Within a world where monsters don't hide in the shadows but rule them, love isn't a sanctuary. It's a liability.
Ophelia Rosenwald is a walk
Isabella
The tires of the rusted old truck crunched loudly against the gravel, but the sound itself was drowned out by the thunderous roar of the engine. A soothing sound to some, a buzz that echoed over the thoughts within a person's mind. Inside the cab, Bella Swan gripped the steering wheel, her eyes tracking the dark, rain-slicked pavement of the Forks High School parking lot. It was exactly as she had feared. A sea of unfamiliar faces, multi-colored umbrellas, and the stifling, claustrophobic energy of a small town where everyone always knew everything.
Bella shifted the truck into park, only then realizing she wasn't the only anomaly today.
A sleek, black sedan pulled up near the edge of the drop-off zone, its engine purring with an expensive, quiet precision that didn't belong in a rainy town like Forks. The passenger door opened, and a girl stepped out. Bella found herself staring, maybe too intently.
The girl was beautiful, but it was a broken, fragile kind of beauty that felt entirely out of place against the backdrop of the Pacific Northwest flannel and mud-splashed boots. Her skin was pale with a delicate, faint flush of life beneath it, and dark, heavy-lidded eyes that looked instantly exhausted by the mere sight of the school. She wore a thick, oversized wool coat, but what caught Bella's attention was the way she held herself.
Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her hands tucked deeply and securely into her pockets. She wasn't just cold, it looked like she was protecting herself.
A tall, broad-shouldered man--clearly her older brother, judging by the sharp, protective line of his jaw--stepped out of the driver's side. He reached out to hand her a heavy umbrella, his hand moving naturally to brush against her shoulder. The girl flinched immediately. It was a violent, instinctual recoil, her entire body tensing as she took a sharp step backward to avoid his fingers. The brother stopped instantly, a look of profound, familiar sorrow crossing his face. He didn't try to touch her again. Instead, he simply opened the umbrella, handed it to her by the very edge of the handle, and offered a tight, reassuring nod.
Bella watched, a strange ache of recognition twisting in her stomach. She avoids people, Bella realized. She's terrified of them.
Ophelia
I keep my eyes locked strictly on the wet asphalt, watching the dark, rain-slicked oil patterns swirl beneath my boots. The black fabric of my umbrella serves as a meager shield against the world, but it does little to muffle the suffocating atmosphere of Forks High.
Every step toward the double doors feels like wading into a thick, heavy fog. My heart is beating too fast--a frantic, stubborn, biological pulse of my hybrid nature, thumping an erratic rhythm right against my ribs. I can feel the adrenaline spiking, hot and sharp through my veins, and with that physical panic comes the terrifyingly familiar loosening of my grip.
Don't look, I tell myself, a desperate mantra looping within my thoughts. Don't reach out. Don't slide. Watch your step. Careful of their paths.
Even without physical contact, the swirl of emotions within the parking lot hit me like a physical wall of static electricity. Curiosity, anxiety, overwhelming boredom, petty irritation--it all bounces off my skin, bleeding into my mind. It's too loud. For me, a hybrid whose nervous system processes the world with the raw, active intensity of a living, breathing body, a crowded school isn't just uncomfortable. It's a damn minefield.
If I panic, if my pulse spikes at all, my gift misfires. And if anyone so much as accidentally brushes against me within these narrow hallways, I won't just sense their teenage angst, I will project my own deepest, darkest terror straight into their nervous system. I will break their mind with a single, involuntary touch, forcing them to feel an emotional agony so devastating it can silence a room.
To make matters worse, I desperately need to feed. Or eat. The hunger is a dull, relentless ache in the back of my throat. It's what I like to think of as a biological thirst that makes my power louder, more volatile, and infinitely harder to contain. Regular food can sustain my human half, but it doesn't quiet the nervous system. Only blood can soothe that.
I pull my oversized wool coat tighter around my frame, burying my hands deep and secure inside the pockets to ensure absolutely no skin-to-skin contact can happen. Weaving through clusters of students like a ghost trying desperately not to disturb the living, I try to blend into the background. I can feel eyes tracking me--one pair specifically, coming from a girl with brown hair sitting inside a classic, yet rusted orange truck--but I keep my gaze fixed hard on the floor. One step, then the next. Avoiding sneakers and boots alike. One step after the next.
