so you’re the wolf girl

⭑.ᐟ kay, 18+, she/her, twilight wolfpack writer

ᵎᵎ will take requests for :

⤷ moodboards + headcanons + drabbles / short oneshots — all wolfpack members including leah & emily.

both nsfw and sfw <- would love if you could specify — any ns/fw will be tagged with cws and mdni.

⌗ won’t do :

⤷ noncon, any hard kinks <- feel free to check in asks

⋆. 𐙚 extra :

LOVE this. i’ll also take any excuse to use these photoshoot pics. enjoy ml !! xx

🌩️ paul lahote x fem!imprint - when did you get hot?

the truth was, paul lahote was an asshole. you knew this, and you let him know every chance you got — rolling your eyes at every one of his godawful jokes, somehow finding it in you to ignore each time he tipped your chair back in class, or the infuriating winks he gave you from across the room.

and he was stubborn — the most stubborn person you knew. he had been ever since you met him.

then, in the middle of the new school semester, he disappeared. for weeks on end, he didn’t show up to class, and you hadn’t seen him around forks or even at la push in nearly a month. and sure, at first it was a relief to walk into class and see his seat empty behind you - you could actually concentrate on lessons now - but by the fourth week…

you hated to say it, but it was weird not having him around.

still, you didn’t lose any sleep over it. he was nothing to you, of course — would never be.

at least, that’s what you thought — until the night of the bonfire.

autumn wind tangling through your hair, you find the sound of the crashing ocean almost comforting as you make your way down the beach. as you get closer to the high spirals of smoke, you see a couple people milling about, some throwing rocks into the swollen waves, others sitting on pieces of driftwood, laughing, talking.

you jam your hands deep into your pockets and keep walking, evening light casting dusky violet rays onto the sand.

that’s when, out of the corner of your eye, you see a boy - no, a man - tall, standing next to the spitting flames, practiced fingers cracking open a glistening can of beer.

you look away.

then it hits you.

it’s paul.

before you can even think, his eyes catch yours. black and burning, it’s like they’ve pinned you down, holding you there.

there’s silence.

then,

“…paul?” you say it tentatively, like something might snap in the quiet air.

his head jerks back, eyes clearing. a hand immediately goes to the back of his neck, his gaze shifting towards the ground.

your eyes slide over him: the broad planes of his shoulders barely concealed by a black t-shirt, the tightly coiled muscles taut under sleek brown skin. you trace the subtle curves in his forearms, how his denim shorts strain across his legs in the glow of the firelight.

you swallow thickly. shit.

after what seems like a long, painful eternity, his eyes find yours again. this time they’re filled with something new, deeper - almost heavy.

“y/n.” he takes slow, measured steps towards you as he says your name. he says it carefully, voice rough, like he’s tasting the syllables on his tongue.

for the first time, it seems, you notice how wide his palms are — strong and calloused, like he could pick you up and sling you across his back without a second thought. something pounds your head at that idea, your mind racing, electrifying, and you shiver instinctively. (whether it’s from the cool breeze whispering through the trees or him, you can’t be certain.)

in an instant, he’s next to you, towering above you. a warm palm rests on your arm, a delicious heat unfurling through you at the touch.

“hi,” he says softly.

you shake your head in a futile attempt to clear your thoughts. “when did you…” you start, gesturing vaguely to… all of him. “when did this…?”

(when the fuck did you get so hot?)

he tips his head back and laughs, and you can just see the flash of perfect teeth and the smooth ripple of his adam’s apple in his firm neck.

“life happens,” he says finally, sobering. dark eyes rake over you, dragging over your head and down past your clavicle.

he clears something low in his throat, and when he speaks, his voice comes out huskier.

“i could ask the same.”

all of a sudden your tongue feels too heavy in your dry mouth. you nod, just slightly, letting out a small “mhm.”

his eyes snap back to yours at the sound - this time with that familiar gleam you know so well - and his fingers give a gentle flex where they’re still resting on your arm. your skin prickles with gooseflesh all over, hyper-aware and newly sensitive.

there’s a thick sort of tension charging the air between you two now, a deep, crackling hum you can practically feel. he’s standing near, so near the warm breath escaping his lips brushes your cheeks.

this wasn’t… this couldn’t be the same paul you’d known. the one who had found any and every way to annoy you since you were both kids, with mud-stained knees and bandaids taped over your elbows. the one who you swore would never be anything more to you than the stubborn asshole who lived next door.

and yet…

the tightening draw in the depths of your stomach tells you otherwise. suddenly you want him close, closer than ever before.

