaze and took another sip. The wall was suddenly very interesting.

“We’re going to find your brother,” you said again, staring over at Joel with a look he couldn’t quite place. Not even after he moved his eyes over to you.

Your eyes were rounded with sincerity, the golden hues of the sun reflecting in your gaze, lips parted with hints of stained red. The glass of wine hung between your fingers loosely, half-full but still briming with unspoken truths. 

It was that look in your eyes that cracked his rugged exterior, meticulously built from years of grief and horror. 

He wanted to say something, anything, but he was coming up blank. Ensnared by the absolute beauty you exuded in this very moment. 

He’s been looking at you for much longer than you’d consider normal, there’s no point in pushing anything away now. Might as well go the full nine yards.

And just as he was taking that leap, bringing his face closer to yours, his own hands flashed in his vision. 

Covered in a red deeper than the stain on your lips, dripping and dripping...

Joel pulled back with a jolt, unnoticing to the small sigh that left your mouth, and tried to blink away the blood on his shaking hands. 

He swallowed down the bile that threatened to burn the roof of his mouth with a sip of wine.

Death followed him around every corner. His failure to protect what was his would always haunt him.

He couldn’t allow it to happen again.

Your breaths evened out after a moment, and he listened to them with closed eyes.

An apology was at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t let you be another casualty. 

You had to stay alive. Joel would keep you alive...

You’d said something before he managed to fuck things up. 

Joel racked his brain for the memory. It seemed like it’d been so long ago. 

‘We’re going to find your brother.’ That’s what you’d said...

Joel would keep you alive, even if every nerve in his body ached to connect with yours. He wanted to explain it to you, but you’d made him a promise. He’s making one to you too. He’s going to keep you alive...

‘We’re going to find your brother,’ you’d said.

Apologize. Explain. His brain was screaming at him-- no.

Respond.

“Okay,” is what he settled for instead.

You were still alive. 

You were still alive and that’s the only thing that mattered. He had to keep it that way. 

“Stop,” you begged breathlessly. It was like he hadn’t even heard you, pushing on even as the sun began to set in the west.

How long had it been?

There was a buzzing in your head; it was numbing, as if you’d been injected with some sort of laughing gas. It was a little bizarre and it was enough to add some bass in your tone.

“Joel, please. Stop.” 

It was your grip that made Joel finally look down. Your hand, quivering and weak, had come to wrap around his bicep, nails digging in with urgency.

He staggered as he looked into your dim eyes, half-lidded and bloodshot red.

“Put me down,” you whispered. “Please.”

You were slipping away; he could feel it. 

It was happening all over again, and he was helpless to stop it.

“No,” he said firmly, but his body was still going through the motions. He was still falling on his knees, a shock spreading to his spine, but he didn’t feel the pain. 

All he could feel was you.

Your staggering breaths, the twitching of your hands, he guessed some sort of state of shock from the blood loss… It was probably a miracle that you hadn’t passed out from it all yet.

Gravel dug into his jeans, but he paid it no mind, frantically searching your eyes for something. Anything—any sort of solution because he couldn’t go through this again.

Desperately, he pulled up your shirt to look at your wound. The blood wasn’t clotting, it was going faster than your body could respond.

Maybe he could find something to stitch you up with, try to work through all the blood, but the small logical part of him knew that searching through any of these buildings would be like finding a needle in a haystack. And he didn’t trust that you’d keep yourself awake while he was gone…

With a jolt, Joel realized he was no longer hearing anything at all. Your breaths had gone eerily quiet, your hands devastatingly still…

“Hey!” Joel looked toward your face frantically. 

His shout jolted you awake, reaching toward the last bits of consciousness your brain could muster. 

It was as if a thousand-pound weight had been tied to your ankle and you’d been thrown in the ocean. Desperately reaching for the surface as you sank further and further. Like your oxygen was running out...

“Hey, stay with me, you’re not allowed to rest. Not yet.”

You’re barely able to pinpoint where the voice is coming from until he’s shaking your shoulders roughly. 

Your eyes focused back on Joel, a heaviness in your chest.

“Joel?” It takes an extreme amount of effort to form his name on your lips, but you know it’s worth the pain. The dull headache it forms to not give into the peaceful silence that sleep was promising you. It was luring you in, but love made in a little bit easier to keep yourself rooted to the land of the living.

“I’m here. I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not—”

He’s caught by surprise when a sob lodged itself in his throat. He did his best to swallow it down.

It felt like something was ripping at his own chest, breaking through the grief he’d buried down decades ago. And his grip on your body got tighter. 

Joel pulled you in to his body like he’d done years ago.

He loved you. God, he loved you. It was threatening to swallow him whole, the flood of emotions as he stared down at your pale cheeks and dim eyes. 

He’d denied himself the opportunity to love you, truly love you, because of his stubborn belief that he knew what was best for you.

He knew that if he allowed himself to indulge, he’d set you both up for disaster. Because that’s just how the universe worked for him.

But now, as he sat doused in your blood, Joel Miller felt a deeper heartbreak than anything he could’ve ever imagined the universe had in store for him.

He didn’t think he’d ever feel this way after Sarah.

He was a fool.

“Joel—” you breathed with a hint of a smile.

“Why? Why did you lie—you should’ve told me before—”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” you coughed, the taste of iron on your tongue. “I wasn’t going to let them get the jump on us. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you—”

You’re kidding. Even as you look death in the face, you’re talking about his safety before your own. 

It cracked his heart further.

His lips quivered and you were so close that you could feel the small puffs of breath that escaped them. “We gotta get back to the QZ, the sun’s going down. We gotta get you stitched up—“

Even though his knees screamed against it, he was already hauling you two back up before your shrill scream sent him right back down in panic. 

One look at your pained expression and he was reminded that he couldn’t afford to spare you the luxury of rest.

“I know, I know it hurts, I know,” he repeated because he was stuck in the same nightmare. “I’m sorry, I know.”

“No,” you begged. “We won’t make it. Please, please, Joel. Stop.”

He only managed a few staggering steps before he was collapsing again, shrinking into himself in anguish. 

It seemed like a century had passed as he sat on the gravel, cradling your frail body.

Joel didn’t even feel the tears running down his face until your fragile hand touched his cheek.

“I—I should’ve said it before, but I didn’t want to ruin what we had,” it was getting harder to breathe, but you knew this was what you wanted to use your last breaths for. 

“I love you, Joel Miller... And –”

Joel’s eyes flew open in shock, staring into yours in disbelief. 

He was unlovable, he’d made sure of that, but here you were. Looking at him with the most sincerity he’d ever seen in anyone’s eyes, glistening with unshed tears of what could’ve been.

“And I’m sorry I’m telling you this now. But you—you had to know. Tell Tess I’m sorry and that she better find what she’s looking for in—in Detroit.”

“Y/N…” His hands cradled your face, just as you ran your fingertips over his quivering lips.

“You’ll be okay, Joel,” you smiled weakly. “You’re going to find Tommy and you’re going to be okay.”

“Please.”

You seemed to ignore his plea, choosing to look over at the orange sunset with that same easy smile on your lips.

And when it slowly began to drop, when your eyes started to glaze over, Joel leaned over to press his lips against the corner of yours, feeling the air leave your parted mouth. And his lips found your forehead, pressing firmly with the whispers of a thousand apologies against your skin.

And there he sobbed, cradled your head into his neck, facing away from the sunset your eyes lastly rested on, the world falling apart at his knees.

Joel Miller loved you too. You left this world without knowing it.

He loved you too.

uh… this will be edited 1000% when i’m completely sober <3 tipsy elle clocking out!

— elle <3

taglist:

@rendiore @words-are-cheap @justhereforthosefics @angelmenace @lady-bellyn @encephalitiskat

@sloanexx @rendiore @words-are-cheap @justhereforthosefics @angelmenace @lady-bellyn @encephalitiskat

[cxlamarisalxmi]

Some Sunny Day

[Platonic Drabble]

c/w: angst, depictions of trauma and injury, character death, no gendered terms used to describe reader

a/n: I couldn’t help it, the part two of the Spider-Venom reader is in the works and is being written and edited consistently and progressively, but this was inspired by me feeling in the shits about my trauma so.. here we are lol

—

[Unedited]

We’ll meet again

You hadn’t given much thought to how you would die, not ever really considering the thousands of possibilities that would result in the loss of your life. Never really finding the consideration of those pathways important enough to think about long enough.

Don’t know where, don’t know when

Perhaps you should have— maybe this wouldn’t be happening otherwise. That’s a lie, because death is inevitable.. it was coming for you one way or another. Perhaps it wasn’t you trying to trick yourself into believing you could avoid it— but prepare yourself for it instead. Had you considered all possibilities of death then maybe you could’ve prepared yourself for the painful one you had come to face.

But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day

It did not announce itself, did not trumpet it’s arrival. It had been silent, quiet in the darkness as it coiled itself around your throat pulling you off your feet. By the time you had seen it coming.. it had already set it’s teeth.

Keep smiling through

You didn’t wish for anyone to be sad for you, it was a good life you had lived. Sure, it didn’t start out too great but it had been decent.. and then it had turned for the better when you had found them.

Just like you always do

You didn’t want anyone to force their lives to a screeching halt for your sake, that wasn’t fair.. and you knew that regardless of what you had thought— they would celebrate your life everyday from here on out. Now settled in the acceptance of grief, the stage that had come after a long and painful endurance through denial, anger, bargaining and depression.

‘Till the blue sky drives the dark clouds far away

They had felt such a dark and heavy cloud hanging over them since your death, and they had grown accustomed to it. Not bothering to address the way all of them were feeling about losing you. Suppress it down and ignore the searing ache in their chests —they believe— being the best way to overcome it and grow forward.

But you knew that was utter bullshit and you had wished they knew that too. Ignoring it will only make it worse, because ignorance allows the pain to linger. And if it lingers long enough it will fester and grow into a raging inferno that will swallow them whole.

Only in acceptance could they move forward, only in accepting that you were gone could they move on. Grow past it and become stronger together. And you believed they could, they just had to let themselves do it in their own time— at their own pace.

And eventually, that dense and weighted cloud overhanging them would be driven away.

So will you please say hello

You were Miguel O’hara’s eldest. And you had been with him through everything, after the loss of your younger sister the two of you couldn’t overcome the grief that had overwhelmed you both. And in the wake of that dimension’s destruction— there had been a wedge driven in between you and him.

Your relationship, previously stronger than any trial or tribulation life had thrown your way, had shattered to pieces. And you had attempted to at least pick up the shambles and put your bond back together.. but you had met a wall every time. A wall your father had built around himself to protect his broken heart and vulnerable soul from ever being touched again.

He hadn’t made an effort.. so you figured you shouldn’t either, and just accepted the turn of his back on top of the ache you felt at the loss of your younger sibling. The weight of guilt at killing all those innocent people had become the icing on this shit cake.

To the folks that I know

It was hard for you to grow past what had happened, because you were doing it on your own. In the wake of it all, it was you and only you trying to mend yourself back together. What hurt the most was that you had depended on your father to be there for you.. you had expected that this would only make your relationship stronger. Not tear it apart.

And it was naive of you to think such a thing, childish and ignorant of you to dispose of your initial thoughts that he would react this way. Because maybe if you had you’d have been far more prepared to take the bullet that his neglectful response had fired at you.

In the end of it all —the final steps you had taken to improve yourself— you had developed a fierce sense of independence. Nobody has your back better than you. And that was the unfortunate and heartbreaking truth that you had faced head on, it was a hard pill to swallow but it was necessary for you to move forward.

You garbled a cough, the gob of blood previously sitting in your throat jacked up to spill down your chin.

You grunted as the pressure in your chest grew exponentially, the rebar pierced through your chest causing an uncomfortable sensation to sit heavy beneath your ribs.

Tell them I won’t be long

The young teenagers who have come to adopt you as their elder sibling will be heartbroken. You knew that well, and you hoped that you father had picked up on the subtlety in your message to not reveal you were dying.

They wouldn’t take it well, and you knew they would follow your father to this dimension. The last thing you wanted was for them to experience more loss than they needed at their age. You couldn’t help that though, this was going to court one way or the other. What you could control was them being there in your final moments.. you had thought that maybe it’d go down easier if your father just told them you had gone peacefully.

They’ll be happy to know

It certainly would’ve been easier for them than seeing you impaled through the chest and coughing up the blood that had begun to slowly fill your lungs.

They’d at least have some semblance of peace within the grief and pain they’d feel that you didn’t go in pain. Regardless of the fact that this was easily the worst experience you have ever had the misfortune of dealing with. But they didn’t need to know that nor did they need to see you like this.

That as you saw me go, you saw me singing this song

When your father had finally arrived he had rushed to you immediately, his mask peeling away as he approached and dropped to his knees at your side.

“No, no no no, not again. Please no.”

“Dad…”

“Shhh,” he encouraged softly, “don’t talk. Save your strength, I’m going to get you out of here.”

“It’s too late.”

He didn’t listen to the way you quietly murmured those words, their execution breathed on a plane of exhausted agony. Your heart’s rhythm slowly fading from it’s previous thunderous beat in your ears. Slowing as it gradually eased itself into a state of utter still and silence, not having enough strength to continue to keep you alive.

Miguel wouldn’t let this happen again, he refused. As he thought of the best way he could move you he thought back to when you both had come back from the dimension that had unraveled. How he had shut you out, built barbed barriers thick and tall— and left you on the outside of them.

At the remembrance an abrupt ripple of regret shucked down his back, it made the blood in his veins turn bitterly cold. It was regret that was soon joined by grief that settled in his heart, heavy as lead sinking through his chest at the prospect that you would not make it.

