beaucate

[beaucate]

save me butch Shauna save me

dating butch!shauna shipman.

꩜ warnings.. none.

꩜ words.. 446

✎ᝰ. jinx notes.. save me butch!shauna save me...

You remember the first time you saw Shauna. She was sitting on the windowsill of the bar, her denim jacket ripped, her short hair messy from the wind. an unlit cigarette between her fingers—just for show, like everything about her that looked dangerous, but wasn’t. Or maybe it was. You still weren’t sure.

He looked at you like someone choosing a song on the radio. A direct, decisive look, without any ceremony. When he smiled, your knees weakened in a way you had only read about in books.

Shauna speaks softly, sometimes stumbles over her words and always tries to sound more confident than she really is. She asked you out with a shaky voice and a pack of candy in her hand — “If you don't want to, that's okay, I'll eat it myself." You accepted before she collapsed.

Shauna calls you “sweetie” in a deep, lazy voice, offers you the last slice of pizza even though he says he’s starving, and lends you his loose clothes as if he wants you to carry his scent all day long. And you do.

She takes you to see bad movies and laughs at the wrong times. She forgets important dates, but sends you memes at three in the morning saying “this is just like you”. She always walks around with her headphones tangled up in her pocket, but somehow she always has a playlist made for you.

He likes to fix things—lamps, bicycles, your grandma’s old stereo. You like to watch. You like the way he frowns when he’s concentrating, the way the light catches the silver chain he never takes off his neck.

When you walk down the street holding hands, Shauna holds on tight. You see how some people stare, but Shauna doesn't let go. And you learn not to let go either.

That night when you cried for something you couldn't even explain, she didn't ask anything. She just pulled you into her arms, pressed your face against her chest and stayed there, quiet, as if the silence were also a type of care.

But he's still a loser anyway, he brings you instant coffee when you're sad, even if you hate instant coffee. He tries. He always tries. Even when he think he’s doing everything wrong, he shows up. — with his heart in his hands, even if he doesn't know what to do with it.

You are still surprised by the tenderness she holds beneath that shell. And you find yourself thinking, from time to time, that if the whole world collapsed, you would still find shelter in her arms. Because with Shauna, even chaos seems to have a home.

taglist: @moesthoughts, @javizheart, @antlertruths, @mistynatsfavourite

[beaucate]

sixteen carriages plays every time I remember Shauna shipman isn’t real, That’s how bad it hurts. Anyways!

can we get a Drabble based off climax by usher(glorious ahh song, give it a listen)?

-🐰

climax. ᥫ᭡ shauna shipman.

a/n · wellll my requests are closed, but it’s a short drabble so…. :3

꒰ ꒱ CW . yellowjackets typical antics. canon compliant. angst, because it’s the only thing I know how to write. infidelity but it’s on Jeff so who cares. suggestive. post-rescue. slight spoilers for s3. (๑⃙⃘´༥`๑⃙⃘) 1k words. no beta, we die like half the cast.

There was a reason you and Shauna had earned the title ‘Fire and Ice’ before the plane went down. Jackie was gentle rain, extinguishing the inferno that burned in Shauna, melting the ice around what you proclaimed was a heart of stone. The mediator, the martyr, the pariah in some ways garnering resentment from both of you for being so….pure. Innocuous, for lack of a better word.

She didn’t have the burning rage that Shauna had, she didn’t have your frigid demeanour. Her death was preventable and yet you didn’t raise a finger to stop it. If there was anyone who could’ve, it was you. But you didn’t. You brushed it off as a tiny fork in the road that didn’t concern you, didn’t need your involvement. You weren’t the peacemaker and you certainly weren’t the peacekeeper.

The only person to stand up to Shauna, to dump ice water on her flaming head, to match her fight head on and knock her off her high horse of misery and self-pity. It’s what made your love tick— the messy, fervid struggle for control that was more a tug-of-war game between children vying for each other’s attention.

When Shauna rose to power, you were right there— her consecrated consort, the cool one in the face of adversity who managed to somehow talk her down from the murderous rampage she had flown into after finding out about Natalie’s successful operation to call for help.

The attraction between you was stormy, tiptoeing the line of being a danger to both of you. Canines drawing blood, rough nails that had been pared off with a knife coated with the essence of others, digging into scarred skin, hands that touched you like sickles, kisses saccharine enough to rot the harvest.

Now here you lay, Shauna’s head a weight on your stomach where the shirt you stripped off her back has risen up, sprawled out in a tangle of limbs on your childhood bed, passing a blunt back and forth, the scent of hunger and smoke tangling with the innocence of a room that was no longer yours— the picture of domestic indolence. Nobody could tell what had happened to you, what you had been through, if they didn’t look into your eyes, where the light had long since drained.

But then again, you’ve always been a savant at pretending everything’s fine, haven’t you?

“You seem pretty morose for a blushing bride-to-be.”, you comment dryly, your voice holding a serrated edge that sharpens against Shauna’s ears, sharp as the knife she held so treasured out there.

She lifts her head up at you, the same eyes that burned with wildfire once now dimmed down to an insipid black. “You know I have no choice.” She’s searching for pity. Hard luck that she’s forgotten who she’s talking to.

The response comes just as she expects it. “Yeah? I don’t seem to remember you having any such qualms when you were fucking your dead best friend’s boyfriend— willingly, might I add.” Cold air, potent and heavy, stinging her flushed cheeks like it had slinked in through a cracked window.

“Point taken.” Her head droops back onto your lap, groaning. There’s some malaise in the atmosphere now, lingering resentment and angst that won’t fade. There had been a choice to make. It was either you played perfect housewife with Jeff or she did. Mrs. Taylor was insistent on it. And you made Shauna take the fall, of course. Not your crime, not your time.

You take another lazed hit of your joint, rustling her tousled hair affectionately. She jolts up, her ironically frigid hand grabbing yours, a juxtaposition to the warmness of your palm. Ah. There’s that fire you’ve missed. She has an idea. A lurid one, judging by the twitch of her lips. You eye her, leery.

“We could run away.” The cadence of her voice is urgent, breathless— like she’s running to catch a leaving train. You stare at her dourly, and then sigh, exhuming smoke fumes right into her face. She doesn’t so much as flinch as you put it out in your makeshift ashtray.

“Us? Run away together? We’d kill each other before we make it past the edge of town.” You huff, squeezing her cheeks between the pads of your rough fingers— gentle, but stern. A warning. To stop dreaming of what can never happen.

