huge size kink with jacob and it shows. bella seeing jake w/ his imprint and his hand cups the back of her head easily
anon baby!!! you read my whole mind !!
──── ꒲ nsfw size kink drabble w jacob . . . ❜ ﹗
his hand’s at the back of your head again, fingers spread wide, cradling you like you’re something breakable—but his hips are anything but gentle.
he’s massive—every part of him. his hand alone spans the whole base of your skull, thumb brushing your jaw, pinky near your spine, like your head fits in his palm by design.
you’re already shaking.
already breathless from how deep he is.
and still, he pushes in slow, like he’s trying to savor the way you stretch around him, split open on something way too big to take all at once—but god, you do.
❝fuck, baby, look at you,❞ he groans, voice thick with awe, palm firm behind your head like a brace. ❝taking all of it. taking me.❞
and it’s true—jacob’s dick is huge, impossibly thick, the kind that makes your breath hitch just from the weight of it, the kind that makes you feel him for days. he fills every inch, presses against every spot like he was built just for you.
you cling to him, thighs trembling, nails biting into his shoulder as his hips grind up again—slow, deep, devastating.
somewhere nearby, someone shifts—a tent flap, maybe, or a twig cracking underfoot—and jacob grins, doesn’t even stop.
just cups your head tighter, shields you with his body, and says loud enough for anyone passing by,
❝she’s mine. this perfect little pussy, these sounds, every inch of her—mine.❞
and when your back arches, when your body clenches down tight around him, he laughs—low, smug, breathless.
❝yeah? that feel good, sweet thing? no one fucks you like I do. no one fills you like this.❞
you can’t even speak. can’t think. all you can do is hold onto him while he fucks you slow and deep, one hand on your hip, the other cradling your head like you’re precious even while he ruins you.
and then, soft—so soft, just for you, lips brushing your temple—
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Pairing: Jasper Hale x Reader
Summary: Jasper is a southern gentleman. He hates showing any sort of aggression around you, flashing teeth or using his strength. But you're human and you're fragile -- and not everyone acknowledges it. Some people (or wolves), he just has to correct.
Themes & Warnings: fluff, protective!Jasper, Eclipse era, slight violence, Jasper is such a sweetheart i love him <3
When you said you had the sweetest, most trusting husband in the world, it wasn't just a lie like other women told. You were serious. Jasper Hale was seriously the softest, cuddliest, most gentlemanly killing machine on earth.
Being the most protected woman in Washington or even in the world was a wonderful feeling. You never had any doubts in your husband, despite the horrible things you'd been through with him and his family. He treasured you, respected you, catered to all of your needs, and really was a perfect Southern gentleman, just like he'd told you he was the day you met him.
You'd just been married after being together for years. In fact, the plan was to turn you as soon as a solid window of time allowed. But, of course, danger and turbulence with Bella had disturbed your plans. You were still human and still fragile. You would've thought he was going to hover over you at all times, like Edward did Bella. But it was different. It helped that he could feel when you were scared or uncomfortable, but Jazz was comfortable at a distance, trusting you in your ability to identify a dangerous situation and be smart about needing help. And when you did need him, he eliminated the threat swiftly and effectively, reminding you and everyone else just how deadly he was.
The current threat was the newborn army. Most definitely organized by Victoria, it held a certain amount of weight, a palpable danger. Jasper had been tense lately -- he could feel the unease of everyone around him. And you, his human mate, were directly in danger, at risk of bloodthirsty newborns every time you were alone.
He'd recently decided that now, while things were so risky, you'd be by his side under constant protection. Knowing the threat and knowing Jasper's story, his experience with newborns, you didn't complain. You just followed your Major's orders.
Today, you were in the clearing, listening to your husband teach the family and the Pack about how to defense and offense. You couldn't lie, Jazz was dangerously hot like this.
Jasper Hale was never louder than necessary. He didn’t bark orders or boast about his skills. He simply moved and spoke with such controlled confidence that the entire clearing naturally stilled around him.
He stood at the center of the field, broad shoulders squared, golden eyes scanning everyone like a quiet commander taking stock. The tension in his jaw only made him look more dangerous. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, exposing pale, scar-marked skin that shimmered faintly in the weak light -- reminders that he'd lived through so much violence and survived.
