First thing’s first. If you’re going to like, you might as well reblog. It’s not that hard. That’s how you can see more dom reader content and my content. Supporting works both ways.
This whole account will be dedicated to my black folks that love to take control in fanfics. On this account, i am officially a multi fandom account, what I post will be on my Masterlist link.
SFW account
What’s next?
Reblogging content
Sims content
Thirsts 16+
Masterlist! 16+
Asks!
Rants!
Babbling 16+
-This is a dominant reader blog and only a dominant reader blog. the person of this account will not write sub reader.
What I do/don’t write
This is a heavy NSFW account, but sometimes angst will make its way over here.
I DO NOT write member shipping unless the said relationship was poly.
I only write NSFW for k-pop members (and twilight characters) that are over the age of 18+. for obvious reasons.
Nooo, I don't write r*pe or non-con, scat, heavy BDSM, anything with feet or body fluids.
~Requesting~
Here you can leave anonymous requests and thirsts, have fun!
Leave requests in the asks box that’ll be linked in my bio and on this post.
I'll mention if requests are open or not in my bio so please look forward to that.
Just wanted to let you guys know that there are two pages on this app that like to troll and make very degrading stories about black readers! @/suckmuballs and @/whotookmynameareuserious these are two little white girls pretending to be black, who are MINORS.
For starters, im a black girl myself in case you guys didn’t know that. I find this very disrespectful and this is not my first time encountering something like this on an app built around community. So if you support me and follow me and you happen to find their accounts “funny”???? Please feel free to block me or message me to have yourself removed.
I don’t play that weirdo and disrespectful shit, it’s not cool and I don’t fuck with it. It’s 2026 and we’re still making trolling pages and lying out our age AND race to tear down another just because black girls and boys come on here and have to request for things to be inclusive. These are minors. Report them, do whatever. PLEASE SPREAD AWARENESS & REPOST‼️‼️
I haven’t seen any big accounts spreading awareness on this topic so please. Thank you guys, that’s all.
Just recently fellow in love with your COD content. May I ask for plus size soft/gentle dom reader with Kyle? The thought of kindly making him love on himself is sending meeeee. (Feel free to ignore if you’re uncomfortable with this request)
⚠️Body issues (Gaz is a little insecure), hand job, mirror play, cute smut, plus sized black reader, little dom-sub dynamic, ownership play.⚠️
You catch him in the mirror before he catches himself.
Shirtless, fresh from the shower, towel slung low on his hips—he’s frowning. Studying the scars on his chest, the stretch of his arms, the slope of his stomach like he’s cataloguing flaws instead of history. You lean on the doorframe, warm and slow, watching his eyes drag over himself with that quiet self-loathing he never quite says aloud.
“You’re staring again,” he mutters, not turning.
“I always stare,” you murmur, stepping in. “Can’t help it when the view’s this good.”
He scoffs, a puff of disbelief. But you come up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist and press your soft, solid frame into his back—grounding. His breath hitches. He always does that when you hold him like this. Like it surprises him every time that someone wants to touch him gently.
Your palms spread across his stomach, thumbs brushing just under his ribs. God you loved this stomach. Then your hands went to his arms, squeezing the muscles, trailing the veins. “What is it today?” you ask quietly. “Chest? Arms? Or just… everything?”
His silence is answer enough.
You rest your chin on his shoulder. “You don’t see it, but I do. All of it. The strength. The softness. The way you hold tension like it’s duty. The way you look at everyone else with such care…and then turn on yourself like you don’t deserve the same.”
He shivers. Not from cold. Everywhere is hot.
“I love this body,” you go on, voice dipped in honey. “Every part. Not just because it looks good when it’s pressed up against mine—which it does—but because it’s yours. And you are mine.”
He turns his head, cheek brushing yours, and his voice is hoarse, smooth like chocolate. “You really believe that?”
You smile, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I know it…don’t you love my body?”
He looked at your reflection like you were crazy- how dare you ask that question?? “Without question.”
You gave him a small smile, and hummed. You already knew his answer, he wasn’t shy about it, worshipped you every time he was home.. “I’m gonna ask you that same question again. But I’m asking you this time… do you like your body?”
This time- he did hesitate. There were days, days like this where he did feel…inadequate.
“Sure.” The answer was dry. Too dry. And you squinted your eyes at him, causing him to breathe out a laugh. “We can’t have that…I bet I can get a better answer than that…”
Then you kiss the spot just behind his jaw—the one that always makes him soften-and he turns in your arms so fast, like he needs you to prove it now, needs to feel how much you mean it.
Your hand slides to the back of his neck, firm but not rough. “Slow down,” you murmur, guiding him to turn back around to face the foggy mirror. “Let me take care of you tonight.”
And he nods, gaze heavy, breath stuttering. Because when you speak like that—sweet and sure and worshipful—he believes you. And you need him to believe you.
You peered over his shoulder, full breasts pressing against his hot back, the drips of water from his back seeping into your bralette.
He was already staring at you through the glass, hand’s already on the towel, dick half hard and you could see it tenting under the white cotton. “Cmon, handsome…” you urged him, manicured nails trailing his sides, he shuttered, fingers letting go of the towel, and it falls over y’all’s feet.
His chest was heaving at this point, the tattoo of his grandmothers name on his heart looked like it expanded as he took in air. It was silly, every time he doubted his self, his mind, his physical- you were always right there with him- for him. And he believed you every time. Right now he did feel handsome, his fiancée’s fingers all over his abdomen, making him feel like he was made out of glass.
“Stunnin’ sweetheart… I hate it when you think of yourself less than… do you know why I hate it?” You whispered into his ear, your teeth barely grazing the shell of his ear while your hand reaches to his mouth, and he licked, the drool on his tongue wetting your pointer, middle and ring.
“Because I’m yours…”
“Because you’re mine…” you echoed to him, hand wrapping around his cock and he couldn’t help but whimper at the temperature difference. His dark eyes watched your every move, trying not to fuck into your fist. “good boy…” fuck.
He inhaled sharply, “Mmng…” he whimpered, his hips poking out just a little as his back leaned into your chest, your slightly cold hand stroking him slowly, softly. “You’re calling yourself imperfect, but you’re the greatest thing I’ve laid my eyes on, love…you’re perfect, inside and out. Not a mistake on your body… so I can’t have you saying you’re not perfect, because then you’ll just be insulting me…right?..” your thumb presses against the slit of his dick, slick covering your thumb.
“Yes-yes, right…” he licked his plump lips, his nails biting into his palm before his hands reached back to hold you- his large palms cupping your ass. “Mhm… now look at how perfect you are… your scars, your body…” he was getting louder now as he followed your orders, eyes following the light brown scars scattered around his abdomen. But it was so hard, it was so hard especially when you stroked him like that, focusing on his slicked tip.
“I…I can hardly focus…Christ …”
“Having trouble focusing you say…?” This question had an undertone to it, and he felt your lips on his ear shift into a smile. He was so blissed out by your hand, he just nodded, his eyes watching the way your fingers moved around his inches.
“Then you do it…cmon.” Your voice was still soft as you demanded him, his eyes fluttering up to look at yours, he wanted to tell you no- to beg for you to keep going, but his hand had already let go of your ass and grabbed his dick. He always listened to you- he just couldn’t help it, it was apart of him at this point.
Oh he was focused now, cock heavy and hot in his palm as he watched your hands crawl around his chest, your thumbs brushing his hard nipples. “Oooh, love…” came from his mouth breathlessly, his senses hyper aware of everything right now, the humidity in the air, how hot you feel against his back, the sweat moving down his hairline as he watched you watch him. “Just like that…go on.”
He only moves faster, your encouragement like honey to his tea in the mornings, so sweet and delicious. His precum was lube at this point, squelching noises echoing in the bathroom along side his breathy moans. He was never too loud, always on the verge of long breathy moans and quiet grunts when the two of you made love. One day, you’ll change that.
For right now, you’ll hold him as he approaches his orgasm, you’ll watch him as he breathes heavily against your body, and jerks in your arms as his cum squirts onto the counter, and drips down his calloused fingers. “Good boy…”
“M-mng, thank- thank you… love you…”
You kissed his damp shoulder, now damp with sweat and not water. “I love you too, my love…how do you look now, hm?” You whispered softly, hands still trailing his body.
“I’m fuckin hot.”
You couldn’t hold back your laughter, and he joined you.
Vampirism, Vampire reader, mlm, interracial, religious themes, mention of homophobic family and mother, Jasper country as hell, Jaspers bi/gay awakening, blood, mention of murder, dead deer, pay gorn, readers powers are fluid manipulation, expect that. there is some masochist tendencies from Jasper, top reader, bottom Jasper, shy dom reader, power sub Jasper, lots of guilt, lots of sexual tension. Typical twilight anatomy hard skin, venom saliva, etc etc.
Jasper had no choice.
Your pulse was slipping away…fluttering like a trapped bird—and your breaths were no longer breaths but wet, ragged sounds, each one a countdown to silence. He hovered over you, torn between salvation and damnation, every part of him screaming to drink even as his heart broke at the thought.
“Forgive me,” he rasped, voice jagged with panic. “God, please forgive me.” But he had already had your limp wrist in his hand.
Then he bit.
His teeth tore through your wrist with terrifying precision, but this wasn’t hunting. This was begging. His lips filled with warmth, hot copper flooding his mouth, and for one burning second, instinct nearly won. This wasnt how he imagined to taste you, but deep down he was glad to do it in a…somewhat herotic way. One…two…three gulps was when he realized he had been doing too much, your breathing slowing with your heart. He could barely stop himself, but he forced his jaw loose, wrenched away before he took more than planned. All he needed to do was bite and that was it…. Venom dripped from his saliva into the wound as he clamped his lips shut and threw his head back, growling deep in his chest like a wounded animal. It took…everything inside of him…
Your body arched in his arms as the venom took hold. It burned like wildfire, streaking through your veins, racing to your heart. You tried to scream, but all that escaped was a wet, gargled cry.
It was agony.
Your chest felt like it was caving in; your lungs collapsed against the fire climbing through your ribcage, your bones knitting and breaking all at once. Every nerve caught fire. Your skin crawled as if molten glass replaced your blood. And worst of all was the helplessness, the awareness of Jasper’s panicked face hovering above you, smeared with your blood, the sound of him whispering “stay with me, please, stay with me” like prayer beads slipping through his fingers.
But darkness crept in fast, merciful and cold. As your body burned, your mind dimmed. Your last sight before blacking out was Jasper’s face twisted in horror, his hands shaking as he pressed them to your chest, trying to hold the life inside you.
Then headlights cut through the mist.
Carlisle and Edward found you on the roadside within minutes, the metallic scent already drawing them. Jasper knelt there, shaking, crimson-handed, whispering hoarsely, “I couldn’t let him die. I couldn’t.”
Carlisle crouched beside you, gaze already assessing the wreckage of your body. The broken ribs, the punctured lung, the slow but steady beat of a heart that would stop any minute. Venom was working, but without guidance, it would be chaos.
“Turn him to the side so he won’t choke on blood…he’ll survive,” Carlisle said calmly, though his voice had that edge Jasper knew well: urgency masked by practiced control. “But we’ll need to make it look like he didn’t.”
Edward glanced between them, his jaw tight, but said nothing. You didn’t notice him—didn’t notice anything. You were floating in fire, every flicker of your heartbeat cracking through your skull.
Carlisle carried you in silence, cradled like something sacred and breakable, while Jasper followed, wordless, a shadow in the storm. At the Cullen house, they laid you on a pristine white sheet in Carlisle’s study.
The transformation had only begun. Your body writhed even in unconsciousness, muscles locking and jerking as the fire ate its way through every vein. Your heartbeat pounded loud enough that Edward flinched. Jasper’s hands never left you, pressing against your chest, your wrist, anywhere he could feel that faint drum of life.
Carlisle worked quickly. A calculated dose of morphine dulled the outward agony, quieting the screaming, the thrashing, but it couldn’t stop the burn. It only masked it. Your body still shook occasionally, a faint tremor under Jasper’s palm, like a violin string vibrating under invisible fingers.
To the outside world, you were dead. When you didn’t return home that night your mother had dared to sleep a wink. She was on the verge of tears by how angry she was, wanting to curse you out and absolutely scared and worried about her sweet angel…when the sun came up and she was smoking her Newport on the balcony, your mother was called.
She absolutely didn’t believe it, thought it was something cruel joke someone was planning about her baby. But then they told her to go to the morgue to identify you.
The drive to the morgue was a blur of prayer and panic. By the time she stood under the cold fluorescent lights, hands shaking, heart hammering like it wanted to break her ribs, Carlisle was already waiting—white coat spotless, voice gentle as falling snow.
“Miss Jackson…” Carlisle whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
They pulled the sheet back only enough to show your face. Pale. Ashy. Lips split and bruised, cheek scraped raw. Your ear was torn where you’d hit the ground too hard. She didn’t want to imagine what was under the blanket. Her legs buckled. She pressed both hands over her mouth to keep the scream inside, the sound tearing her throat anyway.
“That’s my baby,” she sobbed, voice cracking. “That’s…that’s my baby boy.”
Carlisle steadied her with a doctor’s practiced touch, his golden eyes soft with something she couldn’t read. “I promise you,” he murmured, “he didn’t suffer long.”
A lie, beautiful and terrible. Because you were still suffering.
While your mother signed papers and left the building hollow-eyed, your body wasn’t left alone. Carlisle made arrangements—quick, quiet. A closed casket was prepared. Word spread fast in Forks: the new kid, gone in a tragic hit-and-run. The church ladies shook their heads, your basketball team left flowers at a locker you’d never open again.
But by then, you were already far from Forks.