Vet!imprint that's OBSESSED with big dogs and finds out about Paul's shapeshifting ability (by accident ofc), he's nervous because he expects them to be crazy afraid of him but instead they're so surprised and so happy?

Bonus points if he somehow gets hurt while in wolf form and agrees to get taken care by his imprint in wolf form. He'd feel a little silly about it but anything as long as they're happy lol

this was such a fun request! this is a little rushed but enjoy !! xx

🐾 paul lahote x vet!imprint

you’ve loved big dogs for as long as you can remember. great danes, mastiffs, st. bernards - all of them. growing up, you had posters plastered on every inch of your bedroom wall. every breed, random facts - you knew it all. now working as a vet, there’s nothing in the world you love more than getting to take care of them as your job.

you and paul first meet when he takes his new puppy in for a checkup. it’s funny - the first time he sees you, he just stands there ; his jaw goes completely slack, eyes fastened on you. (he drops the dog’s leash and you two spend nearly twenty minutes chasing it around the veterinarian center.)

before you know it, you start seeing him more and more - first, he books an appointment almost every week for a month straight, then you bump into each other at the grocery store, in the parking lot. he’s unavoidable at this point. you know it’s a long drive from la push - you can’t understand why he could possibly be doing all of this, making all of this effort.

of course, you find him handsome. okay, really fucking hot. piercing eyes, white teeth, smooth, brown skin. and god, his hair. dark waves framing even darker lashes. and he knows how to flirt - annoyingly well - he’s quick with his words and his smiles make you nearly melt. you start getting more and more flustered around him, blushing, tucking your hair behind your ear - when have you ever done that before?

then one day, he asks -almost shy- if you can babysit his dog while he goes to seattle for a while - he doesn’t tell you for how long. you check your shifts, and yeah, maybe you end up squeezing back a couple of unimportant things to fit that in, but who’s checking?

he’s gone by the time you get to his house. it’s not the first time you’ve been here, but he’s left a note. it reads: thx so much for helping. i owe you one. take whatever you need. (you smile at his handwriting, all sloppy and scrawled out across the page, picturing him writing furtively before you got there.)

even though he’s not with you, you’re comfortable alone in his house. on the third visit, you end up taking one of the jackets from his closet - it’s cold, alright? and it smells like him - and snuggling with his dog on the couch. and yeah okay, maybe, maybe you wonder what it’d be like to cuddle with him there too.

that’s the night he comes back.

you hear a loud rustling in the bushes outside the house - you think it’s a wild fox or some other animal trying to dig through the trash, so you venture outside as quietly as you can.

that’s when you see it. see him.

it’s a fucking wolf. absolutely huge — thick grey fur, massive paws, so tall its snout comes nearly up to your shoulder. a gasp escapes your lips before you can help it.

at the sound, the wolf freezes, starts. big yellow eyes lock on yours.

there’s a loud, suctioning pop — your eyes can barely focus as the air blurs and ripples around the wolf — until suddenly it’s paul standing there — all 6’2” of him, long limbs and dark hair falling into eyes aflame with panic.

words tumble out of his mouth so fast you can barely make them out. “fuck, ‘m sorry, i didn’t think- god- fuck- are you okay? i’m sorry-“ he steps towards you, strong hands clutching onto your arms like he’s afraid you’re going to bolt.

all you can do is reach out, ever so slowly, and cup his face in your palms. his skin burns hot beneath yours.

on a flash of impulse, you stretch up and press your lips to his cheek.

that stops his stuttering, the panic slowly ebbing from his eyes. “but you- i mean, i just-“ his voice drops low, wide hands trembling on your skin. “please, y/n…aren’t you scared of me?”

you don’t exactly know how to feel - there’s a flurry of emotions coursing through you all at once - shock, joy, and something much larger than all of that. something more.

