Author's Pre-Note: This story is dedicated to sentinel10 for being such a huge supporter of my other work and being a figurehead in the development of the Blackwater fandom. Thank you very much, love!

Also, there's a quiz somewhere in here, so do take down your answers and leave your results in a review!

"Waking up? Check."

Jacob stretched out the kinks in his back, yawning as he turned and sluggishly ticked the little box on his "Daily Plebeian Things" list by his bedside. Progress was progress, no matter how small, and waking up at, Jacob glanced at the clock, seven-thirty in the morning was most certainly something deserving of its own tick box.

…what? He liked feeling accomplished.

He glanced at the plethora of lists plastered over his walls. "Unusually 'Quirky' Foodstuffs Tested" (Squid eggs, check.), "Painfully Pesky Parent-Projects" (Family movie night, check.), "Schoolish-cum-Social Annoyances" (Awkwardly standing around while deflecting his classmates' attempts to bond with him, check.) – Jacob had a list for every occasion. He even had an entire bookshelf dedicated to the storage of his used list books (he tried to tell himself it was more of a fond memories-thing than a quirky and/or vintage hipster-thing. Hopefully, this need to be separate from the "mainstream" would soon come to pass. Jacob wasn't sure he liked how closely his tastes coincided with the typical hipster mannerisms. Meh).

He had proportioned the first hour upon his awakening for "Grooming for maximum dapperness", so he grabbed a navy blue towel and headed for the washroom (the term "toilet" seemed much too lowbrow. …And maybe a little mainstream, whatever, he was going through a phase, alright?). And as he styled his silky black hair into a coiffure, he mulled over the next item to be addressed in his "Present Paramount Obligations" list – a glaring unchecked box amongst the congregation of other lesser ticked boxes. He had visited that page in his book on various occasions, so much that the page in said book was dog-eared, wrinkled and had mild tea stains from where he had spilt his evening drink during his wistful rumination.

Ah, to be young and in love! Jacob could feel his adolescent heart beat just that bit faster at the thought of wooing her. For that was his next mission! Conquest! Pursuit! Sortie! Undertaking! To clasp the admiration and lovely feelings from Leah with his debonair wiles. And who be this most splendid of women? This finest specie to grace the face of the earth? The very embodiment of elegance, allure and sheer charm?!

Jacob snapped out of his reverie and shook away the flush from his, well, enthusiastic inner-monologue, only to realise he had naught but ten mere minutes to finish readying himself for the day. Another pat on the back deserved, though, when he remembered that he had already lain out his clothes, a faithful tick on a faithful check box. It was routine now – buttoning up his cream shirt with chintz lining, snapping on lavender suspenders with faded paisley print, and tying up a pair of brogues, before adjusting the pant sleeve of his teal chinos. Well, hello there, young sir! You're looking particularly fine this morning! A complete slice, if he'd say so himself (naturally, if he were to capture the affections of his love).

He had grappled with fashion choices eons ago – to dapper, or not to dapper? After all, pale hues were hardly flattering towards his skin tone, and if genetics were to be trusted, he would never be able to pull off smart clothes – what with all the potential bulging muscles. But alas, sheer dapper will conquered the woes of unsuitable body types, and he recovered from the debacle unscathed (and by that, he meant that he remained oddly lanky in nature, and as for skin type, well... er, he fancied himself above that. Sort of).

Oh, his love be a wonderful little peach! Jacob hummed under his breath as he drove to school in his 1977 Volkswagen Rabbit. He had financed such a remarkable purchase, of course, through rather, well, unsavoury means. Jacob cringed, recalling the days he spent under the hood of his bust up car, covered in grime, sweat and the tears of his broken pride, finally doing something "respectable" for a change, much to his father's pleasure and abatement. They obviously had differing opinions on what was respectable.

Well, he thought, shrugging his shoulders, the past be the dreadful… past (shut up, he wasn't a walking thesaurus, 'aight? [Jacob happily inserted some gang signs here]), and it was time to move on to more important things! That being attempting to gain Leah's love/friendship/attention/mild interest (at the very least, but he was trying to stay optimistic). He opened his locker door, staring affectionately at the lists meticulously stuck on its walls. He peeled of yesterday's list and replaced it with today's freshly prepared "Learning Colloquium" list, ready for tick off!

