#twilight fluff

Y/N's POV

The low hum of the TV fills the room, some old Western I put on to tease Jasper playing in the background. Muted gunfire crackles through the speakers, but my mind registers none of it. The only sound I hear—the only thing I feel—is the weight of Jasper’s gaze on me. 

It’s subtle at first, a quiet pull, the kind of thing that creeps in slowly, like a shift in the air before a storm. But once I notice it, it’s impossible to ignore. Heat rises along the back of my neck, a slow and deliberate kind of warmth that spreads through me like liquid fire. My pulse flutters, reacting to something unspoken, something thick and heavy that lingers between us in the stillness of his bedroom. 

I try my hardest to focus on the screen, but my body betrays me. My breath comes in quicker now, my skin tingling with an awareness I can’t shake and there’s the beginning of that familiar ache between my legs that Jasper still runs from. I will it to go, not wanting whatever is happening to stop. 

And then I make the mistake of turning my head. 

Jasper is waiting.

His golden eyes are darker than usual, soldering beneath the dim light, his expression unreadable yet impossibly intense. He’s stretched out behind me, propped against the pillows, his body relaxed but his presence anything but. His lips parting slightly, just enough for me to catch the faintest inhale, like he’s breathing just for the sake of drinking in the scent of my anticipation. 

Something in my tightens and I clench my thighs together, 

Before I can react, his fingers are on me—just the lightest of touches, grazing along my jaw, his knuckles trailing down to the delicate line of my throat. A shiver runs through me, my breath catching as he hooks a single finger beneath my chin. 

I barely have a second to think before he tilts my head towards him and claims my most with his own. 

The kiss is slow at first, teasing, his lips brushing against mine like a whisper of a promise. But then I sigh into him—melt into him—and something shifts. Jasper exhales sharply, like he’d have been holding his breath if he needed to, and then his mouth crashes into mine with a hunger that steal the air from my lungs. 

His icy hands are on me now—one tangling in my hair, the other pressing against my hip, anchoring me to him. The weight of his body shifts as he leans over me, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping along my lower lip before sipping past my parted mouth. 

A low, helpless sound escapes me, and Jasper groans in response—a deep, rumbling noise that vibrates against my skin, making my pulse stutter. His grip tightens, his fingers flexing against my waist as he shifts his weight, rolling me beneath him in one fluid motion.

I gasp, my back pressing into the mattress, but he doesn’t give me a second to recover. His mouth is everywhere—tracing the curve of my jaw, down the slope of my neck, pausing at my pulse point.

He stills.

I can feel the hesitation in his body, the war waging just beneath the surface. His lips hover, barely a breath away from my skin, and for the briefest moment, I wonder if he’s about to pull back. A soft whimper catching my throat. 

But then his mouth presses there, at that delicate, vulnerable place, and he lingers.

A slow, measured kiss. Then another.

His lips linger against my throat, a slow drag of cool breath across overheated skin, and a soft whimper catches in my throat.

Jasper stills again.

For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to pull away completely, retreat into the self-imposed restraint that’s kept us hovering at the edge of this moment for far too long. But instead, he only shifts back slightly, just enough to see my face.

His golden eyes are molten now, darkened by something that has nothing to do with thirst and everything to do with the way I feel beneath him. His expression is unreadable, but his body betrays him—the faintest tremor in his hands where they grip my waist, the shallow rise and fall of his chest as he takes another steadying breath.

I reach up slowly, running my fingers through his golden curls, feeling the softness of them as they slip between my fingers. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, like he’s savouring the touch, and when they open again, there’s something raw in his gaze.

I let my hands drift lower, tracing the firm lines of his shoulders, feeling the strength coiled just beneath his skin. His muscles shift under my fingertips, tensing when my fingers ghost over the first button of his shirt.

I hesitate—just for a second, waiting, giving him the chance to stop me.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Jasper exhales softly, the faintest nod of permission, and I push the button through its hole.

Then another.

And another.

I take my time, revelling in the slow reveal of smooth, pale skin beneath my fingertips. He’s all hard lines and sculpted perfection, like something carved from marble—impossibly smooth, yet impossibly strong. My hands glide over the firm ridges of his chest, the faintest indentations of old scars marring the otherwise flawless expanse.

Jasper shudders at my touch.

Not from cold. Not from hesitation.

From want.

A thrill rushes through me at the realisation, heat coiling low in my stomach. My hands splay across his bare torso, feeling every ripple of his muscles beneath my touch as I slide them lower, over the defined lines of his abdomen, the sharp dip of his hips.

I shift beneath him, my leg hooking over his thigh, pulling him down against me.

Jasper gasps.

The sound is quiet, almost involuntary, but I feel it—the sharp inhale against my lips, the way his entire body tenses the moment my hips press flush against his.

He drops his forehead to mine, his breath coming faster now, uneven. Shaken.

"You have no idea," he murmurs, voice rough, strained, "how long I've wanted this."

My fingers tighten in his hair, pulling just enough to make his breath hitch. I tilt my chin, letting my lips brush against his in the lightest of teasing touches before whispering—

"Then stop holding back."

And just like that, Jasper breaks.

He crashes into me, his mouth searing, desperate, any last remnants of restraint burning away in the fire we’ve ignited between us. 

Jasper's hands work with deliberate care, his fingers trailing down the fabric of my shirt as he tugs it over my head. I shiver as the cool air meets my bare skin, and he stills.

For a long, breathless moment, he just looks.

His golden eyes darken, his jaw tightening as a quiet, reverent groan escapes him. "Damn." The word is rough, almost guttural, and I barely have time to register the raw appreciation in his gaze before his hands return—featherlight at first, tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my ribs, before he grips me with something closer to desperation.

His mouth is on me again, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, down the center of my chest, worshiping every inch of bare skin he can reach. My head falls back against the pillows, my fingers tangling in his curls, tugging just enough to make him growl.

The sound sends a sharp thrill straight through me.

Then I feel it—his hands at the waistband of my jeans, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, teasing, waiting.

