#this is entirely my own fault you’d think i would have learned by now

[annwrites]

i feel the same.

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (part of a series)

— summary: you & billy have breakfast together & talk a bit more before he drops you off near home. scott gets a taste of his own medicine when he loses you forever.

— tags: fuck scott, all my homies hate scott. love billy, all my homies love billy. travis is there too.

— tw: mentions of grooming, eating

— word count: 3,318

— a/n: i know this chapter is shorter, but there's only 3 left after this one & 2/3 will be of a similar length.

— tag list: @stoneyweezin @ganjas-shit

You and Billy eat breakfast together, only the radio playing softly in the background as you take a bite of your French toast.

He glances up to you. “If you’re still hungry after, I can make more. Whatever you want.”

You don’t know how to react to the kindness he shows you. What you’ve done to possibly deserve it. No man had ever treated you in such a way before. You can’t even lump Travis in with him, because if it wasn’t for the sex…

You nod, taking another bite.

You then look back to him from under your lashes, memories of last night returning. Him…shooting down your offer. “Why didn’t you want to have sex with me?” You ask quietly.

His head shoots up, brows furrowing.

It’s not that you would’ve wanted to. If he had… Whatever small shred of you that was still present when he took you into his arms as he held you—as you fell apart in them—would’ve died the moment he shoved himself inside of you, taking another piece of you away for his own carnal pleasure.

The last piece of you.

“That’s just…never happened to me before. Do…do you think I’m ugly?”

He shakes his head, swallowing, reaching a callused hand toward you, resting it atop your own. “You know I don’t. I told you Thursday that I thought—think—you’re beautiful. I knew in that moment that you…were far away from me. I could never do something like that to you and live with myself after. The last thing I ever want is to be yet one more man that’s hurt you. Taken advantage.”

“But…you said when you were my age—about getting laid-”

He shakes his head. “It may not seem it, but that was a long time ago. And I’m not saying it was always right—me just…” He sighs. “I know some of the girls I slept with had been hoping for more from me, while I knew I had just been using them for one thing. If I could take it all back, I would. All I can do now is learn from my past mistakes, and make sure I never make them ever again. Honestly, I haven’t had sex with anyone since I was eighteen.”

He looks to you, grinning. “I went celibate.”

You wonder what that must be like: getting to not have sex. It’s never been a choice for you. Not since shortly after you turned fourteen. Your body then belonged to others to use as they saw fit, when they saw fit.

How could you have ever thought what you and he had was love?

Your skin crawls at every memory of him—seeing him in an entirely different light now. And certainly not a flattering one. God, you fucking hate him. How you had swung from one extreme to the other in not even twenty-four hours…

You’d truly never thought you would ever feel anything else for him other than complete adoration.

You had been so stupid. So blind.

But now you saw crystal-clear.

You take another bite of your food. “I don’t want to go home.”

Tears sting your eyes when you say it. You refuse to look at him after doing so. You know you can’t stay here. You feel pathetic for practically insinuating that you want to. You can’t make yourself his problem. He’s still a stranger to you…isn’t he?

You wonder if he regrets ever meeting you.

Especially after last night.

You would.

If you could leave you, too, you would.

He leans in toward you. “If you want to stay here, you’re more than welcome-”

You can’t let him finish that offer. If he does, you might just take it. But then they would find you. And they would hurt him. And it would be all your fault.

That you couldn’t live with.

Couldn’t.

You shake your head. “I can’t, anyway. Legally, I guess. I’m still seventeen. So, if I was reported missing and found here…” You trail off.

He sits back, thinking for a moment. “When do you turn eighteen?”

You take another small bite. “At the end of this week. The same day I graduate, actually. Last week was my last week in school.”

He nods. “Do you think you can hold on for that long? Maybe, when you can, you either come here or to the other house. Just…stay away from all of them as much as possible. Once that time is up, you’re free to go and do as you please. You won’t ever have to see them again. I…I have an extra bedroom. I’m just using it for storage right now. It’s just…if you need a safe place to go—to live…”

He trails off, now nervous. He hopes to God that you don’t misconstrue his offer.

You grow quiet and he begins to sweat. Perhaps if he’d used different wording…

“What would you expect in repayment?”

“Nothing. Just for you to be happy. That’s it. I wouldn’t touch you.”

You look at him, trying to picture yourself making a home here, alongside him. As friends? Housemates? What if he eventually found a woman he wanted to be with? You being here would only serve to complicate things, if not drive her away entirely. And then he would come to resent you for ruining his life.

Not like you wouldn’t anyway just by being near him. That’s what you did.

You ruined everything.

Unclean…

Maybe he had a hard life growing up. But nothing like yours. He would never understand you.

No one can. Nor will they ever.

You’re broken. Have been since the beginning. It’s why she left. She saw it the moment she gave birth to you. She had to of.

You stand, the food on your plate only half-eaten, your appetite now gone. “I think I should head home.”

He’d desperately hoped for an agreement. For your own sake, if nothing else, but he knows you still have some time to decide. He understands that you’ll need to think about it. He just hopes you do. That you choose what’s right for yourself—even if it’s not him; his home.

You roll your window down just a bit, letting the cool fresh morning air kiss your skin as Billy heads in the direction of your house.

He speaks, breaking the comfortable silence. “You have my numbers right. The ones I wrote down?”

You turn to him, nodding. “In my bag.”

He stares out the windshield. “Just remember what I said—any time, day or night. You keep calling until I answer, and I’ll be there.”

You nod gently, wondering if he truly means it.

You know he does.

“I will.” There’s a beat of silence, then, “Thank you. For everything. If we hadn’t met…” You trail off when you feel a lump forming in your throat. “I’m just glad you were there last night. How…how did you know I was, though?”

He shrugs. “I watched you leave the parking lot with him, and the look on your face… I knew something wasn’t right. I tried to go back home, but I couldn’t fucking sleep. I just…had this feeling in the pit of my stomach. So I went driving around, trying to clear my head, I guess. And then I spotted you, heading down that path. So I followed you. I’m so glad I did. If I hadn’t…”

He shakes his head, hands tightening around the wheel. The things he wanted to do to Scott—to all of them—would put him in prison for well past his lifetime. He’d be buried on the damn grounds, and have no regrets over it. Because you would finally be safe. And they will have finally paid.

He clears his throat. “Are you sure about this? Going back there—if they show up-”

You nod, knowing you have a plan. “I will. I promise. I know what I’m doing. And I have someone to turn to. At the very least, a safe place or two to go now. I…have options.”

You’re not used to that. You’ve never had it before. Not really. None of their homes were truly safe places for you, because being within their walls came with expectations and stipulations.

But not with Billy.

He hates that he’s taking you back. He wants nothing more than to turn the damn Camaro back around, but he can’t make all your choices for you. Unlike them. At least he’d be doing what’s best for you. Whereas they only think of themselves.

He can’t wrap his head around how the fuck they can—could—do it. Get away with it. Fourteen-fucking-years-old. You’d been a kid—a little girl with trust and love in her heart. And they had seen it; twisted it to fit their narrative. Until at least one of the sick bastards had you completely wrapped around his finger—at his beck and call—while you got nothing in return. Nothing but abuse.

You deserved so much fucking better. You deserved the picture of a safe and happy home you had painted for him last night. You deserved that and so, so much more. He wanted…he wanted to give that to you. If he’d felt like that even at nineteen, it would’ve scared the shit out of him.

But now? It…gives him purpose. Looking out for you. After you. He understands the two of you haven’t spent an incredible amount of time together yet, but he can easily admit that you’re the one person in all the world that knows him better than anyone else now.

He wonders if he’s that for you, too. He’d like to think so. No one else knew about the house. Only one other even knew about your abortion, and that was because you’d had no other choice than for him to know, even if you didn’t want him to.

Then again, him finding out about the house hadn’t exactly been due to your invitation to him. He wonders if you somehow feel like he violated you in some way by just waltzing right in. And then what he’d done when you locked yourself in that room…

He glances to you, then back to the road. “I’m sorry.”

You look at him.

He continues. “For following you to the house. You…you’d found a safe place for yourself. Away from men, until another one just walked right in, bothering you—questioning you. And then what I did with the doorknob that second day-”

You shake your head. “I was bothered by it at first. Because…it felt like the only place I had that was mine. Just mine. Where I could be—do—anything I wanted without witnesses or…being touched or leered at or…” You trail off. “I know if I had asked you again after that first day—genuinely—to leave and never come back, you would’ve. I think…I think part of me had hoped for it, actually. You returning. To see that you—anyone—cared enough to bother with actually getting to know me…with my clothes on. And you did—have. I was so lonely. You don’t understand just how much. Meeting you…I think…”

Were you about to say this? After last night—all he’d done for you—yes, you were. “It’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He nods, a muscle in his jaw feathering. He sniffs. “I feel the same.”

You smile.

And so does he.

You have Billy drop you off a little less than half-a-mile away from the house, and when you come into the front yard and take it in, you see it with different eyes now. You see the imperfections that had been there all this time, but you’d genuinely been unable to see. The shingles that were missing, the cracks in the siding, the wilted flowers and chipped paint, missing shutters. The list went on.

Had it truly been like this all along? So imperfect, so flawed—all while you had made up an entire delusion in your mind that it was anything but.

You walk up the front steps, one bending under the weight of your foot—the wood warped—and head inside, going to your room and silently shutting the door behind you.

The first thing you do is take the note Billy had given you, with his phone numbers, address, and his workplace, and hide it under a floorboard where it will never be found by anyone but you.

The fact you have to take such measures in the first place…you truly despised them all now.

You would rather be anywhere but here. Billy’s, or at the house, paddling around in the pond, admiring your nesting dolls and doing a bit more work on the place.

You hate it here.

You lie on your bed, hoping you don’t see either of them today. And if you do…you wonder if Scott will pretend like everything is the same as it always has been between the two of you. If so—he has a far different reaction from you coming. One that will set his world on fire. At the very least, fill him with rage. And he won’t be able to take it out on you this time. Nor ever again.

You can’t wait.

When you wake, it’s a little over an hour later, and you hear voices outside. When you peek out of your bedroom window, you fill with nausea at the sight of Scott and Joe standing by one another speaking to your dad, but then fill with excitement when you spot Travis pulling up in his cruiser.

Perfect.

You quickly strip out of the clothes Billy had lent you—gently folding them before stuffing them in the back of one of your dresser drawers—and throw on a sundress, tying your hair in a high ponytail and slipping on a pair of sandals before heading out of the house and down the front porch.

You don’t look at Scott once—refuse to even acknowledge his presence, even if you can feel his eyes on you; know he has a smile on his face, thinking you’re coming to him—as you keep your eyes trained directly on Travis.

When he sees you, a wide smile comes across your face as you call his name and break into a sprint. You throw yourself into his arms, jumping up, wrapping your legs around his waist and crushing your lips to his as you run your fingers through his hair.

God, you hope it fucking hurts Scott to watch you replace him so easily.

You pull away, smiling down at him warmly, your fingers softly running along the back of his neck.

He reaches up with the hand that’s not currently supporting your bottom, a look of elated awe across his features as he tucks some hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek. “Hi, baby,” he says, astounded at your sudden display of affection.

“Hi,” you reply softly before peppering him in kisses, making him laugh and hold you tighter.

You don’t see Scott making to step toward the two of you—his hands balled into tight fists—before Joe’s arm shoots out across his chest, stopping him.

Travis stares up at you. “Someone woke up in a good mood today.”

You nod gently. “I missed you.”

He grins. “It’s not even been a day, baby.”

You shrug slightly. “I miss you every time we’re away from each other.”

He smiles, eyes filled with joy.

“Is she home today?”

He shakes his head. “At her friend’s all day, staying overnight for some nesting party or other.”

You give him another peck on the lips. “Can I come over and we spend the day together?”

He quickly nods. “Of course you can, baby.”

Slowly, he lowers you to the ground and you stare up at him with a smile. “Come inside and help me back a bag?”

You take his hand in yours, twining your fingers together, pulling him in that direction.

Travis shuts your bedroom door as you grab a backpack from a hook on the wall. “Not that I didn’t fuckin’ love it, but…what was that?”

You turn back to him for a moment.

“Thought you said that Scott was the only one you-”

You shake your head, allowing pain to fill your features. “I don’t…ever want him to touch me again. I can’t-”

Your chin wobbles and you glance up to him and his brows furrow as he steps toward you. “Did he do something to you? If he hurt you, I’ll fucking-”

You press yourself against his chest. “You were right about him. I should’ve listened sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t.” You sniffle. “You were the only one who deserved me; the only one who seems to even care. What he did-”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him, further away from them.

The rift has begun.

“Baby, please tell me what happened.”

You bury your face in his chest. “Not here. Please.”

He nods, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

When the two of you exit the house, you hold tightly to Travis’ hand as he leads you over to his car, opening the passenger-side door for you as he places your bag in the backseat.

You refuse to look up—out the windshield—knowing the expression of loathing and contempt that waits for you. Even if it has nothing to do with losing you, but, rather, him finally realizing just how easily replaceable he is. How he was never special to begin with. Not really.

Travis comes around, seating himself in the driver’s seat before turning the car around, taking you away…from them.

You sit on the couch in Travis’ living room, a cup of tea in your hands while he sits himself on the coffee table in front of you, patiently waiting for you to explain what’s happened.

You don’t want to tell him. You only want Billy to know, because he’s the only man in your life that you can trust. That you feel something for. Something not founded upon abuse and manipulation and sex.

Something…good.

You pretend to let your hands shake, holding your teacup closer, biting your lip, tears welling in your eyes.

“They…he…”

He leans in toward you. “Take your time, baby. It’s okay.”

You nod, taking a sip of your drink. “After the fight…Scott was angry. At me—us. Me sitting in your lap. He wanted to punish me. I…begged him not to make me. Joe wanted a…a threesome. I begged him not to…”

You choke out a sob.

Travis’ face falls. He reaches forward, resting his hands on your crossed knees. “Baby, I need you to be very explicit in what you’re saying to me right now.”

“They raped me,” you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks.

You want to throw up.

His own hands begin to shake.

“After I left…I ran into Cyrus. I…I didn’t try to stop him. He did it on the hood of his car.”

Travis stares at you. He…he’d trusted him.

“Seeing you this morning… I felt… All I could think was: safe. You were there, and I was safe. I had thought…maybe Cyrus was you last night. And then he got out.” You shake your head.

Travis fights against the tears threatening to come forth. He needs to be strong for you. You need him to lean on now. He’s the best one for you. He’d known that all along. The only one who deserved you.

