letterstoalonewolf

[letterstoalonewolf]

Wildfire

Jacob Black  x Reader

Summary: It wasn’t the first time someone made a careless comment about her body, but this time, Jacob heard it. And this time, he was one breath away from tearing someone apart for it.

Jacob Black had never been good at holding back.

It was in his nature—wild, untamed, always teetering on the edge of something dangerous. It wasn’t just the wolf in him; it was the way he loved, the way he felt everything too much, too deeply.

And when it came to her, there was no force in the universe, no law of the pack, no ancient rule that could stop him from losing himself completely.

Because she was his.

His imprint.

His mate.

And someone had just insulted her.

──────────────

Y/N had always been aware of the way people looked at her.

She wasn’t the kind of girl who turned heads when she walked into a room. She wasn’t delicate the way some people thought she should be, wasn’t lean and effortless like the women who hung around the pack, slipping into the boys' arms like they belonged there.

She had never belonged anywhere.

Not until him.

Jacob changed everything. He made her feel like the world had shifted beneath her feet, like gravity itself had decided to rearrange just for them. His love was all-consuming, something that burned and comforted all at once.

So why, why, did her heart still falter when she heard the offhanded comment that shattered something fragile inside her?

It had been a casual afternoon, a rare moment where the pack wasn’t patrolling or tearing through the woods in a blur of fur and fangs. Instead, they lounged outside Emily’s house, the scent of fresh bread and pine filling the air.

Y/N had been curled up on the porch steps beside Jacob, her legs tucked underneath her, warm from the heat of his body. His arm had been draped lazily over her shoulders, his fingers tracing idle circles against the bare skin of her arm.

She had been happy.

And then—

Paul had said it.

"I mean, you’re lucky Jake imprinted on you," he mused, stretching like a lazy cat. "Not all of us are into, y’know, softer girls, but hey—Jacob’s always been a little different."

The world tilted.

Her breath caught so fast in her throat that she wasn’t even sure she had breathed at all.

She knew Paul. Knew he spoke before thinking, that he said things without meaning them the way they landed.

But that didn’t matter.

Because Jacob heard him.

And suddenly, the warmth beside her turned scorching.

The shift started beneath Jacob’s skin before he even realized he was moving.

One second, he was relaxed beside her, content with the feeling of her leaning into him. The next, rage was curling up his spine, searing and untamed, clawing at his control like wildfire threatening to consume him.

"You fucking—"

He was on his feet so fast the chair scraped against the ground, the deep growl in his throat so feral, so dangerous, that the entire pack tensed.

Paul immediately raised his hands, backpedaling. "Whoa, whoa—relax, dude. It was just a joke."

A joke.

A joke.

Jacob’s vision blurred at the edges, his breathing sharp and uneven, the shift barely restrained beneath his skin. He was burning. His pulse roared, his body so close to phasing that his bones ached with it.

No one—no one—got to talk about her like that.

His mate.

Paul was still saying something, but Jacob didn’t hear it. His fists clenched, his muscles locking up, his body ready to snap—

And then—

"Jake."

Soft. Gentle. Tethering.

Y/N’s hand was suddenly on his arm, grounding him in a way that nothing else ever could.

His breath hitched, the warmth of her skin seeping into his like a balm against the storm inside him. Her fingers pressed, firm but not forceful, like she knew exactly how close he was to losing control.

"Look at me," she murmured.

He couldn’t.

Because if he looked at her, he’d see the hurt in her eyes. He’d see that Paul fucking Lahote had made her feel like she was less than what she was. Like she wasn’t the most breathtaking, irreplaceable thing to ever exist in his world.

"Jake," she tried again, her grip tightening. "Please."

The sound of her voice broke him.

Slowly, painfully, he turned to face her.

And fuck.

His whole chest caved in.

She wasn’t crying, but he knew her. Knew the way her lips pressed together when she was swallowing down emotions, knew the way her shoulders curled in just a little—like she was trying to make herself smaller.

Like she was too aware of her own body.

His stomach twisted.

"Paul, get the hell out of here," Jacob growled, his voice low, dark, dangerous.

Paul hesitated, then scoffed. "Damn, man, I already said it was a joke—"

"Leave."

There was no room for argument.

The others pulled Paul away, muttering something about how he really needed to shut up sometimes. And then, just like that, it was only them.

Jacob was still shaking, still burning, his breath uneven. He could feel the rage clawing at him, the wolf inside still furious—but then her hands were cupping his face, her fingers threading into his hair.

"Hey," she whispered, her forehead resting against his. "It’s okay."

It wasn’t.

"You shouldn’t have to hear shit like that," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "It’s bullshit, Y/N. You know that, right?"

She sighed, her gaze dropping. "I mean… it’s not like he’s the first person to think that way."

Jacob froze.

It wasn’t just what she said.

It was how she said it.

Like she believed it.

A sharp, wounded growl rumbled in his chest. He grabbed her hand—gently, carefully, because he was still burning at the edges—and pressed it against his own chest, right over his heart.

It was beating too fast.

Out of control.

For her.

"Y/N," he breathed, his forehead pressing harder against hers, "I swear to god—if I ever hear you say something like that again—" He exhaled sharply, his hand moving to cradle her jaw, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at him. "You are mine. Do you get that?"

Her breath caught.

"You were made for me," Jacob rasped, his voice like wildfire, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. "Do you really think the imprint is wrong? That somehow, the universe just… screwed up and made me love you more than anything?"

She swallowed. "No, but—"

"There is no but." His dark eyes burned into hers. "In every universe, in any life I could have lived—you would still be it for me. The only one."

She inhaled sharply, something fragile and overwhelming in her expression. "Jacob—"

He kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.

It was desperate.

A raw, consuming, burning kind of kiss—the kind that left no room for doubt, no room for anything except the feel of her, the taste of her, the absolute certainty that she belonged to him just as much as he belonged to her.

When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her breath uneven.

Jacob exhaled, pressing his forehead against hers again. "Never doubt your place in my life. Ever."

She nodded slowly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Okay."

And just like that, the fire in his chest settled.

Not gone. Never gone.

But calm.

Because she was here.

And that was enough.

It would always be enough.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Darlin’, Don’t You Know

Jasper Hale  x Reader

Summary: She didn’t mean to fall for him. But with his hands made for gentleness, his Southern drawl wrapping around every word like silk, and his old-fashioned chivalry that made her heart ache in the best way, how could she ever stand a chance?

It started the way most trouble does — innocently enough.

Y/n hadn’t paid much attention to the Cullens when she first moved to Forks. Sure, they were beautiful in a way that felt unnatural, and there were whispers that followed them through the halls — rumors that stuck like gum under desks, impossible to scrape away. But they existed on a plane outside of hers. Perfect, untouchable, unbothered.

Until Jasper Hale touched her.

It was stupid, really — her pen rolling off the edge of the Biology table, clattering to the floor between them. She reached down, fingers brushing cool metal at the same time his hand did. His skin was cold, his fingers long and careful as they nudged the pen into her hand.

“Here you go, darlin’.”

That was the first time she heard it — that slow, Southern drawl rolling over the word darlin’ like it belonged to her and only her. It wasn’t fair, the way her heart stuttered. Just a word, and she was wrecked.

She barely choked out a thank you. He smiled, barely-there, and went back to taking notes like nothing had happened.

But something had happened. She knew it. And so did he.

It didn’t take long to notice the pattern.

────────

Jasper was always there. Waiting by her locker, his shoulder against the wall, eyes flicking to her every time someone passed too close. At first, she thought it was coincidence — Forks High wasn’t exactly big. But then he started carrying her books.

And her bag.

And once, her entire backpack, slinging it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

“Jasper,” she protested, following after him. “I’m not helpless, you know.”

“Never said you were,” he drawled. “But you’re still not carryin’ this.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve got me, darlin’. That’s why.”

It would’ve been maddening — if not for the way he said it. Like being hers was the simplest truth in the world. Like it was fact, undeniable and already written in stone.

So she fought back the only way she knew how.

Teasing.

She made a playlist — the cheesiest, most over-the-top country love songs she could find. She played them whenever he got in her truck, smiling sweetly when his brow lifted in amusement.

“Cowboy,” she started calling him, soft and teasing, every time he opened a door or carried her bag like some 1800s ranch hand.

And every time, his lips twitched, no matter how hard he tried not to smile.

But teasing wasn’t the only thing between them.

There was something else, heavy in the air whenever they stood too close — something electric, like standing barefoot on the edge of a summer storm. Sometimes she’d catch him watching her, gaze soft, something unspoken trapped behind his careful expression.

One afternoon, he opened the passenger door for her — like always — but this time, his fingers brushed her wrist. Barely a touch.

Y/n’s pulse leapt, heart fluttering wildly against her ribs. His gaze dropped to her hand, lingering for a beat too long before he pulled back.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice softer than she meant.

“Anytime, darlin’.”

And that was the moment she knew: this wasn’t just a crush.

────────

Jasper knew before she did.

Knew the moment her scent curled around him in the cafeteria, warm and right in a way nothing else had ever been. His mate.

It was a quiet kind of devastation — the knowledge that after so many years of silence and restraint, the universe had tethered him to something so soft, so fleeting. A heartbeat wrapped in fragile skin, a life that could be snuffed out before he even had the chance to hold it properly in his hands.

He wasn’t supposed to have this. Not after everything he’d done.

For decades, he’d mastered control. His body was a fortress, his hunger chained in the basement of his mind, barred behind iron gates and constant vigilance. Every breath was measured, every interaction scripted — proximity without connection, conversation without vulnerability. The only way to survive eternity was to become stone — unmoved, unshaken, untouchable.

But this? This wasn’t something he could outthink or outfight.

The moment her scent filled his lungs, it broke him open. That fortress he’d spent lifetimes building shattered like thin glass, and in its place was something ancient — something older than hunger, older than pain. Instinct. Bone-deep and undeniable.

Protect her. Shield her. Carry her burdens so she’d never have to feel them.

His mate. His darlin’.