His hair was windswept, messy from combat demos, strands falling over his forehead. Somehow, that only made him hotter.
When he moved, he was all precision: a blur of muscle and reflex, striking with the speed of someone who didn’t hesitate. He never wasted energy. Every movement was elegant, efficient.
There was something deeply attractive about the way he balanced that lethal force with his gentlemanly calm. He wasn’t showing off, he was teaching. Guiding. Protecting.
“Newborns don’t think. They react. You use that. Wait for them to lunge -- then redirect their momentum.”
“Don’t aim for the head first. You want the arms, the legs. Disable them. Then finish it.”
“Stay low, keep your center of gravity under control. Don’t rely on brute force if you don’t have to.”
“Speed isn't enough. You gotta predict. Anticipate. That’s how you outlast ‘em.”
“Rosalie, you’re telegraphing. I could see that from a mile off.”
(a soft smirk, drawing a glare from Rosalie)
“Don’t swing wide, Emmett. This isn’t a bar fight. That move would’ve gotten you killed a hundred years ago.”
He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t need to. That Southern drawl carried low and smooth, just loud enough to demand attention. You could tell he was holding back, like every part of him was wired to snap, but he was too controlled, too good, to let it show.
Watching Jasper fight was like watching a storm gather in the distance: quiet, beautiful, and inevitable.
Could be anyone. Wolf or vampire. They were quickly and strategically disarmed, usually with one move. It was like Jasper could tell exactly what they were going to do before they did it -- because likely, he could. He could feel whether they were cool headed, overconfident, agitated, restless. He was truly formidable. It was incredibly sexy to you.
Every once in a while, Jasper could feel your stares. He could feel your feelings of.. affection.. too. He tried to stay focused, his eyes locked onto whoever he was speaking to or whoever was swinging at him, but you could tell he knew. A crooked lift of his lip in a slight smirk would expose him.
Now, he stood facing off with Paul.
You'd never liked Paul. He was temperamental, cocky, arrogant and out of line any time you'd talked to him or been around him. But he was part of the pack and needed to be trained, so he was here.
Jasper could immediately feel your discomfort. His golden eyes met yours knowingly, reassuringly, in an attempt to soothe you. You felt yourself calm down considerably before you leaned back against the log, sighing.
He turned back. Paul was already snarling, fur prickling up in confidence and aggression. He hated vampires, whether they were fighting for the same cause or not. He wouldn't take it easy on Jasper, not that it mattered. Jasper never needed anyone to be careful, never needed to take it easily. He was almost sure that if Paul could, he'd go for the kill.
You swooned at Jazz. His face was still calm, staring down at the beast with anticipating eyes. Relaxed stance. He nodded, curving a hand to show Paul that it was time.
“Give it your best.” He said, one final statement, before Paul growled.
Paul lunged, massive wolf body coiled with muscle and teeth.
Jasper shifted just enough to the side, one pale hand shooting out to catch Paul by the ruff of his neck. He used the wolf’s own momentum to slam him to the ground, pinning him with one knee between his shoulders.
His voice was low, unbothered:
“Far too predictable. A newborn would've snapped your neck,” he said. “You need to think it through before making an attempt. You have to be better than them -- more patient, more measured.”
Paul snarled and bucked under him, forcing Jasper to release him. The wolf twisted, hackles raised, and launched again with a furious roar.
Jasper didn’t flinch. He waited, eyes cool, then sidestepped at the last second, hand flashing out to catch Paul’s foreleg mid-swipe. With a sharp jerk and a twist of his hips, he threw the massive wolf onto his back, sending him sliding into the treeline.
Jasper leaned in slightly, voice calm but firm.
“Again. But try learning this time.”
With a furious roar, Paul gave it one more shot.
He jumped into the air, not taking Jasper's advice, not thinking, but heading for the southern man full force. With an audible and disappointed "tsk," Jazz landed another blow, a final push, intended for teaching. The blow made contact, once again sending Paul towards the trees. He barreled into them, knocking two over.
Jasper turned around to the group, using it as a teaching example.
