ForeverInTwilight

BELLA, WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN, LOCA? !!Requests are closed!!

[forkshighschooler]

paul lahote x fairy!reader?

Moonlight & Wolfskin

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Fairy!Reader

Summary: Deep in the forests of La Push, Paul Lahote encounters a mysterious fairy girl hidden beneath the trees — glowing wings, ancient magic, and a presence capable of calming the rage he’s carried for years. What begins as suspicion quickly becomes something far more dangerous when Paul realizes he’s imprinted on her.

The first time Paul Lahote saw her, he thought she was a hallucination.

It was nearly midnight in the forests surrounding La Push, the air wet with rain and salt from the ocean cliffs. Paul had shifted hours ago after another pointless argument with Jared and Embry, and he was still too angry to go home. The wolf inside him paced beneath his skin like a living storm.

That was when he caught the scent.

Not vampire.

Not human.

Something green and sweet and cold, like flowers after a thunderstorm.

Paul moved silently through the trees until he reached a small clearing hidden beneath towering pines. The moment he stepped into it, the wind died completely.

And there she was.

Standing barefoot in the center of the clearing, glowing silver beneath the moonlight.

Her dress drifted around her legs like mist, pale green fabric threaded with tiny gold leaves. Delicate wings shimmered behind her back, translucent and veined with light. Fireflies floated around her hands as though they belonged to her.

Paul froze.

The girl looked up slowly.

Huge eyes met his.

For one impossible second, the entire world stopped.

Imprinting felt nothing like people described.

It wasn’t lightning.

It wasn’t fireworks.

It felt like the earth splitting open beneath him.

Every sound disappeared except her breathing. Every instinct inside him suddenly rearranged itself around one single truth:

Her.

The wolf inside him immediately went still.

The girl tilted her head, studying the massive russet wolf crouched at the edge of the clearing. Instead of fear, curiosity flickered across her face.

“You’ve been following me for three nights,” she said softly.

Paul blinked.

Then realized she could understand him.

He shifted back instantly.

One second there was a wolf, the next a tall shirtless boy stood barefoot in the mud, breathing hard. “You knew?”

“I can hear your thoughts when you’re transformed.” Her lips curved slightly. “They are very loud.”

Paul’s face burned red immediately. “Great.”

The girl smiled fully then, and Paul genuinely forgot how to breathe.

“You are Paul Lahote,” she said.

“How do you know that?”

“The forest does.”

That answered absolutely nothing.

Paul crossed his arms. “Okay, now you’re sounding creepy.”

“You were less rude in your thoughts.”

“I’m always rude.”

“I noticed.”

She stepped closer, moonlight catching against her wings. Up close, she barely looked real. Tiny glowing freckles dusted her cheeks, and silver vines curled around her wrists like bracelets.

Paul’s heartbeat went feral.

“What are you?” he asked quietly.

“A fairy.”

He stared at her.

“That’s not a joke?”

“No.”

“…Right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“You have wings.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re glowing.”

“Yes.”

“But saying ‘I’m a fairy’ sounds insane.”

Her laughter rang through the clearing like music.

And somehow, impossibly, it calmed every violent thing inside him.

Paul frowned immediately. “What did you just do?”

“I laughed?”

“No. That.” He pointed at her accusingly. “Whatever magic thing that was.”

Her expression softened slightly. “You are angry all the time.”

“That’s just my personality.”

“No,” she said gently. “It’s pain.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Paul looked away first.

The silence stretched between them, filled only by distant waves crashing against the cliffs.

Then she reached toward him slowly.

Every instinct screamed at him to move. Wolves didn’t trust unknown creatures. Sam would lose his mind if he found out about this.

But Paul stayed still.

Her fingertips brushed his wrist.

Warm light spread beneath his skin instantly.

The constant buzzing anger in his chest quieted.

Not disappeared.

Just… softened.

Paul inhaled sharply. “Holy shit.”

“You carry too much rage,” she murmured. “It hurts you.”

Nobody had ever said it like that before.

Usually people told him to control himself. To stop snapping. Stop yelling. Stop losing control.

But she looked at him like anger was an injury instead of a flaw.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The fairy hesitated.

Then, softly—

“Y/N.”

Paul repeated it under his breath like something sacred.

And for the first time in years, the storm inside him eased.

—

“You disappeared for six hours!”

Jacob Black looked ready to strangle him as Paul walked into the pack meeting the next morning.

“We thought you got yourself killed,” Embry added.

Paul ignored them completely, grabbing a soda from the fridge.

Sam narrowed his eyes immediately. “Why are you smiling?”

Paul nearly choked.

“I am not smiling.”

“You literally skipped in here,” Jared said.

“I did not skip.”

“You’re doing it right now,” Jacob said.

Paul stopped himself mid-step.

Crap.

The truth was worse than any of them could imagine.

Because ever since meeting Y/N, everything felt different.

Colors looked brighter.

The constant pressure in his head felt quieter.

Even shifting felt easier somehow.

And every second away from her made his chest ache.

“She’s dangerous,” Sam warned after Paul finally admitted there was “someone” in the woods.

“She’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.”

“You imprinted,” Jacob realized suddenly.

The room went silent.

Paul glared at the floor.

Embry’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

“On who?” Jared asked immediately.

Paul stayed quiet.

Then Jacob’s eyes widened in horror.

“…Why do I smell flowers?”

Paul froze.

The back door creaked open softly.

Every wolf in the room tensed instantly.

Y/N stood in the doorway, silver wings folded behind her back. Sunlight spilled across her glowing skin while tiny white flowers bloomed beneath her bare feet against the wooden floorboards.

The entire pack stared.

“Holy crap,” Embry whispered.

Y/N’s eyes immediately found Paul.

And she smiled.

That same impossible calm spread through him again.

Sam stepped protectively in front of the others. “What are you?”

“A friend,” she answered softly.

“No offense,” Jared muttered, “but you look like the kind of thing that lures people into lakes.”

“I did that once,” Y/N admitted thoughtfully.

Paul barked out a laugh while everyone else looked horrified.

“She’s kidding,” he said.

Y/N glanced at him innocently.

“…Mostly.”

“Awesome,” Jacob said weakly.

Sam still looked suspicious. “Why are you here?”

Y/N looked at Paul.

“I came because he was hurting.”

The room fell quiet.

Paul suddenly wished the floor would swallow him alive.

But Y/N simply walked toward him without hesitation.

The wolves tensed again as she stopped directly in front of Paul and gently touched his cheek.

Light flickered beneath her fingertips.

And for the first time since becoming a shapeshifter, Paul’s mind went completely quiet.

No anger.

No violent instincts.

No constant pressure to explode.

Just peace.

Paul stared at her in shock.

Y/N smiled softly. “Better?”

His throat tightened unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

Around them, the pack watched in stunned silence.

Because nobody — nobody — had ever been able to calm Paul Lahote before.

But somehow this strange glowing fairy standing in the middle of their kitchen had done it with one touch.

And judging by the way Paul looked at her, everyone in the room realized the same thing at once.

He would burn the entire world down for her if she asked.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[forkshighschooler]

Could you do a Jacob x reader where the reader has come down to forks with Rachel because they’re friends and study the same degree. Jacob imprints on her, but when he confesses theres angst as the reader is too scared to get into a relationship (past messy breakup with a cheating ex maybe) but Jacob assures the reader as he knows what it’s like to be picked last/not have your feelings considered. happy ending!!

Picked First, Always

Pairing: Jacob Black x Reader

Summary: You come to Forks for a fresh start—same degree as Rachel Black, same classes, a quiet place to rebuild after a breakup that taught you love can lie. You don’t come for Jacob. Jacob doesn’t get a choice. The moment he sees you, he imprints—and when he finally tells you, you don’t melt into his arms the way stories say you should. You flinch. You run. Jacob, who knows what it is to be overlooked and left behind, meets your fear with patience instead of pressure.

Warnings: mentions of cheating ex, post-breakup anxiety, trust issues, emotional angst, comfort, imprinting dynamics, light swearing

⸻

Forks is the kind of place where the sky sits low enough to press against your shoulders.

Everything is damp. The air, your hair, the cuffs of your jeans, the ends of your thoughts. Even your lungs feel like they’re learning how to breathe differently—slower, quieter, like you’re not allowed to take up too much space here.

Rachel’s car smells like vanilla coffee and old textbooks.

“Okay,” she says, tapping the steering wheel like she’s trying to shake the tension out of you. “Ground rules: we are not romanticizing the rain. We are not falling into some moody indie spiral. We are here for our degree, we are here for our future, and we are here to pass Professor Hargrove without crying.”

You let out a laugh that’s more breath than sound. “Bold of you to assume I won’t cry.”

“You can cry,” Rachel says immediately, like she’s already decided you’re allowed to be human. “But you’re not doing it alone.”

That’s the whole reason you came.

Not because Forks is charming. Not because you needed a change of scenery.

Because Rachel offered you something no one else did after the breakup: consistency.

No pity. No lectures. No I told you so. Just, come here. Start over. I’ve got you.

You try not to think about how the last place you “started over” ended with your phone lighting up at 2:17 a.m.—a message from a girl you didn’t know, a screenshot you couldn’t unsee, and the sudden understanding that the person you loved had been loving someone else behind your back like it was normal.

Like you were optional.

Forks isn’t supposed to be about that.

Forks is supposed to be about not feeling like you’re bleeding where everyone can see it.

⸻

Rachel’s house is warm in a way that makes you ache.

Not because it’s fancy—because it isn’t. Because it looks lived-in. Because there’s a basket of mismatched socks by the couch and a dish towel thrown over a chair like someone forgot it in a hurry. Because there’s food on the stove and laughter on the walls.

You stand in the doorway with your suitcase and your carefully controlled smile.

You’re trying to be polite.

Trying to be easy.

Trying to be the kind of guest who doesn’t take up space.

Rachel nudges your shoulder. “Relax. This is home. If you look too nervous, my mom will feed you until you can’t move.”

You swallow, nod, follow her in.

It’s fine. You can do this. You can handle a new town, a new semester, a new routine.

You can handle anything that doesn’t involve letting someone close enough to hurt you again.

Then the front door opens behind you.

You don’t even turn at first. You only hear the shift of air, the heavy footsteps, the familiar sound of someone who belongs here moving through the space like it’s theirs.

And then—

“Rachel, you—”

The voice cuts off.

You look over your shoulder.

Jacob Black is standing there, halfway inside the doorway, rain in his hair, shoulders broad enough to block out half the light behind him. His cheeks are pink from the cold. His hands are full—some grocery bag, a hoodie, keys clutched in his fist like he forgot what they were for.

His mouth is still slightly open like he was about to tease his sister.

But his eyes are on you.

And it’s—

It’s not the casual glance of a stranger.

It’s not even interest.

It’s like he got hit.

Like something inside him clicked into place so fast his body didn’t catch up in time.

You’ve read enough local rumors to know what imprinting is.

But no one ever tells you what it looks like on someone’s face.

Jacob’s expression goes still and stunned, like the world has turned into static and you’re the only clear thing left.

Your heart trips.

Not because it’s romantic.

Because it’s familiar.

Because you’ve seen devotion before. You’ve seen that look.

And you’ve also seen what comes after it when the person wearing it decides they want something else.

Rachel doesn’t notice at first. She’s too busy talking, too busy being normal. “Jake, don’t just stand there like a statue—this is my friend, remember? The one I told you about? Same degree, same program. This is—”

Your name lands between you like a fragile thing.

Jacob blinks. Once. Twice.

His throat moves like he’s swallowing something painful.

“Hey,” he manages, voice rougher than it should be for a greeting.

“Hi,” you answer automatically.

And even though it’s just one word, your body goes alert—like it’s bracing for impact.

Because something in his gaze makes you feel… seen.

And being seen has never been safe.

⸻

You try to keep your distance after that.

You do what you always do when your heart starts acting like it doesn’t remember the rules: you lock it down.

You focus on class schedules, shared study sessions, coffee runs, the kind of friendship that doesn’t require vulnerability.

Rachel is easy to be around. Rachel is solid. Rachel doesn’t ask you to be anything but present.

Jacob, unfortunately, is a problem.

Not because he’s rude.

Because he’s kind in a way that doesn’t feel accidental.

Because he notices things you work hard to hide.

He learns your routine without you telling him—what time you leave for campus, where you like to sit in the library, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you’re stressed, how you get quiet when something hits too close to home.

He doesn’t comment on it.

He just adjusts around you like it’s instinct.

Like it’s natural.

There’s always a chair pulled out at the table when you come downstairs late. Always a pencil waiting when you forget yours. Always an extra snack left “by accident” near your laptop.

And the worst part is: he never makes it feel like a debt.

He never says look what I did for you.

He acts like you deserve softness the way people deserve oxygen.

It makes you want to cry.

It makes you want to run.

Because your ex used to be thoughtful, too—at first.

He used to remember your favorite candy and the way you liked your music loud in the car.

Until he stopped.

Until you realized his “thoughtfulness” was an effort he only made when he was trying to win you.

Jacob doesn’t feel like he’s trying to win.

Jacob feels like he’s just… there.

Consistent.

Steady.

And you don’t know what to do with a boy who doesn’t disappear when you don’t perform happiness for him.

⸻

It’s a Tuesday when it breaks.

Because it’s always a weekday. Always when you’re tired enough to be honest by accident.

Rachel has a study group. The house is loud with voices and papers and laughter. You try to participate. You try to focus.

But Jacob keeps glancing at you like he’s holding something back.

Like there’s a word lodged behind his teeth and it’s cutting him from the inside.

You catch him watching you and your chest tightens.

Not because you hate the attention.

Because it feels like the moment before a fall.

So you slip away.

You grab your jacket, mumble an excuse, step outside into the wet air like it can rinse you clean.

You walk until the sound of the house fades.

Until there’s only forest and rain and your own thoughts trying to drown you.

You don’t notice the footsteps at first.

But you feel him.

Somehow you feel him before you hear him.

“Hey,” Jacob says, soft, careful. Like he’s approaching something skittish.

You stop under the shelter of a thick evergreen. Water drips from the needles in steady taps.

You don’t turn right away. “You didn’t have to follow me.”

“I know,” he says.

A pause.

“I wanted to.”

You exhale, bitter little laugh. “Rachel put you on escort duty?”

“No.”

There’s a weight in that one word that makes your stomach drop.

You turn, finally.

Jacob’s standing a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. Shoulders tense. Eyes… dark, like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks.

He looks like someone trying to hold back the tide with his bare hands.