you don’t understand how or why or even when, but he’s a wolf. and he’s yours - you know that, without him even saying the words.

you smile, just barely whispering against the bare column of his neck: “you have no idea how happy i am”

and he does make you happy, really happy. turns out having a shapeshifter as a boyfriend has some serious perks - he’s warm all the time ; snuggling with him is fucking heaven. you love watching him run in his wolf form too, though sometimes all you can see is a grey-brown blur - he’s so impossibly fast.

occasionally he even plays fetch with you (that’s your favourite game), though he always mutters something about it being fucking humiliating under his breath. (he has the widest grin on his face when he phases back, anyway, and you tease ‘that’s the best part of being an imprint’)

one evening, you’re sitting on the porch steps, waiting for him to return from patrol - you’ve got plans - when you see the outline of his wolf limping up to the house.

immediately, you know something’s wrong. you call out his name and he whimpers a little, pawing the ground.

when you get to him, you see he’s got a long, rusty nail embedded into the pad of his foot, skin already starting to heal around it.

“oh god, paul” you gasp, and he drops it back to the ground, whining again, louder.

“paul, baby, i’m sorry but we’ve got to get that out right now- your foot is all cut to hell” (your heart swells at this - normally he’s the one taking care of you, and it seems like you never get the chance to reciprocate. but after all, this is your specialty.)

you lean closer, brushing your hand up his broad nose, whispering “let me take care of you, okay?”

P.S, i can’t wait to see what you’ll write in the future. :)

thank you for the ask anon !! i'm a bit unfamiliar with writing witches, but i hope u enjoy xx

🔮 paul lahote x witch!imprint headcanons

since you're his imprint, he's fully obsessed with you - so much so that the other members of the pack like to joke that you must've cast a spell on him. "he literally can't think of anything but you, y/n." maybe you did, maybe you didn't - paul just loves you that much.

you've always been deeply in tune with nature and animals, and the imprint with paul only strengthens that connection. when you go on long walks with him in the woods, wild animals come up to you and eat out of your hand - literally. some mornings you get up to find gifts like old coins and feathers that the birds left on your doorstep. (paul's there too, rubbing his eyes and yawning behind you.)

before the imprint, paul was never that interested in witchcraft or anything spiritual, really - but because he loves everything you do, he gets curious fast. less than two weeks into your official relationship, he's already asking if you can teach him baby spells. you try - but clearly it comes more naturally to you than to him. after one miserable attempt, he whines: "fuck, babe, how are you so good at this?"

you're incredibly powerful - magik comes pretty much effortlessly to you. you're practically unbeatable when it comes to your abilities, so you cast protection spells over him and the pack every time they patrol. mysteriously, no one has gotten injured since he imprinted on you. paul quickly guesses what you're doing: "you know you're my good luck charm, right?"

even though he doesn't quite understand it all, he still loves to watch you practice your rituals and make sacred charms and jewelry. you make him a metal ring with your name carved into the underside, and he never takes it off, except for when he phases. when he shifts back, it's the first thing he puts back on.

you’re just as strong without using magik - you know how to easily defend yourself against almost anything. but on the occasion that you do ask for his help, he’s always immediately at your side. “i know you don’t need me to protect you, but-"

he’s so so proud of you - he’s constantly telling the pack how much strength you have and all that you can do - by now they’re in awe of you, too. (he can't let the pack know, but ever since imprinting on you, he thinks of you every time he sees an angel number.)

if he's not on patrol or cuddling with you, he's out gathering everything he can to help you with your craft - dried herbs from emily's kitchen, old books he finds in forgotten corners of libraries (he goes there specifically for you), candles and incense sticks - he even tries to find crystal-like rocks for you when he's out on patrol. (sam yells at him for being distracted - but you just take up all of his thoughts.)

he’s the tiniest bit possessive - not toxic - but he isn’t shy in letting other people know that you’re his and only his. not just that - he always begs to hear you say he’s yours, too. he loves to walk with his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, or an arm slung over your shoulder.

"light red-gold hair, fair skin, gold-colored freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and nose, eyes the color of cinnamon"