#it is giving the fuck up and people need to understand that

[laserbobcat]

A WIP i'll never finish, i tried! I started this before march and will never finish it properly. I'm glad I had the energy to at least clean the last panels enough. I was trying a new style/process and it doesn't stick. Anyway, I'll just tell the rest of the story since I (probably) won't draw it, and maybe some of you like to read:

Nari turns into a god again, to his surprise. Turns out it's because the Lamb fucked up a new age reversing ritual they're trying out, and turned themselves into a baby. Too weak of a vessel, so the crown had to jump ships back to him. Narinder enjoys this IMMENSELY. Makes a dramatic evil laugh and give some kind of speech about how the Lamb is stupid and he's the boss now. He tells Aym and Baal to babysit the Lamb until they're old enough to be trained like they both were and "Maybe this time around they will learn obedience" and exits- also dramatically. The cultists start to panic, what the hell is that giant god, what do you mean it's Narinder are you kidding me? The tsundere Lamb's friend? The grumpy fisherman? Oh no what are we gonna do without the Lamb etc etc... Until Leshy laughs out loud and says "Just ignore him and wait a day or two, he's gonna get tired of bossing people around and miss his precious Lamb. He'll find a solution." Aym deadpan says five, Leshy says five days seems too long he'll cave in sooner than that, but Baal says "No we mean five minutes." And BAM the temple's door open again and Narinder is here yelling MORTALS I need you to remember EXACTLY the words they made you chant, I need it to reverse the ritual!

He quickly realized that this Lamb will not be HIS Lamb, HIS lamb is gone for good if he doesn't cook some good magic real quick. And that's the start of a period of time where Nari has to bust his ass trying to undo the Lamb's failed magic. I had bunch of stuff in mind, including: -Lambie being the worst and most insufferable baby ever. No one sleeps on their watch, and no one gets to be distracted for a second otherwise they start eating rocks. their yell is the loudest noise ever heard. The goat is a joke next to them. Everyone has the tired parent trait now. -Narinder smashing people to death when they're annoying and distracting him from his research. He adds their name to "the resurrection list" for the Lamb to deal with later. The followers somehow get used to it. -Morgan trying his best to keep Leshy away from his irritated brother, despite his intense need to annoy him at the worst time possible. -Narinder yelling "Fetch me my thinking Lamb!" and then squishing the baby between two fingers like a squeaky toy to help him focus (the baby enjoys that) -Saleos and Irene forcing a huge ass exhausted and irritable 19 feet god to take a rest, maybe go fishing to get some air. -Narinder accidentally hitting his head on the door frame of the temple. A lot. -Narinder reluctantly having to officiate the important rituals "I don't care about your damn crops but let's get this over with- NO we're not having an exhibitionist dance go back to work!" -Thena having to read most of the Lamb's writing for him because they write in cursive that is so pretty it's unreadable -Thena making him realize how much work the Lamb is doing everyday. Narinder keeps in mind that he will have to make him rest later. The end would be Narinder finally managing to reverse the ritual, and a butt naked, befuddled adult Lamb appearing on the floor of the temple. Narinder takes the crown off of his head and throws it at their face, and yells at them while changing back into his mortal form and stomping out of the temple: "You IDIOT baby god trying to CREATE new magics when you're not even able to master the old ones completely I CAN'T BELIEVE you would try something so stupid do you even realize how much of a pain in the ass it was to understand your weird logic and clean your mess I SWEAR if you ever do something like that I'll let you rot in whatever pit you dig for yourself AND DON'T YOU DARE SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THE RESURRECTION LIST-" And slams the door on his way out, leaving the lamb astounded.

Cut to Narinder getting back to his house in his tree, and flopping on his bed, exhausted. He massages his arms, visibly relieved to have them back to normal, without the pain. He sighs with a little smile, stretches, curls into a ball and falls asleep.

That's how the lamb finds him later when they carefully come to talk to him after hearing about all of what happened. Except the black cat loaf on the bed changed into a baby.

Rinse and repeat.

[chryso-poeia]

Overexplaining. I didn’t want to experience it, so i don’t give a shit about their lack of context around any of my behaviors. I have spent and i still do spend a lot of time alone for a reason. They don’t know how it impacted me. But i’ll still take conscious control of how it continues to impact me, especially as it concerns explaining myself to anyone, ever.

All they get is what i choose to share, if i even like the person. ”I didn’t know you were so sensitive” right, it was never about anyone’s sensitivity, it was about boundaries. But people that haven’t suffered to the same degree, won’t understand the true depth of some ideas and principles, boundaries in particular.

’Trauma doesn’t give you a pass to mistreat people’ no but once transformed, it can give you an uncompromising level of self-protection with a relationship to self that is profound. Opening up, softening and seeing life as safe, that’s the harder part. Regardless, certain things become intolerable if you survive them alone and even learn to thrive in spite of them, just as a baseline. Because to enjoy this life, i always have to come back to myself, and that self needs to be someone i respect and honor. So, uncompromising self-protection it is.

I love this life in spite of anything i’ve gone through. I can’t see it as anything but a gift, in part because of my past. But this thinking, this rhetoric, it awakens something in people, i know it does. But what does it say about the society? The woundedness and the dysfunction is so deep. In the end, i also believe strongly that a wounded society, creates wounded people that have wounded children and so on. Everything we do is an attempt at positively fulfilling ourselves but if we were taught unhealthy ways. Whose fucking fault is that? The fault of the child? I.e our twisted subconscious internalizations of shame, a.k.a complete fucking bullshit.

Anyway, much of the grieving process thus, i believe may be expressed through anger, anger at how wounded i was, by a world, a society too chaotic and disconnected to hold space for me or people like me. And all that it should have given me, but couldn’t. Yeah my anger is fucking justified. But i’m capable of holding space for two opposing truths. The facts are not facts, they’re lenses, and i still in the end have to choose love. So my fists eventually open, as my jaw unclenches and my stomach relaxes.

I’m in charge now and i choose to enjoy this life, i choose to enjoy every moment completely, i choose to ask how i can grow, how i can increase my enjoyment of even the most mundane things to an intense degree. I ask continously of this life and of myself, to be ignited with passion, to be ignited. To burn so bright that if they’re not used to light, let them be fucking blinded.

Anne Sexton, from an interview featured in No Evil Star: Selected Essays, Interviews & Prose

[luvvcharxo]

FAVOURITE THING ABOUT YOU.

pairing ─ ⋆ mohawk mark, sinister mark, vitrumite mark, lensless mark, full masked mark x fem!reader.

warnings ─ ⋆ MDNI! smut, suggestive content.

summary ─ ⋆ what do the mark variants find the most attractive about you?

notes ─ ⋆ im changing up my post designs a bit, tell me if u like it! also ive never written for the variants before but i hope this is good!! thank u to the user who requested this. this is pretty short sorry

MOHAWK MARK.

─ one thing this freak loves is boobs. whether your boobs are big or small, he loves them. he loves burying his head between them after a long day, pressing kisses to them when the two of you are cuddling, and he especially loves seeing them bounce when the two of you are having sex. ─ when you wear lower-cut tops that show your cleavage, it turns mark on immediately, but he also gets really protective when he sees another guy eyeing you up. because what the fuck is that dude thinking? you're obviously his, and since that guy doesn't seem to understand, he'll teach him. mark just hopes you won't question why he turns up at your home covered in blood. oops.

SINISTER MARK.

─ if you're submissive and treat him like a god, that's what he wants. what do you expect from him? he doesn't want you to be one of those people that does whatever they want, are you crazy? you're his, and that means he owns you. you should be grateful that he's even kept you alive this long. mark could kill you faster than you could blink. why hasn't he yet? don't ask.

VILTRUMITE MARK.

─ his favourite thing is someone who's breedable (what? he needs to repopulate viltrum) and someone who's kind enough to teach him the ways of earth. also, he secretly likes it when you stand your ground and stand up for yourself. it turns him on, honestly, knowing that you're strong too, even if it's not in a physical way. ─ chubbiness is attractive for him, too. it makes you feel more breedable in a way (freak) and he likes it. mark loves picking you up.

LENSLESS MARK.

─ call him a masochist, but he LOVES if you're a bit bitchy and tough. if you degrade him in bed, even better! that man loves being dominated, so if you enjoy doing it, he'll never leave. never. ─ mark loves when you put him in his place. knowing that he's way stronger than you and could easily kill you, yet you're the one seemingingly in charge, it just turns him on. ─ appearance-wise, he loves muscles. if you're strong (for a human, at least) it gives him a boner. back muscles are hot as fuck for him, too. he loves seeing them ripple when he hits it from the back.

FULL MASKED MARK.

─ he just wants someone to hug, to cuddle. someone he can talk to and who will talk to him. he's not picky, mark just wants someone to love him for him and will show him undying affection, no matter what happens. ─ if you're soft, sweet, and caring, he loves you even more. he'll visit you after a rough day and find refuge in your lap, enjoying the sensation of your nails in his hair, and he'll talk. about everything. afterwards, he feels guilty about ranting too much, but you reassure him that it's fine, that you like listening to him.

notes ─ ⋆ ahhh i hope this was okay. i kinda alternated a bit from the request but yeah. also if u guys cant tell i LOVE mohawk mark, that freak is mine 👅👅 i wanted to include omni-mark bc hes so fine but i dont understand his character enough :(

taglist ─ ⋆ ask to join!

⋆ MASTERLIST

[mintmatcha]

Inevitable Things : chapter thirteen

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks, fingering

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The sheer force he kisses you with aches. Shouta's lips are slick with your cum and his tongue tastes like you, musked and slightly salty in the way that almost makes you search for it, but you don't care. No, you revel in it. In the dark, you both grope and grind, his clothed knee sliding between your legs. You wonder if he can feel how wet you are through the fabric, but then you remember he already knows. It’s all his fault.

Your hands slide under his shirt. His body is soft in ways you like, in ways you don't recognize. Touya’s body was thin to the point of almost frailty, while Aizawa's feels perfect for grasping, for pulling towards you, perfect for pressing against. Sex is fun, you decide. Despite all the awkwardness and tension and overstimulating, sex is good. You get Nemuri's obsession with it, you understand why people crave it. It's so basic, so primitive; it tickles the back of your brainstem, a fundamental part of you that needed it most of all.

And yet. 

And yet you need more.

You can feel how used your body is, how puffy and fried your clit is from the attention, but it's barely done anything to quell the want that's been building inside you. How, after all of that, can you still feel so unsatisfied? So insatiable? What the fuck has this man done to you? What door has he unlocked inside your mind?

Together, you peel his shirt from his body. Skin to skin contact, your breasts against his chest: it all feels right. The animal part of your brain sparks up once again. It’s so basic of a need that it eats at you like hunger. Lust drives you, pushes you. You never feel old, but suddenly you feel young and excited. 

When your hands wander south, Shouta breaks away. 

“What do you think you're doing?”  You swear he's glowering at you through the dark; you can feel his breath huff, but it doesn't stop your fingers from slipping open the button of his pants. He smells like aftershave, but there’s still a patch of scruff on his jawline, presumably missed in the rush to see you. Blindly, you try to kiss at it.

“Touching you.” Why are you so giggly? So sweet?

Your fingers brush against the trail of hair between his stomach and the edge of his briefs. It's short, cropping as if he used to shave, but hasn't in a time. His body shudders at the touch, his hands pulsing tighter, tighter around your tits. Oh, that makes something burn hotter inside you, knowing how you have an equally big effect on him as he had on you.

 “Careful.”

“Or what?” Your voice is still quivering from cumming so hard, but you're gaining confidence.  “You afraid I'm going to make you cum?”

You force the fly open and work his pants down. He doesn't help you, his hands frozen in place as you wiggle. The effort steals a laugh from you, then he joins in, softly. It’s a surprisingly tender moment, but it doesn’t rob you of the tension. The want is building in your throat, threatening to choke you.

“I just don't think-” he whispers. Your thumbs are tucking under his waistband. His skin is warm and soft; you want to touch more of it.

“-I'll behave-”

With a press, you can feel his briefs inch down and the weight of his cock shift. It strikes you that you haven't touched it yet. No, you've only seen it in that picture, only felt it through cloth. Something inside you flutters at the thought of how thick he looked. Could you even take all of it? Truthfully, you doubt it; you’re not a virgin, but you aren’t exactly experienced either. Is it possible to be bad at sex? 

Just as you start to spiral, Aizawa catches you by the elbow. It’s almost impossible to worry with him and the way he touches, the focus he gives you. Even the way he grips your arm feel scandalous, charged with want and desire, like he's going to hold you like this forever, like he's going to live up to his promise and use you however he wants.

“-if you pull my cock out while I'm between your legs.” Aizawa swallows deep. “So, really think about-”

Clumsily, you crane up and catch him in a kiss, your lips blindly smooshing into his cheek.  It’s just enough to catch him off guard, to steal an extra moment before you reach down the front of his pants and wrap your hands around his member. God, it's thick. Almost grossly so. Can your body even take all of that?

“I thought you were gonna do whatever you wanted with me,” you mumble into his scruff. His cock is hot and slick with his own precum. When you run your fingers down the underside, Shouta practically chokes on his spit. That’s right; you’ve cum three times today, but he’s been practically untouched. He must be aching for it. 

With a shaky hand, you drag his cock down, through the wet of your pussy. The sensation sends a shock through both of you; at the same time, you both gasp and hiss, keening deeper against each other. Earlier, everything felt hot, soft and dripping like your core was nothing but melted metal, but now it’s purely electric. Every touch of skin trills through you like a shock, lights up your brain like sparks. Fuck-- this is fun. You’re having fun. 

“You said you wanted to go slow.” Aizawa’s voice is almost a plea-- a final warning. 

You slide your legs wider and Aizawa’s body shifts down, lining up against yours. You can feel him, pressed just hard enough against your cunt to nestle between your lips, barely an inch away from where you want him. The promise of stretch nearly takes your breath away. No-- he isn't where you want him: he's where you need him.

You swallow down your last bit of worry and let your head fall back on to the pillow. 

“Then fuck me slow.” 

It’s not unusual for Aizawa to curse, but the string of swears that escape his mouth sends a chill down your spine. It’s blurted, rushed, slurred; He’s never a chatty man, but now he rambles, mouth never stopping as his hips press forward.

“Needy thing, pretty thing, sweet thing.” The tip of his cock pops inside you without much resistance. You're too soaked for friction, almost too wet. The taste of him makes your toes curl, pussy clench- it's not enough, not enough, not enough-

Your partner hunches over, forehead clunking against yours with a pained groan. 

“How are you that fucking tight?” he gripes. “How are you so fucking perfect ?” 

“Shou-” you wiggle your hips and he groans again, deep and wild. “Fuck me, fuck me.”

“I will, I am--”

“Please!”

“I'm trying not to--”  He takes a shaky breath. His hands are clenched in the sheets, so hard you can feel his bicep flex against your side.  “Embarrass myself.”

A thrill runs down your spine. Your body suits him so well that he's already on the brink, already ready to cum. It makes your ego flare. He wants you. he wants you so badly. After making you cum so many times, the only thing you should want is petty revenge, but now, in this moment, you want him to feel good with you.

“I don't care,” you urge. Your hand sneaks down between your legs, working tiny circles around your abused clit. The sensation is electric, so much so that you swear you can see lightning behind your eyes. An orgasm might not even be possible at this point, but you can't help but try. “Just fuck me.”

Finally- thankfully, beautifully, finally- Aizawa sinks his whole cock into you. It's been a while since someone's been inside you, so the pressure feels good, but strange and unfamiliar. A sound must escape you: Aizawa suddenly stops, pulling back ever so slightly. 

"Are you okay-?"

“Keep going-” You urge as you wrap your legs around his waist. “Keep going.” 

Ever so obedient, Aizawa rolls his hips, harder this time. Your body makes lewd sounds with every stroke, the wet smack of your folds being spread audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. Your muscles give to his thickness and you can feel every stroke deepen until his hips are finally pressed against yours. The button of his pants digs into your ass, but the discomfort is almost pleasurable.

“Needed this, didn’t you?” he whispers. “Needed to be taken care of?”

Your voice is staccato with his thrusts. He’s not being rough, but you’re so sensitive that it feels like he is manhandling you, abusing your overly loved body- “Y-yeah.”

“Your boyfriend didn’t take care of you?”

If he had said that at any other time, you may have gotten upset, but you feel so open, so bare-

“No…” You flop back onto the mattress. You hadn’t realized how curled you had been against him, how hard your fingers had been digging into his skin. The relaxation changes to pleasure; it’s a sweet, liquid heat, rolling through you like melted molasses. “No, he never-- he couldn’t--”

“Poor thing-”  His teeth nip at the stop under your earlobe, catching skin with his canines. “So neglected-”

Oh, that cocktail of hormones in your brain has you stupid and emotional.  “Yeah.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he bites again and you know there’s going to be another bruise to explain away tomorrow. “I’ll spoil you.”

Aizawa hooks an arm under your leg and lifts it. The angle changes and his cock hits a previously untouched spot; your body kicks and twitches. It feels impossible, but you’re going to cum again, you’re going to cum before he does, and you’re going to revel in it.

“Touch-” Your voice is high with want. “Touch my tits?”

It’s barely a question, almost a demand, and Aizawa is more than eager to obey. His free hand finds the pebbled curve or your nipple and flicks his thumb over it, searching for a positive reaction. When he doesn’t get it, he changes his touch, waiting to your approval.

“Like that-” you finally confirm. His rutting gets harder, but not faster; it's slow grinds, taking advantage of every inch and then some. The coarse of his pubic hair is delightful friction against your clit; it nearly hurts with how good it feels.  “Just like that-”

“Good// girl, yes.” His tone is so desperate. “Tell me what you need.” 

Oh, you wish you could, but your voice is failing you right now. It's like every brain cell in your head is dedicated to lighting up with ecstasy, downing in him, him, him, him--

“I'll give it to you, give you everything you ever want-” Shouta whispers into the shell of your ear. He's being so steady, so patient; it's nothing like the other times you had sex. There's no rush, no urgency.  “I want you spoiled. I want you greedy. I want to ruin you for anyone else.” 

You can't cum again. Your body is too spent, too used, too-- too-- too--

Everything inside you goes rigid and you come undone once again. It's embarrassing and loud: both your mouth and your cunt. You're saying something, but you don't know what, if it's even words at all. The heat of pleasure is boiling your mind, your senses. 