Just get the schedule, I breathe, keeping my chest shallow so I don't inhale too much of the warmth around me. Find an empty corner, survive the day.
The heavy glass doors of the school creak open, forcing me inside a maze of institutional green tile and lockers that rattle like loose teeth every time someone slams them shut. The air inside is thick, smelling of wet canvas, cheap body spray, and the distinct, dizzying warmth of too many heartbeats packed into a confined space.
Just get to the office, I tell myself, focusing on the steady click of my boots against the muddied floor. Left foot, right foot. Don't look up, don't make eye contact.
As fate would have it, my physical efforts to remain invisible do nothing to dull my psychic radar. The moment I enter the main hallway, the emotional static morphs into a roaring swell. I pass a group of boys laughing by the trophy case, but beneath their loud bravado is a sharp, jagged spike of insecurity. It's a desperate need to fit in that tastes like copper on the back of my tongue. A girl rushing past me is radiating a panic so pure and frantic over a forgotten assignment that my own pulse answers it, jumping a dangerous ten beats per minute.
I stumble slightly, my shoulder nearly clipping the edge of a locker. My hands tighten into fists inside my coat pockets, the fabric hiding how my nails bury into my palms. Control it, I order my frantic nervous system. If my skin so much as grazes someone through a rip in their jeans or a short sleeve, my empathy won't just absorb their stress--it will violently bounce back tenfold, laced with a psychic agony that could probably drop an elephant. I wouldn't really know, I've never tried.
"Excuse me? Are you lost?"
The voice is quiet, hesitant, and entirely too close for comfort.
I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as I finally force my eyes upward. Standing just two feet away from me is the brown-haired girl from the rusted orange truck. Up close, her aura is vastly different from the loud, aggressive emotional frequencies of the other students. She isn't shouting for attention. Instead, she is shrouded in a quiet, deeply rooted isolation that feels incredibly familiar. It's a heavy, suffocating blanket of displaced loneliness. Silence.
She has a map of the school clutched in one hand and a slip of paper in the other. Her brown eyes are wide, assessing me with a mixture of cautious curiosity and a sudden, tentative hope.
"I'm Isabella," she says, her voice dropping a fraction lower, as if she's just as overwhelmed by the morning crowd as I am. "But everyone calls me Bella. I'm also new here, just moved in from Phoenix."
She takes a small step forward, stretching out her hand in a universal gesture of greeting. My eyes immediately drop to her bare skin, her fingers are exposed. Her skin is pale and vulnerable against the damp air of the hallway. To a normal teenager, extending a hand is an innocent attempt at making a friend on a miserable first day. To me, it is a loaded weapon aimed directly at my chest.
I instinctively take a sharp, rigid step backward, my spine colliding with the cold metal of a locker. A loud clang echoes down the corridor, drawing a few passing glances.
"I... I can't," I stammer, the words rushing out in a breathless, fractured whisper. My heart is pounding so loudly against my ribs that I'm terrified she can hear it over the noise of the bell. The hunger in my throat flares violently, a burning, predatory reminder that my human facade is paper-thin right now. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't touch anyone."
Bella's hand hovers in the air for a second too long before she lowers it, her fingers curling inward. A wave of acute embarrassment ripples off her, a painful, stinging rejection that hits my psychic senses like a slap to the face. She thinks she's done something wrong, that I'm rejecting her.
But right behind the embarrassment, something else settles into her emotional atmosphere: an intense, purely intentional empathy. She looks at my white-knuckled grip on the hem of my jacket, notices the way I'm practically trying to melt into the wall to put space between us, and her defensive walls crumble. She doesn't look offended, she looks at me like she recognizes the sheer terror radiating from my posture. Like she's looking at a startled animal.
"It's okay," Bella says softly, her voice entirely devoid of judgement. She steps back, deliberately giving me a wide, respectful berth. "It's really loud in here, yeah? I get it. I hate how big the crowds are too."
The relief that washes over me is instant, her understanding nearly making my knees buckle. Her emotional aura stabilizes into something grounded, calm, and entirely unthreatening. She isn't pushing, nor is she demanding an explanation for my freakish behavior.
