Haiii!! Could I ask for shishi reactions to a "have that dick ready, omw home" message from their s/o that went out for drinks/hangout 😛
I think these boys all love a direct, dominant woman in some sense, so this is just gonna get them all freaked out and flustered.
Ibuki
-He waits up for you when you go out to drink, so when you texted him, he was probably expecting a normal omw home text.
-is SO flustered when he sees it, his face gets all red. Has to clear his throat and re-compose himself before texting you back.
-Probably more concerned about how drunk you are to be saying that lol
-"Just make sure you get home safe, daddy's waiting."
-Probably tries to tell you you're too drunk to have sex, but melts in your touch. If you're not super wasted, congrats, you're getting cracked on sight and then going straight to bed. Daddy's orders.
Free
-so GIDDY. He just smiles to himself, feeling so smug about it. Stars sending you Hella freaked out messages, strips and sends you a lil dick pic too.👀
-He was already gonna try to get freaky with you when you got back, so he's READY. You walk into the house and he's just butt-ass naked on the couch, spread eagle, flag at full mast. He's ready to be used baby.
-He definitely has you riding him/working for it since you came at him so directly. You got yourself into this mess, lol.
Agata
-He was just scrolling on reels or some shit and got the notification. Doesn't know how to respond at first. His initial reaction is this:
then he locks in cause he does a double take and reads it again.
-Texts back "yes sir 🫡" (regardless of gender) and immediately goes to shower and get everything ready for you two.
-Once you get home, he'd let you take the lead, especially depending on how drunk you are. I imagine you'd get the pounce on him first and he'd love every second of it.
Dolph
-Reads it, takes a deep breath, processes what he just read and smilessss. That man is ready to destroy your shit at all times.
-texts back “keep that energy then baby” and then immediately starts tidying himself up.
- when you get home he probably has a candle lit in the bedroom and goes a little extra heavy on the foreplay just to be a tease.
Jinma
-His initial reaction is basically this:
-Once the disbelief wares off He gets SO excited, but poor guy is such a bad texter because he just gets so nervous when he’s not face-to-face. Over thinks everything, so you probably don’t get a reply until your halfway home.
-Is waiting for you by the door like a good boy so when you get back, y’all can get straight into it. He’s not good with words, but he sure is good with his hands 😝
Sabu
-he probably fell asleep waiting for you to get home so once he reads your text, he’s probably just mumbling to himself about how he’s too old and it’s too late for this shit. (this man will never say no to getting some ass so he’s definitely not gonna stop you.)
- text back “OK“
or he’ll just send you a thumbs up. Once you get home and crawl into bed with him, though he’s gonna be hands all over you.
- he’s probably gonna be extra rough with you as a “punishment” for keeping him up late. If he’s gonna be tired in the morning, he’s gonna make his time worth it.
Hino
-he would also probably be in bed, except I think he wouldn’t fall asleep until you got home. He probably just read the message and smiled to himself.
-either doesn’t text back at all or just likes your message.
-expects you to do all the work since you initiated it. Pussy gonna put him out like NyQuil.
Dope
-Gets your texts and instantly locks in.
- Texts back “do you want me waiting in the bedroom or somewhere else?”
Thinks he’s being smooth, but he’s also just trying to get a solid plan made in his head 😭
-Once you get home, he’ll re-affirm what you want from him, he’s surprisingly Sensual, but he’d probably take more time with you, enjoying the build up before giving you what you asked for.
Miguel
-You just made his whole night. He doesn’t usually do things on a whim like this, so it’s super exciting to him.
- Texts back a reaction meme cause he’s too flustered (won’t admit it)
-Once you get home, he’s waiting by the door and hauls you off to the bedroom. You will not be walking tomorrow.
Stray. Curtains billow in the breeze from his open window. The man closes his front door and kicks off his work boots. Sweaty from the day’s work, he peels off his shirt and feels the fresh air blow across his chest. He takes a moment to soak in the light.
“Meow.”
The man jumps. Unnoticed, a small catgirl lays curled up on the floor below the sill. “Meow” she squeaks again, unfurling her naked body. Her dirty blonde tail catches the sunbeam. “Hey! Where did you come from…” She crawls towards him and nuzzles her face against his jeans. “…you’re not supposed to be here, are you lost? Missing?” The catgirl lays at his feet.
Shower water runs over his toned body. He scrubs his body. Usually he would still be thinking about work. Today he thinks about his uninvited guest. Underneath the faucet, the man doesn’t hear the bathroom door open. Insistent meowing catches his attention. The girl sits on the bathmat, watching him bathe. “Silly kitty…”
The cat watches him dry off. She follows him to his room and watches him put on fresh clothes. She watches him sit down on the couch and make a phone call. Laying across his lap, she nibbles on his fingers. The phone at the sanctuary rings two dozen times before someone picks up.
“Uhh… we’re kind of overflowing with catgirls right now… It’s pretty much chaos down here… Hey, put that down! That’s not going to fit there! I’m sorry, can you keep her for a few days until we have some more space?”
The man hangs up. “Looks like you’re going to be staying here for a bit…” She gnaws on his hand. “Meow meow…”
A small dish of food and another for water. The girl’s round ass sticks up in the air as she slurps up her dinner. He can’t help but watch it wiggle. Fluffy tail dances around with little jiggles of her butt. “At least it looks like you’ve been getting fed.” She lets out a happy trill. Stretching out her back, her tail flops up. Her juicy thighs spread open, showing him her pussy. “Meow…” The man stares as he watches her eat.
He assembles a small nest of blankets on his bedroom floor. The catgirl ignores it and hops into his bed instead. “Hey, that’s not yours.” The man chides the small pet. She gives him a blank stare then curls up on the mattress. He folds immediately. Taking off his clothes, the man climbs into bed with the naked girl. “Fine. Good night, kitty.” He turns out the light.
Fifteen seconds of silence and darkness. The catgirl pounces on him. “OOF!” He gasps in surprise. She bounces off the bed to the floor, then back up again. In the confusion, she wiggles underneath the covers. “Hey! What’s gotten into you?” He can feel her soft body rubbing against him. He feels her hard teeth sink into his foot. “OW!”
The light is switched back on. She plays innocent, flopping onto her back and spreading her legs. “You little miscreant…” The catgirl grins. “You want to play, is that it?” She mews softly, pawing at her thighs.
An old drawstring from some worn out sweatpants dangles in front of the kitten’s face. Her bored expression stares past the string. “You wanna play?” The man wiggles the makeshift toy. She baps at it once and lets off a disappointed mew. “Look, that’s all we have. Maybe I can get you a different toy tomorrow, but it’s late.”
The catgirl flops onto her side and stretches out her body. She nuzzles her face against his bare cock. “Mew mew…” The man breathes deeply. His cock starts to swell against her cheeks.
“Kitty…” He mumbles. The girl’s mouth opens and latches onto his cock. The man gasps softly. Rolling fully onto her back, she sucks on the kneeling man. His eyes roam down her chin, across her neck, her pretty tits, her wet pussy. His cock fills her throat. A faint bulge in her airway as the catgirl works him deeper.
It’s been a while. A low groan escapes his lips. The kitty starts to masturbate. He can’t help but grope the stray kitten’s tits. His hips start to rock, slowly thrusting into her mouth. She rubs faster. Spit smears her face. The man is moments away from cumming in her throat.
The catgirl pops her lips off his dick. She rolls onto her hands and knees and hops off the bed. “Hey, where are you going…?” The kitty curls up in her blanket bed on the floor. “…seriously…?” He watches her start to fall asleep. His cock aches. Following her to the nest, he strokes himself over her naked body. “Hey, come on, you’re almost done… Finish me off.”
She doesn’t move. A slight yawn. “Come on… just like you were doing…” The catgirl doesn’t respond. His dick twitches in his hand. Hesitantly, the man holds her hair and pushes his cock back into her mouth. She doesn’t resist, resuming her sucking. He keeps a grip on her, panting as her little tongue works along his shaft.
He’s close again. She sucks faster. The man relaxes and releases his hold on the kitty. Her mouth slides off and she rolls over. “God damn it, you little brat, keep sucking…” The girl stares up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I said suck, kitty.” She doesn’t move. “Spread your legs.” The catgirl stays curled up in her blankets.
Frustrated, the man climbs on top of her. Pushing her legs open, he can feel her become putty in his hands. The kitten gives no resistance. His swollen cock rubs against her wet pussy. One good thrust and he’s deep inside the catgirl. “Mew…” She whimpers. He pins her wrists above her head. The girl doesn’t push back at all.
She takes his cock like a ragdoll. The man takes out his sexual frustration on the little cat. She’s the warmest thing he’s ever stuck his cock in. Letting go of her arms, he focuses on thrusting into her. The catgirl starts to squirm away. “No you don’t.” He growls, grabbing her by the hips. Immediately she goes limp in his hands. Keeping his hold, she lets him pound into her.
Faster and faster, he starts to worry about the docile kitten. Her eyes closed, he can’t read her expression. He feels her quivering. “Is that too rough, kitty?” Short weak gasps. “Me-meow…” He thumps a bit harder, still holding her hips. “What does that mean?” The kitten’s eyes open, her expression is dazed and blurry.
The man leans in close to her, feeling her quivering again. I hope this isn’t too much. Poor little thing. He presses his lips into her neck. He feels that slow shudder. She’s purring.
The kitten twitches. Fingernail claws dig into his chest. He feels her soak his cock. The catgirl makes biscuits on his chest as he ruts into her. Tiny pathetic squeaks and meows float to his ears. The kitten cums. He kisses her flushed face as he finishes deep in the pet’s warm cunny. Tangled in each other, they sleep in the blankets on the floor.
A little bell jingles as she sprints around the house. Her pink collar is tight around her neck. She somersaults across the living room floor. The man talks to the owner of the sanctuary over the phone.
“I’m glad you’re going to keep her. I don’t think we could handle another right now. The poor dogboys are exhausted.”
He hangs up the phone and pats his lap. “Here, kitty.” She frolicks on the carpet, ignorning him. The man lets out a short sigh. Standing up, he walks over to the collared girl. “Bend over for me, okay darling?” She flops around on the floor instead.
The man grabs her tail. Lifting it up, he pushes his hard cock into her. “Meow meow…” His kitten immediately relaxes in his hands. The docile catgirl takes his cock. Picking her up, she nuzzles into his neck as he thrusts into the soft pet. “Mew… meow… meow…”
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cw: mdni, nsfw, pro hero!bakugou x secretery!fem reader, office romance, boss x employee, bratty reader, power dynamics, fingering, riding, p n v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, sexual tension, dirty talk, secret relationship, praise, possessive behavior, teasing, emotional realizations (the ending hints at deeper feelings)
The week leading up to the charity gala was a strange mix of tension and normalcy. During work hours, you and Bakugou maintained your usual professional relationship—bickering, challenging each other, but always getting the job done efficiently. But when the office emptied and it was just the two of you working late, the dynamic shifted.
Sometimes, you'd end up bent over his desk again, your moans muffled by the important documents you were supposed to be organizing.
Other times, it was in the plush armchair by the window, the city lights painting the room in streaks of gold and white as you rode him, your head thrown back in ecstasy. The boundaries between professional and personal were not just blurred; they had been completely obliterated, replaced by a raw, hungry need that seemed to intensify with each encounter.
You discovered things about him, things that had nothing to do with hero work or quarterly reports. You learned the exact spot behind his ear that made him shudder, the way his breath hitched when you raked your nails down his back, and the low, guttural sounds he made when he was close to the edge. He, in turn, seemed to be memorizing every inch of you, learning what made you gasp, what made you beg, what made you scream his name.
And then there was the thing with the heels.
It was late, nearly midnight, and the only sounds in the vast office space were the hum of the servers and the distant wail of a siren. You were in his office, finalizing the guest list for the gala. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that had become your new normal.
"That's the last of them," you said, closing your laptop. The final click echoed in the quiet room.
Katsuki leaned back in his desk chair, his red eyes fixed on you. "Good. Come here."
You didn't hesitate, rising from your seat and walking around the large mahogany desk to stand before him. His gaze was intense, predatory, and it sent a familiar thrill straight through you.
"You've been driving me insane all day," he said, his voice a low rumble. "That skirt, the way you kept biting your lip when you were concentrating..."
"It's called working," you retorted, but your voice was breathless.
"Is it?" he asked, his hands coming to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. "Or is it teasing?"
"Maybe a little of both," you admitted, a slow smile spreading across your face.
He chuckled, a sound that never failed to make your stomach clench. "Strip for me," he commanded, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.
Your heart pounded in your chest. This was new. Usually, your encounters were frantic, clothes torn in a rush to get to each other. This felt deliberate, intentional.
You took a step back, giving yourself space. Your fingers went to the buttons of your blouse, slowly undoing them one by one. His eyes followed your every movement, dark with hunger as more of your skin was revealed. You let the blouse slide from your shoulders, pooling on the floor.
Next was your skirt. You turned around, giving him a view of your back as you slowly unzipped it, shimmying it down your hips until it fell around your ankles. You stepped out of it, now clad only in your matching black lace bra and panties, and the stilettos you'd worn to work.
You turned back to face him, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. As it fell away, his breath hitched. You hooked your thumbs into the sides of your panties, about to slide them down, when he spoke again.
"Stop," he said, his voice rough.
Your hands froze. "What?"
"The heels," he said, his eyes raking over your naked body. "Leave them on."
A shiver, sharp and electric, ran through your entire body. It was the possessiveness in his tone, the specific, focused desire that was so much more potent than a simple command to strip. He didn't just want you naked; he wanted *this* version of you—professional exterior stripped away, leaving only the sharp, dangerous points of your heels.
You didn't question it. You simply hooked your thumbs into your panties and slid them down your legs, stepping out of them. Now you stood before him, completely naked except for the black stilettos that made your legs seem impossibly long.
"Fuck," he breathed, his gaze burning into you. "Come here."
You walked toward him, the click of your heels on the marble floor the only sound in the room. He reached for you, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you onto his lap. The fabric of his trousers was rough against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the smooth leather of the chair.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck. His hands roamed over your body, one cupping your breast while the other slid down your back to grip your ass.
"I think I'm starting to get an idea," you gasped as his teeth nipped at your collarbone.
His other hand moved between your legs, his fingers sliding through your wet folds. "Already so wet for me," he said, his voice smug. "Did you like that? Being told what to do?"
"Maybe," you admitted, your hips rocking against his hand.
"Maybe?" he challenged, his thumb brushing against your clit. "I think it's more than maybe. I think you liked it a lot."
You couldn't deny it. There was something incredibly arousing about the way he looked at you, the raw desire in his eyes, the possessive way he touched you. And the heels—it was a specific kink, one you'd never encountered before, but one that was surprisingly potent.
"Tell me," he demanded, his fingers teasing your entrance. "Tell me you liked it."
"I liked it," you breathed, your head falling back. "I liked you telling me to keep the heels on."
"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. Then he shifted you, lifting you slightly as he freed his hard cock from his trousers. "Now ride me."
You needed no further encouragement. You positioned yourself over him, sinking down onto his thick length with a moan. The stretch, the fullness—it was overwhelming in the best possible way.
You began to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, his eyes fixed on the point where your bodies joined. The stilettos gave you leverage, allowing you to rise and fall on his cock with an ease that was almost intoxicating.
"Fuck," he muttered, his head falling back against the chair. "You look so good like this. So fucking perfect."
You leaned forward, your hands bracing on the back of the chair as you increased your pace. The new angle allowed him to hit that perfect spot inside you with each thrust, building the tension in your core higher and higher.
"Harder," he demanded, his hands tightening on your hips. "Take all of me."
You complied, riding him harder, faster, the sound of your moans mingling with his guttural groans. The city lights blurred behind him, the world outside ceasing to exist as you lost yourself in the sensation.
His hand moved between your bodies again, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight circles. That was all it took to push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you, waves of pleasure so intense they left you shaking. Your inner walls clenched around him, milking his cock as he found his own release, spilling inside you with a hoarse cry of your name.
For a long moment, you stayed like that, your forehead resting against his, both of you panting and sweaty. The reality of what you'd just done, of what you'd been doing for weeks, slowly started to sink in.
"We should probably stop doing this," you said, though you made no move to get off his lap.
"Probably," he agreed, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. "But we won't."
"No," you sighed, burying your face in his neck. "We won't."
Because the truth was, you didn't want to stop. You didn't want to go back to the way things were before, when the tension between you was just frustration and annoyance. Now, it was something else entirely—something dangerous, addictive, and utterly irresistible.
As you sat there, wrapped in his arms, the city lights twinkling outside, you knew you were in deep. And for the first time, you wondered if this was just about sex, or if there was something more brewing between you and your impossible, infuriating, and utterly captivating boss.
But that was a thought for another day. Tonight, you were content to stay in his arms, your heels still on, the world outside fading away until it was just the two of you, tangled together in the quiet of his office.
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Unprofessional Conduct Pt.1
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The battle had dissolved into the sort of chaos that made it difficult to tell where one clash ended and the next began. Steel rang sharply through the air, spells cracked like distant thunder, and the ground beneath your boots had long since turned to churned mud from the frantic movement of bodies and weapons. The air smelled of sweat, smoke, and hot iron, and through all of it you were doing your best to keep your footing, your focus, and your dignity.
You ducked under a wild swing, pivoted, and brought your own weapon around in a quick retaliatory strike. For a moment things felt balanced again—controlled, even. Your breathing was steady, your attention sharp. Then something shifted at the edge of your vision.
A figure lunged from the side, blade already arcing toward you before your mind fully processed the movement. You twisted to meet it, but the angle was wrong, your stance half-turned, and in the split second it took you to realise you might not block in time—
The world abruptly tilted. A startled sound escaped you—high, undignified, and entirely involuntary—as the ground vanished beneath your feet. Because Karlach had simply picked you up.
There was no warning, no shouted instruction. One moment you were braced for impact, and the next a powerful arm had hooked firmly around your waist, hauling you bodily off the ground with effortless strength before depositing you over her shoulder as though you weighed little more than a sack of grain.
“Hey—!” you yelped, arms flailing instinctively as the sudden movement stole your balance.
“Hang on!” Karlach called back over the roar of the fight, already moving.
And moving fast.
Your stomach swooped as she broke into a sprint, one arm locked securely around the backs of your legs to keep you in place while you bounced once—twice—against her shoulder with every powerful stride she took. The solid heat of her through your armour was impossible to ignore, and the sheer certainty of her grip made it abundantly clear that struggling would accomplish absolutely nothing.
“Karlach!” you protested, voice coming out embarrassingly higher than you intended as you grabbed at her shoulder for balance. “Put me down!”
“Not a chance!” she shot back without slowing, ducking neatly past a clashing pair of fighters as if carrying you over her shoulder was the most natural thing in the world. “You were about two seconds from getting skewered!”
“I had it handled!” you insisted, though the argument felt increasingly weak as she continued barreling away from the thickest part of the fight like an unstoppable infernal freight train.
“Sure you did,” Karlach said brightly. “But I got there first.”
The words were light, teasing—but there was something undeniably firm beneath them, an unspoken decision that she had made and fully intended to stick to. And for reasons you didn’t want to examine too closely in the middle of a battlefield, that firmness made heat rush straight to your face.
Karlach didn’t hesitate. Didn’t debate. She’d simply seen you in danger and decided that meant you were coming with her, your protests be damned.
The confidence of it—the ease with which she carried you, the steady strength in the arm keeping you pinned securely in place—left you feeling strangely flustered, even as the logical part of your brain reminded you that this was, objectively, an extremely practical rescue.
Eventually the sounds of battle softened slightly behind you as Karlach slowed near the edge of the clearing, ducking behind a cluster of rocks that offered some cover from the worst of the fighting.
“Alright,” she said, catching her breath only slightly as she shifted her grip. And then, with surprising gentleness, she lifted you back down onto your feet.
“There,” she added, stepping back half a pace as though making sure you were steady. “Safe.”
You stood there for a moment. Or… attempted to. Your knees, unfortunately, had other plans.
The world felt oddly unbalanced—not from the sprint, not from the battle—but from the lingering awareness of just how easily Karlach had hauled you around like that. Your legs felt suspiciously weak, and you were very aware that your face had not cooled down in the slightest.
Karlach rubbed the back of her neck, looking just a little sheepish now that the immediate danger had passed.
“Uh… sorry about the manhandling,” she said, flashing you a crooked grin. “Kinda went into protective mode there.”
You cleared your throat quickly, straightening your posture in what you hoped looked like a composed and dignified recovery.
“It’s fine,” you said, waving a dismissive hand that was perhaps a bit too quick to be convincing. “Perfectly fine. Very… tactical.”
Karlach’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. Then her grin slowly widened. It was the sort of grin that made your stomach do something deeply unhelpful.
“Well,” she said, leaning just slightly closer, voice dropping into a warm, amused rumble, “good.”
Her gaze flicked briefly down to your still-unsteady stance before returning to your face, clearly enjoying the effect she’d had on you.
“Because you looked kinda cute all flustered like that.”
Your brain stopped working. Karlach straightened before you could form anything resembling a response, scooping up her weapon again with easy familiarity.
She threw you a quick wink over her shoulder as she turned back toward the fight.
“See you later,” she called casually, already jogging away.
You remained standing there for a few long seconds after she disappeared back into the chaos, the heat in your face stubbornly refusing to fade while your knees still felt slightly unreliable.
And somewhere in the back of your mind, a single, deeply troubling thought settled in with quiet certainty. Karlach was absolutely going to be the end of you.
Minthara:
The battle had dragged on long enough that the initial rush of adrenaline had begun to wear thin, leaving behind only the grinding persistence of survival. The ground beneath your boots had been churned into dark mud by the constant movement of bodies, blades, and spellfire, and the air itself seemed thick with the scent of smoke, blood, and damp earth. Shouts echoed from every direction—orders, warnings, cries of pain—and somewhere beyond the immediate clash you could hear the dull thunder of magic being hurled back and forth like artillery.
You were still standing in the worst of it.
Your sword rang sharply as it caught another strike, the vibration running all the way down your arm. You twisted your wrist, knocked the enemy’s weapon aside, and drove forward in a clean counterattack that forced them stumbling back. Another figure moved in from the edge of your vision and you pivoted immediately, shifting your stance to keep them both in front of you.
The fight had narrowed to instinct now. Parry. Strike. Shift your footing. Breathe. You barely registered the sharp voice cutting through the chaos behind you.
“Move.”
Minthara.
You didn’t turn. You didn't need to.
“I’ve got it,” you shot back over your shoulder, already stepping into another exchange.
The answer was reflexive, stubborn, automatic. You did have it, or at least you were determined to prove that you did. The last thing you intended to do in the middle of a battle was retreat simply because someone else thought you should.
The next few moments blurred together in a rapid sequence of movement. A blade scraped along your side—not deep enough to slow you, but enough to sting—and you shoved the attacker back with a forceful strike that left them scrambling to recover their balance.
“I said move.”
This time Minthara’s voice was closer. You ignored that too.
“I am fine,” you snapped, glancing briefly over your shoulder as you readied yourself to rejoin the push forward. “Handle your own flank.”
That was, perhaps, the worst possible thing you could have said. Before you could turn fully back toward the fight, Minthara stepped directly into your path, her blade flashing once in a swift, brutal arc that ended the enemy advancing toward you before they even realised she was there. The body had barely hit the ground before her attention snapped back to you. Her eyes burned with sharp, unmistakable fury.
“I said,” she repeated coldly, “move.”
“I’m not retreating,” you replied immediately, lifting your weapon again.
Her gaze dropped briefly to your side, where the earlier strike had left a narrow line of blood darkening your armour. “You are bleeding.”
You glanced down for less than a second. “It’s nothing.”
And then you stepped forward again. You barely made it two strides.
The world lurched violently as something seized the back of your armour and hauled you bodily backwards with a force that completely destroyed your balance.
“Hey—!” The protest left your mouth before you even understood what was happening. Minthara.
Her grip was iron. One hand locked firmly into the back of your armour while the other came across your chest, bracing you as she dragged you away from the thick of the fighting with uncompromising strength.
“You will not die here out of sheer stubbornness,” she hissed sharply beside your ear.
“I wasn’t dying!” you shot back, twisting to break free.
It was a pointless effort. Minthara simply tightened her hold, adjusting her stance with the efficient precision of someone who had manhandled far more resistant opponents than you. When you tried to plant your feet and force yourself to stop moving, she responded by lifting you just enough that your boots briefly left the ground.
The indignity of it sent heat rushing to your face. And the closeness didn’t help. Her arm was solid across your chest, her body pressed just close enough that you could feel the controlled strength in every movement as she hauled you behind a fractured section of stone that offered cover from the worst of the battle.
Only once you were fully out of immediate danger did she release you. You stumbled forward half a step before catching yourself, spinning back toward her immediately, frustration sparking hot and fast.
“I had that handled,” you snapped.
Minthara stared at you for a long moment, red eyes glinting. Then she stepped forward again. Slowly. Deliberately.
“You had nothing handled,” she said, her voice low and dangerously calm. “You were injured, surrounded, and too proud to retreat.”
Your jaw tightened. “I wasn’t running.”
“No,” she agreed without hesitation. “You were preparing to die.”
For a brief moment neither of you moved. The sounds of the battlefield continued around you—distant clashes, shouted commands—but in the narrow space behind the broken stone the world seemed to narrow to the two of you standing far too close together.
