#reader insert blog

That's exactly what he said last time. 'A few more pictures.' 'just a little longer.' 

But things have changed since last time. For one, you were now bound with your hands behind you and your legs tied together. He had never tried to bind you up like this. It was… unsettling, to say the least. But you focused on thinking they were for the shoot.  

You hated and adored being in his photos. Yves always knew how to make you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world. But there was always something lurking under his compliments; a smile that was a bit more than friendly. 

You didn't want to be here in the first place. But Yves had... "invited" you. To call it kidnapping would be wrong. You could never call your best friend a kidnapper. Even if that was... technically what he was. But you were in another country! Maybe people "kidnap" each other all the time here... right? 

You weren't too knowledgeable on the country’s laws but you hoped maybe this was common. Perhaps you just had to tell him you needed to go…one more time? 

"Yves, I really need to go home; I've been here for days," you shifted uncomfortably under the sheets which hardly covered you. "And I don’t understand why the restraints are necessary." 

"It is to uhh," Yves looked for the rights words. "Keep in the shot you know?" 

"Keep in the shot?" 

"Yes, you know," Yves mumbled some words you couldn’t understand, repeating himself despite your confused expression. "keep in the shot. You know." 

"Yves..." you sighed. You still weren't very good at understanding the language yet, and Yves wasn’t the best at english.

Rubbing your hands back and forth you felt the duck tape on your wrists dig deeper. Your feet had already gone numb, and the makeup on your face was beginning to melt from the softbox’s light.

Yves continued to mumble to himself as he took shots from every angle, moving low and high in order to get the best pictures of you. You were just glad that the sticky red paint he covered you in was finally dry; it had made your skin itch. He had been subjecting you to photo sessions every day ever since he brought you back to his apartment. 

Yves was supposed to be watching over you as part of the international student committee. But instead of showing you around the campus or helping you tour the city, you were stuck in his apartment. You were stupid enough to let him "take care of you" after a night of too many drinks while exploring the area. That was several days ago, and soon it'd be weeks if you let him keep you like this. 

But he always knew how to get you; whether it was with his sweet accent and convincing words, or his evading answers in the language he knew you couldn’t understand, he always knew how to keep you for just a bit longer. Even though you were starting to miss classes, and he was starting to become too suffocating. 

At this point, you'd take being stranded on the street if it meant you'd be out of Yves' tiny studio apartment. He wouldn’t even let you open a window to get some air; there was always some excuse, and you believed him every time. After all, he was born here; you were just a foreigner trying not to get lost. 

"Hey hey," Yves noticed your solemn face. "Mon amour, what is the matter?"

You didn’t answer, still struggling with the tape on your limbs. It had loosened just a bit in the past several minutes as you continued to sweat under the light. 

"Why do you look so sad?" He grabbed your chin gently, setting the camera down. 

"I'm tired." You responded, refusing to make eye contact. Yves rubbed your back and mumbled words of sympathy. 

"When can I go home?" 

"Soon Mon chéri soon. But I have many shots to take. You are making it take longer." 

He kissed your cheek over and over again, pulling you close as you went limp against him. You've learned not to refuse his affections anymore. If you did, he'd make you partake in a nude photo session again, just like the last time you refused. The humiliation wasn't worth saving your pride. 

"Kiss me." He demanded, watching you through hooded eyes. 

You bit your tongue. He watched you scoot back unconsciously, nervous at his closeness still. 

"Ne sois pas difficile.... my love just do as I say ." He grabbed your hands from behind, squeezing the tender flesh making you wince. "I'm not mean... do not make me mean.." 

You closed the gap between your lips with his, giving a quick and chaste kiss. But from the touch of his hands, you knew he wanted more.

 As you tried to leave his lips Yves held the back of your head. The photographer only let an inch pass between your lips before he closed the gap once again. You were used to this; used to him doing as he pleased. But at least you weren’t treated entirely like an item. Sometimes he’d beg for you to reciprocate, often in his native tongue.  

"Ne t'arrête pas, amour… kiss me..." 

You did as he asked. Hesitantly, you opened your mouth to let Yves' tongue slide against yours. Your makeup began to smudge as he enveloped you with affection. He gripped the tape around your arms, seemingly trying to tear it off. You wiggled your hands to get them free. 

You even tried to kiss Yves a bit more, hoping it would mean he would continue to help remove your restraints.

"No… no.." Yves pulled back. His mouth separated from yours with a slick pop; a string of saliva still connected you with him.

You wiped your mouth on your shoulder as Yves readjusted your restrained hands. 

