#as for the robot thing his tears seem real

[oozeandgoo-art]

had an odd dream that i was reading a comic book. sketched a couple of the pages i could remember.

[luvjunie]

— trust who?

pairing: e-42!miles x 1610!fem!reader

contains: angst, mentions of death, yandere?miles

summary: you were taken from him a year ago, and now it seems the universe has given him a chance to do things differently— and this time, he’s not letting you go. no matter what. wc: 1,648

a/n: i got a lil carried away w this one won’t lie, lol. i love this song, and i put a little twist on it to match the plot. song lyrics are in small, bold italics

🎧: Not You Too - drake (ft. chris brown)

“trust- trust who? trust me and i can set you free. left your man came straight to me you the real mvp, my love.“

dimmed hues of red lights spotted your vision as you came to, eyelids heavy as they peeled apart to reveal the room you assumed would be the setting of your demise. your head snapped up when you finally regained consciousness completely, fright-riddled eyes darting around to scout out an escape plan. but just as you went to move, you heard chains clink from above as your body swayed, and realized you couldn’t. you looked down to find your legs bound by rope, as well as your hands, as well as the rest of your body to a firm, stuffed sack.

feet dangling from the ground, you let your head fall back against the punching bag, defeated, and settled for your only remaining option. “help!” you yelled, voice rasped and weak. “help!” you tried again.

“don’t bother, can’t hear a thing down here.”

an artificial, robotic voice sounded from above, warranting your eyes to meet a masked man who resided on a high beam, crouched in place, watching you. how long had he been there?

he jumped down, catching himself and effortlessly hanging from one arm before his sneakers met the steel floor. they were untied, you noticed.

fear permeated your entire being as he strolled over to you, a semblance of uneasiness coursing through your veins, pumping into your blood and rendering your spine straight as the ominous figure stopped just in front of you.

“ple—please, i don’t know why i’m here,” the words tumbled out in a broken heap of suffocated, stifled sobs as tears welled in your eyes.

“shh, it’s okay,” he shushed you, a hand reaching out to gently pinch your chin, lifting your head back up after it’d fallen. his touch was delicate, like he was scared he’d break you.

“i’m not gonna hurt you, mi vida. i’d never hurt you… you know that.” the voice distorter cut out, your breath catching in your throat and your eyes fluttering over every inch of this strange mask. it reminded you of a ventilation mask you’d seen in miles’ room once, a mask used to protect your lungs from the fumes of spray paint.

as if your mind were working against you, you found yourself… calmer than you were just a few seconds ago, and even more confused. why did the voice sound so familiar?

something wasn’t right.

“who— who are you?” you gulped.

“you don’t remember me?” the shield over his face pulled back, the quiet sound of mechanical whirring as it revealed his face drowned out by the heavy thrumming of your heart in your ear drums.

here stood your boyfriend in front of you, the same features, but… different. his entire demeanor had shifted since you had last seen him just prior to whatever time it was now, to something sinister. his hair was longer, pulled back and braided. an accent, almost resemblant of his mother’s lingered on the tip of his tongue, dripping within the words he spoke. his face was harder, etched and carved like the weight of the world had chipped at it piece by piece, only to settle on his shoulders, leaving him with no time for himself.

this couldn’t be right.

“miles?” you choked out, mouth gaping to find your voice. “w-why… what am I—you’re, you… but different? what is this? where am i?”

a puff of air shot through his nostrils, his best effort at a laugh as a small, smile lifted the corner of his lips, braids gliding over his shoulders when his head tilted to the side.

“you came back to me, mi amor. and god…you’re even more beautiful than i remembered.” he breathed, eyes flickering with sorrow for just a moment as they studied your face, a moment that was almost too brief for you to catch.

when he’d encountered you and his counterpart on the roof with his uncle, he swore his prayers had been answered. somehow, someway you’d been brought back to him— the pain of witnessing the bullet that pierced through your chest that fateful night just a year ago drifted from his mind, and replaced itself with the all consuming, peaceful, sleeping image of you the minute he’d picked you up and cradled you in his arms. it pained him to inject you with the needle to sedate you, but he had no other choice, he could never truly hurt you. no, he would never do that.

“i missed you so much.”

“first time in a long time hurtin' deeply inside”

the hand sporting his mechanical gauntlet lifted towards you, fingers bending so the claws wouldn’t scrape your skin as he let the cold metal brush against the swell of your cheek. the sound of the steel joints ticking made you flinch, chest stuttering for breaths you couldn’t keep within your overworked lungs as you turned away from him.

you looked at him with so much fear in your eyes, when all he’s ever wanted to do was keep you safe, to protect you, to make you feel comforted and secure. and he failed at that before, he knows that, but he’s ready this time. he’d been given a second chance, and he’d be damned if he let you slip through his fingers again.

“it’s me, hermosa… it’s okay, you know me. just trust me, and i can set you free, and then we can be together. just like old times.” his brows furrowed, his tone one of sincerity as he assured you, but it did nothing for your racing heart.

“trust—“ you sputtered, voice wavering when you spoke. “trust who? you? how can i when you have me tied up like this?!” you balked, your bewilderment such a stark contrast from his bleak, seemingly unmoving disposition.

“yeah… i’m real sorry ‘bout that. uncle aaron made me, so i tried not to make ‘em too tight. you know something like this would never, ever be my idea.”

you shook your head, was this some kind of sick joke? why wasn’t he understanding a single word that was coming from your mouth?

you grew frustrated, time was not on your side, and honestly you were getting tired of this game.

“i don’t know anything about you, i don’t even know who you are. you might have his face, and—and his body,” you looked him up and down. “but you… you are not my miles.”

he felt a pang in his chest, the words you uttered, the way you said ‘my miles’, as if he wasn’t right here, as if he wasn’t right in front of you. the version of himself he’d buried in the ground with you just last year wanted to jump out and yell at you, plead with you, anything to make you see he could be just like your miles, because he was your miles.

“oh,” he pulled the skin of his cheek between his teeth as he turned away with an agitated nod, extending his arm out to point towards your miles, who was still unconscious, chin dropped to his chest as he hung from another punching bag.

“him?” his voice raised in volume and broke apart with desperation, a humorless chuckle unintentionally escaping his trembling lips. “what’s the difference? huh? tell me.” he demanded, nostrils flaring as he tried to maintain his composure, staring deep into the eyes of the girl who would’ve burned the whole world down with him if he asked. the girl who was in his grasp, right in this moment, yet still so far from his reach— reserved for the one who had everything that belonged to him.

your head whipped to where he pointed, and the moment your eyes landed on your boyfriend your blood ran cold, a pained gasp rippling your chest. “miles! oh god, please!” you called out for him as you struggled against your restraints, his counterpart interrupting you by blocking your line of your view with his body.

“cálmate,” he hummed, “he’s fine, just unconscious. i’m not cruel. is that how you remember me, mamí?” he questioned, voice bleeding with hurt.

your gaze drifted over to your miles again, hope swelling within you when you heard him groan.

“no, no, princesa. don’t look at him, look at me.” he urged.

he didn’t understand. you always used to say you would love him in every universe, that you’d find him in every lifetime, what happened to that?

“please, we need to get home, if we don’t… he won’t be able to save his father, he—he’ll die. you have to understand.” you pleaded, the tears finally bubbling over your waterline, streamlining down your cheeks.

“you are home! it’s me, mi amor, i’m right here. what about everything we went through?” he asked tenderly, voice full of hurt and eyes still soaking in the slight difference in your features. he was too distracted by the fact that the girl he thought he’d never see again, was right here in front of him to even try and comprehend what you were trying to say. “please, don’t cry. you know i hate seeing you cry.”

nothing else seemed to be working, so you settled for empathizing with him. he was still miles, after all, different universe or not, he was still the same person deep down. and from the way he was looking at you, love flowing from the eyes that held so much anguish within them, you knew some version of you had loved him, too. in the same way you loved your own.

“look, i’m sure i-“ you stopped to correct yourself, “she, loved you, but i’m not her. i’m not from here, and i’m sorry she’s gone, and i’m sorry you have to live with this pain, but, please… you have to let me go.” your tone was forbearing, words teetering off into a hushed plea, your lingering apprehension threatening to tear through the seam of your heartfelt spiel.

“let you go?”

you nodded tentatively.

he moved closer to you, to unbound you from this elevated prison, you assumed. because maybe, just maybe you’d managed to get through to him.

but this wasn’t your universe, and this… this was not your miles.

for the first time in your entirety of knowing miles morales, you felt your heart stop— and not in the way that brought a flurry of warmed, passioned butterflies to flutter within you— but in a way that invited his words to settle like ice in your bones, allowed panic and dread to inhabit your senses, clutching you in a selfish grasp of resentment that had no intentions of letting you go— you realized, as this time, his gloveless hand swiped away yet another tear you hadn’t even noticed you’d shed.

“why would i do that?”

“I've given you enough time. hurtin' deeply inside.“

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms!

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

©luvjunie 2023

[rafeandonlyrafe]

never truly gone

words: 2k

alternative universe where rafe was the one to fake his death instead of ward

warnings: funeral, discussions of death and grief, established relationship, murder confession (canon murder), implications of smut (no actual sex)

you are barely tuned in to the words being spoken at the funeral, lost in the haze of grief. dressed in the same outfit you wore for your one year anniversary with rafe. it was his favorite. was. the word hits you like a ton of bricks.

it didn't feel real for the longest time, part of it still doesn't, the feeling in your gut that your boyfriend isn't truly gone, but as you pick your head up and look around, you realize you have to get over the stage of denial.

“are you okay?” your mom whispers, reaching over to squeeze your hand. you rip it immediately out of her grip. of course you're not okay. who could be after their first love, their high school sweetheart, blew up?

“now is the time that we invite anyone who would like to say a few words up to the mic.” the pastor says, looking out into the crowd, members of rafes family having already spoken.

ward turns around to look at you. he invited you to sit in the front row when you first arrived, but you didn't want that kind of attention, your every reaction being scrutinized, if you’re crying too much, or not reacting enough.

“would you like to speak y/n?” 

you look at the crumpled, tear stained piece of paper with some words scribbled on it.

“i-i don't know if i can.” you admit. ward seemed so strong when he spoke, the same pillar of community he seems to be when speaking at town halls or midsummers.

“whatever you say, im sure rafe would appreciate it.”

you nod, take a deep breath, then stand. your mind seems to blur as you walk to the front, the pastor greeting you with a soft hug then leading you to the podium.

you clear your throat before looking down at the paper. 

“i never imagined a life without you. you were the first man i ever loved and i can't… i can't see myself ever having that same love again. we changed each other so much. we went from kids to young adults planning out their life together. i love you so much, rafe. i always will no matter how much time passes.” you vow.

your next words turn robotic, talking about the family he left behind, his accomplishments, things that don't actually matter to you but you know should be said. you recount the five years you were together, knowing someone is no doubt scoffing at how little it is, but it was your whole world.

you manage to hold in your sobs until you sit back down. you spend the rest of the funeral with your head down, unable to look at the pictures hung around the church.

-- 2 months later --

you let out a groan as you turn over in bed, not wanting to wake up, wanting to spend another day rotting under the covers.

“it's almost noon.” your mom says, peaking in to the door.

“yeah.” you say, sniffling as you see the photo on your nightstand when you go to look at your alarm clock. you can't bring yourself to move it, even if it makes you cry every time you see rafes smiling face. “i know.”

“maybe we could go out to dinner. or order some pizza? you need to eat, baby.” you know your mom is just looking out for you, but the thought of food makes you feel sick, eating at this point when your stomach truly needs it.

“yeah, maybe.” you pick your phone up off the nightstand and unplug it. “im gonna take a shower and get dressed.”

“that's good.” your mom says. “i love you, y/n.”

“love you too mama.” you pause for a beat when she doesn't shut your door. “thank you.”

you mom nods before exiting. you open up your phone to the gallery that causes you as much pain as it has joy, flicking through your final photos with rafe before sighing and getting up to shower with him fresh in your mind, determined to not forget a single thing about him.

