the moment jacob imprinted on you, it hit him like a collision.
one second he was walking through the woods. the next, your laugh cracked through the trees and he froze. the world tunneled. everything else faded.
and you, you, suddenly became the center of his universe.
for days after, he couldn’t stop staring at you.
not in a creepy way, but in the i-don’t-know-how-i-ever-lived-without-you kind of way. the pack teased him mercilessly for it.
“jake, dude. seriously, you’re smiling at your phone like she’s gonna text by telepathy.”
“shut up, paul.”
jacob was terrified to tell you about the imprint at first. not because he didn’t want it. god, he wanted you. but because he didn’t want you to feel pressured.
“you’ve got a choice,” he said, quietly, eyes locked on yours. “even if the universe picked you for me… you still get to pick me, too.”
when you finally admitted you felt it too. that inexplicable pull, that comfort in his presence, the way his arms felt more like home than your own bed, he physically exhaled in relief. then pulled you into the tightest hug you’d ever felt.
jacob is fiercely protective of you. not possessive, but primal. the moment anyone makes you uncomfortable, he’s beside you in a blink, tall and broad and unreadable.
“everything okay?”
just those two words. calm, low, and absolutely threatening.
his wolf instincts are always on when it comes to you. you could be across the field at a bonfire, talking to someone else, and he still notices the way your shoulders tense or your fingers fidget.
he’s always watching, always tuned in to your energy.
you calm his wolf better than anything else. when he phases back after a bad patrol, he finds you. buries his face in your neck. breathes you in.
“you keep me human,” he whispers once. “don’t even know if you realize it.”
physical affection is nonstop.
jacob is a furnace and he’s always wrapping around you. laying his head in your lap, pulling you into his hoodie, holding your hand under the table like he needs the anchor.
and when you’re not around, he wears your scent like armor.
the first time you get sick or hurt? jacob panics.
he’s at your side in seconds, flustered, pacing, asking if you need anything, until you tug on his shirt and say, “just stay.”
so he does. he stays until you fall asleep. and then longer.
imprint fights hit differently.
not because you argue often, but because when you do, it hurts. like a soul-level tear. he can feel your pain, and it drives him mad.
he’ll give you space if you ask, but he paces, restless, desperate to fix it.
“i hate when we’re like this. i can’t… breathe right without you.”
the bond gives jacob this uncanny ability to know what you need before you do.
he shows up with your favorite snacks after a long day. hands you his hoodie when you’re just starting to feel cold. pulls you into his chest the second your anxiety spikes, even if you haven’t said a word.
he’s so gentle with you. for someone who’s built of muscle and heat and power, he holds you like you’re made of light.
jacob kisses your temple like a promise. runs his thumb along your jaw when you’re tired, like he’s reminding himself you’re real.
sometimes you wake up and find him staring at you, eyes warm, voice still raspy from sleep:
“how’d i get so lucky?”
and when you say you love him. genuinely, freely, not because of the imprint but because you chose him, he breaks. full-body stillness, eyes wet, voice cracking.
“you mean that? you really… love me? because, god, i’ve loved you for so long, i don’t know how to be without you anymore.”
jacob black is so touchy once you’re together.
he always has a hand on you, wrapped around your waist, fingers laced with yours, a casual arm draped over your shoulders, even when you’re just standing in line somewhere.
it’s instinctive. protective. warm. grounding.
he calls you “babe” most of the time, but sometimes, when he’s sleepy or worried, he murmurs “sweetheart” under his breath like he doesn’t even realize it’s slipped out.
he builds you things. shelves, little wooden carvings, a custom seat for the back of his bike. he never says it outright, but he wants to leave his mark in your space. proof that he’s there, and not going anywhere.
you always know when something’s wrong because jacob shuts down. his jaw clenches. he gets quiet. he’ll go on a run to clear his head, but when he comes back, he always wraps you in the tightest hug, like he needs to feel you breathe just to calm down.
you once told him, half-jokingly, that you liked wolves. now he brings you random little wolf trinkets and says things like “thought you’d want something that looked like me,” with a cocky smirk and that damn dimple.
the first time he got really hurt on patrol, he tried to hide it. didn’t want you to worry. you found out anyway and lost it on him, tears in your eyes. he was stunned into silence.
the next day, he showed up with a small first-aid kit and asked if you could keep it “just in case.” he never hides injuries again.
jealous jacob is very real.
even if someone just looks at you the wrong way, his entire body tenses. you’ll grab his hand and squeeze it to ground him, whispering, “you’ve got nothing to worry about, jake.” he just kisses your knuckles and glares at the guy over your shoulder anyway.
the pack knows not to make any comments about you around him.
once, paul made a teasing joke, and jacob had him pinned to a tree in seconds. “say something like that again, and i’ll send you to the fucking hospital.”
he loves when you sit in his lap. like… loves it.
especially when you’re both hanging with the pack and you settle there without thinking. he gets all smug and wraps his arms around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
he’s surprisingly insecure at times. not because of you, but because he worries he’s too much. too intense, too broken, too wrapped up in the world he didn’t choose.
you always make him look at you when he spirals, pressing your hand to his chest and saying, “you’re more than enough. and you’re mine.”
jacob leaves your favorite snacks in your bag or car when he knows he’ll be gone for patrol. they’re always labeled in sharpie:
“for my girl. don’t forget to eat.”
“miss you already :(.”
“my pretty girl, i love you.”
jacob is so softly obsessed with you. the way you talk with your hands. how you hum while brushing your teeth. the little crease in your brow when you read. he memorizes it all.
sometimes, when you’re sleeping, he stays up just watching you. he brushes your hair back, traces the curve of your cheek with his finger, and whispers, “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”
when you say “i love you” out of nowhere, he melts. no matter how many times you say it, it still stuns him.
it’s raining and you’re bored. your boyfriend proves to be an effective distraction (if you can distract him, that is) OR in which jacob is busy and you like to cause trouble. based off this drabble!
jacob black x fem!reader, 2k words. suggestive content 16+ pls!!
The rain is unforgiving today. It’s not uncommon for it to be wet in Forks, the rain a persistent, stubborn thing, but today it’s horrendous. Heavy and icy cold, big fat droplets that seem sure to pierce your skin and freeze you to death. It hasn’t stopped since last night and doesn’t seem like it’ll stop for a good few days.
You’re bored out of your mind. You realise rain just comes with living in Forks, and you’re mostly used to it, but you’d really wanted to go shopping with your friends today and the rain squandered your plans the moment you woke up. Jacob’s busy working on his bike in the shed, and everyone else is rained in. You’re stuck on the couch at Jacob’s while the rain comes down in sheets outside. You flick through channels on the TV until you can’t stand it anymore. There’s nothing good to watch, anyway.
You grab one of Jacob’s jackets from the hook by the door and brave the rain, using the jacket as a makeshift umbrella as you jog your way over to the garage, shoes sloshing in the mud.
You find Jacob sitting on the beat-up wooden bench, hunched over his newest project. It’s a bike he found second hand at a yard sale — when he first got it, it looked to you an unrecognisable hunk of metal, hardly a bike at all. But your boyfriend has a way with his hands, and now it at least has two wheels and a proper seat.
Jacob looks up as you come in, though the sound of the rain completely covers your footsteps.
“Hey, trouble,” he says. Then, at the look on your face, “You okay?”
Your frown deepens. “No,” you shake your head. “I’m bored, Jake.”
Jacob chuckles. Trust him to laugh at you when you’re clearly suffering.
“Yeah?” He asks. “You want to come help me?”
You take one look at the frankly confusing array of tools around his feet, and wrinkle your nose. “No, thanks. Can’t we go for a drive?”
Jacob wrinkles his nose back at you. “I’m busy, babe. And the road’s slippery, it’s dangerous. Maybe later.”
You roll your eyes. He can be such a grandma sometimes. Jacob goes back to his bike and you wander around the shed looking for something to do and moping. After a half assed search for some way to entertain yourself, you find an old novel you or Jake must’ve left in here a few months ago — you remember starting it and getting bored, but you’re already knee deep in boredom with no way out, so you decide to give it another try.
You sit in the bed of Jacob’s truck where it’s parked in the back of the shed, legs swinging over the edge. The rain drums rhythmically above you as you start reading. It takes about ten pages for you to get bored again, and five more for your mind to start wandering.
You think about how you could’ve been out shopping right now. Looking at all the lovely dresses in the new store they opened near the cinema. Sorting through books at the second-hand bookstore. Choosing a pretty new bra that you know Jacob would love seeing on you, and taking off of you. The thought gives you an idea. Unceremoniously, you give up on the book and slide off the truck bed, crossing the room to Jacob.
He doesn’t lift his head as you come up behind him, but acknowledges you with a brush of his knuckle to your thigh. You stand over him for a moment, watching him work. He looks hot when he’s concentrated, eyes trained in on his work, jaw set in concentration, arms muscles straining as he twists a particularly stubborn screw. He’s got big, strong hands, which only fuel your desire even more. What’s the best way to drag him away from his work?
“Did you want to help?” Jacob asks without looking up, interrupting your thoughts. You’re lucky he doesn’t catch you staring, or he’d figure out your plan in an instant.
You shake your head. “No. I’m just watching you.”
Jacob hums and goes back to what he’s doing, which happens to involve a lot of strained muscles as he tightens another loose screw with a wrench. You’re holding your breath as you watch his tanned bicep strain beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, and yeah, you’re a minx, but he’s really hot, and you don’t think anyone would blame you for reaching out and touching him.
