Recently I’ve been working on drawing as many different clone helmets as I can think of, and this is the result! I’ve actually drawn quite a few more clones than these, chances are if you don’t see your favourite copy paste man here I have already drawn him I just had to limit the number to 50 as these are going to be stickers available via gacha at a couple upcoming cons :)
Tumblr is going to break if I try to tag this with every character shown, so I’m just going to use the popular tags (Rex, Cody, etc) and hope it gets to the right people
summary: headcanons of how clingy your boyfriend gets when he finally has a day off, aka puppy coded!jacob black (request)
-swears that he is the manliest man ever who (even though he loves you very much) isn’t clingy or “mushy” when it comes to love, specifically he says that he is dominant and masculine when it comes to showing affection
-he’s a big fat liar lol, because the second he gets time off he spends it entirely with you, practically glued to your body and flat out refuses to let go; it’s cute at first and very nice and toasty in the wintertime, but the during the summertime it gets annoying pretty quickly
-when he gets like this, all clingy and cute, he’ll do the following things: pout without realizing, whine like puppy, huff before every sentence, hold onto you and lay some of his weight on you (he’s still considerate enough to not crush you), grab your arms and wrap them around him and holding them in place
-it’s impossible to get away from Jacob when he gets like this, all puppy like and mushy, considering he is a werewolf and is insanely strong compared the the average person/humans in general, but you can annoy him the living hell our of him
-you get the mischievous idea when he began to demand that you be the big spoon, saying things like “don’t you love me? if you really did you’d be the big spoon for once, let me feel the love” it takes lots of self control to not burst out laughing at how seriously pouty he sounds as he says it
-you tease him by demanding he be the big spoon, quoting his exact words from the day before when he said he wasn’t clingy and needed to protect you while you slept by hugging you from behind; gets even more desperate for affection and attention from you that he resorts to throw a small tantrum
-it was embarrassing for him 100% and he will be thinking about that moment any night he struggles to fall asleep, but did it work? yes, yes it did; you gain three things that, blackmail material against your boyfriend, bragging rights for giving Jacob the princess or puppy treatment, and finally the best day of your life for witnessing it all
-he spends the rest of his free day in bliss, getting headpats (I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again, if Jacob is in his wolf form his tail will be wagging like crazy), back scratches, being held by his lovely partner that will giggle from time to time at his clingy behavior; overall an amazing (and slightly embarrassing day) that will happen again when he gets another day off
Dominate Paul lahote seducing his fem inexperienced imprint into having sx with him like teasing her,touching her in bed
gotcha hope you enjoy :)
quit fighting me - paul lahote x reader
You always forgot how big Paul’s couch felt until you were curled in the corner of it, your knees to the side as you were comfortable, the glow of your favorite movie washing over the room. The soundtrack hummed softly under the low rumble of Paul’s breathing beside you.
His arm was stretched behind you along the cushions. He wasn’t even touching you but somehow you still felt him. His energy per se.
He’d been behaving all night. Almost suspiciously well. You caught him glancing at you during all your favorite scenes, with that look he always got when he thought you weren’t paying attention, warm, intense, like he wanted to memorize the way you smiled.
And maybe that should have relaxed you.
But instead, it made the air feel thick. Charged. Like one wrong move and you’d be wrapped up in him with no escape.
So when the credits started rolling and Paul shifted closer, you tucked your blanket tighter around yourself as if it might protect you from whatever expression he was wearing.
Paul leaned forward, elbows on his knees, studying you like he always did when he was deciding how gentle to be.
You push the blanket to the side, your face heated as your tennis skirt was hitched, you quickly adjust it before standing.
He was still seated. His gaze was still seated at you. The same gaze when he first saw you on sight when you came out of your house when he picked you up.
You yawn, dramatically a bit but the yawn was real.
“Someone’s tired.”
“Yeah. When I get home, I’m getting straight in the bed.” you say.
“You can crash with me.” he says with a small shrug.
“I can’t.” you whisper.
“Why?” he asked, seeing right through your lie.
“I…I have to..”
He patiently waited while you tried your very best to come up with a plausible excuse.
“Exactly.” he chuckled under his breath and stood, towering over you, causing you to look down at his living room rug.
He brushed his body against yours, causing your sock covered feet to shuffle towards where he wanted you to go.
“You really want me to stay the night?” you ask nervously as you were at the doorway of his room.
