Teen Romance - Tumblr Posts

Art by ArtsKarely Two girls go into a Crises Recovery Center looking for answers and help. Is love the answer they’re looking for? Can love even help in the face of depression, anxiety and trauma? A story about depression, anxiety, trauma, that which leads to crises and how one recovers from it, the sort of advice I’ve learned over seven years of therapy to help with these issues and the ever pervasive question of “Can this actually help?” It is the first time I’ve thought maybe I could help people with a book but that wasn’t the intention. The intention as always with me was to give something personal and emotional. And there is probably not going to be a more personal work of mine than this. Not for a long while at least. So please, if you can, consider checking out Crises Girlfriends, available on anything with a web browser for $2.99 USD. Or less, sometimes much less, depending on where you live in the world. If instead you want a physical copy, you can get it for $11.00 USD or something close to that in other regions of the world. The back cover was also done by ArtsKarely and is a reference to something I did in the Crises Recovery Center when I went and also an event in the story where the girls pick out leaves to put positive reminders of their life onto. I’ve left them blank on the back cover so you can put down whatever will remind you of your own triumphs.

Thank you all and one final link as well as the number to the National US Crises Prevention Hotline. Please remember to reach out for help when you find yourself struggling. It’s never showing weakness or cowardice to seek help, not when what you face is always so terrifying. It only makes you all the braver for being willing to confront it as you must when seeking help. 1-800-273-8255

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018) Dir. Susan Johnson

# - “𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐈 𝐃𝐎? 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘?”

☆彡 1 : 29pm

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : In which Megumi has a hidden crush on you and plans to keep it that way until a certain pink haired boy and 6’3 man-child take it upon themselves to help.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : megumi fushiguro x gn!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : The fluffiest of fluff

masterlist | jjk masterlist | anon masterlist

megumi fushiguro is not new to the feeling of embarrassment.

In fact, he’s quite used to it considering he’s best friends with Itadori Yuji and Nobara Kugisaki, who apparently can’t go a single day without causing some sort of a scene. As well as being raised by a certain white haired, 6’3 man adorned with a black blindfold.

“Stop it! Why didn’t you order your own if you’re just gonna eat off my plate?!” A certain pink haired boy screamed, slapping away the greedy hands of the ginger.

Nobara quickly whips back her hands to her chest, cradling them with a look of offence for one, being slapped and two, being denied food, replied; “maybe because I wasn’t hungry then?!”

Yuji stared at Nobara with a blank face, “go order now then!”

Now it was Nobara’s turn to stare at Yuji, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “No! cause it’ll take too long and I won’t be hungry by then!”

“Yeah cause you’ll have eaten all of mine!” At this point, Megumi wanted to slam his head onto the table as if to wake him up from this embarrassment. But he couldn’t, because if that were to happen then he’d gain the attention of a certain y/c/h sat just three tables away.

All Megumi had done since they arrived 30 minutes ago was sit in a corner booth, with his head turned towards you and stare at your angelic form while sat opposite the two loudest idiots he calls his best friends with half his face buried in his high collar.

That was until you turned your pretty head towards them. Their table. Him.

At this realisation, Megumi’s eyes widened and a blush crept up his neck and stained his cheeks as he quickly whipped his head in the opposite direction, conveniently towards the wall next to him.

Or maybe not so convenient considering he probably looked like an idiot staring at a plain wall. But what else was he supposed to do when the one person he actually liked was staring straight at him?

Well, maybe not at him exactly but he was grouped with these idiots considering he was sat at the same table so that counted for something.

This was certainly not the way he wanted you to notice him.

And this did not go unnoticed by a particular boy sat opposite him, suddenly forgetting the petty argument moments before as he he took notice of his friends red face hidden in the collar of his uniform. Also, why was he staring at a wall? He’d barely even touched his food?

Observing the repetitive way Megumi’s eyes would go back and forth from darting around the cafe to quickly look at something or someone across the room.

Confused, Yuji’s eyes slowly followed where Megumi’s went.

Oh.

Oh.

The next day, Yuji took it upon himself to help his best friend out. And who better to recruit than the one and (thankfully) only Satoru Gojo, who was very keen on taking part in this plan.

What kind of adoptive father would he be if he didn’t help his growing son find love. Just the thought brought a tear to his eye.

Sat behind the dark haired boy in question, Yuji, as inconspicuous as he could possibly be (considering he was sat next to Nobara), raised his hand in a thumbs up motion. A signal that the plan was ready.