He’d never deserved a word like that. Not with blood under his fingernails and ghosts lining the halls of his memory like mourners at a funeral. But fate had never asked if he was ready. Fate had only given him her — warm and laughing and alive in ways he no longer knew how to be.

So he tried to stay away.

Tried to ignore the ache that curled low in his ribs every time her laugh rang out across the hall, the sharp tug in his chest whenever someone brushed too close to her shoulder, the unbearable craving for her scent when she wasn’t near.

It lasted less than 48 hours.

Because for all his discipline, for all his centuries of restraint, Jasper Hale was still a man — and when fate gives a dying man something to live for, he doesn’t walk away.

He can’t.

────────

They found their rhythm somewhere between teasing and tenderness.

He opened every door. Carried every bag — even the light ones, even the ones she could’ve easily managed herself. He never asked if she needed him to. He just did it, like it was a reflex written into his bones.

She called him cowboy with a grin that could bring him to his knees. Played George Strait and Dolly Parton and Tim McGraw every chance she got, spinning the volume knob just to see him roll his eyes — but no matter how hard he tried, he always gave himself away. A soft hum under his breath. A quiet mouthing of lyrics he hadn’t meant to remember.

She teased him mercilessly for it, but her heart ached in that soft, fluttery way whenever she caught him slipping — her immortal cowboy, still tangled up in the boy he used to be.

It should’ve been simple. But love stories never are.

There were nights Jasper disappeared — no calls, no texts, just silence where his presence should’ve been. Y/n would sit by her window, phone in her lap, willing it to ring. It never did.

When he came back, his hands were colder than usual. His eyes darker, shadows clinging to him like smoke from a wildfire he couldn’t outrun. She never asked where he went. She could’ve. She could’ve demanded answers, pushed until he cracked wide open. But some part of her, the part that already knew this love was both beautiful and dangerous, understood that whatever haunted him wasn’t ready to be shared yet.

So instead, she held out her hand. And when he sat down beside her, she curled into his side, her cheek finding the familiar curve of his shoulder. She didn’t speak. She just breathed — slow, steady, until his breathing matched hers.

He always held her tighter on those nights, fingers curling into her shirt like an anchor, as if letting go might break something inside him that was already too fragile.

She never told him, but those were the nights she loved him most — not because he was perfect, but because he wasn’t. Because his hands shook when they touched her, because he was more shadow than light sometimes, and because even then, especially then, he still came back to her.

Every time.

────────

The first kiss happened at the edge of town.

The world felt smaller there, tucked beneath a sky too wide and too full of stars. The headlights were off, leaving only the silver hush of moonlight spilling through the windshield. The windows were cracked, and the night air was cool enough to bite, but neither of them noticed.

Her hand rested on the bench seat between them — palm up, fingers loose, close enough to touch but not quite daring to. It was a silent invitation, and Jasper’s gaze flicked to it more than once, fingers curling against his knee like he was fighting a war no one else could see.

The stereo hummed quietly, a country song neither of them had really been listening to — something slow and syrupy, the kind of love song that felt almost too much for a moment this delicate.

Jasper didn’t speak at first. He just watched her — the soft curve of her smile, the way her hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the faint light like strands of gold. The shadows softened her edges, turning her into something almost ethereal — more dream than girl, more wish than reality.

“You’re starin’ again, cowboy,” she teased, voice hushed but warm, like laughter was waiting just beneath the words.

“I know,” he said quietly, not even pretending to apologize.

He leaned in slowly, painfully slowly, his hand finally reaching to brush his knuckles over her jaw, tracing a path down to her chin. He held her there, thumb just beneath her lip, giving her every chance to pull away. To stop this before it became something they could never undo.

She didn’t.

Instead, she leaned into him, eyes half-lidded and breath already caught somewhere between her ribs. The kiss was barely there at first — a brush of his cool mouth against her warm one, a sigh into the space between them.

But even that soft touch made something inside her tremble.

Jasper kissed her like she was made of spun glass, fragile and fleeting, and far too precious to ever deserve his hands on her. His fingers ghosted along her jaw, curling into her hair, holding her like a man who knew how easily beautiful things could shatter.

Y/n didn’t let him stay gentle for long.

Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer — silently telling him there was no part of her that would break under his touch. Her body was warm against his chest, her heartbeat racing loud enough that he could feel it beneath his fingertips.

The kiss deepened, slow but desperate, as if each second was borrowed and they knew it. Jasper’s other hand skimmed down her spine, spreading wide at the small of her back, keeping her anchored to him. She could feel the tremor in his fingers, the way he fought to keep himself in check — holding back all the hunger, all the need.

It was too much and not enough, all at once.

He finally pulled back, forehead resting against hers, breath coming too fast for someone who didn’t need air.

“You kiss like you’re scared I’ll break,” she whispered, her smile soft but her voice unshaken.

Jasper swallowed hard, thumb tracing slow circles along her jawline, like he was memorizing the shape of her.

“I’m scared of a lot of things, darlin’.” His voice was rough, his accent heavier when emotion cracked through the spaces between the words. “But losin’ you? That scares me most.”

Y/n didn’t know what to say to that — so she kissed him again, softer this time, like a promise she wasn’t ready to put into words.

And for that moment, beneath the weight of a thousand stars, Jasper let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this was something they could survive.

────────

It wasn’t perfect.

Loving Jasper meant loving his shadows too — the ghosts of wars he wouldn’t speak of, the hunger that lived under his skin. It meant letting him disappear into the woods when instincts got too sharp, and trusting he’d always come back.

Some nights, she traced the scars on his arms — faint, but there if you knew where to look.

“Do they hurt?” she asked once, fingertips ghosting over a particularly deep one.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you want to tell me how you got them?”

“Not tonight.”

She kissed each scar instead, her lips soft against old wounds.

“You’re too good for me,” he whispered.

“Too late, cowboy. You’re stuck with me.”

She left notes in his locker — doodles of stick-figure cowboys and bad jokes like Why did the cowboy adopt a dachshund? Because he wanted to get a long little doggy.

He groaned every time, but never threw them away. She caught him once, folding one into his wallet, his smile soft as honey.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said.

“And you love it.”

He didn’t argue.

They weren’t supposed to fit — a girl with her whole life ahead of her, and a boy whose life was already too long. But somehow, they did.

And maybe it was fate. Or maybe it was just this:

Jasper Hale was her cowboy.

Y/n was his darlin’.

And neither of them had any plans to let go.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Southern Charm

Jasper Hale x Reader

Summary: There’s something dangerous about Jasper Hale—something that should make you run the other way. But then he smirks, tilts his head just so, and says, “Looking good today, ma’am,” in that slow Southern drawl, and suddenly, you forget why you were supposed to resist him in the first place.

The first time you heard Jasper Hale speak, it was over something as simple as a door.

You had reached for the handle, fingers barely grazing the metal before he was there, faster than humanly possible, pulling it open with an effortless grace. His touch was light, like the ghost of a promise, but the weight of his presence behind you was something you felt in your bones.

“After you, darlin’.”

The drawl was smooth, rich like aged whiskey, laced with something deeper—something that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. When you turned to meet his gaze, golden eyes locked onto yours, full of quiet amusement and something else you couldn’t quite name.

It wasn’t fair, really.

Jasper Hale was lethal in more ways than one.

It wasn’t just his impossible beauty, all sharp cheekbones and tousled blond waves that made him look like some Southern heartbreak wrapped in temptation. It wasn’t just his voice, either, that sinful, honeyed accent that curled around words like a promise, making even the simplest phrases sound like poetry. No, the real danger was how easily he could make you forget yourself.

And he knew it.

“See somethin’ you like, sugar?” he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting into that barely-there smirk.

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you refused to look away. “Just wondering if you always go out of your way to be this much of a gentleman.”

His chuckle was low, a quiet rumble in his chest as he leaned in just slightly, enough to make your breath catch. “Can’t help it, ma’am. Mama raised me right.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, just for a second—quick enough that you might have imagined it, but the way your stomach flipped told you otherwise.

Jasper Whitlock Hale was going to ruin you.

***

It didn’t stop there.

He was relentless in his quiet, effortless charm, making it impossible to ignore the fact that you were utterly, completely drawn to him.

It was in the way he always pulled out your chair before you could sit. The way he made a habit of offering his arm when you walked together, as if it were second nature—like touching you was something he couldn’t help but do.

And, of course, the compliments.

“Looking mighty fine today, sweetheart,” he’d murmur in passing, voice just low enough that only you could hear.

“You do that on purpose,” you accused one afternoon, unable to hide the way your lips twitched at his antics.

Jasper, ever composed, merely raised an eyebrow. “Do what, now?”

“That—” you waved a hand vaguely, flustered, “—the whole Southern gentleman routine. The flirting.”

He didn’t even try to look innocent. If anything, his smirk widened.

“Now, sugar,” he drawled, stepping in closer, “who said I was flirtin’?”

You scoffed, but your pulse betrayed you, fluttering wildly beneath his gaze. “Oh, please. You’re not subtle.”

Jasper hummed, tilting his head as if considering your words. Then, before you could react, he reached out, knuckles brushing against the curve of your jaw, tilting your chin up ever so slightly.

And just like that, all the breath left your lungs.

“Wouldn’t dream of bein’ subtle with you, darlin’,” he murmured, voice dipping into something lower, rougher. “I like makin’ sure you know exactly what’s on my mind.”

His thumb skimmed over your cheekbone, featherlight but searing, and you swore the entire world narrowed to the space between you.

Jasper didn’t just flirt.

He unraveled.

And you? You were already his to begin with.

***

It took you longer than you’d like to admit to realize the truth—why Jasper’s presence made something in your chest tighten, why the thought of him looking at anyone else with that quiet, devastating charm made your stomach twist.

Why being near him felt like gravity had finally stopped fighting you.

You were mates.

The realization hit you like a lightning strike, searing through every nerve, setting your entire world ablaze.

Jasper must have seen it in your face—how the pieces suddenly clicked together—because something flickered in his eyes.