Jacob doesn’t startle under your touch nor does he acknowledge it. You play it off casual, like you’re only rubbing his shoulder, palm gliding over the hill of it. You can feel his abnormally high body heat through his t-shirt, a nice change from the cold air. You find yourself pushing your hand down the expanse of his shoulder blade and up again, pressing the heel of your palm into his muscle.
Jacob sighs a little under your touch and rolls his shoulder back, leaning into your hand.
“Feels nice,” he murmurs.
You grin. This far into your relationship you’ve learnt that Jacob is a lot like a puppy when it comes to physical affection — he’s a total sucker for it, he melts for shoulder rubs and back scratches, and he turns to complete putty in your hands when you play with his hair (though you won’t implement that just yet.)
Instead, you just hum softly, smiling to yourself as you press both hands to his shoulders. He’s equally warm and muscled all over, and at this point it would take a hoard of vampires to hold you back from touching him. You get a good grip on his shoulders and push your palms into his muscles, massaging him.
It’s mean, because you know what it’ll do to him, know exactly what kind of mood it gets him into. Still, it’s not until you start to push your hands further up towards his neck that he confronts you.
He turns to face you, a knowing look in his eyes.
“Did you want something, sweetheart?” He asks, and you can tell you’ve begun to unravel him by the way he says it, plus he’s called you sweetheart, which almost certainly means he’ll give in.
You feign innocence, though the look on his face almost unravels you.
“Nope,” you lie. “Just watching.”
Jacob raises his eyebrows at you. “You sure? You’re being awfully touchy.”
“You’re really warm,” you say, shrugging.
Jacob squints at you, then shrugs. “If you say so,” he says, and (looking like he’s exercising quite a bit of restraint) turns back to his bike.
You stay where you are and give him about five minutes of peace before you start being cruel. Keeping one hand at the base of his neck, you slide the other up the back of it, pushing up into his hair. You card your fingers through the short strands at the very nape of his neck, and Jacob goes very still. You think he’s holding his breath. When you push your hand further up into the longer strands, and let your nails drag over his scalp on the way back down, he folds.
“Alright, that’s enough,” he murmurs. He drops his tools, scrubs his hands on his jeans and spins on you, hooking one leg over the wooden bench, straddling it so he can properly face you. He‘s giving you a dangerous look that makes your heart race. Finally.
You blink at him, a picture of innocence. “What’s the matter?” You ask sweetly, though you know your smile gives you away. As if you weren’t caught red handed already.
Jacob huffs and rolls his eyes, before grabbing your hips and pulling you forward roughly. You go tumbling into his lap and he catches you, hands hot on your jeans, adjusting you until you’re properly sitting in his lap. Your legs fall on either side of his hips and you giggle, pleased and flustered at his manhandling.
Jacob gives you a somewhat disapproving look, though his thumb rubs fond circles into the fat of your hip.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” He says in a low voice. His eyes flicker to your lips. He looks a bit like he wants to eat you.
“Sorry,” you say. You are kind of sorry for disturbing him, but the heat building in your chest outweighs the guilt. “I was really bored.”
Jacob laughs through his nose. “Yeah, I know, babe.” He spread his hands over your hips and butt and pulls you closer still. Your hands end up on his shoulders again. “You always know how to get what you want, huh?”
Something about the way he’s talking to you makes you so dizzy you can’t speak. You’re silent as Jacob dips his head to press a kiss to one of your wrists, then takes it in his hand and guides your hand up his neck and back into his hair.
“Keep going?” He asks in a quiet voice, encouraging your hand around the back of his head. “Please?”
Well, when he asks like that, how could you say no? You curl your fingers into his hair and Jacob barely gives you time to breathe before he’s kissing you, mouth landing on yours in the sort of kiss you can only describe as desperate. You’re equal amounts of needy as him, pushing forward in his lap and grabbing at his hair with greedy hands.
The rain thunders overhead. Jacob tilts his head, kissing you until your lips part under the pressure. His tongue slips into your mouth and your stomach swarms with butterflies. You grip Jacob’s hair harder, ensuing a sound from him like an angry dog, half moan half growl. It seems your touching earlier got him in exactly the mood you knew it would.
It’s not long before his hands start to wander. First your ass, then your arms, rubbing up and down as he kisses you hard enough to make you forget where you are. Then back to your hips, and you can feel the scalding heat of his hands through your jeans. He grabs you and tugs you further up his lap, close enough that your legs spread as you press against his bulge.
“Jake,” you whisper.
“Mmm,” he moans back. Then pulls away just an inch, lips swollen and forehead pressed to yours. “What, babe?”
You shake your head, breathless. “Nothing, just feels nice when you do that.”
Jacob ducks in to kiss you again. “Yeah?” He murmurs between hot kisses, sounding both pleased and a bit dangerous.
You nod your head, and it’s all it takes for Jacob to rock you against him again, pushing his hips up into yours as he goes. You moan and Jacob makes a similar sound from the back of his throat, heating you all the way through.
It quickly turns into not just kissing after that. Jacob’s kisses turn sloppy. You push your hands under his shirt to feel along the ridges and planes of his chest and abdomen, his skin like a furnace. Jacob guides your hips forward and back and forward again, grinding you against him slowly and breathing hard into your open mouth.
You forget about the rain, the pounding of your heart much louder than the downpour outside. You forget about the cold, your failed shopping trip, and the boring book abandoned in the bed of the truck.
It’s not long before Jacob’s got his hand on your thigh and a warm ache sweet as honey has bloomed between your legs.
Jacob’s busy kissing at your neck, bullying your skin with his teeth and tongue while you go breathless. His hand trudges further and further up your thigh until it’s high enough to abuse the waistband of your jeans.
His hand roves along the length of it, until he reaches the button. He tugs at it, mumbling into your neck a barely intelligible, “Can I?”
You nod vigorously, and your breath catches as he unfastens the button — his thumb skims over your underwear and you make a needy sound you can’t help.
Jacob emerges from your neck, smirking like mad. You’d say you hate him for it, but his thumb is tracing the hem of your underwear and you can’t speak.
“Not so bored now, huh?” Jacob teases in a low voice, but he’s out of breath too. You’ll tease him later for how quickly you managed to unravel him, but right now you can’t form more than two words.
“Shut up,” you manage, then make sure of it by pressing your mouth to his again.
He shuts up.
-
thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍
Description: Paul finally apologizes for the scar(s) he gave you when he saw you for the first time.
Pairing: Paul Lahote | Human mate!You.
Warning(s): Paul's anger, possible past angst, fluff, Paul is a crazed mess for you, size kink (duh), imprinting/mates, abo!verse but you're human, possessiveness, fingering, cunnilingus (worship), breeding kink, licking, biting, smut with plot because oh God I can never stop myself, teasing, pet names, unprotected p-in-v, overstimulation, manhandling, light dom!Paul because I am still me. MDNI.
Type: Request, for the sweet @wishyouloveme, here.
MASTERLIST
Just like any other day.
. . .
It hit Paul like a freight train and caused sweat to form in ice cold drops on his otherwise warm skin. He had just returned from patrol with Embry and was spread over Emily's dining table whilst stuffing his face with the food she had cooked for them. Everything was fine and dandy. It was a pleasant day and the weather was nice and cool. Soon, he would be done with his daily obligations and then he would go home.
But then Sam came up behind Emily who was standing next to her mate's seat at the head of the table, one hand on the frame and other on her hip as she listened to Seth drone on and on about something that Paul's voice refused to register due to what unfolded next.
The pack leader's strong arms snaked around the waist of his delicate lover as he nuzzled his nose into her hair until the tip had found its way past the dark strands and against her tender cheek until it was caressing and tracing the scars he had left on her.
All blood drained from Paul's skin and something in his head clicked. His surroundings faded to a dim buzz and the next few moments went by in a blur.
And then he was standing in front of home.
“Paul!” You yelp in surprise at the sight of your nude lover. He usually dresses himself at Sam's house after patrols before coming home to you.
Since you are human and your initial experience with the pack had both been overwhelming -thanks to your lover imprinting on you the first chance he was given- and traumatizing -as said lover who was much worse at controlling his primal urges back then had lost control at the sight of you because he was so overcome with raw, foreign emotion he did not know how to process-, you prefer to keep by yourself near the outskirts of the community in a house that Paul had moved in with you upon your request.
The pack life is simply too loud and… public for you; a city girl used to her secluded places and treasured privacy.
You notice that Paul is panting -which is very unlike him due to his superhuman strength- and a redness outlines his eyes when his huge form approaches yours. “Are you— Paul!” You gasp and nearly flinch from both the shock and impulse when he lets his heavy body collapse on its knees in front of you. “What the hell happen—” you never know with your hyper emotional mate.
His long fingers push your sweater up and out of his way so he can stroke the soft skin of your stomach with the tip of his nose, his head nuzzling into your chest as his dark eyes flutter close and he inhales a deep whiff of your scent. It is the only thing that never fails to calm your hot blooded lover down.
“What's wrong?” Your voice lowers to a concerned mumble as you peer down at him, your fingers cradle the dusky skin of his handsome face -as much of it as you can reach- and your nails rake through the male's jet black mass of short hair. “Honey?” He only behaves like this if something went wrong or when he is in need of comfort, which are both rare occurrences as he is the usual caretaker in your relationship. But you aren't a complete stranger to him acting like this.
