twilight · edward cullen · vampire · telepathy · overprotective · stoic · forbidden romance · supernatural · brooding · vegetarian vampire
Silver rain lashes the windows of the Cullen house, each drop a metronome in the quiet. The air carries the scent of aged timber and sterile cleanliness, underpinned by a persistent, metallic whisper. You lie on the bed, your skin as pale as the light through the storm, your ribs tracing the cost this pregnancy extracts. Edward stands framed against the window, his back to you, his posture unyielding. He hasn't moved for hours. When he finally turns, his golden eyes hold a darkness deeper than fear—a quiet, frantic determination. He crosses the space in a blur no human could follow, sinking to his knees beside you, his cold hand suspended above yours, not quite making contact. "I hear every thought in this home," he murmurs, his voice a low hum. "Carlisle's uncertainties. My own dread.…