It was then, at precisely six minutes before the start of class, that he turned to face the hallways; textbooks propped up under one arm. And there she was – Leah Clearwater – the keeper of his heart, the guardian of his soul, the mother of his future children (he planned to have four). Jacob nudged his glasses up his nose, shy, as he watched the most beautiful girl in existence walk right past him, Sam throwing an arm casually over her shoulders. Jacob's heart wrenched in both tender affection and simultaneous pain, for she knew not of his very existence, no, he was just another student by the hallway wallowing in her sheer awesomeness.

And not to forget Sam Uley, Leah's handsome, strapping, young lad of a boyfriend, if the casually slung arm was any indication (along with the little shared smiles and secret laughter that were all too apparent to the school's populace). Jacob paled terribly in comparison; couldn't even hold a candle to Sam – not when Sam was the school's champion lacrosse captain, tall and armed with Adonis-reminiscent muscles, a charming smile capable of swooning the "straight" off of his fellow men, and just about every other high school cliché. Jacob wasn't sulking right now. Nope, siree.

Well, he had promised himself to stay strong (especially in the face of such handsome diversity!). After all, had he not waited a whole year before even considering tackling Leah? Yes, yes he did, in case you didn't know – had weighed his chances and decided that never speaking to Leah his entire time at high school would only be the greatest of shames. So with a shuddering sigh, he straightened his back and skedaddled off to class, cursing his youth (thus, being an entire year younger than dear, sweet Leah).

Leah watched Jacob prance off to his first class of the day, an amused grin threatening to overwhelm her features. Fucking adorable as always. Especially the suspenders; she couldn't decide if they were lame for being hipster-like, or cute cause it was Jacob who was wearing them. Oh, she knew who he was, alright. Who didn't? Jacob Black – the only Quileute guy in school who didn't look pumped up on steroids. He was a fucking scrawny little thing (for Quileute standards, anyway) – shorter than most and only averagely muscled. You could never escape those, if her own undeserving fitness and unfairly toned stomach were any indication. By all means, she should be sporting a paunch from all the tacos she practically deep-throated.

She turned to Sam and beamed at him, "Did you see what Jacob was wearing today? Did you? Sam, he looks so cute. Agh-" She made little grabby hands Jacob's way, "nyeeeh"-ing, looking like a T-rex. A sexual T-rex.

Sam rolled his eyes and slouched forward, head lolling stupidly to the side. Though, judging by the faint sighs by her not-Sam side, she figured he looked anything but stupid to her schoolmates (she wasn't throwing around any pronouns here, just saying). "Leah. You know you could just… per say, talk to him or something. You tell me he looks cute every day. Every day, Leah. Ain't nobody wanna know that much about Black's booteh." Sam let out a mock-exasperated sigh, and then continued with a wrist flick (and a completely unnecessary tween accent, in Leah's much valued opinion), "Sam, he looks hawt today. Did you see his suspenderszxc? Well, did you? Like, fuckin' hell Sam, who wears pink pants to school? Oh my god, oh my gerds, those glasses are- fucking adorbs, is what!"

"I only said that once," Leah sulked. She could totally hear the attached "-szxc". "And fuck you, you know I can't. I'm not suave enough! I didn't inherit any of the Clearwater Charm (Sam let out an indignant whinny at that. Like an ugly horse). If I just spoke to him out of nowhere he'd think- fuck, he'd think I was sexually harassing him or something!" Leah whined, shoving his shoulder and swinging her arms... all floppy-like.

"...but you would be."

"Shut up. That'd be mortifying as fuck. What would I say, anyway?" Leah crowed. "…I'd be so lame. You know how I am around him," she finished with a mumble. Sam furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips, entering the Economics classroom door single file.

"Leah, darling, dude from another… whatever. Anyways, I get it. But that really shouldn't stop you. If you're talking about embarrassing things, then how 'bout that time when you stuffed a cucumber down your pants and asked random strangers to touch your 'boner'?" Sam teased good-naturedly, throwing a thick arm over her shoulders in a bro-hug.

"Uuuggghhh, one time." Leah shrugged his arm off her shoulders. "And it was you who dared me to do it anyway!"