“Ah,” he murmured, voice softer now, edged with something more vulnerable. “So you finally figured it out.”

Your breath hitched. “You knew?”

His lips curved into something painfully fond. “Course I knew, sugar.”

His fingers ghosted along the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse thundered. It was such a simple touch, but it might as well have been an earthquake, shaking everything you thought you knew.

“Jasper,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

He smiled, but it wasn’t the teasing, flirtatious smirk he usually wore. It was something else—something deeper, warmer.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you,” he admitted. “Didn’t wanna push you before you were ready to see it. But I’ve known from the second I laid eyes on you.”

Something swelled in your chest, too big, too much.

You swallowed hard. “And now?”

His hand slid up, fingers threading gently through yours, fitting so perfectly it almost hurt.

“Now,” he said, voice dipping into that low, devastating drawl, “I finally get to kiss my girl.”

And then he did.

His lips found yours in a kiss that was slow and deep, stealing the air from your lungs, grounding you and setting you free all at once.

It was the kind of kiss that felt like forever.

Because with Jasper?

Forever had already begun.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Burning Red

Jacob Black  x Reader

Summary: Jacob Black was the one person Y/N thought she could always count on, until he wasn’t. When she finally walks away, convinced their bond was never real, fate proves her wrong in the cruelest way possible.

Y/N had always known two things to be true.

One: Jacob Black was her best friend. Two: She would never be first in his eyes.

It was the kind of truth she had swallowed for years, forcing herself to accept it like bitter medicine. Because Jacob wasn’t just her person—he was Bella Swan’s too.

And Bella had always come first.

She had told herself it didn’t matter. That she could live with it, as long as she still had some part of him. She had been there through everything—before the wolves, before the legends became real, before he started looking at Bella like she was the only thing that made sense in his world.

But then came the breaking point.

The days of silence. The unanswered calls.

The way Jacob disappeared into the shadows of the reservation and stopped being hers at all.

Y/N had tried. God, she had tried. She had waited for him to remember that she existed, to show up at her window like he used to, to prove to her that their friendship had meant something.

But he never did.

Not until it was too late.

────────────────────────

The sound of rain against the pavement filled the silence between them.

Y/N stood in the middle of the road, her hoodie soaked through, her pulse pounding in her ears as she stared at the boy who had once been her everything.

Jacob was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, his dark hair dripping with rain. He looked different. Older. Wilder. His skin burned with a feverish heat, his muscles tense beneath the storm of his own making.

She clenched her jaw. "You didn’t call. You didn’t text. Nothing."

Jacob flinched.

She saw the flash of guilt in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, wrapping her arms around herself. "Good to know our friendship didn’t mean anything to you."

His entire body went rigid. "That’s not fair."

"No?" She took a step forward, her heart hammering against her ribs. "What’s not fair is being left behind. What’s not fair is waiting for someone who never shows up. What’s not fair is—"

Her voice broke.

She hated that it broke.

Jacob’s jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. "You don’t understand."

"Then make me understand!" she snapped. "Because I’m done waiting for you to care enough to tell me the truth!"

Jacob exhaled sharply, running a shaking hand through his hair. "I do care."

"Yeah?" Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms. "Just not enough."

Jacob’s eyes burned into hers, wild and conflicted, like he was fighting something inside himself.

Then, in the softest voice she had ever heard from him, he whispered, "It was never about not caring."

Y/N froze.

The weight of his words settled over her like thunderclouds, thick and heavy with things left unsaid.

But she had spent too long waiting for explanations that never came. She wasn’t going to wait anymore.

She turned away.

And this time—he didn’t stop her.

─────────────────────────

For two weeks, Y/N tried to erase him.

She forced herself to stop looking toward La Push every time she drove past the turnoff. She ignored the way her heart clenched whenever she saw his empty seat at the diner. She drowned herself in distractions—books, long hikes, anything that kept her too busy to think about the boy who had shattered her.

But no matter what she did, she couldn’t shake the feeling.

The sensation of being watched.

It had started subtly. A prickle down her spine, a warmth in the air that lingered longer than it should have. But then it became more than that.

A presence.

It was always there, just beyond her line of sight. In the trees, in the shadows, in the whisper of the wind as it curled around her skin.

And then—one night—it wasn’t just a feeling anymore.

She had just finished her shift at the diner when she felt it. The weight of a gaze, pressing into her like a touch.

Her breath caught. Slowly, she turned.

And there he was.

Jacob stood at the edge of the tree line, shirtless despite the cold, his dark eyes locked onto her like she was the only thing in the world.

But something was wrong.

His chest was rising and falling in harsh, uneven breaths. His hands were trembling. His entire body was taut, like he was barely restraining himself.

Her pulse skittered. "Jake?"

He didn’t move for a long moment.

Then—he did.

One second, he was several feet away. The next, he was right there, the heat of him searing against her chilled skin.

"I can’t do this anymore," he rasped. "I can’t—"

Y/N swallowed hard, every nerve in her body burning. "What the hell is going on with you?"

Jacob sucked in a sharp breath, like he was fighting something huge. Then—his fingers grazed her wrist.

The moment their skin touched, everything changed.

Heat exploded between them, something primal and electric snapping into place. It was like a puzzle she hadn’t even known existed suddenly fit.

Her breath hitched. Her knees almost buckled.

Jacob’s grip tightened ever so slightly. "You feel it too."

She did.

She shouldn’t. But she did.

"Jake," she whispered. "What is this?"

His throat worked as he swallowed, his fingers trembling against her skin.

"It’s you," he murmured. "It’s always been you."

A shuddering breath left her lips. "No."

She didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to believe that, after everything, after the heartbreak, the rejection, the pain—she still belonged to him.

But then he cupped her face, his touch reverent and devastated, and suddenly, she wasn’t sure she had ever belonged to anyone else.

Jacob let out a broken sound. "I was such an idiot. But I’m here now. And I swear to you, I’m never letting you go again."

Y/N should have pushed him away. Should have reminded him of every broken promise, every moment of silence that had made her question her worth.

But she couldn’t.

Because the truth was, she had never stopped wanting him.

So instead, she whispered, "Then don’t."

And when his lips crashed against hers—desperate, burning, home—she knew.

There was no going back.

They had been made for this.

For each other.

For forever.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Wildfire

Jacob Black  x Reader

Summary: It wasn’t the first time someone made a careless comment about her body, but this time, Jacob heard it. And this time, he was one breath away from tearing someone apart for it.

Jacob Black had never been good at holding back.

It was in his nature—wild, untamed, always teetering on the edge of something dangerous. It wasn’t just the wolf in him; it was the way he loved, the way he felt everything too much, too deeply.

And when it came to her, there was no force in the universe, no law of the pack, no ancient rule that could stop him from losing himself completely.

Because she was his.

His imprint.

His mate.

And someone had just insulted her.

──────────────

Y/N had always been aware of the way people looked at her.

She wasn’t the kind of girl who turned heads when she walked into a room. She wasn’t delicate the way some people thought she should be, wasn’t lean and effortless like the women who hung around the pack, slipping into the boys' arms like they belonged there.

She had never belonged anywhere.

Not until him.

Jacob changed everything. He made her feel like the world had shifted beneath her feet, like gravity itself had decided to rearrange just for them. His love was all-consuming, something that burned and comforted all at once.

So why, why, did her heart still falter when she heard the offhanded comment that shattered something fragile inside her?

It had been a casual afternoon, a rare moment where the pack wasn’t patrolling or tearing through the woods in a blur of fur and fangs. Instead, they lounged outside Emily’s house, the scent of fresh bread and pine filling the air.

Y/N had been curled up on the porch steps beside Jacob, her legs tucked underneath her, warm from the heat of his body. His arm had been draped lazily over her shoulders, his fingers tracing idle circles against the bare skin of her arm.

She had been happy.

And then—

Paul had said it.

"I mean, you’re lucky Jake imprinted on you," he mused, stretching like a lazy cat. "Not all of us are into, y’know, softer girls, but hey—Jacob’s always been a little different."

The world tilted.

Her breath caught so fast in her throat that she wasn’t even sure she had breathed at all.

She knew Paul. Knew he spoke before thinking, that he said things without meaning them the way they landed.

But that didn’t matter.

Because Jacob heard him.

And suddenly, the warmth beside her turned scorching.

The shift started beneath Jacob’s skin before he even realized he was moving.

One second, he was relaxed beside her, content with the feeling of her leaning into him. The next, rage was curling up his spine, searing and untamed, clawing at his control like wildfire threatening to consume him.

"You fucking—"

He was on his feet so fast the chair scraped against the ground, the deep growl in his throat so feral, so dangerous, that the entire pack tensed.

Paul immediately raised his hands, backpedaling. "Whoa, whoa—relax, dude. It was just a joke."

A joke.

A joke.

Jacob’s vision blurred at the edges, his breathing sharp and uneven, the shift barely restrained beneath his skin. He was burning. His pulse roared, his body so close to phasing that his bones ached with it.

No one—no one—got to talk about her like that.

His mate.

Paul was still saying something, but Jacob didn’t hear it. His fists clenched, his muscles locking up, his body ready to snap—

And then—

"Jake."

Soft. Gentle. Tethering.

Y/N’s hand was suddenly on his arm, grounding him in a way that nothing else ever could.

His breath hitched, the warmth of her skin seeping into his like a balm against the storm inside him. Her fingers pressed, firm but not forceful, like she knew exactly how close he was to losing control.

"Look at me," she murmured.

He couldn’t.

Because if he looked at her, he’d see the hurt in her eyes. He’d see that Paul fucking Lahote had made her feel like she was less than what she was. Like she wasn’t the most breathtaking, irreplaceable thing to ever exist in his world.

"Jake," she tried again, her grip tightening. "Please."

The sound of her voice broke him.

Slowly, painfully, he turned to face her.

And fuck.

His whole chest caved in.

She wasn’t crying, but he knew her. Knew the way her lips pressed together when she was swallowing down emotions, knew the way her shoulders curled in just a little—like she was trying to make herself smaller.