And he suddenly felt knots tighten themselves up in the gaping in his stomach, because he didn’t even know what the right thing to do was. He couldn’t accept this, he couldn’t.. not again. But you were in pain, certainly worse than anything you’ve ever experienced. Not only that, but you were certain it was far too late for you.

He knew if he pulled you off that thick rebar pipe you would immediately bleed to death, if he left you on there you would die of a broken heart. Literally— the rebar had punctured through your heart and lung. Now both metaphorically and physically torn apart.

“It’s too late dad.”

“Please—”

You reached up to him, cupping his cheek as he laid his hand against your own. You lifted your opposite hand to hold his wrist as he brushed his gloved thumb over your bloodied and bruised cheek.

“Please no, not like this.. please there’s too much.. too much I have to do to show you I love you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean to shut you out mi amor I’m sorry—”

You did to him the same thing he had done to you seconds prior and interrupted by brushing your gloved thumb over his angular cheekbone. You felt the familiar sting in your eyes and burn in your nose as you watched him. His eyes broken and devastated, the windows into his soul wide open as his defenses crumbled. His brows taut together and a hurt frown tugging his lips down.

“It’s okay,” you promised giving him the only smile you could manage. Soft and small— but full of all the love a young child has for their father. “It’s going to be okay.”

Miguel couldn’t contain the pain he was feeling a moment longer, and his ache had erupted in the form of the rivulets of tears gliding down his cheeks. And he listened intently to them as they spoke, holding them in his arms as best he could with the rebar through their chest. Still holding their face and leaning down to press their foreheads together, he internally wept at the way theirs felt colder.

“We’ll meet again,” you promised smiling up at him as he held you in his arms and kept your foreheads together. “I don’t know where, and I don’t know when.” You felt the way your heart continued to slow, the pressure on your chest increasing dramatically as exhaustion began. “But I know we’ll meet again—”

Finally the injuries had grown to be far too much, and you had only wished you had told him how much you truly loved him no matter what. How much you had understood his feelings and how you had already forgiven him for the toxic way he had decided to cope. Breathing felt like too much work, needing extensive energy that you no longer had.

Your heart gave up first, and the very last thing you saw before the black that had been seeping in from the edges consumed you entirely— was your father looking you in the eyes with the love you had craved from him since the loss of your sister. Your lungs followed after, and Miguel only sobbed harder at the way your chest rose, then fell, rose once again.. and fell.

He felt sick and angry at himself for the way things had gone, the regret he’d felt since the destruction of that universe was abruptly more pronounced in his chest. And he wept over your body, long since gone cold, as he completed the promise you had made to him. Whispered against the skin of your cheek —cold to the touch— and lost of all color and vibrant life held within.

“Some sunny day.”

—

a/n: when this was being written I was listening to life eternal by ghost and it just encouraged me to put as much ouchies in this as I possibly could so I killed ya!

[vindicated-truth]

Jeongje,

I assume Joowon-ah has given you this letter during one of his visits. Said something about including it in the gift he has prepared for you.

You know he now only has a Lieutenant’s salary, right? He lost access to all of his family’s money, because he didn’t listen to me when I warned him that he shouldn’t ruin his life for me.

He’s an idiot.

But he’s an adult with freewill, and it’s still his money, so of course I have no say on what he chooses to spend it on.

Besides, I don’t begrudge him choosing to spend it on you. Contrary to what you might think, I don’t want you to be alone.

I never wanted that for you, Jeongje.

That’s why I’m glad Joowon-ah is making sure you aren’t. Because… I can’t be that person for you.

Not anymore.

It’s why I’m writing you this letter. Because I want you to know why.

Because I’m sorry, Jeongje. I’m sorry because… I can’t forgive you.

And it’s not because I’ve stopped caring for you. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt this much if I did.

I really wish I did.

But the reason why I can’t forgive you is that the forgiveness isn’t mine to give.

The one person who has the right to forgive you is dead.

Because you killed her.

And I’m not saying this because I want to punish you, either. Because contrary to what you might think, I don’t want you to suffer anymore.

You’ve suffered enough. And I know that because I’ve seen that in Joowon-ah, too.

No one deserves to suffer, Jeongje. Not you. Not him.

But the forgiveness isn’t mine to give. It’s Yuyeonie’s.

I’m hurting because I lost a sister. My parents are hurting because they lost their daughter.

And I know you’re hurting too. Because you, too, lost the one you love.

I’ve always known, you know. Both of you had never been good at hiding it. It hurt that you two believed you had to, but—you made her happy, Jeongje. Yuyeonie had never been able to hide that. And to be honest, neither did you. And I can never, ever begrudge how you made each other happy.

Which is why I know… you’re hurting, too.

It’s the one thing you and I have in common, even after all this time.

You and I… we both lost her.

But all our pain, Jeongje… it’s all secondary. None of our pain compares to what she lost.

She lost her life.

She lost a future that should have been hers. You know she wanted to be a lawyer, right? But do you know the kind of lawyer she wanted to be?

She had a very clear vision of the life she wanted for herself. She’d sit at the foot of my bed while I’d practice on my worn-out guitar and she’d regale me tales of how she wanted to be a lawyer who defended women.

Her ideals were way ahead of her time. She said our society was too patriarchal, that it was a society where women didn’t feel safe, and she wanted to change that.

She wanted to be a lawyer so she could be a safe space for all these women who were victims of the cruelty and violence of men. She wanted to be the kind of woman she herself needed.

She would’ve been the kind of woman who could’ve stopped women like her from being killed by men.

Which is why it was such a cruel twist of fate that her life ended precisely like that.

I always wonder, Jeongje… how many women would’ve also been saved had she grown up to be the kind of woman she wanted to be? A woman who protected women?

Would she have been able to protect our Minjeongie too?

Did you know that she had always been wary of Kang Jinmook? She didn’t dare say it directly because I think she might have been scared back then, too. But she would always tell me, casually but consistently, how it might be better for Minjeongie if we adopt her as soon as it was legally possible.

Do you know what I told her back then, Jeongje? That she was being ableist. That she was looking down on Jinmook’s capability as a father just because he was mentally disabled.

Turned out he wasn’t. He was just evil.

And she was right.

Even back then, Jeongje, she was right. And I didn’t listen to her. Her own twin brother didn’t listen to her.

How unforgivable is that?

Can you imagine what our society would’ve been like if someone with her brains and her advocacy had lived to see her dream come true? Can you imagine, Jeongje, how different things would’ve been if only our society listened to women more? If only we listened to our Yuyeonie more?

She could’ve saved so many women, Jeongje. And now—

Now, we’ll never know. Because she’s dead.

We all lost a sister, a daughter, a friend, a lover. None of that compares to what she lost.

She lost her life. She lost her dream. She lost her advocacy. She lost her future.

And that’s the reason why, Jeongje. Why the forgiveness should come from her.

It had never, ever been my right to give.

It’s why I can’t forgive you. Because the one person who has the right to gift you that forgiveness—is dead.

And I’m sorry, Jeongje. I’m sorry because that’s the reason why… I can’t let you back into my life.

Not anymore.

Because I love her, Jeongje. I love her more than anything in the world, more than anyone I’ll ever love in my life.

She’s my twin, Jeongje. I had never known what it’s like to be alone because from the moment we were conceived in our mother’s womb, she had always been there. She had always been beside me. She was the other half of my soul.

Do you know what it feels like to lose the other half your soul?

Then again, maybe you do.

You love her, too.

I don’t know if she would have forgiven you. Fuck, I don’t know if she would have forgiven me. But that’s our punishment, Jeongje. That’s the pain we all have to live with: that we will never know. Because none of us have the right to take that away from her.

The right to forgive.

Because contrary to what you might think—I don’t want to lose you as a friend.

I miss you, more than you could ever know. More than you could ever hope to understand.

But it’s a loss I have to live with. It’s a loss I choose to live with. Because she’s the only one who could have granted you that forgiveness. And we all have to live with never knowing if she ever will.

I can’t let you back into my life, Jeongje—because I don’t know if Yuyeonie would’ve forgiven you for me to let you.

For me to have you back.

I am not the one who has the right to forgive you, so I am also not the one who has the right to punish you.

So please, Jeongje. Don’t suffer anymore. Not for my sake.

Don’t be alone anymore.

Both of you.

Your friend,

Dongsik

—

Dongsik-ah,

Did you know what Lieutenant Han was going to give me? Because you should’ve talked him out of it still, never mind that it’s his money he’s spending. I’m not going to risk your ire by telling you how much he spent, because I actually know how much all of it cost, but I really hope you’re at least treating him to dinner for a month because I can’t imagine how he’d be able to afford to feed himself after this.

Or maybe just let Jaeyi-ya treat him. I’ve heard he’s been frequenting the butcher shop more often lately.

I’m glad. He deserves to be fed.

He deserves to be happy.

He’s a good guy, Dongsik-ah. You know that, right?

You might be wondering why this prince who has fallen from grace keeps going out on a limb for someone like me.

I’ll tell you why, Dongsik-ah. It’s because he’s lonely.

In the kindest way I can tell you this, I don’t think you’ll ever understand Lieutenant Han. And it’s not because he was brought up in a life of luxury and privilege that the rest of us can only imagine.

But because you were loved, Dongsik-ah.

You and Yuyeonie—both of you were brought up in love.

I think that’s part of why I stayed over at your house a lot, even when we were kids. I was drawn to your family, because I badly wished I had a family like yours. You can’t imagine the kind of envy I felt seeing how your parents are.

You had that ridiculous dream of becoming a singer, even though Jihwa-ya kept telling you to your face that you couldn’t hold a tune to save a life. Yet your parents supported your dream all the same, and had never once compared you to Yuyeonie.

You know, I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion she was tone-deaf too, mostly because I couldn’t understand why she’d keep clapping for you every time you'd “perform” for us during family nights.

I’d been a part of your family for that long.

I never had any of that. And I think—that’s why Lieutenant Han is drawn to me.

Because he never experienced that kind of love, either. And he knows what it’s like to be alone.

That’s why he’s making sure I’m not. Even when I deserve to be.

Because he knows exactly what it’s like.

And I don’t think it’s as selfless as you think, Dongsik-ah. I think—he just wants someone to understand what he’s been through, too.

Because you’ll never be that person for him.

Because you were never abused by your parents, Dongsik-ah, the way Lieutenant Han was. And he’s drawn to me, because I’m someone who understands that the most.

Between the both of us though, I honestly believe I still had it better. And this isn’t false modesty or debt of gratitude or anything like that. My mother was evil, too, but in her own way, she did love me.

At the very least, until the very end, she had never abandoned me.

Even when it meant she had to hurt you instead.

That’s something Lieutenant Han never even had.

He never had a family.

And that’s the reason why I’m writing you this letter, in return.

Because you’re right, Dongsik-ah. I don’t belong in your life anymore.

I belong to the past. And I deserve to stay there.

Do you know why, Dongsik-ah?

Because that’s where Yuyeonie is.

You’re right. I don’t know if she would ever forgive me. But that’s okay. I’m not doing this for my forgiveness.

Because you’re right, Dongsik-ah. I did love her. I love her, still, even when she might not want that love anymore, after everything I did.

After everything I failed to do.

But that’s also why, Dongsik-ah. Why I want to stay in the past. Why I choose to stay in the past. Because that’s where she is. That’s how I choose to live the rest of my life.

Immortalizing her memory.

That’s why I gave you that sketchbook. To the best of my ability, Dongsik-ah, until my last breath—this is how I choose to love her.

I will never let her memory die.

This is how I choose to live the rest of my life in penance.

The people who have hurt you, the people who hurt Yuyeonie and your family—we all belong to the past. That’s why we all belong in prison, because it’s keeping us there.

But you, Dongsik-ah—you don’t belong to the past. Not anymore. There’s no more reason for you to stay there.

Because you have a future with him.

And that’s where the problem lies, you see. It’s precisely because he equates himself with me that he thinks he deserves to stay in the past, too.

He was never there, Dongsik-ah. Because his own monster of a father sent him far, far away, where he was forced to look for love in all the wrong places, when he should have already found it first in his own home. His own family.

You and Yuyeonie showed me that.

I don’t think he did. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so utterly deprived of it. Starved of it.

Until he found you.

You told me, Dongsik-ah, how you will never love anyone the way you loved Yuyeonie, ever again. And you asked me if I know how it feels like to lose the other half of your soul.

I do, Dongsik-ah. But I don’t think that’s the point.

We weren’t supposed to replace her.

We’re simply allowed to love again.

I’m allowed to have a friend again. One who chooses to starve for a month because he doesn’t know how to love halfway and he always gives it his all in everything he does.

I agree with you, by the way. He is an idiot.

But you know what, Dongsik-ah?

I’ve come to love this idiot, too.

And if I’m allowed to have a friend again… you’re allowed to rebuild the other half of your soul again.

You’re allowed to not let yourself be alone anymore.

You’re allowed to love again.

Dongsik-ah… Han Joowon is like me. But at the same time, he isn’t.

Because he belongs to your future. If you let him.

And this is why I'm writing you this letter, too.

Please don't let my friend starve anymore.

Your friend,

Han Joowon’s friend,

Jeongje

[scarletwritesshit]

👁️Jiaoqiu x Feixiao 👁️Seeing Eye

She couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not. He was lying motionless on the bed beside hers, breathing slowly and eyes shut tight, not like the last fact would be a tell-tale sign. He didn’t speak a single word to her the entire time either. Perhaps he was under the assumption that she was resting as well?

"Jiaoqiu?" Feixiao said softly.

Jiaoqiu turned head slowly in the direction of her voice.

"Hm?"

"Ah, my apologies, I didn’t know that you were asleep."