But you were still burning. Still changing.
While Jasper kept vigil in Alaska, far from Forks’ prying eyes, he watched your features sharpen, your skin pale into marble, your heartbeat slow to a crawl and then vanish entirely. For three long days, he sat with blood drying under his nails, venom burning his own throat, watching you die—and knowing you’d rise again, not as the boy he had met, but as something else.
When the fire finally stopped, the silence was unbearable. Jasper thought, for a single horrified moment, that he’d failed. That your heart had stopped too soon. But no that couldn’t be the case, you were healed, the back of your head fused back together, the raw on your face smoothing back out, eye brow growing back fully, ear back to normal. You looked…good better than good. You looked….immortal.
Then your eyes opened.
The fire that had burned through your veins for three endless days had finally-finally broke. Silence fell inside you…a silence so complete it was terrifying. Your chest didn’t rise. Your heart didn’t beat. You didn’t even gasp for air…you just rose. You weren’t dead. You’d never felt more alive.
The first thing you saw was Jasper.
He sat motionless beside the bed in a dim, unfamiliar room,his jaw clenched, eyes still dark from the hunger he’d been fighting since the night he changed you. His hands were folded so tightly in his lap that his knuckles cracked.
You tried to breathe out of instinct, but that was a bad bad idea. Panic rose sharp in your throat as fire filled your esophagus, filled your gums with a sharp pain and your mouth filling with something that didn’t taste quite like you were dead for three days.. Everything felt too sharp, too bright. You could hear the creak of the floorboards two rooms away, smell pine sap through the walls, feel Jasper’s eyes on you like a weight.
“You’re awake…”
Your eyes snapped towards his, you could hear his gulp as his black eyes met your maroon ones, and as soon as you saw him… saw the real him- saw what he looked like in these new eyes, you snarled. Dangerous, you thought to yourself, nails digging into the mattress as you tensed up to defend yourself. Now that you could see… Jaspers scars were his most dominant feature. It was hard to take your eyes off his jaw and neck, teeth marks from something litering his skin with purpose.
He immediately caught your hostility, a wave of fear and danger smacking him in the face and it didn’t take even a half of second for him to push his powers towards you. “Y/n… calm down…” he whispered. You were stronger than him, way stronger, hungrier, scared and mean as hell. But he wouldn’t allow you to be a threat. This was what he was afraid of, that natural reaction you’d have of him after seeing him in a real light, of seeing him with all his scars and imperfections his vampirism only hid from his natures prey.
He could see you calming down, could feel you calming down. But most importantly he could feel your hunger, it made him hungry. he swallowed thickly as he slowly stood to his feet, carefully.
“Easy,” he murmured, voice so soft you barely recognized it. “It’s over. You made it through.”
But his expression betrayed him. There was guilt there, heavy enough to crush stone. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to touch you, then thought better of it.
“What…?” Your voice was strange—clearer, sharper, vibrating in the air like glass. You hadn’t even realized you spoke, you couldn’t even recognize your voice. You could barely even remember…what…what was even going on… one moment you were…home… and then…you’re here…
“You’re confused, I understand…you uh… hit your head…brain injuries take a little longer to heal… you might not get your memories back, Alice never did...” his stutter was unnatural to him, a human tick.
what?
You tried to stand up. The room blurred, not from dizziness but from speed. Your muscles obeyed before you even thought to move them. And that sound—his heartbeat, slow but steady, thundering in your ears like war drums…no, not his heartbeat. Someone else’s…something else’s… two different rhythms and paces. One fast and another slow.
Jasper was already moving, hand outstretched, steadying you by the shoulder before you even realized you’d launched toward the door. “Easy,” he repeated, firmer this time. “You don’t want to do that.”
Except every cell in your body screamed that you did.
His grip tightened, and for the first time you noticed how cold his hand was, how inhumanly strong. You met his gaze, black with hunger and trained—and there was something in it you couldn’t name. Fear. Regret. And something else that made your new senses sharpen even further.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
For what?…saving you? Changing you? Wanting you? You didn’t want to know what now, all you wanted was to eat, to run. You barely even recognized him, and you clearly weren’t in the headspace to try too.
You looked down at the hand on your shoulder, cold and firm, his grip steady as iron. Your new vision sharpened,every crease in his pale skin, every glint of light off the faint scar tissue etched along his fingers. Those red eyes of yours glared up at him, unfocused but burning, your body restless with the hunger that had replaced your heartbeat.
“Fuck out of my way…” you growled. The sound was raw, animalistic, deep enough to rattle the glass doors. You couldn’t even remember if your voice had ever sounded human before.
Jasper didn’t flinch. But he didn’t loosen his hold, either.
You slapped his hand away, more violently than you intended. It should have shattered his wrist. You didn’t know how strong you were yet. His arm jerked to the side, but he caught himself instantly, that soldier’s reflex never breaking.
And you were gone, pasting him in a blur, moving faster than wind, straight toward the open balcony door where the cold air hit your face like needles. Below, in the dark Alaskan snow, there was a sound no one else could have heard: the slick, wet rhythm of blood surging through a living body. Arteries pumping, veins singing. Your throat felt like it had been lit on fire. Two different hearts, left or right, you didn’t care.
You needed it. Now.
Downstairs, Tanya moved first, a streak of gold hair and fury, but Eleazar’s hand shot out across her chest, holding her back. “No,” he whispered, voice calm as snowfall. “We let Jasper deal with this.”
“He’s not ready, he might as well be a newborn himself-” Tanya hissed, but Eleazar’s gaze didn’t waver.
“He will be. If not, we intervene.” His voice was quiet, but firm enough to freeze even Tanya in place.
Outside, your feet barely touched the balcony railing before you vaulted cleanly into the night, landing on the icy ground like it was nothing. The scent was stronger now, curling through your nose like smoke. Something that smelt like nature, woody and earthy. Another that smelt Sweeter, fulfilling and delicious. You could see the hearts: beating somewhere beyond the trees, could feel it vibrating against the wood, the hardness of your skin, could feel it pulsing around you.
Jasper was already behind you. His steps were soundless, but you felt him there—closing in fast, a shadow faster than your own.
“Y/n!” His voice cracked sharp through the trees. Not a shout, not a plea—an order. The kind a commander gives to a soldier about to run off a cliff.
The hunger screamed louder than his words. Your muscles coiled to spring.
Then Jasper slammed into you from the side, the two of you skidding across the snow, ice exploding under your bodies. Like two clothed boulders smacking into each other.He pinned you to the ground, face inches from yours, black eyes burning with barely checked terror.
“Look at me!” he barked.
You snarled, teeth snapping, and Jasper saw the change in your face—the razor glint of newborn venom dripping from your lips, your pupils wide, almost feral. He knew that hunger; he’d lived it, bled with it, killed for it. And yet there was something else in your expression that scared him worse than thirst, pain. You didn’t understand what you were, what you wanted, or why every drop of blood within a mile sang your name.
“Get—off me—” You shoved upward and nearly unseated him from your lap. Maybe in another situation, a better one, this position would’ve made you realize that there was something between the two of you.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” Jasper growled, though his voice cracked halfway through. Not because he couldn’t—but because he’d rather die than do it. “Stay with me, you hear? You don’t want that blood. You want me to stop you.”
Behind his controlled expression, Jasper’s own instincts screamed—kill, control, dominate. It took everything he had not to sink his teeth into your throat to end the threat. But he wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t. He’d already damned you once. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t him anymore, he wasn’t with Maria.
He pressed a forearm against your chest, not enough to crush. Everytime you launched up he slammed you back into the snow, his lips at your ear:
“I’m not letting you do this. If I have to hold you here ‘til sunrise, I will.”
You heard that. And Oh you didn’t like that one bit.
This wresting lasted about two long minutes, trees being sacrificed, growls that sounded so animalistic the wilderness knew to stay far.
The snow exploded beneath you both as Jasper drove his shoulder into your chest again, snarling through gritted teeth, “Y/n—stop—!” His voice cracked—not from fear, but from the effort of holding you down.
You didn’t hear a damn word. You wanted the blood. That pulsing, rushing sound in the forest was louder than his drawl, louder than the thoughts slamming through your own head. You twisted your hips and threw him sideways with one violent kick, feeling his marble body skid across the ground. God, he’s heavy, but not heavy enough to stop me. Jasper was trying. But goddamnit if you weren’t every bit athletic.
Jasper lunged again, faster this time, pinning you with his full weight, his breath brushing your ear, his jaw clenched tight. “I’m not usin’ my gift on you again, not unless you let me—so quit fightin’ me!”
You growled, snapping at him, lips curling back over perfectly sharp newborn teeth. He didn’t flinch. But damn if he didn’t feel something strange coiling in his chest every time your face got close—every time you threw him off and he had to slam back into you, his hands gripping your wrists, his thighs braced to keep you from tearing loose. God help me… he thought bitterly, his voice a whisper even to himself. I’m wrestling a man I can’t kill, can’t hurt, and—hell, why does he smell like this?
The Denali coven stood thirty yards back, silent statues in the snow. Tanya’s golden hair caught the moonlight like flame. “He’s losing him,” she muttered. But Eleazar held his arm out again, unreadable. “Wait. Watch.”
You surged upward, forcing Jasper back an inch at a time, your strength shocking even yourself. His muscles strained, his teeth clenched so hard the sound cracked through the night. He could feel you vibrating with raw power. “Stop fightin’ me!” Jasper barked again, but this time, there was a thread of panic.
You didn’t stop. You got one hand free.
Your nails raked across his cheek,not enough to break him, but enough to make him jerk back—and then you slammed your palm flat against his face, fingers digging into his jawline nails clawing him before his marbled skin healed. Something strange pulsed inside you. Not thirst. Not rage. A quick feeling of panic.
Jasper’s body locked. His golden eyes rolled back white. For a horrifying second, you felt the venom in his veins slow, like you’d snatched the current of a river and squeezed it tight. His grip slackened completely. Then he collapsed on top of you, deadweight, lips parting soundlessly as if his breath had been stolen.
It lasted five seconds.
But that’s all you needed. You shoved him off, leapt to your feet, and sprinted toward the trees. The heartbeat was close now…so close you could taste it.
Behind you, the Denali coven moved to intercept, but they didn’t make it two steps before it hit them. A wave of numbness washed out of you like a shockwave, thick and invisible. Kate’s knees buckled first, then Tanya dropped to one hand in the snow, gritting her teeth. “What… is this…?” she gasped. Eleazar’s eyes widened in sudden recognition, even as he fell to one knee. “His gift… it’s affecting us too—”
You didn’t hear them hit the ground. You were too far gone.
The forest broke open into a clearing—and there it stood. A massive bull, grey hide glistening with frost, horns sharp as spears. It snorted steam into the night air, hooves grinding the ice, alone and unaware of what was coming.
Your lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. It wasn’t human. It didn’t matter. The heart sounded just as sweet.
With one burst of newborn speed, you hit it like a wrecking ball, teeth sinking into the thick neck as the animal bellowed, hooves kicking, horns slashing at the air. The taste flooded your throat,hot, wild, brutal—and you drank deep, every nerve in your body screaming in ecstasy.
Jasper’s world came back in pieces. First the cold sting of snow against his cheek, then the acrid tang of venom on his tongue, and finally the ragged sound of you feeding. His vision cleared and, for a split second, he didn’t believe what he was seeing.
You were on the bull, knees braced against the ground, throat working in deep, greedy gulps. Your hands were slick with steaming blood, lips painted crimson, every guttural moan echoing through the silent clearing. The animal thrashed once, twice—then went limp. And still you drank, like you’d never be full.
Jasper pushed himself up, unsteady—not because you’d hurt him (impossible), but because you’d stopped him. You’d laid him out flat in five seconds. Him, Jasper Whitlock, who’d slaughtered dozens of newborns with his bare hands and hadn’t lost a fight since the Civil War.
The Denalis had regrouped around him at a cautious distance. Tanya’s golden eyes were wide as she watched you tear into the bull like paper, teeth ripping out its throat in a way she hadn’t seen in centuries. Kate crossed her arms tight, but even she couldn’t mask her awe. Only Eleazar spoke, his voice low and certain.
“Fluid manipulation,” he murmured. “Not just blood. Our venom, too. Maybe even water, if he trains.” His gaze flicked to Jasper. “You felt it, didn’t you? When he touched you?”
Jasper bit down on his jaw so hard he could’ve cracked his teeth. He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. They could feel it rolling off him in waves…anger, fear, amazement…and, tangled somewhere deep in the mix, something sharper and hotter that made Tanya and Kate exchange a glance.
“Lord help me,” Jasper muttered under his breath. His fingers twitched like he couldn’t decide whether to keep his hands at his side or his hair.
Eleazar went on as if he hadn’t heard. “You’ve killed a hundred newborns stronger than average. But you’ve never seen anything like this. None of us have…”
Jasper stayed silent, eyes locked on you as you finally wrenched yourself free from the carcass, chest heaving with phantom breath. Steam rose from the fresh blood on your skin. You looked feral, radiant, terrifying.
He hated that his chest tightened at the sight. Hated that his thoughts stuttered for half a second as he remembered your fingers digging into his jaw, venom inside his own body freezing like a river turned to glass. Hated that every part of him wanted to walk over there and shake you until you listened—while some darker, quieter part just wanted to watch you feed. You were a fucking unit. His responsibility, his newborn
Behind him, Tanya shifted uncomfortably, wrinkling her nose at the emotions leaking off him. Kate made a face. “You’re broadcasting like a damn radio,” she muttered.
Jasper didn’t respond. Didn’t even glance at them. He just stood there, jaw tight, fists clenched, and watched you lick the blood from your hand like you’d been born for it.