A shiver of anticipation rolls down my spine as I reach between us, my fingers seeking the metal button of his jeans.

I fumble.

A quiet, frustrated whimper leaves my lips when I struggle with the button, my hands trembling too much to work the damn thing free. Jasper lets out a breathy chuckle against my skin, the vibrations sending a delicious shudder through me.

"Need some help, darlin'?" His voice is thick with amusement, but there’s something else beneath it, something dangerous.

I shake my head, determined, my fingers working the button again, and finally, finally, it gives.

Jasper exhales sharply as I push the denim open, my hand skimming lower, feeling the hard planes of his abdomen beneath my palm. His entire body tenses, like he's barely holding himself together, and when I drag my nails lightly down his stomach, his breath hitches.

Jasper moves faster than I can process, his body shifting, pressing me deeper into the mattress as his mouth crashes against mine. There’s nothing hesitant about him anymore—only hunger, only the weight of his hands gripping my hips, his body caging me beneath him, every inch of him solid, unyielding.

The last of our clothing disappears in a blur of movement—denim sliding down my legs, his jeans hitting the floor with a quiet thud, leaving us bare, nothing between us but heat and want and the raw, electric tension that has been building for far too long.

And then I feel him.

Hard, heavy, pressing hot against the softness of my thigh. A strangled sound escapes my throat at the sheer intensity of it—the anticipation, the promise of what’s coming. My fingers grip his biceps, tracing the sculpted lines of muscle beneath skin that feels impossibly smooth, impossibly perfect. He shudders under my touch, his control fraying at the edges.

Jasper hovers over me, breath uneven, his golden eyes now dark—nearly black—with unrestrained want. His forehead rests against mine, his body trembling, but it’s not from fear. It’s something deeper, something almost reverent.

"Tell me to stop," he breathes, the words choked with barely controlled restraint. "Please."

I meet his eyes, seeing the plea in them. But I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want anything to stop. I pull him closer, guiding his hips so that his hardness presses into me, and I gasp at the feeling, the coolness of his body against mine only adding to the heat of our connection. I feel his breath catch as he shifts, his golden eyes dark with something untameable, something desperate.

"I don't want you to stop," I manage, my voice a whisper of need.

Jasper’s eyes flicker with something deep, something ancient, as he slides into me. Slowly, deliberately, his cool body easing into mine, stretching me in the most exquisite way. I bite my lip, stifling a gasp, and he immediately shifts, his hand coming up to cradle my face as he looks into my eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort, any hesitation.

His lips kiss my forehead gently, his hands soothing circles on my wrists as he fills me completely, the overwhelming sensation of him both foreign and familiar all at once. I breathe out slowly, letting my body adjust to the fullness of him. He doesn’t move yet, doesn’t rush. His eyes never leave mine, and in the silence that settles between us, I feel him. All of him. His control slipping as the deep bond between us builds, as he becomes attuned to every single beat of my heart, every flutter of my breath, reading my emotions with an intimacy that only he can.

And when he moves, when he pulls back slightly before thrusting into me again, I gasp—each movement deliberate, slow, measured, and full of reverence. He’s in no rush, and neither am I. Each stroke, each shift, is a promise. A promise of safety, of trust, of connection. He moves in a rhythm that makes me feel cherished and desired in ways that I never thought possible.

I feel my body move with his, and there’s a gentle push-pull between us, as if we are dancing—each movement perfectly timed, each touch an extension of something deeper. The bed beneath us groans, and I laugh softly against his lips. His grip tightens, his muscles flexing under the strain, and with a soft crack, the bed gives way beneath us, collapsing onto the floor.

Jasper pulls back slightly, and for the briefest moment, he looks panicked, searching for anywhere I’m hurt but instead I’m tangling a hand into those delicious curls and tugging his lips back to mine, needing him to move again and being oh so close. The duel action of yanking his hair and slamming my lips to him has him letting out a growl that has me wrapping my legs around the vampire’s waist. 

“Jazz,”  I whine against his lips and his blunt nails dig into my waist, so hard I know I’ll handprint bruises for at least a week and that thought alone has me throwing my head back in a silent scream of bliss. Jasper slams into me hard, forcing my body up what’s left of me the bed more, his whole body shaking as he tries to keep control. He’s so close, I can feel him pulsing inside me so I squeeze myself and let all my emotions flow from me. 

It has Jasper burying his face in my neck, fangs brushing my jugular as he lets out a growl, slamming himself inside me one last time before his hips jerk, his come filling me fuller than I ever thought possible. All I can do is lay there as his hips jerk in overstimulation and he slowly lets himself fall on top of me, my hands brushing through those soft curls as I try to catch my breath. 

We don’t move for a while, only when Jasper can begin to sense the ache in my bones beginning and he’s slowly easing himself onto his elbows, head lowered as he looks between us, watching as he eases himself from me, watching as my lips flutter with the sudden emptiness. “Fuck doll, you have no idea what you do to me.” 

Jasper rises from what’s left of the bed, leaving me to lay there and watch as he moves around his room looking for things before he tells me to sit tight and with his vampire speed he’s gone, the sound of the bath running next door before he’s back. 

Jasper rises slowly from the wreckage of the bed, the sound of wood creaking softly under his weight as he stands. I stay where I am, tangled in the sheets, propped up on one elbow as I watch him move around the room with an effortless grace, his golden eyes scanning the room like he's searching for something—though I know it’s just his way of regaining control. The rush of adrenaline and intensity is starting to settle, leaving behind a pleasant weight of fatigue, the ache of muscles that never quite had a chance to relax.

He pauses, his gaze flicking over to me as if making sure I'm still okay. Then, with a soft sigh, he moves toward the door, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sit tight. I'll be back in a second."

Before I can respond, he's gone, the sound of his feet barely registering as he disappears with a flash of vampire speed. The air in the room seems to thicken, and for a moment, I just lay there, the softness of the ruined bed beneath me and the warmth of his absence surrounding me like a comforting cloak. I hear the distant sound of running water from the bathroom next door, and I can’t help but smile softly, knowing exactly what he’s preparing for. I’m grateful for him, for his thoughtfulness.

