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zapreportsblog · 1 year ago

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❝HUSBAND❞

✭ PAIRING : Edward Cullen x Reader

✭ FANDOM : Twilight

✭ SUMMARY : When Edward proposed to Bella he expected her to accept after all they were mates? Right? Wrong! Bella rejected edwards proposal breaking his undead heart in the process, not being able to withstand the aftermath Edward leaves home; only to return 2 years later but this time he’s married?!

✭ AUTHORS NOTE : I already know there is a story on here called the same story with the same cover (on quotev at least) mines had been edited to a clearer form, (again on quotev) that was my old account, (marveluserlovesmarbel again on quotev was my old and very first account) one of my first actually. If I can remember the login information from it I’d log back in and post my stories from their over here but for now enjoy the remake of said story :)

✭ QUOTEV VERSION

✭ HUSBAND MASTERLIST

✭ CHAPTER THREE : The Storm

Tension filled the air as Bella confronted the newfound presence of (Y/n) in Edward's life. She blinked in disbelief, her voice quivering as she stammered, "My love? Since when did this happen?"

Edward, sensing the impending storm, attempted to walk away with (Y/n) and even gestured for her to go inside. But (Y/n) was resolute and didn't budge. She glared at Bella, her voice dripping with ice, as she asked, "Who are you?"

Bella retorted, her tone growing defensive, "I'm Edward's girlfriend, and who are you?"

(Y/n) didn't waste a moment, showing off her ring with a fiery glare. "I'm his wife."

Bella's eyes widened in shock at the revelation. The words hung heavily in the air, and she was momentarily at a loss for words. She looked to Edward for help, but he maintained a blank expression.

Sensing Bella's vulnerability, (Y/n) couldn't contain her anger any longer. She stepped forward, poking Bella's chest with each word, her voice seething with righteous fury. "You've got some nerve showing your face around here. You made your grave; now lay in it."

Without waiting for a response, (Y/n) turned away from Bella and walked over to her husband, Edward. She looked deep into his eyes, her love and passion evident, and then, she pulled him into a long, passionate kiss. It was a declaration of their bond and a clear message to Bella that she was no longer a part of Edward's life. Bella watched them with a mixture of jealousy and regret, realizing that she had lost Edward. But she wasn’t one to give up easily. With a huff she yanks over her car door looking back at the couple, “I’ll be back later Edward,” and with a slam of the door she pulls out of the Cullen’s drive way.

Emmett the ever so innocent “viewer” in all this snorts, “Women am I right?!”

┉

Inside the house, (Y/n) had stormed in, seething with anger and frustration. She couldn't believe that Bella had shown up and disrupted the peace she and Edward had found together. She muttered to herself, unaware of the growing intensity of her emotions.

"How could that wench come here and think all would be fine and dandy?" (Y/n) ranted, her voice filled with exasperation.

Unbeknownst to her, the lights in the house began to flicker erratically. The others in the room exchanged puzzled glances, noticing the unusual phenomenon. Emmett, always one to comment on such things, blurted out, "Yo, what's up with the lights?"

Edward, realizing that it was (Y/n)'s powers reacting to her emotional turmoil, excused himself and made his way to where she was venting her frustrations. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and whispered soothing words, "Love, it's going to be okay. Please, try to calm down. Your powers are reacting to your emotions."

(Y/n) took a deep breath, her anger gradually subsiding as she focused on Edward's calming presence. The lights in the house gradually steadied, no longer flickering. She turned to him, her eyes filled with remorse for causing such a disturbance.

Edward reassured her, "It's alright, my love. We'll figure this out together. Bella is no longer a part of my life, and you are the one I choose to be with. I love you."

(Y/n) nodded, her anger giving way to a sense of relief and the warmth of Edward's love. They held each other close, finding solace in their bond, and slowly the tension in the house began to dissipate.

As Edward held (Y/n) close against his chest, her anger continued to simmer. She mumbled softly, her voice filled with frustration, "I just don't like it. How can she come back here thinking she would be welcomed with open arms? After hurting you? After unknowingly hurting your family?"

Edward kissed her forehead gently, trying to offer reassurance. "It's okay, my love. We'll work through this."

But (Y/n) couldn't contain her anger any longer. Her emotions surged, and as she shouted in frustration, a light bulb above them suddenly burst, scattering glass fragments on the floor.

Startled by the sudden noise, Alice, who had been observing the situation from the doorway, took a step back. She glanced at the shattered light bulb and then at the two of them, her eyes wide with surprise. With an uncertain smile, she said, "I'll just come back later," and quickly walked away, leaving Edward and (Y/n) alone to deal with the aftermath of this emotional exchange.

As (Y/n) pulled back from their embrace, her guilt about scaring Alice was evident in her eyes. She whispered, "Oh no, I scared Alice. I have to go apologize."

Edward gently placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "No, what you need to do is calm down, love. Alice will be fine. She's a vampire, remember?"

(Y/n) wasn't easily consoled. She replied, "That doesn't mean I didn't frighten her, supernatural being or not."

Edward couldn't help but chuckle, his laughter resonating in the room. "That's what I love about you, my dear."

(Y/n) playfully smacked his shoulder, her worry still evident. "This isn't a laughing matter, Edward. I used my powers unconsciously, and look, I even broke that poor, innocent light bulb."

Edward continued to chuckle, the sound of his laughter filling the room. "You're right, love, but it's just a light bulb. We can replace it. Besides, I’m sure Alice will understand.”

(Y/n) sighed, unable to resist a smile at her husband's laughter and reassurance. She realized that even in moments of turmoil, his presence had a way of calming her, and she felt grateful for the love they shared.

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lavender-at-heart · 6 months ago

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Hello!! Can you please make "Dating Carlisle would include" like you did with other Cullens? I saw you wanted Twilight request, and I really want more Carlisle content, so. Thank you in advance!

YESSSS FOR SURE!! BEEN DYING TO DO THIS ANYWAY. 💖💖💖💓💓💓

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Dating Carlise HCs:

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x GN!reader (but fem in mind)

Warnings: none

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So the whole "I've waited a hundred years for this" is kind of applicable to all the Cullens, but-

It's different! Carlisle has waited like 300 years. He's honestly given up hope in ever finding a mate, thought it wasn't in the cards for him

And despite having a loving family, seeing all of them and his friends find a life partner made him lonley. He was happy, but a lonley person.

So when you come into his life it's like a million fireworks go off at once!

He may be very rusty and old-fashioned, but that doesn't mean he doesn't sweep you off your feet!

You would be seriously head over heels within the first 5 mins of talking

Wether you were one of the Cullen kids' friends or you were in need of medical attention, you were hooked the minute you met

You definitely thought there has to be a catch

He can't be handsome, rich, kind, smart, respectful, AND sane

I'm not sure how it would work with his super self control, but he would probably feel at least a little bit of a thirst for your blood

He'd probably freak out a bit and be overall shocked

Maybe a bit repulsed with himself for even slightly wanting to indulge in human blood

Nevertheless he overcomes this and quickly works on spending time with you

Obviously he wants to come across as normal as possible but he can't help but be overly enthusiastic

Dates would include dinners to expensive restaurants, way too expensive in your opinion

Long walks by the beach or in the forest near his house

Stargazing

Reading by the fireplace

Loves reading you to sleep

Ballet, Opera, or classical music shows are probably a must

But he's down to more casual things too

Being with you makes him feel human, so late night 7-11 trips, or binge watching a show gives him a new, fresh, taste of a cosy life

He loves loves loves to cook for you

Puts on the cooking channel and gets to work

Will try different recipes and cuisines and have you rate each meal

Will go with Alice to the mall so he can buy you all sorts of gifts

Will teach you how to properly dance, none of that jumping up and down business

Would love the idea of getting married soon, he knows you both will never want anyone else

But he would also love to support you in your future in normal society, while you have it

Wether that be post-seccondary or a career

Speaking of weddings, probably a big one

He would invite his long list of friends of course, maybe even the volturi

But simple. He never wants to be showy, but he's just so proud and exited!

Definitely nothing extravagant, keep things classy and nice

He would always be there during difficult times

Obviously if your going through physical difficulties he's the man

You get the best, at home treatment

Top quality soup, tea, and medicine

Due to his super hearing and even smell he can tell if there's a tickle in your throat or a bug in your stomach

But if your feeling down or going through a rough patch he's there

He knows better than anyone that life is full of highs and lows, and he sticks around for the lows

--------------------------------------------‐----------

Thanks for reading, I welcome any feedback!

Xoxo

#twilight #twilight headcanon #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen one shot #carlisle cullen #carlisle cullen headcannons #carlisle cullen x you #twilight x reader

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velvetcloxds · 2 years ago

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'Be my mistake' - Carlisle Cullen and "tell me"

If you're still doing it

COLD | C.C.

word count: 0.7k

warnings: a smidge suggestive

summary: cuddling with carlisle in the middle of winter is not as romantic as you hoped

Carlisle was cold, no matter the time of the year or the time of the day, he was freezing, a welcoming trait to aid your favourite guilty pleasure of cuddling him in the summer, but it was a nightmare in the winter and you thought he’d have put that together being so obsessively observant over your every move but alas, he was lovingly unaware.

You were in the kitchen, coated with so many layers it was almost impossible to move, you were paddling around in your fuzzy socks, cold hands fixing another cup of coco to aid your search for warmth. The Cullens were out hunting, it felt like they always were lately, you realized it was less in favor of staying fed and more in favor of allowing you some time with your partner, none of them all that fond of seeing their adoptive father acting so terribly whipped for someone their frozen age.

You were impatient as you waited for the milk to boil, not even aware of the pout that tipped into your lips as you looked out the open windows, the glass house of theirs not at all helping your case, you could hear the music streaming from Carlisle’s office, the open door a silent invitation for you to come to join him while he worked, you were never one to deny yourself some time balled up on his lap- but you were stalling and could only do it for so long.

“Sweetheart,” you weren’t expecting him to come to search for you so soon, biting the inside of your cheek to fight back an amused smile at how quickly he got used to you being around constantly, something feeling amiss when you weren't at his side.