Satoru took notice of this as well as the longing gaze Megumi held as he tried to discreetly take a glance at you every few seconds. How had he not noticed before?

With a very loud and very obvious fake cough, Satoru gained the attention of his students. Satoru went to stand from his chair when he accidentally knocked some books over which were conveniently (or not so conveniently) placed on the corner of his desk where the said books landed on his feet, perfect.

“Ak! I’m injured!! Man down!” Their teacher yelled as he dramatically fell to the floor with the back of his hand placed on his forehead as if he was in one of Nobara’s dramas. He probably took inspiration from them actually.

The students, clearly not fazed in the slightest, turned back to their previous conversations ignoring the cries for help coming from the floor. Except for you of course.

Standing up and making your way towards your “injured” teacher, you crouched down to eye level as he lay motionless on the floor as if already succumbed to his fatal injuries if not for him peeking from under the arm that lay across his face.

“OH! Y/n-chan! My saviour! I feel as though I may not make it…” the said teacher explained in an overly dramatic sigh. “I’m sure you will Gojo” you replied with a slight pat on his stomach. “But if I don’t… I want you to do something for me-”

Before Gojo could ramble on any further he was cut short, “I’m not buying you mochi” you stated with a blank face.

“I understand why you would think that but no” he started before quickly switching back into his role, “these books that just so happened to fall in unison onto my now clearly fractured foot, needed to be delivered to principal Yaga! Oh what am I to do now!” Your teacher explained in an almost pained voice while flailing around on the floor.

“Why doesn’t Y/n do it!” The pink haired boy popped up from behind Megumi, who had been watching the ridiculous scene play out. “What a wonderful idea Yuji! Oh could you Y/n-chan? Would you help an injured man like me deliver these urgently needed books for me?” Gojo’s voice now laced with faux desperation while you were left confused, did he owe principal Yaga something again? Is that what this was about?

“Uhm, I suppose so, sure.” You could barely get the words out before Gojo jumped up onto his feet, realising his mistake and quickly leaning against his desk, the “fractured” foot elevated in the air. “Megumi! Why don’t you help Y/n-chan out huh? Be a gentleman will you?”

Megumi, already figuring out what he was up to planned on declining before he set his eyes on you. He didn’t care if he came off as rude, but to you? Megumi didn’t want you to think he was some sort of high and mighty jerk. That was the last thing he wanted.

So with a huff, Megumi stood, stuffing both hands into his pockets as he made his way towards you.

“You didn’t need to help me. They aren’t that heavy anyway” you tried explaining as you both walked towards Yaga’s office, trying to fill the silence with something, anything.

“It’s fine, really.” Did you not like his presence? Why were you acting so awkward? “So… your friends are pretty loud huh” you chuckled out.

Megumi grimaced at the recent memory, “You remember that?” He prayed that you wouldn’t remember that time, or at least not remember him.

“How could I not, it was pretty entertaining. Especially the way you stared at a wall” so you did notice him. “It was better than listening to them squabble.” He grumbled out with a sour look plastered on his face until he heard the prettiest sound leave your mouth, reminding him of a soft melody.

You laughed. Sure it was at him but you laughed at him. He made you laugh!

“Squabble? What are you? An old man?” You managed to wheeze out, the previous awkwardness quickly forgotten about.

“Y’know, with the way you’re teasing me and if I didn’t know any better, I might think you like me” what was meant to come out as a joke only started a chain of teasing on both parts. “I could say the same to you mr. Fushiguro” you retorted, a sly smile sneaking it’s way onto your face.

“And if I do? Would that be okay?” The sudden seriousness his voice held startled you. Slowing to a stop, you looked up at his tall frame and saw how genuine and truthful his eyes were causing a blush to quickly rise to your cheeks.

Averting your gaze towards the floor, you answered with a small smile,

“I suppose it would”

—

— 𝘒𝘰𝘪 𝘹𝘰

Look, I’m sorry you miss how I looked at you, but I don’t miss how you never looked at me…

Dawson’s Creek

Iris (1)

Before today, I was entirely sure that I was invisible to her.

The world revolves around a single star, big enough and bright enough to warm the whole galaxy. To me, Iris is a star, and the rest of the world was her galaxy.

She had long, curly, red hair that bounced when she walked. She had deep brown eyes that looked like honey in the sunlight. She had straight teeth, all except for that cute little gap in the front. She was just a little taller than me, that is, with her platform converse on. I'd never seen her without them. She wore plaid button downs with cropped tank tops, just barely exposing her abdomen. She never wore leggings or skirts, just oversized jeans or khaki pants she said she borrowed from her dad.