Moments later, Jasper reappears, the door creaking open softly as he steps inside, his presence filling the space as he carries a small towel in his hand. His eyes meet mine immediately, flickering with tenderness. He moves toward the remnants of the bed, sitting down with a fluid motion beside me. The air feels thick with the aftermath of everything we’ve just shared—the unspoken emotions, the tenderness that still lingers between us like an invisible thread that binds us even closer.

"Let me help you up," he says softly, his voice full of care as he reaches out, his cool fingers grazing my skin as he helps me sit up. I wince slightly, feeling the residual ache of our intense connection settling into my body, but it’s a good kind of pain—one that reminds me of everything we just shared. I lean into him, feeling the warmth of his body as he wraps his arm around my shoulders, supporting me as I rest against him.

The bed is barely intact, but I feel safe with him, held close in the quiet aftermath of everything. His cold skin against mine is oddly comforting, and I close my eyes, letting the quiet settle around us.

"Are you alright?" Jasper murmurs, his voice low, full of concern as his hand gently strokes the back of my neck, his fingers soft against my skin. His touch is soothing, and I find myself relaxing into him, the slight ache in my body still there but fading slowly under his care.

"I’m fine," I whisper back, my voice heavy with a weariness that I can’t quite shake off. "Just... a little tired, that’s all."

He nods softly, pressing a tender kiss to the top of my head before pulling me closer. I rest my head against his shoulder, feeling his cool, steady presence surrounding me, grounding me in this space between us. There’s something so calming in his stillness, in the way he holds me with such reverence, as if I’m something precious, something he can’t bear to lose.

"I love you," he says after a beat, his voice soft but filled with conviction. His hand traces small circles on my shoulder as he continues, "I love the way you make me feel—like I’m human again, even if I’m not. I love the way you laugh, the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. The way you trust me…"

I shift slightly, looking up at him as he speaks, feeling a flutter of emotion in my chest. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the world outside of us fades. There’s only him, only the truth of his words sinking into me like a promise.

"I love the way you make me want to be better," he continues, his voice almost a whisper. "You make me want to be the man I always wished I could be. You make me feel like I'm worthy of this—worthy of you."

His words are soft, but they hit me in a way that feels like a deep exhale, like the release of something I didn’t realise I was holding onto. He’s always been good at hiding his emotions, but in this moment, there’s nothing left for him to hide. His love for me is as clear as the stars in the sky, and it makes me feel small and cherished at the same time.

"Jasper…" My voice is barely a breath, my words fading against his skin as I sigh softly, feeling the weight of his love wash over me.

"I love you more than you know," he murmurs, pressing another gentle kiss to my forehead. "More than I ever thought possible."

The silence that follows is filled with the warmth of his presence, the rhythmic sound of the bath running next door, and the steady beat of his breath—though it’s not his heartbeat that reassures me, it’s the steady pulse of his love, the promise in every word he’s spoken. I close my eyes, the exhaustion from everything we’ve shared pulling me deeper into his embrace.

"Rest now," he whispers, his voice a lullaby. "We’ll take the bath together in a minute, but for now… just stay with me."

I nod, allowing myself to sink further into him, the weight of sleep beginning to settle in, the fatigue of our night finally catching up to me. His arms tighten around me, holding me close as I rest my head on his shoulder, my breath evening out in the calm of the moment.

The gentle hum of the water running next door, combined with the softness of his touch, lulls me into a peaceful sleep. The last thing I remember before drifting off is the feel of Jasper's cool skin against mine, the sound of his voice telling me how much he loves me, and the overwhelming sense of being utterly, completely safe.

And in his arms, I know I’m exactly where I belong.

"No, you're not."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at his dismissal, pushing back the sharp sting at the edges of your vision and instead sinking further into the old leather and picking at a loose thread in your sweater. You can feel his eyes on you when you angle your body away from his, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as it warbles.

"So how come you think you have this stupid claim on me, then? A guy likes me and you threaten to rip his throat out, but you're allowed to flirt with any girl with a pulse?"

A low warning rumble pushes through Paul's chest, a signal that you dutifully ignore. He takes a step towards you, then two and three, until he's looming over your figure.

"Because you are mine," he says, brow pulling tight.

"So I'm yours but you're not mine?" you persist. "I don't think that's fair." Your blood roars in your ears; everything feels too hot, jealousy pouring into your veins like molten lava, thrumming and rushing against your frantic pulse. "I'm done, Paul."

He blinks. Takes another step towards you before you're holding your hand out, pressing the tips of your manicured nails into the dip of his stomach to halt his approach.

"What?" His mouth feels dry, struggling to form words as he stares– just stares, brow pinched, nostrils flaring.

"I- I can't do this. I can't spend my life waiting around for you when you don't care about me."

He crouches, sliding those warm palms up and around your calves, cupping the backs of your knees.

"You think I don't care about you?"

You sniffle, folding your knees up to your chest; Paul moves fluidly with you, thick fingers curled round your limbs as though he's an extension of your own body.

"Not the way I care about you."

Your body betrays you, flushing white-hot as he knuckles at your jaw, the pad of his thumb - calloused from years of fighting and rough play - pushing its way into the soft flesh of your cheek.

A tear slips from your welling waterline and gathers in the crook of his knuckle.

"Baby-"

You bristle, shrugging away his touch as if it will somehow lessen the ache in your chest, the hollow feeling you can't seem to shake. He crawls upward, onto the couch next to you, his spine bowing until he's curled over your shuddering form.

"Don't call me that. You don't mean it."

"Bab-"

"Stop."

He straightens, taut as a bowstring, watching as your back curves and you rake your flushed face against the rough denim of your jeans. You feel his attitude change, soft pity melting to anger, spine stiffening, lips pushing into a hard line that morphs his expression into something you hate.

Because he never directs his anger at you.