The world was still tinted red when you finished feeding. The bull was nothing but a collapsed heap in the snow, its blood steaming on your lips. You barely had time to swipe your arm across your mouth like a toddler before a cold hand clamped onto the back of your shirt and yanked you off your feet.
“Enough.” Jasper’s voice was low, vibrating with fury, every syllable drawn razor-sharp. He didn’t ask, didn’t warn you—just dragged you back, boots cutting trenches into the snow.
You stumbled, legs clumsy with newborn strength, but didn’t fight him. Not because you couldn’t—you could—but because your stomach was rolling, turning inside out. He was hauling you like a misbehaving kid as the Denali sisters followed at a leisurely distance, amused golden eyes flicking between your bloody clothes and Jasper’s white-knuckled grip.
Your legs buckled. Knees hit the snow with a crunch, hands collapsing the snow and then the muddy grass beneath…and then everything came up at once—burning, choking.
“What the—ugh—fuck—” you spat between violent heaves. Chunks of old human food mixed with dark blood splattered the snow, foul and sour, like rot poured straight out of your stomach. You gagged again, body shuddering uncontrollably, cursing through clenched teeth as more half-digested sludge hit the ground.
Behind you, Tanya let out a snort of laughter she didn’t bother to hide. “Yeah,” she muttered to Kate, “don’t miss that part.” Kate smirked, wrinkling her nose at the rancid smell.
Jasper’s grip didn’t waver. He stood over you, glowering down at the back of your head, still holding that stretched polo collar in his fist. The shirt he’d put on you himself after cleaning your broken, dying body. The memory made his jaw flex. He’d seen you naked, he hadn’t wanted to (well…), hadn’t looked longer than a second—but it had cost him every ounce of control he had. Now you were kneeling in front of him, hurling blood and bile, and somehow you still looked dangerous.
“You done?” His voice was cold enough to freeze the steam rising from the dead deer.
Before you could answer, Eleazar approached, boots crunching quietly. He didn’t even flinch at the stench or the gore, didn’t spare the mess a glance. His eyes were fixed on you, bright and sharp with curiosity.
“You…” he said, stepping close enough that Jasper’s head snapped toward him in warning. “You’re going to be a challenge.”
You spat again, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and glared up at the blonde with feral red eyes. “What the hell is your problem?”
Eleazar ignored the edge in your voice, still studying you like a newly forged weapon. “A challenge worth the effort,” he continued softly. Then, glancing at Jasper, “Gotta keep the Volturi out of this. If they learn what he can do…” His mouth pressed into a thin line. “Welcome to our coven, Y/n.”
You laughed bitterly, coughing through the last dregs of venom-tinged vomit. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean…”
Jasper yanked you back to your feet like you weighed nothing, his glower never easing. “Shut up and walk,” he growled, shoving you toward the house, still gripping your collar as if you might bolt any second, all while you complained and groaned about your stomach- and muttering about how you couldn’t even remember what was happening.
The Denali sisters followed, still smirking, still whispering to each other about how this was the first time they’d ever seen him this rattled.
The water scalded, nearly boiling, but you didn’t even flinch as you sank down to your collarbones. Steam rolled off the tub, curling up into the air like phantom hands. The sharp tang of blood still clung to you, clung to everything, though Jasper had sprayed most of it away from your skin before letting you drop into the bath.
You sat motionless, your scarlet eyes locked on the rippling surface of the water, unable to shake the ringing in your ears. Your muscles twitched beneath your new marble skin, restless and strange, like your own body didn’t quite belong to you anymore. This is how you felt when you started doing protein shakes.
Jasper stood a few feet away, jaw tight, arms crossed as if that’d help him avoid looking at the fact that you were completely naked under that steaming water. But his gaze slipped more than once, lingering at your collarbone, the sharp line of your shoulders. His lips pressed tighter each time.
“You’re not dead anymore,” Jasper said finally, voice low, steady. Like he was afraid if he didn’t sound calm you’d spiral again. “You were. That accident… you weren’t gonna make it.” His eyes didn’t waver, but you could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying. I couldn’t let you die.
You blinked at him, slow, the words not fitting together. “What the fuck does that even mean?” No seriously, what the hell is as going on.
“It means,” Eleazar cut in, kneeling beside the tub with the cool, careful air of a man handling a weapon, “you’re one of us now. A vampire.”
You laughed. Or maybe choked. The sound that came out of your throat was broken. “You’re both outta your minds.” You reached up, wiping water off your face.
“You think this is a joke?” Jasper’s voice sharpened, that Southern edge coming out. “That thing you just did in the snow? Takin’ me to my knees like I was nothin’? Humans don’t do that, kid.”
Your chest heaved, though you didn’t need to breathe anymore. Memories bubbled up, fragmented and hazy—your mother’s voice, soft as church hymns, but you couldn’t pin down her face. Couldn’t recall the exact curl of her lip when she scolded you. Just a void where she should have been, and it terrified you more than the two vampires staring you down.
“Your body is changing,” Eleazar continued, tone even. “The next year will be… difficult. The first week will be hell. Everything you ate as a human is still rotting in your system—you’ll keep purging until it’s gone. Your throat will feel like a hot brand every time you’re near blood. You’ll feel thirst like you’re losing your mind.” He held your gaze. “No killing humans. Not ever. If you want to survive this… you learn restraint.”
“Restraint?” you repeated, bitter. “You expect me to believe I’m some bloodsucking freak and then you’re gonna hand me rules? And let’s rewind a bit- how in the hell did I die- what exactly was this accident??” You sat up in the tub, trying to put everything together.
“Hit and run.” Oh.
And suddenly you were there again. Two bright lights heading towards you before it went…black.
“And It ain’t a choice,” Jasper said, his voice low enough to draw your eyes back to his. The muscles in his jaw worked as if he was chewing on his own restraint. “You do it, or the Volturi come for you. They don’t give second chances.”
The word meant nothing to you, but the venom in his tone did. Your hands clenched on the edge of the tub until porcelain cracked beneath your grip. Restrain, what restraint? And who was this Volturi ?
Eleazar didn’t react. He simply kept speaking, voice smooth and patient. “The Volturi is the closest thing we have to a law,” he said, answering the question you hesitated to say out loud. “You have a gift. You can manipulate fluids—blood, venom… likely even water if you learn control. That’s why you need to be hidden. If the wrong people find out, they’ll turn you into a weapon.”
A weapon.
You couldn’t even remember your own mother’s face. You couldn’t even remember what the hell you were doing the day you got killed.
How could you be a weapon?
The steam swirled thicker around you, and you realized your hands were shaking—not from the heat, not from fear, but from the raw, gnawing burn in your throat. You swallowed hard, but it didn’t go away. It was worse than thirst. It was hunger, deep and endless.
You looked between them, breathing hard out of habit. “I’m supposed to just… accept this?”
Jasper’s gaze locked on yours, steady, unreadable. “You don’t exactly got a choice.”
The first three days were hell.
Your body tore itself apart. At first, it was just vomiting: violent heaves that left blood splattered in the sink, streaking across the floor, coating your lips. Then it was worse. The rotten sludge of human food—every burger, every soda, every bite you’d shoved down in your last weeks alive—erupted from you like poison being purged. You cracked tiles in the Denalis’ guest bathroom just bracing yourself against the walls, snarling between curses as another wave hit.
Jasper never left the doorframe. Not once.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” you growled at him, teeth bared, crouched over the toilet as black-red bile poured out of you. “I’m not a kid.” Your attitude was worser than a 13 year old girl. Something that was expected to others, you were getting used to it.
“Sure as hell ain’t human either,” Jasper drawled, but his eyes stayed fixed on you, hands loose at his sides even though you could see the tension rolling off him. “You’re a newborn. Stronger than me if you wanted to be—and dumb enough to hurt yourself doin’ it.”
“Fuck you,” you spat, or tried to, though it came out with another violent retch.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, straightened up in the doorway, and saw Jasper watching you again, silent and unreadable.
“You’re worse than a fuckin’ bloodhound,” you muttered, flicking on the sink to brush the smell of death off your tongue for the 3rd time that day.
“Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t fall apart.”
“I’m fine,” you lied, because everything about your body still felt wrong. Too strong. Too sharp. Too empty.
The Denali sisters didn’t help much. Tanya and Kate passed the bathroom more than once, catching whiffs of that stomach-turning stench, and laughed under their breath. “Don’t miss that,” Irina, who had just came back from Vancouver murmured, earning a chuckle from Kate. “That’s what I said.” Carmen wrinkled her nose and disappeared into the snow with Eleazar instead of hanging around.
By the fifth day, you stopped flinching from the heat in your throat. By the seventh, the purging slowed, then stopped entirely.
That night on the seventh day, after your first real hunt with him; two elk deep, your throat pleasantly scorched but no longer on fire, you and Jasper walked back toward the Denalis’ place, boots crunching in the snow. His eyes were golden again, the black hunger washed away, and for the first time he looked almost… at ease.
Then his voice broke the silence.
“Do you… remember me?”
It caught you off guard. You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, snow scattering under your feet. “…kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“Yeah.” You frowned, staring at the tree line. “I remember… seeing you. Memories are foggy, can’t really see your face, can’t exactly remember specifics… I just know that we’re… friends. But I’m not sure how long we’ve been friends.”
Jasper’s jaw ticked as he glanced over at you. “… we haven’t been friends long, so I wouldn’t feel bad about the loss of memories,” he muttered , kicking a buried rock just to hear it skid over the ice.
But when you looked at him, you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your face, your new face. No acne. No bitten lips. No human scars. No heartbeat. No warmth. Still you… but not fragile.
“We can make new memories,” he said finally, voice low, unreadable.
You met his eyes, something in your chest shifting—a faint echo of a feeling you’d had before you died. Something you didn’t have a name for yet, still trying to figure yourself out.
It was subtle at first, like the faint pressure of water breaking against a dam. A feeling you used to bury deep under sermons, behind your mother’s cold voice and the unspoken rules of what a “good man” was supposed to be. You faintly remembered how it used to feel, that razor-edged panic in your chest if you looked too long at the wrong kind of pretty. A boy smiling in gym class. A teammate’s hand lingering on your shoulder. Your own eyes in the mirror, afraid to admit what they liked.
You used to swallow it down like poison, choke on it until it burned. Not me. Not like that. God, no.
But now… what did it matter?
You were…dead. Heaven wasn’t waiting. Your mother’s voice was a ghost you could barely recall. The weight of expectation…marriage, kids, church pews, legacy—was gone, left rotting in the ground with your heartbeat. What could they threaten you with now? Hell? Eternal damnation? You were already living something stranger than either. Realer than that.
You didn’t give a damn anymore. About heaven. About being “right.” About fitting into the crooked mold your mother tried to crush you into. If you wanted to look at someone, you would. If you wanted to feel something, you would.
And right now, walking through the snow with Jasper Hale glancing sideways at you,quiet, sunken-eyed, his jaw hard and unreadable…you wanted to lean into this. Lean into whatever this was.
But what did he feel?
That was harder to read. Jasper’s face was stone, but his emotions weren’t. Even without his gift, you could feel the weight of it rolling off him like thunder. Guilt, first—so heavy it made your stomach twist, even though you didn’t need to eat anymore. He carried it everywhere, like he was afraid to set it down. You weren’t sure if it was guilt for turning you, or guilt for wanting to keep you close.
And under that… something hotter. A pull he didn’t want to name. Maybe couldn’t name. Every time his amber eyes lingered on you too long, you saw his jaw flex, as if he was grinding the thought out of his skull before it could take root.
You didn’t care about Jasper’s quiet guilt anymore. Not really. Sure, it sucked that you’d never see your mom or your cousins again—but let’s be real. Most of them would’ve bailed on you if they knew what you really were. If they knew what you’d been hiding from yourself. You were done twisting yourself into knots for people who wouldn’t have stayed.
It was time for new beginnings. Time to lean into whatever the hell this new life was.
So when Jasper tugged the book from your hands—carefully, like it might explode—and said, “Come on. Outside,” you didn’t argue. You just stood, brushing imaginary dust from your jeans, and followed him into the icy white expanse.
The Denalis stayed away. Just you and him.
The first hour was simple. Speed drills. Strength drills. Your reflexes against his. You matched him step for step, hit for hit, until he stopped pulling his punches and you both blurred through the snow in a flurry of limbs and gritted teeth. You were stronger than he wanted to admit…and he’d fought armies of newborns (he would take any chance to bring it up).
But strength wasn’t what Jasper really cared about.
He wanted to test your control.
And that… that was harder.
Your emotions were like gasoline now. Every spark a full-blown fire. Happiness made you dizzy. Sadness hollowed you out. Anger? Anger lit you up from the inside like molten metal. And…arousal—God help you—came fast, random, guilty as hell (embarrassingly). Testosterone 2.0, he called it once under his breath, smirking. You’d almost swung at him for that.
So Jasper pushed.
He taunted you. Sidestepped your fastest strikes. Corrected your form in a voice that was just this side of patronizing. “You’re telegraphing,” he drawled after throwing you face-first into the snow for the third time. “A newborn should be faster than this. You sure you’re trying?”
Your teeth clicked together. “I am trying.” You were never a fighter, never rough housed with male friends, never fought in school—straight As, basketball, church and studying. That’s all. You were soft. He was trying to change that.
“Doesn’t look like it.” He circled you like a predator, eyes sharp, waiting. “Anger makes you sloppy. You’ll never win like that.”
Something snapped.
You lunged. Not a practice lunge, not a measured move, but all speed and raw fury. All vampire. Jasper blocked, twisted, slammed you into the frozen ground hard enough to crater it. Snow burst up around you, glittering like glass.
“Focus,” he snapped.
