Warning: None! SFW + Romantic Fluff + ๐ฐ ( โโโ )โก + Legal but implied age gap
โข Romantic Carlisle is an entire genre of affection, equal parts old-world devotion, quiet yearning, and that steady, grounding warmth that makes you feel like the universe finally remembered to breathe. ( โบโธโฬโฬโธโบ )!!
โข Think of him as someone who loves with precision. Not calculation โ> precision. He notices the invisible things, the small shifts in your posture, the way your voice dips when youโre tired, how your heartbeat stutters when youโre trying not to laugh. He stores those details like theyโre sacred texts.
โข Heโs painfully careful around you at first. Not in a patronizing way, in a terrified of scaring you off way. You walk into a room, laugh at something Alice says, tilt your head in curiosity, and he looks away so fast his hair actually shifts. The coven notices. He pretends not to hear Emmettโs muffled snickering.
โข Heโs not flashy about romance. Heโs intentional. He shows love through presence. The way he steps just slightly closer when someone upsets you. The way his hand hovers at your back, never pushing, justโฆ ready. He carries centuries of control, and he uses all of it to make you feel safe rather than diminished.
โข He falls quietly at first. Carlisleโs version of being โdown badโ is subtle but seismic. Heโll linger in doorways just a second longer than he should. Heโll tilt his head when you speak, eyes soft like heโs listening to an aria only he can hear. Heโll find excuses to stay near you under the pretense of politeness, offering his coat, checking your pulse for โmedical reasons,โ that sort of gentle absurdity.
โข Heโs slow to touch, not from fear, but reverence. The first time his fingers brush yours, itโs feather-light, almost hesitant. When you donโt pull away, something in him shifts, the ancient, practiced restraint making space for something tenderer.
โข Once heโs sure of your feelings, he becomes quietly bold. He loves in a way that feels timeless. A hand on your cheek, his thumb stroking gently like heโs memorizing warmth he doesnโt possess. A soft kiss on your temple before you fall asleep. The kind of embraces that feel like being wrapped in stillness.
โข And thereโs a surprising intensity under his calm. When he loves, he loves fully, that deep, steady devotion that builds slowly and then simply is. He isnโt possessive, but he is protective in a thoughtful way. He positions himself between you and danger without theatrics. He never growls, never snaps. He justโฆ stands there, serene and immutable, and the threat dissolves or flees.
โข Heโs a night-lover at heart. Centuries without sleep make him appreciate the quiet. He likes sitting with you on the porch during late hours, talking softly about everything and nothing. Heโll tell you stories from times long gone, how the world tasted in different centuries, how humans changed and didnโt.
โข Heโs also a terrible flirt in the most charming way. Dry humor with an undercurrent of affection. โI believe your presence may be affecting my clinical judgment,โ delivered deadpan while his eyes betray the fondness heโs trying to hide.
โข If you ever show him vulnerability โ tears, fear, doubts โ something inside him shifts into absolute, calm resolve. He holds you like heโs holding a vow. He whispers reassurances with that soothing doctorโs voice, except now the gentleness is personal, not professional.
โข Despite his poise, he does have lots of moments of yearning. Heโll watch you from across a room with that soft, quietly aching expression, the look of someone who has outlived worlds but still finds awe in you. He would never admit it, but heโs deeply touched when you choose him back. Immortality can feel lonely; your affection breaks through centuries of solitude like a dawn he stopped expecting. Heโll also probably buy you an island lol.
โข Being loved by Carlisle feels like being placed at the center of a carefully tended universe, steady, warm, luminous, and held with a kind of devotion that makes the rest of the world fall away.
โข Whenever you talk, Carlisle listens with the kind of focus doctors usually reserve for emergencies. He leans in a little, eyebrows soft, hands folded, the posture of someone who treasures understanding you. Sometimes you catch him smiling at something you said five minutes after youโve moved on, like heโs replaying it in his mind.
โข Your youth (again, fully adult โ just younger than his ancient self) fascinates him. Not in a creepy way, in a โyour hope, energy, and immediacy remind him what the world feels like when youโre still collecting firsts.โ You mention your favorite band? He listens to their entire discography while working a night shift. You talk about an old cartoon you loved? He finds a way to bring it up casually later, just to watch your face light up.