Shame - ugly and cruel - licks at your veins, heats your blood almost hot enough to curdle. It scalds your every vein and sours you from the inside out.

You swipe at your swollen eyes with the backs of your fingers, unfolding your limbs until you're standing. Your voice wavers as you speak.

"I'm going home," you croak.

"You can't just leave!" He throws his hands up, standing until you're chest to chest, nose to nose. "We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. You didn't ask to be shackled to me."

"You think that's what you are to me?" he asks, and the cruel bite to his tone is enough to make you cry all over again.

"What am I, then?"

A beat passes. Two. Three. Paul's fingers curl into tight fists at his sides; your eyes sting when you push back the telltale itch at your waterline, and you sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that he means more to you than you do to him.

"I'm going home," you say again, firmer. "It's better this way, Paul. Trust me."

It's always what you've been best at, anyway. Running.

Paul's torn between following you and sinking further into the couch; he opts for the latter, teeth bared in a groan as he curls a fist around a stray cushion, nails almost piercing and tearing the soft fabric.

The engine of your truck sounds far away in his ears as you pull out of the driveway, his chest hollow, the ache growing as you cover more distance.

Away from him.

When you walk through the door, the silence of your apartment is like a strike to the head; the soft whooshing of the washing machine does little to soothe the throbbing in your chest at your imprinters absence.

Not that you're sure he really is yours.

You're quick to strip of the tee and jeans you're sporting, eager to rid yourself of Paul's scent – once a comfort, now it only serves to deepen the aching tremors that wrack your body with white-hot agony.

The quiet lasts two days. Two days of no text messages, no phone calls, not a whisper of his name among the wind. Complete radio silence.

Two days until Paul Lahote is beating down your door with a ferocity that should terrify you.

It only serves to kick up your flaring anger as you wrench the door open, the hinges rattling.

He doesn't give you a second to breathe, surging forward to lock his arms around you like a vice, shoulders shuddering with every laboured breath.

"Paul," you scold, squirming in his grip when he tightens his hold on you, nuzzling his nose against your pulse point. The frantic way in which he clings to you, palms kneading the flesh beneath your t-shirt, is almost primal – as though he's scenting, marking you.

"You know how much it fucking hurts to be away from you?" he grunts, backing you into the wall. You gasp, instinctually threading your fingers through the hairs at his nape as he hungrily grabs at every inch of your skin he can reach. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, scoffing at his words.

As if he has any right to feel this way. As if this isn't his fault.

"You know how much you hurt me..." You take a breath, voice warbling as tears gather at your lash line. "...all the time? You know how much you torture me?"

Paul coos, smoothing a hand over your head. "I know, baby. I know."

You sniffle, and your throat tightens, a silent sob pushing its way from your clenched teeth.

"Hate you," you whimper. "Hate you so much."

Paul groans, pressing his chest to yours. His rumbling cadence seeps right down to your bones.

"I'll swear off it all, princess. No more girls, no more flirting. No more parties. Just me 'nd you, how 'bout that?"

You sigh, eyes wide as you peer curiously up at him. "You don't mean that."

Desperation coats his every word. "Mean every word of it, I promise. Please, these last two days have been hell without you, princess. I don't want to be away from you."

"You're just saying that," you purl. "You'd be unhappy."

Paul's head dips until his lips are ghosting across your cheek, his voice rasping. He kneads circles into the fat of your hip, nudging you closer into his space with every reverent touch.

"I can't breathe without you," he says, voice thick with tears. "I'm miserable. I'll do anything, please."

You sniffle, preening at his touch like a needy kitten. "You wanna be with me? Or you're just sayin' that 'cause I made a fuss about it?"

"Wanna be with you always, baby. I'm yours."

You sob, curling your fingers around the nape of his neck to press wet, smacking kisses to his cheeks. Tears coat your lips as you mouth at him, thumbs rubbing circles over his jaw.

Paul's chest shudders around an exhale.

"I love you."

You laugh wetly; he lifts you up until your legs twine around his waist.

“Thanks,” Edward turned on his heel, leading Bella in the opposite direction. Mumbling a short goodbye, she followed the vampire down the corridor, past the staircase and a living space before stopping in front of a wooden door. 

Before he knocked, Edward put a comforting hand on Bella’s shoulder, “Calm down,” his teeth sparkled against the light, eyes teasing. “Your heartbeat is out of control.”

“Sorry,” she flushed again, cursing at herself. She didn’t understand why she was so nervous to meet Y/n. More so than the rest of his family. Maybe it was because Edward spoke so highly of her. Maybe it was because she saw the way Carlisle lit up at the mere mention of her name. Or how the townspeople praised Y/n, even if they only had one interaction. 

Edward went to knock, but this time was interrupted by a voice calling out from the other side, “Come in!” Smiling, he pushed open the door, revealing a large room in what only could be described as an organized disarray. 

Bella’s jaw slightly dropped, taking in the scene before her. Eyes first darting to the high ceilings with a drop-down chandelier. Though it wasn’t on, thanks to the natural light provided by the left side of the room with floor to ceiling windows where a wall should’ve been. A beautiful, perfect view of the forest surrounding the home. 

The walls were painted a rusted burnt red, the kind you see in art museums. Floors made of the finest dark wood, with one area covered by plastic reserved for protecting it by the paint cans laying on top, beside an easel holding a large canvas. A very large, vintage clock took the center of the wall connected to the window, surrounded by pieces ranging from old signs to shelves holding books and plants. 

On the main wall parallel to the windows, a map of the world hung, flanked by art pieces. Portraits, landscape. Various mediums of pencil, oils, and acrylic. A phone straight from the 1930s mounted above a small table covered by messy stacks of paper. Bella’s eyes drew to a woven basket that came probably to her waist, filled with pieces of rolled parchment. A few laid on the ground. A foot away from it was a cart holding art supplies. 