--

you're about to go to sleep, pass out and hopefully not dream of anything. you went out for dinner like you promised your mom, trying to keep a brave face for her. she didn't even mention anything when you came back from an extended trip to the bathroom with tear stains on your cheeks and red eyes.

you grab your phone, swallowing harshly to stop yourself from crying again as you click on your messages, rafes contact still pinned to the top. 

you click on your messages. the last text was rafe saying he loved you. you never got to text him back, but you know he was aware of how much you loved him.

you scroll back for a bit, smiling at his jokes even with the tears in your eyes.

you lock your phone and place it on your chest, looking up at the glittering stars through your skylight. “i miss you so much, rafe. why'd you have to leave me?”

your phone vibrates. you almost ignore it, not caring who it could be from, you've practically ditched all your friends, hoping they won't hold it against you when you finally feel good enough to hang out again, if that time ever comes.

something in you makes you pause when you go to plug your phone in, makes you hesitate and open up the text.

baby, im so sorry. please meet me outside, im at your dock.

love, rafe

you frown at the text from the unknown number, considering ignoring the obvious prank as you fling off your covers, body now fueled with rafe, but when you look out the window, there is an unfamiliar boat tied to your dock.

you slip on your shoes, not really thinking of a plan as you head outside, rushing through the yard to find out whoever is playing tricks on you.

the moon barely lights your steps as you stomp down the wooden dock until you're close enough from the boat for them to hear you and far enough from your house to not wake up your mom.

“this isn't fucking funny!” you scream. “whoever is pranking me, you're fucked up!”

a figure steps out of the boat and onto your dock. it takes your eyes a second to adjust, to really take in what you're seeing, to know it's reality.

“n-no.” you take a staggering step back. “im-im seeing things.”

“it's really me, baby.” the word hits you like a bullet as you fall to your knees, not caring that they dig into the wood. “i can explain everything but-but can i touch you? ive missed you so goddamn much.”

“this isn't real. you're- you're dead. im dreaming.”

rafe moves closer, dropping to his knees as well and pulling you into a tight hug. it isn't until he touches you that you know that it's not a dream, hes real and warm against you.

“oh, god.” you begin to sob, clutching onto rafe, clambering closer to him, climbing onto his lap and hugging him so tightly it's like your bodies could become one.

“im so fucking sorry baby. i love you. i love you so much.”

“i love you.” you sob, pulling back to look rafe in the eye. “i-i love you and you can never leave me again.”

you'll demand answers later, but now you're just happy your initial gut instinct was right, your boyfriend is right here, alive and well.

“can i kiss you? you're probably pissed at me but-”

you don't wait for rafe to finishing, surging forward and smashing your lips against his, all the passion and feelings of the past two months without him, but also the past five years of love, put into your bodies as you kiss under the moonlight.

“baby-” rafe gasps after a minute. “i-i need to get back on the boat. just in case i’m seen. come with me.”

“okay.” you're not sure what it means, but you're not going to let rafe out of your sight.

rafe climbs onto the boat before helping you, hand carefully stroking over yours as he leads you into the cabin.

“did you tell anyone that i messaged you?” he asks, sitting down on the bed and pulling you to his side.

“no.” you shake your head. “my mom doesn't even know.”

“that's good.” rafe nods. “i faked my death.”

“i can tell.” you giggle, unable to keep away for much longer as you press your lips against his in a quick peck before curiosity has your tongue loosening. “how? why?”

“my dad planned it for me. the boat was rigged to explode and i went and suited up in scuba gear. the why…” rafe hesitates for a moment, and you can read every emotion on his face.

“just tell me.” you say. “you can't hurt me. you can't make me mad at you, not when i just got you back.”

“i killed sheriff peterkin.” rafe swallows harshly. “it was to protect my dad, but of course nobody would believe me.”

“i believe you.” you tell rafe, tucking your head into his neck. “that must have been so scary, but i know how you'd do anything to protect the people you love.”

“my dad didn't want me to tell you at all. i agreed to wait until after it happened, but it all moved so fast, and when i got to where i was supposed to hide out for a while, i realized i had no way of contacting you. i had to steal a phone and this boat and leave the safehouse.”

“what's the plan now then?” you ask.

“have you come back to the safehouse with me. it's in the caribbean, on a gorgeous island. i will provide everything you need, we won't have to hide there.”

“and what will i tell my family? tell everyone?”

“well, your mom loves me.” rafe smiles, knowing he's right. “i think we can trust her to keep the secret. as for everyone else… maybe you just need some time away from the outer banks after what happened. maybe some cousins in michigan or something?”

“whatever.” you shake your head. “i just need to be with you.”

-- one week later --

“when you said safe house…” you look around the mansion. “this is not what i was picturing.”

“the locals here think im a cousin of the cameron family. allows me to stay here without much suspicion. i do keep a low profile and stay out of touristy areas just in case, but we can do whatever you want here. the ocean is right outside our doorstep.”

“and money? do i need to get a job?” you've never worked before, having grown up wealthy, but you're willing to do anything to keep your life going with rafe, having told your mom who didn't believe you until rafe stepped into the room. she saw the spark in your eyes and recognized it as the same one in hers when she looked at your father, and her time was also cut short when he passed young.

she made you promise to call and to let her visit every couple months, just enough to not be suspicious.

“no.” rafe shakes his head. “my dad funnels me money. cash, so no one gets suspicious.”

“honestly, i could just stay forever in the house and in the backyard.” you laugh, wrapping your arms around rafes shoulders, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“my dad will figure something out eventually, i don't expect you to hide for the rest of your life.”

“okay.” you shrug. now that you're with rafe, you don't care. you're going to be happy no matter what after feeling the pain of losing him.

“there is one more room i want to show you…” rafe picks you up, your legs slotting around his waist like nothing ever happened. 

you laugh as you kiss his neck, knowing exactly where he's taking you.

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry

[kittykattysstuff]

Warning: Incest.

Gojo satoru x fem!reader

“Let’s get married”.

Satoru declared as soon as you both were left alone. And those three words changed your world completely.

Being the sister of ‘The Strongest’ was far more difficult than people would have thought. It was not glamorous, as all your friends used to think. Yes, Satoru-nii was the best big brother you could’ve ever asked for, and you had no complaints whatsoever about him. However, the rest of the Gojo clan wasn’t as perfect as they liked to show to the outside. No. Far from it. In reality, they were a bunch of conceited, hypocrite and misogynistic senile people, whose only concern was to ensure Gojo eventually had an heir to keep the family legacy.

Your brother, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about getting married and giving the Gojo clan the heir they oh so desired. No, he was more concerned with pissing them off and, on the rare occasion he actually bothered to visit the family estate, dote on you.

You see, you were nothing compared to your big brother, who had inherited the most powerful family techniques in centuries. Despite having cursed energy, your abilities were average, nothing special. Therefore, your parents deemed you of no use, and didn’t let you attend Jujutsu High. You were a porcelain doll, collecting dust in the corner and just waiting to be married off to the best suitor your parents could find. To your utmost dismay.

They already had had the perfect heir. You were just an unplanned nuisance. Satoru was the real deal. And you were absolutely fine with that. Really. You saw the pressure your big brother had been subjected to from the moment he was born and opened his eyes.

The expectations the higher ups had on him, the way they wanted him to be a perfect little robot and follow their orders blindly. Satoru’s rebellion, however, was the last thing they expected. And that was your favorite thing about your brother. He never listened to anyone, only ever doing as he pleased. He knew no one would oppose to him. He was the strongest, after all. What could they really do?

As you two grew up, you were always joining Satoru-nii’s mischievous plans of ways to piss your parents off. You were his greatest ally in your household, and he was yours. Satoru-nii was the only thing that made life in the Gojo estate bearable. You were each other’s best friends.

The day he left to attend Jujutsu High, you were a wreck. You remember clinging to him for as long as you could, refusing to leave his arms, and when he got settled into his dorm and it was finally time to say goodbye, you were a sobbing mess. He was just as bad. The last thing he wanted was to leave you behind with your shitty parents, but he had no choice. And, with a heavy heart, tears rolling down his cheeks in a rare moment of vulnerability, he promised he would come back to you and when the day came, you would never be parted again. He pressed a tender, chaste kiss on your forehead to seal his promise. Which leads you to your current predicament.

“I’m sorry, what?”

You asked as you tried in vain to process his words.

“Let’s get married”.

Gojo simply shrugged, a smile on his face as he looked at you through his dark shades.

“How can you say that so nonchalantly? And what are you thinking about? For fuck’s sake, we’re siblings Toru-nii!”

“Oooh, swearing now, are we? You really became a big girl while I was away, huh”. He hummed, shaking his head amusedly.

“Focus, Toru-nii. Where’d you get this crazy idea from?”

You tried to make your big brother come to his senses. You were on the verge of having an aneurysm from the way he seemed so at ease with the whole thing. That wasn’t the worst thing, though. You were more worried with the fact you did not find the idea so bad. What was wrong with you? Maybe all those years living with your family had made you go insane. You shook your head, trying to get rid of such unholy thoughts.

“The higher ups are pressuring me to get married and have an offspring”.

Satoru said seriously, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat on your bed. You followed suit, sensing the shift in the atmosphere as you sat across from him, hugging your pillow close to your chest in an effort to create a wider gap between your bodies.

“They always have, nii-chan”.

You said softly, sympathizing with his displeasure.

“They’ve been trying since you became of age, and you always managed to avoid it in the end”.

Gojo groaned, taking off his sunglasses and rolling his eyes. If the situation wasn’t so serious, you’d be laughing from his childish antics.

“Ugh, I know. But this is not like those stupid dates they used to settle. They actually gave me an ultimatum”.

“Nii-chan-

You tried to placate his anger, before he cut you off.

“I know, right? Like, how dare they threaten the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in recent history?! The audacity of the old farts!”

He started to complain nonstop. This was your time to roll your eyes.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to get out of this situation, Toru-nii. You always do”.

You smiled encouragingly. Your big brother was just blowing it out of proportion, exaggerating and making the details seem worse than they actually were.

“Except that this time I can’t, little sis. They said that if I don’t find a wife in one month, they will find me one themselves”.

Satoru looked you straight in the eyes, and damn, those baby blue eyes of his still made you weak in the knees. Ever since you were kids, he would always talk to you without a blindfold or sunglasses when he wanted you to do something for him. And you caved. Every. Single. Time. Of course, the bastard knew it all too well. Still, you kept your resolve.

“I don’t see what’s the matter. They’ve threatened you many times, and it never worked. Why’s it so different now?”.

“Mom and dad found you a suitor”. He declared, straight to the point.

You gaped at him. How did he know? It was partially true. Although your parents had already decided on the perfect husband for you, it had not been made official yet. And, until the announcement was formally made, you would hold onto every last shred of hope you had.

“It’s not official”. You replied, stubbornly.

“Come on, they already scheduled a date to make the announcement public”.

He said it with such certainty, you knew Satoru couldn’t be lying about this. Fear settled deeply in your heart. They had really scheduled a date? If your nii-chan wasn’t lying to you, and you knew he wasn’t, he never once did, then you were helpless.

“I-I’m sure that if I talk to them…”

“What, they’ll listen to you? They’ve been dictating your whole life since you learned how to walk, sweetheart”.

Unfortunately, Satoru was right. Trying to talk to them would be absolutely useless. You were stupid for even entertaining the idea.

“I know it is not ideal, sweetheart, but this is the best solution for both of us. Do you really want to marry the pervert Zenin Naoya?”.

You grimaced. That was totally repulsive. You could never marry him. The men from the Zenin clan were even worse than your own family.

“But, Toru-nii, this is wrong. We’re siblings!”.

You still tried to reason with him, but the words didn’t seem so firm coming out of your mouth. At this point, you knew you were trying to reason with yourself more than your brother. Oh God, you were just as sick. Picturing yourself getting married to your very own brother shouldn’t feel so good.

“Darling, I thought we had already crossed that line a long time ago”.

Satoru smirked, getting closer to you, your knees touching as he took the pillow from your hands and threw it over his shoulder in the bed. You gasped, eyes huge and mouth open like a fish out of water. You two swore you would never speak of this again.

“Toru-nii!”

You admonished him, refusing to face his bewitching blue orbs, instead focusing on the sage green wall in front of you.

“Oh yeah, I still remember when you came to my room in the middle of the night, wide eyed and with the cutest pout on your pretty little lips, begging me to teach you how to kiss-“

You put both hands on his mouth, silencing him.

“I was just fifteen!”.

“Well, you came to the right person. I’ve always been a great teacher, if you know what I mean”.

Satoru winked.

“Ugh, stop being so cocky”.

A beat of silence passed before Satoru cleared his throat.

“So, what do you say, sweet sis? It’s either you live the rest of your life in a loveless marriage, or you become the wife of your mature, amazing, sexy Toru-nii…”.

“Okay, okay, I get it!”. You stopped him before he got carried away.

“Say, if I agreed to this”. You eyed him carefully.

“Mhmmm”. Gojo encouraged you to continue.

“How would you make it work? I mean, last time I checked, marrying your sibling was illegal”.

Your nii-chan smiled widely, already knowing he had won the discussion.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ve got it all covered!”. He clapped, pleased with himself.

“You arranged it all before knowing whether or not I would agree?”.

“Is that a yes?”.

Satoru leaned even closer, playing with a strand of your hair while watching your face intently all the while. You immediately felt your cheeks grow warm. Being close to Toru-nii always made you nervous. He looked like a predator analyzing its prey, a hungry expression on his handsome face. You gulped.