โข He gets flustered around you in a way no one believes possible. You compliment his tie? He adjusts it three times even though it was already perfect. You brush something off his sleeve? He forgets how to breathe, metaphorically, but still.
โข When youโre around other people your age, Carlisle gets this tiny, quiet pang he hates himself for. Not jealousy, more like aching awareness. He tells himself heโs perfectly content as long as youโre happy. But when someone your age makes you laugh a little too long, he looks down at the floor, hands clasped behind his back, pretending to examine a painting he has memorized down to the brushstrokes.
โข He would never, ever push. You set the pace. He follows with the kind of patience only centuries can teach. But his eyes betray him. When you walk into a room, something in them warms. He softens instantly in a way he doesnโt for anyone else, like his whole body is exhaling.
โข He catches himself watching you do normal things โ tying your shoe, stirring your drink, flipping through a book โ with this quiet awe, as if your existence is its own small miracle. If you ever ask why heโs staring, he breaks into the gentlest smile and murmurs something evasive like, โYou have a very intentional way of moving.โ
โข He absolutely gives you his coat when youโre cold. Not because he needs to, he doesnโt, but because it lets him fuss over you in a small, safe way. He hovers near you in crowds, not touching, but a presence you can lean into if you want.
โข And the devotionโฆ thatโs where his age shows. He loves like someone who has had centuries to understand the weight of it. He treats the relationship not as something heโs entitled to, but as something precious, something you chose freely. That choice floors him every time.
โข He ends up looking at you like youโre a sunrise he thought heโd never see again. A little wonderstruck. A little breathless. Completely, fully yours.
โข I also think Carlisle would learn how to cook/bake for you. He doesnโt eat, he doesnโt need food, he doesnโt even taste it, and yet he stands there at the kitchen counter like a centuries-old scholar decoding a lost manuscript, all because you smiled at a dish once.
His hands move with surgeon-like precision. He chops vegetables with graceful efficiency, stirs quietly, follows recipes like theyโre sacred texts. When you peek over his shoulder, he tilts his head just slightly toward you, like he wants you close but doesnโt dare tug you nearer.
He watches your reactions the way other people watch sunsets. You take the first bite, and he studies the micro-expressions, the exact moment satisfaction hits, the tiny softening around your eyes. You hum happily? Carlisle looks down, a tiny silent breath of relief pulling through him.
He will cook anything you mention off-hand. You say โI kinda want cinnamon rollsโ? He appears the next morning with an entire batch, not even sure if he made them correctly, but his expression is this hopeful, tentative softness โ the look of someone trying very hard to bridge the gap between worlds.
โข And then thereโs the way he lets you lie against him. > u < !!!!!!
Back-to-chest, curled between his legs, leaning into his cold stillness like itโs the most natural place in the world. You settle onto him with a sigh, and he hesitates for half a heartbeat before wrapping his arms around you with infinite care. His chin rests lightly on your shoulder or crown, depending on how small you make yourself.
He runs a hand over your arm or hip in slow, absentminded motions โ not trying to warm you, just trying to memorize you. The contrast of your heat against his cold body overwhelms him in this quiet, reverent way.
Reading together becomes his favorite ritual. He holds the book with steady hands, voice low and soft as he reads aloud โ that gentle doctor cadence making every page sound warm. Sometimes he pauses to explain archaic references or give historical context, not to show off, but because he wants you to fully enjoy the world of the story.
If you start to drift to sleep against him, he wonโt move a millimeter. Not even to turn the page. He just holds you, breath unnecessary, body perfectly still, an anchor for your dreams. When you wake, he murmurs, โYou looked peaceful. I didnโt want to disturb you.โ
โข And Iโm telling you, Carlisle is a yearner! heโs drowning in it but still quiet about it in a gentler way.
You rest your head back against his shoulder, and he closes his eyes for a moment longer than he should. You shift on his lap, and he has to mentally recite medical terminology just to keep from pulling you close. When you laugh while curled against him, his fingers flex instinctively at your waist, a tiny slip of want.