Finally, Bella’s gaze landed on the figure in the center of the room. Y/n sat on a wooden stool, her posture perfect, hand scribbling across a large piece of parchment placed on the wooden desk facing the windows. The desk was the type that propped up, a lamp attached to the corner, and side table. Something an artist or engineer invested in. 

“I thought I heard the raging pump of a heartbeat approaching.” Bella squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment, letting out a small groan. Opening them when she heard the skid of the stool against the floor. 

“Y/n,” Edward scolded, tone playful. 

“Apologies, I couldn’t help myself,” Y/n chuckled, approaching the two with a wide smile. Bella held her breath, admiring the woman before her. Alice may have been the fashion girlie of the family, but there was no denying who she must’ve gotten it from. 

Y/n made even the simplest of clothing look ethereal. White blouse tucked into beige trousers, brown belt with hints of gold, paired with stunning white heeled boots. The necklaces she wore were layered, the longest of which had several charms making them clink together, bracelets covering her wrists, three rings on each hand, and gold hoops. A multicolor scarf consisting of warm tones like red, orange, and yellow tied around her hair. Then of course, her eyes were melting gold. 

She was the picture of an artist. 

Upon closer inspection, Bella had to hold back a whistle at the ring reserved for her left ring finger. Carlisle sure had taste and made sure his lady got what she deserved. That was no ring. That was a rock.

“You must be the famous Bella,” Y/n’s hand shot out, Bella hesitating a moment before taking it. Y/n’s handshake was soft yet firm at the same time. Bringing a chill to Bella as their skin met. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you,” letting go of her hand, Y/n brought both of hers up to make a gesture. “I have been begging Edward to bring you around for weeks. I don’t know why it’s taken him so long,” a playful glare was directed at him. 

Edward rolled his eyes, then put an arm around Bella. “Bella, this is Y/n. My mother for all intents and purposes. Artist, architect, and occasional therapist to all of us emotionally stunted immortal teenagers.”

“You said it, not me,” Y/n smirked, hands raised again. 

Bella laughed, comforted by Edwards touch as she regarded Y/n. “It’s really nice to meet you, Y/n. Edward talks about you all the time.”

“Good things, correct?”

“Of course,” Bella assured, nudging Edward who had scoffed. “He mentioned you designed this house--it’s absolutely beautiful. And this--,” motioning to the space, Bella was again in awe of Y/n’s studio. It’s like she was walking through an exhibit in the Louvre. “Wow.”

“When I made the blueprints for this house, I wanted everyone to have a place--plus everyone was vocal about what they wanted,” she teases with a grin. “Carlisle has his study, Alice her closets, Rosalie wished for a garage, Jasper desired a library, Emmett a game room, Edward got his music room. And me,” a hand waves to the room with pride. “My studio.”

Bella raised an intrigued brow, aimed at Edward, “you have a music room?” 

Had he been human, Edward would have blushed. He brushed it off with a shrug, “Yeah, it’s just where I keep a few instruments. I’ll show you as we go through the house.”

“A few,” Y/n lightly scoffed, earning a small glare from the boy. 

“Carlisle said you’re working on a project,” he changed the subject, nudging his head toward the desk. Catching sight of the blueprints that were in the early draft stages. 

“The high school plans to renovate the library, so they’ve asked me to go over some plans and designs. They were pleased with my work for the gym last year.” 

Edward turns to Bella, “Y/n has the magic touch for designing and constructing. And because we’ve had the time to redo college over and over again….” They share a laugh, “she’s got degrees in art, engineering, design, and business on top of her architecture education.”

The woman simply shrugs, “I like to keep busy. Who wouldn't want to take advantage of obtaining all the world’s knowledge when you have eternity.” If she saw the pointed look Edward was giving her, Y/n ignored it. 

“Anyway,” He sighed, returning his attention to Bella, “The town comes to her for consultations. And, in most cases than often, she designs and oversees the build.”

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Bella awed, past Edward’s shoulder she spotted the white construction worker's hat. Propped beside a coat hanger possessing a pair of overalls, scarves, and painters' boots. “Did you-,” her finger pointed to the display of artwork, “paint all those?”

“Several, yes,” Y/n motioned them to follow her, moving closer to the wall. “This one you might have guessed is the view of the forest from this room. The first one I did when we moved here. But not all are recent, some I did in the 90s--,” she pointed to a canvas framed with gold trimming near the top. Depicting an image of inside a medical tent, “That one is from when I volunteered for the Army Nurses Corps.”

Bella’s eyes bulged, glancing between Y/n and Edward. “You--you served during the War?” 

Y/n nodded, expression now solemn, “First World War. We were living in Virginia at the time and therefore injured soldiers coming back from Europe docked at the bases there first. Carlisle was the trauma surgeon, and I was a nurse.” Her boots echoed against the wood as they strolled down. “We stayed there the duration of the war before settling in Chicago….”

“How long before he wakes up?”

“Not long,” Carlisle kept his eyes on the unconscious boy while his wife paced behind him. Had they been able to sweat they would’ve been drenched. “The venom transferred from his neck. The closest I could get to his heart--it should take less than a day.”

Y/n ran a hand through her neatly styled hair in distress. They’d only been in Chicago a few months. Arriving when the War ended and immediately joining the effort to combat the Spanish Influenza spreading through the population. With their current predicament, there was no way they could stay.  

Ripping the nurses cap off, she asked, “What’s our next move then? We can’t stay here. This city is an endless potluck of people, and we don’t know how strong his urges will be,” she stopped pacing, coming beside her husband with a pleading gaze. “I know you said his parents are dead, but that doesn't mean he may not have family who’ll come looking for him. What kind of people are we to rip him from the ones who love him?” Upon the look she received, Y/n dropped her head, “Unless you mean to fake his death.” 

Carlisle placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “The boy had the influenza. They saw his condition--it was deteriorating. They’ll believe it took him in the night and his body was sent to the incinerators. Just like the others.”

Y/n sniffed, eyes welling with unshed tears. “I know, but…” she trailed off, “He’s a kid, Carlisle. We agreed that when it came time for us to save someone from death, it would not mean robbing them of their life--.”