Like she was too aware of her own body.

His stomach twisted.

"Paul, get the hell out of here," Jacob growled, his voice low, dark, dangerous.

Paul hesitated, then scoffed. "Damn, man, I already said it was a joke—"

"Leave."

There was no room for argument.

The others pulled Paul away, muttering something about how he really needed to shut up sometimes. And then, just like that, it was only them.

Jacob was still shaking, still burning, his breath uneven. He could feel the rage clawing at him, the wolf inside still furious—but then her hands were cupping his face, her fingers threading into his hair.

"Hey," she whispered, her forehead resting against his. "It’s okay."

It wasn’t.

"You shouldn’t have to hear shit like that," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "It’s bullshit, Y/N. You know that, right?"

She sighed, her gaze dropping. "I mean… it’s not like he’s the first person to think that way."

Jacob froze.

It wasn’t just what she said.

It was how she said it.

Like she believed it.

A sharp, wounded growl rumbled in his chest. He grabbed her hand—gently, carefully, because he was still burning at the edges—and pressed it against his own chest, right over his heart.

It was beating too fast.

Out of control.

For her.

"Y/N," he breathed, his forehead pressing harder against hers, "I swear to god—if I ever hear you say something like that again—" He exhaled sharply, his hand moving to cradle her jaw, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at him. "You are mine. Do you get that?"

Her breath caught.

"You were made for me," Jacob rasped, his voice like wildfire, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. "Do you really think the imprint is wrong? That somehow, the universe just… screwed up and made me love you more than anything?"

She swallowed. "No, but—"

"There is no but." His dark eyes burned into hers. "In every universe, in any life I could have lived—you would still be it for me. The only one."

She inhaled sharply, something fragile and overwhelming in her expression. "Jacob—"

He kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.

It was desperate.

A raw, consuming, burning kind of kiss—the kind that left no room for doubt, no room for anything except the feel of her, the taste of her, the absolute certainty that she belonged to him just as much as he belonged to her.

When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her breath uneven.

Jacob exhaled, pressing his forehead against hers again. "Never doubt your place in my life. Ever."

She nodded slowly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Okay."

And just like that, the fire in his chest settled.

Not gone. Never gone.

But calm.

Because she was here.

And that was enough.

It would always be enough.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Southern Charm

Jasper Hale x Reader

Summary: There’s something dangerous about Jasper Hale—something that should make you run the other way. But then he smirks, tilts his head just so, and says, “Looking good today, ma’am,” in that slow Southern drawl, and suddenly, you forget why you were supposed to resist him in the first place.

The first time you heard Jasper Hale speak, it was over something as simple as a door.

You had reached for the handle, fingers barely grazing the metal before he was there, faster than humanly possible, pulling it open with an effortless grace. His touch was light, like the ghost of a promise, but the weight of his presence behind you was something you felt in your bones.

“After you, darlin’.”

The drawl was smooth, rich like aged whiskey, laced with something deeper—something that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. When you turned to meet his gaze, golden eyes locked onto yours, full of quiet amusement and something else you couldn’t quite name.

It wasn’t fair, really.

Jasper Hale was lethal in more ways than one.

It wasn’t just his impossible beauty, all sharp cheekbones and tousled blond waves that made him look like some Southern heartbreak wrapped in temptation. It wasn’t just his voice, either, that sinful, honeyed accent that curled around words like a promise, making even the simplest phrases sound like poetry. No, the real danger was how easily he could make you forget yourself.

And he knew it.

“See somethin’ you like, sugar?” he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting into that barely-there smirk.

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you refused to look away. “Just wondering if you always go out of your way to be this much of a gentleman.”

His chuckle was low, a quiet rumble in his chest as he leaned in just slightly, enough to make your breath catch. “Can’t help it, ma’am. Mama raised me right.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, just for a second—quick enough that you might have imagined it, but the way your stomach flipped told you otherwise.

Jasper Whitlock Hale was going to ruin you.

***

It didn’t stop there.

He was relentless in his quiet, effortless charm, making it impossible to ignore the fact that you were utterly, completely drawn to him.

It was in the way he always pulled out your chair before you could sit. The way he made a habit of offering his arm when you walked together, as if it were second nature—like touching you was something he couldn’t help but do.

And, of course, the compliments.

“Looking mighty fine today, sweetheart,” he’d murmur in passing, voice just low enough that only you could hear.

“You do that on purpose,” you accused one afternoon, unable to hide the way your lips twitched at his antics.

Jasper, ever composed, merely raised an eyebrow. “Do what, now?”

“That—” you waved a hand vaguely, flustered, “—the whole Southern gentleman routine. The flirting.”

He didn’t even try to look innocent. If anything, his smirk widened.

“Now, sugar,” he drawled, stepping in closer, “who said I was flirtin’?”

You scoffed, but your pulse betrayed you, fluttering wildly beneath his gaze. “Oh, please. You’re not subtle.”

Jasper hummed, tilting his head as if considering your words. Then, before you could react, he reached out, knuckles brushing against the curve of your jaw, tilting your chin up ever so slightly.

And just like that, all the breath left your lungs.

“Wouldn’t dream of bein’ subtle with you, darlin’,” he murmured, voice dipping into something lower, rougher. “I like makin’ sure you know exactly what’s on my mind.”

His thumb skimmed over your cheekbone, featherlight but searing, and you swore the entire world narrowed to the space between you.

Jasper didn’t just flirt.

He unraveled.

And you? You were already his to begin with.

***

It took you longer than you’d like to admit to realize the truth—why Jasper’s presence made something in your chest tighten, why the thought of him looking at anyone else with that quiet, devastating charm made your stomach twist.

Why being near him felt like gravity had finally stopped fighting you.

You were mates.

The realization hit you like a lightning strike, searing through every nerve, setting your entire world ablaze.

Jasper must have seen it in your face—how the pieces suddenly clicked together—because something flickered in his eyes.

“Ah,” he murmured, voice softer now, edged with something more vulnerable. “So you finally figured it out.”

Your breath hitched. “You knew?”

His lips curved into something painfully fond. “Course I knew, sugar.”

His fingers ghosted along the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse thundered. It was such a simple touch, but it might as well have been an earthquake, shaking everything you thought you knew.

“Jasper,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

He smiled, but it wasn’t the teasing, flirtatious smirk he usually wore. It was something else—something deeper, warmer.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you,” he admitted. “Didn’t wanna push you before you were ready to see it. But I’ve known from the second I laid eyes on you.”

Something swelled in your chest, too big, too much.

You swallowed hard. “And now?”

His hand slid up, fingers threading gently through yours, fitting so perfectly it almost hurt.

“Now,” he said, voice dipping into that low, devastating drawl, “I finally get to kiss my girl.”

And then he did.

His lips found yours in a kiss that was slow and deep, stealing the air from your lungs, grounding you and setting you free all at once.

It was the kind of kiss that felt like forever.

Because with Jasper?

Forever had already begun.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Restless in the Silence

Emmett Cullen  x Reader

Summary: Y/N never meant for the fight to spiral like that—for her words to cut so deep that Emmett left without looking back. Now, alone on the couch, wrapped in nothing but regret, she fights against the sleep that threatens to steal her last chance to make things right… but guilt is heavier than exhaustion, and her mate isn’t there to hold her up when she finally breaks.

It started with a look.

One of those looks—the kind Emmett gave her when he thought she was being ridiculous. The kind that made her blood boil.

Y/N crossed her arms. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Emmett leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Like what?”

“Like I’m overreacting.”

“Maybe you are.”

Her jaw clenched. “Maybe you don’t take anything seriously.”

Something flickered in his golden eyes, something dark. “That’s not fair.”

Y/N scoffed. “Isn’t it? You throw yourself into fights like you have nothing to lose. Like it doesn’t matter if you come back broken and bleeding.”

“I don’t break, Y/N.”

Her stomach twisted. “But you can.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration rolling off him in waves. “Do you even hear yourself? You talk like I’m one step away from death, like I’m fragile—”

“You are to me!” Her voice cracked.

Silence.

Emmett’s expression shifted, like the words caught him off guard. But then, just as quickly, his frustration overpowered it.

“I can’t live my life in fear,” he muttered.

Her chest hollowed out. “Fear of what?”

“Fear of you never trusting me!” His voice thundered through the room, loud enough to rattle the walls.

She took a step back before she could stop herself. Just a half step. Barely even noticeable. But for a fleeting second, she felt something close to fear.

Not because she thought he would hurt her—never, never that—but because Emmett had never yelled like this before.

Not at her.

It was gone in an instant, masked by her own anger. But he hadn’t seen it—he was too lost in his own frustration, too blinded by the heat of the moment to notice the way her breath had hitched.

She straightened her spine, forcing her voice to steady. “It’s not about trust.”

“Then what the hell is it about?” His voice was sharp, edged with something she couldn’t quite place.

Y/N swallowed, trying to find the words to make him understand. “It’s about what it does to me when you act like you’re invincible. When you leave and I don’t know if you’re coming back. When you don’t care how much it destroys me to see you get hurt.”

His nostrils flared. “You think I don’t care?”

“I think you don’t think!”

That was the final straw.

Emmett’s fists clenched, his whole body vibrating with barely contained rage. “I can’t do this right now,” he growled.

Y/N’s breath hitched. “What?”

“I can’t do this,” he snapped, shaking his head. “I need to cool off.”

A pit formed in her stomach. “Emmett, don’t—”

But he was already reaching for his jacket.

Panic clawed up her throat. “So that’s it? You’re just going to leave?”

He exhaled sharply, his back already to her. “I’ll be back.”

The words were clipped. Hollow.

And then, without another glance, he slammed the door behind him.

─────────

The silence was unbearable.

It stretched through the house like a living thing, creeping into every shadowed corner, slithering beneath her skin, settling in her chest like a sickness. The quiet had never felt this loud before, never felt this sharp. It rang in her ears, pressing in from all sides, suffocating her with the absence of him.