This tension between you had existed for a long time now, sharp and unresolved, built from too many lingering looks, too many arguments that strayed dangerously close to something else entirely. Neither of you had ever acknowledged it. Neither of you ever would—at least not easily.
But right now it was impossible to ignore.
“You had no right to drag me away like that,” you muttered, though the heat in your face betrayed you slightly.
Minthara’s gaze flicked once more to the blood along your side before returning to your eyes.
“I had every right,” she said evenly.
“Why?”
The question left you before you could stop it.
Minthara’s expression did not change, but something in her eyes shifted—something sharper, quieter, more personal than the cold authority she usually wore so easily.
She stepped closer again. Close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to meet her gaze.
“Because,” she said slowly, each word measured, “I will not stand by and watch you throw your life away when I intend to keep it.”
Your breath caught. The words hung between you for half a second that felt far longer than it should have. Then, as quickly as the moment had appeared, Minthara stepped back again.
Her expression closed off, the familiar composure sliding back into place as though nothing unusual had happened at all.
“Remain here,” she ordered coolly. “Recover your strength.”
She turned, already preparing to rejoin the fight.
But just before she moved away completely, she paused long enough to glance back at you over her shoulder.
“And try not to make me carry you next time,” she added dryly.
Then she strode back into the chaos of the battle without another word, leaving you standing behind the broken stone, heart still racing for reasons that had very little to do with the fight.
Lae'zel:
The battle had already lasted long enough that the sharp, clean rhythm of combat had begun to dissolve into something messier and far more exhausting. The ground beneath your boots had been churned to uneven mud, slick in places with spilled blood and rainwater, and the air vibrated constantly with the clash of metal and the crack of spells tearing through the sky. Voices rose and fell around you—orders barked in frustration, cries of victory, the harsh grunt of someone being knocked from their feet.
And somewhere among it all, Lae’zel’s voice had been calling your name for the better part of the last minute. You ignored it.
You were locked in a tight exchange with an enemy twice your size, blades striking hard enough that the impact rattled through your shoulders. You shifted your stance, twisted your wrist, knocked their weapon aside, and drove forward again before they could recover.
You were winning. Which meant you absolutely refused to retreat.
Your opponent lunged again and you met the strike with a sharp parry, stepping forward to keep them on the defensive. Behind you, boots pounded across the ground.
“I said fall back,” Lae’zel barked, much closer now.
You scoffed, breath sharp with exertion. “I’ve got it!”
Your attention snapped briefly to the side as another attacker tried to flank you, forcing you to pivot and split your focus between the two of them. It was exactly the sort of situation Lae’zel hated. Your footing slipped half an inch on the mud as you adjusted your stance.
That was apparently enough.
The next thing you knew, something slammed hard into your side. You barely had time to register the impact before strong arms hooked around your waist and yanked you completely off balance.
“What—!” you started, startled.
Lae’zel didn’t bother explaining. She simply hauled you backward.
“Enough,” she growled in your ear, dragging you bodily away from the fight.
Your boots scraped uselessly across the ground as you tried to dig in and resist. It was like dragging a cat to a bath. “Lae’zel—! Put me down!”
“No!”
Her grip tightened around you, powerful and unyielding as iron bands, and when you twisted to break free she responded by lifting you just enough that your feet lost proper traction entirely. The indignity of it nearly made you choke.
“You cannot simply carry me off the battlefield!” you snapped.
“Watch me,” she replied flatly.
She pulled you behind a large chunk of shattered stone that had once been part of a wall, shoving you down into the relative shelter it offered before immediately stepping in front of you like a living barricade.
“Stay.” The command was sharp and absolute. You stared at her for half a second. Then immediately tried to stand back up.
“I’m not finished,” you said, already moving to step around her.
Lae’zel blocked you with one arm.
You tried the other side.
She blocked that too.
“Move!” you said, trying your hardest not to sound like a petulant child and more like the brave heroic leader you were.
“No.”
“I had them!”
“You had two opponents and poor footing,” she snapped back. “Your defeat was inevitable.”
“Oh please—”
You attempted to dart around her again. Lae’zel grabbed the back of your armour and hauled you straight back where you started.
“Remain here.”
“I’m fine!”
She grabbed your chin and forced your face up toward the light. Only then did you notice the thin line of blood running down from your hairline where something had clipped you earlier. Lae’zel’s expression darkened immediately.
“You are injured.”
“It’s barely anything,” you said, batting her hand away and trying once again to push past her.
This time she caught you around the waist. Completely around the waist. Before you could react, Lae’zel lifted you off your feet entirely and planted you firmly back down behind the broken stone like you were an unruly piece of equipment she needed to reposition.
Your face burned.
“Gods—Lae’zel!”
“You are reckless,” she snapped.
“And you are insufferable!”
You tried to step around her again. She stepped directly into your path. You tried to shove past her shoulder. She didn’t budge. You glared up at her. She glared right back.
“You cannot simply bench me like this,” you said.
“I can,” she replied calmly. “And I will.”
Your heart was still racing from the fight, but standing this close to her made it worse in a completely different way. There had always been something sharp and charged between the two of you—something that turned every argument into a contest neither of you were willing to lose.
“You’re overreacting,” you muttered.
“You are underestimating the danger.”
“I was winning.”
“You were seconds from being struck from behind.”
You opened your mouth to argue again. Lae’zel leaned closer, her voice dropping into something quieter but far more intense.
“I will not watch you die because you are too stubborn to retreat.”
The words landed heavier than you expected. For a moment neither of you moved. Then you tried to step around her again anyway.
Lae’zel made an exasperated sound deep in her throat and grabbed you once more, shoving you firmly back behind the broken wall.
“By Vlaakith,” she muttered, glaring down at you, “you are impossible.”
“And yet you keep dragging me to safety,” you shot back.
Her eyes flashed. “Because someone must.”
The two of you stared at each other for a long, tense moment while the battle raged on beyond your cover. Finally Lae’zel stepped back slightly, though she still remained firmly between you and the fight.
“You will remain here until I say otherwise,” she said.
You folded your arms. “Or what?”
Her gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary.
Then she said, very evenly, “Or I will carry you further away.”
The threat was delivered with absolute seriousness.
And the worst part was, judging by the strength she’d already demonstrated, you had no doubt she meant it. Lae’zel turned back toward the battlefield then, already raising her weapon to rejoin the fight. But she remained positioned directly in front of you.
A very deliberate barrier.
As if she fully expected you to try again the moment her back was turned.
Which, of course, you absolutely would.
Shadowheart:
The fight had gone wrong in the way battles sometimes did—suddenly, chaotically, with no clear moment when things tipped from manageable to dangerous. One second you had been holding the line with the others, trading blows and insults with a cluster of cultists, the clash of steel ringing sharply in the damp air of the ruined courtyard. The next, reinforcements had poured through the broken archway behind them, and the careful formation you had all relied on began to fracture under the pressure.
Dust filled the air, kicked up by boots and collapsing stone, and the smell of smoke and hot metal clung to the back of your throat. Somewhere nearby, Karlach roared in fury. Gale shouted an incantation. Wyll called out a warning you only half heard.
You heard it—but you ignored it.
Because the enemy in front of you had raised a crossbow, and you had seen the angle, the opening, the chance to end the fight quickly if you just pushed a little farther forward.
So you did.
You surged ahead, blade flashing, determined to finish it.
And that was precisely when Shadowheart noticed you were no longer where you were supposed to be.
“Gods damn it,” she muttered under her breath.
From the edge of the melee, she saw the shift instantly—the way you had stepped too far into the fray, the way the remaining enemies had begun to close around you, drawn by your momentum. She saw the second crossbowman on the balcony above raising his weapon, lining up a shot you hadn’t even realized was coming.
Her stomach dropped.
“Move!” she shouted.
But you were too focused, too stubborn, too intent on pressing forward to listen. The bolt fired. Shadowheart didn’t think. She ran.
The world narrowed to a single point of motion as she pushed through the chaos, shoving past a staggering cultist and vaulting over a fallen pillar with a speed that surprised even her. Her boots struck the stone hard as she closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, the sound of the incoming projectile slicing through the air just behind her.
You turned at the last second, confusion flickering across your face.
“Shadow—”
She hit you.
Not a gentle push, not a careful tug—but a full-bodied collision that drove the breath from your lungs as her shoulder slammed into your chest and sent both of you stumbling backward out of the line of fire.
The bolt whistled past where you had been standing a fraction of a second earlier and shattered harmlessly against the wall behind you.
You barely had time to process what had happened before Shadowheart grabbed you.
Hard.
Her hand locked around your upper arm with bruising strength, fingers digging in as she hauled you bodily behind the cover of a crumbling stone column.
“What in the hells do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.
You blinked at her, still dazed from the sudden impact, your ears ringing faintly but turning red nonetheless.
“I had it handled—”
“You absolutely did not,” she cut in sharply. You tried to step back toward the fight. Her grip tightened immediately.
“Stay,” she ordered.
“I can still—”
“No.”
You attempted to pull free, irritation flaring as adrenaline still surged through your veins.
“Shadowheart, let go—”
Instead, she grabbed you with her other hand as well, turning you firmly so your back pressed against the stone. Her movements were quick, decisive, leaving no room for argument as she planted herself squarely between you and the open battlefield.
You froze.
Her face was close—closer than it had any right to be in the middle of a fight. Her breath came fast, her dark eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and something deeper, sharper, something that made your pulse stutter unexpectedly.
“You,” she said, her voice low and tight, “are not dying today because you decided to play the hero.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You stepped out of formation,” she continued, her grip still firm on your shoulders. “You ignored orders. You nearly got yourself killed.”
The words were harsh, but there was a tremor beneath them—fear, raw and unguarded.
You opened your mouth to argue again. Then you saw it. The way her hand was still trembling slightly where it held you. The way her eyes flicked quickly over your body, scanning for injuries. The way she hadn’t let go.
Your irritation softened into something warmer, quieter.
“I’m fine,” you said gently. Her jaw tightened.
“Yes,” she replied, still breathless. “Because I moved you.”
You tried to step around her again, stubbornness reasserting itself.
“We need to get back out there—”
She didn’t let you. Instead, she caught you around the waist in a sudden, decisive motion and physically hauled you farther behind the column, deeper into cover. You made a startled noise as your feet left the ground for a moment.
“Shadowheart!”
“Stay,” she repeated, more firmly this time.
Her arm remained locked around you, holding you steady against her side with surprising strength. The contact was solid, grounding, impossible to ignore. You could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breathing, the tension coiled through her body as she shielded you instinctively.
For a brief, suspended moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you—your back pressed against the stone, her arm around you, the sounds of battle muffled by distance and adrenaline.
You looked up at her. Her gaze met yours. And something unspoken passed between you—an acknowledgment neither of you had ever quite dared to name. Then, abruptly, she released you.
“Stay here,” she said again, more quietly now.
You hesitated.
“…You were worried,” you observed. Her expression hardened instantly.
“I was being practical.”
You smiled faintly.
“Mhm.”
She shot you a glare, clearly unimpressed with your tone.
“Next time,” she added sharply, already turning back toward the fight, “try not to make me drag you out of danger like an unruly child.”
You watched her go, the echo of her touch still lingering where her hands had gripped you, warmth spreading slowly through your chest despite the chaos still raging around you.
And for the rest of the battle, you stayed exactly where she had put you.
Jaheira:
The fight had turned against you with the kind of quiet inevitability that only became obvious once it was already too late to correct it.
At first, it had been controlled—measured exchanges, careful positioning, the kind of battle Jaheira excelled at orchestrating. She had been calling orders with practiced ease, her voice cutting cleanly through the chaos as she directed everyone into place, shaping the fight rather than simply reacting to it.
You had followed. Mostly. But then something shifted. An opening—small, fleeting, dangerous—appeared in the enemy’s line, and you saw it before anyone else did. One well-placed strike, one decisive push forward, and the whole thing could collapse in your favor.
It was reckless and it was unnecessary. But you went for it anyway and you broke formation. You broke the rules.
“Stay back!” Jaheira’s voice rang out behind you, sharp with command.
With a stupid little smirk, you ignored it. Steel met steel as you surged forward, the clash of blades ringing in your ears, adrenaline sharpening your focus to a razor’s edge. You ducked under one swing, drove your weapon forward, forced your opponent back a step—another—just a little further and—
You didn’t see the second attacker.
Didn’t see the one circling wide to your flank, didn’t notice the shift in the battlefield that left you exposed, isolated just enough for things to go wrong.
Luckily, Jaheira did. From across the fray, she saw it all at once—the gap you’d created, the way the enemy had adjusted, the blade coming in from your blind side and her stomach dropped.
“Damn it,” she breathed and then she moved.
There was no hesitation, no second thought—just motion, swift and purposeful as she cut across the battlefield with the efficiency of someone who had survived far too many fights to make the same mistake twice. She shoved past an enemy, parried a strike without slowing, her focus narrowing to a single point: You.
You were still pressing forward, stubborn as ever, too intent on finishing what you’d started to realize how badly the situation had turned.
“Move!” she barked.
You half-turned at the sound of her voice, just enough to frown.
“I’ve got it—”
You definitely didn’t.
The attacker lunged.
Jaheira reached you a heartbeat later.
She hit you hard. Not a gentle pull, not a careful redirection—she slammed into you with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs, her shoulder driving into your side as she tackled you out of the path of the incoming strike.
The blade sliced through the space you’d occupied a fraction of a second earlier. You staggered, disoriented, barely managing to keep your footing before her hand closed around your arm.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” she snapped.
Her grip was iron. You blinked at her, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins, irritation flaring instinctively.
“No! I had it handled—”
“You had nothing handled,” she cut in, already dragging you backward.
You dug your heels in immediately, resisting. “We need to push now—”
“No, we need you alive,” she shot back, not even slowing.
You tried to wrench your arm free. “Jaheira, let go—”
She didn’t. Instead, she shifted her grip, one hand sliding up to your shoulder while the other braced at your side, and before you could properly react she physically turned you, forcing you back step by step out of the thick of the fight.
“Stay behind me.”
“I am not—”
“You are doing exactly as I say,” she snapped.
There was no room for argument in her tone, no softness, no compromise—just command, honed by years of leadership and sharpened further by something far more personal. You tried again anyway. Because of course you did.
You twisted, attempting to slip past her and rejoin the fight, stubbornness overriding sense. Jaheira’s patience snapped.
“Oh, for the love of—”
Her hand caught you firmly at the back of your collar, yanking you back with enough force to stop you mid-step. Before you could protest, her other arm wrapped around your waist, locking you in place against her side.
You froze.
“You,” she said, her voice low and dangerous near your ear, “are not going back out there.”
“I can still fight—”
“You can barely stand.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re bleeding.”
You faltered.
She didn’t give you time to argue further. With a sharp, efficient movement, she shifted her grip entirely—one arm hooking securely around your back while the other braced under your arm—and then she simply lifted.
Your feet left the ground.
“Jaheira—!”
“Enough,” she said firmly.
There was no hesitation in her movements as she carried you—actually carried you—out of the worst of the fighting, her hold steady and unyielding despite your initial attempts to squirm free.
You made a half-hearted effort to protest, but the strength in her grip—and the unmistakable determination behind it—made it clear resistance was pointless.
“Put me down,” you muttered.
“When you stop being reckless.”
“I’m not—”
“You broke formation,” she interrupted. “You ignored orders. You nearly got yourself killed chasing a moment of glory.”
Her words were sharp, biting—but beneath them was something else, something that made your chest tighten despite yourself.
Worry. Real, unguarded worry.
She set you down behind a low stone wall at the edge of the battlefield, but her hands didn’t leave you immediately. They lingered on your shoulders, steadying you, her gaze scanning quickly over your face, your posture, the way you were holding yourself.
Checking. Making sure. Fussing.
You looked up at her and she met your eyes.
For a moment, the world seemed to narrow—just the two of you, the distant clash of battle fading into the background.
“You could have been killed,” she said more quietly now.
You tried to shrug it off. “Well, I wasn’t.”
Her jaw tightened.
“That is not the point.”
You hesitated. Then, softer, “You came after me.”
“Of course I did,” she said immediately, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
The answer hit harder than you expected. Something warm and unsettling stirred in your chest and you smiled faintly.
“Aw, you were worried.”
Her expression hardened at once, the moment snapping shut. “I was being practical,” she replied curtly.
“Mhm.”
She shot you a look that should have ended the conversation.
It didn’t.
Before you could say anything else, she stepped back, her hands finally dropping away as she turned to rejoin the fight.
“Stay here,” she ordered and then softer, added, "Please. For my sake?"
You watched her go, the ghost of her grip still lingering on your skin, your pulse just a little too fast for reasons that had nothing to do with the battle. And this time, you listened.
Have posted the ladies version as I work on the mens version! This has sparked another idea for another piece :))) Hope everyone is doing well and love you so much. Hope you guys enjoy! - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
The battle had devolved into the kind of messy, sprawling chaos that made strategy feel like a distant memory. Mud clung to your boots, smoke stung your eyes, and the clash of weapons rang endlessly in your ears as you pushed forward through the press of enemies with stubborn determination. You were tired, bruised, and running purely on adrenaline, but the sight of the enemy captain retreating toward the far side of the field lit a spark of reckless resolve in your chest.
If you could just reach them—just land one decisive blow— oh, the rush to your ego was just too sweet, so you surged ahead. Blissfully unaware that, behind you, somewhere in the shifting haze of battle, Astarion had noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
He had been watching you for the last several minutes with mounting irritation, tracking your movements with sharp, predatory focus as you edged farther and farther away from the relative safety of your formation. He knew that look on your face—the tight jaw, the narrowed eyes, the absolute refusal to back down even when the odds tilted dangerously out of your favor.
It was, in his professional opinion, one of your most infuriating traits and one of the most terrifyingly attractive.
“Don’t,” he muttered under his breath, already moving. You didn’t hear him. You were too busy chasing the fleeing captain, weaving between clashing bodies, breath burning in your lungs as you closed the distance step by step. Victory felt tantalisingly close, just within reach.
Then the world shifted. A second enemy stepped into your path and another moved behind you. Before you could react, the careful rhythm of the fight collapsed into sudden danger, the space around you tightening like a trap snapping shut.
Astarion saw it all unfold in an instant and his stomach dropped.
“Oh, you absolute fool,” he hissed and instead of retreating back to safety, to make this someone else's problem, likely karlach's, he did something that surprised even himself, he ran towards the ugly fray.
Not with his usual lazy elegance, not with the theatrical grace he cultivated so carefully, but with raw, urgent speed that cut through the battlefield like a blade. He shoved past an opponent without breaking stride, ducked under a swinging mace, and closed the distance between you just as one of the enemies lunged. You barely had time to register the movement before something slammed into you from the side.
Hard.
The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as Astarion’s shoulder drove into your ribs, sending both of you stumbling sideways through the mud. The enemy’s strike whistled through empty air where your head had been a heartbeat earlier.
You gasped, disoriented. “What—”
His hand clamped around your arm like a vice. “-What,” he snapped, voice tight with fury, “do you think you are doing?”
You blinked up at him, still catching your breath. “I almost had them—”
“-You almost had a sword through your spine,” he shot back.
Before you could protest, he yanked you sharply backward, dragging you out of the fray with startling strength. His grip was unyielding, fingers digging into your sleeve as he hauled you step by step through the chaos. You resisted immediately, you were so close to winning.
“I can still fight—”
“No.”
“Astarion, let go—”
“Absolutely not!”
You twisted, trying to wrench free, but he anticipated the movement instantly. With a sharp, irritated sound, he shifted his hold—one arm sliding around your waist—and physically lifted you just enough to disrupt your footing. Your boots left the ground for a split second and you let out a startled noise. “Astarion!”
“You are coming with me,” he said through clenched teeth, dragging you behind the shattered remains of a stone barricade. You squirmed, like a child being dragged in for dinner, by their parent who had not had enough wine to deal with you.
“I was fine—”
“You were being spectacularly stupid. You reached new levels of stupidity that not even I was aware of. You-” You opened your mouth to interject in his ranting and twisted as you did. That was when it happened.
There was a tiny, horrifying sound. A faint, delicate crack. Everything stopped. Astarion froze mid-step and dropped you onto the ground with the ceremony of a sack of potatoes. Then slowly—very slowly—he looked down at his hand.
You followed his gaze from the floor, heart wrenching as the tragedy came into focuse.
One of his long, immaculately groomed nails had split clean across the tip, the smooth edge now jagged and uneven. For a moment, the battlefield noise seemed to fade into the background entirely. Astarion stared at the damage as if the world had personally betrayed him.
“…No,” he whispered.
You blinked.“…Is that—”
“-My nail,” he said faintly with the echoes of lament.
You pressed your lips together, trying very hard not to laugh. He turned his hand slightly, inspecting the break from every possible angle, his expression shifting from shock to genuine outrage.
“I just finished shaping these this morning,” he said, voice tight with disbelief. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain standards in the wilderness?”
A laugh bubbled up in your chest despite yourself. You tried to swallow it. Failed tremedously.
Astarion’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing dangerously. “You think this is amusing?”
You bit your lip, shoulders shaking. “A little.”
His expression darkened instantly, indignation flaring like a spark catching dry tinder.
“Oh, splendid. I risk life, limb, and manicure to rescue you from your own suicidal impulses, and you find it entertaining.”
You wiped at your eyes, still trying not to grin. “You broke a nail saving me.”
“Yes,” he snapped.
You tilted your head, studying him. “That’s rather heroic. We should be sure to tell Volo when we return to camp.”
He scoffed sharply, turning away as if the word 'heroic' physically offended him.
“Hardly." Astarion scoffed, eyes narrowing at his brutalised nail. "It was an act of self-preservation. If you insist on throwing yourself into danger at every opportunity, someone has to intervene before you ruin everything."
You watched him closely, warmth stirring quietly in your chest despite the lingering adrenaline. You picked yourself up off the floor and smiled at him. “You came after me.”
“Of course I did,” he said immediately. The words slipped out before he could stop them. He froze.
You raised an eyebrow and his jaw tightened. Then, almost violently, he pivoted away from the moment, anger rushing in to fill the space where something softer had threatened to surface.
“This,” he said sharply, gesturing accusingly at you with his uninjured hand, “is precisely why I cannot allow you any independence whatsoever. You are reckless, impulsive, and clearly determined to die in the most inconvenient manner possible and bring my own innocent hands down with you.”
You crossed your arms. “I had it under control.”
“You had nothing under control.”
You took a step toward him and he stepped back immediately, still glaring, still clutching his injured nail with exaggerated offense as if shielding it from you, so not to allow further damage.
“And now look,” he continued, voice dripping with dramatic despair. “Permanent damage. A tragedy. A catastrophe. Truly, history will remember this day.”
You laughed softly and he scowled harder.
“Stop smiling,” he muttered, trying to ignore the way it made his dead heart flutter.
“You’re worried about me.”
“I am worried about my manicure.” He emphasised by showing off his broken nail and pointing at it with flair. You took another step closer.
He held his ground this time, but his expression flickered—annoyance warring with something far more vulnerable that he clearly had no intention of acknowledging.
You reached out gently and took his hand, the one with the broken nail and he stiffened immediately. Looking at you like he was trying to understand what audacity had overcome you.
“You risked yourself for me,” you said quietly.
His gaze flicked to yours, sharp and guarded. He scoffed, pulling his hand back just enough to reestablish distance, retreating behind irritation like a shield.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said briskly. “I simply refuse to let you die before I’ve had the opportunity to use you for all your apparent worth.”
You smiled again and he rolled his eyes dramatically, already turning away.
“Now stay here,” he snapped over his shoulder. “Try not to endanger yourself—or my grooming routine—again.”
Gale:
The deeper chambers of the Sharran temple possessed the sort of oppressive quiet that made every sound feel intrusive, as though the place itself disapproved of living things disturbing its long-abandoned halls. The stone underfoot was cold and worn smooth by centuries of passing feet, the walls etched with the dark, elegant iconography of Shar—crescent moons, shadowed figures, and carvings that seemed to drink in the dim torchlight rather than reflect it. The air was cool and carried a faint scent of damp stone, dust, and something else beneath it all, something sweet in a way that felt distinctly out of place among the gloom.
Gale walked beside you, his hands clasped loosely behind his back in the posture he adopted when his mind was particularly occupied, his eyes flicking over the architecture with scholarly interest while he murmured half-formed observations under his breath about Sharran religious symbolism and the lingering magical residue saturating the temple. Every so often he would gesture vaguely at a carving or faded mural, clearly itching to launch into a proper lecture but restraining himself in favor of focusing on the task at hand, scouting out for Raphael's enemy.
You, meanwhile, were only half listening. Because you had spotted something far more interesting.
You stopped walking abruptly, crouching down near one of the pillars where the stone floor dipped slightly in a shallow depression.
“Gale,” you said thoughtfully.
“Hm?” he replied absently, still scanning a row of carvings along the wall.
“Look at this.”
He glanced over with mild curiosity, then saw what you were looking at. His entire expression shifted instantly from idle interest to deep, immediate concern.
Lying on the stone floor between the pillars was a spider. Not a small one either, but a thick-bodied creature the size of a boulder, its legs curled tightly inward in the unmistakable posture of death. Its glossy amber abdomen reflected the faint light of Gale’s staff. You leaned closer, resting your chin in your hand as you studied it with growing fascination.
Gale frowned.
“Why,” he asked slowly, “are you looking at it like that?”