They never had. And now you were his. To protect.

You quickly set down your cup, burying your face in your hands. “I’m so scared about what they’re going to do to me. They’ll punish me for this morning. Scott will. Oh God.”

He wraps you in his arms, cupping the back of your head. “He’ll never fucking touch you again. None of them will. You’re with me now.” He pulls away, cupping your cheeks in his hands, his eyes staring into your own with unbridled rage. “They’re going to learn that soon enough.”

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

if you’re wondering why i’m awake at this early hour it is because i didn’t go to sleep. i hope my beloved mutuals in europe are having a nice lunch x

[waldau]

put a ring on it — lee jihoon | 1,236 words | fluff, hurt/comfort

can y'all tell i love this man a bit too much? like, this is way too sappy even by my standards. inspired by me forgetting my ring one morning and feeling extremely uncomfortable without it.

gender neutral reader. warnings: one gross(ish) fact about the human body.

jihoon’s not going to make a big deal out of this. he’s not going to make a deal out of this on any scale. not when this is the first proper date you’ve been on in almost a whole month.

it’s his fault, definitely, what with managing making songs and practicing for their comeback and being unable to sleep because of all the ideas buzzing around in his head. it went on till bumzu forced him out of the studio and made him take some time off for you, if not for his own sake.

oddly, the date’s going well. you look amazing, the food’s great, and he’s feeling more relaxed than he has in a while, all thoughts of deadlines pushed back because he’s worked enough to take on new projects.

jihoon knows he’s still not the best with being affectionate with you, and doesn’t match up to the way you’re so casually affectionate with him, despite how much he wants to be.

but it’s not so bad that you’d just stop wearing your promise ring, is it?

you’d been ecstatic when he’d first given it to you, pointing out how much he’d been blushing and how shy he’d been to tell you what it meant to him, and for the two of you, but now your hand looks bare without it. it looks wrong.

to make things worse, you don’t even seem mad with him. you’re talking to him like you normally do, asking him about his work and how all his friends are, telling him about how your day’s been. any other day, he’d love to listen fully to everything you have to say, but today it feels like your words are flowing in through one ear and leaving through the other.

you’ve both neared the end of your meal, and you still haven’t brought up why you’re not wearing the ring. jihoon’s sure he’s beginning to feel sick. did you just forget it after all these months of wearing it? is this your way of telling him that you’re done, you’re moving on, you have better things to spend your time on?

“do you want to go for a walk?” he asks, almost out of breath, when you finish telling him about a new movie you watched with your friends last week.

“what?”

“right now. it’s been a while since we’ve spent time together like this, and i just…don’t want it to end. if that's okay?”

you give him an apologetic smile. “i’m really tired today, hoonie. just want to go home and cuddle with you.”

ouch. okay. at least you didn’t turn him down entirely. and called his place home.

but the doubt doesn’t go away even when you’re in the car with him, singing to songs on the radio while you drive, laughing at how terrible your own voice is. any other day, jihoon would join in to tease your voice, but he doesn’t have the courage to do it right now. he watches you and thinks about what to do next, and more importantly why you’re not bringing it up.

you go into the bathroom first to take a shower, and come out wearing your sweatpants and one of his shirts. but your hand is still empty.

jihoon can’t take it anymore. he turns around resolutely to avoid facing you, trying to shut his mind before he says something stupid. the bed dips on your side and he knows you’ve turned to face him.

“hoonie?” you ask softly. “everything okay?”

“yeah,” he says, burrowing his face deeper into his pillow.

"are you sure?"

jihoon shrugs.

“okay, can i just…” you wrap an arm around his waist so your face rests in his neck, and he instantly relaxes against you. “tell me if this is too much.”

“not too much.”

you just stay together in silence for a while, jihoon just taking in your presence. it’s crazy how he doesn’t take more days off when it’s you he gets to come home to.

“did you know?” you ask, your words laced with a tone he's come to learn indicates you’re up to some mischief.

he shakes his head.

“earwax is a type of human sweat.”

jihoon’s broken out of his thoughts at that, turning to face you with an expression he hopes conveys disgust. you laugh loudly, poking his cheek.

“that’s what you wanted me to know?”

“just wanted to make you react somehow. tell me, what’s wrong?”

he shakes his head. “it’s nothing. i got over it.”

“i’ll believe that when you come crawling to me for cuddles.”

jihoon glares at you. “i don’t crawl.”

“but you haven’t asked me yet, so…”

jihoon knows he’s not going to get out of this, and it’s for the best if he doesn’t. “you didn’t wear your ring today.”

“i…what?”

he knows he’s being shifty. “it’s just…you weren’t wearing your ring when we went out for our date tonight. and you didn’t wear it after your shower, either.”

“i didn’t think you’d notice,” you say.

he sighs. “i’m not…i know i’m not very physically affectionate, and this ring is my way of reminding you i’m always there. for you. so i just felt…you know.”

you shake your head and the next thing he knows, he’s being pinned to the bed while you straddle his waist, giving him a stern look.

“lee jihoon.”

“oh, no.”

“how long have we been together for now?”

“um…a year?”

“are you asking me, or are you telling me that?”

“telling. one year.”

“have i ever once hinted at wanting to break up with you for whatever reason?”

“…no.”

you show him your hand. it’s bare, but when he looks closer, he realizes there’s a skin-coloured band-aid taking the exact place of your ring.

“what…”

“little accident when i was cutting an apple for myself. it’s nothing. i’ve been wearing my ring the way you do,” you say, tugging at your chain you’ve been wearing all evening long. it’s only then that he sees his ring sitting on it like it’s always belonged there.

“i love it just as much as you do, hoonie. of course i want it with me all the time. besides, i told you you’re stuck with me forever, didn’t i?”

jihoon can’t stop smiling like an idiot. when you first met and fell in love, it was new to him, because the love he’d written about in his songs was nothing like what he felt for you. if his songs were two dimensional, loving you and being loved by you was four dimensional.

not to mention all the songs you've inspired him to write about you, songs you get to listen to when you're in his studio, on his lap. just his whole world in one room.

he’s been working to keep that feeling between you both every single day, given he used to wonder how you’d ever understand and accept the part of his life that was music. but you have. and it’s been a whole year since you changed his perception about love.

on a whim, he tugs you down by your chain to press a kiss to your lips, and it ends up with you sprawled on top of him, laughing into his neck. just a year ago, he wouldn’t even have imagined this, but now, it feels right.

because it’s you.

taglist: @bookyeom

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Study Buddies

isaac lahey x reader

summary: isaac asks you for help in chemistry. you agree on one condition.

tags: high school, studying / tutoring, mutual crushes, awkward flirting, caught in a lie, shyness, embarrassment, play fighting / tickling, bad puns, confessions, first kiss, teasing, fluff, pre-wolf isaac; his dad still sucks; autistic-coded reader

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing for teen wolf. I feel like I'm encroaching on claimed territory. 😅 also i've had this tab up for almost a week but have been afraid to post it, so here goes

Mr. Harris slides your progress report down onto your desk before you have a chance to react, and it catches wind and falls to the ground a moment later. You sigh and roll your eyes, but he’s already halfway across the room, impatiently handing out the rest of his stack. Your own little slip of paper is nowhere by your feet, and you resist the urge to make a remark about it. 

“Hey.” A voice interrupts your intruding thoughts at the same time a tap lands on your shoulder. Gentle, as if the tapper hates to disturb you, yet needs your attention. 

You turn, and temporarily forget about your lost report as your eyes meet Isaac’s, the boy who sits behind you, and has the cutest smile imaginable. You drop your gaze instantly, only for it to fall on his dimpled smile, and then, finally, on the paper held between two fingers. 

“I think this is yours,” he says, holding it out to you. 

Your name is clearly printed on the front, followed by your most recent grades in the class. You blush, immediately remembering it had dropped in the first place. 

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem. He seems like he’s in a mood today.” 

You nod, then take your paper from his hand. By this time, Harris has made his way back to the front, and is clearing his throat in a demand for the class’ silence. Quiet mutterings amongst friends cease at once, and you turn back to face the ill-tempered chemistry teacher. 

“Take a good look at your progress reports. The midterm is coming up, and some of you have more studying to do than others. Today, we will be learning new material, but next class period, we will have a review day. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. You can ask at the appropriate time in class, or come see me after school, or shoot me an email. Regardless of your grade, everyone should be studying, however, some of you have to move up a whole letter or two. That is on you to be aware of, and for you to put in the effort to do. Now, pull out your notes so that we can cover this section. It isn’t the hardest thing we’ll cover, but I expect it will be a struggle for some.”

And after that condescending introduction, he begins to teach. 

When the bell finally rings, your head is swarming with so much chemistry, your eyes are beginning to glaze over and put you to sleep. You’re relatively good at the subject, but that topic was more challenging than he warned it would be, making even you confused at times. You shake your head when you reach your lockers, trying to relieve yourself of the numbers swirling about in your mind. It takes a moment. A very stressful moment. 

A tap on your shoulder, more urgent than the last, pulls you out of your mental headspace. The chemistry bounces out of your mind entirely, bringing you back to reality, but making you jump in place at the sudden contact.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice apologies, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

Turning, you come face-to-face with Isaac again. His normally bright blue eyes are slightly cloudy, which worries you more than you’d like to admit. “No worries. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I have a question, actually, to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Okay, I wasn’t looking at your report, I didn’t mean to see your grades. I accidentally saw them when I picked up your paper, but I promise I wasn’t looking on purpose.” He stalls, continuously apologizing for something not at any fault of his own. 

“It’s okay,” you interrupt as politely as you can. 

He pauses, “um. I was wondering if you could help me? Like, in chemistry. Help me study, kinda like a tutor, I guess?”

You pale immediately. Just because you’re doing okay in the class doesn’t mean you have a clue how to help him understand. “Um-”

“Just… I just need a little help, if you can. I understand if you don’t want to, or can’t, or… I don’t know… are busy.” He runs his tongue along his lips nervously. You snap your eyes to the floor, avoiding eye contact. 

“I don’t know… I’m not a good teacher.”

“But you’re really good in the class. Probably a better teacher than Harris has been lately.”

You chuckle, but you’re still not sure. Being that close to the boy you’ve liked for ages? On top of not being able to teach well? He’ll reduce you to a stupid, stuttering mess, just look at yourself now, unable to look him in the eye. No, don’t look at him, that was rhetorical. 

“I just,” he continues, “when he was talking about people who needed to go up a whole letter, he was talking about me. I know you’re good, you sit in front of me. If you can even just explain it to me as you study, it would help a lot.”

Half of your mind races to find an excuse, looking for an out, while the other begs you to agree. Isaac shoves a hand in his pocket and waits for a response. You debate with yourself for a moment, but then the urging part of your mind wins the argument with a question of its own. 

“What about this,” you start, “I’ll help you in chemistry, if you help me in French?”

“What?” He asks, taken off guard. “I’m not good at French.”

“You’re better than me. You have the answers to most of Ms. Morrell’s questions, and I can hear you when she asks us to recite words out loud.” His eyes narrow at that, to which you reply, “you sit behind me in French, too.”

“Right.” He smiles, but doesn’t meet your gaze. Instead, he rests his head against the locker beside yours. 

“So?”

“How do you know I’m not just guessing?”

“What’s your grade?”

“A,” he sheepishly answers.

“See? You can tutor me.”

“What’s your grade?”

You purse your lips and avoid his eyes again. “Too embarrassed to say.”

“Really?”

“Languages aren’t my strong suit. We all have our strengths.”

“Alright, deal. Help me in chem, and I’ll help you with French.”

“Sounds good. Library, or at one of our houses?”

“I can probably go to the library sometimes. Maybe during lunch or free period. But after school, I have lacrosse, and you probably don’t want to wait around school for that to be over.”

“Okay, so then your house or mine?”

“Where do you live?”

“Like ten minutes from here. You?”

“A bit closer than that. Parents?”

“Don’t really care what I do.”

“My dad is a little controlling,” he admits. 

“Would he care if I were to come over?”

“Not if you’re helping me study.”

“Okay. You want to meet a couple times a week at your house, and sometimes during lunch?”

“Sure. Practice ends around five. Is seven too late?”

“Not for me.”

“Cool. So, um, I’ll text you, and we can plan dates.” He shakes his head. “I mean, like, what days work best.”

You blush at his embarrassment. “Have to give you my number first, doofus.” 

“Oh.”

You scribble it onto a sticky note and hand it to him. “Let me know.”

“I will. And thank you.”

“Thank you, too.” You hurry your way to your next class, leaving him red in the face and hands at having a girl’s number. Granted, it’s just for studying, but it’s the fact he was able to talk to you at all that has him shaken. Isaac forces himself to breathe, before entering it in his phone and tucking the sticky safely in his backpack. As the bell rings, he hurries to his next class. 

~~~~

The next evening is the first time you meet up to study. You drive to the address he’s given and knock on the door as gently as possible. Isaac had mentioned his dad is controlling, so the first thing you want to do is to avoid pissing him off in any way you could. Controlling could mean a lot of things, and the boy wasn’t specific at all. For both of your sakes, you tread lightly. 

Isaac opens the door a moment later, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweats. You try really hard not to blush as he invites you inside, but then his dad’s strict voice snaps you back into reality. You can see Isaac take a visible deep breath before rounding the corner in the kitchen, you in tow. You put on your best look of professionalism while trying to anticipate how the next couple of minutes might go. 

“And? Who was it?”

“Y/N, the girl I told you I was studying with… with whom I am going to study,” he corrects at the last minute. 

His father’s posture tenses a bit less when his son corrects his own grammar without prompt, but it doesn’t stop his cold eyes from floating over to you. “And you’re studying what?”

“Chemistry, sir. I’m helping Isaac, and he’s helping me with French.”

“And you know French well enough to help her?”

“I believe I do,” he says, trying to sound confident. 

“I think he does, too. In class, he always has the answers, and Mrs. Morrell’s often impressed, and she’s hard to impress more than once.”

“Hm.” His dad takes a sip from a glass, then carefully sets it down on the table. His eyes are locked on Isaac the whole time. The boy stares at the ground, any confidence shaken by the interaction. You study the scene, confused. “Well… Go study. Bring up those grades.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply at the same time. 

Isaac nods for you to follow him to his room, which you oblige. His dad remains seated as you make your way up the stairs. You bite back a comment about the man, even in the safety of Isaac’s bedroom, and he doesn’t say anything, either. The same remark is in both your heads, yet while you want to ask it in a question, he wants to use it as a reassurance. Yes, he’s a bit more controlling than Isaac originally said. No, he won’t do anything stupid while you're there. He tries to convey this in an expression, which you half-understand, but eventually drop it. If anything happens, you’ll leave. Simple as that. 

As it turns out, the first night of you studying together ends up nothing like the initial interaction you had in his house. Isaac is gentle, patient, and willing to learn and teach the best that he can. He’s admittedly worse in chemistry than you are in French, but you’re able to convince him that you only need to work on a few things; an hour of time doesn’t have to be devoted to your studies, maybe only twenty minutes. On the contrary, the other sixty are put towards chemistry. And, of course, the first five are for settling in, and the last five are for uncontrollable laughter at a mispronunciation. 

Thirty minutes to nine, you realize how late it’s gotten and start to pack your things. Isaac looks exhausted, and frankly, as much as you’re enjoying his company, you’re getting tired from talking. 

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He asks, rather quickly. 

You stare for a moment, then, “what?”

“Vendredi.”

“Thursday?”

“Non.”

“Friday?”

“Oui, rencontrer?”

“Meet then?”

“Yeah, would you like to?”

“Sure.” You nod. “Say it again?”

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He says it slower this time. It has the same effect on you, but you can comprehend each word better. 

“Cool,” you say, not at all thinking about his accent that paints the words so beautifully. “I’ll bring my H2O, since I forgot it this time.”

The boy snorts with more laughter. “Bad joke.”

“Absolutely horrible,” you agree. “See you in school tomorrow.”

“Drive safe.”

“Be safe,” you reply before you can stop yourself, referring to his dad downstairs. 

Isaac only nods. He walks you to his front door, then hurries back up to his room. 