"Oh, I wasn’t. Not like you’d be able to tell either way," he said with a soft chuckle.

He’s laughing

He lost his eyesight, and he’s laughing.

Feixiao forced herself to sit up on her bed. The pain shot through her side despite the medications, but she wasn’t going to let a little soreness stop her. She looked down at Jiaoqiu, who had his ears turned towards the direction of her voice.

"I’m...sorry. If I were quick enough, I could’ve saved you," she said.

"Nah, I should be sorry. I’m your healer, and now I can’t even read the ingredients for a little bowl of hot pot."

"You’re more than just my healer, Jiaoqiu. You’re my partner, my cook, my absolutely everything. And I..." Feixiao felt herself get choked up before she could say anything.

"And partners look out for each other, love. Eyesight in place of a life is a small sacrifice."

Feixiao clenched her fist, but took a deep breath. He was adamant that he did the right thing, and he truly did in the grand scheme of things, but any arguing would only bring more stress upon their already weakened bodies. Calling him an idiot for saving her life, and all of Xianzhou for that matter, was best saved for another day.

"Never mind that for now. How’s your detox coming along?" Feixiao asked with the intent of changing the subject.

"I don’t feel like I’m rotting away from the inside out, so that’s a plus. How are you holding up?"

"Hoolay hit like me a bitch, but thankfully he’s been subdued with me remaining in one piece."

"Ah, that’s a relief. I can only imagine how bad you must look right now."

Perhaps, just this once, she was glad that Jiaoqiu couldn’t see her. Her body was covered in bruises and cuts, what couldn’t be seen at first glance was most certainly hidden under a layer of gauze and bandages. If Jiaoqiu could see her, he would be stumbling out of his bed and crawling to the kitchen to cook her a meal for at least a boost in morale, if not amendments to her wounds.

"It’s not as bad as you think," she said, partially lying.

"Oh, I know you, dear. You’re probably bleeding from every square inch of your body."

"It’s not that bad, I promise."

"I can still smell your blood without any compromise."

Right. The whole scent thing was a bit of a problem here.

"Jiaoqiu, dear, I assure you, my injuries are not as severe as you think."

"How I wish I could believe you, but my ability to do so remains my one regret."

"Regret? I thought you didn’t have any regrets?"

"I won’t be able to see you again. Ever."

Feixiao was once more starting to feel choked upon hearing Jiaoqiu’s confession. He wouldn’t be able to see the meals he prepared, the condition of his patients, the enemies on the battlefield...the waves against the shore, the light of the sun’s rays, Feixiao smiling at stars beyond... the memories may be engraved into his mind, but that would never compare to seeing the world in the present.

"But you’re alive," Jiaoqiu continued, "and that is what’s most important to me."

A tear fell from Feixiao’s eye, and she forced her mouth shut to not allude to Jiaoqiu how she was feeling. He slowly rolled onto his back, but angled his ears so that he could still hear her.

"I can hear you crying."

Feixiao quickly put her hand over her mouth. Of course he could still pick up on even the smallest details. And he could hear Feixiao slip up. The slightest sign of weakness, which truly felt an unacceptable slipup to her. A tear formed in Jiaoqiu’s eye, but he covered his face and winced in pain before it could fall.

"Jiaoqiu, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything." Feixiao said.

He wiped his eyes with his arm, and turned towards her with a smile.

"Ah, there’s nothing to be sorry about. This is all on me.”

Jiaoqiu rolled over to his other side and his tail slowly poked out from under the blanket. He weakly wiggled it, like he was trying to attract a cat with a feather toy.

"Come on, Feixiao. You know you want to."

Jiaoqiu’s tail was extremely tempting, particularly seeing as Feixiao did not have one of her own. She did not recall Jiaoqiu sustaining any critical injuries to his tail, and the distance between their beds was small enough...

She slid out of her bed and walked the few steps towards Jiaoqiu. He heard her approach him as she limped heavily, though anyone could, and slid himself over to the edge just enough so that Feixiao had enough room to lay by him. Careful as to not crush his tail, she flopped her body beside him and grabbed ahold of his plush fur.

Despite being caked in blood days prior, it was well groomed and soft, though the fur was trimmed to be a little shorter. Usually, it was rather warm and cozy, but Jiaoqiu’s tail felt cold. Feixiao knew that it was due to extreme blood loss, but she couldn’t help but still panic when he felt chillingly like a long dead body.

Feixiao felt a bit guilty about his condition and held his tail a bit closer to her body.

Jiaoqiu pushed himself up slowly to sit and said to her, "Feixiao, I have a favor to ask."

"Hm?" she said, muffled by his fur.

"If I should one day forget what the waves look like, will you act as my eyes and describe them to me down to the smallest ripple?"

"It’s the least I could do as thanks for all of your sacrifices," Feixiao said, peeling her face away from his tail.

"But I insist on being your tail in return. I have more than enough fluff for the both of us, well when it grows back in anyways! Hahah-ack!"

"Take it easy, Jiaoqiu," she said, stuffing her head back into his fur.

Jiaoqiu patted his hand around searching for her head, only getting close enough to pat the mattress beside her. She felt him searching, and grabbed his wrist gently to guide him to the top of her head. He pried his fingers around a little, until he felt the back of her ears, then he started to scratch them.

His fingers felt cold. It made sense why, but it was heartbreaking nonetheless.

Jiaoqiu turned behind him and opened his eyes. For a fleeting moment, it had slipped his mind that he was no longer able to see. He saw nothing. Not even the light that cut through the thickest of darkness in his life. As his expression dimmed, he hoped that her face was still shoved into his tail, as he couldn’t exactly feel much between the thick fur and the chill. No matter how many times he kept telling himself, he still couldn’t shake the dread of never being able to see Feixiao again.

And she couldn’t shake the regret of being unable to save his eyesight.

Better for the smaller sacrifices to be made, for if Jiaoqiu didn’t cleverly poison himself, the Wardance would’ve quickly gone from a celebration to a massacre, costing the lives of far more innocent bystanders. There would have been no second chances to rectify the consequences of their failures. Jiaoqiu, however, had a second chance at seeing again, with Feixiao’s words able to paint a picture of the world before him.

[nonsenseafterdark]

It's Over

Summary: Roach has been a POW for weeks now, and he doesn't know if he can take another hit. But he doesn't need to anymore.

Characters: Gary "Roach" Sanderson, John Price

Word Count: 1239

Warnings: Mentions of Torture

The sergeant didn’t know how much more he could take, or how much longer he’d last. He had managed to count the first few days of captivity, only to lose track of time all together, dissociating from the pain and spending most of the blurry days staring at the walls until he passed out. For all he knew, it could’ve been weeks since he was last tossed into this god forsaken room; Weeks of beatings and torture, weeks of questions met with his silence, and weeks of isolation. By now, he had gotten thin enough that his clothes were almost hanging loosely off his body, he was missing two molars, and his mind had grown used to being in drugged haze. He was also certain that a couple of his ribs were broken and some of his fresher wounds had become infected.

Roach didn’t have a home to go back to, but if he did, he’s certain he would’ve been crying for it. Nonetheless, he still cried during his time here. He cried knowing that he likely would never see his teammates again. He cried knowing that the last thing he’d see before he died were dirty walls of the cell or the taunting faces of his captors. They always threatened him with death, which at this point seemed like a mercy, and Roach only prayed that it would come sooner or later. 

But for today, Roach wouldn’t meet the firing squad. He would be asked the same questions once more. Where was Captain Price? Where was his team currently stationed? He would be seated in the same chair, wrists zip tied behind his back with a tear-soaked blindfold covering his eyes. His captors set him up like they always did, and for a few minutes Roach could hear various utensils and items being prepared in the tray right beside him, until he heard someone else enter the chamber. 

“How long are we going to keep doing this, Sanderson?” His captor said, which he identified as being the main leader of the group. Roach could sense he was frustrated, but he hid it behind his honeyed words, “You’re in pain. You’re exhausted, and yet you continue to put yourself through this.”

Roach didn’t answer, still being dazed from the previous interrogation, but it’s not like he ever said much to begin with. 

“This can stop at any time…” The leader continued, “Just tell me where your captain and team are…”

Roach could tell he was closer this time, and biting back a sneer, he sat up just enough to spit out a glob of mucus and blood, aiming it to be somewhere in his direction, but would settle if it so much as landed on his boots. 

“Very well…” He said, “If you won’t talk… Then, I don’t think you need much use for your tongue. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Roach’s heart raced as panic shot through his veins. Instinctively, he tried to free his wrists from his zip ties with no success. Then, he clamped his jaw shut, fighting against the hands that were struggling to hold him still while another pair tried to pry his mouth open. He could hear the horrifying sound of tools clattering together, as if someone was picking up a tool from the tray beside him. Roach’s mouth was forced open, and nonetheless he still fought against them, resorting to near, incoherent begging, “No…! No no don’t-!”

“Then, I’ll ask one more time, Sanderson,” The leader said, voice raised over Gary’s noises of struggle and anticipation, “Where is Captain Price?”

Roach didn’t reply, adrenaline flooding his veins. Logically he knew there was no way out of this. One way or another, his tongue was to be cut or forcibly pulled out of his mouth. Yet he continued to thrash against the hands that held him down. Suddenly, from the moment he heard the leader telling the other men to hold him still, panic settled in completely, his struggled grunts turning into screams. His mind was muddled with the anticipation and white noise, and any calmness he had was completely thrown out the window. 

For a brief moment, he tasted cold metal, only for it to be quickly removed from his mouth. His screams were replaced with gunfire, panicked shouts from the men, and then there was nothing. The cruel hands were off his body, and as Roach breathed in, he almost sobbed. In those few seconds of noise, he was still alive. His tongue was still in his mouth, and yet he was still bound to the chair. Roach heard a pair of footsteps approach him with urgency, and all over again, the panic set in, shooting up his body as a new pair of hands settled on his shoulders. 

“No…!” Roach yelled out, attempting to pull away, “No, get off…! Get off-!”

“Shh!” Was the only harsh response he got, and yet there was a subtle gentleness to it, as if this person was attempting to calm him down and keep him quiet. 

One hand stayed on his shoulder, while the other moved to take his blind fold off. His vision was blurry and muddled for a moment, but he didn’t need to see who was in front of him as took in the scent of cigars and gunpowder. 

“Captain Price…?” Roach choked out, almost in disbelief. 

“I’m here, Roach,” His captain in the flesh replied, “Sorry we took so long.”

He moved around the back, unsheathing his knife to cut the zip ties off his wrists, which were red and raw. Coming down from his adrenaline and processing that Captain Price was actually in front of him, Roach didn’t say anything at first or attempt to move even after the restraints were off. 

“Are you broken anywhere?” Price moved back around front, crouching in front of Roach to get a better look at his condition, “Roach, tell me where you’re hurt.”

Roach’s teary eyes dashed around, his mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts until he finally opened his mouth to talk, “Everywhere…”

It came out so shattered. For God knows how long, he’s been thrown to the ground and beaten until he blacked out, he’s been drugged to a vegetative state, seconds ago he was about to have his tongue ripped out...

Now it was all over. 

“Okay…” Price said softly, “Okay, everyone’s waiting for us outside. We’ll get a medic for you. Can you stand?”

Roach sniffed before nodding, to which Price walked over to the side before lifting Roach’s arm over his shoulder, hoisting him up to his feet. The sergeant struggled to stand, whimpering as pain shot up from the bruised muscles and broken bones in his body. But he found himself doubling over just in time for Price to catch him and hold him close, the sergeant wrapping his arms around him. But for a moment, Roach just held him, his eyes growing wet with tears.

“Price…!” He wept.

“I got you, Gary,” Price assured gently. 

“They were gonna…- I didn’t… Fuck, I thought I was gonna die-!”

“Shh… I know, lad. I know.” For a moment, Price allowed Roach to cling onto him, his own grasp being firm, but soft, “You’re alright now though… Can you walk with me?”

Giving him a final squeeze, he finally pulled away and allowed the old man to help him back up once more, “Get me the hell out of here…”

[itsalinh]

I mean some people clearly do not pay any attention to the show they are watching because what the heck??

1. Lucy is not the villain. She’s not trying to get in the way of Hawk and Tim, ever.

Gosh the sheer amount of hate towards her the past two weeks is insane. How come women in every gay show always receive the hate? Well, maybe some writers were actually lazy and the fastest way the could think of was to villanize women so they could have less a problem to think about. But this is not the case for FT where every character shows their own color, and they have reasons for every action they take.

Yes, she married Hawk. But it was bc everybody expected them to do that since, idk, the very beginning? Bc she adored him and trusted him enough? And not to mention Hawk asked her to marry him? Remind y’all, she’s also the victim of the era.

Yes, she burnt Tim’s letter. It was crazy enough to hear your own mother lecturing you to shut up about your husband’s outside behaviours as long as he comes back home at the end of the day. But actually receiving a letter from his ex-lover, whom is a man, saying that he was still in love with your man, was on another level! Lucy had every right to confront Hawk and made a fuss about everything. Yet she was so calm and reasoned, knowing that if she threw a tantrum then everybody’d know her husband was gay and they’d all suffer. Lucy knew for a fact that even if Hawk did receive the letter, he wouldn’t have done anything at all, so nothing changed.

And I love that she told Tim about it. She did not regret anything, nor felt any shame, just a plain announcement that she knew everything from the start of this marriage already. She did what had to be done. She could’ve been upset with Tim for bringing danger and misery to her family, but she just simply told him about the letter and let the man go. Splendid writing!