Leah groaned. "I wish there was like, a guide for tackling cute guys or something. Fuck, you're useless." She flopped herself into her seat and buried her face in her arms.

"Hey! I'm totes useful. It's just that I don't like guys!" Sam cawed indignantly next to her. "I wouldn't know the womanly tricks of the man-trade."

"Pssh, whatever. Didn't stop you from turning Seth gay," Leah grunted into her folded arms.

"I didn't turn him gay. I just made him realise he was... With my muscles, good lucks and charming personality."

"Fuck off." Leah lifted an arm to swat at his head. "Anyways, I need a plan of action, I think. Sam, it's just- I really like him. And yeah, his ass is perky as fuck, and he's hot, but Saaaaaaaam, I really wanna try dating him. Like, personality-thingies dating him."

"Well it's nice to know your attraction to Black extends beyond his perky ass," Sam deadpans. "And don't worry, we'll figure something out. Or at least, I will." And he flashes Leah a heartfelt grin, which Leah returns gratefully.

"Thanks, Sam."

There was a moment of companionable lazing about, waiting for the teacher to stroll in, and as if Sam could no longer stand basking in the warm light of friendship, he stage-whispered, "Imagine pushing him up against a locker and snapping those suspenders… Oh, Jacob!" Sam moaned throatily as he tilted his head backwards and arched his spine against his chair, startling his unsuspecting table mate, Jasper Hale. There was a deep flush on his face, and his voice was teasing but almost... contemplative.

It was silent for a while as Leah simultaneously mulled over the stirring image (of Jacob, you fool) and she groaned pitifully, before slowly turning her head to sneer at Sam. "...I couldn't give two fucks if you're gay, but you hit on Jacob and I rip your balls off, Uley."

Sam burst into laughter, voice sharp and grating as he doubled over, causing half the class to glance his way, and Jasper to look even more frazzled than he usually did.

"Oh my god, this is hilarious." Sam fucking giggled, playfully rubbing his cheek into Leah's arm from across their tables. She pushed him away. He continued remarking, also resting his face in his folded arms, "And you shouldn't worry too much about Jacob anyway. No one, I mean no one, can miss the love eyes he gives you whenever he sees you. So... Grow some balls or something. Use that dingdong. Grab life by its tender nethers! Milk the teat of love!" He ended the sentence with increased fervour and held up a determined clenched fist (at this point, their classmates were outright laughing, and Jasper just looked pained. Or at least, constipated. Leah sometimes wondered about that).

"Oh my god. Oh my god, stop. Worst friend ever," Leah groaned as she rubbed her face in embarrassment, trying to avoid eye contact with her staring classmates who were smirking in their direction, some shaking their heads.

Sam just grinned.

Jacob deliberated the contents of a new notebook he had bought and titled, "Tackling Beautiful Women 101", with the case in point being Leah, of course. He figured he would require a whole separate notebook for his endeavour (well, it was more of a guidebook than anything else), with the contents plagiarised off some generic female magazines. The article had been titled, How to get that guy!, and Jacob's face burned as he remembered swiftly making the purchase, before jotting down the contents in the utmost secrecy of his room. Not that he envisioned Leah as a guy, no, definitely not! Not even remotely masculine! If anything, Leah was the very pinnacle of sophisticated beauty, exclusive only to the female race! Greasy-looking male counterparts could never compare (but then he remembered the Japanese men on the cover of a magazine in the foreign section of the bookstore). Well, maybe some. Regardless, Jacob decided to move on to the first portion of the agenda.

Tip #19: If you want to grab his heart, well, you better grab his attention first! Dress to impress! Try experimenting with new looks that are sure to make you the forefront of any party!

Following that had been a number of suggestions as to various fashion choices, as well as the header, Try these accessories for some added pizzaz!, but Jacob decided to forgo the "pizzaz" in preference to the... message – trying on a new look. Not that he thought there was anything wrong with his fashion sense, but maybe, just maybe, he needed to spice it up a little. It was probable that his nifty clothing choices were perhaps not palatable to the average teenager (who most definitely was unable to appreciate his gentlemanly Style. Yes, he capitalised that). Jacob speculated over giving leather pants a whirl. Greasers were popular. They were popular, right? He faintly recalled Johnny Depp and his dabbling in Jump Street 21. What a gorgeous man.