“Jacob,” you say, wary, “what’s going on?”

He swallows. His throat moves like it hurts.

“I’ve been trying not to do this,” he admits, voice low. “Because you didn’t ask for it. Because you just got here. Because you’re—”

He cuts himself off like he doesn’t know how to say something without scaring you.

Your heart starts beating too fast.

You already know. You know before he says it.

But knowing doesn’t make it easier.

“I imprinted,” he says quietly.

The world doesn’t explode.

The trees don’t shake.

The rain keeps falling like nothing has changed.

But your chest—

Your chest goes tight like someone wrapped a hand around your ribs.

You don’t know how to respond, because the word feels bigger than you. Like it comes with expectations. Like it comes with a script you’re supposed to follow.

Like you’re supposed to be grateful.

Like you’re supposed to say yes.

Jacob watches your face like he’s bracing for pain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you feel trapped.”

You flinch at the word trapped, even though he didn’t mean it like that.

Your body moves before your brain does—you take a step back.

Jacob’s expression shifts, hurt flashing quick and sharp.

You hate yourself for it immediately.

“Don’t,” you say, voice shaking. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, too quiet.

“Like I’m…” You swallow. Your throat burns. “Like I’m something you can’t lose.”

Because that is the most terrifying thing someone can make you.

Jacob’s brow furrows, confusion folding into something softer. “Why would that be scary?”

You laugh, but it breaks. “Because I’ve been that before.”

Jacob goes still.

You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to drag your past into the forest like a bleeding animal.

But it’s already in your mouth.

“My ex cheated,” you say.

Jacob’s jaw clenches.

“And I didn’t find out from him.” Your voice thins. “I found out because the other girl got tired of being the secret.”

Jacob’s hands curl in his pockets like he’s holding himself together.

You stare at the wet ground because if you look at him you might fall apart.

“I thought I was loved,” you whisper. “I thought I was chosen. I thought I was… enough.”

Your throat tightens.

“And then it was like—like I was always second. Like I was a placeholder until something better showed up.”

Silence.

The rain sounds louder.

When you look up, Jacob’s eyes are burning with something painful.

Not pity.

Not judgment.

Recognition.

“I know what that feels like,” he says.

You blink, thrown.

He huffs a bitter breath. “Being second. Being an afterthought. Watching someone pick someone else and telling yourself it’s fine because you’re used to it.”

His voice roughens, like it’s scraping against old wounds. “I spent a long time being the guy people liked when they couldn’t have the person they actually wanted.”

Your chest aches.

He takes a careful step closer—slow, deliberate—like he’s trying not to spook you.

“I’m not going to do that to you,” he says. “I’m not going to make you feel like you have to compete for space in my life.”

You shake your head, tears threatening. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can,” Jacob says, immediate, fierce in a way that makes your breath catch. “Because you’re not a placeholder to me.”

Your heart stutters. Your hands go cold.

You whisper, “You don’t even know me.”

Jacob’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“I know enough,” he says. “I know you flinch when someone raises their voice. I know you apologize when you don’t need to. I know you act like you’re fine when you’re not, and you think if you’re small enough you won’t be a problem.”

Your throat closes.

He’s right.

And it terrifies you that he’s right.

“I’m not asking you to jump into anything,” Jacob says, voice softening. “I’m not asking you to trust me overnight. I’m not asking you to give me your heart right now.”

A beat.

“I’m asking you to let me be patient with you.”

Tears spill before you can stop them. You swipe at your cheeks angrily.

“I don’t want to be stupid again,” you choke.

Jacob’s expression cracks. He looks like he wishes he could take the pain out of your body with his hands.

“You weren’t stupid,” he says. “You loved someone. That’s not stupid.”

You let out a broken sound. “It feels stupid.”

He shakes his head, slow. “It feels like grief,” he corrects. “And fear. And the part of you that’s trying to protect you.”

You squeeze your arms around yourself, shaking. “I can’t do a relationship.”

Jacob nods instantly. No argument. No disappointment.

“Okay,” he says.

The simplicity of it makes you stare at him.

“That’s it?” you whisper.

“That’s it,” Jacob repeats. “You set the pace. I’ll follow it.”

You don’t know what to do with someone who doesn’t fight you for access to your life.

Your voice trembles. “And if I never get there?”

Jacob exhales slowly. “Then I’ll still be here,” he says. “Not to guilt you. Not to corner you. Just… here.”

He looks up at the gray sky like it’s too heavy, then back at you like you’re the only thing worth holding onto.

“I’m used to being picked last,” he says quietly. “But with you, it’s different.”

Your breath catches.

“Because I didn’t pick you,” he admits. “Not the way people choose. It just happened.”

He takes another careful step closer, stopping when he’s close enough that you can feel the heat coming off him, but not so close that you feel trapped.

“And I know how scary that is,” he says. “To feel like someone’s sure when you’re still bleeding.”

Your eyes sting.

“So we do it your way,” Jacob says. “Slow. Safe. Honest.”

He pauses, then adds, voice almost breaking:

“But I need you to hear me when I say this, okay?”

You swallow hard. “Okay.”

Jacob’s gaze locks onto yours—steady, unwavering.

“You will never have to beg me to choose you,” he says. “You will never have to wonder if you’re enough. You will never be second.”

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears.

You want to believe him so badly it hurts.

Your voice comes out in a whisper. “I don’t know how to trust someone who says things like that.”

Jacob’s expression softens into something achingly gentle.

“Then don’t trust my words yet,” he says. “Trust my pattern.”

A pause.

“Let me show you,” he adds. “Let me be consistent until your body stops bracing for the hit.”

You press a hand to your chest because it physically aches—like something inside you is trying to crack open and you don’t know if it’s safe.

“I can’t promise I won’t panic,” you admit.

Jacob nods. “Then panic,” he says, like it’s allowed. “And I’ll still be here after.”

Your eyes blur.

For a second, you let yourself imagine it—love that doesn’t punish you for being afraid. Love that doesn’t leave because you’re not perfect. Love that meets you where you are.

You look at Jacob—this boy with warmth in his skin and patience in his voice—and your fear doesn’t vanish.

But it shifts.

It makes room for something else.

You draw a shaky breath. “I want you in my life,” you say carefully. “Just… not fast. Not intense. Not—”

“Not like a trap,” Jacob finishes softly.

You nod, relief and terror mixing in your throat.

Jacob’s smile is small, but real. “Then that’s what it’ll be,” he says. “No trap.”

He hesitates, then offers, like he’s asking permission with every syllable:

“Can I walk you back?”

You nod again, because the thought of walking alone suddenly feels heavier than it did five minutes ago.

Jacob falls into step beside you—not too close, not too far.

Like he’s learned the distance that feels safe.

And as you walk through the rain back toward the house, you realize something you didn’t expect:

He isn’t trying to pull you into a love story.

He’s trying to give you a place to breathe.

And for the first time since the night you learned love could lie, your body loosens just a little—like maybe, with time, you could learn what it feels like to be chosen…

and not have to flinch waiting for the moment it gets taken away.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[forkshighschooler]

I love your blog so much! Especially the Embry ones :P So I was wondering if you could write some fluffy cuddles with chronically cold reader with her human furnance of a boyfriend Embry.

Human Furnace

Pairing: Embry Call x Reader

Summary: You’re always cold. Embry is always warm. The solution? Cuddles. Constantly.

Warnings: Pure fluff, cuddling, teasing, soft kisses, warmth/comfort, slight mentions of chronic coldness.

⸻

It started the way it always did—your hands tucked into the sleeves of your hoodie, shoulders hunched, trying to pretend you weren’t freezing.

Forks wasn’t even that cold today. Not really.

But your body didn’t care about logic. Your body cared about the fact that the air felt like it had teeth.

Embry spotted you from the couch the second you stepped into the living room, and his eyes narrowed like he was doing the fastest scan in history.

You didn’t even get to speak before he was already sitting up.

“Stop,” he said.

You blinked. “Stop what?”

“Stop acting like you’re fine when you look like a sad little ice cube.”

“I do not—”

Embry held out his hand. “C’mere.”

You hesitated, pride fighting for its life.

Embry raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Don’t make me come get you.”

That did it. Because if he did come get you, he’d scoop you up like you weighed nothing and carry you around like a trophy.

So you shuffled over—slowly, like you weren’t already dying for warmth.

Embry grabbed your wrist gently, his palm hot against your skin, and you swear your whole body sighed.

“Okay,” you muttered. “Maybe I’m a little cold.”

“A little?” Embry’s eyes dropped to your hands, and his expression changed—less teasing, more soft.

He pulled you closer and pressed your fingers between both of his hands like he could physically transfer heat into you.

“You’re freezing,” he said, voice low.

“I’m not freezing,” you tried again, but it came out weak, because you were already leaning in.

Embry’s mouth twitched. “Babe… you’re like a fancy popsicle.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He tugged you right into his lap.

The heat hit you instantly—like stepping into sunlight after being stuck in the shade too long. His body was always warm, always too warm, the kind of warmth that made you think the laws of nature didn’t apply to him.

You melted into him without meaning to.

Embry wrapped both arms around you, locking you against his chest, like he’d been waiting all day for this exact moment.

“There,” he murmured, nuzzling your temple. “Problem solved.”

You tried to hold onto your attitude, you really did.

But Embry’s hands slid under your hoodie—warm palms against your sides—and you practically folded.

“You’re so dramatic,” you whispered, but your voice was already soft.

Embry chuckled. “You’re the dramatic one. I’m just being a good boyfriend.”

“A good boyfriend,” you echoed, skeptical.

Embry tilted his head, lips brushing your ear when he spoke. “A good boyfriend who refuses to let his girl turn into an icicle.”

Your face heated. “Embry.”

“What?” he said innocently, squeezing you tighter. “It’s true.”

You tried to shift, like maybe you could sit up and regain some dignity, but Embry’s arms tightened immediately—strong, secure, unmovable.

“Oh no,” he said. “Don’t even think about escaping.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

You sighed, giving in, and rested your cheek on his chest. His heartbeat was steady under your ear, and the warmth was so comfortable it made your eyelids heavy.

Embry’s fingers traced lazy circles along your back.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “we should start rating how cold you are every day.”

You cracked one eye open. “Absolutely not.”

“Like a scale,” he continued, ignoring you completely. “One is ‘slightly chilly.’ Ten is ‘I need to wrap you in three blankets and legally declare you my responsibility.’”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

Embry hummed. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You glared up at him—except it wasn’t a real glare, because he was smiling like he’d already won.

“You’re enjoying this,” you accused.

Embry shrugged. “Maybe.”

Then he leaned down and kissed your forehead. Slow. Gentle. Like he wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere else.

“I like taking care of you,” he admitted quietly, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Your chest squeezed.

You tried to respond, but Embry’s hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, and he kissed your temple again—soft, lingering.

“You feel better?” he asked.

You didn’t want to be cheesy. You really didn’t.

But your body was warm now. Your fingers weren’t stiff. Your shoulders weren’t tense.

And Embry was holding you like you belonged there.

So you whispered, “Yeah.”

Embry smiled against your hair. “Good.”

You stayed like that for a minute—two—ten.

The room was quiet except for the rain tapping the windows, and Embry’s warmth pressed into you from every side.

Then Embry’s voice rumbled again, amused.

“You’re falling asleep.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m resting.”

Embry laughed softly, and his arms tightened in a slow squeeze, like a promise.

“Go ahead,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Your eyes fluttered closed without permission.

You mumbled, half-asleep, “You’re too hot.”

Embry’s lips brushed your cheek.

“Yeah,” he whispered, smiling. “That’s kinda the point.”

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[forkshighschooler]

Hi! Can you write the pack finding out Reader is a goddess? And maybe what their relationship would be like.

Also, do you write for any Twilight character?

Thanks.

Pack Finds Out You’re a Goddess

Warnings: supernatural themes, mention of injury/violence, intense emotions, protective/possessive “pack” behavior, light angst → comfort, non-explicit.

A/N: I do write for any character!!

SAM ULEY — “A Law Even Gods Respect”

Sam notices the shift in the air before anyone else does.

It happens on patrol—rain-heavy woods, the scent of blood too sharp, and one of the wolves limping hard because a hunter’s trap caught deep. The pack is tense, wild-edged. Sam’s voice is steady, but his eyes are storm-dark.

“Hold still,” you say, stepping forward.

Paul starts to protest. Jared reaches for the metal jaws.

Sam lifts a hand. “Wait.”

Because Sam can feel it—something ancient in the way the forest quiets around you, the way even the wind seems to listen.

You kneel. You don’t touch the trap.

You look at it.

And the metal unclenches like it’s afraid to disobey.

The wolf’s wound stops bleeding. Not magically “gone,” not erased—just… calmed, closed enough to survive.

Nobody speaks.

Sam’s voice comes out low. Careful. “Do that again.”

You swallow. “Sam—”

“Do it again,” he repeats, not as an order, but as proof. Like he needs to know if he’s about to protect his family from you… or protect you from the world.

A branch creaks. A deer freezes mid-step. The whole forest holds its breath.

You open your palm and whisper a word that tastes older than language.

A ring of warmth blooms through the ferns—gentle, controlled, unmistakably not human.

Sam exhales like it hurts.

“What are you?” he asks.

You meet his eyes. “A goddess.”

The pack shifts, startled. But Sam doesn’t step back. He steps in—close enough that if you were danger, he’d be the first to take it.

His chin dips. Respectful. Not worship.

“Okay,” he says, voice firm like law. “Then we do this the same way we do everything else. Together.”

Later, when it’s quiet, he finds you alone and says, “You don’t get to carry that alone in my territory. Not anymore.”

Relationship vibe: protective leader + equal partner in responsibility. He treats your divinity like a fact, not a pedestal. If romantic, it’s steady devotion and “choose you every day” love.

JACOB BLACK — “You Should’ve Told Me”

Jacob finds out in the worst way: by almost losing someone.

It’s chaos—too many scents, too much adrenaline. A vampire’s been too close to the line. The pack is scattered, fighting the perimeter.

And you—sweet, stubborn you—step between the threat and the people Jacob loves.

“Move!” Jacob yells, heart in his throat.

You don’t.

Your eyes flash—gold, bright as sunrise on snow—and the air slams into the vampire like an invisible wave, pinning them to the trees with a force that doesn’t feel like muscle.

It feels like judgment.

The vampire hisses, frozen, trembling.

Jacob stops short, breath ragged. “What… what the hell was that?”

You blink, like you forgot you were hiding. Like you forgot you were allowed to be small.