You tilted your head. There was a scent drifting faintly from the thing—not the rot of decay, but something strangely sweet, almost honeyed, with an undercurrent that tickled the back of your mind in a way that was both intriguing and vaguely intoxicating.
“…Interesting,” you murmured.
Gale’s frown deepened. “Interesting how?”
You didn’t answer immediately; instead, you leaned forward slightly. And before Gale could process what you were about to do, you reached down and gave the spider a quick experimental lick.
There was a moment—long and terrible—of absolute silence.
Gale’s brain appeared to have completely stop functioning. Very slowly, as though afraid that moving too quickly might somehow make the moment more real, he turned his head to look at you.
“You,” he said faintly, “licked a dead spider.”
You blinked up at him.
“Yes.”
“Dead,” he repeated carefully. “Spider.”
“Correct.”
“You licked it.”
“That is also correct.”
Gale stared at you in the way one might stare at a catastrophic magical anomaly that had just appeared in the middle of the room.
“That,” he said after a long pause, “is something that happened.”
You shrugged lightly. He dragged a hand slowly down his face, exhaling in the deeply weary manner of someone whose day had just taken a deeply unexpected turn.
“I think,” he said carefully, “we need to get you some air… and perhaps have a long conversation about unresolved childhood issues.”
You snorted at that, clearly unrepentant. And then, because the thought had already taken root in your mind, you leaned forward again toward the spider.
Gale made a strangled sound. “Stop licking the damn thing!—”
His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist just before your tongue could reach its intended target for a second time.
“What,” he demanded, his voice climbing an octave, “is wrong with you?”
You pouted immediately. “It tastes funny.”
“That is not a justification!”
You attempted to lean forward anyway. Gale tightened his grip instantly, hauling your arm back toward him.
“No!” Gale responded, his face twisted in absolute horror of your disposition.
“Just one more,” you insisted, pouting slightly
“For the love of Mystra, no.” Gale told you, his grip on you tightening.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I'm being dramatic?!" Gale's voice pitched up a few octaves at the accusation. "You licked a corpse!”
“It’s barely a corpse.”
“It is very much a corpse!” Gale stressed as he pulled you further away from it by your arm, and you couldn't help but giggle. And that was when Gale realized something else was wrong.
Your laughter was slightly too loose, your expression flushed in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment, and when you looked up at him your pupils were blown wide, swallowing nearly all the color of your irises.
Your breathing had quickened and there was a strange, restless energy humming through your movements that definitely had not been there moments earlier.
Gale’s stomach dropped.
“…Oh dear,” he murmured. You were still trying to lean toward the spider. He grabbed your shoulders this time and physically pulled you backwards. “No more licking mysterious temple wildlife!”
You laughed again, clearly delighted by his distress.
“Why not?”
“Because it is deeply disturbing behavior!”
But now that strange warmth was spreading through your limbs, a buzzing heat that made the air feel thick and your thoughts pleasantly fuzzy. Everything around you seemed sharper somehow—brighter, more vivid.
And Gale was holding you very tightly and standing very close.
Very close indeed.
You looked at him slowly, your gaze drifting over the lines of his face, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the soft curl of his hair falling slightly into his eyes. Gale shifted uneasily under the scrutiny.
“…Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked cautiously.
You leaned more into his touch, relaxing in his hold of you. He froze, as if suddenly realising he was manhandling you and an awkwardness settled in his chest as he suppressed his own feelings for you. Luckily, he did not have time to dwell on it as you spoke again.
“You’re very pretty,” you said sincerely.
His brain short-circuited.
“I—what?”
Then, without further warning, you leaned forward to kiss him. Gale reacted purely on instinct. He released you only for his hand to come up immediately, pressing gently but firmly against your face and pushing it to the side before your lips could reach him.
“No!”
You blinked in surprise. “…Rude.”
“You are not in your right mind,” he said softly but firmly, now holding you at arm’s length. Which did not stop you from trying again.
He caught both your shoulders.
“Stop that.”
You giggled again, clearly unbothered.
Gale’s concern was rapidly turning into full-blown alarm. The sweet scent from the spider drifted through the air once more and the pieces clicked together in his mind with horrifying clarity.
“…Succubus enchantment,” he muttered. You were still attempting to lean toward him.
“Just one kiss.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
You pouted dramatically and then abruptly attempted to dart past him—back toward the spider. Gale reacted immediately.
“Oh no you don’t.” He grabbed you around the waist and hauled you bodily away from it. You squirmed and protested loudly.
“Let me go!”
“You have already licked it twice!”
“It’s interesting!”
“It is cursed!”
You laughed helplessly, the entire situation clearly far more amusing to you than it was to him. Gale, meanwhile, was beginning to look like a man being slowly driven to madness.
“This,” he muttered under his breath, “is precisely the sort of situation wizard training does not prepare you for.”
You attempted to twist free again. So Gale did the only thing he could think of. He picked you up. Entirely.
You squeaked in shock as he hoisted you over his shoulder with surprising determination and strength.
“Gale!”
“You are coming with me.”
You kicked your legs indignantly.
“Put me down!”
“No.”
“This is kidnapping!”
“This is damage control!”
You wriggled and twisted the entire way out of the temple, attempting several times to lean down and kiss the back of his neck, which caused Gale to nearly trip more than once while he tried very hard not to think about the warmth of you against his shoulder. He had plans, a whole starry sky full of plans to woo you, you being horny from dead spider meat was not in those plans.
“Oh for the love of Mystra—stop that!”
You only laughed harder. By the time the distant glow of the campfire came into view through the trees, Gale looked like a man who had aged several years in the span of a single hour.
“You,” he declared breathlessly as he carried you toward camp, “are never allowed near enchanted wildlife again.”
You hummed happily, clearly unconvinced, and Gale sighed the long, exhausted sigh of someone who already knew, deep in his soul, that this was absolutely not the last time he would have to physically drag you away from something profoundly ill-advised.
Wyll:
The battle had turned into a storm of steel and shouting, the kind of chaos where dust hung thick in the air and every sound felt too loud, too close, too urgent.
You were in the middle of it—of course you were—boots sliding in the churned earth as you pressed forward with stubborn determination, blade flashing in the dim light. The enemy line wavered ahead of you, and you saw your chance, that tantalizing sliver of opportunity that whispered if you just pushed a little farther, just a little harder, you could turn the tide.
So you did. You pressed forward, heart pounding, ignoring the shouted warnings from behind you as adrenaline burned hot in your veins. The world narrowed to the swing of your weapon, the clash of metal, the rush of movement—
And then everything went wrong. A horn sounded somewhere to your left. Reinforcements.
More enemies poured into the fray, closing the gap around you with frightening speed, their weapons raised, their movements coordinated in a way that made your stomach drop as you realized—too late—that you had gone too far ahead.
You turned, searching for your allies but the distance between you and safety had grown. Fast.
Across the battlefield, Wyll Ravengard saw it happen in an instant.
He had been fighting with his usual flair—blade moving in clean, practiced arcs, posture straight even in the chaos—but the moment he spotted you surrounded, his focus snapped sharply into place. The easy confidence on his face hardened into something fierce and protective, his instincts screaming louder than reason.
You were in danger and that was all that mattered.
He moved, not cautiously, not hesitantly, but with the bold, sweeping urgency of a hero charging into the final act of a grand tale. He cut through the battlefield with powerful strides, parrying one blow, then another, his cloak snapping dramatically behind him as he forced his way toward you.
You didn’t see him coming. You were too busy fending off the attackers closing in around you, breath coming fast and uneven as you tried to hold your ground. Your muscles burned, your footing slipped, and for the first time, doubt flickered in the back of your mind.
Then suddenly— A strong arm wrapped firmly around your waist.
You barely had time to gasp before you were pulled sharply backward, lifted clean off your feet as the world spun in a blur of motion.
“What—!”
You collided against a solid chest, the scent of leather and smoke and something warm and familiar filling your senses as you were swept out of danger in one smooth, decisive movement.
“Easy,” Wyll’s voice said close to your ear, steady and reassuring even over the roar of battle.
You blinked, disoriented, as he carried you several long strides away from the press of enemies, his grip secure and unwavering. One arm held you firmly against him, the other wielded his blade with effortless precision, deflecting a strike that came too close for comfort.
Your heart hammered wildly in your chest.
“Wyll—!”
“I’ve got you,” he replied, calm but firm.
The words landed somewhere deep in your chest, warm and steadying in a way you hadn’t expected. He didn’t set you down immediately.
Instead, he continued moving, guiding you through the chaos with confident purpose, his hold protective without being rough, his posture straight and unyielding as he carried you toward safer ground. It felt—absurdly, impossibly—like something out of a storybook, like the kind of dramatic rescue sung about in taverns by bards who believed in happy endings and heroic gestures.
You finally found your voice.
“You can put me down,” you protested, breathless.
“In a moment,” he said smoothly. You glanced up at him, and the sight nearly stole your breath all over again.
Dust streaked across his cheek, his braids slightly dishevelled from the fight, but his expression remained composed, focused, utterly determined. There was a spark of concern in his eyes, softened by something warmer, something gentler that made your pulse stutter.
He looked like a knight straight from a romance novel. Strong. Dashing. Completely unflappable. You swallowed and you could feel your preteen self practically swooning.
“I was handling it,” you insisted weakly, if not to him, to yourself.
His mouth curved into a faint, knowing smile.
“I have no doubt,” he replied, voice rich with reassurance. “But even the bravest heroes deserve a rescue now and then.”
Heat rushed to your face. He finally slowed, reaching the relative safety behind a line of fallen stone where the rest of your companions were regrouping. Only then did he lower you carefully back onto your feet, his hands lingering just a second longer than strictly necessary to make sure you were steady.
You swayed slightly. His hands tightened instinctively at your waist.
“Are you hurt?” he asked immediately, concern sharpening his tone. You are breathing quite heavily-"
"I'm fine!" You said a bit too quickly, and you took a deep breath in to steady yourself. “No. Just—startled.”
His gaze softened. “Good,” he said quietly.
For a brief moment, neither of you moved. The battle still raged in the distance, steel clashing and voices shouting, but here, in the small pocket of safety he had carved out, everything felt strangely still.
You became suddenly aware of how close he was—how warm his hands felt where they rested at your sides, how steady his presence was, how easily he had carried you as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“You didn’t have to be so dramatic about it,” you said, attempting to sound casual.
One of his eyebrows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in his expression.
“Dramatic?” he echoed lightly.
You nodded, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your chest.
“Yes. Very heroic. Very… theatrical.”
A soft chuckle escaped him.
“Well,” he said, releasing you at last, though his gaze lingered warmly on your face, “if I’m to be accused of anything, I would much rather it be heroism than negligence.”
You felt your lips tug into an involuntary smile.
He stepped back then, drawing his sword again as his attention returned to the battlefield—but not before giving you one last steady look, equal parts reassurance and quiet promise.
“Stay close this time,” he said gently.
And somehow, after being swept off your feet like that, you found yourself very willing to listen.
Halsin:
The forest had turned against you.
What had begun as a routine skirmish along the edge of the wilderness had spiraled into something far more dangerous, the undergrowth thick and uncooperative beneath your boots, branches clawing at your armor as you pressed forward with stubborn determination. The air smelled of damp earth and crushed leaves, heavy with the sharp tang of sap and the distant metallic scent of blood, and somewhere above the canopy the wind howled through the treetops like a warning you had chosen, perhaps unwisely, to ignore.
You refused to retreat.
Even as the situation shifted—enemies closing in from multiple directions, the terrain growing treacherous, the ground slick with mud and scattered debris—you dug in your heels and fought harder, your breath coming fast and hot in your lungs, your muscles burning with the effort of holding your position. You could hear your companions calling out behind you, voices strained with urgency, but you blocked them out, focused entirely on the opponent in front of you and the stubborn, unyielding conviction that you could handle this on your own.
Then the ground gave way.
It happened in a heartbeat—a sudden collapse of loose earth beneath your feet, the edge of a concealed drop crumbling under your weight as you stepped forward to strike. The world lurched violently, your balance disappearing as the soil slid out from under you, sending rocks and dirt tumbling into the steep ravine below. For one terrifying instant, your stomach dropped and your arms flailed for purchase, fingers grasping at empty air as gravity threatened to drag you over the edge.
And then—
You were seized.
A massive hand clamped around your upper arm with crushing strength, halting your fall so abruptly it stole the breath from your lungs. Before you could even gasp, a second arm wrapped securely around your waist, hauling you backward with irresistible force. Your boots skidded across the unstable ground as you were dragged away from the crumbling ledge, your body lifted clear off your feet as though you weighed nothing at all.
You barely had time to register what was happening before you were pulled firmly against a broad, solid chest, your back colliding with something warm, immovable, and undeniably powerful.
“Enough.”
The word landed like a thunderclap. You froze. There was no mistaking that voice—deep, resonant, and usually so calm it carried the steady reassurance of ancient stone—but now it was edged with something sharper, something fierce and unmistakably angry.
Halsin.
He did not release you. If anything, his grip tightened, one arm locked securely around your middle while the other steadied you by the shoulder, holding you firmly in place as the last of the loose earth tumbled into the ravine below. You could feel the tension in him, the coiled strength beneath his skin, the way his chest rose and fell with controlled, measured breaths that spoke of restraint rather than calm.
You twisted slightly, still disoriented, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.
“I had it,” you protested weakly, though the words sounded hollow even to your own ears.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then he turned you. Not gently. Not carefully. But firmly—hands gripping your shoulders, guiding you around until you were forced to face him directly. His expression stopped you cold. You had never seen him like this before.
Gone was the patient warmth, the soft kindness that usually lived in his eyes. In its place burned something fierce and protective, his jaw set tight, his brow drawn low, the quiet authority he carried every day sharpened into something far more intimidating.
“You had it?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous, each word deliberate.
Your mouth opened and quickly closed again. Because the look on his face made it very clear that this was not a conversation you were going to win.
“You nearly fell,” he continued, his tone rising slightly, frustration bleeding through the calm he usually wore so effortlessly. “You ignored every warning, every signal, every call to retreat, and you placed yourself in needless danger.”
The reprimand hit harder than any blow. You blinked at him, stunned—not by the words themselves, but by the sheer force of emotion behind them.
He was angry. Not irritated or mildly concerned. Truly, deeply angry.
“I was trying to hold the line,” you said, your voice quieter now, defensive but uncertain.
“And you would have held it from the bottom of that ravine?” he shot back immediately.
The sharpness of the retort caught you off guard. He had never spoken to you like this before. Never raised his voice. Never allowed his frustration to show so openly. And yet here he was, towering over you, his hands still planted firmly on your shoulders, his grip strong enough to keep you steady but impossible to ignore.
“You are not expendable,” he said, the words landing with heavy finality. “Not to this battle. Not to this cause. And certainly not to me.”
Your breath caught. The forest seemed to go very still around you, the distant sounds of combat fading into the background as the weight of his gaze pinned you in place.
You should have felt chastened. Embarrassed. Maybe even ashamed. Instead—Something warm and unexpected unfurled low in your chest.
Because there was something undeniably compelling about this side of him—the fierce protectiveness, the unyielding authority, the raw intensity of his concern. The way his deep voice rumbled with restrained anger, the way his broad shoulders squared as he held his ground, the way his presence filled the space around you like an unmovable force of nature.
It did something to you.
Your lips twitched. Then, despite every ounce of common sense you possessed— You smiled. Just a little. The reaction was immediate.
“Do you find this amusing?” he asked, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.
You tried—truly tried—to school your expression into something more appropriate.
“I—no,” you said quickly, though the warmth lingering in your gaze betrayed you. His jaw tightened.
“You are smiling,” he pointed out, clearly unimpressed.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
There was a beat of silence. Then your smile widened despite yourself, a faint flush creeping up your neck as the realization settled in.
Gods. You liked this.
You liked the firmness in his voice, the way his hands remained steady and grounding on your shoulders, the protective anger burning in his expression. You liked the way he refused to back down, the way he held you accountable, the way he looked at you as though your safety mattered more than anything else in the world.
It was incredibly attractive. And he saw it.
The exact moment he realized what was happening flickered across his face—confusion first, then dawning recognition, followed swiftly by a fresh surge of exasperation.
“Incredible,” he muttered under his breath.
Your smile didn’t fade. If anything, it grew softer, more open, your eyes lingering on his face in a way that made his frustration deepen rather than ease.
“You frightened me,” he said suddenly, the words slipping out rougher than before. The honesty in them made your chest tighten.
But still— You couldn’t stop looking at him like that.
Couldn’t stop the small, stubborn warmth curling in your stomach. His hands tightened slightly on your shoulders, not enough to hurt, but enough to emphasize the seriousness of his next words.
“This is not a game,” he said firmly. “You will listen when I tell you to fall back. You will trust that I am acting to protect you. And you will not throw yourself into danger simply because your pride refuses to yield.”
You nodded slowly.
“Yes,” you said trying to sound convincing, but the soft smile remained.
His eyes narrowed again, frustration simmering dangerously close to the surface.
“You are still doing it,” he said.
“Doing what?” you asked innocently.
“Looking at me like that.”
You tilted your head slightly, feigning confusion, though the warmth in your expression gave you away completely. He exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly fighting the urge to say something more.
Something harsher. Something he would likely regret.
Instead, he released you at last, though his gaze lingered, heavy and watchful, as though he fully expected you to charge back toward the danger the moment his hands left you.
“Stay close,” he ordered.
The command was firm. Uncompromising. And, to your own quiet surprise— You found yourself smiling again.
Rolan:
The explosion of magic came out of nowhere.
One moment you were locked in a tense standoff, trading careful strikes and measured spells with the enemy forces pressing in from the edges of the ruined courtyard. The air was thick with dust and the sharp tang of ozone, the ground beneath your boots trembling faintly from the force of arcane power being hurled back and forth. You had been focused—intensely so—tracking movements, calculating distance, preparing your next strike.
Then a fireball detonated against the far wall.
The blast sent a shockwave tearing through the courtyard, rattling loose stones from the crumbling masonry and filling the air with choking smoke and swirling debris. The force knocked several fighters off their feet, and for a brief, disorienting moment, everything dissolved into noise and confusion.
You staggered but kept your footing, pushing forward through the haze, squinting against the smoke, determined to regain control of the situation before the enemy could capitalize on the chaos. Your instincts screamed to keep moving, to stay aggressive, to hold the line no matter what.
Behind you, unnoticed in the turmoil, Rolan saw exactly what you were doing and he did not hesitate. The tiefling had been stationed near the rear, hands glowing faintly with residual magic, mind racing as he assessed the battlefield with sharp, anxious precision. Normally, he preferred distance, control, and careful calculation.
Normally. But then he saw the enemy preparing another spell and he saw your foolish beautiful self walking straight into its path and something inside him snapped into place with sudden, startling clarity.
You took another step forward, coughing lightly as smoke burned in your lungs, your vision still blurred from the blast. Shapes moved in the haze ahead—enemies regrouping, weapons raised—but you pressed on stubbornly, determined to finish what you had started.
You never saw the spellcaster lift their hand. Never saw the gathering surge of arcane energy coiling into a tight, deadly sphere. Rolan did, however, and his heart lurched into his throat.
“Move!” he shouted. You half-turned at the sound of his voice, confusion flickering across your face.
“What—?”
The spell was released. There was no time. No room for careful planning. No chance to think about dignity or appearances or the fact that this was very much not the sort of dramatic heroics he wanted to display for you of all people.
Rolan ran fast—faster than you had ever seen him move—boots pounding against the stone as he sprinted straight into the heart of the danger without a second thought.
You barely had time to register the blur of motion before something slammed into you from the side. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as arms wrapped tightly around your torso, hauling you off balance and dragging you bodily out of the path of the incoming blast.
The spell struck the ground where you had been standing an instant later, exploding in a violent burst of light and heat. You stumbled, disoriented, your ears ringing as the world tilted sideways.
“What the—?”
“Gods, are you trying to get yourself killed?” Rolan snapped. You blinked. Your vision cleared just enough to focus on the face inches from yours—flushed, breathless, eyes wide with a mixture of panic and irritation. But you recognised that voice of worried distain anywhere
Rolan. You stared at him. “Rolan?”
“Yes, Rolan,” he shot back, still gripping your arm with surprising strength. “Who else would be foolish enough to sprint into a blast zone after you?”
You opened your mouth and promptly closed it again. Because you were still trying to process the fact that he was holding you—firmly, decisively—dragging you backward through the chaos with a grip that brooked absolutely no argument.
You stumbled slightly as he pulled you behind a half-collapsed stone pillar, his hand tightening instinctively to steady you.
“I had it handled,” you protested weakly.
He stopped abruptly. Turned to face you. His expression was incredulous, similar to the look he had given to you back at the Last Light Inn when you said you would be the one to help him bring his sibling back.
“You were about to be incinerated.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were!” His voice cracked slightly on the last word, the sharp edge of fear slipping through despite his best efforts to maintain composure. You blinked at him, caught off guard.
Before you could respond, another distant explosion rattled the courtyard, sending a fresh cascade of dust drifting down from the broken walls. Without hesitation, Rolan grabbed your wrist again and pulled you farther into cover, positioning himself squarely between you and the open battlefield.
The movement was instinctive. Protective. You couldn't help but stare.
“Since when,” you managed, still breathless, “do you charge into danger like that for someone you despise like me?”
He froze for half a second, clearly realizing what he had just done. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.
“I—well—someone had to,” he said stiffly.
You raised an eyebrow. “You tackled me.”
“I did not tackle you.”
“You absolutely tackled me.”
He bristled immediately. “I rescued you,” he corrected, drawing himself up with wounded dignity. “There is a distinction.”
You couldn’t help the small, incredulous laugh that escaped your throat. It was still surreal—being manhandled to safety by Rolan of all people, and yet here he was.
Standing close. Still holding your arm. Still breathing a little too fast. Still watching you with unmistakable concern.
“You ran straight into that,” you said quietly. His gaze flicked away for a moment, jaw tightening.
“Well,” he muttered, “you were being reckless.”
The words were defensive, but the tremor beneath them gave him away. You studied him, something warm and unexpected stirring in your chest.
“Thank you,” you said softly.
He blinked. The simple sincerity of it seemed to throw him completely off balance.
“I—yes—well,” he stammered, color creeping up his neck. “Try not to require such dramatic interventions in the future.”
You smiled faintly. “I’ll do my best.”
Raphael:
The fight had begun as so many of yours did—loud, messy, and entirely under your control, or so you believed.
Steel clashed in sharp, ringing bursts that echoed through the ruined hall, each strike reverberating up your arms and settling deep into your bones as you pushed forward with relentless determination. Dust drifted lazily from the fractured ceiling overhead, disturbed by the force of spells detonating against stone pillars and shattered walls, while the air itself seemed to hum with tension, thick with heat, smoke, and the lingering bite of magic that prickled unpleasantly across your skin. It was chaos, yes—but it was a chaos you understood, one you had learned to navigate with stubborn confidence and an almost reckless refusal to yield.
You advanced another step, breath coming hard but steady, your focus narrowing to the enemy directly in front of you. Their guard faltered under the pressure of your assault, their footing slipping slightly across the debris-strewn floor as you drove them backward with a sharp, decisive strike. Victory felt close—so close you could practically taste it—and the familiar surge of adrenaline pushed you onward, urging you to finish the fight before anyone else could interfere.
That was when the battle shifted.
It was subtle at first—a flicker of movement at the edge of your vision, the faint whisper of leather against stone behind you, the quiet repositioning of an opponent you had momentarily forgotten in the heat of the moment. But you were too focused, too determined to press your advantage, and the warning signs slipped past your notice like shadows in the dark.
Someone else noticed.
From the far side of the hall, just beyond the immediate clash of weapons and magic, Raphael watched with an expression that hovered somewhere between mild amusement and growing irritation. He stood perfectly composed amidst the chaos, doublet untouched by dust or blood, as though the violence unfolding around him were nothing more than an elaborate performance staged for his personal entertainment. His sharp gaze tracked your movements with unsettling precision, lingering not on the enemies themselves but on you—on the way you pressed too far ahead of the others, on the way your attention locked forward while danger gathered quietly behind your back.
He saw the blade rise. Saw the intent behind it. Saw how little time remained. A soft, exasperated sigh escaped him, barely audible beneath the din of battle.
“Oh, dear,” he murmured, voice smooth and low, threaded with something that sounded suspiciously like concern despite the dry humor lacing his tone. “You truly do make a habit of this and it simply will not do.”
You never saw the attack coming.
The enemy behind you moved with sudden, lethal speed, their weapon arcing downward in a clean, deadly line aimed squarely for the space between your shoulders. Your focus remained fixed on the opponent in front of you, your muscles already coiled to deliver the next strike, completely unaware of the danger closing in from behind.
Then the world shifted.
Without warning, a powerful arm wrapped around your waist, firm and unyielding, hauling you backward with startling force. Your feet left the ground entirely, the momentum of your forward motion abruptly stolen as you were yanked out of the path of the descending blade. The weapon sliced through empty air where you had been standing an instant earlier, its edge biting uselessly into the stone floor with a harsh, grating screech.
The sudden movement knocked the breath from your lungs.
“What in the hells—?!”
Your protest dissolved into confusion as you found yourself pressed against a solid, immovable chest, your back colliding with a figure who smelled faintly of musk, cherries, and unmistakable sulfur. The heat of him seeped through the layers of your armor, unsettlingly warm, and before you could fully process what had happened, a familiar voice drifted down beside your ear—silky, amused, and entirely too composed given the circumstances.