"Over here," you breathed, not looking to find him just yet as you finally poured the steaming milk into a mug, it was more of a bowl according to Edward, but it was perfect for the winter, big enough to warm both of your hands while you held it. "I was coming up in a second, just needed to procure the goods," you explained and you weren't all that surprised when he planted himself behind you, touching you just as soon as his feet stilled, and you hoped he'd mistake the shiver that ran down your spine as a reaction to him and not the cold that ran through your body as it was pressed against his.

"Have you eaten something today?" a silent reprimand as he hummed his question, looking over your shoulder as you plopped a handful of tiny marshmallows into the chocolate goodness. You nodded in reply, bumping him with your bum for the silly question when he was really just trying to make sure you'd had something other than cups of sugar to sustain you. "Just making sure," he continued and when you turned around carefully with the mug in your hands and a raised brow he couldn't help a smile. "You've been spending more time in this kitchen than in my arms," he added, and had he any less restraint, you were sure he'd have paired the words with a pout, but he offered you a simple shrug instead.

"I have not," you argued, hoping he'd be distracted enough by the little sigh of approval as you savored your first sip that he'd not push you for the truth- a futile hope, really.

"Oh, you have, if I didn't know better I'd say that you were avoiding me," smart man, you realized, yet not smart enough to not let his thumb slip under the hem of your shirt while he brushed his hands up and down your waist. "Why are you hiding down here?" he wasn't one to dance around the point, eyes soft to encourage you to talk to him. You weren't all that keen to do so, you were freezing and it was definitely not something that could be helped by being held against him but being the old-fashioned fool that he is, you knew he'd be weary to cuddle you again if you told him what was wrong. "Tell me," he breathed and you couldn't stay strong under normal circumstances, let alone with him looking down at you like that.

"I'm cold," you admitted and it took him a second, eyes crinkling as he frowned. "I'm very cold and usually cuddles would be the very best solution for that but-"

"But you're freezing and your partner is frozen," he tried and you smiled, nodding guiltily, no reason to feel guilty at all with him being who he is but it still wasn't the best feeling telling the person you loved that you didn't want them to hold you. "The fire isn't helping?" he quizzed and you shook your head, knowing he had lit the fireplace and turned up the heat through the whole house as soon as the winds turned cold and still it didn't help. "Well, then there's only one other thing that I think might help," he was being vague, suggestive if you've ever seen it on him and your cheeks were burning at the simple thought.

"And what's that?" foolish question, he was already stealing the mug from your hands, throwing your blanket from your shoulders, and robbing you of a layer of warmth.

"A warm bath perhaps," it sounded like he was merely presenting an option, yet he was moving you into his arms, tucking an arm under your knees as he picked you up, already very pleased with himself as you giggled.

"Everyone will be home soon, Carlisle," you reprimanded but it was no use, the vampire set out to make it all better, and more selfishly, he knew you'd not deny him holding you when you were soaking in nearly boiling hot water.

"We'll close the door," he argued and you felt almost silly for not telling him sooner if this was his way of fixing it. "We have to get you all warmed up, sweetheart," he was placing you on the counter by the sink, warm water turned on and room-filling quickly with steam as he held a hand under the stream to make sure it was perfect.

"You're only doing this because I'm cold, huh?" you pressed, folding your arms around yourself as your body missed your blanket. "No other reason?"

"Well now, my love, who says we can't solve two problems at once?"

#carlisle cullen #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen x you #carlisle cullen x yn #carlisle cullen fluff #carlisle cullen one shot #carlisle cullen blurb #carlisle cullen imagine #carlisle cullen drabble #carlisle cullen fanfiction #monique's writing events #right where queue left me

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whatudowhennooneseesyou · 2 months ago

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Legit just finished watching New Moon and I'm Team Edward all the way but why Bella staring at Carlisle like she's HUNGRY for him?

She was willing to throw Edward out for one shot with Carlisle in that moment.

The tension is unnecessary but I eat it up everytime

#I get it #I too would have thrown Edward out for one shot with Carlisle #twilight smut #carlisle cullen #bella swan #the twilight saga

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blackjackkent · 3 months ago

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Fresh Meat

Pairing: Karlach/Tav (at end of fic) Characters: Karlach, Florenta the Garroter, Custom Male Tav (Hector Carlisle) Rating: G Warnings: Dark Themes Descriptors: Flashback, Military Backstory, Dark, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Happy/Bittersweet Ending Chapter Word Count: 2.2k Chapter Setting: Ten years pre-game, then early Act 3

Summary:

Memories of a young Karlach's first days in Zariel's army.

This fic is a character study investigation of some of Karlach's experiences in Avernus, inspired by this gorgeous and devastating piece of art by @featherwurm. Please go check them out; their Karlach-related art is some of my favorite in the fandom. <3

The ending of the fic is also a response to a prompt from @astreamofstars from this ask meme.

read on ao3 | send me fic requests!

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Sweat trickles down her spine, pools at the base of her neck. It's so fucking hot in Avernus, like being buried in the depths of a coal fire. It matches the burning in her chest, the boiling in her guts. She fidgets her weight from one leg to the other, back and forth, as if that’d somehow ease the volcanic pressure behind each pneumatic pulse of molten blood in her veins.

“I said ATTENTION!” Legate Jastor pauses in his inspection of his troops and halts in front of her, bellowing in her face. The pit fiend’s pale red eyes are filled with disdainful loathing. “I don't care if you’re Zariel's new pet, Cliffgate; you'll hold still when you're told!” He lifts a hand and cuffs her in a vicious backhand slap across the face.

She squeezes her eyes shut, forcing herself not to react to the pain. Easier than it should be, really, because everything else hurts too. Her chest hurts and her head hurts. The exhaust vents along her shoulders burn with searing chemical heat. The bruising sting of the slap disappears, swallowed up by the inferno.

“Yes, sir,” she grinds out.

This isn't real, some part of her brain still stubbornly insists. No fucking way this is real. I'm dreaming. Gonna wake up any second and go see Gortash and laugh - hey, boss, you'll never guess the shit I dreamed you did to me!

It can't be real, that he betrayed her, after everything they've been through together. It can't be real that she’s on another plane in the fires of the Hells themselves. It can't be real that she met the Archdevil of Avernus, and the bitch cut out her heart.

It can't be real. It can't be real. It can't be real. It's not real.

She opens her eyes again and stares into Jastor's smirking, grotesque face. His breath stinks of brimstone as he laughs. “Fidgety little fuck, aren't you, Dart? We'll fix that soon enough.”

Read More on AO3

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justanoasisimagines · 5 months ago

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Blurb #1

Requests are open! Credit to @cafekitsune for the banner and the divider

Carlisle observed you from afar attending to your garden. He'd always believed he'd live a cursed life. Never be granted the same opportunities humans have; Having a family, falling in love.

He'd set out attempting to do good in the world. To make up for past mistakes. He never imagined the world to reward him; allowing you to cross his path.

Carlisle never believed in soulmates until he met you.

"You have a staring problem, my love." With Carlisle's concentration broken, he smiled eyes meeting yours. He proceeded to take cautious steps through your garden.

Tampering with your garden would land him in trouble.

"Can you blame me? You look so peaceful," Carlisle replied as you rose to your feet, dusting away the dirt. Carlisle was quick to wrap you away in his arms yet you pushed him away.

"Carlisle, I'm all dirty. Let me go clean up." Carlisle responded by drawing you toward him. Bodies pressed against each other. You attempted to wriggle away. However, Carlisle was older and stronger.

"Clothes and skin can be washed. Worst case scenario I can buy another shirt."

You momentarily got lost in Calisle's amber eyes. You never expected Carlisle to say you from near death. You never expected to fall in love with such a kind and beautiful man.

Yet as the sun rose signaling a new day, you were grateful you got to spend another day with your internal lover and your children. Enjoying the small things, like attending to your garden bringing new life to your small patch of nature.

#Twilight imagines #Twilight imagine #Carlisle Cullen imagine #Carlisle Cullen imagines #Twilight one shot #Twilight oneshot #Carlisle Cullen one shot #Carlisle Cullen oneshot #Blurb #Requests open

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clarasogatsby · 7 months ago

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Want to tell us a favorite headcanon of yours for Carlisle/Esme?

(After being a big fan of yours for years, I’m lowkey fangirling that you’re in my inbox 🥹)

TW: Child loss

Ok, this may be a bit angsty but it’s still a favourite HC of mine.

Every year on the run up to Esme’s transformation anniversary and days before where she lost her baby, Carlisle makes sure that each of The Cullen ‘children’ spend time individually with Esme.

He sits them all down when they join the family and has a conversation with each of them, once the familial relationship is established, and asks them to think of an activity that both the individual and Esme would enjoy together. He asks them to humour him, and feed into her wanted role of mother, even with Jasper who while deeply respects and cares for Carlisle/Esme, probably doesn’t see them as ‘mum’ and ‘dad’.

The whole week, each member of the family spends time with Esme, making her feel loved, wanted and *needed*. They do a range of activities; from hunting, shopping, gardening, landscaping, or something silly that Emmett comes up with. They let her fuss over them, fixing their clothing, their hair (Edward’s), without any complaints. She *needs* this.

At the end of the day, Carlisle happily sits and listens to Esme talk and reminisce about her days with her family. She lights up, her family mean everything to her. His heart expands, he doesn’t think he can love his ‘children’ any more in this moment for what they have done for his wife, his mate; making her light up and find moments of happiness in a time that is filled with loss, tragedy and grief for her.

On the day of the anniversary, Carlisle is there. He holds her, he lets her dry sob, he lets her mourn in anyway she feels like it. He doesn’t try to take away her pain. He’ll never understand that kind of loss and he won’t try to. But he is there. Some years, she wants to sit in silence with her fading human memories thinking of the short time she had with her son. Some years, she wants to scream and run and run and run. Other years, she’s kept busy and plants flowers in his memory, sketches or daydreams about what he would look like growing up. She sometimes doesn’t want to talk about it, she sometimes doesn’t want to be held or “pitied”. But he stays by her, letting her know silently, or through touch or conversation that he is there, whatever she may need him.