“That's why you have to think. Control yourself,” he explained, gesturing towards the direction he'd flung Paul. “They're stronger than you and far more excited to fight. Even more excited to kill. You can't be sloppy.”
While Jasper was explaining, Paul got angrier and angrier.
He hated being beaten. Hated being embarrassed. Hated being talked back to. And hated vampires.
You sat across the clearing, watching him get up from the trees. His teeth dripped with spit, a permanent snarl etched onto his glaring face. His paws were heavy in the dirt.
And the direction he stalked? It wasn't towards Jasper.
It was towards you.
He was angry, embarrassed, and wanted to teach Jasper a lesson by terrifying you. Of course, by pack law, he wasn't allowed to touch you. But scaring a vampire's mate seemed to be equal punishment for the embarrassment.
Your eyes widened as you straightened off the log. Paul got closer and closer, drool dribbling off his teeth and lips, looking positively murderous. He was now within five feet of you, paws crossing the grass in enormous strides.
Jasper’s voice faltered for half a second as he felt the shift in you -- the jolt of fear, sharp and cold.
His golden eyes flicked immediately to you, then the aggressive, snarling wolf right in front of your face. Less than five feet now, pushing you back, making you cower against the wood log.
Jacob spoke from behind Jasper first.
“Paul! Stop!”
It was too late. The damage had already been done. Jasper was angry now.
Jasper didn’t explode.
He didn’t shout, didn’t bare his teeth or make a scene.
He simply went silent.
So silent that even the wind seemed to still in the trees.
And in that breathless, deathly quiet, he moved.
One blink and he was no longer in front of the pack or your family. He was between you and Paul, standing nose-to-snout with the enormous wolf, whose growling abruptly cut short at the sudden presence of something far, far more dangerous.
Jasper’s hand shot out, not to strike, but to press, flat and firm, against Paul’s fur covered shoulder, holding him back like he weighed nothing at all. His voice came low and dark, quieter than anyone had ever heard it.
“Foolish dog.”
Paul snarled, tried to shove forward -- instinct, fury, shame. He didn’t make it an inch.
With one hand still on Paul’s shoulder, Jasper’s other came up in a blur -- grabbing the wolf by the scruff of the neck and slamming him into the earth with a crack of force that shook the ground.
Gasps, footsteps, and whining from the pack echoed behind you.
Jasper didn't look at anyone else.
“I gave you every chance,” he said, voice thick with venom now, words curling with Southern fire. “I trained you. I warned you.”
He leaned into the wolf's snarling face again, letting him snap and growl at him, unfazed. His eyes were deadly, but his face was relatively relaxed.
“You won't make it on the field if this is how you present yourself,” he hummed, squeezing tighter onto Paul's body. “I cared at first. But now?”
Paul growled and twisted. Jasper slammed him down.
“I'm almost certain this world could use one less insolent mutt.”
The threat in his words wasn’t shouted. It was drawled, cold and certain, landing heavier than any yell could have. Paul let out a strangled, furious snarl, thrashing harder beneath Jasper’s unyielding grip. Dirt and grass tore up under his claws.
Jasper didn’t even blink. His golden eyes stayed locked on the wolf’s, steady and unflinching.
“You think you’re ready to fight newborns?” he asked, tone dipping almost to pity -- almost. His fingers tightened just enough to make Paul yelp. “You can’t even manage your temper.”
He waited for the next lunge. When Paul tried to twist again, Jasper slammed him down harder, making the ground quake.
“You’re sloppy. Predictable. And worst of all?” Jasper dropped his voice to a harsh whisper.
“You’re willing to threaten something of mine to save your own pride.”
Paul went still beneath him at that. Breathing hard. Growling, but with a tremor that wasn’t all rage.
Behind them, the clearing had gone silent. The pack frozen. Cullens unmoving. Even the wind felt like it held its breath.
Jasper’s lip curled faintly, not quite a smile.
“Consider this your only warning.”
He held Paul down one second longer, driving the point home. Then he stood smoothly, brushing the dirt from his hands like he hadn’t just manhandled a half-ton predator into submission.
“If you ever step foot near her again,” he drawled, Southern lilt dark as pitch, “I’ll put you down myself.”
He let that promise hang in the frozen air.