She played soccer, tennis, volleyball, and was drum major of the marching band. She doodled little hearts in her English notes. She smelled like honeysuckle. She would always smile with the widest, toothiest grin I've ever seen. She hummed under her breath when she did her schoolwork, usually songs I've never heard before.

I've never seen her look so terrified as I do now. She walked over to my lunch table, hands shaking, holding a crumpled piece of paper. I assumed it was a note, and I assumed it was for my friend, Mark. He and Iris always got along well, and everyone in the world thought they were dating. He makes her laugh in a way I wish that I could. He holds her books for her when she opens her locker. He buys her orange soda during study hall. Although he's told me a thousand times that he doesn't have feelings for her, I've never seen him look at any other girl the way he looks at her.

I look over to my right, and there's Mark, looking up at Iris, the biggest smile on his face. He invites her to sit, but she shakes her head, drops the note on the table, and walks back over to her own table, her friends watching closely to see what Mark will do.

As she walked away, I couldn't help but wonder why she looked so nervous. She was never nervous. She sang in every talent show, and she gave speeches in front of the whole school on a quarterly basis, as co-president of the diversity club.

When I looked back at Mark, his smile was gone. He looked more confused that anything, really.

"Aren't you going to read it?"

"Read what?"

He looks down at the note left on our table, his friends watching around us in silence. As I pick up the crumpled paper, I see my name in Iris's perfect, cursive writing.

Anna

"It's... for me?"

Mark smiles and laughs to himself.

"I'm just as surprised as you are."

Iris never showed any sign of interest in me. Not once did she ever speak to me unless Mark was there. Yet, here I was, holding a note SHE wrote.

I slowly unfolded the note, unsure of what I would find inside.

713-258-8642

Call me.

I believe in nerd kid supremacy.  I know they're socially awkward but they're real smart to give you unexpected kisses. Hold your hand secretly between your classes. Look up to you from their fat ass books. Help you academically. Try their best to impress you at everything. Afterall, nerd kids are the coolest to do so.

love

Amen bbg

The Monster Inside (Tyler Galpin x Addams!reader)

The Monster Inside (Tyler Galpin x Addams!reader)

Sequel to Monster Like Me

Word Count: 5170 Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Warnings: mentions of prison treatment, self-hate, a gun, hanging, active murder scene, and (obviously) SPOILERS for Tim Burton's Wednesday tv show on Netflix. Note: NOT A TYPICAL HAPPY ENDING

Since their first encounter, (y/n) has found herself visiting Tyler more often than she would like to admit. The past twelve months have seen the two draw closer as they try to heal old wounds. But just when there seems to be a light at the very dark tunnel they both crawl through, a threat on Tyler's life forces (y/n) to choose whether to let justice reign... or embrace the monster inside.

Welp... guess I have to eat my own words because we're here now. That being said, thanks for the support on the first piece, people. I do appreciate all the love and nice comments and so this is for you since I can't get this story out of my head!

The snow crunches underfoot as they walk their daily route around the prison exterior.

It became regular every time she came to visit for them to go on walks. They had picked up the routine six months ago when the prison stopped putting him in straight jackets and the resident therapist suggested gentle exercise would do him some good.

When (y/n) had first heard the news, she hadn't hesitated to drag him outside to feel the summer sun on his skin. She would never forget the look that had blossomed on Tyler's face when he had stepped outside for the first time in who knew how long. It wasn't exact joy, more of an awestruck disbelief. Like a dream he never thought would come true.

Perhaps it was that very look that had been engrained in her brain from that day on that drew her back more often. Six months after her first visit she only returned twice: the first time was two months after, being her scheduled check-in with the boy for clinical reasons, the second a special request from Sheriff Galpin himself. But after six months, after that summer day, she found herself visiting more and more until she came by the prison once a week.

Every Thursday she booked off to visit. Although, (y/n) couldn't exactly deny it was just for professional reasons anymore.

'I think the weather has finally had enough of seeing our faces,' he says, his breathy laugh floating like a ghost past his flushed lips. His cheeks bleed a demure scarlet.

'On the contrary,' she counters, her eyes wandering across the white landscape surrounding them, 'I think it's rewarding us.'

'How so?'

'Don't you see it?' She gestures with her arms to the snow that blankets the ground, that nestles in the tree tops, that glistens in individual flecks off the remaining leaves. 'It's beautiful.'

Tyler huffs, only sparing the view a moment of his warm gaze before it returns to her, charming smile stretching his lips. 'Guess I hadn't noticed with you being beside me.'