When she is finally able to, she hugs him back and kisses his cheek. No words needed. She is so grateful to this man who time and time again stands by her side, who has saved her life over. Who has given her a life of happiness and love when she felt so hopeless, lost and desperate. She will never stop forgetting her son, but she can now allow herself to feel hopeful, content and spread the love she has to her family, with her husband, her mate.

Thanks for asking!

#twilight #asks #Carlisle/Esme #Angst #cullen family #I wanted to share this thought and hopefully it’s not too ooc #I feel a one shot inspiration in the future #esme #carlisle

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goldeneyedgirl · 1 year ago

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AILess Whumptober Day 27: Locked Up/Immortal

The final entry, late but complete! I figured that I put Alice through the ringer all the time, it might be Jasper's turn. I had a very specific image of how this would look in my head that did not want to be translated to the page. I've also looked at this so long that I cannot look at it any longer.

So, enjoy whatever this is! I hope you all enjoyed Whumptober and were suitably depressed after my contributions to this event my loves <3

iron & stone. (day 27: imprisoned/immortal).

twilight, alice/jasper, pg, one-sided vampire alice/demon jasper.

very non-graphic wound description

She finds him in an old church in Tulsita, Texas. It’s a tiny place, one that has less than thirty people.

It’s a grim little town, with worn buildings and cracked roads; the air is thick and hot, even late at night. It’s the perfect place to be forgotten about, to be trapped. It’s a place that feels like it isn’t part of the real world, and like maybe time has frozen.

There’s an edge of dread in the air, and she has to wonder about that.

But mostly, she just feels anticipation.

It’s taken her thirty years to find him, she’s looked everywhere. She’s read everything. She’s recorded all her visions and made all the notes. She’s learned Spanish, Italian, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin for him. She’s practically a scholar on him and his kind now.

She’s still nervous.

(There are three kinds of demons - the oldest ones who have existed for always, those are the ones that should never been disturbed or called upon. Then there are the ones that are born naturally - very rare but possible. And then there are the ones that are made. Not like vampires - in the demon world vampires are half-breed cockroaches, endemic to humanity, according to the books she’s read. The change isn’t half the pain and suffering that being turned into a demon is - she knows that.)

She walks through forest surrounding the building carefully - it’s unlikely that anyone will see her, but she prefers to err on the side of cautious. Especially since it’s very, very clear that someone does visit regularly (relatively speaking, of course - time moves very differently for immortals.)

The church is thoroughly abandoned, the pews rotten and broken and the floor tiles cracked and scattered - what would have been an expensive point of pride lost to time and neglect. What is left of the prayer books are ruined cardboard covers covered in mould. The altar is pulled right down and destroyed; all but one of the windows is boarded up. Glass crunches underfoot - a mix of the remain window’s panes, and broken beer bottles scattered around.

And as she stands there and looks around, she wonders how anyone set foot in this place, even just to hide and drink, when she can feel his presence right here? That boiling rage, that uneasy feeling in the air - the gift of animal fear, that whatever this place contains is dangerous and they need to run. It’s all around her, yelling at her to leave and never come back.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Edward and Carlisle would be furious she’s come here by herself. When she’d worked it all out, when she’d told them what her visions had shown her, they’d acted like he was dead and gone and she’d just have to get used to walking the world alone. They expected grief and she’d been confused - Carlisle had insisted that he was as good as dead, and Alice needed to make her peace with that.

Alice could never bring him home. That the Cullen residence, the Cullen name, had no place for monsters and terrors and the things that little children hide from. And she had agreed with them politely, told them that she understood. And she did. They had thought she was mourning, taking her time to adjust to what her life would look like now.

Esme had tried to talk with her, but Alice had refused, and just closed herself up in her bedroom. And they had let her be.

They hadn’t expected her to pack her things in the same satchel she arrived with, to leave behind her locket with a letter thanking them for their hospitality; shedding the Cullen name and creed like an unfashionable winter coat.

If there was no place for monsters amongst the Cullens, then she certainly wasn’t welcome. They forget that she was a nomad, a vampire before she arrived at their house with a smile and golden eyes. They forget that she has a whole story before she ever found them, and that it’s not all pretty and kind.

(No place for monsters, when Carlisle went and changed four innocent people without consent? When suicide is a sin and so is murder? That she loves them fiercely but to be a family is to realize that none of them are perfect and holy and unsullied by their nature? The House of Cullen is so beautifully monstrous, she almost feels sorry for them for not seeing that.)

She had made herself once, exactly how she wanted, and she could do it again. Maybe one day she’ll visit them. See if they forgive her. Esme will. Emmett will. Rose might. But Carlisle and Edward… well, it depends on a lot of things.

Like what lies beneath the church.

It takes her a while to find the little trapdoor down into the earth behind the altar, covered with broken wood and tile, and chained up with a shiny new padlock that crumples like paper in her determined hand. The steps down are mostly rotten - slats of wood wedged roughly into the earth - but she is small and light, and slips down easily, down into a cellar dug too deep and too precisely to be created for anything but a very specific purpose, with the little alcoves in the wall with wells of oil to light the way - only a few of them are still barely burning, throwing bizarre shadows onto the walls.

Everything about this is screaming for her to turn back. Every instinct, every sign is telling her to go home. Except…

She saw him so many times, in hundreds of moments that will weave between them. The laughter and the jokes and the love. She’s seen the way he’ll protect her and change her, and she’ll do the same for him. He’ll look at her with loathing and then tolerance and smug power, and finally, soul-binding love and adoration. The scars she’ll bare will be in the shape of his jaw. She’ll trace his scars with her fingers and her mouth and her tongue; she knows all the little pieces of his story - the boring and the ugly and the difficult, as well as the fragments that are light and precious.

She can’t wait.

But this… this part she’s never seen properly and maybe her brain was protecting her.

The room is small, and little more than dirt and stone held up with rotting beams - buckled and warped, but holding steady for now. It smells rotten down here, almost burnt.

And then there is him.

He lies in the middle, on the stone, his head thrown back like a sacrifice about to be cut open in the name of some ancient god. His eyes are closed and if she didn’t know better, she would think he was asleep. She can see him properly like this, the muscular lines of his torso, the tendons in his neck, the strength in his arms and legs. He looks like a classical Greek sculpture celebrating rapture.

Except… there’s pain. The pain radiates off him like heat; most of the scars are old but the wounds are not. Or maybe they can’t heal. Burns and cuts and bone-deep gouges cover every part of him. There’s a tremor to his body that she doesn’t understand.

And then he hears her shoes on the stone floor and he lunges in one swift move, alert and ready, a snarl echoing in the space.

…Or what should have been one swift move.

Instead, it’s messy and horrific and takes her a moment to process, as she tumbles backwards, losing her footing as he comes at her.

He rips himself from the stone, pieces of skin from his legs sticking to the floor when he moves, leaving open wounds that looks almost like burns on every piece of skin that the stone touched. His legs buckle and shake at the sudden movement, evidence that he has not stood in a very long time.

His eyes are so black they look like empty sockets as he looms over her. Blackness spreads up his hands and arms, spidery black veins stretching from his eyes and throat. For a moment, she thinks she catches a glimpse of the wings; ghost-like and ephemeral in the corner of her eye, tattered void stretched over ancient bone, cracking into place no longer than his arm span.

(He’s magnificent.)

And just as suddenly as he hovers over her, he is ripped backwards and hits the floor with a hiss and the heavy clank of chains pulling tight and recoiling. She gasps at his visible pain, the way he struggles to get up, the demonic visage fading back into the skin of a man. A man in the worst kind of pain she’s ever seen.

“Get out.” His voice is hoarse, the kind that hurts to listen to, and he turns away from her. She can see the chains properly now - ankles, wrists, throat, and thighs, all connecting to a back-brace of iron. The wings have sunk back into his flesh, deep scarring almost outlining them on his back, and she hates to think how painful it was to stretch them imprisoned like this.

How long has he been here, like this? As beautiful as he is, she can see every hour, day, decade he’s spent here in the gaunt shadows of his face, in the decay in his clothing, in the layers upon layers of scars and open wounds. His eyes are hard; there is no hope or trust in them at all.

She always knew it would be difficult, but she never counted on what seeing him in this state would be like. How much it would ache to see this bitter shadow of a man, and the suffering he has lived through.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she says, sitting up. Her bag has survived the fall, but she prepared for it. Nothing in the bag is breakable, for good reason. He’s liable to get angrier.

“Oh?” He looks at her. “You long for death so badly?” His voice is mocking, but she can hear the strain, the rasp of his agony. He shifts to see her better, and she can almost see ghost of his future self.

“Only of a certain kind,” she murmurs to try and lighten the mood, but it falls flat - he’s giving her the kind of look Edward reserved for fawning classmates, so she feels adequately stupid and regrets being so flippant and crude. “You’re hurt. I want to help you.”

He is so badly hurt. The fresh burns smell like alcohol, raw and weeping blood. It’s oddly matte with no shine, but demon blood isn’t like human blood. There’s also a mottled black mark on his torso that she hopes is some terrible bruise and not broken bone just beneath the skin.

“Go away.” His voice is hard, no trace of the pain or misery he’s experiencing. There is a power and a rage there that makes her skin crawl and every instinct is telling her to run. He glares at her, and his eyes… she’s seen them red and gold and black, but right now they are demonic - a black sclera and pupil with churning red iris. But there is no shine to them, just a void. They scream of danger and she understands a little better why Carlisle warned her so grimly away from him.

“No.” She rummages in her bag. Aro had allowed her to use the library for a whole summer, to learn about demon physiology and healing. He’d been amused by her request - and by the discovery she’d left Carlisle’s family in pursuit of this demon. She knows that he’s already plotting, that nothing he offers is without strings attached, but she’ll worry about that later. She has the knowledge, and that is what is most important. “Let me help you.”

“Why do you want to help me? What do you want?” He’s holding himself oddly, and she realizes he’s trying not to touch the stone again, only the soles of his feet.

“To help you. And to talk.” She checks the bottles have not split in her bag; she’d used old water bottles, and a few of them are warping from the chemicals inside of them. But she’d gone over it a dozen times at least, and these will work. He just needs to let her help. “If you don’t like what I have to say, you can leave. Nothing about this is conditional.”