Her nails, no longer jagged as you remember them to be, dig into your thighs, leaving crescent shaped marks that you have no doubt will be covered up by the garishly extravagant maid of honour dress tomorrow. “If you die on me”, she grits out, her voice grating, “I’ll eat your heart.”

It takes a bit of time for you to snap out of your stupor. You sort through the hash in your mind, searching for the appropriate response to what you know is a serious declaration.

“If you die”, you say just as somberly, like you’re attending a funeral, “I won’t write you a eulogy.”

She gives you a once over before letting out a snicker that soon turns into raucous peals of laughter from both of you. You’re just kids here, not the monsters forced to grow up, not the beasts that have been tamed after so long of being rabid.

Shauna’s head goes lax on your lap, melting into your thighs with that devil-may-care attitude you know so well. “We wouldn’t even make it past the gates of the venue, huh?”

“Nope.” You say in a cheerfully chipper voice that does nothing to hide your rancour. “Mrs. Taylor would probably come for us with a gun, locked and loaded.” You clear your throat and assume a falsetto, scrunching up your face.

“And where do you missies think you’re going?” you mimic in what could not be a more terrible impression of a doddery old lady, but is rewarded by the unladylike snort that emits from the dark head on your lap.

You sink back into your low spirits as fast as you emerged. Your hands card through the dark locks that can never truly be washed free of the blood, the scent of woods and bitterness of starvation.

“You’re going to be a married woman tomorrow, Shauna.” your heart is loaded down by the weight of that information. That you’ll be there, in a dress that isn’t white, standing not opposite to Shauna on the aisle, but next to her as she promises her heart to another, expected not to projectile vomit all of duck egg white satin curtains (meticulously hand picked, of course). The girl who’s always been yours.

It’s imperative and it’s inexorable. Nothing you do would stop it. Your fate’s been set in stone since you let her into your heart, since you let her burn off the stalagmites guarding your love. You feel strangely jilted, even if you were never together.

There’s, of course, the unspoken that she’s technically already his. The douche had been too eager, probably more so for the gratuity money than actually for her, and had signed the papers as soon as the word ‘yes’ shaped in her mouth. But that thought rankles you far worse than the others.

“And I’m leaving after the wedding.” you continue, desultory, forcing her chin up to look at you, really look for what may very well be the last time. “I have to let you go.”

How anticlimactic. The souls that were so tangled with each other that their strings were knotted into loops, have now been separated by the looming scenario of her, living a woefully boring life with a milquetoast man and you, off with the wind, letting life do whatever it wishes to you.

No more emotionally charged arguments, no more surreptitious make-up visits, no more of that familiar dance that’s been yours for longer than you can remember. Really, you could almost cry like a child, a lover seeing their darling off at a train station for a sabbatical. Only, this one’s permanent. And she was never yours, not really.

Shauna ensconces you in her arms, hands gripping onto the shirt that still smells like her, looking up at you with eyes you could paint in your sleep. She’ll always be your fire, the heat that scorches your welcoming arms. “Then stay with me. Just for tonight. One last time.”

You can give her that. The final climax of a ‘love story’ (if you could even call it that) that was always hurtling towards an unhappy ending at breakneck speed.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

TAGLIST. @f4riedimples , @scatorcciosbabe

[beaucate]

wilderness ( girlfriend ) shauna hcs ˎˊ˗

warnings : ( ♯6 ) fem reader . toxic ! shauna . season 3 shauna . physical touch . mentions of jackieshauna . canon divergence .

wilderness shauna who » hates how hopeful you are

she doesn’t really mean to be such a debby downer , but it’s hard to keep spirits up out there . besides , it’s easier for her to get what she wants from you when you’re upset . when you bring up in conversation how you’re gonna get your life together once you get rescued , she gives a scoff and rolls her eyes . you ask her “what ?” and she mumbles a “nothing . i just can’t believe you still think we’re getting rescued . c’mon , it’s been months .”

and you can’t deny that . things were getting worse , and not just between the two of you . she’s gotten more controlling , even , despite being free from everything else . she barged into your shared hut after dark one night , arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed . you could already tell by her expression and heaving breaths it wasn’t gonna be good news . “what did you say to hannah ?” is what she spits out . of course , you can’t remember . so , you give a little shrug and a shake of your head . “i dunno , uh . .” all she could do is stare at you , awaiting your answer . “i’ll help you jog your memory . about going home ? getting rescue ? how hunting’s been going good ? why would you tell her ?” you’re confused . were you not supposed to tell hannah about your hopes of getting rescue ? did shauna think hannah would try to sabotage getting help ? when you don’t tell her why you were speaking to her , she huffs . “it’s whatever , just don’t talk to her again , alright ?” and who are you to deny your leader ?

wilderness shauna who » needs her hands on you

to her , you’re simply something to toy with , something to keep her busy . she’s needed that for a while . the only person who she could play around with was jackie , and . . everyone knows how that went .

in group settings , she very rarely used to look at you , but now , it’s like a switch was flipped in her brain . her mindset is easy to understand , really . “i probably won’t live for much longer , fuck it .”

her idea of touching you is usually tugging you by the sleeve of your shirt , or by the belt loop on your shorts . she doesn’t care to be gentle with anyone , when no one’s gentle with her . she’ll accept a hug from you , but only if it’s from behind . it’s easier to imagine you as jackie that way .

she’ll only kiss you if she’s the one to initiate it . she needs to feel in charge among all the chaos . it’s grounding for her . she’d see you sitting around , probably chatting with someone , when she comes over and grabs your hand , rushing out of the camp . “wha- where are we going ?” you ask her , stumbling behind the brunette , barely catching your breath . “you’ll see .”

when you finally arrive at your destination , she’s already pushing you against a tree , or to the ground . she hates to say it , but she’s desperate . her hands are glued to your waist and neck the entire time , giving neither of you enough room to breathe . her hands are hot , aggressive and her kiss is bruising . it hurts , but you can’t complain when your body is buzzing all over .

wilderness shauna who » has such a sarcastic personality

before the drawing of the cards , you’re panicking . can you be blamed ? your entire life is on the line , but that’s not exactly unusual , considering the circumstances . you’re sat on an old animal hide , practicing your breathing exercises that your guidance counsellor taught you when you were an anxious freshman. then , shauna steps in , so quietly it startles you when you look up to see that it’s her . “what’s up with you ?” she asks , glaring down at you with a smug look on her face . “shauna , what if it’s me ? what if i get the card ?” and shauna , being great at dissolving situations , replies “well , what if it’s me ? huh ? big deal .” and when that doesn’t wipe the disgustingly nervous expression off your face , she sighs . “look , if it’s you . . i promise i’ll kill you quickly and get it over with , ‘kay ?” she chuckles , raising an eyebrow , then walks out , leaving you no less anxious than you were before .