“Yeah. I really want you to stay the night.” he says.
You peak up at him. His gaze was dark, full of intensity that spiked your nerves.
“I-I don’t have anything to wear.” you whispered.
“I have a shirt for you. Come on.” he encouraged you to move past the doorway.
Entering his familiar room, you slowly and timidly sit down on his soft bed.
He gives you a look as if he’s trying to memorize the scenery of you on his bed before he turned his back and opened his closet door. He reached up and grabbed a shirt.
He tossed it and you reached and caught it with a perfect catch.
You held it up as it was an old shirt he didn’t care about, the letters slightly worn from the many times it spun in the washer.
With shaky legs, you stand and go to the bathroom. In the mirror, you try not to hyperventilate because it’s the first time you’re staying at his house through the night.
You shyly come back in his room, setting your clothes in his chair, avoiding eye contact since he was already in bed, no shirt. Waiting for you.
Sliding into bed when he peeled the covers back, he brought your body over closer to him.
You swallowed, already obeying without thinking. His chest pressed to your back, heat rolling off him like a second heartbeat. You felt small against him, fragile almost.
You clenched your eyes shut, feigning sleep, your heart hammering against your ribs as you heard him flick the lamp off at his side.
It was quiet until his fingers traced your waist, dragging teasingly upward, over your shirt. Purposefully slow. Purposefully maddening.
“Paul…” you whispered, already embarrassed by how breathy you sounded.
His hand splayed across your stomach, his palm hot even through the fabric. He held you there, not moving, just letting you feel the weight and heat of him. Your skin prickled, a flush spreading out from his touch. You were trembling, a fine, uncontrollable shiver that started deep in your core. He always made you feel like that no matter what he did.
His hand slides down the side of your neck, his thumb stroking your jawline with a possessiveness that makes you shiver, he turns your head over, telling you to turn over to face him. You couldn’t see in the dark, but he could see very well.
His mouth finds the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder. It’s not a kiss, but a slow, open mouthed exploration, his breath hot and damp against you. A low groan rumbles in his chest, vibrating through you, and you melt into the mattress. His hand follows the path of his mouth, sliding down your body, over the cotton of the nightshirt, until his palm rests, heavy and warm, on your lower stomach.
His fingers dip lower, past the hem of the shirt, and his touch is shockingly intimate through the thin lace of your panties. You gasp, your hips lifting of their own accord, seeking more of that delicious pressure but you push it hand away. He leaves it where you pushed it away.
His mouth crashed down on yours, not with gentle inquiry but with raw, hungry possession. It wasn’t a kiss, it was a claiming. His lips were firm, demanding, and you opened for him without a second thought, a moan escaping you as his tongue swept into your mouth. He tasted of something wild, something fundamentally Paul. One of his hands tilt your head back to deepen the kiss, while the other slid from your stomach to your hip, his grip firm, anchoring you.
When he finally broke the kiss, you were panting, your lips swollen and sensitive.
His hand on your hip moved, his fingers slipping under the hem of the nightshirt. They traced a burning path up the outside of your bare thigh, so achingly slow. You tensed, a bolt of nervous anticipation shooting through you.
His fingers continued their ascent, skating over the curve of your hip, and then, with an agonizing lack of hurry, he boldly cupped you through your panties. You cried out timidly, arching off the bed, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. The thin lace was soaked, a fact his knowing chuckle acknowledged.
He pressed the heel of his hand against you, applying a firm, steady pressure that made you whimper in the dark.
His fingers gently explore the shape of you through the damp fabric. Every tiny shift of his hand sends another jolt of pure need straight to your core, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, a slick heat blooming under his touch.
Gliding a finger along your entrance that had you twitching.
His hand moves, capturing one of yours where it lies fisted in the sheet. His grip is firm, guiding. He brings your hand down, pressing your palm flat against the hard bulge straining against his sleep shorts.
He closes his large hand over yours, bringing it down in his shorts. Your fingers run through the trimmed hairs as he’s showing you how to move. A slow, tentative stroke.
He groans, a deep, raw sound of pleasure that goes straight between your legs, and your own arousal spikes, a fresh wave of warmth flooding you. You’re shy, your movements clumsy, but his encouraging groans are a potent fuel.