He stares at her. “You don’t want to be remade?” He asked suspiciously. His breathing is labored. “You don’t want all the secrets of the underworld? Wealth? To live again?”

She shakes her head. “I have money and a home of my own. And I have no memory of ever being anything else but what I am right now. The only thing I want is to help you.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “You say that. But you’ll expect things. Everyone who comes here does. They always want. Humans are greedy creatures and vampires are parasites. You’ll want something, they all do,” he snaps at her and then he smiles, cruel and sharp. “Not many survive being remade. Maria tried to make a dozen of us. I was the only one of my batch that made it through. You have no idea what pain can be.” He scoffs. “Especially if the change was so overwhelming for you that you blocked it out.”

“I know.” She does. She’s read all the written accounts of being remade into a demon right back to some scraps of information from the Roman Empire; the rituals are mostly anecdotal. There was nothing about how it was done; even Aro didn’t have a full copy of how to remake someone. Several of the leads pointed towards the possibility of the remaining instructions being locked up in the Vatican, but even her visions couldn’t decipher if they were genuine or just a rumor.

The fact Maria of Monterrey had found a record and managed to translate it into a ritual that actually worked was awe-inspiring. It made her one of the most dangerous people on the planet - and one of the most powerful.

But the cost of it… how many people had she killed to create Jasper? To create her army? There were the newborn recruits, the blood for the army, and the ones that she tried to remake… that was thousands, more than Alice could comprehend in the scale of human life.

No, she’s not interested. Perhaps she even fears physical pain a little, because she has no memory of human pain, of the change. She’s never bled, never ached, never really suffered like that. And that unknown void of pain, a universal emotion understood by every living thing on the planet… she doesn’t have that.

But maybe…

“I’ve never been hurt,” she says softly. “Not that I remember. I can’t stand the thought of it. That something can feel like that. If I can stop it, I want to. That’s all.”

His gaze burns into her.

“Do you know how many people have come here and promised me things?” He sounds angry but tired. “They’ll free me, they’ll give me money and food and bandage me up. My own army. Girls. Boys. Anything I goddamn want. Do you know what happens to them?”

She sits cross-legged. “Don’t pretend you killed them.”

“You don’t think I could?” The look on his face is dangerous.

“I know you could. I know that if you really wanted to, I would have been dead before I saw you move. I know that you were the most dangerous man in Texas and Mexico for decades before I was even born - before you were remade.

“But I don’t see any bodies. No bloodstains, no bones, nothing left behind. There’s nothing here. Whatever they offered you, you didn’t kill them for it.”

“When I didn’t give them what they want, they left me here,” he says finally. “All of them.”

“Were there many?” That she is curious about. There are a hundred reasons to seek out a demon, but few people are brave enough, and fewer still with the information to find one.

“More than I expected.” He looks at her, his gaze hard and bitter. “What do you want?”

“To help you,” she says obediently. “To get you out of the chains and upstairs; maybe look at some of those wounds? I’m no doctor, but I think I know what to do.”

“And what is your price?” He sounds testy again, and she’s getting annoyed that he won’t listen.

“I’m a cheap date - maybe you can just not kill me? Once you’re free, maybe we could talk for a little while? I have a house we can go to where you can recover safely, if you want to. Otherwise we part as friends.” That would be a disappointing outcome but one she is prepared for. “As long as you’re okay to be alone. I didn’t go to all this trouble to let you go off on your own and keel over in the street dead.”

The surprise on his face is genuine. “I cannot die from this. That’s the whole point of being down here,” he said slowly. “I can only suffer. It would take much, much more to end me.”

He looks sad and tired when he says that, and she wants to hold him. To reassure him that it will get better. It can be wonderful, if he gives her a chance.

“Good. Then if you want to leave me, you can. Just let me help you, and everything will be okay, I promise.”

They stare at each other for a long time, neither of them flinching before he nods his head once.

“I hold a grudge. If you double-cross me…” he begins but she’s already moving closer.

“I understand.” And she does - she’s had visions of him in battle, and the sheer violence and blood-lust had scared her. He is a dangerous creature. But she’d be more likely to rip off her own arm than intentionally harm him.

“You’ll want to take off your shoes.”

It’s an odd request but she takes off her boots and moves forward.

One foot on the stone and she can feel the warmth inside of it; when she looks down, her stockings are already being to singe from the heat.

“Keep moving, or you’ll stick,” he warns and she’s horrified.

The stains on the stone that she had assumed were age were patches of blackened skin still stuck to the stone - his skin - that had torn away from him every single time that he moved.

And then there was the sudden awareness of that fact that his feet have been resting flat against the stone since they’ve started speaking, and she wants to scream, to pry him off the stone herself. She looks at him in naked horror and his lip quirks in quasi-amusement at her expression.

“It’s consecrated ground - no matter how deep it goes, it will always burn the likes of us - me worse than you, but I wouldn’t linger. And no, your shoes wouldn’t protect you.”

Consecrated ground. Fucking consecrated ground. She’d read about it - Europe was lousy with it, but much of it has faded away forgotten and unsanctified in the last couple of centuries as religion has lost its grip on the population. It’s much rarer in the states - most of it is in New England, allegedly. But this perfectly built little prison, complete with consecrated ground… she wants to ask a million questions about the how and the why, but she knows he won’t answer. Not yet.

Right now, she needs to get him off of the floor and out of this evil little room as soon as possible. And the first step is to break the chains embedded in the wall - where a single panel of rock is placed.

She’ll worry about getting the brace off of him once they’re out of here.

He watches her, almost entertained, as she tries to break the links, inspecting the chain carefully for flaws or weaknesses. But even with all her strength, they don’t even bend. They are stubborn and as cursed as this entire basement.

She can feel it - they cannot be broken. She can’t see a way around it.

But when she looks down at him watching her, at his dead-eyed stare of acceptance that he will not be leaving, she feels the weight of what she’s promised him. That he still believes that she will fail and leave him to his fate.

But she was Emmett Cullen’s sister for nearly three years, and Emmett had never met a law, a riddle, a trap or a rule that he couldn’t find a loophole for.

Which is why she brought a screwdriver. An entire toolkit, actually. Whilst vampire strength and speed could fix so many problems, there were some things that required the precision of a toolkit or a lock pick. And maybe the last gift Emmett ever gave her was a mini pink toolkit, and she’d taken that when she’d left.

If there was one thing that all her research had taught her was that magical laws are rigid and precise. The chains will not and can not be broken - that is clear to both of them. She probably isn’t the first that has tried over the years - she could only imagine that he’s tried to free himself hundreds, probably thousands, of times.

So they cannot break them.

She doubts anyone bothered to stop them from being dismantled.

He stares at her incredulously when she pulls the screwdriver from her bag, like maybe she’s some kind of fool. And maybe she is.

But when the first screw hits the stone, she smiles brightly at the look of shock on his face.

“Pick all of them up, I don’t want anyone knowing how we figured this out,” she says bossily, hopping between her feet - her stockings have burnt through, ragged blacked edges having stretched back up above her ankle. She has more clothing at the house, but she’s mildly annoyed at the architect of this building for ruining them. It’s an uncomfortable heat, an odd sensation, but it doesn’t feel too bad as long as she keeps moving.

He fumbles for the screws as each of them fall - they are smaller than it feels like they should be for the size and weight of the chains, but there are so many of them.

And then…

And then the heavy chains drop free of the wall, and he is free. He stares at them in total bewilderment before he looks back up at her.

“Now you’re free,” she says breathlessly, jamming the screwdriver into her bag, and goes to help him stand. He’s unsteady but takes a deep breath as he begins to peel his feet from the stone. It’s horrific as the skin of his soles tears away, blistered and raw but not yet blackened, thankfully. He lets out a groan of pain, one that makes him sound every single day of his age, every single day of his pain.

She doesn’t say anything, she just supports him until they are finally, finally back on the dirt floor.

“Do you want to sit?” She asks quietly and he shakes his head.

“I want to get out,” he says stiffly, and she nods, as they move towards the exit.

It’s an awkward trip back up the stairs; the staircase is narrow, but he needs her guiding support for now, his legs shaking with each step. It takes twice as long as it should, with him pausing every so many steps, as she half-shoves him onto each step. His movements are made awkward from the brace, and she’s already trying to figure out how she’ll pry that thing off him.

And then…

She shoves open the trap door, the wood splintering. And even the feeble moonlight shining down from the broken window feels like someone has just lit up the room - the darkness of the cellar feels inky and oppressive in comparison; the oil-wells dimmer than they were when she descended.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he climbs out, into the fresh air, his eyes darting around the space.

“It’s okay, it’s only us,” she soothes. “You’re safe.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s staring at the boarded-up windows, at the broken glass and rotting pews and forgotten prayer books.

The look on his face reminds her of herself, when she awoke that first time in the woods alone. She knew nothing, had seen nothing in person… just the appreciation and awe of being there, in that place. A moment of simply being alive and in the world.

She remembers it well.

—

They sit inside the old church in silence for a while.

After a while, she begins to pull out first aid from her bag. “Let me,” she says softly, and he doesn’t protest - though he refuses to let her see the wounds under his threadbare clothing. She hasn’t got anything that will stitch his wounds, but she can clean the wounds and bandage them so that they at least stay sanitized and protected. The chemicals she has to use burn her nose, but they seem to work.

“Now, let’s have a look at the brace,” she says soothingly, the screwdriver back in her hand. He eyes her with suspicion but nods once for her to continue.

It’s not as easy as the chains. The brace is too tight and has bitten tight into his skin. The screws come out slowly, ad she doesn’t care that they roll amongst the glass and the debris.

The brace doesn’t fall away. Instead, she has to peal each piece away, skin and scar tissue tearing, leaving raw open wounds in their wake. But he doesn’t make a sound as each piece hits the floor. He just stares up at the piece of sky he can see.

And then it is gone. The wounds will scar, she knows it. But he has movement back, real movement again. His neck, his arms, his wings… Free again, a little bit more.

“Done,” she says softly.

“I don’t even know your name,” he finally says hoarsely, and looks back down at her, as she packs everything back up.