You’re not a virgin. You haven't been for years, but suddenly you feel inexperienced, naive. Sex could feel like that? It could make you feel like this?

Shouta's hips press against yours and he groans, deep and unabashed. Warm fills you, accompanied by the twitch of his cock, and you realize he's cumming too, melting into you--

At the last moment, he catches you in an open mouthed kiss. It's messy, mostly tongue and spit, the kind you can't breathe through, but you find yourself pressing back, licking and sucking and nipping and drowning in it all, giving yourself to the moment--

“That was-”

You clumsily slap a hand upwards, tapping the side of his face. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you still can’t fully make out his silhouette. 

“Don't talk,” you mumble.  “I-- haa.” 

The roll of your hips just won't stop. The last flickers of your orgasm are still burning and you can't help but stroke them on. You swear there's literally sparks behind your eyes and no bones left in your body; you don't know how you're even moving. Against your will, your cunt twitches, pulling a pained groan from Shouta.

“Can I speak now?” he mumbles through your fingers. Your hand falls back to the bed. “You're going to have to give me a couple minutes before another round.”

The hard of his cock is already softening inside you.  God, the cloud of post-coitus bliss has you so soft you feel sappy; you never want him to pull out, never want to lose his body heat. If you could lift your arms again, you'd wrap them around him.

“My heart might stop if we go again,” you whine. That was the first bare cock you've ever taken. 

He chuckles and it hits you in the chest like a fucking bullet. Oh, this is bad. Pathetic. Lovely. You might cry or laugh or pass out.

 “Is that good?” he asks, tone evident that he knows it's very, very good.

“I think I came so hard I had a stroke.” That has to be the only reason you’re feeling so wobbly.

“The only stroke is you stroking my ego.” A pitiful noise escapes you as he rolls away, groaning as he gets to his feet. He sucks in air through his teeth, then releases it carefully.The room is suddenly unbearably cold; you shake and shiver, silently wishing he’d come back.  “Let's get you cleaned up. Light’s coming on.” 

 The sound of his hands fumbling on the side table is followed by the click of the lamp turning on. Warm light floods the room and you finally get a glimpse of him. His already loose curls are mussed, fallen in front of his flushed cheeks. His chest has a sprinkling of hair - trimmed, it seems - and a trail down from his belly button. He's already tucked his cock away into his briefs, but his pants are unzipped. His underwear is a light green; it makes you laugh a bit. At least both of you are fucked. 

Shouta takes his turn to observe you. You must look even worse: naked, hair a mess, legs spread and cum dripping down the track of your ass. 

“Shit-” Sleep nearly sideswipes you immediately, so hard you’re struggling to even care. “We made a mess.”

Aizawa regards you again, brow raised. “Mostly you.” 

Oh, you beg to differ. The mess he made inside you feels sloppy and slippery, leaking from much too deep inside you. It's the first bare cock you've ever taken, you realize. It felt dangerously good, with none of the friction or stink of the condom. Even the tickle of warmth inside you is surprisingly pleasant.

That's dangerous knowledge, especially with the consequences.

“You shouldn't have…”  you try to sit up a bit to be serious. “Inside me.”

Realization catches Aizawa's face. 

“I should have asked,” he says.   “I was… caught up.”

“It’s okay.” Especially because you liked it. You flop back down with a sigh. “I’ll get a Plan B in the morning.”

Aizawa  shifts his weight and hisses at the pressure. Before you can say anything he turns, headed towards the bathroom.

“I… I can’t get you pregnant.”  The faucet runs while he speaks. “I can buy it for you anyway, if you want to be extra safe.” 

“Oh,” you say, shifting uncomfortably. You believe him, of course; he's not a liar. Maybe about silly things, but not about this. “I didn’t know that.”

He turns the sink off and returns, washcloth in hand. 

“Of course you didn't.” Aizawa gestures for you to spread your legs. You hesitate, then remember exactly what you've been doing these past two days. He's eaten your cunt; you guess he can see it again. Resting against the edge of the bed, he runs the cloth against the mess inside of your thighs. It's hot, but not uncomfortably so. “Sterility doesn’t come up in conversation very often.”   

He runs the cloth into the crook between your leg and pussy. You would have thought the act demeaning, but it’s sweet.

“Vasectomy?” you ask. 

“Nature. Maybe the accident. Either way.” 

He shrugs it away, but there's an edge of something deeper in his voice. He tries to hide it, eyes focused down as he folds the towel over itself and then gingerly touches it to your outer lips.

“I shouldn’t have pried,” you mumble. 

“It’s not prying,” he says.  “I’d argue it’s very much your business right now.” 

The washcloth gets tossed into a corner. The thought of it mildewing there makes your stomach turn, but you're entirely too tired to consider picking it up yourself. Your partner knots his hair into a low hanging bun, just something to get the hair off of his nape. He hesitates at the edge of the bed, not entirely on or off, just hovering in the periphery. 

“Did you want kids?”  

Aizawa glances up, brows knotted together. This time, you really think you may have overstepped. 

“I didn’t mean with me!” you try to recover. Just… in general.”

You're ready for him to step away, but instead he sinks a bit closer to you in the bed, head lounged, lips pursed. 

“No, I don’t.” He heaves it like a confession.   “Considered it for a moment. But, I decided I’m not the paternal type.”

Shouta huffs so hard that his body puffs and deflates.

“Can barely handle those fucking interns.”

The laugh sneaks out of you. Aizawa watches you from his perch, eyes narrowed with amusement. The cool air starts biting at your skin; you scuttle under the covers, then pat the space beside you.

“You scare the shit out of them,” you say. 

“Good.” 

“You could be nicer.”

You pat the empty space again. This time, Shouta obliges. He settles under the covers, a healthy distance from you.  

“It's my job to be mean. We're making items that directly affect people's lives.” He shares your pillow, the special one you brought from home, the silk one that gives just right. “Have you ever been in a hospital bed?”

“No.”

“It's miserable. You don't get a lot of rest. Nurses come in every couple of hours to check on you-- nurses working twelve hour shifts with too many patients to handle.” His eyes are distant, even as he looks your way.  He's thinking about the accident. You want to ask questions about it, but instead you listen. “If we can design something to make that experience better, something to help patients and nurses, we should be serious about it. They should care.”

A moment passes. You try to imagine him younger, sadder. You try to imagine him in those beds-- then try to imagine him before. The silvered scar on his cheek: what would his face look without it?

“I know on the surface it sounds silly,” he continues, a bit more grave. “It's a bed. But if we can make monitoring tools for nurses easier, feed reports directly into the system. Heart rate, breaths per minute, blood pressure-- it takes a load off of their plates and lets them focus on patients who need it.”

His head rolls towards you and your noses are only inches from each other. It feels like you’ve been momentarily allowed into an inner sanctum, opened a door to a part of him you shouldn't be allowed to see. The long nights at the office make more sense now; you had always thought he was just a workaholic. 

“And these beds might be the last place someone lives before they die.”  Aizawa says. “They deserve comfort. Dignity.”

He tilts his head down to regard you, then starts a bit, bewildered. 

“Why are you giving me that look?” 

You bite down your own smile. 

“Just…” Your hand finds his chest. “Didn't realize you cared so much.”

Aizawa rolls his eyes as he places his own hand over yours. 

“Don't tell the interns,” he grumbles. “Don't want them to think I'm soft.”

The sleep that nips are your cerebellum is the cozy kind, the kind that eeks your eyes closed bit by bit. Aizawa places the towel on the ground and you watch him. His features are the same as they always are, but your brain has recontextualized it all; the silvered scar on his cheek, the flat of his nose… you smile.

“Do you have pictures?” you mumble. 

“Hm?”

“Of your cats.”

Aizawa looks back at you, surprised. Then, he melts a bit, pulling his phone from his pocket. He joins you back on the bed, over the covers, arm scooping behind your head almost protectively. The position is intimate; you make it more so by resting your head on his shoulder. It only takes a moment for him to pull up a photo of two cats, both lounging in a strand of sunshine, both tummy up and dead asleep.

“Sesame.” He points to the black cat in the picture, then the fluffy white and orange one. “Sushi.”

“They're cute.”

“They're good cats.” His voice rumbles in his chest, undertones you've never heard before. You cuddle in closer to listen better, close your eyes to really focus. “Sushi is older now, so she mostly sleeps. Sesame is two-- three, actually.”

You hum in acknowledgement. The thrum of his heart is slow and strong. 

“Been considering getting another. For when Sushi dies.” he tilts his head in thought. “I'm not ready to be a forty year old man with three cats.” 

You try to give him that look again, but your eyes just won't open. “And you said you aren’t paternal.”

There's a long stretch of quiet behind that. 

“Do you have pets?” His voice takes you out of your sleep, but not enough for you to fully rouse. 

“Are you falling asleep?” 

Again, there’s a long stretch of silence, only the rise and fall of your breaths and the hum of the air conditioner to fill the room. Right as you start to lose grip on the waking world, Shouta moves, pressing his lips right into the center of your forehead. 

 “Do you want children?” he asks into your skin, voice frailer than you ever thought possible.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

One of the mind-only fics I’ve had rolling around in my head is kinda similar to the Strays AU, but whatever, might as well.

Reader is Akainu’s kid and by some series of misadventures ends up being collected by Whitebeard. Kinda shifts between whether the Reader is a marine like their dad wants them to be, or if they ran away because they don’t like their dad. I typically imagine them as an older teenager, but I guess it doesn’t matter.

Maybe a bit much on detail, but if they ran away, Akainu reports them as missing, either because he won’t publicly admit that his child ran away, or he’s delusional and doesn’t realize how much they hate him, so marines are actively searching for them and when they show up with Whitebeard people think that the pirates kidnapped them, (which may or may not be true, not like the old man wouldn’t).

Breaking Point

Whitebeard Pirates x Teen GN Reader

3.6k words

Summary: An espionage mission gives you the perfect cover to get away from your Admiral father and the life he forced you into. Everything seems to be going according to plan until some pirates corner you.

Warnings: unhealthy parent-child relationship, akainu being akainu, reader being in a terrible mental state, hopelessness, suicide attempt, blood, drugging

I did tweak the prompt a little bit, so I hope you don't mind. I also hope you aren't opposed to darker themes. If it bothers you, I'll write an alternate version of the scene where the reader snaps.

Clothes? Check. First aid kit? Check. Matches and firestarter? Check. Food and water? Check. Hygiene supplies? Check. Emergency shelter? Check. Money? Check.

Looks like you’re all set. Time to head out.

With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you march out of the barracks so you can begin your mission. At least, that’s what everyone thinks you’re doing. You’ll let them keep believing that.

A sharp call of your name brings you to a halt, and you instinctively stand at attention. The empty halls allow for the sound of his footsteps to echo all around you. It’s debatable which is louder. The Admiral’s footsteps, or your own heartbeat. 

Akainu comes to a stop in front of you, glowering down at your form. His piercing eyes scrutinize your appearance. Instead of your usual uniform, you’re in civilian clothing for the mission. Spying in a Marine’s uniform would obviously not go well.

“At ease.” You relax your posture at his command. “I trust that you don’t need any further briefing on your mission?”

“No, sir.” Despite the man in front of you being your biological father, this is the only way you referred to him. Both in and out of work. “I understand the assignment in full.”

“As you should. I expect you to come back with results.”

“I will, sir.”

The Admiral stares at you a moment longer, then nods sharply, “You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” With that, you take your leave, stepping down the halls of the base to leave. Just as you’re about to pass the threshold, you hear your name spoken again.

Akainu’s expression is as terse as ever as he stares a hole into you. He then sighs and turns away, “Don’t disappoint me.”

Of course those are his last words to you. Resentment twists inside you like a knife. Fuck this. You can’t wait to never have to see this bastard’s face again. You don’t respond to him, and you know that he doesn’t expect you to.

You march out of the base and toward the docks where a privateer vessel is waiting for you. It was a small, inboard paddlewheeler with an enclosed helm that doubled as a sleeping quarters. A nice ship. Shame you’re going to have to ditch it soon.

“(Y/N)!” There was a call of your name yet again, but this time it didn’t leave you in a worse mood for it. Koby sets down a couple of boxes of provisions on the boat, then leaps onto the docks, “We’ve got her all ready to go!”

A wisp of a smile graces your typically stern features, “Thanks, Koby. I appreciate it.”

“Hey!” Helmeppo jumps from the ship to the docks as well, landing with noticeably less grace than the former, “I- whoa- I helped too, don’t give him all the credit!”

His moody outburst makes you chuckle. Almost no one dared to speak to you in such a way given who your “father” is. You’ll miss these two. “Sorry, sorry. Thank you, Helmeppo. The Marines would be lost without you.” The new recruit beamed with pride, seemingly not picking up on the sarcasm. 

Koby was looking at you with awe. He’d never once tried to hide his admiration for your strength and rank, and he wasn’t about to start now. “It’s amazing that you get to go on a solo mission! I can’t wait until we get to do something like this!”

Helmeppo has a whole body reaction to the statement, recoiling away from his comrade as if the very words would harm him, “Speak for yourself! Did you miss the part about them having to spy on Red Haired Shanks?!”

“I know! Imagine being entrusted to go after an Emperor!” Koby’s eyes had turned to stars as he fantasized about his own missions some day resembling yours. 

“I’d rather imagine literally anything else.” Helmeppo shudders at the thought, “I mean, really? Why are they sending some kid to do this? Shouldn’t an Admiral like your dad be taking on missions of this caliber?”

Hearing Akainu getting referred to in such a cozy term of endearment makes you want to punch Helmeppo in the face, but you refrain. Barely. Hoping that your schooled expression doesn’t bely your true emotions, you answer him curtly, “Because they need to send someone that won’t be instantly identifiable. Do you think there’s a single pirate in the world that wouldn’t recognize an Admiral immediately?”

“I guess that’s true, but it’s still kinda messed up to be sending a kid. There are plenty of no-name Marines that are actually adults. I don’t see why they’re sacrificing you.”

Okay, the twenty questions game was starting to get old. You wanted to get out of here, not linger and explain your mission in excessive detail to a newbie. If you don’t leave soon, you run the risk of Akainu coming over here and asking what the delay is. You shoulder past the two recruits and leap onto the boat, “I’m not a sacrifice. The rank of Commodore wasn’t handed to me, I earned it. I’ve been trained for this for as long as I can remember.”

Koby ducked down to untie your boat with haste, then tossed the rope to you. He’s still starry eyed, and waves excitedly at you as your boat begins to drift away, “Good luck! I can’t wait to hear about everything when you’re back!”

Instead of answering, you just hit him with the good old smile and nod maneuver, then slip inside the cabin. You won’t be back. Never. You’d rather die than ever set foot on a Marine base again.

—

Several weeks have passed since your departure and covert runaway. At this point, they still believe you to be on assignment, and if everything continues as planned, it should be several months until your absence becomes known. Due to the high risk nature of spying on an Emperor, there would be zero communications until you got back. Sengoku wasn’t willing to risk you being found out if the Red Haired Pirates had a black transponder snail on them. Not only would it jeopardize your safety seeing as that you were alone and didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell against an Emperor’s crew, but the discovery would likely make them much harder to tail going forward since they would now know to be wary of this tactic.

Of course, you were nowhere near where that crew had been sighted lurking about. Your end goal was to get out of the Grand Line entirely and start life anew on some remote island where no one would ever think to look for you. Ideally, you would be assumed dead. Killed in action while stalking a predator you had no hopes against. 

If anyone knew you were still alive and just deserted the marines… Well, you’ve seen what Akainu does to people like that, and you aren’t naive enough to think that you’ll get special treatment because you’re his child. If anything, that would incentivize him more to make an example out of you. To prove that he would never go easy on anyone.

All in the name of his precious Absolute Justice. 

Currently, your biggest hurdle was the calm belt. Even if you hadn’t ditched- and burned- your original vessel, it would have done little to help you cross it. Sure, the absence of wind and ocean currents wouldn’t have slowed it down, but its wooden structure never would have stood a chance against the dense population of sea kings lurking in the depths of that part of the sea.

What you needed was something sturdy and fast. A high powered engine in a preferably metal boat that could take a few hits if need be. On top of that, you needed some weapons to assist you in fending off the beasts. As powerful as you were, even you could only do so much against the likes of such a creature.

Despite all of the risks, you feel relatively confident in your plan. All that you need to do is make it at least halfway through. After that, you think you’ll be able to fly the rest of the way out or at least island hop to the North Blue. Of course, you being a zoan devil fruit user came with risks, but hopefully the fear of drowning if your wings grow too tired will motivate you to persevere through exhaustion.

As long as you can pull this off, and do so without calling attention to yourself, you’ll finally have the freedom you’ve yearned after for so long. It’s so close that you can taste it.

“Commodore (Y/N)! Fancy seeing you here.”

W h a t ?

Once hot blood runs cold as ice through your veins. Who the fuck said that? You slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder to see who just recognized you. This could ruin everything. You can’t risk a sighting. You’ll have to kill whoever saw you.

“Whoa! If looks could kill, I don’t think I’d survive that one!” The man laughs and jumps down from the rooftop he’d been perched upon. Oh, fuck. That’s Fire Fist Ace. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

Another person drops down in front of you, prompting you to whip your head back around only to see Marco the Phoenix blocking the other exit to this alleyway. Oh, this couldn’t get any worse! What’s next?! Is fucking Whitebeard himself going to appear, too?!

More Whitebeard Pirates filter into the alley, but Ace and Marco appear to be the only big name members here. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, “What the fuck do you want from me?”

Marco holds up his hands in a placating manner, though it’s anything but. “Nothing much,” he steps closer, “I promise that none of us want to hurt you, but we’re in a bit of a bind.”

“And? How’s that my problem?”

“We need to pick up some medicine for pops, but the only island that has enough of it right now has a Marine base on it. This medicine is really important, we can’t risk it getting destroyed in an attack, so that’s where you come in. In order to guarantee its safety, we’ll let them know that we have an Admiral’s kid in our custody, and that you won’t be released unless we get what we need.” Marco smirks, “Now are you going to make this easy or difficult? Because I can promise you, you’re coming with us whether you like it or not.”

No. No, no, no, no, no, no! This isn’t happening! This can’t be fucking happening! You were so close, and now everything is going to be ruined because of some fucking pirates! Your hands are shaking- no, your whole body is! Your heart is pounding, adrenaline is spiking, your nerves are on fire. No. You aren’t about to give up and let them take you and ruin your life.

“No… you can’t do this to me.” You shake your head and meet Marco’s lax eyes, “I won’t let you!”

