#meant to be like her. feel like her. be human like her. and yet... these emotions. these feelings. that which have been claimed to be human

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Blood singer, part 10

Summary: Y/N is left alone while Jasper goes hunting, and it only sparks doubts in her mind she tried to bury before.

Warnings (be mindful of your triggers): injury, blood and death, angst, fluff, grief, swearing, sexual content, mentions of mental health struggles, alcohol, eating disorder, mentions of a period

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

Word count: 10.1k

Blood singer - Series Masterlist

He can’t remember the last time he felt his heart beat, truly beat, but if it did, it would stutter at the sound of her footsteps. Even without it beating in his chest, he knows it’s hers now. She’s colonized his heart, his entire being without battle or blood. Even the scars lining his skin feel numb to the ache they once carried, as if her love has somehow cauterized wounds he never believed would heal.

It’s been days since they returned to Forks. Days in which he rarely left her side. He practically took up residence in her house, shadowing her movements, watching her sleep, brushing knuckles down her cheek when she mumbled his name in her dreams. He was almost afraid to blink too long, as if she might dissolve into mist, a dream he wasn’t meant to keep. Her emotions are ever changing, but she didn’t say anything and he didn’t dare ask. Whatever is on her mind, he’ll patiently wait to learn from her own mouth, refusing to let Edward meddle.

“You’ve done well,” Esme offers with a soft, encouraging smile. Her hand gently touches his forearm. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jasper replies. The words leave him sharper than intended, but he doesn’t apologize.

Everyone’s been reminding him it’s time to feed, that it’s been too long, that his eyes are nearly black and it’s getting dangerous. But last time he left, Emmett let his mate walk straight into danger, and the memory of that still scrapes under Jasper’s skin like broken glass. He hasn’t forgiven him yet. He might never.

“It’s not going to happen again,” Carlisle’s calm voice joins the conversation as he steps in. “Bella’s insinuated that we’ll never have to worry about her leaving again.”

Jasper turns his head slowly, brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Carlisle shares a glance with Esme, a private, knowing exchange that makes Jasper’s jaw tighten. “You’ll have to ask Y/N about it,” Carlisle says gently.

He exhales through his nose, frustrated. His hands flex at his sides. It’s ironic just how long he’s lived pretending to be human, how easily those instincts have faded over the centuries…yet now, with her, every movement he makes is carefully adjusted, humanized to put her to ease. Every breath drawn in her presence is both agony and ecstasy, but he doesn’t mind the pain anymore. She’s changed him in ways he hadn’t realized he could still be changed. If he could still sweat, he might.

“If I go,” he begins, but Carlisle interrupts gently.

“She’ll be perfectly fine.”

“No,” Jasper insists, sharper this time. “If I go… I’d prefer if she stays in our house. Just in case…”

Carlisle places a firm, grounding hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “That’s something she’ll have to agree to, son. It has to be her choice.”

“It’s not just that,” Jasper mutters, eyes narrowing slightly. “She’s not like Bella. Her blood…” He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “What if someone else comes through? Someone who knows what golden blood is and what it’s worth?”

“Maybe Paul -”

“Absolutely not,” he snaps, his voice cold and deep. “I’m not going to make the same mistakes Edward did. Jacob didn’t protect Bella when it counted. I’m not entrusting her safety to a shapeshifter who still thinks he owns her just because he’s touched her before.”

A delicate cough puts Jasper on edge, realizing Y/N’s footsteps have neared. She’s descending the stairs, her hair messy from sleep, her oversized sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder. Her gaze zeroes in on Jasper immediately, her eyes narrowing at the pitch-dark hue of his irises.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says softly, training her eyes on Carlisle and Esme.

Esme smiles kindly. “You’re not. Good morning, dear.”

“Morning,” she replies, voice still husky. Jasper hasn’t inhaled in the past minute, and it’s because he can smell it now; faint, but maddening. She’s bleeding. And not the kind she can hide or control. It must have just happened, but he should have predicted it, sensed the change in her hormones. How could he miss this? How could Alice not warn him?

Jasper turns his head, suddenly rigid. His lips part uselessly, unable to think let alone speak properly. “I, uh…” he starts, voice strained.

Carlisle clears his throat. “He needs to feed.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrow, her lips pressing in a thin line. The last thing she wants is to be away from him for possibly weeks on end. “Do you know when you’ll be back?” Her tone is casual, but her shoulders are stiff, voice coated in resignation.

Jasper doesn’t answer. And when he avoids her eyes again, she puts the pieces together fast.

“Oh.” She lets out a breathy laugh, the sound devoid of humor. Her hand lifts to her forehead, rubbing at her temples. “You know. Of course you do. And here I was hoping maybe today would feel a little normal.”

“Y/N…” Jasper’s voice is low, filled with guilt. He’s been doing everything he can to get back to the way things were before New York and now he’s leaving her. Again. He promised he wouldn’t, and he lies. Not intentionally, but he’s betraying her trust once again.

“If it’s making things difficult, just go, Jasper.” Her voice doesn’t raise, but the hurt sits just under the surface, fracturing his resolve. “Don’t torture yourself. Not for me.”

“I… I don’t like leaving you alone.”

She forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m a big girl. Just maybe call this time? Even if you get distracted. I don’t care if it’s two words in a text. Just… let me know you’re okay.”

Carlisle shifts uncomfortably. “We don’t always remember to when the frenzy starts, focus tends to slip.”

“He can try,” she replies quietly, gaze resting on Jasper. “Trying is good enough.” She hesitates for a moment, then adds, “And maybe… stay away the next five days. I’ll text when it’s safe.”

Jasper nods once, his throat closing around the lump that doesn’t go away. “I’m really sorry.” His eyes flicker up, finally meeting hers. “I’d say goodbye properly, but I don’t think I can.”

Her heart stings, not because she doesn’t understand, but because she does. She just thought it might be different by now. As patient as she is, it tugs at her heartstrings to watch Jasper leave her time and time again. It’s a never ending circle of being left to her own devices, and she hates that she can’t hate him for it. She can’t, because he can’t change who he is. Because he leaves to protect her. She appreciates the sentiment, but it only makes her more certain about her choices.

“Understood,” she says gently, then steps closer, pausing as soon as his eyes widen at her closeess. “Just come back to me, okay? That’s all I care about.”

He looks at her for a moment longer, as if memorizing every inch of her face. And then, with a nod, he disappears through the door, leaving an ache in her heart no one can put to rest now. Only when the realization he’s gone settles do Y/N’s shoulders fall. Her breath shakes slightly as she crosses her arms.

Esme and Carlisle say nothing, giving her space, pretending not to notice the hurt in her eyes, or the way she blinks away tears with practiced grace.

She turns her gaze to the window, to the trees swaying gently beyond the glass. She knew what loving Jasper would mean. She just didn’t realize how alone it might feel, even when he’s standing right beside her.

“Most of us don’t feel the appeal,” Esme says gently, her voice warm and understanding. “Periods aren’t really the kind of blood we crave, but… it’s hard for him. Any trace of your blood is enough to drive him to the edge.”

Y/N nods slowly, but it doesn’t ease her mind as her fingers tighten slightly around the hem of her sleeve. Her eyes search for him around the room, turning to the staircase as if expecting to see him smirking at her, but of course, he isn’t there. She already knows her blood is testing Jasper’s sanity, it’s nothing new. She knows it in the way he refused to meet her gaze earlier, in the way his voice faltered like he was drowning in guilt for instincts he can’t put to rest. It’s not easy for him either, but that does nothing to stop her loneliness.

Carlisle exhales, the sound weary but kind. “If you need anything, Emmett, Rosalie, and Renesmee will be around.”

“And the pack,” Esme adds with a careful glance.

Y/N forces a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t think Jasper would appreciate me calling anyone from the pack.”

Esme nods slowly. “That’s true. But if you want to call them, do it. You’re allowed to live your life as you please, Y/N. You’re still you. And things change… once you’re no longer human. Especially with the pack.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Y/N’s voice cuts through it, quieter than before. “You know?”

Carlisle’s smile is soft, understanding. “Just us. And Edward.”

Of course Edward knows. Her stomach knots. There’s no privacy in a world with mind readers. Still, the sting of betrayal is smaller than she expected. Not gone, but dulled, maybe because a part of her knew Bella wouldn’t keep it to herself.

“Bella didn’t mean to break your trust,” Carlisle adds gently.

“I want to be the one to tell Jasper,” Y/N says after a moment. Her voice is steady, though her heart feels anything but. “I want him to hear it from me.”

“Of course.” Esme nods, her gaze warm and maternal. It’s been so long since someone looked at her like that, like they actually care. “Until then… enjoy your humanity. Call your friends.”

Y/N’s mouth twitches into something too flat to be a real smile. “You mean Paul. You want me to call Paul.”

Esme doesn’t confirm it, but she doesn’t deny it either. Instead, she picks up a paper bag from the kitchen counter and holds it out to her. “I made pancakes. There’s maple syrup, if you want it.”

Y/N stares at the bag for a moment before taking it. The weight of it is oddly grounding, like something real she can hold on to, unlike the ghost of Jasper’s presence that lingers in every room, in every exhale she doesn’t mean to sigh.

She opens her mouth to thank her, but before she can speak, both Esme and Carlisle are gone, only a soft gust of air left in their wake.

The silence that follows is both suffocating and strangely comforting. Y/N stands still for a long moment, fingers curled around the handle of the bag, her other hand drifting to rest lightly on her stomach. The ache is dull, but constant and not just physical.

She walks to the kitchen table and sits slowly, placing the bag down beside her. Her mind hums with too many thoughts she doesn’t know what to do with.

He’s trying. She knows Jasper is trying. But that doesn’t make the empty spaces he leaves behind feel any less hollow. Doesn’t stop the ache of knowing that the one thing she can’t control, her body, is what’s driving him away. She never asked for this blood, this scent, this curse that turns affection into temptation.

It’s not his fault. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Y/N unfolds the bag, stares at the pancakes inside. They smell like vanilla and butter, reminding her of the good days when her grandmother would make them for her. It was a tradition the women in her family always kept up, making pancakes whenever they feel sad, whenever they are on their period, whenever it’s a gloomy day.

She pours syrup absently, watching it spill over the edges like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. She eats quietly, chewing slowly, not because she’s hungry, but because it gives her something to do. Something human. Something normal for a change. Something that comforts that part of her soul that’s screaming to be loved.

And still, even as she chews, her mind is a thousand miles away, wondering if he’s already far enough from her that he can breathe again without her scent inflicting suffering.

Staying alone in this house is harder than she imagined. Harder than she’s willing to admit out loud. Y/N pads barefoot across the hardwood floor, her hands wrapped around a lukewarm mug of tea she hasn’t taken a sip from in nearly thirty minutes. The tea’s gone bitter. She doesn’t really care.

Being in a relationship is uncharted territory for her. Foreign. Intimate in a way that never made sense to her before Jasper. She’s never had a real boyfriend. There were flings. Arrangements. People who told her she was pretty and left fingerprints on her skin that never touched her heart.

Once, she thought she had something close to real. A man who said all the right things, and it lasted until she found out he was also a boyfriend to three other women. She laughed about it at the time, told her friends it didn’t hurt. It did.

She sets the mug down and wraps her arms around herself, fingers digging into the fabric of her oversized sweatshirt. It’s soft and smells faintly of him, which only makes it worse. Because he’s not here. He can’t even be around her right now.

She can’t text him and ask him to pick up ibuprofen, or pads, or that specific brand of cherry flavored chocolate she likes. She can’t ask for cuddles, not unless she wants him to spend the entire time rigid with torment, afraid one twitch in the wrong direction might end her life.

She groans softly, dragging a hand down her face. And then, as if her body is trying to mock her, another cramp tightens low in her abdomen. She doubles forward on the couch, curling beneath the blanket as if it can hide her from the heartache.

And not just the physical ache.

It’s the ache of wanting him. Of wanting to be held, touched, of the maddening, inescapable fact that her libido doesn’t take a break just because she’s bleeding and her vampire boyfriend is thousands of miles away from her. She’s horny, damn it. And no one can help with that.

Her mind wanders where she doesn’t want it to go, slips into shadowed corners she’s avoided since the beginning.

Has Jasper ever dated anyone before me?

He doesn’t talk about it. Not really. But she knows. Or she thinks she does. There’s only one name that lingers on the edge of every thought: Alice.

The same Alice Cullen he lives with. The same Alice who’s seen centuries more of Jasper than Y/N ever will. Who speaks like a melody and moves like a dream. Who, by all appearances, seems perfectly made for Jasper….they are carved from the same immortal, celestial stone.

Did he love her? Does he still?

The questions spiral, slow and poisonous. She squeezes her eyes shut, but they don’t stop coming. Who knows how much history is between them?

He could hold Alice and not forgo breathing. He could kiss Alice and not tremble in fear of killing her. Make love to her without fearing he might break her in half. There were no life-threatening variables with Alice. No scent that made his throat close or his hands shake.

Alice could do everything with him…be anything he wants. He never had to walk away from her because she’s on her period, or leave her for days on end because he needed to feed. Jasper never had to worry if Alice would die because she’s too clumsy and falls when running.

It’s hard not to question just how bad of a deal did Jasper get being mated to a human girl…to her. She’s not as pretty as Alice and she’s definitely not as graceful. If anything, she can’t really remember Jasper ever praising her for looks. How can he when Alice wins in that department? There’s no contest – compared to Alice, Y/N loses.

And Y/N? Y/N can’t even be kissed without begging him for it. Can’t walk in the woods without a scrape on her knee becoming a liability. Can’t ask for comfort without wondering if it’s putting him through agony. What kind of future is that?

The couch dips as turns, blanket pulled over her shoulders like armor. Her eyes sting, but no tears fall. She won’t cry. Not for this. But God, it’s exhausting. How is she meant to just not see him every time she gets her period? What happens if she gets a cut making dinner?

She stares at the ceiling through the blur of her lashes. Her hand drifts to her stomach, rubbing soothing circles to soothe the cramps. It’s not fair. She knows it’s not his fault, and yet she can’t stop the resentment from building, or her insecurities from overwhelming her.

Her voice cracks, “What if I’m not enough for him?”

She doesn't say it loud. It’s barely a whisper, but it’s the first time she’s spoken it at all. The first time she lets the thought breathe.

Because compared to Alice, she feels like the wrong choice. The human choice. The fragile one. She’s not ethereal. She stumbles over her words when she’s overwhelmed, knocks over glasses when she turns too fast. Sometimes she says things she shouldn’t, and sometimes she wants more than he can give.

He’s great with controlling his urges around her, but if she catches him off guard…if he falters for one second, it would be too late. She’s seen what a second means to a vampire, how fast they move, how irreversible a mistake can be.

The sound of the doorbell breaks through the thick fog of her thoughts, pulling her out of the spiral with a frustrated groan. Her head thumps back against the couch cushion. “Seriously?” she mutters to herself, the blanket sliding off her lap as she reluctantly stands.

Her feet shuffle across the floor with the energy of an angry storm cloud. She peeks through the window beside the door, expecting…well, she’s not sure what she expects. But there’s no one. No car. No footsteps. Not even a shadow retreating down the driveway.

Her brows knit together in confusion. She unlatches the chain cautiously, keeping the door just barely cracked. Still nothing. No living being in sight. Only a woven basket resting at her doorstep like something from a fairytale.

She frowns, heart thudding with uncertainty as she scans the surroundings again. Nothing moves. Slowly, she opens the door wider, then grabs the basket with both hands and brings it inside quickly, locking the door behind her with a sharp click.

The weight of it is heavier than it looks. She sets it gently on the table, her lips pursed, heart fluttering with nerves. She lifts the cover and stares.

Chocolate. Her favorite brand with cherries. Salt and vinegar chips. A bottle of red wine, wildly expensive and thoughtful. Aspirin and ibuprofen. Three types of pads, carefully packed — super plus with and without wings, night pads.

Her throat tightens. She blinks rapidly, suddenly overwhelmed by disbelief and bubbling affections. Then she spots the note tied with a soft red ribbon.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she opens it:

Darlin’,

I’m sorry it turned out this way. I wish I could be with you and take the pain. Until I can, here are some provisions. Bella helped pick them out. I’ll be back before you know it, so please rest. Don’t skip meals and don’t you dare finish Harry Potter without me.

Yours, Jasper.

The breath she lets out is shaky and filled with emotion. It’s not a sigh. It’s a release. Her anger, her self-doubt, all of it fades under the gentle weight of his written words. Like the tide retreating from shore, leaving soft impressions in the sand. Maybe it was Edward who read her mind and told Jasper. Maybe it was Bella. Maybe it was Jasper all on his own.

She doesn’t care. He did this for her.

He thought about what she needed. He imagined her pain and tried to ease it even from afar. And it’s more than anyone has ever done for her. Her fingers clutch the note, and she presses it to her chest as if it could anchor her there, right in this moment. Her eyes flutter closed. She melts for him. A shaky laugh bubbles up, tender, grateful, a little embarrassed.

“God, if he could see me right now…” she murmurs, walking to the fridge. With the reverence of someone placing a sacred token, she sticks the note beneath a small magnet shaped like a cat. She steps back, admiring it with a besotted smile she doesn’t bother to hide.

He’d tease her for this. Mercilessly. And she’d let him.

That night, sleep doesn’t come easy, it never does when he’s not near, but she has something close. His shirt. She pulls it over her head and immediately inhales. It smells like the forest and she can’t get enough of it, or the lingering undertones of something she realized was part of his allure. Jasper warned her everything about him is meant to draw her in, even his scent and she understands it perfectly now. She clutches the sleeves as she curls into bed, the fabric oversized and comforting as it drapes over her knees. The hem brushes against her thighs, and for the first time all day, she feels safe.

She imagines him beside her, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. Imagines his soft voice, Southern accent slipping though his teasing, murmuring “Darlin’” into her hair. She wraps herself tighter in the illusion until her breathing evens out, the scent of him lulling her into a dreamless sleep.

By morning, the basket still sits on the table, and the note remains where she left it. But the weight in her chest has shifted. It’s not gone, not entirely, but it’s softer now. Quieter. The ache of missing him is still there, but so is something steadier; a thread of hope.

Which makes what she’s about to do even more reckless.

She knows Jasper wouldn’t like it. He’d tell her it wasn’t necessary, that she can manage on her own, that she doesn’t need to go outside their circle to look for companionship. But she needs to do something. She needs to talk to someone. It doesn’t matter how hard she tries to ignore it, but she’s left things unfinished before. There’s just too much she doesn’t want to ignore anymore.

So, she picks up her phone. Her thumb hesitates over the contact for a long second. Then she taps the name and brings the phone to her ear.

It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then, a voice answers. Curious, a little surprised.

“Hello?”

Her voice is gentle, cautious, but clear. “Hi. I know you probably didn’t expect me to call, but… I would really like to see you.”

There’s a pause. Then a soft, knowing chuckle. “Thought you’d never ask.”

--

Y/N hadn’t planned on having company over. Not really. But as soon as she opens the door to find Kim standing there with three coffees and Leah Clearwater trailing behind her with her hands in the pockets of a green windbreaker and a look that says this wasn’t my idea, Y/N finds herself stepping aside and letting them in.

The presence is comforting in a strange, nostalgic way. It smells like damp forest and coconut conditioner, and suddenly, her living room feels less like a waiting room for loneliness.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Kim says, holding up the tray with three steaming paper cups. “Brought the essentials.”

“Coffee is always welcome,” Y/N replies, managing a small smile as she takes the tray and motions them inside. “Even when it comes with sarcasm and judgmental glares.”

Leah raises a brow. “You forgot unsolicited advice.”

Y/N huffs a soft laugh and leads them to the couch. Kim glances around, eyes scanning the walls, the basket still on the table. She doesn’t comment on it, just clears her throat and pulls a folder from her purse.

“I brought something,” she says, opening the folder on the coffee table. “Just an update on the school project. In case you still wanted to be involved.”

Y/N leans forward. The pages are bright and hopeful, full of mocked-up designs for a renovated gymnasium, a small library extension, and a multipurpose art space.

“We’ve officially met the goal,” Kim adds, a little breathless with the excitement of it. “We had an anonymous donor come through last week, doubled the amount of your donations. Sam and Jared have been working non-stop, coordinating volunteers, planning shifts, talking to contractors.”

“Mac hasn’t slept,” Leah mutters, sipping her coffee. “He’s been out in the community center so much I forgot what it’s like to have a conversation without blueprints involved.”

Y/N traces the corner of the folder with her thumb. “That’s amazing,” she says softly, and she means it. “I can’t believe it’s really happening.”

“We still need to finalize the permits,” Kim says, always the realist, “but it’s looking good. We repainted the walls, replaced the windows and doors. They’re working on new light fixtures. I think we’ll actually start working on the gymnasium in two weeks.”