Her cheeks flush. He's still got it.

The flirting wasn't a new concept to either of them. Between their snarky banter and clinical catch ups, they always managed to sneak in a comment or two that had the other blushing. It was like some sort of competition: who could rile the other up so much that they get turned on first?

But it was always something that appealed to their dark humour. Recently, though, the comments had become... sweet, nice even.

The worst part, however - the part that had her truly sick to the stomach - was how genuine he sounded. How she sounded in return.

Her gaze locks with his. Hell help her, no wonder even Wednesday fell for him for just a moment. His eyes, his hair, his voice...

He was intoxicating.

'Achoo!'

The sudden sneeze shatters the bubble the two had formed, forcing them to stop in their tracks and drawing their attention to the accompanying guard that walks twenty-odd metres behind them. It is the same guard that has accompanied them since they insisted on walking outside the prison yard. He looks elsewhere, rubbing his nose with the sleeve of his coat casually. Despite his relaxed demeanour, (y/n) knows a gun hides within the giant pocket of his coat, ready to draw if Tyler tries anything.

There once was a time I was willing to pull a gun on him. In some sense, she still is. A gun (approved by the prison) lays in her own coat pocket right now. But things have changed. She is not so certain that she would be able to do it with as little hesitation as she once had, with as little guilt and regret.

Tyler pulls at the collar of his orange jumpsuit that is tucked under a tattered trench coat lent by the prison. More specifically, he pulls at the black shock collar strapped to his neck - the new substitute to the constant gene-repressant drugs since he has been on 'good behaviour' according to the prison warden and therapist.

'Might as well be summer with this thing on,' he says, his tone betraying a bitterness (y/n) had come to associate with the boy. 'Darn thing gives a whole new meaning to being hot under the collar.'

'Oh, don't lie,' she scolds. 'You're practically a Smurf you're that blue.'

'It's called the Prison Look, where orange and blue are the new black.'

Despite the dark meaning, an amused smirk twitches at her lips at the joke. But his shivering form prompts her to unravel the white scarf that warms her neck without a second thought.

'Here,' she says gently, raising herself onto her tippy toes to reach behind Tyler once, twice, then tug and tuck the reminder of the scarf into the top of his jumpsuit. For good measure, she tugs the tattered jacket as much as possible over the jumpsuit, as if to trap as much warmth as she could inside.

'There,' she breathes out, looking up at him once more. 'Now you won't freeze to death before they declare you fit to return to society.'

His eyes glow under the winter sun much like a fireplace. She senes his awe, his wonder as he scans her with those eyes. But she also senses uncertainty, doubt.

'I wouldn't waste your breath,' he mutters. 'I've spent six years here now, and not once have they indicated at potentially releasing me.'

'Because up until now you haven't given them a reason to consider it.'

'Well maybe that's because I never had a reason to consider it.'

The way he looks at her now, she swears he can hear her erratic heartbeat with his heightened hearing thanks to his Hyde heritage. His sadness and pain threatens to consume her, and she is oh so tempted to take it all away like he had begged for almost every time she visited.

Another emotion stops her, though. Between the sadness and pain, she senses a glimmer of light. And as she looks in his eyes now, she sees it.

Hope.

(Y/n) forces herself to breathe, to steady herself before she speaks again, not knowing where this conversation is heading. 'So you have a reason now?'

He doesn't reply straight away. Instead, his gaze flickers down to her lips then back up. It was only a second, but the movement has her breath hitching as he some steps closer to her.

Chest to chest. Heart to heart.

'Maybe,' he whispers, his words taking shape in the form of warm mist that grazes her lips. Like the first time she got this close to him, back in the interrogation room with only a gun between them, she finds herself wanting to lean in more to him, desperate to feel warmth, but more importantly his warmth.

'You really think I can ever go back?' he asks, and the desperate plea in his voice is so genuine and hopeful it threatens to break her heart.

Based on his past actions alone, absolutely not. Nothing would ever be the same as it was back then. But many nights (y/n) had dreamed of Tyler, of him being released and starting over somewhere else.

Some nights she dreamed he would take her with him.

Wednesday scolded her any time she brought up Tyler in casual conversation, saying, 'You'll surely regret ever involving yourself with him.'

She knows he is trouble, that he still doesn't regret what he did no matter how sick it was. But that same sick, twisted part inside her couldn't find it in herself to care.

'Maybe,' she finds herself repeating, because she doesn't want to see his hope die in his all-consuming eyes. 'You're a good person, Tyler. It would be a shame to see you waste away because of someone else's choices.'