“Shut up!” You roared, shoving him off with strength that surprised you both.
And that’s when it happened.
The pressure in your head changed—like a muscle you didn’t know you had flexed on instinct. The venom in Jasper’s veins stuttered, slowed, locked. For a heartbeat, he froze mid-stride, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat though he didn’t need to breathe. Immediately you thought: oh no not again, reaching out to catch him but it was too late. His knees buckled. He hit the ground hard, amber eyes rolling back for a split second.
The air around you crackled with something electric, something primal. You hadn’t even touched him. This wasn’t like the first time it happened, this time you were aware, this time you watched.
The pressure hit him before he understood it—like invisible hands in his veins, like someone had grabbed his entire nervous system and wrung it dry. His feet locked. His chest seized. He didn’t even have time to curse before his knees gave way and his brain went empty with numbness. For a split second he felt absolutely nothing. No emotions, not even his, not even his voice…
Jasper Whitlock…who had fought wars, slaughtered armies of newborns, commanded chaos itself…crashed to his knees in the snow like a damn rookie.
When he shook it off and staggered upright, there was something new in his face. Not fear exactly, not anger, but a dangerous mix of both… and something hotter. He was enjoying this, not that he’d admit that verbally. But his powers did, something mixed with excitement and lust flowing out of his pores and you felt every once of it.
You didn’t know it was coming from him, you shake your head, gently slapping your face. You just assumed it was your hormones.
And there you were. Standing over him. Not gloating, not smirking—looking almost guilty, like you’d tripped him instead of knocking him on his ass with a gift that shouldn’t even exist.
But Jasper wasn’t thinking about guilt.
Hell, he wasn’t even thinking about danger.
He should’ve been—because what you’d done was terrifying. You’d shut him down, body and venom, without even laying a hand on him. If you’d pushed harder, he wasn’t sure he’d be waking up at all. The idea should’ve chilled him to his core.
“Again,” he said, voice low, jaw clenched. “Do it again. I need to see how far this goes.” He didn’t give you time to argue or apologize.
He told himself it was just training, just strategy. He had to know the limits of your power before the wrong people found out. That was the excuse.
But when you shook your head like you were dizzy, slapping your own cheek and muttering under your breath, Jasper knew you were blaming your newborn hormones for the sudden rush in your chest. You didn’t realize it was him leaking into the air, radiating heat and thrill like a damn furnace.
And God help him—he liked that you didn’t know.
He tightened his fists, buried the rush in a soldier’s discipline, and barked again, sharper this time:
“Do it.”
You hesitated. His stance was different now—looser, hungrier. He wasn’t coming at you like a teacher anymore. He was coming at you like a soldier itching for a real fight. Your ass was starting to get nervous now. You might’ve been stronger than him at this moment, but you weren’t a fighter.
Your chest tightened. Guilt gnawed at the edges of your focus because you didn’t want to hurt him. But underneath that, something hotter, sharper, swelled in your ribs. Pride and male ego. You’d done what no newborn was supposed to do. Hell, what no vampire was supposed to do. You’d leveled Jasper Whitlock.
And he wanted more.
The next lunge was fast, too fast for a human eye to track. His boots carved up the snow, his hand darting for your collar. You felt his intent. Calm but coiled, predatory, even affectionate in its own twisted way. He wasn’t here to kill you, but he was here to test you.
That muscle in your head flexed again.
The venom in his veins jerked like a marionette string yanked too hard. Jasper froze mid-stride, expression flashing from feral focus to startled slackness. His whole body shuddered once, then folded like someone had cut his tendons. He hit the ground hard, face-first, snow kicking up around him. He was out.
This time you didn’t rush to catch him. You just stood there, chest heaving, watching.
What the hell am I doing? you thought. This guy saved me, and I’m putting him down like some kind of dog…
But the pride swelled again. You couldn’t help it. There he was, kneeling at your feet, amber eyes glazed like he’d just come out of a dream.
Because for him, that’s exactly what it was.
It’d been over a century since Jasper had slept—real sleep, the kind humans took for granted. But every time your power locked him down, there was a flash of it. A microsecond of quiet, like sinking under warm water. No guilt. No orders. No memories of blood-soaked battlefields. Just stillness.
And that—combined with the sharp, stubborn thrill of a fight he couldn’t win—lit something in him he hadn’t felt in decades.
He pushed up on one knee, swaying slightly, then spat snow from his lips. His laugh was low, ragged, almost disbelieving.
“Jesus Christ, kid…” he rasped, eyes bright and sharp now, no longer amber but filled black, as if he hadn’t hunted in weeks. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
You blinked, unsure if he meant literally, your power or… the heat simmering between you two that he was leaking into the air again, intoxicating and impossible to ignore. You swallowed thickly, and looked away from him for a second. You had to calm down, you had to calm down, you had to calm down—
You were rock hard right now.
And you prayed he didn’t notice.
“Again,” Jasper ordered, voice rougher, like gravel dragged over glass. “Don’t hold back this time. Put me down ‘til I can’t get up.”
Oh he’s insane. You looked back towards him, watching as he brushed the rest of the snow off as if he wasn’t about to get dirty all over again. “Jas—“
“Cmon. Don’t be scared.” His fists were already in front of his face, boxing style, like he just knew he’d land a punch. Wrong.
Jasper moved like lightning, years of war and training carved into his every motion. His fists sliced through the air, his boots barely whispering against the snow, every strike meant to test your limits, not his. You didn’t use your powers automatically this time, no, you had a recovery period. You needed like- just two minutes because there was a lot happening right now and if you continued you would’ve made a mess of yourself.
You spent that recovery period dodging his hits as best as you could, but some landed. You quickly got a quick taste to realize he really wasn’t holding back as you grunted from the force into your stomach and you swore you felt your skin cracking and sealing back together.
He backed up with practice ease, your red eyes glaring up into his.
Then you gave him what he wanted.
That strange muscle deep in your mind flexed hard. You didn’t even have to touch him. The venom in his body staggered, locked up mid-flow. Jasper crashed to one knee, then both, palms hitting the snow so hard it cracked underneath. His teeth clenched, breath hitching out of pure instinct as if he’d been winded.
But this time… you didn’t let go right away.
You held it.
You felt every drop of venom inside him grind to a stop, like ice spreading through his veins. His eyes fluttered—not out of pain, but out of something dangerously close to bliss. A groan slipped from his throat, sharp and low, and it made something hot coil deep in your stomach, something you didn’t want to name. Then he crashed onto his stomach, eyes rolling back as if he went unconscious—which technically I guess he did.
For a full six seconds Jasper stayed there, trembling faintly, his body unresponsive except for the heat in his gaze when it finally snapped back into focus.
And damn it, he smiled. Not a wide smile. A dangerous, private one, the kind soldiers share right before going back into the line of fire because they love it too much to quit.
You stumbled back, shaking your head. “I…I need a break.”
Your knees hit the snow, slushy cold soaking into your jeans, but it didn’t matter. The world felt too sharp around the edges, your brain pulsing like you’d run a marathon you never trained for. Every time you used that power, it burned. Not in your throat like thirst, but behind your eyes, in your skull. You thought vampires didn’t have human traits like headaches, what the hell.
Above you, the grey Alaskan sky churned with heavy clouds. You leaned back on your elbows, breathless though you didn’t need to breathe, the deep heat in your stomach rolling like a second heartbeat. On top of this migraine… your body was still pulsing in heat. It was overwhelming, overstimulating in almost the worst way and you wished you could control your body.
Jasper wiped snow from his jaw with the back of his hand and took a few steadying breaths he didn’t need. You didn’t miss the faint tremor in his fingers.
From the ridge, the Denali coven watched in utter silence. Tanya crossed her arms, golden eyes amused. Kate smirked knowingly, whispering something in Carmen’s ear that earned her a sharp elbow to the ribs. Eleazar, of course, said nothing, but they caught the faint, knowing shake of his head.
Because they knew.
They saw the way Jasper looked at you. Not with fear, not even irritation, but something far more dangerous. A mixture of awe, challenge, and hunger that had nothing to do with blood. And they saw the way you, still new, still raw, didn’t notice it at all—didn’t realize you were feeding something in him no fight ever had.
Your head lolled back against the cold, eyes slipping closed. Can’t keep this up, you thought. He’s gonna run me into the ground. I’m not built like him.
“Don’t check out on me now,” Jasper muttered, stalking closer, his shadow cutting the grey light. “We ain’t done.”
“Speak for yourself,” you rasped, not bothering to move. “Feels like I’m pulling a truck with my brain.”
Jasper crouched, boots crunching, watching you with an unreadable expression that set your nerves on edge. Not hostile. Not gentle either. Something between predator and partner.
“You’ll get stronger,” he said simply. But his voice was rougher now, betraying how much he was feeling it. “And when you do… God help anyone that ain’t on your side.”
You didn’t reply to that comment. You were trying not to say anything stupid. He was too close right now. You smelt him too clearly, felt him even if he wasn’t a 95 degrees. You swallowed thickly with your eyes still closed, not brave enough to look at him right now. You twisted your hips uncomfortable, trying to pull the wedgie out your crotch without him realizing. If only you knew those were his emotions you were feeling right now, reflecting onto you and then right back to him, almost amplifying.
Jasper crouched in front of you, expecting some snark, maybe a shove, but instead… nothing. You just sat there, staring at the clouds like you were trying to will them into swallowing you whole.
That’s when he caught it. Not weakness, not laziness. The fine tremor in your fingers, the way your eyes struggled to focus when they fluttered open... The kind of exhaustion no vampire should be feeling.
“Hell,” he muttered under his breath. The fight bled right out of him.
“Alright.” He pushed up to his feet and reached for your arm. “That’s it for today.”
“I can go again—” you started, forcing yourself upright, but your legs buckled halfway through the motion. Jasper caught you without thinking, steadying you with an iron grip.
“Nope,” he said firmly, almost sharp. “You can’t.”
There was no pride in his tone now. No thrill of being challenged, no soldier’s grin. Just a steady weight of responsibility settling over him like wet snow. He slung your arm over his shoulder, practically hauling you up despite your weak protests.
“You’re done. I pushed too hard,” he admitted, clearing his throat like the words tasted sour. “That’s on me.” He didn’t even apologize to emmet when they fought.
You blinked at him, but didn’t disagree, just nodded.
As the two of you crunched back through the snow toward the Denalis’ house, the coven watching from their perch with unreadable expressions, Jasper kept glancing sidelong at you. He could feel the drag of your emotions; fatigue, frustration, and something else running hotter, deeper, right under your skin. Something he was responsible for.
And underneath his own calm mask, a quiet realization set in.
This was dangerous.
Not just your power, though that was a damn nightmare waiting to happen. Not just the fact that you could lock him up like a puppet and drop him to his knees without laying a finger on him. But himself.
The thrill. The way his own chest tightened when he thought about pushing you again, about feeling that sudden freeze inside his veins. It was addictive, and that made it reckless.
He cleared his throat again as the porch came into view, more to cut off his own thoughts than to get your attention. “We’ll take it slow from now on,” he said, voice low but steady. “Your control comes first. My pride can wait.”
You said nothing but a tired little grunt.
Later on,
The Denali house was quiet, snow muffling the world outside. Jasper sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. Long, pale fingers still faintly aching from being forced to his knees earlier. He hadn’t felt aching like this in a long long time. Not since he was human.
He should’ve felt humiliated. Instead, there was that burn in his chest again, like old whiskey hitting an empty stomach.
Shit.
He raked a hand through his hair and leaned back against the frame, shutting his eyes.
He’d known. Of course he had. Hell, he’d known since long before his own heart had stopped beating. Back in the barracks, catching himself glancing too long when the other boys stripped down. That locker room back in Houston, just before everything went to hell, when you’d peeled your shirt off without a thought and he’d felt something old and dangerous stir in his chest.
This wasn’t new. It was just…inconvenient.
Feeling this way about you right now while he was actively trying to help you, to build you. It was inco-fucking-venient.
And Maria… God, Maria had scorched everything out of him. She’d taken and taken until there was nothing left but a weapon in her shape. No softness. No want. At least that’s what he’d told himself for a those 60 years after leaving her.
But you…
It hit him like a damn freight train. Raw. Unfiltered. That ridiculous collar still in his fist earlier, dragging you through the snow like an unruly pup, and all he’d been able to think was don’t look at his neck, don’t look at his mouth, don’t—
Jasper let out a sound halfway between a groan and a curse, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
This wasn’t just attraction. It was hunger. Different from thirst, deeper than instinct. He needed you. Needed to be near you, to know you were breathing—even if you didn’t breathe anymore. Every part of him, soldier and monster both, was straining toward you like iron to a magnet.
You’re dangerous, he told himself. Not because of that venom-lock trick you kept hitting him with. Not even because you could make the Denali sisters collapse without lifting a finger.
But because you were waking up something in him he thought Maria had killed for good.
He wasn’t straight in the slightest.
And damn if it didn’t scare him how much he liked it.
The knock was soft, almost hesitant. Once. Twice. Then silence.
You dragged the towel tighter around your hips, still dripping from the too-hot shower that hadn’t even left a mark on you. The contrast of your cold skin and the hot water made steam leak from your body as you cracked your door open.
Jasper stood there like a ghost, lean and rigid, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His amber eyes flicked up to your face, down to the towel, then back up again so fast you almost missed it. *Almost.
“Sup,” you grunted, stepping aside without thinking. If he wanted to scold you again about “control” or “focus,” he’d have to do it while you found a clean shirt. You turned your back on him, water tracing paths down the planes of your shoulders, and started digging through the drawer.
Behind you, Jasper closed the door with quiet care. And then he just…stopped.