In a split second, your arms transform into wings, and you shoot yourself up into the air. Your legs turn next, shifting into clawed talons that you use to send an attack at Fire Fist and the people clustered around him. Everyone but him dives out of the way as the strike slashes through the cobblestones and walls. Ace tanks the hit directly, but all it does is go right through the logia devil fruit user.

“Not bad, but you’re going to need to do better than that to actually hurt me!” Ace erupts into a column of flames and directs it right at you. Just what you wanted. You flap your wings hard, blasting the fire right back at him- but more importantly- the people around him. They all scream as their clothes catch to fire, making Ace immediately panic and focus on them rather than you.

Not wanting to waste a single precious second, you take off, cutting through the air with remarkable speed. That much is to be expected of someone with the Tori Tori no Mi Model: Peregrine Falcon. As one of the fastest animals on the planet, your speed was generally unmatched. Kizaru was the only person that could ever really challenge you in terms of speed. Escaping these pirates should be a breeze.

“You’re pretty good! I wouldn’t expect anything less from an Admiral’s kid!” The voice of Marco comes from above.

You look up just in time to dodge him swooping down to try and grab you. Fuck, he’s fast! It’s time to engage in some real evasive maneuvers. You rip off your backpack and chuck it at him, then shift into your full beast form.

With your body shrunk down to the size of the bird your devil fruit is modeled after, taking the backpack with you would be impossible. You’ll have to come back for it later, or maybe not at all depending on how poorly this goes. 

In your true form, you’re able to take full advantage of the speed the peregrine falcon is known for. Buildings all meld into a blur as you rocket through and around them. A family shrieks as you speed through one open window and out the other, then you’re weaving through lines upon lines of laundry, and next you’re in an open market.

As quickly as you shot off, you stop and slip under a table, the cloth on it easily concealing your presence. Your heart is pounding and you’re panting hard as you wait in silence. The tablecloth doesn’t get ripped off by your pursuer or anyone else, so you’re cautiously optimistic that you succeeded in losing him. Now you just had to figure out how to get out of here without being spotted again. All of those pirates saw what you look like in all of your forms, which was going to be a major problem. The second you leave this sanctuary, you’re going to be at risk.

There isn’t a clear, easy option. You’re just going to have to take a gamble and hope that your beast form will be unassuming enough to not catch their eyes again. You peek under the tablecloth to see if any of the Whitebeard Pirates are lurking nearby. It doesn’t look like any of them are here.

Okay, here goes nothing. You fly out from your hiding spot and high into the air at what should look like a normal speed for a bird. Flying as fast as you can would just draw attention to you. So long as you look like a normal bird at a glance, you should be able to get away unnoticed.

“There you are.”

Before you can even blink, a taloned foot closes around your small form. You squawk in surprise, then immediately shift into a half-bird form to try and break Marco’s hold. Something cold snaps around your wrist, and all of your energy is sapped away in an instant, right along with your powers.

Sea stone cuffs. They came prepared. You fall through the air, but only briefly before Marco catches you. He lands hard on a rooftop, but remains upright and doesn’t drop you. He grins, but his eyes have an odd gleam to them that you don’t recognize, “You’re good. I didn’t think they still made Marines like you anymore.” Why is he complimenting you? Weird.

You start to struggle in his hold, but he’s faster than you and locks the other cuff around your free hand. Now you’re completely at their mercy. This is awful. This is a worst case scenario.

“Now then, let’s get you back to the ship.”

—

The journey from the small seaside town to the Whitebeards’ ship was lost on you. You weren’t processing any of it. As soon as reality sank in, you went completely numb. Every word said by the pirates around you bounced right off you.

They were going to know. You’re nowhere near where Shanks and his crew are. They’re going to know you deserted. He’s going to know you deserted. It’s over. Your life is over. These pirates signed your death certificate as soon as they locked those cuffs on you.

Distantly, you glance at your surroundings. You’re chained to a cot in what looks to be the ship’s infirmary. Only one of your hands is cuffed, the other is free again. They aren’t concerned about a devil fruit user being dangerous while sea stone cuffs are eating away at your strength. What a disaster. Years of training, and this is how it ends.

Fingers snap in front of your face, and you look up sluggishly at the person disturbing you. Twin Blade Thatch is at your bedside, looking… confused? Sad? This is another expression that you don’t recognize.

He smiles slightly, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “You okay there, kid?” When you don’t answer, he looks over his shoulder, “Did you give them something?”

“No,” the voice belongs to Marco. “They’ve been out of it since we caught them. They’re… really upset about getting captured, it seems.”

Thatch lightly claps you on the shoulder, “Don’t beat yourself up about it, kid. It’s not like you got caught by a weak crew. There are plenty of Marines well above your rank that wouldn’t have won this fight either.”

“Yeah, you actually gave us some real trouble there at the start.” Ace was in here too, apparently. “Not many people are able to use my own powers against me, that was pretty smart.”

“Before I forget to ask, do you have any allergies? I don’t want to accidentally kill you with my cooking.” Thatch stares at you expectantly, but his smile fades as you neglect to answer his question. “Is that a… no? Come on, I’m just trying to help you out here, you don’t need to be so guarded. I can even make you your favorite meal to make up for the situation we put you in.”

“It doesn’t matter…” Nothing does.

“Don’t say that. We’ve gotta feed you, kid.” That weird expression is on his face again. You wish he’d stop making it. “It won’t take long to get the medicine we need. You’ll be back with your old man before you know it.”

No! “I won’t go back!” Hot tears start to drip down your face, then pour as the last thread of sanity within you snaps, “I’m not going back! You can’t make me go back there! I won’t let you!”

Ace is standing close enough that you’re able to lunge at him and rip the dagger from his belt with your free hand. He tries to snatch it back, but your frantic state gives you the speed you usually only have with your devil fruit’s help. You aren’t going back, you’ll make sure of it! Marco might be able to heal, but he isn’t a necromancer. Even he won’t be able to do anything about a corpse. Dying by your own hands will be better than being burnt alive by the magma Akainu will use on you.

You raise the knife high, then plunge it down at your stomach. Blood splatters all over your torso… but you don’t feel any pain. You blink once, then twice. Your eyes finally focus on the sight in front of you. The knife is stabbed into a hand. It then closes around the hilt and snatches the weapon from your hands. Ace lets out a string of curses as he rips his own dagger from his hand.

All you can do is stare at him. W… What? Why did he do that? That shouldn’t have hurt him. Why would a logia devil fruit user let themselves get hurt like that?

Nurses rush toward him, but also you. All of your limbs are pinned down by them. Not that there was any need. The fight had left your body as your mind grew hazy again. You didn’t get it. You couldn’t comprehend what just happened or why.

A prick to your neck snaps you out of it. Your head was being held down, but your eyes flit to the side and see that Marco had a needle pressed into your neck and was injecting you with something. In an instant, a warmth spreads through you, and your body goes completely slack.

Marco heaves a sigh and sets the syringe aside. His hand gently strokes your hair for reasons you couldn’t understand. He speaks softly, “There we go, just calm down. You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

On the other side of the room, Nurses are fretting over Ace’s wound. One even goes so far as to scold him, “What were you thinking? You have logia powers! Why would you let yourself get hurt like this?” Even in your sluggish state, your ears perk at the interrogation. You wanted to know this, too.

Ace looked almost offended by the question. “What do you mean “why”? If I’d let that go through me, it would have gone through them instead. Better my hand, than their guts.”

His answer did nothing but spawn more questions. What did he mean by that? Why would it be better for him to get hurt than for you to die? Your life was of no real significance to him. All that you were was a bargaining chip, and you didn’t even need to be alive for that. They just had to make the Marines believe that you were.

None of this makes sense. What is wrong with these people? You’re an enemy. Your death should be celebrated, not prevented. You don’t get it, and your mind growing more and more foggy by the second isn’t helping.

Your eyes are so heavy. Sleep… Sleep sounds good. Just for a little bit. You’ll figure this out after. It’s not like you’re going anywhere.

[moesthoughts]

hiiiiii! can you write something for season 3 shauna only being soft for reader? like, the other girls keep pushing reader into shauna bc they know that reader is the only one that calms her down and actually gives the rest of the girls some peace. reader is the only one that isnt afraid of shauna, and then in the end they finally get together or something like that lmao thank youuuu

Her safe space

pairing ⛧ shauna shipman x reader

warnings ⛧ mentions of blood, cannibalism, shauna being shauna

summary . . Shauna and you have been unusually close since the death of Jackie. Even throughout all the hardships of the wilderness, you never gave up on her. The other yellow-jackets rely on you to calm her down when she needs it the most. You didn’t expect it to turn into a long needed love confession

Shauna was a loose cannon, she’d lost herself ever since the baby died. You couldn’t blame her, especially how her best friend died before that too. You recognized how much Shauna has endured throughout the time in the wilderness, how fucked up everybody’s heads are currently. You could do nothing but stand there and watch the chaos, even feed into it a little. As much as you didn’t like to admit it, you were just like the girls around you: Traumatized, and hungry.

The girls saw you as an asset of the group, the only one who seemed to be able to ground Shauna. You didn’t really understand why: you believed you were the same as everybody else. But you knew you were one of the only people there for her throughout all the personal deaths that had affected her greatly, and your arms were always kept open just for her. You never realized how much Shauna appreciated it.

You remember those nights with Taissa and her up in the attic of the cabin. When Tai was unable to comfort her, you’d be the one to lull her to sleep, your hands coursing through her brown hair, whispering words of comfort into her ear. You noticed where Shauna would go when everyone was wondering about her, her whispering to Jackie’s frozen corpse. You regret not realizing how much her mental health declined. She had reached the point of insanity.

You never saw those same eyes, akin to a deer, replaced with an endless brown void with no light in it anymore. Still, your thumb would smooth over the skin of her cheek, looking into that same abyss as you talked some sense into her. As much as Shauna was in her head, she didn’t understand your love for her, how you’ve stayed by her side even after all that was going on. Why you so eagerly shared a hut with her, it made a feeling in her blossom again; she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to love again until you came around.

Winter ended and summer had arrived, and you couldn’t deny how much you’ve missed the warmth of the sun. You didn’t expect it to be any easier than the winter though, other than your false hope of rescue returning through whispers of promise. Throughout all the death you had endured, you damn hoped they’d be coming soon. Other than that, life wasn’t any easier. Shauna was the antler queen: her impulsiveness weighing heavy on the group. You silently prayed every time a decision had to be made.

You noticed that the summer has brought more responsibility to you than the other seasons; you were the one who was pushed to calm down Shauna. You didn’t mind one bit; after all, you cared for Shauna deeply, even though you didn’t recognize her after all this time. You blamed it on the part of your heart she took up; you could tell she was suffering but showing it in the worst ways possible. You’ve come to the realization that you truly did love Shauna, but you knew it wasn’t appropriate to act on that feeling currently.

You’re currently washing clothes, frustration filling your veins as the stains in the fabric never seem to fade no matter how much you scrub. You audibly groan, giving up on getting the clothes perfectly clean. The washing machines at home are starting to become a fantasy in your head; you've reached a low point. As you hang up the wet clothes on the makeshift hanger, you hear footsteps trailing up behind you. Your head turns with curiosity, your eyes connecting with Taissa’s. A small smile shows up on your face as you continue with your task.

“Hey, we really need your help.”

You recognize that tone, the one she uses when she feels especially frustrated at something. You stop in your tracks and focus all your attention on the woman in front of you; a confused look comes to your face.

“With what? I’m almost done drying the laundry can it—“

“No.”

Taissa interrupts you, a sigh falling out of her lips once she realizes how quickly she answered. She pinches the bridge of her nose; you can tell she was trying to cool her nerves before speaking to you again.

“..Well, okay. What’s the situation?”

Something in your gut tells you it’s Shauna, but you don’t want to get used to doubting her abilities to control herself. You cross your arms, a softer look resting on your face. You try to take apart the situation from Tai’s facial expression, but you’ve never been good at discerning from little information. Your eyes look to the unfinished laundry before trailing back to Tai’s eyes.

“Shauna’s being fucking— she’s just blowing up in Van’s face and saying some crazy shit. We just need you to.. put out the fire. She went to your hut.”

You let out a sigh, regretting not trusting your gut right away. You wonder if this would ever end, constantly being thrown to the sharks. You know that it was what you were best at, essentially taking Jackie’s role for the group. You nod; you understand. Taissa hugs you suddenly, your arms slowly returning it.

“Thank you, really. You’re the only one who seems to be able to calm her down, it means a lot to us.”

She breaks off the hug with a gentle smile, a nice look for her face. You never like when she’s wearing that annoyed expression 24/7. She rubs your arms before walking towards the wet clothes.

“I got the rest, don’t worry.”

“..Thank you.”

You feel bittersweet, but you’re grateful anyway. You give her an unsure smile before departing towards the huts; you aren’t sure what you’ll be facing, but you’re already mentally preparing yourself for anything.

You arrive at the huts, already feeling the negative atmosphere around the area. Your eyes rest on Van and the group around her; pissed was an understatement. You focus back on the task at hand, calming Shauna down. You’re sure she already saw you enter, because when you direct your gaze towards the inside of the makeshift hut, she’s already giving you that same look of guilt. You approach her, entering the hut.

“You’re being used like a toy, you know that right?”

Shauna says, Once you sit down next to her, bring your knees up to your chest. You process her words and exhale; you know she’s right, now that you think about it. Every time someone doesn’t like what Shauna says or does, it’s always your problem to deal with. You avert your eyes, focusing on a tree stub not too far off into the woods.

“..That doesn’t matter, I’m here for you. What happened?”

You look back to the woman next to you. Shauna recognizes that look in your eye; you’re here because you care about her. That causes her to ease up, leaning her back against the wood of the hut, still looking at you. You wonder what’s going on in her head currently; she must feel so misunderstood. Your heart aches for your best friend, if you can even take that role from Jackie.

“It’s either she lets something happen or is so against me, It’s aggravating. I can never keep up with her, it’s like she’s so sure she’s always right.”

You guess that the “she” in this story was Van, based off the information Tai gave you and the looks you received when first arriving at the area. You think before speaking, choosing your words carefully so you don’t accidentally make her mood worse.

“Maybe it’s because you aren’t listening to Van’s ideas. She probably feels the same way you do right now. I’m sure if you both took a second to listen to each other, you could come up with a mutual agreement.”

You nudge her shoulder with yours, trying to lighten up the mood even just a little bit. She gives you that same blank expression she always wears, but you can tell she’s listening to your words. She huffs, searching her head to see if she can complain about something else, something to keep you in your shared hut for a bit longer before you both have to go back to your chores.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Still, Shauna can’t see how your solution would work. After all they’ve been through, how do you have the patience not to argue? She rests her head on her knees, trying to reason with your words silently.

“If you’re doubting me, I get it. But remember what we’ve been doing ever since the plane crash, even though half of it is so fucked up Shauna. We’ve always acted like a group, no matter the situation. If you both think about it that way, i’m sure you’ll understand.”

Shauna lifts her head up, looking at you in awe. You’re right; you’ve always been right. She can’t explain why she doubts you each time; you’re not here to sabotage her but to help her. That same feeling of butterflies bubbles up in her stomach, and her hand brushes through her hair.

“Uh, can I ask you something?”

She speaks up suddenly; you’re surprised that she changed the subject so quickly. But still, you nod, not being able to ignore the curious feeling.

“What does it feel like to truly love someone?”

She rolls her eyes once you laugh out of pure shock; you weren’t expecting that question to fall out of Shauna Shipman’s mouth, especially in a place like this. Still, you think about the question, pulling out feelings from the bottom of your heart to truly answer her.

“If you feel safe and respected, truly seen. At least that’s how I think of it.”

You smile, proud of your answer. Shauna adjusts her previous position, getting on her knees to slowly crawl towards you. You instinctively scoot away slightly, your heart beginning to race. You stop once you see how she was looking at you, that doe-like face that she used to have returning. You feel your stomach drop. Are you even ready for what’s going to come out of her mouth?

“I feel that with you, I want to feel more of it. Feel you.”

Your mouth drops, a red hue kissing your cheeks. She’s practically on top of you, both of her arms beside you and a knee in between your legs. You feel her breath on your face, hot due to the weather outside. You slowly bring your hand up to caress her cheeks, noticing how she instantly leans into your touch, closing her eyes like a cat getting pet. She opens them to look at you once your thumb brushes over her bottom lip, and you close the little space in between you both.

The kiss is heated; the need is apparent from the quiet noises coming from both of you. She tastes salty, like iron. You assume it’s from your last meal, how you all shamelessly ate a child. That memory was lost somewhere in your mind; the only thing your brain can conjure is the woman whose hands are holding your hips, like she’s afraid to let you go. Your eyebrows knit together as your hands grip her brown hair, pulling lightly on her roots. She finally breaks the kiss, staring at your bruises and red lips. Her hand reaches for your cheeks, desperate to feel more of your skin. Shauna takes the warmth radiating from your face, her chest going up and down, still trying to catch her breath.

You wander under her top, your fingers running around her back comfortingly. She leans down onto you, her head resting on your chest. You embrace her, your head still spinning from the previous events. You always told yourself you weren’t ready to confess something like this to Shauna, after all the blood you shared, the people you ate. This wasn’t the place to necessarily fall in love, but she had you wrapped around her finger.

“I want you too, I don’t want to let go of this bond we have together.”

You finally breathe out, placing a small kiss on the top of her head. You feel her shoulders fall. You haven’t seen Shauna like this in forever; she wasn’t that scary woman she was when you were hunting while you were with the group. It’s like it was before the crash, when you all weren’t going insane. You wonder what it would’ve been like; it would’ve been completely different. For now, that doesn’t matter. You finally have Shauna.

ahhhh this is very out of character because i’m still trying to learn shauna (and taissa) properly, but still I hope you like it! Haven’t wrote a good fic in awhile

req me!

masterlist

[moeblob]

Hima and Wari (kitsune twins) and their very shy tanuki friend and coworker.

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Rest - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader Rating: We all need fluff right now and that's what this is. Word Count: 1133 a/n: I hope everyone is surviving out there. In an attempt to halt my near-constant crying I wrote this. Note that there are two little references in here that will hopefully help everything feel a little bit better are also little spoilers for Part II, so if you want to avoid any and all spoilers, let that be known. It's pretty darn tiny though.

"Joel?"