Y/N waits. Kim stirs her coffee. Leah picks at the sleeve of her jacket. The atmosphere shifts, subtly, but it’s enough. Something’s missing.

No…not something…it’s someone.

She tries to ignore it. Tries to focus on the project, on the hope this community desperately clings to. But the name that hasn’t been said, the shadow that’s lingering just outside the conversation, gnaws at her.

It’s not that she thinks of him all the time. She doesn’t. But she does… sometimes. In quiet moments. When the house is too still. When she hears a loud engine rev in the distance. When she sees someone scowl and smirk in the same breath.

She misses him.

More than she should.

More than is appropriate, especially now.

Paul never pushed. He respected her space. He stepped back when she asked him to, and she’s grateful for that. For the restraint. For the respect. But some small, stupid, masochistic part of her aches for him. Misses the way he used to look at her like she was both a question and the answer. Misses the warmth of his voice, the heat of his skin, the tension that always crackled between them like live wire.

Y/N exhales slowly, gaze fixed on the paperwork, not reading it anymore. Her voice comes out softer than intended, like she’s not sure she wants them to hear it at all.

“…How is he?”

She doesn't look at either of them. Just sips her coffee. Pretends her heart isn’t thudding. Kim hesitates. Leah glances toward the window.

It’s only then that Y/N realizes just how hard they’ve been trying not to mention him. Like his name is a house of cards that would topple her if said out loud.

Kim finally answers, her voice gentle. “He’s… quiet. Keeps to himself. Working with Sam when he can.”

Leah snorts. “Working like a maniac, more like. Keeps running into the forest in wolf form and coming back hours later like nothing happened. He’s in pain. You left him for a damn vampire, how do you think he’s doing?”

Kim glares at her, but Leah shrugs unapologetically.

“He’s fine, healing,” Kim corrects, more softly. “He’s not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Y/N swallows thickly. “I wasn’t.”

But the words sound like a lie. The blueprint on the table blurs slightly as her vision stings. She blinks rapidly, then clears her throat, feigning a cough to cover it. She hoped he’d have found someone else. She told herself that often enough when they said their goodbye.

Kim places a hand on her arm, warm, gentle. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I know,” Y/N whispers, setting the coffee down. Her fingers shake as she pulls the sleeves of Jasper’s shirt over her knuckles. “I just… needed to ask.”

The silence that follows is heavier, but not cruel. Not judgmental. It’s almost warm, a quiet, compassionate understanding.

Leah stands first, as if she can’t stand this conversation any longer. “I’m gonna walk around a bit. Get some air.” She glances at Kim shortly and then slips outside, leaving the two of them alone.

Y/N doesn't stop her. She remains seated, her heart caught between guilt and longing, her thoughts tangled in a web she isn’t sure how to escape.

Kim leans back on the couch, watching her with eyes that see far more than Y/N wants to admit. “You still matter to him,” she says softly. “Even if you’ve moved on.”

Y/N’s chest tightens. “I have,” she admits quietly. “I have moved on. But I miss him.”

Kim nods like she already knows the answer. “You’re allowed to miss him. You’re allowed to care.”

Y/N’s jaw locks. Her fingers press harder into the cum until the structure almost crumbles into her palm. “Does he hate me?”

“No one hates you.”

“Leah does,” she snaps, more bitter than she means to sound.

Kim exhales through her nose, shaking her head. “She doesn’t. It just… reminds her of an old wound she never really healed from. It’s like a scab. And this…” she gestures vaguely between them, “picked it until it bled.”

Y/N doesn’t respond. Her eyes drop to the table, to the thin ring of coffee left behind on the wood. This is why she didn’t want to call. Why she almost bailed last minute. She didn’t want to talk about Paul. Didn’t want to admit that even now, with everything she has, with someone she chose, he still lingers in the back of her mind like a bruise that never quite faded.

She shifts in her seat, tries to hide the way her throat tightens. “He hurt me.”

Kim nods once. “He did.”

“Not just emotionally,” Y/N adds. “He humiliated me. Made me feel small. Like I wasn’t good enough to keep around.”

“And he regrets that. Deeply.”

“A little too late for that. “ Y/N covers her face with both hands and drags in a sharp breath. Her voice drops, low and raw. “So why do I still miss him? Especially when I’m happy? I found the one. I know I have. So what the hell is wrong with me?”

Kim doesn’t answer right away. She leans back, her expression softening. “You felt a spark.”

Y/N scoffs.

“I mean it,” Kim says. “Jasper’s your mate, right? That’s what they told me. If it’s anything like what I have with Jared, I get it. That love… it doesn’t go away. It’s all consuming and impossible to deny. But still…you can love more than one person at the same time. Not equally. Not in the same way. But a part of you stayed with Paul. That part’s still calling out, wanting to reunite.”

Y/N stares past Kim, her gaze unfocused. Her fingers curl tighter around her cup again. She wants to deny it. Say she doesn’t feel anything. But maybe Kim is right. Maybe there's a piece of her, stubborn and needy, that still aches for something simpler.

And Kim is right…to an extent. Maybe she has residual feelings for Paul, but to call them love is a stretch. Fact is…Loving Jasper is like courting death. Every moment is a gamble. With Paul, it was chaotic, yes, but easy. No rules. No restrictions. Her body responded before her mind caught up.

That’s all it was, she tells herself. A physical itch she hasn’t scratched in too long. A dumb craving. That’s all it is, she decides. Her need for physical connection that keeps her hanging onto memories best left forgotten. Paul is the past.

“I can’t see him,” she says. Her voice is firmer now, final. “It wouldn’t be fair. Not to him, and definitely not to Jasper. I wouldn’t put my mate through that kind of agony.”

Kim lifts her brows. “Paul loves you -”

“He loves what he thought we could’ve had,” Y/N cuts in. Her tone is sharp. She straightens her posture, squaring her shoulders. “I gave him a chance. Few of them. He blew it. I’m with Jasper now.”

There’s a pause. Kim hesitates. “Yeah… and he’s treating you well, then?”

Y/N’s hand tightens in her lap. “More than well. He’s…” she pauses, finding the right words, “He’s been a dream come true. I didn’t know what love was until he loved me.”

Kim studies her, her lips parting like she’s going to say something else, but she holds back. Instead, she asks, “He doesn’t scare you?”

Y/N lifts her chin. “Does Jared scare you?”

Kim winces. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… out of all of them, Jasper is the most -”

“Don’t,” Y/N snaps.

“- unstable one,” Kim finishes anyway.

Before she can respond, Leah walks into the room, overhearing enough to insert herself. She sets her coffee back on the table and speaks flatly. “And by far the most dangerous.”

“He’d never hurt me.” Y/N’s voice is sharp, instantly responding to their preconceived notions.

“I didn’t say he would,” Leah says, walking over and picking up her cup again. “But when it comes to battles, he’s the one everyone turned to.”

“Battles?” Y/N echoes, narrowing her eyes.

“We had a few. Once with a newborn army after Bella. Another… almost happened with the Volturi.”

“The Volturi?” The name alone makes her skin crawl.

“The ancient ones,” Leah answers with a shrug. “Vampire royalty making all the rules Cullens love to break. Didn’t they tell you? The Cullens are on their radar. It’s just a matter of time.”

Y/N’s stomach twists. She presses her lips together, trying to stay calm. “And Jasper’s the one they rely on?”

Leah nods. “Every time. He’s a strategist. Ruthless. I’d never want to be on the receiving end of his instincts.”

Y/N swallows hard. Her hands are trembling now, barely noticeable, but Kim catches it. Still, she forces a small smile. “Good to know he can handle himself.”

“He can,” Leah says. “Which is why I’d rather you didn’t bring him.”

Y/N’s head snaps up. Her eyes shift between them, her jaw clenching. “Bring him where?”

“My wedding,” Leah says. “It’s this Saturday. Sam and Emily’s backyard. Nothing big. Just the pack and a few friends.”

“Oh.” The word slips out before she can catch it.

Something turns in her gut. She wasn’t expecting an invitation. And now that it’s on the table, it’s obvious what they want. They don’t say it, but she knows. They’re hoping she comes alone. No Jasper. Just her. So he can see her again. So Paul gets his opening.

Y/N lifts her coffee to her lips, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. The silence says enough.

Kim meets her eyes across the table. Her smile is gentle, but it doesn’t reach all the way. “We’d really love it if you came.”

Y/N swallows the bitterness down with a sip of cold coffee. The cup stays pressed to her lips a second too long. When she sets it down, her voice is calm but clipped. “I’m very grateful for the invite, but I’ll have to discuss it with Jasper first.”

Leah scoffs under her breath and raises a brow. “You need his permission?”

Y/N’s entire body stiffens. Her fingers intertwine in her lap. “Not permission. No. I just want to make sure he’s comfortable with it. Same way I’d want him to discuss similar things with me.”

Leah leans back in her chair, folding her arms. Her tone sharpens. “Like Alice?”

The name lands with a punch to the gut, and Y/N’s composure wavers just for a moment. Her anger jumps like bile to her throat, burning for a release, but she forces it down and keeps her chin up. “What about Alice?”

Leah’s lips twist. “Did they hide that from you too? They were the IT couple for, like, a century. Literally married. Multiple times, according to Bella.”

Y/N clears her throat, eyes narrowing slightly. She keeps her hands perfectly still. “I’m well aware,” she says smoothly…too smoothly. “But that’s the past. And I’m his future.”

Leah doesn’t flinch. “I’m sure Alice thought the same.”

“Leah.” Kim warns gently, reaching a hand toward her friend, but Y/N’s restraint snaps.

“What is your problem?!”

The room goes still. Y/N’s voice rings out, sharp and unyielding. She doesn’t blink.

Leah glares back, pushing up from her chair. “My problem? You’re wasting chances with good guys; real, living guys like Paul. Hell, even Jacob. For what? Immortality? Or is it the money?”

Y/N’s fury freezes into something colder. She rises slowly, each movement measured. Her jaw tightens, her eyes cutting through Leah with a quiet venom. “While I’m delighted at the last-minute invitation,” she says coolly, “I’m afraid I have to decline. And now I’m going to ask you to take your leave.”

“Girls, please -” Kim tries to intervene, but Y/N doesn’t look away from Leah.

“Immediately.”

Leah mutters something under her breath and storms out, her footsteps heavy down the hall. The front door swings open and slams shut. The silence that follows is almost louder than the argument.

Kim rises slowly, biting her lip as she picks up the folder from the table. Her hands fidget with the folder, cautious with her words. “She didn’t mean that.”

“She did,” Y/N replies, voice low and even. Her arms cross over her chest, defensive. “Next time, come alone.”

Kim exhales and nods, guilt etched across her features. “I’m really sorry. I knew this was triggering her, but I didn’t think she’d take it this far.”

Y/N softens just a fraction. She reaches out and pulls Kim in for a side hug, holding her briefly. “I don’t regret having you over,” she says. “I’m glad we caught up. I might even stop by the school sometime, see it in person.”

Kim perks up slightly. “You could come tomorrow!”

Y/N hesitates. Her shoulders tense. “I… I’m not sure.”

“Paul’s scheduled for patrol,” Kim says quickly. “He should be gone most of the day. Safest time to swing by is around noon. I know you left a few things at his place… If you want, I can help you get them back.”

Y/N’s mouth opens, then shuts.

She noticed. When she was moving into her grandmother’s house, her suitcases were there, but there were a few items missing - her amethyst bracelet, her pajamas, her face cream and her perfume. She forgot to pack it in her hurry and Paul never gave it back to her either.

“Okay,” she murmurs. “I’d like my bracelet back. It was my mother’s.”

Kim smiles softly, relieved. “See? Easy. We’ll check out the school, take a walk over, grab your things. Jared’s got his spare key. We’ll be in and out.”

Y/N tries to protest, opens her mouth, but Kim’s already halfway out the door, calling out a goodbye over her shoulder. The door clicks shut.

Y/N groans and buries her face in her hands. “Jasper would hate this.”

Her hands drop into her lap, and she stares at the wall across from her, her expression unreadable. It’s a good thing he doesn’t know.

--

The sun hangs high over the La Push reservation, warming the earth but not quite chasing away the sharp bite of wind drifting in from the coast. Gravel crunches under Y/N’s boots as she steps out of Kim’s truck, squinting against the brightness. The sound of hammers and drills echoes faintly from inside the school.

Kim steps out from the driver’s side, tucking a wind-blown strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s coming along, right? They’re getting the new roof up this week. Jared said it should be ready for kids by fall.”

Y/N nods slowly, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She lingers by the edge of the lot, where the dirt gives way to gravel and sawdust. “It looks good. Bigger than I expected.”

“We’re expanding. More families want to stay local these days, instead of sending kids to Forks.” Kim smiles, then nudges her shoulder lightly. “You could help out here, you know. You’d be great with kids. We need someone with a calm presence who doesn’t scare the fourth graders.”

“And you think I won’t scare kids?” Y/N remarks with a soft snort, but her tone’s distracted. Her eyes track a young man lugging planks of wood across the worksite. Seth, if she remembers well. “They won’t like me.”

“I disagree. You have that trustworthy look.”

Y/N hums noncommittally, gaze dragging over the building again. Her arms stay folded, tight against her ribs.  They walk side by side down the path toward the frame of the school. Kim points out the future classrooms, the cafeteria-to-be, the room she wants to turn into a library.

“You could help with that,” Kim says gently. “Decorating, organizing, maybe design the garden we plan to make if there are any funds leftover… It’d give you something else to think about.”

Y/N’s eyes flicker sideways, narrowing slightly. “You mean something besides Jasper.”

“I didn’t say that,” Kim says, though her expression gives her away.

Y/N lets out a breath, short and sharp. “But you meant it.”

Kim stops walking. Her shoulders sag a little as she turns to face her. “I didn’t mean anything bad, Y/N. I’m not judging. I’m just… worried. That’s all.”

Y/N’s back straightens. “Worried about what? That I’m happy?”

“No,” Kim says, quick to respond, holding up both hands in surrender. “I know you care about him. And I know he makes you happy. I can see it in you, even when you’re being all guarded and stubborn. But it’s okay to talk about the hard parts too.”

“There are no hard parts,” Y/N says flatly. Her lips press together, her jaw tight. “He loves me. He protects me. He’s honest with me -”

Kim tilts her head slightly, voice still soft. “Is he?”

Y/N flinches like she’s been slapped. She looks away, folding her arms tighter. Her voice is low now, brittle. “You don’t get to question that.”

“I’m sorry,” Kim says quickly, stepping forward, her face stricken. “That wasn’t fair. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s fine,” Y/N says, turning on her heel. “I forgot everyone here’s got an opinion about my relationship. About him.”

“Not opinions,” Kim insists, moving to keep up. “Just…concern. We care, Y/N. And you haven’t exactly told us much.”

“Because there’s nothing to tell.” Her voice rises, just a bit. “We’re together. I love him. That’s it. End of story.”

Kim watches her, guilt flashing across her face. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

Y/N softens a fraction, but the tension’s still there, tight in her shoulders, clenched in her jaw. She exhales slowly, instead of snapping again.

From the path ahead, a familiar voice calls, “Well, look who it is!”

Jared rounds the corner with a lopsided grin, arms already spreading wide. His flannel shirt’s rolled up at the sleeves, dust on his forearms, and a tool belt hanging crooked from his hips.

Y/N can’t help the laugh that escapes her. “Jared,” she says, and before she can protest, he’s pulling her into a hug, tight and warm… and slightly sweaty.

“I missed you, girl!” he says, giving her a friendly shake before letting go. “Where the hell have you been hiding? You vanish, and we get stuck with Leah’s bossy attitude every week.”

“Lucky you,” Y/N deadpans.

He laughs. “You still got that sass. Good. I was worried your vampire boyfriend had drained it out of you.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “He likes the sass.”

“I bet he does.” Jared winks at Kim. “She was always a handful.”

“Still is,” Kim mutters, but she’s smiling.

Jared’s smile fades just a bit, turning sincere. “I’m really glad to see you. You look… good. Healthier.”

Y/N nods, the edge of her mouth tugging upward. “Thanks. It’s been…a weird few months.”

He doesn’t press. Just reaches out to squeeze her arm once, then steps back. “You girls going to his house?”

Kim nods. “We are. Just to grab a few of her things. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Alright. Text me if you need help.” He throws them both a wave before jogging back toward the construction site, already barking out a command to one of the younger guys on the crew.

As his voice fades, Y/N shifts her weight, tugging at her sleeves. She keeps her eyes forward now.

“You okay?” Kim asks gently.

“Fine,” Y/N replies.

They walk in silence down the path leading away from the school, through the trees and to the truck. The wind picks up again, rustling the leaves and sending a chill down Y/N’s back.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she mutters, more to herself than Kim.

And together, they drive toward Paul’s house.

The truck pulls up slow and quiet on the gravel road, coming to a stop just before the familiar curve of Paul’s driveway. The house is tucked between trees, modest and unbothered, the kind of place that feels lived in even when no one’s inside. Y/N stays seated for a moment, staring through the windshield like it might offer answers she hasn’t asked for yet.

When she finally steps out, it’s with uncertain steps. Her boots crunch softly on the gravel, arms crossed against her chest even though it’s not cold. The house looks the same as it did the last time she saw it; porch light crooked, wind chime tangled in the corner gutter, the faint outline of a smudge on the front window.

She doesn’t move closer.

Kim rounds the front of the truck, watching her. “You okay?”

Y/N shrugs, but doesn’t answer. Her eyes stay locked on the house.

“Y/N.”

Still, she says nothing.

“You don’t have to go inside if you’re not ready.”

“I’m not scared or worried,” Y/N says quietly. Her voice is even, but tight. “It’s not that.”

Kim waits.

“It’s his space,” Y/N mutters after a moment. “His…safe place. I don’t want to leave my scent everywhere. That wouldn’t be fair.”

Kim tilts her head. “He wouldn’t mind. You know that.”

Y/N’s lips twitch downward. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

The silence between them stretches out.

Kim steps closer. “Do you regret the way you left things?”

Y/N stiffens. “No.”

“You sure? Because… the way you’re looking at this house right now -”

“I said no,” Y/N snaps, more sharply than she means to. Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides now, knuckles pale.

Kim doesn’t flinch. She’s patient, calm, like she knew this would happen.

Y/N exhales hard, squeezing her eyes shut. “It’s just… it all happened so fast. One second we’re deciding to give us a shot, the next I’m packing up and walking out the door. And he didn’t even stop me. He didn’t even come home that night or the next day!”

Kim watches her carefully. “Do you wish he had?”

“No,” Y/N lies instantly, and a little too loudly, because she knows if he came back and explained things or just tried to, she might have folded and she’d have never met Jasper. She forces a scoff. “We weren’t right for each other. We would be toxic. In those three days I’ve known him, all we did was argue or have sex. It’s not something to build a relationship on. And now I’m with Jasper. Someone who listens. Someone who…who makes me feel seen.”

Kim doesn’t speak.

Y/N avoids her eyes. “Paul was fire and chaos. But Jasper makes me feel wanted. Safe. Settled.”

“Settled,” Kim repeats, quietly.

Y/N’s jaw tenses. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“No,” Kim agrees softly. “It’s not.”

They stand in silence again, the wind rustling through the tall grass at the edge of the lot. Y/N glances back at the house. Her shoulders sag, just a little. Her voice, when it comes, is lower, more brittle.

“I know what you’re thinking. That I still have feelings for Paul.”

Kim opens her mouth, but Y/N cuts her off.

“And maybe you’re right. Something might be lingering, but it’s just this… ghost of a feeling. A memory. It’s not love.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Kim says gently.

Y/N finally looks at her. “Then say what you mean.”

Kim hesitates. “I think part of you still hurts from the way it ended. And you haven’t let yourself feel any of it. Because it’s easier to be angry, or cold, or distracted with someone new.”

Y/N bristles. “Jasper isn’t a distraction.”

“I know. But you haven’t been honest with yourself, Y/N. About what’s bothering you.”

“I am honest -”

“No, you’re not,” Kim says, and her voice doesn’t rise, but it lands heavy. “You’re not mad at Paul. Not really. Not anymore. But you are mad at Jasper. You just don’t know how to say it.”

Y/N flinches at the insinuation.

Kim softens. “He didn’t tell you about the Volturi. Or the newborn army. Or Alice. I saw it on your face yesterday.”

Y/N turns her face away, blinking hard. He didn’t even tell her about Bella’s pregnancy or about the process of transforming into a vampire and he didn’t explain exactly what Edward warping minds means, but she’s not going to feed Kim more ammunition against Jasper. “He didn’t lie.”

“But he didn’t tell you.”