"I'm Ophelia," I manage to say, my voice finally finding a steady thread as I force my heart rate to decline. I tuck my hands firmly back into my pockets, though I allow myself to look her in the eyes for the first time. "I'm new too. You can call me... Opie."
"It's nice to meet you, Opie," Bella replies, offering a genuine smile that doesn't quite reach her tired eyes, but carries a warmth that feels incredibly rare in a place like this. She looks down at her schedule, then back up at me. "I'm heading toward the front office to drop off my slip. Would you like to walk together? You don't have to talk at all, but it might be easier if we cut through the hallway with each other."
I look at the sea of moving bodies ahead of us, then back to Bella. Her quiet, steady presence acts like a minor anchor against the chaotic storm of the student body. She is a shield I didn't expect to find.
"Yes," I whisper, stepping away from the lockers but keeping a strict, two-foot perimeter of empty air between us. "Please."
The heavy wooden door to the front office cuts of the worst of the hallway's roar, replacing it with the steady, comforting clack of a keyboard and the humming groan of an ancient copy machine. The air in here is warmer, smelling of stale coffee, old paper, and damp umbrellas.
Bella steps fully inside first, her quiet presence guiding the way. I follow closely behind her, keeping my mandatory two-foot perimeter, my hands still tightly clenched inside the pockets of my wool coat. The hunger in my throat gives a vicious, sharp pulse. A simple reminder that my control is running on empty. I take a slow, measure breath through my mouth to avoid inhaling the scent of the office staff.
Behind the counter sits a plump woman with red hair and kind, tired eyes, her desk buried under a small mountain of manila folders. She looks up, her face immediately brightening into a practiced, welcoming smile as she sees us approach.
"Hello, girls. How can I help you this morning?"
Bella steps forward, handing over her pink slip with a quiet, polite nod. "I'm Isabella Swan. I'm just dropping off my signed slip. I didn't get the chance to yesterday."
"Ah, Chief Swan's girl! I'm glad to see you made it through the first day okay, Isabella," the woman says warmly, stamping the paper with an official-looking thud. "I'm Ms. Cope, or Miss Shelly. I'll be here if you need anything going forward, mm?"
As Ms. Cope files the slip away, her eyes shift over to me. The moment she takes in my face, her posture completely changes. Her polite, routine customer-service demeanor evaporates, replaced by a sudden, sharp spike of absolute awe and eager curiosity that hits my senses like a brilliant flash of lightning.
"Oh! Oh, my goodness," Ms. Cope breathes, her hands fluttering to her chest as she sits up straighter. "You must be Ophelia, dear! Ophelia Rosenwald."
I stiffen, a familiar wave of anxiety rippling through my stomach. Please don't make a scene, I pray silently. Please.
"Yes," I whisper, keeping my voice as soft and unremarkable as possible. "I'm here to pick up my registration packet and schedule."
"Of course, of course! Right away, dear," Ms. Cope says, her voice rising an octave in excitement. She immediately begins rummaging through a specific drawer, completely forgetting the pile of work on her desk. "We were all so incredibly thrilled when we heard you were enrolling. Your father, Mr. Rosenwald, is practically a legend around here! The entire county has been talking about his firm's latest high-profile case in Seattle. He is just a brilliant lawyer, so sophisticated. To think he chose to keep his main estate right here in Forks!"
Beside me, I can feel Bella's sudden wave of surprise. She glances at me from the corner of her eye, her internal curiosity spiking, though she keeps her expression perfectly neutral. She hadn't realized who my family was, I guess.
I manage a small, tight nod, keeping my lips pressed together. They think of Arthur Rosenwald as my father--the powerful, high-rolling human lawyer who commands respect in every courtroom across the Pacific Northwest. They don't know the truth. They don't know the man that he once was, the human man married to my late mother, a woman that belonged wholeheartedly to the shadows. They don't know that after she passed, Arthur chose to stay, keeping the Rosenwald name alive and fiercely protecting me, hiding my hybrid nature beneath the golden, untouchable shield of his wealth and societal status. To the town of Forks, I am just an eccentric, aristocratic heiress to a massive legal fortune.
"He is very dedicated to his work," I offer softly, the lie tasting bitter. Arthur is dedicated, but mostly to keeping me safe from the things that look like me.
