#la push

YES okay ! hope you enjoy :)

the other woman part one

the other woman part three

the other woman - jacob black x reader

To say it didn’t hurt, it meant that you were a liar.

You heard about heartbreaks and how it takes a toll on a person.

Some fell into depression. Some couldn’t eat. Some couldn’t sleep.

“It possibly couldn’t be that tragic.” You would think every time you heard it.

You were eating your words.

All you kept thinking about was the fact that the only person who could make it better, was the person who broke your heart in the first place.

All you kept thinking about was what was wrong with you.

What made Rachel the one for Paul?

What made Rachel so enticing that he felt the need to lie and push you off to the side like that?

All you kept thinking was his face when he broke it off.

He just didn’t care.

Sitting on your porch steps, Leah stared at you.

ℋeadcanons  ݁ 　.　 　fluff + protective paul

　　꒰🐺 ꒱ 　𝒸w: paul being intense, temper mentions, imprinting, soft possessiveness

𝒫aul 𝓛ahote is not the soft, sweet, whispering-poetry type of boyfriend. He is warm hands, sharp jaw, bad temper, and standing a little too close because he genuinely cannot help himself.

He loves hard. Like embarrassingly hard. Like if he imprints on you, everybody knows within two days because Paul is suddenly hovering like a guard dog with a personal grudge against the entire planet.

୨୧　He acts like he is not clingy, but he absolutely is.

Not in a “baby please text me back” way. More like he just appears wherever you are. Sitting beside you at Emily’s. Leaning against your truck. Walking you home even if you told him you were fine.

He will say something like, “I was going this way anyway,” and everyone knows he was not.

୨୧　Paul’s love language is physical touch, but he would rather die than say that out loud.

His hand on your lower back when you walk through a crowd. Fingers brushing your hair or your sleeve. His knee pressed against yours under the table. His arm thrown over the back of your chair, like he is trying to look casual but also making it very clear you are with him.

He is not delicate with affection at first. He has to learn how to be gentle. But once he does? It ruins him a little.

୨୧　He gets jealous fast, but he tries to play it off.

Paul is not subtle. If some guy looks at you too long, his whole face changes. Jaw tight. Eyes narrowed. Shoulders stiff.

And if you ask him what is wrong, he will definitely say, “Nothing.”

Which means everything is wrong and he is currently fighting demons in silence.

୨୧　He is protective in a very Paul way.

He does not fuss over you sweetly. He checks your tires. Walks on the road side of the sidewalk. Stares down anyone who makes you uncomfortable. Tells you to call him when you get home, then pretends he was not waiting with his phone in his hand.

If you get hurt, even a little, he gets quiet. That is how you know he is really scared.

୨୧　He has a temper, but he would try so hard not to scare you.

Paul is canonically hotheaded. That does not just disappear because he loves someone. But with you, he learns restraint and control

Sometimes he has to walk away. Sometimes he has to phase and run until the anger burns off. Sometimes he comes back looking ashamed, like he hates that part of himself more than anyone else ever could.

He would not want you afraid of him. That would destroy him.

୨୧　He is secretly proud when you wear his clothes.

He acts smug, obviously. That is Paul. But deep down, seeing you in his hoodie or shirt makes his chest feel too full.

He likes that you smell like him. He likes that everybody can see it. He likes that you look comfortable in something that belongs to him.

He will tease you for stealing it, then never ask for it back.

୨୧　At Emily’s house, he is always watching you.

Not in a creepy way. More like he is constantly aware of you. Where you are sitting. If you ate enough. If you are cold. If someone made you laugh.

He pretends he is listening to Jared or Embry, but his eyes keep sliding back to you anyway.

And if you catch him staring, he does not even look embarrassed. He just lifts his eyebrows like, what about it?

୨୧　Paul would be awful at apologizing at first.

Not because he does not care. Because caring makes him feel exposed.

His first apologies are probably stiff and awkward. “I shouldn’t have said that.” “I was being stupid.” “I didn’t mean it like that.”

But later, once he trusts you more, he gets better. Quieter. More honest.

“I got mad because I was scared. That’s not an excuse.”

୨୧　He is not the type to say “I love you” every five seconds.

But when he says it, it hits.

Paul’s “I love you” would come out low, serious, maybe when you are half asleep or after an argument or when he thinks you are not really listening. Or when you’re asleep, dead to the world.

And if you say it back, he goes still for half a second before pulling you closer.

୨୧　He likes when you mess with him.

Paul needs someone who can push back a little. Someone who rolls their eyes when he is being dramatic. Someone who can call him out without making him feel small.