“I didn’t ask -”

“Because you didn’t know what to ask,” Kim finishes. “And he knew that. But he didn’t offer anything either. And you’re allowed to be angry about that.”

Y/N’s throat tightens. She looks back at the house, willing her face to stay neutral.

“I’m not angry,” she says, voice flat.

Kim watches her with that same quiet patience.

“I just…” Y/N swallows. “I just want my bracelet back. That’s all. You can go inside without me.”

Kim studies her for a moment, then nods. “Okay.”

Y/N doesn’t watch her go. She turns away, arms hugging herself, and stares out toward the tree line instead.

The breeze picks up.

She remembers the first time she came to this house. Her high heels were sticking in the mud, Jared was teasing them both and Paul looked pissed she was there. But he held her. He let her sleep in his bed. He showed kindness…and he was an asshole. But the way he would touch her…it was undeniably magical.

Now she can’t even look at the place without feeling like she’s intruding. She scuffs her heel into the dirt, jaw clenched, eyes burning for no reason she’s willing to admit.

Behind her, the door creaks open. She hears Kim’s footsteps enter the house. Y/N doesn’t turn around. She hears more rustling behind her, but it’s not Kim.  She knows it before she turns, feels it in the air, a shift in the wind, electricity prickling across her skin as a warning. She holds her breath and then she hears it.

“Y/N?”

She turns slowly.

Paul stands on the porch, shirtless, a pair of dark sweatpants hanging low on his hips, chest glistening slightly like he ran all the way here. His hair is damp at the edges, his eyes wide and disbelieving. For the first time in a long time, he looks completely unguarded.

He stares at her like she might disappear if he blinks.

“I…shit,” he breathes. “I didn’t think…I wasn’t sure if it was really you.”

Y/N straightens, arms folding across her chest automatically, trying to contain the sudden burst of nerves in her gut. “Hi.”

Paul rubs a hand over the back of his neck, blinking like he’s still trying to make sense of her being real. “I was on patrol. I caught… your scent. Thought I was losing it. Had to follow it. Had to know.”

His voice is rough, hoarse. He swallows hard. “It really is you.”

“Kim’s inside,” she says quickly, tone polite, keeping it short with him. “She’s just grabbing a few things I left behind.”

Paul’s gaze flicks toward the door, then back to her. “Right. Of course.” Silence continues as she avoids his gaze like the plague. His jaw works as he looks at her, really looks. “You look… different.”

Y/N doesn’t answer.

“Not bad different,” he adds quickly. “Beautiful. You were always beautiful, but…hell, love looks good on you.”

Her heart twists. She doesn’t know what to do with that. “Thank you.”

More silence. The air between them is becoming heavier, not lighter. Y/N casts her eyes away, toward the trees once again.

“You been to the school yet?” he asks after a moment, voice softening. “It’s coming along. Leah picked the paint colors herself. Still shocking she’s getting married, honestly.”

“I’m sure she’ll make a lovely bride,” Y/N replies.

He chuckles under his breath. “She will.”

She nods.

Paul watches her carefully. “Will you come? To the wedding.”

Y/N’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “No.”

He shifts. “Why not?”

“Because it’s easier for everyone if I don’t.”

He watches her closely, eyes narrowing. “That it, or are you worried about seeing me?”

Y/N stiffens. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He nods, tongue running across the inside of his cheek. “Right.” A pause. Then he speaks, lower, almost a whisper in the wind, “I missed you.”

Y/N swallows. “I’m with Jasper now.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Her fingers tighten around her elbows, holding herself together.

Paul studies her. “How’s he treating you?”

“He’s good to me,” she replies carefully.

“You happy?”

“Yes.”

Paul squints. “You sure?”

Y/N’s eyes snap up to his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “You just… you look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

“I’m not going to justify my relationship to you.”

“I’m not asking for justification,” Paul says, voice low, rough. “I’m asking if you’re okay. Because I know you, Y/N. I know when something’s eating at you. And right now, you look like you’re choking on something.”

Y/N’s body goes rigid. “You don’t know anything about me anymore. You never did.”

Paul doesn’t back down. “But I know them. I know what happens when a human falls in love with one of them. I’ve seen it happen with Bella and it wasn’t pretty.”

She says nothing.

“Did he tell you about it?”

Y/N flinches.

“He didn’t, did he?”

“I didn’t ask,” she fires back. “He’s not a liar!”

“No, he’s just real good at omission.”

Y/N’s hands drop to her sides, fists clenched. “He’s my mate.”

Paul’s jaw tics. “That doesn’t mean he’s perfect.”

“No, it means he’s mine. And I love him. You don’t get to question that.”

Paul steps down from the porch. “I’m not questioning what you feel. I’m questioning whether he’s earned it.”

“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t do this.”

“I need to know you’re safe, Y/N.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

Her eyes flash. “No! Why does everyone keep assuming that?!”

“Then why are you flinching every time I mention his name?”

She shakes her head, furious. “Because you’re twisting things!”

“Am I?” His voice rises, anger creeping into every word now. “Because the Y/N I knew wouldn’t let someone keep her in the dark just because it’s convenient. She’d demand answers. She’d tear someone apart before they made her feel small.”

“I am not small and you barely knew me at all,” she growls.

“That’s fair…But answer me this then…Why are you here? If he’s so perfect and you’re so in love, why are you here?”

She storms a step closer, finger pointed at his chest. “You don’t know anything about what I’ve been through. He stood by me as I recovered. He stood by me when I faced my past and finally found my voice. He’s never wavered and I love him. I chose him then and I’d choose him again.”

Paul’s eyes darken. “Even if it means becoming one of them?”

The world goes still. Y/N recoils at the disgust in his voice and the angry tone. He sees it instantly and regrets it the second it leaves his mouth, but the question’s already hanging in the air, heavy and poisonous and real.

She doesn’t deny it. She doesn’t confirm it either.

Instead, she lifts her chin. “That’s none of your business.”

Paul exhales shakily, jaw clenched. “It is if it means losing you forever.”

“You already lost me,” she whispers.

That silences him. A long, painful pause passes between them, everything unsaid thudding against their ribs. Finally, the door creaks again, Kim stepping out, holding a small box.

Y/N steps back, regaining composure, brushing her hair from her face. Her voice is smooth, polished. She opens the box, placing the bracelet on her wrist gently. “Thank you, Kim.”

She looks to Paul, raising her hand slightly. “Don’t confuse my presence here for something that it isn’t. I just needed my mom’s bracelet back.” She pauses, letting out a heavy sigh. “For a moment I thought we could be friends. Guess I was wrong.”

Paul doesn’t speak again as he watches her get in the truck, and despite his wish, Y/N doesn’t look back.

As the truck’s engine rumbles to life, Paul stands rooted to the gravel path, arms slack at his sides, chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. The dull throb in his jaw tells him he’s clenched his teeth too long, but he can’t stop. Not now. Not with her scent still in the air, clinging to him like a ghost that refuses to leave.

He watches the truck pull away, slow, steady, ordinary and yet everything in him is screaming. A single moment stretches into eternity. Kim is driving, Y/N is in the passenger seat. Her profile is stiff, her posture unreadable. But Paul sees everything. The way her fingers twitch in her lap. The tightness around her mouth. The blankness in her eyes that he’s seen before, when she was shutting herself down. When she was afraid of feeling too much.

He exhales through his nose, trying to stay grounded, but it’s no use. The longer he stands there, the worse it gets.

She’s going to become one of them.

The thought is like barbed wire, wrapping tighter and tighter around his heart. He feels the heat building beneath his skin, threatening to crack through.

She didn’t say yes. She didn’t say no either. And that is burned into his memory like a brand. He replays it over and over, eyes wide, breath growing sharper.

She didn’t correct him. She didn’t deny it. Not even out of anger.

Paul growls low in his throat, pacing now, hands curled into fists at his sides. The idea of her letting them change her, letting him do it, makes his skin crawl. His muscles twitch violently, begging for release. He wants to phase. He wants to run. But there’s nowhere to go that doesn’t feel worse.

That vampire hid things from her, important things. Things that mattered. Paul saw it in her eyes, even when she tried to bluff. She’s still trying to make sense of all the pieces, pretending it doesn’t bother her. Pretending it’s fine. But he saw the way her voice shook. The way her shoulders stiffened when she talked about him.

If she was truly happy, would it be that hard to say so?

Paul breathes through his nose again, sharper this time. His heartbeat’s erratic now, pounding in his skull. The wolf is clawing at the surface, hot and seething and barely contained.

You walked away.

The thought hits him like a blow.

You walked away, and you told yourself it was the right thing. That she deserved better. That he would keep her safe. And now look at her, spinning lies just to keep her reality intact.

He drags a hand through his hair, frustrated, helpless, heart pounding.

Maybe he should’ve fought harder. Maybe one more step toward her, one more truth, one more apology, could’ve changed everything.

But she looked at him like a stranger.

And still…still, he felt the pull. She smelled like home.

Paul leans against the porch post, breathing ragged, eyes locked on the now-empty road. His fists clench again, tighter than before. And for the first time in a long time, the anger doesn’t go away. It festers.

She doesn’t belong to him anymore. Maybe she never did, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to let go.

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

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[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Edward Cullen (7/8)

*TW: experimental smut at the end

WC: 3k

The girls were the first to find out about Friday night. While Angela pitied and grounded her, Jessica made a bigger deal out of it than she needed, grilling bout the state R was in mentally, and how she thought things would proceed with Tyler. She could only assume that Tyler kept quiet about it or told the guys because Monday at lunch Mike sent her a stink eye that screamed ‘him but not me?’. As awkward as lunch was, with Tyler splitting from the group to brood elsewhere, R just didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with the drama. 

She left immediately after class, heading home and brooding on her couch. Perhaps from time, but what had happened between her and Edward no longer felt as worse as it was - even the intense feelings of Edward murdering a man felt subtle. She sat on the couch and tried to work away the thoughts of vague attraction to an inhuman creature, but that only made it worse. 

Human men felt so much more vile and mundane. She had been so used to being sexualized that it almost disgusted her. Glaring at the chat screen, her eyes blurred out the horribly perverse dirty talk. A man with a potbelly and grey hair was behind objectifying words.

“Do you understand better now?”

R tensed, shutting the laptop screen slowly. Edward was standing beyond the coffee table. He looked utterly depressed and shaggy. But even with unkept hair and a dirty t-shirt, he looked so mesmerizing. Images of his terrifying acts reemerged, reminding her that mankind itself was the problem, not just humans. Edward had done so many things…

“It’s my nature, R,” he muttered, sitting on the couch beside her. “But even so, has anything I’ve done truly hurt you? I miss you, my love. I try so hard to stay away, but I am selfish. I apologize.”

His fingers curled on the couch next to hers. Kinetic energy between their hands felt more intimate somehow. R stared at Edward adamantly, reading his expression.Her eyes softened. 

“Please understand me, R. What is taboo and immoral for humankind is natural and necessary for my specie’s survival, and even then, I try to refrain from being so.”

“But how could it ever work?”

“Does it matter? I’ve been alone for so long, and yet, my heart was suddenly held by you. It is unfathomable that life is meant to be any other way. I am tethered to you, R, both body and soul. Life is nothing without you. And wether you blame it on my species or not, you want me the same. I… have even thought about you becoming like me.”

“You’ve isolated me,” R argued. “You know I have no other options because all other options are so much worse.”

“Is that truly what you think of me after all I’ve done to protect you?”

"I didn't ask for your white knighting. Police exist.”

“Police couldn’t do what I can.”

R fell silent, going for her laptop again, wishing to resume work to now avoid the elephant in the room. Edward’s eyes squinted in disappointment as he watched her work, seeming to be repulsed by the contents. It seemed impossible that a creature fueled by the blood and guts of other animals could look so ill.

“Please - stop that,” he voiced after a while, his voice trembling. “I can’t… I can’t bare to watch you talk to such disgusting animals that way.”

“Grow up, Edward. It’s been my living for almost three years,” R snapped, but felt a tinge of guilt. “You’re not in the Victorian era anymore.”

“I don’t understand how you could be so okay with objectification - these ‘men’ care nothing about the beautiful person you are. They’re nothing more than shallow perverts.”

“Well, they’re shallow perverts who can rarely pay the right amount for the real deal. As horrible as they are, so am I, considering my job is to scam them out of as much as possible without giving them the slightest return except some lingerie photos.”

“But you’re giving out those relics to undeserving -“

“Stop being a controlling prick, Edward. Leave me alone.” 

R felt a wave of self-consciousness. Rarely did people spy on her work, as it was technically supposed to 100% anonymous. She couldn’t take the sudden feeling of shame. She thought back to what what Tyler had told her - she was a prude. But at least not gave her some satisfaction that she wasn’t selling herself for free to some heartless pervert man, right?

“Isn’t your… goal… to have enough money to be free to do as you please?” Edward inquired carefully. 

“Yes. Isn’t it everyone’s?”

“”For free of charge, you could quit your job,” Edward eased. “I have millions in my bank account that I’d give to you in a heartbeat if you’d only stop your work. I can’t stand the thought of…”

“This feels like we’re going on circles.”

Edward suddenly glared, snatching the laptop away from her. “Just listen to me for once in your life, my love.” 

R scowled reaching back toward it, but in one swift motion, he crushed the laptop between his hand. She watched wide-eyed as pieces of technology crumbled onto the ground. She stood, mouth agape and angry. 

“I’ll buy you a new one later.”

 “Like hell you will —!”

She reached to slap the vampire, fueled by rage, despite the fact that she doubted it would do much of anything. Edward’s face remained stagnant from the motion, and that only made her more infuriated. She leaned and began slapping the man’s chest so hard her hands hurt. She felt controlled and trapped, like an ill behaved dog contained to a doghouse, or a prisoner chained in a cell. Edward did not react to it, his eyes seeming to only grown softer as he watched.

Angry tears fell down her cheeks and her hands became limper and number from pain. As she flung one last ill-intended punch, Edward caught it, pulling her hand to his lips and kissing it softly. R glared, her heart beating loudly against her ribcage. Edward fluttered his eyes as he did so, taking R’s breath away. 

As possessive and creepy as he was, Edward was undeniably handsome. 

He smiled coyly, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. Her eyes widened and face flushed. The made intense eye contact for a moment.

“Please love me,” Edward pleaded seductively, batting his eyes across her figure.

“Do I even have a choice?”

Edward pulled her toward him, gently kissing her. R positioned herself more comfortably to straddle him, getting lost in the passionate motion. Their lips weaved together like butter and Edward’s skin, though cold, was buttery and smooth, unlike Tyler’s, who had been roughly shaved and callous, lips chapped. But. Edward was a creature made for perfection, drawing her heart in no matter what she did to deny it.

 In the midst of parting lips and hazy stares,  he hoisted her off, hands cupped beneath her. R swung her arms around his shoulder, clinging, m and didn’t even notice how she was the one instigating a deep kiss, weaving her hands in his tufted locks of hair. Edward groaned in delight, and with only a few bumps from the stairs, R was placed softly on the mattress, Edward hovering above her. 

Through his t-shirt, R groped his strong and toned arms. One side of herself fought the attraction while the other side wanted to throw all caution to the wind.

“I am but a hypocrite,” Edward airily breathed into the crook of her neck, nose flushing against the scent of her warm and living skin,” for I am undeserving of your grace and light as well.”

R gulped. She felt more in a trance than she had when drunk. Edward’s presence was… hypnotizing.