'A waste for who exactly ? Society? Or you?'

Before she can answer, an alarm pings inside her coat pocket. She waits a breath, thinking it is just her imagination. But when it goes off again, she forces herself to step away from Tyler - to let go of Tyler - and retrieve her phone from her pocket.

It is the timer she sets for an hour every time she comes. Time truly does fly when you're... occupied, I guess.

'Time's up?' Tyler asks, though he knows what the alarm means by now.

She nods, turning around to call to the guard. 'Ready when you are.'

He nods in reply, silently walking up to them to lead them back to the prison. Before he reaches them though, Tyler flashes (y/n) a sad smile.

'Guess I'll see you next week?' he asks, his voice a mixture of light amusement and hope.

The moment between them has passed, and who knows if she'll ever get it back. But (y/n) finds herself smiling in reply. 'Aw, you going to miss me or something?'

'You know I will. You're the only monster like me I know.'

~~~

(Y/n) cannot drive to the prison fast enough.

A week has passed since their walk in the snow and she can no longer deny her excitement she feels with every impending visit. But this morning she received a call from a certain Sheriff Galpin that melted her mind into irrationality.

She doesn't bother correcting her park as she pulls up to the entrance of the door, nor does she bother locking the car, for she is already racing into the foyer.

'Where is he?' she declares as she enters.

A guard immediately stops her as she attempts to pass through the declaration zone. 'Ma'am, you need to go through standard procedures before you are allowed through.'

'You have no right to do this to him. No right!'

'What is going on?' It is the warden. He's a tough and burly-looking fellow, his stature emphasised more so by the petite figure of the prison therapist that follows behind him, her heels clacking against the tiled floor.

(Y/n) turns to him, fury coursing through her like wildfire. 'That's a question I should be asking you. What is going on with Tyler?'

He releases an exhausted sigh, but she senses no regret or guilt from him as he says, 'So you heard. Sheriff Galpin, no doubt.'

She nods, and it takes all her self control to not punch his pudgy face in. 'He's so close, sir. I respectfully ask that you rethink this course of action.'

'I'm sorry Miss Addams, but it's not my call. The higher ups still consider him a danger that needs to be stopped.'

'He hasn't turned, let alone hurt anyone, in six years! He hasn't done anything to warrant your distrust.'

'And in those six years he also hasn't done anything to warrant our trust, either.' It is the therapist this time, her clipped words clinical and heartless. 'I'm sorry, but his lack in progress is unsettling, and I'm afraid he cannot be saved.'

(Y/n) cannot believe what she is hearing. Each word they speak breaks her heart a little bit more than she liked to admit. 'So you would subject a 22-year-old boy to be executed like some medieval criminal?'

When Sheriff Galpin called her saying Tyler was to be hanged today, she never could've expected the panic and terror that floods her entire being now, that turned her veins icy and halted her heart for only a moment.

She knew from the start that this would always be Tyler's end. Even as they drew closer and she hoped beyond hope that it wouldn't happen. But she should've known better, even as her judgement had been clouded by emotions.

She should've known that monsters don't get happy endings.

(Y/n) turns her blazing gaze upon the therapist. 'And you're one to talk. Isn't it your job to help people like him? To fight for every life?'

The therapist smiles sadly at her, her calm demeanour angering (y/n) more. 'You don't need to feel guilty for him, (y/n). We both did our best. Some people just don't want to be saved.'

'Miss Addams,' the warden stepped back in, 'it is not our decision to make. I am simply following orders.'

Furious tears threaten to sizzle down her cheeks as she looks between the two. Logically, morally, what they are talking about doing is right. The clinical, factual side of her is partial to those demise.

And who doesn't love a good hanging?

The hollowness behind the clinical facade, however, is so strong that she feels as if she is being torn in two. But she is surrounded, she is the minority in this majorly wrong operation.

She sucks in a deep breath, blinking rapidly to force the tears away. 'Of course. But... can you show me to him? Perhaps the thought of death row will make him see some sense. I'm sure his dad would appreciate that closure.'

The warden contemplates her for a moment. She doesn't look away from his scrutinising gaze. She doesn't even blink. My sister and I are more alike than I thought.

A moment later, the warden sighs in defeat. 'Of course, Miss Addams. If you'd care to follow me...'

The walk to the yard is blurry, (y/n)'s mind numb with defeat. When they finally reach the open area, the sight of the huge hanging platform doesn't bring her the joy she thought her first official hanging would bring.

The ones she and Wednesday subjected their dolls to as children don't count.

Instead, she resists calling his name when she sees Tyler being lead towards the stairs that will lead him to the platform. Which will lead him to his imminent death.