His eyes dragged over you like a starving man forced to walk past a banquet. Not in the careful, paternal way he’d been looking at you since you’d woken up as a newborn. No, this was something hotter, heavier, something he hadn’t let himself feel in decades.
The change vampirism carved into you was breathtaking. Even in the week since your turning, every line of you had sharpened, every motion had become lethal and fluid. Muscle flexed under your skin with a kind of inhuman precision, smooth and dangerous. Your complexion had taken on that otherworldly sheen, your warm undertones gone, replaced with something cooler and muted.
And then there was the mundane detail, droplets sliding over your back, catching on the silky black durag tied over your head, highlighting waves he couldn’t stop staring at.
Christ alive, Jasper thought, throat tight. What the hell are you doing to me?
You didn’t even notice him staring,still rummaging, muttering about where the hell your sweatpants had gone. But Jasper noticed every damn thing. The way you stood with casual confidence, the towel threatening to slip a little lower with each move. How the room smelled of soap and steam, your newborn scent wound through it, sharp and intoxicating.
For a man who hadn’t slept in a century, this felt like the closest thing to dreaming.
“Need somethin’, cowboy?” you finally asked over your shoulder, holding up a pair of joggers in one hand.
The sound of your voice jerked Jasper back a half step, but his gaze didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened, like a blade being honed.
“Yeah,” he said, voice lower than he intended. “Needed to talk to you. Face to face.”
But it wasn’t just talking he wanted—and he hated himself for it.
You didn’t look up, just yanked the joggers free and tossed them on the bed, still pawing through the drawer for a shirt. “About what? Training again? ’Cause I’m not doing round three with you today. I’ll drop dead.”
“You won’t drop dead. I fear it’s a bit too late for that.” You scoff at his dry joke. His bootsteps clicked soft on the hardwood as he shut the distance a little. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
Something about his tone made you pause. You turned halfway, towel slung low on your hips, water still tracing down your ribs. And Jasper—well, he swore he’d meant to keep this professional. Just walk in, say what needed saying, and walk out.
Except his eyes betrayed him.
They slid over you like they had a mind of their own…shoulders, chest, the sharp lines carved where there hadn’t been any before. Not gawking, not sloppy. Focused. Appraising. Like he was cataloguing every difference vampirism had etched into you. And with each step he took closer, it got harder to pretend he wasn’t looking.
“Then what?” you asked slowly, brows drawing together. “What’s got you looking like you’re about to… eat me or something?”
That made him freeze mid-step, but not back off. If anything, he smirked faintly at your choice of words, though his jaw stayed tight. “You ever gonna stop runnin’ your mouth?” he muttered, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it.
“You ever gonna tell me what the hell’s goin’ on?” you shot back, towel hand tightening just in case it slipped.
He should’ve laughed. He should’ve said it’s nothin’, just wanted to check on you, and left. Instead he kept walking until there wasn’t much space between you at all. You could see the amber rings in his eyes clear as day.
“I came to… make sure you’re settlin’ in,” Jasper said finally, but the words felt paper-thin, like he barely believed them himself. His gaze dipped briefly—to your throat, your collarbone, lower—and then snapped back to your face. “Make sure you’re in control.”
“Funny way to check,” you muttered. You could feel him lying.
That earned you a real grin, quick and dangerous. “I’m thorough.”
“Oh are you…”
“Mmm…”
The air between you felt charged, like during training when your power hit him and locked his body up, but this time it was all him, no venom-stutter, no blood-trick. Just… heat. The same heat you’d been craving since 15, freshman year of high-school.
“You’re staring, dude.” Your voice was half-joke, half-warning, a crooked grin undercutting the fact your knuckles went white on the towel at your hip.
Jasper didn’t even try to deny it. He just breathed out a laugh, soft, low, like it slipped past his teeth without permission, and kept on coming closer.
“Yeah,” he drawled, gaze unwavering. “Reckon I am.”
Neither of you said anything for a solid ten seconds. The silence wasn’t empty, it was loaded, humming with that dangerous charge that always came off him when his control thinned. You used the stillness to study him back: the hard-cut lines of his jaw, the faint puckered scars at his throat and down the side of his face, half-moons of venom bites you still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask about. You didn’t even know if you were allowed to.
Jasper leaned in first, slow enough to give you time to step back. But for the first time in eighteen years, you weren’t nervous. Weren’t scared. What was there to fear now? Who could beat you for it?
So you leaned in too. Met him halfway.
The kiss itself was barely a brush at first, nothing but a quick press of lips — and Jasper, disciplined as ever, tried to pull away fast, to pretend it didn’t happen. Heavy on tried.
Because your hand; bigger, stronger, solid as iron, slid up behind his neck. You caught him before he could retreat, fingers locking just below the soft hairline, and pulled him back in.
This time the kiss was deeper. Not neat, not patient. You didn’t care. And judging by the way Jasper exhaled against your mouth like he’d been holding that breath for a century, neither did he.
Jasper hadn’t planned this. That was the first lie he told himself when your hand caught the back of his neck and dragged him in again. He hadn’t meant to come here tonight, hadn’t meant to knock on your door, hadn’t meant to let his eyes wander over every sharp line vampirism carved into you…man who in the hell was he fooling!? He’d been thinking about this since the locker room. Since the barracks, even, back when his pulse still meant something. He’d just buried it under Maria, under guilt, under a century of pretending.
And now here you were. Steam still rising off your skin, water clinging to your collarbone. And here he was, losing grip on the same discipline that had kept him alive for decades.
Careful, cowboy . His own voice in his head, cold and strict, the one that used to train newborns and cut them down when they got too wild. But this time, he didn’t want to cut you down. He wanted to burn with you.
From your side, it was like seeing him crack open. Jasper, who’d been a wall of quiet command and clenched control, suddenly pressing forward, not pulling away. His hand came up, warm only from friction, not life, and braced against your jaw. Not rough, but firm enough to keep you from even thinking about breaking the kiss.
You realized, dizzy and sharp at once: this wasn’t new for him. This wasn’t confusion like it had been with you. This was a confession. He knew what this was, had known for a long time. You just happened to be the spark that lit it up again.
He broke first, dragging in a breath he didn’t need, forehead still pressed to yours. You could feel the tremor in him , not fear, not weakness, but restraint stretched so thin it might snap.
“Damn,” you muttered, voice low, grip still on his neck. “You’ve been holding that in a while.”
His eyes; gold haloing the black, flicked up to yours, sharp and unguarded. For once, Jasper Whitlock didn’t have a smooth comeback. Just the truth simmering in his chest, hotter than any thirst.
Jasper’s voice was a rasp, gravel dragged across silk.
“I need you—” his lips barely brushed yours as he spoke, eyes flickering from your mouth to your stare and back again. “I’ve been needin’ you—for a long time—” he swallowed hard, the venom thick, sweet-smelling in the air between you. “Hell, probably before you were even born, but I—” his breath hitched, the words breaking free like they’d been chained down too long, “I need you…”
Your laugh was low, breathless, almost disbelieving, and you just nodded, gripping his waist and dragging him flush against you. No more space, no more question of what this was. Both of you were stone-hard, your dick twitching underneath your towel while his strained in his sweatpants, breath coming too quick for creatures who didn’t need to breathe at all.
“Yeah?” you murmured, voice deeper now, almost taunting, but warm.
His jaw tightened, but not from anger. His hand shook once, then stilled, moving fast to the knot at your towel. The fabric fell almost too easily, and now you were completely naked. He had seen you naked less than a handful of times but this was different, way different.
You kissed him again before he could say another word, teeth clicking, lips bruising, and Jasper—Major Whitlock, soldier, killer, the one who never let himself slip—actually shuddered against you.
“Please,” he muttered against your lips, voice cracking like old wood under weight, “please, let me make you feel good…”
The words were almost a growl, a plea laced with command. Your fingers dug into his back, brows pushing together as his hips grind against yours, this pleasure completed new. You weren’t a stranger to kissing and touching but- this was a man… your man. And this is the first time you knew it would go farther than you ever did with any girl you’d break up with a week later to avoid the exact thing that’s about to happen-
“Please…” he whispered once again, snapping you out of that feeling of nerves and unsure. “Yeah…yeah…” you muttered, hands pushing up his shirt as he toed off his boots, kicking them off somewhere in your room. You breathed out. Eyes fluttering as you looked down at his pale sculpted body, this was the first time you saw him without a shirt on… and those bites did go further down.
“Damn…” it came out on accident. He huffed out a laugh, eyes glancing down your bodies, his cock twitching just by the sight of you. “Yeah… damn…” he leads you back to the bed, your knees hitting the mattress causing you to fall back on your elbows. You weren’t as shy as he’d thought you would be.
Your fingers fisted the sheets as you watched him slide off those sweats, eyes low and chest heaving as if you were a lion that just got done chasing prey. Your legs were spread, dick leaking already from the lack of touch, sitting right below your navel as his pants hit the floor right with his briefs. Shit.
His skin had been paler than you’d thought, yet his tip a wet mauve color. The same color that matched his nipples and lips. You couldn’t stop staring. He was carved by the Michelangelo himself, smooth hairless skin, veins— even though were empty with blood, were blue and bulging out of his lower abdomen and the base of his penis.
“First time seeing a man naked like this?” He asked, buttery in the silence as he watched you watch him. You didn’t know how to reply to that without making it awkward, a breathless laugh leaving your mouth. You settled on a nod instead. He should’ve expected that. This was his first time as well. “Other than naked boys in the locker room…” you trailed off as he smiled down at you, it was more of a lazy smirk.
“Wanna know somethin’?” He asked, yet you couldn’t even make decent eye contact. “What…” it came out as a whisper
“You’re not alone in this. This is my first time… with a man that is…All about making memories, remember?” And as he said this… god as he said this he was already crawling up between your legs. “Oh..oh really?..” this time there wasn’t a teasing edge to it as you asked, your legs parting to accommodate his body, you breath picking up, heaving as you felt his legs and thighs brush against yours.
“That does make me feel better…” you joked softly, and this time he laughed with you. “Oh…god…” you gasped out as his face brushed into your neck, his nose inhaling your new primal scent, his mouth opening to taste the side of your neck. “Ain’t no god here…”
His words sent a shiver straight through you, and for a second you forgot how to breathe—not that you needed to anymore. Those had been words that had went against your entire human existence…and you find yourself not caring. You felt yourself being free.
You felt him shift, braced on his forearms now, his weight pressing into you just enough to make the mattress groan. Every brush of his thighs against yours set your nerves on fire, every inch of his body heatless but electric.
“Jasper…” your voice cracked on his name, not out of fear but sheer disbelief at how close he was, how easy it was to let him in.
“Mm?” he hummed against your neck, lips just barely grazing skin—testing, teasing, lingering like he already owned the spot he hovered over.
Your hand, steady in a way your voice wasn’t, slid up the firm line of his back, tracing where old scars mapped his skin. “This… is insane.”
His lazy smirk deepened against your throat. “Welcome to the club.” He tilted his head up just enough to meet your eyes, his amber gaze darker than you’d ever seen it, pupils blown wide. “You gonna stop me?”
You shook your head before you even thought about it. “Do I look like I’m gonna stop you?” He huffed out a laugh before he leaned over to press his lips into yours, causing you to moan softly into his mouth. How were you supposed to act normal after this? How were you supposed to act sane as if you hadn’t tasted him, felt his tongue on yours, his cock grinding your thigh. Fuuuck.
Your hand slid lower on instinct, gripping his waist, pulling him tight— tighter-until you both felt it, him, hard and ready and no longer something you could ignore. Jasper groaned into your mouth, venom sweet on your tongue, and then his voice broke against your lips, desperate, unsteady:
"God, you don't know what you're doin' to me..."
Your hips twitched at that, a broken whimper leaving from your nose as you two rubbed against each other. This feeling was too intense, it was already overwhelming. “Jasper…”
“Im right here, baby…” *baby?? Oh my fucking god I’m about to come.
“Mm…” your head rolled back, eyes closing and brows pushing together as you just tried your best to concentrate to not come, to not grind your hips up too much but fuck it was just too much. And Jasper, he was already taking advantage of you.
His lips went back down to your neck, hand reaching up to cup your jaw. The air around you thrummed like a wire pulled too tight. His lips moved against your skin, not biting, just claiming, tasting you, as his hips shifted fractionally lower.
Your breath hitched. “Jas—”
“Shh,” he whispered, his voice breaking like it was costing him to keep it steady. “Let me…just let me…” His tongue, wet and surprisingly warm, flattened out and licked up your skin… and then he went down, further and further until your eyes snapped opened and you looked down at him with widened eyes.
“Jasper-I don’t know—“
“Just need to taste you…”
That shut you right up.
“Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of…”
Your hips twitched again, entirely on instinct, and his low laugh rumbled against your skin as if he could feel the frustration bleeding off you. “Easy,” he murmured. “Don’t fight it.”
You shakily nodded, the hand on his back coming up to rest on the back of his neck.
Then his hand finally wrapped around your length, a low purr rumbling in his chest as his eyes that shined from the warm light in the room looked into yours. Black to black, the red in your irises and the gold from his gone. And then he tasted you, tongue rolling out and licking the underside of your thick cock. Jaspers control cracked as that bitter sweet taste of your venom coated his tongue.
A sharp, broken sound tore out of your chest, half snarl and half whimper. Your hand shot down into his hair, meaning to push him away, or maybe pull him closer—you couldn’t tell which. “God, Jas—” you gasped, voice tight, head tipped back against the wall.
“riiight here” he growled against your skin without lifting his head, lips brushing up and down your shaft, words coming ragged now, more confession than tease. “Just you, just me…”
The sound you made at that, sharp, breathless, almost a laugh—seemed to undo something in him entirely. His grip tightened at your hip, his voice low and desperate against your skin. “Need you, been needin’ you—don’t tell me no now…” and then his mouth, so warm, so fucking wet, hugged your tip like a firm hand shake, suckling and and moaning around you as he tasted and took in your essence.