“Just… stop talking and touch me, Edward.”

~~~~

[experimental smut section - this is the end of the chapter if you do not wish to proceed]

Edward took the invitation with a vigor R knew no man could replicate. She felt his teeth graze against her collar bone, anticipating any sudden pain, but all that came was pleasure as he kissed and licked her neck. R fiddled with the t-shirt, her head fuzzy. Not even seconds later, Edward had torn the shirt right off of his body, leaving scraps of fabric on the bed.

The man sparkled from the adorning setting sun, leaving her stunned. Edward paused briefly, relishing as she trailing her hands across his glittering chest. He seemed to melt under her living, breathing touch. Her fingers paused at the seam of his jeans, threatening to undo the zipper. Her eyes seductively flitted to and from the zipper. Edward’s Adam apples bobbed in anticipation before his eyes gleamed red and he seemed encumbered with furious attraction, tearing off the rest of his clothing as well.

Everything about his body was sculpted and beamed brilliantly, leaving R in awe. No human man could look so godlike. Edward resumed his focus to her, eyes pleading for permission to pull off her tank top. R gulped but hardly felt the same apprehension that she did with any other man. Edward’s chilling touch felt intoxicating, the idea alone filling her with an ecstasy she never knew was possible.

Despite how rough he was with himself, he gently and slowly lifted the tank top off of her as R sat up. There was a sense of teenage clumsiness and inexperience, but sexual prowess almost felt like a natural instinct his species had. And then his hand fiddled to unclip her bra, one finger slicing through the metal. The bra felt to the side.

Edward held such a tenderness in his gaze that she wanted to give him everything in that moment. 

“God, Edward, I’m not a doll. Just fuck me already.”

His nostrils flared and she hardly felt the tear of her shorts as they were discarded. Edward pressed himself flush against her, weaving his mouth around her breast. His tongue flicked across her nipple, and R couldn’t help but release a quiet moan from the sudden stimulation. He groped her other breast, overcome with the urge to pleasure her further. He attacked her breasts with a ferociousness that sent her over the edge. 

R arched her back, hands clawing into his neck and back. Her body was on fire, trembling from everything his tongue and hands did to her. Edward arched his back to press her prodding hands further against him, an inhuman growl of pleasure esc aping his lips.

With one hand removing, his tongue moved further down R’s stomach, taking in every scent and taste of her flesh. He was in a frenzy; but hardly one that craved blood. With one leg pushing between her’s, he spread her legs. Edward did not waste time before shoving his head down below.

An unfamiliar sensation rocked through her body. Her legs clamped around Edward’s head, feeling his tongue swirl across her womanhood. His hands clamped onto her legs, cherishing the crushing sensation, almost pulling the legs closer shut. His nails grasped onto her flesh, and neither person noticed the scratches that remained from his touch.

R was howling with moans, feeling the instinctual animal need to have every part of him. His motions felt so good that she could hardly stand it. She pulled at his head desperately to pull him up, but Edward only burrowed deeper.

A climax suddenly believed the woman as she arched her back to an agonized state. She let out a shrieking moan as her body suddenly went limp. “E - Edward -!” she choked, tugging painfully at his head for him to stop. 

He paused, red eyes glazing over her body seductively. In a blur of movement, he was once again on top of her, placing a soft kiss to her neck. R felt him prod at the entrance, fingers seeming to prepare her for more. He once again seemed to be asking for permission in a way that words could never express. His eyes glistened with a desire R knew no human could feel for any creature - a passion and possession so deep that could only be reciprocated when releasing one’s animalistic nature.

“Please,” he croaked.

“Yes.”

R had a sudden shock of electricity run across her body as Edward entered. His elbows were planted beside her head as he thrust. Gentle at first, but as Edward’s sounds increased, so did his carnal pace. Tears pricked at her eyes as her eyes lolled into the back of her head as Edward went age a pace that was not human. If not for him keeping her in place, she was certain she would have been sent through the wall.

It was such a careful mixture of pain and pleasure that R was overwhelmed and hardly cognizant. The world blurred around her as Edward continued to trail on her neck and earlobe before reigniting a fiery kiss.

Edward let out a quiet gasp as he released, suddenly halting. R’s world was so discombobulated that she could only focus on the warm sensation that filled her. But not even seconds later while the man panted, R was flipped. Her hands naturally planted against the bed frame, knuckles white. Edward placed one hand beside her head and the other grabbed onto her waist, gripping it tightly enough to draw drops of blood. 

He began all over again, thrusting powerfully into her, despite the fact that R felt the substance dripping down her legs and onto the mattress. R’s mind could hardly focus on the way her body became sore and the various wounds that embellished her body. Effortlessly Edward maintained a pace of ungodly speed.

Suddenly, the bed frame cracked right into two from him grip and the bed collapsed to some degree. But Edward was so intently focused that he only switched position, grunting and heaving lowly as he laid flat and forced R on top, but without the burden of working her, thrusting deeply into her.

If not for the firm grip he had on her hips, holding her up and on top, she would have collapsed from exhaustion. She had no idea how many times she had finished and was losing track of how much he had. The room was cascaded in darkness, with only Edward’s eyes gleaming in the dark. R’s head bobbed up and down, tears streaming down her cheeks as she was rag dolled in the bedroom. 

She had lost sense of time; and it seemed Edward had too. The bed was broken and soaked, as were their bodies. There was hardly any moment slow enough for R to form a thought. Her body was rocked and time seemed like a blur. She hardly noticed when all of a sudden, all sensation stocked. Her body was twitching furiously, yet she felt cold and chilled.

Edward plopped beside her, somewhat pleased by her her exhaustion and brain-numbing collapse. He felt guilt and shame as he gazed across her body, taking notice of the forming bruises, scratches, and scrapes. His fingers were suddenly delicately tracing the woman who immediately felt encumbered by sleep. He pulled her close. He could have gone for far longer, he realized, but his heart felt soft and protective as he traced her skin and brushed the hair out of her face. The bed had cracked on half and there was hardly a pillow intact, but the woman was quick to pass out in his arm.

Edward stayed still that night, consumed by conflicting feelings of satisfaction and horror.

[creatingblackcharacters]

I'm writing a story where the protagonists are based on a character dynamic that I've seen in multiple media that I really like: a trio with a hot-headed and vain character; a tall character who is surprisingly caring and a short character who's frequently in charge of the machines. I noticed I only had made white meaningful characters before and decided to change the tall and caring character into a Black character since I wasn't fond on her design yet and I'm still on a very conceptualization phase. I'd love to hear your thoughts on that.

While searching about Black representation, what to avoid and the traits of problematic representation, I learned about the mammy and angry Black woman stereotypes and tried to think of a way that "surprisingly caring" didn't go to one or both paths.

The main trio (who is lead by the tall character) usually does missions to conceal and heal the "monster of the week", while also protecting other citizens and I thought that, if this isn't a bad idea, the people who conceal and heal the monsters start being harsher with the creatures than they should be, she would frequently stay with a serious resting face, but would frequently be the first to one to ask the people that were in the mayhem if they're okay and need help and give them a water bottle or a spare sandwich if they needed, maybe being a little playful with the children after the situation has been resolved so they feel better, but she wouldn't be so selfless to the point of being hurt and she's open to receive help from others and will receive it so she's not a strong Black woman stereotype too.

She sometimes raisers her voice to the vain man protagonist, but not in an exaggerated way, more like the Fantasic Four scolding Human Torch for being dumb and impulsive and she wouldn't be the only one to do it.

Though they're not protagonists like the trio, she has Black friends so she doesn't end up being like many shows I watched where the Black main character has no Black friend. (I planned a Black woman she's friends with while none of the other characters have friends yet).

Why is the tall character meant to be "surprisingly" caring, and why is it that you've chosen this character to be Black? Why is it a surprise that she's caring? Now that you've made this decision, you now have to think about WHY you did, and how that will now be perceived.

Please refer to my lessons on stereotypes!

Tbh you dipped into all of the stereotypes while trying to avoid them 😅 You said you aren't fond of the design yet, that you're still conceptualizing, but almost everything you DO have about her is of her in regards to what she does for everyone else- there's nothing about her. And that's what's going to make the difference here.

[yohajitou]

[Diabolik Lovers, More Blood - Stella Set Bonus Short Story]

Note: A short story that made me want to cry with happiness. It must be said that AzuYui is the couple with the happiest ending 😭

              〜✿〜

           Under the Blue Sky

—Perhaps human dreams are far more modest than we imagine.

As I gazed out at the vast scene before me, that thought suddenly crossed my mind.

The blue sky, the white clouds, a linen cloth spread out, and on it is a lunchbox.

Inside were sandwiches, a very healthy meal made with ham, tomatoes, and cheese.

Beside it stood a thermos filled with black tea sweetened with honey - warm and sweet.

She and I, along with our two children, laughed endlessly for no reason at all as we ate and drank together.

Once our bellies were full, the four of us sprawled out, watching the white clouds drift slowly across the brilliant blue sky.

The children, full and content, soon drifted off to sleep. Their gentle breaths sounded like the soft whispers of summer insects.

“Is this… happiness…?”

I murmured softly.

She lying beside me in the same carefree pose, quietly took my hand.

“Yes, Azusa-kun.”

She turned her head just slightly toward me and smiled tenderly, gently.

For some reason, that smile filled me with joy. And I smiled with her. My heart felt as clear as the sky above us.

The sensation was something I had never known before - strange, unfamiliar - yet it entered me with perfect ease. Like a pure spring that had always been there, only long forgotten. It enveloped me, stirred something deep inside.

This… this must be what it feels like to be alive.

Though I have existed in this world for so long, whether as a human or a vampire, I never truly understood what it meant to live.

Instead, I only ever kept hurting myself.

But now…

“…I finally understand… It’s all because of you… isn’t it?”

I tightened my grip on her hand.

She smiled, yet in the same moment, a single tear slipped down her cheek.

“What’s wrong…? Why are you crying…?”

Though the tears flowed steadily, she simply shook her head.

I tried to grasp the meaning behind her silent answer. But no matter how I searched, I couldn’t find it.

However, I feel sad when she cries, so I wish she would stop. I just wanted her to keep smiling, forever and always.

I sat up halfway and peered into her face.

But her expression twisted with sorrow.

“Something’s hurting you, isn’t it…? Can’t you tell me…? Please…”

“…”

She said nothing. And I could find no more words to say either.

So I leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her eyelid.

And I whispered, “Don’t cry…”

But still, her tears did not stop.

I wondered, what should I do?

Then suddenly, I remembered the red flowers blooming on the other side of the hill. Maybe if I brought those to her, she would stop crying.

I slowly stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“To the other side of the hill… I’ll be right back.”

I smiled as I said it and began to walk away, but she grabbed the hem of my pants and clung to me.

“What’s wrong…?”

“Don’t go... Please don’t go... Stay here with me… forever. I’ll be fine…”

“……………?”

She looked so desperate that I tilted my head in confusion.

“It’s okay, really…”

I tried to take another step, but she still wouldn’t let go.

“Don’t leave my side… Let’s stay together, always. Look, our children are right here too. So… please?”

“…”

Maybe… she was simply afraid of being alone. She just didn’t want me to go.

I wanted to ease her heart. I didn’t want to make her sad or see her cry. So I sat down beside her again.

“I’m glad… Azusa-kun…”

She let out a sigh of relief and rested her head in my lap. I gently stroked her hair, forgetting all about the flowers beyond the hill. There was only her, in my thoughts.

“Stay with me forever, Azusa-kun…”

“Yeah… forever… Always, always… I’ll stay right here… So don’t cry anymore…”

“Uhm… I won’t cry anymore…”

As I stroked her hair, I whispered quietly.

If what she wished for was simply for me to stay by her side, then I would.

Because my wish… is the same.

Just like this, forever, under the blue sky.

—Let’s keep dreaming of a picnic that never ends.

[scribblestatic]

*watches a bunch of horse videos*

...sigh

So, Izuku's a centaur.

Masterpost Next

(Warning for Body Horror & Child Abuse, because I'm feeling those sorts of vibes, apparently)

--

His quirk didn't come in until he was five, which was kinda late, but really, it happened that way because he was building up more calcium, bone, and muscle strength to be able to take on the transformation.

It's a bit traumatic, admittedly. One day, he's up and about on two legs. Then he gets a fever and stops being able to walk. Then he's delirious for several days as his body changes so completely and utterly. And the next thing he knows, once he's aware again, is that he has more organs, more body parts, and more legs.

And yet...it feels natural to him. He feels right all of a sudden, like he was deformed before.

To everyone who saw the transformation process, however, it's the opposite. He has two hearts: one in his human chest and one in his horse chest, along with a frog (heart-like organ) in each leg. Most of his human chest is now taken up by very, very large lungs, supported by a strong diaphragm near where his pelvis used to be.

Most of his major organs sit in his new horse parts. His teeth and jaws became much stronger, and his ears became equine, sticking from the sides of his head like elf ears. He has square pupils instead of circular or rectangular ones, giving him a wide view. If he's facing forward and looks off to the side, he can see along his shoulder and down his flank a bit, though it's not exceptionally focused. His best field of vision is, of course, right in front of him, but his new eyes allow him to see more above, below, and beside himself.

Right where his pelvis used to be is now his "neck". The flexible and strong muscles around his horse chest and back allows him to be very flexible, much like a horse's neck would be. As long as he keeps stretching and in good health, he'll keep that flexibility, in theory.

His hooves are, surprisingly, cloven, with two little dewclaws on each foot. Considering he otherwise looks like a horse, it's even more off-putting.

His fur is black with a slightly green gleam in the sunlight. He has little speckles of pure black or pure white along his back, mimicking his freckles. His little toddler tail is short and full of curls, and fur trails up from his human waist in a thin, downy triangle to the middle of his chest.

With his current body, he can't neatly fit back into society. The stairs up to their apartment aren't meant to accommodate a little horse body. He takes up more space on buses or trains. Since pants aren't really feasible, he's in long skirts that he sometimes trips up on because the front is too long compared to the back.

And Inko...despite her best efforts, she can't help but feel like this child isn't her son.

She saw the blood. Witnessed new limbs grow, and form, and kick into reality. He was, for a while, a mess of sinew and organs that were quickly reshaping into a little boy. And any time she looked at Izuku, that's what she saw.

She felt terrible. Closing her son inside their small apartment each day as more local news crews kept trying to come and see the child with the late-blooming quirk, the kid whose quirk arrived late and irrevocably changed his body, the one who seemed to have become more beast than man. Something straight out of an old-timey fantasy book.

Going to school was out of the question, because those journalists would just harass them the entire way there, perhaps sneak pictures throughout the day, just to marvel at him. He couldn't fit into a car like normal, had trouble using bathrooms normally because his body had become longer and heavier (sure, he managed by sitting just fine, but his long spine meant he couldn't close the toilet door, and don't get her started on hooves on tile).

Inconvenience after inconvenience, memory after memory. She'd wake in the night, sweating from watching the sheets around her son become drenched in blood. She still hears him crying even while he was unconscious. And eventually she just...

Can't.

One night, she rents a car. She tries to do everything as covertly as possible, holding Izuku's hand as he sleepily wobbles his way down the apartment stairs, still holding onto his little blankie. She shuffles him into the back seats of the car, buckling his human part in as much as she can manage. Then she drives away in the dead of night.

She's still driving when the sun comes up and Izuku's no longer sleepy. He's looking out the windows and talking about whatever he happens to see, unless he's listening to the music she has playing on a lower volume than she used to in the background (his hearing is more sensitive now, louder noises sometimes hurt).

He asks her what's wrong several times, not able to see her face but sensing her tension, smelling her tears.

She never answers that question, even as the buildings become fewer and further in-between, as urban life becomes suburban becomes rural. Soon, most of what is outside is simply land.

One day passes. She sleeps in the car with him, even if they have to pull over to the side of the road. They never stop at an inn, only occasionally eating from the food she had packed in with them for the drive.

Two days. Then they pull up to a car ferry. He's told to stay inside, so he does. He complains that his legs are cramping, but when she shushes him, he quiets obediently. He says nothing as she covers the back of her car, keeping him from looking out and others from looking in. He waits patiently for hours, becoming distressed when he can't leave to use the restroom, and he cries as he apologizes while she cleans the car up as much as she manages. He's also hungry...his body needs more food than it used to, and he has a small child's mouth.

He's bored and tired and hungry and his legs hurt and his mood is absolutely terrible, so he cries and screams and throws a tantrum, kicking the seats and cracking the windows with his hooves. She doesn't yell at him, but her expression screws up real nasty and he sobs at her, asking why this is happening. She doesn't answer, telling him to stay quiet for a bit longer.

Finally, finally, the car leaves the ferry and the cover keeping him hidden is removed so she can see out of the back window. Nothing looks even slightly familiar to him anymore. The fields look even more luscious and full wherever they are.

She pulls up to the fence of a fairly remote-looking place. The sun is high in the sky now. She lets him out, and he squeals and runs and kicks his legs, letting out all the energy that had been brewing in him for hours upon hours. While he does, Inko quietly removes the hay and plastic coverings and such in the back seats.

When Izuku comes back over after watching from a distance, ready to apologize, she stops him, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"...Honey, Mommy's going to go get something, alright? Would you mind waiting here? Because...getting back in the car would be uncomfortable, right?"

Izuku feels uncomfortable, but he isn't sure about what.

"You know...all of this... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, honey. I know you wanted a quirk, and you got one. You got a quirk. And it's... Mommy didn't to good by you. That's why we're on this trip. And that's why I need you to wait here."

He feels tense, like a prey animal does. But he just cries a little, teary-eyed, and says, "Okay."

"Mommy's sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. For...for, uhm--"

"No. It's alright. It's not your fault." She hugs him. "Mommy's sorry... She's sorry she gave you this quirk. But it'll be alright. Just wait here."

"...Okay."

So, Izuku watches as she gets in the car. She sits inside for a minute as the car runs, seeming to cry. And then, it starts driving off.

Izuku watches as it goes off in the distance.

Further.

Further...

Further still...

Eventually, he loses sight of it, and he's on his own near the gate. So, he waits. Because she's going to come back, like she said she would.

And he waits.

Waits...

Waits...

...Waits...

...waits...

And as night begins to fall and his vision worsens with the increasing loss of light, Izuku feels, deep in his heart, that she's not coming back.

[diceroulette]

i could write a whole autism-filled essay about Ai LAS being extensively BPD-coded but also i fear i'd get rocks thrown at me .

EDIT: ALSO TO BE CLEAR I HAVE BPD I HAVE BPD THIS IS WRITTEN BY A BPD HAVER I FORGOT TO FUCKING ADD THAT LMFAO

[monards]

i fear that i don’t acknowledge enough the fact that i KNOW rhinedottir's evil !!! and she's horrible !!! and that she's wholly ireedamable !!! i know and love and respect that fact !!! i'd shoot myself in the frontal lobe if hoyo made her out to NOT be wholly evil !!!! but the reason i always go on and on and on about her humanity and complexity is because. SHE IS ALWAYS DUMBED DOWN !!!! TO JUST THAT !!!! it's literally the greatest and most moving theme (IN MY OPINION!!!) in genshin, that human beings are COMPLEX !!!! and they're MORE than just evil or bad or wtv. we see this through every character to almost ever be introduced to us -> literally just take arlecchino as an example. if anyone was at all paying attention to the discourse around her when the fontaine teaser dropped (and. 4.0 in general) it was the BIGGEST thing to watch people argue between "she's a harbinger, so she's clearly the most evil and the big antagonist of fontaine because of these accounts we have right now !!" versus the argument of "we've only seen ONE perspective of her so far, and it's no duh that all this stuff sucks -- but there's no way she's JUST gonna be all these horrible things,, because literally nobody to exist is just horrible and cruel with zero to no good in them. and also that'd make a shit narrative by hoyo in a story driven game" AND LOOK WHAT HAPPENED !!!! we saw !!! in REAL time !!! that while arlecchino was rightfully cruel and horrible and, yes the things she did were fucked up beyond belief and she should absolutely not be excused for any of it - she is NOT just evil ! she's shown to care, albeit in a fucked up way that only shows she's even more deranged ; but what's so incredibly important about her is the way that her being "evil" doesn't mean she's incapable of anything else. She is evil, yes— but so many of those evil actions have *motives* and *reasons* that explain them (but not excuse or condone!) and, although they don’t save her grace or anything of the sort, they DO show her true character. AND YHATS SO IMPORTANT!!!! She’s capable of being an antagonist while still being justified in some form, and given nuance and backstory and redeemable traits

I am !!! NEVER !!! going to say rhinedottir is a good person. she isn't! no shit sherlock ! how the fuck do you think im gonna go on and ignore the fact she sent both her kids to their deaths, and also fed one to another. dare i say, that is NOT anything good !!! suprise of the century !! woah !!! -- but what i AM gonna say is that she's much beyond that? hello !! not only has the point of her having not a zero good trait or will in her body been. proven false over and over and over again. but it's such ! Sad and not compelling is character choice for her *not* to be nuanced and complex and justified in a fucked up !! — like do you REALLY think hoyoverse (who is clearly capable of, and likes to make) complex characters, who are horrible, while not being *only* those horrible things, would pass up a golden (haha) opportunity to make a characters whose entire existence is JUST that??!,!2????

believe what you want! Do what you want! This is a silly video game that will be eroded along with time in a hundred in so years ! But god so help me, please don’t be willfully ignorant to the complexity and nuance of characters, just because you want a villain. No villain , real or not, is entirely evil. People are complex and multi faceted and people really, really need to hop off this cart of going “okay but stop saying she’s multifaceted because it takes away from her being evil” because it DOESNT! If anything, it makes her so much more compelling . Which is something some people can apparently. Not handle.

[theabigailthorn]

What are we supposed to do now? By ‘we’ I mean UK based trans women and transfems. How are we meant to continue? Knowing the country hates us. The law refuses to accept our existence. Everyone wishes we would just shut up and disappear. How are we supposed to live like this? I know I can’t.

Let me tell you a very funny story that might make you feel better.

Not long ago I called the suicide hotline feeling exactly the way you describe. The volunteer on the other end was an older cis lady, and I was like, "Hey, I'm trans - all this stuff is happening, the government says blah blah blah, the court says XYZ, and I feel like I'm living in this really hostile country that hates me, and it sucks!" I told her how angry I was, how much all this makes me hate by fellow human beings, how much I wouldn't care if Britain sank into the sea or was burned away to ashes along with all its inhabitants, and how ashamed I am of feeling such venom and cynicism.