2. Hawk is gay. Hawk is not bisexual.

Never know I have to clarify this obvious fact. Him being married to a woman and having sex with her does not mean he’s bisexual. That’s just what gay men do to hide their true nature and to live peacefully in this world. Maybe not the US, but many countries nowadays still do not approve same-sex marriage, and queer people still have to marry someone they don’t love just to have “a shield” to cover for themselves. Has Hawk ever shown any interests in women? No. Has Hawk ever had sex with another woman besides his wife? No. Was it true that all of his sex partners now and then were men? Yes. So, that’s your answer. He’s gay as fuck.

3. Hawk is not the only person to blame. Tim is also at fault.

Roast me later, hear me out.

Hawk is a shitty person, I agree. He has done so many cruel things to his lover, his wife, and his child, and he continues to do so bc he’s a shitty person.

But, after all the shitty things Hawk did, Tim came back to him. Hawk warned Tim about their relationship very early. “But Skippy, that’s all it was, that’s all it can be. I’m sorry.”. Tim was soft for Hawk, so he accepted that easily. He’d love to love, rather than not having love at all. Hawk broke up with Tim on the day before Christmas, he was prepared to end it all so that Tim wouldn’t rely his emotions too much on him. For some reasons they got back to each other again, only to be separated one more time 6-7 months later. Tim made Hawk promise not to write, yet he was the one to break the promise. 14 years later, Tim couldn’t help himself but seeing Hawk again, sneaking outside his house just to witness his “happy” family. He was aware of the pain and guilt, but he was so lost in love, his “consuming love”, he gave in every time.

I know Tim did not deserve any of this, he had a pure heart and he gave it all to Hawk. That’s why we love him, and we feel pity for him too. But he had choices he was not willing to make, so it’s on him too yk.

4. There’s more to Tim’s guilt.

After jerking off with Hawk, Tim immediately forced Hawk to leave him. But why people only mentioned that it was bc he felt guilty with God? I believe he had 2 things to be sorry for. 1 is the reason everybody was talking about, God. The 2nd one, I’m pretty sure he felt guilty towards Lucy too. He couldn’t hold himself, he missed his man so damn much, and he let his heart took over for a sec. Tim knew he shouldn’t bc that was so wrong, and he did something really really awful to someone who’s having a wife and two children at home. He hated himself for it.

—

If you hate Lucy or Hawk, please block me I’m begging you bc I can’t stand another person interpret them wrongly like that. For the sake of my mental health, please block me with your every power!

[drabbles-mc]

Flashbacks

EZ Reyes x F!Reader

For Day 19 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: choking / "I'm worried about you"

Warnings: 18+, angst, mentions of violence

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: The way I just fell in love with the pain surrounding these two. Idk. I have feelings about it.

EZ Reyes Taglist: @rosieposie0624 @noz4a2 @queenbeered @choochoo284 @thesandbeneathmytoes @mijagif @withmyteeth @kelpies-shed @louisianalady @gemini0410 @buckybarneshairpullingkink @amorestevens @garbinge @justreblogginfics @nessamc @winchestershiresauce @artemiseamoon @littlekittymeow @frattsparty @fanfic-n-tabulous @beardburnsupersoldiers @justazzi @solidly-indulgent @danzer8705 @passionatewrites @jveudlamoula (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was impossible to wipe the image of it from your head, the way that EZ looked with his hands wrapped around the man’s neck. It put a strange ache deep into your bones ever since it happened. You couldn’t wrap your head around why it did, either. You knew it was more than capable of that kind of violence. You knew that it wasn’t the first time he had used that type of brute force against someone.  You weren’t so naïve to think that he was as deep in with the club, after all of those years spent behind bars, and that he never raised a hand to anyone. You knew better.

But watching it play out right in front of you in real time, to hear it, to see not only the face of a dying man, but also the look in EZ’s eyes as it all happened, was something completely different. That was something that you don’t think you could’ve ever truly prepared yourself for. You’d expected to see anger, rage brought on by his protective nature over you. You wouldn’t have even been surprised if there had been fear in his eyes, an air of frenzy to him because of how quickly everything unfolded, how drastic it all became.

What you hadn’t been expecting was the calmness that was radiating off of him. There was an air of routine to what he was doing that caused your entire body to lock up out of fear. You could hardly see any strain in his expression, not nearly as much discomfort as you’d expected to see.

Now that expression, that night, was all that you could see when you looked at him. Each time he reached out to touch you, hold you, you found yourself freezing up or completely pulling away. The same hands that had never been anything but loving and gentle with you now felt like they were turning your skin into scorched earth every time they landed on you.

EZ wasn’t stupid—you knew that he noticed the shift in you. What you didn’t know, though, was if he fully understood why you were so rattled. You didn’t tell him what you were thinking. How could you, really? There was no way for you to try and explain to him what was going on in your head without making you sound naïve, or worse, ungrateful for the fact that he without a doubt saved your life. So you kept your mouth shut. Whatever his assumptions were about your change in behavior, you would let him have those until you could come up with the right words to say to him.

You’d spent another night, lying awake for hours staring up at the ceiling while EZ slept peacefully on the mattress beside you. Normally he’d keep you pulled close, tucked tightly against his chest. But after the first few nights of you flinching, putting yourself as close to the edge of your half of the mattress as possible, he got the message and gave you space. He figured that once enough time had passed, and the residual panic from that night subsided, things would slowly start to shift back to normal. You wished that you felt the same way.

Unable to fall asleep, and not wanting to toss and turn and risk waking EZ up, you carefully extracted yourself from the bed and started making your way to the living room. You turned the television on but kept the volume low, just wanting the light of it to cut through the darkness more than anything else. Pulling the throw blanket off the back of the couch, you slumped down and tried to make yourself as comfortable as possible.

The change in location didn’t make your sleeping endeavors more successful at all. Instead of staring at the ceiling, you found yourself staring at the TV instead, watching one infomercial after another but not retaining any of it.

When you heard the creaking of the floorboards in the hallway, you sat straight up. You squinted, trying to see through the darkness of the hall. You knew that it was probably EZ, but it felt like you couldn’t ever be sure anymore. And, with the way that things had been going, you felt like even if it was EZ, you still had to prepare yourself a bit.

Then, sure enough, EZ emerged into the blue light cast off by the television. He was rubbing at his eyes as he walked, his steps slow as he brought himself closer to you. Your heart hammered in your chest and you were desperately longing for the days when he had that effect on you but it wasn’t born out of fear.

He stood by the couch, staring down at you with a confused look. Tilting his head slightly, he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep, “You okay?”

You forced a nod, clearing your throat before saying, “Yea. Just…just couldn’t sleep.”

He nodded understandingly despite the fact that he had no real idea what was going on. “Anything I can do?”

You shook your head. “No. Just one of those nights, I think.”

He frowned for a moment before sitting down next to you, leaving a sliver of space between you on the sofa. “Seems like you’ve been having a lot of those nights lately.” He saw the way that you froze, not saying anything in response to the observation, or even looking at him. “It’s okay.”

You felt a knot forming in the back of your throat. “Is it?”

The shake in your voice made his heart feel heavy. Leaning back against the cushions behind him, he draped his arm along the back of the couch. Not quite touching you, but the best gesture of physical comfort that he could offer while still keeping a little distance between you.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked.

Your eyes widened slightly, giving away the fact that you knew exactly what he was talking about. Still, you tried to play dumb. “Talk about what?”

A sad but sympathetic smile quirked the edge of his lips. “It’s okay if it still bothers you.” His tone was so earnest, it almost hurt. “It was a lot. Especially when you’re not…used to it.”

Even though there was no better phrase for him to use than that, something about the prospect of getting used to it made you feel as though you were going to be sick. “It’s not…” you trailed off, not really sure where your sentence was going. “It’s not that.”

He couldn’t hide his confusion. “Then what is it?”

Your face twitched, trying to keep the tears at bay. Taking a deep breath, you finally spit it out. “I’m worried about you.”

He couldn’t stop the quiet chuckle that slipped out—it seemed so backwards given the circumstances they were currently in. “About me?” He shook his head as he gestured vaguely to himself. “I’m good, querida. Promise.”

“Are you?” the crack of emotion in your voice caught you both off-guard.

He scooted a little closer to you on the couch, still mindful of not touching you. “What’re you talking about?”

“Just…I don’t…” suddenly it became impossible to string any of your thoughts together, every word getting jammed at the base of your throat threatening to choke you. “It’s hard to believe that…I just…I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“About what?”

You were surprised that he could even hear your voice as you said, “About the look on your face.”

The statement caused him to lean back. He wasn’t expecting that response. Of all the things that he thought would’ve scared you about that night, he never thought that he might’ve been one of them. He paused, trying to carefully construct his response. He didn’t want to run the risk of pushing you even farther away than he already had.

“You know why—”

“I know,” you said, your voice still quiet but a little more certain now. “I know. It was…it was him or us.”

Part of EZ wanted to say, “Him or YOU.” If keeping you safe meant burning down the rest of the world he’d do it. Disposing of one body was nothing. It was more than worth it. “Then what is it?” He couldn’t pretend that he had any idea of what was going on in your head now.

“I’ve never seen you like that, Ezekiel,” the waver came back to your voice as the mental image of it flashed across the backs of your eyelids again. “You…you weren’t even angry. You were just so cold. I don’t, I don’t know how to explain it.” You dragged your hands down your face, trying to pretend that you weren’t wiping your tears away in the process.

“I don’t feel bad about what I did,” he told you honestly.

“I know,” you said with a nod, “and I don’t, I guess I didn’t expect you to. But I just,” you covered your mouth with your hand for a moment as you tried to keep your sobs deep in your chest where they belonged, “I didn’t expect to see you like that.”

“I can’t afford to be anything else. Not when it comes to that. To keeping you safe.”

“But, but you get it, right?” It was impossible to keep the nervousness out of your voice. “You get why I can’t just…” your trailed off.

He frowned. He understood it in a way even if he didn’t like it. “So, what? What does that mean for us?”

“I don’t know,” you said, finally breaking down with a sob as you buried your face in your hands. Lifting your head enough to look him in the eye, you tried to salvage the mess you’d made for the two of you. “I know why you did it. And I’m, I’m glad you did or we’d be…But I can’t unsee that.”

“I know.”

He knew better than anyone, and for a moment you felt foolish for even saying it. You night not be able to forget this, but EZ wasn’t ever able to forget anything. It crossed your mind that maybe that’s why he was so cold about it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, more tears trickling down the sides of your face.

He reached out to brush them away but he stopped himself short. Placing his hands in his lap, he shook his head. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“It will be,” he reassured you, despite not knowing if he was actually right. He didn’t know if things between you were going to end up okay, if they would ever get back to any semblance of what they’d been before it all. But you’d stayed. You hadn’t left when it would’ve been so easy to do so. That had to count for something. “We’ll figure it out. I’m not,” he shook his head, “I’m not going anywhere.” He paused. “Are you?”

You sniffled, taking a long moment to think about your response before finally giving the tiniest shake of your head. “I don’t think so.”

Neither of you really knew where that left you, besides a few inches away from each other on the couch with no intentions of moving closer. But it had to count for something. It had to be some sort of start.

[switchyftm]

Jesus fucking Christ. I cannot even put into words how good this past week has been. Well 16 days because I spent 9 days with a friend first but then I spent a week with my beloved @pinkdollyboy, meeting you for the first time and I never wanted to ever leave. I’m gonna be rambling here and it’s not all gonna be 18+ (however I will get to that)so read at your own discression I guess.

Fuck me, he’s fucking gorgeous. Just in every single fucking way. I love this guy so fucking much fuck me. I, I used to think I was in love. I used to think I was happy in the situation I was in but I can tried and tested prove to myself that I wasn’t. They make me so fucking happy, so accepted, it was all just so normal. We work together so well.

I love how they’ve just embraced me exactly how I come, no pretended of how I would act, just went with the flow. We both did. Yea there was nerves but we so quickly slotted ourselves into each others lives for those seven days it was so nice.

Christ above, no one could’ve prepared me for experiencing sex with my love after months of calling and texting. I, I don’t even know if I can articulate well enough. He’s so good to me, for me, with me. Took everything I gave and more, and also gave me so much more than I could’ve ever asked. Also,,,subbing in person,,,,holy fucking shit. You handle me so well baby. Thank you so fucking much

Also,,,in my past relationship, I never received anything in regards to sex. It hurt, it felt bad. I hated anything more than being kissed, even that I got very overwhelmed with…But they didn’t hurt me, even things that are intended to hurt, felt good. Good pain. My body isn’t just broken, I can have sex. I don’t have to just give and give, while I would, I’ve gotta say,, Receiving is also so fucking nice. I feel truly equal with you my love. Thank you for showing me I can be loved and cared for, I can be seen as sexy, my body is desirable, I can be on the receiving end of pleasure.

[timaeusterrored]

(Based of the question @luci-the-brat-boy asked bc now i can’t stop thinking about it)

The mansion was over the top, open space, nicely decorated. The only indication that it was lived in was the blankets tossed on the couch and coffee cups in the kitchen. The windows around were dimmed, the inhabitants most likely asleep.

Johnny looked around, unsure of where to even begin looking for the people he came here for. He had been gone for a little over a year with the nomads, and Vax’s sister surprisingly enough. They had found doctors and scientists to rebuild him, the nomads helped him function like a normal human again, and rumors had spread that V had been returned safely. And Kerry and Nancy was giving Arasaka absolute hell.

Johnny had never felt so much blinding anger when he found out V was still up there, and almost sobbed with relief when he found out he was home. He hadn’t been allowed to go to him, to find his missing piece. Pieces, Kerry was his other missing piece.