"We got off topic," Yves' accent got thicker with his labored breath. "Get back in place." 

Your face was hot as you fixed yourself. The numbing in your fingers helped distract from Yves' lips and his saliva in your mouth. He picked up his camera and stepped back from you, covering his face. You could see from under his hand he was red. 

Yves wiped his mouth and bent down to fix a bit of your smudged makeup with his finger. Standing back up, he readied his camera, calming his breath. 

You did the same, trying to look away. The red paint on your skin began to itch again-- but it felt better to focus on that than the way Yves was eyeing you. 

"Almost done…" Yves set the camera up to his eye, ready to snap another shot. "And after, we can go to bed."

You aren’t a bad person.

All right, you’ll admit it: you have a bit of a short fuse, and sometimes you don’t have the best judgment because of it. But who doesn’t lose their temper every once in a while?

It just happens that you have a harder time keeping your anger in check than most people do, that’s all. That doesn’t mean you’re bad.

So you’re getting pretty tired of people telling you that you are.

“God, I just can’t believe you,” your mom says, pulling at her hair in frustration. “Every other week, you’re getting into a fight, or skipping class, or keying Mrs Dombrovsky’s car!”

“She kicked me out of class for ‘being disruptive’ even though literally everyone talks in her class! She hates me, Mom!”

“So that gives you the right to key her car?” Your mom shakes her head and sighs. She looks defeated. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

You cross your arms and look away stubbornly, setting your jaw.

Your mom stands there in silence for a moment, trying to ice you out you guess, before she gives up.

“I have to get to the diner. I’ll be home late, so you’ll have to find something to eat.” She waits for you to say something, and when you don’t, she takes a step closer and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Honey, I just want what’s best for you. I don’t understand why you don’t see that.”

You jerk your shoulder out of her grip. “Maybe because you never listen to me,” you fire back.

She looks hurt, just like she always does when you tell her the truth. You regret it immediately.

She sniffs and lifts her chin. “I’m leaving now. I hope you have a better attitude by the time I get home.”

She turns and leaves, grabbing her keys from the dish on the hall table without stopping. When she closes the door, the sound seems to echo through the house.

You stay there, standing in the middle of the living room, listening to the wall clock tick, for several long seconds. Then you sit down on the rug and cry.

--

When you get to the cabin, you knock on the door and wait -- you don’t try to go in because you know the door is locked.

When the door opens, revealing a girl with curly brown hair in baggy jeans and a flannel shirt, you say, “Is he here?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“Can I see him?”

“Yes,” she says again, stepping aside so you can enter the cabin.

The creaking of the old wood floors alone is enough to ease some of the tension in your shoulders. You breathe in the smell of wood and old furniture, and when you breathe out, the anger and the sadness isn’t gone, but it doesn’t seem so crushing anymore.

Hopper is in his recliner with his feet up, a half-finished beer on the side table. He looks over at you and seems surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

“Hey, kid,” he says. Then, because he’s always understood you better than anyone, he adds, “Bad day?”

You nod.

He nods back. He reaches down and throws the lever on his recliner back into its original position, and then stands with a grunt, leaning backwards a little to pop his back. Without saying a word, he heads for the porch, and you follow.

The two of you sit on creaky old deck chairs, looking out over the lake. Hopper takes a carton of cigarettes and a lighter out of his breast pocket, sticking a cigarette in his mouth. You hold out a hand and he raises an eyebrow.

“When’d you start smoking?”

You shrug. “Few months ago.” You keep your hand extended.

He eyes you for a moment before sighing and putting a cigarette in your hand. “Just this once, though. I want you to quit; ‘s a bad habit.”

“Really?” You say, putting your own cigarette in your mouth. He lights his and then hands you his lighter so that you can do the same. “I don’t think you get to lecture me about this , Hop,” you say, eyeing the lit cig between his fingers.

He chuckles and takes a drag. “I’ve been smoking since I was younger than you. I think I have every right to lecture you about it.”

You consider this for a moment, and then you shrug and nod. He does have a point.

“So, what brings you here on this lovely, overcast night,” Hopper drawls, turning to stare out at the horizon. You do the same, taking a long drag from your cigarette.

“My mom,” you say simply.

“Ah,” Hopper says. “Givin’ you grief again?”

You sigh. “Yeah. She’s pissed off because I got caught keying Mrs Dombrovsky’s car.”

Hopper whistles. “That’s somethin’. What’d Dombrovsky do?”