Your voice is soft, but it still feels obtrusive as you sneak your way past the door to his office. It's actually pretty spacious, the space his brother has set up for him amidst the growing town of Jackson, but in the quiet of the night, even though you know you're not bothering him in the slightest, it still feels almost like you're intruding.

He's at the desk, though, right where you expected him to be. His glasses are perched low on the bridge of his nose and you can see the tension in his neck and shoulders, a sure sign that he's been focused on the plans in front of him for far too long.

"Hey," he breathes out, looking over at you with what seems to be relief. You knew from Maria that he's been bombarded all day with everything from questions to problems to Tommy's constant insistence that they have to work faster. You and Joel could both easily admit that there was an obvious need for additional homes, but you were also aware that construction takes time. One would think Tommy would understand that, especially considering his own background and the fact that none of this is what it was before, but you'd also known from the look in Maria's eyes and the lateness of the hour that Joel was the one putting it on himself to try and make it happen.

The door closes softly behind you as you move to his side, setting down a thermos on the desk next to the multitude of renovation plans. "Brought you some coffee. I thought it might help."

"Come to check on me is more like it," he jokes, but he's already taken off his glasses and is reaching to draw you into his lap. You don't argue, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you settle onto his thighs, a light kiss pressed to his forehead as he buries his face against your neck.

"Maria told me Tommy was on your case today," you explain simply, fingers running carefully through his curls.

Joel nods. "Maria and I met this morning about the houses on Clark Street, but then her idiot husband had to come in here and give me a debrief of everything we'd already covered because he missed the meeting. Wasted nearly a fucking hour of my day."

It makes you laugh, the way the rivalry between the Miller brothers seems to transcend all reason, even if at the heart of it you knew they love each other more than either would be willing to admit. "Is that why you're still here working when he's at home?"

There's no response from him, just quiet, and you know you've hit the nail on the head. This isn't the first time, and you knew it wouldn't be the last, that Joel took the needs of the town on his own shoulders. You needed houses and somehow he always made it happen, even if it meant stretching himself too thin.

"You know what? Come on," you continue suddenly, pressing another kiss to his hairline before standing. "Let's go home."

The protests begin immediately. "I really need to..."

"Joel," you return sternly, already grabbing his coat off the hook. "Home. Now."

There's a long sigh and then he stands, turning off the desk lamp and crossing to take his jacket from you. He shrugs it on and then his hand finds yours, fingers woven together as you lead him from the office and out into the cool night air.

Spring hasn't quite set in yet, but the harsh realities of winter are finally behind you. It's one of the reasons the council has been pushing for new houses, almost too aware of the fact that construction is easier with the warming weather and with new people showing up every day it's become a necessity to move as quickly as possible.

Not that Joel needs to be thinking about that right now.

"I made some chicken for dinner," you tell him, swinging your arms about just slightly in the way that makes you both feel like you're simply two lovers on an evening stroll. You do your best to find these kinds of moments, the ones that remind you of the good, because if you didn't you'd simply spend your whole existence dwelling on the opposite. On the constant weight of ensuring the survival of a community twenty-seven years after the end of the world. "I could heat it up for you when we get back."

"Sounds nice," he returns, his pace slowed to match yours as you make your way home. There are still a few people out and about, but not many, and it almost makes your town feel small again, in the way it had when you'd both first arrived. You're quiet, even as you pass to the edge of town and eventually find your way along the dirt path that will guide you home. The house you share sits in the distance, unassuming amidst fields that will soon blossom into a lush green landscape.

He doesn't let go of your hand until you're both through the door, only relinquishing his grasp after you kiss him quickly and head to the kitchen to find him some dinner. You hear him sit on the bench by the door, removing his boots with a huff, and then the unmistakable creek of the floorboards as he transitions to the living room.

You talk to him absentmindedly all the while, about your day, about watching JJ for Dina and Ellie, about what you're hoping to plant in the garden this summer, but it's only when the chicken is plated that you realize he hasn't said a word.

"Joel?" you question, making your way back to the living room. "Baby?" you ask again, crossing the threshold to find him sprawled out on the couch, sound asleep.

It's peaceful, really, the way he seems to soften in slumber, and it makes you relax, too. Your feet carry you to his side, abandoning the food on the counter as you grab the blanket from the back of the couch. You shift him slightly, just enough for you to wedge onto the sofa next to him and drape the afghan over both of your bodies. He wakes, ever so slightly, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you back against him, nose tucked into the back of your neck as he drifts off once more.

And the next day, when you wake to find him already gone, the blanket wrapped tightly around your body and a note on the coffee table that reminds you he loves you, all you can hope for is that the coffee in the thermos still on his desk isn't too cold.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for sakoku_decree behind the cut; “project sidekick”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“She’s his niece,” Superboy says while still trying not to grimace at the word “replace”, considering . . . literally everything about the past three months, yeah. “Uh–they’re both nieces. Miss Martian is Martian Manhunter’s and Artemis is–uh. Yeah.” 

“So we’re just letting in just anybody’s frickin’ nieces now?!” Kid Flash demands, waving his arms in the air and actually looking more upset about this than he did when Superboy walked into the room after fucking up pretty much his entire life in one night. “That’s all you gotta do to score a sidekick gig these days, you just gotta be a nepo baby?!” 

“That’s how you got one, isn’t–?” Superboy starts to ask skeptically, the question more reflex than anything else, but then Kid Flash stiffens and Robin and Aqualad both flick their eyes towards him at the exact same time and–right. That’s . . . not something he’s supposed to know anymore. 

Wasn’t ever something he was supposed to know, technically. 

“. . . dude,” Kid Flash says after a long moment, his face briefly flickering through multiple complicated-looking expressions like a super-speed slide show before settling on “insulted”. “A) no it is not, I did actual work for this, there was science and shit involved and I literally almost died, and b) what the hell, do you know who we actually are?” 

“Uh . . . mostly, yeah. Yours is the only one who didn’t tell us your name,” Superboy says, glancing at Robin. “But the other two, yeah. I mean–they didn’t know any better.” 

“Frick!” Kid Flash groans, covering his face with his hands and then groaning even louder into them. “That’s so–annoying! That’s super annoying! You swapped out Speedy for somebody’s niece and she knows my name!” 

“I mean–they asked him to join, he just didn’t want to. Artemis wasn’t even around ‘til later,” Superboy says, trying not to grimace again. Artemis is probably going to be annoyed that he didn’t try to figure out a way to maybe not give Kid Flash an immediate bad impression of her, considering he really should’ve remembered why–well, their Kid Flash got an immediate bad impression of her. “But–yeah, we all do.” 

“Frick!” Kid Flash says, throwing his hands up again and then glowering up at the ceiling. “Sure! Why not! This might as well happen!” 

“I mean not gonna lie, sorta proud of clone-me, he’s clearly got his priorities straight,” Robin muses, tapping his cheekbone thoughtfully–tapping it just against the edge of the mask, Superboy can’t help noticing. Like he might be checking it’s still there, again. “You guys, though, maybe you two need some better clones? Loose lips sink ships and all, bros.” 

“My name is a matter of public record, given I became Aqualad in direct service of my king,” Aqualad replies, looking a little wry. “I certainly do not make any secret of it. Nor would a sunken ship be a particular concern for my people, except perhaps as inconvenient litter.” 

“I really feel like you should all be a lot angrier about this,” Superboy says, which is probably a stupid thing to say, but he’s at least gotten pretty familiar with how anger feels. It’s a much safer thing to feel than most of the other things he’s felt, so–yeah, obviously he is. But so far only Kid Flash has even gotten upset, and even he mostly just looks irritated, not actually . . . 

Well. Angry. 

“In general, or at you?” Aqualad asks, raising a questioning eyebrow at him. 

Superboy really does not understand how that’s even a question, even after three months of knowing–“Kaldur”. 

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Blood singer, part 3

Summary: Hiding from the storm, Jasper is tested as he finds himself close to Y/N for much longer than he had hoped.

Warnings (be mindful of your triggers): injury, blood and death, angst, fluff, grief, swearing, sexual content, mentions of mental health struggles, alcohol, detailed descriptions including physical harm

Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader (blood singer), Paul Lahote x human!reader

Word count: 10.1k

Blood singer - Series Masterlist

Teeth chattering, Y/N clings to Jasper, even though his skin is just as cold as hers, if not colder. It's counterproductive. She knows that, but her body refuses to let go. Logic says she should pull away, give him space and stop abusing his kindness, but his touch feels like salvation.

There’s no fire in his hands, only ice. Yet somehow, it burns. It seeps deep into her bones, awakening a part of her soul she long set to rest. All her life, she craved warmth, Paul’s warmth. That human, familiar kind. But this? This icy flame Jasper lights in her makes her feel more alive than any heat ever could.

And God, the way he smiles at her.

Her heart skips a beat every time his lips curl just slightly, just enough to incite the feeble muscle on a course of pure insanity. His voice alone seems to unravel her nerves, twisting her up and settling her all at once, disturbing the rhythm of her pulse. Even now, with his jaw tight and posture stiff, like he's trying to hold himself back from something, he looks at her like she’s the only thing anchoring him.

As he walks inside the cabin, she inhales deeply. To her dismay, she knows he needs to put her down. He can't carry her forever.

So she taps his shoulder lightly. “You can let me go now,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry,” Jasper murmurs, his voice smooth but a little too strained, like it takes effort to speak. He lowers her carefully onto the couch, his movements overly cautious, as if touching her too long might break his control.

She shakes her head, offering a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not.”

He licks his lips, clearly flustered, and then offers her one more of those slow, devastating smiles that could stop the world from spinning. It damn near stops her heart and she has to physically restrain herself from squealing like a teenager with a crush. This can’t be healthy. She doesn’t even know him. Not really.

But he makes her feel… light.

Like the darkness inside her, all the anxiety, the pain, the pressure was never even there. She doesn’t understand it, but something in her soul recognizes him. She feels safe with him. Maybe a little too safe.

“I should set up the fireplace,” Jasper says, finally breaking the moment, “Warm up the place.” He nods toward the hallway behind him. “You’ll find some dry clothes in the bedroom. Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” she says, standing with a wobble. She’s soaked to the bone and freezing, and any clothing that’s not clinging to her like a second skin will be a step up.

The bedroom is warm, bathed in honey-colored light from a small lamp in the corner. The bed is centered beneath a large, tinted window, and a closet stands tall beside it. It’s simple. Rustic. Comforting. She wonders if this is his room, if he chose this color palette, if amber is his favorite shade.

Bracing for some vintage cowboy fashion, she opens the closet, only to freeze.

Dozens of dresses greet her. Not jeans. Not flannel. Not even a dusty old hat. Just designer dresses; sleek, expensive, feminine. Her jaw drops.

“What the actual fuck…” she whispers, flipping through them. Labels that most people would kill for. Some are still tagged. Others look barely worn. A chill races down her spine, this time not from the cold.

Why the hell does Jasper have a wardrobe full of high-end women’s clothing?

Her heart rate spikes.

Did he break into this place? Was he following her? Did he plan this?  Is she in a damn Lifetime movie?

The thoughts spiral faster than her heart can keep up. She doesn’t even know where they are. What if he brought her here on purpose? What if…

“You alright, darlin’?”

She gasps, whipping around so fast her wet hair slaps her neck. Jasper’s leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, that unreadable look on his face. He seems calm, but his eyes…they’re a little too sharp. A little too dark…Where has the golden gone?

Still, the way his presence makes her nerves soothe is suspicious. She recognizes it now. It’s as if he is doing something. Jasper’s presence feels like a weighted blanket, steadying her breathing, grounding her thoughts. She swallows hard.

“Be honest,” she says. “You’re not, like…a criminal or something, are you?”

His brow arches, and he lets out a soft, breathless chuckle. “What? Why would you think that?”

“I mean, look.” She gestures wildly toward the closet. “You have, like, a dozen high-fashion dresses in here. Unless you’re secretly married or have a very niche hobby, this looks like a setup. Like… a really weird hostage situation.”

Amusement sparks in his darkened eyes. “It’s my brother’s cabin,” he says with a lazy shrug. “His wife’s real into fashion. Leaves her stuff here.”

She stares at him, wishing the ground would just swallow her whole. But Jasper only grins wider, clearly enjoying this far too much. If he thinks she’s amusing now, he should see her with her claws out. Might erase that confident smirk right off his face.

“But if you’re into roleplay,” he adds, voice low and teasing, “I won’t put up a fight.”

She snorts, folding her arms across her chest as she leans against the closet. “Might take you up on that, Cowboy.”

His grin turns lopsided, lazy and cocky, but his eyes stay locked on hers, darker now, like storm clouds just before a downpour. The warmth that spreads through her is instant, crawling beneath her damp skin, finding a home low in her belly. He doesn’t even have to touch her to ignite something. The way he looks at her is dangerous. Addictive. Trouble with a capital T. Girls probably fall for him in seconds. But Y/N? She’s far too proud to admit she desires him openly, resorting to teasing. Her specialty isn’t the fire most are drawn to, it’s ice. Cold, calculating, distant when she needs to be.

And yet…

There’s something in his stillness that mirrors hers. Something cool. Controlled. Until it’s not.

She shifts slightly, and Jasper’s eyes dip, just for a second. She doesn’t miss it. Neither does he. Her shirt is soaked clean through, clinging to her skin in all the worst ways. The thin fabric does nothing to hide the curve of her breasts or the black, lacy bra covering them. She knows she should be embarrassed.

She’s not.

Not when Jasper’s shirt is just as wet. Just as translucent. She can see every line of his chest, the way it narrows down to his waist, the sharp dip of his collarbones and the delicious happy trail. And damn him, he knows it. Knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having on her.

“You know,” she drawls, voice silky, “I was going to change out of these clothes. But… With you standing there, giving me a nice view, it feels a little unfair not to return the favor for a moment or two longer.”

Jasper’s brow lifts slightly, a slow smirk tugging at the corner his mouth. “You think I haven’t noticed, darlin’? Been tryin’ not to stare like a gentleman.”

“Failing miserably,” she murmurs, stepping toward him, a single step, measured. Testing.

Jasper’s throat bobs as he swallows. His hands curl into fists at his sides, his jaw ticking, but he doesn’t move back. Doesn’t breathe. And she feels it, his presence wrapping around her, trying to still her racing heart. Trying to calm her, like she’s some wild creature that might bolt if he makes a wrong move. How does he do that?

One thing is certain. She’s not running. Not tonight.

She takes another step, now close enough to reach out. And she does, just lightly brushing the soaked fabric over his chest with the back of her fingers. His shirt clings like a second skin, and he tenses beneath her touch, muscles rippling beneath her fingertips. Still, he lets her, almost as if he’s been waiting for her to make a move.

“You’re freezing,” she murmurs. She doesn’t mention his hard muscles. She’s never touched someone like that, ripped to the point of feeling like marble.

His voice comes out rougher than it was a moment ago. “So are you.”

“So warm me up.”

His gaze sharpens like a blade. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

She meets his gaze head on, daring him. “Maybe I do.”

That breaks some of his resolve. Not all the way, but enough.

Jasper closes the distance between them with terrifying, graceful ease, pressing her into the closet door. One of his hands lifts, fingers grazing the curve of her jaw, trailing just beneath her ear. It’s such a gentle touch, but the way her body shivers under his fingertips drives him insane.

“You’re playin’ with fire,” he says, voice low, the southern drawl thicker now. Rougher. It drips with warning. Hunger. “And fire melts ice, sweetheart.”

Y/N smirks, heart beating far too fast. She’s not letting him believe he’s winning though. “I thought you were cold.”

He lets out a soft, humorless chuckle, but his eyes stay locked on hers, black with no gold in sight, wild, and aching. “I am. That’s the problem.”

Did he…Did he imply he’s she’s the fire melting him? Good, she thinks. I’m winning. And if she must become a flame to get this man to surrender, she will let the fire reign.

His thumb brushes over her bottom lip, featherlight, but it leaves her dizzy. She should move. She should think. But all her body wants is more.

Jasper leans in just slightly, like gravity’s pulling him closer against his will. She can feel the tension in him, how tightly wound he is, how hard he’s working to stay in control. He wants her. That much is obvious. But it’s not just want. It’s something deeper. Something almost dangerous.

And she’s loving every second of it.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over her lips.

Her lips part, but no sound comes. Her heart thunders, her skin tingles, and every inch of her screams for more. Her voice, when it finally emerges, is soft and certain.

“I’m not that nice.”

Jasper closes his eyes for a moment, just one, and when they open again, there’s a war inside them. Then, with a breath that sounds almost like a growl, he steps back. Just far enough to put space between them, yet close enough for her to still feel him.

“Get changed,” he says, voice strained. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”

Y/N bites back a smile, the heat in her chest flaring. “You regret things easily?”

His eyes drag over her one more time, lingering like a promise. “Only if I mess ‘em up.”

“If you don’t want to touch, it’s fine by me.” She lets the words hang, tilting her head slightly as a devilish smirk appears on her lips. “But you’re free to look if you want to stay for the show?”

His eyes darken, not with lust, exactly, but something more primal. His eyes meet hers. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Doesn’t blink.

Her heart skips three beats and then pounds back with a vengeance. The room is quiet. Too quiet. She swallows hard, and the blush creeping up her neck gives her away. Jasper notices. His stern expression softens into something tender, almost…shy.

 “Don’t tempt me, darlin’,” he says, voice is low. “I’ll leave you to it,” he murmurs, offering a small nod.

And with that, he turns, disappearing down the hall, leaving her to catch her breath and pretend like her knees aren’t shaking. She finally lets out the breath she’s been holding and her lungs feel like they just ran a marathon. She plants her hands on her knees, trying to steady herself.

Jasper is going to be the death of her. And for once…she doesn’t mind the idea. She’s rarely ever pursued men like this. It’s as if the mere thought of him is bringing her to the brink of madness. Whatever it may be, Jasper is different. Something isn’t quite right about him or the way his presence causes her to act and yet she finds no regrets about any of it.

She was wrong about Paul. She might be wrong about Jasper. To hell with consequences! Her heart’s broken anyway. It may fracture to the point of no return…or it may heal. Feeling this drawn to someone is rare. Of course, it could be caused by her near death experience and yet she doesn’t care. She’ll discover it along the way and the way might be leading her straight to hell, but at least she’ll make sure she enjoys the ride.