Then he turned, utterly calm, and walked back toward you without another glance at the wolf.
His cold hands met your skin immediately, gently nudging you into a standing position and smoothing your clothes out. He searched you silently for injuries -- you prayed he didn't find a single scratch. Even if Paul hadn't done it, he'd still pay the price for it.
Jasper’s touch was careful, almost reverent, as though he feared he might hurt you just by being too rough. His cold fingers brushed along your arms, checking for any sign of bruising. He smoothed your hair back from your face, golden eyes scanning you with laser focus.
“Hold still for me, darlin',” he murmured, voice lower now -- gentler, but still taut with restrained fury.
You swallowed hard, letting him fuss over you. His thumb grazed your jaw, tilting your face toward the light to check for any marks.
Nothing. Not a scratch.
He exhaled, slow and shaky despite the careful control on his face.
“Good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
His hands lingered at your waist, gripping you just enough to anchor himself. He didn’t look back at the pack, didn’t even acknowledge the others. For Jasper, in that moment, there was no one else but you.
As he felt you relax against him, Jasper’s hold softened even more. His thumbs brushed soothing circles at your waist, the cold of his skin forgotten in the warm hush between you.
“That’s it,” he murmured, southern lilt a low rumble only for your ears. “Easy now, sugar. I’ve got you.”
He dipped his head just low enough to press his lips gently to your forehead, leaving his lips there for a few seconds and letting his eyes flutter shut. Grounding himself. The tension bled out of him by slow degrees, like smothered coals on a fire being put out.
One of his hands drifted up to cup your cheek, wiping the startled tears from under your eyes.
“No more cryin’, sweet angel. He’s never gonna come near you again.”
Once you were sufficiently comforted, Jasper returned to the training session, but decided that he wasn’t going to do any demonstrations. For the rest of the day, you’d be by his side where he could focus on you.
However, Jasper was a practical and respectful man. A warning always came before he broke loose.
Jasper didn’t raise his voice or even turn fully away from you. He just lifted his head enough to look past you, eyes finding the pack’s leader with that glint of cold command still in them.
“Sam,” he called evenly.
Sam’s ears flicked forward in wolf form, body tense, watching every move. No one had much to say, just stared. Emmett and Edward watched cautiously, awaiting a fight to break out.
Jasper’s jaw flexed once before he spoke, his tone unyielding.
“You’ll be down a pup if you ever let one of yours so much as growl at her again,” he asserted, tone cutting through the air like a knife. “She’s human. If you’ve forgotten your rules, if you’ve forgotten the treaty, I can be your reminder.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Didn’t need one.
His gaze lingered on Sam another beat, making sure the threat was received in full, before he lowered his eyes back to you, all that deadly fire softening in an instant.
authors note: Just something short I wanted to write. It's not really a fanfic, but more of a self insert of how I would appropriately react with some events in Twilight. Hope you enjoy!
synopsis: You don't have a filter, which is a good thing (yeah, fuck whoever disagrees) which means that you make your dislike for Bella Swan apparent. It's not because she's mean, quite the opposite, but because you find her survival instincts to be nonexistent.
You had been with the Cullens long enough to know one thing: your family was full of liars. Not malicious ones, just polite ones. Polite to a fault. Polite in the “let’s pretend we’re not all thinking the same thing” way.
Esme smiled through everything. Carlisle rationalized everything. Alice saw everything and said nothing. Emmett laughed everything off. Jasper avoided everything. Rosalie judged everything silently. But you? You said it out loud. So when Bella Swan moved down from Arizona, smelling like the world’s most tempting air freshener and staring at your family like you were her personal Netflix show, you did the only reasonable thing.
You stared back.
Hard.
Unblinking.
Like a cat who just realized the laser pointer might actually be alive.
Across the cafeteria, Bella froze, eyes widening as if she hadn’t expected you to notice the staring, which was insane because she’d been doing it for several days now. Edward elbowed you sharply under the table. “Stop that.”
“She started it.” You said, but gave Edward the pleasure of looking away and slouching deeper in your chair. “And why is she even staring at us? Do humans not know that eye contact means aggression? Or is this a regional problem? Maybe Arizona doesn’t have basic survival instincts.”