'Hey!' The warden holds a hand that tells the guards to stop. When they do, he turns back to (y/n). 'You have two minutes.'

She nods her thanks before jogging over to Tyler, the guards escorting him taking a few steps away to give them some privacy.

'Hey,' she says.

'Hey,' he replies, lips twitching with the itch of a smile though his eyes don't reflect such casualness. They are almost as dead as the day she first visited him a year ago. No fireplace warmth to take away the sting of Winter's cool breath blowing through the yard, through her clothes.

She doesn't know where to begin. For a year, she has stood by this boy. For a year, he has shown that he is still the kind and loving boy she first met all those years ago. For a year, she has spent her time and attention and - dare she say it - heart to heal this boy, only to realise somewhere along the way he was helping her heal too.

And now he will be slaughtered like some farm animal.

For a girl who prides herself on her eloquent and succinct way of speaking - how her tongue was more like a rapier, and wielded words with deathly precision - she now finds herself in the most discombobulating situation where she cannot speak her mind.

'I just heard this morning,' she says, the words coming out strained like she just ran a marathon. 'I came as quickly as I could. I... I...'

'It's okay,' he offers, noting her struggle for the right words. 'Honestly, I didn't expect you would come.'

Her brows scrunch with confusion. 'Why wouldn't I come? It's the day I always come.'

He shrugs, causing the chains on his wrists to rattle ever so slightly. 'Don't know. I guess... If my own dad wasn't going to come to my hanging, then why would you?'

It is the genuine tone of his inquiry that makes the statement all the more heart breaking. He is almost nonchalant about it all, his face a rigid portrait of nothing. Void of emotion, his exterior is the perfect deflection of the deeply hurtful emotions that lurk in the shadowed parts of his heart.

(Y/n) tries to remain relaxed in the face, cool and collected in her stature. But when she speaks, her words are tighter than she intends. 'But I am here,' she finds herself saying, stepping closer to him and placing her hands on his. As if her presence alone isn't enough to convince him of the reality that she truly is there, standing by him.

His hands are ice under hers. Perhaps that is why he takes in a sharp breath before huffing out a quiet chuckle. It isn't joyous, nor sad. It is a melancholic sound that echoes in her heart in a way she doesn't appreciate.

'You are certainly one of a kind, (y/n) Addams,' he says, and it relieves her to see some life return to his chestnut eyes. 'And seeing as I'm now on death row, I see it only fitting that I tell you my one regret in this miserable, horrible, bleak life.

She cannot help but roll her eyes. 'Oh don't be so dramatic. Don't tell me now, of all times, you have grown a conscience.'

'Come on, I'm trying to be serious for once, Addams. Can't you let me have this one?'

She wants to playfully argue more, wanting to draw out these two minutes as much as possible, but can't find the words to do just that. So instead, she breathes out a shaky laugh and concedes her loss with a nod.

'Fine. What is it?'

The chains rattle again as he reaches into one of the pockets in his jumpsuit, his hands rifling around for a second before pulling back out. As one hand clenches tightly around something when he is finished, he uses the other one to pull her own hands out in front of her. A conglomeration of emotions shoot through her every fibre as his fingers brush her palms, gently open and letting the small object float softly into her awaiting hands.

It's a small square piece of paper, with white on one side and on the other side-

No. Not a piece of paper.

(Y/n) recognises the object now. It's a photograph. Of the two of them. Well, sort of.

The image itself is blurry, like the photo had been taken while in motion. Usually an image like this would make her cringe, having spent countless hours researching and practicing and taking notes on taking the perfect shot. This photo disregards all the rules and formats of proper photography.

Despite the poor quality of it, the smiles both her and Tyler wear are clear as day. She remembers the day it was taken. It was about six months ago back at the beginning of summer when she had brought in her camera because why not, and Tyler had managed to steal it from her bag without her looking.

The picture captures the moment she had realised and had tried to tackle the camera from his grasp but he would not relent. Somewhere in the chaos of it all the picture had been taken. After taking her camera home and looking through her photos, seeing that one in particular brought an unfamiliar yet familiar feeling into her heart. She didn't know what it was, but she knew she wanted Tyler to have the photo. So the next visit came, and she gave Tyler the photo.

She hates how her throat constricts at the sight of the photo once more, how she feels herself slightly shaking at the thought that he kept it all these months, right there with him.