The closet is full of surprises. She pushes hangers aside until her fingers brush against silk. Her eyes catch the shimmer of crimson, a deep, blood-red nightgown tucked in the far back. It’s soft, almost liquid to the touch, sliding like water through her fingers. When she pulls it out, her brows lift in surprise. It’s... simple. Elegant. A little sexy without trying to be. The kind of fabric that kisses the skin when you move. It falls to mid-thigh, the top a delicate web of lace that dips low, supported by slim, almost invisible straps. No sleeves. No bra. No armor.

She hesitates, her heart doing that annoying flutter thing again.

She slips it on anyway. Over it, she finds a matching robe, same rich crimson, edged in subtle lace, loose enough to keep things comfortable but tied snugly around her waist. The cool silk caresses her skin and clings in places it probably shouldn’t.

Her reflection in the small mirror over the dresser stops her. For a second, she doesn’t recognize herself. She looks like she’s about to seduce a man instead of relax by the fireplace until the storm ends.

With a sigh that’s half exasperation and half laughter, she gathers her hair up into a messy bun, strands falling loose around her ears. The motion exposes her neck, pale and vulnerable. She considers letting her hair back down but... no. She likes the honesty of this. It feels brave in a quiet way. She washes her face, the last remnants of her make up. She’s bare now, entirely vulnerable to his gaze.

Then she pauses.

This is insane.

You’re acting like a damn cat in heat, she scolds herself silently, adjusting the robe’s tie. Her fingers linger at her waist, and she forces herself to breathe.

This isn’t about sex. Not this time. She’s learned her lesson with Paul, burned herself on the promise of something hot and fast that turned to smoke in her hands. That’s not what she wants from Jasper. She wants to know him slowly. Carefully. Until she’s learned every corner of his soul. And if he lets her... she might just show him every hidden part of hers too.

Composing herself, she pads back into the hallway, bare feet silent on the wooden floor.

The small living room glows softly, bathed in the gold orange flicker of firelight, and a night-lamp by the doorway. The flames dance lazily in the hearth, casting long shadows that stretch across the walls.

And there he is.

Jasper sits low in a chair just in front of the fireplace, his back to her, the light tracing the silhouette of his broad shoulders and long frame. His legs stretch out in front of him, relaxed, and his posture is looser now. He’s not stiff like before. But there’s still that… tension. Always with him.

She holds her breath as she studies him.

His hair is drying, slightly wavy, reaching his shoulders. That golden honey tone gleams darker in the firelight, tousled and imperfect in the most perfect way. His skin glows pale and smooth, almost too flawless. And his jaw… it’s sharp with a quiet restraint, like he’s sculpted from stone. But it’s his lips that hold her hostage, pressed together, unreadable, in control. She wonders what they’d feel like if he ever let go of all that restraint. Jasper is beautiful in a way most men aren’t. Not pretty. Not handsome. Beautiful. Angelic. A creature from a painting brought to life.

She smiles softly, involuntarily, as memory flickers to life.

She has seen him before.

Just once or twice. Passing glances in Forks, back when she visited her grandmother at the hospital. Her grandmother had raved about Dr. Cullen, how kind and polite he was and of his well behaved children she wanted to set her up with. She talked about their unusual beauty and more than once, she mentioned the “quiet southern one” with the saddest eyes that seemed to be in perpetual pain. Y/N always thought she was imagining things. Now… now she knows she wasn’t.

The wedding of Bella Swan with Edward Cullen. That was the last time.

Her grandmother had been invited but passed before she could go. Y/N brought the gift in her place. Just an awkward drop-off. But the Cullens had all been there. She remembers the short girl beside Jasper. The way he looked at her back then, fond, maybe even in love. Everyone said they were adopted into the family. He went by Hale, if she remembers correctly.

And then she left.

Now, here he is, sitting in front of her like a beautiful ghost. She can’t help but wonder if his restrain is due to his feelings for the adopted sibling he was with. If rumors were true, they were together back then. Are they still? Or was the pain in his eyes born from heartbreak she caused?

“I can feel you starin’, sweetheart.” His voice rumbles through the quiet like a secret. He doesn’t even turn around.

Her lips curl. She bites her lower lip to hide her smile. “I think I prefer darling.”

He turns his head, just slightly. Enough to catch her in his peripheral. She sees the edge of a grin tugging at his lips. “I’ll make sure to remember that,” he says.

His eyes glance down, flicker, just for a moment, over the length of her, then back to her face. But that one look is enough. She can’t stop the blood rushing to her face, and she’s done hiding the blush it brings.

She walks closer, slowly, barefoot steps padded and quiet. But he hears her anyway. Probably knew where she was before she moved. There is something between them, something wordless she can’t quite explain. Not quite desire. Not yet. But the possibility of it.

She sinks onto the couch across from him, crossing her legs casually.

“Nice fire,” she says lightly.

His gaze lingers on her face. “You’re not cold anymore.”

“No,” she says softly. “Not at all.”

The silence between them is comfortable but weighted. The only sound is the crackling fire, its warmth only fueling the tension growing between them. Neither of them speaks. Neither of them moves much. She watches the flames, but her gaze drifts. Always back to him.

Jasper’s eyes are cast downward, though he’s not really watching the fire. He seems lost in thought, jaw tense, the tip of his finger tapping against the arm of the chair in a slow, restless rhythm.

She can’t help but steal glances.

Again. And again.

The golden hue of his eyes has returned, it shimmers in the low light, intense and quiet all at once. Familiar.

Too familiar.

Her breath hitches. She’s seen them before. Not just at the wedding. Not just tonight. But inthe dream.

That recurring dream she never quite understood. The one that left her aching and hollow every time she woke. A figure in the dark. A storm outside. Golden eyes glowing in the shadows, looking right into her, like they’d always known her. And she’d reach for him, desperate, always desperate, and wake up before her fingers could touch him.

She thought it was a metaphor. A manifestation of loneliness. Of longing.

But those eyes?

They're his.

Her heart skips a beat. She saw those eyes recently, as well.

“I saw you before,” she says, almost absently, like the words slip past her lips before she can second guess them.

Jasper freezes. He doesn't look at her. Not right away. But the tapping stops. His whole body goes still, so still it’s unnatural. Tension spikes, growing in the space between them, and for the first time tonight, it’s not playful. It’s something colder. Darker.

His voice is low, cautious. “When?”

She tilts her head, brows drawing together as she watches him. “The other night,” she says slowly. “I think I stumbled into you. You caught me before I fell.”

Jasper exhales. His shoulders drop. Relief flickers across his face like wind snuffing out a flame, and he finally meets her gaze. “Yeah,” he says softly. “That was me.”

“You left pretty fast,” she adds, her voice lighter now, testing him, watching him closely. “Why?”

He shrugs, looking away again, his jaw ticking just slightly. “You seemed... busy.”

“Busy?”

“There was a guy.” His tone is flat. The accent thicker. “He was walking toward you with roses.”

Her lips part. And then she laughs, warm and genuine, caught off guard. “Oh my God.”

He looks back at her, brows lifted, uncertain.

“I hate roses,” she says, smiling wide. “They always feel like a cop out. Like the guy couldn’t be bothered to think for more than ten seconds.”

Jasper blinks, processing that.

“And the guy?” she continues, rolling her eyes. “Let’s just say... he’s very much out of my life. Where he belongs.”

A flicker of something shifts behind his eyes. A subtle satisfaction. It’s there and gone in a second, but she sees it. His lips twitch, and for a moment, he looks smug.

“Is that right?” he murmurs, and the warmth in his voice makes her toes curl.

“Mm-hm.” She leans back slightly, watching him from beneath her lashes. “So if you disappeared because you thought I was on a date with Mr. Red Roses, I’m here to clear it up. Just in case that’s why you were holding back.”

His eyes are on her again, fully this time. No restraint.

The firelight dances in the reflection of his gaze, and the tension from before doesn’t vanish completely. It just shifts into something else. Something quieter. Hotter.

“Noted,” Jasper says at last, his voice velvet soft and unmistakably pleased.

She smiles at him, soft and secretive, her heart fluttering in her chest like it hasn’t in years. And as the fire crackles and the silence fills the room once more, it’s no longer heavy.

Blinking slowly, she reminds herself to breathe, inhale, exhale, don’t fall apart. But it’s not easy, not when Jasper is looking at her like that. His golden eyes glow in the low light, molten and unreadable, and she feels like she’s standing too close to something she should be afraid of.

But she isn’t.

She’s captivated.

"Your eyes are like liquid fire," she murmurs, her voice soft, words leaving her before she can weigh their weight. "I fear the burn… but I cannot look away."

Jasper’s lips twitch at the corners, a faint smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. His gaze stays locked on hers, unwavering. "You sure you’re not the poet, darlin’?"

His voice is low, rich like dark honey, and it’s impossible to remain ice cold as she initially planned.

"You bring it out of me," she replies, chin tilted ever so slightly, matching his smirk with one of her own. "I don’t do this often, you know."

"Flirt with strange men in little cabins in the woods?" he drawls.

"Compliment their eyes while half-dressed," she clarifies, raising a brow. "Totally different."

Jasper’s gaze flickers downward, just once, just enough to remind her that her robe, though tied, clings to the curves beneath. He hasn’t changed his clothes. His shirt is still damp, clinging to his frame in a way that should be illegal. She can see the definition of his chest, the broad cut of his shoulders, the faint pattern of bluish veins on his forearms as he rests them lazily against the chair’s armrests, the tension in every inch of him like a spring ready to snap.

And yet, he doesn’t move. He just watches her.

"What's your favorite color?" she asks, wanting to ground herself and lustful thoughts before she combusts.

Jasper raises an eyebrow, almost caught off guard by the simplicity of it. "My favorite color?"

"You heard me." She tucks her legs under her body slowly, watching the way his eyes follow the movement before moving back to her face with a faint edge of restraint.

He chuckles softly, surprised. Then glances at the fire, as if searching for the answer there. "No one’s ever asked me that before."

She frowns, genuinely stunned. “You’re kidding.”

But something about the way he says it, quietly, almost hesitant, makes her believe it. There’s truth in it. Pain, too. She sees it then, emerging behind those golden eyes, buried beneath years of silence and shadows. The light from the fire doesn’t just dance across his skin, it reflects all the things he tries to keep buried. It catches on the cracks.

“It’s red,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Deep red.”

His smile is small but real. She swears it steals the breath from her lungs. Red like her nightgown and robe, she realizes. Even unintentionally, she’s trying to seduce him.

"I would've guessed… green," she teases. "You have that forest recluse vibe."

He huffs a laugh. “Not quite.” Then his eyes narrow playfully. “You strike me as a purple girl.”

She gasps, mock offense showing across her features. “Wrong.”

“Oh?”

“Blue,” she says with a grin of victory. “Like the sky… like freedom. Ever changing shades of blue that make up every part of our lives.”

There’s a pause, just long enough for her to avert her gaze shyly.

"Freedom, huh?" Jasper echoes, like the word tastes unfamiliar to him.

Her smile softens. “What about the season? What’s yours?”

He leans back, resting his head against the chair. His profile in the glow of the fire looks carved, almost unreal, sharp lines, sculpted features, that unruly hair drying in soft waves. She has to remind herself he’s real. That she’s here. That this isn’t another dream.

“Fall,” he says eventually. “It’s colorful… but everything’s fading. There’s something honest about it.”

Thunder rumbles low in the distance, a reminder that the world outside this cabin is wet, wild, and cold. But inside, it’s warm. Warmer than ever before. And safe… for now.

“You’re not what I expected,” she admits, watching him with curiosity.

His eyes meet hers again, calm but cautious. “What did you expect?”

She shrugs. “A flirt. A cowboy. A mystery. But I didn’t expect you to be… kind.”

That startles him. Not in a dramatic way, but in the flicker of his eyes, the slight movement in his shoulders. Like her words hit somewhere deeper than he expected.

“You don’t know me,” he says.

“I’m starting to.”

And something in his expression shifts. He straightens a little, just enough that the damp fabric of his shirt stretches across his chest again. She wonders if he notices the way her gaze lingers on him now, the way her breath is forgotten when he licks his bottom lip absently.

She doesn’t say anything about it, but her heart is pounding.

He’s too perfect. Too careful. Too calm. Every move he makes seems calculated. It goes against every natural instinct she’s learned. Every red flag she's ever ignored before being burned. Yet here she is. Still leaning in. Still falling.

“You’re dangerous,” she says suddenly, smiling through it.

Jasper tilts his head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It might be,” she murmurs, shifting slightly on the couch, the robe slipping to reveal a sliver of her thigh.

Jasper’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move.

“Do you always seduce women by lighting fires and answering personal questions?” she asks, her tone light, teasing.

He smiles, just barely. “Only the ones I save from drowning.”

Her laugh is soft, breathy. “It’s a good thing I didn’t have to sing like Ariel to draw you in. I’m a terrible singer.”

“No need for singing,” he says, his voice dropping low, eyes darkening slightly. “I’d find you anyway.”

She swallows. He looks at her like he’s memorizing her. Like he’s restraining himself, but she wishes he’d stop. The storm outside rages inside her as well, and she needs to know if he feels it too.

She shifts on the couch again, the soft rustle of silk brushing against her skin. Jasper's eyes flicker toward the sound, briefly, before returning to her face. But that brief flicker is all she needs to know he notices everything.

She should look away, but she doesn’t.

Instead, her voice lowers as she leans a fraction forward, the firelight painting her skin in honey and shadows. "You said something earlier," she murmurs. "About no one ever asking your favorite color."

Jasper nods once, slow. Measured. “Mmhm.”

"Made me wonder…" Her gaze drops to the fire, lashes casting shadows on her cheek. Her tone is soft, almost musing, like she’s trying not to sound like she’s fishing, but she is. "Have you always been alone? Or just… lately?"

That gets his attention. She feels the shift before she sees it, like the world stops and gravity itself tilts toward her just slightly. When she meets his gaze again, it's already locked on her, heavy with something she can't quite name.

"Is that your way of asking if I’m single?" he says, one brow arching with just enough amusement to take the edge off the raw honesty underneath.

She huffs a soft laugh, caught. A flush rises to her cheeks, warm and betraying, but she doesn’t look away. “Maybe. I like to think I’m more subtle than that.”

“You’re not.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes not leaving hers. “But I don’t mind.” He pauses. “I’ve been alone for a while now,” he says, voice quieter. Still warm, still steady, but pained. “Long enough that it stopped feeling strange.”

She nods slowly, letting the words settle. And then, because she can't help herself, she continues. “Was it by choice?”

Jasper doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze lowers, down to her lips, her throat, the pulse that jumps beneath her skin, and then locks on her again,

“Not at first.”

She swallows. “And now?”

His smile is soft. Shadowed. “Now I think some things happen when they’re meant to.”

She wonders if that’s meant for her. The fire cracks beside them, thunder still rolling faintly in the distance. The storm hasn’t passed, but in here, it might as well not exist.

“Are you asking because you’re thinking about changing that for me?” he teases, voice low.

She smirks, though her stomach flips. “Would it be a problem if I were?”

He lets the silence set again, a practiced pause, like he’s savoring the weight of her words before letting his answer fall: “No,” he says. “No problem at all.”

Her pulse pounds louder in her ears, but she plays it cool, leaning back slowly and smoothing the edge of her robe where it’s fallen slightly open at her thigh. “Good. I’d hate to waste a perfectly good storm on poor timing.”

Jasper leans back in his chair, watching her like she’s both a challenge and reward. “Darlin’, with you here…” He tilts his head, a slow grin forming. “Timing feels just right.”

His words linger in the air, rich and slow like honey dripping from a spoon.

Timing feels just right.

The way he says it, how it bears intention, makes her stomach flutter. She’s not easily rattled, but Jasper is a dangerous exception.

“You always talk like that?” she teases, stretching her legs across the couch, draping herself like she’s in control of this entire exchange, when she absolutely is not. “Or am I just a special case?”

His gaze falls to the ground. “I want to answer, but it wouldn’t be polite to say what I’m thinkin’,” he replies.

That does something to her. She swallows, glancing at the fire to cool the flush rising to her cheeks. Her fingers fiddle idly with the edge of the robe belt tied at her waist, nerves masked as restlessness.

Jasper shifts subtly in his chair, sitting a little stiffer now, as if resisting the urge to move closer. His knuckles seem paler against his knees, hands clenched tight, so still. Unnaturally still. Her eyes move toward his chest, narrowing slightly. Is he even breathing?

“Are you…” she trails off before she can finish the question, unsure what she’s even asking. She frowns softly, watching him too closely now. “You’re… hard to read.”

His head tilts slightly. “That so?” His tone is amused, but there’s tension beneath it, like he’s trying to play casual while keeping a tight grip on something unruly just beneath the surface.

“You’re calm. Too calm.” Her voice is soft, speculative, like she’s thinking out loud. “You barely move. You barely blink. It’s like… you’re not even breathing.”

That earns her a flicker of something behind his eyes. Not fear, not annoyance, something like... regret. Guilt, maybe. It's gone before she can name it.

“I do breathe,” he says evenly, lips twitching into a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just not when it’s difficult.”

Her brows knit. He doesn’t make any sense “Difficult?”

Another pause. He shifts again, a subtle turn of his body away from her, like distance might help. She notices how tightly he holds himself, like one wrong move might crack him wide open and she’d catch sight of his soul on display.

Jasper’s jaw tightens. “You make the air… a little thick, is all.”

Her breath catches at the implication, heart thudding. “You blaming me, Cowboy? Telling me I smell bad?” she teases.

“I’m saying it’s not your fault your presence is…intoxicating,” he murmurs, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “But I reserve the right to suffer because of it.”

That gets a breathy laugh out of her before she can stop it. “You’re really pulling out all the lines tonight, huh?”

He finally turns fully to her again, and his expression softens. No grin. No teasing. Just quiet intensity.

“I’m not tryin’ to charm you,” he says, voice low. “You’re just… easy to talk to. Easy to look at.”

Something flutters in her chest, wild and unexpected. She’s not the only one who feels it then. And yet, there’s still that distance in his body. The way his fingers grip the chair too tightly, the way his shoulders lock, like he’s constantly reminding himself to stay exactly where he is. She wonders again if he’s fighting something she can’t see.

Y/N leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing just a touch, not with suspicion, but curiosity. “Why do I get the feeling there’s a lot you’re not saying?”

Jasper hesitates. There it is, that flicker again. This time not just in his eyes but in the way his entire body goes just a little too still, like he's deciding between fight or flight.

“I’ve been told I’m a hard person to get to know,” he admits, training his eyes on the fire. “That I keep my true self hidden.”

“Maybe,” she says softly, tilting her head. “Or maybe you’re just scared someone might see too much and use it against you.”