~~~~

Each day you study together follows a similar routine to the first: five minutes to settle in, sixty of chemistry, twenty of French, then five of joking around with each other. Sometimes Isaac pushes for thirty of French instead, worried that you’re sacrificing your own studies for his, and never understands when you push back that you’re good with only twenty. 

His chemistry improves immensely with your help. In three weeks, he manages to pull it up to a ‘C’. Not only is his father a bit more lenient to him after the next progress report, but he’s also more pleasant to you the next time you come around to study. He even cracks a smile. 

Today, you go over just the same as you have been. Seven on the dot, you’re greeted by his dimpled smile and half-friendly father. The man has now graduated to welcoming you, and has once clapped you on the shoulder as you’ve passed. You’re polite to him, though you can tell Isaac’s uncomfortable with his unusual behavior, so you always try to retreat upstairs as soon as possible. This time, he’s busy with something in the kitchen and doesn’t talk for long. He makes one comment about grades; you promise him you’re both doing well, then he lets you go. 

Finally away, it doesn’t take long for you to settle down anymore. You make yourself comfortable on Isaac’s bed, pulling out your notes and pens, and smiling when he joins you. You’ve come to be good friends in the last couple weeks, and although there’s something definitely in the air, too, you’re good with being friends if that’s all you can convince yourselves you are. 

You start, per usual, with chemistry, reading over notes and figuring out problems. He moves closer and closer to you each day you teach, simultaneously making you nervous and excited. Either way, your water bottle remains beside you to calm your ever-growing heart rate. When it comes time to switch subjects, you excuse yourself a minute to recover and prepare for the next half hour. In the beginning, it was easier to hide your blush, promising you’re still getting the hang of the co-teaching thing. Now, your excuse dwindles. The shy smile you wear as he recites words of the love language has never faded. You have to compose yourself entirely, elsewhere, to be able to control your reaction and face him. 

“Can I use your bathroom real quick?”

“Yeah, just over there.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as the door shuts, Isaac jumps off the bed to check his hair in the mirror. In the process, your French binder falls to the ground and loses its page. The boy sighs, mutters an ‘oh shit,’ then pulls it back up to find the page again. He opens the flap and immediately finds a stash of old progress reports. You seem to keep all of your old ones in the front flap of your binder; he’s noticed you have all your chemistry reports, too. Curious, Isaac steals a peek. Despite confessing about his ‘D’ in chemistry, you’ve always cheekily refused to share your French grade. He doubts it’s that bad, but he’s never gotten you to admit it. 

He glances at the bathroom door, then checks the date on the report before scanning the grades. Guilt eats at him the longer he looks, but nosiness, then confusion keeps his eyes glued. Is he really reading that right? There’s no way you have a-

“Sorry about that,” you say, closing the door. 

Startled, he drops your binder and looks up at you. “It’s no worry.”

“What’s wrong?” You notice his change in behavior, like a young boy being caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. 

“Nothing. Your binder fell off the bed, I was picking it up.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He smiles when you join him back on the bed. You’re not sure if you still have a right to be suspicious, or if he’s just embarrassed because he’s so shy. “So, um-”

Isaac, on the other hand, is brimming with questions. As anxious as he is that you caught him peeking, he can’t help but wonder about what he saw. You start to speak, maybe to change the subject, but he cuts you off, guilt and curiosity both winning. “You have an ‘A’ in French?”

“What?”

“You’ve had an ‘A’ since the start of the year. Why do you need me to tutor you if you already know it?”

You shut your open mouth immediately, face paling at the realization you’ve been caught. “I-... I don’t know. Your grades are better than mine.”

“By one point.”

“Two points. You have a 94. I have a 92.”

“Doesn’t explain the need for a tutor,” he argues.

You study him, choosing to base your reaction off his own. He’s smiling; seemingly happy, curious, and not at all upset. His tone implies no accusation, just confusion, and his body posture is straight, shoulders relaxed. A twinkle shines in his baby blue eyes; his level of eye contact is neither constant nor avoidant. He’s safe. 

“I, um,” you decide to tell him the truth. Or, rather, stutter out the truth. “I don’t need a French tutor.”

“So I’ve gathered.” Decisive tone, yet still friendly. Still safe. 

“I figured, since I would help you with chemistry, even though I’m not that good of a teacher, if you had to teach me something too, it would put less pressure on me to be a good teacher.”

His eyes narrow. “Okay… but why French?” He’s still a little confused on that reasoning, but doesn’t question it. He knows you’re shy. If that’s what you had to do to make it work that you could help him, he doesn’t mind. 

“I, er, well, the French provided a win-win scenario.”

“Which is?”

You shrug, body warming quickly as you near your deeply guarded secret. “I- I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Mhm, really?”

“You’re best in French,” you offer instead, on a whim.

“True,” he agrees, “though I feel that’s not the real reason, judging by your lack of eye contact.”

“I’m always bad at eye contact.”

“You’ve been getting better with me these last few weeks.”

“Yes, but…”

“I’m not going to judge, Y/N. Whatever you say, it’s safe with me. You trust me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then how is me teaching you French a, as you call it, win-win scenario?”

Finally, you fess, “because I get to hear you speak it every time you teach me.”

Isaac’s quiet for a moment. Then, you realize it seems to have gone over his head as he says, “you hear me speak all the time in class.”

“Yeah, but… with twenty other voices mixed in, too. I like hearing just your voice. The way you know just how to sound it out perfectly, and the way your accent flourishes each sentence. Most people in class sound like they’re gurgling saltwater, but you make it sound hot, like the way French is supposed to sound.” Your mouth utters words before your brain can catch up and prevent you from embarrassment. As soon as you realize what you’ve said, a dizziness swarms your head and it feels like the temperature’s gone up ten degrees. 

Isaac is speechless in front of you. He’s first stuck on the fact that you like his voice, then on his pronunciation being described as perfect, but then he short-circuits as the word ‘hot’ falls from your lips. He doesn’t even realize when you plant your face into your binder, shocked by your own confession. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. It’s muffled, but he hears it enough to pull him from his trance. 

“You like my voice?” He asks, cursing himself for the stupidity of the question. It’s all he can think of to say, though, still trying to cool his own rising body temperature. 

“I shouldn’t have said all that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he blurts out quickly. “I’m actually quite charmed by that.”

You resist the urge to look up at him, desperate to see if he’s smiling or not. Isaac seems to have a similar thought, and tries to hook a finger under your chin to lift your head. He succeeds, but then you instantly embarrass again, and dive for the pillows, burying your face amongst them. 

“Oh no, get back here,” he jokes. You feel him before you look out to see him. His hands shake your shoulder, but when you don’t respond, he playfully starts to tickle your neck. You scrunch and try to scramble away, but he only continues. “C’mon.”

“I can’t!” The words have finally sunken into his head; the weight of them falls on your chest. 

“Oh, yes you can!” He teases more, moving pillows away from you, just for you to grab another and bury back under it. When Isaac realizes there’s no use in trying to win the pillow war, he swings a leg over yours and begins to tickle your stomach. Your shirt has begun to ride up from your movement, and temporarily, he forgets you’re classmates, not longtime best friends. “C’mon, give it up!”

“I-I can’t!” You’re running out of breath, and pillows. He pulls another away from you, then puts his hands back on your sides. Your eyes are squeezed shut, but only do you open them because of the unfamiliar feeling of him touching you. A beat skips in your heart at the sudden, unexpected realization that he’s not only touching your skin, but he’s also straddling your waist. You swallow hard. He pinches your side lightly, shocking you back into reality, and making you grab another pillow to hide your face again. Before you can grasp it, Isaac grabs your hands and pins them above your head. You pant, heart racing a mile a minute. His too, as you can hear in the moment you both grow quiet. 

“You think it’s hot when I speak French?”

“No, I think you’re hot when you speak French. There’s a difference.”

“Is there now?”

“The temperature of the room doesn’t get hot, it’s you that gets hot.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Not that you’re not always hot… I mean, sometimes, you’re more like a cute little puppy than a hot, French-speaking…” your words fade as your brain catches up, faster this time, yet still not fast enough. 

“Am I now?”

What’s done is done, you figure. Can’t take it back now, can only admit it. “Yeah.”

“Huh. So all this time, you’ve been teaching me chemistry, and I’ve been talking pointlessly while you listen and learn nothing?”

“When you word it like that, it sounds bad.” A pout graces your lips as guilt floods you. “But I have learned some things. I was struggling with direct objects, and now I’m not.”

“Ah. So I’m not totally useless?”

“Never. You wouldn’t be useless even if I knew perfect French.” Before he can reply, you continue. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. I shouldn’t have. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I wasted your time when we could’ve been doing more chemistry.”

“Darling, too much chemistry and my brain woulda exploded. The French lessons are a nice intermission. Besides, I wouldn’t consider any time with you as time wasted.”

“Really?”

He drops your hands and they fall back down to your waist. He seems, then, to realize he’s still on top of you, and begins to climb off. “Sorry, I-”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Can I confess something else?”

He pauses. “Sure, anything.”

“I would’ve been okay with just tutoring you chemistry, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye long enough to do it well.”

“You’ve been doing great with the eye contact thing. I know it’s not your strong suit, but you’ve made a lot of progress these last couple weeks.”

“Thank you,” you smile. “It’s not only that.” A heartbeat passes. “I like you.”

“You like me?” His eyes narrow before he assumes only, “you like my voice.”

“No, I like you. I mean, yes, I like your voice, but I like it because I like you.”

“Like me, as in…”

“Like I have a crush on you.”

He tilts his head like a confused dog. “On me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

“I’ve never had anyone have a crush on me before,” he admits.

Now you’re confused. “What?! How?!”

“I don’t know!”

“That’s stupid. Never had anyone admit it, maybe.”

“I’d never know.”

“Well I’ve had a crush on you since the seventh grade.”

“You moved to Beacon Hills in the seventh grade.”

“Exactly.”

“And you’ve had a crush on me this whole time?”

“Very secretly.”

“Huh. Well I’ve liked you since the first day of school,” he confesses.

“I’ve liked you since orientation, so I win.”

He smiles, then shakes his head playfully. “So I sit behind you in classes for years and only finally get the courage to talk to you when I’m borderline failing chemistry, and you only get the courage to talk to me for more than one minute if you can convince me to talk half of the time that we’d be studying together.”

“Sounds about right.”

“And my portion of the talking is in French, because you think my accent is hot?”

“Your accent is always hot; your French is hot on its own.”

“Ah, I’m following now.” He chuckles, letting his fingertips grace your hips. 

“So,” you ask, “as two people with several year long mutual crushes on each other, what do we do next?”

“Well you’re the one that’s been tutoring me chemistry, love, I’m hoping you have the answer.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Wrong kind of chemistry, dork.” You reach your hands up to the sides of his face anyway, and pull him down for a kiss. Isaac complies immediately, setting one hand down beside you, while the other caresses your chin. Your legs hook around his waist, keeping him close until he starts to pull away, needing air. You let go, then hide your face as his own turns a rosy pink. 

“That was worth the wait,” he says, smiling, and touching a finger to his recently-kissed lips. “Êtes-vous d'accord?” 

“Shut up,” you tease, pushing him slightly. “Chemistry time.”

“We just had chemistry time. It’s French time now.”

“No, we can skip a round,” you insist, unsure you can hear anymore French fall from his lips without folding and kissing them again.

“On the contrary, I think you need to sharpen your vocabulary.”

“I think I’ll need a water break first.”

“That we can do,” he agrees. “I’ll make sure to get yours with extra ice.”

“Shush!”

[astolfofo]

deja vu, Jamis vu

BSD beast au x reader. Based on the end of the beast movie.  AUTHORS NOTE: SO. ITS FINALLY DONE. ITS 4AM I AM ON IPAD TUMBLR AND UHHHH… I tried to edit this. but. TUMBLR WAS BEING AN ASS. and the two hours I spent editing this went down the drain. Mere words could not describe the grief I felt at 3:37 in the morning. I would have screamed if I weren’t so zombieified. Then, I tried to be paitent and edit it another time, but tumblr was like: haha no. so it didn’t save. I swear it’s not my fault if you have a stroke while reading this. I sacrificed my sleep for an entire week to do write this. Please give me some credit for my suffering. /lh

Also keep in mind. I have watched the DA movie and the beast movie a whopping total of 1 time. It’s probably very off from what I was trying to communicate, cause I legit have no clue what goes on in the light novels... spare me the slander. 

Last thing, I tried something new with this one, so there’s weird ahh switches between first person and 2nd person in this. Idk how good it is, lmk if i should never do it again.

Tw: head injury, murder, blood, suicide, yeah I think that’s about it.

word count: 6.8k  

To all the Chuuya enjoyers out there, I’m sorry for being a disappointment.

Tags: @redeemingmygloryintopurgatory

I’m wet.

Im standing outside his door, knocking as it rains outside, without an umbrella, cold, and of course, drenched.