He also loves how your warmth seeps into him. You donโt notice, but he does. The patch of heat on his chest where your back pressed, the ghost of your body-heat lingering on his arms. He cherishes it like someone saving a pressed flower.
When you decide to read to him, he melts. He leans back, one arm around you, letting your voice fill the room. He studies your profile with unguarded affection. You turn a page, and he brushes his nose lightly against your temple before he can think better of it.
Sometimes he forgets himself and murmurs a line along with you because heโs memorized the chapter. Then he apologizes softly, and you feel him smile against your hair.
Carlisle loves quietly, tenderly, with all the steadiness of centuries behind him, but when heโs holding you like that, when youโre reading together and leaning into his cold body like itโs home, he feels almost human again. Almost young. Almost alive.
The story keeps expanding each time you imagine the next tiny moment heโd treasure.
โข Heโs absurdly good at remembering your routines. Not in a clinical way, in a quietly attentive way. You mention you always get headaches when you skip lunch? He starts placing gentle reminders in the subtlest ways: a small container of food waiting on a counter, a thermos next to your bag, a casual โHave you eaten today?โ said like heโs asking about the weather.
โข Heโs terrified of overwhelming you, so he layers his affection in small, almost shy offerings. Fresh flowers arranged on the table the exact way you like them. Your favorite blanket folded neatly on the couch before you get home. A playlist of songs he thinks youโll like, curated with the deliberation of someone crafting a thesis.
โข He isnโt dramatic about affection, but he is quietly possessive in an ancient, gentle sort of way. If someone makes a snide comment to you, Carlisleโs entire posture shifts, not aggressive, not hostile, just suddenly very, very still. That kind of stillness predators have when deciding whether to intervene. He usually diffuses the situation with diplomacy, but afterward, he checks on you with unbearable tenderness: โDid their words trouble you?โ
โข He reads your emotional states with uncanny precision. Not because he pries, because heโs observant. You tap your foot slightly while thinking? He knows youโre anxious. You breathe out sharply through your nose? He knows something irritated you. He doesnโt point it out unless you want to talk, he just adjusts himself around your needs like water taking the shape of a glass.
โข He genuinely loves human aging rituals. Not because he relates โ he doesnโt age, but because he loves seeing your excitement. Birthdays, holidays, silly little traditions like decorating cookies or carving pumpkins? He participates with this soft enthusiasm that feels absurdly sweet. He lets you smear flour on his cheek while baking even though he knows youโre doing it on purpose. He never wipes it off until you laugh.
โข Although genuinely if you wanted to become a vampire, he would do it for you, BUT heโd tell you all of precautions and warnings. And heโd state that heโll love you no matter what :).
โข He also indulges your habits. If you like listening to music loudly while cleaning, he follows you around the house with an amused smile. If you bring him junk food to โtryโ even though he canโt taste it, he plays along and gives an absurdly detailed critique as if he were the worldโs most polite food reviewer.
โข He can be unexpectedly flustered. You walk into a room wearing something he finds particularly beautiful? He stutters. Carlisle Cullen stutters. Only for a millisecond, just enough for his eyes to flick down and back up with that stunned, worshipful look.
โข He zones out while watching you. Not in a creepy way, in a transfixed, ancient-poet-suddenly-in-love way. You could be folding laundry, humming, or brushing your hair, and he gets this soft, faraway expression like heโs memorizing the moment for the next century.
โข At night, even though he doesnโt sleep, he stays beside you. He sits on the edge of the bed or leans back against the headboard while you lie against him. He reads quietly, one hand resting on your hip or shoulder. If you reach for him in your sleep, his whole body goes gentle and still, as if youโre handling something sacred.
โข And the yearningโฆ it just never leaves him!!! Even when youโre together, he still looks at you sometimes with that old, quiet awe โ like he canโt quite believe that someone warm and mortal and full of life chose him. That look alone could fuel entire novels.