And whatever half-formed protest you had died right there, burning out in the back of your throat as instinct took over, your other hand fisting in the sheets. “Fuuuck, I’m gonna cooome…” you whimpered, cursing like you didn’t grow up in the church, like you didn’t do Bible studies Wednesdays and Thursdays. That seemed to fuel him even more, his eyes fluttering closed as his throat relaxed and took you in even more. No gag reflex, no struggle, just pure lust and need.
He didn’t even get half way down before your hand in his hair tighten and your toes curled. “Oh my gosh—“ your back arched off the mattress, your nut spewing into his mouth and he swallowed it up. You’re apart of him now, forever and always.
He pulled away with a soft pop, lips wet and fixed in a grin.
His back it the mattress with a soft thud and grunt, his pores extruding his lust, almost smothering you in the face as you bend down to burry your face in his neck to take a greedy inhale. “Mm… you smell so good…” you muttered, your voice vibrating against his neck causing him to groan softly at the tickling feeling. You were ready for him now, that first orgasm was just the preheat.
He seemed to be right where you were, his thighs widening. “Guess that woke you up hm? Movin’ real eager.” He huffed out a laugh, his hands coming up to spit on his fingers. A curse flew out your mouth as you watched him reach down, his fingers rubbing up and down his hole before one slipped through. “…oh god…” you said for the 100th time that night. This is the most erotic thing you’ve seen in all of your lifetime.
He was shameless and beautiful in a way that almost hurt to look at.
A curse fell out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Jas…” you said hoarsely, not even sure what you were asking for.
“Just watch,” he murmured, low and warm like honey. “Ain’t no need to rush.”
But your body didn’t agree. Every nerve felt coiled too tight, every second dragged long and thin. The hunger, the same gnawing that burned your throat for blood—was here too, deeper, more confusing. You were sure you’d lose your mind if you didn’t touch him.
The way he breathed out a shaky laugh at your expression made your chest twist. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Never seen anyone this worked up?”
“No—” you croaked honestly, shaking your head, “not like this.”
The words slipped out raw, honest, and they hit him harder than you meant. His teasing edge softened, eyes catching yours again as if to ask without asking. And you didn’t look away. He slipped in another finger, stretching himself out for you as his pants, lips parted.
Your hands gripped his thighs and pushed them further up, you couldn’t take it anymore, it was like watching the most seductive and personal porn ever and you never watched porn.
His fingers slipped out of him with a low moan and you didn’t hesitate to press your tip against his hole. Hands slipped around your hips and pulled you in closer causing your hands to reach up to grip the sheets above his head, and you swore you saw the light just for a second as your dick gets sucked up by his tightness. Your eyes closed tightly, your breath caught in your throat as he pulls you deep inside of him with a parted mouth. “Yeah, yeah just like that..” his breath hits your ear as he speaks to you.
His legs were around your hips now as you thrusted until he took all girthy inches, till your balls were the only thing seen. This wasn’t like being human. There was no guilt clawing up your throat, no flash of your mother’s voice spitting venom about sin and shame. If anything, the thought of her made you laugh breathlessly against Jasper’s throat. “You okay?” He asked you, his voice low and breathless as he tried not to be loud. Loud wasn’t in his nature…not yet atleast.
You nodded fast, licking your lips as he fluttered around you. “Trying…trying not to cum so fast…” you whispered almost pathetically and he huffed out a laugh, causing you to groan against his neck as his body squeezed yours. You pulled your hips back- slowly before pushing them back in, a small gasp catching in your throat as he groaned into your ear…
You paused, eyelids fluttering opened, and pulled back just enough to see his face. You caused that noise. You made him feel this way. He didn’t bother anymore with the reassurance, mostly because he could barely reassure himself as he watches your maroon eyes peer down at his lips. Your hips began to move in a slow careful rhythm, your faces mimicking eachothers as you fucked into him.
“Oh…oh fuck…” his moans weren’t as loud as you’d hoped, and that fueled something inside of you, something that itched your ego and curiosity. So you moved faster, your thighs clapping together louder, causing the bed frame to thump against the wall. “Oooh fuuuuck…” You bit down on your lips as you watched his eyes roll back, that same exact face he made when he was knocked out for those 5 seconds during training. There it is, you thought to yourself.
“Like that?” You whispered against his lips, wanting to taste the sounds he made, wanting to swallow them down inside of you. He nodded with a short whimper, honestly at lost for words at just how good you felt stretching him out. “Uh-Mh-…mmm…” he bit down on his lip, and if he could blush his cheeks and ears would be a blinding red from embarrassment.
You weren’t having that.
“Cmon… please… tell me how I’m doing…” you muttered, your hands release the sheets above his head, pushing his thighs against his chest even more, forcing his legs to unwrap from your back and hang limply over your shoulders. You were deeper now, your mouth needily taking in air in that habit you couldn’t break. He was losing his mind underneath you, and he—ironically preyed that the Denalis didn’t acknowledge what was going on under their roof.
“Yes yes yesss…” he could barely even understand what the hell you were telling him at this point, his brain overwhelmed as you tip touched his prostate. “I’m… I’m doing good? God Jas, you feel so damn good—I know I’m not gonna last…” you ramble on and on, your fingers at this point digging into his skin—and it hurt, it hurt so bad yet felt so good, he’d let you crack him as long as it was you. He couldn’t give a damn at this point as your hips pistols against his in that sloppy rushed way. “I’m gonna cum sweetheart, fuuck—keep goin…” his head fell back against the wrinkled sheets, eyes squeezing shut as his balls clinched with his release.
You were right behind him, the weight of your upper half pressing him into the mattress as your thrusts get even worse. “I’m right there Jas, can I— can I come inside you? Pleasepleaseplease,” you begged him at this point, because you knew you wouldn’t be able to pull out in time, you just knew. And damn, that was enough for him, just the thought of you coming inside of him caused him to twitch beneath you, his noises broken and embarrassed as he came over his stomach and chest.
Just the sight of his face contorting was enough for you. You couldn’t wait for his answer even if he tried. “Jasper, oh my—“ your mouth fell open as you basically fall into him, your cock borrowing so deep inside of him his hands reached up and dug into your neck and back—trying his best to hold onto something from this sensation pouring into him.
You eased back, slow and careful, like moving too quickly would break the spell or maybe shatter you both entirely. Your chest was heaving, Jasper’s hands still lingering on your back as if letting go would mean this wasn’t real.
The room was quiet except for the faint hum in the walls, your senses still thrumming from everything you’d just felt. You half-collapsed beside him on the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, and for a long moment neither of you spoke.
You just stared.
His hair was mussed, a rare thing. A lock of gold fell across his forehead, his lips faintly parted as if words had been on their way but never made it. You could see every tiny scar on his neck, every mark that told stories you hadn’t asked about yet. His amber eyes were heavy-lidded, not from exhaustion, but from something else. Something you’d put there.
Holy shit. I just… with Jasper Hale.
It should’ve felt wrong, or scary, or something. Instead, it felt like the only thing in the world that made sense.
He didn’t smirk, didn’t try to play it off. He just looked at you like you’d been his all along. Like he’d been waiting for this exact moment, maybe since before you even knew what you wanted.
“…Well,” you muttered finally, because the silence was almost too much.
“Yeah,” Jasper said, voice low, rough around the edges. And then—he actually laughed. Just one soft huff of breath, but it made you crack a smile.
Neither of you said the words out loud, but it didn’t matter. The way his hand found yours in the space between you said it for both of you. The way he didn’t let go, not even after the quiet stretched on.
Whatever line you’d crossed tonight…it was gone for good. This wasn’t temporary. Wasn’t casual. In that shared glance, that stillness, you both knew: together wasn’t just a choice. It was a fact.
Y’all it was supposed to auto post on Saturday but it never did, then when I went to go check THAT HO IS GOOONE. Y’all I was so mad because I usually wright all my stuff in my notes because I know how tumblr can be. I wanted to be DIFFERENT and wright it on TUMBLR but now it’s GONE🥷🏽 it’s gone forever and I had to rewright it, but now I’m gonna post it. Y’all I’m so sorry I thought it was up already and y’all know I don’t check my notifications because I let my posts be if I freshly post them. BUT ANYWAYS IM POSTING IT TODAY AFTER WORK TRUST
hi :) could u plz write a twilight fic jasper x reader <3
What are you doing to me.
Jasper Hale x Black!Male reader
Religious trauma, slight internal homophobia, angst, MLM, vampirism, no slur usage, sexual tension, Jasper struggling with internal battle, mental picturing of gore and murder of high school students, car crash body gore, gay, reader “dies”
Part One (1/2)
.
You’re new here. Forks High is smaller than any school back home, and the rain feels like it’s always just waiting to soak through your skin. It was constant, humid yet cold all at once. The basketball court beneath your feet is familiar, a patch of ground where you can forget everything else for a little while. But even that comfort is thin, frayed by the weight of your mother’s prayers, her warnings about sin and salvation echoing in your head.
“You know I want some grand babies after you graduated college.” “Baby why aren’t you dating, I’m sure someone at church got the hots for you.” “Imma hook you up with that Jasmine girl, she’s a good child of god.”
Ugh, it was exhausting. Why couldn’t you just play basketball and do what you wanted? It wasn’t always about her.
Raised by a strong woman in the South, you learned early how much love could hurt. Her faith was ironclad, but so was her fear, fear that her only son might stray from the path she’d set, fear that the world would take him and twist him into something she couldn’t recognize. She never said it outright, but you knew the silence carried the weight of homophobia, a shadow you couldn’t outrun no matter how fast you dribbled down the court.
It was free time in PE. Your team was practicing free throws, and others were walking around the gym and talking to their friends. You didn’t have friends. Yes, you had the team, but they weren’t considered friends yet. You were doing your own thing, using the free hoop and practicing free throws. That’s probably why you didn’t notice him.
Jasper Hale watches you from the benches, his expression unreadable. “Asthma” Is the reason he sat out, the other students think it’s that Cullen charm that gave them favoritism. The scent you carry…it was more than hunger, more than the primal call of blood he felt. It claws at him, fierce and unrelenting, stirring something buried deep beneath decades of control and old, harsh memories. It leaves his throat hot like flames, it leaves his mouth sopping with venom, and eyes dark like coal. A Confederate soldier turned vampire, he never imagined he’d be fighting these urges for a boy like you someone so alive, so painfully human and so full of resentment and sadness.
He felt you.
He studied you in that not-so-careful gaze, that gaze that Rosalie would roll her eyes at because he wasn’t being subtle in the slightest. He swallowed thickly as he forced himself to hold his breath, the mere scent of your sweat was overbearing, the pulse of your heart beat dominating the sounds of people and sneakers squeaking around him. You were dangerous.
Each day, he battles the pull, the violent want that his body screams for but his mind refuses to accept. And then there’s the unfamiliar ache in his chest, confusing and unwelcome.
Jasper wasn’t sure what scared him more…the hunger or the unfamiliar swell of feelings he’d never faced. He remembered Maria’s cold command, the countless newborns he’d trained to kill without question. Sometimes he wonders how long it would take. Maybe five minutes in total. His black eyes scan the gym in a careful primal way. Something he was ashamed to admit but he always did. Kill him, him, her… then her…those three right there and those five there, that wouldn’t take more than 10 seconds for their necks to be broken. Then that’ll leave you. Confused from the sudden quietness, but before you could see your classmates' head turned the other way…you’d be dead. And he’d take his time doing it. Savoring the flavor of your essence, the first taste of blood in 65 years. He swallowed thickly, before standing up to excuse himself to the locker room.
He couldn’t do that… you were…different. And so was he. What would Carlisle think? He thought to himself. Rosalie would kill him herself.
You didn’t see him depart, he was invisible. Exactly how it was meant to be.
You remember the first time he caught you off guard. It had been a long Sunday the day before. You were exhausted, and all you wanted to do was zone out during this free bell before heading to your next class.
Just outside the library, when your hands slipped, and coffee threatened to spill onto your new hoodie. His reflex was sharp; he caught the cup before it hit the ground.
“Thanks,” you muttered, your voice rough with fatigue and something else, something unspoken.
He nodded, eyes searching yours for a moment longer than polite before he turned away. You felt it too, the strange weight behind his dark gaze, like a question with no answer. You shrugged it off then before pushing the library doors open. Dude was weird. That’s what they were saying about the Cullens anyway. The weird siblings who looked pretty and isolated themselves. You wished you could say you forgot that interaction as soon as it happened. But that weird nagging guilt you felt…
You want to understand what’s stirring inside you, this pull toward Jasper that feels both terrifying and inevitable. Your mother’s words echo again, warning you away from this path, but your heart isn’t listening. You didn’t want to call it a crush, a deep disgust and anger filling you from even going that far… but you also weren’t blind, you saw the way he looked at you, the way he looked, smooth face, messy blond ringlets, dark eyes that looked black. He was…never mind.
The whistle blew, cutting through the thrum of sneakers on polished wood.
“Hit the showers! You all stink!” Mr. Rowly barked, you breathed out amusingly and some laughed.
You slung your duffel over your shoulder, sweat cooling against your skin, and made your way toward the locker room. Jasper was already there, somehow always ahead of everyone, already changed, leaning against the far wall with that unreadable expression. You tried not to stare.
Jasper, on the other hand, didn’t have the luxury of pretending.
He’d heard you coming before you even stepped inside, the slow, tired rhythm of your heartbeat, the faint shift of fabric against damp skin. He kept his eyes forward at first, willing himself into the calm he’d mastered over decades. But calm was a thin thread now, fraying fast.
