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another-author-authoring · 7 years ago

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Jasper Hale imagine requested by casismyguardianangel. “Could I get Jasper/reader where it’s their first kiss please? They’re at the Cullen’s alone watching a movie & partway through reader does/says something & Jas just pulls her in without thinking, he tries apologizing but she kisses him to shut him up” Hope you like it!

“So you’re telling me you’d take the Civil War all over again over the court of Marie Antoinette? You’ve got to be kidding me,” you guffawed, watching Jasper’s smile creep by inches past his steely facade, his eyes abandoning the documentary you were watching in favour of meeting your inquisitive gaze. He shrugged his shoulders, his teeth gleaming in the dim glow of the television, his hands smoothing over the denim that clung to your shins. You had your legs propped-up in his lap, a comfortable position neither of you minded, but an innocent enough picture that, should your privacy be interrupted by the return of, say, Emmett Cullen, the mockery would remain relatively minimal. Jasper’s eyes flitted to the screen, his butterscotch irises burning in their own right as they reflected the lavish colours shown on the furnishings of Versailles. “What’s your reasoning? “What’s a plate of pastries to a field of dying men?” you joked, mimicking his unnaturally smooth voice to the best of your human abilities, emphasizing a thick Southern accent, thrilling at the rolling of his eyes. “I know you’re technically a killing machine, but I was so sure you had some level of restraint.” He refused to acknowledge your jab, fighting his smile as it grew. “Come on, Jaz, be reasonable. You’d really take war over a ballroom?” He turned to you, then, his eyes open and honest as he prepared to counter your argument.

“Absolutely, I would. I mean, can you imagine living like that? All the rumours, the powder, the… I mean, for women, especially, the corsets? I’d much rather stand behind a cannon and watch femurs get sawed in half than be so… stiff.” You rolled your eyes at his logic, his preference to gore rather than tolerate a little perfume and a few layers of lead foundation. You rolled a piece of buttered popcorn between your index finger and your thumb, your thoughts arranging to compensate for the new bit of information you’d snagged from the man. Jasper’s hand continued to smooth a pathway over your legs, his touch incredibly gentle, nearly ghost-like as he passed over and over the cloth covering your skin, his eyes on yours as he waited for your next barrage of questions. You popped the piece of popcorn past your lips, munching happily before voicing your confusion.

“When you say you’d rather endure the Civil War again, does that include… you know, how it “ended” for you, or just the golden-boy-and-youngest-member-of-the-Texas-Calvary bit?” He paused, his eyes lifting slightly in thought, his hand pausing just below your knee as he digested your comment. “I mean, would you get bit again? Just to avoid Versailles?” He grinned then, chuckling softly, his fingers toying with a piece of thread coming loose of your seams.

“Well, considering the alternative…” he eyeballed the television, redirecting your attention to the scenes of unrest among the French peasants, their fists raised against each others’ jaws as they tussled over scraps of discarded bread. “If you’re asking me whether or not I prefer vampirism to the Guillotine, I think you know my answer. I’d be a fool to pick getting cropped at the neck rather than being bitten there, no matter how…” he trailed off, as if hesitant to disclose the details of his transformation, his eyes clouding over as he relived the distant memory, scenes over a hundred years old painting the landscape of his features as his mind recollected the images. He sighed lightly, organizing his thoughts before continuing. “Only one of those options ends with me living.” You scoffed, bending at the knee to nudge his side with your foot, his bewildered eyes locking on yours with mock surprise at your breach of manners.

“So to speak,” you corrected, his laughter flooding through the emptiness of the Cullen residence, his smile wide, eyes sparkling joyfully. You knew there was a part of him that was flooded with relief that you could make light of his immortality, no matter how dark the terms of his contract may be. You were expected to run screaming for the hills, but you couldn’t fathom leaving Jasper for anything, supernatural or otherwise. He caught your foot in his hand, returning it to its previous position, his body sliding ever so slightly closer to yours at the end of the couch, a movement that wasn’t lost on you. He extended is arm over the back of the sofa, his forearm by your head, the scent of his skin wafting up to flood your senses.

“So to speak,” he mirrored, his grin lingering as you both returned your attention to the documentary, watching as friends of the monarchy met their fates by the falling blade of the Guillotine, wincing each time the lever was pulled. Jasper chuckled at your so obvious flinching, bringing his lips to your ear, his voice a mere whisper. “You know this is a dramatization, right? They’re not actually being put to death. They’re just fine.” Normally, you would have swatted him away, banishing his sarcasm with a harmless roll of your eyes… but he was so close to you in that instant, and the scent of him… you found yourself positively intoxicated by his presence, and ever more aware of his body as he moved closer by fractions of an inch. When he moved away from you, he was never quite as far; this most recent transaction left him all but beside you, your legs bent from the proximity. If you so much as shifted, you’d practically be nestled in his lap… not that you would have minded, only Jasper was usually so brisk about the distance between you and the razors he hid behind his lips, lips that, just a moment ago, had been brushing against your ear. Jasper turned to you, a quizzical expression knitting his brow, his eyes curious on your own. “Are you feeling alright? You seem…” his voice trailed off, watching as you displaced the popcorn bowl from your lap, relocating the ceramic to the coffee table before you, your eyes on the screen to avoid meeting his honeyed stare, though you were very much aware of the fact that his eyes remained glued to your face, tasting your emotional atmosphere.

“I should have known you wouldn’t be put-off by executions. Blood and all that,” you tried, your attempt at humour seeming flat even to your own ears. Thankfully, Jasper had the groomed manners of a Southern gentleman, which is to say he played along despite the knowledge that you were actively trying to keep the tone of the room a specific flavour. You couldn’t hide your heartbeat from a vampire, and you certainly couldn’t hide your emotions from someone who knew you as well as Jasper did, even without his gift.