“Alice Cullen,” she says, and thinks about correcting herself. She’s not sure what surname she should be using honestly. She never had one of her own, and nothing else feels like it would fit. She was supposed to be Cullen for a while and then…

Well, she didn’t want to get ahead of herself. Cullen was fine.

He nods in acknowledgement before looking back up at the sliver of sky visible through the broken window.

“I want to leave this place,” he says in a steady voice.

“Of course.”

She wants to offer to burn it down. To tear it down with her bare hands for him. But he won’t understand, not yet.

“Let’s go.”

—

He finds his strength as soon as his feet hit the grass, enough to stand on his own and move away from her support, onto the grass, shivering as his feet sunk in for the first time… in so very long. His turns in a slow circle, just staring up at the clouds and the trees and the world outside he’s hellish, cursed little dirt prison.

He… to call it a scream is not accurate. It is a scream, a roar, a holler, a flood of grief and rage and resentment. It is pain and loss, swearing revenge against the one that did this to him. It is regret and heartbreak and relief.

He is free.

His wings stretch out reflexively, the black staining his hands and face faintly, and the full horror of what the brace has done to him is revealed beyond the splitting and tearing and stretching of the wounds - his wings only open as long as his arm-span; the humeral and secondaries appear to have been crushed from the brace. And the humerus bone appears to have been snapped and reset so that it cannot extend. Half of his wings are limp and crumpled against his spine, a dead and mottled colour.

He has been crippled, possibly forever.

Except…

She’s never really been in the business of giving up. Of looking at something and accepting a bad roll of the dice. She looks at his wings, slack and broken, and she wants to fix them. She’s already considering it, mentally adding splints and bandages, breaking and resetting bone, stitching back together the thin flesh that stretches over them. It would be painful and miserable and it would take a long, long time. And it might not work.

But she already knows that if it didn’t work, she’d take him to Carlisle. She’d take him to Carlisle and use every single trick in her book to convince him to help. She’d promise that Carlisle would never see her again, that she’d never bother any of them, if Carlisle would just fix him. She’d take him to Carlisle, to Aro, to goddamn Maria, if it meant helping.

Anything he needed. Or wanted. She would get it - she had waited for this for so long.

He’s silent now, and he turns to look at her with confusion on his face.

“I looked for you, you know. For almost forty years.” Her voice is soft, and his gaze turns wary. “I get …visions of the future. Of the path that I’m on. And you have always been in them. I saw you with Maria in the south. I saw you when you left with Peter and Charlotte. I never saw what happened, and how you ended up down there but I tried so hard to find you. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

And he stares at her, the black receding from his body, the wings folding back into his body.

“What did you see?” He asks, and he sounds exhausted.

“That I love you. All of you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

He shakes his head, and for a second, he looks so young. “Did you see what happened when she remade me? When she worked out how to make her army more powerful?” He asks. “Did you see what it took to become this? Did you see what I became?”

“I did.”

“Ninety days. Of pain and sacrifice and being ripped into pieces and put back together. To feel the rage boil and burn until your skin,” he murmurs, looking back up at the cloudy night. “Of having this fresh, feral monstrosity of yourself fit itself inside of you and this… clarity of the world and how everything fits together. I’m not the man you want, Alice Cullen.”

“Yes, you are. And it’s … not Cullen anymore, not really. I left them because they wouldn’t let me find you.”

He’s silent, staring at her.

“They said I should think of you as good as dead and that wasn’t… you were still here. I just had to find you. I wasn’t going to mourn you just because you weren’t a vampire anymore. What Maria did to you didn’t change our future, so it didn’t matter to me. But it did to them. So I left them.” She shrugs. “I had enough money saved that I have my own home now - our home if you want it. But it’ll just be us.”

He looks at her hard, like he’s trying to look right through her.

“I was going to destroy you, you realize,” he says finally, his knees buckling but he sinks into the soft ground with dignity, leaning against a tree. “I was going to devour you whole.”

“I mean, with a safe word…” she begins and he lets out a chuckle.

“You aren’t what I was expecting,” he says finally, and she moves closer. She can smell rain on the air. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t want to be remade like me as payment.”

She’s seen it. In a few decades, he’ll offer it as a form of protection. That the only thing more dangerous than a mated vampire and demon would be two mated demons roaming untethered to a master or mistress.

She’s seen futures where she accepts and they are … sublime. Glorious and terrible and so very, very happy. And she’s seen futures where she’s content with herself, and they are just as happy, just as fantastic and beautiful and fatal. It was never about the venom or the magic that flowed in their veins. It was always them.

“If you don’t want to stay with me, I can help you find Peter and Charlotte,” she offers. “You can recover in my home until then, and we can part as friends.”

He looks back up at the sky as the rain begins to fall, a smile stretching across his face as the water hits his face.

How long has it been since he’s seen and felt rain?

“I think I’d like to stay here for a while,” he says finally, and she can feel how tired and confused he is.

He doesn’t trust her yet - it will be a long time until he does, she knows that. Long after his wounds have healed - she’s certainly got some ideas for his wings, but it’ll be a while before he’s willing to hear her out - he’ll still treat her with suspicion. And that’s okay. She didn’t bet everything on him to be scared off so easily.

Sitting down beside him, she’s careful not to touch him. His eyes are glazed and dreamy as he watches the clouds and the rain, the darkness swallowing them up in the woods behind the church.

“You should rest,” she says softly. “We’ll have to leave before dawn, but we have a few hours.”

“I’m fine,” he corrects, but his words are slower and easier, and she doesn’t say anything else as he slowly drifts off, the cool rain on his face.

Jasper Whitlock. Major of the Confederate Army, turned by Maria of Monterrey back in 1863. The love of her life, who was supposed to show up at a diner in Philadelphia but never made it. The scourge of the South, a mythological monster forged out of pain and horror that most people couldn’t imagine, let alone survive.

And her reason for everything.

He looks… peaceful as he sleeps, the rain clinging to him and not even disturbing him. All the stress and pain and rage slipped off his face. He looked like a different person.

She doesn’t remember what sleep is like, and it’s strange to think of just not being for a while. To just be so vulnerable.

It’s a strange feeling, waiting for so long, and now being here with him. Watching him sleep in the rain, broken up into little pieces but somehow still standing.

The real thing is so much more than she ever anticipated.

Nothing will hurt him again. No one will imprison him again. He is free. She found him. Anything he wants, anything at all.

“I’ve got you, Jasper. I’ve got you."

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ihaveasmutaddictionsblog · 2 years ago

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Carlisle/Bella

Summary:

Carlisle is stitching Bella's arm after the paper-cut at her birthday party, things get spicy.....

"You know my father was a clergyman," he mused as he cleaned the table carefully, rubbing everything down with wet gauze, and then doing it again. The smell of alcohol burned in my nose. "He had a rather harsh view of the world, which I was already beginning to question before the time that I changed." Carlisle put all the dirty gauze and the glass slivers into an empty crystal bowl. I didn't understand what he was doing, even when he lit the match. Then he threw it onto the alcohol-soaked fibers, and the sudden blaze made me jump.

"Sorry," he apologized. "That ought to do it. So I didn't agree with my father's particular brand of faith. But never, in the nearly four hundred years now since I was born, have I ever seen anything to make me doubt whether God exists in some form or the other. Not even the reflection in the mirror."

I pretended to examine the dressing on my arm to hide my surprise at the direction our conversation had taken. Religion was the last thing I expected, all things considered. My own life was fairly devoid of belief. Charlie considered himself a Lutheran, because that's what his parents had been, but Sundays he worshipped by the river with a fishing pole in his hand. Renee tried out a church now and then, but, much like her brief affairs with tennis, pottery, yoga, and French classes, she moved on by the time I was aware of her newest fad.

"I'm sure all this sounds a little bizarre, coming from a vampire."

He grinned and took my hand in his, knowing how their casual use of that word never failed to shock me. "But I'm hoping that there is still a point to this life, even for us. It's a long shot, I'll admit," he continued in an offhand voice staring at the lingering flames. "By all accounts, we're damned regardless. But I hope, maybe foolishly, that we'll get some measure of credit for trying."

"I don't think that's foolish," I whispered.

His eyes found mine at my admission while his thumb gently traced circles on the top of my hand. I hadn’t realised how close the two of us had become while he bandaged my arm.

I couldn't imagine anyone, deity included, who wouldn't be impressed by Carlisle.

I felt his fingers slowly begin to trail up my arm until they finally came to rest at the nape of my neck, while his thumb continued the gentle strokes across my cheek.

He was beautiful.

I’d never really appreciated the sight of him. The bright gold of his eyes was the same as Edward’s, yet they were framed by thick, dark lashes making them pop against the rest of his fair features. He leaned his head in close to my neck, inhaling softly.

“You’re the very first one to agree with me,” he replied, his breath tickling my skin.

“I am?” I asked speculatively.

He pulled back slightly to hold my gaze again, but then his eyes flickered to my lips, darkening as they met mine once more. His lips were so close I was scared to breathe, afraid to break the moment.

“Yes,” he said letting his lips brush over mine.

I couldn’t resist any more. I inclined my head meeting his lips delicately. They were cold against my own, but the heat in his gaze chased away any discomfort.

The kiss was gentle at first, but it soon turned hungry as he squeezed my neck, taking my bottom lip between his teeth and biting down hard.

I gasped, tasting a drop of my own blood. Carlisle smirked and repositioned his thigh to be between my legs so that I straddled it while still perched on his desk. I arched my back allowing my clit to grind against him as his lips found mine once more. He pushed me back on the desk, causing multiple items to crash to the floor, before he was back pressed against me trailing kisses down my neck. His hand grabbed my leg, trailing higher up my thigh until he hitched my dress to my hip. That’s when I felt the hard length of him push against my throbbing clit, straining to get out.

I rolled my hips impatiently. Yet he pulled abruptly away.

I let out a little whine. I wanted him now!

“Not so fast,” he teased.

Before I could even comprehend what was happening, Carlisle ripped my dress clean down the middle faster than my eyes could see. It left me only in my black lacy thong, which didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Sprawled out in front of him, he eyed me hungrily, causing my nipples to peak in anticipation.