'That I couldn't give you more moments like this,' he mutters so deathly quiet (y/n) thinks for a moment she imagined it. 'After all, there are not many monsters like us in this world. Perhaps if I hadn't been so pre-occupied with Wednesday, with all that drama back then... perhaps things would've been different for us.'

It confuses her when a water droplet plonks onto the picture in her hands. Until she raises a hand to her face and feels a wet trail from her eye run down her cheek and chin and realises that it is a tear.

She is crying.

The last time she cried was six years ago when Wednesday battled Crackstone at Nevermore and somehow came out of it alive.

(Y/n) finally looks up at Tyler to find a similar mixture of shock and confusion on his own face, probably also not expecting her sudden reaction.

She's aware they have no time left, so she swallows the threat of more tears and nods in agreement. 'Yes. Yes, I believe they would've.'

Footsteps draw closer to them, and suddenly Tyler is being taken up the stairs of the platform to be fitted with the noose. (Y/n) looks up but isn't really watching, her mind racing with thoughts, her heart thumping too loudly and with too many emotions. What she wouldn't give to feel someone else's emotions right now.

It is true what they say: the quiet ones usually are the ones that feel the most.

She watches as the noose is fitted around Tyler's neck, how the executioner hides behind a black cloth so he remains an unnameable murderer who kills in the name of justice.

Justice. She used to believe in justice. It is why she agreed to help Tyler in the first place. It is why she didn't argue about Tyler's treatment at the prison for so long. But where had it gotten him? No trial, and an unfair execution of life.

'I truly am sorry, Miss Addams.' (Y/n) hadn't noticed the warden come up beside her, the therapist in tow. 'But people like him... well, people like him just can't be saved.' They look up at the platform too, but now she looks at them, irritation morphing her features.

'He didn't even get a fair trial,' she mutters, because that is all she can manage without screaming. 'Sounds like you didn't want to save him rather than the other way around.'

The warden huffs but doesn't spare her another look. 'Look, if you think a psychotic monster with no regrets about killing can be saved, then you're just as crazy as he is.'

His words aren't meant to mean much; a simple, blanket statement at best. But there rings a bell of truth in them that flips a switch inside (y/n). Like when one turns off the lights of their house to go to sleep, all thought and feeling disappeared, leaving a void of darkness of hollowness.

With the light gone, there's nothing stopping the monster inside from coming out to play.

She turns her head with a cool grace to look upon the platform. The executioner is ready to pull the lever, Tyler is set to fall. On the warden's call, it will all go to hell.

(Y/n)'s hand slips into her coat pocket, fingers folding around the desired item like it was made for her hands alone. 'You know what, warden?' she says, voice as steady as her grip.

'What?'

'I think you might be right.'

A gunshot rings through the yard before he can say the word, and another follows close behind. The warden and executioner both hit the ground simultaneously, identical shots in their heads.

The therapist screams but is cut off as (y/n) fires another bullet and finds its target too. The surrounding guards of the yard run towards her, their stunned hands fumbling with the guns they never thought they would have to use that are stuck in their holsters. But she clocked them all the moment she stepped into the space, and she is pulling the trigger faster than they can call for help.

Fifteen seconds. That is all it takes before the yard is quiet once more.

The void suddenly closes up, and the lights inside her turn back on. A tightness constricts her chest like a python constricts its prey. Ever so slowly, her heart aches more and more at the horror around her, the horror she brought upon them all.

I turned it off. The realisation is both terrifying and exhilarating, fuelling her with a kick of adrenaline that spurs her towards the platform stairs and up them. She finds Tyler's face in front of hers before she can fully comprehend what she is doing.

'(Y/n),' Tyler says, his eyes wild and cloudy - a reflection of the confusion and shock she senses from him. 'What are you-'

'We don't have much time,' she says, bending down to the executioner to fish through his pockets. She eventually finds a set of keys and returns to Tyler to work on his wrist and ankle shackles. By a miracle, the key fit the key hole of the shock collar around his neck, too. It makes a heavy thudding noise as it hits the wooden platform. Once he is free, she throws the noose off his neck and pulls him off the trap door. 'Other guards will have heard the gunshots by now. We've got to move.'

'Wait.' Tyler's grip on her forearm is both strong but gentle, firm but comforting. His eyes search hers, however, much like a bloodhound, his gaze insistent and headstrong. 'Care to explain what happened just now?'

'Tyler, we don't have time for this.'

'Fine, let me rephrase: Tell me what in the hell just happened, Addams.'