And there was a bit of a pause.

And the volunteer lady says, "What's trans?"

I - Joker makeup bursting from the pores of my face - explain to her what being transgender is. She has questions like, "So, what was the legal process like, what do you have to do?" and I'm like "Oh HO HO HO! Let me tell you the hoops I had to jump through!" and she's like "Wow, that sounds so difficult?" and I'm like, "HEE HEE HEE I haven't even gotten to the difficult bit yet!" I'm ranting, I'm pacing my living room like a tiger, quoting Merchant of Venice and Coriolanus down the phone to this woman on the suicide hotline, like "If you prick us do we not bleed?! If you tickle us do we not laugh?!" "I banish you, and here remain with your uncertainty!" (She's like "I remember this Shakespeare from school!") It feels like I'm vomiting up this black sludge of hate that I've built up, like people spit on me and I've absorbed all that spit and now I'm burning with it.

So at the end of all this the volunteer lady's like well yeah of course you feel angry, that makes perfect sense! Anybody with a heart would feel the way you do! Of course you feel cynical and bitter and despairing! And she tells me that she hasn't seen any of this, but it's shocked her. She thinks this court case sounds like a really backwards step; she thought Britain was progressive. And I'm like, "I used to think that too, and the loss of that illusion hurts."

But then she goes well look - these judges and politicians, they live in a bubble. They don't really know what life is like for ordinary people like me and you. There are plenty of people in Britain like her, who just don't really pay attention to this stuff. There might be some who throw things at me in the street and treat me poorly, but there are also a lot of people who are just... normal? And fine? And who are just doing their own thing, and who are appalled to discover this kind of thing is happening? And I'm like oh yeah - I guess if the country was destroyed all those people would go too... It's not true that everyone wants us to disappear.

And she says she's going to go home and look all of this up because it sounds like trans people are really being mistreated, and she's like "Thank you for telling me all this. I hope you feel better."

And I'm like yeah you know what, I kinda do. It helped to have someone else go, "I understand how you feel." So, y'know, we've got one more ally at least.

[daydreamer-in-reverie]

Started rereading the Hunger Games series and I feel like it’s so overlooked how in 74th and 75th Hunger Games, we don’t know every Tribute’s names, with Katniss only referring to them by their District numbers but in TBOSAS, we knew every single Tribute by name. We associated them with the clothes they wore on the Reaping Day and Suzanne even goes so far as to describe how they looked, however briefly. We see these Tributes and we’re familiarized with them by the little tidbits provided to the mentors and to Snow and Lucy Gray. But we never get this in the original trilogy.

In two generations, President Snow alienated the Districts from each other so much that Katniss didn’t even care to know all the names of the Tributes sent into the Arena with her, with the exception being those who posed great risk against her safety and those she felt great compassion for (e.g. Cato, Thresh, Rue, Mags, Betee, Wiress etc.). Katniss even went so far as to call the D6 Tributes in the 75th Hunger Games morphlings, for their affinity to imbibe in the drugs that help them forget their own traumas (an incredibly hurtful description, in my own opinion, to be known by the qualities you hate the most about yourself). We never know the real name of the 74th D5 girl, with Katniss only referring to her as Foxface and we don’t even know Marvel’s name until we get to the second book and he was Katniss’ first personal kill. Katniss even kills the D4 girl in the books with the same tracker jacker venom that killed Glimmer and yet still, we don’t know her name. We are so removed from the identity of the other Tributes that we don’t even know what some of them looked like beyond brief descriptions of mangled bodies and dead Tributes in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia.

And, the thing is, Suzanne established the importance of names in the series. Even in real life, we recognize the importance of being named. It is a fundamental aspect of being human. If you’re ever in a perilous situation where a person might be placing your life in danger, we’re told to remind the person that you’re human. “Keep saying your name, how old you are, where you came from. Remind them you are a human being just like them.” Before any propaganda can work against a group of people, refusing to recognize a person’s name is the first step to dehumanization. And just like the people of the Districts, we don’t care enough about the other Tributes to even want to know their names. Their propaganda worked on us, the readers.

In two generations, President Snow completely wiped out any sense of familiarity and camaraderie the Districts may have shared with the other. In two generations, Snow sowed the seeds of distrust and division into the Districts so deeply that even we, the readers, were affected by the effects of Capitol propaganda. In two generations, the Districts ceased to genuinely care about the others beyond the vague sense of injustice they feel for their shared plight. It’s why Career Districts don’t seem to care about killing the other Tributes. How can you care, to show your compassion and humanity, when you can barely see them as people? Yes, they may have been in the Arena with you. Yes, they may have been starved and beaten and forced into labor like you were. Yes, they might be children just like you. Yes, they might be subjected to the same deplorable system that turned you into virtual slaves. But they are not your friends. They are not your allies. They are strange, with different customs and traditions that you have. You do not share the same values. They do not care about you. At the first chance they get, they will kill you with your bare hands and they will do it with alacrity if it meant their survival. There can only be one Victor and it can’t be them. It has to be you.

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, abortion, alcohol, drug consumption.

MASTERLIST

You never spent much time on The Cut, unless you were being dragged by duty, mostly charity events for the local populations, fundraisers for their schools usually.

You always showed up in something tasteful but subtly expensive—pearls, understated Louboutin heels, and a blazer that whispered wealth without screaming it. 

Your mother taught you that.

Now, you sat in Poguelandia, doing god knows what.

The name alone sounded like some bad beach-themed party game. But you kept the snark to yourself—mostly. Sarah swore to you this was her new "thing," her big redemption arc, and who were you to judge? It wasn’t where you pictured spending any afternoon, yet there you were.

Pregnant. On The Cut. Drinking—well, holding—a very flat ginger ale out of a plastic cup.

You smoothed your dress for the hundredth time, light linen in a neutral tone that looked effortless but cost more than most people’s rent, while pretending not to notice Pope and Cleo staring like you were a rare bird that had wandered into the wrong habitat. 

Were they always this... intense? Did people on this side of the island not know how to look away when someone made eye contact? Your mother’s voice echoed in your head. They’re not staring at you, dear; they’re staring at themselves in relation to you. 

Whatever that meant. 

To their credit, they weren’t mean about it. Just... curious, as if you’d wandered in from a wildlife documentary called Kooks in the Wild.

You moved your weight around in your seat, hyper-aware of every grain of sand sticking to your hérmes sandals. Every time you shifted, you felt the grains grinding between the straps and your skin.

Should’ve worn the espadrilles, you thought ruefully, but even then, this wasn’t the world’s most glamorous venue. Sarah had begged you to stop by, though, and you owed her. It was also good for you to leave the house instead of being cupped up inside all alone.

“Okay, seriously, what’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face? Is my makeup smudged? Be honest.”

Cleo snorted. “No, you’re fine, princess. We’re just surprised to see you.”

You were still holding your sad little plastic cup. “Just thought I’d participate in—whatever this is.” You gestured vaguely at the mismatched chairs and string lights that looked like they’d been stolen from someone’s backyard wedding. “Community service?”

It was supposed to come off as witty. You weren’t sure it did.

Pope choked on his drink—sweet tea? soda?—and Cleo chuckled outright. “You’re funny,” she said, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she meant it.

“Thanks?” It came out like a question, and you wanted to die just a little bit inside.

Pope grinned, leaning forward with a chip in his hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who hangs out in The Cut, that’s all.”

You blinked, feigning shock. “You don’t think I spend my weekends in—what is this, a glorified surf shack? I’m crushed.”

Cleo laughed again, which—fine—made you feel a little better.

“Nah, it’s just... you’re different up close. Not like, scary kook different. Just human. Y’know?”

“Great. That’s exactly what I was going for today.”

Pope gestured to the bar. “You want a snack? Chips? Cookies? We have...three options.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

Food. Your stomach growled loudly, as if it had been cued by a stage director. “What kind of cookies?”

He blinked, not expecting you to care. “Uh... chocolate chip? Maybe oatmeal raisin?”

“And the chips?” You pressed, leaning forward now.

“Salt and vinegar,” Cleo piped up, eyeing you curiously. “Barbecue too, I think. Why?”

“Okay, shit, great.” You clapped your hands together decisively. “I’ll have all of it. All the chips, both kinds of cookies. Do you have anything else? Pretzels? Popcorn? Random condiments? I’m not picky.”

Cleo stared at you, her mouth slightly open. “Everything?”

“Yes, everything. Is that a problem?”

She blinked, her eyes darting to Pope like he had an explanation. He shrugged helplessly.

“Woman” she muttered under her breath. “Did you not eat for a week, or...?”

The salt and vinegar chips were divine, borderline transcendent, as you shoved another handful into your mouth. The truth was, you weren’t just hungry—you were still terrified. Every bite, every easy conversation with other people that weren’t Sarah, was a game of jenga to you. One wrong move, one offhand comment, and your secret could be out in the open.

Six more days until this would all be... over. Until the secret growing inside you—the one you’d barely admitted to yourself most mornings—would be gone.

The past three days had been the best you’d felt in ages, cravings and all, thanks to Sarah. She’d slept over, stayed up late talking with you, making you laugh, distracting you from the endless pit what-ifs and why-mes.

It was the longest you’d gone without crying in three months. The longest you’d lived without feeling like you could suffocate at any given moment. With her help, it had been easier to forget—to pretend that things were still okay.

But Sarah wasn’t there, she’d left earlier with John B, something about helping him with a tour.

“You good, princess?” Cleo’s voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked at her, realizing you’d been crushing the chip bag in your hands like a stress ball. “What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to fight that bag of chips,” Pope said, grinning.

You forced a laugh, leaning back and tossing the bag onto the table. “No fighting. Just... intense snacking."

You reached for the chocolate chip cookies he had offered earlier, focusing on the sweetness, the comfort of food that tasted good for once. Sweet, crumbly, safe. If only the rest of you life felt like that.

Pope and Cleo knew something was up, they all did, probably.

Sarah had been glued to your side, and it wasn’t exactly subtle.

Her sudden move to “stay over” at your place had obviously raised eyebrows, especially since you two hadn’t had a proper conversation in months before all this. And there was the beach clean-up, Kie and JJ had been there when you felt ill, and while you’d been too disoriented to keep up with the cover story once Rafe drove you away, Sarah had stepped in later to handle it.

Heat exhaustion. Overworked. Totally fine.

Still, to your relief, neither Pope nor Cleo seemed inclined to pry, perhaps it was pity, or maybe they were just decent enough to let you keep the little shred of privacy you had left. Either way, you were grateful.

“So,” Pope said, leaning back on his elbows and flashing you an easy grin, “How are you finding our place? I mean, other than our fine selection of snacks.”

You swallowed a bite of cookie, forcing a smile. “It’s...charming. Rustic. A real je ne sais quoi vibe.” You waved your hand vaguely, trying to mimic the way your mother used to describe terrible restaurants we’d never go back to.

Cleo snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“It’s cute,” You offered, looking around, “I can tell you guys put your heart into it.”

Pope smirked, lifting a brow. "That's nice of you to say."

You gave a small shrug, feigning nonchalance, but you meant it.

For all the mismatched chairs and questionable decoration, there was something undeniably warm about the place. You weren't used to that—spaces filled with love instead of decorators and florists, it wasn’t bad. Just different.

“I mean it,” you said, brushing crumbs from your lap. “It’s very authentic. ‘Pogue Chic’ or something.”

Cleo laughed, loud and genuine, her grin lighting up her face. “Pogue Chic?"

Pope chimed in, “Hey, don’t knock it. We’re trendsetters. Ahead of its time.”

You smiled, but your mind was already falling back to the sand clinging to your dress and the ginger ale that tasted like disappointment. You’d never say it out loud, but you admired them, that ability to make joy out of scraps. It was something you didn’t quite know how to do. Not yet, anyway.

Cleo leaned forward, her elbows resting on the makeshift table. “So, are we going to see you around more? Or is this just a one-time royal visit?”

You hesitated, twirling the rim of your cup between your fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe. If Sarah keeps dragging me here, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it, the tone he used, or just your hormones fucking you up, but suddenly there were tears in your eye sockets. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head back slightly and praying that the tears stayed put.

These kids, all of them, sitting here like they hadn’t spent their lives scraping by, like they hadn’t been hurt or abandoned or let down a hundred times over by people they loved and trusted. Yet somehow, they were still full of hope, full of life.

You envied that.

You wished you could bottle it, whatever it was that kept them laughing and fighting and welcoming someone like you—a result of privilege and mistakes and heartbreak—into their home. It was humbling in a way that made your chest hurt.

“Does that mean I can choose to order better snacks next time? Maybe some sparkling water? Flat ginger ale is a crime against humanity.”

Cleo snorted, still not fooled by your deflection, but she let it slide.

“Good luck with that, princess. Our snack budget’s about three bucks and whatever we can steal from Kie’s pantry.”

Pope chuckled, tossing a chip in his mouth. “And you’re welcome to contribute if you’re so concerned about the menu.”

It surprised you, how easy it was to talk to them.

On paper, you had nothing in common. They were younger, grew up in a completely different world, and you were used to the polished conversations of country club luncheons and charity galas. 

Here, things were different.

They didn’t seem to care if you stumbled over your words, if your jokes were awkward or if you occasionally sounded like a walking trust fund catalog. They didn’t care about your last name, your family’s money, or any other things that had weighed you down for years.

That was disarming.

You’d spent your entire life around people who mirrored your upbringing—kids who summered in the Hamptons or Barbados, adults who measured their worth in stock portfolios and vacation homes. Now, you were here, in this cobbled-together haven with salt-stained cushions, sitting with people who’d grown up struggling for things you took for granted.

You thought it would feel more awkward or forced, but it didn’t.

It was easy.

Pope sat on the counter, gesturing with a half-eaten chip. “Serious question. How do you even survive on Figure Eight? Do they hand you iced lattes and designer handbags when you’re born, or do you have to work your way up to that?”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, absolutely. The moment you’re born, they issue you a monogrammed diaper bag and a gold-plated pacifier. It’s very exclusive.”

Cleo nearly choked on her drink. “See, this is why we can’t take you seriously.”

Your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with your cousins name, interrupting the fun. You sighed, rolling your eyes before picking it up. “Yes, Top?”

Topper’s slightly whiny tone spilled into your ear. “Can you believe Mom’s threatening to rent out the beach house for the summer? Actual strangers, staying there. What’s next? Turning it into a hostel?”

“Tragic,” you deadpanned, resting your chin in your hand. “Truly, a devastating blow for humanity.”

Pope fake-coughed, mumbling “white rich privilege problems,” while Cleo mouthed, “Hostel!” and shook her head, laughing silently.

“I know. Anyway, I’m coming over later.”

“Where’s your invitation?”

You heard him scoffing, “I’m family, I don’t need one.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Top, you can’t just announce you’re coming over. I might have plans.”

“Yeah, and I’m your family, so those plans now include me,” Topper said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Besides, I’ll bring food.”

Across from you, Pope was already gagging dramatically, holding his stomach as if the mere sound of Topper’s voice made him physically ill. 

“I don’t know if—”

“See you at noon,” he interrupted. “Later!”

The call ended before you could even argue, and you set your phone down with a resigned sigh. 

“Looks like I’m hosting a one-man Topper pity party,” you said, crossing your arms and slumping back in your chair.

Pope clutched his chest. “Will you survive?”

You only left once the sun dipped lower into the horizon, you gathered your things promising Sarah you’d drive safely and talk to her tomorrow.

Cleo, Pope and John B were mid-argument about the best way to fix something in the shack. You felt lighter than you had in weeks.

With a few more quips exchanged and goodbyes said, you walked back to your car. That night, the ache in your chest wasn’t completly unbearable. You weren’t okay, but you weren’t drowning, either.

You’d been terrified of this afternoon all day, worried you’d stick out like a sore thumb or say the wrong thing.

But the Pogues hadn’t cared about your awkwardness, your polished self, or even the giant invisible cloud you carried everywhere these days. They let you just be.

The drive home was quiet, but this time you even hummed along to a song on the radio, which was strange because you couldn’t remember the last time you cared about music or even turning on that thing. When you pulled into the driveway and stepped into your house, it didn’t feel as cold and empty as it did last week.

You set your bag down on the entryway table and kick off your sandals, the floors cool beneath your feet. Heading to the kitchen, you decided to see if there was anything decent for tonight’s impromptu early dinner with Topper. The fridge greeted you with a sad bag of lettuce, half a bottle of sparkling water, and a single container of leftover pasta you weren’t sure was still edible.

“Great,” you muttered, closing the door and moving to the pantry.

The situation there wasn’t much better. Sarah’s latest health-kick contributions—a bag of chia seeds and some organic trail mix—laughed at you from the top shelf. You frowned, pushing them aside to reveal a dusty box of crackers and a jar of Nutella.

“Guess we’re going shopping tomorrow,” you murmured, grabbing the crackers and Nutella to snack on now.

You placed them on the counter and glanced around. The sink held a few dishes from earlier —a couple of coffee mugs, a bowl, a plate.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves, might as well get this out of the way.

Normally, you’d have had someone else to take care of this—stocking the pantry, cleaning the dishes, even deciding on the menu for your lunches. But lately, you’d been scaling back. You hadn’t let anyone go, of course. You could never do that; the staff had been with your family for years, and many of them felt more like extended family than employees. Still, you’d quietly rearranged their schedules, giving them more time off.

They didn’t question it—probably thought it was some new phase, another eccentricity of a bored, privileged young woman.

Truth was, you liked doing these things.

Focusing on something small, tangible, gave your brain a break from drilling itself into a million dark corners. Folding laundry, washing dishes, even the routine of chopping vegetables—it kept your hands busy and your thoughts manageable enough. It wasn’t that you’d suddenly become a domestic goddess or anything. Most of the time, you’d forget to pick up groceries or burn whatever you tried to cook.

It wasn’t about being good at it. It was about doing something.

You looked around the kitchen, noting the little imperfections you wouldn’t have noticed before. A small water stain on the counter from where your glass had sat too long, the scuff marks on the cabinets where your chair scraped when you leaned back. They weren’t problems to be fixed—they were just signs of life.

And right now at that very moment, life felt…okay.

The house didn’t seem as cold or empty when you were doing things for yourself, even if it was mundane work. You finish up wiping down the counters, glance at the time—definitely cutting it close—and head toward the dining room to tidy up a bit.

Topper was not the type to notice if the place is spotless, but you always liked things to look... presentable, yourself included.

You heard the doorbell ring in the distance, he was early as usual, probably checking his watch just to make sure he wasn't a second late.

"Of course he’s early," you muttered to yourself, a little smirk pulling at your lips.

You walked towards the front door, ready to greet him, but when you opened it, your eyes immediately locked onto the large takeout bag in his hand. It smelled... amazing.

Topper grinned at you, an exaggerated flourish as he held up the bag.

“Guess what I brought?”

“You brought... Korean chicken wings? Really?”

“Hell yeah, I did!” He stepped inside, completely ignoring any formalities and heading straight toward the kitchen, “They just opened.”

He placed the bag on the counter with the confidence of a man who knew he’s just won “Best Dinner Host” without even trying. You peeked inside, the crispy wings drenched in a glossy, sweet-spicy sauce that looked downright delicious.

Topper laughed and took a seat, pulling out the wings, not even bothering with plates. “You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes but sat next to him, picking up a wing, the heat of it still making your fingers tingle. The crispy exterior cracked open with a satisfying crunch as you bit into it. It was everything you'd hoped for—tangy, spicy, perfectly cooked. You nearly moaned in pleasure, not even caring that your cousin was watching you with that cocky grin on his face.

“You look like you’ve seen the light,” He teased, leaning back in his chair as he grabbed a wing of his own.

“I mean,” you said, savoring another bite, “this might make up for you barging in uninvited.”

“Barging?” He clutched his chest dramatically, mock offense radiating from every inch of him. “I'm saving you from a night of sad dinners, and this is the thanks I get?”

You gave him a pointed look, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself.

“Fine. Thank you, Topper. You’re the hero of the day. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, grinning as he reached for another wing. “What’s new? Still slumming it with my ex and the Pogues?”

“First of all,” you said, wiping your fingers on a napkin, “slumming it implies I’m suffering, which I’m not. And second, Sarah’s not a pogue. She’s pogue-adjacent.”

“Pogue-adjacent?” He snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time over there.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back. “You basically live at Kildare Brewing these days. That’s like, one pogue away from full assimilation.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then stopped, realizing you had a point. “Okay, fair. But only because they have good beer."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up, but curiosity got the better of you. You hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you knew by experience, that was never a good thing.

“So... Ruthie,” you started, watching him over the rim of your glass as you took a sip.

Topper paused mid-chew, looking up at you like he wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation. “What about her?”

“I mean, you two are still together, aren’t you?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “We’re… not talking right now.”

You tried not to look pleased, but a rush of vindication bloomed in your chest. You'd grown to hate her, plain and simple. Her recent proximity to your cousin had always baffled you. He wasn’t perfect, but surely, he could do better. 

“I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, reaching for another wing. But then he stopped, like whatever he was thinking was messing with his head.

“What happened?” You asked, trying to sound more curious, concerned, than nosy.

You weren’t sure if he’d tell you, but the look on his face made it clear something big had gone down.

He hesitated, debating whether to answer. Finally, he sighed. “She... started a rumor about you.”

Your head jerked back in surprise. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced like he’d swallowed something sour. “She said you passed out at the beach cleanup and decided to spread some bullshit about you doing drugs.”

You just stared at him. “She what?”

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised.

You knew what she was capable better than anyone, especially when she was bored out of her mind.

“I didn’t believe it,” he added quickly, his tone defensive, as if that made it better. “I told her to shut the fuck up about it, but you know how she is. She thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” Your voice was sharp now, “She thought it was funny to spread lies about me? About drugs? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it’s so messed up. That’s why I’m not talking to her. I told her if she couldn’t act like a fucking decent human being, we were done.”