“(Y/N).” Edward hissed.
“I’m genuinely asking.”
Rosalie sighed like your existence personally offended her. “She’s curious, (Y/N). Humans get curious.”
“Curious about what? We sit here. We look pretty. We mind our undead business. It’s not like we’re juggling axes or sacrificing goats.”
“Alice suggested the axes once, remember?” Emmett said. “Carlisle said no.”
“And the goats?”
“Also no.”
“Tragic.”
Edward rubbed his temples. “Can everyone please behave? She’s not a threat.”
“Oh, I know she’s not a threat,” you said, stabbing at your boxed apple juice with unnecessary force. “She’s a walking liability. A hazard on legs. She radiates ‘about to trip and break something expensive’ energy.”
“She’s clumsy.” Jasper admitted diplomatically.
“Clumsy? Bro, clumsy is bumping into a chair. Bella looks like gravity filed a restraining order against her and it’s retaliating.”
Emmett choked on a laugh. Jasper pressed his lips together so hard they almost disappeared. Alice was openly beaming now, her chin propped in her hand like she was watching her favorite sitcom. Rosalie, for once, did not immediately scold you. She simply gave a slow, unimpressed blink that meant she agreed but refused to compliment you for it.
Bella's eyes drifted up again: straight to your table, straight to Edward, and then (unfortunately) straight to you. When your eyes met, you raised your brows, silently mouthing, "What are you looking at?" She jerked so hard that the cartoon of milk nearly spilled on the table.
Edward kicked your shin under the table. “Stop terrorizing her.”
You glared at him. “I’m not terrorizing her. I’m observing.”
“You’re glaring.”
“That was a neutral expression.”
“For a vampire about to commit a felony.” Rosalie supplied. You rolled your eyes and reached for your fork. Edward snatched it out of your hand instantly.
“What are you—?"
He hissed under his breath, “Your face looks like you’re about to throw it at her.”
You blinked, and paused to considered it. “Okay, fair. But give it back.”
“No. You don't need to frighten her anymore than you have.”
“I wasn't scaring her,” you said, though no one at the table believed you. “If anything, I’m preparing her. This is enrichment. Like zoo training.”
TIME SKIP
When Edward came home that afternoon, his expression was the exact mix of disgust and existential dread you usually associate with Rosalie encountering a crowded mall. He barely got through the door before you spoke. “What crawled up your ass and died?”
Edward dropped his bag with unnecessary dramatics. “I had Biology with her.”
You recoiled. “Oh my god. And, let me guess, she sat next to you?”
“Yes.”
You slapped a hand over your chest. “A tragedy. A violation. You poor thing.” Edward glared. You shrugged. "No actually, I get it. She smells like dessert to you, right? And instead of avoiding you like a human with basic survival instincts she's like, ‘Oh gee, let me sit beside the immortal bloodsucker and try to befriend him.’ That’s a choice. A stupid one.”
Edward groaned. “It took everything in me not to jump across the table and suck her dry."
You raised a brow. “So this is the part where you decide to stay away from her, right?” Edward didn’t answer. You slapped a hand over your eyes. “Oh no. You’re already obsessed, aren’t you?”
And obsessed he was.
Painfully. Horrifyingly. Criminally.
Two days later, he unknowingly let it slip—and by slip, you mean he confessed it like a man who had forgotten what shame was—that he’d been watching Bella sleep from inside her room like a total creep. It happened during another dramatic Edward Entry, where he appeared at the top of the stairs with that look. That haunted, dreamy, lovesick, vaguely murderous look.
“I’ve discovered something.” he murmured, descending the stairs like a gothic chandelier falling in slow motion.
“A personality?” He ignored you. That was mistake number one.
“She talks in her sleep.” Edward said, voice low and weirdly soft.
You blinked once. Twice. “…Excuse me?”
Edward paused, eyebrows lifting in mild confusion. “Bella. She—”
“—talks in her sleep,” you finished for him. “Yes. Yes, you just said that. My question is: how you know this?”
Emmett’s eyebrows shot up. Jasper straightened in his seat like someone had plugged him into an electrical socket. Rosalie turned her head slowly—very slowly—to glare at Edward, because although she disliked Bella with a passion, she wasn’t about to let her brother be a full blown psycho. Her eyes narrowed into lethal slits.