He let a single finger trace a lazy circle around each of them before continuing down, past my navel to my most sensitive spot, pausing when he felt the wetness there. His smile then was full of male arrogance.

“Please…” I moaned, “I need...”

“Need what?” Carlisle tormented me by slipping a single finger in my entrance.

“More.” I whispered.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. What do you need?” he mocked.

“MORE!” I said, nearly yelling with my impatience.

He pinched one of my nipples in response, sending shock waves through me and continuing to do so while undoing the top button of his black slacks.

His cock finally sprung free.

My mouth nearly watered at the sight of his thick size already dripping with precum. Palming himself, he guided the tip over my clit sliding up and down in a slow but deliberate manner.

“Is this what you want?” he murmured in my ear.

The hand which was pinching my nipple moved to encircle my neck, lightly squeezing.

A whimper was my only response.

Carlisle let out a feral snarl, thrusting into me in one hard motion. I’ve never felt so full in my life. I clenched around him, trying to adjust to the sudden size, but just as soon as he was buried inside of me, he removed himself pausing for just a moment before slamming back into me forcing a cry from my mouth.

He squeezed my throat in response, cutting the blood flow to my head. My vision blurred, all I could focus on was Carlisle’s brutal pace and the building pressure between my thighs. He lifted one of my legs to rest on his shoulder allowing him to push even deeper, my eyes watered. But he didn’t slow down.

His fingers began rubbing slow circles over my clit.

“That’s a good girl,” he sighed, “Are you going to come for me?”

I climbed higher and higher, the pressure in my core becoming nearly unbearable while my tears spilled and ran down my cheeks.

He released the hand around my throat, and I exploded. My orgasm shattered through me. He took hold of both my legs, gripping my knees as he continued to pound into me, feeling my walls clench around him as I rode out the orgasm. Carlisle’s movements became erratic until he let out a roar of pleasure as he finally found release, collapsing on top of my naked chest.

My breaths were heavy, yet my heart began to slow. Carlisle lifted his head planting a soft kiss on my lips and then my forehead.

“Good girl,” he said softly, before he removed himself entirely, passed me a spare jacket and walked swiftly from the room, leaving me lying on the desk contemplating whether or not I’d be capable of walking myself.

#one shot #smut #twilight #carlisle cullen #bella swan #carlisle x bella #spicy books #vampire

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alexlsf · 6 months ago

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You could be the one that I love, I could be the one that you dream of

Message in a bottle is all I can do

Standing here, hoping it gets to you.

Carlisle Cullen has been in love with Esme Platt for years. Will he finally dare tell her ? Emmett and Rosalie hope so.

All-human one-shot.

#the twilight saga #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #rosalie hale #emmett cullen #if you’re interested i also wrote a one-shot about carlisle and esme’s first meeting in 1911 #carlesme

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jessicanjpa · 2 years ago

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AU in which Carlisle comes very close to changing Edward in 1918. Based on his brief observations of the boy's character, an entire century of angst comes to life in his imagination. He reluctantly concludes that Edward will be happier with his parents in heaven.

He lays a comforting hand on the sweaty forehead and waits. The boy doesn't need comfort; he's already far away, blissfully unaware that his body is drowning and that the only one who could save him has chosen not to. His stillness seems to confirm that dragging him back for three days of unspeakable pain—and an eternity of relentless, painful self-denial—would be nothing but cruelty. The most selfish of acts.

Happier possibilities begin to break upon Carlisle's imagination, but he holds firm. Even when he imagines a growing family of golden eyes, the boy finding the most unlikely love after a century of loneliness, he holds firm—he knows how unlikely that happiness is, for either of them. He knows it is only the voice of the monster within, rising from its deep slumber to birth a new monster. He will not let it.

The temptation is greatest at the end. It seems impossible, but somehow Edward stirs just enough to open his bloodshot eyes. Slowly, painfully, his blurred vision moves until he is looking right at Carlisle. He seems to want to say something.

Carlisle doesn't move or speak until it's over. At last, his fingers drift down and close the empty, staring eyes. He moves his other hand to rest over the silent heart and murmurs a prayer. It's mainly for himself, a broken-hearted prayer of thanksgiving that he was strong enough to resist. Mastering his bloodlust was the first great trial of his existence; finding his soul again was the second. But this third trial, the aching promise of family, has somehow turned out to be the most painful. It is a war he has fought for over a century now, but at last he has won... at great cost. By the time he signs the death certificate, he can already feel the scars forming. He will mourn that lost future forever.

The cost of victory is greater than he knows. Five other lives, and perhaps many more, had depended upon his failure today. Carlisle moves on to the next battle, the next bed in Influenza Ward C, relieved that it's time to fight an easier enemy.

#:(#Sorry I just needed something sad today #Carlisle #Edward #AU #Fanfiction #Might turn this into a one-shot for the AU collection bc this one Hurts #(I'm sure this has been done before)#The way Carlisle convinces himself that his loneliness-turned-hope is nothing more than the monster's reproductive drive... :(

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zapreportsblog · 1 year ago

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Cullens family x youngest sister! Reader

The cullens each trying to wake up their newest and youngest member in their family for her first day of Highschool.

Let’s just say reader isn’t a light sleeper😅

❝like a bear in hibernation❞

✭ pairing : cullen siblings x reader

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : (Y/n) is the recent adopted member of the Olympic Clan, she’s was once a Norman vampire but after having a run in with Esme she was taken under her wing and slowly adopted into the family’s traditions. Now it’s the first day of school for her and no one can seem to wake her up

✭ authors note : in this version of twilight the vampires here can sleep

✭ twilight masterlist

In the cozy Cullen household, a sense of serenity prevailed. The family had welcomed a new member into their fold, (Y/n), a former nomadic vampire who had once struggled with a dangerous addiction to human blood. But since coming under the Cullens' guidance, she had embraced their lifestyle, adopting a diet of animal blood and striving to gain control over her thirst.

Today marked a special day for (Y/n) as she prepared for her first day of school in the small town of Forks. Her siblings, each with their unique approach to waking her up, had agreed to take turns in the morning.

Alice, always the lively one, decided to be the first to rouse her new sister. She entered (Y/n)'s room with a mischievous grin, armed with a portable speaker playing loud pop music. With precision, she positioned it right by (Y/n)'s ear and cranked up the volume.

The blaring music filled the room, reverberating off the walls. Alice watched with eager anticipation, expecting (Y/n) to jolt awake at the sudden noise.

However, much to Alice's surprise, (Y/n) merely mumbled in her sleep, turning away from the source of the noise. Her eyelids remained closed, and she seemed undisturbed by the cacophony.

Alice couldn't help but giggle at (Y/n)'s resilience. It appeared that (Y/n) was not an easy sleeper to wake.

Alice exited (Y/n)'s room, a bemused expression on her face. Her attempt to wake their new sister with loud pop music had failed, leaving (Y/n) in blissful slumber. She reported back to the rest of the Cullen family, who had gathered in the hallway outside the room.

"No luck in waking her up," Alice declared with a huff, her brow furrowed in frustration.

Edward, with his telepathic abilities, chimed in, "I couldn't sense any change in her emotions when you tried to wake her, Alice."

Emmett chuckled, amused by the situation. "Well, this ought to be interesting. Who's next?"

Alice rolled her eyes playfully before suggesting, "Jasper's turn."

Jasper, always calm and composed, entered (Y/n)'s room with a sense of determination. He understood that his unique gift could be used to influence emotions, and he had a plan in mind.

Approaching (Y/n)'s bed, he reached out and gently touched her shoulder, his voice a soothing whisper. "Wake up, (Y/n). It's time to start your day."

(Y/n) stirred at his touch, but her sleep seemed unusually deep. She mumbled something unintelligible and shifted in her bed, still not fully awake.

Jasper didn't give up. He decided to use his gift, channeling feelings of excitement and energy into (Y/n)'s subconscious. It was like giving her a burst of enthusiasm, akin to the zoomies a dog might experience.

As he infused her with this vibrant energy, (Y/n)'s body reacted. She began tossing and turning in her bed, her limbs twitching as if caught in the throes of excitement. Her breathing quickened, and her features contorted into a mix of joy and restlessness.

The rest of the Cullens watched with fascination as (Y/n) remained blissfully asleep, completely oblivious to the energetic turmoil happening within her dreams.

Jasper couldn't help but crack a smile at the sight. It appeared that, even in slumber, (Y/n) was a force to be reckoned with.

After Jasper's attempt to wake (Y/n) ended with her tossing and turning in her sleep, the Cullen siblings couldn't help but be entertained by their new sister's stubborn slumber. Jasper exited her room, shaking their heads.

Jasper smirked and said, "Seems my attempt didn't work. Emmett, it's your turn."

Emmett, always up for a challenge, grinned widely. He stepped into (Y/n)'s room with an air of excitement, ready to try something different. As soon as he spotted her, he couldn't resist the urge to act like a big kid.

Emmett began bouncing on (Y/n)'s bed with the enthusiasm of a child on a trampoline. The mattress squeaked and shifted beneath his weight as he jumped up and down. He called out, "Wake up, sleepyhead! It's a brand new day!"

But all (Y/n) did in response was mumble in her sleep, her brow furrowing slightly as if she were having an unusual dream. Unbeknownst to Emmett, her powers were activated in her sleep, her telekinesis manifesting.

With a sudden burst of power, Emmett was lifted off the bed and sent flying through the air. He let out a surprised shout as he crashed through the bedroom door and slid into the living room, creating a comical scene that left the other Cullens in stitches.

Emmett groaned from his less-than-graceful landing and rubbed his head as he rose to his feet. He looked back at the closed bedroom door, shaking his head.

"Rose, your turn," he grumbled, determined to finally get their new sister out of bed.

Rosalie, determined to wake (Y/n) from her stubborn slumber, entered the room with a plan in mind. She approached the bed and, with her vampire strength, effortlessly lifted it, attempting to tilt it slightly to make (Y/n) lose her balance and fall.