wilderness shauna who » is a chronic clothes stealer

to her , not one item of yours is yours anymore . she has claimed all of your stuff long before you even realised . so , when she finds you in a shirt that you own , or wearing a headband with your name written on the tag , she won’t stay quiet about it . “that’s my shirt .” she states . you look down , and sure enough , it’s your shirt . one that you bought in ‘95 for a trip to miami . “what are you talking about ? this is mine .” and she shakes her head , a slight frown on her lips . “no , uh , it’s mine . you don’t remember ? i wore it on the flight .” and you know she definitely did not . she wore that flannel . “just- look , i wanna wear it .” she finally says , holding her hand out . you’re surprised . “even trade . i’ll give you my shirt if you give me that one .” she says , gesturing vaguely towards you . “fine .”

once you’ve given her your shirt , and you hers , she’s basically decided that you share everything . she owns everything you own . and you . there’s no way of escaping her now .

wilderness shauna who » is the biggest bitch on planet earth and you still want her .

LISTENING TO : mx by deftones . rivet gun by mother soki .

[beaucate]

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ Oh to be Shauna’s wilderness girlfriend.

[beaucate]

🔪 ₊ ⊹ you're the customer she becomes obsessed with .ᐟ

pairing. shauna shipman x fem!reader includes. post-rescue thoughts with plot. stalker & creepy behavior from shauna because reader reminds her of jackie. bit ooc. a/n. thought of this concept & immediately started rambling, barely proof-read & short but this is what i thought of .ᐟ

₊ ⊹  thinking about shauna who starts working at a local supermarket a year after from being rescued from the wilderness. she hates it with a passion, hates how her life turned out to be so boring and meaningless than expected. she had her moment of glory out in the wilderness but it was taken away from her like always, like the ones who were ripped out of her arms.

₊ ⊹  shauna who hates her managers who are rarely even there, hates her co-workers who flirt with her despite being a decade or two older than her, even the customers with their expired coupons and impatient kids.

₊ ⊹  until one day, after repeating the same phrase in her monotone voice every time someone checks out, “hi, how did you find everything today? will that be cash or card?” – she’s startled when you actually take the time to respond, "everything's been good, thank you…shauna? that’s a pretty name.” because she recognizes that voice…that familiar raspy tone, that instantly makes her internally panic. thinking it’s some other kind, fucked-up hallucination she used to have during the first winter, she immediately looks up and sees it's just you, yet she still goes pale. somehow, you just look and speak like her. like jackie.

₊ ⊹  and it causes shauna to be dangerously hooked in an instant. your features kind of resemble to jackie’s, the same rasp in your tone that she used to carry, even dressed like her in a way. it scares shauna, but ignites something within her that desperately, desperately wants to crawl out from under her skin and sink into you. she doesn't even know who you are, yet wants to, needs to.

₊ ⊹  unfortunate for you (yet fortunate for her), you accidentally leave your wallet at the register, too busy putting your groceries in your bags while having a short chat with her. she holds onto it, stares at your ID and she can’t help but trace over your features. reminds her of the times she used to lay awake in jackie’s bed, studying her features while she slept.

₊ ⊹  she’s a good person, holding onto it until you realize your mistake. otherwise, she would’ve driven to your address to return it. but that’d be too soon. so she’ll wait, even if she’s impatient. 

₊ ⊹  but you do end up returning the next day, searching for her, and she gladly gives it back. luckily she had taken photocopies of your information beforehand to look back to. memorizing your address to the t.

₊ ⊹  shauna who looks forward to coming into work because the chances of you shopping every now and then are high, and you always end up in her line. slowly but surely building a connection. she’s more interactive than ever and it kind of alarms her co-workers, like what?

₊ ⊹  shauna who looks back on the security cameras, focusing on your expressions and mannerisms as you shopped. it’s like seeing jackie again, walking, breathing. living the simple life she could’ve had.

₊ ⊹  shauna who “accidentally” bumps into you in every aisle you’re in, always helping you at every chance she gets. it gives her the excuse to really take you in up close, to really relish in the moment every time you speak. 

₊ ⊹ shauna who suggests you to buy a certain product, knowing that it used to be jackie's favorite.

₊ ⊹  she knows a lot more about you than you think, like the hour you leave to work from home, it gives her the opportunity to break in so easily because you’re so forgetful when it comes to locking the back door. 

₊ ⊹  shauna who takes her time in observing everything in your home: the books you like to read, your pictures of yourself, with family or friends, even your clothes. she leaves with your striped crewneck by the end of it.

₊ ⊹  sleeping with it at night. holding it close and inhaling your scent. what a coincidence that you and jackie share the same fruity perfume? strawberry and rich honey.

₊ ⊹  shauna who keeps a separate journal that documents all of the interactions you two had. tallies all the times you smiled and laughed at her little comments.

 ₊ ⊹  even knowing the brands you always purchase, she even buys them for herself to feel a connection with you. you like a certain tea? she doesn’t like tea at all but she’s trying it. you mentioned that you wanted to get into baking and bought materials just to make cookies as a start? she’s trying out a new hobby too. she accommodates your interests like she did with jackie. 

₊ ⊹  even if shauna swore she never liked being in jackie’s shadow, she crawled back into that tight space upon returning home for comfort.

₊ ⊹  shauna who always has to hold back her tongue to avoid in saying inside-jokes that her and jackie used to share so casually. has to remind herself every single time that you’re not her. but you could be, eventually.

₊ ⊹  she fantasies about bumping into you outside of work. in a public space, but she doesn’t want to be too eager and ask straight up, she can’t make it obvious how badly she wants to spend time with you. so she stalks you from afar, studies where you go. notes all the times of activities and errands you make.

₊ ⊹  all to plan for the right moment to see you in public and make conversation. all to get closer. all to tether her strings with yours, with jackie’s once more.