“Edward. Tell me you’re joking.”
He stiffened. “I—”
“No,” Rosalie snapped, cutting him off like a guillotine. “Don’t. Whatever you say next is going to make me want to hit you, and Carlisle will get mad when I break your jaw.”
Emmett raised a hand helpfully. “I can hold him down.”
Rosalie didn’t even look at him. “He wouldn’t fight back. He’d probably cry about it.”
Jasper’s voice was cautious, like he was approaching a wild animal. “Edward, please tell us how you discovered this?”
Hesitation.
A bad sign.
A very bad sign.
You leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Edward, where were you standing when she was sleep talking?”
“I wasn’t standing.” he said defensively.
Rosalie looked a heartbeat away from physical violence. “Okay, so you were sitting. Where? On a tree branch? Outside her window like a feral owl?"
He winced. “The rocking chair in her room.”
The room exploded.
Rosalie made a strangled, murderous noise. Jasper froze as if preparing emotionally for Edward’s funeral. Emmett dropped the remote and whispered, “Oh my god. You ARE a creep.” And you stood up so fast your chair skidded backward.
“EDWARD ANTHONY MASEN CULLEN!”
“Don’t use my full name—”
“You sat,” you repeated, stabbing each word into the air like a knife. “In the dark. In the corner. In a rocking chair. Watching a human girl as she slept like some sort of pale, sparkly sleep paralysis demon?"
Edward winced. “When you say it like that—”
“How ELSE am I supposed to say it?” you barked. “You violated every privacy law ever created! Even the unwritten ones! Humans don’t even LIKE when their pets stare at them while they sleep.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Oh my god,” Rosalie cut in, looking genuinely appalled. “I didn't think you could become even more of a loser than you were."
It was at that moment that Esme entered the room cheerfully, but then froze, noticing the tension. “What’s going on?”
You pointed at Edward with the dramatic fury of a soap opera character. “Oh, it's nothing. Just that your perfect golden boy here has been breaking into Bella Swan’s bedroom and WATCHING HER SLEEP!”
Esme blinked. Then blinked again. “Oh dear...”
Carlisle followed behind her, eyebrows rising. “Edward?”
Edward threw his hands up. “I was making sure she was safe!”
You gaped at him. “SAFE FROM WHAT, EDWARD?! NIGHTMARES? PILLOWS? HER OWN BREATHING?!”
Emmett nodded vigorously. “Bro, imagine waking up and seeing YOU in the corner. I’d yeet myself out the window.”
Jasper nodded. “So would I.”
Edward glared at all of you. “None of you understand—”
“OH TRUST ME,” you barked, “we understand PERFECTLY. You have lost your goddamn mind.”
Rosalie stepped closer, voice low. “If Bella finds out about this, she is going to pass out so fast she’ll crack her skull on her nightstand. And then YOU’LL have to explain to Charlie Swan why his daughter died of fright.”
Emmett held up a finger. “Which would be hilarious—”
Rosalie snapped, “Emmett!”
“—but bad.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Edward, listen carefully. Humans don’t LIKE being watched while unconscious. They tend to—oh, I don’t know—call the police!”
“That’s ridiculous.” Edward scoffed.
“Oh?” you asked sweetly. “And what would YOU do if a stranger sat in YOUR room at night?”
“I would know.” He said smugly.
“Yes,” you said dryly, “because you’re a vampire. Bella is a CHIHUAHUA with the durability of a breadstick.”
“Oh! Well EXCUSE ME,” you said dramatically. “Three encounters. That changes everything. Let’s book the wedding.”
Emmett raised a hand. “Dibs on best man.”
Rosalie hissed. “We are not planning a wedding for the girl he’s currently stalking.”
“I'm not—"
“STALKING!”
ANOTHER TIME SKIP
Edward really lived up to his creep status. Not even a week after stalking the poor girl, he took her into the woods and confirmed that yes, he sparkled like a disco ball in direct sunlight, yes, he was a vampire, and yes, the rest of his family were too. You nearly sprinted into the woods to find the largest tree trunk available, solely to beat him with it.