“Who the- Johnny?” Oh his voice. Johnny hadn’t expected Kerry’s voice in his own ears to sound so beautiful. To see him with his own eyes was like looking at his god after years of searching. Johnny’s knees felt weak.

Kerry slowly walked down the stairs, Archangel in hand. He put the gun down on the oversized dining room table, taking in the sight of his old friend. Johnny didn’t even know where to begin with everything he wanted to say to Kerry. He fully expected another pistol whip, maybe even a full on punch to the face.

Next thing he knew, he could smell Kerry’s shampoo. Smell those stupid vanilla cigarettes he’s been smoking since they were nineteen. He could feel the warmth of his body around him, gripping his jacket, his hair, warm breath against his neck.

Johnny could feel him, with his own hands. Hear him with his own ears. It was overwhelming, finding the person his soul had been missing for over 52 years. This is all he’s ever wanted, now their other piece was somewhere here.

“How- What- I-“ Kerry stuttered as Johnny pulled back to see his face, to admire it. To see how much he’s truly changed.

“V, Muse… Vax, I don’t know all the ins and outs… but he’s-“

“He’s sleeping… they took him, J. He’s here but he’s not.” Kerry seemed to remember where he was and why he was there, Johnny’s jacket still in his death grip. His friend’s brain was scattered, trying to keep a grip on him while debating on whether or not he needed to go back upstairs.

Johnny rested his forehead against his temple. He wouldn’t deny having a bit of jealousy towards V when he had gotten with Kerry. Being able to feel him, touch him, for Kerry to see him. He wanted that, he wanted to rip himself out of V just to touch Kerry even if for a second.

“He’s sleeping, I need too… we need to go back… if he wakes up alone-“ Kerry starting pulling him upstairs, and Johnny’s anxiety grew. He needed to see V, to make sure he was alive. To see what those Arasaka bastards did to him.

The bedroom was dark, save for the natural light coming in from the dim windows. Vax lay in the big bed, shifting uncomfortably. Kerry swore before letting go of Johnny to climb back into bed with him.

“Baby… baby it’s okay.” Johnny’s heart shattered into piece when V made a noise in his sleep. His body moving quicker than he could’ve actually reacted. He wanted to put V back in his head, to keep him safe there. For V’s pain to be his own.

Eventually he settled, and Johnny made his way over. He sat closet to him, his face pale and twisted from whatever was haunting him. Johnny took his tattooed hand and held it, nothing could have prepared him for the shock of actually seeing him. Feeling him, where his hands always cold?

He was beautiful, even more so now than he had been when he seeing this body as his own. He was Vax, just Vax. No Johnny, not anymore.

His dog tags hung from V’s neck, as well as a chain he had stolen from Kerry. His bullet amulet was on the nightstand, and Johnny felt the urge to take it. But he’d ask V later.

Kerry tugged on him, getting his attention from V. He understood the look, and Johnny would never say no to that. He kicked off his boots and tossed his jacket onto the foot of the bed. Kerry had shifted himself and V into a more comfortable position, and Johnny took them both into his arms.

Safe. They were safe. His nightmares of Kerry being gone and V being dead weren’t true. They were here. Whatever state V would be in once he woke up, Johnny was here now to help. His muse was tired, it was evident even as he fell asleep that everything was weighing on his shoulders.

Johnny wasn’t leaving this time. He was staying here, right where he belonged. With V and Kerry, forever.

[malvolios-yellow-stockings]

On the my Warden Surana (the usual brainrot)

Throwing my two cents and headcanons in here:

Surana is my favourite Dragon Age Origins origin (hehe) - you get to become radicalized, in my opinion, in a very organic way.

beware - no deep thoughts are being thunk here, I'm writing this at one a.m. instead of studying for an exam.

My Warden grew up in the Circle, it’s the only thing he remembers, which is why questions about his family really upset him. They tug at something he’d rather not think about. There’s a feeling of I should know this, right? I should remember the people who brought me into this world? but he simply cannot recollect anything. How his family looked, what they were like. Nothing. The only place, and lack of a better word - home, he’s ever known is the Circle.

Now, he’d been one of the more talented children there, which did go to his head, and that meant he really had no incentive to think about his position or the position of mages in general. He surely didn’t see any problems with the Circle on an institutional level, more like a case of a few bad apples that need to be thrown away before they spoil the lot. Just follow the rules and you have nothing to fear etc. etc. Obviously, yes, you don’t get to see much of the outside world, but you’re dangerous. Magic is as much of a blessing as it is a curse. And all mages are inherently dangerous, especially the “unstable” ones.

On the other hand, the Circle did make him feel like an elf sometimes, but not enough for it to be more than a little grating. My Warden chalked it up to the other mages being jealous and close-minded. After all, he was favoured by some higher-ups so he must’ve been doing something not only right, but better than the rest.

And then the whole fiasco with Jowan happens and shakes it all up. For some reason, my Warden became friends with him. He thought about it sometimes - how? and came to believe it was a matter of the right place at the right time. And they became close. And then, this person he cares deeply about drops this plan in front of his feet, and Surana is absolutely certain Jowan’s a blood mage although he doesn’t want to believe it. So, he decides to rat Jowan out, spoil his plan. Now, it’s because everything Jowan plans goes amiss, I’m doing this to save his life is mostly what my Warden thinks. But there’s something else there. The anger he feels for not having told him about the Harrowing, for not taking his desperation seriously enough and for not realizing the threat of becoming Tranquil looms over the heads of many mages in the Circle. He’s going to use his good graces in the Circle to save Jowan’s life because it’s true, we all make mistakes. And he is positively certain that something considerably worse would’ve happened to Jowan had he not intervened. I mean, for Maker’s sake, it’s the Circle! You cannot hide anything here! It will eventually be found out. And everything goes as well as he’d expected. He intervenes to help Jowan, doesn’t help nearly as much as he’d hoped, because the stupid fuck is a blood mage. In a way, he hopes he never sees Jowan again because he’s angry, but in a way, he hopes he never sees Jowan again because he’s acutely aware of the fact that maybe, just maybe, Jowan was partially right, and maybe, just maybe, he could’ve helped him escape had they prepared better, and maybe he’d always help him, if he’d only ask. well, we all know how that please don't let me meet jowan again thing goes

After this, thinking about his own Harrowing and the Tranquil becomes painful. There’s something deeply rotten about the Circle, isn’t there? Jowan wasn’t born to be a blood mage, even Surana cannot believe in that, circumstances made it so. And this whole thing, with the Wardens, it might give him some much needed perspective.

The thing is, he knows he’s right. He bloody despises Isolationists, Lucrosians, Loyalists and Libertarians - almost equally. Loyalists basically being puppets and Chantry apologists. Libertarians, dreaming of breaking away from the Chantry, like they’re five years old. Aequitarians really do have the clear picture in mind, slow is gradual and peaceful, always.

He meets Morrigan. She inevitably pisses him off but there’s something enticing about her. Especially the whole apostate, hedge mage business. And sometimes, at night, he has to think about it - that maybe, although typically cruel in her wording, Morrigan had a point - the mages of the Circle simply allow themselves to be subjugated, accept their nature as inherently dangerous without second thought.

Outside the Circle, he’s always treated like an elf and this time, other elves aren’t treated badly because they’re lazy, untalented or any other reason (ahem excuse) he could think of. it’s because they’re elves. That is the entire reason. That cannot be right, now, can it?

For Surana, from the beginning onwards it’s just disillusionment after disillusionment. He thought he’d had the worst of it as an elf in the Circle - he was wrong. He thought apostates were all on the road to become vile abominations - he was supposedly wrong about that as well.

After Redcliffe and a short while with the Dalish (where he flirts with Dalish concepts of religion and their gods, plans to get a tattoo as well because returning to his roots and embracing them, particularly after the treatment he had gotten outside the Circle, feels right), he returns to the Circle and it is a mess. What have the mages done? What have the Templars done? What have the Templars done to the mages? And this really is the turning point.

Mages are not human - they're weapons and tools to be shaped and wielded, and, when no longer useful - to be cast away.

In the end, after meeting Wynne, he realizes there’s nothing to be gained from her ideology. That’s probably his final disillusionment. He reluctantly, slowly, and painfully thinks about what the Circle has taken away from him. How he had embraced their narrative with open hands. He got used to the treatment of the Circle and was fed with Chantry propaganda, practically nurtured, since he was a child.

The culmination of his status as an elf mage (in Origins) comes when he gets to ask Anora for Circle independence. He simply thinks that elves are guaranteed some rights in the future, surely, he’s helped not only Ferelden but Thedas, as have so many other elves, it has to happen because the alternative is unthinkable… and Ferelden cannot be that backwards thinking, right? So he chooses to ask for what are basically mage rights.

His status helps him choose Bhelen as well, hearing the rumours his rival spreads about him, his casteless lover and “anarchy” and anti-tradition he is supposedly bringing to Orzammar. Among many other things.

And that is why, when he meets Wynne again, in Awakening, he says this to her:

He has changed and truly believes this and he feels something brewing. There is no compromise and there is no peaceful solution. He, as a Warden and Hero of Ferelden (a title he greatly dislikes), and an elf mage, has tasted freedom. He just want that for everyone else now.

I think this is why I simply adore the Surana origin. Being an elf and a mage play so well together. It’s why a Surana romance with Morrigan is my canon.

Just look at the barren Wiki for Surana. You are free to make shit up!

tl;dr - An elf mage Warden is a very specific concoction of oppression and in my personal headcanon the Warden really gets to understand the plight of elves when he gets out of the Circle, while his understanding of mage oppression works backwards - when he returns to the Circle during the Broken Circle quest. And I think that's really neat :)

[malvolios-yellow-stockings]

Throwing my two cents and headcanons in here:

Especially with Surana - you get to become radicalized, in my opinion, in a very organic way.

My Warden grew up in the Circle, it’s the only thing he remembers, which is why questions about his family really upset him. They tug at something he’d rather not think about. There’s a feeling of I should know this, right? I should remember the people who brought me into this world? but he simply cannot recollect anything. How his family looked, what they were like. Nothing. The only place, and lack of a better word - home, he’s ever known is the Circle.

Now, he’d been one of the more talented children there, which did go to his head, and that meant he really had no incentive to think about his position or the position of mages in general. He surely didn’t see any problems with the Circle on an institutional level, more like a case of a few bad apples that need to be thrown away before they spoil the lot. Just follow the rules and you have nothing to fear etc. etc. Obviously, yes, you don’t get to see much of the outside world, but you’re dangerous. Magic is as much of a blessing as it is a curse. And all mages are inherently dangerous, especially the “unstable” ones.

On the other hand, the Circle did make him feel like an elf sometimes, but not enough for it to be more than a little grating. My Warden chalked it up to the other mages being jealous and close-minded. After all, he was favoured by some higher-ups so he must’ve been doing something not only right, but better than the rest.

And then the whole fiasco with Jowan happens and shakes it all up. For some reason, my Warden became friends with him. He thought about is sometimes - how? and came to believe it was a matter of the right place at the right time. And they became close. And then, this person he cares deeply about drops this plan in front of his feet, and Surana is absolutely certain Jowan’s a blood mage although he doesn’t want to believe it. So, he decides to rat Jowan out, spoil his plan. Now, it’s because everything Jowan plans goes amiss, I’m doing this to save his life is mostly what my Warden thinks. But there’s something else there. The anger he feels for not having told him about the Harrowing, for not taking his desperation seriously enough and for not realizing the threat of becoming Tranquil looms over the heads of many mages in the Circle. He’s going to use his good graces in the Circle to save Jowan’s life because it’s true, we all make mistakes. And he is positively certain that something considerably worse would’ve happened to Jowan had he not intervened. I mean, for Maker’s sake, it’s the Circle! You cannot hide anything here! It will eventually be found out. And everything goes as well as he’d expected. He intervenes to help Jowan, doesn’t help nearly as much as he’d hoped, because the stupid fuck is a blood mage. In a way, he hopes he never sees Jowan again because he’s angry, but in a way, he hopes he never sees Jowan again because he’s acutely aware of the fact that maybe, just maybe, Jowan was partially right, and maybe, just maybe, he could’ve helped him escape had they prepared better, and maybe he’d always help him, if he’d only ask. well, we all know how that please don't let me meet jowan again thing goes

After this, thinking about his own Harrowing and the Tranquil becomes painful. There’s something deeply rotten about the Circle, isn’t there? Jowan wasn’t born to be a blood mage, even Surana cannot believe in that, circumstances made it so. And this whole thing, with the Wardens, it might give him some much needed perspective.

The thing is, he knows he’s right. He bloody despises Isolationists, Lucrosians, Loyalists and Libertarians - almost equally. Loyalists basically being puppets and Chantry apologists. Libertarians, dreaming of breaking away from the Chantry, like they’re five years old. Aequitarians really do have the clear picture in mind, slow is gradual and peaceful, always.

He meets Morrigan. She inevitably pisses him off but there’s something enticing about her. Especially the whole apostate, hedge mage business. And sometimes, at night, he has to think about it - that maybe, although typically cruel in her wording, Morrigan had a point - the mages of the Circle simply allow themselves to be subjugated, accept their nature as inherently dangerous without second thought.

Outside the Circle, he’s always treated like an elf and this time, other elves aren’t treated badly because they’re lazy, untalented or any other reason (ahem excuse) he could think of. it’s because they’re elves. That is the entire reason. That cannot be right, now, can it?

For Surana, from the beginning onwards it’s just disillusionment after disillusionment. He thought he’d had the worst of it as an elf in the Circle - he was wrong. He thought apostates were all on the road to become vile abominations - he was supposedly wrong about that as well.