If you tease him, he acts annoyed, but he loves it.

Especially if you make him laugh when he is trying very hard to stay mad.

୨୧　He is warmer than a blanket, no blankets needed when you’re around Paul.

Literally. Being around him is dangerous because once he holds you, you are not getting up. He runs hot from the shifting, so cuddling him feels unfairly good.

He would definitely complain if you put your cold hands on him, but he would still let you.

He would grumble, “You’re freezing,” while pulling your hands under his shirt to warm them up.

୨୧　He would struggle with the imprint at first.

Not because he does not want you. Because wanting you that much scares him.

Paul is used to reacting first and thinking later. The imprint would force him to feel everything at once. Need, fear, love, loyalty, panic.

He would hate how obvious it makes him. Hate that everyone can see exactly where his heart went.

But once he accepts it, that is it. He is yours.

୨୧　He loves in a way that feels almost too intense sometimes.

Paul is not casual. He does not know how to be casual with someone he loves.

He memorizes your moods. Your voice. The way you go quiet when something is wrong. The little things you do when you are nervous.

He notices more than people think he does.

୨୧　He would absolutely get softer when nobody is looking.

Around the pack, Paul is all attitude. Loud mouth, sharp grin, quick temper.

But alone with you? He gets quieter. He lets his guard drop. He presses his face into your neck and just breathes for a second, like being near you resets something in him.

_

— what if bella had chosen jacob?

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Pairing: Paul Lahote x Reader Summary: After being imprinted on by the Pack's most furious member, you aren't quite sure how to feel — should you be ignoring the pull of fate? Or should you give in to it?

Part 3

Your fingers thread through the e/c strands of your hair, braiding it intricately and tightly. It was a hazy afternoon — only white light coming through the trees, the sun hiding behind thick clouds.

Training again today. The attempt at training yesterday was pathetic. It didn’t help, though, that your world had been quickly and rapidly turned right around. You didn’t even know what had just happened to you was possible.

A werewolf imprinting on a vampire. A vampire mating to a werewolf. It was unheard of. You’d consulted Carlisle immediately after yesterday’s training session, trying to see the history on it or if it could somehow be broken. Of course, to your luck, he’d told you: “Little is known about it. It’s only happened one other time in thousands of years, Name. I’m sorry.”

The worst part was that the Cullens’ genuinely looked as if they pitied you.

Mating was supposed to be a happy thing, something to celebrate. Something to ease the pain of being alone for years. For you, though, it wouldn’t be. It would be confusing, difficult to navigate, and absolutely grotesque. You had been conditioned to hate werewolves from the moment you were created — and here you were, eternally bound to one.

Edward’s reaction was hard to tell. In his topaz eyes, you saw a brief flicker of pain that he didn’t deserve to express. Then, you saw the pity previously mentioned. Then, you saw the typical brood. And finally, you saw his kindness. Selflessness that he always had. He’d do anything to help you through it and you knew it. You just refused to confide in him.

You smelled them. The wolves. They penetrated the sugary, sweet scent of you and the other Cullens', the cracking and thumping through the forest making it obvious who'd arrived. They definitely weren't creatures of subtlety.

As if you were the one that summoned them, you felt various pairs of eyes on you, trying to see how you'd react. You knew Rosalie, your closest friend for decades, expected you to react. She expected you to lash out and set a wolf on fire. But to be honest, you weren't sure how to feel about it.

You weren't angry. It was fate — the wolf, Paul, hadn't chosen it either. It was evident in the way he bounded through the thick tree line in absolute rage. He was angry, but you knew through things you'd heard about him from his pack, it wasn't hard to spark him. He was temperamental, gruff, rough around the edges. But he was light-hearted too, fun, playful. They'd given you a list of pros and cons to Paul that you hadn't even asked for — they being Seth Clearwater and Embry Call.

You opted to disengage, not fully acknowledging the wolves. Their arrival meant it was time to train, time to prepare for a newborn army. You weren't going to be slaughtered on a battlefield because you were too busy acting like a nervous schoolgirl who's crush approached her. When everyone settled into the clearing, Jasper finally spoke.

Jasper stepped forward, his posture as stiff and calculated as ever, eyes sweeping over both the vampires and wolves. His voice was even, but there was a layer of tension there, a quiet storm brewing beneath the surface. “We’re going to start with defensive maneuvers,” he announced, his Southern drawl thicker today than usual. “You're going to face off against someone — someone with speed, someone with strength. You’ll rotate. You’ll adjust.”