He lifts his head from your neck, his eyes locking with yours, and then his mouth is on yours again. This kiss is different, deeper, hungrier, all consuming. He’s a talented kisser, his tongue tangling with yours in a rhythm that’s both demanding and perfectly in sync with the slow stroke of your hand over him. You lose yourself in it, in the taste of him, the scent of his skin, the guttural sounds of his pleasure.
He hooked a finger in the waistband of your panties, “Lift your hips.”
The command was gentle but absolute. You obeyed, a shudder wracking your body as he peeled the damp fabric down your legs and tossed it aside. You were completely bare to him now.
Then his touch returned and this time there was no barrier. His fingers, found your core, and you nearly came off the bed again. The contrast was exquisite, the scratch of his skin against your incredible softness. He stroked you, once, twice, a slow, deliberate glide through your slickness that had you arching against the sheets.
He teased, circling your clit with a maddeningly light touch that made you buck against his hand.
The coil snapped. Your back arched violently as a climax ripped through you, silent at first, a tidal wave of pure, blinding pleasure that stole your voice, before a long, broken cry was torn from your lips. You clenched against his fingers, waves of ecstasy pulsing through you, until you were pulsating around nothing and trembling.
He guides you, his hands on your hips, until you’re straddling his lap. The position is shockingly intimate, your core pressed against the hard erection that he pulled out of his shorts. He leans back on his hands, watching you with heavy lidded eyes as you instinctively rock against him, a slow, hesitant dry hump that draws another low groan from him.
His hands slide under the nightshirt, his rough palms skimming up your bare sides. You jolt at the direct contact, your back arching. His thumbs brushing the sensitive undersides of your breasts. You’re braless and the feel of his skin against your softness is electrifying. His grip tightens, his hands molding to your curves, and you moan, dropping your forehead to his broad naked chest.
You rest your cheek against his chest as you kept your grinding against his erection tight and beneath your cheek, you can feel the powerful, steady beat of his heart.
His hands move to the hem of your nightshirt. He gathers the fabric, starting to pull it up. A bolt of pure, unadulterated panic lances through you, “Paul, wait-” you protest, your hands coming up to clutch at his wrists.
He stills instantly, “Quit fighting me.” he murmurs, his voice low but leaving no room for argument.
The command is silent but absolute. The fear is still there, a frantic flutter in your chest, but it’s drowned out by the throbbing ache between your legs. Your grip on his wrists loosens.
He doesn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, he pulls the nightshirt up and over your head, tossing it into the shadows. The cool air hits your skin, making your nipples peak into tight, sensitive buds. You feel utterly exposed even though it’s dark in the room, sitting astride him, completely naked. A flush of embarrassment heats your cheeks, and you try to curl in on yourself.
“Don’t.” he growls, his hands coming up to frame your waist, holding you in place.
His thumbs stroke your hip bones, then slide upward, until his palms are cupping the full weight of your breasts. His touch is reverent, yet possessive. He teases your nipples with his thumbs, circling them, flicking them, until you’re writhing on his lap, little mewling sounds escaping your lips. The pleasure builds, a tight, bright coil deep in your belly, fed by the friction of your movements against his erection. You could hear the moistness echo through the room as you both groan together.
You’re lost in it, your world narrowed to his touch. The coil winds tighter, tighter, and then snaps without warning. Your orgasm crashes over you, a silent, shocking wave that makes your entire body seize. You cry out, a broken sound, as pleasure radiates out from your core, leaving you trembling and gasping against his chest.
He holds you through it, his hands gentle now, stroking your back.
Before you can even come down, his hands are on your hips, lifting you effortlessly and laying you back on the sheets. He shifts down the bed, his hands hooking under your knees, pushing your legs apart.
You know what he’s going to do. The thought sends a fresh thrill of panic and anticipation through you, “Paul…”
“Shhh.” He doesn’t give you time to overthink it. He lowers his head, and his mouth, that demanding, talented mouth, finds the very center of you.
You jolt off the bed, a sharp cry torn from your throat. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. His tongue is flat and hot and relentless, laving broad strokes and glides through your sensitive folds. He groans, the vibration against your clit making you see stars. You taste like heaven. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open for his feast. He explores every inch of you with his tongue, learning what makes you buck and what makes you whimper, until you’re reduced to a writhing, pleading mess. He wasn’t tender headed as you’re able to grip his hair.