You blinked, stunned.

You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the fact that Ruthie had stooped so low or that Topper had finally stood up to her. You shook your head, biting back another nasty comment about how awful she was. You’d been saying it for months, and he hadn’t listened.

No point in beating a dead horse now.

“It’s about time you saw what she’s really like. She’s really bad fuckin’ news, Top. Always has been.”

He gave a low grunt, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “Yeah. Took me long enough, huh?”

You didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow and sipped your water.

“She’s always been weird about Sarah,” Topper muttered, almost to himself. “Even when we were together, she’d find these ways to dig at her. Like that one time at Midsummers—”

“—When she ‘accidentally’ spilled her drink on Sarah’s dress,” you finished, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I remember. She’s always had this thing about trying to one-up her. Honestly, it’s so pathetic. But you never listen to me, so.”

“Okay, ouch.” He threw a crumpled napkin at you, which you easily dodged. “I listen to you sometimes.”

“Do you, though?” You gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah, I do!” Topper protested, though the whine in his voice made him sound more like the teenager he used to be, back when he’d follow you around during family holidays like a puppy. “Just… selectively.”

“Selective listening isn’t listening, dumbass. You’re just proving my point.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but didn’t answer, reaching for another wing instead. He took a bite, chewing dramatically, as if the exaggerated crunch would somehow end the conversation.

“Look, I’ve been saying for months that Ruthie’s bad news. Since she showed up at last year’s Christmas party wearing a dress identical to Sarah’s, just in a different color. You thought that was a coincidence?”

Topper groaned, dropping the wing. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Are you happy now? Can you stop rubbing it in?”

You grinned, propping your chin on your hand.

“Oh, I could. But what kind of older cousin would I be if I didn’t remind you how often you’re wrong?”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

You shrugged. “Old enough to know better than to date someone that awful.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. I get it.” He looked over at you again, his gaze softer, this time, “But seriously, you’ve been off lately. If there’s something going on, you can tell me, y’know? We’re family, even if I don’t listen to you half the time,” he added with a small smile, though his eyes were searching, hoping you’d let him in.

It would be so easy to tell him the truth—that you were pregnant, scheduled for an abortion in six days, and drowning in uncertainty and dread.

But he was still Rafe’s best friend, and the risk of this ever reaching him was too high. Instead, you forced a lightness into your voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle. And right now, I desperately need the bathroom.”

He looked at you skeptically, not fooled for a second.

“You’re really okay?” he pressed, his voice dropping to a level that told you he wasn’t going to let this go easily, "I texted and called before, you didn't answer. Thought you were resting from the scare."

You’d been having such a calm, easy time with Sarah, you almost forgot about everything else. The thought of picking up the phone, letting all that anxiety and worry back in, just wasn’t appealing—so you’d ignored his calls, but not on purpose. You were doing him a favor.

You plastered on a smile and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as you passed. “I promise, I’m fine. Just felt a little light-headed and needed some peace."

His eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. “That’s all?”

You forced a giggle, hoping it would sound more genuine than it felt. “Yes, Dr. Thornton. Just needed to eat more or drink water or whatever the fuck it is you’re always telling me to do.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing his arms, watching you closely. “Because you’ve never just fainted before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything. Besides, don’t you think I’d tell you if something serious was wrong?”

It took everything to maintain eye contact, your stomach twisting at the lie. He was family, and you wanted to trust him, to let him help you. But you couldn’t. He hadn’t even told you about Rafe and Sofia until you found out by yourself. 

Topper tilted his head, considering you, then sighed and gave a reluctant nod. “Alright, fine.”

“Okay, if you’re done being weird,” You pushed back from the counter, grabbing your glass. “I gotta pee,” you announced casually, as if this was the most normal interjection in the world. The wings were good, but running away was tempting. And also, the pregnancy had made your bladder a ticking time bomb, and you really didn’t want to risk any accidents. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You offered him one last smile, hoping it was convincing enough. He whined some sarcastic comment about your water consumption as you hurried away, but you barely heard him.

All you thought about was the blessed relief that awaited on the other side of that door.

You didn’t usually spend this much time with Top nowadays—your own tendency to avoid “close” family drama—but tonight had been oddly… nice.

Even if you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck half the time. Even if you hated lying to him. If he’d just pushed a little harder, maybe you would’ve folded, let it all spill right there in the kitchen.

Every time you thought you’d come to a decision, another doubt would take over you, leaving you back at square one. You knew what you wanted, so why was this so hard? 

Topper had looked at you with such genuine concern back there. The “if you need me, I’m here” sentiment was the same one you’d grown up with, the kind of care only a cousin, practically a sibling, could have.

This was hard.

When you came back into the kitchen after taking your sweet time in the bathroom you immediately noticed something was off.

Topper was by the counter, staring at the half-eaten pile of wings by the table like they’d personally offended him. He looked paler, too—almost like he’d seen a ghost.

“Uh…” You stopped mid-step, furrowing your brow. “What’s with the stupid face? Did the wings betray you or something?”

He jolted slightly, as if he hadn’t even heard you come in. “What? No. No, the wings are fine. Great. Amazing, even.”

“Okay…” You gave him a skeptical look, setting your glass down and crossing your arms. 

Topper laughed, but it was this oddly nervous, stilted sound. He glanced at his phone, tapping the screen for no real reason, then shoved it into his pocket.

“You know what, though? I totally forgot—I have something planned. Like, super important. In about… ten minutes.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “You forgot you had plans? Sounds fake, but okay.”

“So unlike me!” He got up from his chair with such sudden energy that it made you take a step back. “Anyway, I should really get going. Don’t want to be late. Uh, thanks for… hanging out. And for, uh, letting me use your wings as a form of therapy. Yeah. Later!”

And with that, he was sprinting for the door.

“Topper!” you called after him, confused and mildly annoyed. “What the hell is going on? You’re acting fuckin’ weird!”

“Nope, not weird! Just busy!” he shot back over his shoulder, not even looking at you as he opened the door.

You didn’t have time to yell at him before he disappeared out the door, the sound of his Jeep starting up echoing from the driveway a moment later. You stood there bewildered, staring at the now-empty doorway.

Something was definitely up. He was many things—dramatic, stubborn, occasionally insufferable—but shifty wasn’t usually one of them.

You went back to the kitchen, glancing at the counter, ready to brush off his weird exit as just another of his dramatics, when your eyes landed on a random envelope— the one you’d been using to scribble down everything lately. 

Extra small grocery lists, reminders, and, unfortunately, the number for the abortion clinic.

Rafe’s fingers curled loosely around the tumbler of bourbon, eyes set on nothing in particular. The lunch rush was winding down, country club regulars filing out.

He’d been there for over an hour—first, the meeting, listening to those finance guys ramble on about numbers, projections, all that bullshit he usually liked to hear. 

He’d faked his interest well enough, but his mind had been miles away. Mostly thinking about you. And the company, of course, because that was his priority right now. Or, it should be.

The whole thing with you, three days ago, it was a slow-mind-burning headache he couldn’t ignore, even if he wanted to. And he had wanted to, tried to, in fact.

He took another slow sip, hardly tasting the bourbon. Across the room, Sofia was working between tables, balancing trays and forcing her best country club smile.

All he saw when he looked at her was you, it only made him force down another swallow, running his thumb over the rim of the glass, mind somewhere between the company projections and the mess he’d made of things with you. 

It was ridiculous that you were still in his head. He should be thinking about that deal, about locking down his place in the Cameron empire. 

Rafe pushed the glass aside, signaling for the check when something caught his ear—a conversation from a nearby table.

“Yeah, she actually passed out the other day. Pathetic.” The voice was loud, sneering.

A dude’s voice followed, fake sympathy dripping from his tone. “I heard she was a fuckin’ mess after the whole breakup.”

“Oh, totally.” A different girl laughed, high-pitched and cruel. “She’s probably on something. Can you blame her? I’d be desperate too if he dumped me.”

It didn’t take a fucking genius to know who they were talking about. Small town and all, of course, things got around, mostly turning into half-truths and petty rumors.

He stopped all his movements, jaw clenching. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, the only thing keeping him from breaking something, preferably bones.

They were talking about you. 

About some made-up version of you, the fact that these spoiled, airheaded brats thought they could shit talk about you like that, rip you apart for fun just because you weren’t there to defend yourself made him sick.

He pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the room with long strides. He didn’t care about the eyes following him as he walked up to their table, the laughter stopping the moment they looked up and saw the look on his face.

“What did you just say?”

The girl who’d been laughing, a petite brunette with too much makeup and a self-satisfied smirk, blinked up at him, her smile faltering.

“Oh, Rafe! We didn’t see you there. We were just…joking around,” she stammered, trying to backpedal.

“Joking?” He laughed, the sound making them flinch. “That what you call it? Spreading some bullshit rumor because it’s all your pathetic little lives have to offer?”

The brunette’s face went red. “I mean, we all heard about it. I’m just saying what everyone’s already thinking—”

His fists clenched and his patience, already thin, snapped the second he heard the guy—one of those trust fund preps with an overdone tan and a too-tight polo—chime in.

“Oh, come on, dude,” the guy smirked, leaning back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like she’s worth all that trouble, is she?”

His entire body went rigid, and before he registered it, he was leaning down, letting them feel the weight of his glare.

“Say that shit again,” Rafe taunted him, something almost amused twisting at the edge of his mouth, daring him to keep talking. “I’d love to hear you repeat yourself.”

“Relax, man—”

He didn’t even let him finish, eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a near whisper, more dangerous than shouting ever could be.

“You think it’s funny? Talking about someone who’s not even here to defend herself?”

The guy’s face paled, and Rafe swore he was seconds away from landing a punch, from wiping that smug grin off his face. Just as he prepared his fist, ready to make good on his threat, he felt a hand on his arm, a small, insistent tug. 

“Rafe,” a soft voice hissed. Sofia. He barely glanced at her, shrugging off her grip.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharp, dismissive.

He kept his eyes on the guy, who looked more uncomfortable by the second, squirming in his seat.

Sofia’s hand still hovering near his arm, cautious now. “Rafe, come on, this isn’t worth it. You’re better than this.”

She looked scared. Scared of him, scared of the situation. He wasn’t better than this.

He’d never been, and he’d been good enough at lying and pretending for her even to think that.

You would’ve known better.

Fuck, you wouldn’t have wasted time talking.

You would’ve yanked him back by his collar, shoved yourself between him and the guy, shot him that warning glare, daring him to keep pushing you so you’d have to drag him out by force. You always knew when he’d get like this, that edge in his voice, that look in his eye that told you he was seconds away from snapping. You knew better than anyone how to pull him back when he hit that switch.

But you’d never bothered with gentle.

Sofia’s eyes darted around the room, clearly embarrassed, maybe even afraid of drawing attention. He knew this wasn’t fair to her, that she hadn’t signed up for this part of him—the anger, the unpredictability. It wasn’t in his nature to stay silent, to ignore things and walk away. 

He could almost see it—feel it, like a familiar bruise under his skin. You’d shove him hard enough that he’d stumble back, half-pissed and half-shocked. You’d get in his face, not even close to scared, cutting through his spiral. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe? You wanna end up in jail over some loser? Grow up.”

If you’d been here, you wouldn’t have given him a choice. You’d have grabbed his arm and dragged him away, kept a grip on him until he’d snapped out of whatever dark place he’d dropped into. You’d push him until he finally let go, forced him to come down from that blinding fury and face the mess he’d just caused. It was the only way he’d ever been able to listen—when you pushed him to wake up, forced him to look at himself and see just how reckless, just how stupid he was about to be.

But Sofia? She had no idea. 

She thought saying “you’re better than this” was going to do anything, that with a light touch and some empty words, he’d suddenly be calm, reasonable, soft. 

But he’d never been that way, never with you, never with anyone.

She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d just seen the version of him he’d wanted her to see. The version he’d put together, patched up and polished, all so he could convince himself he was something he wasn’t.

With her, it was easy to pretend. He could smooth his sharp edges, show her just enough of himself to keep her interested without letting her close enough to see the mess underneath.

He’d let her believe he was the kind of guy who could just calm down, let things slide. The kind of guy who’d listen. He’d wanted her to believe he was controlled, calm. Sofia’s softness had appealed to him, but now, it only highlighted the differences between them.

With you, he’d never had the luxury of pretending.

You’d seen through him from the start, never let him get away with putting on some act.

You hadn’t let him pretend to be better than he was, hadn’t let him off easy when he’d tried to brush things off or shut down. You knew every side of him, even the ones he’d rather ignore. You’d always known exactly who he was, who he wasn’t, and you’d never been afraid to remind him.

He didn’t want to let it go, didn’t want to give the guy an inch of leeway to think he’d won this. Rafe sighed and released his grip, his hand falling from the table as he finally stepped back. Sofia relaxed, giving him a relieved smile, but it only made him feel emptier. 

“You talk about her again and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?” 

The guy sputtered, looking down, embarrassed and shaken. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like an apology, but Rafe didn’t care enough to hear it.

Sofia’s hand was still on his tail when he left, and as soon as he walked out of earshot of the table, she followed him, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed with an expression he’d never seen from her —disbelief. 

“What was that?”

Everything.

Rafe didn’t speak. He was staring past her, back at the group, mind far from the confrontation and miles away with thoughts of you. She seemed to notice, her lips pressing together.

“I can’t believe you did that. You threatened to kill him, Rafe. Over what, a stupid rumor?”

A stupid rumor? She was making him feel like he was out of control, irrational—even though he couldn’t explain why this mattered so much.

“You wouldn’t get it. It’s not your problem.”

She flinched a little, her face falling, but to her credit, she didn’t look away. “You’re right. I don’t get it. Tell me.”

He wanted to believe that it could work with Sofia.

Nice girl, pretty too. She laughed at his jokes, and she didn’t call him out on his bullshit, because she didn’t even know that side of him existed. On paper, she was perfect. But she wasn't you.

He looked back at her, her worried eyes scanning his face.

It was frustrating—seeing the fear, feeling her judgment when she didn’t even know what she was judging.

To her, this was just some meaningless outburst, something he could turn on and off at will. This wasn’t her fault. He knew that. He hated how this wasn’t something he couldn't put into words, not in any way that would make sense to her.

“Forget it, alright?” his tone was harsher than he meant.

Sofia shook her head, clearly not willing to let it drop this time.

“Why would you get so worked up over something like this?"

To her, that’s all this was—just noise, harmless, inconsequential. 

She looked up at him expectantly, her brows furrowed in confusion, waiting for some reasonable answer.

And it pissed him off, how she kept waiting, expecting him to offer some calm, measured response when he didn’t even understand it himself.

Sofia’s eyes softened, but it only irritated him further.

“She’s nice,” Her words drifted out casually like she didn’t know she’d just cracked him open. “She defended me, last week, when I was serving brunch.”

He couldn’t stop the self-loathing.

You had always been that way—ready to defend anyone, even when you were the one hurting. Rafe winced, hating himself for it, hating that you could still be so good even after everything. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression blank.

“Did she?” he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

“Yeah,” Sofia replied, watching his reaction with mild curiosity. “Guess I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, that familiar hurt in his chest.

His mind was already conjuring all the times you’d jumped in, backed people up, and called out anyone who crossed a line. Even when it came to people you barely knew.

It made him feel like the worst person in the world, knowing that you’d been there for Sofia of all people, that you’d shown her that same loyalty. It made him hate himself even more.

His phone buzzed, saving him from the inevitable conversation, his hand brushed the side of his face as he glanced down at the unknown number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate, before swiping the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cameron, this is Dr. Harris from the hospital,” the voice on the other end said. “We’ve been trying to reach Miss Thornton about the blood work results from her visit three days ago. Unfortunately, there’s been an issue with our system and a few patient’s data has been deleted, except for the emergency contact information.”

Rafe’s stomach dropped.

He was still your emergency contact, not by choice probably. The hospital was calling about your blood work.

Was something wrong?

His blood ran cold. “Is she okay? Did something happen?” The urgency in his tone made Sofia’s eyes widen again, her confusion growing.

“We’re concerned about a possible infection. We need to run more tests to rule it out, but the symptoms suggest it could be more complicated. We must check thoroughly to be sure.”

“An infection?”

“Yes, but it could be nothing serious. We just need her to come in as soon as possible for a follow-up,” Dr. Harris explained.

There was a pause as if he expected Rafe to say something reassuring or offer to pass on the message. 

Sofia’s brows knitted together as she watched him. “Rafe?” 

“I’ll tell her,” he said, the words cracked in his throat. The doctor thanked him and hung up.

He stared at the phone waiting for it to ring again with more news, a reassurance that this wasn’t as serious as it sounded. 

You probably hadn’t changed your emergency contact because it slipped your mind.

He couldn’t stand the idea that something could be wrong, and he was not the one you called when you needed someone. All he’d ever done was mess things up between you.

“What’s going on?”

How the fuck was he going to tell you when you'd blocked him everywhere?

He couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t even show up unannounced without risking the usual argument that would end with you screaming at him to get out, or worse, you looking at him with that unforgiving stare.

He knew you’d locked every door, bolted every window to keep him out, and he deserved it. 

“It’s nothing,” he said, the lie slipping out automatically. He could feel her studying him, waiting for another explanation he also didn’t have the patience to give.

Maybe Topper could help.

The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d given your cousin the mission of checking in on you, playing the careful messenger while Rafe kept his distance. That was supposed to be him.

But the reality was you hated him now, hated him enough that Topper was a safer option and yet, the private information still landed on his lap. As if he still had the right to be in your orbit, let alone the person trusted with this kind of news.

It felt wrong.

He knew you were going to hate him even more for still having access to your private details. It wasn’t really his fault—the hospital called him. He should have hung up the moment the hospital mentioned your name, told them they had the wrong guy. But he didn’t. He listened. 

“If you need to go—” she started, trailing off when he didn’t answer. Her voice softened, tentative. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he looked away, out at the horizon where the sun was setting.  “Yeah,” he muttered, not bothering to lie this time.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. He typed something out, then deleted it, then typed again.

Finally, he just went with the simplest thing he could think of and hit send.

Can we meet up? Tannyhill in 30. I think I know what’s wrong.

He half-expected some lame excuse or joke from Topper. Instead, the text he got made the deep lines across his forehead make an appearance.

Shit, you do???

Did the fucker already know?

Did he suspect? Or was this just the kind of baited question someone asked when they thought they were the last to know something big?

He frowned, gripping the phone tighter.

If Topper did know, why hadn’t he said anything?

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

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@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[ryusjwks]

yapping abt nonmc

Non-MC reader fanfics are always written by authors who know exactly how to hurt a person. The pain is so intense and so well-crafted that, dear God, sometimes I find myself rereading the same paragraph over and over again. And after a while, I start to see myself as that woman—waiting to be loved but never receiving it in return.

Imagine loving someone. Looking at them with the most fragile, the most human part of your heart. When you hear their voice, everything inside you comes to a halt, and your entire existence shifts toward them. But they… they don’t even notice you. Or if they do, their recognition is not with the powerful grasp of love, but with the light touch of mere acknowledgment.

To you, they are a star, the very center of the universe. But to them, you are just another speck of light in the sky. If you were to disappear, they wouldn’t feel your absence. You turn back, realizing your hands are empty, crushed under the weight of your love. And they? They continue revolving around another world, another sun.

You are a meteor, trying to rise and shine, but unable to enter their orbit—shattered by the gravity of a planet that was never meant to hold you. You dissolve into dust, fading into silence. And they move on, as if nothing ever happened.

This plays out differently for each character, but the ending remains the same.

In Zayne’s case, you are either his fiancée or his wife. He is always cold and distant. His words are measured, his presence heavy yet quiet. Even if storms rage behind his eyes, his face remains unreadable. He has always been this way, and you have accepted it.

But then, he smiles—at her.

That smile is like spring breaking through the ice, subtle, warm, and gentle. As if, for just a moment, the layers of frost within him have melted. And in that moment, you realize he was never truly like this—not for everyone. He is not just a distant man; he is only distant toward you.

And that’s when it sinks in. A weight settles inside you, stealing your breath for just a second. Because you have seen it now—he can be affectionate, he can be warm, he can smile. But that smile was never meant for you.

You are likely Sylus’s assistant, though in rare cases, you might be his wife. Sylus has always been indifferent—to everyone. To you. You walked in his shadow on the battlefield, threw yourself in front of bullets for him, but to him, it was merely necessity. A duty. Your presence was nothing more than part of the mission. Until she came along.

With her arrival, Sylus changed. His face softened when he looked at her, the sharpness in his voice faded. He made sacrifices for her, and when he spoke to her, the rigidness in his posture eased. Sylus was no longer the man you knew. Everyone questioned if he was still the same person, but you already knew the truth.

He hadn’t changed. He had simply never been yours.

With Xavier and Rafael, the pattern is almost identical. You are nothing more than a companion who has traveled through centuries with them, defying time itself.

As time weaves its path, they always take the lead—making decisions, guiding, fighting. And you? You are merely a shadow beside them. A witness. While they sacrificed their homelands for love, you were the one who heard the cries of the people they left behind. On one side was their passionate devotion, and on the other, your quiet grief.

For them, time had stopped. But for you, the world kept turning, though it no longer resembled the place you once knew.