“Jacob, I can explain.”

He laughs once—sharp, disbelieving. Then his voice breaks. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“That’s not the point!” he snaps, then steps in close, hands hovering like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you now. Like you might turn to lightning under his palms.

“You’re—” he stares at you. “You’re not human.”

You flinch. “I didn’t want you to look at me different.”

Jacob’s eyes go wet with anger that isn’t about you being a goddess.

It’s about you being alone.

“You should’ve told me,” he says, softer. “I would’ve stayed anyway.”

And when the pack gathers, Jacob positions himself half a step in front of you out of habit—like he can shield the divine from anything.

Like he’s willing to try.

Relationship vibe: intense loyalty, protective to a fault, emotional anchor. If romantic, it’s fierce, warm, and “I’ll fight fate with my bare hands.”

LEAH CLEARWATER — “I Refuse to Bow”

Leah figures it out before you say a word.

Because Leah knows what real power looks like. She knows the difference between confidence and something that was born eternal.

It’s after a hard run—tempers high, rain cold, Sam’s orders echoing in everyone’s heads. Leah’s already on edge when she catches you standing at the tree line, staring at the clouds like you’re negotiating with them.

“You gonna tell me what that was back there?” she asks.

You don’t turn. “It was nothing.”

Leah laughs, sharp. “Bull.”

You sigh, finally facing her. Your eyes are too calm. Too old.

Leah’s gaze flicks over you like she’s searching for the seam where your humanity is stitched on. “You’re not like us.”

“I never said I was.”

“You let them think you were.” Her voice hardens. “Why?”

Your shoulders slump—just a little. “Because I wanted a life that didn’t start with people kneeling.”

Leah’s eyes narrow. “So what are you? Witch? Spirit? Some kind of—”

You lift your hand and the raindrops stop midair.

They hover between your fingers like glass beads, trembling.

Leah goes completely still.

Then she rolls her eyes like the universe is inconveniencing her personally. “Of course. Of course you’re a goddess.”

You blink. “You’re… not scared?”

Leah steps closer until she’s right in your space, daring you to be bigger than her.

“I don’t bow,” she says. “Not to Sam. Not to fate. Not to you.”

Something in you loosens. Like that’s exactly what you needed.

Leah’s voice drops, real for the first time. “But if you’re here—if you’re choosing this—then you don’t get to act like you’re above it. You’re family. And family doesn’t disappear.”

Relationship vibe: sharp honesty, reluctant respect, ride-or-die protector. If romantic, it’s slow-burn, hard-earned, fiercely loyal.

SETH CLEARWATER — “Can Gods Get Cold?”

Seth finds out in the gentlest way possible: by catching you being sad.

It’s late. The pack’s asleep or pretending to be. Seth’s on the porch with a blanket, staring at the stars like they might talk back.

You sit beside him without a sound.

He smiles, then falters. “You’ve been… quieter lately.”

You try to shrug it off. Seth doesn’t let you.

“You know,” he says softly, “you don’t have to be okay all the time.”

You laugh under your breath. “That’s funny.”

“Why?”

Because gods don’t get to not be okay.

Because you’ve spent forever being the one people pray to, not the one people hold.

Your eyes glow—just a flicker—and Seth’s breath catches.

He stares. “Wait… are you—”

You close your eyes. “Please don’t freak out.”

Seth scoots closer like you’re still just you. “I’m not freaking out. I’m just—uh—processing.”

You open your palm and a small light forms there, warm and harmless like a firefly made of sunlight. It hums softly, like a heartbeat.

Seth’s voice comes out in a whisper. “That’s… so cool.”

You blink, surprised. “That’s it?”

He nods, dead serious. “Yeah. You’re still you. You still laugh at my dumb jokes. You still like hot chocolate. Being a goddess doesn’t erase that.”

Then he holds out his hoodie.

You stare at it.

Seth blushes. “What? If you’re sitting out here, you might get cold.”

Your throat tightens. “Seth… I don’t get cold.”

He tilts his head. “Okay. But you look like you want to be warm.”

And somehow, that’s worse—in the best way.

Relationship vibe: sunshine comfort, awe without distance, best-friend intimacy. If romantic, it’s soft, healing, and tender.

EMBRY CALL — “You’re Still You… Right?”

Embry finds out because you slip—just once—and Embry is always watching.

Not in a suspicious way. In a caring way. Like you’re a person he decided mattered.

It’s after a rough shift. He’s human, sweaty, grinning, talking too fast about how Paul almost face-planted into a river.

Then he stops.

Because you’re bleeding.

A thin line on your palm, like you grabbed something sharp. Embry reaches automatically.

“Dude, you’re cut.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine—” he takes your hand, and the moment his skin touches yours, the cut seals closed. No scar. No sting. Like your body simply… refuses harm.

Embry’s smile dies.

He stares at your palm, then at your face. “Okay. Either I’m hallucinating, or you’re… not normal.”

You pull back, panic rising. “Embry—”

“Are you like… a vampire?” he blurts.

You snort despite yourself. “No.”

“A witch?”

“No.”

“A superhero?”

You sigh. “No.”

Embry’s eyes widen. “A goddess?”

Silence.

You whisper, “Yes.”

Embry’s throat bobs. “Oh my god.”

“You don’t have to say that. It’s—”

“That’s not what I meant!” he yelps, then rubs his face like the universe just handed him an algebra test. “Okay. Okay. So you’re a goddess. Cool. Coolcoolcool.”

You wait for the fear.

Instead he looks up, eyes shining with something painfully sincere.

“Are you still gonna come to movie night?” he asks, voice smaller. “Because if you stop liking popcorn, I’m gonna feel personally betrayed.”

Your laugh bursts out, relieved and shaky.

Embry grins, like he found you again. “There you are.”

Relationship vibe: humor as a bridge, loyal protector, “keep you human” energy. If romantic, it’s playful with surprisingly deep devotion.

QUIL ATEARA — “I Don’t Want a Goddess. I Want You.”

Quil finds out when you heal someone you love—someone you shouldn’t have been able to save.

It’s not dramatic. Not flashy.

It’s quiet.

A bad fall. A bad cut. The kind of wound that makes even wolves go silent because they know what blood smells like when it’s too much.

Quil is shaking, trying not to panic, trying to be brave the way he always tries.

You kneel beside the injured one and press your hands over the wound.

“Please,” Quil whispers, voice cracking. “Please—”

And your eyes turn bright, ancient, unblinking.

The air warms. The forest hushes. And the bleeding stops like a faucet being turned off by an invisible hand.

Quil stares at you like he can’t breathe. “How did you do that?”

You pull your hands away slowly, like you’re afraid of yourself. “I wasn’t supposed to.”

“You weren’t supposed to… what?”

You swallow. “Show you.”

Quil’s voice drops. “Show me what you are.”

You nod once, defeated. “A goddess.”

Quil’s face crumples—not with fear.

With heartbreak.

“You’ve been alone,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like it’s the only thing he can see.

You blink fast. “Quil—”

He steps forward and takes your hand carefully, like you’re fragile, like your power doesn’t change the fact you’re still someone who can hurt.

“I don’t want a goddess,” he says quietly. “I want you. The you who laughs too loud. The you who listens. The you who stays.”

You don’t trust your voice.

Quil squeezes your fingers. “So… stay. With us.”

Relationship vibe: big-hearted devotion, comfort, emotional honesty. If romantic, it’s warm, safe, and deeply affectionate.

PAUL LAHOTE — “Say You Won’t Hurt Us”

Paul finds out by accident—and reacts like a cornered animal.

Because Paul doesn’t do “unknown.” Unknown gets people killed.

It’s a heated moment—someone pushes you, not hard, but disrespectful. Paul sees it and snaps.

He lunges—

And freezes mid-step.

Because the ground beneath him shifts, roots curling up like hands around his ankles, holding him still. Not hurting him. Just… stopping him.

Paul whips his head toward you, eyes wild. “What the hell did you do?”

Your face is pale. “Paul, I—”

“You rooted me to the ground,” he snarls, struggling. The roots tighten just enough to warn him.

The pack goes still.

Sam’s voice turns dangerous. “Paul. Stop.”

Paul doesn’t. “No—she’s—what is she?”

You close your eyes. When you open them, they glow like sunlight through storm clouds.

“I’m not your enemy,” you say, voice carrying in the trees like it belongs there.

Paul’s anger falters, replaced by something raw. “Prove it.”

You exhale, and the roots release him immediately, gentle as letting go of a wrist.

Paul stands there, chest heaving, staring like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“You could’ve hurt me,” he says, quieter now.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t.”

“No.”

His voice drops to something almost embarrassed. “So you’re… what? Some kind of—”

“A goddess,” you answer.

Paul swallows hard.

Then, because Paul is Paul, he lifts his chin like he’s challenging the sky. “Okay. Then say you won’t hurt my pack.”

Your expression softens. “I won’t.”

Paul nods once, sharp. “Good.”

And from that moment on, he’s glued to your side like a guard dog who decided you’re his responsibility now—divinity be damned.

Relationship vibe: defensive → fiercely protective, intense loyalty, rough tenderness. If romantic, it’s fiery, devoted, “touch her and die” energy.

JARED CAMERON — “Respect Isn’t Fear”

Jared is the calm in the middle of everyone else’s panic.

He notices the way the pack reacts, the way the woods react, the way you keep stepping back like you’re expecting rejection.

So when it finally comes out, he doesn’t ask “what are you?”

He asks, “How long have you been carrying that by yourself?”

It happens after Sam’s meeting, after everyone’s said their piece, after Paul’s done pacing and Leah’s done scowling and Jacob’s done hovering.

Jared finds you near the tree line, quiet as a promise.

You don’t look at him. “If you’re here to ask questions—”

“I’m here to make sure you’re not alone,” Jared says simply.

You let out a shakey breath. “I’m a goddess.”

“I know.”

That stops you. “How?”

Jared shrugs, easy. “Because I’ve seen the way the world calms down around you. And I’ve seen the way you try to pretend it doesn’t.”

You wait for the fear.

Jared just nods, like he’s filing it under “important information” and nothing more.

“Do you want rules?” he asks.

You blink. “Rules?”

“Boundaries,” he clarifies. “So nobody crosses them. So nobody treats you like a weapon. So you don’t have to keep guessing what’s safe.”

Your chest aches. “Yes.”

Jared’s smile is small. “Okay. Then we’ll do that.”

Relationship vibe: steady support, calm acceptance, grounding presence. If romantic, it’s patient, safe, and quietly devoted.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[forkshighschooler]

Can you do with sunshine seth and w badass s/o like their are really sunshine protector energy type and seth is so oblivious is like. When other people saying their mean and seth be like “ what do you mean their mean ?” Because s/o is just kind when come to seth but w other is different persona.

Sunshine Boy, Badass Partner

Pairing: Seth Clearwater x Reader (S/O)

Summary: Seth is pure sunshine. You’re… sunshine protector—sweet to him, scary to everyone else. The problem? Seth is painfully oblivious, and he genuinely can’t understand why people call you “mean.”

Warnings: mild language, protective/possessive vibes, teasing, implied intimidation, fluff

⸻

Seth Clearwater was the kind of guy who smiled at strangers like they were already friends.

You were the kind of person who made strangers remember an appointment they suddenly had somewhere else.

It wasn’t even something you tried to do—your face just didn’t come with a customer-service setting unless Seth was involved. With Seth? You were soft. Warm. Patient. You laughed at his dumb jokes and fixed his hoodie strings and kissed his forehead like it was your job.

With everyone else?

Different operating system.

So when you showed up at the res with Seth, hand in hand, his grin was so bright it could’ve powered Forks. He waved at Embry, nodded at Jared, and said hi to Leah with the most innocent tone on earth.

You gave the pack a polite look.

Not rude. Not friendly.

Just… the kind of look that said: I will be pleasant. Don’t make me be anything else.

And the pack—every single one of them—felt it.

“Hey,” Embry said, trying to sound casual.

“Hey,” you said back, voice calm.

Embry swallowed like he’d just been assigned homework.

Seth bounced on his heels. “I’m starving. Babe, do you want something? There’s chips inside—oh, and Sue made food, and—”

“I’m good,” you said immediately, softening without even thinking about it. Your hand slid into his, thumb rubbing the side of his knuckle. “Go eat. I’ll be right here.”

Seth’s face practically melted. “Okay! I’ll be fast.”

The second Seth turned away, Quil leaned closer to Embry and muttered, “See? That right there. That’s the switch.”

Jared nodded like it was a witnessed event. “It’s like watching a guard dog let a toddler dress it up in flower crowns.”

You glanced at them.

Just a glance.

Quil straightened so fast you would’ve thought he’d been yanked by a string. “—Anyway! Great weather!”

Paul, who’d been quiet in the corner, snorted. “Y’all are so dramatic.”

Then he looked at you and, for some reason, decided to test his luck.

“So,” Paul said, voice all rough edges, “what’s it like dating the youngest puppy in the pack? You babysit him or—”

You didn’t raise your voice. You didn’t even change your expression much.

You just said, “Finish that sentence.”

The air got heavy.

Paul’s smirk faltered. “I was kidding.”

You nodded once, slow. “Good.”

The silence was so loud it could’ve been a siren.

Then Seth came jogging back with a bag of chips and a bright, carefree smile like he hadn’t just walked through a minefield. He shoved a chip into his mouth and looked around, oblivious.

“Why’s it so quiet?” he asked, chewing. “Did I miss something?”

Leah stared at him like he was a lost cause. Embry coughed into his fist. Jared looked to the sky like he was praying for strength.

You turned to Seth and smiled—actually smiled.

Instant warmth. Instant softness. Like the sun coming out.

“Nothing,” you said sweetly. “Paul was just being funny.”

Seth lit up. “Oh! Nice.”

Paul’s eyes widened like: She just saved my life and threatened it at the same time.

Seth kept munching chips. “You guys are always so weird around my partner.”

Embry blurted, “We’re not weird.”

Quil nodded too fast. “Yeah! Totally normal!”

Jared pointed at nothing. “Super normal vibes.”

Seth frowned, confused. “Then why do people keep saying you’re mean?”

You blinked. “People say I’m mean?”

Leah scoffed. “Not you acting surprised.”

Seth stepped closer, defending you immediately. “They’re not mean! They’re— they’re like… intense, I guess. But not mean.”

He looked at you with big, earnest eyes. “Right?”

You softened even more, because how could you not?

You tilted your head. “Do you think I’m mean?”

Seth looked horrified. “No! You’re literally the nicest person ever. You always—”

He started listing it on his fingers.