“Toru-nii, stop teasing me”. You pleaded.

“You need to say the words, sweetheart”.

He whispered, face mere inches from yours. His hand was now caressing your cheek.

“Yes, nii-chan. I will marry you”.

“Good girl. Now, how about we put the lessons I gave you back then to use? I don’t want my future wife to feel neglected”.

Those were the last words he said before he pressed your lips together.

[creativewritersposts]

a damn poet - Connor Bedard

requested; @chericherilvr 💓

summary; Connor Bedard x reader

Connor is so busy trying to have his best season that he forgets about things that really matter. He needs to learn how to be a poet to save your relationship.

warning(s); angst! fluff, argument, maybe grammar errors

author's note; it took me hours to finish this one. It was an honor for me to write this request. ♡

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Deep in your heart you know how Connor feels for you. He wouldn't invite you over another continent, joining his world championship, if he wouldn't love you. But something inside you breaks. Seeing all these hockey couples with cute pictures, sending their girlfriend flowers and the players screaming from the rooftop how much they love their girlfriends.

Connor is not like this. He loves you, he cooks your favorite food and watches all movies you want to watch. He's so focused to play the best rookie year he could do and lost the focus on his private life. He doesn't want to post your relationship official, because of his fan base.

You're self-evident for him.

"Hey love", you smile with big eyebags, touching his shoulder as he walks in the hotel room. It's your first time after three days having a real conversation with him.

"Hi", his mouth is straight, kissing your temple and waking in the bathroom. You're exhausted from love-bombing him. You're so tired of being so upset.

"How was your day?", you ask him, hearing the shower. "I can do better", his voice echos back. "You're already enough, my love", you shout back and throw your body into the bed. You spread your arms apart, your legs are on the ground.

Connor comes out after a few minutes ago in a towel, his hair is still wet and he's looking fine.

"What is that?", he grabs a paper from the desk.

"So I hold onto your shirt, as I stain it with blood

Will I finally find my own peace?

Clear my mind out of my thoughts, then state that I'm in love

Tempted with the idea of dying in these sheets"

"I'm writing songs ", your voice shakes. Connor never noticed this because he's always busy and you're asleep when he comes home. You're working full-time in a job you don't like and at night you're writing songs. Hopefully to live from that one day.

Connor looks up from these lines, "since when?", he breathes in. Hid eyes get red. Red like crying. "over a year", you sit up on the bed, your arms are supporting your back.

"Why didn't you tell me, babe?", he sniffles.

Babe. How long didn't you hear this nickname?

"You were busy", you tell him the truth. Maybe he'll break up with you. Connor sobbs, "are you really feeling this way? Finally finding your own peace?", his blue eyes searching yours, you can see how much it burdens him.

"your lyrics are professional, they're so good", he cries and tries to hide it. Whipping his tears with his wrist, face to his bag with all clothes.

He's putting a shirt on, turning around. "I just need time to realize this, babe", he kisses your lips, you taste the salt from his tears.

"You have an important game tomorrow, I'm ok with that ", you response. He nods and lays down. Without a kiss, hug or this comfortable feeling.

He lays down and let you alone with all these thoughts in your head. He doesn't seem to care much about you. Maybe it's time to leave.

Next day Connor feels like shit, even in his hockey clothes, nice fans around his team. He slept surprisingly well, but feels like the night after silvester.

It burns in his chest, you don't feel happy. But why? Since when you're writing songs? as a good boyfriend he should know. What is he missing in this relationship.

He's not shitty boyfriend, he didn't know it's hurting you. He thought its okay that he's having a strict time schedule.

"Concentration, Bedsy!", his teammate hits his shoulder to wake him up from daydreaming. Like a robot Connor played his best game but the celebration feels like a crime.

"Yo Connor are you going out with us?", some boys asking him in the cabin to celebrate their win. "No", he wants to see you. He forgot how stunning you are. How hard working you are. You're a poet and he had no clue!

He walks in your hotel room, lights are out. Just some papers all over the bed. He grabs one paper, reading the lines.

'He grabs me by my neck

Puts a dagger to my heart

Tells me I'm a mess

That I'll never be enough'

Gosh, it hits him. You are more than enough. You're his safe place. He reads every paper, focused about what you feel. It's time to hear out what you need.

He grabs his phone, calling you.

"Hello?", your voice sounds happy. "Where are you, babe?", he asks interested. "I'm at the whirlpool inside the hotel, I'll come over in 5 minutes, okay?", you're scared he's mad when you're late. You thought he's celebrating with his team and won't come to bed until midnight.

You pack the stuff and walk back to your shared room.

The opened door shows you the sort out papers with your lyrics on your bed shelf.

Connor lays in bed, smiling softly. It's typical Connor, he's a clean guy.

He smiles. He smiles at you without talking about hockey. "Congratulations for winning, I'm proud of you", you stutter.

This view feels so surreal, having a relationship after months. Having a boyfriend waiting for you.

"You look beautiful", he grins angelic.

You stopped the last step, "what did you say?". Maybe you have issues with your ears.

"You look beautiful and I love you", he talks loud.

"Love you too?", your honest reaction. The last time he said it, he broke is jaw and was out of his mind because painkillers. Months ago.

"Uhm can we talk, please?", he pets your hand, when you lay down with him. It feels like home. Smelling his perfume, hearing his breath and touching you.

"Sure", you get insecure what's coming next.

"Ok it's not easy for me", one tear runs down his cheek. You're frightened, just able to nod.

"Why do you write songs with me as enemy?", his voice is distanced and cold.

"Oh I'm sorry I don't write lies!", you defense yourself.

"I'm a good boyfriend!", he argues, "you treat me like I'm self-evident!", you yell your frustration out of your lungs. So much pain inside your chest wants to come out of your mouth. So much unsayed words.

"No-", he argues back, more tears are coming out his blue eyes.

"Yes Connor! Yes, it's true! I love writing songs and I hate my job so much! I am crying every night because my boyfriend doesn't care about me and I'm all alone and you're hiding me from fans because you could have a ruined career, I get it!", you sob under choking your salty tears. You're outraged.

You take your pillow and lay down on the floor, Connor looks down, "come over".

"No", "god damn come over!", he huffs.

"You have practice tomorrow, good night!".

That's the last time you saw him for the next two days. He's busy. Semifinals are tonight and Connor posted something on Instagram, you're too upset to check.

One WAG comes to you at the game, giggles and tells you, "never thought Bedsy is a poet!". The game is already on fire but your fingers are like a magnet, they want to switch what he posted - even if he's an idiot.

He posted a picture of you reading a book in the garden, laughing at you without pressure, without hockey and in his caption;

"You can feel, when someone traces your skin

You can kneel, run, jump and also can spin

And when I close my eyes I wish I was just like you"

[corvusblackk]

i shifted again help- two times in three days after robotic affirming for one week.

i affirmed that i accidentally shift every night to random realities and also my drs, like constant shifts every day, and it’s starting to happen as i’ve clearly noticed.

this time was a minishift for some minutes to a random fame dr but it was cool anyway :) and i did it via lucid dreaming.

in the dream I was lowkey desperate to shift because of some issues going on in my cr, so I looked up to the moon and prayed her to allow me to do it (so i was of course talking directly to my subconscious), and suddenly this guy appears and takes me far away on his motorcycle and I find myself in a supermarket with my dad, we were going towards the exit but my steps stopped and I couldn’t walk any further, so I said "please let me move" thinking that if I had walked beyond the exit I would have shifted, then after crying people around took my hands and helped me walk out and I tried so hard and I finally succeed and went out with the help of those kind individuals, and I find myself in a parking lot with two women and I was still sick because I thought I was still dreaming so I cried, then the two asked me what's wrong so I explain it to them and they tell me "no you're not dreaming, you've shifted".

(this is gonna be in present tense because i wrote it in the notes app after coming back).

then i shifted, and everything suddenly becomes clear and detailed, I feel the wind on my face and the cold and rough texture of the floor under my hands, the locks of hair on my cheeks and the tears on my face that are drying with the wind, so I cry even more and I'm like this shocked that I don't have memories yet, then they call me “Nicole?” (so apparently I was a woman) and I see that the people around me are looking at me strangely so I try to recover but it seems impossible because I have made it, and at that moment my phone rings, I don’t recognise the name so my hypothetical two friends tell me to hurry up “come on answer it's him!” so I pick up and I see this asian guy on a video call who calls me a nickname (that i won’t share cause it’s personal and cringe but it’s okay cause it was in an ironic way) then I panic thinking that at this point it was my boyfriend so I decline the call then someone else calls me and I hear the voice of a woman who I understand is my manager but I don't get anything at that moment and I still don't have the memories and at some point the woman on the phone asks me annoyed "what's wrong with you?" then I suddenly say that my boyfriend asked me to marry him and at the same time my two friends also say the same thing, so it was a memory of mine that was resurfacing and actually I had to get married for real and he was a famous guy and I was too. and then I came back probably because I was too agitated.

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

cannot dream of returning to dust: marcnaia [m]

Marc dabs the corner of his mouth. It’s blood—stark, rusting, red.

He looks at Pecco. Startles after a disjointed moment like an old, whirring computer, too little hardware to contain the leaden software of his racing instincts and the bike data. And his soul too, but Pecco isn’t one for theatrics as much as he is for punishment.

“You alright?” He prods clumsily. He can’t not.

Marc shrugs—a disquieting thing to watch. Everything is half a second off, and his body jerks unevenly. “’s fine,” he spits, sharp, all at once. “Long day. But it is good.”

It was, technically.

He won.

Pecco doesn’t know how, exactly, but surely he’s long past asking that. Staring at Marc’s data is like staring at that little phial of fresh, millennia-old blood in the Naples Cathedral. And worse yet, if they tear the wiring out of Marc’s veins, Pecco thinks he’d still be Marc. Miraculous, except their kind isn’t in the business for that.

It’s not flattering. Being close to him at all isn’t flattering.

Marc keeps watching him. The whites of his eyes are too white. His fingers—carbon fiber, dented, dusted—spasm at his side, with a staticky hiss. There’s old blood on his upper lip.

“Here,” Pecco says, automatic. Hands him the towel wrapped around his neck.

One day, it won’t rake its nails through his nerves and sensors, the sheer fucking suffocating awkwardness of existing close him. Marc picks it up warily, wipes down his face twice. Pecco wants to twitch. The hardware embedded in his flesh feels like it’s groaning, overwhelmed, overheating.

“Thanks,” Marc mutters. Then: “I'm fine. You don't have to worry.”

Probably not. And probably impossible. Pecco huffs out a noise that can pass as a snort—reedy as it sounds. “Ok.”

It doesn’t settle anything.

Marc’s motorhome seems three sizes too small for them. Walls scraping against his shoulders, the ceiling too low, Marc everywhere he looks. Marc, Marc, Marc—distrusting, cagey like a kicked dog down to the hard line of his shoulders. Pecco picks at his cuticles until they bleed. The tips of his fingers ache, swollen.

The podium champagne is heavy in his stomach. He feels nauseous—faintly. Maybe they downloaded nervous puking along with his first riding augmentations.

Pecco crumbles on Marc’s sofa. He feels gritty, slow. Like there’s circuit rot in the hollow of his chest, melting his wires together and getting the signals to blur. Marc follows. Sits so close he might hear semantic errors piling up, the stutter of ram processors in overdrive.

He’s a pitiless thing through that—grabs Pecco’s hand and puts it on the crook of his elbow. The flesh one. When Pecco runs his fingers over the skin there, fragile, there’s only the faint knob of a sensor port, as familiar as the shape of his bones.

It’s too much, suddenly.

“You are excited for Sachsenring,” Pecco says. An abrupt, lumbering way out. Next weekend, more racing, easy stuff.

Marc barks out a laugh. Light, airy. “Of course.”

Of course.

“King of the ring. Right.”

It comes out—strained, maybe. Settles all under his skin with a red-hot kind of humiliation, of awe. The fans in this frenzied delirium. Ducati whispering among itself, that he’ll be splendid, glorious, like Pecco hadn’t been winning for them. As much as he humanly could, even.

The problem is that Marc might not be human—Valentino said it first, he remembers. After Argentina. That Marc is too much chromium and stainless steel and copper wirings and doesn’t care for the rest of them. There was a hanged cardboard robot in one of the Misanos, once.

Or he’s too human. The last great thing of real meat and real talent. A modern rider Agostini can admire. A rider from before the current, palatable bikes and the seamless lines of seamless implants.

“Pecco,” Marc says, urgent, gravelly.

When Pecco turns his head, Marc is right there, blinking up at him, looking miserable—pale, wan, cheeks gaunt—and handsome about it.