"Oh, absolutely! A true professional," Ms. Cope gushes, finally pulling out a thick, neat folder with my name printed in elegant script across the side. She sets it on the counter, along with a stack of heavy, brand-new textbooks that look like they haven't even been cracked open yet. "Here is your schedule, your map, and your locker assignment, sweetie. And these are your materials for the semester."
The pile of textbooks is massive, and as Ms. Cope slides them across the counter, the top one slips, threatening to crash against the linoleum floor. Instinctively, I reach out a hand to catch it, forgetting my mantra. My habit that keeps me safe.
My bare wrist flashes out from the sleeve of my coat. Ms. Cope, reacting to the falling book, reaches out at the exact same time.
Time seems to slow to a torturous crawl. I see her fingers traveling directly toward my exposed skin. If she touches me--if her warmth collides with my volatile, starved nervous system--my panic will ignite. I will project the horrific, suffocating terror of my hybrid thirst straight into her mind, breaking her composure and silencing this office in a heartbeat.
Before our skin can meet, a physical barrier slides between us. Bella's hand shoots forward, catching the falling textbook with a dull sound of thick paper hitting human flesh. Her arm firmly blocks Ms. Cope's hand from making contact with my wrist.
"I've got it," Bella says quickly, her voice a steady anchor in the sudden spike of my panic.
I pull my hand back violently, tucking it deep inside my coat pocket, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I'm trembling, my breath coming short and shallow as the adrenaline floods my system. Too close. Too close.
Ms. Cope blinks, slightly startled by Bella's quick movement, but she quickly laughs it off, entirely oblivious to the psychological disaster that was just averted. "Oh, thank you, Isabella! My reflexes aren't what they used to be."
Bella doesn't say a word about my breathless, terrified reaction. She just looks at the heavy stack of books, then looks back at me, her brown eyes filled with that same quiet, unjudgmental understanding she'd shown me in the hallway. Without being asked, she reaches down and scoops up half of the heavy textbooks, cradling them against her own chest.
"I can help you carry these to your locker, Opie," Bella says softly, her emotional aura radiating a calm, protective warmth that instantly helps soothe my spiked pulse. "My next class is right down that hall anyway."
I look at her, a profound sense of gratitude washing over me, temporarily quieting the burn of the hunger in my throat. She saved me. She doesn't even know what I am or what I can do, but she saved me anyway.
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.
Ms. Cope beams a the two of us, practically oozing satisfaction at the sight of the town's two new girls bonding. "Have a wonderful day, girls! Let me know if you need anything at all, okay?"
Bella offers a polite nod, and together, we turn and walk back out into the hallway. I stay two feet to her left, my hands safely hidden against my chest where I cradle the rest of my textbooks. To say that I'm grateful for the human at my side would be an understatement, she's a shield that I didn't know existed.
"But Carlisle believed I was able-- too gifted, too strong, too intelligent... It made me arrogant, I think, but it also shaped me into the man I saw in his head, so determined was I to earn the approval he's already given. Carlisle was shrewd like that."
Warnings: 18+ readers, Somnophilia (a kink where someone likes fucking or being fucked in their sleep), praise
Copyright: I do not own Carlisle Cullen or other Twilight characters. I do not condone this being copied.
You and Carlisle had a wonderful relationship. You were both deeply in love with each other, despite your fragile human existence. That didn't stop the two of you from having a normal relationship with each other though. Especially your sexual life.
Although a lot of the time, you felt you were holding back his ultimate pleasure as he was more focused on trying not to break you in his arms then if he was getting off. But he wasn't really one to care more about his pleasure than yours anyways.
Seriously, Carlisle was the sweetest, most compassionate man- vampire- you had ever met. He was also highly intelligent and extremely attractive. Not to mention perfect self-control so you were never in any danger from him.
Of course, the only problem was once your career was established, you started seeing each other less and less. He was in the hospital from seven in the morning till nine at night. You were working from five in the morning till seven at night, which led you to eating and falling asleep before he even got home.
Sure, he would see you in the mornings because he didn't sleep- but there was no more room for any sexual plays with both of your schedules so busy.
So you made the call.
"You don't sleep at all and I do." You stated.
Carlisle paused, fixing his tie in the mirror. You were on your way out the door for work and he was just getting ready to go into the hospital as well.
