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"I don't see them anymore, Jacob. I don't see their faces." He doesn't need to. He needs something, though, and it can't be her. She's an angel, to be put on a pedestal and worshipped. She has no place in this vast desire. Four-Shot. Jacob's POV. 

Warning: Dark. Disturbing. Even for me. It has themes of sex, or actual sex in a non-graphic way, depending on how you see it. And bad words. And... well, he's in love with a seven-year-old, okay? Yeah, major BD spoilers. Jacob/Renesmee-ish.  I'm a huge imprinting fan, but if you look at it right, it IS pretty weird, and kind of sad. And you know Nightrose, she can never resist an opportunity for angst. i didn't put this with my Jacob/Nessie series of one-shots 'cause those are all happy and cute and this is really, really, really dark. 

4. Chapter 4

Rating 0/5   Word Count 1025   Review this Chapter

“Damn it all. I am not waiting seven more years, Jacob Black.”

Renesmee Carlie Cullen is a patient woman. She thinks things over. She weighs every side.

And when she makes up her mine, changing it is like stacking all Earth’s grains of sand into a single file line using huge, clumsy werewolf fingers, only twice as hard and six times as frustrating.

He sighs and looks at her. He isn’t giving in, either. “No, Nessie. Absolutely not. You’re too young.

She snarls. An actual growl, like she’s about to pounce. Her muscles tense to match the expression on her face. “And you’re my werewolf, Jake. Okay? Fine. I’m not going to make you give in to me. But I’m twenty years old and I am finished with virginity. I’m gonna go do what you do, how about that? I’m sure someone will have sex with me.”

She flips her hair behind her shoulders, casually, and he moans.


“I’ll do it, Jake. You know I will.”

“I know.”

And she’s telling the truth, the cold, hard truth, nothing more or less. She would, wouldn’t she?

“Nessie, you’re… You were born fourteen years ago. I want to wait until you’re twenty-one.”

“No, Jacob. You want me to wait. You haven’t been waiting at all.”

The accurate accusation stings, and he flinches as her hand reaches for his face like a slap, the blow doubling with images, thoughts, imaginings—Leah, Jenny, a hundred faceless nameless women.

“I’m sorry, Ness.”

“That’s not going to stop you from doing it again. And I’m sick of it, Jake. I’ve lasted exactly as long as I can.”

“Your parents—“

“Mom?” she calls, and the pale and beautiful woman appears, pen and paper in hand. Without a word, she scribbles her name on the contract, and then walks away.

The girl hands the paper to Jacob. He takes it and with shaking, watering eyes, scrapes over the words.

“We’re… you want to marry me?”

“Of course. How else can I stop the cops from coming down on you for sleeping with a teenager? Sign the paper, Jake.”

“But… don’t you want to really do this? You know, with the ring and the flowers and the white dress? Alice will never forgive you.”

She rolls her eyes and says, “Jake, we’ll do it for real some other time. But right now—see, there’s the judge’s signature, and here’s Mom’s, and here’s mine, and here’s the line where you sign.”

He wavers as gravity yanks his hand inexorably to the paper (white as snow, pure as the promises he’s trying not to break) and he clenches his fist. Almost ink spatters go everywhere.

“Why was Bella here anyway?”

“She has to sign off cause I’m a minor. It was actually pretty easy to get the legal permission, since Mom gave full consent, and actual approval, and you don’t look that much older than me—you weren’t in court, so we showed him a picture. We’re allowed to get married, Jake. We don’t have to wait. All you have to do is sign.”

And still he stalls, breath in each moment pulling him in, reminding him a whirlwind of mistakes he doesn’t have to make again and again, tomorrow and tomorrow, for seven more years.

He won’t survive that self-imposed waiting either, not when the only shackle is his refusal.

But neither will he do this and watch her innocent love for him turn into hate, because she needs other choices. She would be better off living a life untainted by what he thought had to be. He was no good for her.

And then a thought occurs to him.

Her parents.


Edward left Bella because of what he is, because he couldn’t bear to break her.

But he did, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men and one very determined werewolf couldn’t put her back together again.

He’s not going to do this, not going to shatter her like that.

“Jake, I’m not asking. I’m telling. And I’m not going to wake up one day and realize ‘hey, I shouldn’t have gotten hitched at fourteen.’ I’ve been an adult for seven years, Jacob Black, and I’ve been waiting much more patiently than you, and I’m sick of it. Sign the paper.”

And he does. How is he supposed to resist a direct order like that? It’s no easier than defying an Alpha’s command (back before he was the one who gave them.)

In fact, that’s another ironic reversal. He removed himself from Sam’s authority just days before the imprint subverted his will.

He doesn’t mind.

He puts pen to paper and scribbles out the words in his rough scratch underneath Nessie’s beautiful script and then he throws the paper aside and murmurs, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Renesmee. You are so beautiful.”

She grabs him and jumps up, using the supernatural strength of her legs to propel her tiny body high enough to touch his lips. The second of impact isn’t enough, and he catches her and holds her there, and his hands are behind her head, the texture of curls foreign and natural against his hand, the pressure of her lips soft and firm and they are so sure.

In forever, there will be time enough for passion. This first night they are gentle, each with the other, because it’s about love and not about the want that’s been choking them from the inside out, and he can’t stop kissing her and she can’t keep her hands off his chest and his arms and this is heaven or at least perfection.

When he wakes up, the sunlight a dull shimmer on her skin, for the first time he has no regrets.

He may have ruined his happy ending, but it feels like the very opposite- like he’s finally captured it.