They’re both very good at miserable. In opposite directions.

Pecco doesn’t see it happening. It’s like an overtake—he only breathes out when it’s done and doesn’t ask questions. He curls his palm around the back of Marc’s head and kisses him. Chases the coppery bite pooling on his tongue with his own.

Marc makes a noise, hard, wanting. Then he’s on Pecco’s lap, wrangling him like a Ducati on the corners, all ten fingers digging into his shoulders. Those little flashes of pain scramble his thoughts, makes his systems fumble in every direction, frizzing.

“Can you,” Marc trails off, sighing against his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pecco mutters, halfway to delirious, the taste of blood and naked wires clinging to the insides of his cheeks.

He flips them around, presses Marc against the couch, boxing him with his knees. He knows what Marc wants—and doesn’t want to say why he knows. This is a terrible idea, but it was a terrible idea the last ten, eleven times too.

Pecco splays his thumb on the sharp cut of Marc’s cheek. He grins, waggles his eyebrows. It’s ridiculous. Doesn’t make it any less devastating when he turns his head to the side and sucks his finger into his mouth.

He tries to not think about spraying champagne on his face. Fails. Tries to not think about Marc, on his knees, lips spit shiny, and—

Fails too.

So Pecco kisses him again to stop himself, reckless, feverish, and Marc’s hands go under his shirt, the horrible red of it. He fucking hates it. The heat of Marc’s touch, how it flays him open. The mortification and amazement sizzling in his throat. The jealousy.

That Marc gets to be a mechanical haunting and still—still win. That he got bishops calling him a freak, and the Pope pleading sports to cease their fiddling into God’s own most beloved creatures, and Valentino branding him an enemy, and he just keeps going. Keeps winning. Godless twice over, and yet.

That Pecco—sleek carbon fiber, updated processors, the new deal—can replaced by an ugly, bleeding Frankenstein of wrong parts and outdated code.

“You are thinking,” Marc hums, face flushed pink and lovely, the bite of his prosthetic fingers unyielding on Pecco’s waist. It lilts like a question. “Francesco.”

“Hmmm,” he manages to pry out. He hates it a little less now. “About you.”

Marc laughs. “All bad things, I hope.”

And so Pecco laughs too—almost unwillingly. Chokes on it when Marc rocks up, grinds their cocks together.

That close to him, Pecco is washed out. Perfect, passionless.

But at least Marc is also less. There’s an electric hiss, and his entire body jolts. He’s in pain, probably. Parts two generations ahead of him and ancient wires misbehaving together.

If Pecco opened the panel on his back, he’d get to see what massacre of limits stripped and repeating signals is acting up, he thinks. What is hurting him.

Marc clings to pain like he’d cling to a naked razor, though—all maniac glee. When Pecco hesitates, hovering above him, he surges up for the kill. Bites down on his bottom lip, licks hotly into his open mouth. He’s fumbling—greedy and insistent—with his jeans.

“Marc,” Pecco tries protesting, tries slowing him.

The name breaks into a groan. Marc flattens his palm against his cock, eyebrows scrunched in concentration, his tongue between his teeth, sweat gathering along his forehead.

Fine.

Fucking fine.

He has to be in pain, and Pecco is—wired and nauseous and waiting for the moment when the spiral over second place will sharpen him. They are—it has been said—very good at their own types of torment.

Pecco gets to work on Marc’s pants, shoves his own down unceremoniously. He spits on his own palm and wraps it around both of them. It’s smooth, the good synth stuff over his ports and sensors—and, ha, isn’t that a win.

Marc relaxes a fraction. Lets out this tiny, breathy sound. He buries his face against the hollow of Pecco’s neck, his nose brushing against the small, closed panel there. His hips sway in odd lurches, rub them together anyway.

It’s good. Pecco would like to say he’s above liking it, but he isn’t. Can’t lie.

Christ.

His tongue is plastered to the roof of his mouth. He tightens his fist, sinks into the sensation of the head of his cock rubbing against the patch of rough hair between Marc’s legs. Into the absurdity of this, Marc quiet and wanting and greedy under him. Wide-eyed.

“Pecco,” he whispers, clumsily, and then cuts himself off. Kisses the wild flutter of his pulse on his neck rather than speaking.

“It’s fine,” Pecco shushes him, runs his thumb over the vein on Marc’s cock so he stops talking. He has no idea what else this could be.

Proof that they’re human, maybe. They act outside their code and don’t grind to a halt.

[mrsnancywheeler]

the river (5) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: the Capitol has taken you away from Finnick, the life you've been trying to build together and now he has to fight to get every part of you back

previous chapter / next chapter

masterlist

4.2k words

warnings: angst, fluff, this is very fluff heavy as a gift for me being slow and so angsty all the time, self destructive behavior, mentions of death/violence/trafficking, unedited, no use of y/n, Captiol brainwashing, my attempted fluff

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Eventually they did in fact let you see Peeta, his own Capitol hijacking has been hindering the process more than your own. Finnick was glad that it might provide you some comfort, but it still hurts to think that you were more instantly open to talking to someone else then you were with him. Maybe there would always be someone sweeter, more patient, more calming than he was for you. Yes, Conway was gone, and Peeta, no matter what the waters said now, had Katniss, but who could say when all was said and done that there wasn't someone else out there for you to quell the turmoil. Finnick was just as hurt, just as bruised, you deserve someone who could devote themselves to you and that you wouldn't feel the need to attend to instead.

Despite this, maybe he could convince himself that when a love burned like yours did it was meant to be. It was meant to be for him, even if you were worthy of so much more. So he waited patiently outside of Peeta's medical room. They couldn't convince him to do any other duties, follow a schedule, or train. Not without you by his side.

The doctors had tried to debrief you about what Peeta was going through to which you were quick to remind them that you knew all about it since you were the one with him in the Capitol. Before finally they let you in, which Finnick couldn't help feeling antsy about. If Peeta had choked out Katniss, what would stop him from snapping at you as well? The domino effect could be treacherous to any progress made.

“Peeta." You said softly and he looked up, so frail, so unlike himself.

“Are you-" Knock knock knock knock knock. Your fist lightly on the doorframe. Peeta repeated the pattern on the sheets next to him before he seemed to relax. “They're keeping you locked up too?"

"Keeping myself locked up.” You were so vulnerable, so honest. Part of Finnick wished he could have been in the Capitol with you, that you would've instantly been like this with him, so he could've just comforted you without the roadblocks. “Wouldn't let me see you though.

Peeta seemed to get slightly agitated, “That's because she, Katniss, manipulated them! She-" Knock knock knock knock knock. The tapping of your knuckles halted him again and he repeated the pattern. It pained Finnick to know that you could communicate with Peeta, but not the one person who knew you inside and out, who would dedicate his life to memorizing each part of your story.

You pulled a chair forward, foot tapping, “So they've had you stuck in here, poking and prodding?” Peeta nodded robotically.

“He doesn't want you dead, it's all part of her plan, she's a mutt. Trying to tear everything apart.”

This was a bad idea, you'd feed into each other's delusions. Finnick wanted to beg the doctors to call the whole thing off. "The only one tearing things apart is me, that's why he wants me dead. Not because of her, she's leaving for District 2 anyways, if she wanted to hurt you she couldn't." You're getting weepy, knees pulled up to your chest in the chair. “Peeta we said we'd remind each other of the truth, the only thing we have to be sure of.”

Peeta began shaking his head,"That was before they showed me the truth, we only have to worry about yours now.”

"Peeta-”

"Finnick doesn't want you dead, he'd never want you dead."

“Peet-"

He'd become snappier, “We have to say it."

“Katniss doesn't want you dead, she would never want you-"

“No, that's a lie, it's not real. They didn't show you the truth like they showed me!" He was getting more irritated, moving around more.

“If we freak out they'll just sedate us again, I can't be sedated again Peeta. Gives me too much time to think.”

"They'll sedate us because of her, I'm too close to the truth, they don't want me to tell the truth about her. She's a mutt!” He was so earnest that it broke Finnick's heart, but he was also relieved that they hadn't done whatever number they’d done on Peeta exactly to you. There was fear, uncertainty, distrust, left with you, but Peeta seemed almost unrecognizable in his hatred of Katniss.

You buried your head in your knees, hitting your forehead with your hands as your head shook. “Katniss loves you, Finnick loves me, he wants me alive, she wants you alive. Real, real, real.”

Your muttering was drowned out by Peeta’s insistence of otherwise, “She's a mutt! A mutt! A mutt! A mutt!" The doctors took this as their queue to enter, before he became even more hysterical in his persistent utterings. You were reluctantly guided out of the room so they could calm him down and for a second you just stood on the other side of the door. Glancing back at Peeta as you silently contemplated something, brow furrowed. Finnick didn't want to interrupt your thoughts so he quietly observed, skilled fingers once again unknotting the rope.

“Finnick!" He eagerly met your eyes when you said his name so fondly and was shocked to find that you almost instantaneously had your arms around him.

“Hi, sweet girl." It had been so long, but having you initiate something as small as a hug made him feel like he was in heaven. The way your hands crept up to cradle his face soothed the constant heat he radiated, and he could see more of a sparkle of you.

You stayed like that for a while, his arms wrapped securely around you. It was so right, everything was so slowly slipping back into place. “You're here, you're real, you don't want me dead." Your voice was slightly muffled, the sound sending vibrations through his body. The way it was supposed to be.

"I'm here, I'm real, I don't want you dead.” Finnick affirmed, lips pressing against the top of your head.

“Here, real, don't want me dead."

“Here, real, don't want you dead, sweet girl." You slowly nodded before pulling away which he hated, the moment your touch was gone he longed for it. He'd been starved of it for so long.

“They should have let me see him before, to remind me what they do." Tears were bubbling up in your eyes once again and Finnick wondered if you would let him wipe them away like you used to. “I know they're in my head, I know that, I just don't even know the fake and the real anymore."

“I'm right here to help you, I promise I'll always be around. I've got you, even if you forgot who I was or hated me, because I know it's still you. My girl, my wife, my gorgeous, gorgeous wife.”

"Finnick, I love you."

“I love you too." You were back in his arms, sending a pleasant buzz of happiness through them. “More than you know." Everything about you was all consuming, your smell, the feeling of your skin, the chill of it on his, the way you hugged that nobody else could ever compare with.

No, nevermind, this is what the universe meant to happen. You fit too perfectly in his arms for it to be any other way. He could stand here for eternity holding you without any regrets.

“Finnick?" He hummed out a response, he was too lost in the feeling of you. Of how open you were being right now and reaching for him first. “Do you think we'll be able to go home?"

Home. The home where you'd made the bed, where you'd arranged flowers and decorated with the seashells you'd both collected, where his fishing rod was so carefully placed in its spot every day, where every few months you'd pick out a new color and the two of you would paint a room. Well until you'd so much as yawned and he'd insist you sit down and just look pretty for him instead while he finished. Home. Was it even still around? The rest of your home maybe. The beaches you walked, the hot sand where you'd both lay in, talking for hours, the waters that comforted you both. Home. You. If you were here anywhere could be home, but not the same home where you'd both created an illusion of bliss from the harsh realities by playing house in it.

“Yeah. When this is over. Maybe not the house, but District 4, home." In the end all he needed was you to have some semblance of that, but being where it all began certainly wouldn't hurt.

“Finnick?"

“Yeah, sweet girl?" He moved his head to look at you, into your eyes where he could see the whole universe. For the first time in what felt like an eternity your lips were on his, it was like starlight was bursting through his body. He was endlessly proud of you for hugging him, kissing him, but he was occupied with the way his heart was racing like he was a teenage boy all over again. He reveled in the feeling of your lips on his, the taste of them. The way you made his entire body light up with life and joy was unmatched. Slowly you pulled yourself away from his lips and he swore he could kiss you forever. “I really do love you and I'm sorry that I'm not the person you need me to be. I don't want to be a guessing game or all over the board, I really do want to trust you.

Finnick pulled you in closer before moving his hands to carefully hold the sides of your face, "Hey, it's okay, angel. You're exactly the person I need you to be, the person I love. I don't expect you to trust me right away, I'm willing to work and fight for it. Look at you, honey, you've already come such a long way already and I'm so proud of you, you're so strong.” He felt freer, like he could trust how he read you. So he allowed himself to place tiny kisses around your face. Enjoying the way your skin felt against his lips, how soft it was.

“You're too sweet to me."

"No, I just give you the love you deserve and tell you the truth. You're too harsh on yourself.”

"Agree to disagree.” There. There you were. The way it made him want to leap with joy, he was sure his eyes lit up when he smiled, a grin bearing his teeth, as he chuckled and quickly kissed you again. He missed every nuance of you incomparably and each time he saw a sliver return it was like a reward for his persistence.