After Redcliffe and a short while with the Dalish (where he flirts with Dalish concepts of religion and their gods, plans to get a tattoo as well because returning to his roots and embracing them, particularly after the treatment he had gotten outside the Circle, feels right), he returns to the Circle and it is a mess. What have the mages done? What have the Templars done? What have the Templars done to the mages? And this really is the turning point.

Mages are not human - they're weapons and tools to be shaped and wielded, and, when no longer useful - to be cast away.

In the end, after meeting Wynne, he realizes there’s nothing to be gained from her ideology. That’s probably his final disillusionment. He reluctantly, slowly, and painfully thinks about what the Circle has taken away from him. How he had embraced their narrative with open hands. He got used to the treatment of the Circle and was fed with Chantry propaganda, practically nurtured, since he was a child.

The culmination of his status as an elf mage (in Origins) comes when he gets to ask Anora for Circle independence. He simply thinks that elves are guaranteed some rights in the future, surely, he’s helped not only Ferelden but Thedas, as have so many other elves, it has to happen because the alternative is unthinkable… and Ferelden cannot be that backwards thinking, right? So he chooses to ask for what are basically mage rights.

His status helps him choose Bhelen as well, hearing the rumours his rival spreads about him, his casteless lover and “anarchy” and anti-tradition he is supposedly bringing to Orzammar. Among many other things.

And that is why, when he meets Wynne again, in Awakening, he says this to her:

He has changed and truly believes this and he feels something brewing. There is no compromise and there is no peaceful solution. He, as a Warden and Hero of Ferelden (a title he greatly dislikes), and an elf mage, has tasted freedom. He just want that for everyone else now.

I think this is why I simply adore the Surana origin. Being an elf and a mage play so well together. It’s why a Surana romance with Morrigan is my canon.

Just look at the barren Wiki for Surana.

tl;dr - And elf mage Warden is a very specific concoction of oppression and in my personal headcanon the Warden really gets to understand the plight of elves when he gets out of the Circle, while his understanding of mage oppression works backwards - when he returns to the Circle during the Broken Circle quest. And I think that's really neat :)

Sometimes I remember that if you play Surana or Amell in Origins the origin (hehe) of the conflict that ultimately leads to the death of the Archdemon is... the First Enchanter of one of the most "liberally run" Circles in southern Thedas leaving out a bunch of books on blood magic with the explicit hope that young apprentices will pick them up and become blood mages so that they can be handed over to the Templars as maleficars. With your best friend falling for this trick explicitly because he's terrified that the Circle is going to magically lobotomize him against his will just because he's not particularly good at magic so he feels his only hope is to run away whatever the cost. That's the starting point for your character. And again, Kinloch Hold is supposed to be one of the most liberally run Circles. This is one of the good Circles. And then in Awakening we learn that Anders was kept in solitary confinement for a year just because he wanted to live outside the Circle, and you can comment that he's lucky they didn't just kill him outright. And I know I've said this twice already this post, but this is supposed to be a good Circle. This is nice. The mages at places like the Gallows would probably kill to be at Kinloch Hold. And your introduction to it is first you, a young adult (or possibly in your late teens; you are mentioned to be young for a Harrowing, and Harrowings generally seem to be done when the mage is quite young to begin with), being thrown to demons without warning as a standard test, and then when you wake up you learn that your best and possibly only friend is likely to be magically lobotomized for not being great at magic unless you help him escape. And between those things and during the latter you'll hear about fun things like apprentices disappearing into thin air (with no one questioning it because it's that normal) and the Templars watching the female apprentices bathe! And when you return it's to find out that when things went tits up the Templars, who are supposedly there for your protection, locked every surviving mage in Kinloch Hold in the demon infested part of the tower and are waiting for permission to murder everyone inside down to the youngest child. Ten bucks says that the Templars also in there would've been allowed to live.

I think it hits a lot harder just because you don't learn that Kinloch Hold is considered a liberal Circle until after it leaves the series, apparently for good, with the Templars planning to hang out outside the door until they get legal cover for murdering everyone inside. Like, you see all that and then after that you learn that that? That was the best a Circle mage could hope for. Just a few life-threatening tests you're not allowed to prepare for. Just a bit of entrapment by the person who's supposed to stand between you and the Templars. Only rumours that the Templars will watch you while you bathe rather than confirmed fact. And only a small chance that they'll murder you the moment they're given the opportunity. That's a good life for a Circle mage.

And then in DAI they genuinely expected us to buy that actually the Circles weren't that bad and the Circle mages are just so whiny for not knowing how to survive outside the cage they've been trapped in their whole lives and also wanting to kill a lot of their jailors. It's like the writers forgot that we've seen that even the best the Circles offered was still absolutely fucking horrific. And that that was a lot of players' first introduction to the series.

[sanjisprincesswifey]

CONGRATS ON 3000!!! :3 thats so exciting!! may you gain more in the near future, you deserve it! :D

Could i request song 2 for Law? GN!reader preferred?

deja vu (or unrequited love ft. trafalgar law)

notes: so much angst; law literally runs away from his feelings, unrequited law x gender-neutral reader (i’m like 90% sure there are no gendered terms), 1,000+ words, sfw content but tw for angst, so read at your own discretion. thank u for participating <3

regret was all that law was feeling right now. as his hands brushed against your soft skin, able to feel your passive, calm breathing against his chest, he knew he only had himself to blame. 

propped up on his elbow, he watches your delicate features twitch ever so slightly as he can only hope that you’re dreaming of him. 

it’s selfish, though. of which that he knows. 

regardless of the fact that you had consumed his every waking thought, not even freed by sleep as you danced through his dreamscapes, it would not be enough for you. 

brushing through your hair, down your cheek, and over your hip, law’s fingers glided across your skin with an ease he thought to be perfect. the way his hand rested in the crux of your waist, body so plaint against his touch, it could’ve been meant to be. 

as a thick blanket of snow decorated the ground outside of the small cabin, law knew his time was up. he leans over, lips to your shoulder, pressing gently against you as he tightly clenches his eyes. 

he murmurs those three words that you’d never say back, a bitter taste burning in his throat. 

with a slight creak of the bed, law slips his clothes back on and gathers his things together before turning to the door. he reaches for the brassy doorknob, but hesitates, heart collapsing in his chest when a shift in the mattress sounds once again. 

“where are you going?” you shallowly whisper, afraid of scaring him off. 

law knows he can’t dare face you again, knowing he was far too weak to your pleas. the vulnerability he had shown to you is what got him in this mess in the first place. 

“you’re leaving me here, aren’t you?” your voice trembles. 

he only turns his head half way, but he can see out of his peripherals that you’re wrapped up in a solitude of warm cotton that surely seems icy cold by now. 

“i think it’s best for both of us if you stay here, y/n-ya,” he mutters, a harsh, hoarse grit caught in his throat. 

law winces when he finally manages to capture your face, sad eyes already spilling tears. with haste, law turns back to the door allowing the painful heartbreak to fuel him to do so. 

“please don’t leave me, law,” you mumble. a sniffle and a light bed creak indicate that you’re now to your feet, which is just what law wanted to avoid. 

your hand brushes his shoulder and he can’t help but succumb to your touch, allowing you to pull him towards you and away from the door. 

he faces you now as you cup his cheek, his eyes glaze over at your touch, leaning into it with a sad smile. “i don’t want to,” he admits, holding onto your hand. 

as a last resort, you tug him down to attach your lips to his. they’re rushed, desperate to prove something they could not, but law continues to enjoy every second of it. he kisses you back, eager to show you just how deep his love runs as he pulls you against him. 

he knows it’s the last time he’d ever get the chance to do this and he doesn’t care if he’s being selfish. 

“i love you, y/n,” he breathes as he presses his forehead against yours.

your lips quiver, unable to return his affection. and law knew rhis, that’s why as soon as he said it, the door swings open and invites the cold, snowy wind into the small room. 

the abrasive condition causes you to reach for anything more to cover your exposed flesh and with that diversion, law has already bolted through the door. 

“law, please! wait!” you shout, using the fabric of your blanket as protection, wrapping it around your body. 

by observation, you knew he had been preparing to depart by the long, black overcoat he was wearing as he continues off into the distance. 

the harsh conditions make it impossible to move even a step or two, but you try anyway. 

“law!” you cry out once again, socks dampening upon impact against the cold ground. your whole body envelopes in a nipped pain as the elements fare too brutal for you to endure. 

“go back inside, y/n,” he says sternly as he turns back to face you. he’s only a few feet from you, but in this moment it feels like an entire sea stands between you. “don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

amongst all the emotions that whirl through your head, heartbreak begins to climb its way up your throat. 

“i can love you back, i swear,” you sob, gripping onto the edges of the blankets so tightly it turns your knuckles white. “you don’t have to do this!” 

law seethes where he stands; it was bitter reminder that he was a fool to ever let himself be caught up in something so trivial and an empty promise all the same. 

“i don’t think so,” he sputters, voice cracking before he speaks again. “i love you, but i can’t keep you tied to me. now, room.” 

a light blue hue surrounds him as your legs shake as they try to run, but before you have him in your reach, his body zips away. a pebble from the edge of town replaces him, only faintly making out his silhouette near the yellow submarine that bounces against the waves. 

it was so close, you could see it from where you stood, but with the thick snow slowly piling on top of you, it was an impossible feat.  

still, you try to run, tripping over your own feet as the rough terrain collided with your skin. “law, don’t do this!” you yell, hoping your plea would reach him and plead to his sense of humanity. 

as law harshly bites his lip, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, he pulls down his hat to cover up any tears that might’ve fallen. 

as he continues the walk to his ship, he’s reminded of the only other person he’s ever loved; how he had to leave him behind too, all due to his own fault. 

celebrate 3,000 followers with me!

[donutloverxo]

His queen

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Note - An anon asked for an au sequel to first night with no stucky but this can be read as a one shot. Thanks to lizzygal(link to ao3) for her advice on this! This is written for @sweetlyscared's 1k angst challenge! Congrats boo! I used the prompt 'Do you love her?' Although this is hardly angsty but it's as angsty as someone as soft as me can get🥺 Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Summary - Married life with Steve was amazing (although with a few bumps in the way) until you discovered a heartbreaking secret.

Warnings - explicit sexual content, painful sex, innocent naive insecure reader, dub con/noncon, soft dark Steve, jealous Steve, ooc villain Sharon, like a little breeding kink, some angst.

Pairing - soft dark king!Steve x reader

Word count - 5.3k

Steve jolted when your palm hit him across his face, his hand circled around your wrist, ready to fight whatever it was that slapped him off, his grip loosening when he realised it was just you. You wiggled your hand away from his grip, mumbling incoherently before turning away from him, so that he could only see the silhouette of your nude back in the dim light.

Although he had been with a handful of women, he never had to share a bed with one. He didn’t think he’d ever have to, he was born in royalty, raised to be a king. While he liked having your soft warm body in his arms, he maybe could live without your hands slapping him, or both your legs over his thighs and hips.

It was customary for wives to have their own chambers after the honeymoon period was over. And with a heavy heart he had sent you to your own chambers, he made sure you were treated to the best luxuries possible.

But he found himself missing your presence soon enough. Your legs over his, you annoying him for attention whenever he was working, the way you hummed a song in your head, how you often clumsily bumped into things, your sweet beautiful voice, your scent, everything about you.

So he went to your room, told you that you were to live with him in his chambers from then on. You were hesitant at first, but didn’t say no to him.

You could never deny him anything. He loved that about you. How subservient you were despite being so fiery.

He was grateful to have made you move in, in times like these, when his cock was hard and achingly pressed against your thigh, he had you right where he wanted you.

He softly called out your name, he’d rather have you awake for this. He loved listening to the sweet sounds he could pull out of you. When you didn’t so much as stir he decided he would just have to wake you up another way.

Pushing your legs off his, spreading them apart to make room for him as he hovered over you, pressing soft kisses, rubbing his beard against your skin, he made his way down to his destination, he was parched for your nectar.

He kissed your petal, your cunt already oozing with need, your body would always want him even if you weren’t awake. He frowned when you didn’t move at all. He had been a bit too rough with you that night, exhausting you, making you pass out as soon as he was done, but he was growing more and more impatient.

Scraping his teeth over your clit, he bit it ever so lightly as you yelped awake.

“Oh!” you gasped when you looked down to find the king between your legs.

Swallowing a lump, because this was still so very strange to you. Your mother had told you how a man and woman make love before your wedding, but she never mentioned anything like this.

From your knowledge the king putting his mouth there wouldn’t result in you getting pregnant. But it did bring you great pleasure, to the point where it was maddening.

Sometimes it was the only thing on your mind.

It was as if you were addicted to it.

“My king...” you squirmed when you felt him push his fingers inside you, “I’m so tired... I have court tomorrow...” How he managed to do all his duties and still have you at least thrice everyday was beyond you.

“You don’t have to go. You’re the queen, the future mother of my children, you deserve a day off. Besides I do work you a bit too hard, don’t I?” he asked before plunging his tongue into your heat.

“Huh? No... I’m glad to be serving you...” And you had yet to give him any heirs.

It wasn’t long before you released all over his mouth, your cheeks heating up when you saw his beard coated with your slick as he wiped it off with the back of his hand.

“You can stay in bed all day tomorrow. That way you’ll be strong and ready by the time I’m back.” He told you before capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, as you tasted yourself on his mouth.

Turns out a day off was everything that you had needed. You were born a princess, albeit of a kingdom standing on its last legs, you were the youngest of six sisters, your prospects weren’t all that great.

Your mother told you that you’d be lucky to get a rich lord, let alone a Duke or a prince. A King was out of the question. She taught you how to handle a household, she never could’ve prepared you for court or to be a queen. You always dreamt of marrying for love. Of running away after falling for a stable boy and living far away and being free.