Helplessly, I knock on his door, hoping for a response from him. I know it’s pointless, by now. I should cut him out of my life by now, I should… leave him. He’s not a good person, he’s part of the Port Mafia, for the love of god… I’m scared of him. He could crush me at any moment. Hell, he breaks into my house so frequently, and even though he’s done no harm… he could kill me at any moment. So why am I here? Shouldn’t I be relieved that he hasn’t shown up at my apartment for over a month now? I… just can’t…

Lightening splits the sky in half and the sound of thunder cracks in the air.

Your fist slides down the window pane of the door. It makes a terrible sound, and you wince in pain from the sting of the friction. You should just go home. It was obvious Chuuya wasn’t even home, he never was. And if he wasn’t even home, how would he even answer the door? You regret coming here in the first place, you didn’t even know why you chose to. Was it out of worry? Was it because you had to say something to him? You couldn’t remember by now, it was all on impulse. 

Chuuya had broken into your apartment countless times. Still, no matter how many times you’d snap at him, how many times you’d emptily threaten him, or try to push him off the balcony, he still came back the next day, unphased. You couldn’t get rid of him, no matter how hard you tried. And after many days, you had learned to accept that someone could break into your home at any given moment.

And you had no knowledge of how he knew you, let alone knowledge of how he even got your house key. Or maybe he picked your lock. You couldn’t be sure and you really did not want to know. 

Every day, you’d come back home from work, and Chuuya would be sitting on your couch, drinking your wine (much to your own distaste). You’d usually give him a dirty look, and he’d glare in return but you’d say nothing. You preferred not to talk to him, and Chuuya wouldn’t raise conversations by himself. He always sat in the corner of the room, observing… scrutinizing every move you made. On the rare occasions when you had managed to start a conversation with him, it was always painfully awkward.

You once remember asking him why he was here, what he wanted from you, and his true intentions. Chuuya looked at you in an amused manner and stared out the window. 

“Why I’m doing this? You’ll find out yourself when the time is right.”

By the time you had woken up, he was always gone. As if he was never there in the first place. The only thing he’d leave was the wine glass he’d drink out of, and your clothes you had hauled back from the laundromat messily folded, in your drawer. Occasionally, when it warm out, he’d leave the window open. They were small actions. Meant to be noticed, but not returned.

The splashing of rain intensifies, as you stand on Chuuya’s porch. He’s not home. You can’t stand here forever. You have to get back home before it’s too late.

What a great way to spend my time off work.

But you wanted to try one last thing before you left. Maybe his door was unlocked the entire time. Although you would doubt it, it was worth a try. It was so stupid to do this, all of it was. But your curiosity is getting the best of you, and you desperately wanted answers. Answers only Chuuya could give.

So, you grip the door handle and twist the doorknob. Much to your shock, the mechanics of the door click, and the door opens.

Chuuya had left the door unlocked. He forgot to lock his own door. You take a step up, and stand in the doorway. The rain is still hitting your back, and you groan realizing that you’re dripping water onto the floor. Quickly, you step in and shut the door. You twist the lock, ensuring that no one else would come in.

You sure hope Chuuya wasn’t going to come home tonight. The thought of it made the hair on your neck stand slightly. 

You take off your shoes which are drenched in water and stare in the mirror. You’re soaked to the bone. Your clothes are completely see-through. You’d need to change them. That could wait, though. If the rain stopped, you’d go home as soon as possible.

Okay. Quick in and out it is. I need to find my spare key, and I need to find what happened to him after the explosion in the sky that day. The one that happened on the top of the… port mafia building. You shudder. I wonder what happened. It was so bright that it looked as if the sky exploded for a second. The next thing you know, everything is back to normal… except it isn’t. A dead body is found at the bottom of the building.

Followed by that, I never saw Chuuya again, but many people that were close to me have been avoiding me. When asked why, they avoided my question. There isn’t a strong connection there, but I think… that all of these events are connected somehow. Chuuya never appears again, and the fact he works for the Port Mafia, definetly does not help. 

Additionally, the Armed Dective Agency sent me a letter to be wary of Chuuya. With no additional information. There’s something going on here. Something is wrong. Something terribily wrong.

And I’m scared.

Apprehensively, you take several steps inside the house. You keep getting the feeling that you may get caught. But you don’t hear anything at the door. It’s a painful paranoia.

You inhale and exhale.

I’ll start looking for hints first. I don’t need an answer right away. One hint will be able to give me lots. I’ll start from his room, that’s where people are most likely to hide things.

You walk as quickly as possible across the empty corridor in the house. His house is eerily empty. There isn’t much in it, just a lot of furniture, a shelf of wine, messy papers and a few books placed sparsely across the rooms.

You walk up the stairs, which slightly creaks under your weight. You try your best to ignore any noises and try to stay focused. As you reach the top of the stairs, you see his bedroom, which is the first room at the end of the staircase.

You walk towards the room, you open the door and look around. Chuuya’s room is surprisingly fuller than the rest of the house. There is a dresser, with several items stacked on top of it. It has drawers, which you assume were full. His closet was also filled with clothes, with various hats on the shelf above in his closet.

Chuuya’s bed was neatly made, giving the impression that he had not been home in weeks. Unoccupied, cold, and abandoned. Yet you felt a temptation to lie in it either way. Your eyes dart to the dresser again, and you look at the various items spread out on it. None of these are of much use to you. Besides the gun that seemed unused.

Your hands move to the drawers and you begin to search them. In the first one, there was nothing. Just a bunch of stationery, and papers, some of which had blood on them. You shudder in disgust and move on.

You struggled to pull the second drawer. After a moment, it slides open and you look at the inside contents. You stare at it, wondering if you open it. There is no address on it, and it isn’t sealed. 

You have a bad feeling about this, but your hands move faster than your brain. You pull out the piece of paper and read its contents.

The letter is addressed to you. It doesn’t include much. Just A single sentence that holds an address. 

And then it hits you.

Chuuya had been planning this for a long time. He had purposely left the door unlocked, left his house empty, and left you because he knew you would try to find him one day.

It infuriates you more than you expect. But you can’t stop here. You’ll go to a specific location. 

Just to be sure, you look in the third drawer, you see your spare key, as well as a lock cutter. 

Its dark now. It’s still pouring. You have no choice to stay here for tonight. Begrudgingly, you curse yourself for dragging yourself into this. Still, you were in too deep to back out now. Whatever happens, will happen.

-

You wake up. 

You're lying on Chuuya's bed, in his clothes, begrudgingly. Your own clothes are discarded onto the floor, dried during the time you had been asleep. Still, you don't exactly feel like changing into them. It felt too gross to wear them. 

You shake your head. Now's not the time to be thinking about that. You sit up, and stretch your arms. Then, you walk towards the desk again, and look at the address. You take note of the address, and take your spare key. Before you go, you flip over the paper, ensuring that you didn't miss anything. There's another sentence scribbled on the top of the paper.

I know you're reading this. You want to know why I'm gone, and why I did this. The address that is provided will help you, but it will not give you the answer, nor will I be there. 

…What? 

You read the sentence over and over again. The words sink in, making you feel conflicted. You knew you were getting yourself into a certain kind of danger by doing this, but you didn't expect it to be this risky. Hell, you didn't even know where the man was now, and not to mention… the location…

You look at the location again.

It's on the street where the explosion happened. And you're no fool. If it was on that street, it meant it was that building. There were no other possibilities. You doubt it would be any other one of those tall skyscrapers, anyways. The one where the explosion happened was the only building Chuuya had any affiliations with.

Which was going to be incredibly difficult to get into. Let alone, to the top floor. You'd be dead even trying to set foot into the door. It wasn't worth your life for this. You should forget about it and go back home.

You look through the paper again, hoping there might be something more to help you. Sighing, you came back with nothing. I suppose I really have to go through with this, don't I? There's no turning back. 

-

The walk to the Port Mafia's building was rather short, if you were being completely honest. It was located in the heart of Yokohama, and was one of the tallest buildings there, if that told you anything. 

You stand outside the building, as the apprehension and fear build up inside you. You had never felt as much of a need to run from anything, as much as you did now. The doors, despite their grandeur size, and large glass design, looked uninviting. Almost like doors to a bank vault; the kind of doors that told you, you wouldn't be able to get out, as soon as you stepped in. And from various things people has told you throughout the years, the Port Mafia keeps people it's had come into contact with. It's more powerful beyond belief. 

It doesn't need to control you. You'll be forced into being pliant for them, simply by fear. No one can betray them. Death is almost a guarantee if you do.

And recently, they had also become violent as well. You might as well be walking yourself into a death wish.

But your feet remained rooted into the ground, and part of you remains determined to see this through. So you take a deep breath and walk into the building. 

You try to remain calm as you push through the doors, into the lobby. You pray Hou won't be swatted with bullets as soon as you enter, but much to your own surprise, there's no one in the lobby. It's completely empty.

It doesn't feel right. You wonder if what happened. Well, it's not your business anyways. You couldn't care less. You just needed to find whoever Chuuya's office is and-

"Who are you?"

shit. you curse under your breath. "I-I'm," you turn around to face the person talking g to you. As soon as you do this, the man's eyes widen, and you acknowledge away slightly. "Sorry… um… do you know where Chuuya is?"

You had never felt so idiotic and out of place in your life. You can physically feel your heart pounding inside your chest, as you pray you don't look too suspicious. You can't mess up here. Though the man you are currently talking to isn't holding any firearm. That may just as well mean he has even worse methods to kill you off.

"He's not here."

of course, he isn't. You think to yourself. He wrote that in his own letter, or whatever you call it. 

"He's been arrested." The man looks you directly into your eyes, and as on instinct, you look down, too scared to actually look at him. A few moments pass in silence.

"Can you… perhaps tell me why?"

"After the previous Port Mafia executive committed suicide, Chuuya was forced to lead the Port Mafia. He hated the job greatly, and he eventually…" He stops himself.

"Go on." You mutter.

The man tilts his head and looks at you again. "Are you sure? If you want to see him… it's better just to see for yourself." He stops for a second. 

"No… please tell me. Tell me everything that you possibly can."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Fine then. If you insist."

"Chuuya lost his control over himself. He slowly became more, deranged, if you will, as time went on. After the old executive killed himself, Chuuya had no one left. Or at least, that's what we saw. His orders became more and more irrational, often just resorting to killing everything, and slowly, he eventually broke. He went on a rampage, as you've probably seen, Yokohama is not safe with him around. He almost destroyed Yokohama in its entirety, and it took serveral organizations to stop him. I don't know the exact details after that. He remains locked up underground."

You feel as if you had been doused under cold water. You didn't only have your question answered, but that also explained several other things as well. You try to recollect your thoughts while figuring out what to do next.

"By the way, you look familiar."

"How so?"

"I don't know, to he honest. You look like someone who used to work here. Maybe my mind js tricking me, though. You look too weak to be here."

"Yeah," you force out an awkward laugh, "I could never work here for the life of me."

"Figures."

another awkward pause, as you stare at the man.

"I assume you need Chuuya's location, don't you?"

You nod.

"Here." He hands you a piece of paper, with an address messily scrawled onto it. "Although, I don't recommend going to see him, tell the guards you are a relative of his. Hopefully, it will convince them enough to let you in. Though, if you want, I'm sure you can attempt to knock the guards out. Chuuya's well… very restrained so he won't hurt you."

"Ah… thank you."

"Don't mention it."

You bow and leave.

"Hey wait-" the man calls out, his voice echoing through the empty lobby. He seems hesitant to ask something. You stop and turn around. "Yeah?"

He looks down, and awkwardly avoids eye contact for a second. It's at this moment you realize he's a man with short, white, hair, as well thick bangs that were cut into a slant. He’s rather short, and he’s wearing a long jacket.

He looks… familiar. I wonder why.

“What’s your name?” 

You stare at him for another moment before answering. “It’s Y/N.”

You could have sworn you had seen a face of surprise from him for a second, but it could have been your imagination because the next instant you blink, it’s gone. “I see,” he says slowly. “Be careful then. He’s not the same as what you may remember.”

As… I remember? What….

“Nevermind. Forget I said anything. Just go to the address, and everything will make sense.”

“Hey wait-”

He’s already turned his back and left on you. You’re left with so many more questions than you started off with, and dread creeps up you again. There was a warning tone in his voice, almost as if telling you to do this was a terrible idea. That you were going to be landing yourself in scalding hot water, and you wouldn’t be able to get out. You knew the risks from the start, but…

You quickly unfold the paper, and look for the address. Once again, the address is written in the center of the paper. You carefully look around for any other writing on the paper.

It’s completely white. Blank. Except for one sentence on the bottom: It’s never too late to back out. 

And you stare at it, and think about the several cryptic warnings you received from this man. So… you’re telling me, that after that explosion happened in the sky… a dead body, the previous executive was found. Then shortly after that, Chuuya became the executive of the Mafia. He hated it. But he had no choice and was left alone to do it. Eventually, he lost his sanity and mind and the Mafia… I guess? Because very corrupt, violent, and unsafe. It took many people to stop him, and how he was arrested in an underground cell. At this address.

It’s clear he’s cutting something out. He said to be careful. Of course, if Chuuya has lost his mind, I need to do that. But he empathized that I should be wary of him. Also, he said I looked familiar, and he also looks familiar to me. He mentioned something about… me remembering? Have I known Chuuya for longer? 

But he also said that only Chuuya has the answers to all my questions. So that means in other words, he knows what happened during the explosion, he knows that Chuuya has been breaking into my apartment and he knows more about my entire predicament now, than I do.

Just… who exactly is he? How and why?

You cut yourself off from those thoughts. 

Ugh. this is ending up being so much more complicated than it was supposed to be. You thought in bitterness. So basically, I’ll go to the address, and get the answers to my questions. Sounds simple enough. There’s no need to overthink this. Maybe i’m just being paranoid. What’s the worst that could happen?

Well, a lot. But I’ll just ignore that for now.

You turn around and walk towards the door again. To be honest, you don’t want to know what might happen once you see him. You were already nervous from the implications the man had told you moments ago, and you were coming to realize there were some things that you noticed when you were in Chuuya’s house. Things that you maybe weren’t supposed to know about or see.

In the bottom of the drawer… there were documents. Documentation of everything that happened on the day of the explosion. A bright light illumined the sky, followed by the dead body found; the previous port mafia’s executive; Dazai Osamu. The two closest people to the explosion were a member of the port mafia, Atsushi Nakajima, and a member in the training of the Armed Detective Agency, Ryounouske Akuwatagawa. They are believed to be the cause of the explosion.