“Really,” Raphael murmured, his tone equal parts dry reproach and quiet satisfaction, “must you insist on turning every minor skirmish into a near-death experience?”
Your stomach dropped as recognition slammed into you.
You twisted immediately, bracing your hands against his chest in an attempt to push yourself free, indignation flaring hot and sharp in your chest. But his hold did not loosen. If anything, his grip tightened just enough to steady you, his arm locked securely around your middle in a way that made it abundantly clear that he had no intention of releasing you anytime soon.
“Let go of me,” you snapped, breath still uneven from the abrupt rescue.
“Mmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, as though considering the request with polite interest rather than immediate compliance. “I don’t believe I shall.”
Before you could argue further, he moved again—smoothly, effortlessly, as though the chaos of the battlefield meant nothing at all. The air around you seemed to twist and fold in on itself, reality bending subtly at the edges as he guided—no, dragged—you several paces away from the thickest part of the fighting. The shift was disorienting, the world blurring for a heartbeat before snapping back into focus as your boots touched solid ground once more.
You staggered slightly, caught off balance by the sudden displacement.
His arm was still around you. Still holding you firmly in place and entirely too close to you.
“I said let go,” you repeated, sharper this time, irritation bleeding into your voice as you struggled against his grip.
“And I heard you,” he replied calmly, unmoved. “I simply chose not to comply.”
Your temper flared. “I was handling that!”
Raphael finally released you then—but only enough for you to turn and face him fully. His hand remained on your arm, fingers curled securely around your sleeve, as though he expected you to bolt straight back into danger the moment he loosened his hold.
He regarded you with a faintly raised brow, his expression composed yet unmistakably skeptical.
“Handling it?” he echoed, voice smooth as polished glass. “My dear, you were moments away from being carved open like an overripe fruit.”
“I was not—”
“You were,” he interrupted, more firmly this time, the humor in his voice thinning just enough to reveal the steel beneath. “And while I admire your enthusiasm for dramatic heroics, I would prefer not to witness your untimely demise today.”
The words landed heavier than you expected. You crossed your arms, bristling.
“I don’t need you stepping in every time things get difficult,” you shot back, frustration bubbling over. “I’m not your responsibility. I’m not your—”
“Pet?” he supplied smoothly, the corner of his mouth curling upward in a knowing smile.
Your jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
For a brief moment, the teasing expression faded, replaced by something quieter—something more deliberate and unexpectedly sincere.
“No,” he said softly. “You are not.”
The simple acknowledgment caught you off guard, stealing the sharp edge from your anger for just a heartbeat.
But before you could respond, another blast of magic struck nearby, sending shards of stone skittering across the floor. Instinctively, Raphael stepped forward again, one hand settling against your shoulder to guide you back out of harm’s way. The motion was swift, decisive, and maddeningly protective.
You jerked away, irritation returning in full force. “I can stand on my own,” you insisted. His fingers tightened briefly, steadying you as you shifted your footing.
“Then stand somewhere less likely to get yourself killed,” he replied sharply.
For a moment, the usual theatrical arrogance slipped away entirely, revealing a flash of something deeper beneath the surface—an edge of genuine concern that unsettled you far more than his teasing ever could. The faint smile returned to his lips, smooth and composed, as though the brief crack in his mask had never existed at all.
“There we are,” he said lightly, stepping back at last and releasing you completely. “Safe and sound. A much more agreeable outcome, don’t you think?”
You straightened, brushing dust from your armor with more force than necessary, your pride still smarting from the unwanted intervention.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” you muttered.
“No,” he agreed easily, hands clasped behind his back as he regarded you with quiet amusement. “You rarely do.”
A beat passed between you, the tension lingering in the air like the fading echo of thunder.
“I had it under control,” you insisted again, stubborn to the end.
Raphael tilted his head slightly, studying you with that same unsettling intensity. “Of course you did,”
You narrowed your eyes.“I mean it.”
“And I believe you,” he replied smoothly, his voice lowering just enough to carry a hint of something more earnest beneath the polished charm. A pause. Then, softer— “I simply chose not to risk being wrong.”
The words settled heavily in your chest, unwelcome and difficult to ignore. You exhaled slowly, frustration still simmering—but now tangled with something far more complicated, something you weren’t ready to name. You shot him one last glare.
“Next time,” you said firmly, “stay out of it.”
His smile deepened, slow and knowing, as though he had already made his decision long before you spoke.
“Of course, pet."
I simply could not resist doing the spider scene for gale, I know everyone else's was during battle but I just could not pass up the opportunity.
I really hope you guys enjoyed these! I have a similar concept to this in mind, but dithering on whether or not to do it for the dark!BG3 lot or the regular companions. Decisions, decisions. Anyway hope everyone is doing well 💜- Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
What do they act like when they are utterly in love and yearning for you?
Pairing: Astarion, Gale, Zevlor, Rolan, x gn!Tav!reader
Summary: During the early stages of your misadventure, he cannot help himself but never stop yearning for you.
Genre: Fluff, lime (does anyone use lime and lemons anymore?)
Words: 2.3k
Note: I’m hosting a small event over at my blog. Check it out if you’re interested <3 I’m choosing four participating users at random to receive a personalised letter from their fav char<33 All of this is happening in act 1 btw.
Astarion Ancunín // The Pale Elf
Yearning scale: 8/10
He denied himself the pleasure of thinking about you in a romantic way other than to use you to get protection, power and a willing source of absolutely delicious blood. Really falling for you would be very stupid and have no benefit, really. Astarion never viewed himself as someone who deserved love, especially yours.
But during every battle Astarion’s concentration began to waver more and more. His eyes scan the area in panic until he finally spots you somewhere, being very occupied by trying to finish off the gnoll growling at you. He knows you’re capable defending yourself and finishing off some enemies and it is a delight to watch you fight, but that caused him to miss more and more, with both daggers and his crossbow.
You notice how his whole face lights up whenever you saunter over to him to do some small talk after a long day. His eyes look much softer and his smile becomes less guarded, less planned. It was adorable but you never mentioned it to him, or else you might never see that off-guard smile again.
At first you were adorned by Astarion and showered in flirts and compliments to love-bomb you and bind you to him, something he has done wo many countless times, but slowly he feels himself regretting playing up his flirtatious persona. He thinks you might not like him anymore when he stops with the over-the-top flirts, the nightly trysts and most importantly, the sex.
But deep down he was hoping and praying you’ll still like him for him.
Slowly, Astarion will insist on staying close with you no matter what. The group splits up to explore a cave efficiently? He is definitely sticking by your side. You’re heading to the Emerald Grove to stock on some food for tonight? Don’t mind him tagging along, he just needs a couple of healing potions. You’re injured and need healing? Out of the way Shadowheart, he got this with some alcohol and bandages.
“I’m sure you wont mind taking me with you to that grove again, I wanted to talk to that Tiefling by the forge. I’m thinking about asking very nicely to have a little taste of his blood… But I won’t if you get jealous easily, my darling.”
Astarion quietly yearns for you. He knows how to (mostly) control himself and his tongue around you to not accidentally start coughing up the butterflies terrorising his stomach by praising, flirting, teasing you, doing everything to try and make you like him by any means, even if he has to play a persona.
He has to let out this pent up love for you somewhere, so in the evenings he’ll retreat and quietly stich up his clothes that were torn during the day, check his daggers for sharpness but then also open up the hidden notebook he stashed away under his pillow and sketch a little. Mostly you, really, in all kinds of poses and situations.
He never sexualised you in any way, simply sketching you in almost domestic situations from his view; the way your face lights up in delight when Scratch brings you another drool-drenched sandal, your face scrunched together in disgust after tasting one of Auntie Ethel’s mold pies on accident or you just relaxing after a hard day. Astarion quietly admired you from his tent as his pen works against the paper. He’s not really talented in it but it’s a nice way to unwind. He is praying though that the dog never gets the bright idea to steal his notebook and drop it into your lap or he will beg Shadowheart to cast moonbeam and incinerate him.
Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep
Yearning scale: The ultimate yearner ™/10
Let’s be honest, Gale is not very subtle with his yearning although the wizard thinks he is being very smooth with it.
Before having the moment with you in the weave where your minds interlinked, where you imagined kissing him, first carefully, then passionately and with vigour so shamelessly while he stands there rooted in place, trying not to explode (literally), Gale has been dreamily watching you.
He wasn’t even sure why he fell in love with you or how exactly it happened, Gale had a dream about you with him in his wizard tower in Waterdeep, not exactly using his desk the way it is intended to be used. He woke up with the orb flickering in his chest and a all too familiar warmth spreading through his lower abdomen.
With every artefact you sacrifice to him and with every minute you listen to his boasting and rambling, Gale stopped fighting the feelings that were growing inside him every day and accepted that yes, he did just fall in love with the stranger that pulled him through a portal, fed him boots without hesitating and never seriously judged him for his poor decisions. He hasn’t met anyone besides Tara that was very judging.
He can’t act on his feelings yet, though. Gale can’t even let his mind slip for a moment and let the sweet, sweet thought of your lips pressed against his, your tongues dancing with each other, his hands feeling up your waist to pull you closer and closer as if trying to absorb you. He gets ripped out of these fantasies by a sharp pain in his chest and the all too familiar feeling of the orb becoming restless.
It physically hurts him to yearn for you. The orb is like a handcrafted punishment by his goddess Mystra, which it is, but not in the way she probably intended.
His way to painlessly express his admiration for you is mostly by talking; he rants and over-explains the littlest things that can sometimes accidentally come off as condescending, but you were always interested for whatever reason, even if he just listed all the different types of elementals and all the kinds he has met himself before.
But Gale also very openly expresses how highly he thinks of you. You always heard cheers like “A perfect hit!” or “You are doing absolutely amazing!” from the half dead and bloodied wizard that is surrounded by goblins but still thought about praising your skills. Sometimes his mouth worker faster than his brain and he’d accidentally compliment your very natural musk or point out how beautifully shiny your unwashed hair has gotten. It was probably meant to be a compliment.
Oh, it was starting to become a torture. Gale wakes up in the middle of the night after a blissful dream of strolling through the markets of Waterdeep together, playfully arguing who gets to cool what tonight, worrying about nothing other than to remember get Tara’s favourite treat. Rolling over in his bed he could feel his chest tighten, his hand instinctively gripping his nightshirt, trying to soothe the orb by touching it. He tried to take a deep breath, his fingers spreading out over his chest slowly.
His eyes fluttered shut and his lip quivered slightly as his other arm began to move to wrap around his own body. The wizard rolled over onto his side to stare at the tent wall, his own arms hugging himself, trying to make a fraction of his fantasies about you come true. But Gale would never allow to even properly think about asking to spend the night with him; it would be selfish to do so.
Zevlor // Leader of the Tieflings // Exiled Hellrider
Yearning scale: 6/10
It was probably wrong to feel the way he was feeling. You defended the grove and the refugees against goblins without questions and weren’t even disappointed about not getting a reward. You walked around and talked to the Tieflings, setting some dispute between three siblings, saved Arabella from the mad druid and offered to kill the goblin leaders for them.
Zevlor tried to push away the racing heart that seemed to flare up every time you showed more and more simple kindness for his people and others. He justified it to himself that the fluttery feeling in his chest and the warmth spreading embarrassingly fast on his face is just his gratitude manifesting in other ways, but during the small celebrating party you allowed to be held at your camp and after too many cups of vinegar for wine, it all dawned on him.
“Go, enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it. Don’t spend all your time on me, I’m sure many here would want to have a word with you instead.”
He admires your courage and selflessness, but his feelings reach far beyond that. To be able to share a cup with you was incredibly flattering but also a little selfish, he thought. You are quite popular in camp and Zevlor can’t deny the looks the other companions give you, so he tries to shoo you away and enjoy yourself. Having your attention all to himself, somewhere in private and in a situation that isn’t stressed by looming fights and threats would be an absolute dream.
A dream he didn’t allow himself to realise.
Besides, he’s an older, Hellrider-exiled Tiefling and an Oathbreaker Paladin with a group of refugee kin to look after and lead to Baldur’s Gate. Zevlor is barely able to love himself, how in the world are you supposed to be able to love him? Surely you deserve to be with someone more deserving of your love and devotion.
Even despite barely interacting with you, it was difficult for him to part from you and your troupe but there was a city for him to safely escort the refugees to. Duty calls and so does the road.
For now, Zevlor will just silently dream about you at night and think about your whereabouts during the day. He didn’t allow himself to get distracted too easily but during every small moment of respite his eyes would briefly close and his mind slowly travelled to you. He always wondered where you are right now, what you are doing. How far along have you come in your journey? Last he heard Halsin joined you on your quest for a cure against a tadpole.
He secretly wonders if you are still wearing the Hellrider Gloves he had given you as a thanks after redeeming Kagha and buying them more time to pack in the druid grove. It’s a childish thought but Zevlor really hoped that they serve you as well as they once served him and keep you safe. And maybe you think of him when you look at them.
For now, Zevlor has to focus on getting his caravan to Baldur’s Gate safely. The apparently cursed and so called “Shadow Lands” are the only way. Hopefully he can get them through in one piece.
Rolan // Wizard’s apprentice
Yearning scale: 8/10
Oh he has got a big, fat crush. Or at least that is what Cal and Lia have been teasing him about for the past days, hours and minutes. Ever since you stepped into the dispute the three had about whether they should leave the grove or not, Rolan has been more squishy and distracted.
He keeps seeing you around the grove, talking the Tieflings there and listening to what they have to say, trade with that druid merchant before heading over to Dammon to buy some new armour for you or your companions after the plates broke down. Rolan’s eyes would be scanning your whole body from the position he was standing, trying to see through your clothes and armour to check for injuries.
He knew you are an adventurer of some sort, talking to Ethel about something in your head and stocking up on a lot of healing potions. If not for you fighting through goblins Rolan would’ve used Thunderwave to send those scum to the afterlife. So he greatly appreciates your efforts and all it must take to finish them off.
His eyes would sparkle every time you even briefly passed him. You didn’t even had to look at him and he would feel his tail wagging embarrassingly fast behind himself as he tried to avoid his sibling’s knowing glances and how they 100% know what was going on.
Rolan doesn’t really understand himself and why his brilliant mind decided to choose you to pine on. You, someone he will leave behind and probably never see again. You, who only interacted with him a few fleeting times. You, with that heroic attitude and need to fix everything, you with that stupid smile you gave that woman Ethel, you simply existing. He felt childish for feeling like this.
He knew you’d make short work of the goblins and their leaders but his heart still managed to flutter in admiration after finding out what you managed to do. The wizard prepared his stupid party-trick spell until you got back to the grove, trying to cast the beautiful spell he had been casting since childhood over and over until it was perfect. Performing it in front of you asked for a bottle of wine or three to get some courage.
After bowing and getting some applause from you, Rolan’s eyes still stuck to you well after you gave your compliments and departed. He couldn’t help himself but feel jealous of that vampire in the corner, the purple wizard in the other and literally everyone else that breathed near you. Everyone wanted to have a piece of you— of course. You’re the hero of the party.
Rolan wanted to hog your time and attention to himself, though. He wants to sit down with you and for once just listen to you talk instead of him doing some boasting. It doesn’t matter what you were talking about, he wants to listen and watch your lips move, maybe fantasise about leaning in closer and sharing a kiss.
But alas, there’s an apprenticeship for him to attend in Baldur’s Gate. The road was calling and he had to move on with his travels. It doesn’t mean you left his mind though, every moment he did not spend checking up on Lia or Cal, getting into an argument with one of the kids or whatever, he spend daydreaming about you.
Maybe you’ll see each other again under better circumstances. He really hopes so.
💠
Author’s note. Thank you for reading!
I wanted to write a request I swear but my hands moved on their own and wrote something that has been on my brain for like a week or so :,) Forgive me lmao. I’ll be answering asks and requests soon tho!
jacob black. jacob fucking black. that mutt had his paws all over you, and you weren’t even batting an eye. granted, paul did leave you to your own devices in favor of grabbing you another beer from the cooler sam brought. still, paul could feel the familiar ache of anger simmering under his skin.
the sound of rushing waves, the feel of sand beneath his feet, and the smell of saltwater brings him back to his senses. sam would have his ass if paul were to start a fight while everyone is having fun at la push. paul can’t find it in himself to care enough though, and he’s stomping over to you before jacob’s hand can trail any lower down your back.
the younger boys of the pack liked to throw a flirting comment or tease your way as a joke to rile paul up, but jacob was the worst about it. paul knows jake is serious. jacob likes you. that fact gets under paul’s skin more than any jokingly, flirtatious remark from the younger wolves in the uley pack can match.
your mate’s eyes lock onto jacob and the way his lips curve up in a smug smirk when he realizes paul is approaching. as if to add more heat to the already flaming fire, jake’s hand slides down to your hip. his pinkie finger just barely rests on the curve of your ass, and paul bristles at the movement. he rips jacob’s hand off of you by his forearm, and his own beefy arm wraps securely around your waist.
steam is practically coming out of paul’s ears, as he tugs you roughly against his chest. his grip is tight. too tight. but, paul’s too deep in his anger to realize. all that’s going through his head right now is to keep jacob as far away from you as possible.
“watch your fucking hands, jake,” paul snarls out. his instincts are going haywire. his mind is filled with possessive thoughts and urges, and everything in his body is telling him: protect, keep, claim.
jacob takes a casual step back. instead of leaning down slightly like he was before to talk to you, jake stands at his full height so he’s eye level with paul. he gives the angry wolf an amused once over, before the shit-eating curve of his lips slowly disappears from his face. jake’s brows furrow in mock confusion, while he plays innocent.
“we’re just talking.. what, she can’t talk to other pack members now? afraid someone’s gonna take her from you?” ohh.. now that strikes a nerve. the rational part of paul’s brain knows that you would never run off with someone else, let alone another wolf from the uley pack. but, just the thought of someone other than paul having you makes his urge to shift 10x stronger.
when paul takes a step towards jacob and tries to move you behind him, you grip onto his bicep in an attempt to grab his attention. after being with paul for a while, it’s easy to recognize when he’s about to start a fight.
“paul- hey, come on-“ your voice doesn’t even register in paul’s head. his eyes are locked onto jacob, ready to pummel him into the sand and let the ocean wash him away. that familiar flare of anger is bubbling in his chest and threatening to boil over. he’s losing control.
“lahote.” a harsh grip on the shoulder from sam cuts through the red haze he’s lost in. the silent command makes him hesitate. paul can’t deny the alpha, even when he’s in the throes of possessive anger. sam steps in front of paul without care, and the sudden closeness makes you take a step back.
“you’re really gonna do this? here? right now, with her watching?” sam gestures to you, as he still stands protectively between you and paul. it’s easy to lose control, too easy. too easy to hurt a mate, something sam knows better than anyone. paul’s eyes flick to you, his imprint, his *bonded,* and the wolf in him whines with displeasure.
there’s not fear in your eyes, not exactly.. more like anxiety. like you know what’s coming and you know paul can’t control it. paul doesn’t want to prove you right. he wants to be more than a slave to his own anger.
so, he softens. his shoulders slump a little, and the snarl on his face morphs into a frown. he can’t look at you long after that, the guilt hits him like a trainwreck after losing control like that. paul steps towards you with his eyes downcast, his hand slipping into yours to lead you back to his truck.
“paul’s bailing?” embry asks, breathing heavy as he comes running over with the soccer ball tucked under his arm. jared follows close behind, both their eyes on paul pulling his truck out of the la push parking lot.
“surprise, surprise. jake made him moody,” jared scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. the wind whips a little harder now, the clouds overhead threatening a downpour.
“let him go. he needs this,” sam’s booming voice is like the thunder in the sky; deep and commanding you listen. the pack doesn’t hesitate. everyone gets back to what they were doing before, the lingering tension dissipating with every mile paul puts between him and the beach.
the drive back to your house was silent, painfully so. paul must’ve took all the tension from the beach and shoved it in his truck along with you, cause the air in there was thick with it. every time you tried to find the words to soothe paul, your throat closed up.
inside your house is no better. paul follows you all the way in, locking the front door behind him instinctively. he trails after you all the way up the stairs, his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. he can feel in his chest that you’re not angry with him, though he still feels like a kicked dog.
“baby,” paul rasps when you reach your bedroom. his hand interlocks with yours, *needing* your touch, needing the silent affirmations that come with it. his brown eyes are so devoted, but oh so guilty. after the scene he caused today, it’s a miracle he didn’t stomp off into the woods to brood for hours.
“‘m sorry,” he mumbles, reaching for you with his other hand. he wraps his arm around your waist immediately when you give him a chance and take a step forward. paul tugs you into his chest like he did at la push, although he’s gentler now that it’s just the two of you.
“i’m so sorry, he just had his hands on you and i-” he cuts off his own rambling, suddenly aware that it sounds like he’s making excuses, “i lost it, i’m sorry, baby.”
“you’re so guilty,” you mumble, placing a hand on his chest right over his racing heart. even after being out in the frigid air near the ocean, paul’s still warm like a furnace, “for what? you didn’t hurt me.”
“could’ve though,” paul frowns, the thought making a pit form in his stomach and anxiety ball in his chest. his arm around your waist tightens like he can squeeze the bad thoughts out of the both of you, “coulda lost it for real this time. coulda hurt you bad, like sam hurt emily.”
“but you didn’t,” you breathe out, cupping his cheek with your free hand. a shaky breath leaves his lips, your touch both a soothing balm and an addicting drug paul can’t seem to ever get enough of, “i’m fine. i’m still here. *we’re* still here.”
paul nods his head at your words, leaning in to press his nose to your hair. he inhales deeply, presses a firm kiss to your temple, then tilts his head to capture your lips with his. the kiss is so soft, like his love for you has taken form in this one act of affection. his tongue slips into your mouth to caress yours, and he swallows your soft sounds like he can’t get enough. this isn’t dominating, this is *apologizing.*
paul’s hand slips from yours and comes up to cup the back of your head. the arm around your waist moves so his other hand is pressed flat to the small of your back. he slides his hand right over the spot jacob’s was, but his hand slides down lower. down, down, until he’s got a handful of your ass. paul’s large hand gives it a gentle squeeze, appreciating the soft curves only he gets to touch.
“just because i’m mortal doesn’t mean you need to treat me like glass,” you tease him, your voice barely a murmur against his lips. it’s loud enough for paul to hear though, as he perks up at the teasing like it’s an invitation.
“i’m mortal too,” he defends, giving your ass a light swat. his eyes look brighter now, still guilty, but there’s more of that familiar cocky paul in there now.
“not really. you shapeshift, it’s not the same,” you argue.
“well, i’m not immortal,” he retorts, knowing you can’t argue with that.
“*well,* i think you still need to apologize. *properly,*” you announce, slipping from his arms to walk backwards towards the bed. there’s a knowing smirk on your face as the back of your needs bump against the mattress. paul’s eyes follow your hands as they reach for the hem of your shirt, his mood rapidly increasing just from watching you.
“gladly,” he growls, already right behind you to scoop you up. he plops you down onto the bed, and quickly crawls over your pliant body. paul’s lips find yours again, this time with more fervor, as he’s ready to worship and lather you with affection *all night long.*
↳ this is kinda ooc for jacob, but he was all over bella when she was in a relationship w edward so.. also so sorry this took so long @straows 😭😭 i hope u enjoy! <3
the first time you say it, sam literally stops mid-movement.
like he pauses mid-breath.
his brows knit together, not in anger, in absolute confusion.
“...pretty boy?” he repeats, voice low, rough around the edges.
you can see the moment it hits him.
his jaw flexes. his chest rises sharply. suddenly he’s standing a little too close.
• gives you that look, the one that’s half warning, half desire
• tries to keep his voice steady but it gets deeper
• “you think i’m pretty?” becomes his go-to teasing line
• secretly melts every time even though he pretends it doesn’t affect him
• pulls you in by the hips when you whisper it in private
he’ll never admit it, but “pretty boy” cracks his whole stoic alpha façade.
one soft “c’mere, pretty boy,” and he’s yours, completely undone.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
jared cameron
jared’s reaction is immediate and dramatic.
he chokes on air.
smiles like an idiot.
tries not to blush and fails miserably.
“pretty boy? me? really?”
he’s grinning so hard it hurts.
• teases you nonstop about it
• flexes a little more when you’re around
• uses it as blackmail, “say it again and i’ll do anything you want”
• literally lights up whenever you call him that
• gets possessive in the softest way, arm around your waist, smug smirk
if you say it in public?
he beams. GLOWS. looks like you just handed him the world.
if you whisper it in his ear?
he goes still.
his breath catches.
and he murmurs, “don’t play with me like that,” in a voice that is absolutely not stable.
“pretty boy” is his kryptonite, he lives for it.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
paul lahote
oh, he hates it.
and also absolutely LOVES it.
the first time you call him “pretty boy,” he scoffs, rolls his eyes, crosses his arms like he’s above it.
but his ears? red. completely red.
“i’m not pretty,” he grumbles.
“i’m— i’m hot.”
sure, paul.
• gets flustered in a feral, irritated way
• steps closer like he’s trying to intimidate you but he’s actually flustered
• voice drops dangerously low
• “say it again. i dare you.”
• secretly preens when you say it but denies it forever
after that, he makes you pay for the fluster, in kisses, in teasing, in being held a little too tightly.
“pretty boy” turns him into a mess he can’t control.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
jacob black
jacob laughs, loud, warm, surprised.
he runs a hand through his hair, cheeks dusted pink, smiling like he can’t help it.