She looks frantically around. No guards yet, but she knows they will be there soon. But when she looks back at Tyler, she cannot find it in her to deny his eyes.

'I turned it off,' she says so quietly it is almost a whisper. 'I turned my humanity off... and on again.'

Tyler looks her up and down, his face relaxing with shock and surprise and something else she can't quite put her finger on. 'I thought you said you couldn't do that.'

'I couldn't... until now.'

'How, then? Why?'

'Seriously, Tyler? Can't we talk when I get you out of the prison?'

'Wait, slow down. You're breaking me out?'

She rolls her eyes. Her patience is wearing thin. And so is their time. 'Damn, I would've thought me killing a bunch of people then breaking you out of chains would've been a big enough sign, but I guess not.'

'But why, Addams? Why didn't you let me d-'

'Because I love you, damnit!'

The silence that stretches between them is weighted with the echo of her words, bouncing off the walls and tiles of the yard and coming straight back to them. Only their heavy breaths from their heaving chests breaks up its monotony.

Tyler swallows thickly, his voice tight with an invisible restraint. 'You what?'

She clenches her jaw with a force so strong she might've broken her teeth had she not opened her mouth to reply. 'I know I shouldn't... but I couldn't let you die, Tyler. Not when I know you're good deep, deep inside. Not when you've worked so hard for a second chance. Not when I still needed to say that I love you.'

Her gaze falls from Tyler's prying eyes over the edge of the platform. Pools of blood bloom around each corpse's head, and from the angle and height she stands from, the whole thing looks like a painting.

It is a sick and twisted outlook, but one that she cannot help but relish in knowing this is all wrong wrong wrong. She knows her humanity is back on because she can feel. Tyler's shock, the confusion and panic of close by prisoners. She even senses the emptiness where emotions should've been in the corpses, their hearts still and their souls long gone.

But among all the emotions she feels, cannot find it in herself to feel sorry for any of it.

'I never thought I'd fall for anyone,' she continues, turning back to Tyler. 'Let alone you of all people.'

Something shifts in Tyler's demeanour as they lock eyes. His gaze darkens as he steps closer, and she senses another emotion festering inside him. This time, however, she knows what it is. It is the same emotion she's been feeling for a while now unknowingly. But she recognises it all the same.

Want. All-consuming and disorienting and intoxicating want.

'And who am I? To you?' His breath fans her face he is so close, his voice sultry and promising danger. But despite the lights, the monster is inside the house now. And it lives for danger.

'A monster like me,' she breathes out before Tyler grabs the back of her head and slants their lips over one another.

A primal hunger courses through her every nerve as she grabs at him, her hands not seeming to pull him close enough despite how their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. The taste of mint and fresh air taints her lips as she tries to devour him, her hunger for him insatiable. She senses the feeling is mutual as he kisses her with just as much fervour and want.

His hands in her hair and down her back, his lips on hers, the groans and growls that escape him when she bites his lips. It is simply delectable.

But underneath the hunger and desire, there is a genuine passion that burns so intensely it pulls a squeak from (y/n). What they feel is true and raw and overwhelming right despite the wrong circumstances. A sense of relief and joy overwhelms her at the thought.

The door to her home has finally been opened to guests and she is just so happy to have a friend.

A monster like her no less.

When they pull apart, all she wants is to pull him back in for more. It doesn't help that his eyes burn with life again despite the lustful darkness that surrounds them. 'You are... full of surprises, (y/n).'

She can't help the small smile that twitches at her lips at the tone of surprise. 'As usual, you underestimate me, Tyler.'

'Something I will never do again.' He pulls her back in for another mind-numbing kiss, but this one is backed by relief and a gratitude that threatens to break (y/n)'s heart. When he pulls away, he keeps their foreheads touching, his panting breath hot against her cold skin. 'I never thought I'd find someone like me, someone with a monster inside them.'

'I guess fate works in mysterious ways.' Distant, muffled shouting echoes down the hallways that lead into the yard. (Y/n) pulls away from Tyler, her mind racing with plans on how to escape this place. Well, there is no going back now. 'Come on, lets get out of here.'

Soon enough the news will get out: Prison staff killed in monster breakout. She knows Wednesday will never forgive her. Her family will never forgive her. But she has never felt quite right playing the role of the good guy.

Perhaps she was always meant to play the villain. And with Tyler by her side, she finally feels at home.

The monster inside has been unleashed, and she has no plans on locking it up ever again.

i met him yesterday and today i woke up to a message from him asking if i’m free today…

long story short we are on a successful date now<3