Rule #1 (if there was a handbook): DO NOT REVEAL YOUR STATUS TO HUMANS.
And what did Edward do? He broke it. Crushed it. Set it on fire. Ran it over with his stupid Volvo. And then? Then he had the audacity—the pure nerve—to invite the girl to your home. Your safe place. The one place you guys didn't need to hide. You met them in the kitchen alongside the rest of your family who were busy making Italiano.
Edward practically glowed with smugness. “So, this is Bella.”
You stared at her.
She stared back.
You blinked slowly, once, twice, like a warning system rebooting. “…Why is she here?”
Esme gasped softly. “(Y/N)!”
Bella flushed, shrinking in on herself. “I—I didn’t mean to intrude—”
“You’re not intruding.” Edward reassured her, giving Bella a soft smile like he hadn't done anything wrong.
You pointed a stiff, accusing finger at him. “Oh, she absolutely is intruding. What happened to subtlety? What happened to discretion? What happened to keeping our kind a secret?”
Bella blinked nervously. “I apologize if me knowing brought you guys any problems—”
You barked a laugh.
Not a cute laugh.
A deranged older sibling losing their patience laugh.
“Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t bring us any problems. He did.”
Edward’s jaw tightened. “(Y/N)—”
“No, no, do not ‘(Y/N)’ me,” you snapped, stepping forward. “Do you have any idea how many decades—DECADES—we’ve spent keeping a low profile? Do you know how many times I’ve had to dodge nosy humans, animal control, conspiracy theorists, and that one lady who swore Emmett was Bigfoot?”
Emmett yelled from behind the kitchen counter, “SHE TOOK A PICTURE OF ME EATING A GRANOLA BAR—WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!”
You waved a dismissive hand. “Case in point.”
Bella’s eyes widened. “I—I didn’t know—”
“Of course you didn’t know,” you said. “And you shouldn’t have known anything. About any of us. Because Edward was supposed to handle this like a responsible adult. Instead, he took you to the forest like a dramatically depressed anime character and told you everything.”
Edward hissed, “It wasn’t like that—”
“Oh?” you said. “Did you or did you not ‘say it, out loud’ her into a supernatural TED Talk?” Edward opened his mouth. You didn’t let him finish. “Exactly, you dramatically confessed eternal damnation in a mossy forest like the world’s biggest theatre kid.”
At that moment, you heard the sound of a glass breaking and Jasper's slight cursing. You didn't need to be in the same room to know he looked like a man trying to balance a thousand knifes on his head while walking a tightrope over a pit of Bella-scented lava.
“Okay,” you muttered. “Time for intervention number twelve of the week.” You turned your back on the couple and stepped into the main living room where Jasper stood at the top of the staircase.
"Come on, bro." You said, grabbing him by the wrist and nudging him towards the back hallway where the exit was. "Let’s go take a long walk where no gremlins are messing with you."
Jasper gritted his teeth. “Thank you.”
Edward called out, annoyed, “We’re in the middle of a discussion—!”
You flipped him off without looking back. “Yeah? Well I’m in the middle of keeping your girlfriend alive. You’re welcome.”
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꒰🐺 ꒱ 𝒸w: paul being intense, temper mentions, imprinting, soft possessiveness
𝒫aul 𝓛ahote is not the soft, sweet, whispering-poetry type of boyfriend. He is warm hands, sharp jaw, bad temper, and standing a little too close because he genuinely cannot help himself.
He loves hard. Like embarrassingly hard. Like if he imprints on you, everybody knows within two days because Paul is suddenly hovering like a guard dog with a personal grudge against the entire planet.
୨୧ He acts like he is not clingy, but he absolutely is.
Not in a “baby please text me back” way. More like he just appears wherever you are. Sitting beside you at Emily’s. Leaning against your truck. Walking you home even if you told him you were fine.
He will say something like, “I was going this way anyway,” and everyone knows he was not.
୨୧ Paul’s love language is physical touch, but he would rather die than say that out loud.
His hand on your lower back when you walk through a crowd. Fingers brushing your hair or your sleeve. His knee pressed against yours under the table. His arm thrown over the back of your chair, like he is trying to look casual but also making it very clear you are with him.