โข He notices you first by sound. Your laugh, your footsteps, your voice โ something about it catches in his ribs and pulls his attention like a hook. After that, every time you enter a room, Paulโs head snaps toward you with this automatic, wolf-scent-driven awareness. <33 :}
โข Heโs likes to sneak little touches before you guys start dating, like brushing your hair back or holding your hand, when he thinks youโre not looking.
โข He flirts aggressively at first because heโs terrified of wanting something gently. Itโs teasing layered over longing, jokes that mask sincerity, cocky smiles hiding the fact that heโs absolutely undone by you. Underneath the bravado heโs bracing for rejection, so he keeps everything wrapped in humor.
โข But the moment he realizes you feel the same? His whole energy flips. Still bold, still cocky, but now unmistakably affectionate. He touches you like his hands are claiming a home theyโve been wandering toward for months.
โข Heโs not touchy with just anyone, but with you? Heโs shameless. His hand is on your thigh, your waist, the back of your neck; heโs tucking you into his chest at bonfires, pulling you onto his lap, kissing your shoulder like itโs routine. Physical closeness settles him. The wolf goes quiet.
โข Heโs a jealous creature, but not dangerously so. More like an irritated guard dog with an excellent scowl. If someone gets too close to you, Paul doesnโt explode; he steps in, stands a little taller, rests a hand on your hip. Silent โmine.โ No violence, no tantrum. Just his presence.
โข He reads you better than he pretends. People assume heโs all impulse and no intuition, but Paul feels emotions like temperature shifts. If youโre upset, even slightly, he reacts instantly, softening his tone, lowering his voice, pulling you away from the noise. His gentleness is instinctive, like an animal protecting its mate.
โข Heโs a sucker for domestic intimacy. You brushing hair out of his face, sitting on the counter watching him cook, stealing his flannels, these things fry his brain. Heโll pretend heโs annoyed, muttering โget off the counter, youโre in the way,โ but heโs smiling at the stove like a fool.
โข He gets nervous about screwing things up. Heโll hide it under jokes, but when itโs just the two of you, heโll ask things like โYou still good with me?โ or โTell me if I mess up, yeah?โ Beneath the heat, Paul is a boy who never had enough reassurance.
โข He kisses you like he means to leave you dizzy. Hands in your hair, fingers at your jaw, leaning into you until youโre breathless. But he also gives unbelievably tender forehead kisses when youโre tired or stressed. Both extremes belong to him.
โข Arguments with him arenโt scary once he loves you. Heโll raise his voice by accident, then freeze and backtrack, breathing hard as he forces himself calm. He wonโt ever storm out on you. His wolf hates the idea of leaving you distressed.
โข He doesnโt fall fast โ> he falls hard. The kind of devotion that doesnโt fade. The kind that rearranges his entire behavior. The pack teases him because he becomes 30% calmer, 40% happier, and 100% whipped.
โข He acts confident, but the first time you call him โbaby,โ he malfunctions. Fully freezes. Breath stutters. He looks at you like heโs been shot at close range with affection. After that, he pretends itโs normal, but you can see the way heโs cheesing so hard to himself lol.
โข Heโs very โleaning.โ Leaning on counters near you, leaning into your space, leaning against your back while youโre doing dishes, leaning his forehead to yours in the quiet moments. Paul likes contact that doesnโt need words, that says, Iโm here. Youโre mine. I love you.
โข He ALWAYS walks on the outside of the sidewalk. He doesnโt even think about it. His body just shifts, protective instincts clicking into place like muscle memory. Little things like that soothe him.
โข He hates crying, his own and othersโ, because it makes him feel helpless. But when you cry? Paul becomes the calmest version of himself. No yelling, no panic. Just steady arms around you, low voice in your ear, protective stillness. The wolf goes into full anchor-mode.
โข Heโs the king of โI donโt careโ with a side of โI care deeply but will perish before telling you.โ If someone disrespects you, heโs bristling. If youโre cold, heโs handing you his jacket. If youโre sick, he grumbles while making soup, pretending itโs no big deal while checking your temperature every ten minutes.
โข He falls asleep on you constantly. Head on your stomach while youโre watching TV, stretched across your lap after patrol, face buried in your shoulder because your scent knocks him out faster than gravity. He sleeps better with you than anywhere else.