But you married the King of the most prestigious kingdom in the whole world. While you had grown to love Steven, you didn’t love all the responsibilities that were thrusted upon you so suddenly, you didn’t like how you were always under scrutiny. Every move you made was watched and judged by others. You still couldn’t believe your life sometimes.

So it was nice to have a day to yourself. You had slept in till late in the morning, having your breakfast in bed before taking a leisurely bath and then decided to go for a walk in the garden just before the sunset before you’d have to go back up and have dinner with your husband before having to perform your wifely duties.

“Your grace,” you smiled upon hearing the familiar voice, turning around to see Lady Sharon approaching you.

You hadn’t seen her in over a month. She had been so kind to assist you and help you get acclimated to your duties, you’d always be grateful to her.

“I thought you were under the weather,” she frowned. It was the excuse you had given to skip court with your ladies that day. Which wasn’t a complete lie. You were a little sore between your legs. But a warm bath had fixed that.

“I’m feeling quite better,” you said, standing upright, a dignified smile on your face--formal and curt.

Always be formal and curt with everyone. Your instinct was to hug her when you saw her after her month long trip, like you would to any of your sisters or friends, but you must always act like a queen since you were one.

“How was your trip?” you asked her as she hooked her arm in yours so you could both resume walking.

“It went alright. Mama wants to marry me off to the Duke Stark, the trip was some sort of matchmaking ploy,” she snorted.

“What’s wrong with Stark? He seems so charming.” You remember meeting him at your coronation ceremony. Where he had got you beautiful pearls from an exotic country.

“He maybe charming, but at the end of the day - he’s manwhore.”

You gasped incredulously, your hand over your mouth as you looked around to make sure your maids didn’t hear you, “Lady Sharon,” you chastised her, “We can’t use that sort of language.”

“Forgive me, your grace,” she apologized, “I often forget how naive you are.”

“What? Naive?” you huffed. “Not using such filthy language hardly makes me naive.”

“Live a little, all royals are debauched in one way or another. I’m surprised to see just how much of a square you are.”

“Is... is being a square a bad thing?” You wanted to know. You never thought of yourself as a conformist, in fact your mother used to tell you you’ll die an old maid if you didn’t start acting more like a lady and less like a spoilt brat.

“Sometimes it is...” she pondered. “Well, for instance, being a square in bed might be boring for some men.”

“What?” you gasped again. Tightening your grip on her arm and walking at a faster pace to put some distance between you and your maids, “Give us a minute,” you told them.

“Lady Sharon,” you looked into her blue eyes, much like your husbands but a little darker, “Have you ever been with a man?”

“I have,” she shrugged. “Just the one. He was my true love.”

“Bu – but you aren’t married.” You frowned.

“So?”

“So, how can you make love to anyone if you aren’t married...” Your mother had told you that making love only ever happened between a man and his wife.

“I... you do know what making love entails right? This is what I meant when I said you were too much of a square,” she chuckled.

“Don’t... don’t make fun of me...” you pouted.

“I’m sorry, your grace, it’s just,” she put a hand over her mouth as she cleared her throat, “Really funny. Two people, who aren’t married, can make love. Being married is good but not a requirement.”

“I suppose that makes sense, me and his majesty could do it even if we weren’t married...”

“Is he happy with you?” she wanted to know.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just, you don’t know much about physical relations, and there needs to be a certain level of knowledge and experience for it to be good at it.”

“Do you think he is unsatisfied with me?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she shrugged. “Does he seem unsatisfied?”

He was always asking for it. Which you preferred, because you’d die of embarrassment if you ever had to initiate it. You couldn’t go for too long without it either. He had went on a hunting trip for just a couple of days and you wanted to jump on him and keep him in your bed as soon as you saw him.

Why would he ask for it again and again if he was satisfied?

“I’m not sure... since you know so much about it would you give me some advice?”

“My, I would’ve thought you’d call me a harlot or a whore instead you’re asking for advice...” she smirked.

“Oh, I would never. That is what my mother would say, probably, but you’re my friend. Besides, I would want to make love to Steve even if we weren’t married, and if he was a stable boy.”

“A stable boy?” she quirked a blonde brow.

“Yes! And I would be me, a princess. It’s just a silly dream I used to have,” you shrugged. “What happened to your love? The one you lost?”

“He got married to someone else,” she stated. And although she was firm and sophisticated as always, you could hear his voice wavering and how much pain she was in.

“Oh my... I am so sorry, Sharon,” you said, engulfing her in a hug to comfort her, now that you do actually love someone, now that you know what loving someone deeply means, how overwhelming it can be, you couldn’t even imagine what losing that love would feel like. “You’ll find someone better.”

“There is no one better, your grace. But I’ll give you some advice,” she pulled away from you, putting some distance between you both, “You have to pay special attention to his balls. Many ladies tend to forget them.”

“Ball...? Like toys? I don’t believe he has any.”

“Your grace,” she rolled her eyes as she snickered, “He does have them. That is where your children will come from.”

“Um... what? Wouldn’t they come from...” you looked down, to the place between your legs. That’s where kids come from. That’s what you had been told.

“Well, yes, that is where they will pop out of. But the balls... the ones right behind his manhood, that’s where his seed comes from.”

“Oh...” you nodded as you realised what she was talking about. “So... what about the... balls?”

“Just pay special attention to them. He would like that. Suck on them, tug on them... but gently!” she chuckled as she realised she would have to talk down to you since you were so inexperienced.

“Oh... alright... anything else I can do?”

“Try to be more... active... instead of just sitting there and taking it you know?”

“Alright. I think I get the gist of it.”

“You ready for me, petal?” Steven asked as he looked down at you, naked and vulnerable, so beautiful and all his. He nudged his cock against your intimate lips, prodding at your entrance as he awaited your answer. He knew he could be too much for you sometimes, he was trying to do better. So he could make you love him at least half of as much as he loves you.

“Mm-hm... but um...” you trailed off. Not exactly knowing how you would go about asking to suck his balls.

“What?”

“I was just wondering if... I could... do that...” you fluttered your lashes, that usually got you whatever you wanted from him.

“And what is ‘that’?”

“You know... when you make me put my mouth on you...”

He didn’t usually make you use your mouth.

Most of the times Steven had a strict unofficial schedule he followed when it came to lovemaking. He wasn’t someone who liked or embraced change, he was always strategic, as a king and as your husband.

He’d kiss you till you were out of breath, then your neck, and then your breasts, he’d spend a long amount of time there, maybe because you liked that the most probably. And then he’d use his fingers to work you up, tasting you, eating you out and drinking your nectar.

That drove you mad, till you were on the brink of insanity.

You loved it as much as you hated it. You had never felt so out of control in your entire life. Not even when your parents told you they were going to marry you off to a kingdom far away, to a man you had never even met before.

Steven would complain that you thrashed and moved around too much, although he would encourage you to make all the noise that you wished. He pinned you down by your hips. Sometimes he’d make you make once, twice, thrice, it depended on how desperate he was to get his own release.

And then he’d have you on your back. Whispering the filthiest things to you as he fucked you, filled you up with his seed.

He’d hold you close to him, kissing your hair, kissing your cheeks and touching your ever so intimately. That was when you were the most clingy, you’d hold on so tightly to him. You were more vulnerable than usual. You would tell him about how, even though you love being the queen and his wife, it was so new and overwhelming, how you miss your family and your old life. How things had changed and so drastically. He’d always tell you that it would all be okay. That he would take care of you and never let anything bad ever happen to you.

Then he’d have you on your hands and knees. He told you he liked looking at your behind and spanking it.

After that you’d both fall asleep. Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night and nudge you awake to love you some more. But he rarely ever made you suck him off.

“You wanna suck my cock?” he smirked as you meekly nodded. “Go right ahead then, petal. It’s all yours now, you don’t have to ask,” he told you as he sat up on his knees.

You looked at his cock. Hard and standing tall and proud up against his stomach. You now knew that being aroused made him hard and much much bigger. Maybe that’s why it’s often such a tasking job to take him--often leaving your cunt so sore.

Soft dark golden hair, much like that of his beard, and then you noticed them. His twin balls.

You took a deep breath as you took him in your mouth, suckling on his head, following your instincts and what he had taught you.

Your hand coming up and cupping his balls, massaging them gently in your hand. You stopped when you felt him go stiff.

Pulling his cock out of your mouth you looked up at him. “Did I do something wrong?” as you wiped your spittle and his preejaculate off your mouth.

“No,” he shook his head. It wasn’t often that he was stunned. Not ever really. But you, taking that kind of initiative, to touch him without him asking for you to, did shock him just a little.

He held onto the back of your head, bringing his balls just next to your mouth, against your soft lips, “Suck on them,” he told you.

You suckled at one, working the other one with your hand as he pulled at the roots of your head.

“Fuck! Stop!” he heaved, pulling you away, “I have to save it for your beautiful cunt, my queen,” he told you as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before he pushed you back down on the mattress.

Swiftly entering you, you were still as tight as the night of your wedding, which meant he had to be patient while fucking you, and he tried. He really did. But he was not a patient man. Especially not when you had just put your mouth on him and worked your magic in mere seconds.

He put most of his weight on you as he slowly pushed in and out of you, your face scrunched up in pleasure as you dug your nails into his shoulders.

With your pussy hugging him so well, almost as if it was made for him, as if you were made by the gods just for him.

“What have you done to me?” he rasped, touching his damp forehead to yours. You had weaved some sort of magic on him, making him crazy for you. Now it was hard to tell where he ended and you began.

You pressed a hand against your mouth to stop from giggling or making any sort of noise. Resting your back against the cool surface of the throne. You chose the back of the throne in the court as your place of hiding. Maybe it wasn’t the most strategic ploy but you were playing against a six year old.

Lila Barton had asked to play hide and seek with you. Only to receive a scolding from her nanny--to not bother the queen with such trivial matters.

It was as if you were reliving your childhood. You always felt you were made to grow up and be a lady too fast. With your mother and sisters telling you how important it was to act mature and be a lady, or you wouldn’t be able to marry well. Or marry at all.

So you jumped at the first opportunity to play with the kid. Making her count to twenty before looking for a place to hide. You had to go get your lessons for sewing so you didn’t have a lot of time, you hoped she would find you soon.

“But you’re not even considering it!”

You perked up when you heard the familiar voice, it was Lady Sharon! You had to thank her for all her advice, things had been going great with Steven ever since you listened to her. He had been opening up to you as well, although he was still as voracious in his love making. If anything... he wanted you even more now. Which you didn’t think could even be possible.

But some part of you absolutely loved it. And you knew you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You peaked out to see her, to maybe call her to join you on the floor, hiding behind the large throne. You frowned when you saw that she was holding onto Steven’s arm, looking up at him with a certain desperation in her eyes.

“There is nothing to consider. I’m a married man. It would be adultery – a crime,” he stated.

“Bu – but you promised, you told me you didn’t love her. You said you didn’t have any other choice. I’m not asking you to leave her for me, I know that’s not possible. I’m not a fucking idiot like her.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth again to keep your sobs in, tears streaming down your face as you watched your husband, and his lover, have a lovers quarrel.

You couldn’t hear any more of it. Couldn’t bear it breaking your heart anymore than it already had. You quickly got up, fleeing out of the room by the back entrance - which the servants often used.

“You watch your mouth when you speak of the queen,” he yanked his arm free of her, putting some distance between himself and her, “I didn’t make any promises like that. I told you I intended to be faithful to her even if I didn’t love her.”

He knew it was a mistake to ever get involved with Sharon. He never wanted to be a womanizer. But he had his needs. He didn’t think she would become so obsessed with him. He had broken off their short fling as soon as he became betrothed to you.

He felt responsible for all the rumours about him and her and her ruined reputation. So he had arranged for her to marry his good friend Stark but she had her mind set on him.

“I like the queen. She’s a good friend of mine. I don’t intend to replace her,” she explained. She had no interest in being a queen and having such tedious and boring responsibilities anyway—the power and the status that came along with it just wasn’t worth the hassle. She pitied you and how you just weren’t made for the job.

“But she can’t satisfy you, she can’t give you what you need-- What I can give you,” Being the Kings mistress would probably be better than being a Duchess and marrying some boring old man.

“Won’t you even think about it?”

“No I won’t. And you are to never speak of this again,” he warned her.

“Your grace...” Lydia was completely confused. Standing there with your dress in her hands as you frantically stuffed your clothes in a chest.

She had never seen two people as in love as you and the king. When she first met you, it didn’t seem as if you and Steven would make a good couple. She assumed your marriage would be like any other she had seen. Cold and distant.

Steve had never been smitten with a woman, she always felt there maybe something wrong with him. But he had grown so fond of you in such a short time. Even going as far as asking you to live with him in his chambers. Having the king around often made her duties to you challenging. But she was happy for you.

“I don’t understand. What wrong? Why do you want to leave so suddenly.” Does the king approve of your sudden departure? If not would she get in trouble for it?

“He lied to me,” you sobbed. “I thought--” you let out a hiccup.

“Calm down,” she said as she rubbed your forearms. She wasn’t afraid to touch you in such friendly ways, you weren’t as stuck up as most royals.

You took a deep breath as you tried to explain to your handmaiden why you both had to leave as soon as possible. Before Steven gets back. You’ll move all your things to the room you were supposed to live in and just lock him out of your chambers.

“I would’ve been fine living on my own. Just being a wife and a queen. But he made me believe... that we could be more. That he loved me. It’s not true,” you shook your head. “He lied. He has another lover.”

“Oh,” she let out. She was disappointed on your behalf but not surprised. It would be strange if the king didn’t have any other lovers. “I’m sorry, your grace.”