Ever the uncommunicative one, the male only sighs— no, whimpers against your skin as if he's wounded and softly feels your skin with gentle caresses of his fingers. Words require thought, patience and wisdom. Unfortunately, Paul's instinctual mind runs too fast for those things to catch up with it in time and rash actions get carried out before better sense can supply him from its store.
“Paul…” A shiver runs down your spine when his lips that had begun to softly peck your navel find their way up your stomach before they halt to ghost over the healed, plum coloured lesions that stretch across your tender skin in menacing shapes akin to claw marks. “What are you doing?” Though he never mentions or discusses it verbally due to the guilt he feels, sometimes Paul becomes hyper aware of the scars of his unmediated passion that mar your skin and tries to make up for them in his own wordless ways.
Except, this only ever happens when you're underdressed or the two of you are indulging in activities typical to couples and the sight of them reminds him of their cause. He has never stormed into the house stark naked and marched up to you like an unreadable oversized pup on the brink of tears like this.
“I am sorry.” You nearly jump due to how unexpected the sound of his words are. Usually he just sulks in silence. “Baby, I am so sorry” Paul never speaks when he is in one of these moods. Especially when he is experiencing bouts of guilt for his actions during his first encounter with you. “Oh, God” his body grows heavy against yours as he practically pushes his face into the crevices like he wants to become one with them and fill them back up to their original state with parts of himself.
“Paul— oof!” Your smaller body yields to his weight and the ground slips from underneath your feet. “D- Did the guys say something?” You fear the worst as Paul's protective hands catch you before your back can hit the wooden ground and you cannot help but whimper from how his lips lock with the scars in thick, desperate and hurried apologetic kisses.
Paul and his pack mates play rough and sometimes they go too far with the teasing. So though he clings to the tough guy act in front of them, he dismantles into you once he is home if their words ever get too far. Yes, the tussling and fighting is not enough if it's serious. And just sometimes, when it gets too much for him to bottle it up, he shares some of it with you. But most often not, since he knows how you feel about the pack and he does not like to worry you.
“I am sorry it has taken me this long to say it out loud, baby… but I am so sorr—”
“Paul, hey, look at me” but he refuses to detach himself from your skin in his shame, his big hands safely holding your whole body up against his. “You don't have to—” you cannot help it, you hate to see him like this when you know how badly he regrets it. You hate for him to hurt.
“But I do” he nearly growls against your skin, his fingers tightening on your hips to brace himself against the war in his head. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don't regret it.”
“But you didn't do it on purpose, baby” you sigh when he refuses to let you see him. Your fingers try to pry his stubborn face upwards. “And you worked and improved for us, didn't you, hm?” Your eyes earnestly search for his. “Don't sell yourself so short.” One of your hands rubs his tense shoulders to try and ease their guilt-stricken stiffness.
“All the same” ever the stubborn knucklehead. “I should have done this a long time ago. But I was selfish and I was afraid that if I verbally mentioned it…” He hesitates and the love you behold for him renders you helpless against a burning urge to reassure him.
“My love—”
“I was scared you'd get reminded of it and…” He takes a deep breath and then gulps down the bile in his throat, blinking back tears. “L- Leave me…” Paul's voice is barely a whisper and your heart breaks at how vulnerable he sounds. “And I am such an asshole for it because it had more to do with my fear of you leaving me than you reliving your trauma…”
“Paul…” You blink and try to focus, but his warm gropes and caresses falter your steam of thought.
“I love you, I really do, so much” he peeks up at you just a little, dark eyes frightened for the first time since the day he scarred you. “Please forgive me. I don't ever want to lose you. I know what I did was irreversible but I swear I'll spend the rest of my life fixing it… if you'll let me.” You shake your head.
Does he really think there's an off chance that you will leave?
“Paul” when you cup the side of his face, he hides into your stomach again. “Hey,” you try to duck your face closer to his. make him look at you. “Look at me” your intended request comes out an order due to all the emotions you feel. “I forgave you a long time ago. That's the reason why I am still here” you finally manage to place your forehead against his, making your breaths mingle with his. “I love you more, so much more.” He opens his mouth to drone so you beat him to it.
“Now shut up and kiss me.”
Paul is taken aback at your demand, his widening eyes prove it. But as surprising as it may be for him, this isn't something that was unresolved for you until today -unlike him- so you aren't as overwhelmed with angst. Because your mate has proven his love, devotion and worthiness of you through his actions over the course of your relationship. He has shown you that he loves you and that he is sorry for what he did.
If anything, his innocently intimate and lovestruck worship of your body has fired it up instead of making it sentimental.
And so you want him.
Bad.
“But—”
“No buts. Kiss me.” You are breathless as you urge him to do so, your hands try to pull his face closer into yours although in vain because his bigger and stronger form remains unbudging.
Paul's eyes search yours for assurance. “... Yes, ma'am” he whispers once finds it and the next thing you know, you're being pounced down onto the floor with his arms cased around you to protect you from the impact.
And though you always feared that him getting physical in this manner would trigger you, you giggle against his mouth that he drags across your chest and up your throat to clamp onto yours. Your arms circle around his broad shoulders and instead of trying to repel him -like you suspected you would despite having grown to trust him now- you pull him closer as you whimper into the tender yet hungry kiss, feeling your legs climb the lower half of his body instinctively.
“Paul~” you needily blabber against his tongue that he uses to enjoy the sweetness of your mouth, his balmy lips enveloping everything your mouth has to offer in tight, big kisses. “Mm~” your chest aches from the strain the lack of oxygen puts on your lungs but your sparking nether regions only scoot closer to his that you feel riling up against yours, your hips grinding against his and limbs tightening around his rock hard body.
“Mine” he growls against your mouth when he has no choice but to pull apart at last, his coarse fingers groping you in greedy handfuls while peeling away any fabric that hurdles their path to your skin. “All mine” you moan at the feeling of his teeth grazing against the tender skin of your boobs that he sprays with kisses and licks. “God, mouse, I love you so much” the strength he puts into pushing everything you wear on your upper body away from it leaves you breathless. You love the thrill you feel when his touch feels like he is on the horizons of the dangers he is capable of. When he is so worked up and desperate that he cannot help but get rough because your sweet sweat and arousing body heat fires him up the way it does. You are addicted to the sight of him not giving in to his beastly impulses despite all that because he loves you so much. It is scary, yes. But it turns you on too.
“I love you too, Paul” though he likes to act cocky and all-knowing most of the time, you know he needs to hear it too. Underneath all that knucklehead play fighting and manhandling of his, he needs reassurance just as much as the next person and though he tries not to burden you as his different lifestyle is hard enough for you as it is, you don't have to be part wolf to feel him and hear his heart.
“You're so perfect…” The way he peppers wet kisses along your cheekbone whilst relieving you of the rest of your clothing causes for your eyes to flutter close to cherish the tingling feeling that sparks your body alight. “Just—” when you try to reach for him to also make it enjoyable for him, he plants your hands above your head and softens your confused pout with a kiss. “Just let me take care of you today, yeah? Don't worry about anything.”
“But— oh!” He reaches for the mating mark that sits on the right side junction of your neck where a she-wolf's mating glad would be. And though you lack the physical features to feel him through it, the meaning that it holds for Paul serves as a bridge for the biological gap. “Oh…” You turn your head sideways to rub your cheek against his shaved one, your hips roll into his hand that dips between your legs and you shudder against Paul's hot tongue that drags across the impressions of his teeth that crevice your skin.
“Taste so fuckin' sweet, baby” there is a strain in Paul's voice because of how much strength it is taking him to hold himself back from impaling you full of his cock right there. “So perfect” the lower half of his body leaps down so he can rub his bare erection against the softness of your leg.
You moan at the feeling. “Paul,” you whisper into his hair, the feeling of his sharp teeth causing for slick to sizzle up to your entrance from the inside. He growls out a quiet yes, baby against the mark, one hand constantly caressing the dents running along the width of your stomach. “Don't hold back” you go to touch his rock hard cock and he grunts in denial, seizing your wrist in his fingers faster than you can blink.
His face comes up to dominate your vision. “No, mouse, tonight is all about you” another kiss squishes out any protest you can form and when his invasive tongue has your nostrils flared from the breathlessness, Paul drags it down your writhing body in the company of heavy pecks until his mouth is between your thighs and he is propping one up with a broad shoulder and the other with his hand that isn't occupied with caressing the evidence of his temper.
“Paul—!” He knows how shy you get when he is between your legs like this.
But it's not his fault you taste so fulfilling.
“Sh, little mouse, you're perfect” he kisses any and all insecurities away with gentle kisses, the hand that cases one of your thighs stroking the tender inside with its thumb. “And you taste so good too” he takes his time worshiping your pelvis, deliberately leaving out your pussy to save the best for last. And though you pretend to disapprove and whine for him to come back up and just fuck you instead, his soft kisses that vibrate into your skin every time he moans at the feeling of your nether skin touching his slightly chapped lips, you find yourself helplessly crying out for more at the end.
“Paul, please!” You feel his mouth twist into a smirk and your hands dart to finger his thick hair to withstand the sensation of his mouth hovering over your petals.
“Please what, mouse?” You roll your eyes at the taunt in his voice.
“Please touch me!” Your fingers impatiently tug at his short strands and he grins.
“Oh, mouse, but I am touching you” you whine and his shoulders vibrate under your knees from his devilish mirth.
“Y- You know what I mean!” Though your cheeks are already aflush, you feel new heat seep underneath the layers of the reddened skin.
“Mmm, but I thought you wanted me to—”
“Paul!” You desperately whine and he lets out a deep cackle.