He paused briefly, glancing at you for a moment, then at the wolves, eyes lingering just a touch longer on the one still pacing at the edge of the tree line — Paul.

Paul hadn’t shifted back yet. He prowled just outside the clearing, fur bristling, shoulders tense. His wolf form was massive and beautiful in a wild, untamed way — but he didn’t dare come closer. Not yet. Not after what happened.

Embry stood at the front of the Pack, already in human form, arms crossed, trying to be casual. “He’ll join when he’s ready,” he muttered, referring to Paul without being asked, eyes flicking toward you like he was watching for a reaction.

You gave none.

Your golden eyes were focused as the others were put into pairs. Edward with Carlisle, Rosalie with Emmett, Alice with Esme, and you with Jasper. The wolves would be incorporated afterwards.

Edward and Carlisle would begin first.

The clearing quieted as Jasper gave a short nod toward Edward and Carlisle. “Let’s see it,” he said simply. The two moved like streaks of light—Carlisle fluid and composed, Edward sharp and fast. Their blows never landed with force, only precision, pulling back just before they could bruise or break. It was a dance more than a fight, all control and instinct. You watched with arms crossed, jaw tight.

You weren’t watching their technique, though. You were watching him — the wolf in the woods. Paul.

He had stopped pacing.

The moment Edward lunged, a blur of motion, Paul’s gaze snapped toward you. Your eyes met for the first time since yesterday.

It hit you in the chest.

Heat. Tension. Like a string stretched to the point of breaking.

Paul’s lip curled slightly, though you couldn’t tell if it was a snarl or a grimace. Then, without a sound, he turned and slipped back into the trees for a moment. Then, he came back. The same Paul you'd first seen yesterday — tall, threaded with thick muscle and russet skin, dark, wild cropped hair, and intense brown eyes.

He stood at the edge of the clearing, human again but somehow more dangerous like this — more real. There was a rawness to him, like a live wire sparking just beneath the surface. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, jaw clenched, eyes locked on you as if the rest of the world had blurred out of existence.

You didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

You could feel every set of eyes shift between the two of you — the Cullens catching the shift in air pressure, the Pack stiffening at Paul’s reappearance. Even Jasper paused mid-instruction, picking up on the tension bleeding from your pores like static.

Paul said nothing. Just stood there, fists flexing at his sides, looking at you like you were the moon and he wasn’t quite sure whether to worship it or curse it.

Embry muttered something under his breath. You caught just the end of it: “Shit.”

Rosalie was glaring.

Edward… looked pained. But silent.

And you?

You didn’t know what to do. The heat that churned in your chest wasn’t just confusion anymore. It was pull. It was gravity. It was a battle between instinct and hatred, fate and fire, and you didn’t know which would win.

Paul stepped forward.

Just one step.

And even that was too much.

Jasper’s hand came down gently on your arm, grounding. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer.

Because Paul’s gaze was still locked on you — not pleading, not soft. Just burning. Like he didn’t want this. Like it scared him. Like he hated it just as much as you did.

You shook your head, finally registering Jasper's words, and readjusted your braid.

"I'm fine, Jas. C'mon. It's our turn, right?" You asked, smiling half-heartedly.

Jasper didn’t press you. He never did. He just nodded, his expression unreadable but his hand lingering half a second longer than necessary on your arm before letting go. His instincts were sharper than most — he could feel what you weren’t saying.

“Alright,” he said quietly, stepping back to take his position in the clearing. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”

You followed him, forcing yourself to ignore the weight of the stare still burning into your back. Your movements were fluid, automatic, every inch of you honed for battle — and yet, that heat in your chest remained. Like you were being tugged backward by an invisible string.

But you didn’t look back.

Not yet.

Jasper circled you slowly, eyes calculating. “They need to see how a newborn thinks,” he said loud enough for the group to hear. “You play the threat. Come at me with everything you’ve got. No fire though, sunshine.”

That, at least, was easy. You could focus on that. You could be the monster they needed you to be. Better than thinking about him.

You let your eyes darken, your expression shift, and lunged.

Jasper ducked, your body flying above him, fingernails just grazing his shoulder in an attempt to grab him. You’d been close, close enough that you could feel his emotion. Focused. Grunting, you braced yourself, knees landing softly in the dirt as you bounded back up.

“Lucky.” You snickered. You were a seasoned fighter, having worked with newborns before in your life too. You and Jasper had almost the same level of experience.