“—you always save me the last drink, you remind me to eat when I forget, you listen when I talk about dumb stuff, you laugh at my jokes even when they’re not funny—”

“They’re funny,” you said automatically.

Seth smiled so wide it hurt. “See! And you’re always hugging me and kissing me and you call me ‘baby’ and you—”

He leaned in, lowering his voice like it was a secret.

“—you look at me like I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Your throat tightened a little. You pressed your forehead to his. “You are.”

Seth beamed. Then he looked over at the pack again, eyebrows raised.

“So what do you mean they’re mean?” he asked them, still genuinely confused.

The pack just stared.

Paul looked like he’d rather fight a bear.

Leah muttered, “He’s hopeless.”

Embry shrugged helplessly. “Bro, they’re sweet to you.”

Seth blinked. “Yeah?”

Quil added, “But with us, it’s like… don’t breathe wrong or you’ll disappear.”

Jared nodded. “They’ve got two personalities. ‘Seth’s Angel’ and ‘Everyone Else’s Problem.’”

Seth’s mouth dropped open a little. “What? No.”

He turned to you, searching your face like he’d find the answer there.

“You’re not like that.”

You gave him the softest look in the world. “I am not mean to you.”

Seth relaxed immediately. “See!”

Then he paused.

“…Wait.”

His eyes narrowed in slow realization. “Are you… mean to other people?”

You made an innocent face. “Mean is a strong word.”

Leah snorted. “Oh my god.”

Seth stared harder. “Do you… scare them on purpose?”

You leaned closer and kissed his cheek—gentle, sweet, affectionate.

Then, still sweet, you said, “I don’t scare anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Seth’s brain visibly tried to reboot.

“But… they don’t deserve it,” he said, glancing at the pack.

Embry immediately raised his hands. “I have never done anything wrong in my life.”

Quil nodded. “I’m basically a saint.”

Paul scoffed. “Don’t drag me into this.”

You looked at them calmly. “Mm.”

Every single one of them shut up.

Seth blinked again. “Okay, that— that was kind of scary.”

Your expression softened again instantly, like flipping a switch just for him. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to stop?”

Seth panicked. “No! No, don’t— I didn’t mean—”

He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “It’s just… I don’t want people thinking you’re bad.”

You touched his jaw gently, guiding his attention back to you. “Seth. I’m not bad.”

His eyes softened. “I know.”

“I’m just protective.”

Seth nodded slowly. “Yeah. You are.”

You smiled. “And you’re oblivious.”

Seth gasped. “I am not!”

The pack collectively made a noise that sounded like laughter and pain.

You leaned in and whispered, “Baby, you just watched me silence a room with one word.”

Seth blinked. “…That’s true.”

“And you still didn’t notice.”

Seth stared at you, then burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. “Okay, okay—maybe I’m a little oblivious.”

You smiled, relieved, and kissed him again—warm, slow, gentle.

Then you looked past his shoulder at the pack.

Your face went neutral.

Not angry.

Just… warning.

The pack stiffened like someone blew a whistle.

Seth turned back, still smiling. “What are you doing?”

You looked at him, softness returning instantly. “Nothing.”

Seth narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“…Are you doing the thing again?”

You blinked innocently. “What thing?”

“The scary thing,” he said, pointing. “The don’t-mess-with-him thing.”

You tilted your head. “Do you want me to stop?”

Seth thought for half a second.

Then he smiled—sweet, proud, and hopelessly in love.

“…No,” he admitted. “It’s kind of nice.”

Your eyes warmed. “Yeah?”

Seth nodded. “Yeah. Because I know I’m safe with you.”

Your heart did a stupid little flip.

You pulled him into your arms, hugging him close, and Seth practically melted into you like he belonged there.

Over your shoulder, Paul muttered, “Lucky.”

Leah rolled her eyes. “He’s gonna get even worse.”

Embry whispered, “They’re literally going to kill for him.”

Quil whispered back, “They already are. Just… emotionally.”

Seth looked up at you, smiling like the world was simple. “I love you.”

Your voice was soft, only for him. “I love you more.”

Then Seth turned back to the pack, still grinning.

“See?” he said proudly. “Not mean.”

The pack stared at you.

You gave them a calm nod.

And they all, as one, decided Seth could keep believing that.

Because Seth was sunshine.

And you?

You were the kind of love that came with teeth.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended

[forkshighschooler]

Hi hi! Do you have a masterlist of all your writing?

No I do not!😔

[forkshighschooler]

Hii! can you do how the Cullens would react to the reader being a professional wrestler?

Cullens reacting to you being a professional wrestler

Carlisle Cullen

• Tries to hide how impressed he is, but you can tell by the little “doctor smile” he does when you talk about training.

• Worries about your long-term health (concussions, joint damage), so he gently offers to help you with recovery routines.

• Quietly watches your matches later—focused, respectful, and a little stunned by your pain tolerance.

• If you get injured, he’s calm support first, lecture never (unless you ask).

Esme Cullen

• Immediately becomes your biggest emotional support fan.

• Makes you “post-match comfort” kits: warm hoodie, snacks, ice packs, cozy socks—like it’s her sacred mission.

• Hates seeing you hurt but loves seeing you confident.

• Calls your gear “beautiful” even if it’s the most intimidating, spiky, black-and-red look ever.

Edward Cullen

• Acts cool about it at first, but he’s internally spiraling because your job is literally “getting hit for a living.”

• If he hears your opponent talking trash about you backstage, he’s instantly annoyed (and protective), even if you’re not bothered.

• Loves the performance side: entrances, storylines, crowd reactions—he’s fascinated by the art of it.

• Becomes obsessed with your theme song and the exact moment you hit your finisher.

Bella Swan

• If this is human-Bella: she’s anxious at first, like “aren’t you scared???”

• If this is vampire-Bella: she’s suddenly your hype woman, asking for the lore, the rivalries, the drama—everything.

• Brags about you in the most casual way that still screams proud: “Oh, yeah, they’re a pro wrestler.”

• Slightly jealous of how fearless you are but also inspired.

Alice Cullen

• Already has 12 outfit concepts and 3 entrance looks planned the second she finds out.

• Loves the theatrics—she treats your wrestling persona like a fashion + storytelling masterpiece.

• “I saw the crowd pop when you hit the move, so we’re leaning into that. Trust me.”

• Shows up at shows looking like she belongs in the front row VIP section (because she does).

Jasper Hale

• Reads the entire arena like it’s a battlefield—but in a respectful, protective way.

• Can feel your adrenaline and the crowd’s energy. It fascinates him how you control it.

• Offers grounding techniques before big matches: breathing, focus cues, steady routine.

• Quietly proud when you stay calm under pressure—he values discipline.

Rosalie Hale

• Loves that you’re strong, skilled, and nobody can underestimate you.

• Gets heated if someone calls it “fake.” Like… do they want a demonstration?

• Compliments your work ethic more than anything: “You don’t get to that level without being relentless.”

• Secretly loves the glamour and confidence—your walk, your presence, your “don’t mess with me” aura.

Emmett Cullen

• Your #1 gym buddy. Immediately asks: “So what’s your finisher and can you do it to me?”

• Hypes you up like it’s his job—loud, proud, and mildly chaotic.

• Tries to learn wrestling moves and dramatically oversells every bump.

• Starts calling you “champ” even if you’re not holding a title (yet).

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended

[forkshighschooler]

Could you do one where the reader is a wolf shifter, and she shifts for the first time and one of the pack helps her control it ?!

Twilight pack oc

First Shift

Pairing: Wolfpack (individual scenarios) x Wolf Shifter!Reader

Warnings: Panic, loss of control, mild injury (scratches), shifting (non-graphic), strong emotions

⸻

Jacob Black

You bolt through the trees on pure terror, paws slipping in wet leaves—until the forest answers back with a warm, steady presence.

A russet wolf steps out, head lowered.

Easy, Jacob’s voice threads into your mind. I’m not here to corner you.

You snarl anyway—because your body doesn’t trust what your heart recognizes.

Jacob sits. Just sits, like he’s teaching a skittish dog not to bite.

Match me, he says. Breathe when I breathe.

His chest rises slow. Falls slow.

You try, shaky at first, then steadier. The panic doesn’t vanish, but it stops driving.

Control isn’t force, Jacob says. It’s rhythm. Your wolf needs a beat to follow.

When you finally shift back, you collapse into the ferns, shaking. Jacob’s human footsteps crunch close—careful, not rushing you.

“You did it,” he says, offering his hand like you’re something precious, not dangerous. “Next time? You call me before you run.”

⸻

Sam Uley

You don’t run far before the pack’s alpha presence hits you like a wall—firm, commanding, but not cruel.

A massive black wolf appears, eyes sharp.

Stop, Sam orders—one word, absolute.

Your body freezes before your mind can argue. You tremble, hackles high, a frantic whine stuck in your throat.

Sam steps closer, measured.

Listen. His voice is low, like thunder you can lean on. You’re not being punished. You’re being protected—by you, by me, by the pack. Your fear is lighting matches. Put them down.

He sends you a steady image: a hand closing around a flame and snuffing it out without panic.

Focus on one thing, Sam continues. My voice. The ground under you. The air in your lungs. That’s it.

When you shift back, it feels like being pulled safely out of deep water.

Sam shifts too, human now, and drapes a jacket over your shoulders without a word.

“You’re pack,” he says simply. “Which means you don’t do this alone again.”

⸻

Leah Clearwater

You think you’re alone until you catch the scent—sharp, familiar, female, fierce.

A gray wolf slips from the shadows, eyes narrowed like she’s already irritated at the universe.

Oh, fantastic, Leah’s voice cuts in. First shift. Been there. Hate it for you.

Your fear spikes—then stutters—because somehow her annoyance makes it less terrifying.

Leah paces a slow circle around you, not threatening, just… present.

Here’s the truth, she says. You can’t out-muscle your own instincts. You have to out-smart them. You’re spiraling? Fine. Give your brain a job.

She points with her nose to a stump.

Touch it. Smell it. Count three scents. Name them. Dirt, moss, sap—whatever. Anchor yourself.

You do it, desperate, and the world steadies around that simple task.

Good, Leah says, grudgingly proud. Now you’re driving again.

When you shift back, you’re shaking—and Leah huffs, shifting human a second later.

“Don’t cry,” she says, then sighs like she hates being soft. “Okay—cry a little. But you did good. And if anyone makes you feel weird about it, I’ll bite them.”

⸻

Embry Call

You crash through brush and nearly tumble into a creek—until warm laughter flickers into your mind like a flashlight.

A sandy-brown wolf trots into view, tail wagging like he’s trying to calm you with vibes alone.

Hey, hey—easy, Embry says. You’re okay. You’re not crazy. You’re not dying. You’re just… fluffy right now.

Your growl comes out more embarrassed than scary.

Embry flops onto the ground—full dramatic sprawl.

See? Nothing’s happening. He sends you a mental image of you tripping over your own paws and he snorts at it, gentle teasing. You’re doing better than I did. I ran straight into a tree. Like… headfirst.

The humor cracks your panic like an egg. Your breathing slows.

Okay, Embry says softly now. Try this: stop thinking about “turning back.” Think about “coming home.” Picture your hands. Your heartbeat. Your name. Not the fear—your name.

You cling to it like a lifeline.

When you shift back, Embry is already human, holding out your hoodie like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“See?” he says, bright grin, eyes kind. “Home.”

⸻

Quil Ateara

You’re trembling so hard your paws slide on the earth. Every sound is too loud. Every scent is too much.

Then comes Quil—big energy, big heart—approaching like he’s walking up to a frightened kid.

A reddish-brown wolf keeps his distance, head lowered.

Hey, Quil’s voice is warm. I’m gonna talk you through it, okay? Just follow the steps. No pressure.

He sends you something unexpected: a memory of making frybread, hands kneading dough—push, fold, breathe.

Your wolf is like dough, he says. If you fight it, it tears. If you work with it, it holds shape.

You focus on the rhythm. Push. Fold. Breathe.

Your panic turns into something you can handle—something with steps.

When you shift back, you’re exhausted, but safe. Quil shifts too, human now, and gives you a soft, careful smile.

“You’re not a monster,” he says. “You’re just new.”

⸻

Paul Lahote

You’re snarling at the air, spinning, ready to bite the forest itself—

And Paul’s presence hits you like a slammed door.

A huge wolf barrels into view, then skids to a stop like he’s forcing himself not to come in too hot.

Whoa—okay, okay, Paul says, voice tense. Don’t bite me. I’m not the problem.

You snap anyway. Your fear comes out as fury.

Paul exhales hard, then—shockingly—softens.

Look, he says. I get it. Anger feels easier than fear. But you can’t punch your way through this. You’re gonna hurt yourself.

He lowers his head, showing you his throat for half a second—pure trust.

I’m not fighting you, he says. I’m standing with you. Big difference.

Something in you… pauses.

Now listen, Paul continues, steadier. Pick one thing you can control. Your paws. Your breathing. Your eyes. Start there. Small control becomes big control.

When you shift back, you’re shaking and scraped up. Paul’s already human, swearing under his breath as he tears a strip of cloth.

“Hold still,” he mutters, wrapping your scratches. Then, quieter: “You did good. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

⸻

Jared Cameron

You can’t stop pacing. Can’t stop scanning. You’re trapped between “run” and “attack.”

Then Jared appears—calm like a big brother, steady like a wall.

A dark wolf steps into view, posture relaxed.

Hey, Jared says gently. I’m gonna give you a job. Wolves do better with jobs.

He points you toward a clear patch of ground.

Walk a circle. Same size. Same pace. Don’t speed up. Don’t stop. Just circle.

It’s simple. It’s boring. It works.

Your nervous system starts to settle into the pattern, and your thoughts stop scattering.

Good, Jared says. Now tighten the circle. Smaller. Slower. That’s control.

When you shift back, Jared shifts too and offers you water like he expected this all along.

“Your body’s learning,” he says. “We’ll train it.”

⸻

Seth Clearwater

You’re shaking and miserable and convinced you’re going to be stuck like this forever when a bright, golden presence pops into your head like sunshine.

A cinnamon-colored wolf bounces into view—tail wagging, ears perked.

Hi! Okay! So— Seth blurts, then catches himself. Sorry. I’m Seth. You’re… you. And you’re doing great.

You whine, panicked.

No, no, listen— Seth says quickly. When I first shifted, I freaked out so bad I thought I’d never see my mom again. But you will. Promise. You just have to trust your body a little.