“She kicked me out of class for talking and wrote me up for being disruptive. Which is utter bullshit because everybody talks in that class, but I’m the only one who gets in trouble? Like, whatever, bitch, I know you hate me, I don’t care,” you roll your eyes and lift the cigarette to your lips again.

“She didn’t do anything else?”

You exhale smoke through your nostrils. “...Why do you ask?”

“Because that’s not the kinda thing that really grinds your gears, kid. The shit that really gets to you is more personal than that. You don’t key somebody’s car because they kicked you outta pre-calc.”

You hesitate. “She… She called me a burnout.”

Hopper nods, grimacing. “That sounds like Dombrovsky, all right. That woman had it in for me, too.” He looks over at you. “That all she said?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “She said I was nothing but a burnout and a delinquent, and she didn’t want to see me in her class for the rest of the day if all I was going to do was distract the other students,” you say. The words are practically burned into your memory. Just thinking about it makes you so mad you want to punch something. “All I did was ask somebody to move so I could see what she was writing on the board.”

Hopper shakes his head. “I’m sorry, kid,” he says, and he sounds it, too. You know there’s nothing he can do about it, though; Hopper’s not your dad, and it’s not like he can arrest Dombrovsky for being a heinous bitch to you. At least he can be there for you, though.

The two of you are silent for a while, just listening to the cicadas and the gentle lapping of the waves on the lakeshore.

Then, Hopper says, “How’re your grades?”

You shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

He raises a brow. “‘Okay?’ What’s ‘okay’ mean?”

You pick at a loose thread on your shirt with your free hand and smoke to buy yourself time. “I have a C in English.”

“Uh huh.”

“...And a D in Spanish…”

“How come? And why do you have a C in English, I thought you liked English?”

You sigh in frustration. “I didn’t wanna do this stupid oral presentation in Spanish so I skipped class that day. And the book we’re reading in English is really boring, I can’t focus on it when we have to read at home.”

Hopper shakes his head, frowning. “Kid, c’mon, we’ve talked about you skipping school. You’re gonna get into trouble if you don’t stop ditching.”

You look down at your lap, feeling guilty, like you’ve let him down. “I know. ...Sorry.”

He sighs and takes a drag from his cigarette. “It’s fine,” he says, smoke trailing from his mouth and nose. “Just try a little harder, okay? I know school sucks and it’s boring, but you have to stick it out until you graduate. Don’t be like me that way, all right?”

You nod.

“You know, when I was your age, I was dealing with a lot of the same… issues you are. Shitty teachers, boring classes, parents who either aren’t there or aren’t listening to you. I was angry. Hell,” he laughs shortly, bitterly, and you know more than ever this man recognises something in you most other people never will. “Sometimes, it felt like I’d never stop being angry. But I want you to know it will get better. And if you ever start to feel like you’re all alone in the world… If that anger and hurt ever starts to feel too big…” He looks you dead in the eye. “I want you to come talk to me. Okay?”

You swallow thickly and nod. “Okay, Hop.” You feel wetness on your cheeks, and you swipe at them with your palm, sniffling.

Hopper notices and stands, wordlessly opening his arms to you. You accept gratefully, and he lets you cry into his chest for as long as you need before you pull away slowly, sniffing and wiping your eyes.

“Thanks, Hop.”

“Oh, uh, the admin ladies just said another student wanted to switch due to a class conflict, so I said I didn’t mind.” Wanted. Jasper had chosen to distance himself from you, and the reminder made you skip a breath.

“I haven’t seen Edward around today, did he skip school without you or something?” You changed the subject before you could cry, still careful to not pry too hard with Bella. This was a chance to dig deeper into the Cullens and their secret.

“Oh… he isn’t feeling well, so he’s at home.” Bella Swan was a terrible liar. She had so many tells and nervous habits, you couldn't believe her father was the chief of police. Bella stopped tugging at her flannel sleeves and instead rolled them up to her elbows. You would never have seen it if she hadn’t raised her arm to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear—but there it was; clear as crystal. A scar marred the inner side of her wrist; lighter than the rest of her skin and raised. A human bite.

 *

 Never had you noticed, despite all your pining for the Hale boy, that none of the Cullens ever ate anything. Emmett and Rosalie’s trays held a few pieces of fruit, whole and untouched, until Alice and Jasper joined them in dumping their food in a nearby trash can. They never eat or go to the bathroom. You had thought more about how safe your thoughts were and deemed that most evidence you had towards mind-reading pointed at Edward. It was Edward who put words into your mouth—and even Alice pointed her finger at him in the phony story she had tried to feed you. You would test that theory today and not hide your thoughts to see what would happen. 