He is not delicate with affection at first. He has to learn how to be gentle. But once he does? It ruins him a little.
୨୧ He gets jealous fast, but he tries to play it off.
Paul is not subtle. If some guy looks at you too long, his whole face changes. Jaw tight. Eyes narrowed. Shoulders stiff.
And if you ask him what is wrong, he will definitely say, “Nothing.”
Which means everything is wrong and he is currently fighting demons in silence.
୨୧ He is protective in a very Paul way.
He does not fuss over you sweetly. He checks your tires. Walks on the road side of the sidewalk. Stares down anyone who makes you uncomfortable. Tells you to call him when you get home, then pretends he was not waiting with his phone in his hand.
If you get hurt, even a little, he gets quiet. That is how you know he is really scared.
୨୧ He has a temper, but he would try so hard not to scare you.
Paul is canonically hotheaded. That does not just disappear because he loves someone. But with you, he learns restraint and control
Sometimes he has to walk away. Sometimes he has to phase and run until the anger burns off. Sometimes he comes back looking ashamed, like he hates that part of himself more than anyone else ever could.
He would not want you afraid of him. That would destroy him.
୨୧ He is secretly proud when you wear his clothes.
He acts smug, obviously. That is Paul. But deep down, seeing you in his hoodie or shirt makes his chest feel too full.
He likes that you smell like him. He likes that everybody can see it. He likes that you look comfortable in something that belongs to him.
He will tease you for stealing it, then never ask for it back.
୨୧ At Emily’s house, he is always watching you.
Not in a creepy way. More like he is constantly aware of you. Where you are sitting. If you ate enough. If you are cold. If someone made you laugh.
He pretends he is listening to Jared or Embry, but his eyes keep sliding back to you anyway.
And if you catch him staring, he does not even look embarrassed. He just lifts his eyebrows like, what about it?
୨୧ Paul would be awful at apologizing at first.
Not because he does not care. Because caring makes him feel exposed.
His first apologies are probably stiff and awkward. “I shouldn’t have said that.” “I was being stupid.” “I didn’t mean it like that.”
But later, once he trusts you more, he gets better. Quieter. More honest.
“I got mad because I was scared. That’s not an excuse.”
୨୧ He is not the type to say “I love you” every five seconds.
But when he says it, it hits.
Paul’s “I love you” would come out low, serious, maybe when you are half asleep or after an argument or when he thinks you are not really listening. Or when you’re asleep, dead to the world.
And if you say it back, he goes still for half a second before pulling you closer.
୨୧ He likes when you mess with him.
Paul needs someone who can push back a little. Someone who rolls their eyes when he is being dramatic. Someone who can call him out without making him feel small.
If you tease him, he acts annoyed, but he loves it.
Especially if you make him laugh when he is trying very hard to stay mad.
୨୧ He is warmer than a blanket, no blankets needed when you’re around Paul.
Literally. Being around him is dangerous because once he holds you, you are not getting up. He runs hot from the shifting, so cuddling him feels unfairly good.
He would definitely complain if you put your cold hands on him, but he would still let you.
He would grumble, “You’re freezing,” while pulling your hands under his shirt to warm them up.
୨୧ He would struggle with the imprint at first.
Not because he does not want you. Because wanting you that much scares him.
Paul is used to reacting first and thinking later. The imprint would force him to feel everything at once. Need, fear, love, loyalty, panic.
He would hate how obvious it makes him. Hate that everyone can see exactly where his heart went.
But once he accepts it, that is it. He is yours.
୨୧ He loves in a way that feels almost too intense sometimes.
Paul is not casual. He does not know how to be casual with someone he loves.
He memorizes your moods. Your voice. The way you go quiet when something is wrong. The little things you do when you are nervous.
He notices more than people think he does.
୨୧ He would absolutely get softer when nobody is looking.
Around the pack, Paul is all attitude. Loud mouth, sharp grin, quick temper.
But alone with you? He gets quieter. He lets his guard drop. He presses his face into your neck and just breathes for a second, like being near you resets something in him.
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I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED THIS!! I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS!! AND IF YOU WOULD BE SO KIND TO LEAVE A COMMENT 🦌