He sends you an image of a kite in wind.

Don’t yank the string, he explains. Guide it. Small pulls. Small corrections.

You try. Tiny adjustments in your breathing, your posture, your focus.

It starts to work.

When you shift back, Seth is human almost instantly, whipping off his shirt like a blanket.

“Okay,” he says, beaming like you just won a medal. “See? You’re still you.”

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[forkshighschooler]

I love your story that you did with Paul lahote. Thank you so much for doing it. Could you do a part 2 if you don’t mind

Which one?

[forkshighschooler]

hi!! i was wondering if you could do a jacob black x pixie/fairy reader? like maybe them finding out they’re a fairy/pixie??

Wildflower, Starlight

Pairing: Jacob Black x Fairy/Pixie!Reader

Summary: Jacob’s already carrying too many secrets when something starts stalking the woods near La Push—something that feels older than vampires and colder than the ocean. When you finally slip and reveal what you are, Jacob learns two truths at once: you’re fae… and you’re his imprint.

Warnings: imprinting, supernatural reveal, protective Jacob, pack tension, minor injury (non-graphic), canon-typical danger

Jacob knew something was off the second you stepped onto First Beach.

Not because you looked different—you didn’t. Same hoodie, same messy hair, same stubborn little frown like the weather personally offended you.

But the air moved around you.

Like the wind was trying to make space.

Like the ocean was holding its breath.

Jacob’s eyes narrowed as you walked closer, boots sinking into damp sand. “Okay,” he said, voice casual in that way that wasn’t casual at all, “why do you look like you’re about to confess to murder?”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers kept worrying the thin bracelet around your wrist. “I’m not confessing to anything.”

“Uh-huh.” He bumped your shoulder lightly, trying to pull a smile out of you. “Then why’d you text me ‘come alone’ like you’re in a spy movie?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your gaze kept flicking to the treeline.

Jacob followed it, the heat under his skin rising, instincts prickling. The wolves in his head—his brothers—weren’t here. He’d asked them for space, for five minutes of normal.

But normal didn’t stick to you anymore. Maybe it never had.

“I’ve been hearing things,” you said finally. “At night.”

Jacob’s expression sharpened. “Like what?”

You hesitated, then muttered, “Like someone calling my name.”

He stopped walking.

Your name didn’t get called out here unless you were in trouble.

And trouble, lately, had fangs.

Jacob’s hands flexed. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I didn’t want you to—” you started, then swallowed. “I didn’t want you to do that thing where you get heroic and stupid.”

Jacob scoffed. “I don’t—”

You gave him a look.

He sighed. “Okay, I do that. But I’m working on it.”

The waves hissed up the beach and retreated.

The sky stayed gray.

And still, Jacob felt it—an itch under his skin that wasn’t wolf, wasn’t vampire.

Something else.

Something old.

You stopped near a driftwood log and turned to face him like you were bracing for impact.

“Jake,” you said softly. “If I tell you something… you can’t freak out.”

Jacob tried to smile. It came out crooked. “I’m literally a werewolf, remember? My freak-out threshold is… pretty high.”

You huffed a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but your eyes stayed worried.

Your fingers slid under the bracelet charm.

Like you were checking a lock.

“I’m not… entirely human,” you admitted.

Jacob’s stomach dropped.

Not because he’d be mad. Not because he’d be disgusted.

Because he’d known—in that way your body knows when the ground isn’t steady.

He took a careful step closer. “What are you?”

You swallowed hard. “Fae.”

Jacob blinked. “Like… fairy?”

“Pixie,” you corrected automatically, then winced like the word betrayed you. “It’s—complicated.”

Jacob stared at you for a second longer than polite.

Then, unbelievably, he said, “Okay.”

You froze. “Okay?”

Jacob’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. Okay. Because you’re still you.” His eyes flicked to your wrist. “And because you look like you’re about to bolt.”

You exhaled shakily. “You’re not scared?”

Jacob laughed once, breathy and sharp. “I’m scared of, like, three things.” He nodded at the treeline again. “And whatever’s out there just climbed onto the list.”

As if the woods heard him, the temperature dropped.

Not a natural cold.

A shadow slid between the trunks like smoke learning how to stand upright.

Jacob’s entire body went rigid.

“Behind me,” he ordered, voice low.

You didn’t argue. You stepped back, but your hand snagged in the bracelet again—nervous, instinctive.

The shadow drifted closer, and Jacob’s vision sharpened in that wolf way—every detail louder, every scent brighter.

This thing smelled like wet stone and crushed flowers. Sweet and rotten at the same time.

A voice curled out of it, soft as a lullaby. “Little spark…”

You flinched.

Jacob’s head snapped toward you. “You know it.”

“Not—personally,” you whispered. “But… I know what it is.”

The shadow’s smile widened, wrong on a face that kept shifting between pretty and terrifying. “You can’t hide from your blood forever.”

Jacob growled, deep enough you felt it in your ribs. “Back. Off.”

The shadow’s eyes flicked to him like Jacob was a mildly interesting animal. “A wolf playing guard dog. How quaint.”

Jacob took a step forward, anger spiking—but you grabbed his sleeve.

“Jacob,” you breathed, urgent. “Iron.”

He blinked, then swore under his breath like he was filing the information away for later. “Got it.”

The shadow tilted its head. “Telling secrets now? Naughty.”

It lifted one hand toward you—fingers too long, too elegant.

Your bracelet burned.

A sharp heat shot up your arm like a warning flare.

And then the lock inside you finally snapped.

Light burst out of you in a glittering shockwave, bright enough to make Jacob flinch and throw an arm up. The ocean wind whipped hard, spiraling around your body.

Your knees hit the sand.

Your back ached.

And something unfurled with a soft, crystalline sound—

Wings.

Not big and dramatic like in movies.

Small, delicate, dragonfly-thin—shimmering with faint colors that shifted with your breath.

Jacob stared.

The shadow laughed, delighted. “There you are.”

Jacob’s hand dropped slowly. His eyes dragged over you like he was making sure you were real.

Then his chest rose, fell—once.

Twice.

And his whole world changed.

It hit him like a punch—like gravity suddenly had a name.

His breath caught.

His face went blank with shock, then cracked with something raw and helpless.

“No,” Jacob whispered.

You looked up, confused through panic. “No what?”

Jacob stepped toward you like he couldn’t stop.

Like the space between you was an emergency.

“Sam said—” he started, voice breaking. “He said it feels like—like the world narrows and you can’t breathe—”

The shadow’s smile sharpened. “Oh?”

Jacob’s eyes were locked on you now, fierce and stunned and wrecked.

“—and it’s you,” he finished, voice shaking. “It’s you.”

Your heart tripped. “Jacob…?”

He swallowed hard, like the word hurt.

“I imprinted,” he said.

The ocean seemed to go quiet.

Your stomach flipped so hard you thought you might be sick. “That’s—Jacob, that’s not—”

“It’s not a choice,” he cut in quickly, and the way he said it was almost desperate—like he needed you to understand right now. “But what I do with it is. You hear me? You don’t owe me anything. You don’t—”

The shadow made a low, amused sound. “How noble.”

Jacob’s head snapped toward it, rage blooming like a fire. His hands curled.

You felt the wolf under his skin, straining.

But instead of lunging, Jacob planted himself between you and the thing again—wide stance, protective, like his body had decided you were the only point that mattered.

“No,” Jacob said, voice deadly calm. “You don’t get to talk to them like that.”

The shadow’s gaze slid to you. “Come home, little spark. The wolf can’t keep you.”

Jacob’s breath hissed out. “Try it.”

The shadow moved—fast.

Not like running.

Like it slid through the air.

Jacob shifted his weight to attack—

And you reacted without thinking.

Light snapped out of you again, instinctive and bright, forming a shimmering barrier between Jacob and the creature. It slammed into it like it hit glass, and the shadow recoiled with a hiss.

Jacob froze, then looked back at you.

Your wings trembled. Your hands shook, palms glowing faintly.

“I can’t—” you choked out. “I can’t let you get hurt.”

Jacob’s expression softened so fast it hurt to see. Like all the rage drained out and left only him—Jacob, the boy who built motorcycles and smiled like sunshine.

He stepped closer to the barrier, careful.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m right here.”

The shadow’s eyes narrowed, furious now. “You’ll regret this.”

And then it melted back into the trees, voice trailing like smoke: “Sooner or later… you’ll return to what you are.”

Silence returned in a rush.

Only the ocean. Only your breathing.

Jacob dropped to a crouch in front of you, close but not touching. Like he was trying not to spook a wild thing.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle.

You let out a shaky laugh that sounded like crying. “I don’t know. I’ve never… done that. Not like that.”

Jacob’s gaze flicked to your wings, then back to your face.

“They’re… really pretty,” he said, like the words were the safest thing he could offer.

You swallowed. “Don’t call me Tinker Bell.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth—relief, trembling at the edges. “I wasn’t going to.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. “Okay, I was. A little.”

Your laugh came out more real this time, and Jacob looked like he could breathe again.

Then his face sobered.

“About the imprint,” he said carefully. “I’m not gonna—” He searched for the right words, jaw tight. “I’m not gonna cage you. I’m not gonna demand anything. I just—”

His voice dropped, raw.

“I just want you safe. I want you happy. Even if that isn’t… with me.”

Your throat tightened.

You stared at him, at the way his hands shook slightly like he was holding himself back, at the way he looked at you like you were the center of his whole messed-up universe.

And you realized something that scared you almost as much as the shadow in the woods:

Jacob meant it.

This wasn’t possession.

It was devotion.

It was responsibility.

It was a love that came with teeth, but it was still your choice what to do with it.

You took a shaky breath. “Okay.”

Jacob blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded, wings twitching. “Okay, but… you’re going to have to learn about pixies.”

Jacob’s lips curved. “Deal.”

“And you can’t go charging into the forest without a plan.”

“Also deal.”

“And if you call me Tinker Bell—”

Jacob grinned, bright and reckless again. “No promises.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest warmed anyway.

Jacob’s hand lifted, hovering near your knee like he was asking permission without words.

“Can I?” he asked softly.

You hesitated—then nodded.

His fingers brushed your hand, warm and steady, grounding you like the sand beneath your knees.

And for the first time since the woods started whispering your name, you didn’t feel alone.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[forkshighschooler]

Could you do a Paul lahote story where he was dating Rachel but then he imprint on reader. Reader is Bella’s baby sister and when Bella goes to find out what happened to Jacob and she slaps Paul, reader is there and that when Paul imprints on reader. I hope that makes sense. If your not comfortable doing that I understand

The Moment It Changed

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Reader

Summary: Paul thinks he’s got his life under control—dating Rachel, keeping his temper in check, staying out of trouble. Then Bella Swan storms into La Push looking for Jacob… and in one sharp, stinging second, everything snaps into place. Unfortunately for Paul (and everyone else), the person he imprints on is you—Bella’s baby sister—standing right there when Bella slaps him.

Warnings: imprinting, jealousy/heartbreak (Rachel), shouting/anger, emotional whiplash, light violence (a slap), mentions of phasing/wolves, canon-typical danger

Bella’s voice hit the air like a match.

“Where is he?”

La Push always felt like a loaded gun when Bella was upset—too many secrets in the trees, too much tension in the salt-heavy wind. The kind of place where your heart beat harder because something in you knew it wasn’t normal.

You stood half a step behind her, close enough to grab her sleeve if she lunged at someone, far enough away that she couldn’t tell your hands were trembling.

Bella’s baby sister. That’s what people called you, like you were a title instead of a person. Like you were just the extra piece of Swan baggage that came with her whenever she decided to walk into danger like it was a hobby.

Paul Lahote was there, right where you didn’t want him to be: near the edge of the trees, shoulders set, jaw tight, eyes flashing like a storm that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to break or hold.

Rachel stood close to him—close enough that you caught the way her fingers hovered near his arm like she was used to steadying him. Like she’d learned the angles of his temper and built herself into a wall.

Paul’s gaze snapped to Bella.

“Not here,” he said, and you swore the words sounded like a growl he’d forced into a human shape.

Bella didn’t flinch. That was Bella—fear was a thing she seemed to swallow whole.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded, stepping forward. “Where is Jacob?”

Rachel’s eyes darted to you. Not cruel. Not kind either. More like… careful. Like she’d seen enough around here to know that being near the Swan sisters meant you either got hurt or you became part of the hurt.

Paul exhaled hard through his nose. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Bella’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re telling me what I shouldn’t do, after you—after all of you—”

Her voice cracked at the edges, but she kept going, fueled by panic and rage and whatever she’d dragged all the way from Forks.

“You took him. You took him and you won’t tell me anything—”

Paul moved, just a step, but it was enough to make the air shift. Enough to make your spine stiffen like a warning.

“Bella,” you said quickly, grabbing her wrist. “Please—”

She yanked free.

“Don’t,” she snapped, and it wasn’t really at you. It was at everything. At the universe. At the secret that had swallowed Jacob Black and left her standing here with nothing but questions and the taste of fear.

Paul’s eyes flicked to you—just once, quick as lightning—and then back to Bella.

“I can’t tell you,” he said, voice low. “Go home.”

Bella’s breath hitched.

For half a second, you thought she might break.

Then she did something worse.

She swung.

Her palm cracked across Paul’s face, loud enough that it echoed off the trees. Rachel’s gasp cut through the moment. Paul’s head turned with the hit—hard—before he snapped back, eyes flaring, hands curling like he was fighting the urge to become something bigger than a boy in a hoodie.

“Bella!” you cried, stepping between them without thinking, palms out.

And that was the instant it happened.

Paul’s gaze locked on you.

Not like the quick glance from before.

This time it was like the world narrowed until there was nothing left but your face, your eyes, the sound of your breathing.

His expression changed in a way that made your stomach drop—like anger got yanked out of him by the roots. Like something ancient and certain reached into his chest and claimed.

Paul’s lips parted. His breath caught.

“No,” he whispered—so quiet you almost missed it.

Rachel froze beside him. You watched her realize it in real time, like the meaning slid into place behind her eyes and turned her whole body cold.

Paul took one step forward.

Then another.

He wasn’t looking at Bella anymore. Like Bella didn’t exist. Like the slap, the yelling, the secrets—none of it mattered.

Only you.

Your heart hammered. “Paul…?”

His face was still faintly red where Bella had hit him, but he didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were wide, stunned, horrified, reverent all at once.

“I…” His voice broke like he couldn’t fit the words around what he’d just become. “It’s you.”

Bella looked between you and him, confusion twisting into alarm. “What—what are you talking about?”

