#embry

ᨒ being in a relationship with embry call

Being with Embry is like falling in love in slow motion, quiet, steady, and achingly deep. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t announce his feelings in grand gestures or loud declarations; instead, he shows them in every small, deliberate action. His love unfolds gradually, layer by layer, until one day you realize it’s everywhere, in the way he looks at you, the way he says your name, the way his hand always seems to find yours no matter where you are.

Embry doesn’t rush anything. He’s gentle by nature, all soft edges and careful touches, but there’s something powerful in that restraint. His affection is subtle but certain, the kind that seeps into your bones and stays there. When he first fell for you, he tried to hide it, the way his breath caught when you smiled, the way he’d look away too quickly when you caught him staring. He wasn’t used to something this consuming, this real. But when the bond deepened, when it became clear that you were his, he stopped running from it. Instead, he learned to lean into the feeling, to let himself be seen.

He’s attentive in ways that surprise you. He remembers everything you say, even the smallest, throwaway details. If you mention a song you liked once, it’ll be playing quietly in his truck the next time you drive together. If you’re tired, he’s the first to notice, already reaching to take something heavy out of your hands before you even ask. He’s thoughtful without trying to be, and his kindness doesn’t demand recognition. He just… cares. And it shows.

Embry’s love language is time. He wants to be there, not just for the big moments, but the in-between ones. Sitting beside you in silence while you read. Fixing something in your house without being asked. Staying up late just because you can’t sleep. His presence is comforting, grounding, like the ocean at night, vast and quiet, but full of unspoken emotion. He’s not loud about his love, but it’s always there, constant and steady, as if his heart found its rhythm in yours.

When he touches you, it’s with a kind of reverence, like he’s still in awe that he gets to. His fingertips always start soft, tracing lazy circles on your skin, hesitant at first as though he’s afraid to take too much. There’s a shyness to him in the beginning, that endearing awkwardness that makes your chest ache because you can feel how much he wants to do right by you. But once he grows comfortable, once he learns what makes you sigh and relax into him, his confidence blooms. He’s quiet still, but his eyes speak for him, that deep, burning gaze that says I’m yours. I’d do anything for you.

Embry’s emotions run deeper than he lets on. He’s sensitive, but he doesn’t see it as weakness, not when it comes to you. He feels things deeply, even when he doesn’t know how to say them. When you cry, he doesn’t rush to fix it. He doesn’t tell you to stop or try to distract you. Instead, he holds you, wordlessly, firmly, until your breathing evens out. His hands move slowly up and down your back, his voice low when he finally murmurs, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” And you know he means it. He always means it.

Jealousy isn’t something Embry shows easily. He trusts you, and he tries to keep his emotions in check. But when someone flirts too long or stands too close, you feel that subtle shift in him, the way his body straightens, the muscle in his jaw tightens. He won’t make a scene. He’ll just step closer, his arm slipping around your waist, eyes hardening in a quiet, protective way. It’s not possessiveness; it’s instinct. He doesn’t need to prove anything, he just needs to know you’re safe, that whoever’s looking at you knows exactly who you belong to.

He’s the kind of man who makes you laugh when you least expect it, shy smile breaking into a grin, his dimple showing when he teases you gently. You’ll catch him looking at you sometimes, his expression soft, almost dazed, and he’ll shake his head and mutter, “You have no idea what you do to me.” It’s not about lust, though that’s there too, it’s the awe of loving someone who sees him for who he is.

Embry’s devotion is quiet but unwavering. Once he loves you, there’s no undoing it. You could be miles apart, and he’d still think about you every day, checking his phone just to see if you texted, driving by your place when he misses you too much. He doesn’t love halfway; he never could. You’re in his every heartbeat, his every breath. When you curl up against him, his hand always settles over your heart, thumb tracing slow patterns like he’s memorizing the rhythm.

He doesn’t say I love you often, but when he does, it’s soft, almost reverent. “I love you,” he murmurs against your hair, voice barely above a whisper, like it’s something sacred he’s afraid to break. He says it like it’s a promise, steady, eternal, absolute.

With Embry, love feels like home. It’s the quiet safety of a steady heartbeat beneath your ear, the comfort of laughter shared in the dark, the kind of warmth that doesn’t fade when the world gets cold. He doesn’t demand attention or make a spectacle of his love, he just gives it, endlessly, selflessly.

I wake up to the sound of the ocean. Not the loud, crushing kind- just the steady hush of waves rolling in and pulling back, like the tide is breathing. The window is cracked open, letting in cool, salty air that mixes with the warmth of the bed and the steady heat of the body pressed against mine. Embry. 

I don’t open my eyes right away, I don’t need to. I know exactly where I am by the weight of his arms around my waist, by the solid rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek, by the faint scent of pine and salt and him that has become the definition of safe. I shifted slightly, nose brushing his skin, and he stirs almost immediately. Of course he does. 