That makes him look at her again, really look. Something shifts in his expression then, and for the first time tonight, he looks… unsettled. But he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he clears his throat and leans back in his chair, creating just enough space to keep whatever storm is inside him from spilling over.

“Tell me more about the man with the roses,” he says abruptly, deflecting with calculated ease. “You said you hated both?”

She laughs, letting him have the shift in conversation, for now. “I did. I do.”

He smirks. “What kind of woman hates roses?”

“The kind who likes honesty over grand gestures. And prefers thorns out in the open.”

That earns a quiet chuckle from him. “Noted.”

Their eyes meet again, and this time, neither looks away. Y/N tugs the robe closer around her body, more out of instinct than chill, because despite the warmth of the fire, there's something in Jasper’s gaze that makes her skin prickle. It's not fear. It's want.

He shifts again, subtly angling his body toward her as though gravity itself favors her presence. But still, not a single unnecessary movement. Still no breath.

“I’m trying to figure you out,” she says softly, her lips curving as she rests her elbow on the armrest. “You seem to act like you’re made of stone.”

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound dark and husky. “Stone’s more accurate than you think.”

“See? There you go again,” she says, pointing a finger at him. “Being cryptic. It’s infuriating.”

His eyes flash at that, and for a second, the teasing slips from his face. Something lingers there. Almost like he is wounded.

“You’re not the only one who’s been burned before,” he says quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it aloud.

Her smile fades, gaze narrowing as she leans in, heart thudding just a little harder. “That sounded like the beginning of a story.”

Jasper stiffens. His jaw tenses, and he glances down at his hands like he’s just remembered he has them. She watches his knuckles go white again, the firelight catching the fine tremble in his fingers.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” he says quietly. “Ones that don’t go away with time.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t interrupt. She just watches him, lips parting slightly as if to invite more, but he doesn’t continue. He swallows hard, like the words are sitting razor-edged in his throat, and one more would tear him open.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she says gently. No wonder he is so guarded. Is he afraid she’d be a mistake, as well? “But that? That was the most human thing I’ve heard all night.”

He looks up at her then, and for the first time, his gaze isn't guarded. It’s aching. Vulnerable.

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” he breathes.

“It is,” she says simply. “People carry their damage. Doesn’t make them less worth knowing.”

Jasper’s lips twitch, almost a smile… almost, but there’s something close to fear dancing in his eyes now. Like she’s getting too close to something he’s buried deep. She can feel him pulling back again, emotionally if not physically.

Before she can push further, before she can even ask the question dancing on the edge of her tongue.

CRACK.

The entire cabin rattles as thunder explodes overhead, so loud it sounds like the heavens have split in half. The lamp light flickers, the fire jumps, and Y/N jumps too, a startled gasp leaving her lips as she instinctively presses a hand to her chest.

Jasper’s up in a blink.

She doesn’t even see him move, he’s just suddenly there, closer than he was a second ago, hand half-outstretched as if to shield her from something. That strange stillness returns to his frame, but his eyes are sharp and alert now, scanning the shadows for signs of danger.

“Storm’s getting worse,” he mutters, voice low again, low and too calm.

“You don’t say,” she breathes out, forcing a laugh that’s more nerves than humor.

His gaze finds hers again, and there’s a softness to it now, something almost apologetic, as though he’s sorry for pulling away, sorry for not saying more. But he doesn’t speak, while outside, the storm screams.

“It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop soon.” Jasper’s voice is quiet, measured. Too careful. “You should probably get some rest.”

Y/N blinks, heart sinking a little more than she wants to admit. Just as she felt she was chipping away at his defenses, this happens. A soft dismissal. She breathes out through her nose, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips out of sheer stubbornness. “Yeah,” she says, nodding as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Guess you’re right.”

She hesitates a moment longer than necessary before adding, “When will you rest?”

Jasper glances toward the fire, then back at her. “Soon.”

The way he says it feels like a gentle deflection. She fights the sting of disappointment, but she doesn’t let it show, at least, not entirely.

“I hope you're not a blanket hog,” she jokes, forcing a playful tone as she rises to her feet, brushing invisible lint off her robe. “You'll be joining me, right?”

His smile is subtle, restrained, like everything about him. It's more in his eyes than his lips, but it hits her all the same, right in the chest. She licks her lips to hide it, but she’s saddened by the way the day is ending.

“I’m good on the sofa,” he says, voice warm but distant. Polite. Detached. She’d much prefer an open rejection, something she can hold close to her stubborn heart and replay in her mind. This only gives her the idea of rejection, but in such a sweet way that it almost angers her.

“I don’t mind,” she presses, hands sliding to her hips. “The bed’s large enough for both of us.”

He shakes his head, golden curls falling softly around his face. He looks ethereal like this, hair dry and tousled, jaw sharp beneath firelight, eyes deeper than anything she's ever seen. How is he real?

“You saved my life,” she says, quieter now, less flirtation and more sincerity. “The least I can do is let you have the bed.”

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he replies with a familiar softness, one that only twists the knife. “I’ll be fine out here. Wouldn’t be a very good host if I took up all the space and hogged the covers, would I?”

His smile is back again, easy and charming, and yet all she can think is, he’s not going to come with me.

She nods, looking away briefly to blink back whatever disappointment is threatening to rise. You’re reading too much into this, she tells herself. He’s being kind. That’s all.

“Don’t be afraid to join me if you change your mind,” she says over her shoulder, quieter now, walking slowly behind his chair. Her voice is smooth, but her stomach churns, unsure if she’s flirting or begging.

He stops her.

A cool hand wraps gently around her wrist. She’s startled, gasping at the contact. His touch is cold. Not unpleasant, but cold enough to send a shiver running down her spine. He pulls her hand toward him, slowly, deliberately, and presses his lips to the inside of her wrist, just over her pulse.

She forgets how to breathe.

The kiss is featherlight, reverent. And it lingers, not long enough to be improper, but just enough to undo her completely. She stands frozen, hoping to hell her legs won’t fail her.

He’s still holding her gaze when he lets her go.

Maybe that’s what people mean when they talk about a gentleman, she thinks dazedly. Not one of weakness or practiced charm. But one who holds back even when he clearly doesn’t want to. One who shows restraint where others would have taken. And yet… there’s something mournful in him. Something unspoken. Something so filled with fear and guilt and she can’t understand where it comes from.

“Goodnight, Jasper,” she says, voice soft, uneven now. Her heart is still racing in her chest.

His eyes search hers for a second longer before he replies.

“Sleep well, darlin’.”

She walks away slowly, still reeling. The storm still howling outside, but it’s nothing compared to the one stirring in her chest. Biting her lower lip, she wracks her brain for a suitable word to say, but she can't even think properly. He has distorted her train of thought entirely.

The bed is too soft. She shifts beneath the covers, one arm thrown over her eyes, the other splayed out on the sheets beside her. The room is warm, her silk nightgown clinging to her skin in places she wishes it wouldn’t, heat rising from the fireplace lingering.

But it’s not the fire keeping her awake.

It’s him. Jasper.

She stares at the ceiling, heart still racing from his touch, from that kiss on her wrist. It replays over and over like a movie scene she’s memorized. Her skin still tingles where his lips pressed against it, as if they branded her, marked her. But that’s not what keeps her from sleeping. It’s the distance in his eyes. The contradiction. He’s warm and kind and gentle, but there's something in him that holds back, as though he's constantly walking the edge of a cliff and can't afford to look down. And God, it hurts a little, the way he wouldn’t come to bed. She had given him an open invitation. It wasn’t about sex, not even closeness, really. It was about comfort. Warmth. Trust. She had wanted to offer it. And he’d turned it down. Not cruelly. But carefully. Which might’ve been worse.

Was she wrong to want more? Was she imagining things, the tension, the shared glances, the moments that felt stolen from something bigger? She bites her lip, the taste of disappointment sharp as she sighs into the darkness.

What is he hiding?

And why does part of her still want him to knock on her door and climb in beside her, cold skin and secrets and all?

Despite her busy mind, sleep finds her soon enough and for the first time in forever, there are no golden eyes haunting her dreams.

--

The fire crackles, low and steady, bathing the cabin in flickering shadows. Jasper stares into it like he’s trying to burn the hunger out of himself.

He can still feel her wrist against his palm. Still taste her pulse against his lips, though he didn’t taste anything, not really. Not like he wants to.

His jaw clenches.

He hadn’t meant to touch her like that. Hadn’t meant to kiss her. But the moment she walked behind him, smelling like honey and warmth and a faint trace of something undeniably her, he lost the thread of his resolve.

And now? Now it’s fraying at the edges.

He inhales deeply, though it’s a habit more than a need. Each inhale is torture. Her scent lingers in the air like a ghost. He holds his breath again, trying to dull the ache in his throat. The hunger. The need.

She has no idea what she’s doing to him.

He imagines it, just for a second. The way her blood might taste. How warm it would be. How it might sing through his body like wildfire, like salvation and damnation all at once. The monster inside him stirs, just a little. He forces it down.

You’re better than this.

But God, it’s been so long since anyone made him feel… alive. He closes his eyes, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded in front of him like he’s praying to a god who long stopped listening. She was kind to him. Open. Inviting. She didn’t flinch when he pulled her close. Didn’t run when she saw something darker in his eyes.

She saw the monster in him and smiled anyway.

And that’s the problem.

Because if he gives in, even a little... He’s afraid he won’t stop.

Jasper flees the cabin like the devil himself is at his heels. Trees blur past in streaks of black and green, rain lashing against his skin as he tears through the forest. The sound of her heartbeat still echoes in his ears. His throat is a furnace, a hollow tunnel of fire and ache. The taste of her is everywhere and nowhere, a ghost on his tongue, phantom sweetness that never came, but almost did.

Too close. Far too close.

By the time he stumbles up the porch steps of the Cullen house, he's shaking. Not visibly, his body is still and statuesque as always, but inside?

Inside, he's on his knees.

Carlisle opens the door before Jasper can raise a hand. “You did well, my son.”

A hand clasps his shoulder. Warm. Steady. Reassuring. But Jasper can’t respond. Can’t even meet Carlisle’s eyes. He’s terrified to draw a proper breath, certain that her scent is still clinging to him, soft and honeyed, soaked into the fabric of his shirt, caught in his curls. If he inhales too deeply, he’s afraid his resolve will fracture.

If I feel her again… would I go back?

Edward appears beside them, arms crossed, face unreadable. “He needs to hunt. Soon.” If anyone understands him, it’s him. He’s had it bad with Bella too. “I’ll help,” he adds. “We all will.”

But Jasper barely hears him. His voice sounds like it’s coming through water. Thick. Distant.

“If I hurt her…” Jasper begins, low and hoarse.

“You won’t,” Edward says quickly, confident in his response.

“There’s no guarantee,” Jasper growls, stepping back like their proximity alone is too much. His eyes, once a soft gold, are dark now. Bottomless. Ravenous. A predator’s stare. “You might know how it feels, but you don’t know what she does to me.”

Edward’s jaw tenses. But he remains calm. “The fact that you saved her, multiple times, means you’re in control. You’re doing better than I ever did with Bella.”

Jasper wants to agree. God, he wants to believe that.

But how can he?

The first time he caught her scent, he hadn’t even seen her face. He and Alice were in the hospital, watching from a distance after Edward saved Bella from being crushed by a truck. Amidst the chaos, the sterile tang of blood and adrenaline, her scent hit him like a freight train.

He hadn’t known who she was. He only knew he needed to feed.

It took three of his siblings to restrain him. For weeks afterward, he couldn’t be left alone. Someone always hovered close, Alice, Carlisle or Emmett, just in case. He was locked in a constant battle with the beast inside, writhing in silence.

He never connected the dots. Never knew that mysterious, maddening scent belonged to someone who would one day look at him like he was something good.

Looking back, it made sense why he snapped at the birthday party. Why a single papercut shattered him. He’d been teetering on the edge for months, made unstable by an unknown presence that inflamed his thirst every time it brushed against the periphery of his senses.

When the Cullens left Forks, he felt relief. The scent vanished. The haze lifted.

And then came the wedding. And again, there she was.

Unseen, but felt. Her scent turned his hunger into barbwire, it wrapped itself around his throat. Alice had to drag him away before he did something irreversible. That time, it only took him a few weeks to regain his senses. He clung to control like a lifeline, forced himself to act normal when Bella returned from her honeymoon, pregnant and terribly human, more human than ever as life drained from her. He distracted himself with the chaos, convinced it was all behind him.

But it wasn’t.

It would take a year and a half before Jasper would finally see her. Finally learn her name. Y/N. It was the same night Edward erased her memories. The moment their eyes met, the thirst returned, tenfold.

Now that he knows her, now that he’s touched her, heard her voice, watched her laugh…this is hell. Pure, exquisite torture.

Edward thinks he’s doing well?

He’s barely holding on.

Half the time she speaks, all Jasper can think about is how easily he could draw her closer. How sweet her breath would feel against his lips if he kissed her, right before sinking his teeth into the softness of her throat. If she came to him willingly, he could almost pretend he wasn’t a monster. Could almost lie to himself about what he would do next.

But no, he’s not in control. Not really.

And definitely not doing well.

Not at all.

Jasper shakes his head. “I almost killed her at the beach. When I pulled her out of the water and the ocean stopped masking her scent... I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to. The hunger was...” His voice trembles, and he clenches his fists to still the shaking. “Intoxicating. Like every cell in my body was begging for a taste. Just one.”

His eyes flash to Carlisle, wide with guilt. “I brought her to the woods planning to drain her dry. I had her in my arms. I ran with her into the trees, ready to end it. And then she opened her eyes and... I couldn’t.”

Carlisle exhales softly. “She’s your blood singer.”

Jasper flinches at the term, as if it brands him. He doesn’t want this. Not this way.

Emmett steps onto the porch, arms folded, the usual grin absent from his face. “She’s lucky it’s you and not me. I killed mine on sight.”

Regret pulses off Emmett like a wave, and Jasper, despite the pain clawing at his insides, instinctively dampens it, dulling the sharpness of his brother’s grief. And he hates that. Hates that even now, he’s still trying to fix everyone else while he’s falling apart inside.

“I don’t want to be around her,” Jasper murmurs, eyes locked on the treetops. Dark. Wet. Tempting.

“Just because your blood singer was your mate,” he says to Edward, “doesn’t mean she’s mine.”

“Alice said -” Emmett starts, but Jasper cuts him off, sharp.

“I know what Alice said.” His voice is rough, stripped of its usual smoothness. “She can’t be the one. No human can survive me.”

“She already has,” Carlisle reminds him gently. “She survived then and today again. She survived you at the beach. She survived the cabin. And you’re standing here, begging for a way to keep her safe. That says everything.”

Edward steps forward, gaze knowing. “You should hunt. Then go back to her.”

Jasper scoffs. “You think feeding will fix this?”

“No. But it will make you stronger and help the burning in your throat.” Edward’s voice is calm but firm. “If Alice is right, if she’s your mate, do you really want to lose her because you were too afraid to try?”

Jasper is silent.

He wants to scream. Wants to vanish into the forest and never return. Wants to erase the memory of her warm skin, her wide eyes, the soft pulse beneath her wrist as his lips hovered over it. He wanted to taste her so badly, he can still feel it. Like her blood is already in his mouth. Lush. Lively. Fatal.

He imagines it again, just for a moment. Her body against his. Her breath hitching. The way she would sigh when his teeth found her throat, the blood rushing to meet him, a welcome he doesn’t deserve. Her heart would stutter. Then stop.

It would be bliss. And it would ruin him.

He looks at Carlisle, then Edward.

“I can protect her from anything.” His voice is almost a whisper. “But how can I protect her from me? Every time I touched her, I was terrified. That I’d snap a bone. Cut her skin. Taste blood.”

Carlisle places a hand on his shoulder again. Steady. Fatherly. “Practice.”

Edward nods beside him. “A lot of it.”

The forest is still damp with the remnants of the storm. Jasper is running wild, untethered, finally hunting. Emmett charges alongside him with a shout of excitement, and Carlisle moves with graceful precision, already several yards ahead. The trees bend to make way for them. He will feed until the hunger is satiated, until his thoughts move away from all the ways he’d savor the taste of her blood, until every last drop is in his system. Until his eyes brighten and the hunter is appeased.

Back at the house, Alice stands by the window, watching shadows move beneath the moonlight. Her arms are folded, but her eyes are distant, seeing something no one else can. Almost no one.

Edward watches her, then speaks. “Are you absolutely certain your visions were right?”

She exhales slowly, finally looking away from the night. “Do you think I would leave Jasper for anything less?”

Edward nods once. “You knew before any of us.”

She smiles, faint and sad. “Y/N was already in town when you met Bella. Back then, Jasper was struggling to stay in control around her… but what none of us realized was that it wasn’t Bella driving him to the edge.”

Edward’s brows pinch together. “It was her.”

Alice nods again, slower this time. “He could smell Y/N in the hospital. I stopped him from seeking her out because I saw what would happen if he did...she’d die. I made a choice, and it changed everything. Because when I stopped him… I saw a different future.”

Her voice softens, wistful. “The future he could have with her. If we keep her alive long enough… it’s beautiful. She’s his mate, Edward. I’ve never doubted it.”

Edward wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in gently. “Still… it couldn’t have been easy. Leaving him.”

Her laugh is quiet and bitter. “Of course it wasn’t easy. I loved him. But I’m not his mate. And I wasn’t going to stand in the way of what he’s meant for. I knew if he was freshly single when he met her, she'd never trust him. I had to make it clean. Immediate. For all our sakes.”

“You’ll find your mate too,” he tells her softly.

“One day.” She leans into his side. “But that day isn’t here yet.”

They sit in the silence for a moment longer. The moon is high up, peeking out from behind clouds, casting light across Edward’s face. Alice studies him for a moment, then asks gently, “Does his thirst for her unnerve you?”

Edward hesitates. Swallows. “The rest of you don’t have a front row seat to his mind like I do. I won’t lie and say it’s been easy.”

“Far from feral?” she teases, trying to lighten the mood.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I’ve had… worse. But he’s right at the edge. And the things he thinks… the way he imagines her blood…and other things he’s like to do with her…” His voice falters. “It’s a struggle. Every second.”

Alice nods solemnly. “Well, I can already tell you this, none of those futures I’ve seen end with you killing her. You don’t need to carry that fear. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Both of you are.”

Edward looks at her, hesitant. “And in how many of those futures does she actually survive this?”