“He was dying, Y/n,” his tone was firm, yet gentle. “I promised his mother we’d look after him.” Eyes flicker to Edward, then back to Y/n. While Carlisle hated himself for what he’d done, there was no going back now. “He’s our responsibility now. We’ve to teach him the ways of this life and make sure he copes with it. Not succumb to the darkness like we did.” 

Another sound left her, Y/n taking a moment to process before nodding. “Okay,” she whispered, keeping her voice steady. “We take this day-by-day.”

“Day-by-day.” 

“That’s when Edward….” Bella trailed, biting her lip when she realized it wasn’t the best idea to bring it up. Yet, she was surprised both the vampires nodded, understanding her implication. Instead, she said, “He mentioned you’ve been with Carlisle the longest….”

Like earlier with the doctor, Y/n visibly brightened at each time his name was said. “Will be two hundred years this fall.”

“Two--two hundred??” The human spluttered. Edward had failed to tell her that information. Only saying the two had been together long before Carlisle saved him. 

Chuckling at Bella’s reaction, Y/n tucked a piece of stray hair back in its place. “The vampire who bit me didn’t stick around. Abandoning me. A few days later of endless wonder and unable to control my newfound appetite, Carlisle found me.” Her smile was so wide, bright white teeth bouncing off light. “It’s been quite a life ever since.” 

They spent the next few minutes learning about the history of each painting. From the oil masterpiece of the New York Skyline to the charcoal portrait of Joan of Arc. Bella took time to admire the watercolor image of Carlisle. Donned in his white coat, hair and posture perfect. 

“Ah yes,” Y/n hummed, beaming up at the canvas. “My personal favorite. Though I’m a little biased given the muse of this piece happens to be the muse of my soul.” 

“Stay still.”

“I am.” 

“No, you’re not,” Y/n berated, dipping the brush back into the golden color before continuing to paint Carlisle’s hair. “I know this is time consuming, darling, but it’s not like you haven’t done it before.” 

“In my defense,” his hand raised, quickly putting it back in his lap when she groaned, “I’ve never technically sat for a portrait. The ones from Volterra were done while I wasn’t aware they were being painted.” A grimace took his features, remembering his time with the Volturi. “Aro preferred moments to be captured as they were happening in real time.”

Y/n threw him a look, shaking her head in the process. “Yeah, he seems like the type.” 

“First and last time he got to play model,” she laughed at the memory. “Thanks to the creation of the camera I could develop a photograph and wallah!” her hands made a gesture, “A still image to use as reference. And now with cell phones….I don’t even have to put in the work to develop the photo. It’s right there!”

Initially Bella found her reaction to a camera phone a little odd. But then remembered Y/n was a 200+ year old vampire and literally witnessed the development and advancement of technology. 

“But I don’t always create,” Y/n winked, stopping in front of a stunning work of a lily pond. “Sometimes I collect.”

Stepping closer, Bella inspected the art, finger on her lip as her brows furrowed in concentration. She’d seen it before. The familiarity of it was driving her brain into overdrive. Then it hit her, breath hitching, “Is that…A Monet?” Her confirmation nod made Bella nearly choke on her saliva. “How--?”

“Being alive 226 years and getting the privilege of traveling anywhere means I’ve had the pleasure of meeting interesting people,” her smirk was the type a movie villain showed that made the audience fall in love with them and brush away the fact they were a villain. A captivating sight. “One of those people happened to be Claude Monet during our time in France. Our shared love for art and nature brought a great friendship. I was actually with him when he painted this,” she casually said, aware of Bella’s astonished reaction despite her eyes trained on the canvas. “Unfortunately, Carlisle and I left before I got to see him finish. After he died several of his paintings went to museums or auctioned off. I made sure to acquire this one--took me about three years to find.”

After a moment of gawking, Bella gathered herself and moved onto the next piece. It really felt like they were in an art museum. Soon they came to the end of the gallery. 

“You’re incredibly talented,” Bella praised, unable to take her attention off the marble sculpture enclosed in a glass case by the small bookshelf. 

“Thank you. It’s nice to finally have someone to show this all too. Instead of just me admiring it daily.” Y/n put her hands in pockets, “Now I hate to kick you out, but if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline to beat,” Y/n led them to the door, “and I’ll let you get back to your tour of the house. It was lovely to meet you, Bella, and please don’t be a stranger. Our door is always open for you.” 

“I really appreciate it,” Bella smiled, standing beside Edward in the doorway, “It was great meeting you too.” A wave of a goodbye and promise to visit again, Y/n watched Edward escort his girlfriend up the staircase to the second floor. Leaning against the side, Y/n touched a finger to her lips, not bothering to hide the giant grin surfacing. 

“I know that look.”

Despite speaking after Bella and Edward disappeared, Y/n felt Carlisle’s presence the second he breached the corridor. Not to mention the tingling sensation at the base of her spine. 

Slowly turning to face him, her smile widened, and Carlisle saw the way her golden hues sparkled when he approached. “And what exactly is that look?”

“The one where you’re overcome with happiness unable to be measured with how much it consumes you.” 

Hands took hold of her shoulders, gently brushing down until they reached her own, Y/n leaning into his touch, voice teasing, “What mother would I be to not be overjoyed for her son and the wonderful girlfriend he’s brought home?” 

Carlisle chuckled, tilting his head down to place a kiss on her forehead. The floral aroma of her Marc Jacobs perfume amplified her already sweet scent. Oh, how addicted he was to her scent. It was like walking through a garden of the most beautiful flowers on Earth. 

“You didn’t embarrass him, did you?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, tapping his chest to scold him, “Not much more than you lot. He was practically dragging Bella out of the kitchen.” Carlisle raised his hands in defense, making her raise a brow.

“That was all the kids. I’m innocent, my dear, you must believe me.” 

She tsked, “Well, at least you didn’t scare the poor girl like Rosalie and Jasper. And as much as I love Alice’s excitement, you might want to tell her to take it down a notch,” Y/n made a face, “I thought we all agreed last night not to bring up Bella’s scent.”