Y/N curled into herself on the couch, arms wrapped around her knees, her fingers digging into her skin hard enough to leave marks. She stared at the door as if she could will it to open. As if she could turn back time, rewind to the moment before everything crumbled—to before her voice had cracked with desperation, before his golden eyes had burned with something too close to fury.

She had never fought with Emmett like that before.

Not like that.

Not with that much anger, that much barely contained rage simmering between them like a storm ready to break.

Not with that look in his eyes, dark and unreadable, his jaw locked so tight she thought it might shatter under the force.

A tremor ran through her, but she forced herself to keep breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

Her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms. She clenched her eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the image from replaying over and over again, seared into her mind like an open wound—his face twisted with frustration, his chest rising and falling too fast, his voice low and rough as he snapped words he couldn’t take back.

He had never been that angry before.

And she had never let herself push him that far.

A knot of guilt twisted deep in her stomach, tightening with every ragged breath. She had done this. She had stood there, throwing her fears and insecurities at him like knives, knowing full well that he was already balancing on the edge.

And now he was gone.

What if he doesn’t come back?

The thought struck her like a punch to the ribs, stealing what little breath she had left.

No. No, he wouldn’t leave her. Not for good. Not like that.

Would he?

Her pulse hammered in her ears, the doubt creeping in like a slow-moving poison. She wanted to believe that he just needed space, that he would come home once he had cooled down. But what if he didn’t? What if this time, she had pushed too hard, said too much?

What if, for the first time in forever, she had finally made Emmett regret her?

The weight of that thought was unbearable. It crushed her chest, coiling in her lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

She curled tighter, burying her face in her knees, squeezing her eyes shut like that would keep the thoughts at bay. But they kept coming, relentless and cruel.

She should have stopped him. She should have swallowed her pride, grabbed his hand, begged him to stay. She should have made him listen, made him see that her anger wasn’t anger at all—it was fear. It was love.

But instead, she had let him walk out that door.

And now…

Now she was alone.

The exhaustion crept in slowly, weaving itself into the spaces between her guilt, dragging at her limbs like an anchor. She fought it—fought the pull of sleep, fought the terror curling in her ribs that if she closed her eyes, he wouldn’t be there when she opened them.

But in the end, the guilt was heavier than the exhaustion.

And as the first tear slipped down her cheek, silent and shattering, she let it take her.

─────────

The door slammed behind him, but the sound did nothing to drown out the storm raging inside his head.

Emmett sucked in a sharp breath, his hands clenched into fists as he stalked into the woods, his every step too heavy, too sharp. His body screamed for release—for something to hit, something to tear apart, anything to ground himself before he lost whatever was left of his grip.

But no matter how far he walked, he couldn’t escape the last thing he had seen before he left.

Y/N.

The flash of fear in her eyes.

It had been so brief—so quick that if he had blinked, he might have missed it.

But he hadn’t missed it.

And that single, fleeting second had gutted him worse than anything else she could’ve said.

Emmett ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. His fingers trembled with the effort to keep himself together, to push down the emotions trying to rip their way out of him.

He had never been that angry before.

Not at her.

Not at the one person who knew him—who saw past the jokes, past the reckless bravado, past the indestructible façade he had built around himself.

But tonight, she had seen something else.

Tonight, she had seen him lose control.

A low growl built in his chest, frustration and self-loathing twisting together into something ugly. He didn’t know what had made him angrier—the fight itself, or the way she had recoiled, even for just a second.

She had covered it well. Had stood her ground like she always did, her voice steady, her back straight.

But he had seen it.

And it had killed him.

Because Emmett would never hurt her.

Not in a million years. Not in this life or the next.

And yet, tonight, she had looked at him like she didn’t know that.

Like—just for a second—she had doubted him.

Emmett gritted his teeth, his movements stiff as he paced through the trees, the weight of his own rage and regret pressing down on him.

He shouldn’t have left.

But he had been afraid.

Not of her. Never of her.

Afraid of himself.

Afraid of what he would have said if he stayed. Afraid of the damage his anger might have done—not to her, but to them. To what they had built, to what they were.

Because the truth was, she was right.

She was always right.

He didn’t think before he threw himself into danger. He didn’t consider what it did to her when he came home battered and bruised, laughing off the injuries like they were nothing. He didn’t let himself acknowledge what it cost her to love him, to fear for him every time he walked out the door.

He had let his pride blind him.

And now, she was sitting alone in that house, probably curled up on the couch, waiting for him.

Waiting for him, even though he had hurt her.

The thought sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over him, stealing the air from his lungs.

She was hurting.

And he wasn’t there.

Emmett came to a halt, his breath ragged, his chest aching with the weight of everything he had done wrong.

He needed to go back.

Not in an hour. Not when his anger faded. Now.

Because there was only one thing worse than seeing a flash of fear in Y/N’s eyes—

And that was not being there to wipe it away.

─────────

She woke to warmth.

Strong arms wrapped around her, holding her close like she was something fragile, something cherished. Gentle fingers carded through her hair, his touch reverent, aching. The scent of pine, earth, and something unmistakably Emmett wrapped around her like a cocoon, flooding every inch of her senses.

For a moment, she thought she was dreaming.

Then she heard it.

His breathing—uneven, unsteady.

A breath shuddered through his chest, his grip on her tightening as though he was terrified she would slip away.

"Y/N."

His voice was a whisper, wrecked and raw.

She blinked, the weight of exhaustion still pulling at her, but her body knew him. Knew the way he felt, the way he fit against her, the way he had always been her anchor. And yet—

"You came back." Her voice was barely a breath, thick with something fragile, something breaking.

His arms tightened around her instantly, pulling her flush against his chest, like he couldn’t get her close enough. "I never should have left."

The words were heavy, thick with regret.

She let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her together. "I thought—"

"I know." His voice cracked. "I know, baby."

She tilted her head up, needing to see him, needing proof that he was really there.

And the moment her gaze met his, her heart shattered all over again.

His golden eyes, usually so bright, were dark with anguish, rimmed with something raw and desperate. His brows were drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line, like he was barely holding himself together.

Like he had broken, too.

"I was so angry," he admitted, his forehead resting against hers, his voice trembling with self-loathing. "I shouldn’t have let it get to that point. I shouldn’t have—God, Y/N, I shouldn’t have walked away from you."

Her hands trembled as they found his face, her fingertips brushing over the sharp lines of his jaw, the soft stubble that had grown in his absence. A part of her wanted to memorize this moment—the warmth of his skin beneath her touch, the way he leaned into it like he needed it to breathe.

"I shouldn’t have pushed you that far," she whispered.

His breath hitched.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, his hands tightening against her, like he was steeling himself against what he had to say next.

"I scared you."

The words barely made a sound, but they cut through her like a blade.

She froze.

His hands came up to cradle her face, his touch devastatingly gentle, like he was afraid she might break apart beneath him.

"You tried to hide it," he rasped, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, his gaze searching hers with something agonized. "But I scared you, didn’t I?"

Her chest ached, a deep, twisting pain she couldn’t quite name.

She shook her head, swallowing hard. "Not in the way you think."

His eyes searched hers desperately, like he was trying to convince himself that was true, like he was trying to piece together something that had already shattered inside him.

"I never want you to feel that way again," he whispered, his voice thick with guilt, with self-hatred.

She exhaled shakily, her hands sliding from his jaw into his hair, tugging him impossibly closer. "Then don’t leave me like that."

A sound escaped him—something between a breath and a sob—before he was on her.

His hands fisted in her hair, his lips pressing against her forehead, her cheeks, her nose—soft, fleeting touches, like he was trying to erase every second of pain he had caused.

"Never again." His voice was hoarse, his lips brushing against her temple. "I swear on forever."

Her throat tightened, fresh tears slipping free.

He caught them with his thumb before they could fall, his expression crumbling as if they physically hurt him.

Her chest swelled with something overwhelming, something infinite. "I love you," she whispered.

A broken sound left him—half a laugh, half a sob—as he buried his face against her neck, his arms caging her in like she was the only thing tethering him to this world.

"I love you more." His lips found hers, desperate, aching. "And I will never walk away from you again."

And this time—

This time, she believed him.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Darlin’, Don’t You Know

Jasper Hale  x Reader

Summary: She didn’t mean to fall for him. But with his hands made for gentleness, his Southern drawl wrapping around every word like silk, and his old-fashioned chivalry that made her heart ache in the best way, how could she ever stand a chance?

It started the way most trouble does — innocently enough.

Y/n hadn’t paid much attention to the Cullens when she first moved to Forks. Sure, they were beautiful in a way that felt unnatural, and there were whispers that followed them through the halls — rumors that stuck like gum under desks, impossible to scrape away. But they existed on a plane outside of hers. Perfect, untouchable, unbothered.

Until Jasper Hale touched her.

It was stupid, really — her pen rolling off the edge of the Biology table, clattering to the floor between them. She reached down, fingers brushing cool metal at the same time his hand did. His skin was cold, his fingers long and careful as they nudged the pen into her hand.

“Here you go, darlin’.”

That was the first time she heard it — that slow, Southern drawl rolling over the word darlin’ like it belonged to her and only her. It wasn’t fair, the way her heart stuttered. Just a word, and she was wrecked.

She barely choked out a thank you. He smiled, barely-there, and went back to taking notes like nothing had happened.

But something had happened. She knew it. And so did he.

It didn’t take long to notice the pattern.

────────

Jasper was always there. Waiting by her locker, his shoulder against the wall, eyes flicking to her every time someone passed too close. At first, she thought it was coincidence — Forks High wasn’t exactly big. But then he started carrying her books.

And her bag.

And once, her entire backpack, slinging it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

“Jasper,” she protested, following after him. “I’m not helpless, you know.”

“Never said you were,” he drawled. “But you’re still not carryin’ this.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve got me, darlin’. That’s why.”

It would’ve been maddening — if not for the way he said it. Like being hers was the simplest truth in the world. Like it was fact, undeniable and already written in stone.

So she fought back the only way she knew how.

Teasing.