However, as Rosalie exerted her strength on the bed, she quickly realized that (Y/n) was gripping the mattress tightly, refusing to budge. Her brows furrowed in surprise, but before she could react, (Y/n) activated her telekinesis once more.

With a surge of power, the bed was wrenched from Rosalie's grasp, and she was sent flying backward. Emmett, who had been waiting just outside the room, caught Rosalie with ease.

Rosalie looked back at the closed door, her irritation evident. "Tough luck," Emmett teased as he held her.

The other Cullens, who had been watching the spectacle unfold, exchanged glances. Edward, always the logical one, was their last hope. They turned to him with expectant expressions, silently asking if he could use his telepathy to wake (Y/n).

Edward chuckled, shaking his head. "I can't, actually. She puts up a mental block when she's asleep. It's like she's determined to enjoy her beauty rest."

The Cullens sighed collectively, realizing that (Y/n) was indeed a unique challenge when it came to waking her up. Her stubborn slumber was proving to be quite the puzzle, and they couldn't help but be intrigued by their new sister's extraordinary abilities, even in her sleep.

The Cullen family had exhausted their attempts to wake (Y/n) from her deep slumber. With her first day of school looming, it became clear that a more unconventional approach was needed.

Esme, always the nurturing and caring mother figure of the family, spoke up. "Well, we can't just have her miss her first day of school."

Carlisle, the family's patriarch, sighed, knowing what had to be done. "I hope it didn't have to come to this."

He informed the rest of the family of his plan, and with a determined expression, he left the house. Minutes later, he returned with a packet of human blood from his job at the local blood bank.

The Cullens watched with curiosity as Carlisle poured the human blood into a cup, the rich red liquid contrasting starkly with their usual diet of animal blood. They exchanged concerned glances but remained silent.

Carlisle ignored their inquiries and proceeded to (Y/n)'s room. He left the cup of human blood on her nightstand, hoping it would be the key to finally waking her.

Only seconds later, (Y/n) emerged from her room, cup in hand, sipping the human blood. Her eyes were bright and alert, a smile on her face as she greeted her family.

"What a nice wake-up call," she said, her tone cheerful. "But you guys wouldn't believe what I dreamt about."

The Cullens exchanged relieved glances. It seemed that the allure of human blood had successfully roused (Y/n) from her deep slumber, and she was now ready to face her first day of school with her newfound family.

As (Y/n) shared her dream with the Cullens, they couldn't help but be amused by the creative lengths they had gone to in order to wake her. It was just another extraordinary day in the life of their unique family.

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lavender-at-heart · 6 months ago

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Twilight fans!!!! Please send requests, I'm working on two Twilight pieces but I need some more inspiration. Literally anything plzzz. Luv u for life if u do.

Xoxo

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louisetaylor · 8 months ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Twilight Series - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan, Alice Cullen/Jasper Hale, Emmett Cullen/Rosalie Hale, Edward Cullen and Alice Cullen Characters: Edward Cullen, Alice Cullen, Rosalie Hale, Jasper Hale, Bella Swan, Carlisle Cullen, Emmett Cullen Additional Tags: F Marry Kill, telepathic Edward, Cullen siblings being siblings, Eavesdropping, listeners never hear any good of themselves, unless they do, Seinfeld (TV) References, Comedy, sex is mentioned as a concept but that's it, Marriage, Murder, Carlisle is not present but he is hot, Sarcastic Jasper Hale, Emmett is a himbo, Edward Cullen is Not Gay, Edward loves Bella, No Beta We Live Like Men Summary:

In Midnight Sun, Edward eavesdrops on Bella by reading the thoughts of the girls who sit with her. Creepy, you say? Well, who wouldn't spy on their crush given this golden opportunity? Edward overhears a game of F, Marry, Kill...with the Cullen boys as the subject. Who will win Bella's heart, and who will lose his life?

#twilight #edward/bella #edward cullen #bella swan #f marry kill #midnight sun #seinfeld mention #alice cullen is cute #jasper hale is sarcastic #emmett cullen is a himbo #edward loves bella #comedy #one shot #dialogue only #carlisle cullen is a dilf #edward cullen is not gay

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shewastheheart · 2 years ago

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can you please write another carlesme one shot? pretty please? i love the way you write them

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind words! Of course! I'm not sure if this is even close to what you may have had in mind, but there's this idea I've been turning over in my head about Carlisle having had a different path and well...

They’d heard the rumors, the talk of an angel of death amidst their world, but they considered themselves somewhat off the grid. ‘Vegetarians’, their friends from various covens considered them, dismissive and pitying.

And they were, for the most part.

But no matter how little they participated in the typical happenings of a vampiric lifestyle, that did not protect them from the all seeing eyes of the Volturi, the whimsical laws of their world.

He receives his orders and sets out within the day to the United States. He studies the maps and the file he was given. He replays the instructions Aro gave him over and over again in his perfect memory.

It is time again, dear brother, to do what God has put you here for. To excavate the earth of its horrors by donning the horror yourself. End the suffering they bring.

The words never sat well with him, no matter how many different ways Aro chose to rephrase them each time he sent him out on these missions. In his 300 years, his work has dwindled, and he has been grateful, but - according to Aro - the Lord’s work is never done.

“Go forth and do His work,” Aro would smile. “Sweet angel of death.”

Esme is perched in her favorite tree, far into the forest and high into the sky, painting the early morning dawn rising before her on a canvas. Her paints are balanced precariously on a nearby branch, but they hold steady once her paintbrush departs the palette.

“Esme?”

She inclines her head in acknowledgement without taking her eyes from the artwork she attempts.

“Yes?” she replies, breaking the silence of the morning as Edward climbs up into the tree beside her.

His body is long and lanky, rough and awkward at times, causing the limbs to shutter and shake beneath his weight. Birds take flight at the disturbance, chirping in irritation at her son.

“I... I was thinking about heading down to Alaska for the week.”

Esme pauses, retracting her brush from the board to glance over at him, the downcast eyes and sheepish look. Technically, she is older than him, born in 1895, while he had not entered the earth until 1901, but his life stopped seventeen years later, while hers carried on a near ten more. Though, in vampiric years, he will always exceed her, his experience greater and more expansive.

He's been seventeen for just shy of one hundred years. She’s been part of the living dead for barely eighty.

Yet, in moments like these, he looks ever the boy he was the day his heart stopped beating.

“What’s happened, Edward?” she inquires, placing her supplies on the branch holding her paint and turning to face him.

“Nothing, nothing, I just...” He pauses, doesn’t speak for a long while, and she doesn’t push him. If she’s learned anything in these last eight decades, it’s to let him think it all through.

Edward is special, she’s always known that even before he explained his abilities to her. He can hear everything, every thought in every person’s mind. She knows how loud it can be for him in his own head. So she waits, patiently letting him sort through the chaos crowding his mind.

“There’s a girl.”

She nearly falls off the tree in glee.

“Esme.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” she grins, quickly covering it with her palm.

“It’s torture, mother,” he growls. “She’s human, she’s annoyingly persistent, and I can’t hear her.”

He lists the issues off on his long fingers, sounding so much like a troubled teenager in that painstaking moment, but his face looking absolutely agonized.

“And her blood - it’s different, it’s stronger than the others, it’s-” He huffs and buries his face in his hands.

Esme eases across the distance from her tree to his, sidling up next to him.

“I - you know, I always wondered when you would find your mate, so maybe-”

“She’s human,” Edward groans into the cove of his palms. “She can’t be. She can’t. I won’t allow this.”

“Okay, okay,” she hushes him, placing a tentative hand on his back. “We’ll figure this out. It’s going to be okay, son.”

Ever so slightly, he relaxes into the weight of her slim hand on his shoulder blade.

Just in time for him to be knocked from the branch.

It was easy enough to find the home located deep in the Washington woods, the impressive structure made from wood and glass. A beautiful home, one he almost felt guilty to destroy.

He would have to burn it once he was done here.

Finding its occupants was a simple next step, his silent travel through the surrounding forest leading him to the murmur of their voices.

The two of them sat high in a tree, sharing a branch and apparently so engrossed in a conversation that they fail to hear him quietly scaling the trunk a few feet behind theirs.

He decides to take out the male first, lunging across the distance and seamlessly knocking him from the branch from behind.

They go sailing to the forest floor, crashing to the ground in a shattering fall that carries the sounds of an earthquake.

His element of surprise did the job, taking the man completely off guard. His opponent sputters before fighting back, slipping from Carlisle’s tight grip.

“Who are you?” the other man - the boy, he looks to be just a boy - chokes out, spewing dirt from his mouth.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Carlisle Cullen,” the boy snaps before Carlisle can make his next move, causing him a moment of pause. “Who - who are the Volturi?”

“How do you know that?”

“I - I heard it, in your mind,” the boy says quickly, arms up and ready to brace against Carlisle’s next attack.

The words shock him into stillness.

“You - you can read my thoughts?”

He doesn’t get to hear the boy’s answer. In the next second, an iron grip hooks around his neck, flings him into the nearest tree.

He grunts as he hits the tree and then the ground, the force impressive. He’s not used to the women being as great of a problem-

Carlisle ascends from the forest floor by the grip on his neck, a forearm cutting into his larynx as he’s pinned to the splintered spine of a tree at his back.

The sight before him would steal his breath if he had the oxygen stored in his lungs.

Yes, he saw her on the tree before his attack, but the glance hardly compared to this view of her blazing eyes level with his, the curls of caramel locks whipping his cheeks in the wind, and the scent of honeysuckles assaulting his senses.

“Touch my son again, and I will singlehandedly destroy you. Piece by piece,” she tells him, her voice calm but razor sharp.

She applies a jerk of pressure and he feels an alarming crack fissure along the side of his throat.

“Esme.” The boy’s voice at her back, his hand on her shoulder. “Esme, he’s not going to hurt us. Not right now, anyway.”

Those fiery eyes assess his face, holding his for a long moment before easing the pressure.

It feels terribly wrong, but all he can think in that split second is that he wouldn’t mind if this is how his life finally concluded.

The woman releases Carlisle with a huff and instantly moves to the boy, her son.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She’s checking over him like a true mother hen, fluttering around him like an anxious bird.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” the boy brushes her off, but he can sense the warmth of appreciation in his tone.