No one knows the exact events inside the Port Mafia on that day, except for the individuals involved in the actions that happened. According to the Armed Detective Agency, Akuwtagawa had barged into the Port Mafia to challenge the Port Mafia Executive. He accordingly, fought many individuals in the Port Mafia, a body count is yet to be determined. Data from thereon forth is unknown until the individuals reach the top of the building, where the most notorious event stated above occurred.

Additionally, after thorough examination of the body of the previous Port Mafia Excuetive, it can be concluded that he had committed suicide by jumping off the building. 

The document ends there, and the paper is ripped in half.

-

It felt like every meter you travelled towards that location was walking towards a terrible, yet inevitable fate. The drive there, dragged on and on as if mocking you for your choices. You find yourself counting down the seconds until you can arrive at the location given.

Oh, how you wished you had stayed at home instead of seeking him out. If only your morbid curiosity hadn’t gotten the best of you.

You’ve lost track of the time you’ve spent on the train, only waiting for the loudspeaker to announce your stop. The location you figure you were given led you to a rather remote area, likely in the outskirts of Yokohama. If not further. The man had told you he was locked underground, completely isolated from everything.

You found that part the most unsettling. If they needed that many security measures to keep him in place, it was likely he was completely gone. Gone beyond saving. If he had succumbed that much to his own grief and madness, it would be a question of whether he would still remember you or not. 

You look out the window again, enjoying your last moments of peace.

This is the eerie calm before the storm, isn’t it?

Moments after you think that, the train halts to a stop at the last station in Yokohama, and you get off. Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, and you’re not sure if you can stop it.

You try your best to remain calm. Force yourself to keep going. He’s special to you. You can’t lose him, even if you hate him. You need him. He’s the only one who still cares. 

And above all, he’s the only one who remembers you at all.

And so, you go. You take all the correct turns. You try to walk as quickly as you could, to arrive at the destination. You keep going, and going and going until…

You’re here.

It’s one of the better buildings on the outskirts of the city, yet… it looks incredibly unsettling. It’s a mundane building, one made from standard concrete, and glass. Yet. As you stand so close, you see cracks in the building. The door is partially cracked as well. 

Well, I’m here already. Whatever happens, happens. I may die in there, still, before I die, I have to know the answer. The answer… why can’t I remember? Chuuya. I want him to tell me, what he did to me. Why he came to my apartment every day. Why he’s… he’s…..

Oh. My hands are shaking. Surely I cannot be this terrified can I? I will do this even if it kills me.

You pull the door open and enter the building. The piece of paper told you that it was on the lowest floor. Your footsteps echo in the empty building, and it feels creepy no one is here.

Huh. Gives some Deja Vu, doesn’t it?

You proceed towards the elevator at the end of the hall, and press the down button. Almost instantly, the elevator makes a “ding” noise, and the doors open. You quickly step in and look for the lowest button. With a deep breath, you push the button, and the door closes.

You stare at your face in the mirror. You look terrible. Pale and your hair is completely dishevelled and a mess. If you didn’t know any better, you’d look like you were sick. You had been extremely anxious about this for an entire day, after all.

The elevator doors once again slide open. 

Here goes nothing. You sigh. I’d better hear you talking today, Chuuya. You have a lot to tell me. And you’d better tell me it all.

You step outside the elevator. There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing, and no one here. The halls are empty, and the strong scent of stale air, combined with dust fills your nostrils. You feel like coughing for a second, but you hold yourself back. You didn’t want to make any noise to give away your presence. You take another step.

Despite what the man said, it was clear that there was no one else there. No prison guards, no other cells inside. It was clearly a floor made, simply to detain one individual in particular. Isolated, and secure enough that they’d never be able to escape. Deep enough underground that they’d never even know where they were.

Your footsteps tap loudly against the concrete and echo everywhere around. As you walk down the hall, the lightbulbs behind you light up. The man had told you it was in the deepest part of the prison. However, what he didn’t account for, was that you had no idea how this floor was organized. 

Not to mention it was starting to get creepy really quickly. Although there should be nothing else in here, you were starting to get the sense that there was something dangerous that might lurk in the air. You tell yourself it’s probably just the dark and your own fatigue and you were imagining things.

The emptiness of the entire building creeps you out. It’s eerie. It feels like you were lead into the wrong location, and you were walking into a dead end. It almost felt almost like a trap that you had been lured into. And every second, the floor grew significantly more eerie. The lack of any presence and the darkness despite the very few lightbulbs attached to the ceiling enhanced that. 

I should be getting close now… right?

You were. You could see a light at the end of this hallway, which was illuminated with an orange light. It must have been where Chuuya’s cell was. There was no other place as illuminated as this, and there was no reason for it to be.

You had gotten this far. There was no reason you should be stopping now. Should you? The answer… you had always looked for, you could get it now.

Chuuya always hid something from me. He has never answered once, one of my questions. He’s never told me why he comes to my house every day, he never told me once why he was gone. For as long as I remember, I’ve been coming back from my job, and seeing him there. But one day, he disappeared. No reason why, no reason of how. He just did.

But apart from my job, there’s another piece missing to this puzzle. There’s something else that I’ve always wanted to ask him besides why he’s gone missing, and the explosion which I already had the answer to. He knows me, better than I know myself.

What was I before all of this happened?

I know there’s something before all of this. It just doesn’t add up. The man I saw in the mafia looked familiar. The building itself was in a place that I had felt I had been in at some time before. There’s deja vu there.

But when I first walked into the apartment, the first day before I saw Chuuya, I had jamais vu. A familiar place, that I didn’t know. And consequently, I couldn’t remember much before that. So what-

“I know you’re there, (Y/N). You’ve been standing there for quite some time.”

Shit.

Your thoughts are cut off by that voice you instantly knew. Chuuya was indeed, there. But his voice didn’t sound the same as you remember. There wasn’t any of the snarkiness, or egotistical attitude in his voice anymore. Instead, his voice was laced with aggression, and a malice that made you hesitant to even come forward.

You open your jaw to speak, but almost if Chuuya knew, he spoke before you. “I know what you’re thinking. You want to know why I left you, don’t you? I assume that someone has already told you about what happened on the day I stopped seeing you, and I’m sure you know all about the aftermath of that.”

You feel like you are doused in cold water. How did he know? Did he plan all of this. You want to open your mouth and tell him to slow down, but he continues, anyways.

“And you’ve been having deja vu for several days, too. You feel like you know the Port Mafia building, you feel like you recognize everything you saw, including my home.” Silence, as he pauses for a second. “So why don’t you… come and face me, and I’ll tell you what actually happened?”

“Chuuya-”

You hear no response. You sigh and walk towards his cell. You’re not ready to hear this, and you’re not sure you can face him.

He’s different. He’s not the same anymore. He sounds more violent, his composture is much less controlled than it was before. What…what happened to him?

And then you approach his cell. He’s got cuts everywhere, specifically the gash on his face. You instantly feel the need to run away, to get this image out of your mind. He was thin, his face was significantly more gaunt than it had been the last time you had seen him. And the most unsettling thing was how he was kept. Both arms were harshly chained to the ceiling and the wall. The chains were wrapped around his arms several times (you would assume most likely to stop him from breaking free), and they cut deeply into his arm. Then his body was also tightly bound to a chair, and his legs were bound to the chair’s legs. His body you noticed, was bound so tightly to the chair, you wonder how he still managed to breathe. Still, nothing would be as unnerving as to look at as his eyes. They were not dull per say, but they were empty. Not in the hopeless kind of way, but in the tormented sense that he had been tortured so badly that it would be unlikely he ever saw the light of day again.

Truly, he was a lost cause. You could only describe him as tortured and traumatized, as you couldn’t glance at him a second time.

“Hey. You done oogling yet?” His voice came out as almost an aggressive snarl, and you instantly look away. “Look at me.” You do your best to look at him, while trying to avoid looking at any part of his face in particular. You didn’t want to see it. Truly, you don’t want to look at him in any way whatsoever. So you settle on looking at a corner of his hair. The only thing that was still familiar to you.

“I said look at me. In the eyes.”

You don’t want to.

Chuuya sighs. “I know I probably look terrible right now, but please. Just do it. For the sake of me. Just look me in the eyes. It’ll probably be the last time I see someone for a long time.” He draws that last sentence out for longer than you expect, and you start to feel uneasy again, but you try to ignore that and ask him the question. The question you had been dying to ask for an undefined amount of time.

It’s a second before you can really bring yourself to ask it. “Chuuya. Where are my memories?” your mouth tightens… “Who am I? Why did you… do this?” You take a deep breath, to stop yourself. “Just tell me. Please.”

There’s another stretched-out pause before Chuuya responds again. “I knocked you out.”

“You… you what? N-no… you’re kidding right?” Your voice wavers slightly, before seeing Chuuya’s face again. He’s dead serious. “Why would you do this?”

“You were in danger. I couldn’t help it, alright?” He yelled, and you flinch. He takes a deep breath in again, slightly more calm, and continues. “Let me explain.”

“You were part of the Port Mafia, (Y/N). In fact, you, me, and Dazai used to be assigned to the same team all the time. Of course, it was always despicable working with Dazai. He never told us about anything, instead only telling us what to do, while he schemed about whatever he damn chose.”

“You can’t be serious…”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Do you think I’m joking right now? That I’m making a story and pulling it out of thin air for fun? You wanted answers. I’m giving them to you right now.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Chuuya ignores you and goes on. “Out of the three of us, you were always the weakest one, without a strong ability, nor any supportive abilities, however, we always had to drag you along anyways. To every mission gaven to us. Dazai would always make a plan, and we’d have to follow through. And if any of us ever messed up, we’d always get into trouble.”

“I bet you wanted to know how you got that bruise on your arm, that’s never healed, huh? Well, it’s cause you messed up one of the missions, and one of the higher-ups broke your arm. It never completely healed, and it was a warning that you should never mess up again.”

You look at your arm, where the ugly purple bruise marred your skin. It had never healed, and you couldn’t do anything heavy with it. Although it made a lot more sense than the reasoning you were told, you found this all too unreal. There was no way you were a mafia member. You were always weak. There would have been no reason for you to join. But even past the static buzzing in your brain, you could make out everything he said feeling familiar. As if your memories were just behind a wall you couldn’t break through.

“Still, I wasn’t able to do anything at the time, and Dazai didn’t care too much for you. The damned bastard treated everything and everyone like a chess piece, and played them as he wished. You were constantly treated as the runt of the three of us, and often used as the punching bag when missions weren’t successful. But, over time, you managed to become more ‘competent’ and not ‘drag us back’.”

“Of course, that all was, until the Dragon Head incident. All you need to know was that it was a bloody fight, and most of us were sent to deal with it.”

“As always, we were sent to deal with the mess. Dazai and I were obviously vanguards during the entire ordeal, and you were backup. When we had found the person behind it all, I used my own ability to kill him. We had won, but just barely.”

“You had managed to find the location of the man first, but you didn’t notify us. This person later told us that you actually refused to tell us. Ultimately, you botched Dazai’s plan, and almost destroyed an entire city, because you didn’t follow his instructions. Of course, Dazai was disappointed, even if he didn’t say anything. He essentially dismissed you, and planned to go back, and remove you from the Port Mafia. But, I didn’t want that.”

“So after a very long fight with Dazai, I managed to make a compromise with him. You would not be killed for betraying the Port Mafia, however, you wouldn’t be allowed to go back. But if I told you this, you would have rather accepted death, since the Port Mafia is the only thing you have ever known. You couldn’t go into the real world since you have no identity there.”

“So later that night, while you had looked like you were at least, partially asleep. I had no choice… but to give you severe head trauma, which would make you lose all your memories.”

There’s an unspoken silence between the two of you. You had always been told that your head was fragile. When you tried to think about your childhood or teenage years, your head would fill with static and it would hurt. Never had you ever expected it to be… this…

“You must be shocked. You probably think I’m not being serious, or that I’m joking. Well, I’m not done yet.”

“You were in a coma for years after that. For about two or three years, if I remember correctly. I had to make sure that you wouldn’t remember anything, so I bashed your head, pretty hard against the concrete. I brought you to the hospital after that, and told them that you had been injured badly, because you had attempted suicide. A balatant lie, but I couldn’t tell the doctors any more than that, otherwise I would have been detained.”

“For several years, you stayed in the hospital, completely unconscious. I’d visit you everyday, and see if you would wake up. At one point I had considered just giving up. But eventually, you did wake up. But, you didn’t have an identity in the real world, let alone education, or anything that would let you survive. When you were discharged, I paid a company to forge you a fake identity, which is what you live by now.”

“I’ve watched over you for so long, (Y/N). You once asked me what you needed to be protected from. I didn’t answer that question because I didn’t think it was the right time to let you know the truth. Alas, you’ve come searching for the truth yourself. The Port Mafia was after you for a long time. I had to constantly monitor you, you were constantly on my mind every day. And even when you were discharged from the hospital, I still had to watch over you while you slept. They wanted to kill you. I didn’t want you dead, in fact how could I?” Chuuya laughs in bitterness. “I loved you for a long time. I did all of this to make sure I’d be able to see you happy, for once. And you were. You moved into society rather nicely. You were simply not meant to be part of the Mafia, despite the potential in your ability.”

“You have the gun I left on my desk, didn’t you? You knew you had to take it because you might have been in danger.”

“Chuuya… stop.” You’re still in shock, but you know you’ll never properly remember any of your memories now. You can only trust him. Whatever he says, you have to believe. He’s not lying. He never was lying.

“That was Dazai’s gun. The gun he left before he killed himself.”

“No… please. Stop. Chuuya. Don’t do this please…”

He chuckles. “I have no merit in my future, I am simply left to rot and die here. You wouldn’t understand, (Y/N). I spent so much time in my life for you, that it would have been simpler to just kill you. But I can’t do that.”

“But in a life where you don’t return any of that to me isn’t worth living either…”

“CHUUYA,” you scream. “Stop this. Don’t…”

“So shoot me please. I know you’re dying to do it. You brought the gun with you, you wanted to kill me. I know you do. Why? You’ve reached into your pockets serveral times while I was telling your past. My life is hopeless, completely doomed. I’ve lost everything I once had, except for you. And I can’t even see you now.”

“So kill me. Put me out of my own misery.”

He smiles, in a twisted sort of way, expecting you to shoot.

“You won’t regret it.”

And it’s true. You were planning on killing him, but you don’t want to now. But if what he said was true, you were also ruthless as he was. You had to make a choice, quickly.

Your hands move faster than your mind, and you can’t stop yourself.