“Fine, geez” he is so mean when he gets smug. You go to scowl down at him but he takes the mound between your legs in a deep handful and feels the slit between your petals in a vertical caress of his thumb before you do and you end up letting out a loud moan instead. “Needy much?” You bite your lip and wantonly roll your hips closer to his mouth. “Tsk, tsk. Impatient little mouse…” The tip of his digit presses between your nether lips that are dusted with pearly discharges of your arousal and a cherry red flush and your hips buck in anticipation. “You're lucky that you're so pretty and I like you so much…” Your spine trembles in your skin when you feel the coarse skin of his thumb against your ultrasensitive folds. “Because I typically don't appreciate things so small ordering me around…” Your back arches when he finally sticks the hot tip of his tongue between your nether lips.
“Oh…” You feel your toes curl. “More, please, Paul, more.”
He is so enchanted by your sweet scent and addictive taste that he is ignorant to anything that isn't your body. “But you, my dear mouse, you're something else…” His strong hands take your ass in them and he firmly kneads the plump skin, talking pretty much over you with a lust-drunken madness. You mewl out a moan at the feeling and Paul growls at the sound you make, pulling you closer to his mouth as he presses an open kiss to your pussy. “Fuck,” he groans and licks his lips that glisten from your slick, his own tip leaking at the taste of you. “I've never tasted anything like you before and I sure as hell am never gonna get tired of it.”
“Paul!” you cry out when his tongue twirls against your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit to caress it with the tip as he begins to eat you out.
His growl that vibrates your soaked folds to a buzzing life causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “Paul” you moan breathlessly, his name turning to a prayer as you tremble on the verge of releasing more slick.
“Gimme that sweet cum, baby, let me taste it” your lips part and you can't help but arch into his mouth with need. His hands are merciless, the one on your ass kneads it with rough gropes as the other massages the underside of your thighs in broad, determined strokes. You moan and writhe against him, your vision blurring at the hot waves that take over your body.
“I am gonna— oh, Paul!” He moans against you as you tremble and then release more even slick into his mouth. His tongue is in heaven as he greedily licks up all he can get.
“Fucking hell, baby” the grainy tip of his tongue pokes and prods at your entrance, working the little hole open. “I can't wait to stuff this pretty little pussy full of my pups.”
“Mmm, oh fuck, Paul, oh fuuuck” when he finally penetrates the tight barrier and his hot tongue invades your sensitive cavern, the burning knot between your hips gets tighter. Paul moans at the feeling of your delicate walls and though the vibrations of his doing so shakes you to your core, you cannot help but greedily wrap your legs around his head to both stay in place and withstand the pleasure.
“Oh, God, Paul, ’m so close!” Your voice is a breathless mewl and he growls at the vulnerable sound, his cock hurting from need. “Oh, fuck” you tremble so badly that you'd collapse into the ground if your knees weren't propped up by your mate's shoulders. “Oh fuck, oh fuck” Paul’s jaw flexes against your thighs when he begins to fuck you with his tongue, one hand fumbling for your cunt before he tickles the hood with his thumb. Your back arches and you clench your eyes shut, your chest heaving as you gasp out his name.
“Tsk, tsk, mouse” his hot breath fans your sensitive folds and you can't help but whimper at the feeling of his middle finger replacing his tongue. “You need to relax.” His hand that holds your ass pats your cheek in an endearing yet condescending way and your whole body tenses up at the touch even more. “I'm gonna take care of you, baby” you cannot help but rock your hips to his finger stretching your insides out against it. “You're mine and I'll never let you get hurt again, I promise” he croons before pressing a tender kiss to your clitorial nub. “You know that, right?” He kisses the slick covered inside of your thigh next to soothe your shaking body. “Tell me you know you're mine” his possessive words make the heat between your legs to go haywire.
“I am yours, Paul” you breathlessly promise him before letting out a moan when he tickles your folds with his tongue in a praising manner, satisfaction breaking out on his handsome face at your obedience.
“Good mouse” he begins to lap at your nub and your walls tense around his finger as a result, causing for your slick to slosh from the opening and down Paul's hand. “Shh, mouse, easy now” he cooes to get you to relax because of how tightly you are clenching yourself and it only gets worse when he adds a second finger. Your hips are so tight. You are on the edge. “You're gonna let me take care of this cute little pussy, aren't you?” You whimper at the feeling of being stuffed full and being licked at the same time.
“Y- Yes, Paul!” The air is heavy with the smell of slick and the sound of him slurping your juices up.
He adds a third finger and you nearly burst into tears from the pleasure. “Oh God, Paul, I am gonna cum!” Your entrance burns from the stretch and you moan from the bittersweet discomfort. “Please, lemme cum! Wanna cum so bad! Please, please!” Your submissive side comes out because of how overwhelmed you are and Paul can cum from the fragility of your voice right here.
“Hold it for me, mouse, good girl, c'mon” you sob at his cruel denial and he closes his lips around a mouthful of your folds, soundfully sucking at the clammy skin as he speeds his hand up to practically hammer your trembling pussy into an orgasm. Your toes curl and you throw your head back, fingers tugging at his hair as you tremble violently against him. Your back arches from how his free hand pinches and twists your nipples, softly landing occasional smacks to your boobs. “Good girl. I know you can take it” his hand then comes down to massage your ass cheek to make for a better stretch. “Relax, baby” you sob out his name and he smiles against your quivering core, his cheek gently caressing the inside of your thigh to get you to loosen up a little because you are clenching so hard.
“You're doing good, mouse. So good” his lips buzz against your clit. “Take it, baby, take it” your walls twitch against his coarse digits. “That's a good girl” he praises you while continuing to stuff your pussy with his fingers, the feeling of being filled up to the brim causing for you to shake and tremble violently. “That's my good girl” his tongue licks your clit as his fingers curve inside of you to search for your sensitive bundle of nerves that always makes you let out the sweetest of melodies.
“I'm gonna— I can't anymore, Paul!” Neon shapes cloud your vision when his fingers graze your sensitive spot and he growls at the feeling of your walls convulsing around his fingers.
“Yeah, baby. You can cum now” he finally relents and you cry out from the joy. “My little mouse, give me that sweet cum” his mouth never stops moving against you and you are so overcome with emotion that you are not sure if the tears that are streaming down your cheeks are due to pleasure or pain. “Gimme it, mouse. Gimme it” his tongue is like a beast that eats you up to satiate its starvation. You cry out his name from the pleasure.
“Paul! Paul, Paul— oh god!” The tongue is too much, though it gives you everything you could ask for at the moment, you need to escape. But when you try to pull away Paul catches your hips and holds you in place.
“Now, where do you think you're going, little mouse?” There is a beastliness to his voice.
“N- No, Paul! No more—” you don't get to finish your plea because his mouth clamps down on your sensitive flesh to suckle on it in big, eager kisses again and your heart threatens to burst through your chest.
“Oh fuck” the knot between your legs tightens so hard you cannot maintain it anymore. Vertigo breaks through your hearing. “Oh— Paul!” The orgasm takes over your whole body, your mind blurs from the burst of sensation that courses through your blood and everything turns into a euphoric mess. “O- Oh God…” You tremble from the aftershock and Paul groans when he feels you squirt. He releases your hips and you fall back onto the floor, your body too weak to withstand its own weight. “O- Oh fuck…” You're breathless and your body feels like jelly. “Paul, oh Paul…” Your fingers desperately try to reach for him like you're no older than a baby and you notice that he is stroking his hurting cock because of the need to bury his knot in you, a pained expression etched across his face. “P- Paul, I am ready” though you can barely speak, your body shakes from the need to be filled up by him.
“Mouse… are you sure?” Though his voice strains from the painful need, he prioritizes your comfort over his and your heart wells up.
“Y- Yes” you try to sit up. “Fill me up, please” he needs no more encouragement after that. With a low growl, he jumps onto you and you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance in a heated caress that makes you whine, your body even forgetting to yelp from how he pounces on you.
“I'll never hurt you again, mouse” he whispers into your ear as he buries his nose into your hair, cock throbbing between your legs. You gasp when he enters you in a quick thrust that makes for all the air to bolt out of your lungs. “I promise.” You tremble in his hold and Paul groans at the feeling.
“I know” his mouth clamps down on the mating mark upon hearing your whisper and he slowly stretches your pussy to fit around his erection that even after all that fingering is still too big for your tiny cunt. The overstimulation causes for stars to form in your vision. His cock twitches inside you and he growls, the tip of his tongue tickling your nape in need.
“That's a good girl, baby” the hand that cups the side of your face tenderly strokes your cheek. “Relax for me” when your walls finally adjust to his log-like girth, Paul grins against the mating mark. “You're doing so good for me” the thrust of his hips causes for his cock to rub against your sensitive spot and your eyes roll to the back of your head with the feeling. “There's my good girl. You take my cock so well.” He releases his bite, hips pistoning up and down between your legs as he baby talks to you and strokes your hair to comfort you against the overstimulation that makes you whine.
“Paul!” You tremble as he fucks you in slow, long strokes and you cannot help but cry out his name in need.
“I'm here, baby. I got you” he murmurs into your hair and you moan at the baritone of his voice. “Take this cock, baby, you got it” he pants as his fat cock slides in and out of you. Then he suddenly grunts and readjusts you in his hold because the position is not comfortable enough for you and he can feel it. “God, you're so perfect.”
“I love you, Paul” you murmur into his ear, your hips lazily rolling against his as you hold him tight.