Reciting the proof you’d gathered in your head, there was a word on the tip of your tongue. A very strong accusation—one that was mythical and insane, but you couldn’t shake the idea since you saw Bella’s bite mark. The notebook on the table was open to your ‘Cullen’ page, and you were near enough to observe their irises from where you were sitting. You just needed to act nonchalant about it.

You hadn’t updated your notebook for a week as you hadn’t gotten close enough to any of them to have a proper look. But your table was only ten strides away from theirs. You clicked your pen. Monday, Emmett, gold. Jasper, gold. You took a bite out of your sandwich, creating a gap in glances so as not to draw their attention. Rosalie, gold. Your heart was racing. Alice, gold. You glanced back at the previous entry just to be sure, but the black ink told no lies. Rosalie and Alice’s eyes had changed. Your hand moved, and the words formed on the paper in front of you.

Get close, check for contacts.

It was the last logical explanation for any of it; and while Jasper’s eyes never changed, he would be the easiest Cullen to talk to today as he was still waiting to apologise and give you his own phony explanation. After lunch, it didn’t take long for you to find Jasper waiting outside one of his classes. All it took was one look for him to follow you out to a quiet space behind one of the back buildings on campus.

His Southern twang made your heart melt. “You didn’t call. I thought you weren’t ready.”

Why didn’t his biological sister sound Southern?

“I wanted to do this in person.” You took care to seem assertive, despite your teeth threatening to chatter and your palms sweating.

“(Y/N), I’m not even sure where to start…” Jasper began apologising, just as his adopted siblings and girlfriend did before him; repeating the same so-called explanation supposed to make everything go away. You tried to focus on your goal instead of the way his voice broke, or the way the tips of his strawberry blonde hair brushed against his strong jawline. Concentrating on his eyes, you were looking for a very thin line—one that would give away a contact lens. But his eyes were flawless, clear, and natural. A chill crept up your spine.

The more Jasper spoke, the more you heard that his manner of speaking sounded dated at times. It came and left like each beat of a butterfly’s wing, but it was noticeable to somebody already on that train of thought. That word that came to you earlier threatened to slip from your tongue if you weren’t careful; and you restrained it by clenching your teeth.

“I understand,” you replied once Jasper had finished reciting the script they had given him. A swift wind of courage blew through your body as you straightened up. “And I’m sorry for making you stew in guilt for this long. I guess I was just afraid to approach you.” You twisted the knife. “But even Alice said, it’s not like any of you bite, right?”

Jasper’s gaze morphed from sincerity to one that pierced through you. His body turned rigid, and his eyes squinted ever so slightly. “That’s right. We gave you one hell of an impression. But as you can see, that impression was wrong, and we’re just average people like you.” The double-edge in his words threatened to cut you. “So, there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

The suspicion that drove you suddenly came to a halt; replaced by a warm feeling of satisfaction and comfort. It was just like that time you had that confrontation with Jasper and Edward, and you felt soothed; but this time, you were conscious of it. So, you soldiered on through this strange, artificial complacency and tried to hold on to any shred of logic you had left.

“It’s weird how whenever my anger or difference of opinion becomes inconvenient for you, I suddenly feel this strange toggling of my emotions.” The cosy aura strengthened. You remained aware. “It’s almost as if you’re controlling it somehow. Just like how Edward knows what I’m thinking and Alice has no trouble finding me. But there’s nothing to see here, right?”

Jasper stopped whatever it was he was trying to do and gave you an incredulous look. “Come with me.”

He started walking, never turning back to check if you were following, towards an outline of trees in the distance that led to the forest. You walked in the opposite direction, back into the school. Now that your theory was all but confirmed, you wouldn’t follow any of his kind into further seclusion. Entering the nearest building, the gym, you sat on the bleachers and pulled out your notebook. There would be enough witnesses surrounding you to ensure your safety. You dug around in your backpack for a loose pen and clicked it.

The Cullens are vampires.

-          Edward, mind reading

-          Jasper, emotions, cold skin

-          Bella, bite scar on arm

-          Alice… extreme knowing???

-          Never eat

-          Never use bathroom

-          All look the same, not biologically related

-          Eyes change colour, no contact lenses

You slammed the book shut and stuffed it back in your backpack. Clenching your car keys, you felt eyes on you. On your hands, on your back, on your face. Fear took over your mind as abandoned all logic and raced out of the gym and into your car; darting your eyes left and right for any angry vampires waiting to murder you to conceal their secret.