She made a playlist — the cheesiest, most over-the-top country love songs she could find. She played them whenever he got in her truck, smiling sweetly when his brow lifted in amusement.

“Cowboy,” she started calling him, soft and teasing, every time he opened a door or carried her bag like some 1800s ranch hand.

And every time, his lips twitched, no matter how hard he tried not to smile.

But teasing wasn’t the only thing between them.

There was something else, heavy in the air whenever they stood too close — something electric, like standing barefoot on the edge of a summer storm. Sometimes she’d catch him watching her, gaze soft, something unspoken trapped behind his careful expression.

One afternoon, he opened the passenger door for her — like always — but this time, his fingers brushed her wrist. Barely a touch.

Y/n’s pulse leapt, heart fluttering wildly against her ribs. His gaze dropped to her hand, lingering for a beat too long before he pulled back.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice softer than she meant.

“Anytime, darlin’.”

And that was the moment she knew: this wasn’t just a crush.

────────

Jasper knew before she did.

Knew the moment her scent curled around him in the cafeteria, warm and right in a way nothing else had ever been. His mate.

It was a quiet kind of devastation — the knowledge that after so many years of silence and restraint, the universe had tethered him to something so soft, so fleeting. A heartbeat wrapped in fragile skin, a life that could be snuffed out before he even had the chance to hold it properly in his hands.

He wasn’t supposed to have this. Not after everything he’d done.

For decades, he’d mastered control. His body was a fortress, his hunger chained in the basement of his mind, barred behind iron gates and constant vigilance. Every breath was measured, every interaction scripted — proximity without connection, conversation without vulnerability. The only way to survive eternity was to become stone — unmoved, unshaken, untouchable.

But this? This wasn’t something he could outthink or outfight.

The moment her scent filled his lungs, it broke him open. That fortress he’d spent lifetimes building shattered like thin glass, and in its place was something ancient — something older than hunger, older than pain. Instinct. Bone-deep and undeniable.

Protect her. Shield her. Carry her burdens so she’d never have to feel them.

His mate. His darlin’.

He’d never deserved a word like that. Not with blood under his fingernails and ghosts lining the halls of his memory like mourners at a funeral. But fate had never asked if he was ready. Fate had only given him her — warm and laughing and alive in ways he no longer knew how to be.

So he tried to stay away.

Tried to ignore the ache that curled low in his ribs every time her laugh rang out across the hall, the sharp tug in his chest whenever someone brushed too close to her shoulder, the unbearable craving for her scent when she wasn’t near.

It lasted less than 48 hours.

Because for all his discipline, for all his centuries of restraint, Jasper Hale was still a man — and when fate gives a dying man something to live for, he doesn’t walk away.

He can’t.

────────

They found their rhythm somewhere between teasing and tenderness.

He opened every door. Carried every bag — even the light ones, even the ones she could’ve easily managed herself. He never asked if she needed him to. He just did it, like it was a reflex written into his bones.

She called him cowboy with a grin that could bring him to his knees. Played George Strait and Dolly Parton and Tim McGraw every chance she got, spinning the volume knob just to see him roll his eyes — but no matter how hard he tried, he always gave himself away. A soft hum under his breath. A quiet mouthing of lyrics he hadn’t meant to remember.

She teased him mercilessly for it, but her heart ached in that soft, fluttery way whenever she caught him slipping — her immortal cowboy, still tangled up in the boy he used to be.

It should’ve been simple. But love stories never are.

There were nights Jasper disappeared — no calls, no texts, just silence where his presence should’ve been. Y/n would sit by her window, phone in her lap, willing it to ring. It never did.

When he came back, his hands were colder than usual. His eyes darker, shadows clinging to him like smoke from a wildfire he couldn’t outrun. She never asked where he went. She could’ve. She could’ve demanded answers, pushed until he cracked wide open. But some part of her, the part that already knew this love was both beautiful and dangerous, understood that whatever haunted him wasn’t ready to be shared yet.

So instead, she held out her hand. And when he sat down beside her, she curled into his side, her cheek finding the familiar curve of his shoulder. She didn’t speak. She just breathed — slow, steady, until his breathing matched hers.

He always held her tighter on those nights, fingers curling into her shirt like an anchor, as if letting go might break something inside him that was already too fragile.

She never told him, but those were the nights she loved him most — not because he was perfect, but because he wasn’t. Because his hands shook when they touched her, because he was more shadow than light sometimes, and because even then, especially then, he still came back to her.

Every time.

────────

The first kiss happened at the edge of town.

The world felt smaller there, tucked beneath a sky too wide and too full of stars. The headlights were off, leaving only the silver hush of moonlight spilling through the windshield. The windows were cracked, and the night air was cool enough to bite, but neither of them noticed.

Her hand rested on the bench seat between them — palm up, fingers loose, close enough to touch but not quite daring to. It was a silent invitation, and Jasper’s gaze flicked to it more than once, fingers curling against his knee like he was fighting a war no one else could see.

The stereo hummed quietly, a country song neither of them had really been listening to — something slow and syrupy, the kind of love song that felt almost too much for a moment this delicate.

Jasper didn’t speak at first. He just watched her — the soft curve of her smile, the way her hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the faint light like strands of gold. The shadows softened her edges, turning her into something almost ethereal — more dream than girl, more wish than reality.

“You’re starin’ again, cowboy,” she teased, voice hushed but warm, like laughter was waiting just beneath the words.

“I know,” he said quietly, not even pretending to apologize.

He leaned in slowly, painfully slowly, his hand finally reaching to brush his knuckles over her jaw, tracing a path down to her chin. He held her there, thumb just beneath her lip, giving her every chance to pull away. To stop this before it became something they could never undo.

She didn’t.

Instead, she leaned into him, eyes half-lidded and breath already caught somewhere between her ribs. The kiss was barely there at first — a brush of his cool mouth against her warm one, a sigh into the space between them.

But even that soft touch made something inside her tremble.

Jasper kissed her like she was made of spun glass, fragile and fleeting, and far too precious to ever deserve his hands on her. His fingers ghosted along her jaw, curling into her hair, holding her like a man who knew how easily beautiful things could shatter.

Y/n didn’t let him stay gentle for long.

Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer — silently telling him there was no part of her that would break under his touch. Her body was warm against his chest, her heartbeat racing loud enough that he could feel it beneath his fingertips.

The kiss deepened, slow but desperate, as if each second was borrowed and they knew it. Jasper’s other hand skimmed down her spine, spreading wide at the small of her back, keeping her anchored to him. She could feel the tremor in his fingers, the way he fought to keep himself in check — holding back all the hunger, all the need.

It was too much and not enough, all at once.

He finally pulled back, forehead resting against hers, breath coming too fast for someone who didn’t need air.

“You kiss like you’re scared I’ll break,” she whispered, her smile soft but her voice unshaken.

Jasper swallowed hard, thumb tracing slow circles along her jawline, like he was memorizing the shape of her.

“I’m scared of a lot of things, darlin’.” His voice was rough, his accent heavier when emotion cracked through the spaces between the words. “But losin’ you? That scares me most.”

Y/n didn’t know what to say to that — so she kissed him again, softer this time, like a promise she wasn’t ready to put into words.

And for that moment, beneath the weight of a thousand stars, Jasper let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this was something they could survive.

────────

It wasn’t perfect.

Loving Jasper meant loving his shadows too — the ghosts of wars he wouldn’t speak of, the hunger that lived under his skin. It meant letting him disappear into the woods when instincts got too sharp, and trusting he’d always come back.

Some nights, she traced the scars on his arms — faint, but there if you knew where to look.

“Do they hurt?” she asked once, fingertips ghosting over a particularly deep one.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you want to tell me how you got them?”

“Not tonight.”

She kissed each scar instead, her lips soft against old wounds.

“You’re too good for me,” he whispered.

“Too late, cowboy. You’re stuck with me.”

She left notes in his locker — doodles of stick-figure cowboys and bad jokes like Why did the cowboy adopt a dachshund? Because he wanted to get a long little doggy.

He groaned every time, but never threw them away. She caught him once, folding one into his wallet, his smile soft as honey.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said.

“And you love it.”

He didn’t argue.

They weren’t supposed to fit — a girl with her whole life ahead of her, and a boy whose life was already too long. But somehow, they did.

And maybe it was fate. Or maybe it was just this:

Jasper Hale was her cowboy.

Y/n was his darlin’.

And neither of them had any plans to let go.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Only a Lifetime

Carlisle Cullen  x Reader

Summary: Carlisle was endless, eternal, everything you were not. And no matter how fiercely he loved you, how deeply you belonged to him, time would always be the thief waiting to steal you away.

The house was quiet, save for the slow tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the rustle of pages turning as Carlisle read. His study was bathed in the golden hues of twilight, shadows stretching long against the floor. It should have been a peaceful evening—his favorite kind, with you tucked into the corner of the worn leather couch, a book balanced in your hands as you lost yourself in the words.

But he couldn’t focus.

His eyes kept drifting from the book in his lap to you, drinking in the soft curve of your face, the way your fingers absently twirled a strand of your hair, the slow rise and fall of your chest as you breathed. The scent of you—familiar, warm, unmistakably alive—filled the room, winding around him like an intoxicating whisper.

You must have felt his gaze, because after a moment, you looked up, brows lifting slightly in amusement.

“You’re staring.”

“I’m memorizing.”

Your lips parted slightly, surprise flashing across your face before understanding settled there. The shift was subtle, but he caught it—the slight stiffening of your shoulders, the flicker of hesitation in your eyes. You knew what he meant.

Carlisle wished he could take the words back, swallow them whole before they unraveled the fragile peace you had built between you. But the truth sat heavy between you, an unspoken thing neither of you could ignore forever.

With a quiet sigh, you shut your book and rose from your seat, padding toward him in socked feet. You moved without hesitation, as if drawn by some invisible thread that tethered you to him.

When you reached him, you slid onto his lap, straddling him with a familiarity that made his cold, unbeating heart ache. You had always been soft with him, unafraid, pressing warmth into the places he had long thought frozen.