“pretty boy? that’s what we’re calling me now?”
he’s teasing, but he’s glowing.
• tries to act unfazed but absolutely is not
• nudges your shoulder and asks, “you really think so?”
• gets shy in the cutest way, dimples and all
• starts showing off subconsciously
• leans in closer whenever you call him that
say it when he’s working on his bike?
he freezes, then gives you the slowest smile you’ve ever seen.
say it when he’s jealous?
his entire attitude shifts, smug, confident, arm around your waist.
“guess you like your pretty boy, huh?”
say it when you’re cuddling?
he blushes so hard he hides his face in your neck.
jacob loves it more than he’ll ever admit, it makes him feel seen, adored, wanted.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
quil ateara
you say it so casually that quil almost doesn’t process it at first.
then it hits him.
his whole face lights up. eyes wide. smile stretching way too big.
“wait— wait, hold on. did you just call me pretty boy?”
he’s GIDDY.
like full-body excitement, practically wagging-his-tail vibes.
• expects you to repeat it immediately
• keeps poking your cheek and going, “c’mon, say it again”
• tries to act cool but his dimples betray him every time
• gets extra cuddly, hand on your waist, forehead on your shoulder
• brags to the pack like, “yeah, my girl calls me pretty boy, no big deal” (it is a very big deal)
say it when he’s sleepy?
he melts. just melts into you.
say it when he’s jealous?
all his playful energy turns intense and soft.
“i’m your pretty boy, right?”
and he looks so earnest you can’t even tease him.
quil LOVES it, maybe too much.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
embry call
embry goes silent when you say it.
completely quiet. completely still.
his eyes widen just a tiny bit, then drop to the ground, then back up at you like he’s checking if you meant it.
“...me?”
his voice cracks.
you broke him.
• blushes instantly, ears and neck turning red
• rubs the back of his neck like he doesn’t know what to do with himself
• stammers when he tries to respond
• “i’m— i’m not that— but you think— okay.”
• becomes SO gentle with you afterward, like the nickname rewired his brain
if you whisper it to him?
that’s it. he short-circuits.
he’ll literally hide his face in your shoulder and mumble,
“don’t call me that unless you want me to fall harder.”
for embry, “pretty boy” isn’t just a compliment, it’s intimacy.
it touches a part of him he didn’t think anyone noticed.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
leah clearwater
ohhhhh she HATES it.
she LOVES it.
she’ll raise a brow immediately, arms crossed, all attitude.
“pretty boy? you know i’m not a boy, right?”
her tone? sharp.
her eyes? sparkling.
you got her good.
• pretends she’s offended but she is SO entertained
• nudges your shoulder harder than necessary
• smirks at you like she’s daring you to say it again
• if the pack is around, she kicks your ankle under the table so she doesn’t blush
• later, when it’s just you, she whispers, “...say it again.”
and the thing is?
she listens to how you say it.
your tone. your smile. the warmth behind it.
she pretends she doesn’t care, but if you call someone ELSE “pretty boy”?
she is feral.
“interesting choice of words,” she mutters, jaw tight.
leah secretly LOVES that you gave her a nickname that wasn’t soft or patronizing but teasing and affectionate in your own way.
she’ll never admit it, but she craves it.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
seth clearwater
OH he dies.
you kill him instantly.
the moment “pretty boy” leaves your mouth, seth literally gasps, like out loud, then breaks into the biggest, brightest smile you’ve ever seen.
“pretty boy? ME? seriously??”
he’s SO happy he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
• giggles. like full-body giggles.
• can’t stop smiling for the next three hours
• cheeks turning pink, eyes sparkling, he’s floating
• will call YOU pretty nonstop now
• follows you around like a golden retriever waiting for more compliments
say it when he’s flustered?
he turns into a tomato and hides behind his hands.
say it when he’s being protective?
his chest puffs up instantly.
“your pretty boy’s got you!”
seth LOVES the nickname so much that he’ll start finding excuses to hear it.
“hey… uh… what’d you call me earlier? you know… for research. pack business. scientific reasons.”
Summary: Request - Hi I love your Paul lahote stories!! I was wondering if you could do one super fluffy where the reader finds out she’s pregnant but is worried how Paul will feel because they’re still young and all the werewolf and vampire stuff is going on at the time!!🩵
A/N: I just love Paul. Thank you for the requests as always! @lunajay33
Pairing: Paul Lahote x Reader
Word Count: 5.4k +
TW: Pregnancy
The warm scent of blueberry muffins filled Emily’s kitchen mingling with the faint tang of sea air drifting in through the open window. You were slouched in one of the chairs at her table with your cheek resting in your palm as you watched her move about the kitchen. The quiet hum of her voice as she talked about Sam and the pack was comforting, but it was hard to focus. Your stomach rolled again. That new unease building in the back of your mind.
“You’re quieter than usual,” Emily commented. Her voice cutting through the fog of your thoughts. She glanced at you over her shoulder, her sharp eyes softening when they landed on your face. “Are you feeling okay?”
You forced a smile, shrugging like it was nothing. “Just tired, I guess. It’s been a stressful few weeks, you know? All the patrols, Jacob imprinting on… that situation. It’s a lot.” You tried brushing her off.
Emily turned back to her muffins, humming as she pulled them from the oven and set them on the counter. “That’s true. It’s been hard on everyone.” She didn’t say anything else for a moment, but you could feel her watching you out of the corner of her eye. “Are you sure that’s all it is?” she asked gently not wanting to push too hard.
Your smile faltered. “Of course. What else would it be?”
Emily walked over and sat across from you. Her expression calm but concerned. “Well, you’ve been tired a lot lately. And you’ve barely eaten today. You won’t even touch my muffins like you always do. I also saw you push your plate away last week at dinner too.” She tilted her head, her tone as light as she could make it. “And I saw you make a face when I started the coffee earlier. You used to love coffee… I haven’t seen you drink a cup in weeks now.”
You stiffened slightly, trying to brush her off with a laugh. “I’m just… off, that’s all. It’s probably just stress or maybe a stomach bug. Nothing to worry about.” That unease grew in the pit of your stomach though.
She didn’t drop it. “Maybe,” she said slowly. Her dark eyes studying you. “But… have you thought it might be something else?”
You blinked at her, frowning. “Something else? Like what?”
She hesitated before she reached across the table to rest her hand on yours. “I don’t want to assume anything, but… you and Paul are together all the time. Could there be… another reason why you’re feeling this way?”
Her words hit you like a freight train and you immediately shook your head. Your voice pitching higher than you intended. “No. Absolutely not. There’s no way, Emily. We’re careful! I mean, mostly. But… no. That’s impossible.”
Emily gave you a patient look but didn’t pull her hand away. “I know you’re careful,” she said gently. “But accidents happen. When was the last time you had your period?” She asked the dreaded question… when was it?
The question made your heart lurch, and you froze. “I…” shit, you didn’t know, “I don’t know,” you stammered. “It’s been… I mean, I’m not great at keeping track, but…” Your voice trailed off as your mind began counting backward. The realization hitting you like a bucket of ice water on a freezing winter day. Your chest tightened. Your mouth suddenly ran dry.
Emily leaned forward slightly. Her voice soft but steady. “How long has it been?”
You swallowed hard while staring at her as the truth sank in. “I.... A month? Maybe more?” You guessed as you kept counting further back. No, it was more than a month now. It’d been nearly six weeks.
Emily’s expression didn’t change though there was a hint of sympathy in her eyes. “It might not be what you think,” she said carefully. “But maybe… maybe you should take a test. Just to be sure.”
Your stomach flipped at the thought, and you instinctively shook your head again. “I can’t. What if it’s positive? What am I supposed to do? What’s Paul going to say? What about the pack or my parents? Shit! My parents Em!” Your voice cracked, panic bubbling up as the possibility became more real. Pregnant. You couldn’t possibly be pregnant. No, it was just stress. You’d been so stressed lately. Periods were often late when stress was abundant. Yeah, just stress.
Emily squeezed your hand. Her calm presence grounding you. “If it’s positive, you’ll figure it out like you always do. You’re not alone in this, okay? You have me. You have Paul. And you have the while pack. Whatever happens, we’ll all be here for you.” Her voice was low and soothing as it always was. Her reassurance should have been comforting, but your thoughts were spiraling. The only thing you could focus on was the quiet truth settling into the back of your mind. You might really be pregnant. She stood with you still trying to process what was likely true.
Emily slipped out the door after giving you a reassuring smile. Her keys jingling as she walked to the front door. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” she’d said. “And don’t even think about panicking while I’m gone. Just breathe. I’m going to go buy one from the pharmacy. It won’t be a big deal if someone sees me buying one.” Easier said than done.
You sat stiffly on the edge of the couch with your knee bouncing restlessly as the minutes ticked by. Emily was right. If anyone saw her buying a pregnancy test, they wouldn’t think twice about it. She and Sam were married, in their twenties, and settled. But you? At nineteen, unmarried, and still figuring out your life, the very idea of people finding out sent a wave of nausea through you.
When Emily returned, she came through the door with the same calm efficiency as before. She held a small paper bag like it contained something perfectly ordinary. She set it down on the table while brushing the rain from her hair as she gave you a steady look. “Alright,” she said. Her tone light but firm. “No one saw me. Not that it would’ve mattered. But I figured you’d want to hear that.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Thank God. I’d die right here if word got back to my mom. Or the whole reservation.” You peeked through your fingers, your voice dropping to a mutter. “This place is like a fishbowl.”
Emily laughed softly and slid the bag toward you. “Relax. It’s done. Now, the next part is up to you.”
You stared at the bag. Your palms suddenly very disgustingly sweaty. Your heart hammered as you reached out and pulled the slim box from inside, the pink lettering glaring up at you like a warning. “I feel like I’m in one of those cheesy after-school specials,” you mumbled, your voice shaky as you tried to make light of the situation.
Emily gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You’re not. You’re just figuring out what’s next. Go on. I’ll wait here.” With a long breath you stood and made your way to the bathroom, the box clutched tightly in your hands. The next few minutes felt like an eternity. You sat on the edge of the bathtub staring at the little plastic stick on the counter, its blank screen taunting you.
When your phone buzzed with the timer you’d set, your stomach flipped. You stood slowly, your hands trembling as you picked up the test. Two pink lines.
Positive.
Your knees felt weak as you gripped the counter for support as a tidal wave of emotions crashed over you. A strange mix of fear, joy, and uncertainty swirled in your chest, leaving you utterly breathless. You stared at the test for a long moment trying to process what it meant. Your hand drifted to your abdomen as you gulped.
When you finally emerged from the bathroom, Emily was waiting on the couch. Her face was soft as ever with understanding. She looked up as you stepped into the room, the test still clutched in your hand. “Well?” she asked gently. Her brown eyes searching your face for any sign of what it said.
You held up the test. Your mouth dry. “I guess I’m pregnant,” you said with your voice unsteady. Then in a weak attempt to lighten the mood you added with a shaky laugh, “Stealing Bella’s thunder, huh?” Bella’s pregnancy had been the talk of the pack ever since the group found out what she was carrying. Then the vampire human baby decided to make its appearance after only 28 days. The thought sent a shiver down your spine as you thought of what carrying a werewolf baby would entail.
Emily blinked, then burst into laughter. Her head tilting back as she shook her head. “Oh, you’ve got to stop hanging out with Paul so much. You’re picking up his sense of humor.” She grinned as she gave your arm a reassuring squeeze.
Despite your spinning thoughts her laughter pulled a smile from you. She wrapped you in a warm, steady hug. “It’s going to be okay,” she murmured, her voice firm. “Paul loves you so much. More than I ever thought he’d be capable of. You’re not doing this alone.” You clung to her words like a lifeline as tears brimmed in your eyes. You weren’t sad… no, not at all. You were simply overwhelmed as this had not been in your plans. You were going to get married to Paul in a few years and maybe have some kid’s years after that. Not now. But life had a funny way of throwing you completely off. First, being imprinted to a damned werewolf. Now this.
You sat at the kitchen table with the pregnancy test still in your hand. Emily had made you a cup of tea. The warm mug sitting untouched in front of you as your thoughts spiraled. You’d stared at the little pink lines so long now that they were practically burned into your vision. A constant reminder of the new, terrifying reality that had just taken shape.
Emily leaned against the counter, watching you with a mixture of patience and quiet concern. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asked gently.
You let out a shaky breath, placing the test down on the table so gently as if it might explode. “Everything,” you said. Your voice barely above a whisper. “I mean… Paul and I are nineteen. This wasn’t exactly in the plan. What if he’s not ready for this? What if he feels… trapped?” The thought made your stomach churn. You couldn’t shake the image of his face falling when you told him.
Emily frowned, stepping closer and taking the chair across from you. “Yes, you both are young, but you know he’s devoted to you. He’d run through fire for you without thinking twice. That’s the bond. It’s unshakable.”
You nodded slowly, but her reassurance only soothed one layer of your anxiety. “But what about my parents?” you asked. Your voice cracking yet again. “If they find out, they’ll never let me hear the end of it. They’ll say I’m ruining my life. That we’re not ready. And Paul’s parents… What if they think I’m irresponsible or… God forbid, trying to trap him or something?”
Emily shook her head firmly. “No one who knows you would think that. You and Paul have been through so much already and you’ve come out stronger every time. His parents will see that. His parents love you. And as for your parents…” She gave you a small, wry smile. “They’ll probably be shocked at first. Maybe even upset. But they’ll come around. They always do.”
You laughed bitterly, rubbing your temples. “It’s not just them. It’s the pack, too. What are they going to think? There’s so much going on right now. Jacob imprinting on a half-vampire baby, the Cullen drama, all of it. This is the worst time for this to happen. What if they see it as a distraction? What if they resent me for pulling Paul’s attention away?”
Emily reached out grabbing for your hand. “First of all, no one in that pack would resent you. You know how they are. They’re family, even if they don’t always show it the right way. And second, you’re not pulling Paul’s attention away. If anything, this will give him more to fight for. Plus, I think they all like you more than Paul anyway.” She added with a mischievous grin.
Your chest tightened at her words. A mix of hope and fear swirling inside you. “But what if I’m not enough?” you whispered. “What if I can’t handle this? What if I ruin everything?”
Emily’s grip on your hand tightened. Her scarred fingers warm and steady. “You’re more than enough,” she said firmly. “You’re strong and you have so many people who love and adore you. You’re not doing this alone. Paul’s going to be over the moon, you’ll see. And the pack? They’ll probably throw a barbecue to celebrate.”
Despite the storm of emotions swirling in your chest that last comment drew a weak laugh from you. “Yeah, and Embry will probably make a joke about Paul being the first one to ‘start a litter,’” you muttered.
Emily grinned. “Probably. But you’ve got to admit, they’d all step up to make sure you and that baby are safe. It’s what they do.”
You took a shaky sip of tea. The warmth grounding you for a moment. Deep down you knew Emily was right. But the thought of telling Paul, and everyone else, still felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough,” you murmured while staring down at your tea. “I just hope you’re right.”
Emily smiled softly, giving your hand one last squeeze. “I’m always right,” she teased. Her voice light. “Now, let’s figure out how you’re going to tell Paul. You’ve got this.”
Just as you were going to ask her how in the hell you’d drop this bomb on him the front door opened loudly, followed by the familiar sound of Paul’s laugh, low and warm, rolling through the house. “We’re back!” Quil called out, clearly in a good mood. Jared muttered something about food and within seconds all three of them were in the kitchen rummaging around for snacks.
You sat frozen at the kitchen table gripping your mug of now-cold tea. Your eyes were glued to the wall like it might have answers to the mess of thoughts tangling in your head. Emily shot you a look that practically screamed, you better handle this soon, before helping the hungry wolves to whatever snack she deemed acceptable.
“Hey,” Paul’s voice broke through the fog. You looked up just as he walked over to you. His usual easy grin faltering slightly as he studied your face. He crouched in front of you, his warm hands resting on your knees. “You okay? You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” you asked. Your voice faltering slightly as you tried to sound normal.
“The one that says you’re either about to cry or punch someone.” He tilted his head. His grin returning. “Hopefully not me.”
You forced a laugh but it came out weak and shaky. “I’m fine. Just tired. You know, the usual.”
Paul narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. His sharp instincts both as a wolf and your imprint meant there was no hiding anything from him for long. “Uh-huh. Sure babe. You’re totally not being weird. Not at all.” He teased lightly.
“I am not!” you shot back too quickly. His brows shot up.
“Okay…” He dragged the word out, standing and looking toward the kitchen where Quil and Jared were now arguing over a loaf of bread. Paul glanced back at you. His concern deepening. “Wanna take a walk? Fresh air might feel good.”
You hesitated. Your pulse roaring in your ears. You couldn’t do this here. Not with Jared and Quil’s supernatural hearing and Emily’s knowing looks. “Yeah,” you muttered finally, standing abruptly. “Let’s go.”
Paul smiled softly and walked behind you as you made your way out of the house. He grabbed his jacket and followed you out the door. The crisp air hit your skin, grounding you slightly as you led him down the gravel path toward the edge of the forest. Paul stayed quiet. His hands stuffed in his pockets as he matched your pace. He didn’t push but you could feel his eyes on you. His quiet presence making your nerves churn even more.
When you finally stopped, he turned to face you. His expression soft but cautious. “Alright then,” he said, leaning back against a tree. His arms crossing over his chest. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting… off since we got back. And don’t tell me it’s nothing because I know you better than that love.”
You fidgeted. Your fingers twisting the hem of your sweater as you avoided his gaze. Your stomach was in knots and the words felt stuck in your throat. “Paul, I… I need to tell you something,” you started. Your voice barely above a whisper.
“Okay,” he said, his tone steady but laced with worry. “Whatever it is, just say it.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, you made a strange almost choking sound which made his eyes widen. “Are you okay? It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.” he said while stepping closer.
“I’m fine!” you said too quickly yet again. Your voice pitching higher than you wanted. “It’s just… this is… ugh!” You threw your hands up while pacing a few steps before spinning back to face him. “You’re going to freak out.”
Paul blinked slowly. His brows knitting together as a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worked up before babe. What’s going on?” You just had to tell him. Just do it.
You stopped pacing. Your chest tightening as you blurted out, “I’m pregnant.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Paul’s face went blank, his arms dropping to his sides as he stared at you. You felt the blood drain from your face. The panic rising as his lack of reaction stretched on. “Paul?” you whispered. Your voice trembling. “Say something. Please, say something.”
He blinked, his lips parting slightly. “You’re serious?” he asked in a silky soft voice like he was trying to make sure he’d heard you right.
You nodded. Your throat tight. “Yeah. I just found out today. I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to be like this. I wasn’t even sure how I should tell you, because I know we’re young, and everything’s crazy right now, and…”
“Shh,” he said cutting you off gently. He stepped forward completely closing the distance between you. His hands finding your arms as he looked down at you. Those chocolate brown eyes searching yours. “You’re pregnant? We’re… having a baby? Our baby?”
Your heart pounded as you nodded again with tears welling up in your eyes. “Yeah.”
A slow grin spread across his face. It started small but grew until it lit up his whole expression. He laughed softly almost in disbelief and suddenly pulled you into his arms. He held you so tightly you could barely breathe. “You’re serious?” he asked again. His voice muffled against your hair. “We’re having a baby?”
You let out a watery laugh. Your hands clutching at his jacket. “Yeah. We’re having a baby.” You said softly.
Paul pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes shining with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’re amazing,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I mean it. I can’t even…” He broke off, shaking his head like he couldn’t find the words. “This is crazy, but it’s… it’s amazing. I’m so happy right now,” He grinned before pulling you in for a kiss, “We’re having a baby!”
Tears spilled down your cheeks as a laugh bubbled out of you. “You’re not scared? Or mad?”
“Of course, I’m scared,” he admitted. His hands moving to cradle your face. “But I’m not mad. Never. You’re my world, and now… now we’re building something together. How could I be anything but happy about that?”
You sniffled, leaning into his touch. “Well, I’m glad one of us is confident. Because I was ready to fake my death and disappear into the woods.”
Paul laughed before kissing your forehead softly. “Not a chance. You’re stuck with me, babe. And this kid? They’re going to have the best damn parents in the world.” His hand ran over your abdomen gently.
A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips as you rested your forehead against his neck. “I hope you’re ready to break the news to the pack, though. I can already hear Embry’s jokes.”
Paul’s grin only widened. A glimmer of excitement sparking in his eyes. “We’ve got to tell them.”
Your stomach dropped, and you blinked at him. “Right now?”
“Yes, right now,” he said. His voice filled with conviction. “Why wouldn’t we? This is huge! It’s amazing! They’re going to be so happy for us.”
“Paul,” you said slowly while trying to reel him back in. “We just found out. Don’t you think we should… I don’t know, let it sink in first? Maybe figure out how we’re going to explain this before we say anything?”
But Paul shook his head. His hands framing your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “There’s nothing to explain, babe. This is good news. They’re family. They’ll support us no matter what. And if anyone has anything negative to say…” His voice dropped slightly. A spark of protectiveness flaring in his tone. “They’ll have to deal with me. But they’re going to be so excited love. So damn excited.”
You hesitated. Your doubts lingering. “It’s not that simple, Paul. What if they think it’s irresponsible? Or too soon?”
He took your hands, his gaze steady and unwavering. “Look, I know things are messy right now. The timing might not be perfect. But then again, when is it ever? What matters is that this is ours. You, me, and this baby. We’re going to be okay because we have each other.” His voice softened and the corners of his lips tugged into a smile. “I want to celebrate that with the people who care the most about us.”
His sincerity broke through your defenses, and you sighed, nodding reluctantly. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been so sure of anything,” he said. His smile warm and full of pride. “You’re carrying our baby. How could I not want to shout it from the rooftops?”
A small laugh slipped out despite yourself. You shook your head at his antics. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, you’re the one dealing with the fallout.”
Paul chuckled, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Deal. Now, let’s go tell them.”
As he led you back toward the house, his excitement practically radiating off him, you still felt a twinge of nerves. But the way he held your hand, so steady and unshakable, made you believe that somehow everything would work out.
The moment you and Paul stepped back into the house. Emily’s eyes flicked to the two of you. Her lips curled into the smallest, most knowing smile. Her gaze lingered on Paul who was still vibrating with energy like he could barely contain himself. She exhaled softly, relief washing over her face.
“He knows, doesn’t he?” she asked you, her voice low enough that only you and Paul could hear.
“Of course, I know,” Paul cut in with his grin so wide it was practically smug. “You really think she could keep something like this from me?” His arm wrapped protectively around your waist. His hand warm against your side as he glanced down at you. “She tried, though. Gotta give her credit.”
Emily’s smile grew. She stepped closer to squeeze your hand. “I’m glad you told him,” she said simply. Her calm steadiness grounded you in a way nothing else could.
Jared and Quil, however, were still oblivious. Quil frowned at Paul. His sandwich frozen halfway to his mouth. “What’s up with you? You look like you just hit the jackpot.”
“Yeah,” Jared added, leaning back against the counter. “You’ve got that weird, smug thing going on. Like you know something we don’t.”
Paul smirked, his fingers flexing slightly on your waist. “Maybe I do.”
Quil rolled his eyes. “You gonna share with the class, or…?”
Paul leaned against the back of the couch looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Let’s wait until everyone’s here,” he said, glancing toward the door. “Don’t wanna repeat myself.”
Jared groaned. “Dude, seriously? You’re such a…”
“Later,” Paul interrupted. His grin growing wider. Jared muttered something under his breath, but Paul didn’t seem to care. His attention stayed on you. His thumb brushing absently along your hip.
By the time Sam and the rest of the pack arrived the room was buzzing with conversation. The pack had settled in, tired but loud as usual, filling the space with their usual chaos. You could feel your nerves creeping back but Paul’s steady presence beside you kept them at bay.
Once the noise quieted enough for him to speak, Paul cleared his throat. All eyes turned toward him. The sudden intensity of his expression silencing even Quil’s usual chatter.
Emily, sipping her tea, shot Paul a look. Silently daring him to be subtle. But Paul being Paul had no plans for subtlety. He straightened while crossing his arms over his chest as he cleared his throat. “Me and Y/N… we’re not just us anymore. We’re adding one.”
The room went silent. All eyes turning toward him. Jared frowned. “What does that even mean?”
Quil looked at you both, confused. “Wait. Did you get a dog? Please tell me it’s a dog.”
Paul smirked, clearly reveling in the suspense. “Nope. Not a dog.”
Embry tilted his head, his brows furrowed. “A cat? Fish? What?”
Paul chuckled, dragging it out just a little longer. “Think bigger.”
Quil’s eyes narrowed and then he gasped. His mouth dropping open. “Oh my God! You’re moving?! Are you leaving the rez?”
Paul groaned before dragging a hand down his face. “No! Not moving, not a pet, not a damn secret stash of food.” He glanced at you. His grin softening slightly and nodded like it was your moment to take over.
And you couldn’t help it. With all their clueless guesses and Paul’s smug antics a laugh bubbled out of you, warm and uncontrollable. Everyone froze, watching you with the most curious eyes and through your laughter, you managed to blurt, “We’re having a baby!”
The room went completely still for a beat, Jared’s apple frozen mid-air as his jaw dropped. Quil looked between you and Paul. His face blank before he finally sputtered, “Wait… like an actual baby?” Even Sam looked a little shell shocked at that news.
“Yes, Quil,” Paul said dryly though his grin betrayed his pride. “An actual baby. Our baby.”