You shoot once. Once at his chest.

You can’t bear to see what you did.

But you also can’t see control what you were going to do next. You hear another gunshot being fired, and you weren’t if it was from yourself, or maybe someone else in the floor.

Your vision stops and you feel yourself falling to the ground.

[peoplesgraves]

Experimental Love Part 1

Yandere X Alien Reader

“What?” Axel’s ears are ringing and he’s sure he must’ve heard you wrong. There’s no way you said-

“I said it’s time for you to go home. I’ve collected all the data I need from you so there’s no reason to keep you any longer.” Your hands move over the keys on your futuristic desk top while the human is frozen solid.

After everything you’d been through together you were just going to get rid of him? Abandon him?!

He’s pulled from his thoughts as you pat his head awkwardly. Your kind wasn’t much for affection but in the weeks that you’d kept this human you’d learned a few things.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you don’t remember any of this.” As you pull your hand away Axel’s shoots out to catch it. When you look back at him his head is bowed and he grips your hand softly.

“Please. Please don’t take me back, don’t make me forget you” he looks back up at you with wet eyes. His bottom lip quivers and his breath is bated as he waits for you.

You sigh and shake your head slowly. “It’ll be better for you. Humans should be with their own kind. I know you have some ill conceived notions of our relationship and its my fault for not squashing them sooner.”

You pull your hand away from him and kneel down to his level. Axel isn’t sure but he thinks theirs pity in your eyes. “I’m not your friend, I’m not your girlfriend and I don’t love you. I’m your abductor, nothing more and nothing less. You were good company but it’s over now”

Axel leaps forward to tackle you to the floor in a hug. His entire being wraps around you and were you a human it would be an effective trap. You could thrown him off but truthfully you didn’t want to hurt him, it wasn’t his fault, such strong emotions were simply the human condition. He sobs against your chest and unintelligibly begs you to keep him.

“I suppose you could stay on the ship as a pet or perhaps an assistant. You can take care of the next humans i borrow, maybe I can avoid this situation in the future if you’re the care taker and I’m merely the scary one who experiments on them.”

[kaiyaki-sano]

Lend Me Your Voice(band!AU Eren x fem!Reader) pt.1

It’s been so long since I posted anything, and I had this sitting in the archives for a million years.....my bad y’all. Basically, Eren is a douchey frontman of the rock band “Titans”. This will be a 4 part slightly angsty mini-series, with a shameless little self-insert as Eren’s sister in part 2 bc I have no self control when it comes to Levi~ I hope you enjoy it!!

MINORS DNI!!!! 

TW: sinful foul smut in the beginning, Eren is an asshole to reader, very minor character death for backstory purposes, swearing/dirty talk

It was your own damn fault this happened, and you knew it. There was no way you didn’t see this coming the second you were invited onto the bus and no way you didn’t see it when he buttered you up with praises while he was gripping the headboard to ram his hips at the right angle to get that sweet release he’d become addicted to in his new lifestyle.

“Fuck!! Just like that, squeeze on me baby girl-” His ragged breathing was deafening, the nefarious and sinful harmony of slick skin slapping mixed with the creak of the shaky tour bus bed’s foundation was exactly the soundtrack he needed to get to the edge. 

And sure, Eren Yeager was an asshole and a douche, but he was no monster, who prided himself on his partners having equal pleasure too. After all, he knew it was gonna be the best moment of their peasantry lives, so he had to make it memorable. It was the very least he could do for his adoring fans. Reaching down between your legs from his position behind you, -because of course this man would have you face down, ass up like a two-bit tavern wench- and used those talented calloused fingers to toy with your throbbing clit. “C'mon, pretty baby, cum on my cock, s’what you always wanted, ain’t it? Be my good girl, lemme see you lose it.” Who were you to deny him? Clearly, you were special, so you had to obey. “F-Fuck, so good, feels so good ‘Ren, please! Ah- I’m gonna- ngh!!” It was so good, he was so god damned talented, touching and fucking you as if he’d spent his entire life learning how to please you. Of course, you came, just like he asked, all over him with your thighs quaking. You’d do anything for him. “Such a good fuckin’ girl, so good for me, might be my favorite groupie, might have to keep you-” He babbled, his usual bullshit script, whatever got you to keep squeezing his cock the way you were, just like all the ones before you, and the ones that’ll undoubtedly come after. 

He carelessly, shamelessly painted your walls white, biting down harshly into your shoulder to leave a mark that would last at least a couple of days, or weeks if you were lucky. How nice of him to leave you with a little reminder of the blessing he gave you, the blessing of his time and his nut.

You, you poor poor thing, sighed happily next to him, convinced he was being serious. Even made the grave mistake of trying to scoot in and cuddle with him. “Fuck you doin? Leave.” He snorted, gently pushing you right away and pointing toward your clothes as he grabbed his phone to scroll through his social media, “Your shit is right there, get dressed and leave.”

How could he be so cold to you? Poor y/n, you’d only wanted to cuddle, how were you to know he was this much of a tool? “Eren…why are you being so mean? I thought…you said-” “And you believed that shit?? C'mon, did you really think you were that special? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think you’re hot as hell, wouldn’t have fucked you if I didn’t. But baby girl, you’re all a dime a dozen to me, at least a hundred in every city we hit,” He chuckled heartlessly, looking at you with no remorse and no emotion, “what use do I have to keep you around? Now, get your shit and get your pretty ass off my bus.” So you did. You gathered your clothes, what was left of your dignity, got dressed, and made your way out of the back bedroom of that bus. That proved to only make you feel worse, now being face-to-face with his band members, all of them giving you the same sympathetic look. Despite Eren’s words, there was something different about you, something wholesome, and you deserved better as an adoring fan. 

“Listen,” The first to speak up was Connie, their drummer, “don’t let that asshole bring you down, alright? Here, just to make him look dumb, I’ll give you a VIP pass, it’ll get you backstage to any of our shows. It’ll get you into the show too, so don’t freak out about tickets. VIP has its own section.” He gave you a dazzling grin, tilting his head, “I know I’d like to see you there!” You wondered how many of these they’ve had to give out, just to save face for the band, to right their cunt of a frontman’s behavior. But, you smiled, nodding and thanking them as you gave him your email to print out the pass. You didn’t have the heart to tell them, that you were simply no longer a fan. “I hope he starts to treat his fans better, thanks for your kindness.” With that, you walked off the bus and began the journey back to your car in the venue lot. 

[brighttears]

Puppy

Joel Miller x reader

No physical description, no use of y/n, gender neutral 

Summary: Now that Joel had discovered what he was missing, he can't get enough of you (you turn Joel into a soft and squishy mess)

Word count: 783

Warnings: mention of sex, kind of pet name? (Puppy)

A/n: I got an ask about love languages and I’m going to do a full thing for that but I’ve had this lil thing lying around for a while and it hits a lot of the bases so i figured i’d post it on its own

—

Physical affection is not something people associate with Joel. He hadn’t either, until you—he hadn't realized that he'd been deprived of it until he drank your water. Like anyone dying of thirst, though, he needed to start slow. First, just with a few drops on his lips, then sips, and then he could have as much as he wanted. 

His first few drops were nothing more than the sight of you, taking you in every chance he got. As soon as he got that taste, it was over. The air is thicker in your atmosphere, any sound other than you is dulled, he cannot multitask when you’re in the room. It took him an unusually long time to talk to you and he’d never approached someone with such nervousness, but it was impossible to stay away. He sipped in your voice, your laugh, the way you said his name, he savored your every word. He swished the memories of you in his mouth in between your meetings, organized just for you and him because he needs you entirely and all to himself, also because he was starting to get looks from Tommy and Ellie, who’d spotted the change in his and your body language. Joel wasn’t ready for anyone else to know, he wasn’t ready for the purity of the relationship, and the time he owned to think of you later on, to be spoiled with pokes and teasing. 

And then, you were his, as he was yours. He had belonged to you from the second he saw you, but now he could tell you. Once the dam was broken the desire to swim in you filled him up. That’s when he learned about touch.

The first time was scary and unsure and you let him take his time. You only waited for him to submerge himself, but it didn’t take him long. 

A quick stroke of your cheek moved into circling thumbs on your hands, locking pinkies, then to soft embraces, then longer ones, then the lips, and then he put them all together and it was off to the races.

He let himself dawdle on you, often stalling, asking “one more” for every 5 goodbye kisses. He needed the extra seconds to make up for the time had to sit on his hands when you were in the company of others, which was his own fault, but still, after months, he wasn’t ready to share the You that belonged to him and the time he spent with you. 

You’d found a private spot where you could lounge in grass under stars. You also found that this was the best place for your secret sex. It was the most romantic thing Joel had ever experienced. Sure he’d cleverly organized dates for some private time in his youth, but they’d never been like this, because he’d never been in this kind of love. 

You made sure to let him know that every inch of your body, heart, and soul were his and only, and he couldn’t help proving to you that he was yours just the same. The first time he told you he’d follow you to the ends of the earth, you’d begged the star that hung above you that it was true.

It takes a few long, regretful moments for Joel to drag his hand from yours, savoring the curves and creases of your palm on his fingertips. He gets so caught up in you every damn time you meet, and leaving, even if it's just across the way and only for the night, still hasn’t gotten any easier. He can never get enough of you.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Joel.” 

“I’ll see you in my dreams.” At any other point in time, Joel would have guffawed at the notion of such a cliche sentence leaving his mouth in full seriousness, and he was aware of this, but what could he say? You’d turned him into this soft mess, and he loved it.

“Aw shucks, puppy, you kill me when you tell me things like that.”

“Well don’t make me say somethin’ cornier than ‘see you in my dreams’ or I’ll puke. One more kiss before I go, though, darlin’.” 

“Just one more.” he adds after five. You give him an extra two. 

“Ok, I’m shutting the door, go get your beauty sleep.”

Once again, he could come up with the most sickeningly corny reply but your lips have put him in a daze, so all he says is “Goodnight.” and sways on your doorstep with a plump and red cheeked smile.

[bruh-myguy-what]

The Dance We Share

I took this prompt/idea to a little bit of a different degree, and I thought about waltzing as a more intimate form of spending time with Thrawn, so they’re still dancing, but it’s less showy than a classic ballroom waltz but with all the same intimacy.

I hope it’s what you were looking for!

Enjoy~

Requested by @vibratingbonesbis

Pairing- Thrawn x f!reader

Summary/request prompt- waltzing with Thrawn! You unfortunately don’t get to dance with him at the Coruscant party but later he spoils you anyway with his affection.

Warnings- none but huge big ol’ fluff

————————

Being at a Coruscant “ball” was every bit as fancy as you’d believed it would be (having never previously had the luxury or title to attend one) and the gilded columns were a testament to how affluent the people who appeared here regularly truly were. The source of your own appearance tonight was something that set your heart into a dizzying flutter, even still. It hadn’t been too long ago, maybe a few months, that your relationship with Grand Admiral Thrawn had been made public- and that announcement to the Chimera crew had probably been the most embarrassing moment of your life.

Of course, not because of any humiliation you felt for being in love with such a magnificent leader, however, the dry and professional manner with which he described the situation made it seem more of a mutual arrangement between the two of you to be publicly acknowledged as individuals who had benefits to gain from the other. The questions from the confused group afterward hadn’t helped either…

Though it was a completely contrasting experience to be at Thrawn’s side during such a glamorous and important event like this than just holding hands around the Chimera and stealing a kiss every now and then- when time allowed. To know that every Coruscant “royal” that passed you or looked at you knew you were with Thrawn, intimately, made your skin burn bashfully. Yet as the timidness crept over your body, your heart had never felt so proud to have such a wonderful man to belong to.

Even if you’d hardly seen him the entire time…

As fun and exhilarating as it was to be Thrawn’s date, it was frustrating to be left alone by him so frequently. You knew it wasn’t his fault, of course. Thrawn was always incredibly sought after at these events, not just by military men, but also Moff’s, politicians, and a few other aristocrats among the wealthy. Not all of them were necessarily interested in learning anything from him, you knew, most wanted to know what the “enthusiasm” over “Palaptine’s alien pet” was about and how Thrawn gained the title of Grand Admiral in just a few short years.

Every time you’d thought Thrawn was finally free from the prying onslaught of questions, thinking you’d finally have a romantic moment with him- as soon as his warm hand would touch your cheek- he’d be pulled away. And of course, you knew he’d need to address them, it’d be unprofessional of him to ignore the requests but a part of you wanted him to turn them away and sweep you out onto the ballroom floor to share a dance. It was juvenile and you knew that too, but you hadn’t stopped thinking about it since Thrawn asked you to join him.

So, instead of mentioning anything to him, you’d stood patiently in the corner of the room waiting for him to return to you once more. Watching a Grand Admiral from afar had always fascinated you, especially Thrawn. He carried himself with such esteem it almost made your own shoulders straighten. He always looked so intimidating in his usual admiral uniform and yet the royal naval admiral uniform made him look virtually statuesque if he stood still.

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the man you were considering approach you. “My darling,” Thrawn’s warm voice startled you, pulling you back to him in the present, “are you prepared to retire to the Chimera?”

“O-Oh! Is it already that time?” Your cheeks stung with the warmth of your blushing. When he’d only responded with a nod, pulling out a digital watch with a chain attached to his stark white naval coat, and checking it for a moment, you wrung your hands nervously. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed your previous disappointment.

Putting away the watch, Thrawn smiled softly at you, “yes, it is. Besides,” he began as a hand slid between both of your worrying ones, then sneaking one up to his lips, “I have spent long enough being pulled away from you for the night. I wish to take you back to my quarters and spend the rest of our time together- just the two of us.” Soft lips met your knuckles in a gentle brush, the warmth in his eyes never faltering from your face. “That is, if you wouldn’t mind joining me?”

Thrawn’s charming nature was all-consuming at times, and it left little room for disagreement, “I-I would love to join you, yes,” was all you could manage as your cheeks only burned angrier under his gaze. Nothing could keep your heart from buzzing madly against your chest at the grin that played on his lips as your eagerness was expressed.

“Marvelous,” Thrawn sighed against your knuckles as he placed another lingering kiss to them, “come then, beautiful, let us return.”

***

Once aboard the Chimera, Thrawn had told you to relax yourself, take a moment to use the refresher for a shower then join him back in his quarters whenever you were finished. With a kiss to the forehead and a parting smile from him, you took your time relaxing and unwinding from the night spent standing in the corner.