“I love you more” the latter part of his sentence turns into a growl due to his struggle with the positioning and he collects your limp form in his. “And I can do this better” though he roughly pushes your bodies off the floor to head for the bedroom, his fingers subconsciously caress your back in gentle strokes to make up for how your bare skin rubbed into the floor during the ordeal. You whine from how his heavy sack puts a strain on your entrance where your bodies connect as he does so. He cooes praise and reassurance in your ear as comfort, peppering your mouth with gentle kisses.
.
The next morning when he leaves for patrol in a black tank top and some shorts, there is a shy grin on his face as he looks back at the door one last time to wave you goodbye. You blush and return the gesture, biting your lip like it's the morning after your first time with each other.
“Geez, man, not the dreamy eyes!” A groan sounds from somewhere in the woods and you gasp before ducking behind the door. Chuckles and howls follow.
The jerk brigade has arrived.
“Someone get these two a room!” You recognize Jake's voice and shake your head as you peek outside from behind your shield. “Oh, wait, they did that already!” You cannot help but snort when you see that Paul has begun to jog in the direction of the voices. “In light of how the whole town learnt all the ways in which Paul's name can be moaned last night” uh, oh. That's not going to be good. Your lover is very private and sensitive about you as it is and when someone tries to pry or joke about matters of this sort he does not appreciate it. Especially if it's his hormonal friends that he knows too well. “Paul, Paul, oh, Paul!” Your cheeks burn in embarrassment and Paul snarls before he flings his shirt off and jumps into the air, transforming into his beastly form midway and disappearing into the woods to attack the offendor.
You see the great trees shake from the tussle that you can practically visualize behind them and the encouraging howls of Paul's pack mates further confirms it. They love to get a rise out of your easily excitable boyfriend and he loves to put them in their place, being the strongest after Sam. Their crossing of each other's boundaries for the sake of fun used to concern you in the beginning but Paul himself assured you that that was just how they played and it was not coming from a bad place.
So you wait for the ferocious crowd to move further away into the jungle that surrounds your house before you walk down to the dirt road to collect his clothing with a lighthearted shake of your head. A smile graces your lips as you do so and you cannot help but graze the now covered scars that your superhuman lover gave all his love to last night.
Though it will be a while before he does, you cannot wait for him to come back home to you.
. . .
I am sorry if it sucks omg I really hope you like it <3
"Ah-ah," he chides. "Use your words, like I said. Tell me exactly where you want my hands."
Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x fem! Reader
Genre: Smut
Word count: 6.4k
Summary: You’re a newish member to the town of Forks, with an extreme obsession with Doctor Cullen. One day he finally gives in after you’ve visited the clinic for the 5th time that month.
Warnings: light choking, semi public sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, teasing, praising, orgasm denial.
a/n: I know this is a shift from my usual posts but I've been desperate for some more Carlisle content. As always, I hope you enjoy <3 and send any requests my way!
As you stepped into the small, dimly lit clinic, the antiseptic smell filled your nostrils, mingling with the faint scent of pine from the freshly wiped floor. The receptionist looked up from her computer, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Hello again," she said, her voice dripping with a hint of amusement.
You returned the smile, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, and proceeded to the triage desk. Gripping my chest dramatically, you winced. "I've got these terrible chest pains," you gasp, hoping she wouldn't recognize your voice from the numerous calls I'd made over the past few weeks. "I think it's happening again."
She nodded sympathetically, though her eyes betrayed a spark of curiosity. "I'll let Dr. Cullen know right away," she assures you, before disappearing into the back rooms of the clinic. Your heart raced with anticipation as you take a seat, glancing around the empty waiting area.
Little did they know that your only ailment was an extreme obsession with the enigmatic doctor who had recently become the talk of the town.
The receptionist emerged from the back, her smile widening as she beckoned you to follow her. She led you down the hallway to a small, cozy examination room, the walls adorned with diplomas and medical charts. "Dr. Cullen will be with you in just a moment," she said, the amusement in her voice now unmistakable.
You nodded, trying to compose yourself as she closed the door behind you. The room was warm, and the gentle hum of the heater filled the space. You sat on the crinkling paper of the examination table, heart pounding in your chest.
Would he finally see through your facade of feigned illnesses? Or would he offer the attention and concern that you so desperately sought? The anticipation was almost too much to bear as you heard the soft footsteps approaching, and the door handle turned with a quiet click.
He stepped into the exam room with his usual grace and composure, a hint of surprise flickering across his features as his gaze fell on you. His cool, pale fingers clutched a patient chart, which he quickly placed on the counter. His voice, as smooth and soothing as ever, broke the silence.
Cullen leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest and studying you with a mix of curiosity and veiled amusement. "Back again," he commented, his voice betraying a hint of recognition. "Chest pains, you say?"
“Mhm,” you bite your lip as you gaze up at him, “It comes and goes..”
Carlisle hummed softly, tilting his head to one side as he observed you. The flicker of recognition in his eyes now more pronounced. He grabbed the stethoscope that hung around his neck, looping it over his ears.
He closed the small distance between you, his presence seeming to fill the room. He placed the cold metal end of the stethoscope against your chest, his touch as gentle as a butterfly's wings. "Take a deep breath for me," he requested, his voice velvety and commanding.
You gasp at the chill of the metal, a soft surprised sound escaping your lips as you try to steady your heart rate. You follow his instructions, taking in a deep breath.
Dr. Cullen listens intently as the sound of your heartbeat fills his ears through the stethoscope. His brows furrowed slightly, a look of concentration on his face. The cool and professional demeanor remains, his focus on your heart.
"Again," he instructs, moving the stethoscope slightly to a different spot on your chest. His gaze never wavers from yours, his eyes betraying a hint of suspicion laced with a touch of curiosity.
You nod, taking in a deep breath, your hands resting on your knees as you gaze up at his strong jaw. Your heart rate picks up as you admire his face from where you're sitting.
Carlisle can't help but notice the hitch in your heartbeat, his sharp hearing catching the slight acceleration. A small flicker of a smirk plays on the corner of his lips, as he continues to listen intently.
He lifts the stethoscope from your chest, his eyes locking with yours once more. "Your heart rate is elevated," he comments, his voice a low hum. "Any idea why that might be?" The hint of a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Uh,” you gulp, looking off to the side of the room. “No, I’m not quite sure..” your fingers fumble with the hem of your short skirt as you suck your bottom lip between your teeth.
Cullen's eyes flickered down to your fingers fidgeting with the hemline of your skirt before meeting your gaze once more. He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
He took a step back, returning the stethoscope to his desk and perching himself on the edge of it, folding his arms across his broad chest. "You know," he began, his voice a low growl, "I've noticed a pattern. Every time you come to visit, you seem to have a different ailment."
“I guess I’m just,” you try to come up with an excuse. “I just have a lot of things going on, huh?” you grin up at him stiffly.
The doctor tilts his head to one side, a smirk playing on his lips as he studies you intently. He pushes himself off the desk and begins pacing slowly in front of you.
"That's the thing," he says, his voice quiet and measured. "I've been a doctor for a very long time, and I've seen many patients through the years."
He stops in front of you, his gaze locking with yours. "And yet, I've never seen someone quite so...frequent as you."
“Oh..” you lick your lip, “I guess I’m just a bit worried, you know.. Chest pains aren’t a good sign..” your gaze falls to the tiled floor.
Dr. Cullen hums softly, a hint of amused skepticism in his voice. "That's true.. Chest pains aren't something to be taken lightly," he agrees, his gaze locked on your face. "But I have a feeling there's more than just chest pains that are troubling you."
“What.. what do you mean?” your eyes widen as you look up at him, body straightening under his intense stare.
Cullen cocks his head to the side, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a step closer, his presence becoming more commanding.
"I mean," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "that I suspect there's something more going on here. Something that has little to do with your physical ailments and more to do with..." he pauses, his eyes sweeping over your body briefly, "...something else entirely."
You take a deep breath, gulping as he moves closer. “Oh?”
Carlisle’s gaze hardens as he moves even closer, nearly towering over you now. "What if I were to suggest that your frequent visits here have less to do with medical concerns and more to do with something else, something more intimate?" he asks, his voice soft but commanding.
He leans closer still, his cool breath ghosting across your skin. "What if I were to suggest that there's a deeper, underlying reason for your...obsession with this clinic?"
You lean back, legs squeezing together as warmth fills your stomach. “Like what? Doctor Cullen?” you furrow your eyebrows, feigning innocence.
Dr. Cullen's eyes narrow ever so slightly at your feigned innocence. He can sense the heat coursing through your body and the way your legs press together. A smile tugs at the corner of his lip.
He leans in, his voice lowering to a near growl. "Don't play coy with me," he murmurs, closing what little distance remains between you. "You know exactly what I'm referring to."
“I don't-” you shake your head in response, eyes wide as you scoot further back on the table. “I don't think I know what you mean…” your body tenses with desire as he looks down at you.
Cullen's eyes darken at the way you scoot back further on the table, the subtle signs of your tension not escaping his sharp senses. He rests his hands on the edge of the table, effectively caging you in.
"Oh? You don't?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then tell me why you've been coming here every week for months. And don't give me that 'I'm just clumsy' or 'I have bad headaches' act again."
You open your mouth to give another excuse but nothing comes out, words seemingly caught in your throat. Eyes falling to his lips as your heart hammers against your chest erratically.
His lips curved into a knowing smirk as he noticed the way your gaze fixed on them. It was all the confirmation he needed.
He leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Why don't you just admit it?" he asked, his breath fanning against your skin. "Admit why you keep coming back here. To see me. To see what it's like to have my hands on you."
“Doctor..” you start, voice soft and full of desperation.
Cullen's eyes flicker with a hint of satisfaction as he hears the desperation in your voice. He raises a hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light yet full of possession.
"Say it," he commands, his voice low and authoritative. "Say it, and then you can get exactly what you've been coming here for all these weeks."
“I..” your eyes flutter shut as you take a deep breath. “I’ve been coming here because I want to feel your hands on me.” you gasp out, cheeks flushing with your whispered confession.
Carlisle’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as he hears the confession tumble from your lips. He leans in closer, his hand moving from your cheek to your chin, tilting it upwards so your gaze meets his.
"Good girl," he purrs, the words making heat flare in your stomach. "It wasn't so hard, was it? Admitting what you really want."
He leans even closer, his body pressed against the table, "And what do you want me to do with those hands, princess?"
“I want you to touch me..” you bite down on your lip, legs parting as he slips between them. He lets out a low growl, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He presses even closer, his hips now pinning you against the table.
"Touch you where?" he whispers, his free hand moving to rest on your thigh, just beneath the hem of your skirt. He toys with the fabric, his fingers tracing small patterns on your bare skin. "You'll need to be more specific, princess."
You move your hand to his, guiding him to where you want him. Carlisle’s hand stops you, a smirk playing on his lips as he sees the slight frown on your face.
"Ah-ah," he chides. "Use your words, like I said. Tell me exactly where you want my hands." He runs his thumb across your lip, watching you expectantly, waiting for your response.
You shiver at his cold skin against you, “Doctor,” you whine out. A low chuckle escapes Cullen’s lips as he sees you shiver under his touch. He brushes his thumb across your lip again, the coldness a stark contrast to your own heat.
“Tell me, princess,” he whispers huskily, his voice like silk. “Where do you want my hands? You’ve been fantasizing about them for all these weeks, haven’t you? Now’s your chance to tell me exactly where you want me to touch you. Be specific.”
“I want you to,” you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment. “Touch me, here, between my legs..” you murmur, motioning to your spread thighs. Dr. Cullen's eyes gleam with a mixture of satisfaction and arousal as he hears your whispered request. He moves his hand, which had been on your chin, to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin slightly.
“Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. “And how long have you been imagining my hands on you there?” he asks, his hand slowly inching up your thigh, the coldness of his touch in stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body.
You gasp, forehead pressing against his shoulder as you shudder. Cullen lets out a low chuckle, enjoying the way you instinctively bury your face into his shoulder. His hand continues to move up your thigh, the coldness of his touch sending another shiver down your spine.
He brings his free hand up to run through your hair, his fingers tangling in the locks. "You're so sensitive, princess. Is that because you've been thinking about this for a long time, hmm?" he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.
“Yes..” you choke out, feeling his hands part your legs further. A low growl rumbles through his chest once you confirm that you've been thinking about this for a while. He moves even closer, his hips pressing against yours, pinning you to the table.
"How often do you think about me like this?" he murmurs, his hand finally reaching the bare flesh of your inner thigh. He lets his fingers dance over your skin, the coolness of his touch sending sensations through your body. "Every day? Every night?" you moan softly, pulling his hand to your soaked panties.
“Please… stop teasing me..” you whine, desperate for his touch.
Cullen grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light as he finally slipped his fingers into your panties. The coldness of his skin sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making your core tighten around his touch. His longer pointer finger found your clit with unerring precision, teasing it in a slow, maddening circle.
"You're so desperate for me," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His voice was a seductive purr that seemed to echo through your very soul.
"Do you dream about this, my little patient?" he murmured, pressing down slightly, making you gasp. "Do you lie in bed at night, touching yourself and imagining it's me bringing you pleasure?" His touch grew more insistent, his voice a dark caress that only served to fuel your desire.
You whine, the embarrassment and arousal mixing in a potent cocktail that makes your voice tremble. Cullen's smirk widens, the sound of your need making his own desire spike. "There's no need to be shy now," he whispers, his voice a dark promise. "You've been so eager for this, haven't you?"
With a sudden, firm movement, he slides a finger into you, the coldness of his digit making you gasp. He moves it in and out with deliberate slowness, watching the way your body reacts to his touch.
His thumb remains on your clit, swirling in a relentless pattern that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. You can feel yourself growing wetter with each stroke, your body betraying just how much you crave his attention.
"Tell me," he murmurs, his voice a dark rumble that sends vibrations through your core. "How long have you dreamed of this moment?" His finger moves deeper, stretching you slightly, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion cross your face. "How long have you wanted me to do this to you?"
Your breath hitches as you struggle to answer, the sensation of his finger inside you making it difficult to form coherent thoughts. "Ever since my first visit," you stutter, your cheeks burning.
Cullen's smile turns predatory as he feels you clench around his finger. "Well," he says, his voice low and seductive, "today, all your dreams come true."
He adds a second finger, the coldness now a familiar and welcome sensation. He starts to pump them in and out of you, his thumb never leaving your clit, keeping the pressure constant.
You moan, unable to stop yourself from arching into his touch, your body begging for more. "More," you murmur, the word barely audible. "Please."
Dr. Cullen chuckles, the sound dark and triumphant. "As you wish, my eager patient," he says, his eyes dark with lust. He quickens the pace, the coldness of his touch making you shiver with pleasure. His thumb presses harder on your clit, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.
As your need grew more urgent, Cullen added another finger, stretching you further as you clenched around him. The sudden fullness made you gasp, and you bit down hard on the fabric of his white coat to muffle the moan that threatened to escape your lips. The material was stiff and cold, but it only served to heighten the warmth and pressure building within you.
Each stroke of his fingers sent a new wave of pleasure crashing over you, the chilly touch of his skin against your heated flesh making you tremble with anticipation. Your eyes squeezed shut, and your nails dug into the material of his coat, leaving tiny marks of desperation as your orgasm began to coil tightly in your core.
The sound of his fingers moving within you filled the room, a slick, intimate symphony that seemed to resonate with the thud of your racing heart. The tension grew, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you approached the precipice.
The coldness of his touch was a stark contrast to the burning heat of your arousal, and you found yourself craving more of him, his mouth, his teeth, his tongue.
You could feel yourself getting closer, your body tightening like a bowstring drawn taut, ready to snap at any moment. Carlisle watched you, his eyes dark with lust, his own breathing growing heavier as he pushed you further and further towards the edge.
Your body shudders as the orgasm crashes over you, a keening cry escaping your throat despite your efforts to muffle it. Cullen's eyes bore into yours, his own desire clear as he watches you fall apart under his skilled touch.
His fingers continue to pump into you, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure until you're left panting and boneless against the exam table. He withdraws his hand, the loss of his cold digits making you whimper.
He smirks, bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking on his fingers, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours. The sound of his satisfaction echoes in the room, making your cheeks burn even hotter.
The smugness in his gaze tells you that he's fully aware of the effect he's had, and the thrill of being so thoroughly exposed and dominated by him sends another shiver down your spine. You bite your lip, your eyes never leaving his, as you silently beg for more.
Dr. Cullen chuckles again at the sight of you, completely spent and utterly under his control. He takes a step back, admiring your flushed, disheveled appearance. “You're quite the picture, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry.
He moves to the sink and washes his hands, his eyes never leaving yours. Once finished, he turns back to you, his gaze dark with unfulfilled desire. “You know, I should reprimand you for all those fake ailments you've been coming in for,” he says, his voice deceptively casual
You cover your flushed cheeks with your hands, breathing heavy as you try to collect yourself. Cullen smirks as he watches you struggle to compose yourself. He moves back towards you, his footsteps slow and measured. He stops right in front of you, his broad frame towering over your seated figure.
"Embarrassed, are you?" he asks, his voice a low, amused purr. He reaches out, taking one of your wrists in his hand, slowly dragging it away from your face.
“You’re such a tease,” you whine, looking up at him, eyes still full of desire for him. Carlisle’s smirk widens as he hears the complaint in your voice. He releases your wrist, bringing his hand up to cup your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.
"Who, me? A tease?" he asks, his voice dripping with a mix of feigned innocence and mockery. "I'm just doing my job as a doctor, princess. It's my duty to care for my patients," he says, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.
You push your tongue out, licking the tip of his thumb with newfound confidence. “But what about you Doctor?” your hands go to his belt buckle, fingers brushing over his concealed erection.
Cullen's eyes darken as he feels your tongue against his thumb. A sharp intake of breath escapes him as your fingers brush against his erection, the feeling stirring an immediate response.
"What about me, princess?" he asks, his voice gruff and huskier than before. He watches you closely, his eyes locked on your face as you toy with his buckle.
“Who will take care of you?” you unbuckle his belt, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes, full of lust. Carlisle’s hands clench into fists as you unbuckle his belt, his restraint faltering slightly as you gaze up at him with that look in your eyes.
He lets out a low, possessive growl, his body tensing as he struggles to maintain a semblance of composure. "You want to take care of me, princess?" he asks, his voice lower and more gravelly now. "Is that what you're offering?"
You nod eagerly, fingers fumbling with the zipper and button of his slacks. Slipping the pants away, you press your hand against his length through his boxers. Doctor Cullen’s eyes flash with desire as your hand presses against his length through the thin fabric of his boxers. He lets out a stifled groan, his hips involuntarily bucking against your touch.