Jared blinked rapidly then burst out laughing, slapping the counter. “Holy shit. You’re serious? Paul Lahote’s gonna be a dad?”
Quil let out a strangled laugh while running a hand through his hair. “Wow. This poor kid’s gonna have your temper, huh? Better hope they get your patience.” He looked at you with a knowing grin.
Sam, who had entered the room halfway through the chaos, finally stepped forward. His expression calm but full of warmth. “That’s great news,” he said simply while clapping Paul on the shoulder before looking at you. “You’re both going to be amazing parents.”
The pack didn’t hold back after that. Quil and Jared immediately started throwing out ridiculous suggestions for baby names while Embry vowed to make the baby a tiny wolf plushie as a first gift. The teasing was relentless, but it was full of love. It was clear that they were genuinely happy for you both. Your earlier nerves vanishing in an instant at their exuberance.
Hours later when the house had quieted and everyone had left, you and Paul found yourselves alone in the dimly lit living room. You curled up against his side. Your head resting on his chest as his arm draped securely around you.
“You know,” you murmured, smiling faintly, “your announcement was terrible.”
Paul laughed. The sound rumbling through his chest. “Terrible? That was brilliant.”
“You had everyone thinking we got a dog,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. “I think Quil’s still processing.”
Paul smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Hey, I had to keep them guessing. Besides, you’re the one who cracked under pressure.”
You rolled your eyes but the warmth in his gaze softened your retort. His hand moved to your stomach, resting there gently as he whispered, “We’re really doing this, huh?”
“Yeah,” you said softly. Your voice steady. “We are.”
He pressed a kiss to your temple. His voice low and full of quiet conviction. “It’s gonna be perfect. You, me, and our little one. We’ve got this.”
Paul’s lips brushed against yours, slow and deliberate, grounding you for a fleeting moment. His hand, warm and steady on your stomach, reminded you of the little life you’d just announced to the pack. But the moment his forehead rested against yours the weight of what was coming next crept back in.
Your parents. His parents.
You pulled back slightly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as your heart pounded. “Paul,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “How are we going to tell them? My mom is going to flip, and not in a good way. And your mom…”
“Hey,” Paul interrupted softly, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Look at me.”
You hesitated but the steady warmth in his eyes drew you in. His grin was softer now, tempered with something deeper. “We’ll tell them the same way we told the pack, together. And if your mom flips, I’ll handle it. I’ll handle all of it. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
“I don’t know if you’ve met my mom,” you whispered. Your voice wavering as you tried to find humor in the situation. “She’s going to think this is reckless. She’ll probably yell. A lot.”
Paul’s grin widened, and he tipped your chin up with his knuckle before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Then let her yell. I’ll stand there and take it because, at the end of the day, none of that matters. What matters is us and this baby.”
You swallowed hard trying to keep your emotions from bubbling over. “But what if it’s too much? What if they think we’re too young, or not ready, or…”
Paul’s grip on you tightened slightly. His voice cutting through your spiral. “Then I’ll marry you tomorrow,” he said. His tone firm but laced with tenderness. “If that’s what it takes to make them see how serious I am, I’ll do it. Hell, I’ll do it tonight if you want.”
Your breath caught as you stared at him, wide-eyed. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m completely serious,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “I love you. I love this baby. And I don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re my family now. You’ve always been my family and nothing, not your mom, not mine, not anyone, is going to change that.”
The conviction in his voice broke something loose in your chest. The fear and doubt unraveling as his words sank in. You let out a shaky laugh with tears pricking at your eyes. “You can’t just solve everything by offering to marry me, you know.”
Paul smirked, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Maybe not, but it’s a pretty damn good start, isn’t it?”
You laughed again, softer this time, and leaned into him, letting his steady warmth anchor you. “We’ll figure it out,” you murmured more to yourself than him.
“We already are,” he said, his voice low and sure. “One step at a time. And I’m not going anywhere, no matter what. You know that love.”
As his arms tightened around you, you felt it, the certainty he carried, the unwavering belief that you could face anything together. It didn’t erase all your fears, but it made them feel a little smaller, a little more manageable.
And for now, and forever that would be enough.
Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works, please fill out the form here: (Taglist Sign Up): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @nqobil3
notes: thinking i might start posting for random characters from my fandom/character list more often, just whatever inspires me in the moment. feels more fun that way <3
credits: @dollywons
sam uley
sam becomes… gentle. even more than usual.
the first sign is how carefully he treats you, like you’re something he’s afraid to break.
he hovers without hovering, always nearby, always watching in that calm, protective way.
he doesn’t flirt. he doesn’t tease. he just… softens. his voice goes lower, slower, like everything he says to you is deliberate.
• always positions himself between you and danger, no matter how small
• notices every detail, if you’re tired, cold, upset, distracted
• checks in with you quietly, “you alright?” “did you eat?”
• lingers after conversations without realizing
• gets caught staring with the gentlest expression imaginable
• the pack knows instantly, sam never looks at anyone like that
and when you smile at him?
his breath actually catches.
you undo him without even trying.
sam doesn’t confess early, he loves you long before he says it.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
jared cameron
jared is a mess.
the funniest, sweetest mess you’ve ever seen.
he tries to act normal. he fails miserably.
he laughs harder around you, smiles wider, talks faster.
every emotion he has goes straight to his face.
• accidentally flirts constantly
• then gets flustered about his own flirting
• bumps your shoulder every time he walks by
• sits close. like, unnecessarily close
• stares at your lips mid-conversation, then panics
• asks the pack way too many questions about “what if they don’t like me?”
the pack? they clown him relentlessly.
he brings you up every five seconds:
“they said this—”
“they laughed at my joke—”
“do you think that meant something?”
and if you touch him first? even a casual brush of your fingers?
he shuts down. completely.
blushing. smiling. malfunctioning.
jared falls first, falls hardest, and hides none of it.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
paul lahote
paul becomes… impossible.
cocky. loud. smug.
and absolutely terrified inside.
the more he likes you? the worse he acts.
he teases you every chance he gets, pokes at you, smirks at you, calls you every pet name he shouldn’t be calling you yet.
but the second you tease him back?
malfunction.
absolute short-circuit.
he goes still. voice drops. eyes lock on yours like you flipped a switch.
• hoverer supreme, “i’m not following you, i’m just going this way too”
• glares at anyone who stands too close
• gets jealous FAST but tries to hide it behind attitude
• hands shake when you touch him
• stares at you like he’s trying to memorize every inch
he acts like he doesn’t care, but his whole body gives him away.
the pack mocks him constantly —
“bro you’re in love, just admit it,”
and he snarls every time.
but the truth?
if you asked him for anything, he’d give it to you without question.
paul loves like a wildfire he’s desperately trying to contain.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
jacob black
jacob is sunshine around you. blinding. warm. obvious.
he lights up every single time he sees you, his smile gets bigger, his posture straighter, his whole vibe softer.
jacob doesn’t hide it at all.
he tries to play it cool, but he’s the worst at subtlety.
• brings you little gifts he pretends aren’t gifts
• casually touches you all the time
• always finds an excuse to hang out with you
• shows off whenever you’re watching
• listens so closely it’s adorable
• beams when you laugh
jealous jacob?
oh, he gets quiet. close. protective.
one hand on your back. eyes narrowing at whoever caused the feeling.
and when you talk to him softly?
his entire face goes red.
his dimples come out.
he can’t look you in the eye.
everyone in the pack knows he’s in love with you.
like, immediately.
he’s not subtle even a little.
jacob loves loudly, earnestly, and with zero self-preservation.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
quil ateara
quil is adorable about it.
like… painfully obvious, sunshine-level adorable.
he smiles every time you walk into a room, that big, bright, boyish grin he can’t hide even if he tried.
he follows you around like a loyal golden retriever he swears he’s not being.
he just wants to be near you. always.
• always in your space, but in the gentlest way
• laughs at literally everything you say
• brings you snacks without realizing he brought you snacks
• stares at you like you hung the moon
• gets flustered SO easily, pink ears, shy smile
• tells the pack “i’m not obvious” while being the most obvious
if you compliment him?
he completely short-circuits.
tries to play it cool, fails, grins like an idiot.
and when you touch him, even just your hand brushing his?
he freezes.
smiles.
melts.
quil doesn’t confess because he thinks he needs the perfect moment, not knowing that every moment with him already is.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
embry call
embry is the softest disaster you have ever met.
he becomes so gentle with you it’s ridiculous, slower movements, quieter voice, like he doesn’t want to startle you or say the wrong thing.
he’s the type to rehearse conversations with you in his head.
and then panic when you actually talk to him.
• blushes every time you say his name
• trips over his words constantly
• stares at you and then looks away immediately when you catch him
• tries to give you space because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you
• but then wanders right back to you because he literally can’t help it
• tells jacob and quil everything, they tease him nonstop
embry is the king of “i brought you this because i thought you might like it… but you don’t have to keep it… but if you want to… that’s cool too…”
and if you lean your head on his shoulder?
oh he’s gone.
broken.
heart pounding loud enough the whole pack can hear it.
embry doesn’t confess because he’s terrified you’ll say no, even though everyone else can see you’re just as gone for him.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
leah clearwater
leah is intense.
not in a scary way, in a focused way.
she pays attention to you like she’s trying to read every thought in your head.
she doesn’t flirt.
not obviously.
her version of affection is quiet, subtle, protective.
• walks you home without being asked
• gives you her jacket and pretends she’s not freezing
• stares at anyone who even looks at you wrong
• always positions herself beside you in group settings
• notices when you’re uncomfortable before anyone else
• gets flustered when you compliment her, looks away, bites her lip
the pack sees it instantly, especially seth, who mocks her lovingly.
but leah refuses to admit it.
she pretends she doesn’t care.
but her eyes soften every time she looks at you.
her voice warms when she says your name.
her whole posture relaxes when you smile.
and if you touch her hand?
she stops breathing.
literally freezes like her entire system rebooted.
leah doesn’t confess because she’s scared, of losing you, of being too much, of you not choosing her back.
but she loves you with a loyalty sharper than anything else she carries.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
seth clearwater
seth is pure sunshine around you.
the softest boy on the planet.
and the most whipped.
he follows you everywhere, smiling, laughing, talking to you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
he’s so obvious it’s hilarious.
• brings you flowers he picked himself
• compliments you constantly
• shares his food with zero hesitation
• always asks, “are you okay?” even when you’re clearly fine
• beams every time you look at him
• gets teased by literally the entire pack, especially leah
seth acts like being near you is the highlight of his day.
and honestly? it is.
if you hold his hand?
he turns bright red but holds yours tighter.
if you hug him?
he clings.
absolutely clings.
and when you say his name softly?
he lights up like you handed him his entire future wrapped in ribbon.
seth doesn’t confess because he’s waiting for you to make the first move, not out of fear, but because he doesn’t want to scare you or rush anything.
SUMMARY: The Pack always knew imprints were a sacred thing. But when you're hurt, the imprint bond blurs the line between life and death. It makes for some interesting conversations with ghosts from the past. || multi chapter-fic
PAIRINGS: Paul Lahote x fem!Reader
TAGS/WARNINGS: Clearwater!Reader; human!Reader; domestic fluff; hurt
2.6k words || Chapter One {You are Here} || Chapter Two || Chapter Three (New!🐺)
Your siblings could tear into flesh, could break his bones if they so wished (and Leah had wished, had almost done it too before Sam intervened)–and yet, Paul considered you the most dangerous Clearwater out of all of Harry and Sue's children.
And it wasn't because you could flit between girl and wolf or because your teeth could rip into jugulars, but because you were you.
[Name] Clearwater: daughter to Harry and Sue, born a year after Leah and two years before Seth.
Before that night, your parents never intended for you to be keyed into the tribe's secret. It was only ever meant to be Seth, who they all anticipated would phase eventually.
But then Leah exploded into a four-legged beast with fanged teeth and matted fur, had shredded the Couch you'd been sitting on–and gods, if you hadn't moved when you did her claws would've gone deeper in your shoulder than it had–before Seth shifted, too.
The night had been a mess, to sum it up simply.
The pack link was overwhelmed by a maelstrom of grief-anger-hurt-blame that Sam ordered those who could get caught up in it all to phase out.
To give your siblings some semblance of calm, however futile, and to make sure you and Sue had help dealing with the aftermath.
The last thing the Pack needed was for someone to visit in the morning to find half the house's occupants missing, one partially mauled and the place looking as though it had been burglarised.
So Paul had phased out along with Jake. Jake, who came with his Dad's strength and his Mom's warmth that it brought Sue out of her shocked stupor and Paul, who didn't know what else to do other than turn your way.
Across the room, you were using the meat of your thighs to push the shredded couch towards the door. Single-handedly steering the couch outside whilst being mindful of your left arm which was bandaged over your chest, smelling of chemicals and iron.
He had expected tears. Had expected to scent the air for undertones of shock, fear or distrust as you grappled with the reality of seeing your sister and brother turning into something dangerous.
Of having two strange boys who could do the same clambering into your humble four-bedroom abode to see if you or your Mom needed help, but there was none of that.
Instead, you continued moving, holding yourself up by sheer force of will that Paul’s wolf stirred beneth his skin. Curious. Intrigued.
You hadn’t acknowledged him nor Jake when they had come in, but Paul moved toward you anyway. Body on autopilot as he followed an invisible path his wolf already seemed to be on.
"Here, I can help you with that," he said, bending down to lift one end of the couch.
On the other end of the long couch, you’d glanced at him for only a moment. A single moment to thank him politely, face solemn and eyes deep and soulful, that Paul struggled not to collapse to his knees then and there.
Because in that split moment, when your eyes met his for the very first time since he shifted, Paul’s universe ended and then began again with you at the centre of it all.
[Name] Clearwater: his imprint—his very human imprint—more dangerous than wolves and bloodsuckers combined after only a single glance.
After your siblings, your arm, your Dad—Paul thought you would stay far away from the Pack, maybe even La Push altogether.
Maybe you would find a job in Forks or somewhere else and hightail it out of there. Or maybe you would apply for a scholarship to some college on the other side of the country.
Instead you had done the least expected thing.
Despite what Paul thought, what he feared, you stayed; and then, you started coming around.
First to Sam and Emily’s where you spoke to his Alpha for an hour the first time you came, and then to Emily during all the visits after.
Sam was good at shielding his thoughts most days, but the gratitude and brotherly love he felt for you echoed in the bond for days after the first visit.
Every now and then you’d head over to drop off some spare clothes for Seth, laughing at one of Jared’s dry jokes before engaging in some light conversation.
About the Pack, about your siblings and how they were adjusting.
Their lives, Paul's life, before and after.
When Jake sheepishly admitted to falling behind in school, you’d settled on the dining room table, ushering him and Embry to do the same, too, as you carved out some time to come over and help them.
You even hung around on days Leah ran patrol, staying through dinner to act as a buffer between her, Sam and Emily when the tension grew too thick for the rest of them to breathe through the evening.
Paul had done a good job existing on the sidelines during it all, respecting Leah’s don’t you fucking force her into loving you by telling her, you sick bastard and Seth’s kinder plea to let you get used to the pack and him first without the weight of an imprint just yet.
But then one day you met his gaze, saw the poorly concealed reverence, devotion and warmth and instantly put the pieces together.
And because Paul knew better than to assume what you would do after all the times he had thought wrong, he did nothing.
He didn't think, didn't panic, didn't fear. Even when you asked if he imprinted, voice soft and eyes searching, and he told you the truth, Paul did nothing but be as he always was when it came to you.
Open, honest, and trusting that you wouldn’t hurt him if you felt even a fraction of what he felt.
And his ancestors must have seen fit to reward him for it because after he was done explaining, you stayed.
You stayed; and then, you gave him a chance.
The red-haired leech was still on the loose, and the pack's energy waned the longer she danced around them. Not that they weren’t trying.
She was simply too fast, too slippery, constantly evading them as they hunted her to no end. And since they hadn’t caught her, Sam figured it was best to amp up patrol to four per shift.
Even if meant older wolves like himself, Paul, Leah and Jared had to double the hours of their still-in-school members to compensate.
Paul understood, of course, but considering Leah couldn’t handle dealing with Sam it was Paul who was stuck being berated and vilified by her any time she so much caught an echo of you in his thoughts.
And Paul thought about you. Constantly.
The only reprieve he had was in moments like this, when their shift was over and Leah ran home along with Jared and Jake all the while you drove over to deliver Seth’s clothes for the following morning.
But Paul was exhausted tonight, so much so that he could barely keep his eyes open as you cuddled on Sam and Emily’s couch.
“Stay,” he murmurs lowly, being mindful of Emily sleeping in the other room. Sluggishly, he tightens his arms around your slender waist, a half-hearted attempt to get you to sink into him further, not that you would.
You may have been on good terms with Sam and Emily, but Leah was still your sister.
And even if you wanted to fall asleep encased in your boyfriend’s heavily corded arms, you wouldn’t.
“You know I can’t, baby,” you laugh, quietly, stroking a thumb over the apple of his cheek.
Your boyfriend chuffs at your words, blearily opening his eyes, before shifting forward so that that you can cradle his jaw.
A tide of emotion rises beneath your breast because even with everything happening, you’re so grateful for these stolen moments that you lean in, all petal lips and strawberry-flavoured gloss and Paul almost groans when your lips meet in a soft, unhurried kiss.
If it were up to him, there would be no red-haired leech and golden-eyed freaks. Just you and him and the taste of strawberries forever.
"I also think you should just crash here tonight," you tell him when you come up for air, slowly beginning to untangle yourself from his embrace.
For a moment, the muscles in Paul’s arm grow tense, and you know your boyfriend enough to know he’s about to protest. Or worse, get up to follow you.
Because if you can’t stay, then he’s going to force himself to escort you home anyway, even when he’s dead on his feet.
Gently, your hand drifts to the centre of his chest to keep him down.
“Em should have someone close by, and I’m going home to Leah anyway,” you remind him, lips curling at his small pout.
"And you can't even open your eyes properly, so I'll be back in the morning. Okay?"
Ordinarily, your shapeshifter boyfriend would move your hand away, before insisting he at least keep you company on your car ride home.
But as always, you’re right.
Paul’s tired. The kind of tired that should be impossible for someone like him, but it’s true.
So when you lean forward to press another kiss to his jaw, murmur quietly one more time for him to stay, that you’ll be okay, Paul relents.
The scent of you in the air, on his lips, is dizzying enough as it is. How can he possibly protest when all of it makes Paul want to–
"–M'okay," he slurs, eyes fluttering once, then twice, before shutting completely.
When he comes to, Paul remembers the scent of strawberries, your honeyed laughter and the lingering warmth of your touch.
It's enough to make him smile, before he blinks. In shock, then in confusion, turning around to take in his new surroundings.
Weird, he thinks.
Usually, when he dreams, he dreams of you.
On the beach, laughing as you kick up saltwater, before Paul runs after you and down the shore. Under the stars, a heated mess of tangled-up limbs, Paul in you and the feeling of you everywhere.
Sometimes, he even dreams of the two of you, together and years older, a little boy with his face and your smile held in your arms while a younger girl made in your image clutches to his pants.
But this time, though, there's none of that.
This time, he's in the middle of the forest, legs planted as if he were a tree himself.
All around him, there is a cloud of mist. Thick and encompassing, strange if not for the unnatural emptiness of the forest.
There are no cicadas clicking. No birds chirping. The forest, forever filled with even the quietest of whispers and groans, is dead silent.
That is, until Paul hears it.
Somewhere in the distance, a single voice hums something old, something ancient, the voice swelling into a song that shakes Paul to his core because he’s not alone.
He’s not alone.
The realisation is enough to spur him forward, Paul managing to take a step forward and then another, walking slowly through winding trees and thick mist before he ends up in a wide clearing where a bonfire has been lit.
Before the bonfire, still singing, sits a lone woman dressed in a traditional buckskin dress with a gentle face and two long braids.
She makes no move to indicate that she’s heard him. But the fire illuminates her face with an otherworldly glow, accentuates the way her throat flexes as she sings, the words sounding clearer now that he’s right in front of her.
It’s an old song, he remembers, one that has endured time and colonisation and everything in between.
He contemplates interrupting her, at first, uneasy by the strangeness of this situation. But then he inches closer, his wolf urging him to sit on the empty log across from her.
And so the woman sings, and Paul waits and he listens, because something in him, something instinctual, pulls at him.
Tells him that somehow this is real, that this is important.
And because the last time he felt this way was in the moments before he looked at you, Paul waits for the song to finish.
“The youngest of my sons made this song,” says the woman says after she stops singing, still watching the fire burn.
“The song opens up a door between your world and here, which my son used to communicate with us.
My older sons would listen to him with me here when he sang. They would even sing with him before he joined us, and they all left this place together."
The flames burn a little brighter, and the woman falters. Tilts her head, as if listening for something only she can hear.
And when she hears it, whatever it is, Paul catches her expression flicker in the firelight (grim, resigned) before she resumes, this time a little more hurried than before.
"But I didn't follow. I couldn't," the woman says, finally lifting her head to meet Paul's gaze from across the fire.
"Not without Taha-Aki."
And oh, Paul thinks, struck dumb.
Because painted in shadows made by the flames, the third wife–a woman he's only ever known through stories and legends–stares at him solemnly, the echo of infinity seared into her gaze.
“My husband’s spirit still roams your world," she says, ignoring Paul's clear shock.
“He guides all spirit warriors here when their time comes, and their imprints, too. This is where they rest for a while before they move on. But never does my husband come with them, though. Too ashamed, I think."
"Ashamed?” Paul asks, speaking for the first time before he stops himself.
The woman before him and Taha Aki were more than wife and husband.
They were imprinted, tethered together by the same forces that brought Paul to you. The same forces that wouldn't have put her in his dream unless there was something wrong with the imprint.
And there could only be something wrong with the imprint if something was wrong with...
"Why am I here?" he asks slowly, dread wrapping itself around his heart–painful and suffocating–as the third wife's face turns sad. Pitying.
…No.
"Why am I here?" he repeats, this time louder and more panicked as he surges to his feet.
Through the fire, the third wife stares at his face, her expression a little more troubled, a little more human, before the truth splits the air and his chest open.
"–Because my husband will soon guide your imprint here, and if you want to save her,"
NoNoNONONO
"–than you must to stop him before he succeeds."
A loud crash sounds in the distance, so loud that Paul slams his hands against his ears and grits his teeth, trying to convince himself that this isn't real.
That it's not the sound of your car folding in on itself that he hears in the distance, glass shattering into thousands of pieces.
It can't be, he thinks, agonised; and yet, it is.
Because the truth is that you're out there, somewhere in the wreckage of it all.
Paul knows it.
Feels it.
"How do I do it?!" he cries, turning to the ancient woman with wild, frenzied eyes when his ears won’t stop ringing.
(You’re screaming).
"How do I stop him?!"
(You’re crying).
The third wife at least has the decency to look regretful, before turning to look over her shoulder and into the long and dark forest.
“Have you not been listening?” she answers, cryptically.
And before Paul can snarl, beg, whatever he needs to do to get more than that (because what kind of bullshit answer is that), a howl echoes in the distance.
On autopilot, his body begins to shake, tremor, the air beginning to shift all around them before–
"Trust me Paul Lahote, you’ll know what to do," the third wife says, still looking into the unknown.
“–But you need to wake up. Now."
When I tell you the brainrot would not leave me alone for this one. But anyway, please feel free to comment, tag & repost. 🐺
Hey do you think you could write an enemies to lovers with Jacob where he imprints on her and has no clue what to do since they don’t like eachother
The One Thing I Didn’t Want
Pairing: Jacob Black × Reader
Summary: Bella drags her calm, sarcastic friend to La Push to check on Jacob after he’s been avoiding her. The pack’s there, Jacob’s irritated, Reader pushes his buttons — and in the middle of a heated argument, he imprints on her in front of everyone.
Tone: enemies-to-lovers, emotional, chaotic, with a mix of teasing humor and raw imprint tension.
Ending: unresolved but charged — Jacob doesn’t know how to handle it, Reader doesn’t believe it, and the pack is left stunned.
La Push looked exactly the way it always had — gray clouds stitched low over the trees, air sharp with salt and pine. But to Y/N, it felt different now. Maybe because Bella wouldn’t stop pacing beside her car, chewing her lip like it was a hobby.
“He won’t talk to me anymore,” Bella muttered. “I just—maybe if you come, he won’t slam the door in my face again.”
Y/N arched an eyebrow. “You want me to be your emotional bodyguard against a guy who growls for a living?”
“Please.”
Y/N sighed, locked her car, and followed. She’d met Jacob Black enough times to know they didn’t mix. He was loud, impulsive, and thought sarcasm was a sport he could win. She, on the other hand, preferred quiet and precision — the kind of person who could slice someone open with a deadpan comment and never raise her voice.
Bella knocked on the small red-brown door. Voices drifted from the backyard, male laughter overlapping, a dog-pile of noise.
“Great,” Y/N muttered. “He’s got an audience.”
They rounded the house and found six boys crowded around a picnic table, food everywhere. Sam Uley, tall and calm, was clearly in charge. Embry Call and Quil Ateara were throwing potato chips at each other. And at the center of it — shirtless, muscular, and clearly irritated — sat Jacob Black.
The second he saw them, the laughter faded.
“Bella,” he said flatly.
“Hey, Jake.”
Sam’s gaze flicked to her, then to Y/N. His expression tightened, but he said nothing.