You realized, while in the shower, that you really were being a child about not being able to dance with Thrawn at the party and felt you needed to apologize if it seemed like you were pouting- though in hindsight, he hadn’t seemed to notice and Thrawn was generally on the nose about that. You couldn’t keep anything from him. But he wasn’t perfect, so maybe this one had slipped past him.

After an hour or so, you made your way to Thrawn’s quarters and smiled when you saw the lack of Storm or Death Troopers that guarded the door- his sign for you to join him freely whenever you were ready. It made your heart flutter at the minor ways he displayed his trust in you.

The door whooshed open in front of, then behind you once you’d stepped into the room. Thrawn had taken his own time to freshen up, as well, you’d noticed. He was wearing a regular while athletic shirt- resembling the kind you’d seen him sparing in before- and his uniform slacks. The blue in his hair accentuated by the dampness from the shower he’d taken, a droplet or two falling to his shoulder as he turned and smile at you. “Perfect timing, my angel, I just dressed.” He was so endearing in private, so warm and gentle. If you thought you’d fallen in love with him before seeing this side of him, you were certainly head over heels afterward.

Clearly appreciating his lean figure as he approached, you shivered as the warmth he radiated enveloped you- his strong arms circling around to rest at your waist. “You seem terribly quiet tonight,” he spoke softly in the silence of your embrace. “If I may be so bold as to assume that you are…. disappointed that we were not able to share a dance tonight, hmm?”

So, he did know.

Wincing at how immature it sounded coming from Thrawn’s lips, you lowered your head to hide your humiliation. “I’m sorry, Thrawn, I really was trying not to act like a baby about it. I know, it’s so stupid but I-“

Thrawn was quick to cut you off, “do not dare speak of your feelings that way,” he shook his head, lifting yours with a hand. “I shall tell you time and again, that if you are troubled by something, I wish for you to tell me. Even if you think I already know.”

“I just…” you sighed, rolling your eyes at yourself, “it really is so childish, but I had just been thinking about it all day. I was excited to be able to dance with you. It-It’s not something we’ve done before and…” your voice trailed off as you grew embarrassed again, “I just wanted that memory, I guess.”

There was silence between the two of you again for a moment as Thrawn studied your reddened cheeks and shinning eyes. “Then share a dance with me now, (y/n).” He said it so matter-of-factly that you were taken by surprise at first.

“…What?”

Thrawn stepped back from your embrace, leaving you cold momentarily as he keyed a few buttons on his data pad that sat on his desk. Soft music filled the quarters, the white light from the stars the only illumination from the large window beside you. Returning to stand in front of you again, then lowering himself to one knee regally, he took your hand in one of his- the other behind his back. Red eyes peered up at you, shinning in the dim starlight from under his dark lashes, “my beautiful lady, it would be an honor for you to join this undeserving man in a dance.”

Smiling at what seemed like an over-exaggerated display for something so simple, you laughed to yourself; as if you’d say no. “I would love to,” then after placing a kiss to your hand, he joined you standing again. “What was all that formality about?” You asked with a laugh as he placed a hand at your lower back, and he began to slowly sway with you.

“There are many nuances of my people that many will never know,” Thrawn said, almost regrettably, but then he smiled warmly at you as his hand caressed your cheek, “perhaps I will get the opportunity with you to express some of the more intimate practices we Chiss have, with our loved one.”

Your eyes softened at him, the dreamy gaze nearly choking the Grand Admiral up. He was so enamored by you, so often, that he’d almost forgotten who he was when lost in your eyes. “I would love to experience whatever you’re willing to show me, Thrawn.” Your voice was as soft as your eyes and he couldn’t help the growing smile as you continued to sway to the gentle music.

“The Chiss have a few very important rituals we follow for our special relationships, such as a married couple or a courting couple, as you and I are currently.” Thrawn explained as the hand on your back pressed further into the curve above your bottom, closing any gaps there any have been between the two of you.

Curiosity piqued, you laid your head against his shoulder, nose nuzzled perfectly against where his should and neck meet. “Tell me then, what am I to expect from you as my lover and confidant, Thrawn?” You truly were interested in these ‘courting rituals’ he had mentioned, but your mind was more focused on how perfect the moment was currently.

The way he held you, one arm holding your waist, rest just above your bottom, while the other now stroked your hair- almost subconsciously. Thrawn had rested his head atop yours now, snuggling you into him more. One of your hands tucked between your bodies, resting against his strong chest. The other migrating between resting on his shoulder and playing with the ends of his hair at the back of his neck. He smelled of fresh pine, assuredly from the shower he’d just taken, and his blue skin was perfectly warm.

It was just what you’d wanted. Just what you’d been dreaming about all week.

“Perhaps it shall remain my secret, until I am prepared to surprise you.” There was an obvious smile to his tone, as he was being mischievous now. You felt his chest tumble slightly with a small laugh as you hugged at his reply. “Come now, my love, you are not in favor of me revealing when I propose my idea of marriage to you, are you?” This time he had leaned away from you slightly to make eye contact, a playful grin on his handsome face.

Your eyes widened, he wasn’t joking about the marriage proposal though. He truly meant it… “o-of course not,” you choked out in surprise to his candid words. While you were certain he meant what he said, you couldn’t help but ask, “do you really mean to marry me?” Disbelief evident in your tone.

Caressing your cheek once more, his smile turned warmer, “would you agree if I were to ask for your hand?” His question came out causally, as if he knew the answer but wanted to hear your confirmation.

“Absolutely, yes,” you felt as if you couldn’t agree enough, “of course, Thrawn, I-“ then you paused momentarily, because you realized neither of you had said anything about it but then decided to be the first. “I love you.”

A sudden fire burned brightly behind Thrawn’s eyes and he surged forward, halting your lazy sway to kiss you. The fire that you’d seen just moments before in his eyes had traveled to his lips as his mouth ravished yours desperately. Your head was held protectively in place by his guiding hand tangled in your hair. The ever present fire now filling your lungs as Thrawn refused to let go, surprising you.

As soon as you felt like you couldn’t take anymore, Thrawn released your lips from his, almost regrettably. Just far enough away to open his eyes to meet yours, he whispered “and I am madly taken by you, (y/n).” Another quick kiss to your lips and he returned you to your earlier position of your head against his shoulder.

The slow and lazy sway of your bodies in the starlight, guided by the quiet music behind you making it all seem like the dream you’d been waiting for all week.

“Then I shall marry you in due time, my treasure.” Thrawn’s voice so soft it nearly escaped you, but you’d heard the deep sincerity behind the whisper.

You were wrong to be upset about not sharing a dance with him on Coruscant….this was far better than that. A far, far better memory.

[lary-the-lizard]

In my early stages of depression when I was 11-12ish I used to suffer in silence because I had romanticized the noble lonely heroes as a child and learned as a very young child that inconvenient truths would simply not be acknowledged. At 14–15 I made a huge deal because my mental illness had bumped up 2 levels and I was dealing anxiety and dissociating regularly. Then I went back to being quiet to test whether anyone actually wanted alive at all, thinking that if people cared about me they’d notice my absence. It turned into a type of meta-level revenge, where I’d purposely hurt myself and hide it for days and weeks only to reveal it when was so bad that it’d require intervention and my loved ones would have to acknowledge that they were neglecting me. It was like waving their flaws around in their face being like, “haha, it’s the fucking truth I don’t matter so if I kill myself it’s your fault.” Which is indirectly true but also not because my life is ultimately my responsibility. But mental health is a community responsibility and it’s a community failure when an individual has care for themself on their own for the most part. When I got to 19-20 I had grown out of a lot of toxic thought processes and practiced believing that people cared about me and giving them the opportunity to act on it. Through that time to 21 I was consistently suicidal and my mental health was a group issue.

It wasn’t until then that I realized how fucking pathetic and stupid silent suffering is.

I practice good person behavior all the time, I have done this since I was a very young child but recently it’s started to make a lot more cognitive sense than it used to. I used to be nice because I wanted to be admirable, remembered well, someone that people could idolize when I was gone. Then I was nice because I wanted the kids around me to have who I didn’t, someone that’d believe them, support them and protect them. Then I was nice because I needed to be needed. Now I’m nice because everyone deserves to be treated with basic human decency and I just like making people happy.

My kindness and my silence are correlated. Before I didn’t talk about my suffering because my pain made me good, I used it to romanticize the type of person I wanted to be. Now I’m not quiet (unless I forget to talk about it) because I am who I want to be. That’s not to say that I like myself all the time, but I know who I am and what matters to me, I don’t need to make up a story or personality to emulate. And this makes it so much easier to not be self centered prick. I was focused on myself because I needed to be important. I needed reasons to matter, but when I act on the belief that I do instead of trying to make someone I think is lovable, I have so much more energy to just be kind and receive kindness.

The lesson here is, take care of yourself but focus on your existence outside of yourself. If your world is made of up entirely on your inner self of course you’d hate yourself, you are all there is to feel anything about. Suffering in silence does not make you selfless or romantic. It makes you self centered and annoying. You have to think about others to be kind.

[solar-sunz]

Gabe,

Can you hear me?

Cause.. I think I need you to hear me right now. Even if you can’t, I’m going to pretend like you can right now, because I need you to be able to hear me.

I fear that I’ve lost the point. I know that if you were here, you’d tell me just want to do, and how to do it. I know you’d care enough to stay, but so many haven’t once they’ve learned the truth.

The second they get close enough to see that I’m not entirely the same as them, they run. They gather their men, and their torches or pitchforks and march to my door prepared to flush me out of my own town like some pest. Like a rodent. They see me as nothing more than a termite in the walls of the great house they call a city. But I am no more than a mold inside of the foundation, rotting away at the supports until it comes crashing down upon them.

I know you’d tell me not to think of myself like that, but I can think of myself as only inanimate when put face to face with their ever-clear mortality. Just like when I was put infront of yours and I ripped it so strongly from your wide open hands. Hands that saw me in nothing more than the most feral and bloodthirsty form, and turned wide open palms towards me. You allowed me to so easily bite through cartilage, bone, and rib to eat through your sugary sweet heart like it was nothing more than candyfloss.

You’d laugh if you saw me now, I know you would. You’d say I was an idiot for thinking I could change everything on my own, when I couldn’t change anything even when I had you by my side. But I know you’d commend me for trying. I hope you’d greet me with wide open arms and that sweet smile that I haven’t seen in too many years. But really I hope you’ll be upset. You didn’t deserve what happened. I wish every day that it had been me instead of you, but I cannot change the past. You would have known what to do if you were the one who had been bitten. I don’t even know where to start.

I tried to do good, Steph. I did. But it wasn’t good enough, and all they saw were fangs, and wings, and claws. Like they always do. And in calling themselves human, I have been deemed as less than. Was I ever truly worthy of the title “human”?

I know what you’d say now, if you saw me. You’d tell me to get it out, and then to get back up, dust off my wings and keep fighting. But I’ve been fighting for so long, Gabe.. I’m so tired of fighting. I want to be done fighting. But I cannot be done until they are done fighting, and so I must get back up and resume the fight even if I’ve not much fight left in me. You were the fight I had left in me, you were my flame, you were my battle axe, the extinguishing rain on the raging fire in the forest of my soul. The nourishing sunlight after a harsh winter.

It’s been so long since I’ve seen you last. It’s been over a century, Gabriel Stephen.

Almost two centuries, since we spoke last. Since I kissed you goodnight a final time.

It hurts, still. Have you ever considered that maybe all the ‘eternal life’ does if give you more time to dwell on things you’ve done wrong?

And I know you’d say something like ‘but it’s not your fault’, or ‘you weren’t in control of your body’. But.. It was, wasn’t it? Isn’t it my fault that I’m like this? And if I am the root cause for my condition, then wouldn’t it be my fault you died so gruesomely? You should have lived until you were beautiful, streaked with grey and freckled with age. But I ripped that chance straight from your throat with nothing but savage teeth and claws. I ate the life force from your palm like a starving dog left to die on the street, nurtured back to health with nothing but your gentle hand. But I destroyed you, and myself alongside.

I don’t really know what you’d say if you were next to me right now, but I know that you wouldn’t let me give up. I know you’d force me to keep going. So allow me this small reprieve, a short grace in between the fighting to sit myself next to your grave and read out one more goodbye to you.

Goodbye, goodbye.

Goodnight, sleep tight, and allow me to sing you to sleep one last time. I lay this final rose on your grave, and I know that I will see you once more next year. But for now, allow me to say goodnight. Let me honour you as you rest.

Goodnight.

Goodnight.

Goodnight.

[lilyoffandoms]

I started writing a few months ago around May

And before revealing anything I want to say that I understand the effect of AI on the creative field.

The thing is starting out I didn't have any idea if the story I constructed was good and I would be in a desperate need of feedback so I used AI for it but I never used it to write stuff just for feedbacks and how to improve etc. As of lately I have been carrying this guilt that in a way I have wronged someone. I know my loneliness and incompetence doesn't excuse what I have done but is there any way I can redeem myself because I do feel really bad and I don't support AI generated stuff and I never used it in my work.

I just feel so guilty.

First off, congratulations on starting your writing journey! That’s an exciting and terrifying step. I’m proud of you for doing it. That’s amazing of you!! 🎉

To address the rest:

Guilt and redemption are tricky words with a ton of religious baggage behind them. I’m not one to say there is need for redemption because one is guilty of doing something. We all do stuff. As much as I despise AI, I would probably not say one should be called ‘guilty of using it.’ To be guilty, I believe, you must have committed some crime (which you haven’t) or broken some code of conduct (which is often morality based and my morals are not everyone’s morals). Plus, who am I to make that accusation?

Yes, one can use AI but it’s not a crime to use a tool that is made legally available and the usage of which is legally allowed. Do I think the AI collection of learning sources is flawed and illegal? Yes, I do. Do I think everyone that uses AI is complicit in those crimes? No, I do not. Do I believe we are morally obligated to do better by artists? Yes, I do!

I think there are laws, like the preservation of copyright and ownership laws, that should be applied to AI that are not currently applied. But laws are always slow to catch up in these cases.

I think we, as a collective, need to work harder to preserve the humanity and soul of art. And I think that starts by not using AI until there are laws in place that protect the human creatives over protecting the technology and money grabbing corporations profiting off the backs of artists.

It’s a beautiful thing to create and that’s being stolen from us by AI generated content that gets slapped with the label ‘art’. Art is losing its soul. Artists are losing their livelihoods because of this trash.

And it seems to me like you maybe share this stance. Otherwise, I don’t think you’d have written your fics entirely of your own nor do I think you’d feel the guilt you do. Please don’t feel guilt over using something.