Alice’s smile fades. Her eyes darken. For a moment she’s still, then she opens her mind to him completely. One by one, visions flood into him. Flashes of blood. Of her body limp in Jasper’s arms. Of him falling to his knees in despair. Others are better, she’s laughing, Jasper seems radiant, they’re kissing underneath the moonlight.

But they’re few.

Edward’s lips part, his breath shuddering. “That was… difficult to watch.”

“I know.” Alice’s voice trembles just slightly. “Now you understand.”

He presses his lips into a thin line, turning from her to the moonlight. “If we can’t save Y/N…”

“We lose him,” Alice finishes.

He nods once. “Yes.”

A heavy silence settles again.

“One in a million chance,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “The odds are stacked against us.”

Alice shrugs with a whisper of a smile. “Well… her chances are higher after tonight.”

He raises a brow. “You’re sure?”

“We’ll see how she feels after breakfast.” Her grin turns sly. “Jasper’s not the only one who’s going to be tested tomorrow. It’s been a while since we’ve had a human in the house.”

Edward groans. “Just wait till we tell Rosalie.”

Alice snickers. “I already saw how that goes.”

----------------------------

Tags: @moonmark98 @formulas-bitch @ronniesreverie @anongirl007 @foxycrafterofgreenwood @lamelover @sl4t4darkling @megaprincesscakes @aj3684 @xnarixkimx

A/N: If you want to be tagged for future parts, leave a comment and make sure your blog's visibility is on (in settings) otherwise Tumblr won't allow me to tag you.

[mensahbots]

So, I’m awkward with actual humans. It’s not paranoia about my hacked governor module, and it’s not them; it’s me.

Glare intensifying. “Okay, so what did you hire yourself to do?” That was an interesting way to put it. I kind of liked it. And it felt so weird to be talking to a human like this, a human who knew what I was. I didn’t have to force myself to stare at Pin-Lee’s face, worry that my expressions were normal. Abene had known I was a SecUnit, but she hadn’t known I was me.

Farai said, “Thiago, no. She asks for space, you need to give that to her.” She smiled at me politely. I never know how to react to that. She leaned in to Mensah to kiss her, and said, “We’ll see you at the house.”

Indah was looking at me again. I hadn’t said anything because what was I supposed to say at this point? Oh, I guess I could have said “hello.” Well, it was too late now.

We didn’t have time for me to show it 35,000 hours of media and I didn’t have access to my longterm storage anyway. And that had worked on me, but I knew I was weird even for a SecUnit.

According to the report 2.0 had downloaded to me, 3 had actually seemed to like the other two SecUnits on the explorer, as if they had been friends, at least to the extent that they had been allowed to communicate with each other. I’d never thought that was possible. Maybe I’d always been a weird SecUnit; maybe 3 would have better luck communicating with other SecUnits.

a collection of moments :3

my favorite thing about this string of moments is that then in "home" we get mensah's pov, and she's lying to her friends and constantly thinking "secunit can see right fucking through me" (and it can-- it reads her so well lol)

She didn’t want a corporation’s excuse for a trauma support specialist poking around in her emotions. She almost adds, I didn’t need it, which would be a dead giveaway. And then it occurs to her, a giveaway of what? What is she worried about giving away, here among these people she trusts with her life. SecUnit is looking at the far corner, as it usually does. But they installed cameras for it in these rooms so it probably is watching her expression. It says, “Why not? Is it free here?”

That was taking the conversation to a place Ayda didn’t want to go. “I might have time later,” she tells them easily, and pours herself another cup of tea. When she glances up, SecUnit is actually looking directly at her. Their gazes lock for what seems a long moment but knowing SecUnit, is probably only a second at most. As its gaze shifts back to the corner, Ayda feels her cheeks flush, as if she’s been caught in a lie. Well, it was a lie.

She thinks she’s deflected it, but then it comes right back around to its target. “Maybe you should go to the Station Medical like Dr. Bharadwaj.” I can’t, I’d have to tell them what was wrong, is her first thought. And yes, she’s aware that’s the problem. She can’t bring herself to lie, so she only says, “I’ll try.” There’s a quiet, skeptical snort above her head, and she knows SecUnit isn’t fooled.

and her perception of it interpersonally is quite different from its own:

The killing machine in question has just sent her yet another message packet. They’re piling up in her feed and if she would stop encouraging SecUnit by opening them, it would probably stop. They’re all formal requisition forms for Preservation Station Security, requests for increasingly improbable armaments. She responds to the latest with I don’t even know what that is. It’s a good thing she understands SecUnit’s sense of humor.

Still not meeting anyone’s gaze, SecUnit’s expression flashes through a brief, eloquent ironic twist. Ayda hides a smile. Of course you have to pay for it.

“Station Security is forty-seven seconds out.” SecUnit’s voice is even and conversational. And confident. This is a confrontation it knows how to handle. It’s slipped in front of her, reassuring lean bulk between her and the intruder. 

just one of many reasons that "home" is my favorite short story in the murderbot diaries canon ^^

plus we see many indications of murderbot's rapport with mensah in the books, even early in all systems red. from its pov, despite murderbot being awkward with humans, it connects easily with mensah:

I panic all the time, you just can’t see it, I told her. I added the text signifier for “joke.” She didn’t answer, but she looked down, smiling to herself.

mensah also makes effort to understand and accommodate murderbot early on in asr, which is not framed as a big deal or a burden for her:

“Maybe, under normal circumstances.” She was looking a little off to one side, not trying to make eye contact, which I appreciated.

and of course, she's also the first human to tell murderbot she thinks of it as a person— and in a way that it's able to hear/accept, which seems very meaningful for it

“But this situation is different. It would be better if they could think of you as a person who is trying to help. Because that’s how I think of you.” My insides melted. That’s the only way I could describe it. After a minute, when I had my expression under control, I cleared the face plate and had it and the helmet fold back into my armor.

i think this is part of why she's its favorite human. yes, murderbot is weird and awkward, but mensah vibes with it regardless and makes effort to understand and respect it in all their early interactions. that feels special for it. from "home," we know that feeling is reciprocal. i think it goes a bit further, because there we also learn mensah has similar issues with emotional vulnerability and self esteem in the wake of her trauma, which adds another layer of uniqueness to the dynamic. mensah doesn't see murderbot as inept or lacking, and murderbot likewise has a high opinion of mensah despite her negative self-perception.

i always love when a character who sees themselves as a freak has a person (or more) who understands, respects, and connects with them so thoroughly. this feels extra meaningful for a character like murderbot who sees itself as incapable of things like friendship and being understood due to social conditioning and trauma. that's part of why its friendships and comfort level with the preservation humans are so nice to see. likewise, it's no wonder they're so important to it.

imo, the murderbot diaries series has an interpersonally hopeful quality to it, since murderbot has this type of connection with a variety of characters in different permutations throughout the story. it has optimistic messaging that even if you're a social outsider, there will be well-intentioned people hoping to understand and connect with you no matter where you go.

i think there's a lot more to be said about this topic with respect to murderbot's trust issues, its perception of its personhood, and its history of being forced to enact violence, but.. i've said enough for now ^^'

[johnegbertlover413]

Alotta peoole, especially June fans, act like homestuck is ABOUT queer people, NO. ITS NOT. It never was and it was never planned to be.

Homestuck STRICTLY and obviously about ISOLATION. It’s litterly in the god damn TITLE. And of course u can be isolated because of gay but most of the characters aren’t honestly. Saving John for last,

Rose matured quickly but superficially so she doesn’t trust anyone

Dave is a horrible person so no one wants to be around him

Jane suffers constant assassination attempts to the point she can’t leave the house and falls back into Crocker corp as something safe, ending uo very skeptical (doesn’t help that Roxy, Crocker corp hater, is one of them seriously wtf)

I don’t think I need to explain the other kids

Karkats a mutant and can’t let anyone know

Kanaya is the antithesis to troll culture

Aradia fucking died and lost all feeling then was physically separated by a metal robot

Vriska has spider mom and other influences that cause her to ruin allll her relationships

Terezi has her attachment to vriska messing with her other relationships

I don’t feel like doing all of it but Even characters that don’t matter as much to the overall story have the same fuckung themeeee

Feferi has to constantly hide as to not be culled by condy to not take tha thrown

Eridan gets no hoes

I brought up June earlier because NONE OF HER “““““FANS”””””” UNDERSTAND THE SOURCE OF HER LONENES. They make it about her being transsss uwu which isn’t in the text at alllll and never will be no matter how you read into a one off line of dialogue.

It feels like they are doing it JUST to give John truama uwu because they can’t understand what makes characters sympathetic without it. Not even with out it just without them constantly whining about how much they suffer soooo much. They need to act like dad Egbert was some evil patriarcy man who forced june into a MAN NO EMOTION NO FEELING role (despite the fact he constantly pours his heart out about how much he loves John). At best theyll portray “June” as just going after her father’s role because she’s grieving and dysphoria and uhm blah blah blah or something which also is insanely retarded because it’s a straight forward lie.

But anyway it’s all ignoring the fact that JOHN EGBERT IS THE MOST AUTISTIC CHARACTER IN EXISTENCE.

I swear hussie himself could have put fucking books on autism in dads study, transcribe the whole thing, specifically specify Taht they are to Better understand John n bitches would be like “ooooooh he’s ignoring his child’s obvious gender dysphoria and blaming it on AUTISM. Classic abusive parent smh”

Lemme list out every single autistic traits n experiences show in my beatiful goddess princess Johnathan Egbert. I love lists

-he has big explosive reactions to things deemed as trivial by other characters but matter so much to him (Betty Crocker, how he thinks about his father blah blah) also referred to as tantrums by other characters despite technically not fitting the criteria and fitting in much more with melt downs (like he doesn’t liek Betty Crocker so he freaks out when a food he likes IS BETTY CROCKER)

-his reactions to more major events are much more low-key . His dad’s a business man? Curled up on the bed horrified. Dads dead? Oh no. He’s still very sad he just lashes out in other ways, the whole ship melt down n avoiding processing it by focusing on his special interests(like how he started to hate con air)

-he very clearly has special interests as mentioned last point. He rants to Kanaya (my favorite page) and meenah about Mathew McConaughey and paranormal lore respectively Not really caring/ noticing that neither of them give a fuck.

-he is really gullible like he’ll go along with what rose says and with what terezi says 1 to 1 because he doesn’t really think like that. The most obvious answer is vriska, she was 100% using him against terezi but he doesn’t really understand that EVER even when he realizes that she’s crazy he doesn’t realize that vriska was toatluu using him. Not to say vriska doesnt likeeee john ever but they basically fuckung say that their realatiojship started out as daverezi envy.

-he is the most uo front of all the kids. Not THAT Crazy for general people but he doesn’t really hide any of his emotions beyond just not being able to process them and compared to litterly every other character it’s noteable

Before yoh freaks say it I’m not saying June can’t exist because John’s autistic. YOU are just applying johns very fucking obvious traits to transness that both makes those traits miserable (his special interests and bluntness being covers or whatever) and erases johns ore existing character

Nothing wrong with having a non cannon head cannon you don’t have to make it retroactively cannon! Stop eith the delusions !!!

[citizendetectivequigley]

I'm just going to dump my thoughts about Jeff Sadecki and the fandom's treatment of him as a male victim of abuse. Jeff's story is one of empowerment, the story of a man finally seeing his abuser's true colors and doing what's right for himself and his daughter. I've been waiting for this moment since season one. I'll write something more coherent later but I have Jeff on the mind and I can't think of anything else until I put this somewhere. Nobody loves Jeff like I do and I feel like I'm going crazy with the amount of misrepresentation he got before episode 9.

I'm going to start this off with an example of a real argument I received from someone: "Jeff isn't a deep character, and liking him in the evil women show is misogynistic" (They then implied I had some kind of moral failing as a lesbian for liking Jeff)

Jeff is a deep character and the foundations have been set since the very beginning. Even before the crash, it was demonstrated that Jeff is passive and eager to please. As an adult, Jeff admitted that he knew what Shauna did in the wilderness and made the conscious choice to stay. During the arc with Adam, he becomes Shauna's enabler, based purely on his loyalty and motivation to do what's expected of him, a trait that he's had since he was a teenager and was only fostered by his relationship with Shauna. She wants him helpless and complicit and rewards him for it. She only connects with him when she's rewarding him for being subservient and doing something horrible for her sake. Jeff is not blameless but it's really important to take his enabling behavior with the nuance it deserves.

Shauna's home is abusive, it might not be the traditional kind of abuse people expect from tv shows which is why I think people didn't focus on it in the earlier seasons, but we need to look at the abusive family dynamic for what it is. Beyond his flinches and body language, Jeff literally has nightmares about Shauna on screen, I don't think it could be any more clear that he is a victim in this situation. People look over this because he doesn't act like some stereotypical perfect victim, he's an enabler, he adores her, he wants her attention and would do anything for her, and he became something unrecognizable to appease her. This is the reality for a lot of victims and what makes it so hard to separate yourself from abusers.

His complete loyalty and helplessness says a lot about him and I could literally write for hours about this poor man slowly cracking under pressure and dismembering his denial. Seeing him feel so powerless in the arc with Adam is heartbreaking and watching those moments where he sticks up for himself and his daughter are so moving. I could write essays about the selflessness and strength he showed in that scene where he consoled Callie and realized that his enabling was hurting her. Ultimately, it was his love for his daughter outweighed whatever dependency he had on Shauna.

Even if you do not give a fuck about him whatsoever, he's Shauna's character foil and he represents everything Shauna isn't as a parent. You can't seriously say you're a fan of Shauna while ignoring her family dynamics and struggle with domesticity.

Yes, Jeff is funny, but he's not comic relief. When I talked about his dynamic with Shauna before, I got vitriol because people assumed I thought Shauna loved Jeff or I was shipping them. I think the knee-jerk reaction was because some people just cannot analyze a show without the lens of fandom and shipping. I'm really disappointed by the way people are so willing to dismiss a character based on their sex in the same way people do so often to female characters. It really hinders your ability to understand a story and appreciate the characters you do love (Shauna lovers, hi, I'm right here with you) when you refuse to engage with or even consider that a character with funny scenes is nothing more than a waste of space.

Shauna's family reminds me a lot of my own and I think Yellowjackets made a bold and effective choice to represent a complicated male victim. AND they made him funny and charming and a good father. Jeff, they may not see you, but I do.

[j3suschr111st]

dolly: chapter ii.

"the observer."

distant mind and gray noise, an isolated doll maker haunted by past choices comes to ablution when he encounters his own prototype. the story of two souls unaware of their beauty.

pairing: perv!san x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut (mdni)

tw: nsfw, gore, violence, not for the fainthearted.

word count: 3.3k

series masterlist. previous chapter. next chapter.

୨୧

bask in the glory of skies clearing up, bent and parted, to bring love together. unplanned silver lining, san looks at you as you walk away absentmindedly to the counter, smiling to himself, he's at peace. like his problems had never existed before, not a worry in the world. the sun now coming in the windows, thrill restored feels like an unexplored sentiment. you're real, you've changed your outfit, you go out, you do stuff, you have a real life. he's completely charmed it could make him cry, but this time, joyful tears would come out. reassured of his planned fate, he nods to himself and walks to the door. side eyeing your friend who's currently way too focused on his phone, there's no space for jealousy right now, he'll give it time.

he wishes he could stay longer with you, he does, he wants to stare at you for twenty four hours, seven days a week, but the rush of the moment, the awkwardness of getting up just to sit back down again pulls him outside. the campus is big enough for him to take a half hour walk around, picturing a scene of you in every corner. his mouth numb from smiling so much, he kneels under the bright sky, sunflowers around him. he takes note of the baby blue dress you were wearing, grateful to whoever crafted the red lipstick you donned, defining your natural pout.

roaming around between the pressured students, thinking of all the stories you would tell him if you were giving him a tour right now, the moment to turn back to the cafeteria came. he saw you leaving your friend with a hug, relieved to not witness any mouth-to-mouth action, and if you were to have a boyfriend, he sensed he wouldn't allow you to have a male friend, too much beauty around would be dangerous and any man would understand, elucidated availability to him, well, not that he cared. you look like a cloud, a symphony of destruction won't matter to him as long as you're the pied piper. your steps lead him to a nearby park, where you settle against a tree to revise. he questions whether he should come up to you, but what should he say? he's terrible with words, terrible with women, and he does not want to mess up with you, not of all people in the whole entire world, he'd rather die than to make a terrible first impression on you. you, the most perfect girl he's ever seen.

so at first, he decides he'll be just an observer. study what you like in a man and become that, study your needs and wants, then pretend it's all actually him so you'd fall for him, easy. carefully angling his phone towards you, annoyed at the lack of privacy and limited variations, he captures your essence, concentrated eyes, thighs showing, biting into your pen, inspiration sparks into him, angel sight.

mentally kissing you goodbye, hating to see your figure get smaller and smaller, he walks into his car with butterflies in his stomach. today he met excitement again, lighten ideas and whet fashions.

he grabs his latest work, a doll that's meant to look exactly like you, same hair and colours. he spends the whole day painting her to sublimity, an honoring manifestation. he usually takes the weekends off, but she needed her baby blue dress, so with tunnel vision focus, a boiling course through his body, he sews her little clothes at it's most accuracy.

his penis perked up and wet, out of boxers he's been owning for five years now, aching for the sweetness of your lips. "my y/n, you looked so fucking beautiful in that dress", he holds up his latest masterpiece, plain replica of you. "oh? you wore it just for me? that's my girl, mine, mine only." with his other hand, he starts to please himself, as always, thinking of you. "hm baby, just like that." shaky breaths, cyan silk, moving his hand up and down his shaft as he made your replication stare, slowly bringing her lower and lower to his member.

he never did this to his dolls, a self declared gentleman and caretaker would never disrespect his mini ladies, but it was you who enticed a flame into him. the way your hips swayed as you walked in front of him, how you occasionally sucked on the folds of your fingers, the wind blowing your hair back making your neck look even more appetizing to him. his pace fastened, miserable moans heard until his white release covered her solid face, dripping into her newly sewn dress, claimed in mad wonder. "you did so good my love."

-

the next day arrived, pilates monday it is. he found the studio you mentioned on his phone and checked their schedule, you must be from group d. this time he remembers to shower, thinking he could get used to this new routine, as previously when he saw himself obliged to go out, he wouldn't even bother to even look at himself in the mirror, black hoodie, sweatpants and a mask made justice for him. his mirrors now free from sheets, forcing him to face the loathe of his life: himself.