You were just too good at mirroring the mannerisms of a newborn. An outsider would’ve thought you were one.

Feeling his movement through the air, you swung an arm, the swipe once again just narrowly missing him. You knew there were eyes on you — everyone’s were. That’s how it was intended to be. This was a lesson.

You felt air whoosh as Jasper ducked under your movement again, rolling to the side and springing back up with that calm, soldier’s precision only he could master. You chased him like lightning, your lips pulled back in a grin that was all teeth — calculated menace for the sake of performance.

"Come on, Major," you taunted. "You going soft on me?"

Jasper didn’t answer, but you felt the flicker of amusement pass through him — barely there, like a shadow of a smile. He was in his element. So were you.

You spun, landing a fake blow to his side that he dodged at the last second, your hands digging into the dirt for stability. You kicked off it, body twisting through the air, an acrobatic move you knew a real newborn wouldn't have even attempted.

Around the clearing, everyone had stopped whispering. The wolves were still — even Emmett, who usually couldn’t keep his commentary to himself during training, had gone quiet.

Because you were good.

And because of what you were doing it with on your back.

Paul.

Even now, you could feel him. Not just his stare — the imprint. The bond. Like something tied to the marrow of your bones. Every time you twisted or turned, every time your heart beat (even though it didn’t need to), he felt it. You knew he did. And somehow, it felt like he was holding his breath for each move you made, just waiting for one misstep.

Jasper landed lightly a few feet away, brushing dust off his shirt and calling, “That’s enough.”

You nodded, wiping the dirt from your knees too.

"That, ladies and gentleman," Jasper said, using the spar as a teaching moment, "is what you'll see when facing a newborn vampire. Unparalleled, feral, only wanting one thing. To kill you."

His words lingered in the humid air, weighted and sharp. You straightened fully, adjusting the sleeves of your dark jacket, your gaze flicking toward the wolves now standing closer than they had before. You could feel the shift in the atmosphere — the unease, the tension, the awe.

"That’s what we’re up against," Jasper continued, eyes sweeping across the group. "They won’t hesitate. Neither should you."

Embry let out a low whistle, breaking the tension just slightly. “Remind me not to piss her off.”

That earned a quiet snort from Rosalie.

You turned — slowly, deliberately — and met Paul’s eyes again.

Something shifted.

He stepped forward, just once. It was cautious, rigid. Like he didn’t trust himself. Or you. Or the thing tethered between you.

But then, someone else moved — Jacob, approaching the edge of the circle. “We should take a turn now,” he said, trying to keep things moving.

Jasper gave you a nod, a silent gesture of thanks, then moved to begin the next demonstration with Rosalie and Emmett stepping into the ring.

But even as others took your place, and the sounds of sparring filled the forest again, the weight of him never left your shoulders.

Later into the training session, after Rosalie and Emmett's spar, it was time to involve the wolves. Give them an opponent tough enough to teach with. Jasper was nice to you, giving you someone other than Paul to work with.

You were given Jacob, of course. The two of you matched — headstrong, not afraid to strike. You were tasked with teaching him how to defend himself from a truly volatile threat.

Jasper instructed swiftly, as if he was made to lead.

"Once again, nothing fiery," He told you, nodding his head forward. "Show Jacob how it's done. Then, the rest of them will pair up."

Jacob phased easily, the cracking of bone and a slight grunt giving way to a huge wolf. Nothing you hadn't seen before, but slightly bigger than the ones you'd seen. He had thick brown fur with traces of black, deep eyes, and a cocky snarl on his dripping teeth.

You arched a brow, arms still at your sides, body loose but deadly. Jacob was already in position, massive and looming — an eager challenger. You’d heard stories of his boldness, his talent, his drive to be the best. It showed in the way he stood, tail high, muscles coiled like springs.

You weren’t going to make it easy for him.

“Ready when you are,” you called out coolly, voice echoing across the clearing.

Jasper gave a signal.

Jacob lunged.

You sidestepped — fast — the world blurring for a moment. He was powerful, no doubt, but unrefined in his technique. His head snapped in your direction too late to stop your hand from colliding sharply with his shoulder. Not hard enough to damage — just enough to make a point.

The Pack let out low growls and huffs in response, a few of the younger wolves shifting restlessly. Leah, in her usual biting tone, muttered, “Cocky idiot’s gonna get himself knocked flat.”

You heard her. So did he.

Jacob turned, more calculated this time. He charged again, but now he was trying to predict you. His paws dug into the dirt, but you caught him off guard with a spin and a sweep, the back of your hand grazing his snout just enough to send him skidding sideways.