She was met with a sigh, her sculptured-God of a husband dropping his head onto her shoulder in defeat. “What was I supposed to do? You left me to fend for myself.” 

Laughing, Y/n reached her arms around his shoulders, encasing him in an embrace to which he greatly accepted. “I’m sorry, my love. Will you forgive me? I promise to find you the finest stag in all of Washington for you to feast upon.” Instantly his head shot up, moving it so their noses brushed against each other. 

“That’ll do.” Their lips met, igniting fireworks throughout their bodies as it always had for 200 years. Never once losing the feeling. 

They’d seen everything in the course of their century's long life. Several wars. Epidemics. The fall of countries and rise of new ones. Medicine advancing, technology overtaking man. The race to space and the rebirth of the Olympic Games. 

Met people who’d changed the world. Witnessed humanity evolve--and sometimes wondered how the hell it could be so stupid. But overall, they were the stagnant figures in their plane of existence. Time moving, they remained still.

And yet, somehow, they were able to find a family after all. 

When they pulled apart, their expressions of love remained. “God,” she hummed, “That never gets old.”

“Just like the first time?” He chafed, gold eyes glimmering.

Y/n pretending to think, lips pouting, “Less nervous,” a squeal escaped her at the feeling of his fingers tickling her ribcage. Shoving him away, the woman chided, “Get back to the hospital old man. There are patients to be seen, and I have a deadline to finish.” The gasp that left him made her grin.

“Old?! I’ll have you know that if I’m old then that means you are---.”

“Don’t you finish that sentence,” her finger pointed at his chest, “otherwise you’re sleeping on the couch.” Carlisle smirked, entering her personal space once again. 

“I can’t sleep. Neither can you.”

“Damn,” she exhaled, feigning defeat when really, she was becoming more invested with their little game. “You’re right.” Then her eyes turned dark, sinister. Face consorting to a look that made Carlisle shudder. 

A look he’d seen hundreds of times, and not once did not bring a chill to his already cold body. Enough to bring his heart back to life. Enough to send the frozen blood down to his spine. 

It seems as though his intentions are to repeat the words to himself, but the way they echo in the space of your bedroom endorses the performance that he's putting on.

"I know- God, I know she feels something for me."

He goes on like this for a solid twenty minutes, tirading about. He doesn't even notice that you've started getting ready for bed. By the time his arms have slumped at his sides after flailing about like a madman, you've already peeled back your covers and slipped into the comfort of your space.

"Bella this, Bella that," you grumble to yourself.

You sigh. Trying to comfort him simply doesn't work anymore. And as awful as you feel seeing how hurt he is, it pains you even more trying to sleep away the feeling of him not realizing what's in front of him.

"What?" He puts his spiel on hold and your skin burns up.

You open your mouth to speak, then close it, shaking your head.

"I'm tired of this, Jacob. Tired of you hurting over this because how many times does she have to reject you for you to finally take a hint?"

"Did I do something?" he asks earnestly, eyebrows furrowing once his eyes fix on your figure.

Your words hit him like a boulder. He never expected you to speak up, much less be annoyed that he was able to confide in you.

You always lent him a shoulder to lean on...what's going on?

His expression drops even more. You take it as an opportunity to let it all out, staying still in your bed because you're sure that if you get up, things will spiral into something far more than what you wanted.

"I can't do this anymore, Jacob. I care about you. It sucks seeing you beat yourself up over her. It's been years now and I-I can only bear so much. I can't be the one that you keep running to when she gives up on you! Shit, Jacob, you're not the only one that has feelings-"

Easily, your tone grew louder and passionate.

You cut yourself off in an instant, realizing that you've said too much. You shut your eyes in a weak attempt at getting rid of the tears that had glossed over.

His face softens, your words ringing in his ears. He shifts closer to your bed, but you just recoil further into the safety of your bed.

"Just lock my front door when you're ready to go."

Your voice catches him off guard. It's monotonous, yet he picks up on the hint of annoyance that lingers behind.

The room goes still for just a few seconds. Your breathing slows, afraid that it's too loud.

You hike the covers further up your body as if that would somehow make his gaze less intense. He sighs to himself, bidding you a good night before seeing himself out.

You and Jacob had been joined at the hip since the beginning of time. Your parents frequented the reservation and Billy insisted that you join them, learn a thing or two about the tribe.

It was always you, him, and Bella ― the three of you getting into trouble like there was no tomorrow.

As you got older, though, it became more of him and Bella. Just them. You were left on the back burner, becoming the one he turned to when she broke his heart and left him out in the cold for the umpteenth time.

And as much as you hated to welcome him with open arms, you did it. Every single time.

You remained under your covers, breathing slowly. Your skin crawled, itching for just a lick of warmth as these scenes of him pacing and stressing over Bella replayed in your mind.

Fresh tears prickled at your waterlines but the sound of howling, distant in the woods, earned a small chuckle.

You were no stranger to the Quileute wolf tales. You had heard them howling one too many times late into the night.

You scurried out of bed upon realizing that Jacob had left not too long ago, rushing over to dial his place. Billy answered. Your call at this hour was nothing out of the ordinary. Most of the time, you'd call just to check up on them down at the reservation or chat with Jacob if you couldn't sleep.

"I just called 'cause I, um, just heard some wolves in the woods. Jacob just left my house, so I just wanted to make sure he was safe."

You absentmindedly twisted the wire around your finger, waiting for Billy to tell you that he was fine so you'd sleep peacefully.

When he tutted, your heart sank.

"I'm sure he'll be home soon, don't you worry. Go on and get some rest."

You didn't sleep at all. You were just spread across your mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Part of you wanted to call again, to go out and make sure yourself, but your parents would talk your ear off if you left at this hour.

The next day, you called. Over, and over, and over, and over. Either they weren't home or they were purposefully ignoring you and you were praying that it wasn't the latter.