He focuses on your clit, sucking the aching bud into his mouth, and your second orgasm hits you like a freight train. It’s harsher, more intense, wracking your body with convulsions so powerful you’re sobbing his name, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, unsure if you’re trying to pull him closer or push him away. He doesn’t stop, drawing out every last shuddering wave until you collapse, boneless and oversensitive, onto the mattress.
You’re floating, completely spent, when he moves over you again. His shorts are gone now, kicked off sometime during his attentions. His body is a furnace of hard muscle and slick skin.
He guides you back on top of him, his hands firm on your hips. You’re still trembling, your limbs like jelly. The broad, slick head of his erection presses against you, and your eyes widen at the sheer size of him. “I can’t” you think, a fresh wave of fear surging up.
You brace your hands on his chest, the muscles rigid under your palms. He guides himself, not with his hands, but with the subtle movement of his hips, nudging against your entrance. You sink down, an inch, and a sharp, startling pain makes you gasp, freezing instantly.
“Shhh, I know.” he soothes, his hands coming up to stroke your sides. His pours off his skin, a deep, radiating warmth that seems to sink directly into your muscles, soothing the sharp sting, melting the tension. It’s his shifter heat, a biological wonder that eases the way. You sink down another inch, then another, the initial pain fading into a breathtaking feeling of being stretched, filled, claimed. Your body clings to him.
He’s huge, and it’s a slow, careful process. He lets you set the pace, his hands resting on your hips, his eyes never leaving your face. When you’re finally seated fully on him, he lets out a groan that seems to come from the very depths of his soul.
You’re full, so completely full of him. You stay there for a moment, both of you breathing heavily, adjusting to the feeling. Then, tentatively, you move. It’s an uncoordinated, clumsy rock of your hips, but the sensation it creates is anything but. A low, guttural moan escapes you. He helps you, his hands guiding your hips, showing you a rhythm. Up, then down. A little faster.
You find a pace, riding him without experience but with a growing, desperate hunger. It was a high you were chasing and the tingles felt so good. The heat from his body is everywhere, a cocoon of sensation that amplifies every touch, every movement. The feeling of him moving inside you, the friction, the way he fills you, it’s overwhelming. You’re losing your mind, your head falling back as pleasure, pure and incandescent, begins to build again, deeper this time, more profound.
With a growl, he sits up suddenly, his arms wrapping around you in a crushing bear hug that pulls your chest flush against his. The new angle is shocking, unbelievable. He’s deeper than before, hitting a place inside you that makes you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. He holds you there with his palms digging in your rear, having you pinned against him, and takes over, his thrusts becoming deep, primal pistons of his hips.
It was tender and passionate as he’s able to kiss you in this position.
You whimpered tiny, not as embarrassed now, and he swallowed the sound with another kiss, deeper this time, his lips parting yours slowly, giving you time to pull away.
You leaned into him, fingers clutching his shirt, letting him guide the kiss. His tongue brushed yours in such talented manner that the white hot sensation was rearing its head in your direction.
He broke away only to kiss the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the soft place under your ear that made your whole body tremble.
He lifted you slightly, you land on your side on the bed as he milked himself out in his hand. His groans came rough as his hand roughly milked himself. He shuddered as he got up to clean himself up.
Your legs felt heavy, the ray of the bathroom light made you get a peak of your naked body. You scoot back and get under the covers as you hear the toilet flush and the sink come on.
The floorboard creak when he comes back in. Your eyes are closed this time as he lays down next to you in bed.
Hey…” he whispered, brushing a hand along your back, “You tired?”
A tiny hum came out of you. Soft, sleepy, adorable.
Nothing like the breathless mess you’d been minutes earlier.
“You should’ve told me, baby,” he murmured, voice softer than it ever got with anyone but you, “You’re exhausted.”
He smoothed the fabric of the blanket up to your shoulders, pressing you against him as he got comfortable.
“Paul?” you whispered.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he whispered.
“You’re… Really warm…” you murmured, words slurring from sleep.
He smiled so soft, so impossibly gentle it would terrify the entire pack.
Having him elbow deep in the dirt would fix me. And him.
My piece for @batchedzine. I really just wanted to see Wolffe get to grow something with his own two hands after the war surrounded by his loved ones. I think it would be very good and therapeutic for him.
Leftover sales are ongoing for the month of June if you've missed the main sale or just want to grab something extra :3 Thank you for the mods for their amazing work on this zine, and all fellow creators who brought all these happy scenarios and AUs to life <3