He said nothing as it was a very obvious statement.
"I want to try something." You said. You were hoping he would want to, as you felt that maybe if you weren't awake, then maybe he would find more pleasure or something. Your brain might not have been working. But it sounded exciting regardless.
"What is it?" He asked, genuinely curious as he started to lace up his black dress shoes. Alice never let anyone wear anything twice except shoes. These were Carlisle's favorite pair.
"If you come home and you're, you know, wanting to get loose, you can come in and make love to me even if I'm fast asleep." You stated, slightly awkwardly, slightly excitedly.
Despite his superior vampire reflexes, he still almost hit his head on the corner of the dresser as his head snapped up to look at you with those penetrating golden eyes. "Huh?"
You had efficiently knocked the well spoken man down to a single syllable of confusion. Not even a proper one at that. He never used slang.
You sauntered over with a small smirk to put a hand on his cold cheek and kiss him. "You heard me. You have that wonderful vampire hearing after all. You don't have to if you don't want to or if you're uncomfortable, but I want you to know that I'm okay with it. More than okay, really. I actually find the idea somewhat exhilarating. It's up to you."
And with that, you had left for [Your Job].
Over the next few months, you assumed he'd forgotten. Or maybe he had done it and you'd just never woken up to it.
But as that had been November and it was now becoming April, you were starting to think he most definitely had forgotten.
In reality, he had not. It was on his mind every night when he came home and saw you sleeping. He knew it would be easy enough. And he really, really desired to. But then you had to remember that he was from the 1600's, and what you were asking from him was probably considered rape back then. And Carlisle was nothing, if not a gentleman.
But then he gave in.
He'd had a horrible day at the hospital and all he had wanted to do was come home and tell you about it. He knew you'd be asleep, like you usually were, but he wanted to so badly. He wanted to tell you about how he'd had a patient die on him, one that he had really cared for, for the last couple of months. And he had been so young and that life was unfair, but he hadn't dared saved him with vampire venom. He was wondering if he should've. You would know what to say, you always did. He wanted you to make him feel better.
Back at home, he avoided the rest of the family. He didn't want Jasper or Edward picking up on any vibes from him and then having the entire family converge on him to console him. It wasn't their love that he wanted. He didn't want to talk to any of them.
He undid his tie, watching your sleeping form in the bed, bought specifically for you. Your mouth was slack, your H/C hair spread out on the pillows. You were wearing a thin grey T-shirt with Stitch [Or other fav Disney Character] on it, and a pair of stitch blue knickers. As it was summer, you only had a thin sheet covering your body as you got hot easily.
He slid out of the rest of his clothes, leaving them on the floor which he never did, eager to join you for the night like he always did. Even if he couldn't sleep, he still liked sliding into bed next to you, even closing his eyes for a few hours, pretending.
"Carlisle."
The mutter made him think you were awake and he turned to respond before he saw that you were, in fact, still asleep.
Your chest was rising and falling just a little faster and he was suddenly hit with the smell of your arousal. If he could've blushed, he might've.
Well, who was he to deny your wet dream about him?
He tossed the sheet back from the both of you, letting the white fabric float down around your ankles. He carefully moved on the bed to position himself over you. Your thighs were clenched together, rubbing together unconsciously in your sleep. He gently pushed them apart, before gripping the sides of your blue knickers, ripping them effortlessly. He tossed the two scraps of lace over the back of the bed to flutter to the floor.
He felt Lord- his alter ego- purr with content as he lowered his mouth to your sopping cunt, lapping your release to his hearts content. He felt all the tension and sadness bleed away as he continued to eat you out with fervor. He savored the sweetness of your honey, the taste tangy on his tongue.
"Carlisle." You murmured, bucking your hips in your sleep. You were deep in a dream where Carlisle was fucking you, and it was starting to feel very realistic. It was almost as though you could actually feel his cool tongue on your pussy.
His ministrations were done with vampiric speed, faster than any human male could have done it, his tongue fucking you eagerly.
He sucked at your clit harshly, drawing soft mewls from your sleeping form. Your arms fidgeted and it was almost like you wanted to roll over. His hands pressed firmly down as your thighs tried to close again. His tongue could feel your walls pulsing and you orgasmed without waking.
Feeling emboldened, Carlisle lapped away every drop before pulling away to observe your sleeping form.