And then there’s Caleb.

Caleb was always by MC’s side. He was her protector, her shield, her most trusted person. And you were there too. You grew up in the same house, sat at the same dinner table, shared the same stories. But his eyes always sought only MC.

Through the years, you watched how he looked at her. How he stepped forward at the slightest sign of danger, how every word he spoke to her carried an unshakable certainty. You bore witness to his protection, his sacrifices, his unwavering love—but never once was any of it directed at you.

You were there too. You lived those same moments. But you were never the center of his world.

Some see her as a mistress, a backup, an extra wedged between the main character and the LI. As if she were a mere footnote in someone else’s story, placed there by mistake. But she’s not.

She is not just someone trying to insert herself where she doesn’t belong. She was there from the very beginning. She walked the same path, fought the same battles, gazed at the same sky. She was never a stranger lingering on the edges of the story—she was a part of it.

The difference is that her name was never written into the main plot. Her words never echoed, her presence was never at the center. And yet, she was never just a replacement. Because love isn’t a competition, it isn’t a role to be filled, it isn’t about winners and losers.

She simply loved. With everything she had, without expecting anything in return. Her eyes were always on him, but his eyes were never on her.

[viridescentelf]

Yandere elf x reader - Valentine’s Day

happy valentine‘s day y‘all 👽

Silas Character and Art belongs to @meo-eiru pls go to her and tell she‘s the queen of yandere

since so many peeps asked for more Silas smut, here‘s him „cleaning“ you. Don‘t know how lore accurate this is so pls forgive me if i missed something! i also didn‘t really proof-read so oops 😶‍🌫️

Warnings: 18+, dubcon, noncon, oral sex, general nsfw

—————

His long tongue lapped up your sweet and sour juices. You squirmed, both from the explosive pleasuring scale and his firm grip on your wrists.

You had been telling him about the concept of Valentine‘s Day (some true and untrue things because you could), as he thought it was only humans named Valentine that could celebrate their love on this manufactured holiday. Understanding that it meant showing love to anyone you feel deeply towards - even mothers - Silas hurried to remedy his misunderstanding.

You had never seen the elf change that quickly before. He had adorned some kind of elven festive garb and placed several beautiful flowers in his own and your hair (you watched him from the window scurry around the garden to find them), weaving the stems neatly (and fast) into your strands.

He then asked what humans traditionally did on Valentine‘s Day. You mentioned flowers, chocolates and date nights - trying to skirt around the topic of sex - by using the word „cuddling“. It was something you didn‘t really mind with him, he was extremely cozy to lean into, his soft muscles giving ample cushioning, even if he didn‘t let go of you unless you needed to pee.

Your eyes had followed Silas running into the kitchen and frantically throwing ingredients together to make pralines and chocolates. The house smelled amazing. He hectically returned to the living room where you were reading, chocolate smeared all over his dopy face, to ask if you preferred strawberry or raspberry. You had only gotten to „rasp-„ before he quickly turned to finish his craft.

You had thought this wasn‘t half bad. It was really entertaining watching him cook, bake and decorate with the speed of a doom‘s day dad preparing for the end of the world.

A few hours had passed. Silas had picked you up from the couch and carried you quickly to the dinner table, where he had lit so many candle that you had to blink rapidly through the blinding light. The chocolates were all individually wrapped and adorned with sweet messages. The food he cooked looked amazing, but it was frankly hard to see all of the details through the flickering little fires. Silas placed you on his lap and fed you everything, beyond your stomach‘s ability and despite you saying that you were full.

Feeling woozy from the excess food, you lay catatonic in his arms as every squeeze within the cuddle session made you even more nauseous.

„My darling! I love you I love you I love you I love you!“

He peppered kisses on you as you tried to focus on not throwing up. His kisses helped, whatever was in his weird saliva simultaneously healed you while you knew he was trying to prepare you for what he wanted next.

He hadn‘t cleaned you yet. You had tried to distract him with various other Valentine‘s Day traditions (some of which you made up, like how the greatest act of love is having to do an interpretive dance outside with twigs in your mouth which you watched with absolute glee), but he never missed this part of the day regardless of how hard you tried to get him off schedule. He was relentless that way.

You were still too full to move. He knew this.

Laying you out on the bed, you watched him remove your trousers and underwear. The ravenous glare in his eye always threw you off, every time. It was so menacing and filled with what felt like eons of pent up desire that it shut you up instantly.

His green eyes shimmered as he saw you leaking already, ready for him because of his aphrodisiac sputum and whatever else he added to your meal and chocolates.

He never really told you what he gave you.

What would it matter? You couldn‘t stop him anyway.

Silas‘s head lowered and you instinctively raised your arms to try to push his head away. He grabbed them so fast and held them down onto the soft mattress, that your arms sank deeper into the cushioning.

„There, there…let mama clean you up…“

His grip didn‘t hurt, but it was like cement blocks lying on top of your hands. There was no way you could get them out.

He kissed you. Your body squirmed slowly in response, because it just felt so marvelous. The tongue wreathed out of his smiling lips and traced you, mapping out its course. Your back arched expectingly, but he took his time, breathing his temperate air onto you - warning of the incoming impact.

Silas’ long tongue punched into you and you let out a deep rooted moan you had never heard yourself make before. It snaked through your walls like the invader it was and you felt his hands shake with his own pleasure.

He lapped everything up, your water flooding out of you uncontrollably without a stop in sight.

His mouth wrapped around you and sucked gently, every pop from the release making your spine curl even further. The stinging tingling clenching fiercely and surrounding your entire lower body, every lick, kiss and suction pushing your further.

You climaxed many times, from the penetration and from his feverish licking, every new flick causing your hips to convulse furiously.

He was saying something, but you couldn‘t hear with dark moans escaping your throat. He quickly returned to his task, letting you grow weaker with every orgasm.

You knew hours passed, because the light from the window was dimming. He had feasted on you for so long that the mattress was soaked.

Finally letting up, happy with his cleaning job, he pulled you up into a seated position while his growth pointed like a dagger at your face, his tall stature looming over you.

He huffed, as his giant hand caressed your cheek. Your exhausted eyes stared up at him.

„M-milking time darling…“

[m4rv3l-girl]

Slowly…

Bucky and Y/N have been dating for a while, but have yet to explore anything more intimate than making out like teenagers. Maybe things will change when Bucky finally faces his fears.

Warnings: smut. Oral f!recieving. Protected p in v sex. Slight fear of intimacy. Touch starved Bucky?

The hum of the Stark Tower HVAC system was basically white noise.

Bucky Barnes sat sprawled across the couch, one arm looped loosely around Y/N’s shoulders, the other cradling a steaming mug of chamomile tea. Both of them contently sleepy. The windows stretched tall across the living room wall, casting gold-tinged light from the setting sun over the exposed brick and sleek furniture, remnants of Tony’s compulsive over-design.

Y/N, nestled into Bucky’s side with a blanket tugged over both of their legs, sighed softly. Her head was tucked perfectly beneath his chin, like it belonged there. Bucky liked that. He liked that a lot more than he’d ever admit aloud. Especially since Sam would absolutely never let him live it down if he caught wind of Bucky Barnes being the little spoon. Again.

“You know,” Y/N said, voice low and thoughtful, “you’re actually not as terrifying as everyone makes you out to be.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, lifting his mug in mock salute. “Thanks, doll. I’ll make sure to update my LinkedIn.”

She laughed against his chest, the sound vibrating into his sternum and tugging a rare, genuine smile from him. “No, seriously. You’re... sweet. You hold the door open. You bring me coffee just the way I like it. You’re weirdly obsessed with The Great British Bake Off.”

“I plead the Fifth.”

“Oh, come on. You cried when Rahul won.”

He groaned, tilting his head back against the couch and covering his face with the vibranium hand. “I didn’t cry. I just - had feelings. That’s normal. Rahul is a very talented man.”

“You’re soft.”

“I’m six feet tall and made of war crimes.”

She snorted. “You’re my soft war crime.”

“Jesus Christ.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. The kind that only came after months of slow trust-building, of soft confessions over late-night tea, of tentative hand-holding and the quiet awe in Bucky’s eyes when she didn’t flinch away from the cold press of metal fingers. It wasn’t perfect, Bucky still had nights where he woke up gasping, sweat-soaked and angry at ghosts only he could see, but Y/N never left. Never treated him like he was broken or dangerous. Just… human.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed being seen as human until she came along.

“You ever think about…” Y/N began, then paused, fingers tracing idle shapes along his thigh. “Us. Like, going further?”

Bucky blinked, the words taking a second to register through the sleepy haze.

“Further?”

She tilted her head to glance up at him, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Like… more than just kissing on your couch and pretending we don’t both want more.”

Oh.

Bucky’s breath hitched, but not from discomfort. Not exactly. More like the entire world had suddenly gone still and very, very focused.

He’d thought about it. Of course he had. He was a hundred and six years old, not dead.

But there was always a wall. Not one she had built. Y/N had never rushed him, but one he’d carried with him since Hydra carved up his mind like Thanksgiving turkey. Intimacy meant vulnerability. And vulnerability had always gotten him hurt or used.

“I do think about it,” he said finally, voice soft. “All the time, actually.”

Y/N shifted slightly, giving him room to see her expression. She looked open. Patient. Like she wasn’t expecting anything except honesty. That helped. That grounded him.

“But I also think about messing it up,” he admitted. “I think about what if I freeze up? Or what if I have some flashback in the middle of it and ruin everything?”

“You wouldn’t ruin anything,” she said immediately. “You could never ruin this.”

He wanted to believe her. Hell, part of him already did. But old instincts didn’t die easily. He reached for her hand with his metal one, letting their fingers twine together. That felt real. Solid.

“I guess I just need to know you’re okay with taking it slow. That you don’t feel like you’re waiting for me to turn into someone else.”

Y/N’s smile was soft and fierce all at once. “Bucky, I didn’t fall for the Winter Soldier. I fell for the guy who leaves sticky notes on the fridge reminding me to drink water. Who calls Sam ‘bird brain’ like it’s a love language. Who watched all three Lord of the Rings movies with me even though he thought Frodo should’ve just used the eagles.”

“Don’t tell me I was wrong.”

She laughed, then leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m okay with slow. I’m okay with whatever pace you want. I’m here because I want you.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, tension he hadn’t realized he was holding bleeding from his shoulders. “Okay,” he murmured. “Then yeah. Maybe we take that step. Sometime soon.”

A beat.

The quiet stretched out like a warm blanket, thick with anticipation. Bucky’s thumb traced the line of her knuckles, and the room felt too hot and too cold at the same time. He knew he could say no. He knew she’d understand. But the way she said it - so gentle, so earnest - he couldn’t find the words to refuse.

“Soon,” she murmured, reading the hesitation in his eyes. “Whenever you’re ready. I just - I want you to know that I’m here. That I want to be there for you, every step of the way.”

Bucky nodded, his throat tight with emotions he hadn’t let himself feel in so long. It was strange, this feeling of safety, of belonging. It didn’t sit easily with him, but it was growing more familiar with every beat of her heart against his side. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words.

“You make it easier, doll,” he said finally. “You make a lot of things easier.”

Y/N leaned into him, her arm curling around his waist. Her hair smelled faintly of coconut shampoo and mint toothpaste. The scent was comforting, like home.

“I’ll always be here for you, you know that,” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck. “For all the hard parts. And the easy ones too. For the baking shows and the bad jokes and the quiet nights just like this one. I’m all in, Bucky. Whatever it takes to help you feel whole again.”

The weight of her words settled into his chest, nestling in alongside his beating heart. It was a heavy burden, but somehow, with her, it felt lighter.

They watched the light change outside the window, the sky deepening into shades of purple and pink. The sounds of the city grew distant, swallowed up by their shared warmth. Bucky’s arm tightened around her, pulling her closer, and she curled into him, her hand coming to rest over his heart.

It was a promise. A silent vow.

He took a sip of his now lukewarm tea and sighed, the warmth of her against him a stark contrast to the cold metal of his arm. It was moments like these that made him feel alive, made him realize that maybe, just maybe, he could have a life beyond the shadows of his past.

“What’s the first thing you’d wanna do?” he asked, turning to look at her. Her eyes searched his, looking for any signs of doubt or fear. But all she’d find was the truth. The reality was that, at present, their sex life was non-existent.

Y/N thought for a moment, her expression softening into a smile. “I don’t mind….what would you want to do..?” She didn’t want to commit to something that he wasn’t comfortable with.

Bucky considered this.

"I just want to be with you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I want to hold you, and kiss you, and just… explore. Nothing crazy, just… us. Getting to know each other that way."

Her smile grew, lighting up the room even as the shadows grew longer. "That sounds perfect," she whispered.

The air was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with desire. He could feel the pulse of her heart beneath her palm, and he knew she felt his too, a steady rhythm that grew stronger with every breath they took together.

They sat for a while longer, just watching the day turn to night. Bucky's mind raced with the possibilities of what this could mean for them, but he forced himself to stay present, to enjoy the simplicity of their entwined fingers and the warmth of her body.

Eventually, Y/N sat up, her hand slipping away from his heart to rest on his cheek. She turned to face him, her eyes searching his, looking for any trace of doubt. But all she found was a man who was ready to take the next step.

“Okay,” she said, her voice steady. “Let’s go slow. We’ll figure it out together. No pressure, just us getting to know each other more intimately. I’m here, Bucky. We’re in this together, remember?”

Bucky nodded, his pulse quickening at the thought of what lay ahead. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to be this open with someone, to let go of the fear that had become second nature. But with her, it felt possible.

They stood up, and he set the mug of tea down on the side table with a gentle clink. Y/N reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. She led him to the bedroom, her movements sure and unhurried.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn just enough to allow the fading light to cast a soft glow over the bed. Bucky felt his heart rate spike as she turned to face him, her gaze never wavering from his own. She stepped closer, her hand sliding up to his chest, then around to his neck.

Her touch was tentative at first, a gentle question. But as Bucky leaned into it, she grew bolder, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, her thumb brushing against his lower lip. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath, and she leaned in to capture his mouth in a kiss that was sweet and full of promise.

Her other hand slid down his side, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. Bucky’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, the heat between them growing with every second. The kiss deepened, and he felt the first stirrings of something he’d almost forgotten - desire, untainted by fear or duty.

When they broke apart, panting slightly, Bucky opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him. She reached for the hem of her shirt, her movements slow and deliberate. He watched as she lifted it over her head, revealing the soft curves of her body.

He took a deep breath, his metal hand hovering over her bare skin for a moment before he let it rest gently on her waist.

Y/N's eyes searched his, looking for the answer to the unspoken question. Bucky nodded, his decision made.

They moved in unison, Bucky helping her to remove the rest of her clothing, his movements slow and careful, as if handling something fragile and precious. Each piece of clothing that fell away revealed more of her, and with it, a part of her soul that he hadn't seen before. Her trust in him was palpable, a silent demand that he not break her. And he knew, with a sudden fierceness, that he never would.

Her skin was warm under his touch, and she shivered as he traced the outline of her collarbone with his thumb. He felt his own heart racing, a thunderous beat that echoed in his ears.

They lay down on the bed, the mattress giving slightly under their combined weight.

Her eyes never left his, the same gentle expression on her face that had been there since the moment she’d brought it up. He felt the pressure of her hand, the softness of her skin, and the way her breath hitched as he kissed her again, his metal fingers brushing against the softness of her stomach. It was a strange sensation, this mix of cold and warm, of hard and soft, of past and present.

Bucky’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but he pushed them aside, focusing only on the here and now. He didn’t want to think about the past, didn’t want to ruin this moment with the specter of his former life. This was about them, about what they were choosing to build together.

He leaned over her, pressing tender kisses along her neck and collarbone, feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath his lips. Her skin was like silk, and her scent was intoxicating, a blend of warmth and vanilla that he’d come to associate with home. Her breathy sighs were music to his ears, each one a silent encouragement to explore further.

Her fingers danced over his shoulders, her nails lightly scraping against his skin as she guided him closer, urging him to explore. His heart hammered in his chest, a reminder of the life he had reclaimed, the humanity he had fought to keep.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if they were both trying to convey the depth of their feelings without words. Bucky’s hand traveled up her side, feeling the curve of her hip, the softness of her skin, the warmth that emanated from her core. He was acutely aware of every touch, every breath, the way she arched into his mouth when he kissed her just right. It was as if he was mapping out a new territory, one that was uncharted and full of wonder.

The room was filled with the sound of their mingled breaths, the rustle of fabric, the quiet sighs that escaped their lips. Y/N’s hand slipped under his shirt, her fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. He stilled for a moment, waiting, but she didn’t pull away.

Bucky felt something unlock inside of him, a door that had been sealed shut for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there. It was a rush of sensation, of need, that made his head spin and his heart race. He kissed her again, harder this time, his hand sliding down to the small of her back, pressing her closer.

Y/N’s legs parted, inviting him in, and Bucky’s heart stuttered in his chest. He’d never been this intimate with someone who knew all of him, who had seen the darkest corners of his soul and chosen to stay. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

He took a moment to breathe, to steady himself. He didn’t want to rush this, didn’t want to scare her away with his intensity. But when he pulled back, her eyes were dark with desire, matching the pulse in his veins. She didn’t look scared. She looked hungry.

They moved together in a dance that was both new and familiar, their bodies speaking a language that didn’t require words. He felt the heat of her skin, the softness of her curves, the way she molded against him as if they’d been made for this. It was a revelation, a reminder that he was more than the sum of his parts.

Bucky’s hand slid up her thigh, his thumb brushing against the lace of her underwear. He felt her shiver and knew that she was just as ready as he was. He took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart. This was it. The moment he’d feared and craved in equal measure. But with her, it didn’t feel scary. It felt right.

Y/N’s hand reached for the hem of his shirt, her eyes never leaving his. He raised his arms, letting her pull it off. The cool air of the room kissed his bare skin, making him shiver. She traced the lines of his abs with her fingertips, her eyes taking in every inch of him with a mix of awe and affection.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice a warm caress against his ear.

Bucky felt a blush creep up his cheeks, a rare and welcome sensation. He’d never been one for compliments, but coming from her, it felt like the most profound truth he’d ever heard. He kissed her again, his hand sliding up to cup her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm.

They moved together, exploring each other with gentle touches and whispered sighs. Bucky’s mind was a blur of sensation, each new discovery a revelation. The way she tasted, the way she felt, the way she made him feel. It was like coming home after a long, cold war, finding warmth in the most unexpected of places.

He felt her hand on the elastic of his sweatpants, and he stilled for a moment. This was the part that had always been a minefield before. But she didn’t look up at him with fear or hesitation. Just love. So he let her continue, his breath catching in his throat as she touched him, skin to skin.

Y/N’s hand was warm and sure, and Bucky couldn’t help but gasp as she touched him, her thumb rubbing against the sensitive skin just beneath the waistband. The fabric was the last barrier between them, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear.

With a trembling hand, Bucky reached down to help her, his heart racing as he pushed his pants down. The coolness of the air against his skin was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, and he watched as she took him in, her eyes wide and filled with a hunger that made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t been in decades.

They kissed again, a kiss that was more than just a meeting of lips, it was a declaration of trust, of love, of the shared hope that this could be the start of something beautiful. He felt her hand slide down, her fingertips dancing against his skin, until she reached the bulge in his boxers, and he let out a soft groan that seemed to resonate through the very core of his being.

Her hand was tentative at first, exploring his hardness with gentle strokes. But as Bucky’s grip tightened on the sheets and his breathing grew ragged, she grew bolder. Her touch was a whispered promise of what was to come, a gentle reminder that she was here for him, that he wasn’t alone.

He slid his hand down to cover hers, their fingers intertwining as they found a rhythm that sent shockwaves through his body. The warmth of her hand, the softness of her skin, the way she looked at him - it was almost too much to handle. But he didn’t pull away. He leaned into it, craving more.

With a tremble, Bucky reached for the clasp of her bra, his metal digits fumbling slightly. But she was patient, smiling up at him as he finally managed to free her from the garment. Her breasts were perfect in his eyes, the soft mounds fitting perfectly into his palms. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, watching as they pebbled beneath his touch, and she gasped into his mouth. The sensation of skin against skin was electric, sending currents of pleasure through him that he hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. He’d been so afraid of this moment, but here it was, and it was nothing like he’d feared. It was gentle, it was kind, it was everything he’d hoped for.

He broke the kiss to kiss his way down her neck, her chest, her stomach. He took his time, savoring each new inch of her that was revealed to him. Y/N’s breath hitched as his mouth reached the apex of her thighs, his tongue tracing a line along her inner thigh before dipping closer to where she was wet and waiting for him. He felt a small twist of doubt and self consciousness, he hadn’t actually done this since the 40s.

Her legs fell open to encourage him, and Bucky took a moment to breathe her in, to appreciate the trust she was giving him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” She assured. He kissed her gently, his tongue teasing against her slit, her taste a rich mix of sweetness and desire. Y/N’s body arched off the bed, and she let out a soft moan, her hand sliding into his hair to guide him, to show him just how she liked it.

Bucky took his cues from her, his touch gentle and explorative. He’d never been with someone who knew the extent of his past, who had seen the monster he’d been made into. But here she was, her body open to him, welcoming him in. Her thighs trembled around his head as he worked his way down. His tongue found the spot that made her gasp. She was wet, slick against his mouth and he groaned, his cock pulsing with every soft whimper she made.