You stripped your jersey, pulling the clingy fabric over your head in one smooth motion. The scent hit him first, salt, heat, deodorant, and something that set his throat ablaze. His mouth flooded instantly, jaw tightening as he forced the venom back. And then his gaze betrayed him.
You weren’t looking his way, focused instead on unlacing your sneakers, fingers moving quickly and carelessly. Every motion was too human; unguarded, alive, warm. Jasper’s eyes lingered on the slope of your shoulders, the way the light caught the sheen of sweat along your back before you turned toward the showers.
He told himself it was just the blood. Just hunger. That’s all.
And then you pulled your shorts down along with your boxers.
The air seemed to shift, his breath (what little he took) caught somewhere in his throat. His mind scrambled, trying to reconcile the sharp, instinctive pull toward your pulse with the sudden, equally sharp awareness of your body in a way he hadn’t let himself feel in… God, over a century.
You didn’t notice the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, or how he pressed his back against the lockers like distance might help.
No. He wasn’t that man anymore. He wasn’t the boy who’d stolen glances in barracks, burying those feelings under discipline and bloodshed. He was supposed to be stone. Unmoved. Untouched.
And yet.
The sound of water hitting tile filled the space, and Jasper found himself imagining—not hunting this time, but something softer, stranger, and far more dangerous.
He forced his gaze away, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He tried to listen to the conversations around them, for the hint of the bell even though it didn’t come for another 20 minutes. Maybe it was easier when all he wanted was your blood. Hunger, he could control. This… he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
The steam curls around you, warm and heavy, drowning out the rest of the locker room noise. You take your time, letting the water beat down on sore muscles. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know he’s still out there, leaning against the lockers like he always does, untouchable.
You tell yourself you don’t care. You tell yourself he’s just another weird Cullen. But when you step back out, towel slung low around your waist, you catch the briefest flicker of movement, his eyes snapping away from you like you’d caught him mid-thought.
You ignore it. Mostly. Tried not to dwell on it, everyone glances sometimes.
Jasper’s fingers twitch at his sides as you pass. He tells himself he’s not following you with his eyes. He tells himself the water still clinging to your skin isn’t worth noticing.
But you smell like rain and warmth and life, and it’s too much.
So he speaks.
“Good game yesterday.”
The words are flat, almost awkward. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s said to you before.
You blink, halfway into pulling your hoodie over your head.
“…Thanks?”
It’s clumsy. You’re not used to him talking, and he doesn’t exactly make it easy.
You shove your things into your bag after swiping on some deodorant, but you catch him watching you again…subtle, but not subtle enough. The weight of it sits heavy in your stomach.
After that, it’s small things.
Jasper holds the door when your hands are full. You offer him a spare pen in history when his pen mysteriously “runs out” of ink. One day, when the vending machine eats your dollar, a bottle of Gatorade lands on the counter beside you without a word from him.
He never lingers long, but each interaction stretches just a second too long, enough for you to notice the way his gaze dips, like he’s cataloging you in pieces. It freaks you out in ways that’s not…normal. Were you creeped out that he watched you or were you flustered that he watched you…
By the second week, you find yourself sitting near him at lunch, not with him, but close enough. The Cullens keep to themselves, but Jasper doesn’t look away when you slide into the seat behind him.
You can’t explain it, but it’s easier to breathe there. Maybe because he doesn’t fill the silence with pointless questions.
Jasper notices the shift.
You’re not avoiding him anymore. And that’s…dangerous. You shouldn’t be close, not when he’s so hungry for you all the time. But he couldn’t be Edward, he couldn’t pretend to be mean and angst when all he wanted to do was be near…that’s it. That’s all he wanted to do, just.be.near.
He feels your emotions from across the room—frustration from math homework, the flicker of amusement when the science teacher mispronounces a word, the low hum of exhaustion you carry every day like an extra layer of clothing.
And sometimes… something else.
Not quite trust. Not yet. But curiosity. Interest.
It makes his throat ache worse than the hunger ever did. It makes him want to take advantage, just so he could be close…enough.
It becomes a pattern. Little nods in the hallway. Your eyes caught his during warmups in PE. The quiet, almost comfortable awareness that no matter where you are in the room, he knows exactly where you are.
You start to wonder what it would be like if he actually talked to you like a normal person. You tell yourself you’re just curious. That’s all.
But some part of you already knows that’s a lie.
You don’t even notice when it happens—when sitting behind him in history turns into sitting beside him. At first, it’s because every other seat is taken. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. But then you keep sitting beside him, even if your usual seat is empty. Over and over again. He doesn’t tell you to stop though, but little do you know you’ve died about 16 times in his head. But even with those dark stupid thoughts and the ache in his throat. He liked your presents, and he was gathering that you enjoyed his as well.
It’s weird. He’s quiet, yeah, but it’s not the kind of quiet that makes you uncomfortable. It’s… steady. Maybe it’s because he’s ironically the best conversation you’ve had since being there.
Sometimes you catch him glancing at the notes you’re taking, the neat loops of your handwriting. Once, you hear the faintest “huh” under his breath when you mutter an answer before the teacher says it out loud.
He’s close enough to feel the edges of your emotions now, even when you’re trying to hide them. The muted irritation when the class drags. The low hum of self-consciousness when someone makes a joke about the basketball team’s “new guy.”
But then there are flashes—moments when you look at him and something electric pushes against his control. Curiosity. A reluctant… warmth. It makes his chest ache in ways he hasn’t felt since before the war, before Maria, before he’d stopped letting himself feel anything human. When he was just a 19-year-old kid going into war(a questionable decision on his part), to get that taste of freedom and earn pride.
The week after that, you catch him waiting for you outside the gym.
“Need a ride?” he asks, casual like he has never said more than four words to you at once.
You raise an eyebrow. “You even got a car?” Of course he did, his dad was a surgeon. Yet you were still impressed.
His lips twitch something close to a smile. “Better than the humid bus.”
It’s stupid, but you say yes. You didn’t know it but this was the end of your yellow bus years.
He drives *too smoothly, like someone who’s never actually learned how to be in a rush. Not that you were in a rush, he can take all the time he wants, you didn’t want to go home to the nagging. The car smells faintly like leather and something sharp you can’t place.
The conversation is light at first, he asks about basketball practice, the weather, and you bring up the fact that you’ve already gone through two pairs of sneakers because of the constant damp, basically throwing away summer's earnings. But most importantly, you notice he listens. Really listens.
You tell yourself it’s just because you don’t have many people to talk to here.
Jasper doesn’t dare tell you that the car ride is torture.
Every inhale is fire, but not breathing would draw attention. So he takes shallow breaths, keeping his hands steady on the wheel, forcing himself to focus on your voice instead of the pounding in your veins.
And he likes your voice. More than he should. It keeps him… safe. Not exactly calm, but careful.
Over the next few weeks, you start to expect him. You start to subconsciously mold him into your schedule. On sunny days you knew he wouldn’t pick you up so you rode the bus or caught a ride from one of your teammates (you were getting close to them). On extreme weather days, you could guarantee he’d be there waiting for you after practice.
Sometimes he’s leaning against the wall outside class, other times he’s in the parking lot when you leave the gym. You don’t know what you’re doing, letting this happen, letting him in even a little.
But it feels good. Dangerous, but good.
For the most part, you just enjoyed having someone there, a new friend.
It clicks one late afternoon. A genuine conversation, nothing fancy, but something a little more intimate for some reason. More intimate than the car rides, even if they’re others there.
You’re shooting hoops alone after practice, the gym mostly empty, when he steps onto the court. No invitation, just moving into your space like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes he was too perfect, his walk straight and confident, his back almost too aligned for a teenager. But you never brought it up. Wasn’t important, you kept saying.
“You play?” you ask, bouncing the ball toward him.
He catches it like he’s done it a hundred times before, spinning it in his hands. “Not like you.”
He sinks the shot anyway.
You laugh, shaking your head. “Guess you’re full of surprises.”
He doesn’t say it, but so are you. And maybe it was because he’s choosing to bond with you through your hobbies, he’s getting to know you outside of dry weather conversations and weekend catch-ups. He knows you love ball, and he wants to play with you. It was…friendly on the outside view, two teens messing around, but deep down you knew that wasn’t the case. He was learning you. And fast.
This is where it starts to feel less like you’re avoiding something and more like you’re walking toward it.
It’s weird how quickly “seeing Jasper around” becomes “spending most of your free time with him.”
You don’t even talk about anything groundbreaking; half the time it’s music, food, dumb observations about people in the hallway—but it’s easy. He doesn’t push, doesn’t try to fix you or pry, just… exists with you.
He’s been to a couple of your basketball games now. You don’t know how he can sit so still for that long without getting restless, but you notice him in the stands every time, pale hair catching the gym lights. Watching you and only you. It felt like he didn’t care much about the game, not when his eyes rarely left you.
Jasper on the other hand doesn’t understand why he keeps. Showing. Up.
Every time, it’s a war with himself—how close can he stand without tipping over the edge? How much of your emotions can he let himself feel before it becomes too much?
But he’s addicted in more ways than one now. Not just to your scent, but to the flicker of life you bring into his otherwise stagnant existence. You don’t look at him with fear. You don’t know you should. You don’t know the things that go through his brain every time he sees you on that court sweatin', or just humming a song on the radio as he drives you home. You don’t know… You don’t know just how much danger you’re in just being around him. Maybe he should be glad you don’t… maybe he should be worried as well.
When the weekend comes—like usual the two of you don’t hang out. I guess the two of you weren’t exactly out of school friends just yet, and you were okay with that. You had to be okay with that. So instead, you get invited to a party. A house party. And like the kept in child you are… you say yes. It stings to lie to your momma, but it’s getting easier these days—maybe too easy. The closer graduation gets, the more you feel like your words can slide right past her without catching. Still, you weren’t expecting her to say yes so quickly. No suspicious squint. No drawn-out questions.
“Be back before eleven,” she warns, eyeing you like she can see every possible sin waiting for you outside.
“Yes, ma’am,” you say, already planning to push it just a little.
You do tell her it’s some quiet movie night or bonfire. You don’t tell her it’s at your basketball captain’s place, where the parents are conveniently “away for the weekend.” You don’t tell her the music will be loud enough to rattle your ribcage and that the smell of cheap beer and weed will cling to your clothes like wet smoke.
When you get there, the air is thick with heat, perfume, and bad decisions. The bass shakes the floor under your feet. People you barely talk to are pressed together in doorways, dancing in the cramped kitchen, spilling out onto the back porch. You get handed a red cup before you even cross the threshold.
And for the first time in weeks…you let yourself breathe.
No sermons. No lectures. No constant, tight coil in your stomach every time Jasper’s eyes catch yours in the hallway. Just music, laughter, the slow burn of liquor sliding down your throat, and that sweet, dangerous taste of autonomy.
It’s messy and loud and a little too bright. But you feel… light.
Something was…off..
Jasper’s at home when it hits him.
That wrong feeling.
Your emotions—usually steady, maybe a little guarded—are muddled, erratic. Sluggish in a way that makes his jaw clench. You’re drunk. High, maybe. Out of everyone in that town—yours was the strongest, he could pick you out easily amongst the small thousands that lived in Forks.
And you’re far from home.
The moment he’s sure, he’s moving. Out the door, steps soundless on the porch, air sharp and damp against his skin. His siblings’ questions hang unanswered in the living room. There’s no time to explain—not when your presence in his head is flickering like a dying lightbulb.
He’s already half feral by the time he hits the road, tracking the faint scent of beer and smoke clinging to your skin even from blocks away.
By 10:30, you’re stumbling along the side of the road, hoodie zipped up against the damp night air. You’re buzzing, warm, not really caring where your feet take you as long as it’s vaguely toward home. The blacktop glistens under the streetlamps, puddles stretching like warped mirrors. Your sneakers scrape along the edge, your gait uneven. But you’re smiling. A dumb little, lopsided thing.. You felt happy. And free. You just hoped your momma was upstairs in her room getting ready for bed, or better yet already asleep. You didn’t want her seeing you like this, smelling like smoke and teenage sweat. She’d probably blow your high trying to pray away the sins you just committed that night.
The road is quiet except for the faint hum of a distant engine and the sounds of your feet dragging across the street. You squint, trying to place it.
Then—white.
Blinding headlights.
A horn, sharp enough to cut through the haze.
You freeze, just for a second.
And a second is all it took.
He didn’t remember deciding to move.
The night was slick and cold, the kind of early spring chill that clung to the ground and carried scents for miles. Your trail was easy to pick up—beer, weed, sweat, the faint tang of liquor sweating out through your pores. And underneath it all, that unmistakable thread of you.
He followed it without thinking, weaving between shadows and lamplight. He could picture you perfectly and he wasn’t a mind reader: hoodie zipped up and body flushed from the heat of too many bodies pressed together. That smile you got when you felt free—careless—just reckless enough to scare him. That same goofy smile you had on court
It made his jaw tighten.
He was moving faster now, too fast for human eyes, but not so fast he’d overshoot. Every second counted. He could already feel your emotions shifting again, something like contentment, hazy and unguarded, wrapped around the steady thump of your heartbeat.
Then, somewhere up ahead, another sound threaded through the night.
An engine.
Low at first, muted by distance. But getting closer. Too close.
His muscles locked for a fraction of a second. He could hear the rubber whisper of tires against wet asphalt. He could finally see the empty stretch of road meters away through the thick trees, could see you walking along the narrow shoulder without watching behind you.
He pushed harder. The trees blurred.
The hum became a growl, then a roar.