Jasper called again, “Keep control of your weight, Jacob! Don’t overcommit unless you’re sure.”

You exhaled slowly, already walking backward to reset your position.

"Focus, dog. Less on striking me, more on defending yourself. Use my ferality against me." You snap, lunging forward again.

He let out a huff through his nose — half annoyance, half amusement — and braced himself. You weren’t giving him an inch, and he was finally starting to take it seriously. Good. You needed him to. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t schoolyard brawling. It was survival.

Your body blurred forward, fangs just slightly bared in a snarl. Jacob ducked, finally reacting with the kind of precision Jasper had wanted from the start. He shifted his weight, tried to knock you off balance with a low swipe of his big build. You leapt over it cleanly, twisting in the air and landing light on your feet behind him, your hand brushing his spine — a kill shot, if you’d wanted it to be.

"Again. But better." You snort.

Finally, it seemed as if Jacob had locked in.

Your fangs were bared, a snarl leaving your clenched teeth as you flipped backwards, lunging for him again. This time, you didn't even make contact with fur. He wasn't anywhere you'd expected him to be.

In fact, he was in front of you.

You felt his sharp set of teeth graze your wrist as you attempted to pull back, golden eyes wide and impressed. But before you could react, you heard the commotion.

A snarl. Bounding feet, the sound of massive dogs fighting.

Paul had phased — and was clearly not happy that Jacob had managed to get teeth on his imprint.

The sound was instant, violent, claws tearing against the forest floor, an enraged snarl splitting the air like a thunderclap.

“PAUL!” someone shouted — Sam — but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

He was already on Jacob.

They collided mid-air, a blur of russet and brown fur, jaws snapping, limbs crashing. The ground shook beneath them as they rolled, snarling and slamming into trees, leaves and debris bursting into the air like shrapnel. Paul was pure fury, unhinged and explosive, snapping toward Jacob's throat without hesitation. Jacob fought back, instinct kicking in, but it was clear — this wasn’t training anymore.

He couldn’t stand down. Not when your scent was still on Jacob’s teeth. Not when he could still feel the brush of your pain through the imprint like it was his own.

Jasper appeared at your side in an instant, a cold hand shooting out across your chest to stop you. “Let Sam handle him.”

“No.” Your eyes were glowing now, bright gold. Dangerous. “He’s not going to stop. Not unless I stop him.”

The wolves were active now, circling — Embry and Quil, snarling low and unsure, Seth whining anxiously, Leah pacing with her hackles raised. It was only a matter of time before someone got hurt. For real.

You stepped forward. “Paul,” you said, addressing him for the first time. Controlled. “It’s me.”

And like something in him recognized the weight of your voice — not your power, but you — his head snapped around.

Your breath caught.

His eyes were still wild, glowing with something deeper than rage — something primal, ancient. Not just fury.

He stilled under your gaze, heavy chest rising and falling in sharp bursts. His lip curled, torn between instinct and obedience, but the recognition in his eyes was clearer now. It was you. You.

Slowly — reluctantly — Paul backed away from Jacob’s downed form, his massive wolf body quivering with the effort to hold himself together. He turned, muscles twitching, and bolted into the trees, fur flashing like firelight through the branches.

You exhaled sharply, only now realizing how tightly you’d been holding yourself. He was running away. Yet again. The coward was running.

Or so you thought.

He stepped out. Human. Shirtless, bleeding from his shoulder. His chest was still heaving, his fists clenched like he was fighting ghosts under his skin. His jaw was tight — clenched hard enough to crack. He didn’t look at anyone but you.

“You think I wanted to do that?” he asked, voice low, raw. “You think I don’t hate this too?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came.

He took a step closer. “You got hurt. I felt it. What the hell was I supposed to do, just stand there while he put teeth on you?”

You didn’t flinch. Not from his volume. Not from the pain in his tone.

“I’m fine,” you said evenly. “It wasn’t even a bite. It was training. Jasper’s training.”

Paul scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it. It’s not about logic. It’s not about who’s in charge or what this was supposed to be.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, burning.

“It’s you. I can’t — I can’t not react when it’s you.”

Your eyes softened. You didn't want them to, but they did.

And he saw it — the shift in your eyes. The subtle drop of your shoulders. The hesitation in your breath that betrayed you before your mouth could catch up.

Paul stepped forward again, slower this time, like he was testing the ground beneath him. “You think I like this?” he asked, quieter now. “Being this… out of control? Every time you’re in the same damn field as someone else, it’s like something in me breaks.”