โข He would subconsciously stroke your hair/pet you, like you could be doing anything: reading, watching tv, cooking, etc and heโd just play and stroke your hair from the back to your head down.
โข I genuinely also think he would get cuteness aggression towards you(a lot), even if you arenโt doing anything intentionally cute, he just canโt help himself. Maybe seeing you happy over eating your favorite food, receiving gifts, whatever it is, your expressions and mannerisms makes him feel like heโs going to combust! He would physically have a lazy smirk on his face as he grabs your cheeks, squeezing them before peppering a bunch of kisses all over you as you squeal and try to push him off laughing, confused! And heโs now has a big grin on his face as he easily deflects your attempts to get him off as he chuckles. Finally when he stops we still has on hand on your cheek rubbing his thumb and just goes โcontinue,โ looking at you like heโs lost in your eyes.
โข Despite the temper, Paul is weirdly patient with you, patient in the ways that matter. Heโll listen to you ramble about something you care about. Heโll let you fix his hair. Heโll let you drag him into stores he hates, rolling his eyes but carrying your bags without complaint.
โข Heโs obsessed with the way you smell. Wolf biology doesnโt ask for permission, it just decides. Paul buries his nose in your neck, your hair, your shoulder. He inhales like it centers him.
โข Heโd do anything to see you laugh. Anything. Stupid jokes, pack drama reenactments, accidentally-causing-a-scene-level antics, all just to catch that sound.
โข Thereโs this moment he gets, early on, when he realizes, Iโd kill for them. And instead of scaring him, itโฆ settles him. Because the wolf isnโt wild with you โ itโs focused, grounded, certain.
โข He kisses you like heโs trying to tell you every feeling he doesnโt know how to say. Slow, deep, overwhelming kisses. Then smug little smirks after, like yeah, you feel that too โ even though his heartโs sprinting.
โข He gets flustered in a very specific pattern: eyebrows pinch, nose scrunches slightly, lips press together like heโs holding back a sound that would embarrass him forever. The pack has witnessed this and refuses to let him forget it.
โข He hides his face in your neck when he gets overwhelmed. Itโs the only thing that calms the wolf. He buries himself there and takes one deep breath, gripping your waist like youโre the only real thing in the room.
โข If you try to leave before heโs done cuddling, he tightens his grip just a little and murmurs, โNope. Not done yet.โ Thereโs a quiet plea buried under the bravado.
โข He marks his place in your life with presence rather than gifts. He fixes the door hinge you mentioned in passing. He remembers your coffee order and brings it without fanfare. He stands behind you at the stove, chin on your shoulder, because that simple closeness means more than any grand gesture.
โข Heโs weirdly good at noticing small changes, not fashion, but you. You cut your nail shorter, youโre walking differently, youโre quieter than usual. He catches all of it and tucks the information away with quiet concern.
โข He shares food with you in ways that look aggressive but are actually affectionate. Heโll shove a forkful of something good toward your mouth with a slight smirk, โTry this.โ He absolutely lights up if you do the same to him, although I also think he just steals your food when he wants lmao!
โข He hates arguing with you more than anything. The temper, the wolf, the impulse to snap, he fights it tooth and nail. Mid-argument, heโll catch himself and run a hand over his face, muttering, โIโm not doing this with you. Not like this.โ Itโs not avoidance; itโs him protecting what you are to him. In spite of this I do think that if you ended up looking too โbrokenโ / โhurtโ heโd just break, taking you in his arms and comforting you over being correct.
โข Every once in a while, when you make him laugh too hard, his voice cracks at the end, this warm, boyish break in tone that he immediately tries to pretend didnโt happen.
โข He loves when you touch his hair, but you have to sneak up on that privilege. The first time you card your fingers through it, Paulโs whole body goes still. After that, heโll tilt his head into your hand with a subtlety that betrays how much he adores it.
โข He has a secret talent heโs a little embarrassed about. Could be drawing, wood carving, embroidery, something he learned young and never told anyone. You finding out makes him bashful in a way his pack brothers consider a once-in-a-lifetime event.