Through the darkness, the car’s headlights bloomed, twin suns tearing through the mist. They caught you in their path, and in that slice of a moment when his feet finally hit that gravel off road…Jasper saw everything: the way you turned your head toward the light, the slack, confused squint of your eyes, the way your feet faltered on the edge of the road.
Your pulse spiked. He felt it like a gunshot.
The horn blared—high, metallic, slicing through the damp night air—and for the briefest, most dangerous second, you froze.
He was close enough now to see the white gleam of your teeth in the reflection, your dumb, drunken little smile fading into a startled O. Close enough to see the shadow of the car’s grille rushing toward you.
He wasn’t fast enough.
He didn’t have time to process it.
The sound of a balloon, maybe the sound of a shotgun gun or the sound of fleshy solid slamming into a 3-ton 2005 Tahoe. He couldn’t save you, it was like life shifted into slow motion and before he knew it you were a solid 20 feet in the air already. He smelt the blood before you even reached the ground, you didn’t make any noise as your abdomen and lower half morphed into something broken and limp. And then you hit the ground.
He felt like he had no choice but to pause, to collect himself even as he watched you bleed out. He was breathing heavy but not from exhaustion. But hunger.
The scent of your blood floods him, and for a heartbeat, he almost loses the fight. This close, with you bleeding out, it would be so easy—
No.
The truck was already gone, the sounds of yelling and cursing in the car fading as they got further away.
Their scent was already memorized.
He drops to his knees beside you, hands hovering, useless, because no matter how much he wants to keep you breathing, there’s only one way to do it. He swallows thickly. Eyes flickering from your neck already slick with blood and sweat, then back to your flittering eyes.
The scent was suffocating, thick in the air, clinging to his skin, every fiber of his being screaming at him to give in. His throat burned, his instincts roared, but the man gasping in front of him wasn’t prey. He was his. You were his.
“Stay with me,” Jasper’s voice cracked, low and rough, almost like he could will life back into you. “You’re alright—just hold on.”
The male’s breathing rattled, a wet, gargled sound that made Jasper’s gut twist. You eyes half-lidded, glassy and bloody where the whites should be—kept trying to focus on Jasper, as if clinging to him alone could anchor him to the world. “Jas—” His voice broke, the word lost in a cough that painted his lips crimson.
Jasper’s hands worked frantically, pressing torn fabric into the wound, but it was useless. The damage went deeper—too deep. Your brown skin was paling from shock, your heartbeat fluttering, faint, like a candle about to go out. Jasper could feel it fading.
“No, no, no…” Jasper’s accent thickened, his voice slipping into something rawer, more human than he’d sounded in decades. “Don’t you dare.” He tried to shift him, to get a better angle, but the movement drew another sharp cry from the man’s throat. Then your eyes rolled back from the pain. Jasper froze, guilt and panic battling in his chest as he saw just how damaged you were, bleeding from your head, nose, mouth, and your stomach was gushing open, already bloated with blood trying to escape faster.
His mind scrambled for a different solution. A way—any way—to keep you alive without crossing the line he knew he couldn’t uncross. He could bite your wrist. He could change you. He could damn you. But the thought of it…of stealing the life you still had… it fucked with the part of Jasper that couldn’t lose you like this.
Your eyelids fluttered again, breath stuttering. “Mng…c-…cold...”
Jasper cupped the side of his face with a bloodied hand, ignoring the way his own throat burned hotter with every second. “I know… I know. Just… look at me, alright? Stay with me.” His voice dropped to a whisper, as if making it softer could keep the truth at bay. “I’ve got you. I swear, I’ve got you.”
But his hands kept slipping on the blood, the warmth already fading under his touch, and Jasper knew…deep down, that time was running out faster than he could hold it together.
Just recently fellow in love with your COD content. May I ask for plus size soft/gentle dom reader with Kyle? The thought of kindly making him love on himself is sending meeeee. (Feel free to ignore if you’re uncomfortable with this request)
⚠️Body issues (Gaz is a little insecure), hand job, mirror play, cute smut, plus sized black reader, little dom-sub dynamic, ownership play.⚠️
You catch him in the mirror before he catches himself.
Shirtless, fresh from the shower, towel slung low on his hips—he’s frowning. Studying the scars on his chest, the stretch of his arms, the slope of his stomach like he’s cataloguing flaws instead of history. You lean on the doorframe, warm and slow, watching his eyes drag over himself with that quiet self-loathing he never quite says aloud.
“You’re staring again,” he mutters, not turning.
“I always stare,” you murmur, stepping in. “Can’t help it when the view’s this good.”
He scoffs, a puff of disbelief. But you come up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist and press your soft, solid frame into his back—grounding. His breath hitches. He always does that when you hold him like this. Like it surprises him every time that someone wants to touch him gently.
Your palms spread across his stomach, thumbs brushing just under his ribs. God you loved this stomach. Then your hands went to his arms, squeezing the muscles, trailing the veins. “What is it today?” you ask quietly. “Chest? Arms? Or just… everything?”
His silence is answer enough.
You rest your chin on his shoulder. “You don’t see it, but I do. All of it. The strength. The softness. The way you hold tension like it’s duty. The way you look at everyone else with such care…and then turn on yourself like you don’t deserve the same.”
He shivers. Not from cold. Everywhere is hot.
“I love this body,” you go on, voice dipped in honey. “Every part. Not just because it looks good when it’s pressed up against mine—which it does—but because it’s yours. And you are mine.”
He turns his head, cheek brushing yours, and his voice is hoarse, smooth like chocolate. “You really believe that?”
You smile, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I know it…don’t you love my body?”
He looked at your reflection like you were crazy- how dare you ask that question?? “Without question.”
You gave him a small smile, and hummed. You already knew his answer, he wasn’t shy about it, worshipped you every time he was home.. “I’m gonna ask you that same question again. But I’m asking you this time… do you like your body?”
This time- he did hesitate. There were days, days like this where he did feel…inadequate.
“Sure.” The answer was dry. Too dry. And you squinted your eyes at him, causing him to breathe out a laugh. “We can’t have that…I bet I can get a better answer than that…”
Then you kiss the spot just behind his jaw—the one that always makes him soften-and he turns in your arms so fast, like he needs you to prove it now, needs to feel how much you mean it.
Your hand slides to the back of his neck, firm but not rough. “Slow down,” you murmur, guiding him to turn back around to face the foggy mirror. “Let me take care of you tonight.”
And he nods, gaze heavy, breath stuttering. Because when you speak like that—sweet and sure and worshipful—he believes you. And you need him to believe you.
You peered over his shoulder, full breasts pressing against his hot back, the drips of water from his back seeping into your bralette.
He was already staring at you through the glass, hand’s already on the towel, dick half hard and you could see it tenting under the white cotton. “Cmon, handsome…” you urged him, manicured nails trailing his sides, he shuttered, fingers letting go of the towel, and it falls over y’all’s feet.
His chest was heaving at this point, the tattoo of his grandmothers name on his heart looked like it expanded as he took in air. It was silly, every time he doubted his self, his mind, his physical- you were always right there with him- for him. And he believed you every time. Right now he did feel handsome, his fiancée’s fingers all over his abdomen, making him feel like he was made out of glass.
“Stunnin’ sweetheart… I hate it when you think of yourself less than… do you know why I hate it?” You whispered into his ear, your teeth barely grazing the shell of his ear while your hand reaches to his mouth, and he licked, the drool on his tongue wetting your pointer, middle and ring.
“Because I’m yours…”
“Because you’re mine…” you echoed to him, hand wrapping around his cock and he couldn’t help but whimper at the temperature difference. His dark eyes watched your every move, trying not to fuck into your fist. “good boy…” fuck.
He inhaled sharply, “Mmng…” he whimpered, his hips poking out just a little as his back leaned into your chest, your slightly cold hand stroking him slowly, softly. “You’re calling yourself imperfect, but you’re the greatest thing I’ve laid my eyes on, love…you’re perfect, inside and out. Not a mistake on your body… so I can’t have you saying you’re not perfect, because then you’ll just be insulting me…right?..” your thumb presses against the slit of his dick, slick covering your thumb.
“Yes-yes, right…” he licked his plump lips, his nails biting into his palm before his hands reached back to hold you- his large palms cupping your ass. “Mhm… now look at how perfect you are… your scars, your body…” he was getting louder now as he followed your orders, eyes following the light brown scars scattered around his abdomen. But it was so hard, it was so hard especially when you stroked him like that, focusing on his slicked tip.
“I…I can hardly focus…Christ …”
“Having trouble focusing you say…?” This question had an undertone to it, and he felt your lips on his ear shift into a smile. He was so blissed out by your hand, he just nodded, his eyes watching the way your fingers moved around his inches.
“Then you do it…cmon.” Your voice was still soft as you demanded him, his eyes fluttering up to look at yours, he wanted to tell you no- to beg for you to keep going, but his hand had already let go of your ass and grabbed his dick. He always listened to you- he just couldn’t help it, it was apart of him at this point.
Oh he was focused now, cock heavy and hot in his palm as he watched your hands crawl around his chest, your thumbs brushing his hard nipples. “Oooh, love…” came from his mouth breathlessly, his senses hyper aware of everything right now, the humidity in the air, how hot you feel against his back, the sweat moving down his hairline as he watched you watch him. “Just like that…go on.”
He only moves faster, your encouragement like honey to his tea in the mornings, so sweet and delicious. His precum was lube at this point, squelching noises echoing in the bathroom along side his breathy moans. He was never too loud, always on the verge of long breathy moans and quiet grunts when the two of you made love. One day, you’ll change that.
For right now, you’ll hold him as he approaches his orgasm, you’ll watch him as he breathes heavily against your body, and jerks in your arms as his cum squirts onto the counter, and drips down his calloused fingers. “Good boy…”
“M-mng, thank- thank you… love you…”
You kissed his damp shoulder, now damp with sweat and not water. “I love you too, my love…how do you look now, hm?” You whispered softly, hands still trailing his body.
“I’m fuckin hot.”
You couldn’t hold back your laughter, and he joined you.
i can’t stop thinking about forced feminization with art. he’s so pretty i can’t take it. like…. god. imagine calling his cock a pussy while you fuck him. (not with a strap, no. we are not in that kind of scene.) it’s just you between his legs, (which is already dangling off the bed) and you are sinking him deep inside of you by rolling your hips slow like you’re the one fucking him.
and you are not riding either. you’re not bouncing. not that kind of topping. you’re not letting him have anything that makes him control anything. it’s just you. you’re thrusting him inside you. and you’re looking down at him like he belongs there… beneath you.
he’s already leaking, of course, he’s so close already. already twitching inside you, whimpering like he doesn’t know how to handle the way it feels. like it’s too much. like it’s not supposed to feel that good.
and you tell him while looking down at his fucked out face, “you’ve got the puffiest pussy, baby. don’t you?”
it’s not a yes or no. it’s not even a question.
and he’s already nodding, eyes wide and glassy, like he needs you to believe it, like he needs it to be true. and you make him say it. you tell him to say it.
and of course he does. god, of course. he gasps it out between moans like it’s breaking him, all breathless and shaky. “I- I’ve got- a-ah... a fluffy- a p-puffy pussy…”
you can barely take it. he’s so shy about it, but it’s like something he’s been waiting to say his whole fucking life.
you keep going, soft but mean. “what kind of girl are you, baby?”
and he looks up at you like he’s about to cry. so red, so shy and embarrassed already.
🤍To this post-I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING MYSELF!!! For my new Slut Him Out series. Aka, SHO, as in SHO ISSSS
🩶Manipulation, gaslighting, stalking, dark!Ghost, black reader (of course), femdom, age gap, late 30s ghost, mid- late 20s reader, small text.
🖤reposting bc lack of interaction.
He's obsessed with you but crippled by fear of rejection/ abandonment because of his trauma.
▫️ You? You play him like a violin. You know you've got him - and you never let him forget it.
▫️ He flinches at affection but craves it like oxygen.
▫️"big scary man reduced to a submissive mess"
energy.
Simon Riley was not a man who rattled easily.
No - most days, he was the shadow in the corner of your eye.
The chill crawling down the back of your neck. The reaper who never needed to raise his voice to command a room. A tiger sizing up a lion.
You were different. You made the reaper stumble. You made this lion frightened.
He watched you like a starving man circling prey he knew.
He watched you like a starving man circling prey he knew would tear him apart. Not from a distance of bravery, no — it was pitiful, the way he hovered at the edges of your space, eyes dark and flickering with want and fear in equal measure.
You felt him before you saw him most days, that oppressive weight of his gaze pressing into your spine. He thought he was subtle. He wasn't.
You caught him staring after training, chest heaving under his gear, tension coiled tight like a spring that would never dare snap.
"See somethin' you like, Ghost?" you drawled, not bothering to mask the amusement in your voice.
He froze.
Like a deer in headlights. No, not a deer — a predator who'd found himself at the mercy of something bigger, something meaner.
His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you and recoil all at once.
"I—"
His voice cracked, caught in his throat like it didn't know if it belonged to him.
“No,” he rasped. A lie. The biggest one he'd ever told.
You stepped closer, slow, deliberate. Close enough to see the way his breath stuttered behind the mask. Close enough to feel the trembling threads of control slipping through his fingers.
"You follow me like a ghost in the dark," you murmured, gaze raking over him like you owned him. "But you're not hunting, are you, Simon?" You let the name linger, soft but sharp. You saw the way he jolted at the sound of it. "You're the one being hunted."
He shuddered.
Pathetic. Beautiful. Yours for the taking.
Then, you gave him a smile before slapping the side of his waist in a playful manner. Something no one else would do.
"I'm jokin! I'll see you around, lieutenant."
He blinks, confused on what the hell just happened, and watched you collect your things. Then you just left.