“You can't disagree with a fact."

“Then stop disagreeing."

“You're so ornery."

“That's a terrible accusation to make about your wife." His wife. You said it yourself, and it was true in your souls and the sea. It still made him giddy though because it meant you were acknowledging it as more than something people told you that you were. You were his wife, he was your husband, what a wonderful way for things to be.

“It's not an accusation, as your husband I know, for a fact, that you are guilty." A kiss to your cheek, “Guilty." A kiss to the other cheek. “Guilty." A kiss to your forehead, he couldn't get enough of kissing you. One taste, one reminder, and he had no choice but to dive back in.

“Well my husband missed a spot.” You'd pulled one of his hands away, playing with his fingers.

Finnick's brow scrunched together in faux concern, “Where? Here?" He kissed your nose.

Your nose wrinkled and so dramatically your eyes rolled. “No."

“What then? Here?" So close, as he pressed his lips to the side of your mouth.

“So close to being on target.” You shook your head.

"Here?” Before he could move his lips to the other corner of your mouth, you used your free hand to pull his face closer and do it yourself. The intricate dancing of your lips only interrupted by a heavy handed cough which turned out to belong to Plutarch.

“Not to interrupt, although it'll definitely help, President Coin and I would like to talk to you both."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"I'm not ready to die.” You whispered in the dark of the night, cold body pressed against Finnick’s in the silken Capitol sheets.

“You're not going to die, angel, don't talk like that." He moved to find your eyes in the darkened room, to try and communicate with his own. "I'm not going to let that happen.”

"You don't know what'll happen in the arena, you can't control that. Remember the year the avalanche fell? Or when the rain was acid? Finnick, I'm gonna die, I don't wanna die yet.” He was quickly moving to wipe away the tears cascading down your face and rubbing circles in your back to try and relax the way you were shaking.

"That's good because you aren't going to die in there. Come on, sweet girl, we already have a plan, don't we? You're so smart, you can do this. And we're gonna go back home and be together, make up for lost time. Promise.” He was holding back his own tears, you needed him strong.

"Don't promise me things you can't keep.” He'd keep it, he had to keep it. "I don't know if I can do it, Finn, I can't kill him, he's my best friend.”

"You don't have to kill him, he'll keep you safe and someone else will do it, okay? Sacrifice or something, just don't worry about having to kill. Focus on the strategy and you've got this.”

"It's terrible for me to even have thought about lying to him like that. How am I supposed to keep that up?”

He firmly grabbed your face to steady it, "You have to in order to survive. Everybody wins differently and it'll work for you. I need you to win, sweet girl. I could barely live knowing you were alive but that I couldn't be with you, I don't know if I could knowing you were…” He choked on his own, held back tears, gulping them down. “Your family needs you, the money could stop your mom from ever being sick again. You can't focus on him, just yourself right now. I'm so proud of you for coming up with a plan like that in the first place because it'll keep you protected as long as possible."

"If I win, you'll stay with me? I can't survive if I'm supposed to go back alone, I can't do it." You were hiccuping on your constant stream of tears.

Finnick's fingers softly began tracing around your face, “Of course, angel. I'm never gonna leave your side. Gonna stay with you forever, love you so much.”

"Promise?” You sniffled.

"I promise.” He pulled you further into him, your arm laying across his chest and you buried your face into the side of it.

“Missed you." Your voice vibrated through his chest and it made him feel like he was radiating sunlight.

“Missed my sweet girl so much, was always looking out for you though, don't want you to think I ever stopped."

“I know. No matter what you said I always knew.” Your legs intertwined with his.

"I'm sorry I said that, I should never have said that. Didn't mean it and it wasn't true, I am so, so sorry, angel. So sorry.” He could feel the tears coming, now inescapable. You could die, you really could, and it would be in a universe where he broke your heart, said things that could tear it to shreds, and never got to show you how much he really loved you to make up for it.

"It's okay.” You said weakly. Always masking your true feelings, trying not to hurt him. You were too sweet, he was addicted to how sugary it was.

“No it's not, I know that. It hurt you, it hurt me, and I'm sorry. You didn't deserve it and I love you so much. In every lifetime I know I must be searching for you.”

"You found me and I love you. I've always loved you.”

Maybe in another life he has been Orpheus and Hades was still punishing him by always keeping you both in a constant loop of tragedy. How could you love someone so much, yet the universe be taking every turn possible to tear holes into your happiness?

He hated seeing Conway think he was the one for you. The way it seemed like he truly believed you both were soulmates. But Finnick pitied him too because there was nothing he could do to save him, he didn't deserve to die, but he has to save you. There was no other option but to save you. He'd already begun contacting the highest paying contacts who would funnel money into his sweet girl in exchange for his time, which he would happily give for you to be alive. He could easily focus on the idea of finally being able to be happy with you to power through all of it. To others he spoke endlessly of your praises from day one, how effortlessly charming you were. Panem wanted entertainment and you could certainly hold your own on screen. You didn't need to know the lengths he would go to ensure your survival, he needed you to focus on your own plan.

He needed you to convince him to be jealous, that you loved Conway romantically, at least a little bit, that way all of Panem would buy into it. Who could resist sponsoring a tale of tragic love? It would all be worth it when you could be in his arms for the rest of time. He was sure he could help you overcome any hurdles from being a victor because anything was better than a world where you were dead.

So he couldn't stop the anxious knot on his stomach, the way his heart dropped, his fists clenched, and the tears welled when he watched you through a screen rising up into the arena. The moment it was fully on screen he'd already developed a list of potential environmental threats and what you'd need to find. It was sickening to hear the countdown, to know that there was nothing he could say to you or do except get more sponsors. None of which was helped when the time was up and the wretched female tribute from District 8, he knew he shouldn't be judging her when he'd want you to do the same to survive, but he couldn't help it, had taken it upon herself to tackle you. Finnick could swear he saw his life flashing before his eyes as he watched her hands curling around your neck and he'd never felt so helpless in his short life.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“I promised you a big wedding, with any dress you wanted, a real ring. You deserve more than a propo wedding from District 13." Finnick exclaimed, leaning back in his chair as his hand held yours.

“She can have a dress and a ring, but it will also help the cause!" Plutarch smiled trying to reason with him.

"Well, the details will be figured out later down the line. Right now we just need to know if the two of you are in agreement.” Coin clarified. That made it worse, the first time had been in desperation so you hadn't been privy to the proper wedding things, but now it would be expected all over again.

“Finnick, we have our whole lives to get a ring and anniversaries or vow renewals. This is fine." You smiled slightly, trying to push away tensions.

“See!" Plutarch was too excited.

“You deserve more than fine."

You stared at him fondly for a while and he hoped you understood it wasn't that he didn't want the legal marriage, he just wanted you to get the wedding you'd dreamt about. He despised the idea there'd be yet another ceremony that wasn't exactly what you wanted. “I'll get married for the propo-" You held up a hand before Plutarch could add his piece, looking towards President Coin. “If I can have a dress, music, dancing, and as close to the traditional ceremony from home as we can do.”

"We'll see what happens and what we can do.” Coin said she was too even and didn't seem at all like she planned on allowing half of it.

"No, I'm saying if I don't have it then I don't want to do it again. Watching two people sign a marriage certificate won't inspire anyone, so it serves no purpose." You shrugged, “Finn, is there anything else you want?"

You squeezed his hand, “No, I just want you to be happy with it. I wish it could be perfect for you, the type we used to talk about."

“That's okay, things rarely turn out the way we want them too. You being there and having as much of a proper ceremony as possible this time, is good enough for me.”

“In District 13 we value practicality, this is a time of stress, could be perceived as extravagant." Coin reasoned, he'd despised her from the beginning. Her eyes were too cold.

"It's a wedding, Coin! To show them that we are doing well, a little extravagance drives this point home.” Plutarch argued.

"I don't want something extravagant like the Capitol, not even a new dress, just something I chose.” Years of the Capitol playing dress up with you made both of you sick of the way each outfit had meticulously designed to show you off.

“Our traditions aren't that way either." Finnick resented the idea that wanting what would have been considered a relatively normal ceremony at home could be dismissed as too lavish here. “We don't need much."

“Yes, have them give us a list of the needs and then you and I will figure out all the smaller pieces to really make the propo." Plutarch nodded along.

Coin stared long and hard, it unsettled Finnick. She wasn't the type of freezing you were, with you it was like the perfect companion to his heat, with Coin it felt blistering. “Okay, give us a list."

Finnick was quick to grab the pen and paper, “The children's choir for the song."

“A children's choir?" Coin sounded unamused.

“Yes, we'll teach them the song. We know it and it's important." You chimed in.

Plutarch kept smiling, “Children! The future, a long lineage to support freedom, it's symbolic as well." Finnick couldn't help but feel glad that the man was on their side and finding ways to prove their wants.

“A musician, music’s important." Finnick continued, “Some sort of net to cover us. Salt water. She picks out her own dress. An officiant."

“If there's no one from our district that's okay, but there's a certain way it's done back home and so if we can't be there I need at least the feeling of it." You said and Finnick rubbed circles on the top of your hand.

“Is that all?" Coin’s voice was too smooth, too without fault to feel human.

“They need a cake." Plutarch interjected.

“If there's a cake then Peeta has to make it. He's good at it and it'll help him focus on something else." You scooted further backwards into your seat.

“Brilliant! It'll show Snow that Peeta is well enough, regardless of the hijacking, to do something like that."

“Fine." Coin relented in her icy tone. “Is that everything?"

You nodded slowly before looking at Finnick, "I think so?”

"Yes, that's all we need.” He affirmed, smiling as he gazed back at you. “All the small details belong to you."

And as you two were leaving he couldn't help but smile when you grabbed this hand and told him, "Now all I need from you is a ring."

The two of you agreed to fall back into the normal schedule of District 13 only if it was aligned. Each hour, each table, all of it to ensure any breakdowns he'd be there for you. Until the wedding you'd stay in the hospital wing so the doctors could also be on the lookouts for any moments where the good days began to get so difficult.

Finnick didn't care about the bad days though because for every one step back you seemed to take three steps forward in your progress. He would keep taking it all for you even though the continuing work for the rebellion would threaten that stability. All the struggles had to be worth it in the end, as long as you were both again able to just be in the warm sands of home in the arms of one another. Where the wind and water had always intended you to be, even if it was volatile enough to sweep you away.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you all for reading this long awaited chapter! I'm not great at fluff so it took me so much longer to navigate ideas that weren't heartbreaking but trust we have a lot to come 💋 as always feedback, comments, likes, reblogs are all very very appreciated and my ask box is open, I adore hearing all your thoughts and ideas so so much. requests are open even if I'm like a snail with them. love y'all sm and thanks again 💋

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[n0nexist4nt]

This is just me writing out a bit of the Teleported!Billy x Reader headcanons, go check that out first if you want to.

Teleported!Billy x Gn!Reader ONESHOT

Yummy hurt/comfort shit. One of my favorite things to write aside from fluff and angst.

Cw: Sad Billy, derealization. Btw you live in a city in this.

The thunder outside boomed as lightning flashed through your large apartment window. You sigh as you lean into your couch, eyes closed. Work today was exhausting, the drive back was exhausting, life in general was exhausting. At least your couch was comfortable.

Life was chaotic right now. Well, it was calmer than it was months ago. It’s almost been a year since you had found Billy on the streets of your city. He was doing better since then. Sure, little moments happened here and there and— What was that?

You open your eyes, snapping back to reality. Sure enough, you heard some tiny sounds coming from what was previously the guest room of your apartment. What was the room now? Billy’s room, what else would it be.

You stand up with a sigh and walk up to the door, hearing small sniffles and sobs through it. You frown as you knock on the door, “Billy? You alright in there?”

It was silent for a second before there was a miserable sounding, “..Yeaaaaaah…” How convincing. You lean against the doorframe, frowning, “What’s wrong? You sound fucking miserable.”

Silence. Other than Billy’s small sobs- You waited a bit before sighing, “Can I come in?” There were some shuffling sounds, and then some footsteps, and then a click as the doorknob’s lock was twisted. “Come in..”

You push open the door and step inside, frowning at the robot’s tear-covered face. You reach a hand up and cup his cheek, wiping away a few tears, “Is it one of those moments?” He nodded slightly, not wanting to accidentally bump your hand away.

Your hand was removed anyways as you walked over to his bed, sitting on it. You pat the spot next to you, “C’mere…” Billy walked over and plopped himself next to you, slumping into you as he sniffled. Really, he was only making sniffling sounds- But shh.