Beads of sweat had appeared in your hair line, showing that you were hot from the experience. Your chest was heaving with deeper breaths, your lips parted to hear the shallow gasps you were taking. Your eyelids were twitching, but you were not awake.
He smirked a little, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, before lining himself up at your entrance and pushing in.
You moaned softly, fingers twitching as he bottomed out inside of you. Carlisle started to thrust, feeling every emotion except lust and love drain out of him as he let everything go. His fingers deftly played with your nipples, twisting, rolling, pinching, pulling, everything he could and wanted to do to them.
Finally, your eyes fluttered open, another moan coming to your throat and leaving through your lips at the wonderous feeling you hadn't felt in a while.
"C-Carlisle." The stutter told him that you were awake and his eyes snapped to yours. They were a mix of black and yellow and it told you that 'Lord' was in play as well.
"Well hello there darling." Carlisle growled, teeth grazing your pulse point on your neck, making you whimper. You could feel the knot growing and you sucked in your stomach like you were trying to get away from it. A bad habit of yours.
"Took you l-long enough." You murmured out, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pounded into you relentlessly.
"I had a bad day." Carlisle murmured before sucking a large hicky on your neck. "Such a fucking bad day. So I'm just going to fuck you into the bed, yeah?"
Oh my god. He'd cursed. So hot. Holy shite. Oh he was in such a bad mood.
"C-Carlisle, I-I'm gonna c-cum."
"Go ahead darling." Carlisle said, biting your neck gently. "Fucking cum all over my prick."
You let go, closing your eyes, crying out his name before he finished in you as well.
He pulled out to lay down next to you and you curled your body around him. You peppered his face with sweet kisses before leaving a lingering one on his cool lips. His cold body wrapped around your hot one.
You settled back down, running your fingers through his hair, a way of comforting him. He'd always loved feeling your hands in his hair. You moved your hand down to cup his marble face and you smiled gently. "Now, tell me about your day."
Red Threads // Twilight Fanfiction // Jasper Hale x Dawn Swan (on Wattpad)
They say the red strings of fate were meant to tie souls together. That destiny was unseen, and unbreakable. But I've seen it twist. I've felt it fray.
Forks was supposed to be quiet. Until Jasper Hale tried to kill me. Until I realized fate isn't something you follow. It's something you can tear apart.
Now destinies are shifting. Bella's. Alice's. Jasper's. Mine.
And the red threads? They're no longer tied the way they used to be.
Ima make this short and sweet: if you don't like having to lay in starfish position, count, visualize entering a waiting room even beFore getting to your DR, have sensory issues, or have trouble focusing, this is for you.
The trick is to not give a fuck. Think about it like this, when you really need to pee, the more you think about peeing, the more you feel like you're gonna piss yourself, and yes, even while you're not actively thinking about it, you can still feel the urge to use the bathroom, but essentially you're just gaslighting your brain into thinking you can hold it for just a bit more. This applies with shifting too.
THE METHOD
1.) get into a comfy position (it doesn't matter if you can feel your blanket, your pillow, the sheets, your plushies, literally none of it matters)
2.) pick a time where the house will be silent so you don't hear anything distracting (this is why I try at night because that shit is DEAD silent)
3.) lay down and close your eyes (you don't have to set an intention, you don't even have to pretend you don't care about shifting-if you REALLY wanna shift then don't gaslight yourself into thinking otherwise)
4.) start maladaptive daydreaming as if your eyes are open and you're acting how you usually do during the day (which is getting a task and listening to music while pretending you're in-not even your DR but just the scenarios you like)
5.) Keep imagining and don't think too much about "when re the symptoms gonna come" and they will come
6.) pick however you wanna shift (the one I like to use is acting like doctor strange and opening up a portal by moving my hand in a circular direction but honestly do whatever you like whether that's just saying "portal" or "I'm here" or acting it out-if that's what you like. The portal part doesn't matter, it's more about the assumption- "I'm here" asserts your point)
(no meditations, affirmations, or subliminal needed, that's literally IT)
the closest I've ever gotten to shifting were two accounts, both where I used this same method.
Please feel free to inbox any requests or questions, I will try my best to respond as soon as, I only write for males at the moment but will venture out into writing for the women at some point.