You stayed silent.

“I’m not asking you to feel the same,” he added, voice barely above a whisper now. “I know you didn’t want this. I know the bond… it scares you. It terrifies me. It's wrong. But don’t act like you don’t feel it too.”

The truth hung heavy between you. You did. You felt it in the way your hands trembled after every sparring match. In the way your eyes always found him in a crowd. In the ache that started in your chest and ended in your bones whenever he looked at you like that — like he’d go to war for you without blinking.

You swallowed hard, your voice low. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Paul nodded. “No. But it did.”

Another beat passed — tight, breathless.

“And I don’t know how to turn it off,” he added, voice nearly breaking. “Not when it’s you.”

You nodded, swallowing harshly, though you didn't need to. Grabbing your discarded jacket from the grass, you sped off. If they could, frustrated tears would've filled your golden eyes.

You fucking hated this.

Finding a clearing, you stopped there. Rage boiled through your body as you let a groan tumble from your lips. You roughly shoved a tree, watching it fall, breaking all of the trees around it in the process. You then plopped down on the dirt, putting your face in your arms.

Why did this happen to you, of all people? Hadn't you paid your dues? You gave up the love of your life, just to be eternally tied to something you hated.

"Sulking. I always hated when you sulked." You heard behind you. You sighed, a bittersweet smile curving onto your lips. Of course, he had followed you.

He always did know how to manage you best.

Edward.

"Go away." You muttered into your arms, trying to hide the way your voice trembled.

But instead of leaving, he crouched down beside you, his cool hand brushing against your shoulder in an oddly gentle motion. "I can't do that," he said softly, his voice low and calm. "You know that."

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have the energy for a fight, not when everything inside you felt like it was about to burst. You felt like a raw wound, and the last thing you wanted was for him to see it. But he always saw right through you. Always had.

There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, it wasn’t with the usual teasing or authority you were used to.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself." His voice was quieter this time, almost hesitant, as if he was tiptoeing around something fragile — which, you supposed, was exactly what you were in that moment.

You shook your head, the ache in your chest growing heavier with every word. "You don’t get it. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to be in the middle of a mess that I can’t fix. I didn’t ask to feel like I’m trapped between wanting something I can’t have and something I’ll never be free from."

Edward let out a slow breath, his cool fingers gently lifting your face so that you were forced to look him in the eye. "I understand more than you think," he said softly, his gaze steady, unwavering. "And I’m not here to fix everything for you. I can’t. But I can listen."

The truth in his words stung, not because they weren’t what you wanted to hear, but because they were everything you needed.

"I didn’t want this," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I didn’t want to be bound to him. I didn’t want to feel like I’m falling apart every time I see him, every time he gets close."

Edward’s expression softened, and for a long moment, he just looked at you — not with judgment, not with pity, but with a kind of understanding that only he could offer. "I know," he murmured. "But you don’t have to go through it alone."

You couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped your lips. "It doesn’t matter, Edward. I’ve been alone for so long, I don’t even know how to not be. And this bond... it’s like a prison I didn’t even sign up for."

His eyes darkened slightly, but his grip on your chin didn’t loosen. "You’re not alone. Not with me. You may feel trapped, but you don’t have to be."

There was a sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected it from him — not with everything that had happened between the two of you. But maybe, deep down, you had always known that despite the tension and distance, he would never leave you stranded.

"I don’t know how to deal with this... with him," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Edward’s gaze softened even more, and his thumb brushed across your jaw. "I know. And I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But you don’t have to fix it all at once."

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the weight on your shoulders ease, just a little. "I hate that you’re right about everything," you muttered, dropping your gaze.

He chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "I’ve heard that before."

You shook your head, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. "You always know what to say."

"That’s because I’ve been where you are," he replied, his voice quieter now. "I know what it’s like to feel like you're drowning in something you can’t control. But you have to let go of the idea that you can fix everything by yourself."

You swallowed hard, taking in his words. You weren’t sure if you could let go, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel as if you had to carry it all on your own.

"Thanks," you murmured, voice small.

Edward smiled, a rare, soft smile that didn’t reach his usual teasing or self-assuredness. "You don't have to thank me. Just don't keep pushing everyone away. Not this time."

You nodded, but the lump in your throat didn’t disappear.

He stood, offering you a hand. "You ready to go back?"

You hesitated, glancing up at him. For the first time since the chaos started, you didn’t feel like running. "Yeah. I think I am."