You wrapped an arm around him and rubbed his side a bit. He shuffled closer, trying to find a spot to bury his face so you wouldn’t see him crying. To him, it was embarrassing. He was either strong and reliable or dorky as hell, he wasn’t supposed to be sad like this. You understood that, but of course reminded him that it’s normal to feel emotion-

You laid down with him, his face burying into your chest as he started sobbing again. “I miss them,” You heard him sob, “A lot.” You held him close, eyes closing as you let him bawl into your shirt.

Your fingers were soon running through his hair, your other hand rubbing his back. He seemed to like it, his body a tad less tense. He sniffled a bit more, “..This is actually real, right-? I.. still get those weird feelings that I don’t actually exist.” You nod and ruffle his hair a tad, “Mhm. You’re actually here with me. You exist. I exist.”

Billy seemed to calm a bit, his sobs ceasing over time and his body loosening up more. You pressed a small kiss to the top of his head, “You okay now?” His faceplate shifted on your chest, you knew that because you felt it. Billy gave a quick nod, moving so he was practically laying on top of you.

You grunted a small bit from all of the sudden weight, patting his back with a small chuckle, “You’re goofy. I love you-“ He lifted his face up a bit, looking a lot happier. “Heheh, I love you too. You’re comfy.”

“..You want to watch Starlight Knight now? I told you we could watch some on your phone sometime this week.” You smile as you watch his eyes light up, “HELL YEAH!”

Insert really happy ending here

I’m not proofreading this shit

[oceantornadoo]

mad max: the 141 (price x f!reader)

ch 1: the trade

canon-typical violence, sexual violence is referenced (but will not happen), general misogyny. the 141 are the good guys, just a bit rough around the edges

series masterlist (also has more world building info)

set in the mad max world, the 141 are a notorious group of outlaws. they've been stopping shipments between fortresses until an agreement has been reached for a trade.

—

“pack your things, you’re leaving.”

your stepfather burst into your room, eyes gleaming with excitement. “what for?” he started shoving things into a bag, flowery lingerie and your lightest dresses. “sellin’ you off to those outlaws. they’re helping me take down the citadel.” your mouth gaped. “i thought i was going to the citadel. to be a wife.” he shook his head and threw your shoes at you, forcing you up from your chair. the citadel was an oasis, a farm where everyone got their food. your father ruled gastown, a gas pumping area necessary for any mode of transportation. “got a better deal, more bullets and food for me. come on, don’t leave them waiting.”

ten minutes later you were standing in front of the most famous outlaw group in the wasteland, the 141. except… “isn’t there supposed to be four of you?” you interrupted their negotiations, your stepfather getting angrier by the second. “shut up, girl.” he growled.

“soap died. jus’ tha three of us now.” one of them spoke, gaz. he wore a typical outfit of tactical pants and a leather jacket, but his face seemed devoid of any emotion. there were smile lines on his skin, proof of past happiness, but whatever kindness had existed there, the wasteland had destroyed it, like it destroys everything. you nodded to his response.

you were standing near your stepfather’s throne, the “king” of gastown. the outlaws stared back with stoic gazes. “she’s th’ insurance?” the large one, hidden behind a mask of human bone, spoke up. ghost. “my most valued investment. you get her and gas, you help me take down the citadel.” this was all becoming too real. you were leaving your only home to go with three men, alone, no guards to protect you. you’d become their possession.

“father, please.” you bent at your knees, turning on the tears. “please i don’t want to go, ill be yours here, it’s a waste of resources i-“

he responded with a backhand to your face, choosing to use his mechanical arm. “stop crying, you’re wasting water.” you almost fell down the stairs to his throne, caught so off guard by his violence. he was an angry man, but never did anything to hurt your physical beauty. until you weren’t his anymore. gaz dragged you back, robotically helping you stand, more out of practicality than kindness. you were used to gruff ways, but it still bruised a small part of your heart.

“she’s not yours to hit anymore. deal’s set, we’ll be leaving.” finally, their leader had spoken. all muscle under his clothes, lengths of bullets across each shoulder. he was so notorious he didn’t have a name, just the captain. his size spoke to being well fed, to having food, and you hoped you’d be included in that care, no matter what you had to do in return.

suddenly there you were, on the back of gaz’s bike, head turned to watch the only home you knew fade into the sand of the wasteland. their motorcycles cruised along the desert efficiently until gastown was no more behind you. and then, they stopped.

“off.” gaz patted your leg and set you scrambling off his bike in fear. was this the part where they got what they bought you for? you, well nourished and clean like no other woman, the sheltered princess of gastown. was this where they broke you?

the three men were staring at you, eyes trained on your lower half. you looked down in confusion. were you bleeding? all you saw was the end of your white dress, your leather chastity belt peaking out and your feet encased in sandals. nothing out of the ordinary.

“they got you wearing that?” gaz spoke up. he was the first person to actually address your existence, you realized. “my dress?” he rolled his eyes, suddenly a bit playful, so far out of reach of the man you saw back in the throne room. “leather panties.” the captain clarified. your face burned. panties. such a dull word, but when it came out of his mouth, you had to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together. ghost tossed the captain a tool and he approached you with it. you backed away, suddenly afraid. were they going to hurt you?

“calm down, love, s’ me. want to get you out of your torture chamber.” he pointed with his bolt cutters to your chastity belt. “oh.” this was it. this was what you were sold for. you turned your face away, hands covering your eyes. if he was going to take you right here, in front of his men, you didn’t want to witness it. instead, he clicked his tongue, rough hands caressing your hip as he found the metal piece that connected the two pieces of leather and cut it with a loud scraping sound. his hand ghosted over your stomach as he turned you the other way, cutting the belt off on the other side. his thumb brushed your hip bone for a torturous second before he stepped back, handing the boltcutters to ghost.

you felt so light all of a sudden. you only went without your belt when you were bathed, which had been happening less and less as water supplies dwindled. “glad to be free?” ghost piped up, his voice like motorcycle tires over gravel. you gave him a smile despite yourself, not noticing the captain’s face grow cloudy. “yeah.” you nodded vigorously. “i’ve worn that belt since i got my first monthly course.” oops, that must have been too much information. the outlaws stared back at you in confusion. “you get your period?” the captain asked, hand rubbing over his beard. you nodded shyly. it wasn’t common for women of the wasteland to get their period since everyone was so malnourished. yours was like clockwork, courtesy of the extra food your stepfather would give you in order to be a more fertile wife one day. the captain swore under his breath and gaz and ghost made eye contact, something hidden passing between them.

“you can’t ride in a dress.” ghost spoke up again. “oh, it turns into a jumpsuit. if you’ll let me go change…” you trailed off as the men stared back at you. there was no shelter in sight. you had forgotten you were in the desert again, too used to the shelter of your walls. “can’t have you runnin’ off on us, love. go’on.” the captain gestured at you, intrigued. his men both stared respectfully in the distance, keeping you in the corner of their eyes but giving you privacy. the captain, however, was intently focused on you, a spark of fire gleaming in his eyes. you nervously untied the fabric of your dress, hands working fast. you wove the fabric like thread, magically knowing where to tuck and pleat. two minutes later, you had transformed into a jumpsuit. you had tried to do it as quickly as possible, turning this way and that so the captain couldn’t see your bare parts, but he’d definitely gotten an eyeful. “done.” you announced loudly, trying to disperse the tension. gaz hummed thoughtfully at the utilitarian design, and that was that.

“hands on me at all times, yeah?” you were now on the captain’s bike, your wider range of movement making it easier to ride with the larger man. he placed your hands on his waist, but you still struggled to connect them all the way. he wasn’t as big as ghost but he was still thick, like the trees you’d heard of eons past. you could feel his muscles working under a slight layer of fat, proof once again of his plentiful resources. the bikes were moving again, and with your cheek resting against his back, eyes facing strings of bullets, you contemplated letting go. letting your body fly off his machine, to die on impact on the desert floor. the captain moved his left hand on top of yours, as if he could read your thoughts. he gave it a slight squeeze, the most comforting gesture you’d received from a man in years. and for some reason, you decided to stay.

--

for the reader's outfit, i was thinking of a traditional sari where its one long piece of fabric. reader doesn't have to be indian (obvi) but those were my thoughts and a way to add a bit of my culture in :)

[art-ro-vert]

Hear me out!

So Vox and his bio-mechanical body.

It is totally possible that he can switch off the pain receptors at will. But with his head containing not totally organic brain, do you think he can switch off emotions?

What if the collapse of their situationship with Alastor was so traumatic to Vox, that he reprogrammed his brain to limit some feelings?

What if he was so broken that he wished he can never feel love and affection again? So, he switched off all the emotion that can make him weak, including love and compassion, leaving anger as a primary feeling to lead him forward.

And that is why he is like this, manipulative and wicked.

So, when Alastor sees him after 7 years, he first cannot understand if that is really Vox or some robot substituting him. Because Alstor still remembers Vox who wore his heat of his sleeve, who was too affectionate, too kind, and too naive. Who looked at Alstor with heart-eyes and gentle smile.

And it’s during their fight, that the blow Alstor delivers has knocked out some of Vox’s setting. And the angry scowl suddenly disappeared and the man fell to his knees with an utterly horrified expression.

“Stand up and fight!” Alastor demanded, because surely that is some trick Vox trying to pull off as a distraction.

But Vox only looks Alstor in the eyes, and the tears start running down his screen uncontrollably. “Al…?”

Vox looks down at the Angel blade in his hand then, and his brows go up comically, and he drops the thing like it burned him. And he starts trembling with his whole body.

“I am sorry…” he whispers through the sobs. “Alstor, I am so sorry…. I never wish to fight you…” And he hugs himself in the attempt to calm down, but the tears just keep running and he feels so much, that his body cannot take it.

And Alstor gets so confused he just teleports out of the place. Because he can’t come closer and help Vox to calm down, as he is sure it is some kind of a trick.

But on the other hand he can’t just kill him… not like this… not when it seems so real…

Just like the day of their fall out…

[lixiesfreckless]

The Way You Shatter | h. js.

➸ synopsis: you should love him. you do love him. but not like this.

➸ starring: han jisung x female reader(ft. a mention of another skz member)

➸ word count: 1.6k

➸ general content: probably the angstiest thing I have ever written. unrequited love, established relationship, mentions of metaphorical blood

➸ warnings: alcohol consumption, no real happy ending

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: a fic I wrote after I broke up with my boyfriend a few years back. I always see people talking about how hard it is to have your heart broken, but no one ever mentions the pain of knowing you have to break someone's heart, to do the right thing. so I wrote this to cope and process my feelings, in the hope that maybe this would help someone going through a similar situation. you are so not alone.

♫ recharge- yasumu

“I don’t wanna break up with you.”

Somehow, these are the scariest words that have ever been uttered to you.

For the first time, someone has given you their heart; something so precious and invaluable, fragile and vulnerable, and you don’t know what to do with it. You don’t have a clue.

He’s looking at you with watery eyes, the same eyes you once saw long nights and baby names inside of. A future. Something to build forever upon. 

Now all you see is dark umber rimmed with red.

You’re supposed to say something back, you realize. People don’t give others their heart so they can zone out and stare at the wall, leaving the blood to seep out between their fingers.

You know exactly what you’re supposed to say to make the tears stop. You want to rub the space between his eyebrows until the wrinkles that lie there smooth out, until the corners of his mouth lift in relief. You want to run so far away from him; erase any chance of you hurting him again. Invent time travel and stop yourself from saying yes too quickly.

“I don’t wanna break up with you either.”

The words taste so vile in your mouth. You hate yourself for every syllable you speak. Liar, you hear yourself say in the back of your mind. 

You almost don’t recognize your own voice; thick with tears and stress and yet so devoid of emotion. There are robots with more character. Again but with more feeling, the director in your head screams at you.

But Jisung doesn’t seem to think any of that, no— he lets out a broken sigh, squeezing your hand in his, and it feels as if you’re being suffocated. As if the thumb caressing your knuckle is slanting against your windpipe, stopping you from saying the words you desperately need to tell him.

You feel yourself continue talking. Reassuring him that you’ll get through this, that you can work through this together. That you’re just going through a dry spell. You can’t tell who you’re trying to convince anymore.

Please stop talking. Please, you’re only making it worse.

Even the people pleaser inside of you is wincing, knowing that this cannot last for long. That you cannot pretend for another second. That your words are more hollow than sparrow bones.

Please don’t believe me. Please figure it out so I don’t have to splinter your heart by hand.

Your eyes meet with his and you finally notice it. How his eyes don’t penetrate past your physical appearance anymore. How the idea of love isn’t immortalized in his irises. 

It finally clicks once you stop talking, but not in the satisfying way legos do. It manifests in your stomach dropping, the thought that no, this cannot be remedied, you have crossed the point of no return but will not be paying the price.