Paul didn’t answer her.

He looked like he couldn’t.

Like answering anyone else would be the same as turning his back on gravity.

Rachel made a small sound—half laugh, half choke—and stepped back like she’d been burned.

“Paul,” she said, voice tight, “don’t.”

Paul flinched at her voice. Just for a second. Like something human in him tried to remember he’d been someone else a minute ago—someone who held Rachel’s hand and kissed her forehead and promised he was trying.

But then his eyes snapped back to you, and the human part disappeared under something bigger.

His shoulders dropped—softened—like his body had finally stopped bracing for impact.

“I didn’t—” he said, voice rough. “I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t—”

You stared at him, throat tight. “Mean to what?”

His mouth opened, closed. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

“It’s… it’s imprinting,” he said finally, like the word tasted like both salvation and a curse.

Bella went still.

You could see the exact second her brain connected dots you didn’t even know existed.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no—are you serious?”

Paul’s eyes flicked to Bella for the first time since it happened, and there was something almost apologetic there. Almost. Like even if he wanted to be sorry, the imprint didn’t leave room for regret the way normal people had it.

“I am,” he said quietly. “And I can’t… I can’t change it.”

Your hands shook. “So what does that mean?”

Paul’s gaze came back to you, gentler now—like he was trying to handle you carefully, like you were something fragile he’d been handed with no instructions.

“It means,” he said, swallowing hard, “that I’m yours.”

The words landed heavy.

Possessive, but not in the way you expected. Not like he was taking. More like he was giving.

Like someone had rewired him to orbit you, whether he wanted to or not.

Rachel’s eyes shone, furious and hurt. “Paul.”

He turned his head just enough to acknowledge her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And it sounded like it scraped him raw. “Rachel, I—”

But the apology didn’t finish, because his attention kept slipping back to you like a magnet.

Rachel’s jaw trembled. “That’s it, then. Just—just like that?”

Paul’s throat worked. “I didn’t choose it.”

Rachel laughed again, sharp this time. “No. But you’ll live with it anyway.”

She looked at you—really looked—and there was something in her expression you weren’t ready for. Not hatred.

Something worse.

A kind of grief that made you feel guilty even though you hadn’t done anything but stand there and exist.

“You’re Bella’s sister,” Rachel said softly, like the fact itself was a warning.

You couldn’t answer.

Because Bella was staring at Paul like she wanted to slap him again—and maybe she would, if she thought it would fix anything.

“This is insane,” Bella hissed. “You’re dating her—”

Paul’s voice cracked with frustration. “I was.”

Silence.

The kind that made the ocean feel far away, even though you could still smell it.

You took a step back, trying to breathe. “Paul, I don’t… I don’t even know you.”

His face flinched—like you’d hit him harder than Bella did.

Then he nodded, slow, like he was accepting punishment.

“I know,” he said, voice low. “But I’ll spend however long it takes proving I’m not going to hurt you.”

Bella scoffed. “You literally almost exploded two seconds ago.”

Paul didn’t look away from you. “Not at her.”

That should’ve been comforting.

It wasn’t.

It was terrifying.

Because the way he said it made it clear he wasn’t promising to be better.

He was promising he’d be different—for you.

And you didn’t know what to do with that kind of power.

Bella’s hand came up again, not to slap this time, but to grip your arm.

“We’re leaving,” she said, voice fierce. “Right now.”

Paul’s body tensed, not with anger—something protective, instinctive.

But he didn’t block you.

He just watched, eyes tracking every movement like he was memorizing you in case you vanished.

And when Bella tugged you away, pulling you down the beach path toward the car, you felt it:

Not a physical thing.

A shift in the air.

Like somewhere behind you, Paul Lahote’s world had just been reduced to one fragile point.

You.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. 

[forkshighschooler]

Sun-Warm Smiles is probably my fave Quil imagine EVER

omg really!! I’m happy you liked it! Thank so much for reading my work!!💙

[forkshighschooler]

can you plzzzz write one where reader thinks embry has a crush on bella??

Second-Best to Swan

Pairing: Embry Call x Reader

Summary:Being best friends with Jacob and Embry has always meant grease stains, inside jokes, and late nights in the La Push garage. But when you tag along the day they walk in on Jacob and Bella fixing the motorcycle, you’re suddenly very aware of just how… perfect Bella Swan is. And you can’t help noticing the way Embry looks at her—or at least you think you do. Spiraling jealousy, distance, and overthinking follow… until Embry finally corners you and makes it painfully, beautifully clear that the only girl he’s got heart-eyes for is you.

Warnings:Jealousy & insecurity, Swearing (light),Canon-typical Twilight setting (La Push, New Moon-ish),Lots of fluff and reassurance after angst

You always thought the La Push garage smelled like home.

Oil and salt air and whatever air freshener Billy had stuck on the shelf months ago. It clinged to your clothes, got into your hair, but you didn’t mind. It meant you were where you belonged: perched on a workbench, watching your two favorite idiots argue about something that had probably started as a joke.

Embry’s laugh echoed off the walls, warm and ridiculous, as Jacob threw a greasy rag at him.

“Dude, you literally did that wrong on purpose,” Jacob complained. “That’s not even how you tighten a bolt.”

“I was testing you,” Embry said, smirking, rolling the socket wrench in his fingers like he knew what he was doing. “And you passed. Gold star, Black.”

You snorted from your spot on the workbench. “You two sound like an old married couple.”

Embry shot you a look, one brow cocked. “Jealous?”

You made a face and lobbed the extra rag at his head. “In your dreams, Call.”

He grinned, bright and easy, like he always did when he got a reaction out of you. That grin did annoying things to your heart that you pretended not to notice.

This was your normal—the three of you, loud and messy and comfortable. You’d grown up with Jacob and Embry. They were your boys, your constants. Even when things started to get weird—Jacob’s mood swings, Embry disappearing for days, the way their bodies seemed to bulk up overnight—you still felt like you had your place.

Today, though, the normal felt like it was about to tilt.

“C’mon,” Jacob said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We gotta head over to my place. I told Bella I’d finish up with the bikes.”

The name hit the air like a little spark.

Bella.

You’d met her a handful of times. She was nice. Quiet, awkward, that “I literally did not ask to be this accidentally appealing” kind of girl. People just gravitated to her. Or, at least, boys did.

Especially Jacob.

You pretended you didn’t see the way his face softened whenever she was mentioned. Or how his voice dipped unconsciously when he said her name.

“Are you coming?” Embry asked, jerking his head toward the door.

Your stomach did a funny flippy thing. Going to Jacob’s meant seeing Bella. Seeing Bella meant confronting the reality that she was growing closer to your best friend. And apparently, according to the treaty of “the universe hates you,” every guy you liked or might someday like seemed to be at least a little drawn to her, too.

You hopped off the workbench anyway. “Yeah, sure. Someone has to make sure you two don’t blow anything up.”

“Hey,” Jacob protested. “You wound me.”

Embry bumped your shoulder with his as you passed him. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep us safe.”

You rolled your eyes to hide the way your face heated up. “You can’t even keep track of your own tools.”

The ride to Jacob’s was quick, wind biting at your cheeks, the sky overhead that pale, washed-out gray you’d come to associate with Forks weather.

By the time you stepped into the garage, you knew something was different. You could feel it, like static.

She was there.

Bella, standing with her back to you, hair curtaining her face as she leaned over a rusty motorcycle, grease smudged on her cheek. Jacob stood beside her, fingers brushing hers as he pointed at something on the bike. They were laughing quietly, heads bent close.

Your chest pinched.

It shouldn’t have felt like a punch. This was what you knew was happening. Jacob had said he was helping her with the bikes, that they’d been hanging out more. You’d nodded, smiled, even teased him about his “crush.”

But seeing it in real time—the way his whole body seemed to lean toward hers—hurt in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Embry’s easy voice cut through your thoughts as he stepped in behind you and Jacob. “So this is Bella.”

They both startled a bit, looking up. Bella whipped around, expression nervous but kind.

“Uh—hey,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag. “You must be Embry, right?”

Embry gave a lazy grin. “In the flesh.”

You watched his eyes flick up and down almost automatically, taking her in. Messy hair. Soft flannel. That shy sort of half-smile.

Your heart dropped.

You suddenly thought of yourself. Grease on your own jeans, hair pulled back in a bandana, a stain on your hoodie from the soda Jacob had tossed you earlier. Next to Bella, you felt… small. Ordinary. Like the background character in someone else’s story.

Jacob gestured between you all. “Bella, this is Embry. And you know Y/N.”

Bella gave you a warm smile. “Hey.”

You forced your lips into something that wasn’t quite a grimace. “Hey. Looks like you two have been busy.”

“Yeah,” Bella said, cheeks pinking. “Jake’s been teaching me. Sort of.”

Jacob beamed. “She’s not bad, honestly.”

Of course she wasn’t.

Embry moved closer, hands on his hips as he surveyed the bike. “Damn, Swan. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

It was a teasing compliment. You knew his tone. He talked like that all the time—to you, to Jacob, to pretty much everyone. But your brain didn’t care about logic right now.

Your brain only saw the way he was smiling.

The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when Bella ducked her head, embarrassed.

The way he looked… impressed.

Something ugly and tight wrapped around your ribs.

You stepped back without really meaning to, suddenly aware of just how in-the-way you felt. Jacob and Bella were wrapped in their little motorcycle bubble. Embry had slotted himself in next to them, joking and talking, and you—

You didn’t know where to stand.

“I’m, uh, gonna go grab something from Billy,” you muttered. “Forgot I told him I’d bring it home for Mom.”

Embry glanced over his shoulder at you. “You want help?”

“Nope.” You plastered on a smile that felt like it was made of glass. “I got it.”

You didn’t wait for anyone to say anything else. You just turned and walked out, the laughter behind you fading under the roar of your heartbeat.

You didn’t actually go see Billy.

You just walked until Jacob’s house was a dot in the distance and the smell of ocean salt began to drown out the motor oil.

You knew it was stupid. Bella didn’t do anything wrong. Embry didn’t either. You were the one acting weird.

But the image replayed in your head on a loop: the way he’d looked at her.

You’d seen that look before. On other guys. In hallways. At bonfires. Always aimed at girls who weren’t you.

And the worst part? It made sense.

Bella was the kind of girl people cared about just by breathing near her. You were the one everyone forgot until they needed someone to help carry parts or fix a snack or listen.

Background character, your brain whispered. Supporting role.

You kicked at a rock, hard enough to send it skittering across the damp ground.

“Stupid,” you muttered. “This is so stupid, oh my God.”

You’d never even said anything to Embry. Not out loud. How are you supposed to be hurt over something you never had?

Because you do have something, another part of you argued. The late-night texts. The way he always picked you for teams. How he gave you his hoodie when you were cold, even though you pretended not to notice how he shivered the rest of the night.

But maybe that was all in your head, too.

You avoided the boys for the rest of the day.

When your phone buzzed, you ignored it. When Jacob called, you let it go to voicemail. You told your mom you were tired and went to bed early, staring at the ceiling with your heart lodged somewhere behind your teeth.

The next day, you thought you might get away with slipping under the radar.

You were wrong.

You barely stepped foot onto the little path behind your house when Embry appeared like some giant, pissed-off ninja, arms crossed over his chest.

“There you are.”

You jumped, hand flying to your chest. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Maybe,” he said flatly. “Then you’d have to stop running away from me.”

You bristled instantly. “I’m not running away.”

He stepped closer, eyes dark with something like hurt. “You bailed yesterday. You didn’t answer your phone. Jake thought you were mad at him at first, but then I realized you don’t usually avoid him unless you’re mad at me. So…” He gestured between you. “What did I do?”

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

This was the part where you were supposed to brush it off. Tell a joke. Change the subject.

But the way he was looking at you—solid, stubborn, like he wasn’t going to just let it go—made your carefully stacked excuses start to wobble.

“You didn’t do anything,” you said weakly. “It’s fine.”

“Y/N.” His voice was softer now. “Don’t do that. Talk to me.”

You made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

That was your downfall. It always was.

There was something open there, something that made your chest ache. Like he actually cared what you said. Like your feelings mattered.

And that made everything come spilling out.

“It’s just—” You blew out a shaky breath, hands curling into fists at your sides. “I get it, okay?”

Embry frowned. “Get what?”

“You and Bella,” you said, hating how your voice cracked. “You don’t have to pretend like nothing’s changed. I’m not stupid.”

His confusion deepened. “What are you talking about?”

You laughed, sharp and small. “You don’t have to lie, Embry. I was right there. I saw the way you looked at her.”

There it was. The ugly truth, half-whispered between you.

For a second, he just stared at you.

Then, slowly, realization dawned across his face, followed by something like horror.

“Oh my God,” he said. “You think I like Bella?”

Your cheeks burned. “Did you… not hear anything I just said?”

“I heard you,” he said quickly. “I just—I’m trying to figure out how your brain got there.”

“It wasn’t that hard,” you snapped, temper sparking now that the dam had cracked. “You were all—” You waved your hands. “Smiling and flirty and impressed. Just like every other guy around her, by the way. So yeah, I put two and two together.”

Embry stared at you like you’d grown a second head. Then he huffed out a breath, dragged a hand down his face, and stepped closer.

“Y/N,” he said carefully, like he was explaining something to a very agitated cat. “I don’t like Bella.”

You rolled your eyes, your hurt scrambling to protect itself. “You don’t have to say that just because I’m—”

“Jealous?” he supplied.

The word hung between you, electric.

You flinched, looking away. “Forget it.”

“Hey.” His voice was gentle now, but firm. His fingers brushed your wrist, just a ghost of a touch. “Look at me.”

You didn’t want to. You really, really didn’t. But you did.

Embry’s face was open, no teasing, no smirk. Just earnest, heart-in-his-eyes honesty.

“I don’t like Bella,” he repeated. “I was being polite. I was messing with Jake. That’s it.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about that?” he asked, exasperated. “Do you seriously think I’d be that guy? Flirting with one girl right in front of the girl I actually like?”

Your brain stuttered. “…What?”

He blinked. Then blinked again.

You watched the realization hit him—what he’d just admitted. Color crawled up his neck, all the way to his ears.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Shit.”

Your heart was beating so fast you thought you might pass out. “The girl you actually… like?”

Embry swallowed. “Yeah.”

“And that is…?”

He stared at you, eyes flicking between yours like he was trying to see the right answer written in them.

“Do I really have to spell it out?” he asked hoarsely. “You got jealous over some imaginary crush on Bella when I’ve spent the last year tripping over myself every time you walk into a room.”