Forgive yourself. You’ve clearly come to recognize the fault in using AI generated content as it currently stands and that’s what I think matters the most. Don’t continue to beat yourself up over something in the past you can’t change. You’ve grown, you realize the mistake you maybe made (and I don’t know if it was a mistake tbh), and you are still here standing, and hopefully, writing. That’s an incredible accomplishment!

Forgive yourself and focus on where your choices have brought you because that’s a beautiful thing.

On a personal note, the things I share here about AI generated content are mostly opinions I have formed in talking with artists and writers (and being one myself) and diving deep into this issue. However, they are mostly just my opinions. Just like, anyone else that says the opposite of me, they are mostly opinions.

Now some of it isn’t opinion. The theft of art and the outcome of that theft is very much fact. As are the lack of laws surrounding this issue. I’ve just taken those facts and formed my opinion on what we should be doing as a society to do better by artists and writers.

One final note, it’s alright to feel guilt, it’s okay. I am sorry you feel it. I know that weight but please know it’s okay. I am also sorry you are lonely. I know that emptiness but please know you can always come here when you feel that, if you’d like. I’ll try and make it feel less lonely.

I am always happy to read anything you put out into the world whether to provide feedback or just to reblog and gush. Because y’all writers are amazing creatures that deserve all the love!!

YOU deserve all the love and support!

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Chapter 13: Things Jane Says

TWs in the tags

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You’re starting to think that maybe you shouldn’t have tried to run away.

“Do you know what this is, Bunny?”

You can guess. Jane holds a long stick with two metal bits coming out of one end.

“Is it a cattle prod, master?”

“Yes! I have a few other tools for causing electric shocks, but we’ll just use this for now.”

The cattle prod buzzes, and Jane presses it into your left leg.

Why did it have to be your leg? Your muscles contract painfully, and your leg feels like it’s on fire. It’s hard to tell how much of the pain is from the cattle prod and how much is from your broken leg being jostled.

Your heart pounds. The exhaustion that made it hard to care about the pain has been dispelled, and despite days without sleep, you’re wide awake.

You don’t bother to beg. It won't do anything but put more strain on your throat.

—

When you first met Jane, she was nothing but kind. She said you looked hungry, said she’d get you any food you wanted. You thought she was just a little kid, at first. You said she was a good kid, but that she didn’t have to worry about you.

She demonstrated her ability to teleport for you, and you thought you were hallucinating. She said again that she would get you any food you wanted.

Figuring you had nothing to lose, you asked for ice cream. Out of thin air, she conjured a carton of your favorite kind, mint chocolate chip, and a spoon.

The fact that she knew what kind was your favorite seemed just as weird as everything else, so you didn’t question it. The carton was solid and cold, and it was hard to believe it was just a product of your brain misfiring.

—

“This is your fault, Bunny. If you’d just listened, I wouldn’t have to do this. It’s okay, though. You’ll learn.”

Jane presses the cattle prod into your stomach.

You’re never going to get out of this. Your head slams against the ground as your body spasms.

—

As you scarfed down the ice cream, Jane told you about herself. She said that she’d been alive for a long time, and was trying to use her powers to help people.

She said it was hard to help, looking like a 12-year-old. People didn’t listen to her. She couldn’t save the world from climate change or fix flawed governments, but she could do smaller things. She could provide a safe home to the people who needed it the most.

She said that she’d been keeping an eye on you for a while. That she felt that you needed her help, and, if you wanted, that you could come live with her and two other people she’d been helping.

—

“You just need some discipline, little Bunny. Then you’ll be just as good as Puppy and Kitty.”

Jane pokes your shoulder with the cattle prod. Your entire arm tingles and twitches. You scream and scream and scream.

—

She told you about the other people at the house, Kit and Dollie. How they’d both been horribly abused before she saved them, and had some weird habits as a result. How Dollie didn’t speak or sign or write, and Kit was extremely paranoid. She said that she picked you because she could tell that you were a very compassionate person who wouldn’t make their issues worse. She said you were special.

She said they always had enough food, and that the house was big enough that you’d get your own room.

She said that, if you decided to come with her, you’d be under her protection. She wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.

—

“Really, it’s my fault. I expected too much of you. I thought you were smart enough to obey without pain. But you’re not, and that’s okay.”

Jane hits the palm of your hand with the cattle prod. You keep thinking it can’t get worse, but it always can, she can always do worse.

“Let’s do three more, and then we can get out the drill.”

—

Of course, you decided to go with her. Even if it was some kind of dream, it was a very nice one, and you didn’t see any harm in playing along.

It took several days to get to the house. She produced money for hotel rooms, and then camping gear when you were hiking through the woods.

She said it was easier to be far from civilization. She said that it was safer.

—

Jane shocks your chest and then your thigh, one after the other. All in all, the actual shocks hurt less than the aftermath. Your muscles are painfully sore, and your fingers are growing numb. Just one more. You don’t know if that thought is one of dread or one of hope, given her claim that you’ll be drilled next.

“We’ve made a lot of progress already. By the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to think about leaving without crying. Darling Bunny. You’re going to be so good, I just know it.”

She shocks your broken leg again, for much longer than you think is necessary. You’re starting to lose your voice. Your screaming breaks off into coughing, which jolts your leg even more.

Jane combs her fingers through your hair and wipes your tears away.

“Don’t worry. Don’t worry, I’m not going to drill you, Bunny. Puppy will.”

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @ghostsinthecloset

[thin---thoughts]

Breaking A Binge Cycle

Fuck this you think to yourself. Over the past 6 months you became the lightest you had ever been, and now you had gotten fat again. You had it all... to nothing ? You felt like it didn't matter once you had gotten so close to your UGW that you gave up. You invited the binges in.... and they had been going on for 2 months now. You would constantly eat until your insides were protruding out so far it became unbearable... and then you’d push yourself to keep going. Fuck this, you thought again. I know it was my fault and only my fault that it had got to this, but you were ready to try again. You were ready to start romanticizing the weight loss. Binging had made you extremely anti-social, made your stomach so sensitive to the touch, and now your clothes did not fit. This wasn’t you. You knew better, you are smart and capable of getting what you wanted. Visualize it. The girl you see when you close your eyes, the one that pulls you gently towards her in your dreams. It is you at your goal weight. You deserve to feel this way, you are worthy of your own love. You do not need food to fill the hole in your heart. You are allowed to stop eating when you're full, pack left overs, and say no to things that do not make you feel good! You are worthy of being your most beautiful self. You deserve to be noticed, to smile, to feel beautiful in your own skin, to look in a mirror and be so proud that your confidence radiates off you in every which way.  This is what you deserve so desperately. At the end of the day, you have to live with your self, so you get to choose who you want to be, who stares back at you, how your brain works. When you binge, you feel shame, shame shuts down the entire learning center of your brain, this is scientific fact. When you binge, you miss out on social interactions and times you could spend with friends. Food is not your friend, it never will be. Its time to give it up. Give up the obsession. Enjoy food because you need it to live, not because you’re trying to suppress who you are. We can always begin again, it is NEVER to late. It is time to stop wasting your life, you’ve wasted the past 2 months. It is time to reconnect with you and what is important to you.  We are going to eat 1200 for the next week, and then see how we feel. This is going to kick us back into a deficit, after being in a 3000 plus surplus for the past two months, day in day out. You know what must be done. Use mindfulness to help. This won’t require distraction because you know how crucial this is to stepping into your truth, your new reality, and your path you should be on. 

[plaguerare]

even aside from being willfully gross and/or outstandingly obtuse, the sentiment of ‘i don’t care what staff says, i’m going to do this thing anyway/i wish they hadn’t clarified this, it’s more boring compared to leaving it to interpretation‘ is so fucking disrespectful to Undel.

in case anyone forgot, these are her characters. obviously i’m sure she gets opinions from her coworkers, especially those that help with working on writing the lore onsite, but since the beginning they have been hers and she’s clearly had a particular vision for everything. she made them. it is no different from you or i making up a funny little guy in our head and giving them a name, and a backstory, and a personality.

imagine if you showed your OC to people and said ‘this is my character. this is what they are like.‘ and the people acted like you’d just kidnapped their grandmother for laying out basic info about your own creation. ‘why would you say this about them,’ ‘why would you do that with them.’

obviously, those questions can have a great deal of nuance with them. but we all know what the hell i’m talking about right now.

‘well i don’t care what this person says about their characters being siblings, i’m going to act like they’re in a romantic relationship!‘

do you have any fucking idea how entitled that is? what does it matter to you if they’re family instead of lovers? why do you think the relationship between siblings is lesser, more ‘boring,’ than a relationship between romantic partners? why do you think characters’ stories are only interesting, or have meaning, or worth if romance is involved?

sure, maybe they would’ve been better off drawing this line in the sand years ago, to avoid all of this bullshit happening now. but it’s also not completely their fault that the lore very clearly states ‘brothers,‘ ‘sisters,’ ‘siblings,‘ and still the people that read it hemmed and hawed over ‘but did they really mean it in that way? what if they meant it this way?‘ how much clearer did you need them to be? what else more did they need to say to get the point across?

i guess that’s mostly a discussion of how warped the terms themselves have become throughout (english) history, and how necessary said contextual distinctions really were in the grand scheme of things compared to just making up some new words or using other words that didn’t have such specific definitions to them, but that’s bigger than here or there, and also not entirely something that can be or needs to be picked apart. language evolves and adapts, yadayada, etcetera etcetera, this is a post about pixel dragons we don’t have time for big scale world society things, moving on.

a member of staff said ‘these characters have these relations to each other, end of.‘ one member would not say something to this level of importance without the approval of other staff members, and especially not without the creator’s.

respect Undel, and respect her characters. if you can’t even do the bare bones basics of that, then i don’t know what you’re doing here anymore. try to learn some manners while you’re at it, whatever ‘it’ is, i guess.

[electricbluebutterflies]

JessLeto + you need someone.  let me be that person.  let me be what you need.

Early-era, PG-ish, also on ao3.

She is learning her place. Learning what she was thrown into and how to survive. Learning-

This could have been so much worse, Jessica reminds herself. A few months in and at worst that man is cold and even that rarely, nothing for her to fear or immediately correct or-

This could have been worse, but it stings anyways.

It is not personal; she does not dare to assume anything is about her yet. Or if it is… she is an off-planet unknown, apparently not as well-socialized as she or anyone else assumed, on the line of almost too young for her positions, and already something of a problem. Like it’s her fault, she thinks, like-

She’d hoped for a clearer assignment, something where she would have enough pressure to keep her interested. Instead this waiting game, an evening or two a week of being cooperative but otherwise no one asks anything of her, otherwise she has free run of the place and too much time on her hands and-

She’s learned some hiding places these past few months, different corners of the complex where no one would find her even if they wanted to, and exploring has become one of her pleasures. The place is due for a major renovation that won’t happen, her counterpart too apathetic to do so much as change the color of a curtain, and when she has more power-

When she has more power…

The idea tempts her, on a rainy afternoon she has decided to spend learning a hallway that hosts very occasional off-planet diplomatic guests but otherwise collects spiderwebs for years at a time. It would not be hard to manipulate her circumstances more than it was implied she was expected to. It would not be hard, perhaps not even requiring a shift in her voice, to become infinite here. That man would respond to her too easily, wouldn’t question her quiet desires, wouldn’t-

Oh, speaking of…

Of all people who might also be seeking quiet in empty spaces…

Jessica stands in the half-open doorway and watches the reaction she had not meant to provoke, her counterpart turning from an open window and bracing for just a moment before seeing her, before-

“I should have known-“

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Stay. Come over here. You’d like this view.”

He has tried to make this place a home for her, she reminds herself, consistently pointed out the beauty around them and she has little to compare it to but she has never seen a person so completely of their place in the world and-

She crosses the near-empty space to stand beside him, and it is a good view, almost as good as the room she’s tempted to reclaim in their own hallway because it’s pretty enough she’d abide a ghost for a roommate, almost-

On instinct, she reaches for his hand, needing the tether of it, needing something real before-

“You may not be surprised, but I am,” she murmurs. “You don’t wander as I do.”

“Not as often,” he corrects. “And not as aimlessly anymore, but… you have to understand, this has been my entire life, I know every quiet place in and around these walls and-“

“If I have disturbed one of yours-“

“I would not put it so harshly. You did not mean-“

“Exactly, and I-“

“Your presence may be an answer I did not know I needed. As you have often been in these months.”

She has pieced together the situation into which she was placed, what is said about her counterpart when he isn’t listening – a competent steward of the planet his family has held for centuries on end, an adequate link in a chain, no instability on the horizon but something directionless about him, still learning to focus, still-

If she is a solution, she thinks, then the whole place will be underwater in a year.

“Tell me what troubles you and I will-“

“It would be improper to burden you with-“

Jessica turns to face him, free hand on her hip and fire flowing through her and if she really is as fearless as her lover seems to think then let her be fearless now, let her be-

“This is what I was given to you for. You need someone. Let me be that person. Let me be what you need.”

“It would still be-“

“Is there any reason you hold your tongue other than-“

“No. You are… you have earned your place beside me, and that is why I struggle to-“

“I will not fault you. Whatever you need to say will not change-“

“What if there are not words?”

She can’t stop the eye-roll – already she has seen how he moves through the world, how his voice is all he really has, same as her but somehow so different and-

“Then let me be a comfort in the silence. Whatever you need, I am yours.”

She almost expects maneuvering, at least for his arms to wrap around her, but he barely moves. The fingers entwined with hers start tracing patterns, familiar enough already, but nothing-

“Does this make you happy?”

“Does it matter?”

“I can’t imagine this is what you thought you’d get. You seem like you were meant for something more…”

“I was not told my fate until it was aligned. I had hoped for different, but… this does balance out.”

“Oh?”

“I have not had to defend myself against you or anyone else since I came here. You promised me safety the first time we were alone, and you have not broken that promise.”

“Your standards are that low…”

“I would not describe them as such. I am meant to be adaptable. I would tolerate much worse before I would move against it.”

“I would hope for more than tolerance, but-“

“Why?”

He turns to face her better, clear eye contact and there is something hidden and haunted in that man, something-

“Because you hate everything and fear nothing, and I am fascinated by how you move through this world unlike anyone I have ever known.”

“You misjudge me. I do not hate everything. I do not hate you.”

She knows these are the kinds of words that bring pain later on, that any indication of affection will become a problem she will not want to solve, but-

“I had hoped, but… good to know.”

“Do you believe me?”

He pauses, takes a steadying breath, but still-

“Yes. Completely.”