Your fingers traced along his jaw, featherlight, before slipping into his hair. “What’s wrong?”

Carlisle let his hands settle on your waist, his thumbs brushing absently over the fabric of your sweater. You were warm—so achingly warm.

“I was just thinking,” he said quietly, “about how unfair time is.”

You exhaled sharply, a quiet, bitter laugh. “Carlisle—”

“I know what you’ll say.” He shook his head slightly, fingers curling into the soft knit of your sweater as if he could somehow hold you closer, as if that would stop time from dragging you away from him. “That we have time now. That I shouldn’t waste it worrying about what I can’t change.”

You tilted your head, studying him, your expression unreadable. “You can change it.”

His chest tightened. “You know I can’t.”

“You won’t,” you corrected softly.

Carlisle’s jaw clenched. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. It wasn’t the first time this conversation had loomed between you, lingering on the edges of quiet moments, in the way his touch lingered a second too long, in the way your smile sometimes faltered when you thought he wasn’t looking.

But you had never pushed. Never begged. Never thrown yourself at his mercy like Bella had with Edward. You knew what you were asking of him, knew it went against every moral, every piece of himself he had spent centuries clinging to.

You weren’t selfish. You wouldn’t take more than he was willing to give.

Which only made it hurt worse.

Carlisle sighed, lifting a hand to cup your cheek. His thumb traced absent patterns over your skin, committing every detail to memory—the way your lashes fluttered when he touched you, the soft hitch of your breath, the warmth that seeped into his fingertips like a slow-burning fire.

“You deserve a life,” he murmured. “A human one.”

You smiled, but it was sad, wistful. “I deserve you.”

Something cracked inside him.

God, he wanted to be selfish. He wanted to pull you closer, to kiss you until you forgot the concept of time itself, to claim you in every way the bond demanded. But he had spent centuries resisting temptation, and you—his sweet, stubborn, fragile mate—were the greatest temptation of all.

Carlisle wasn’t sure how long he sat there, holding you like he could somehow will the universe into making you his forever. But eventually, you sighed, your forehead dropping against his.

“Let’s not waste tonight worrying about things we can’t change,” you whispered. “Not when we have right now.”

He exhaled slowly, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your sweater to press against the bare skin of your back, just to feel your warmth. “Right now.”

You nodded, closing the distance between you, your lips brushing against his—soft, hesitant, waiting for permission.

Carlisle gave it.

His hand curled into your hair as he kissed you deeper, drinking in the taste of you, the soft gasp that escaped your lips as his other hand slid up your spine. You melted against him, all warmth and quiet desperation, as if you could feel the weight of eternity pressing against the moment, urging you to hold on.

And he did.

For as long as time would allow.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Dancing in the Rain

Jacob Black  x Reader

Summary: One glimpse of you swaying to the rhythm, and suddenly, his hands forget their work, his heart forgets its steady pace, and all that matters is pulling you close, spinning you around, and never letting go.

The rain had started sometime in the afternoon, a soft drizzle that had since turned into a steady, rhythmic downpour, tapping against the garage roof like an unspoken melody. He could hear it running down the gutters, pooling in small, glistening puddles outside, the scent of damp earth curling in through the open garage doors.

It was peaceful. And if he could, he’d spend all day like this—tinkering in the garage, music humming in the background, the gentle sound of the rain acting like a metronome to his movements.

But mostly, he’d spend all day like this with you.

You’d drifted in a few minutes ago, barefoot, dressed in one of his old shirts that hung off your frame, exposing the smooth line of your collarbone and the tempting slope of one shoulder. He'd noticed you immediately—he always did. Even when he was focused, elbow-deep in an engine, his world had a way of shifting toward you the moment you stepped into it.

And then you’d started swaying.

It was subtle at first, just a slow, lazy shift of your hips, a soft hum slipping past your lips as the music bled through the speakers. He’d tried to keep working, to ignore the way his hands faltered on the wrench, the way his body responded to you like a gravitational pull, but when you turned—when you met his gaze with a smirk that was all invitation—he lost whatever resolve he had left.

The wrench hit the worktable with a dull thud as he wiped his hands on an old rag, already stepping toward you. “You trying to distract me?” he asked, his voice a low murmur, tinged with amusement.

Your smirk deepened. “Me?” you mused innocently, still swaying, still teasing. “I just like the song.”

His eyes dipped to the slow roll of your hips, the way your bare feet moved soundlessly across the cool concrete floor. There was something hypnotic about it, something that rooted him to the spot, drinking in the way you moved like you were made for the rhythm.

And maybe you were.

Maybe you were made for all the things he couldn’t resist.

“Yeah?” he muttered, tossing the rag aside. “Well, I like you more.”

Before you could react, his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against him. You gasped a little at the sudden contact, but the sound melted into laughter as he spun you once, your feet barely touching the ground before he caught you against his chest.

“You’re going to get grease on me,” you teased, though you made no move to step away.

He leaned down, letting his lips brush just beneath your ear, where your pulse would be if he could feel it. “Then I’ll clean you up later,” he murmured.

A shiver ran through you, your fingers tightening around the back of his neck. “Bold of you to assume I’ll let you.”

He grinned against your skin, his hands smoothing over your lower back, pulling you even closer. “You always let me.”

You huffed a soft laugh, but it was breathy, shaky, like he was already unraveling you.

For a moment, the music was the only thing between you—the lazy melody drifting through the garage, the rain steady against the roof. You moved together without thinking, a slow, unhurried rhythm, his body pressed firm and cool against yours, his hands mapping familiar patterns down your spine.

There was something so easy about this.

So effortless, so right.

Like he was always meant to hold you like this, and you were always meant to melt into him.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice softer now, more reverent. “There’s always some other time to finish this project.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I want you right here.”

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

Not now. Not ever.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Southern Charm

Jasper Hale x Reader

Summary: There’s something dangerous about Jasper Hale—something that should make you run the other way. But then he smirks, tilts his head just so, and says, “Looking good today, ma’am,” in that slow Southern drawl, and suddenly, you forget why you were supposed to resist him in the first place.

The first time you heard Jasper Hale speak, it was over something as simple as a door.

You had reached for the handle, fingers barely grazing the metal before he was there, faster than humanly possible, pulling it open with an effortless grace. His touch was light, like the ghost of a promise, but the weight of his presence behind you was something you felt in your bones.

“After you, darlin’.”

The drawl was smooth, rich like aged whiskey, laced with something deeper—something that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. When you turned to meet his gaze, golden eyes locked onto yours, full of quiet amusement and something else you couldn’t quite name.

It wasn’t fair, really.

Jasper Hale was lethal in more ways than one.

It wasn’t just his impossible beauty, all sharp cheekbones and tousled blond waves that made him look like some Southern heartbreak wrapped in temptation. It wasn’t just his voice, either, that sinful, honeyed accent that curled around words like a promise, making even the simplest phrases sound like poetry. No, the real danger was how easily he could make you forget yourself.

And he knew it.

“See somethin’ you like, sugar?” he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting into that barely-there smirk.

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you refused to look away. “Just wondering if you always go out of your way to be this much of a gentleman.”

His chuckle was low, a quiet rumble in his chest as he leaned in just slightly, enough to make your breath catch. “Can’t help it, ma’am. Mama raised me right.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, just for a second—quick enough that you might have imagined it, but the way your stomach flipped told you otherwise.

Jasper Whitlock Hale was going to ruin you.

***

It didn’t stop there.

He was relentless in his quiet, effortless charm, making it impossible to ignore the fact that you were utterly, completely drawn to him.

It was in the way he always pulled out your chair before you could sit. The way he made a habit of offering his arm when you walked together, as if it were second nature—like touching you was something he couldn’t help but do.

And, of course, the compliments.

“Looking mighty fine today, sweetheart,” he’d murmur in passing, voice just low enough that only you could hear.

“You do that on purpose,” you accused one afternoon, unable to hide the way your lips twitched at his antics.

Jasper, ever composed, merely raised an eyebrow. “Do what, now?”

“That—” you waved a hand vaguely, flustered, “—the whole Southern gentleman routine. The flirting.”

He didn’t even try to look innocent. If anything, his smirk widened.

“Now, sugar,” he drawled, stepping in closer, “who said I was flirtin’?”

You scoffed, but your pulse betrayed you, fluttering wildly beneath his gaze. “Oh, please. You’re not subtle.”

Jasper hummed, tilting his head as if considering your words. Then, before you could react, he reached out, knuckles brushing against the curve of your jaw, tilting your chin up ever so slightly.

And just like that, all the breath left your lungs.

“Wouldn’t dream of bein’ subtle with you, darlin’,” he murmured, voice dipping into something lower, rougher. “I like makin’ sure you know exactly what’s on my mind.”

His thumb skimmed over your cheekbone, featherlight but searing, and you swore the entire world narrowed to the space between you.

Jasper didn’t just flirt.

He unraveled.

And you? You were already his to begin with.

***

It took you longer than you’d like to admit to realize the truth—why Jasper’s presence made something in your chest tighten, why the thought of him looking at anyone else with that quiet, devastating charm made your stomach twist.

Why being near him felt like gravity had finally stopped fighting you.

You were mates.

The realization hit you like a lightning strike, searing through every nerve, setting your entire world ablaze.

Jasper must have seen it in your face—how the pieces suddenly clicked together—because something flickered in his eyes.

“Ah,” he murmured, voice softer now, edged with something more vulnerable. “So you finally figured it out.”

Your breath hitched. “You knew?”

His lips curved into something painfully fond. “Course I knew, sugar.”

His fingers ghosted along the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse thundered. It was such a simple touch, but it might as well have been an earthquake, shaking everything you thought you knew.

“Jasper,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

He smiled, but it wasn’t the teasing, flirtatious smirk he usually wore. It was something else—something deeper, warmer.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you,” he admitted. “Didn’t wanna push you before you were ready to see it. But I’ve known from the second I laid eyes on you.”

Something swelled in your chest, too big, too much.