This was a mistake. A horrible mistake. You should have told someone where you were going, and who you were going with so the Cullens would be accountable. The engine roared to life as you slammed your foot on the accelerator. What if they killed your family over this? You swerved, narrowly missing a police car in an intersection. Red and blue lights flashed behind you as a siren sounded. Shit. You pulled over in a side street and rolled down your window.

The officer pulled in behind you, taking his time to get out of the police car. You tapped your fingers on the dusty dashboard, checking your side mirror to see what was taking so long; only to watch as Chief Swan himself shut his car door and strolled over to your side window.

“Everything all right over here?” He put his hands on his hips. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry Officer—I mean Chief Swan—I’m in a hurry to get home, I’m not feeling well.” Your knuckles whitened as you clenched your fists.

“You have a licence with you?” He was holding a clipboard and a pen. The last thing you needed was a fine on top of everything else. You handed him your licence and tried to look as pathetic as possible. “Well, (Y/N),” he read your name, “must be one hell of an illness.”

“I’m really sorry, Chief Swan. I was feeling anxious at school and I needed to get out of there and back home where I’ll feel better.”

Chief Swan sighed. “I can drop you off, and my partner will drive your car home.” He gave you a stern look. “I won’t fine you this time. Just drive more carefully? Maybe let somebody else drive if you’re this stressed out?”

You nodded fast. He motioned for you to get out of the car.

The drive back to your place was silent. You contemplated asking him how he felt about his daughter dating one of the Cullens to see if he’d spill anything; but there was nothing left to dig for. Jasper didn’t have to say the word, and neither did you, for your discovery to become clear on both ends. You tried to steady your breathing as the police car stopped by the curb outside your house. Your own car pulled into the driveway as the other officer locked the door behind him and crossed his arms.

Your legs shook as you exited the police car, the other officer handed you your keys. “Go inside, get some rest,” Chief Swan said as you looked back at him. “We’ll have to contact a parent or guardian, so I’ll stop by later tonight when they’re home. You’ll be all right by yourself?”

“Y-Yeah, thanks.”

Chief Swan and the other officer watched you enter your front door before they drove away.

You scurried to your bedroom, collapsing onto your bed with your backpack still on. Hot tears burned your cheeks as they dripped down to your chin; your snotty nose forcing you to breathe through your mouth. It was dark by the time you had calmed. You slid your backpack from your shoulders and kicked it against your pillows. Wiping your face with shaking hands, you pressed your nose to the glass window and peered out. No vampires waiting to kill me.

Temporary relief washed through you. You were safe now, but what about tomorrow, and the next day? What about after that? You walked to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. The cool liquid soothed your raw throat.

The Cullens couldn’t let you go on knowing what they truly were. It wasn’t as though you would tell anybody—who would even believe you? Even now, with all the evidence you had collected and seen, you struggled to accept it, yourself. A sick laugh shook your core as you imagined storming into Chief Swan’s office at the station with theories about vampires dating his daughter. He, and everyone else in town would call you crazy. Even telling one person what you thought had the potential to ruin your life.

Your teeth ached from how hard you had been clenching your jaw earlier, and your chest felt so tight that it hurt to breathe. You finished your water and washed out the glass. It wasn’t that late yet, but after the events of the day all you wanted to do was curl up under your blankets and try to sleep.

Thump.

The sound came from your bedroom. You crept against the wall, keeping close to the shadows. What if they want to kill me right now?

You exhaled roughly. They couldn’t kill you. Forks was a small town; people would notice if you were missing. It wasn’t something that would slide under the radar… Then you froze solid. All the supposed animal attacks of the past year flashed through your mind, one by one. Wasn’t there a rumour going around about the bodies being drained of blood?

You cracked open your bedroom door, and goosebumps dispersed across your skin. The air in your room was colder than the rest of the house, and you shivered. Your eyes darted around in search for someone, but your bedroom was empty. You sighed in relief as you noticed the sound had come from your backpack falling off your bed. You walked over and picked it back up, rummaging through it for your notebook. A frown forced its way onto your face. You swore you hadn’t taken it out, yet.

Pouring the backpack’s contents onto your bed, you scattered text books and pens to the side. Nothing. You searched beneath your bed, in the space between your dresser and your wall, and across every surface in the room. Drawers were pulled and piles of clothes were frantically scattered as the walls closed in on you. If you’d lost this notebook with everything in it…

A frigid gust of air froze your back before you turned around. Your notebook was missing; and the window you knew for certain had been closed before you left was now wide open.

Tears pricked at your eyes again as you spun around, stifling a scream. Jasper Hale now stood five steps away from you, his impossible eyes burning with intensity.

*