Y/N crossed her arms. “Don’t stop the party on our account.”
Jacob’s jaw flexed. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”
“Bella wanted to make sure you’re not dead,” she said coolly. “So far, so good.”
Embry tried to hide a laugh. Jacob shot him a glare.
“Can we talk alone?” Bella asked.
“Not a good idea,” Sam said quietly. “We’re in the middle of something.”
Bella frowned. “Middle of what?”
Jacob’s eyes dropped, then lifted — and Y/N noticed something strange in them. A shimmer, like sunlight off dark water, before he looked away.
“Pack business,” he muttered.
“Right,” Y/N said. “Because you’re a secret club now?”
That earned her several grins. Paul Lahote snorted. “She’s got bite.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Jacob growled.
“Oh, I don’t need encouragement.”
Sam looked between them. “Maybe take a walk, Jacob. Clear the air.”
Jacob stood abruptly, chair scraping. “Fine.”
He stomped off toward the tree line, muttering under his breath. Bella followed — and Y/N, because she wasn’t about to let her friend wander into the woods with a guy built like a professional linebacker.
When they caught up, Jacob was pacing. “Bella, I told you not to come.”
“Because you’re mad? Or because you’re hiding something?” Y/N asked.
He spun, glare sharp. “You always have to talk, don’t you?”
“Usually when people act like jerks, yes.”
“Then maybe stay out of it.”
Y/N tilted her head, tone deceptively calm. “Can’t. It’s in my nature to annoy you.”
Something flickered in his expression — frustration, heat, something deeper. Then he turned away.
Bella sighed. “I’ll wait by the car.” She left, leaving Y/N and Jacob facing each other amid the trees.
“Great,” Y/N said. “Just what I wanted: alone time with Mr. Moodswing.”
Jacob barked a humorless laugh. “You think you know everything, huh?”
“I know enough to see you’ve been avoiding her and everyone else. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
He met her gaze — and then froze.
For a heartbeat, Y/N thought she’d said something wrong. His pupils widened, his chest stilled like he’d forgotten to breathe.
“Jacob?”
He blinked, swallowed hard. The world seemed to narrow around him. The sound of wind, the smell of earth — everything blurred until there was only her. Y/N. Every heartbeat in his body lined up with hers like they’d been rewired.
Oh, no.
Not her.
The pull slammed through him like gravity turned sideways. He could feel the others at the edge of his mind — the pack, the hive of thoughts he hated — and knew they felt it too.
Jake? Quil’s voice in his head was sharp with disbelief. No way.
He clenched his fists. “Shut up,” he muttered aloud.
Y/N frowned. “Excuse me?”
Before he could answer, a branch snapped behind them. The pack spilled out from the woods, drawn by the sudden flood of emotion echoing through their link.
Jacob’s jaw tightened. His entire body trembled with the effort not to explode.
Sam stepped forward. “Jake.”
“I know,” Jacob ground out.
“What’s imprinting?” Y/N asked, arms crossed.
Paul grinned. “It’s when one of us wolves meets their soulmate. Can’t fight it, can’t change it. Happens once.”
Y/N stared. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” Quil said cheerfully. “Congratulations, you just broke Jacob Black’s brain.”
“Shut up!” Jacob snapped.
The pack snickered; even Sam looked torn between amusement and concern.
Y/N took a step back. “Okay, this is officially insane.”
Jacob turned to her, panic and frustration battling behind his eyes. “It’s not— look, I didn’t—”
“Imprint on me?” she supplied, voice sharp with disbelief. “Yeah, that’s what they said.”
He exhaled hard. “I didn’t choose this.”
“Good. Because I didn’t either.”
Paul let out a low whistle. “This is going to be fun.”
Sam shot him a warning look. “Enough.” He turned to Y/N, voice gentler. “You should probably give him some space. This is… a lot.”
“Yeah,” Y/N said dryly, “I noticed.”
Jacob’s fists unclenched slowly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Never said you would.” Her tone softened — barely. “Just don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m the only person on the planet.”
Silence. Even the pack stopped breathing.
Y/N shook her head and turned toward the path. “Tell Bella I’m going home.”
She walked away before anyone could stop her.
The pack looked at Jacob.
“Man,” Embry said, trying not to grin, “you are so screwed.”
Jacob dropped onto a fallen log, elbows on his knees, hands buried in his hair. “You think I don’t know that?”
Sam sighed. “You’ll need to explain it to her. When she’s ready.”
“She hates me.”
“Not hate,” Quil said. “Mild loathing. Big difference.”
Paul smirked. “Still hilarious.”
Jacob threw him a glare. “Laugh it up, Lahote.”
But Paul’s grin faded as he caught the look in Jacob’s eyes — that raw, terrified vulnerability the imprint always carved open.
“Good luck, man,” he muttered, and followed the others back toward the house.
Jacob stayed there, listening to the sound of Y/N’s car engine fade. The bond hummed inside him like static, pulling in her direction. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push it away.
He whispered to no one, “Why her?”
The forest gave no answer.
By the time Y/N’s car hit the highway out of La Push, her hands were shaking. Not from fear — from disbelief.
Imprint. Soulmate. Wolves.
It sounded like a bad joke, the kind Jacob Black would’ve told just to annoy her. The only problem was that he hadn’t been joking. And those guys — that pack — had looked dead serious.
Her phone buzzed. Bella.
BELLA: What happened??
Y/N: Long story. He’s fine.
BELLA: Did you talk to him?
Y/N: You could say that.
She turned the phone face-down. Every time she blinked, she saw Jacob’s eyes — the exact moment something inside him changed. That look like he’d just been struck by lightning and could see nothing but her.
It made her chest hurt in a way she didn’t like to name.
⸻
Back at Sam’s place, the pack hadn’t moved far. Laughter bubbled and died in turns — half amusement, half disbelief.
Quil threw a chip at Jacob. “So… how’s your soulmate doing?”
Jacob didn’t even glance up. “Don’t start.”
Embry leaned against the railing. “She really doesn’t like you, huh?”
Jacob gave him a dead stare. “You think?”
Paul snorted. “Man, of all the girls in Forks — it had to be Bella’s friend? That’s poetic justice.”
“Shut up, Paul.”
Sam finally intervened, voice calm but firm. “Enough. He’s got a lot to process.”
“Understatement,” Jacob muttered.
Sam crouched beside him. “You know what this means, right? You can’t fight the bond, Jake. You’ll feel it pulling.”
“I already do,” he admitted quietly. “Like she’s still standing right in front of me.”
Sam’s expression softened. “You can learn to handle it. Give her space. Let her come to you when she’s ready.”
Jacob shook his head. “She’s never going to be ready.”
“Maybe not today. But someday.”
Jacob didn’t answer. He just stared into the trees, where her car had disappeared, and tried to steady the storm inside him.
⸻
Two days later, Y/N found herself back in La Push. Against her better judgment.
Bella had begged her to drop off a textbook Jacob had left at her place — an excuse so transparent even Bella looked guilty about it. But Y/N had agreed anyway. Maybe she wanted closure. Maybe she wanted to prove the whole thing was ridiculous.
When she parked near the beach, the pack was there again, throwing rocks into the surf. She spotted Jacob instantly — tall, broad, hair tied back, wearing the same expression she remembered: equal parts anger and guilt.
Embry saw her first. “Uh-oh.”
Quil grinned. “Round two.”
Jacob turned. The second their eyes met, the world tilted again — not as violently this time, but with the same inevitability. His heartbeat found hers like it couldn’t help it.
Y/N swallowed hard. “Bella asked me to bring this.” She held up the book.
He walked over, careful, every step measured like he was approaching a wild animal.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I didn’t want to,” she said plainly.
A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth — the first in days. “Still honest.”
“Still annoying,” she countered.
He took the book, their fingers brushing for a second too long. Heat sparked up her arm, the same dizzy pull she’d seen in his eyes. She pulled back quickly.
“Stop doing that,” she said, voice low.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“I can’t help it.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. “It’s not something I can turn off.”
She studied him, expression unreadable. “So you really believe all that? That I’m your… imprint?”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t just believe it. I feel it. Every second.”
“That sounds like obsession.”
“It’s not.” He hesitated. “It’s… connection. You don’t have to feel it back. But I can’t ignore it.”
For a moment, the only sound was the ocean.
From behind them, Embry called, “Want us to give you two a minute, Romeo?”
“Go away!” Jacob shouted without turning.
Laughter echoed down the beach.
Y/N crossed her arms. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”
“They always do.”
“Then maybe we should give them a show,” she said dryly.
Jacob blinked, confused — until he saw the faint curve of her mouth. She was joking. Sort of.
Despite himself, he laughed. It was short, rough, but real.
“Guess the apocalypse isn’t today,” she said.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Silence fell again, heavier this time.
He looked at her, every word tasting like surrender. “I didn’t want this to happen. Not like this.”
Y/N’s tone softened. “I know.”
“I don’t even know how to be around you without… whatever this is getting in the way.”
“Maybe you don’t,” she said. “Maybe you just… be around me anyway. And let it be weird.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “You think that’ll work?”
“No. But it’ll annoy you, which is a decent consolation prize.”
That earned a small smile.
Behind them, Paul muttered, “They’re totally gonna fall for each other.”
“Shut up,” Jacob said, not looking away from her.
For a second, everything else disappeared — the pack, the waves, the confusion. Just her standing there, steady and impossible, like the universe had dropped an anchor he couldn’t pull up.
Y/N exhaled slowly. “I’m not promising anything.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“But you’re not letting go, are you?”
He shook his head once. “Can’t.”
“Figures.”
She started toward her car. Halfway there, she glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t follow me.”
“I won’t,” he said. And meant it.
But as she drove away, the bond thrummed through him again — quiet but unbreakable.
Embry jogged up beside him. “So… that went well?”
Jacob groaned. “Shut up.”
“Hey, she didn’t hit you. Progress.”
Paul smirked. “Give it time.”
Sam’s voice cut through their laughter. “Leave him alone.”
The others wandered off, still snickering. Sam lingered. “You handled that better than I expected.”
Jacob rubbed the back of his neck. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“She’ll come around. Or she won’t. Either way, you’ll learn to live with it.”
Jacob looked out at the waves, eyes fixed on the horizon where Y/N’s car had vanished.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We’ll see.”
The wind carried the scent of rain and salt and something warmer — the lingering echo of her presence. It wrapped around him, both comfort and curse.
He stood there until the sky turned silver and the pack’s voices faded behind him.
And when the first drops of rain hit the sand, Jacob whispered what he hadn’t said to anyone:
“I didn’t want this.”
But even as he said it, he knew it didn’t matter.
The bond was already written in his bones.
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.
the moment they realize they’d do anything for you
fandom: twilight (quileute pack)
characters: sam uley, jared cameron, paul lahote, jacob black, quil ateara, embry call, leah clearwater, seth clearwater
tags/warnings: devotion themes, protective behavior, emotional intensity, imprint dynamics, soft moments, realization of love, deep attachment, hurt/comfort undertones, mentions of arguments, mentions of panic/worry, quiet intimacy, pack dynamics, romantic tension
Sam Uley
For Sam, the moment isn’t loud, it’s quiet. It’s late, the rain coming down soft and steady outside the cabin. You’ve fallen asleep on the couch, a blanket slipping off your shoulder. He’s across the room when he looks up and sees you, really sees you. Not as his imprint, not as someone he’s meant to protect, but as the center of his world.
And it hits him, this bone-deep truth that he would burn down everything if it meant keeping you safe.
He walks over, kneels by the couch, and carefully tucks the blanket back around you. His hand lingers, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
There’s a faint smile on his lips, the kind that holds more pain than joy, because it scares him, how much he feels.
“You have no idea,” he whispers, voice rough.
He thinks about the way you look at him, not as a leader, not as someone broken by guilt, but as Sam. Just Sam.
And in that moment, he knows he’d do anything. Stand against the pack. Walk away from everything he’s built. Anything, if it meant you’d never cry because of him again.
It’s not about obsession for Sam, it’s about surrender. The quiet kind that reshapes a man from the inside out.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
Jared Cameron
For Jared, it happens in the most ordinary way possible, you’re sitting cross-legged on the porch, a cup of coffee in hand, laughing at something he said. There’s no big moment, no danger, no fight, just you, sunlight on your skin, your laugh mixing with the sound of the ocean.
And then it hits him.
He’s done for. Completely, hopelessly.
His grin falters for half a second, eyes softening as he just stares. You don’t even notice, you’re still talking, still alive in the moment.
His heart does this strange flip, half warmth, half ache.
“You good?” you ask, smiling at him, and he just shakes his head a little, that dimple showing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m great.”
But inside, something shifts. The thought settles in deep: I’d do anything for her. Not because of the imprint, because of you.
Later that night, when you’re curled up in his hoodie, asleep on his chest, he whispers it aloud. “Anything. You just say the word.”
For Jared, love isn’t a vow, it’s an instinct. It’s already written in his pulse, in the way he moves closer when you sigh, in the way he’d throw himself between you and the world without a second thought.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
Paul Lahote
Paul’s realization is raw, like a punch to the chest. It happens after an argument, voices raised, emotions snapping like wire. You’d stormed off, and he’d let you, but the second you were out of sight, something broke inside him.
He’s pacing, furious at himself for letting it get that far, and then the thought comes, sharp and terrifying: I can’t lose her. Not her.
The anger fades into panic, his hands trembling slightly. He doesn’t even realize he’s shifting until his chest tightens, the wolf part of him clawing at the edges.
He finds you by the cliffs, sitting with your knees to your chest, eyes red.
When you look up, ready to argue again, he just shakes his head and says, “Don’t. Please.” His voice is low, breaking. “I can’t do this without you.”
You blink at him, confused by the rawness, but he takes a step closer. “You don’t get it,” he says, softer this time. “I’d fight anyone. Anything. Even myself, if it meant keeping you.”
Later, when you let him hold you, he presses his face into your neck and whispers, “You’re it for me.” It’s not a confession. It’s a truth that’s been there all along, he’s just finally admitted it to himself.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
Jacob Black
Jacob’s realization comes slow, steady, like a sunrise. He’s always cared deeply, that’s just who he is. But one day, while you’re sitting in the garage helping him tinker with the Rabbit, grease smudged on your cheek, he catches himself watching you laugh at his terrible jokes… and something inside him goes still.
It’s different. He’s loved before, but never like this. Never in a way that feels like his entire life just reoriented around someone else.
You ask him a question about the car, and he doesn’t even hear it at first, too busy watching the way the light hits your face.
“Jake?” you say, laughing a little, and he blinks, shaking his head. “Yeah, sorry. Just spaced.”
He smiles, but there’s something deeper behind it now. A realization, a weight. He’d give anything for you. Even the things he thought he’d never let go of.
That night, when you fall asleep against him, his arm curled protectively around you, he breathes in the scent of your hair and thinks, This is it. This is what home feels like.
He presses a soft kiss to your head, his voice barely a whisper. “Whatever happens, I’ve got you. Always.”
For Jacob, love isn’t just devotion, it’s purpose. It’s the anchor that steadies him, even when everything else threatens to pull him apart.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
Quil Ateara
For Quil, it happens so naturally he almost doesn’t notice it, until it hits him all at once. You’re sitting cross-legged on the sand, the bonfire painting your face in warm gold, laughing so hard you’re crying at something Embry said. And Quil’s just… watching you.
Not in the usual way, not with that easy smile and teasing glint. No, this time, it’s quiet. Still. He feels it hit him low in his chest, this warmth, this certainty.
He’d do anything for you. Without question. Without thought. Without hesitation.
He doesn’t even realize he’s stopped laughing until Jared elbows him and mutters, “Dude, you’re staring.”
Quil just grins, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says softly, eyes still on you. “Guess I am.”
Later that night, when you’re shivering a little from the ocean breeze, he shrugs off his hoodie and wraps it around your shoulders. You start to protest, but he just shakes his head.
“Don’t argue. You come first, remember?” he says, voice gentle but firm.
And that’s the moment it cements, this instinct that’s already written into his bones. The kind that says: I’ll always put you first. Always.
He doesn’t tell you that, though. He just smiles when you look up at him and say thanks, but inside, he already knows. He’s yours, and that’s never going to change.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
Embry Call
Embry’s moment comes on a rough day. You’d both had a fight, something small that grew too fast, too sharp. You walked away before either of you said something you’d regret.
He spends the next hour pacing near the tree line, the wolf in him restless, uneasy. Every instinct screams to go after you, but he waits, gives you space, like you asked. It’s agony. And that’s when it hits him: he’d do anything for you, even the hard things, even learning to hold back when every part of him wants to run to you.
He finds you sitting by the cliffs, staring at the water. You don’t turn when he sits beside you.
The silence stretches until he finally says, “I hate fighting with you.” His voice cracks just slightly.
You sigh, leaning against him, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours.
“You make me crazy,” he says softly, eyes on the horizon. “But I’d still pick you. Every time.”
And when you finally smile, small, tired, but real, he feels it all the way to his core.
That’s Embry’s truth: his love runs deep, steady, unshakable. He doesn’t need grand gestures or promises. Just that quiet certainty that no matter what, he’s yours, heart, soul, and everything in between.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
Leah Clearwater
For Leah, the realization scares her more than anything. She’s built walls so high she forgot what it felt like to want to let someone in. But then there’s you, patient, kind, stubborn enough to stay even when she tries to push you away.
It happens one night when you show up at her door after a long patrol, a bag of takeout in your hands and that smile she swears she doesn’t love. You sit with her, eat, talk about nothing, and when you finally fall asleep on her shoulder halfway through a movie, she freezes.
And then it hits her like a wave: I’d do anything to keep this safe.
She looks down at you, her jaw tightening because the thought terrifies her.
You murmur something in your sleep and shift closer, your hand finding hers, and her breath catches.
She squeezes your fingers gently, her chest aching with something soft and sharp at once.
“You’re trouble,” she whispers, but her voice shakes.
Later, when you wake up and smile at her like nothing in the world could go wrong, she realizes she’s done for.
For Leah, love doesn’t come easy, but when it does, it’s fierce. She’d fight the whole damn world for you, even if it scares her to admit it out loud.
︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶
Seth Clearwater
Seth’s realization is pure warmth. He’s always been loyal, always protective, but this? This is something deeper. It happens when you’re hurt, not badly, just a twisted ankle from tripping over a rock on one of your hikes. He panics anyway.
You’re laughing, brushing it off, but Seth’s already crouched in front of you, inspecting it like it’s the end of the world. His hands are gentle, his brow furrowed, his voice low with worry.
“It’s just a sprain, Seth,” you insist, but he shakes his head.
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I can’t carry you,” he says, and before you can argue, you’re in his arms.
You roll your eyes, but your heart stutters when you see the look on his face, that mix of focus and care, like you’re something precious he refuses to let break.
Later, after he’s patched you up and you’re sitting on his lap with ice on your ankle, he finally admits, “I don’t ever want to see you hurt. Not if I can stop it.”
And that’s when he knows, it’s not just protectiveness. It’s devotion. Pure and simple.
For Seth, love is selfless. It’s in the way he carries you, worries over you, makes sure you drink water after you cry. He’d give anything, do anything, just to see you safe and smiling again.
kinktober day 9: somnophilia, riding & overstimulation
pairing: top/seme male reader x imprint! jacob black
premise: after years of pining over bella, jacob unexpectedly imprints on you—and now he's determined to prove he doesn't love her anymore
postscript: how are we feeling about the coloring over the photos? I feel like it doesn't work as well with real-life humans as it does with drawings...should I keep it like this or switch it up when I write about real people characters?? also, I might edit this later since I haven’t given it a thorough proofread yet, so please bear with me if you see any changes made later on.
────────────────────────────────────────────
it had been around 2 weeks since jacob imprinted on you.
the whole ordeal had occurred after he got into it with bella and edward. again. it had become a recurring routine for him to butt heads with the vampire in an attempt to stay around bella, who everyone but him realized had no real solid intentions with him.
nobody had the heart to tell him, though, so instead they chose to keep the peace they themselves had with the shapeshifter and say nothing about it. of course, with your luck, you got stuck being the one that had to take a turn at comforting him after the quarrel happened.
sure, you were used to jacob's stubborn antics at this point, but that didn't make them any less annoying to deal with. you'd think that after running into the same damn wall of bella choosing edward over him, he'd take a hint, yet he never did. and you never had it in you to snap him out of the delusion. that's why right now, you were patting his back and giving small reassuring words while he stayed hunched over, with his head in his hands while sitting next to you.
"it's alright; she'll realize how much better you are one day," you reassured, really actually saying it more for the sake of the situation rather than to be realistic. you had long given up on trying to open jacob's eyes about how things actually were from an outside perspective, mainly now just focusing on saying whatever was needed to get him back on his feet.
you loved jake, and if lying to him at his most vulnerable state meant keeping him stable and happy, you'd do it till you lost your voice. he didn't need to know that, though. it's not like the feeling was exactly reciprocated with how open he was about his devotion to bella.
"I don't know (m/n)," jacob groaned into his hands, still too bummed out to actually move from his stance. he let his hands slide upwards and comb through his hair, leaning his head downwards and letting it hang in the process. "she's been with that stonehead for nearly three years now; I'm starting to lose hope in there ever being a reality where she picks me over him."
you internally cringed at his words, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. seriously, how dense could someone be? 'I get being in love can make you blind, but jesus, this is excessive,' you thought to yourself, only visibly letting out a long sigh before leaning your own upper body forward to be at level with jacob and taking hold of his chin, raising it up to meet your gaze.
"regardless of who she chooses, you need to remember that you're an amazing guy that any person would be lucky to have," you softly stated, letting a small smile fall on your lips.
that's when it hit him. the deep, intense feeling that targeted his chest before spreading to the rest of his body. he felt a wave of tranquil euphoria wash through him as he looked into your eyes. suddenly all the small but significant attributes on your face became more noticeable for him, and that gentle, caring stare you were giving him started causing a sensation he only thought possible to feel for one girl to fill his stomach.
ah, so this is what it felt like.
────────────────────────────────────────────
after that day, you noticed jacob starting to act...peculiar towards you. if you tried going over to him and making conversation, he'd go beat red and immediately make an excuse to get away. during patrol breaks when he and the other shapeshifters were lounging around, the instant you'd enter a room he was also in, they'd start making obnoxious noises before sam shut them up. he'd also begin to keep tabs on you. even though he wasn't talking to you, he'd check up on your whereabouts while in wolf form, silently stalking you before leaving to go complete his own missions.
it was all so odd. now it seemed like you were the only one unaware of what was going on while everyone around you seemed to have caught on centuries ago. you didn't bother thinking too hard about it, though. aside from all the recent weird behavior, it seemed that jake had miraculously lost his long-lasting crush on bella. he no longer seemed interested in going out of his way to see her, focusing more on his wolf pack duties and hanging around the tribe's circle—especially hanging around you.
one day when you were able to catch him before he ran away again, you brought up that change in him you'd recently noticed. "you know," you chirped, looking up at the sky before continuing your sentence. you were too enthralled by the clouds to take note of jacob's hazy stare. if it were possible for shapeshifters to, he'd swear he almost went into heat every time he hung around you too long. it didn't help that he naturally had an exceedingly high body temperature, so really, being in close proximity to you didn't make things any easier.
"I'm surprised you don't pay bella as much attention anymore. since, like, you're obsessed with her and stuff." you chuckled, smiling to yourself while your eyes shifted between different clouds. the mention of bella and jacob's feelings for her made his heart drop to his abdomen. right. you still believed he was in love with her.
"uh, yeah," he muttered out, his gaze shooting down to meet the ground beneath you two. "I think I'm just starting to lose the crush. haven’t really been thinking about her much as of recently."
you let out a hum in response, keeping your view glued to the sky. an awkward silence started to build around you both, so you decided to leave the topic alone and switch to something more digestible instead. but as you continued to pursue the conversation with jacob, you failed to realize that your mentions of bella caused something to become very clear in his mind.
he needed to prove to you he was over her.
────────────────────────────────────────────
the shapeshifter started to brew a plan that made you realize there was nothing going on between him and the human girl anymore. he even went through with making notes and such to brainstorm ideas that could help get the message across.
during patrol you were all he could think about. ever since he began working towards a plan, you'd gained an even bigger place in his head than before. and that was a problem for the rest of the pack, especially during the period they were in wolf form and could hear his every thought.