“I’ll be fine,” you sniffled. “This'll be a good lesson for me. My mother always told me I have my head in the clouds and should live in reality. That’ll teach me to dream.”

It was almost funny for her to watch you babble nonsense, stable boys, princesses and backstabbing friends, take a break to cry your heart out and then resume packing and trying to order all the other servants.

“What’s going on here?”

Everyone stopped moving as soon as they heard the kings voice. He of course looked at the Lydia for an explanation.

“The queen wants us to...”

“I’m moving back to my old chambers,” you briskly walked to him, standing right in front of him, looking him in the eye. He was much taller than you, making you crane your neck to actually get a good look at him, but you still tried to look intimidating and confrontational.

“Why?” he frowned. “Put everything back just as it was,” he ordered everyone.

“No!” you stomped your foot, looking very much like an indignant child who had his toy taken away, than a queen, “Don’t! We’re moving!” But of course nobody would listen to you over Steven. Not just because he was their king, but also because he was much more intimidating than you.

“Stop it!” he reprimanded you. “Whatever troubles you may have, we can sort them out together, but you are not moving back. And that’s the end of that.”

“No! I’m leaving! I’d like to see you try to stop me!” You hmphed. Pushing past him and making way for the door. You didn’t need to take your things with you now, you could just send for them later.

You screamed bloody murder when you felt Stevens arm around your stomach, as he threw you over his shoulder in the blink of an eye, “HELP!!” You yelled at the guards and your maids, who didn’t want to get involved, quickly scurrying out of the room.

“Ring the bell if you need anything, your grace,” Lydia said on her way out to you before she closed the door. It didn’t seem as if the king intended to do any real harm to you so she wasn’t that worried about you.

You kept on hitting his back, thrashing around his hold to break free, “Put me down!”

He threw you on your marital bed, his fingers making quick work of ridding him of his clothes so he could show you how he was just never going to let you go.

“Why do you even care? If I leave or not? You can just call for your lover!”

“My lover?” he frowned as he tried to push your skirts up your legs, which was proving to be a difficult task. Maybe he should’ve asked the maids to undress you before making them leave.

“Do you love her?” you asked, looking up at him and stopping your futile resistance for a few moments, your lips wobbly as you felt your vision blue with tears. You were born a princess, living a relatively sheltered life, never knowing pain so unbearable. As if you would never recover from this, you would never be the same.

You would never believe in love again.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, petal,” he said, getting frustrated with all the buttons and ties on your dress and ripping your skirt apart. Which he regretted, just a little because you started crying again.

“No! I like this dress.”

“I’ll buy you another one. I’ll buy you a hundred more.” He said as he hovered over you, diving in to kiss your beautiful lips and make you stop saying such preposterous things.

You sniffled as you tried to push him away, making him gather your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head.

“Stop it,” he told you. “When will you understand that you belong to me now? If I say you have to live with me, here, then that’s what you’ll do.”

“I’m not your slave,” you retorted as you tried to wiggle your hands out of his grip.

“Stop listening to rumors! There are plenty going around. I do not have a lover.”

“No. I saw it with my own eyes. You and Lady Sharon. Just this afternoon.”

“What did you see?”

“I... she said she was your lover...?” You tried to think of what exactly had been said between them. But you couldn’t remember. You were blinded by your fury and your sorrow.

“We used to be lovers, before you and I ever met, but not anymore. I could never think of another, I could never love anyone else,” he said softly as he touched your cheek with his other hand, “You want to know why?”

“Why?” you pouted, feeling a little stupid now.

“Because you’ve ruined me, my queen. You’ve made me a lovesick fool. I could never love anyone else the way I love you. Do you want to know how much I love you?” he asked as you meekly nodded.

Pulling his cock out of breaches, he pushed your skirts up, exposing your thighs to him, he rubbed his cock along the slick of your pussy.

“Did fighting with me make you wet, my queen?” he asked, making you avert your gaze.

“I...” it was the way he had simply thrown you around, how he just wouldn’t let you leave, “Maybe...”

“Hm, don’t start picking fights with me for no reason though. My poor heart won’t be able to bear it,” he cooed as he kissed your cheeks, wet from your tears. “You look beautiful when you cry, love, but I only want you crying when I’m fucking you, you understand?”

“Yes...”

He pushed inside you, you were tighter than usual, it was difficult to even properly enter you. The pain of it of course made you cry again. You sobbed into the crook of his neck as he shushed you.

“You feel my love, darling,” he asked as he was buried to the hilt inside you, “I’ll give you a child soon enough. Then you’ll have a living breathing proof of it,” he whispered in your ear as he started steadily moving, making sure that he won’t hurt you.

“I wish... I was your one and only... like you are mine,” you sniffled as you held on to him, soon it is wasn’t hurting as much, it was a little uncomfortable but you could bear through it.

“You are my one and only. You’re the only woman I have ever loved. Do you love me, petal?”

He looked down at you, wanting you to say it. He needed you to love him, for you to say it to him, he needed to know you weren’t here just because you were scared of him.

“I love you, Steve,” you sniffled, rubbing your runny nose with the back of your hand.

He smiled at you, his hand trailing down both your bodies as he twisted your pearl between his fingers.

“It’s okay... it’s okay...” He kept telling you as you screamed at the top of your lungs, your climax making your mind and your vision fuzzy.

“I’m going to fill you up, petal,” he told you as he finished inside you, staying inside you for a long while after he was done just to make sure you knew how he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him.

[haadeswrites]

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it. 

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child. 

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well. 

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call. 

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse. 

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’ 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined. 

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her. 

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?” 

And your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.” 

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?” 

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression. 

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet… 

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following. 

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading. 

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home. 

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions. 

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain. 

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him. 

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi. 

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part. 

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours. 

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea. 

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well. 

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for. 

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to. 

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight. 

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him. 

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight. 

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion. 

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering. 

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms. 

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night. 

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?” 

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be. 

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach. 

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves. 

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach. 

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head. 

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river. 

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn. 

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired. 

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north. 

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night. 

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore… 

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it? 

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.” 

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island. 

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment. 

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage. 

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside. 

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side. 

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly. 

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head. 

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first. 

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable. 

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out. 

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes. 

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.  

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise. 

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually. 

Time slows. 

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at. 

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally– 

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound. 

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips. 

It wasn’t him. It was never him. 

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.” 

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care. 

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though. 

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch. 

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. 

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again. 

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to. 

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you. 

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter. 

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most. 

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood. 

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!” 

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks. 

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

[moemoemammon]

(Two things, 1. This is my first time requesting so I'm sorry if this is not the thing to do it, and 2. Sorry if somethings is misspelled or grammatically incorrect, eng is not my first language:p)

May I request some of the bros, specially Mammon, Luci and Satan, with a MC who's similar to Lucifer in some aspects (like, some of their manners are the same as his and sometimes they're little bit too strict) and after a while they discover that its bc MC is also an older sibling. And (only if you want) meeting their younger sibling, please 🙏

Btw love your works ♡♡♡

Lucifer Number 2~

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

It doesn't occur to Lucifer how similar the two of you are, but the first thing he realizes is how pleasant conversations with you can be. You both share common interests, your tastes suit his own, and you seem to be the only competent person in this house.

You're the responsible type, and he likes it. He'll sometimes find you scolding his brothers for their behavior too, and as amusing of a sight as that may be, he doesn't want you to be burdened with their idiocy.

AND you're the eldest sibling in your household? Cheers to that. You too know the weight of being the responsible oldest, and the role one must take to ensure their siblings grow up well. You too know that you'd rather your siblings have things easier than you did.

But there's one thing he finds annoying... You can NEVER speak your feelings, and act as if it’d kill you to do so. He can respect secrecy when it's appropriate, but Lucifer would like to know what's on your mind. Not only that, but you can be HORRIBLY headstrong. There's nothing that can stray you away from what you've already decided.

"MC, I request that you take a few days off from school to do as you please. I've already spoken with Diavolo and your professors, and you've been given an excuse. I know you'll study anyway, so I've dropped off your assignments in your room. But... you should rest. It isn't good for you to be pushing yourself so hard. Hm? You're calling me a hypocrite?"

Mammon

As if one Lucifer wasn't enough. Now there's TWO of em?! Why's his luck gotta be so lousy!

Definitely the first to realize how much like Lucifer you are, and was SHOOK. Seriously, what gives?! What horrors exist in the human world that could've made you like THAT..?

Ever since you showed up, it's been impossible to get away with anything! He can't sneak out of the house because you're always there somehow, you tattle on him when you catch him leaving anyone's room, and you won't even let him copy your homework! What gives?!

Avoids you like the plague. You're no fun! There's only rare moments when you're kinda okay, and he likes those the best. The times when you're kinda sensitive and you'll drop the high and mighty act. But then you're back to being a pest!

"For the billionth time, I ain't got time to study! There's money to be made, and a guy like me ain't gonna waste a second lookin' at a dumb book when I could be- H-Huh?! You're gonna call Lucifer?! N-now, there's no need to be so hasty, right? Oi!! I'm sorry, damn it-!"

Levi

What's the deal with Lucifer number two? As comedic of a trope as that may be, Levi doesn't really care for having two nagging types in the house. Especially a human...

When you're in his room, all you do is nitpick about how he should tidy up and open a window! Don't you know that an otaku's room is his pride and joy?! It's a sacred space not to be trampled on by the opinions of a normie!!!

But still... he has to admit that even if you don't get all the stuff he's talking about, you at least try to understand it. And there are even some of his interests that you're genuinely invested in!

You might be a pain in the neck and harass him about annoying things, but he guesses he can deal with it if you'll actually sit through a TSL marathon with him...

"I-I'll lend you this manga, so make sure you read it! And when you're finished with that, I'll lend you the spin-off series by the author's brother! I know you'll like it, since you're interested in gritty stuff. Oh, and- Huh? My laundry? Y-yeah.... I'll do that.."

Satan

You are... surprisingly good company. Satan enjoys talking to you over afternoon tea, and the two of you share stories between one another.

But still, he can't shake the feeling that there's something... unpleasantly familiar about your personality. It isn't until you say something that sounds suspiciously similar to what Lucifer would say that he realizes who you remind him of. And oh, he hates it.

Tries playing pranks on you, but somehow they never go to plan. How that is is beyond him, but you never fall for anything! No matter how sweet his smile, you're always rightfully suspicious. You're annoyingly meticulous about checking your surroundings, and you're so aware of yourself that it's troublesome! Be more gullible!!

The king of petty has decided that its now his life goal to make you fall for at least one of his pranks. He doesn't care how elaborate he has to make it, or how unrewarding the payoff may be. He'll make you pay for seeing his brother in two places at once.

"MC, would you like to join me this afternoon for a book reading? Though, I'd love it if you could read this book in particular. I think you'll find it very-.... Hm? 'Isn't this the cursed book that makes you grow hair all over your body', you ask? Ahaha.... tch."

Asmo

Come now, there can't be TWO killjoys in the house! That's way too depressing!! It was funny at first to see that there's someone who can match the scary Lucifer's energy, but now it's becoming a nuisance!

You won't even go to the countless parties he's invited you to! Hell, you barely even give yourself room to mess around a little? Isn't it boring being so tightly wound? You're in luck, because the adorable Asmo-chan knows the PERFECT way to let loose~

You'll RARELY let him close to you, and that's usually when you're tired of him harassing you. Then he gets the honor of playing with your hair while you've got no energy to fight back! He'll style it wonderfully for you!

Also nags you to take better care of yourself. You're not a demon, so you have to care for your health! These late night study sessions are giving you bags under your eyes! And stop taking on so many extracurricular activities!

"Geez, MC! I didn't think you'd die from overworking, but that's the path you're headed on! You really are like Lucifer, you know? That being said, I'll do my best to make sure you relax! Shall we begin~?"

Beel

Beel may not be too bothered by Lucifer's strictness, but that doesn't mean he's immune to it. To think that even a human can be like that...

It's nice to see that you can take care of yourself, but aren't you working too hard? Your grades are good and you've got many interesting talents, but you also have to properly rest.

Has started bringing you snacks on the regular. And don't even think about skipping meals, because he won't allow it. He'll literally pick you up and bring you to the table if he has to. And if you're staying up late to study? He'll carry you to bed. Don't try to protest.

Beel is your babysitter now and there's nothing you can do about it. It's good to be responsible, but don't think about trying to take care of everyone else if you can't care for yourself. Now eat these twelve meat buns he bought for you.

"MC, let's eat lunch together. I know you were going to skip because I heard you talking to Solomon earlier, and I won't let you. Ah, don't worry about not having money, because I've already bought you some lunch. Let's eat in the courtyard."

Belphie

NO.... IT CAN'T BE... THIS HAS TO BE A NIGHTMARE....HE WANTS TO WAKE UP....

You're such a drag. You harass him to attend student council meetings, but him about his studies, and won't let him avoid a single obligation he has. What are you, his mother?

Has 100% joined forces with Satan to try to make you fall for many, many unsuccessful pranks. Are you curse proof or something? When he tried a '10 hour bed-head' spell on you, it just rebounded right to him! Then he found out that you'd borrowed a spell repelling amulet from Solomon and realized just how prepared you are...

When you aren't bothering his entire soul by trying to make him do things, you're actually nice to talk to. You're knowledgeable, you pay attention to the people around you, and you can always read a room. He likes to ask you for advice sometimes.

"Aren't you tired of being like that all the time? So... attentive, I mean. You should just take a nap some time. Or better yet, take the week off. Maybe I'll teach you how to properly relax? Then you might finally be able to take that stick out of your- ow... What're you hitting me for?"