Your mouth went dry. “You have not.”

“I have,” he insisted. “Who do I always sit next to at bonfires? Who do I text first when something dumb happens? Who do I give my hoodie to every time you say you’re ‘fine’ but your lips are turning blue?”

“That’s just because you’re nice,” you argued weakly.

“Y/N.” His voice dropped. “I don’t have a hoodie inventory for anyone else. It’s literally just you.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to cling to your narrative because that was easier than letting hope wedge itself into the cracks of your heart.

But he kept going.

“And you know that thing where Jake says I always smile when you show up?” he said. “Or how Quil keeps calling you my ‘emotional support human’?”

You remembered. You remembered all of it. You’d blushed, laughed it off. You’d forced yourself not to read into it.

“Those aren’t jokes to me,” Embry said quietly. “Not really.”

You stared at him, the world narrowing to the small space between your bodies.

“So… you don’t think Bella’s… better?” you asked, voice barely a whisper. “Prettier? Cooler? More worth—whatever?”

He looked like he wanted to shake you, then kiss you, then shake you again.

“Bella’s great,” he said. “She’s Jake’s girl, even if she doesn’t know it yet. And yeah, she’s pretty. Whatever. But she’s not you.”

Your throat got tight. “That sounds like a line.”

“It’s not.” He stepped close enough that his chest nearly brushed yours. “Bella’s the main character in, like, ten boys’ stories. That doesn’t matter to me. You’re the main character in mine.”

You made a tiny, wounded sort of sound, half laugh, half sob. “Embry—”

“I don’t care if you’ve got a stain on your hoodie,” he pressed on. “I don’t care if you trip over air or snort when you laugh or spend ten minutes ranting about crappy movie endings. That’s my favorite shit. That’s the stuff I replay when I can’t sleep.”

You stared at him. “You replay me snorting.”

He huffed out a laugh, eyes shining. “Not exactly the snort. More like the way you light up when you’re actually having fun. You think I’d trade that for some girl I barely know, just because she’s—what? Mysterious?”

You swallowed. “The universe seems to think she’s everything.”

“Yeah, well, the universe doesn’t know you like I do,” he said softly. “The universe hasn’t seen you fall asleep sitting up against my shoulder in the Rabbit because you stayed up late helping me study. The universe didn’t watch you show up with that stupid neon band-aid when I cut my hand, like it was some kind of life-or-death emergency.”

“You were bleeding,” you mumbled.

“It was a paper cut,” he said dryly. “You still looked like you were going to fist-fight the notebook.”

Despite yourself, a small, shaky laugh escaped you.

Embry’s shoulders loosened at the sound, like he’d been holding his breath.

“I like you,” he said simply. “I have for a while. And yeah, maybe I was clumsy about it and you misunderstood. But if you honestly think I could walk into a room with you and anyone else and be looking at them instead?” He shook his head. “You’re out of your mind.”

Silence stretched between you, filled with the soft rush of the wind through the trees and the pounding of your heart.

“…Why didn’t you say something?” you finally asked. “Before?”

He shrugged, the movement small. “You laugh off everything. Every time someone teased us, you acted like it was the funniest joke in the world. I thought… I don’t know. That you didn’t feel the same. That if I said anything, I’d screw it up and lose you completely.”

He met your gaze, eyes dark and earnest. “I can handle a lot of things, Y/N. But losing you? That’s not on the list.”

Your anger had long since melted, leaving behind raw, trembling vulnerability.

“You’re sure?” you asked softly. “You’re really, actually talking about me right now?”

He rolled his eyes fondly. “No, the other girl who ran away because she thought I liked Bella. Yes, you.”

You took a breath.

“I was jealous,” you admitted, the words feeling both terrifying and freeing. “I saw the way you smiled at her and I just… I thought, ‘Of course. Of course it’s her again. Of course I’m never the one anyone picks.’”

Embry’s expression crumpled.

“Hey,” he murmured, reaching up to cup your cheek gently, thumb grazing your skin. “Don’t say that. Not about yourself.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.” His voice was firm now. “Maybe other people were too blind to see what was right in front of them, but I’m not. I’m not going anywhere. Especially not for Bella Swan.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until his thumb brushed away a tear.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to make this weird.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Kind of late for that, don’t you think?”

You laughed wetly, swatting weakly at his chest. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” he said, automatic and teasing.

You hesitated only a second before you rose up on your toes and pressed your mouth to his.

For a heartbeat, everything went still. No wind, no distant waves. Just the soft shock of Embry’s lips under yours.

Then he moved, kissing you back with such careful intensity that you thought your knees might give out. One hand slid to the back of your neck, the other settling at your waist, anchoring you.

It was warm. It was a little clumsy. It was perfect.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in little puffs.

“So,” he said, voice slightly hoarse. “Does this mean I get to call you my jealous, overthinking, main-character girlfriend now?”

You sniffed, half laughing. “That depends.”

His brows lifted. “On what?”

“On whether you’re going to keep flirting with girls who touch your motorcycle,” you said, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He barked out a laugh. “Oh, that? That was purely ‘don’t make Jake look like a loser’ flirting. I promise. I only have the real kind for you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was doing cartwheels. “You’re such a dork.”

“Your dork,” he corrected, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. “And for the record? Next time you get jealous, maybe talk to me before you run off, yeah? I can’t chase you halfway across La Push every time your brain decides to lie to you.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Please don’t say the word ‘jealous’ ever again.”

He gently tugged your hands away, lacing his fingers with yours. “Fine. I’ll just call it what it really is.”

You raised a brow. “And what’s that?”

He smiled, soft and sure. “You caring about me as much as I care about you.”

Your cheeks flamed, but you didn’t look away this time.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “We can call it that.”

“Good,” he said. “Now, c’mon. Jake’s going to freak if we don’t show up and torment him about his not-a-crush on Bella.”

You snorted. “You’re really going to give him shit for that?”

“Absolutely,” Embry said. “Gotta keep the balance. Jacob pines after Bella, Bella pines after someone else, and I—”

He squeezed your hand, eyes glittering.

“I get the girl who actually wants me back.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile wouldn’t be contained.

“Yeah, yeah, Call,” you said, letting him tug you down the path. “Just don’t forget who you’re bringing to the bonfire tonight.”

He bumped his shoulder against yours. “How could I? You’re the only one I see.”

And this time, when he smiled, you didn’t wonder who it was for.

You already knew. 

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. 

[forkshighschooler]

Can you please do Seth Clearwater romantic Headcannons? Thank you and I love your works!!! :)

Seth Clearwater Romantic Headcanons

How You Get Together

Seth is oblivious as hell to his own crush at first. Everyone else clocks it instantly.

He laughs harder at your jokes, always ends up next to you on the couch, and lights up when you walk in.

You notice he always volunteers for patrols near wherever you’ll be that day—“coincidentally.”

The pack starts betting on how long it’ll take him to confess. He does… accidentally.

You get hurt (even just a scrape) and he blurts, “Because I love you, that’s why I’m freaking out!” then freezes.

His Vibe in the Relationship

Seth is the puppy-love, first-crush-never-got-over-it type.

He’s big on excited updates:

“Guess what happened on patrol today—oh! And I saw a cool rock that looked like you, look—okay that sounded better in my head.”

He genuinely thinks you’re the best person on the planet and cannot hide it. At all.

Always defending you, even in casual conversations:

“Actually, Y/N’s idea would work better,”

“Y/N’s really good at that, you should ask them.”

Love Languages

Physical touch:

Constant hand-holding, pinkies hooked, shoulder bumps.

Back hugs when you’re cooking or standing at the edge of the water.

He will 100% pull you onto his lap if you’re cold and pretend it’s just for “body heat.”

Words of affirmation:

Hyping you up over everything: outfit, test, small success, literally you just existing.

Sends chaotic little texts if you’re away: “Miss u. Also saw a squirrel that reminded me of u, don’t ask.”

Dates with Seth

Beach bonfires with the pack where he sneaks you extra marshmallows.

Late-night walks in the forest where he shifts and runs alongside you just to show off a little, then nudges your hand with his snout.

Movie nights where he refuses to let you sit more than one inch away from him, “for optimal cuddling conditions.”

Quiet La Push evenings: him lying with his head in your lap while you card your fingers through his hair and he rambles about anything and everything.

With the Pack Around

The pack teases the life out of him:

“Seth, your heart’s loud again, calm down, they just smiled.”

He is proudly, aggressively whipped, and doesn’t care who knows.

If someone jokes at your expense, he’s the first to go, “Hey, that wasn’t funny.”

You become the unofficial morale boost of the group; when things get intense, Seth looks at you once, breathes, and keeps going.

Jealousy & Protection

Seth doesn’t get super jealous, he gets nervously possessive in a sweet way.

If someone flirts with you, he’ll sidle closer, hand sliding into yours, smiling but eyes sharp.

The only time he truly snaps is if someone threatens you.

Happy, sunshine Seth goes dead serious, steps in front of you, that deep alpha-ready growl in his chest even if he’s not the alpha.

Comforting You

If you’re upset, he gets this heartbroken, kicked-puppy look.

Quietly pulls you to his chest and just holds you, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

“You don’t have to explain yet. Just breathe, okay? I’ve got you.”

Brings you snacks, hoodies, and his favorite blanket that “smells like home” (aka, him).

When He’s Upset

Tries to pretend everything’s fine, but he can’t fake it with you.

Ends up sitting next to you, shoulders tense, picking at a loose thread on his jeans until you ask: “Seth. What’s wrong?”

Once you coax it out of him, he talks with his whole heart—no half-truths, no holding back.

Falls asleep best when you’re petting his hair or tracing patterns on his arm.

Future Stuff

Talks about the future like it’s obvious you’re in it:

“When we get a place,”

“Our future dog,”

“If we have kids, they’re definitely getting your personality.”

Wants a house near the ocean so he can still hear the waves and run patrols, but always come back to you.

No matter how old he gets, he’s still the boy who lights up every time you walk into a room.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. 

[forkshighschooler]

hi! I couldn’t leave a comment but I just wanted to say that your “Gravity has Teeth” work is one of the best things I have ever read!!!! OMG it was so good and I just wanted to say you’re an excellent writer! Have a great day!

Omg!! Thank you so much! And thank you for reading my work!!

[forkshighschooler]

Heyy I loved the one thing I didn’t want. Is it possible for a pt2??????

The One Thing I Didn’t Want –

Part Two: Trial by Truce

Pairing: Jacob Black × Reader (enemies-to-lovers, imprint AU)

Summary:

After Jacob imprints on Bella’s sarcastic best friend in the middle of a fight, everything gets complicated fast. A tense “let it be weird” deal on the beach leaves Y/N rattled and Jacob desperate to respect her boundaries while the imprint pulls at him like gravity. When avoidance, half-measures, and awkward small talk stop working, a rainy day on First Beach forces them to finally talk about what the bond really means—and whether they can choose each other without losing themselves.

Warnings:

mild cursing, arguments, emotional conflict, anxiety/feeling trapped, hurt/comfort, imprint bond themes, soft protective Jacob, lots of fluff toward the end

La Push never really leaves her.

For a few days after the beach, “letting it be weird” almost works.

Almost.

Y/N still thinks about the way his eyes had locked on hers, how the whole world seemed to narrow and sharpen whenever he looked at her like that. She still feels the echo of the bond drumming in her veins when she’s alone in her room at night, staring at the ceiling and pretending her heart isn’t trying to beat to someone else’s rhythm.

But in the daylight, they play at normal.

Bella drives them out once or twice, under the excuse of “dropping something off” or “checking on Jacob.” The pack watches like they’re bingeing their favorite show. Y/N stands a few feet away from Jacob, tossing him snarky comments like pebbles instead of knives, and he throws them back softer than before.

It’s… tolerable.

Weird, yeah. Too aware. Every brush of fingers, every too-long look feels like a tripwire. But it’s something.

Then it gets to be too much.

It starts with a text.

JACOB: You made it home ok?

She stares at the screen for a long second, thumb hovering, then types:

Y/N: Yeah.

She doesn’t hit send.

Instead, she erases the reply, flips the phone face-down, and tells herself she doesn’t owe him reassurance, or explanations, or anything at all.

After that, the avoidance snowballs.

She takes the long way home so she doesn’t have to drive past the turnoff to La Push. She makes excuses when Bella suggests visiting. She leaves her phone on Do Not Disturb so she doesn’t watch Jacob’s name light up her screen.

JACOB: Did I do something?

JACOB: If you don’t want me to text I’ll stop. Just say it.

JACOB: I’m trying to respect what you said. Let it be weird. I just… I still worry.

She reads them. Every single one. Her chest aches and the bond hums in the back of her mind like static, but she doesn’t answer.

Let it be weird, she’d told him.

Somehow it’s turned into letting it hurt.

He shows up at her house on the third day.

She knows it’s him before her guardian even knocks. The bond has become that annoying—an internal weather vane that swings sharply toward him the second he steps within range.

“Sweetheart?” comes the voice through her door. “Jacob’s here. Do you want…?”

“No,” Y/N says, too fast. “I mean—tell him I’m busy. Please.”

There’s a pause, a quiet little sigh that says this isn’t going away just because you shut your door. “All right.”

She imagines Jacob on the porch, hands jammed in his pockets, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the steps. She imagines the moment her guardian says, “She’s not available right now,” and his shoulders flinch almost imperceptibly.

The thought makes her stomach twist.

But she stays where she is, sitting on the floor between her bed and the wall, like she can wedge herself into the narrowest space possible and hide from the pull in her chest.

Imprint. Soulmate. Wolves.

It still sounds like a bad joke. The worst part is that the universe isn’t laughing.

Down at Sam’s place, the pack is merciless.

“He’s back,” Paul announces from the kitchen window, tone gleefully obnoxious. “Pacing, round three. At this point we should start charging him rent on the grass.”

“Shut up,” Jacob mutters without heat, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Emily sets a plate down in front of him with a soft clink. “Eat,” she says. “Brooding is not a meal.”

“I’m not brooding,” he lies.

Embry flops into the chair across from him. “So she’s ghosting you now?”

“Thank you for the update I definitely needed,” Jacob says flatly.

Seth, perched on the arm of the couch, swings his legs. “Maybe she just needs some time. It was a lot. ‘Hey, guess what, soulmates are real and you pulled the short straw’ is kind of intense.”

Quil snorts. “Of all the girls in Forks, it had to be Bella’s scary best friend. That’s karma.”

“I hate all of you,” Jacob says, but it’s tired around the edges.