"are you an artist?" the smiling red haired cashier asked as she scanned the human anatomy book.

"no" san simply murmured.

"well you have the look, uhm... it'll be $14,34" he eyed the stairs right in the corner, where you could be walking in any minute, or maybe you did and he stupidly missed you as he was browsing the library. "here you go sir, have a ni-" approaching the stairs rapidly, he'd been too patient, he needed to see you now.

he found himself in a monochrome corridor with three doors on each side, the three rooms in the left with big windows half covered by curtains and an old water dispenser at the end of the hall. currently the second room was the noisiest, as he got closer he saw all the feminine bodies, laughing and chatting while they stretched, huff, none of them pretty enough.

for a second he wondered if you could be sick, the class was already starting and you weren't present, did he get the wrong time? had they rescheduled? maybe he could find out where you lived, bring you some tea and look after you so you can cuddle at night?.

"it's starting oh my god we're so stupid."

"this is so embarrassing," as you run up the stairs with karina, you slipped on one of the steps and she pulled you up by your inner elbow. "shit i almost fell."

"dumbass, go go go."

it was like a flash. once again you didn't even look his way, which he was thankful for as you would've found him in a dumbfounded state, appealing disadvantage on his side. doted on your laugh, your big smile and your thight clothes. you were wearing all black today and it almost sent him into cardiac arrest, he leaned against the wall, you were gonna be the death of him.

san had declared this his luckiest day as his figure could be safely covered by the curtain, and as your tardiness made you take the space closer to the door, he had a perfect view of you. you seemed nervous around the new group of people, he only wanted to come in and give you an encouraging hug.

cobra pose, downward dog and his favorite, cat cow. san watched you attentively as he filmed with his phone, allowing his mind to decorate your image at the latest hours, in his bed, pounding on y...

"hey boy," the janitor decided to appear "you waitin' for someone?." san didn't reply, taken back by the old man just trying to do his job "go sit in the back, would ya?." the man continued swiping the floor, shaking his head at the young man who secretly aimed him a middle finger.

one thing san had always been consistent with is his job, making dolls for 10 years easily became his whole lifestyle. every month he had at least five new models and the incoming orders offering big amounts of payment were enough encouragement. he never took vacations, what could he do anyway? he didn't know anything else, or anyone else, no friends, no family, might as well just keep doing the only thing he knows how to do. but that was until you came up in his life. this sudden obsession, he craved you more than anything and looking at you for only 10 minutes was just not enough. so he had no other choice but to miss work hours and follow you home, already claimed as his so might as well.

in the meantime, he checked the location on his social media and, rhythm startled, was jumpscared to find a mirror selfie your friend and you had just taken a minute ago, your tagged account being completely public, bingo.

"you sure you don't wanna go?" karina looked down at you packing your stuff.

"no i'm good, i got stuff to catch up on, haven't properly cleaned my home in like a week you know," you both got out of the room walking downstairs. "plus i still have that pizza from saturday."

"we really thought we could eat three pizzas in one night."

"yeah, can't let it go to waste."

"why won't you invite jacob over to help you? he needs the carbs," she nudged your shoulder teasingly.

"oh my god, will you stop with that?" you blushed at the mention of jacob, a much taller guy from your history class, a jock if you will. maybe you do have a teeny tiny crush on him, i mean, who wouldn't? he's manly, confident, a gentleman, always opening the door for women, and he's one of the most ambitious people you've met.

"he likes you, i'm telling you, you've gotta give him a chance."

"you know i can't," karina rolled her eyes as you both repeated the same phrase "my gap year to paris."

"your gap year to paris, listen, you're not gonna be gone forever are you?" she grabbed your shoulders as of trying to snap you into the obvious. "and you can still text."

"i don't know, he's just... too perfect, he wouldn't look my way."

"girl, i saw the way he was looking at you at the hills, literally eating you with his eyes," karina playfully fake ate your hand and you both exited the building in a puddle of laughs. san was horrified, he could almost throw up at the savagery his ears just caught on, sick and twisted.

"i'll see you tomorrow," you hugged your friend. you'd only met karina a couple months ago, when she transferred to your small town and instantly became close friends, a free fall of care and friendship, she was like an older sister to you, even if you were of the same age.

"see you babes, and don't miss your chance with jake, i'm telling you."

"yeah whatever, take care."

"love you." you put on your headphones and disassociate your walk home. you've tried to get your license before but honestly, you preferred the fresh air, thankful for the privilege of sidewalks and security around, hearts of guardian angels and trust.

it's been almost two years since you moved out, your studio apartment might be small, old and scratched up, but you're happy to finally get the fridge space all to yourself, to decorate with all the books and vintage ornaments you wanted and have your own solo parties to the type of music you pleased.

pages scattered, unfolded bedsheets, glasses from evenings of unanswered phone calls. you've talked it out many times before, but such upbringing stays a fog. paying no deserved mind, you spent the whole day deep cleaning your beloved home, ashamed box hidden under your wardrobe, kicked and out of sight. you could do anything and chose to lay in your couch, loaded melancholy. another lonely weight reminded you of your earlier conversation, what if jacob really had feelings for you? a perilous shot to be stained, you opened your chat with him trying to come up with an excuse of conversation, only to keep deleting it before being sent, cursing a rue. you curled up in your blanket, better safe than sorry, a lament lullaby.

as you (unknowingly) guided san towards your street, he found the hotel in front of your building at light, requesting the room right in front of the balcony he spotted on a selfie you posted a while ago. candled plush sitting at dawn, he found comfort at the window frame, tied by rouse. your shadow moving around out of reach, in his eyes, he's not over.

-

one night turns into four, then five, then two weeks, commissions closed, disused residency and terminating restraint. he followed you almost every single day, stalked your social media to obsession and daily masturbated to your figure on the curtain. he memorized your work days and classes. he noticed your favorite pilates positions (and took notes). he learned your favorite music, using your public playlist and the songs you blasted at night as an idea. he learned your favorite foods, as you had your breakfast in your balcony and through the discarded envelopes he found in your trash. he learned the size of your bras and your preferred model of panties as he stands in the middle of your room, dim and silent.

"gill from nemo? are you kidding me?" you'd asked ally to help you grocery shop earlier today, then somehow ended discussing about your innocent youth and what you used to like.

"you said you wouldn't judge," ally looked down ashamed.

"ok sorry i wasn't expecting your childhood crush to be a fucking fish."

"a moorish idol mind you."

"oh so now you're a fish expert?" you grabbed some butter.

"he's giving dilf," she shrugged.

"gross."

"you haven't told me yours, go on."

"i don't know, a normal one?" you pretended to think. "ooh, remember peter pan from the live action?"

"of course, he was everyone's crush," ally nodded in agreement.

"i know! i used to leave my window open at night so he would come in," you mentally slapped yourself at your confession.

"oh to be as hopeful as when we were kids."

"you said it."

little did she know you still did that, occasionally, the need of hope was heavy. this morning's class was dismissed for unclarified reasons, but since you couldn't go back to sleep, you decided to watch your favorite childhood movies, peter pan (2003) directed by pj hogan happened to be one of them. as tears fell down your cheeks, the ending credits rolled down the screen and you don't know if your nostalgic crying is a happy one or not. thinking of the time you secretly watched this movie for the first time, an instant calm, a moment where you could relax and mentally escape. you imagined a prince rescuing you many times, taking you to neverland and never seeing anyone ever again. those were the sparks of spirits you clinged to rather than the overcasted childhood you deemed lost.

you wiped your tears, feeling silly and glad that no one could see you in this state, walked to the window of your room and opened it, breeze on your face, but you didn't mind, the rush of adrenaline was worth it. you felt like looking at a 7 year old in the mirror again and although your crushing gaze shifted to captain hook this time, the feeling of childish desire gave you comfort.

as your multiple tote bags hang from your shoulders, you walked to ally's car, talking to her absentmindedly about a game you used to play until she suddenly stops in her tracks, frowning at the phone in her hand. "thank you for driving me by the way, so lucky that classes were cancelled today" you look at her skin quickly turning pale "i do need to get the dairies home but i'll be quick and then we can pick up karina..." used to her dramatic behavior, you gave yourself a moment to release the heaviness of the bags, the amount of large peanut butter jars should be the main concern right now, but when you noticed the whites of eyes widening, face still in shock, you slowly walked back to her.

"is everything alright?" you leaned over to look at her, then at her phone.

"it's mr. perez..." she scrolled back up to show you the title of the article she'd d been sent, bold in big letters.

'college professor stabbed to death, no suspects found at the scene.'

-

san knew you never missed your little stretching sessions, but he didn't expect you to leave so early and although he's curious to know where exactly you went, he can't help but notice that unlike most days, your window was left open. the risk of midday was pronounced but so was the dread of his hotel guest days ending, having to turn back home to his 'normal' habits, far from you. dark clouds painted the sky, strong breezes tasting of liquid alarms, the streets cleared of people who'd rather stay home, he took advantage from emptiness and ran to the emergency stairs before he could be seen. years of training in his private gym allowed him to manoeuvre himself to your balcony, heavy breathing, into your window.

he took in the scene, the smell, your essence. the strawberry cake diffuser decorated the air, pink accents and teddy bears made his heart flutter and the bra hanging from your headboard sent a pulse through his body. he can't help but wonder if you'd ever touched yourself, how many times and when. if you would ever touch yourself to the thought of him like he does. your bed an unmade poem he's willing to rewrite, he lets his instincts take over and slowly presses his pelvis against the mattress with the deepest whine of release. he recognizes your nightstand from the picture you posted in march where it casted a golden hour. now things were a little scattered, used and lived. he looks around, understanding the intensiveness of your decorations, but soon enough he'll spoil you he thinks, you won't have to work a day in your life, his parents' inheritance is more than enough for both of you to live together happily ever after.

he knows he's doing what's right, that it's meant to be, that your future together is closer than ever and him breaking into your home won't interfere your faith. that's why when he takes one of your used panties from the laundry basket and presses it to his nose, a yearning emotion overwhelms him to tears. he's in love with you and having you this close will only push him forward. he doesn't exactly know the cause of his wept, drowned in pressure and a bit of eagerness. on a remnant note, your apartment is now seen blurred. he cries and cries pathetically, sorrow impatient nauseous him to a deep breath. he dries his face with the soaked white undergarment and leaves it where he found it, thinking it all away. he looks at the time, you must be beginning your class right now, so he'll have to leave in about an hour to catch you, in case you got plans after. laying down on your bed, eyes closed to reach nirvana, to reach ecstasy far from the obscurity of his head.

announced by your wind chime and shaky windows, it eventually starts to rain. the impact on the surface of your balcony travel a gentle patter to his ears. your name a soft chant, his hands on his crotch. watered leaves and the jingle of keys, right outside your door.

୨୧

next chapter.

[inthec0ffin]

Me getting serious with my Tcoaal stuff?? U bet your ass!

This is extremely self indulgent and tbh kinda personal? I discuss heavy abuse I went through as a teen as I try to make some people understand Julia’s motives!

Let’s discuss!

The first instance we get of meeting Julia is in chapter one when she breaks up with Andrew.

It’s shown that she’s talking over him and not letting him get his piece in which like? Without knowing their relationship, you can maybe chalk it up to being annoyed with him not making an effort to see her despite the quarantine.

This is not the case.

Andrew could have reached out, called her, see how she’s doing. He didn’t do that though! It’s shown that he has no issue ignoring Julia’s calls.

Julia has reached that point where she’s had enough time to step away from him and talk to someone else about their relationship in a timely manner.

I can recall being 15 and being in a horribly mentally abusive relationship. I felt like I couldn’t leave because I loved him so much, I wanted to see past all of the BLARING RED ALARMS that had presented themselves within THE FIRST MONTH OF DATING.

But I was lonely! And a teenager!

Bring into the factor that Julia and Andrew have been dating since maybe their junior year of high-school and are into their early twenties by the time we start following Andrew and Ashley.

Julia is desperately trying to tip toe around Andrew to appear as the sweet, perfect girlfriend because she wants to be needed.

Especially by the man she’s devoted time and energy into! They’ve had sex, been intimate in multiple ways. Shes opened up to him about loosing her best friend.

She genuinely loves Andrew!

I spent most of my relationship with my ex desperately pining for affection. But he was very focused on giving it to another person.

It was so obvious to even 15 yr old me, that he loved this person more than me.

But I couldn’t leave because I was infatuated with him, I thought if I could see the goodness he had under all the red flags I could love him genuinely. Which is exactly what Julia does.

Shes willing to be patient with Ashley for him, willing to backpedal and second guess everything she does if he shows any inkling of doubt in her choice.

The fact he is TEXT BOOK manipulating her and people sit there and say “oh she knew he was fucked up!” Ya and she loved him regardless!

If you choose to call her in the at the start of the cliffhanger ending, she is visibly conflicted on her feelings for him.

Their break up was fresh here, maybe two months since the apartment burning, she’s actively seeing a FUCKING THERAPIST and she still wonders if she could go back.

But with Jane’s support she stands up for herself. But this isn’t the first time Jane has been on Julia’s side to LEAVE.

During one of the visions you can unlock, you get a cutscene of Julia talking with Jane over the phone discussing Andrew, and how Ashley was sending her death threats.

It’s shown this isn’t the first time Julia has gone to her sister for support.

Andrew also is emotionally abusive to Julia in this very scene! Intimidating her into thinking that Ashley wasn’t sending her death threats, to the point she cries.

Then he soothes her, giving her the attention she’s desperately pining for. Almost like an abusive pet owner and their beaten starving dog.

That’s what she is to him. Someone to pretend with, someone to “love” so he seems normal.

She had every right to be angry with him.

She had every right to write that letter.

Cause he was a shitty boyfriend.

He is a shitty person.

I had so many people in my ear desperately telling me to leave my ex. I saw everything wrong with our relationship, but the idea of being alone and facing the fact I dedicated so much time to a man who didn’t want me made me sick.

It was easier to pretend not to notice the red flags and just tough it out for as long as I did.

Julia was dealing with grief when her and Andrew met. Ya maybe she was a little socially awkward and probably depressed but compared to Ashley and Andrew. She is more mentally stable.

The fact that people are literally victim blaming her is INSANE????

“Duh she knew Andrew wanted to fuck Ashley!?!”

NO SHE DIDNTNTTTT!

The first thing she says to Andrew as teens is “I don’t believe the rumors”

Did Andrew date Julia to hide the fact he wanted to fuck Ashley. Yes!

Was she aware? NO CAUSE HE PAINTED IT AS ASHLEY BEING CLINGY AND HIM HAVING TO PARENT HER

GET AWAY FROM MEE OMG

No idea if any of this makes any sense but like, idk this whole take made me so angry? And tbh sad as fuck.

[devilstigeress]

im not gonna lie y’all are ruining the spirit of sinners.

i feel like i need to watch the movie again to comfortably respond to/comment under people’s posts, but this is just how i feel about it right now.

like i don’t get the mary hate… like genuinely, y’all don’t like her cause she’s white? Annie knew her to be family, why can’t y’all?

i could see why if she had no connection with the twins other than messing with stack one time, but she literally grew up with them presumably in the same household and fell in love with stack. that girl loved him and it was clear to me that he loved her back but understood that he couldn’t be with her, and in turn gave her a rich white husband, something he felt she was deserving of and it would be socially accepted.

of course she was angry about their absence at her mothers funeral but she was still very much loyal to the twins when it came to finding out remmick and his people weren’t what they seemed, just unfortunately met her fate before she could warn them.

another way i could see why is that she kept wanting to ignore the fact that stack was right about him being in danger if he were to be with her publicly. but then again she loved that man! literally romeo and juliet type shit-forbidden love. and in that time period that was a real first world problem and black people were lynched for much less. i think the fact that she had the tiniest percent of black in her and was white passing made her think less of it or just not as pressing.

Remmick is a whole other thing.

Yes, Remmick was the villain. But i think a better term for him would be demon. He was the most obvious demon. Being able to see the demons of others was remmick’s superpower and it’s how he justified turning everyone, like when he brought up mary’s momma passing and needing saving from her sadness or whatever the fuck he said, and bringing up Lisa to Grace since she couldn’t get to her daughter without leaving.

Stacks demon was that he always needed Smoke to protect him, and in turn Smoke’s was his inability to always protect his brother or the burden of having to protect him all the time, while also having to cope with the fact he wasn’t able to protect his daughter from her fate, mind you, Annie’s the only character that seems to notice this and knows that smoke needs protection too, and does it (the pouch she made for him).

Sammie’s demon is being the preachers son and not being accepted by his father because of his love for music, the one thing he has for himself.

Remmick’s demon was the fact that he was all alone. He wanted Sammie so he could go home to his people,i think his thoughts were if sammie’s music could bring him there, can’t it take him to where he wants to go?

Again i’m not defending Remmick but i think y’all are just seeing him as white and anti-black for trying to use sammie to gain what he desired. Mind you, weren’t the twins doing the same thing? Doing whatever and hurting whoever to maintain their ‘image’ as powerhouses and people to not be messed with.

and finally Annie. I LOVE ANNIE.

but I understand why people say she gives auntie. i haven’t seen posts of people who feel that way and why they said what they said, but i have seen posts from people mad about it being said.

me saying i get it doesn’t mean i found her undesirable because she was a plus size, or boring. *i too am plus size and don’t view myself as unattractive or undeserving of love*

with the way my mind goes, i think her and smoke’s love story could be one of the best out there.

I think people are saying it because she wasn’t portrayed like Pearline and Mary, two MARRIED ladies stepping out of their marriage to be with men that weren’t their husbands. They were both wearing silk (considered to be luxury and for ‘finer’ things) one was playing hard to get, the other was fiery, but they both knew what they wanted and they both got it.

Basically what i’m saying is that Annie wasn’t loud and attention seeking, she knew what she had, and knew her surroundings well, she was literally the most sensible character in the movie period. she didn’t panic when she realized that they were surrounded by vampires and was very no-nonsense about keeping them safe and making sure no one fell into the trap, and especially when it came to asking Smoke to kill her immediately if she was bitten.

doesn’t her presence and maturity give ‘mother’ to y’all? i don’t think that it’s a bad thing at all. the lady literally held smoke’s dominant self in her chest, his face was tucked into her boobs. to me it was like he’s an alpha to everyone else but around Annie he is comfortable and secure enough to be vulnerable. and then he gave her some dick right after so like what tf is we mad for??