#twilight fandom

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.

“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.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes. “You need to stop. Now.”

Edward’s jaw clenched. “I can’t. She’s important.”

You threw your arms up. “You met her TWICE!”

“Three times.” Edward corrected.

“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—!”

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.

. . .

Prologue

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Part six

Part seven

Part eight

Part nine

Part ten

Part eleven

Part twelve

Part thirteen

Part fourteen

Part fifteen

Part sixteen

Part seventeen

Part eighteen

Part nineteen

Part twenty

Part twenty - one

Part twenty - two

Part twenty - three

Part twenty - four

Part twenty - five

Part twenty - six

"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.