[beaucate]

uni over officially !! summer has started and I’ve been dreaming of finally writing again 😫😖

[beaucate]

shauna strapman x fem!reader (s3 shauna) bcz u can't tell me this isnt the most hottest, toxic, manipulative, mean lesbian boyfriend coded she looked #needthat

cw: NSFW, mean n jealous shauna ofc, sub!reader, oral sex (r reciving), r is into shaunas toxicity bc why not, just horny hcs that i made on a rush lmao, mari’s kinda into u if u squint enough, maybe just to piss shauna off but i mean it doesnt matter cuz who on earth wont be into you(?

MINORS, CISHET PPL DNI important notes<3: i need her french tip so bad

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆˚ 

༘⋆ she’s mean, i mean after all she has been through, the crash, jackie, her baby, javi, being the butcher even if she didnt want to, you're the only friend she has left, the only one keeping her a little sane (not at all but yeah)

༘⋆ so of course she feels that you need a hard hand so you can stay in your place, without risking your life, worry her, or sometimes spending too much time with mari because if theres something she hates is knowing that mari KNOWS u are her weakness, she cant stand seeing how mari watches u from afar, how she caress your hand slightly and reassured you when u go and vent to her how some chores are annoying asf and she even offers to help you because shauna knows damn well mari is gonna take advantage of that and try to make a move on you.

༘⋆ and she confirms that one day you came to her with a small hand made bouquet of flowers, talking about of a “good friend” Mari is,i that she gifted you this small bouquet bc you got frustrated that everytime you tried to make one it failed

༘⋆ that lead to your first fight, because WHY on earth would you let that moron gift you that when she can make it ten times better, when you know that all u need is told her you need help w something and she's right there helping you, or even better, just doing it herself, she doesn't care because its you after all, besides you were hers and only hers right?!!

༘⋆ she just drags you from your arm to her hut and yells at you what’s your fucking problem and that whatever u have going on with mari ends from that day or shit gonna get worse, you could see how her hands get veiny from the pressure shes putting in them to not try and jump mari and get a time out from nat again, how she starts sweating from the anger, shauna doesnt knows you’re into that..

༘⋆ into seeing her get angry at you, possessive, toxic and overprotective, to treat you like you are her property and hate fuck you, and ofc because you know that’ll help her realease stress, stop being a shit head for some time and a headache for nat and because after that you can get a small glimpse from the old shauna, the affective, sweet one, the one who lets you pamper her after sex, caress her hair, kiss her and lets you be the big spoon because with this small actions you can reassure her that no matter how lower she may fall you’ll always be there for her

༘⋆ so you just shut her with a hungry kiss, because when shauna gets like this you know its gonna be the fuck of your life.

༘⋆ theres no way to get a strap in the wilderness but i know her tongue do the work, the way she pushes you onto her mattress or whatever was the attempt of a bed, kiss you hungrily while unzipping your pants and sliding her hand under your panties

༘⋆ gives you a mocking look when she feels the wetness patch on your underwear. 

“So you enjoy this? enjoy the way you make me mad just so we end up like this”

“I mean, when are you not mad?

༘⋆ how can you not enjoy it? the more jealous and mad she gets the better her finger circles ur clit, rough and desperate, giving you exactly what you want, at least make the jealousy worth it right? 

༘⋆ starts a trail from your neck to your cunt with wet kisses, i know damn well shauna has a perfect tongue work, the way she licks and sucks on your inner lips and entrance like trying to absorb you all, her tongue pushing all the way down with a desperate rhythm making you squirm while your fingers tighten the grip on her hair and your legs closing around her head everytime you see how her brown eyes meets yours giving you a dangerous look that makes you feel your orgasm.

༘⋆ and as soon as she’s done with you comes the second best part that you enjoy the most, being able to hold her, hug her and try and gain a little bit of the old shauna.

༘⋆ she lies next you, no looks, no talk, nothing, the way she always behaves after is how you know she needs reassurance, maybe she feels bad for always treating like that to the point you just accept it, maybe she feels guilty for being the way she is now, whatever the reason you just hold her, hug her and let her sleep on your arms, hoping she knows that no matter how she is to you, you will always be there for her.

ur love for shauna is simply too much to let the weight of her traumas put a toll on your relationship<3

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆˚

do not translate w/o permission, copy or use for ai training, train your useless brain instead<3

[beaucate]

shauna's biceps. that's it, that's the post.

[beaucate]

"jackie deserves someone better than shauna!" if you said that to jackie's face i think she'd kill you

[beaucate]

Shauna Shipman pre crash Headcanons <33

(nsfw under cut)

sfw

Shauna who’s your frenemy since forever. You’re always at each other’s throats but in a friendly sort of way?

Shauna who’s your English class rival, you’re both the first to have hands up to analyse the poem you’re studying in class, she glares. You smirk. One day she’s gonna wipe that smirk off your face.

Shauna who begins to actually admire you in a sense, releasing you’re not just trying to one up her but actually try and do well in the shithole that is Wiskayok high school.

Shauna who invites you over to study for an English exam :)) all shy and stuff when you’re actually in her room, looking at her stuff.

“no way, you like Weezer?? Didn’t know you had it in you, Shipman.”

completely smitten and in awe: “you know Weezer?”

Shauna who starts hanging out with you more, you can actually keep up with her literary references and her ability to actually critically think.

ugghhh, her hanging out with you more than Jackie, which has never happened with any of her other friends.

Shauna who’s lowkey a loser, always has her nose stuffed into her journal, writing away about how Mari pissed her off at practice. Or how pretty you looked that day…

When she realises she has a crush on you it’s like the whole world is crashing down on her. Her… liking you. What? How? Why???

Shauna who is now just blushing anytime you guys hang out. Just constantly having to look away.

She’d never say it out loud, but your opinion meant most to her (other than Jackie’s). If you said anything remotely negative about her personality, she’s attempting to train it out of her.

Shauna who lets you sleep over and you’re pressed up against her in your sleep, all cute and snuggled up while she’s just flustered and trying to push you off, though you retaliate with a sleepy groan and tighter grip.

thinking Shauna just kisses you randomly one day, maybe you’re in the middle of revising or trying on clothes in her room, but she kisses you. Immediately regrets it until- you kiss her back???

Shauna who avoids you the day after that, making the least eye contact with you as humanly possible and taking the long route in hallways to avoid walking by you.

you corner her.

“Avoiding me?”

“What?” She scoffs, “that’s idiotic. I’m not avoiding you… I’m just simply not near you.”

“meet me behind the bleachers after your soccer practice.”

And she does.