“Mornin’” He murmurs, voice still rough with sleep. 

I smile against his best. “You’re awake already?” 

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through him and into me. “You moved.” 

“That’s it?” I tease. “I breathe differently, and you’re alert?” 

“Pretty much.” 

I tilted my head up, finally opening my eyes. He’s already looking down at me, dark hair mess, eyes warm and soft in that way that still makes my chest ache a little. Like he’s seeing something precious every time he looks at me. 

“Morning.” I say, quietly. 

He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, slow and lingering. Not rushed, never rushed. I melt into it, because I always do. La Push mornings are my favorite. They’re quiet in a way that feels intentional, like the world hasn’t woken up yet because it knows better than to interrupt. The sky is gray but gentle, clouds hanging low over the water, and everything smells like damp earth and ocean spray. 

Embry’s room is small but lived-in. A few posters peeling slightly at the corners, clothes folded neatly enough to show effort, not perfection. The walls hum faintly with warmth from his presence- it’s something I’ve noticed over time, how rooms feel different when he’s been in them for a while. I stretch lazily, legs tangling with his. 

He groans dramatically. “You’re gonna make me get up.” 

“Good.” I say sweetly. “Breakfast exists.” 

He squints at me. “You’re evil in the morning.” 

I grin. “You love it.” 

He snorts but rolls out of bed anyway, tugging me with him until I squeak and nearly tumble off the mattress. 

“Embry!” 

He laughs, hands steadying me instantly. “Sorry. Reflex.” 

I glare at him for half a second before laughing too, because it’s impossible to stay annoyed when he looks at me like that- like he’s won something just by waking up next to me. 

We end up on the beach not long after, shoes abandoned in the sand, jeans rolled up, coffee steaming in mismatched mugs. The ocean is restless today, but calm enough to wade into. Embry walks ahead of me, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed. He looks… lighter lately. Happier. I think I might be part of the reason. 

“You’re staring.” He says without turning around. 

I shrug. “Can’t help it.” 

He turns then, eyebrows raised, that teasing half-smile playing at his lips. 

“That so?” 

I step closer, reaching out to lace my fingers through his. His hand is warm- always warmer than it should be, but I don’t think much of it anymore. 

“Yeah.” I say simply. “I like you.” 

He laughs, full and genuine. “Wow. Bold confession.” 

“I know. Took a lot of courage.” 

He bumps his shoulder into mine as we walk. “Good thing I like you too.” 

We stop near the waterline, watching waves curl and break, foam rushing around our feet. I lean into his side, resting my head against his shoulder. This… this quiet… is something I never knew I needed until I had it. 

Pack life is… loud. Not in the way people think, there aren’t always arguments of chaos, but there’s always something. Energy. Movement. That constant undercurrent of connection humming just beneath the surface. I’m not part of it in the way they are, but I’m close enough to feel it. Embry is different with me than he is with the pack. Softer. More grounded. Like he doesn’t have to carry the weight of being something more when it’s just us. Sometimes, I catch him watching me the way someone watches the horizon. Steady, thoughtful, like he’s anchoring himself. It makes my chest ache in the best way. 

Later that afternoon, we’re back at his place, sprawled on the couch. I’m hald-curled against him, legs draped over his lap while he absentmindedly plays with my hair. His fingers are gentle and careful. 

“Jake’s gonna come by later.” He says casually. “Said something about burgers.” 

I laugh. “Of course he did.” 

Embry grins. “You okay with that?”

“Yeah,” I say easily. “I like them.” 

He relaxes slightly at that, like he hadn’t realized he was waiting for my answer. 

I reached up and tap his chin. “You know you don’t have to ask, right?” 

“I know.” He says quietly. “I just… want you comfortable.” 

I smile, heart swelling. “I am, with you.” 

He leans doen and kisses me, not rushed or hungry, just warm, steady, and sure. Like a promise rather than a question. 

That night, after the house quiets and the pack noise fades into something distant and manageable, we lie in bed again, limbs tangled, the sound of rain tapping against the windows. 

“Hey.” I whisper. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you ever think about… later?” I ask softly. “Not tomorrow, or next week. Just… later.” 

He’s quiet for a moment. I can almost feel his thoughts shifting. 

“Yeah,” He says finally. “All the time.” 

I look up at him. “And?” 

He meets my gaze, serious but calm. “I see you.” 

The simplicity of it hits me harder than anything else could. 

“Me?” I ask, even though I already know. 

“Yeah,” He says. “Right here with me. Wherever that ends up being.” 

I smile, pressing my forehead to his. “Good, because I see you too.” 

His arm tightens around me, protective without being suffocating. Outside, the tide keeps moving. Coming in. Pulling back. But here, I know one thing with absolute certainty, no matter how wild the world gets, no matter how fast things change, I will always find my way back to him. And he will always be there, waiting. Just like the tide.