You swallowed hard. “And now?”

His hand slid up, fingers threading gently through yours, fitting so perfectly it almost hurt.

“Now,” he said, voice dipping into that low, devastating drawl, “I finally get to kiss my girl.”

And then he did.

His lips found yours in a kiss that was slow and deep, stealing the air from your lungs, grounding you and setting you free all at once.

It was the kind of kiss that felt like forever.

Because with Jasper?

Forever had already begun.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Last Updated: 3/19/2025

Jacob Black Masterlist

Carlisle Cullen Masterlist

Jasper Hale Masterlist

Emmett Cullen Masterlist

❁ The Dichotomy by David Kushner.

[letterstoalonewolf]

Carlisle Cullen Masterlist

✧ Angst ❁ Series ♡ Fluff

Oneshots:

♡ Eternal Promises: When the soft glow of twilight settles over the Cullen residence, Y/n waits patiently for the sound of Carlisle’s familiar footsteps—a rhythm that feels like home.

♡ In the Hands of a Healer: She swore she wouldn’t trouble him—not when he already carried the weight of the world in his hands, the healer who never let himself rest.

♡ The Doctor's Forever: Carlisle Cullen had spent centuries mastering control, shielding himself behind a polished veneer of calm and wisdom. But from the moment he laid eyes on you, all of that unraveled—because how does a man who has seen eternity prepare for the possibility of losing the one thing that makes it worth living?

♡ Only a Lifetime: Carlisle was endless, eternal—everything you were not. And no matter how fiercely he loved you, how deeply you belonged to him, time would always be the thief waiting to steal you away.

Series:

[letterstoalonewolf]

Emmett Cullen Masterlist

✧ Angst ❁ Series ♡ Fluff

Oneshots:

✧ The Weight of Love: Y/N knew love wasn’t meant to be easy, but with Emmett, it felt like an endless battle—one she wasn’t sure she could keep fighting alone. When his fear pushes them to the breaking point, she forces him to choose: keep running from the love they both crave or finally fight for it before it’s too late.

✧ Restless in the Silence: Y/N never meant for the fight to spiral like that—for her words to cut so deep that Emmett left without looking back. Now, alone on the couch, wrapped in nothing but regret, she fights against the sleep that threatens to steal her last chance to make things right… but guilt is heavier than exhaustion, and her mate isn’t there to hold her up when she finally breaks.

Series:

[letterstoalonewolf]

Jasper Hale Masterlist

✧ Angst ❁ Series ♡ Fluff

Oneshots:

♡ Through His Golden Eyes: When the world feels heavy and the shadows seem too close, you find solace in the quiet of your home. But you have no idea that Jasper Hale is always watching—always ensuring your safety, even if his love for you grows darker and more consuming with every passing moment.

♡ Crimson Fate: Jasper was a storm, quiet but unrelenting, and you were caught in his current long before you realized you’d stopped resisting. There was no friendship where soul-deep devotion lived—only the inevitable fall, slow and all-consuming, into something neither of you could deny.

♡ Southern Charm: There’s something dangerous about Jasper Hale—something that should make you run the other way. But then he smirks, tilts his head just so, and says, “Looking good today, ma’am,” in that slow Southern drawl, and suddenly, you forget why you were supposed to resist him in the first place.

♡ Darlin' Don't You Know: She didn’t mean to fall for him. But with his hands made for gentleness, his Southern drawl wrapping around every word like silk, and his old-fashioned chivalry that made her heart ache in the best way, how could she ever stand a chance?

Series:

[letterstoalonewolf]

Jacob Black Masterlist

✧ Angst ❁ Series ♡ Fluff

Oneshots:

✧ Burning Red: Jacob Black was the one person Y/N thought she could always count on—until he wasn’t. When she finally walks away, convinced their bond was never real, fate proves her wrong in the cruelest way possible.

♡ Wildfire: It wasn’t the first time someone made a careless comment about her body, but this time, Jacob heard it. And this time, he was one breath away from tearing someone apart for it.

♡ Dancing in the Rain: The garage hums with music, his world of gears and grease—until you. One glimpse of you swaying, and suddenly, work fades, his heart stumbles, and all that matters is holding you close.

[letterstoalonewolf]

The Doctor’s Forever

Carlisle Cullen  x Reader

Summary: Carlisle Cullen had spent centuries mastering control, shielding himself behind a polished veneer of calm and wisdom. But from the moment he laid eyes on you, all of that unraveled—because how does a man who has seen eternity prepare for the possibility of losing the one thing that makes it worth living?

To say Carlisle Cullen was composed would be an understatement. Centuries had refined him into a man of quiet control, an unwavering presence amidst the chaos of both the mortal and immortal worlds. But when you walked into Forks Hospital, clipboard in hand, wearing the confidence of a woman who knew her worth, that control unraveled like thread pulled loose from its seams.

It was ridiculous, really. He had treated kings and queens, witnessed wars, and walked among gods and monsters. And yet, the moment you smiled at him—warm, inviting, breathtaking—Carlisle felt something he had not in over three hundred years.

Shy.

The feeling was foreign, unwelcome, intoxicating.

His hands hesitated when you brushed past him, his throat tightened when you laughed, and his mind—so finely tuned—forgot every piece of medical knowledge he had ever known when you leaned against his office door, eyes bright, voice teasing, calling him Doc like it was his name and not just a title.

And worse? You noticed.

From the first time you caught him watching you across the hospital cafeteria, to the way he fumbled with his pen whenever you stood too close, you knew.

So, in an act that sent shockwaves through the hospital—one that nearly caused the nursing staff to riot—you asked him out.

Not with hesitation, not with nervous energy. You had simply stepped into his office one evening, leaned against the desk, arms crossed over your chest, and asked, "So, Doc. You wanna see a movie with me or what?"

Carlisle had said yes before he could even think.

And the moment he did, every woman in the hospital exchanged looks of pure devastation.

It wasn’t hard to guess why—Carlisle Cullen was Forks’ untouchable golden boy. Kind, brilliant, impossibly good-looking. Every single woman in the hospital had spent years waiting for him to acknowledge their existence beyond polite conversation.

And yet, he had chosen you—the confident, whip-smart pediatric surgeon who had been there for three months.

From that moment on, Carlisle was utterly, helplessly yours.

And then, fate decided to be cruel.

It started with fatigue.

A weariness you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you slept.

Then came the bruises—dark, splotchy marks blooming across your skin without reason.

Carlisle had noticed first. He always noticed. The subtle slump of your shoulders, the way you winced when reaching for a file, the slight tremor in your hands when you handed him a scalpel.

He had asked you, voice tight with concern, if you were alright.

You had smiled—always so damn beautiful when you smiled—and told him, "It’s just stress, Doc. You worry too much."

But he had known better.

The tests came back two weeks later.

Stage IV cancer.

Carlisle had stood frozen in his office, the paper in his hand crumpling under the force of his grip.

Vampires did not pray, but he would have dropped to his knees and begged for anything—anything—to take this from you.

You were human. Fragile. And now, you were dying.

And there was only one way to stop it.

The night he told you, he couldn’t bear to look at you. Couldn’t meet your eyes as he whispered the words that shattered your world.

But when he finally found the courage to face you, you weren’t crying.

You weren’t even afraid.

You had only stepped toward him, rested a gentle hand against his cold cheek, and whispered, "Well… guess you’ll have to keep me forever, huh?"

Carlisle didn’t turn people.

He had sworn, centuries ago, that he would never take a human’s life into his own hands unless they had no other choice.

You had no other choice.

So, on the night your body became too weak, when your breathing turned shallow and the heart he adored above all else began to fail, he did the one thing he had spent an eternity fearing.

He sank his teeth into your throat, let his venom flood your veins, and condemned you to forever.

It should have felt like a sin.

But as he held your trembling body in his arms, whispering apologies, prayers, I love you’s, he realized—

You had never been meant to be temporary.

You were his mate. His forever.

And he would spend eternity proving that to you.

The first time you opened your eyes after the transformation, Carlisle nearly collapsed from relief.

Your heartbeat—so faint before—was gone, replaced with a stillness that should have frightened him. But instead, all he could focus on was you.

The way your skin had taken on an ethereal glow. The way your eyes—once warm and human—shone with a deep, intoxicating red.

The way you stretched, testing your new strength, before tilting your head at him and grinning.

"Carr, you look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Carlisle had laughed—choked, broken—but still a laugh.

He had seen death a thousand times over.

But now, looking at you, he had never seen life more clearly.

Months passed, and you adjusted in ways that stunned him.

You were still you. Just… sharper. Faster. Stronger.

You still teased him endlessly, calling him Doc just to see him shake his head with a fond smile.

You still curled into his arms at night, even though neither of you needed sleep, tracing patterns on his skin as if learning him all over again.

You still loved him. Fiercely. Unapologetically. As if your mortality had never been the thing that made your love real.

And Carlisle—who had spent centuries fearing loneliness—realized he had never been truly alive until you.

One evening, as the sky burned gold and red outside your shared home, you stepped behind him, arms wrapping around his waist.

"Doc," you murmured, fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt.

Carlisle hummed in acknowledgment, placing a cool hand over yours.

"Do you regret it?" you asked, voice softer than usual.

He turned, golden eyes searching yours. "Regret what, my love?"

"Changing me."

Carlisle exhaled a breath he didn’t need.

Then, with infinite tenderness, he cupped your face in his hands, brushing his lips over your forehead.

"Not for a second."

You smiled, and this time, he was the one who felt shy under your gaze.

You reached up, trailing a finger down his cheek. "Good," you whispered, "because I would have married you either way, you know."

His chest tightened. "Married me?"

You tilted your head. "Yeah, Carr. You think I would’ve let a little thing like cancer stop me from spending forever with you?"

Carlisle stared at you, utterly wrecked.

And then, unable to hold himself back, he kissed you.

A deep, aching, I-would-burn-the-world-for-you kind of kiss.

And as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, he realized—

Forever had never felt long enough.

Not when it was with you.