Shauna who just goes silent with her big doe eyes when you ask her out. “Earth to Shauna?” All she does is nod softly and blink. Totally in shock that you would actually wanna be her girlfriend…

Shauna who searches for your face in every game crowd, and when she does it’s that big grin and a wave, until she gets knocked over by the opposing team and eats shit.

Shauna who takes you on cute little dates which, to the unsuspecting eye, just look like two girls hanging out. She’ll take you to the Café her dad used to take her to before her parents divorced, then downtown to the music store to grab a new single then back to her room to listen. It’s her idea of a perfect day, and it’s even better with you.

Shauna who bites you playfully once she’s fully comfortable with you. You’ll be sitting at her desk, writing something down and just feel her teeth lightly sink into your shoulder.

“What was that for?”

“I don’t know… you’re just- biteable.”

Shauna who always seeks praise from you. A good job when she writes something pretty, an acknowledgement of her accurate analysis of a poem you wrote. Anything she can find, she’ll cling on to. Validation is her need.

nsfw

as we know, Shauna bites. Thinking about your first time with her, her eyes glazed over and near orgasm and she just digs her teeth into the side of your neck as she cums onto your fingers.

Since she bites, she lovesss leaving marks all over you. Not even hickeys, full on bite marks. Your ass, your tits. You found one on your arm one time.

Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets if you catch my drift. She’s such a perv.

Needs to have her hands wrapped around your throat as she rides your fingers, her little grunts as she picks up her pace. Her grip becoming tighter as she nears her orgasm. Leaving bruises on your neck ❤️❤️

Dom!bottom Shauna please, thank you. Always telling you what to do, craving the power she so desperately wants. You give that to her. It keeps her sane. For now.

Shauna who’ll just causally take her shirt off when you’re studying, lie back and stare at you like it’s the most normal thing ever.

“what?”

“what do you mean ‘what?’, you’re literally half naked.”

“then do something about it.”

And you DOOOOO. crawling on top of her and kissing her until she can’t breathe, fingers finding her nipples and rubbing softly. Edging them till the stiffen and then sucking on the lightly. Teasing.

She hisses at your attempt to stay in control.

“this isn’t your time to play.”

When Shauna goes down on you, she goes DOWN on you. Slowly she’ll lower her lips to your cunt before attacking it, soft bites and harsh licks. Though it may be rough, there’s something so carefully planned about it. She was definitely thinking about it all day.

coming up behind Shauna and squeezing her tits in the empty locker room. Of course, that ended up with you on your knees, staring up at her while you pummel your fingers in and out of her, begging to just taste her.

…Shauna who calls you a pathetic slut…?

Shauna who writes the filthiest smut about you in her journal, making sure to leave it open at the page when you come into her room so she knows you’ll read it and recreate it with her later.

thinking about photographer!Shauna… should I write a fic about it???

thank you for reading my little Headcanons! Drop any Shauna requests (within my rules) and I’ll get to it :)

[beaucate]

this is a reward for me

With Her I Die |25|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Twenty-Five: Weather Changes Mood

warnings: anxiety, self-harm (scratching), nightmares, grief, references to past violence and death, and blood.

note(s): travlot is NOT a thing in this series, i'm clarifying this incase the scene between travis and lottie gets misinterpreted. i have never and will never ship those two.

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson @serendippindots @mikuley @sleepyjackets @wnbawag @eatingouturmomrn

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

The warmth feels like a betrayal.

Spring settled without asking permission, creeping through the forest on soft feet, melting away the familiar bite of winter that had become your companion. The sun touches your skin with foreign fingers, gentle and insistent, demanding acknowledgment of a world that continues to turn despite everything that's been buried beneath the snow.

You wake before dawn in the hut you share with Nat, your body rigid with the memory of dreams that refuse to fade. Jackie's voice still echoes in the space between sleep and consciousness, her laugh threading through your ribs like smoke. Your fingernails find the familiar groove along your forearm, scratching at skin that's already raw from nights of restless anxiety. The scar from your self-inflicted wound has healed into a pale line, but you trace it anyway, remembering the weight of deception, the metallic taste of your own blood on fabric meant to convince them all you were gone.

Nat shifts beside you, her breathing steady but alert. She's learned to recognize the sounds of your nightmares, the way your body fights against sleep even in unconsciousness. Neither of you mentions it. There are too many unspoken things between you now, filling the small space of your shared shelter like held breath.

"Hunting today?" she asks quietly, not opening her eyes but knowing you're awake.

"Yeah." Your voice comes out rougher than intended, scraped raw by dreams and silence.

The routine has become precious in its simplicity. You and Nat moving through the forest together, her rifle steady in experienced hands while you grip the hunting knife that's become an extension of yourself. The same blade that brought down the bear months ago, that's tasted blood and survival in equal measure. Your fingers know every nick in the handle, every imperfection in the steel. It grounds you in ways words cannot.

But even this partnership carries weight. Travis haunts the edges of conversations you don't have, his name a careful absence in the space between you and Nat. Since Javi died, since the ice cracked and swallowed small hands and infinite potential, Travis has been gravitating toward Lottie like a moth drawn to flame. She offers him something you've all learned to recognize but can't name—a promise of meaning in meaninglessness, purpose in the face of random cruelty.

You've been avoiding him. Not just Travis, but the guilt that follows in his wake, the way his grief mirrors your own in uncomfortable ways. He lost a brother. You lost everything. The mathematics of trauma don't balance, but they resonate, and the sound is too sharp to bear.

Nat doesn't ask why you flinch when Travis appears at the edge of camp. Just like you don't ask why she stopped seeking him out, why their careful dance of almost-love dissolved into parallel silences. Some boundaries are too fragile to examine directly.

Shauna is another conversation that doesn't happen. Her name sits between you and Nat like a stone in still water, sending ripples through everything unsaid. The distance that's grown between you and Shauna feels geographic now, measured in careful steps and averted gazes. You catch her watching sometimes, her eyes carrying questions you're not ready to answer.

The codependency that once felt like salvation now weighs heavy as chains. Every avoided glance is a small violence, every unreturned touch a theft. But you can't seem to bridge the gap that trauma carved between you. Some wounds heal crooked, and attempting to straighten them only causes fresh damage.

You and Nat move through your morning routine with practiced efficiency. The rifle gets cleaned and loaded, checked and rechecked with the methodical attention that keeps you both alive. Your knife gets sharpened against the whetstone Javi once showed you, the metal singing against stone in notes that sound almost like prayer.