And with that assurance, she’s spinning on her heel, the sundress she wears fluttering around her calves.

“Who the hell are you and what do you think you’re doing?” she snarls, approaching him with that gorgeous fury back in place.

“Carlisle Cullen,” he says stupidly, stopping himself before he can hold a hand out to her. “I - I was sent here on assignment. Whenever we learn of certain individuals of our kind engaging in the most gruesome of sin, it is my job to handle the problem.”

“Sin?” she echoes incredulously.

“It was reported that you - your coven - are a threat to mankind-”

“We are all a threat to mankind,” she snaps, advancing on him again. “Some more than others, but certainly not us. Neither I, nor Edward have touched a human in over fifty years, so you and your employer need to either get your facts straight or update your records. Because you’re in the wrong place.”

It’s then that he notes her eyes.

Amber. A fiery brown like whiskey, flecks of gold around her pupils alive and sparking at him.

Far from red.

A quick glance to the boy, Edward, tells him the same.

“You abstain from human blood?”

Her eyes roll, but he notices a slight softening to her posture, a gentling to the maternal fury he evoked.

“Like I said, it’s been decades. I was the last to falter, shortly after my transformation. Since then, we have survived only on animals,” she clarifies, stepping back to stand closer to Edward.

“Not to mention, Esme goes for only the weakest and oldest,” Edward mutters, earning a swift elbow to the side.

“I don’t understand,” Carlisle murmurs, more to himself than the pair before him.

Aro had said the two he was to kill were menacing to the Pacific Northwest region of the United States, their bloodlust uncontained despite multiple warnings. He was shown pictures, blurred but clear enough to match the woman and the man before him.

The location matched, the identities, but... if what Edward and Esme says is true-

“He lied to you,” Edward cut in, finishing the thought he didn’t want to have. The onslaught of memories, the suspicions he’s pushed away for years, centuries, following and causing his skull to ache. “He likely always has been.”

“There’s no reason for him to...” But he can’t finish the argument. Aro loves control, power, more than all else. Is it possible he has somehow been keeping track of any and all vampires who may pose even the potential of a threat to that power and then ordered Carlisle to destroy them before the risk could grow?

“You are providing them with an act of mercy, Carlisle,” Aro had told him the first time he had made such a request. “Like Gabriel, the angelic messenger of God, you are delivering the good news that their suffering is over. To die at your hands, to be done with this eternal damnation... you are curing them of a plague none of us asked for.”

“Then why do we continue on, brother?” Carlisle had asked, noting himself, Aro, the court of vampires among them.

Aro had not missed a beat.

“Why, to keep order. This sickness, this spread of immortality will never end. Not truly. We cannot selfishly end our own lives and leave this earth to perish at the hands of the damned. It is our responsibility, our cross to bear, to continue. To fight the evils and keep them at bay. It is God’s will.”

Carlisle slumps backwards against the tree.

“We hold court over this hellish earth,” Aro explained to him softly. “And then we send you, an angel of mercy and death all in one, to cull it of what few demons we can. What other purpose could us, the damned, serve?”

He is a fool, to have ever believed that Aro ever gave a damn to what God would expect of them.

“Your leader, Aro, must have learned of my abilities somehow.”

Carlisle thought of Alice, the poor girl who often stuck close to him, whom Aro used to see futures and follies they were supposed to prevent.

“She must have seen you. Known your decision,” Carlisle surmises, no longer needing to explain the entirety of his thoughts with Edward reading them. He only explains further for the benefit of Esme. “Alice can see the future. She can see the decisions of others before they are even made. Aro - he told me Alice was able to see the wrongdoings of those I was sent out to... end.”

Now he understood why he and Alice were never allowed a moment alone. Why she always looked so pained, so stricken, each time he left for a job.

Carlisle slides down to the ground, thumping his head back against the hard bark of the tree.

He is no angel, only a monster.

It is not until the woman, Esme, crouches in front of him that time takes on meaning again.

“Carlisle?” she calls gently, the outrage gone from her face.

It’s the first time she’s said his name and he can’t deny it’s the most wondrous thing he’s ever heard. It’s a peculiar feeling, that even through his sudden grief, his upheaval of self-loathing, the proximity of this woman, the sound of his name in her mouth, is like a lightning bolt of clarity through his senses.

“Would it be too late,” he inquires hoarsely. “To request for you to destroy me piece by piece after all?”

Her brow creases in concern, the lovely line of her mouth turning downwards.

“There’s only one reason I would do that and something tells me you mean no harm to me or my son any longer.”

He scoffs, rubbing a hand down his jaw. “No. I never - I never meant harm to anyone. I thought I was... what a fool I am. To think I was doing a favor to my victims, doing what had to be done. A sick, masochistic fool.”

“You wanted to die from the moment you came into this existence,” Edward supplies from behind Esme. “You were only doing what you were told, doing what you thought your only purpose was.”

Carlisle shakes his head. “That doesn’t excuse it. Not at all.”

“No, but it offers understanding to your actions,” Esme tells him, her eyes soft now, golden like honey.

“You hated this,” Edward adds, his head tilting, eyes scrutinizing. The boy was completely in his head now, reading through every putrid thought. “Even though you hate what you are, a vampire, you despised killing the others. I even sensed your guilt as soon as you tackled me.”

“I tried to make it quick,” Carlisle chokes out. averting his eyes from Esme. He can’t look at her, not while he talks about this. “To take a life like that... mortal or not, it felt wrong. It always felt wrong.”

The sudden, feather light brush of a touch on his bent knee, brings his attention back to the present, to the woman in front of him.

“You don’t have to be that anymore,” Esme says ever so softly to him. It feels like something inside of him is splitting open, some dormant, suppressed part of him that died the day his humanity did. He somehow feels as if he is alive again.

No longer an ‘angel’ of death, a grim reaper, a husk of a human. He could be more, he could be what he always wished he could be, do something better with his abilities. More than Aro allowed, more than he himself ever allowed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to her, to them both. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’ll be okay, Carlisle,” Edward promises, no doubt sensing the overwhelm of panic in his mind. “You’ll be fine.”

The boy’s gaze falls to Esme and so Carlisle follows it and has the overwhelming urge to believe the words.

It’ll be okay.

If their kind could cry, she thinks Carlisle would be sobbing. He looks stricken, so destroyed by himself, his realizations. His brown eyes - a coppery shine with not a hint of red to them - have darkened severely over the hours.

She sits in front of him for those passing hours, one hand on his knee like an anchor. Part of her is afraid that if she lets go, he’ll drift away into the darkest parts of his mind that she knows Edward examines as they speak.

When morning turns to night, Edward offers to leave them for a hunt, reluctant at first, but they are both hungry. They were supposed to go earlier this morning, after she finished painting.

“You can go,” she assures him. “Carlisle won’t hurt me.”

Carlisle’s eyes flick up to find hers, a hint of horror at the mere thought, she’s sure.

Edward nods. “I know. I’ll be right back.”

In a flash of movement, he’s gone.

“Is he really your son?” Carlisle asks, staring into the swaying branches the boy left in his wake.

“Not biologically, no,” she answers. finally releasing his patella to fold her own legs beneath her. “Edward turned me in the 1920s.”

Carlisle’s brow arches.

“It wasn’t an easy decision for him,” she’s quick to add. “He hides it well, but I know he still feels guilt for it, still questions if he made the right decision.”

“May I ask what happened?”

Esme nods. “My husband and I, we were visiting Chicago. That’s where Edward is from, where he had been living since he was turned a few years earlier. My husband, Charles, he... he wasn’t a good man.” She instinctively begins to rub the mended bone of her wrist, one of the many bones he broke that final night. “We had gone to see a movie, he had been drinking, and after the film ended, he took me out into the back alley, beat me until I was nearly dead.”

She feels Carlisle stiffening before her, but she doesn’t dare look up until she’s finished.

“All I remember, all that Edward told me, is Charles being wrenched off of me. I had already passed out when Edward bit me.” She flips her hand, allowing Carlisle to see the two half moons healed on the inside of her wrist. “Edward used to hang around the city, targeting rapists and murderers. And abusive husbands, it seems.” She swipes her thumb over the scarred flesh. “He was wracked with guilt when I awoke a couple of days later, couldn’t stop apologizing long enough to explain what had even happened to me. The thirst took over, I made my first kill soon after.”

Esme swallows hard, never wanting to remember the face of the life she took, the innocent man walking outside that fateful day. But she’ll never forget it.

“We decide to move after that.”

“Here?” Carlisle asks, his voice gentle.

“No, Wisconsin first. Then Wyoming. Now Washington. Fans of the W’s apparently,” she jokes, finally risking a glance up to Carlisle’s face. “Edward’s only seventeen, but he’s been seventeen for nearly a century.”

“You’re a good mother to him,” Carlisle offers, a tentative half-smile tugging at his lips. The first she’s seen since meeting him.

“I try to be,” she murmurs, her lips rising to match his. “I love him as if he’s mine. I always have.”

“I’m sorry again, for how we had to meet,” he sighs, eyes falling to his lap.

“Then let’s change it.”

Esme extends her hand. Carlisle looks up confused, so she flicks her eyes to her hand, wiggles her fingers until he gingerly slides his palm into hers.

She ignores the ridiculous flutter in her stomach that she doesn’t quite understand.

“Hi,” she smiles at him. “I’m Esme Platt.”

His eyes shine for her.

“Carlisle Cullen,” he replies, giving her hand a tender shake.

“Pleasure to meet you. Now tell me your story, Carlisle Cullen.”

She draws her hand back to her lap, leans forward ready to listen, but he hesitates.

“It’s not a very good one.”

“I told you mine,” she huffs, watching his eyes cut to hers with a sparkle of amusement at her tone. “I won’t judge.”

She waits him out until he finally sighs, leans back into the tree as if getting comfortable.

“I was born in London, in the 1640s.”

#twilight fanfiction #esme cullen #carlisle cullen #esme x carlisle #carlesme #prompt!#my writing #okay so it was supposed to be a one shot #but then it grew #and now I'm 10k in #i'm sorry!#i can write shorter things i promise

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