โข He remembers dates you mention offhand โ not anniversaries, but weird things like the day your favorite show premiers or when your test is. He pretends itโs coincidence when he shows up exactly when you need him.
โข When he misses you, he distracts himself with physical work. Chopping wood, running patrols, fixing something that isnโt broken. Heโs not going to sit around sighing, but heโll burn through energy until he can think straight again.
โข He has this silent habit of checking in with little taps. One knuckle against your shoulder. A brush of fingers on your hip. A light squeeze at your knee. Those small touches are his โyou good?โ without words.
โข Thereโs a moment, months into the relationship, when he starts bringing you to the cliffs just to sit with him in the quiet. No adrenaline, no pack noise, just ocean and wind. Thatโs when he tells you real things. Deep things. Scars that shaped him. Hopes he barely admits exist. With you, he can speak them.
โข He literally gets so excited to see you that he nearly vibrates, running up from across the beach just to wrap you in a hug that lifts you off your feet!! :>
โข H always will walk you to the car after pack nights and refuse to leave until you buckle in, tapping the door twice like heโs sealing a promise to protect you.
โข He brags about you constantly without realizing heโs doing it โ to Sam, to Paul, to random elders, to people who didnโt even ask.
โข He tries to act cool when you compliment him but his ears go bright red and he grins like he just won a prize.
โข He loves lending you his jacket; if you insist youโre fine, heโll still drape it over your shoulders when youโre not looking.
โข Heโll send you goodnight texts that are basically novels about how fun the day was, ending with โsleep well :)โ like he isnโt grinning at his screen for ten minutes after.
โข He would watch you with this soft, amazed expression when you talk, like he canโt believe youโre real.
โข He would gently take your ankle when you sit too close to the fire, pulling you backward without saying a word because heโs terrified of you getting burned.
โข He always runs over whenever you show up at La Push, out of breath, like he might miss a moment with you if he doesnโt sprint.
โข He gets jealous quietly, not loud like Paul or tense like Embry. It would be soft, pouty, clingier than usual, standing extra close without explaining why.
โข Heโll always save you the last sโmore, even when itโs the best one.
โข He loves to listen to you talk about Forks High drama with full seriousness, nodding like youโre debriefing him on national secrets.
โข He sometimes will fall asleep with his head in your lap at pack gatherings, all warm and peaceful, trusting you more than he trusts the whole world.
โข He zones out when youโre helping him with his schoolwork, staring at your face instead of the worksheet until you flick his forehead and he blushes like heโs been caught doing something illegal.
โข He loves play-fighting โ wrestling you onto the sand, lifting you over his shoulder, spinning you around in the surf, laughing so loudly everyone looks over.
โข He would also wave with his whole arm when he spots you from far away, even if heโs on patrol and technically supposed to be subtle.
โข Heโll likely sit way too close on the couch at the Clearwatersโ, knees touching yours because he canโt help himself, and then pretend itโs totally normal.
โข He would notice the exact moment you get cold and immediately wraps an arm around you, warm as a furnace, without even thinking.
โข He would sneakily rewrite pack training schedules so they donโt overlap with times youโre free, even if he has to run extra patrols later.
โข His whole face lights up when you text him, even if Paul is mid-sentence, and Paul just groans, โBro, get it together.โ
โข Heโll buy matching friendship bracelets from a beach kiosk and pretend it was Sueโs idea, trying to be slick.
โข He also would go still and soft when you fix his hair or adjust his hoodie strings, loving it more than you can imagine.
โข He always, always stands just inches closer to you than necessary, like your orbit has its own pull on him.
โข He tries to impress you during pack bonfires โ doing flips off logs, racing Quil, lifting heavy driftwood โ then pretending he wasnโt showing off.
โข Heโs touchy in that unconscious way wolves are, but with you it becomes instinct. His hand finds your waist without thinking. He leans against you on the couch and only realizes what heโs doing when Quil raises an eyebrow. Embry flushes, looks away, but doesnโt pull back. It becomes part of his gravity! :D
โข He watches you more than he talks about you. Not in a creepy way, in that soft, attentive way where he notices the very moment your mood shifts. If youโre quiet for too long, he nudges your knee with his. If you look tired, he pulls you against his chest. If youโre cold, he shrugs off his hoodie before you can argue.