The forest in spring feels like putting on clothes that no longer fit. Everything is too bright, too alive, too insistent on growth and renewal when all you want is the honest simplicity of winter's harsh truths. Buds appear on branches like small green wounds, promising change you're not sure you're ready for. The air carries scents of thaw and possibility, earth waking up from dreams it's not ready to abandon.

Your anxiety responds to the warmth like a wild thing in a cage. Your nails find purchase along your arms, scratching patterns of nervous energy into skin that's seen too much. The scratching helps sometimes, gives the restless feeling somewhere to go. Nat notices but doesn't comment, the same way you don't comment on how she checks her rifle obsessively, cleaning parts that are already pristine.

"There," she whispers, freezing mid-step.

The deer stands thirty yards away, head raised and alert, ears twitching toward sounds only it can hear. Brown eyes that hold no malice, no understanding of the hunger that drives you both deeper into the forest each day. It's beautiful in the way wild things are beautiful—completely itself, unmarked by the human need to survive at any cost.

Your knife feels heavy in your hand. The deer's neck pulses with life, rhythm visible beneath fur that catches morning light like benediction. You've killed before. The bear, with desperate fury and terror-fueled strength. Small game, with growing efficiency and diminishing guilt. But something about this moment feels different, weighted with significance you can't name.

Nat raises her rifle with movements that have become meditation, breath steadying, world narrowing to the space between intention and impact. She's beautiful like this, you think distantly. Competent and sure, holding death and sustenance in careful balance. The way her shoulder absorbs the rifle's weight, the slight tilt of her head as she aims—these details etch themselves into memory with startling clarity.

The deer takes a step closer, unaware it's walking toward its own ending.

You think about Jackie, the way she moved through the world with unconscious grace, never imagining that survival would become a daily negotiation. She wouldn't understand this version of you, the one who calculates kill shots and carries violence in her pocket like spare change. The girl who loved her couldn't have conceived of needing to choose between mercy and hunger.

But that girl died with Jackie in the snow. What remains is something rawer, more honest about the cost of continuing to breathe.

The shot echoes through the forest like thunder, sharp and final. The deer drops instantly, Nat's aim true as always. You're moving before the echo fades, knife ready to finish what the rifle started if necessary. But Nat's work is clean—one shot, instant death, minimal suffering.

"Good shot," you say, kneeling beside the still-warm body.

"Yeah." Nat's voice is steady, but you catch the slight tremor in her hands as she lowers the rifle. Taking life never gets easier, even when necessity demands it. "You want to start with the bleeding?"

The work of death is intimate in ways that surprise you. Your hands know what to do now, muscle memory built from months of making use of whatever the forest provides. The knife slides between ribs with practiced ease, finding the spaces between bone and cartilage that allow access to what keeps bodies running.

Blood runs warm over your fingers, darker than expected in the morning light. The deer's eyes have already begun to cloud, that spark of awareness dimming into something vacant and peaceful. You've learned not to look too long at eyes that no longer see. They reflect things you're not ready to examine.

"Remember our fifth hunt together?" you ask quietly, working to drain blood into the container you brought for this purpose.

"The bear?" Nat settles beside you, beginning the careful work of preparing the carcass for transport.

She nods, understanding flowing between you without need for elaboration. The bear was dying anyway. This deer was simply unlucky enough to cross your path when hunger demanded feeding. The moral mathematics are complicated, but the end result is the same—meat for the camp, another day of not starving.

Your anxiety finds outlet in the repetitive motions of butchery. Knife through hide, separating useful from wasteful, organizing chaos into manageable pieces. The scratching along your arms subsides as your hands find purpose in the work. Blood under your fingernails feels different now than it did those first weeks after Jackie died, when you'd clawed at frozen ground until your fingers bled.

Then, blood meant failure—your inability to save what mattered most. Now it means survival, the daily choice to continue existing in a world that offers no guarantees.

"Travis has been asking about you," Nat says eventually, her voice carefully neutral.

Your hands still for a moment before resuming their work. "What did you tell him?"

"That you're dealing with your own shit. Same as everyone else."

The deflection sits comfortably between you, another unspoken agreement to leave certain territories unexplored. Travis's grief over Javi, your guilt over participating in the hunt that led to his death, the way trauma braids together until individual threads become impossible to separate—these conversations can wait for a day when survival requires less immediate attention.

"Lottie's been helping him," Nat continues, and there's something in her tone you can't quite identify. Not jealousy, but not indifference either.

"Good." The word tastes strange, but you mean it. If Lottie can offer Travis something resembling peace, who are you to question the source? Peace is rare enough that its origins seem less important than its presence.

You work in comfortable silence after that, the forest around you slowly waking to full daylight. Birds call from branches heavy with new leaves, their songs carrying notes of territory and courtship and simple joy in being alive. The sounds should be comforting, but they feel foreign after months of winter quiet.

The deer yields more meat than expected, enough to feed the camp for several days if preserved properly. Your knife work has improved dramatically since those first fumbling attempts at small game. Competence born of necessity, skill carved from the bones of desperation.

"We should head back," Nat says eventually, checking the position of the sun through the canopy.

The thought of returning to camp tightens something in your chest. Shauna will be there, moving through her own routines of survival, carefully not looking in your direction. The distance between you has become a living thing, fed by guilt and complicated grief and the knowledge that some bridges, once burned, can't be rebuilt with good intentions alone.

You finish wrapping the meat in the clean cloth you brought for this purpose, movements automatic while your mind drifts toward the inevitable return. The huts that have replaced the cabin feel temporary in ways that make your anxiety spike. Everything here is makeshift, held together by hope and necessity and the stubborn refusal to admit that rescue might never come.

"Ready?" Nat asks, shouldering her pack and rifle with movements that speak of endless practice.

You nod, sliding your knife back into its sheath with the careful attention the weapon deserves. The blade has become talismanic, carrying history in its steel—the bear's death, countless small game, now this deer. Each kill adds weight, but also purpose. You're not the same person who once scratched hearts into notebook margins and snuck out bedroom windows for stolen kisses.

That girl exists in memory now, preserved in amber like something precious and irretrievable. What walks through this forest is harder, more honest about the cost of love and the price of survival. The scratches along your arms tell their own story—anxiety made manifest, the body keeping score when the mind tries to forget.

The walk back to camp passes in relative quiet, both of you alert for sounds that don't belong. The forest in spring offers more places for threats to hide, new growth providing cover for predators that might see you as competition or prey. Your hand stays close to your knife, muscle memory keeping you ready for violence that might come without warning.