You have effectively shoved shards of glass into the heart in your hand. With every sentence you spoke, you mindlessly wove together a world where you could continue, with him. With his chestnut hair and round cheeks, his sweet songs and guitar melodies, his full laugh, his doc martens.

You should love him. You do love him.

But not like this.

And so the world you wove together takes its strings and wraps them around your neck, all of the promises working together against you, and you curse your tongue for being so quick to please, his eyes for begging you to make the pain go away.

“I love you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he looks up at you, eyes expectant.

You must say it back. After everything you’ve said, you have to right? Maybe the feeling will come back, if it was ever there. Maybe you won’t compromise yourself to ensure a smile again. Maybe you’ll repeat the words back and it won’t feel like you’re removing a shard from his heart, and shoving it right into your own.

But it’s in saying the words that you realize what a mistake you’ve made. You wonder if Jisung could finally tell you about the thing each of his songs talk about. Looking into your eyes, he is bound to figure out what love is.

After all, you’re much more likely to notice something when it’s not there.

“I love you too.”

In its absence.

…

“As long as you love him, I think you guys will be okay.” He raises his bottle to his lips, half expecting you to nod your head, say something, have some sort of reaction.

But you sit across from him, lifeless, and instead of waiting for the cold soju to hit the back of his throat, he tips his head forward, setting the bottle down beside him.

“Y/n,” he says with a hint of concern, “you do love him, right?”

Your eyes dart to his, big and brown, half expecting there to be worry, fear, anything to be swimming in those coffee-colored irises.

Instead you find Hyunjin looking at you with a blank expression, tracing the rim of the bottle opening with his index finger. He’s so carefully neutral about the way he looks right now, which only tells you one thing.

He already knows how you feel.

About Jisung.

You hesitated for a second too long and now you are glass, so perfectly see-through for Hyunjin to dissect and psychoanalyze. 

It only takes those two seconds of silence, your hesitation, for Hyunjin to see, to know what has been plaguing your thoughts.

“Yes.” You gulp hard. “Yes, I do love him.” Does love sound like a forced phrase?

Hyunjin is one of those friends that likes to surprise you. With his talent, his paintings, his dances, his outbursts of laughter. He is a constant in your life and yet, you never know what to expect from him.

“But you are not in love with him.”

You did not expect Hwang Hyunjin to read you so easily on the floor of his living room, to explain your situation in the simplest most detailed way possible.

Your mouth opens to fight his suggestion, because in your head, he is wrong. In your head, it is crazy that he would assume such a thing. You kiss Jisung hello and goodbye, you already have his birthday gift, you love his dog, his family, his smile, his laugh. Isn’t it obvious? Isn’t it enough?

Your heart knows it isn’t. Your mouth closes again.

Hyunjin knows what to expect from you, which is why even though he just made a statement, he left it open ended. Open for you to admit that it went wrong, somewhere. There’s no judgement in his eyes; part of you wonders if he’s been here before. Teetering on the line between obligation and feeling. You hope he’s never been here.

But you’ve been here, you feel like you’ve lived a million lifetimes here, and now it feels like the tear rolling down your cheek is the first step down off the tightrope you’ve called home.

You don’t want to admit it. But what’s the use in hiding it— if Hyunjin could see it, who’s to say no one else has? You don’t want to indirectly break Jisung’s heart like that.

Eight words is all it takes for him to break the glass that is you. And you shatter all over his floor.

Hyunjin doesn’t say a word when you sniffle. He picks up his bottle and walks over to you, bunny-shaped slippers stepping on the scattered splinters of you on the floor. He crouches next to you, hooking the cuff of his hoodie around his thumb so he can swipe away the wetness on your cheek.

“Y/n. He will be okay.”

It’s no use, the dam breaks, and Hyunjin catches you as you start sobbing, releasing all of the pent up stress and worry you’ve been holding for weeks. You try to speak but it’s barely understandable, but it’s met with soft hushes, whispers of it’s going to be alright, you didn’t mean to hurt him, you tried, you tried, you tried.

Hyunjin doesn’t say a word when you take his bottle of soju, and down the rest of it in one go. He doesn’t speak when you start stringing your tears into sentences. You let him into the darkest corner of your mind and he doesn’t snoop, he just sits and waits for you to show him around.

And you show him everything. How you never got butterflies when you kissed. How you haven’t felt your heartbeat in months. How you think Bbama understands you better than he does. How he’s never done anything wrong, but the more you try to love him the more you start to resent him. And how the thought of resenting Jisung makes you want to throw up.

You remember the exact moment you realized you weren’t in love with him, how you looked into his eyes and asked yourself, how did it get to this point?

“I don’t want to break up with him,” you whisper out shakily, and Hyunjin nods back at you, still drying your tears with his sleeve. “I know how it would break him. I can’t do that to him.” Not after you reassured him. Not after you splintered his heart and stabbed your own.

Hyunjin has a couple things he could say back to you. He could tell you that it’s no good leading Jisung on from here. That lying to yourself will make you bleed from the inside out. That he doesn’t want to see his two closest friends in tears either. 

But the sorrowful look in his eyes tells you all of that already.

“I know,” he sighs, eyes just the tiniest bit more glassy.

What more can be said, really?

[vashsmunch]

I'll be here.

Vash x GN! Reader

Synopsis: you're spiralling, and someone comes to help

Warnings: mentions of self-destructive thoughts, allude to suicidal ideations

A/N: third one i've made of these self-indulgent comfort shit LMAO, but don't judge me.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

Suffocating. Stifling. Drowning. 

Your hand flexed, fingers curling in on themselves to try and distract from the feeling of your chest concaving. 

In and out. In and out. 

Rhymathtically and almost robotically, in hopes that it would quell the darkness approaching you. Everything it touched withered away like death itself had grazed them with its bony claws. It was terrifying, at least it should've been. You couldn't help but feel like, at this moment, "death" wouldn't be so bad after all. A graceful ending to the turbulent turmoil that was the hell you were living in. Even purgatory would've been more desirable. 

God, it hurt. It was the type of pain that settled deep into the crevices of your soul, the kind that lay in wait for the day you just gave up. It's a quiet predator, one that doesn't care how long it takes. Patient, deadly, and counting the seconds until your eventual demise. You couldn't even find it in yourself to give a single fuck. 

There comes a point where the pain, the agony, just becomes routine. It becomes as regular as waking up to scroll on your phone, as simple as brushing your teeth. It doesn't hurt as badly as it did before, but you can't help but feel that you'll die with it clutching on for dear life. Maybe you deserved this. Things like this only happen to bad people, right? What are you, if not the most horrible person to ever exist, if this is the kind of pain you were experiencing? 

"Hey... Hello?"

Suddenly, you couldn't breathe. The darkness was closing in, and it was draining every single breath of air out of your lungs. Tears started to build up in your eyes and stream down your cheeks as you shook in fear. It wasn't fair. You were just trying your best. Why does this happen? Why does this always happen? Was your best not good enough? How much longer would you be forced to cycle through this barbaric game the universe decided to play with you?

"Look at me... Please look at me."

You shut your eyes and let out quiet sobs as you felt a shadow overtake your body. It was getting tougher for you to tell what was real, and you couldn't even feel the sharp sting of pain from digging your nails into the flesh of your palm. 

Someone... please. Save me. I can't... I can't keep doing this. It hurts. This hurts.

PLEASE. SOMEONE PLEASE.

A calloused hand wraps around yours, squeezing gently. An instant burst of heat radiates throughout your arm, warming every cold crack that had been seared into the skin.

"Hey."

You look up to see cerulean irises boring into yours, accompanied by a tense expression on the person's face. 

Vash.

The two of you stared at each other as the salty streams continued to pour down your face. You couldn't be bothered to wipe them, to hell with your decency. It was funny, though, with him, you never felt the need to be anything more. Maybe that was a bit selfish because, with you, he was nothing short of perfect. A bumbling idiot who always did his best to comfort you even when his own demons were clawing at his back. But who was the idiot now? The one who said nothing as he took you into his arms, or the one who clutched at his jacket, crying until there was nothing left? You felt him rub your back as he whispered into your ear, and you couldn't even decipher the words. It just felt so good. 

There weren't any words exchanged for a while; whether it was minutes or hours, you couldn't tell. Vash silently picked you up to cradle you in his lap, nuzzling his head into your neck. Slowly, the darkness started to fade away and unsink its claws from the flesh of your shaking body. He seemed to get impossibly closer as you melted into his touch, just craving some feeling of stability. How you wished you could have this all the time, just this comfortable silence. 

"I love you."

You didn't flinch, and one would think you hadn't heard him if it weren't for the way you held him tighter. Because with him, it was never too much or too over the top. Everything always felt right, and that's something you'd treasure for as long as you could. It was Vash the Stampede, after all.

"I love you too."

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Assassin Rescues Prisoner from Target's house part 5

TW: blood, intense torture, recovery, pain, death, assassination, severe whump, etc.

From that day on he resolved never to let anyone get close again, lest he experience the pain of losing them again. He worked all his jobs alone, risking his life and his alone.

PRESENT TIME::

...Until now, apparently. Now he had another problem on his hands, caring for a potential liability. Why was he working so hard to help? Why not kill the teen while he slept? He wouldn't feel a thing... But he couldn't do it. Even if he wanted to.

Jax shook his head to clear it, getting up from his chair to move to the one he'd been sleeping in the past few days. He settled down, but couldn't get to sleep, memories haunting him. But eventually, he managed to doze off. The next morning Jax changed Atlas's dressings again, despite the boy still being... rather skittish, easily spooked. It proved an interesting challenge.

Jax made him a meal, and gradually, over the next few days of tedious care, Atlas finally started to recover. Slowly, but getting better. It had become a regular routine by now. His fever had gone down, his strength returning as he put healthy weight back on, looking far less scrawny and disheveled than when Jax had first found him.

Eventually Jax hoped to coax an explanation out of him as to how he'd ended up in such a terrible situation in the first place, but... baby steps. Jax had to earn his trust first, which seemed practically impossible. The people who had tortured him had broken both his body and spirit so thoroughly...

Atlas kept jumping at every little sound, panicking if Jax walked toward him too quickly, throwing his arms up in defense as though expecting a thorough beating for the smallest infringements.

Once, Atlas had been too shaky to hold a cup of water, and had spilled a small amount on the couch. Nothing worth a fuss. But Jax could have sworn Atlas almost had a giant heart attack at what he'd done, apologizing profusely for the next few hours straight, despite Jax's constant reassurances that he wasn't angry about it.

It was almost like he was part robot, programmed to have certain default responses based on how Jax interacted with him, how he approached him.

And he kept forgetting not to call him 'Sir'. It was like Atlas was watching his every move, constantly calculating how he might best please him or earn his approval. Always staying as quiet as possible during the time when wounds were redressed, despite the excruciating agony, always stacking his dishes in a very specific way to make them easiest to carry to the sink... such peculiar behavior. The kid must have been through a real-life hell to be this... broken inside.

It was certainly an exercise in patience for Jax. Honestly, he found it a little unsettling. How Atlas always parroted his movements to perfection, studied him at all times as though reading a puzzling school book he had to memorize as soon as possible.

But hopefully today could be the first step to change, to break whatever hold the trauma had on him to make him this way. Jax had been tending to Atlas for a week and a half now, long enough for him to be recovered enough to try learning to walk again. The back of his legs had been shredded to bloody ribbons when Jax had brought him in, almost deep enough to tear through muscle tissue.

Today would be the day that determined if he would ever walk again. If he showed he could at least stand up, it meant that Jax could give him some simple fitness training to assist his recovery to the point where he could walk normally, by strengthening his leg muscles to support him. But if he couldn't even move them on his own... the damage was likely permanent, and too severe to be fixed.

Getting Atlas to accept his help, though, was a whole battle on its own. He kept trying to tough out his suffering on his own, trying to be a minimal burden. Hiding his pain as best he could to avoid bothering him.

Jax had just finished re-wrapping his injuries when he awkwardly cleared his throat, deciding how to best bring up the topic.

"So... Atlas. You've been here long enough that today I'd like to see if you can walk." He waited for him to refuse, but instead Atlas put a strained smile on his face, though Jax could see right through it to the fear beneath. Fear of saying no. Fear of what the consequences might be.

"O-Of course, Sir--" Atlas stammered.

"Jax. It's just... Jax," he softly corrected.

"Right--Jax!" He blurted quickly. "S-Sorry."

Jax nodded thoughtfully, slowly reaching his hands out. "I'm going to help you up now. See if you can stand. Don't worry if you can't, though, I'm not judging." His attempt at light teasing fell flat on its face as Atlas wet his dry lips uncomfortably, glancing warily at him. Jax had learned that he responded a lot better when he announced what his intentions were well in advance, to avoid any unexpected surprises that might startle Atlas. But Atlas still recoiled when Jax first grabbed his arm, though he managed not to flinch quite as hard as usual, but just barely.

