⋆·˚ ༘ * PAUL LAHOTE HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ

⋆·˚ ༘ * PAUL LAHOTE HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ

𐙚 his imprint is a hime gyaru

the first time paul sees you, he does a double take.

la push is full of earth tones, denim, and practical clothing, and then there’s you—big teased hair, pastel dresses, frilly skirts, and pearls.

you look like you walked straight out of a fairytale, and paul? he’s gone.

imprinting has him locked in immediately.

“what the hell is she wearing?” embry snickers, but paul shuts it down with a glare so intense it silences the entire pack.

they all know he’s done for.

paul is the most aggressive protector ever.

he was already overprotective, but now? you’re his delicate princess, his fragile, perfect girl, and he will throw hands over you.

someone so much as looks at you funny? paul is already rolling up his sleeves.

you call him your “big bad wolf,” and it makes him feral.

at first, he worries about his temper.

you’re soft and sweet—what if he scares you?

but the first time he snaps and you just pout, cross your arms, and call him a silly puppy, he’s completely whipped.

no one has ever tamed him like you.

paul adores watching you get ready.

he’ll sit on your bed, completely fascinated as you do your hair and makeup.

sometimes, he’ll mess with your ribbons and bows just to get you to swat his hand away.

“babe, do you really need to spend an hour on your hair?”

“yes.”

paul sighs but secretly loves watching you curl each strand with precision.

matching outfits? yes.

you get him to wear pastels ONCE, and the pack never lets him live it down.

but you? you beam up at him and call him your “handsome prince,” and suddenly, he’s wearing whatever you want.

he carries your bags whenever you go shopping. no complaints.

you’re walking out of the mall with five pink shopping bags, and paul’s holding all of them, grumbling, but lowkey loves spoiling you.

when you’re cold, he wraps you up in his massive hoodie, even though it completely ruins your outfit.

but you let it slide because he’s warm and smells like pine and home.

if anyone dares to make fun of your style, paul is on them instantly. even just a side comment? they’re dead.

“she looks like a damn doll.”

“yeah? and you look like you got dressed in the dark. try again.”

loves how tiny you are next to him.

he’ll literally lift you up out of nowhere just because he can.

forehead kisses are his favorite—he loves how he can just tilt your chin up and claim your lips.

when he phases and comes back to you, still shaking from adrenaline, you’re right there, brushing his messy hair back, pressing soft kisses to his jaw. it calms him down instantly.

paul may be rough around the edges, but for you? he’s a total sweetheart.

he lets you do his hair, paint his nails (he acts annoyed, but he never removes the polish), and listens to you rant about the latest liz lisa collection like it’s the most important thing in the world.

he is YOUR wolf, your protector, your prince.

and no matter how frilly and delicate you look, he knows you’re stronger than people think. and damn, does he love you for it.

paul’s love language? carrying your things. purse? he’s holding it. shopping bags? already in his hands. your teacup-sized dog? sitting under his arm like it’s normal.

the pack dies laughing the first time they see paul lahote—the angriest wolf in la push—holding a pink, bedazzled purse without complaint.

you once made an entire scrapbook of your cutest outfits, complete with stickers, lace borders, and handwritten notes about each look.

paul carries it in his car just so he can flip through it when he misses you.

“you’re obsessed with me.”

“yeah. so?”

paul gets crazy jealous, and it’s almost funny because you’re too sweet to even notice.

some guy flirts with you? paul’s immediately throwing his arm around you, tugging you into his chest, and glaring the guy into submission.

“she’s taken.”

“paul, he was just asking for the time—”

“he can check his damn phone.”

he never understands fashion trends, but he loves seeing you happy.

you show up wearing a tiara, pearls, and a lace dress with a huge bow on the back, and paul just sighs before pulling you into his lap.

“you look ridiculous.”

“you think i’m cute.”

he kisses your nose. “damn right i do.”

the first time you cry in front of him, he panics.

your usual soft, bubbly voice is cracking, and your mascara is running, and paul is ready to kill whoever hurt you.

but instead of raging, he gathers you up in his arms, pressing kisses into your hair.

“tell me who did this. i’ll handle it.”

“it’s just—my dress got ruined—”

paul deadass thinks someone hurt you. but no, your dress just ripped.

cue paul staring at you for a second before he sighs and kisses your forehead.

“princess, we’re buying you another one. hell, we’ll buy five.”

paul has zero patience, but he will sit completely still when you do his hair.

he lets you clip pink bows into it, run your fingers through it, and style it however you want. no one can say a damn thing about it.

he’s soft for you in ways no one understands.

the pack doesn’t recognize him anymore. paul, the most explosive hothead, is now the guy who carries pink shopping bags and lets his girlfriend put glitter on his cheekbones.

“you’ve changed, man.”

paul shrugs. “yeah. i’m happy.”

you call him ‘my knight in shining armor.’ and paul? he takes it seriously.

no one messes with you, no one touches you, and no one disrespects you. you’re his princess, and he’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you safe.

paul loves to interlace your fingers with his and just smirks at how delicate you are compared to him. he’s so much bigger, rougher, and stronger—but he’d never hurt you. you’re his soft spot.

if you get scared, paul immediately has you tucked into his chest, one arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head.

“i got you, baby.”

and just like that, you feel safe.

paul lahote, the angriest, toughest wolf in la push, belongs entirely to you—his pink-wearing, bow-loving, frilly-dress princess.

and honestly? he wouldn’t have it any other way.