You took it upon yourself to visit the reservation, but when Billy insisted that Jacob was safe, just feeling unwell, your mind went to the worst.

"Did he get attacked? Did-did the wolves hurt him?"

Billy laughed and your eyebrows furrowed. If you didn't respect him, you wouldn't hesitate to ask what the hell was wrong with him.

"He's fine, dear. Just give him some time to rest. I'll make sure that he gives you a call when he's doing better," he nodded, trying his best to assure you that Jacob was fine.

You felt like Jacob now as you circled the space of your bedroom nonstop.

You'd gone through most of the day feeling horrible, feeling as though you should have been there. Your guilt ate away at you, reminding you that your last words to him were ones to get him out of your home.

The night rolled around and nothing from Billy. You had been scribbling away on old pieces of paper, conjuring an apology and just a brief explanation for your actions. You weren't about to give yourself away fully, but if Jacob never wanted to speak to you again, you at least had the peace of knowing that he was made aware of your feelings.

You were probably on your fifteenth sheet of paper, pen hovering over the lines as you tried to formulate the right words. A pebble hitting your window grabbed your attention and you jumped to your feet, rushing over.

Only one person in this town would ever stop by your bedroom window and throw pebbles at it.

"Jacob," you whispered, jaw dropping when you saw him.

He stood just feet below your window with a wolfish grin, sporting a drastic new hair cut and a fresh tattoo.

His eyes were like honey, drinking in the sight of you, but then they hone in even more.

It's like something in him is going off.

His head tilts ever so slightly like a confused puppy. You mistake the shift in his expression for a scowl, but he's simply trying to process what's going on in his mind.

You can see his lips moving as he mumbles to himself.

"Oh my God, there's no way."

He's in complete and utter shock, just standing there.

"Jacob?" Your voice echoes as you push yourself forward, riskily resting on your windowsill. "W-what's going on? What the hell did you do to your hair? I was worried ab-"

"I imprinted," he cuts you off, his face finally softening with a smile when he realizes.

"What?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and he shakes his head, laughing.

"Look, I'm gonna show you something and I need you to not freak out."

You feel like he's about to play some bizarre trick on you. He takes a step back, undressing himself in front you.

"Jacob!"

"I'll explain later," he chuckles.

"What the hell are you doing!? People are gonna-"

When he's just in his briefs, he shakes off any jitters before he's transformed into a wolf with a rich brown coat. You stumble back from your window, gasping when he sits there primly.

His name falls from your lips again, this time in disbelief and his head nods off to the side. You're too shocked to say anything else, only a huff of laughter sounding from your mouth.

"Wait, was that...was that you, last night in the woods?"

He puffs his chest proudly, tilting his snout toward the sky before howling into the distance.

"Holy shit."

You're in awe, desperately trying to wrap your mind around it. You look away for just a second and he's shifting back into his human form, eyes gleaming up at you. He motions for you to step back once his clothes are gathered into his arms, jumping about til he's in your room.

The silence is unsettling.

You'd heard of the many legends but never thought for a second that you'd witness it. You had too many questions, but the words "I'm sorry" were first to flee your lips.

He knows what it is that you're apologizing for but he just stays quiet. He doesn't want to think about Bella, doesn't even want to say her name, because after being your best friend for all of these years, he's finally imprinted on you.

"It's okay," he finally speaks up. "I know I’ve been insufferable."

Both of you laugh quietly.

"I just wanna explain something to you, though."

He leads you both over to your bed.

"So, uh,” he sucks in a breath. “Imprinting is something that wolves do when they've found their mate, life partner, or whatever. It's a...primal thing essentially where you're bound to protect whoever you've imprinted on. You don't get to choose, you don't get to change who that person is."

His hands find yours and it catches you off guard. You can feel the intense heat radiating from his skin.

"I wanted it to be the girl that I've had a stupid crush on for God knows how long because," he shakes his head, nothing really coming to his mind as he licks his lips. "I guess it was just familiar."

When his eyes find yours, you feel like you're on fire.

"And I hate myself for not seeing you sooner. Now, it's clear as day. Now I see that you're the one, the one that always picked me up and loved me when it seemed like no one else did. And I am sorry for everything that I put you through."

His leg starts bouncing and his eyes keep flicking back and forth between both of yours. The way they glisten makes you turn into putty.

"And if you'd let me, God I’m hoping you say yes, I'll spend forever, or however long, making it up to you. It's the least I can do."

His voice cracks on his last word and before you can even stop yourself, you're leaning in, closing the distance between you two like your heart depends on it.

His lips are like a furnace on yours but the warmth only draws you in, enveloping every fiber of your being. When you pull away, he looks at you like you've hung each and every one of the stars in the sky above.

Your hand slides around the back of his neck, forehead pressing to his.

"I love you, Jacob,” you start. “But I know I'm never gonna be her. You'd just be here with me, sulking because you didn't get to choose her."

He shakes his head faster than a strike of lightning, eyes desperate as they fall on your face.

"No, no. I promise," he takes your hand that's resting in your lap and places it over his chest. "I won't do that to you ever again. Never."

The warmth radiating from his skin and the thumping of his heartbeat only grow stronger when your eyes close, tears racing down your cheeks.

"How do I know you're not crossing your fingers?" you laugh, wiping your tears with the back of your other hand.

He moves both hands so that they're in front of you, softly taking your face into them.

"For as long as I live, I will spend every breathing moment proving the truth to you. I've waited years for my person and it was worth the wait because it's you. I got the most amazing girl in the world and truthfully, I don't deserve you, but please let me make things right. Let me show you that I want this."

He sees the slight doubts jogging your mind and the part of you that wants to say yes. He sees it all. He won't back down. He never will.

You ease his nerves with the sweetest kiss, lips melting into his. Your hands rest on his forearms, thumbs caressing his skin.

You pull away just enough to murmur "forever" against his lips, both of you smiling into one another like it all finally makes sense, like all of your problems are solved. Like this was about the be the best "forever" of your lives.