"Eager, aren't you?" he mutters, his voice a deep rumble. He places a hand on your shoulder, half to steady himself, half to push you away. "You're playing a dangerous game, princess."
You free his erection from his boxers, your hand wrapping around his length. You lean in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to the tip of his erection, feeling it twitch against your lips. Carlisle's grip on your shoulder tightens as you begin to suck, his hips jerking slightly as you take him into your warm, eager mouth.
His cock is hard and pulsing, the head slick with pre-cum that you greedily lick away. His hand slides into your hair, guiding you as you bob your head up and down his shaft, your cheeks hollowing with each suck. The room is filled with the sounds of your muffled moans and his stifled groans as you work to satisfy his desire.
The taste of him is intoxicating, making you want more. You let your tongue dance around the sensitive ridge, feeling him throb against your tongue. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, his grip growing firmer, his hips beginning to thrust in time with your movements. You moan around his length, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through him.
His eyes are closed, his head thrown back, and his chest heaves with each ragged breath. You can feel his need for release growing, his body tightening with every stroke of your tongue. You suck harder, taking him deeper, eager to bring him to climax.
The power you have over him is exhilarating, and you revel in it, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. His hand in your hair tightens, his grip almost painful, but you don't care. All you want is to feel him come apart under your ministrations, to hear him cry out in pleasure.
Cullen groans, his body shuddering as your eager mouth works on him, his hand finding its way to the strands of your hair. He takes a fistful, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply, your scent mingling with the musk of arousal filling the room. He savors the feeling of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around his cock.
His grip on your hair tightens, guiding you with a gentle but firm rhythm that matches the pulse of your own desire. Each time you take him deep, he lets out a soft hiss, his hips rocking slightly to meet your movements. His other hand rests on the counter, knuckles white with restrained need.
The sound of your moans, muffled by his length, echoes in the room, a symphony of pleasure that drives him wild. His control is slipping, his breathing becoming ragged as you work your magic, your tongue swirling around the tip before taking him back in, deeper and deeper with every stroke.
The anticipation of his release builds, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. The coldness of his touch has given way to the heat of passion, his restrained demeanor now a distant memory. The clinical setting is forgotten, replaced by the primal dance of desire that plays out between you.
You can feel him growing closer, his thighs tense and his breathing erratic. You know what he needs, what you've been longing to give him, and you push harder, faster, determined to bring him to the brink and watch him fall.
Cullen's eyes fly open, his gaze piercing yours as he feels the first pulse of his climax. He lets out a low, guttural moan, his hips bucking into your mouth as he releases. You swallow eagerly, your eyes never leaving his as he cums, the salty tang of his release coating your tongue.
His hand in your hair tightens, almost painfully, as he holds you in place, his entire body trembling with the force of his orgasm. You watch, mesmerized, as his features contort with pleasure, his jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut. He lets out a series of deep, shuddering breaths, his chest heaving as he slowly regains his composure.
His hand releases your hair, moving to cradle the back of your head, his touch now gentle as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through him. He opens his eyes, the intensity in them not diminished, and looks down at you with a mix of satisfaction and hunger.
"Good girl," he whispers, his voice hoarse. You sit back, licking your lips clean, feeling a sense of pride at having brought him to this point.
He leans down, cupping your chin and tilting your head up to meet his gaze. A possessive, satisfied smile plays on his lips. “You're quite the naughty little patient, aren't you?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Taking advantage of my good nature like that.”
He releases your chin, his hand moving to your hair, running his fingers through the strands. He tugs lightly, just hard enough to get your attention. “But I must admit, I rather enjoyed it,” he adds, his gaze dark with restrained desire.
“Then maybe I should keep my habit of coming here so frequently,” you bite your lip, gazing up at him seductively.
"You do seem to have a habit of finding yourself in my clinic quite often, princess." Cullen’s gaze darkens at your seductive bite of your lip. "And I do have a duty to ensure my patients are well taken care of..." he says, his voice a low, promising rumble.
He steps closer, his body now pressed against yours, his height towering over you. He leans down, his lips near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Maybe I should start charging extra for private appointments,” he murmurs.
You shiver at his words, hands reaching out to grasp his sides, your fingers digging into his cold skin. Dr. Cullen lets out a low, amused hum at your shiver, the feel of your fingers digging into his skin sending a jolt through him. "Someone's eager," he mutters, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you even closer against him.
His other hand comes up, his thumb tracing the contour of your chin. He tilts your head up, his gaze a mixture of desire and possessive claiming. "You certainly know how to get my attention, princess," he murmurs, his voice a deep growl.
You slide your hands up his shirt, fingers dancing over his tense muscles. “Doctor..” you murmur. Cullen lets out a low hiss as your hands skim over his bare skin. Your touch seems to electrify him, his body tensing even more beneath your touch.
"Yes, princess?" he responds, his voice rougher than before. He leans down, his lips hovering over your ear. "What is it that you want?" he asks, his warm breath sending another shiver through you.
“I want..” you bury your face into his stomach, breathing in his musk mixed with his cologne. “Your hand wasn't enough… I need more of you..” your voice is needy and desperate as you gaze up at him, chin pressed against his firm abs.
Carlisle’s breath hitches at your admission, the mix of desperation and need in your voice firing up his own primal instincts. His hand at the small of your back grips tighter, his body tensing as he struggles to keep control.
"You want more, huh?" he mutters, his voice thick with desire. He releases his grip on your chin, his hand moving to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. "You're a greedy little thing, aren't you?" he growls.
“Please doctor?” the pads of your fingers dig into his back. Cullen lets out a low, possessive growl as you dig your fingers into his back. The pleading tone of your voice, the desperation in your touch, only serves to fuel his own need.
"You beg so prettily, princess," he mutters, his voice a deep rumble. "How can I resist when you ask so nicely?" He leans down, his lips hovering over yours, his breath warm on your skin. "But you must be specific, sweetheart. You need to tell me exactly what it is you want.“
“I want you to fuck me, please..” you gasp, lips parting for him. Carlisle’s eyes darken at your blunt request, a sharp intake of breath escaping him. He closes the small gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth, delving and tasting, his hand at the back of your head holding you in place.
He pulls back from the kiss, his lips hovering millimeters from yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're insatiable, you know that?" he mutters, his free hand sliding down your body to grasp your hip. "How am I supposed to deny such a pretty request?"
With a low growl of approval, Cullen's hands guide you to the edge of the exam table, your legs shaking with anticipation. He bends you over, the cold steel pressing into your abdomen as he pulls your panties down, exposing your trembling thighs.
You feel his erection, hot and demanding, as he lines himself up with your slick entrance, the tip of his cock pressing into your wetness. His hand firmly grips your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he adjusts his position, the sound of his zipper echoing in the small room.
You gasp as he enters you, inch by inch, filling you completely, the sensation of his cold skin against your heated flesh sending waves of pleasure through your body. His other hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to cut off your air, but enough to remind you of his dominance, his control over your body and your desires.
He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back into you, the force making you cry out. His grip tightens, his hips setting a punishing rhythm that has you seeing stars. Each thrust sends a jolt of cold fire through you, the stark contrast of his frigid skin against your burning need only serving to heighten your pleasure.
The room is filled with the sounds of your muffled whimpers and his deep, satisfied grunts as he claims you, his sharp canines grazing your shoulder as he marks you, his patient.
As your moans grew louder, Cullen's hand left your hip and covered your mouth, his thumb pressing against your lower lip as his other fingers dug into your cheek. He was relentless, his hips moving with a precision that spoke of his experience and his unyielding need to bring you to the brink of ecstasy.
Each thrust hit the spot deep inside you that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, and you could feel yourself growing wetter, your walls clenching around him with every stroke. The muffled sounds of your cries were only for his ears, a secret symphony of passion that played out in the quiet of the exam room.
His own breaths grew harsher, his movements more erratic, as he felt your body tense beneath him, his name a silent scream against his palm. The heat of your arousal mixed with the coldness of his hand on your mouth was a delicious torment, your eyes rolling back in your head as he claimed you, his possession complete.
The world outside the room ceased to exist, and all that remained was the frantic dance of your bodies, the cold steel of his touch, and the warm, velvety embrace of his cock filling you over and over again. You felt your climax building, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to shatter you, your body begging for release.
"Not yet, princess," Cullen whispers, his voice hoarse and urgent against your ear, his movements unrelenting. His cold hand slides from your mouth to your neck, his grip firm as he feels your body begin to tighten around him, the warmth of your passion meeting the chill of his touch.
His strokes become deeper, more deliberate, as he watches your face contort with the beginnings of your climax. You try to hold back, your eyes squeezed shut, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip to muffle your cries. Each thrust sends a fresh wave of cold fire through you, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the edge of the exam table.
"I’ll let you know when to cum for me," he commands, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. His hand on your hip guides your hips back to meet his, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more demanding. You can feel the swell of his cock inside you, the pressure building, the coldness of his skin against your hot, wet flesh.
Your eyes fly open, and you stare at the wall, panting, as he continues to fuck you with a masterful precision that has you teetering on the edge of oblivion. Your body is his to command, your pleasure his to give and withhold.
And as much as you want to cum, to shatter beneath his touch, you know that you won't until he says so. The anticipation is agonizing, a sweet torture that only makes the eventual release all the more potent.
You whimper, your body begging for relief, but Cullen's grip tightens, his movements unyielding. "Soon," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. "But not yet. I want to feel you clench around me, tight and desperate, begging for it." His voice is a dark promise, a siren's call that you can't resist.