But the forest remains peaceful, offering only birdsong and the whisper of wind through leaves still tender with newness. Your anxiety settles slightly as familiar landmarks come into view, though it doesn't disappear entirely. It never does anymore, that low hum of alertness that's become the soundtrack to daily existence.

The camp appears through the trees like something half-remembered from dreams. Smoke rises from the central fire, carrying scents of morning meal and human habitation. Voices drift toward you, the careful conversations of people who've learned to negotiate proximity with infinite care.

Lottie's laugh reaches you first, followed by Travis's quieter response. They're sitting close together near the fire, his dark head bent toward her fair one in postures of intimacy that make your chest tighten with recognition. You were once part of such tableaux—curled against Jackie's warmth, sharing space and breath and the casual certainty that love was sufficient armor against anything the world might offer.

Your nails find their familiar path along your forearm, scratching at skin that's learned to expect this particular kind of pain. The sight of Travis finding comfort in someone else's presence shouldn't hurt, but it does. Not because you want what he has, but because it reminds you of what you've lost—not just Jackie, but the ability to trust that connection won't inevitably lead to devastation.

"Good hunt," Nat says as you approach the fire, her voice carrying the easy confidence that's become her trademark since taking unofficial leadership of the group.

Shauna looks up from the pot she's tending, her eyes finding yours for a brief moment before sliding away. The contact lasts barely a second, but it carries the weight of everything unspoken between you—shared trauma and abandoned intimacy and the careful geography of avoidance you've both learned to navigate.

"Deer," you add unnecessarily, lifting the pack that holds your morning's work. "Should last us a few days."

The practical focus of survival provides safe harbor for conversations that might otherwise drift toward dangerous waters. Food, shelter, safety—these topics offer neutral ground where emotional minefields can be temporarily avoided.

Travis glances in your direction, something uncertain flickering across his features. You look away before the moment can develop into something requiring response. The guilt you carry over Javi's death sits too close to the surface, ready to spill over at the slightest provocation. Better to maintain distance than risk conversations that might crack the careful control you've built around your trauma.

Lottie's eyes track the interaction with interest that makes your skin crawl. She sees too much, understands connections that others miss or choose to ignore. Her attention feels invasive in ways you can't articulate, like being studied by something that views human emotion as data to be collected and analyzed.

"The forest provided," she says softly, her voice carrying undertones of significance that make your anxiety spike.

You don't respond, focusing instead on the practical work of organizing the day's kill. Your knife needs cleaning, the blood washed away before it can dull the blade or attract insects. The routine tasks provide anchor points, keeping you tethered to immediate concerns rather than the larger questions that threaten to overwhelm.

Nat settles beside you as you work, her presence offering wordless support. She doesn't need to understand the specific nature of your anxiety to recognize its presence, doesn't require explanations for the careful distance you maintain from certain conversations. The partnership you've built is based on mutual respect for boundaries, shared understanding of trauma's geography.

The deer's blood washes away easily in the stream that runs near camp, leaving your knife clean and ready for whatever the forest might demand next. Your hands know this routine now, the careful attention required to maintain the tools that keep you alive. The blade reflects morning light like promise, steel holding potential for both creation and destruction.

Spring continues its relentless advance around you, indifferent to human struggle or preference. The warmth that felt like betrayal this morning has settled into something more familiar, though still foreign after months of winter's honest brutality. Change arrives whether you're ready or not, demanding adaptation from bodies and minds that have already stretched beyond their original parameters.

You trace the scar on your arm one more time, remembering the weight of deception and the metallic taste of your own blood. That night feels both immediate and distant, separated by experiences that have aged you in ways that can't be measured in days or weeks. The girl who cut herself to fake her own death was already someone you barely recognized. What remains now is something even more transformed, carved by necessity into shapes that would be unrecognizable to the person you used to be.

But you're alive. Against all odds and reasonable expectations, you continue to breathe, to hunt, to carry the weight of survival with hands that have learned to hold both gentleness and violence in equal measure. The deer's death will sustain the camp for several days, and that's enough. It has to be enough.

The warm weather settles around you like an ill-fitting coat, foreign but gradually becoming familiar. Spring offers no promises except change, no guarantees except that the world will continue to turn regardless of human suffering or joy. You scratch at your arms one more time, then make yourself stop, focusing instead on the simple fact of still being here, still choosing to continue despite everything that's been lost along the way.

Tomorrow you'll hunt again. Tonight you'll dream of Jackie and wake to Nat's steady breathing beside you. The routine provides structure in a world that's forgotten how to offer certainty. And for now, that's enough to build a life on—however temporary, however fragile, however foreign it feels in weather that promises nothing but its own relentless advance toward whatever comes next.

[beaucate]

this means the world to me btw

butcherbunny!

[beaucate]

how do i tell people that it’s hard for me to watch movies when there aren’t any dykes. i start imagining the men are butches

[beaucate]

shaunamari.. marishauna if you will.. enemies to lovers soon . I'm a believer

[beaucate]

LOTTIE MATTHEWS YELLOWJACKETS | 3.05

[beaucate]

fatherhood travis (girl dad travis!!)

travis who doesn’t know how to react when you tell him you’re pregnant after a few days of crashing. probably closes himself off at first and doesn’t really give you a reaction :( pretty much panics as soon as he’s alone.

travis who realizes how shitty he’s being with you when nat calls him off, you’re the one who’s pregnant and he is being all grumpy about it. runs to you to practically beg you to forgive him, awkwardly telling you how he’s always there to support and protect you.

travis who barely knows anything about babies except for the little things he used to do to help when javi was a baby. gets the courage to ask the girls to tell him all they know about babies and pregnancies.

travis who is sooo protective of you, giving you all the attention and care. makes sure your plate is as full as possible and that you have the best and most comfortable clothes.

travis who acts all manly but secretly looks lovingly at your belly and talks to it while you’re asleep, unaware that you actually hear it half of the times. always pats it gently when walking past you <3

travis who is pacing around the room when labor comes, wincing at every pained groan that comes from you. wants so badly to help, pressing cold towels to your forehead and letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you need.

travis who can’t help but literally sob as soon as your baby girl is safe. is the first to pick her up, wrapping her in a warm blanket and smiling at the way her crying calms down after a bit. swoons at the little baby noises she makes and refuses to let go of her until you’re conscious again and ready to take her in your arms.

travis who has a bit of trouble with falling asleep knowing he has to protect the baby, always keeping her in between the both of you. lays his hand on top of her belly so that’s he’s sure she’s there, waking up at any minimal sound in the cabin.

travis who makes a sling so that he gets to walk around with her, talking to her in a high pitched voice that he would usually be embarrassed of. presses little kisses to the top of her head every so often and smiles giddily when she giggles and kicks her chubby legs <3

travis who loves coming up behind you while you’re holding your baby, wrapping his arms around you and talking to the both of you in a soft voice. loves to spend time with just the both of you.

travis who always mentions you whenever he’s alone with babygirl, referring to you as ‘momma’ and talking to her about whatever you’re busy with like she’s a fully understanding adult. talks so nicely of you and tells her about how lucky she is for having you as her mom.

travis who turns into the best version of himself when he becomes a father, doing his best to be an amazing dad.