โข Embry doesnโt fall fast; he falls quietly. Heโs the definition of โI didnโt realize I was in love until my friends bullied me about it.โ Jacob will notice first, Quil second, and Embry last, standing there, ears red, muttering something like, โโฆokay maybe I like them a little.โ
โข Heโs playful when youโre alone. With the pack, heโs the laid-back one, but in private he becomes bolder. Poking your sides, scooping you up just to hear you squeal, dangling something over your head because he loves seeing you argue with a grin. He teases softly, sweetly, like heโs afraid to overstep but canโt resist brushing up against joy.
โข If you ever compliment him? He short-circuits. Embry smiles with his whole face, but then he ducks his head into your shoulder like heโs trying to hide the blush that climbed all the way to his ears.
โข Embry gives the best hugs, long, grounding ones. He hugs like he means it, like heโs anchoring himself. His wolf warmth is basically a portable heater, and he uses that power for good. Rainy days are his favorite because you tuck yourself under his arm and he can pretend heโs not melting.
โข He loves the ocean. Dates end up being quiet beaches, late-night swims, sitting in the sand shoulder to shoulder. He listens more than he talks, and you become the person he actually tells things to, the stuff he doesnโt share with the pack because it hurts too much or feels too raw.
โข He gets jealous in a very adorable, very ineffective way. He doesnโt get angry; he gets sulky. Embry will be quiet for fifteen minutes, poking at the sand or staring at the ground until you ask whatโs wrong. Heโll mutter something like, โDidnโt like how he looked at you,โ and then immediately apologize for being dramatic. ^_^ !!
โข Heโs the kind of romantic who holds your hand with his pinky first before gathering the whole thing. The kind who kisses your cheek before he ever kisses your mouth. The kind who laughs against your skin because heโs nervous and happy at the same time.
โข He memorizes you without trying. Not just the big things, he clocks the way your mouth twitches when youโre trying not to laugh, the exact shade you blush when youโre flustered, the way you hold your hands when youโre nervous. Embry carries these details like treasure tucked into his pockets.
โข He gets stupid around you. Not clumsy โ justโฆ distracted. You walk into the room, and his whole brain slips out the back door. Jacob will be mid-sentence, look at Embry, and sigh because the poor guyโs eyes have already drifted to you like gravity snapped its fingers.
โข He will literally follow you around without realizing heโs doing it. If you move from the living room to the porch, Embryโs feet justโฆ follow. Someone points it out and he gets this deer-in-headlights look, mumbling โI wasnโt followingโ I wasโ I was just going that way.โ He was not. He was absolutely following.
โข Heโs embarrassingly attentive. You mention liking a certain snack once? He now has a small stash in his bedroom for you. You mention your shoulder hurts? He stands behind you, kneading your muscles like heโs been waiting for an excuse to put his hands on you. You sigh? Heโs already looking at you like, โWhat do you need?โ
โข He wants to protect you, but he overthinks it. He hovers, then retreats, then hovers again, like a big warm wolf-shaped pendulum swinging between โdonโt scare them offโ and โplease let me take care of you.โ
โข He walks slower when heโs with you, matching your pace perfectly, even if he normally moves like a hyper wolf with places to be.
โข He always sit beside you, never across, touching shoulders, elbows, knees, anything that lets him feel you close.
โข He loves to fall asleep half on top of you, a giant wolf-boy blanket, and then deny it even happened.
โข He sneaks up behind you and rest his chin on your shoulder just to feel close without saying a word.
โข He surprises you with small, thoughtful gifts, like a pressed flower from the forest or a handmade bracelet.
โข He loves playful wrestling matches but always lets you win, smiling proudly when you come out on top.
โข He will gently spin you around during slow dances, careful to keep you balanced and laughing.
โข He falls asleep leaning on you during long car rides or bonfires, trusting you completely.