You push back against him, your body moving in time with his rhythm, the cold steel of his hand on your neck a stark contrast to the warmth building in your core. The tension is unbearable, a coil winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.
You're so close, so very close, but he won't let you go over the edge. Not yet. Not until he's ready. And in that moment, you realize just how much you crave his control, his dominance over your very being. It's a heady feeling, one that makes you want to both fight against him and surrender completely to his will.
You gasp out his name, a plea and a curse all rolled into one, your voice echoing in the small, intimate space. His response is a feral growl, his hips slamming into you with renewed vigor, his hand on your neck pressing a little harder, his thumb stroking the pulse point beneath your jaw.
You're so close, so incredibly close, and you know that when he finally lets you go, when he allows you to come, it's going to be like nothing you've ever felt before. The coldness of his touch, the heat of his desire, the raw power of his control all coalesce into a storm of sensation that threatens to consume you. And you can't wait.
“You can let go now.” he growls into your ear. With a final, powerful thrust, Cullen's hand clamps down hard over your mouth, muffling your scream of pleasure as your body finally gives in to the climax that had been building for what felt like an eternity.
The pressure of his hand, the coldness of his skin against your flushed cheek, only heightens the sensation, making your orgasm feel like it's shattering you into a million pieces. Your eyes squeeze shut as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your legs trembling and your core clenching around him, desperately trying to hold on to the feeling.
His own release follows swiftly, his hips jerking as he buries himself to the hilt, filling you completely with his seed. His grip on your neck tightens, his breath hot against your ear, as he rides out his climax with a deep, guttural groan. The room seems to spin around you, the only solid point the cold steel of his hand, grounding you in the midst of the tumultuous storm of sensation.
As your body starts to come down from the high, you feel him pull out slowly, his grip on you loosening, his breathing still ragged. He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression a mix of satisfaction and something else, something primal and possessive.
You collapse onto the exam table, boneless and spent, the coldness of the room now a stark contrast to the heat that still pulses through your veins. He reaches down to pull your panties back up, his movements surprisingly gentle given the ferocity of his earlier actions.
The cold fabric against your sensitive skin sends a shiver through you, a final reminder of the intensity of what just transpired. You can't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the thought of when you'll get to feel his cold touch again, eager to play out this twisted game of cat and mouse once more.
twilight request: paul and human reader know each other since childhood and he imprinted on her at this time so its been known that they're "together" but he never officially asked her to be his girlfriend or anything and reader gets really frustrated with that bc she feels like paul and the whole imprinting thing are trapping her and she feels suffocate by him sometimes so tension !!!
distance makes the heart grow fonder
pairing; paul lahote x fem!reader
word count; 1.4k
warnings; hurt/comfort, angst, fluffy ending, paul is a dumb boy but he makes up for it ig
a/n; ahhh i missed writing for twilight! luv my boy paul<333
You're pouting, pressed into the well worn divot in the seat of Emily's couch as you glower at Paul from across the room; the leather almost swallows you whole, suctioning against your bare legs when you shuffle to face him. He huffs when you sigh, corded biceps crossing over his chest.
"What?" He feigns innocence as though you weren't witness to him flirting his way through the party at La Push last night. Something red hot and angry twists at your insides as you recall the memories.
"I'm not your girlfriend."
He breathes a sharp exhale, a brow raising in question.
"No, you're not."
You resist the urge to roll your eyes at his dismissal, pushing back the sharp sting at the edges of your vision and instead sinking further into the old leather and picking at a loose thread in your sweater. You can feel his eyes on you when you angle your body away from his, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as it warbles.
"So how come you think you have this stupid claim on me, then? A guy likes me and you threaten to rip his throat out, but you're allowed to flirt with any girl with a pulse?"
A low warning rumble pushes through Paul's chest, a signal that you dutifully ignore. He takes a step towards you, then two and three, until he's looming over your figure.
"Because you are mine," he says, brow pulling tight.
"So I'm yours but you're not mine?" you persist. "I don't think that's fair." Your blood roars in your ears; everything feels too hot, jealousy pouring into your veins like molten lava, thrumming and rushing against your frantic pulse. "I'm done, Paul."
He blinks. Takes another step towards you before you're holding your hand out, pressing the tips of your manicured nails into the dip of his stomach to halt his approach.
"What?" His mouth feels dry, struggling to form words as he stares– just stares, brow pinched, nostrils flaring.
"I- I can't do this. I can't spend my life waiting around for you when you don't care about me."
He crouches, sliding those warm palms up and around your calves, cupping the backs of your knees.
"You think I don't care about you?"
You sniffle, folding your knees up to your chest; Paul moves fluidly with you, thick fingers curled round your limbs as though he's an extension of your own body.
"Not the way I care about you."
Your body betrays you, flushing white-hot as he knuckles at your jaw, the pad of his thumb - calloused from years of fighting and rough play - pushing its way into the soft flesh of your cheek.
A tear slips from your welling waterline and gathers in the crook of his knuckle.
"Baby-"
You bristle, shrugging away his touch as if it will somehow lessen the ache in your chest, the hollow feeling you can't seem to shake. He crawls upward, onto the couch next to you, his spine bowing until he's curled over your shuddering form.
"Don't call me that. You don't mean it."
"Bab-"
"Stop."
He straightens, taut as a bowstring, watching as your back curves and you rake your flushed face against the rough denim of your jeans. You feel his attitude change, soft pity melting to anger, spine stiffening, lips pushing into a hard line that morphs his expression into something you hate.
Because he never directs his anger at you.
Shame - ugly and cruel - licks at your veins, heats your blood almost hot enough to curdle. It scalds your every vein and sours you from the inside out.
You swipe at your swollen eyes with the backs of your fingers, unfolding your limbs until you're standing. Your voice wavers as you speak.
"I'm going home," you croak.
"You can't just leave!" He throws his hands up, standing until you're chest to chest, nose to nose. "We need to talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about. You didn't ask to be shackled to me."
"You think that's what you are to me?" he asks, and the cruel bite to his tone is enough to make you cry all over again.
"What am I, then?"
A beat passes. Two. Three. Paul's fingers curl into tight fists at his sides; your eyes sting when you push back the telltale itch at your waterline, and you sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that he means more to you than you do to him.
"I'm going home," you say again, firmer. "It's better this way, Paul. Trust me."
It's always what you've been best at, anyway. Running.
Paul's torn between following you and sinking further into the couch; he opts for the latter, teeth bared in a groan as he curls a fist around a stray cushion, nails almost piercing and tearing the soft fabric.
The engine of your truck sounds far away in his ears as you pull out of the driveway, his chest hollow, the ache growing as you cover more distance.
Away from him.
When you walk through the door, the silence of your apartment is like a strike to the head; the soft whooshing of the washing machine does little to soothe the throbbing in your chest at your imprinters absence.
Not that you're sure he really is yours.
You're quick to strip of the tee and jeans you're sporting, eager to rid yourself of Paul's scent – once a comfort, now it only serves to deepen the aching tremors that wrack your body with white-hot agony.
The quiet lasts two days. Two days of no text messages, no phone calls, not a whisper of his name among the wind. Complete radio silence.
Two days until Paul Lahote is beating down your door with a ferocity that should terrify you.
It only serves to kick up your flaring anger as you wrench the door open, the hinges rattling.
He doesn't give you a second to breathe, surging forward to lock his arms around you like a vice, shoulders shuddering with every laboured breath.
"Paul," you scold, squirming in his grip when he tightens his hold on you, nuzzling his nose against your pulse point. The frantic way in which he clings to you, palms kneading the flesh beneath your t-shirt, is almost primal – as though he's scenting, marking you.
"You know how much it fucking hurts to be away from you?" he grunts, backing you into the wall. You gasp, instinctually threading your fingers through the hairs at his nape as he hungrily grabs at every inch of your skin he can reach. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, scoffing at his words.
As if he has any right to feel this way. As if this isn't his fault.
"You know how much you hurt me..." You take a breath, voice warbling as tears gather at your lash line. "...all the time? You know how much you torture me?"
Paul coos, smoothing a hand over your head. "I know, baby. I know."
You sniffle, and your throat tightens, a silent sob pushing its way from your clenched teeth.
"Hate you," you whimper. "Hate you so much."
Paul groans, pressing his chest to yours. His rumbling cadence seeps right down to your bones.
"I'll swear off it all, princess. No more girls, no more flirting. No more parties. Just me 'nd you, how 'bout that?"
You sigh, eyes wide as you peer curiously up at him. "You don't mean that."
Desperation coats his every word. "Mean every word of it, I promise. Please, these last two days have been hell without you, princess. I don't want to be away from you."
"You're just saying that," you purl. "You'd be unhappy."
Paul's head dips until his lips are ghosting across your cheek, his voice rasping. He kneads circles into the fat of your hip, nudging you closer into his space with every reverent touch.
"I can't breathe without you," he says, voice thick with tears. "I'm miserable. I'll do anything, please."
You sniffle, preening at his touch like a needy kitten. "You wanna be with me? Or you're just sayin' that 'cause I made a fuss about it?"
"Wanna be with you always, baby. I'm yours."
You sob, curling your fingers around the nape of his neck to press wet, smacking kisses to his cheeks. Tears coat your lips as you mouth at him, thumbs rubbing circles over his jaw.
Paul's chest shudders around an exhale.
"I love you."
You laugh wetly; he lifts you up until your legs twine around his waist.
"How about you show me how much you love me, Lahote."
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. 🐺
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