He could feel the tension coiling in her, tightening like a spring. Her hips began to move in time with his strokes, her breath coming in short and sharp gasps. He didn’t know how to do this, not really. But he knew he wanted to make her feel good. So he listened to her body, her sounds, her whispers of need. He focused on her reactions, learning what she liked, what made her squirm, what made her moan.

Small, quick flicks of his tongue over her clit seemed to send her reeling.

Y/N’s hands tightened in his hair as he worked her over, her body shaking with the force of her restrained pleasure. He could feel it building, the way she moved against his mouth, her legs tightening around his head, her breaths turning to pants. Her nails scraped against his scalp, a delicious pain that only served to drive him on, to make him want more, to make her feel more.

And then she was coming, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm, her muscles clenching around his tongue. Bucky felt a surge of pride, of accomplishment, of pure, unadulterated joy.

He pulled back, kissing his way back up her body, feeling her pulse throb against his lips. She was beautiful, so beautiful, laid out before him like this. “Bucky,” she breathed, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with pleasure. He leaned over her, his forehead touching hers. “You’re sure?” he whispered. She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Bucky reached for the bedside drawer, his hand shaking slightly as he pulled out a condom. He’d had them there for months, hopeful and terrified, but they’d remained untouched. The foil packet crinkled in the quiet room, a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the wake of their shared intimacy. Y/N watched him, her eyes never leaving his face, her trust in him unwavering. He rolled it on, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest, the echoes of fear that had haunted his every intimate moment. But as he positioned himself over her, her legs wrapping around his waist, he knew he could do this. For her, with her, he could overcome his worries.

He pushed inside her, slowly.

The world outside the window had gone dark, but the room was bathed in the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Her eyes were wide, watching him with a mix of excitement and concern, and he knew he had to get this right. For her, for them. Her heat enveloped him, and he felt his own walls crumbling, the last of his barriers falling away. He’d never felt this connected to anyone before, not like this. It was as if they were two lost pieces of a puzzle finally finding their place.

Their movements grew more frantic as the passion built, their kisses deep and desperate. Bucky felt the ghosts of his past trying to claw their way back in, but he pushed them away, focusing solely on the woman beneath him. Her nails dug into his back, her legs tightening around him as she matched his rhythm, urging him on.

The sounds of their bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of sighs and gasps and moans. Each thrust was a declaration of his need for her, each kiss a promise to keep her safe. Bucky’s heart thudded in his chest, a drumline of hope and desire. He’d been so afraid of this moment, but here it was, and it was nothing like the horrors he’d anticipated. It was raw and real and everything he’d ever dreamed of.

Her nails scored down his back as she arched up to meet him, her breaths growing shallower, her hips rising to meet his thrusts. Bucky felt the tension in her body, the way she tightened around him, the soft mewling noises that escaped her throat. He’d never felt so alive, so present in the moment. Each stroke was a promise, a declaration that he was here, with her, and nothing else mattered.

Their bodies moved in harmony, a dance that transcended the chaos of the world outside. His metal hand found hers, their fingers entwining as if to anchor themselves in the present. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch, the way she clung to him as if he were her lifeline. And maybe, in a way, he was.

The world narrowed down to just the two of them, the only sounds the slap of skin and the harsh pull of their breathing. Bucky’s eyebrow was furrowed. He watched her face, the way her lip got pulled between her teeth in concentration, the softness of her cheeks flushed with passion.

Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as she neared the precipice again.

Their passion was palpable, a force that transcended the physical, reaching into the depths of their souls.

Her eyes flew open, meeting his, and in that moment, something changed. He saw her, not just the woman he desired, but the person who had seen his darkest moments and chosen to love him regardless. And she saw him, not as the damaged soldier, but as the man who had fought to survive and come back to life.

Their movements grew more deliberate. Bucky’s rhythm slowed, his strokes deepening, as if trying to etch himself into her very being. He felt her inner walls quiver, a sign that she was close, and he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. But he wanted to give her everything she needed, to show her just how much she meant to him.

Y/N’s breath was a pant on his skin, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He leaned in, pressing kisses along her jaw, her neck, the soft skin of her collarbone. They were both hurtling uncontrollably towards the edge…

Her body tensed around him, a silent plea, and Bucky knew he couldn’t hold back anymore. He thrust into her, feeling her nails dig into his back as she cried out his name, her body shattering into a thousand pieces. He watched her come undone, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure that sent him over the edge.

With a guttural groan, he followed her, his orgasm tearing through his muscles, leaving him trembling and spent. He collapsed onto her, his heart hammering against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. The warmth of her body was like a medicine to his soul, a gentle reminder that he was more than just a weapon, that he was loved.

They laid there for a few moments, their hearts beating in sync, the only sound in the room the gentle rustle of the blanket around them. Bucky felt the warmth of her skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, and the reality of what they had just shared settled heavily on him. It was a moment that had been months in the making, a moment where fear had been vanquished by love and trust.

He leaned up on his elbow, looking down at her. Her eyes were closed, a soft smile tugging at her lips. He couldn’t help but trace the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand, feeling the heated skin under his fingertips. He’d never felt more alive, more human, than he did in that moment.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him with a softness that made his chest ache. “More than okay,” she said, her voice a whisper.

He leaned down to kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her lips. Her hand slid up his chest, her touch featherlight and reverent. It was as if she knew just how much this meant to him, just how much of a milestone it was.

They lay there, tangled in the sheets, their bodies still slick with sweat. Bucky’s mind was racing, but in a good way. He’d done it. He’d faced his fears and come out the other side. And she was still here, her arm wrapped around his waist, her breathing evening out as she snuggled closer to him.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still rough from their earlier exertions. Y/N opened her eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. “For what?” “For making it okay,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “For making me feel like I can do this. Like I’m not just some… some broken toy that nobody wants to play with anymore.”

Her eyes had a glassy pain in them. “Bucky, you’re so much more than that. You always have been. And I want to play with you.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound low and warm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

——————————————————————————————————

A small gift 🎁🫶 (We’re ignoring mistakes)

[ozzgin]

Yandere!Merman x Reader x Yandere!Prince

One day, you bring home a monstrous creature as the future groom for the much-demanded marriage. The family is in despair, and a foreign Prince vows to change your mind. Based on Antonín Dvořák's Rusalka. content: gender neutral reader, angst, love triangle

You return home with a triumphant smile, marching towards the grand room and opening the doors with fanfare. Your family has been pestering you to get married for months now, piling endless proposals on your study desk and inviting nameless royalty to meet you in hopes they'd catch your interest.

"I have found a groom," you declare with a sombre, official tone as your parents nearly tumble out of their seats, rattling the afternoon teacups. The servants, too, swarm over to witness your arrival: they'd never heard such confidence in your voice.

They all gather around, lips pursed in expectation, eyes widened towards the entrance. At last, as promised, someone appears behind you: A pallid creature with a sickly face, walking along crookedly, with clumps of dark locks framing the length of his bony, slender body.

It's...monstrous. One maid begins to fan herself in horror, while your mother returns to her cushioned chair with trembling hands. What a frightful sight! Surely this can't be a proper human; a ghastly fiend, perhaps, a ghoul haunting the forests at night, but no man to stand with you before a holy altar!

"He said he loves me, you see," you explain with flushed cheeks. "Well, he didn't explicitly say it...as I don't think he can speak at all. Yet, I can tell."

The pale beast nods fervently to your words.

Oh, yes, he does love you so very much. After all, he sold his soul and his voice just to walk the Earth with you! From the moment he caught a glimpse of you, he knew you were meant to be his. A fate seamed by the Gods themselves; he was certain of it.

There was one hurdle he was forced to overcome in order to properly face you. He is a water spirit, you see. A merman, yes, that’s how the humans often call him. He dwells at the bottom of the ocean, swimming with the frothing waves, luring the unsuspecting sailors to their early demise. It was during one of your boat travels that he laid his eyes on you. Immediately, viciously, his heart begun to throb with yearning. He needed to have you in his embrace at all costs.

Consequently, and without much stalling, he decided to leave the azure of the sea behind and crawl his way on land, searching for his betrothed. His father was enraged, but he knew better than to prod his son’s stubbornness. Before he knew it, the sallow creature was obediently standing in front of Ježibaba the Witch, signing the cursed pact that would leave him mute. Should the love fade, she warned, he’d be dragged back into the depths, fettered by the swamp mud, cursed to live as a will-o’-the-wisp, bringer of death and despair.

Child, night after night your siblings will weep for you! There’s no help for you, once a human has enticed you into their power.

With limbs foreign to him, he pitifully stumbled across the shore, where you found him in the early hours of the morning. At last, he thought, he’d be at your side.

Your family is not alone in their sorrows. Among the many suitors, there’s a certain foreign Prince who’s not quite ready to accept your decision. No, it simply cannot be. No one else in this world loves you like he does; of that he is certain. Whatever vile charlatan you’ve brought into your home is all but a mockery in the face of his feelings.

With a wrathful step, he strides towards the castle, cursing this newfound love of yours. He doesn’t play games of fate, nor does he need the wicked magic of witches and devils. His pace is confident, imposing; a far cry from the meagre slither of the monstrous merman. There’s something your wild beast will never have, something his soul is devoid of: passion. Alas, you will soon discover what it truly means to be adored by a human. Not just any human, mind you, but someone of his nobility and virtue.

The prince is welcomed by a pair of whispering servants. They bemoan the terror that has befallen their estate, the trickery that engulfed your royal heart, causing you to long after a creature of the night. What could have possessed you in that very moment, when you stumbled upon the demon?

Like clockwork, their voices are abruptly hushed by the shuffle of uncertain feet. The men turn around and immediately frown at the mysterious groom. Whatever summoned him in their presence is irrelevant. The prince shoves the terrified group aside, standing proud before the crooked figure.

“I don’t know what sorcery lies at the bottom of your deceit - convincing someone of (Y/N)’s grace to even gaze in your direction - but you’re better off returning to the hole you crawled out of.”

He briefly glances at the servants who’re holding their breaths at the exchange.

“They bear witness to my mercy! I will allow you to leave, though mistake not my kindness for naivety. (Y/N) was promised to me in marriage, and I shan’t permit anyone to interfere with my plans. This sword,” he threatens, placing a hand over the leather sheath, “this sword has slayed ogres twice as frightful.”

He pauses, searching his rival’s eyes, unable to find the fear he hoped to instil with his intimidation tactics. Very well, if death isn’t the answer to ridding himself of the plague...

“I’ll tell you what,” the prince finally continues, twisting his mouth in a pained frown, “you’re fooling yourself if you think (Y/N) feels anything but pity for you. Can you look at me, man to man, and tell me you love them with the same passion?”

There it is, that cursed word once more, ensnarling him tightly and pressing against his chest like the branding of hot iron. The merman’s hands curl in a fist, yet he is unable to speak, to shout, to cry. The creeping shadow of doubt suddenly engulfs him: is it truly the lack of voice that holds him back? Or might this man speak the truth? He is, after all, a monster that was never meant to walk on land, a spirit belonging to the waters. Could his adoration compare with that of other humans, with their warmth, with their vigorous, beating hearts?

A thread snaps. The merman’s soul is heavy, trampled by gloom and despair. Perhaps the Gods were merely laughing at his ridiculous dreams, dangling the hook of false hope before his hungry jaws, watching him writhe on the surface until the lungs collapse. The ground spins and the air is bitter, scorching his throat. As if pulled by invisible hands, his body hurries outside, across the rocky shore and into the foam of the waves; Ježibaba’s words echo against his eardrums. He sinks.

“Where’s the groom?”

You freeze in the doorframe, baffled to find one of your suitors in your room. The foreign prince welcomes you with a deep bow, gripping one of your hands with greed and pressing it against his lips.

“It has returned to its depths. I hope you understand,” he pleads, almost throwing himself at your feet. “Such a creature has no place among us.”

“What nonsense are you spewing?” the venom in your words causes the young man to tug at his chest. What must he do for you to accept him?

You nonchalantly slap his hand off you, then turn on your heels and scurry down the hall, followed by the panicked prince.

“Don’t be foolish! He’s been cursed, a damned ghoul dwelling at the bottom of the swamp, drowning humans who wander too close.”

His usual tenacity has faded, voice cracking with anguish and envy. This time it’s you who walks with unbreaking determination, reaching for the marsh. His mind races within a fog, trying to come up with a way to stop you in your tracks. He could draw his weapon, of course. Instinctually, his toned arm grips the handle, picturing the swing of the blade - a necessary evil? No, you’d never forgive such violence, and he can’t bear the thought of you despising him anymore than you do now.

It’s too late. Your expensive, polished shoes dip lightly into the mud, causing you to advance more steadily. You begin shouting without aim, scanning the area and praying for an answer.

Truth be told, he was indeed hoping you would return: the faintest of wish he dared to keep in his aching heart. The merman claws his way out of the murk, revealing his even paler figure. His beloved, his dearest! To see you in front of him like this is worth all the damnation in the world.

The prince involuntarily grabs your wrist. This is his final chance to convince you of his devotion, of his undying loyalty. He would burn the entire world down just to have you look in his direction. A vague smile crosses his face; to hear his own shameless thoughts...A noble turned into a beggar. He never expected to find himself trapped in such a miserable yearning.

The swamp is quiet, save for your laboured breaths. You’re burdened by indecisiveness. You...

[kamisatomay018]

Just me thinking about how eager Sylus would’ve been to meet MC after turning into his fully human form.

To be able to touch her without the fear of his claws hurting her, to be able to appear “normal” so that she’d never fear him again. The urge he would’ve had to feel her soft skin beneath his now human like fingertips, to be able to walk on the beach, hand in hand, making identical human like footprints on the sand, just like hers.

Maybe this is why he loves intertwining his hands with hers- to be able to feel her hand in his, to be able to properly hold her hand without the claws of his former self interfering.

He would give up everything; his big and strong wings, his unbelievable power, his terrifyingly beautiful draconic features, just for her. To be able to live as a human alongside her, just the way he had probably vowed to her back in Tarus city all those years ago.

Just me crying over how upset he must’ve felt when he saw MC again, but her long and shiny hair were no longer the striking shade of silver he remembered them as, they were now dark. The one thing that used to be common between them amongst every single oddity was now gone, when he had shed his entire previous existence just to become human for her. Was this some kind of cruel joke that fate was now playing?

And I bet that Sylus made MC shoot his heart on purpose, so that she would remember the way she stabbed her claymore right at his crystal heart. He would relive that pain once more, if it meant that she would recognise him.

If she ever dyes her hair silver, I can bet that Sylus would stare at her, breath caught in his throat as his memories of Tarus city and their life together flash before his eyes. And I just know that he would get teary eyed for the first time, hugging her close while his hands were busy caressing and feeling her long hair.

Fml his myth isn’t even out yet and I’m ready to cry.

[screampied]

Small itty bitty req 😽😽😽 Vampire! Gojo who cums just from drinking her blood..? 🤕🤕🤕😸

vamp gojo getting a taste for the first time ★

◜ ❦◞ — warnings. fem! reader, vampire au / gojo, mentions of blōod, touch starved gojo, spıt, cowgirl, praise, premature ejaculatıon, biting, mdni.

you were one of his many weaknesses—disregarding the plethora of other vampire known things such as sunlight, garlic, or even stakes. you and your taste alone was enough to bring him to his knees. gojo’s entire body feels scorchingly hot the moment you cream down his cock. he’s still twitching from the inside, gentle honed claws piercing into your skin. “p- please,” he’d pant, pointed tips of his ears burning more and more tepid. a lukewarm breeze sets against his skin before he conceals his face into your neck. “m- my precious little . . human,” and you moan the moment his long, forked tongue licks a stripe near your neck. “i want more of you. please.”

there was a bit of a tremor in his voice - shaky. the more stripes he licked up your neck, the more he became addicted. the vampire’s cock was embed into you, feeling the sheer snug and warmth near the inside before his eyes roll back. with irregular breaths yanking from his lungs, he looks at you, a gentle nail scraping near your neck before he pouts. “can .. can i?”

he wants a taste,

as you’re taking your seat on his lap, it didn’t take you long to realize what he meant. gojo wanted to feed off of you. two broad hands of his grab onto your waist, pulling you close. body against body, skin against skin—your warmth was the only thing that made him pulse.

funnily enough, it’s known vampires don’t even have a pulsing heart, and yet you made him feel alive. it’s ironic.

his dick was still plugged into your gripping, gluey walls before you give him a sweet reply. “go ‘head toru, baby. get a taste.”

your voice,

it was such a treat to listen to, almost harmonic.

the way you spoke in such a pretty tune was enough to have him dump another load into you. and then another, then another.

the vampire lets off a needy moan at your answer, not hesitating to incise his chiseled, sharp fangs into the crook of your neck.

“mhm,” he whines, and you feel a bit of slippery saliva trickle its way near the edge of your neck. you were so tasty that it was enough to make him drool. as gojo licks it up, you hear a long sluuuurp and he’s making sure to savor your metallic taste. to him, you taste like candy.

and already,

he’s addicted. his tongue whisks itself against the growing bite marks and he whines again. pretty frosted lashes of his flutter as he’s relishing in your flavor. needless to say, you were simply drool worthy. “my s- sweet girl, hah, taste even better than i imagined.”

you stay still, remaining to sit on his lap. the base of his cock squishes down a bit the more your ass grinds against the weight. he groans, and the body heat that’s sticking against the two of you grows more heated. as he’s feeding, you can hear a little growl escape from his lips once you playfully try to move away. “mine, s- stay,” he grumbles, making sure to not suck away too much blood. the vampire was well aware of the precautions and didn’t wanna leave you too weak or lightheaded, regardless of how sweet you tasted. “hngh, ‘s good. ‘m gonna c- cum i think.”

“s- satoruuu,” you breathe, taking a moment to swallow and the only thing you ended of gulping down was your sweet, sweet pity.

you felt your cunt start to spasm sporadically, one hand gently wrapping around his throat as he’s collecting more of a taste. “thaaaat’s it, ‘s good. good boy, suck harder baby.”

a snowy wisp of a strand runs down his forehead before he pouts — pointed ears twitching at your praise.

good boy . .

a whine rips from his throat again, and already he can feel himself starting to thrust against you. sloppy thrusts but you still felt every inch rut its way into you. he was so eager, so feral. he couldn’t help it, if you kept teasing him this much he was going to stuff you full.

again, and again, and again.

“oh, you like when i call you that?” you peer up at the vampire, watching as he momentarily breaks away his lips from your neck. a cute fang of his pokes out underneath his bottom lip and there’s metaphoric heart eyes shimmering in his blown irises.

“y- yes,” he nods, a slight crack in his tone as you’re still happily straddling him. gojo’s face flushes deeply and a sharp gasp shortly follows. “ngh, say it again, please.”

leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose, his eyes ultimately widen into the size of saucers. “good boy, ‘toru.”

“f- fuck, woman,” he snarls under his breath, your touch alone able enough to harm him more than pungent garlic ever could.

gojo can’t help but crane your neck slightly to the right again with one hand. he moves it back to it’s original position before sinking his fangs into your neck again. once more, he feels the prodigious tang of saltiness coat against his forbidden buds that run against his tongue. you moan, tossing your head back in pleasure before feeling him starting to sniff you.

as if your taste wasn’t enough - your scent was just brutal.

you giggle at bit at the sensation of him getting off to your naturally sweet aroma. his dick was growing more aroused. its twitching multiplies and you feel every movement from the inside of your stingy walls. gojo’s whining gets louder, and before he knew it, the crown of his cock starts to vigorously thrash and thrash against your cunt. your walls were being greedy, you were barely even moving and yet, your gummy walls continue to hug him tight, never letting go.

because in the end, you didn’t wanna let go,

not now, not ever.

“c- cum, ‘m gonna cum,” he huffs, soft warm lips ghosting against the new bite marks that tattoo against your skin. he stares at his gift to you with the most lewd expression, eyes half lidded and all. feeling himself get more sheepish as each second passed, he whimpers. “i- oh, really gonna make me—”

and it’s a long pause.

it’s almost too long, radio silence and yet it was deadly. right before you could utter out a word, you feel a spurt of hotness ooze its way into your pussy. it’s slow and it’s slimy, coming out in thin velvety ropes. so much to where you feel it shoot into the very depths of your womb. gojo’s a mess, his whimpers reaching higher pitched volumes before he buries his face into your neck again.

shame overtook him—sharp nails of his gently graze against your hips as he’s holding you close, a milky ring around his base shortly painting around his fat base.

whenever he came, it was a lot. piles and piles of it, you weren’t even moving a muscle and you had him this weak. the finish came to him like a truck at full force, it was a constant ringing in his ears.

your hips buck and he grows quiet— his favorite part, listening to the final finishes. ripples of rapture overtake his body as he’s pouring his all into you, and he takes a moment to suck against your neck once more. your cunt squelched and his seed made sounds similar of its own. you mewl out a sweet sob, feeling his tongue flick against the few remnants of blood that were left near your neck before he sighs deeply.

not only was he pussy drunk but he was perhaps he was in love.

“i- i—” he murmurs, still having his face buried deep into your collarbone. gojo didn’t want you to move, he wanted you to stay. “more.”

“more what, ‘toru?” you whisper, still feeling him dump such a heavy amount of cum into you as if it was nothing. it was sticky, gluing against the entrance of your pussy as if it was some kind of adhesive. it was a mess— you were filled, a few strings of cum gluing against your opening, you feel the warmth coat against the outside and the inside. you gingerly pull his head up to look at you and the vampire leans into your gentle, familiar touch. “mm?”

“more of you,” he grumbles, and you let off a gasp once he makes you lie back, spreading your legs.

the vampire strums a soft padded thumb against your pulsating clit that had wads of cum spilling out in nice clumps before he leans down. gojo groans, lapping his own flavor up with his tongue before flickering his pretty cerulean eyes back up at you. giving your pussy a kiss, crooked sly smile forming on his reddened glossed lips. “not done, wanna bite her next.”

and you gulp, chest heaving in and out— you leer down at gojo and realize he was staring straight at your sopping wet cunt.