“Yes, I’m familiar,” he responded, his voice light despite the breathy quality of his whisper. There was no need for him to speak at a higher volume; you were close enough now that his arm behind your head now hovered just above the ridge of your shoulders, threatening a gentle embrace, his breath kissing along your hairline, tousling stray strands as he exhaled. You lifted a hand to tidy what little he had disrupted, the backside of your hand brushing against his hair, unintentionally shifting his golden curls. You reacted as if you’d dropped something, immediately retracting your hand and assessing the region you’d nudged for damages, finding, instead, Jasper’s butterscotch eyes intent on your own. He was quiet where he would usually fill the silence with some sort of retort, his eyes devouring your features as if he were starving, yet there was a calmness, a patience about his stare… as if he were fully aware that he had all the time in the world to memorize the details of your face. His hand reached for your face, his fingertips shocking your skin as they brushed along your cheekbone, tucking the strand of hair that had been misplaced behind your ear, his touch lingering far longer than usual before his hand retracted. His lips pursed as he exhaled once more, a cautious, tentative breath slipping from his lungs. You opened your mouth to speak, your lips parting readily, Jasper’s eyes ducking to your mouth with a quiet hunger you wouldn’t have recognized if you weren’t feeling exactly the same way.

“You would do it again?” you asked, your voice weaker than you intended, Jasper eyes finding yours in the relative darkness, the credits rolling blackly and thieving the illumination from the room. He smiled simply, his movements so much smaller now that you were so close, his eyes gleaming despite the inky quality of the room. You had no doubt he could see you clearly. “All of it?”

“Of course I’d do it again. If I had never gone to war, I would have never been bitten. I would have never had the opportunity to meet you. War is no picnic, and ours was a particularly gruesome one, but I’d do it over and over until my dying day, if that day should come, if it meant I could see you when the sun went down.” You exhaled softly, your breath trembling as it left your body, Jasper’s face illuminated then by the title screen of the documentary, his features so much softer than you remembered, so tender…

“Well, aren’t you just a hopeless romantic?” you breathed, your words hushed in the limited space between your bodies, the coolness of his chest chilling you through his shirt where you touched. “Huh. Who would’ve thought? Jasper Whitlock, golden boy of the Confederacy, who would rather go to war again than dare to set foot in French court, has a soft spot for a human who flinches at fake executions. What are we going to do with you?” His eyes, which had been locked on your own, changed suddenly when you spoke his name; most people, including his family, referred to him by the alias Hale, which he had adopted when he joined the Cullen family due to his resemblance to similarly blonde Rosalie. You had no time to discern the meaning behind the so sudden shift in emotions before his hands were cradling your cheeks and his lips had crushed to yours.

You melted easily into his embrace, his hand dropping to the small of your back to bend you into his kiss, your body slipping into his lap as he held you to the marble coolness of his chest. Your lips answered his where they could, the both of you so fervent and overwhelmed by passion, but not mindless enough to forget the sharpness of his teeth now one wrong move away from slicing your lips. Your hands moved to tangle in his hair, your body arching into his when suddenly, he had separated himself from you, moving in the course of a single ragged breath to the opposite end of the couch. His eyes were wide with shock, his chest rising and falling with his breathing, which you had never seen so unsteady. His hands he held in his lap, his eyes on your face.

“I’m… please forgive me for,” he paused, formulating his words carefully while you caught your breath, your lips electric from his kiss, your heart galloping in your chest. “Where are my manners?” he chuckled, a bit breathless, his voice feebler than you had heard it before. “I shouldn’t have done that, not without… I should have asked your permission, I’m…” he exhaled, his eyes burning when they met yours. “Please accept my apologies. I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have done that without first asking if you were-” you sat upright, your voice emerging far stronger than before despite your lack of steady breath.

“Shut up, Jasper.” His voice trailed off to hear you speak, his eyes staring into yours with genuine shock, his lips parting wordlessly. “Ask me.” He stared at you, blankly, not quite comprehending the turn of events that had unfolded so suddenly. He shook his head slightly, as if attempting to dash the confusion from his brain, his chest expanding as he inhaled.

“I’m sorry, I don’t-” he began, asking for clarification. You simply repeated yourself, your voice quiet and steady as you analyzed his features.

“Ask me, Jasper.” His eyes burned from within, his lips parting over a gentle smile, his happiness all but tangible in the darkness. When he spoke, his voice was dripping with sarcasm, mimicking your rendition of his voice, laying heavy on the Southern twang he had lost so long ago.

“Would you mind terribly, Miss, if I were to steal a kis-” he began, his arms enveloping you as you threw yourself into his arms, your lips finding his easily, his unnaturally quick reflexes melting you into his embrace once more. You wound your arms around his neck, your fingertips threading through the hair at the back of his head, his lips moving sweetly against your own. His thumb traced over your jawline, his fingers tangling in your hair, his kisses becoming more passionate with every minor separation. Your senses were so absorbed in the taste, the feel, the smell of him, that you didn’t notice when your company expanded.

“I’ll tell you what we can do with him, Y/n. Get him to a bedroom, huh?” Emmett sang, his voice gravelly as he chuckled. You and Jasper all but flew apart, his hands straightening your clothing where it had been disheveled, shooting daggers at the brother whose entry he, too, had missed. “Hey, I won’t judge. It’s just that this is a family room, Jasper. Best not to defile it.” Jasper hissed lowly at his brother, the aggravated grumble melting to a sigh as Emmett left the room, winking in your direction. You buried your face in Jasper’s chest, deflating with embarrassment as you giggled into the fabric of his shirt, his hands smoothing over your back, his body shaking beneath your hands as his laughter mingled with your own.

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