[beaucate]

hiii, i’m not the original anon who asked for prove you wrong, but could you please write a part two? like, reader is still pissed about what shauna did and shauna tries to do something sweet, in her own shauna way. not realizing that reader actually forgave her from the very beginning

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ | ꜱ.ꜱ

part one: prove you wrong

ᴡᴏʀᴅᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.1k

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Shauna tries to fix things after a messy breakup, not knowing you already forgave her.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Shauna Shipman x reader

ᴀ/ɴ: Ummm this ended up being more angsty than I wanted it to be.. oops. Anyways, thank you for requesting and sorry it took so long. 😭

It’s been three days since you came back to the hut, and Shauna still hasn’t apologized.

Not that you ever expected her to. Apologies aren’t really in her nature, not when she’s wrong, especially when she’s convinced she isn’t. And when it comes to you, what the two of you are, she’s convinced she’s right. That you’re always going to come crawling back to her.

But what’s strange, what leaves you almost more unsettled than the silence, is that she hasn’t gloated about it at all. There’s no smug look in her eyes, no ‘I told you so’ slipping from her lips. Instead, she’s quiet. Not cold, not cruel, just quiet.

She still passes you food, brushing her fingers lightly against yours. She still sleeps beside you, but never reaches out to hold you. Not like before. She faces you in the dark like she’s waiting for something, like if she closes her eyes for too long, she’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again.

You’re still pissed, or you want to be. You want to sit in the bitterness of it all, because if you don’t hold onto the anger, what’s left? The pathetic ache in your chest? The part of you that still wants her, still forgave her before the first night even ended? You don’t want to be that person. Not again.

She let them turn on you. She stood there while Misty mocked you, while the others froze you out, while you dug through frozen dirt looking for your boots like a kicked dog and she didn’t lift a finger. Not once.

But every day since you came back, she’s been doing things. Small things, Sweet, stupid things, like she’s trying to ease the pain of what happened.

This morning, there was a cleaned rabbit hanging outside the hut, already skinned, bled out, and cooked. Like a gift. Later, you found a chunk of dried fruit tucked in your coat pocket.

Your canteen’s been scrubbed clean.

Someone fixed the tear in your glove, just one of them, awkwardly, with uneven stitching. And when dinner came, your bowl was already filled.

She’s not subtle.

Van raised an eyebrow when she saw you eating. “Huh,” she said. “Guess someone’s back in Shauna’s good graces.”

You didn’t answer, just ate, because your mouth was full and because anything you said would’ve come out too soft, too weak.

That night, Shauna didn’t even get into bed. She stayed near the door, hunched in her coat, writing furiously in her journal. The firelight outside the hut caught in her hair, her cheeks flushed from the cold, and for a second you think you might hate her. Or maybe you hate how hard it is to stay mad at her.

You already forgave her. You knew it the second she looked at you across the fire and said, “You left me” like it was the only thing that had ever truly hurt her. You came back that night and told yourself it was because you were tired, because you needed warmth, because she left your blanket folded beside her every night. But the truth is, you missed her. And now you’re punishing her for a wound you already let heal.

⸻

Two more days pass.

You speak when you have to. You eat, you keep watch, you share the bedroll, but you keep your hands to yourself. You want her to say something, really say something, not just offer you meat and fruit like some half-assed apology. You want her to look you in the eye and acknowledge what she did. That she watched you squirm just to prove a point.

You come back from checking traps that afternoon, and she’s standing in the hut when you walk in, her back turned, staring down at the bedroll like she’s debating tearing the whole thing apart.

She startles when she sees you. Shauna never startles.

“What?” you say, flat, more out of habit than actual challenge.

She moves aside slowly, and your eyes catch on it before she speaks.

Your old blanket, the one from before the crash. Fleece, once bright blue now dulled and frayed around the edges. You’d sewn it yourself, badly, but you were proud. It still smells a bit like home.

“I found it in the wreck,” she says. “A while ago. I kept it.”

Your chest goes tight. “You kept it?”

She nods. “It was yours. Didn’t want to lose it.”

You stare at it for a long time. It looks small now, like everything from your old life does.

“I slept with it sometimes,” she adds quietly. “When you were gone. It helped. A little.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “You know how messed up this is, right?”

“I know.” She finally looks at you. “I just didn’t know how to make it better.”

“You could’ve started by saying sorry.”

“I didn’t think you’d believe me if I did.”

There’s a pause, she shifts, nervous now in a way you’ve only seen a handful of times. Nervous in a way only you could make her.

“I kept thinking, if I made you miserable enough, you’d realize you needed me. And when that didn’t work, I thought I’d just wait it out. You’d come back eventually.” She pauses.

“You think I came back because I needed you?”

She hesitates. “Didn’t you?”

You take a slow step forward. Your voice stays even.

“I came back because I forgave you. I missed you.”

Her breath hitches. “Then why—”

“Because I didn’t want to let you off the hook that easily. I wanted to be mad and I wanted you to feel it.”

Shauna’s eyes flicker. “You should’ve told me.”

“And miss watching you squirm?” You smirk, just a little. “No way.”

She huffs a laugh. And then something in her face softens.

“Thank you,” she says. “For… coming back. Even if I don’t deserve it.”

You reach for her hand. You don’t say anything. Just pull her toward the bed, toward the blanket, and lie down beside her like nothing ever changed, because in a lot of ways, it didn’t.

Later, in the quiet, she touches your waist. Not possessive this time, just gentle.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

You sigh and roll toward her. She breathes out slowly, like she’s afraid to move too fast and ruin it.

“Don’t do it again,” you say. “Next time, I won’t come back.”

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t feed you any false promises. Just pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead, and that’s as close as you’ll get to an apology from her.