"dude, your thoughts are starting to get annoying to deal with," barked out paul, giving jacob a mean growl through his wolf form. "if you're not going to do anything about your feelings, stop making us victims of them."
jacob was about to snap at his companion until an idea dawned on him. he needed to do something. you were never going to get the message if all he did was ponder about it.
the moment patrol ended, he ran to your house while still in his shifted form, only retreating back to his human figure once he was in front of the establishment. the man was completely naked, not having considered shielding himself before booking it for your place. he went around the house to where your room was located, noticing you'd left your window open.
bingo.
as he pulled himself through the open segment of your home, he quietly landed on the floor of your room. you were sound asleep, not a single sign of you waking up being present. he gently trod over to your bed, slowly climbing in to best avoid any vigorous movement from your mattress.
he lightly peeled the blanket covering you off, sliding his hands down where your shorts and briefs were covering your lower half. pulling them down, your soft cock was revealed. wrapping a hand around your dick, he leaned his face lower to spit on it, using the saliva as a lubricant to make jerking you off easier. by this point you were starting to shuffle around a bit, not fully awake, but not exactly far from it.
your shaft started hardening in jacob's hand, his movements causing you to gain an erection even through sleep. he moved his head to be inches from your cock, licking a line up a vein that decorated the side of it and earning a low groan from you. afterwards he pulled back his head, inserting his index and ring fingers in his mouth as he wet them. he sucked on them until drool accumulated and leaked from the corners of his mouth. after he got them wet enough, he pulled them out of his oral cavity, placing his arm behind his back and aligning his finger with his hole, slowly using them to stretch himself open.
a small whimper left his mouth as a result of the stretch his fingers caused. he pumped the digits into himself while going back to your dick, making it his goal to get you completely hard. as his hand started gliding up and down your shaft faster, you started breathing harder, your oxygen intake becoming more rigid.
you eventually blinked your eyes open, becoming officially awakened from your slumber. looking around, you could barely make any sense of the situation before you. jacob was butt-naked on his knees, arched over and fingering himself while jerking you off with his other hand. were you actually awake?
the opportunity to wrap your head around the situation at hand was short-lived, however, as a guttural moan left your mouth when you attempted to ask the other male what he was doing, the pleasure of his hand butchering your effort for words. he looked up at you, his actions not halting in the slightest.
"oh, you're awake," he whispered, a strain accompanying his words. his own attempts to get words out, though successful, came out a bit unnatural due to voice's instability because of him pleasuring himself.
you wanted to take another go at speaking, but jacob cut you off from it. "at least you're conscious for the best part," he teased, standing upright on the bed before crawling over to be on top of your frame. you were too drowsy for this. falling into sleep had been the last thing you remembered, and now you had been awakened by your best friend trying to fuck himself on you.
with your mind still foggy, you didn't take any initiative to get the man off you, letting him place his hands on your chest and lower himself onto your cock. an audible whine left his throat; even through closed lips, the stretch of your dick was too much for him. the two measly fingers he'd prepped himself with were basically useless at the moment.
feeling your cock being swallowed into his tight, warm walls, you throw your head back. a ragged moan escaped your mouth, with no attempts to keep your voice down being made. you had completely forgotten that your parents were still under the same roof as you and could possibly hear something if too much noise was made. jacob, being the only one who seemed to remember this, slapped a hand over your mouth, muffling your moans while beginning to ride you.
"hahh-shit, you're gonna g-get us caught," he breathed out, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. it'd be bad for the both of you if anyone walked in on the scene. that didn't stop him from continuing his actions, though, rocking his hips and swaying them in circles around your cock.
you kept making noise through his palm, a stream of muffled moans being heard throughout the room. hopefully the sounds you were making didn't travel past it. your eyes began rolling to the back of your head as your release neared you. it was almost impossible to not finish fast when jake was the one whose walls you were in.
he was so warm. his body temperature made holding off on cumming near impossible. the sweat that was prickling through your skin in response to his physique's heat was nothing compared to how good your dick felt nestled inside him.
you tried informing jacob you were going to cum, but with his firm hand still blocking your mouth, all you could do was let some more groans leave you before your eyes rolled back, flooding his walls with all of your load.
jake let out a groan at the feeling of you filling up, purposely avoiding making any unnecessary movements that could lead to your semen leaking out of him whilst still chasing his high. by now you were borderline overstimulated, with your fresh-off-an-orgasm cock still being used for the other males' own pleasure.
your frame started to shake as his movements got harder, the creak of your mattress echoing throughout the walls of the room. after a few more seconds, jacob followed your lead and came too, ropes of cum spurting out onto both your bellies as he breathed heavily.
he let himself fall onto you, his full body weight on top of yours, while the both of you took a moment to catch your breath. all you could think about, though, during the period was how warm he felt. you could almost doze off and fall back asleep with how cozy he was.
moving your hands lower to grasp both of jake's hips, you gently lifted them upward to take your now soft cock out of him. he let out a disappointed groan from this, as your fluids started leaking down his thighs, but you didn't let it stop you from proceeding.
after having pulled out, you wrapped your arms around the other male, firmly cuddling him as you two relaxed into each other's touch. you were about to let the situation end like that and ask questions later, fluttering your eyes closed with the intention of going back to your slumber, with jake accompanying you this time, until—
creak. the sound of a door from another room in the house opening was followed by your father's voice telling your mom he was just going to check up on you out of concern for the "random noises" they heard.
This is what I'd do as a historian, ask Carlisle all about his past. So I had to push (y/n) into this scenario. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: The reader asks Carlisle to read her paper on Europe in the 1680s, asking him for his insights as somebody who has lived through these times. It's only a matter of time until their talks about history turn into something completely different.
Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), quite some fluff
Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader (2.7k words)
“Doctor Cullen?” Her voice trembled as she knocked on his door. With her heart in her throat, she held her gaze focused on the door, almost forgetting how to breathe as Carlisle opened it.
“(Y/n), how many times have I told you to call me Carlisle?” His soft chuckles rang in her ears as he stepped aside to let her into his office. She had known Carlisle for a while, had been introduced to him months ago after befriending Alice and being invited to come visit the mansion. It hadn’t taken long for everything to fall into place, for (y/n) to see through the lies and stories, and yet she still wasn’t used to accepting that her closest friends were the way they are.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you, but there is something I need your help with.” She sat down on the leather couch he had pointed at. With an encouraging smile shot her way, Carlisle urged her on to keep speaking.
“If I remember correctly, Alice told me you were born in the seventeenth century.” She was close to letting go of a laugh, it felt all too unreal to even speak this sentence. “And I was asked to prepare a paper on Europe in the 1680s, I was wondering if you could read it and share your experiences with me?”
As a history student, (y/n) felt like she had to seize this very opportunity, trying to ignore the excitement flushing through her system at the mere thought of listening to his stories. This felt like she was time travelling, being offered a one in a million chance, she simply had to take.
“Of course, (y/n), I would love to help you. Did you already write the paper?” She tried to ignore the heat flushing through her, fuelled by the strength of his gaze. (Y/n) wasn’t blind, she was all too aware of his attractiveness, and the undeniable attraction she felt for him. And yet she had always been too shy, too scared to even try and be close to the man who seemed to have an all too pure heart.
“I did, here, I printed it out earlier.” His golden eyes followed her every move as she reached for her bag to pull out her paper. Sparks shot down her spine the second their fingers brushed together, leaving her torn between the coldness of his skin and the heat of his intrigued gaze.
“The others will be out hunting tomorrow, but if you don’t mind being alone with me, I could read it today and you could come back tomorrow for a chat?” She had to look away for a moment. It was just a handful of seconds, seconds he picked up on all too easily. Carlisle's smile began to grow wider, adding more fuel to the fire burning inside of her, threatening to burn her right in front of his piercing eyes.
“That would be great, thank you, Carlisle.”
……
“Carlisle?” Her voice echoed through the mansion as she slowly took off her shoes. She heard him call for her, guiding (y/n) up the stairs and into the kitchen, where he seemed to be cooking.
“Alice told me you haven’t eaten yet, so I thought I could make you something.” Her heart skipped a beat in her chest, something she was sure he easily picked up on. It took her a while to move closer, touched by the sweet gesture. With a soft “thank you” rolling off her tongue, (y/n) took the plate from Carlisle to let the heavenly aromas surround her.
“Where did you learn to cook like that when you don’t even eat that stuff?” Carlisle’s hearty laughter filled the room. Pride simmered inside of her, taking every laugh rumbling through him as a big win. The food tasted better than everything she had ever eaten before, sure that she’d now ask him to cook for her whenever she was around.
“With endless time on my hands, I find myself picking up hobbies. I’ve always enjoyed cooking for others.” (Y/n) let go of another satisfied sigh before picking up her empty plate to carry it to the sink, shooting Carlisle a warning gaze as he tried to stop her from cleaning it. A comfortable silence filled the room, it wrapped itself around them like the soft morning breeze, tying them closer together with shared moments they wouldn’t tell the others about.
“Come, let’s go to my study.” He reached his hand out for her to take. It was a simple gesture, accompanied by a bright smile that made her feel as if she was dreaming. Her hand trembled while finding his, allowing Carlisle to lead her through the mansion she had been in too many times to count, making it feel like her second home.
“I have to say, I’m very impressed by your paper, (y/n).” Her eyes grew wider as she pondered over his words, staring at the man who sat down on the couch next to her. Carlisle had his eyes focused on the pages, thumbing through them again while (y/n) seized the seconds to study the handsome man, the face she’d see in sleepless nights whenever her mind started to wander.
“Can you tell me a bit more? It’s nothing I will add to the paper, I promise. But,” she struggled to put her thoughts into words, pondering over every syllable she feared could make her appear stupid.
“It’s alright, love, speak to me.” His hand found its way back to hers, leaving (y/n) torn between the touch and the way he had called her. A shaky breath left her, forcing her body to calm down before she could let him in on the thoughts buzzing through her mind.
“It’s just - I struggle to understand you have lived through all these things I study. And it feels surreal to have you so close and I want to ask you about every detail, which is probably stupid and invasive.” She didn’t dare meet his gaze, focusing on his cold hand rather than the eyes that always managed to draw her in. His other hand let go of the pages, only to reach for her chin, tilting it back up for (y/n) to get lost in his golden pupils.
“That’s not stupid, (y/n). I’m honoured you want to hear about my past and my experiences. I am happy to tell you all about it.” A soft smile tugged on her lips, growing even wider as he matched it. For a few seconds, no words were spoken between them, drawn closer by the returning silence with a comfortable touch both longed for. It would be easy for either one to close the distance between them, unable to fight against the pull that made them feel like two magnets made to fit.
“I’m afraid our time together is about to be cut short.” It only took a few more seconds for (y/n) to hear the sounds of the others returning, making her heart drop in disappointment. Slowly, Carlisle let go of (y/n), he rose to his feet only to watch her mimic his movements with an unreadable expression widening on her features. “Here, why don’t you read through the comments I left and if you have any more questions, we can chat about it some more?”
“That would be great, thank you, Carlisle.” She wasn’t sure what was guiding her at that moment, but before (y/n) could stop herself, she had shifted her weight onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. And without sharing another word, she disappeared from his office with heat clinging to her like a second layer of skin.
……
“No, that’s also a lie.” Carlisle’s laughter reverberated through her apartment, echoing off the walls of her living room. She had called him a while ago, wondering if he’d be up for another chat about her questions. It hadn’t taken him long to find his way to her, making himself comfortable as one question after another left (y/n) – something they had been doing for the past hours.
“How can that be? You just destroyed everything I know about the past centuries.” Another laugh left him before he pulled (y/n) closer. She found herself sitting closer to him, staring up at Carlisle who cupped her cheek with his cold hand. The electricity she felt whenever he touched her was back, buzzing down her spine to leave her heart racing.
“I’m sorry, it’s not my intention to disappoint you, love.” His thumb brushed over her warm skin, leaving her tingling and buzzing while shuffling even closer to him. No further word managed to leave (y/n) while she focused on Carlisle, letting her gaze flicker between his eyes and his lips. The pull she felt was growing stronger by the second, urging her on to close the small distance between them.
“Carlisle,” (y/n) whispered his name as if she hoped that he could understand what she was about to ask of him. And then he finally moved. Their lips clashed together urgently, perfectly fitting together as if they had been created for one another, having to endure years and centuries even while waiting for her to find him.
The kiss wasn’t interrupted once, not as she crawled into his lap, not as he tightened his grip on her neck to keep her close to him. It felt as if he was tasting her blood, high on the taste and scent that had never influenced him this much, begging him to own every part of her body. And for her it was a similar sensation, just as intense even though she had nothing to compare it to, not used to feeling this dizzy from a simple kiss.
“Don’t stop, don’t ever stop, please.” (Y/n) mumbled the words against his lips. Carlisle’s cold hands found their way beneath her sweater, carefully touching her skin while trying to keep some distance between them and that last line they were craving to cross.
“Talk to me, love. What do you want?” His mouth found her neck while he focused on the sounds of her racing pulse, of her pounding heart and her trembling breaths. He had her trapped, lured into his darkness as if he had always counted on her weakness.
“Everything, I want all of you.” Carlisle rose to his feet without a warning, tearing a squeal from (y/n). Within seconds he had carried her into her bedroom, only to toss her down on the comfortable mattress she was now laying on. She watched him pull out of his sweater, exposing a simple shirt that clung to his muscular upper body, a sight (y/n) would forever remember, taking it to the grave with her.
“If you want me to stop, you have to tell me. Don’t ever stop talking to me.” Their eye contact grew more intense after he had spoken his words, leaving her nodding. Carlisle helped her out of her clothes, moving all too slowly for her liking even though she appreciated him for offering her yet another way out.
“Touch me, please, Carlisle.” With only her panties left on, she felt exposed, vulnerable almost. But the second Carlisle exposed most of his body to her, she could no longer focus on herself, only on him, the cold skin she wanted to feel pressed against her, the body she felt like claiming. Carlisle settled between her thighs, eyes focused on her face as he kissed his way to her heat, pushing her damp panties aside to marvel at her.
“The most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.” His praise left her chuckling with glee, a sound that turned into a moan the second he brushed his tongue through her slit. Choked moans left (y/n) while her hands tugged on his golden roots, trying to pull him even closer. It felt as if she was about to make it to heaven, touched with such an urgency, she feared that this was nothing but a trick of her excited brain.
“Fuck, Carlisle, you’re so good at this, shit.” Two of his fingers were pushed into her, curled against her swollen spot while he took care of her pulsing bundle. It wouldn’t take her long to fall over the edge should he keep on touching her like this, making her feel as if she was his most prized possession, the only woman he’d ever touch with this much passion.
“I have you, love, give yourself to me.” The words gave her the sudden push, forcing her first orgasm through her while Carlisle kept fucking her with his fingers. Her sounds left him smirking, telling him that she had always wanted him as much as he had wanted her, drawn together by something neither could put into words until now.
“Carlisle,” she drew him closer, up her body to greedily kiss him. Their tongues fought for victory, while she tugged on his underwear, begging him to fully undress so that he could fuck her. Minutes passed by, minutes both used to prepare themselves for what was about to happen, to cross the last line that would keep them connected from this moment on.
“Are you sure about this? This will change everything.” Carlisle brushed her hairs out of her face, smiling down at (y/n) who looked at him as if he was her saviour, the one she’d forever fight for and love until her last moment on this earth.
“I’ve never been so sure of something before.” With a small nod thrown her way, Carlisle got rid of the last layers between them before he positioned himself at her entrance. He reached for her hand to interlace their fingers, holding her close while slowly pushing into her. Both moaned in unison, letting go of their sounds that clawed through them without giving either one a chance to hold back.
She felt perfectly stretched, full by everything he offered to her. (Y/n) never wanted to get out of this moment again, she could die a happy death like this, fucked by the man she had been crushing on, lured closer by her racing heart.
Carlisle didn’t hold back, he didn’t treat her as if she was close to breaking, no, he fucked her like he meant it. Every thrust was symbolic for the sensations they felt, the love growing stronger, the longing they no longer could deny. A perfect match that left them hungry for more.
No words managed to leave (y/n), she was already too far gone, fully concentrating on the feeling of Carlisle fucking her. His cold fingers took care of her pulsing bundle, adding just enough pressure to leave her trembling beneath him. Carlisle dipped his head down to kiss her, to swallow some sounds while his cock brushed her swollen spot with every calculated thrust.
“I won’t last long, Carlisle.” Her confession left him chuckling against her lips. Carlisle didn’t reply, at least not with words, but his thrusts grew faster, pushing her towards the edge once again. (Y/n) tried to scratch at his skin, desperate to hold onto him, but the second her orgasm clashed through her, she lost control of her body, giving herself fully to the sensation.
He kept fucking her, faster with every thrust. Carlisle drew some more moans out of (y/n) while groans kept leaving him, set on burying himself deep inside of her when he came. And with his forehead pressed against hers, he finally let go.
“Who knew sex with a man who is over three hundred years old could be this good?” (Y/n)’s whispers left both laughing. She allowed herself to keep studying him, letting her fingers brush through his strands, while promising herself that she’d live this to the fullest, wherever their path together would lead them.
May I request the Cullen's responding to reader adopting a little one? I have a 1 yr old I nanny and she is SUCH a doll baby I love her 😭😭
THE CULLENS' REACTION TO THEIR PARTNER ADOPTING AN INFANT
a/n: sure! here you go, and apologies if it is messy, i was making it alongside the upcoming bella swan one-shot. and aww, what's the kid's name if you don't mind me asking? also, i usually do yandere cullens and yandere volturi but because you didn't specifically ask for a yandere version of them, i will be making a regular version for each member. apologies again if it doesn't fit your request. i wrote this after taking three naps and i will take another one soon, so it might be different than expected. either way, i hope you enjoy it!
i have to complain a little. tumblr sometimes doesn't save my draft and i end up having to redo my work again. though sometimes, it's a shame because i spent a good chunk of my time finding good aesthetics for each of the cullens, only to discover halfway that i'm only able to upload ten images in a post. :(
masterlists & requests: before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.
EDWARD CULLEN — THE MIND READER
Compared to some vampires, Edward is actually quite happy that you adopted a little one. Although he was very worried at first—especially because of the Volturi and what they might do to you, since you're still human—he prioritizes your happiness above all else. You had chosen to stay with him, fully aware of the risks, and due to these events, he plans to turn you sooner than originally planned, just in case the Volturi decide to act. Still, aside from his concerns, he is genuinely happy. He truly wants a family with you, though he knows he’s unable to have one in the traditional sense due to his vampire genes. He sometimes beats himself up over it, wanting so badly to make you happy. So when you chose to adopt the little one—after one of your relatives decided to give their child up for adoption—it gave him a chance to experience a more human life with you. Since the baby is biologically related to you, she also shares some of your features, which Edward loves deeply. It makes him feel like a small part of you lives within her, too. He fulfills his duties as a father incredibly well. Being a vampire, his skin is cold to the touch, which made it harder for the baby to warm up to him at first. But his cool skin ended up soothing her teething pains, and over time, she grew curious about him and slowly began to trust him. He's always there during the night—mainly because he physically can’t sleep—so he takes on all the nightly duties without hesitation. Oddly enough, as time passed, the baby even started to resemble Edward a little. She began preferring to go to him over you, which quickly became a running joke in the family.
—
CARLISLE CULLEN — THE DOCTOR
He's quite open to the idea. This man literally turned and adopted so many people into his coven—it makes sense that he would be open to it. Still, he entrusts this decision to you, since having a baby is a life-changing and serious commitment. He doesn’t specifically desire a little one, but he doesn’t oppose it either. You already act like a mother to his adopted children, so he’s not at all surprised by your desire to adopt a baby. Most likely, you found the child through his job at the hospital—maybe a baby abandoned there after the mother refused to raise them for whatever reason. You were the one who held the baby's small hand the entire time they were in the hospital, and of course, Carlisle noticed. Since he places full trust in your judgment, he made sure you understood the risks. He loves you deeply and wants you to be able to make the choice for yourself without regrets or heartbreaks later on. Thankfully, everything turns out well, and the baby comes home with the two of you. He’s concerned at first, since the adoption must be kept hidden from the Volturi or else consequences will be faced, but he relaxes more once he finds a way to keep the baby hidden. One of the best things about Carlisle is that he's a doctor. If the baby gets sick, he’s the first to know and quick to act. He also puts in the effort to prepare a suitable diet and adjusts the house to make it more baby-proof for the newest addition to the family.
—
ALICE CULLEN — THE PSYCHIC
Alice can literally see the future, so she wasn’t at all surprised when you brought a baby home. In fact, you were met not with shock from her but with an overwhelming number of baby items, especially clothes, lots and lots of clothes. She even had a nursery already set up with many decorations, which tells you that she had been preparing for this for a while. Even though she had seen it coming, she was careful not to act too soon. She didn’t want to accidentally change the future she’d seen by interfering, so she waited patiently. Alice was one of the most excited parents when the adoption finally became official. She had spent time learning everything she could about babies and parenting, not just to be helpful, but because she really wanted to be involved. She welcomed the little one with open arms as though she’d been waiting her whole life to meet her. However, despite her gift, Alice sometimes struggled when it came to the baby. For once, she found herself hesitant to look too far ahead. She didn’t want to rely on visions to watch the baby grow, she wanted to experience it in real time. The thought of how quickly childhood would pass made her nostalgic before it even ended, and it left an ache in her chest. Because of that, she spent more time with you and the baby and cherish every moment. There was no telling what the future would hold, whether the child would choose a human life or eventually be turned, but Alice chose to be present and to make the most of now.
—
ROSALIE HALE — THE BEAUTY
Out of everyone, Rosalie is, of course, the most delighted to see you adopting a baby. She was probably the one who encouraged you to do so in the first place—especially if, for whatever reason, she had been unable to herself. Rosalie had always wanted a baby, and even more so after finding you, her beloved partner. But there were always problems that came up between the two of you, delaying the adoption for far too long. So when the process finally neared its end and became official, she was beyond excited. Throughout the process, she devoted herself to spending as much time with the baby as she could. Whenever you couldn’t, and whenever she was allowed to. She just wanted to be near her baby already. And yes, even though there was always a chance the adoption might not go through, Rosalie still adored the child unconditionally from the start. When the baby finally came home to the two of you, she barely let them leave her arms unless she had to go for feeding. Having her human life taken away from her was a terrible thing and she didn't want her child to experience or anyone else for that matter, which was one of the reasons you were still human. She just doesn't want to miss a single moment with you and the baby. She does know the consequences of raising a human baby but instead of mourning of the possibilities, she would rather spend it to cherish more of her loved ones. She just doesn't want to miss a single moment with you and the baby. Rosalie constantly makes sure to provide for both of you, ensuring that nothing is missing in your lives. But really, what else could be missing when her little family is finally complete?
—
JASPER HALE — THE SOLDIER
Jasper was bloody terrified. Have you seen him around humans in general? He's still having a hard time controlling himself around them, let alone handling a harmless and innocent baby. He's not one to question your decision—he respects you and knows you knew what you were doing—but this time, he was dumbfounded and frightened. Whenever the baby even entered the same room as him, he immediately left, not wanting to risk even smelling the little one for fear of losing control in that moment. However, he knew he couldn’t let his thirst dictate his life forever, so he began training more with Carlisle and Emmett. It caused a distance between the two of you since he didn’t want to burden you with his struggles. Over time, he gained better control, but he was still too afraid to approach the baby. He remained cautious even around you, unable to shed the mindset that he might be a danger. That all changed one day when the little one cried out for Jasper for the first time, reaching their hands up toward him. He froze completely, stunned, but the baby continued to call out, insistent. Finally, Jasper gently picked them up. His posture was awkward, holding them in a stiff, clearly uncomfortable position, but the baby calmed down almost immediately and looked up to him, babbling a little. To his surprise, Jasper didn’t feel his thirst at all, only awe. He was overwhelmed, not by temptation, but by wonder of the life in his arms. And from that moment on, he was a great father to the baby, always gentle and patient. In fact, the baby became one of his greatest teachers and helped him learn to control his thirst more than anything else ever could.
—
ESME CULLEN — THE LOVER
Esme was overjoyed. Like the others, if anyone was going to welcome a baby into the family with unconditional love from the very beginning, it was her. She didn’t hesitate for a second, her heart was all in the moment she saw the little one in your arms. Esme has always had a mother’s heart, and though she’s long carried the grief of her own lost child, she never let that pain harden her. She took the child in without question, regardless of their past. The baby had been living as an orphan, and you couldn’t bear to leave them alone, especially in a world where people could be so greedy and cruel. Esme understood that instinct perfectly. She immediately stepped right in to help, always gentle and nurturing to the infant. She supported your decisions throughout it all, and made sure you never felt alone in any of it. She had already baby-proofed areas of the house you hadn’t even thought of yet and had meals, supplies, and warm support ready before you could ask. Esme’s love for the baby grew naturally, like it had always been there waiting. She spent quiet mornings cradling the little one, telling stories, and humming lullabies that no one had heard in decades. She ended up staying in the house most of the time due to the baby, but didn't mind for it and was quite happy over it, even though she liked to venture outside to cook for others. She always seemed to know exactly what the baby needed before anyone else did, sometimes even before you did. To Esme, the baby was not just your child. She was family. And she treated her as such from the start—with a love so deep and steady, it felt like home.
—
EMMETT CULLEN — THE JOKER
Emmett was shocked at first, but in the best way possible. He blinked at the sight of the baby in your arms, then grinned like it was the greatest surprise of his life. He might not have seen it coming, but once it happened, he was all in. The baby had come from a troubled background, a special case that not many would’ve known how to handle but Emmett did in his own way. He made it his mission to keep her feeling safe and loved without ever overwhelming her. He was always patient as well whenever she cries for no reason. He brought fun into the quiet moments with silly faces, small jokes, and light games meant just to make her smile. He never pushed and when the baby finally trusted him, she always cling to his shirt or reaching for him with sleepy eyes. And as always, he held her like he’d never let her go. Despite his size and strength, Emmett was incredibly gentle with her. He adapted fast, learning how to feed her, soothe her cries, and even rock her to sleep with a soft hum. He sucked at all of it at first, but he learned quick over time from Carlisle since he had more experience in interacting with children. You often found them together, her tiny form resting in his arms while he continued the story he was telling, usually about Mulan or Rapunzel. He took his role as a father seriously, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. That baby was his little girl now and has been ever since you stepped foot into the room with her in your arms. And even though the past couldn’t be erased, Emmett made sure that her future was filled with comfort, joy and a whole lot of love.
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