Sam leans against the counter, arms crossed. “Have you tried backing off a little?”

“I did,” Jacob shoots back. “I didn’t text for a day after she asked me not to follow her. And now she won’t even look at me.”

Leah, who’s been leaning in the doorway listening, finally chimes in. “Maybe she’s testing you.”

Jacob blinks. “Testing me how?”

“To see if you’re actually going to respect what she said,” Leah replies. “You told her you’d let it be weird and give her space. Space doesn’t come with a time limit in fine print.”

He groans. “So what do I do? Just… sit here and feel like my organs are rearranging themselves every time she’s upset with me?”

“Welcome to imprinting,” Quil says cheerfully.

Sam shoots him a look.

Leah pushes off the doorway. “Look, she doesn’t want the bond to be the only reason you’re trying,” she says. “You were enemies. Then you were… whatever you are now. She needs to know you like her outside of the cosmic wolf thing.” Her gaze sharpens. “Do you?”

Jacob hesitates only a second. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”

“Then prove it.” Leah shrugs. “Without hiding behind fate.”

The universe, with its usual flair for drama, picks rain for the rematch.

Y/N leaves the house because she can’t breathe inside it anymore—can’t stand staring at the same four walls knowing Jacob’s been on her porch, knowing she’s the one who asked him to give her weirdness and then punished him for doing it wrong.

She forgets an umbrella. She doesn’t care.

First Beach is almost empty, all soft gray light and the hush of waves. The air smells like salt and wet earth. She kicks off her shoes and lets the cold sand numb her toes, wind tugging at her clothes.

She’s halfway down the stretch of shoreline when she hears him.

“Y/N!”

Of course.

She closes her eyes briefly. “You have got to be kidding me,” she mutters, then turns.

He’s jogging toward her, hair damp from the drizzle, t-shirt clinging to his chest, expression tight in that way she’s starting to recognize as equal parts stubborn and scared.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Jacob says, because apparently that’s his icebreaker.

She stares. “Seriously? That’s your opening line?”

His mouth twists. “I… didn’t have a speech prepared, okay?”

“You’re a werewolf,” she says. “You don’t get colds.”

“You do.” He takes a breath. “Can we talk? Please.”

She almost says no on reflex. But the bond — that stupid, invisible thread — pulls taut under her skin, humming with something that feels too much like relief.

“Fine,” she says. “Talk.”

He glances around, then gestures toward a big piece of driftwood backing up against the dunes. They end up facing each other with a few feet of damp sand between them, the waves crashing a steady rhythm behind his words.

“You disappeared,” he says, blunt because he doesn’t know how else to be. “After you said we could… be around each other. Let it be weird. I was trying to do what you asked, and then suddenly you’re gone.”

“I didn’t disappear,” she shoots back. “I just stopped signing up for emotional whiplash field trips.”

He flinches. “I’m trying to figure this out. The imprint. You. Us. I’m trying not to push you away more than I already have.”

“You think this is about you pushing me away?” Y/N laughs, harsh and thin. “Jacob, you’re the one getting yanked around by the universe. I’m just… collateral damage.”

His jaw works. “That’s not what you are.”

“Oh, really?” She gestures vaguely between them. “Because everyone keeps explaining what this bond does to you. How it makes you protective, how you feel everything sharper, how I’m the center of your gravity now, blah blah blah. And me?” She taps her chest. “No one can tell me what it does in here. Except that when you look at me like I’m the only person on the planet, it feels like my life got hijacked.”

He stares at her, rain beading on his lashes. “I’m not trying to hijack anything.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re trying!” Her voice wobbles; she hates it. “It’s still there. This… pull. I spent years thinking you were insufferable, Jacob. And now my stupid heart keeps tripping over itself every time you’re in the same zip code.”

He looks wrecked. “Do you think that’s fun for me?” he asks quietly. “You think I like that I can feel it every time you get even a little bit upset? That when you walked away on the beach I had to stand there and let you, because if I followed you I’d be the exact monster you already think I am?”

Her anger stutters at the edges.

“I didn’t think you were a monster,” she says, softer. “I just… didn’t want to be a prize you won in some supernatural lottery.”

His shoulders loosen a fraction. He takes a cautious step closer. “You’re not,” he says. “You’re not a prize, or an assignment, or a job I got stuck with. You’re—” He breaks off, drags a hand over his face. “I don’t have the words for what you are. I just know I noticed all your crap before I phased.”

That catches her.

“Noticed what?” she asks warily.

He huffs. “That you tap your pencil when you’re thinking. That you pretend you hate group projects but still end up doing most of the work so it doesn’t suck. That you get this line—” He lifts his hand slowly, gives her time to move away. When she doesn’t, he touches the spot between her brows, feather-light. “—when someone underestimates you.”

Her breath hitches.

“I thought you were just annoying,” he admits, mouth tilting. “Turns out I was obsessed.”

“Obsessed,” she repeats, incredulous.

He flushes. “In a non-creepy way.”

“That’s not how that word works.”

A weak laugh slips out of her in spite of herself. The rain has turned to a fine mist, clinging to his hair, making it curl at the ends.

“So what, then?” she asks. “You liked me before the wolf thing, the universe turned up the volume, and now you’re stuck with it?”

He considers that, then nods once. “Pretty much.”

“And I’m supposed to just… accept that?”

“No,” he says immediately. “You’re supposed to decide what you want, regardless of what my bones are doing. The imprint doesn’t own you.” His voice drops. “I don’t own you.”

Something in her chest eases at that. Just a little.

“Then what are you asking for?” she whispers.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “A chance,” he says. “To prove I can be… I don’t know. Someone you don’t want to throat-punch on sight.” His mouth quirks. “We said we’d let it be weird. Maybe we make it more… official.”

Her eyes narrow. “Official how?”

“A truce.”

The word hangs there between them, unexpected and fragile.

“A truce,” she repeats slowly.

He nods. “We can’t go back to hating each other. Not really. And I’m not asking you to flip a switch and suddenly be okay with ‘soulmate.’ So… we meet in the middle. No more cheap shots. No more trying to win every argument just to see who flinches first. We figure out how to be… friends.”

“Friends,” she echoes, like she’s testing the word on her tongue.

“For now,” he adds quickly. “If that’s all you ever want, I’ll deal. I’ll probably be miserable, but I’ll deal. Because your choice matters more than whatever cosmic nonsense is glued to my ribs.”

She studies him.

He looks ridiculous and sincere and soaking wet. His t-shirt is plastered to his chest, his hands are empty at his sides like he’s trying very hard not to reach for her, and his eyes—those traitorous, lightning-struck eyes—are steady.

“Friends don’t usually stare at each other like that,” she mutters.

“I’m in a complicated situation,” he says, deadpan.

Against her will, she laughs.

Silence stretches, but it isn’t as sharp now. The bond hums, lighter, like it’s waiting.

Finally, she sighs. “Fine,” she says. “Truce.”

His shoulders sag with relief. “Yeah?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

He grins, bright and boyish, and before she can regret anything he holds out his hand.

It’s stupidly formal. Stupidly him.

She eyes it. “If I shake, you’re not going to declare some alpha-wolf law and say I signed a contract, right?”

He snorts. “No law. Just… a promise. I’ll try not to screw it up.”

She hesitates one more beat, then slides her hand into his.

The imprint flares, hot and electric, but this time it doesn’t feel like chains closing. It feels like a path opening under her feet.

“Truce,” she says again, softer.

His fingers tighten around hers. “Truce.”

The pack is unbearable about it, obviously.

“So what you’re saying is,” Quil says later at Emily’s table, “we’re in the friends-to-lovers stage now.”

“We’re in the mind your own business stage,” Jacob replies, shoving him.

Emily hides a smile behind her hand. “How did it go?” she asks Y/N gently.

Y/N pokes at the muffin on her plate. “He talked like a person instead of a prophecy this time,” she says. “It helped.”

“He also gave her his jacket,” Paul sing-songs from across the room. “Real subtle, Romeo.”

“He was wet,” Y/N argues, and then realizes how that sounds. “I mean—it was raining and—oh, forget it.”

Leah, lounging against the counter, smirks. “They’re right about one thing,” she says. “You two are going to fall for each other.”

“Can’t hear you,” Y/N says quickly, sticking her fingers in her ears.

Jacob chuckles under his breath, shoulders brushing hers where they stand side by side. The contact is casual, mostly. Part of the truce is that touching is… allowed, as long as no one calls it what it feels like.

He still checks, every time.

“You good?” he murmurs.

She glances up at him. “You’re hovering.”

“Is that a no?”

“It’s an ‘I will let you know if I’m not’,” she says, then adds more quietly, “I’m good. For now.”

For the first time since the imprint, “for now” doesn’t sound like a death sentence. It sounds like room to breathe.

The weirdness doesn’t evaporate overnight.

Sometimes the bond spikes without warning, like when she laughs too hard at something Seth says and Jacob feels this ridiculous little bloom of pride in his chest. Sometimes she gets overwhelmed and steps outside, and he has to physically stop himself from following.

Sometimes old habits slip back in—he makes a snide remark, she snaps sharper than she means to, and they both go stiff with the ghost of every fight they’ve ever had.

The difference is, now they catch it.

“Sorry,” he mutters one afternoon after a comment lands wrong. “That came out like high-school Jacob. I’m still house-training him.”

She snorts despite herself. “I knew it.”

“You knew what?”

“That you were secretly part gremlin,” she says. “The wolf thing was just a cover.”

His answering grin is brighter than the weak La Push sun overhead.

On another day, it’s her misstep.

They’re on the porch at Emily’s, watching the others pelt each other with rocks down on the beach. Y/N’s leaning on the railing, Jacob sitting on the top step below her, close enough that his shoulder brushes her knee.

“You ever going to tell Bella?” she asks suddenly.

“Tell her what?” he says, even though he knows.

“That you imprinted on her best friend instead of her.” Y/N keeps her tone light, but something tightens around the words.

He goes very still. “I don’t… think that’s how I’d phrase it,” he says carefully.

“Why not?” she presses, and that edge sneaks into her voice, the one that wants to test the limits, find the weak spots. “Isn’t that what this is? Fate taking pity on you because she picked a vampire?”

He turns to look at her, eyes dark. For a heartbeat, the old Jacob flares in his expression—volatile, sharp. Then he swallows it down.

“If that were true,” he says quietly, “it would make you a consolation prize, wouldn’t it?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it.

“I don’t think you’re a consolation prize,” he continues. “I never have. Even when I was too busy being pissed off at you to admit it.”

The anger drains out of her as quickly as it came. Shame rushes in to replace it.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters. “That was… mean.”

“It was honest,” he says with a little shrug. “You’re allowed to think it. Just… don’t stay there, okay? I want you to be the first choice in your own story.”

The words land somewhere deep inside her, in a place that’s been hollow for a long time.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’ll try.”

He offers her a half-smile. “Truce?” he asks, holding up a pinky this time.

She rolls her eyes. “We already shook on it.”

“Yeah, but this is for the bonus round.”

She sighs, but curls her pinky around his anyway.

The bond hums, pleased.

That night, Y/N finds herself back on First Beach alone.

The sky is clear for once, stars scattered in a thick band overhead. The ocean whispers against the shore. She hugs her knees to her chest, Jacob’s jacket pooled around her like a borrowed shadow.

Let it be weird, she’d said.

It is weird. It’s weird to miss his voice when it’s quiet. It’s weird to feel safer with him around even when he drives her up the wall. It’s weird to know there is something written in his bones that has her name on it, and for the first time… not hate it.

Footsteps crunch softly over the sand behind her.

“You’re getting predictable, you know,” she says without turning. “First Beach, dramatic lighting, broody wolfboy incoming.”

He huffs a laugh and drops down beside her, leaving a careful gap. “I can go,” he offers. “If you wanted actual alone time.”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. “It’s fine. I’ve been alone in my own brain for days. It’s loud in there.”

“I know the feeling,” he says wryly.

They sit in silence for a while, listening to the waves.

“Do you still not want this?” she asks suddenly.

He doesn’t pretend not to understand. “The imprint?” he clarifies.

“Yeah.”

He thinks about the question longer than she expects.

“When it first happened, all I could think was ‘not her’,” he admits. “Because we were already a mess. Because you didn’t like me. Because I didn’t want… this kind of power over anyone.” He flexes his fingers against his knees. “It felt like a cage—for both of us.”

“And now?” she presses, heartbeat picking up.

“Now…” He exhales slowly. “Now it feels like a lot of things. Still scary. Still intense. But also…” He glances sideways at her, eyes soft. “I like you. I like you—your brain, your mouth, the way you argue, the way you care about people when you pretend you don’t. If the bond disappeared tomorrow, I’d still be in trouble.”

Her face goes hot. “That’s a stupid answer,” she mutters.

“Yeah,” he says. “But it’s the truth.”

She stares out at the water, chewing her lip.

“I’m still not promising anything,” she says at last.

“I know,” he replies. “I’m still not asking you to.”

“But I’m… not running anymore,” she adds, voice barely above the surf. “If that helps.”

He goes quiet, and she can feel rather than see the way his whole body loosens, some deep tension easing.

“It helps,” he says hoarsely. “A lot.”

She shifts, closing the gap between them until their shoulders touch. He goes absolutely still, like one wrong move might spook her.

“This doesn’t mean you get to win all our arguments,” she warns.

He lets out a shaky laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Because you’re wrong about most things.”

“I picked the right person, though,” he says under his breath.

She pointedly pretends not to hear that. The bond hears it anyway, buzzing warm and steady under her skin.

They sit like that until the cold finally starts to bite. When she shivers, he glances down at her.

“Can I—?” he starts, tilting his head toward his shoulder.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” she says, but leans her head against him anyway.

His breath stutters.

The universe might have written the bond in his bones, but this—leaning into his warmth on a quiet beach under a stretch of stars—is hers.

Hers to take or leave. Hers to grow slowly, stubbornly, into something chosen.

“Hey, Jacob?” she murmurs, half-asleep.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make me regret this truce.”

He smiles into the dark. “I’ll do my best.”

“You’d better,” she says, and lets her eyes close.

For the first time since the imprint, the future doesn’t feel like a sentence.

It feels like a story she hasn’t finished arguing with yet.

And Jacob—annoying, earnest, impossibly devoted Jacob—is right there beside her, ready to fight his way through every chapter.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. 

[forkshighschooler]

What are like the limits to your requests like what won’t you write?

I haven’t had any requests that I won’t do yet so I don’t really know🤷🏽‍♀️