"All right, let's see if you can get up." Jax slid a strong arm behind his back, feeling Atlas shudder in his firm grip, while slinging one of Atlas's arms over his shoulder to support his weight, slowly lifting him off the couch.

Atlas was trembling from head to toe with a mixture of fear and physical weakness as Jax held him up, waiting patiently for him to find his footing. He finally got his legs under him, shaking unsteadily like a newborn fawn, barely staying up. But it was a good start.

Jax gently coaxed him forward, and he managed to take a few wobbly, limping steps forward before his legs buckled and gave way, and he slumped bonelessly against Jax, who kept him from hitting the floor by his strength alone.

"Gah--!" Atlas let out a sharp, pained gasp that he quickly stifled by biting his tongue hard, glancing apologetically at Jax as though expecting him to chastise and rebuke him for it.

"You're doing great so far, don't worry," Jax said reassuringly, which earned a very surprised look from Atlas. For the first time in the many days under his care, Jax saw a hint of non-robotic determination in his gaze before Atlas dropped his eyes to the floor, fighting to coordinate his legs again, this time willingly using Jax as a support to brace himself, until he was finally standing up again, albeit with some visible difficulty.

"That's it, slow and steady," Jax encouraged. With his help, Atlas managed to make a full circle around the room, though he kept collapsing and crumpling every few steps. When he finally reached the couch again, he was sweaty and exhausted after even that light strain on his weakened body. Jax helped him sit back down, offering a warm smile as he patted Atlas on the shoulder.

"You'll get the hang of it with practice," he said. And for the first time, like stars in the night sky, Atlas cautiously returned his smile, a genuine one of his own making, for once. Then it wobbled and fell away. But it was progress. Jax left him to rest.

The next day, he helped Atlas make another circle around the room. And the days after that followed the same routine. The goal was always to complete one full circle. Slowly, the progress showed. Atlas gradually regained strength in his legs, and using Jax as a crutch, he'd gotten better at standing for longer periods of time on his own.

More days passed, and soon one circle turned to two. Then three. Then, as his confidence grew, Atlas started trying out his healing legs without Jax's help, though Jax still hovered close by to catch him if he stumbled.

And surprisingly enough, Jax caught Atlas starting to smile more as he stared down at his own legs in wonder, looking delighted like a child that had just received a Christmas present. And he started talking short sentences on his own, no longer parroting everything Jax said. There was still a long way to go in the recovery, but... it was working. Slowly.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[boundless11]

I think the other anon was referring to when Miguel said that Sam was making everything about her.

Oh yeah, that’s when Miguel said something like Not everything needs to be about karate,right? I can’t fully remember since it’s been a while, but honestly, Sam wasn’t making everything about her. The moment she answered his call, the first thing she said was, “Where are you?” She was worried, as was everyone else and rightfully so. Miguel left her at one of the most important moments of her life without even telling her. She had every right to ask if he was going to acknowledge what had happened at the AVT.

It wasn’t just about karate—it was about something that mattered deeply to her. Facing Tory meant everything to Sam and Miguel knew that, yet he didn’t treat it like the big deal it was for her. By the time Part 2 rolled around, when they were all in the locker room and frustrated from losing matches, Miguel seemed to finally understand how important karate was—not just for Sam, but also for himself, since it tied directly to his Stanford application. Hopefully, that helped him realise it’s always been important to her, too.

But let’s be real—the haters came out of the woodwork to badmouth Sam for daring to ask Miguel about it. When he said something like not everything is about karate- Hello, you’re watching a karate TV series! Of course everything is about karate! She was absolutely justified in asking how he felt about what happened and expressing her own feelings about the situation.

The double standard is ridiculous. Miguel leaves without telling her, doesn’t stay to support her and somehow that’s okay? But when Sam dares to ask him how she’s feeling or tries to talk about something that clearly matters to her, she’s the bad guy? Sam was already feeling down because of the tournament and the fact that they had to close Miyagi-Do. Even Daniel pointed out that they didn’t make it in the girls’ division and Sam knew it was because of her.

But no, apparently Sam’s not allowed to express her emotions or vent. She’s not allowed to feel hurt or disappointed. Fans act like she might as well be a robot at this point. It’s exhausting how people constantly find ways to tear her down while ignoring the bigger picture. Sam deserves better, both from Miguel in that moment and from the fandom as a whole.

[tfyoulookingatgiuxs]

Bunny

Mike Schmidt x Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: !!ǝɯ dlǝɥ 'ououou ˙ǝsǝɐld 'ǝɔɐld sᴉɥʇ uᴉ ,ǝɹǝɥ ǝq oʇ ʇsoddns ʇou ɯᴉ !dlǝɥ ǝsɐǝld ǝuoǝɯos (𝙸𝙼 𝚂𝙾𝚁𝚁𝚈, 𝙰𝙽 𝙴𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁 𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝚁𝙴𝙳, 𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝚈 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: angst, blurb, violence, themes about murder, chasing, blood, death, bad ending, creepy images, heavy themes, dismemberment, reader gender is not specified, use of Y/N, your surname is Torres, investigation. (Please, if you're so sensitive, i ask you not to read this. Thank you.)

𝐀/𝐍: Just to say that I love FNAF in all its beauty and ugliness. If the images or themes disturb you, I ask you please not to read. Got inspired by Battington's video called "BUNNY BUNNY BUNNY", you can find on youtube. Sorry for my english this is not my native language. Please support and reblog. Hope you enjoy this one! (DIVIDER NOT MINE)

PLAY ➤ 19 / 11 / 1997

You ran as fast as you could, your breath was short and your tears did nothing but fall. He was behind you...

A large yellow rabbit was chasing you throughout the pizzeria trying to kill you. You entered one of the rooms decorated for a birthday, but now full of cobwebs and dust due to abandonment.

You were an investigator. You had been working with the police for years now due to your young age, but you were the best they could find.

One day you learned of the big scandal that happened in Freddy's pizzeria: five children who disappeared and were never found. When the disappearance of the little ones was reported, panic broke out. The parents were desperate and the police found something that also destabilized the police force. From the security cameras it turned out that someone from the staff, disguised in an animatronic suit, took the children into an abandoned room and then emerged from it with a knife.

So the conclusion was reached that the children did not disappear, but were killed by someone who worked at Freddy's. Unfortunately, however, even though it was defined as a case of murder, the children's bodies were never found again and after various investigations, nothing more has been heard. The owners of the place, then realizing the bad reputation their pizzeria now had, decided to close and abandon their plans. You were sorry. When you met one of the owners you could see that he was a good man. His desire was to entertain children with his new robotic projects, idealized something that would also make adults happy, entertaining them properly.

But you couldn't lie that he didn't care about the people he hired. He was a good person, you could see it. But perhaps too good to unknowingly hire an assassin. The other one, well you rarely saw him, he spoke to the police several times but you never spoke to him directly.

They immediately hired you to investigate the case and find the possible killer from Freddy's pizzeria. You were happy to be able to participate in this investigation, it seemed like a difficult task and you liked challenges. Every night you went there together with the local night guard. His name was Mike.

You had met him for the first time right in front of Freddy's. He desperately needed a job to support him and his little sister Abby, and they offered him a job as a night guard.

He was a good boy and did everything for his little sister, and it made your heart melt. Every night you met there. He did his job and you did yours. You told him about the case and he even offered to help you. Not that he was a real detective but he said he would do the bare minimum even if he didn't have the right skills.

You were getting closer and closer and you couldn't lie that deep down you didn't mind him. He was handsome and determined when he wanted to be, even if he seemed a little impassive, in reality he was a real big boy. He was young too, so it was fine. Hand. You couldn't think these things at work!

After at least four nights of investigation, you found that the abandoned robots in the pizzeria seemed to still be working, and even more shocking: you found the killer's suit, a yellow rabbit, now dirty and dusty. You wasted no time recording this on your video camera so you could have proof to show your superiors. You had quite a few recordings where you talked about what you had found and what was still happening in the pizzeria today.

The electricity was still there and every now and then it gave some problems to the robots which every now and then started singing without you or Mike doing anything. Noises roamed the place, and what was even stranger were the songs that occasionally played on the speakers. Mike thought for a moment that the place was haunted, but you didn't believe in such things. You found that there was a malfunction in the robots, now abandoned, and the same thing in all the electronic objects in the place.

That night. The fifth night. You accessed your camera again as you set out to reconnoitre the place, while Mike was at his usual desk checking the cameras.

Everything was going well. You were double-checking where you had already been, so you wouldn't miss any details.

You were calm until you summarized everything you had found. The children were taken to a room, an abandoned room where only the staff could enter. When you went in there you found an uncleaned dried blood trail behind a box with various wires and mechanical tools. It was very hidden, and it was understandable that they hadn't found it. But you found nothing else.

What the police kept asking was "What's still in that room?" But the real question you actually asked yourself was "Why did he kill there? But moreover, where did he hide them?" If your killer was an intelligent person he surely thought of a place where no one would look...

Exact.

There was no need to focus on the room where the murder occurred. Because the place had been cleaned even if it left a small stain, a sign of haste and distraction for having hidden it behind a box. But rather the bodies of children, so that we could begin to carry out accurate analyses.

So, if you were a murderer, where would you hide bodies as small as those of children? Where no one would have suspected finding them in that exact spot?

You turned to the three main animatronics: Freddy, Chica, and Bonnie. Then you looked at the one placed a little further to the left, in pirate cove: Foxy. You had an idea, but you hoped it wasn't right. You approached Freddy the bear, walking slowly with anxiety rising to your hair. The animatronic was very large, but you had no trouble opening its mouth, standing on tiptoe and bringing the camera into the bear's mouth, revealing the face of a rotting child with gouged out eyes and dismembered limbs.

At the sight of him you immediately pulled away putting a hand over your mouth. The sight had been horrible, and the image of those poor children placed inside the animatronics while the endoskeleton together with the springlocks slowly destroyed their flesh gave you shivers.

You made sure to record the thing so you could show it to the police force. Then a scream. Mike.

You ran screaming his name and the thing you saw shocked you. It was him. The yellow rabbit was slamming Mike's skull repeatedly into the desk, finally cracking it as the blood spread across the table. You screamed in fear but you couldn't let that bastard claim any more victims. You grabbed the first contending thing you found and hit the assassin knocking his mask off. You threw away the object you used as a weapon, remaining speechless, it was William Afton...one of the owners of Freddy's. You didn't want to believe it. Had the owners agreed to kill the children? Or was Afton just the one who did it by leaving his friend, not that coworker unaware of what he had done? You didn't know...but you were going to find out.

You took the camera you accidentally left on the ground, recording his face so you could have proof of who William Afton was, the killer of the five children at Freddy Fazbear Pizza.

Afton, however, was conscious and you certainly didn't knock him out. He immediately got up and there was a lot of music playing and you could hear the animatronics singing. You saw the killer put the now very disturbing rabbit mask back on and started chasing him.

You screamed and cried running towards the exit but it was strangely closed. You opted to hide, so you ran around the entire pizzeria trying to outrun the yellow rabbit. Everything that was happening was devastating and horrible, you didn't want it. Mike was dead and maybe soon you would be dead too, but you couldn't let him get the better of you, you had to avenge the children, you had to avenge Mike, and you were the only one who could do it.

But apparently in this game Afton was the winner. You were trapped. You had injured your leg during the run, and now you were limping as you headed into one of the birthday-decorated rooms. You did nothing but cry "Please..." You begged the man not to kill you while some children's music played in the background. Your back was pressed against the wall, no way out, he was in front of you, looking at you from the half-open door, torturing you as your sobs increased.

He would decide when to kill you, and when he did, he would make sure to make your death as painful as possible. The jingle made the scene creepier than ever, and you earnestly prayed for someone to come to your rescue. But no one came.

"Please no—NO!"

The camera was thrown into a remote corner of the room while strangling screams filled the room.

"Bunny, Bunny, Bunny, you're so funny with your twitching nose. Bunny, Bunny, Bunny you're so funny from your head to your toes"

STOP ➤ ERROR

Today at 7:55 am, the police were called and found two bodies in Freddy Fazbear Pizza. One of them is Mike Schmidt. Local night guard, some witnesses say that the boy should have presented himself to the police to hand over the keys to the place, which is still under investigation following the unpleasant incident that occurred years ago. The other one is Y/N Torres, an investigator sent to investigate the case further.

Their bodies were first stabbed and then crushed. The first victim, Mike Schmidt, was stabbed five times and then his skull was smashed, while the second victim, Y/N Torres, was stabbed seven times and then the killer crushed the arms and broke them.

The police searched the entire pizzeria for any evidence that could find the killer, but nothing was found. We will update you with further news on the case.