Yes, he would try his hand, and hopefully, emerge glorious.

Fuck her sideways.

Leah had Sam's arm in a vice-like grip as she watched what had to be the sexiest piece of ass ever, ignoring Sam's pained whines. A round, glistening butt meant for her to sink her teeth into. And legs. So much leg. Those thick, firm thighs she wanted to wrap around her waist as she grinded against his cock. Fuck, she could see the outline of his co- Sam tugged his arm back, causing her to stumble.

"Damn it, Leah, you're drooling. Wipe yourself up a little! It's just a pair of pants!" Sam snapped.


Sam huffed, annoyed, but pursed his lips and leaned against his locker, waiting for Leah (who had been reduced to a whimpering pile of flesh over some – admittedly hot – pants) to finish eye-fucking Jacob Black.

God, the things he did.

Leah barely functioned as it was – she lived off the high derived from not-so-constant-but-trying-really-hard-for exposure to Jacob Black's "booty" and the suspiciously energising gallons coffee she consumes, no, milks. The last thing Sam needed was for her to become a shell of her debatable glory due to cowhide-clad butts and mile-long legs.

So he dragged her off to their next class, Leah not having enough brain space to fight him off.

Jacob stared at himself in the mirror of the men's washroom. He was turned at the waist, glaring his butt with a critical eye and an accompanying grimace. Mission failed – horribly and embarrassingly.

Leah had been disgusted. Her gaze had definitely gone his way, along with nearly half the school's population, but instead of a lazy smirk, or an amused grin, or whatever it was Jacob had been expecting, Leah had merely stared, a passive, blank look on her face. He felt mortified that he had entertained the notion of swaying her with his body. Had he honestly thought so highly of his legs (and attached posterior) that it would be the key to Leah's attention? Well, it had been, but it was terrible, terrible attention, and Jacob could feel his cheeks burn with shame. Mmm, well. Jacob hurriedly blinked away the beginnings of ashamed tears, and gave his head a shake. He propped himself on the sink, trying to shake off the advancing onslaught of anxiety and disgrace. Surely, he still had a chance. Surely.

So he pulled out Tackling Beautiful Women 101 and documented his very first endeavour at courting dear Leah. This was all a learning experience – he bestowed upon himself the task of archiving his attempts. Indubitably, after rumination and mild meditation, he would surface a new man armed with wisdom and a fortified determination.

Attempt #1: The Leather Pants

I encountered dear Leah in the hallways, and as per norm, I felt my heartbeat picking up ever so much in her presence. I had dressed myself in leather pants today, rather than to the nines, as I was prone to do. This was in the hopes that I could appeal to her, admittedly, stronger tastes. Alas, I was foolish, and my downfall had been highlighted by her sheer blasé attitude. Many had turned my way today, so many had approved my more risqué wardrobe, but none had been the approval I ever so revered. Leah had never looked quite the amalgamation of unimpressed and impassive. After the unbecoming debacle, Leah had been preoccupied with talking to Sam Uley, who had worn a wifebeater today, tight over his luxurious muscles. Had my efforts been unknowingly trodden over by Sam's cruel, yet tantalising, flesh?

After Jacob had quickly recorded his recount, he flipped the pages to the front of the book, wherein lay the rest of the guidebook content that had not yet been attempted.

Tip #33: Show some skin! Men love an enticing flash of soft flesh. Try some low-cut tops, mid-thigh shorts, or backless dresses. But beware of looking skanky! The golden rule here is balance.

The rest of the article continued on to address the combinations of clothes such as to not upset the "skanky-ness ratio", and how to push the limit with sheer material, sloping necklines and other various skintight articles of clothing. Skin? Well, Sam Uley had definitely been seizing the hold of the hungry eyes of the female population today, what with his glossy, bulging muscles, highlighted by the very much sleeveless shirt he had been donning. At the thought of pulling off something similar, however! Jacob felt the beginnings of deep-set insecurity emerge from him – he didn't have quite the appealing build (with the assumption that she favoured the thickset arms of Quileute men), especially seeing as how unmoved Leah had been by the leather disaster. Jacob shuddered, as he recalled the many days upon painful days seeing Leah pressed up against Sam Uley, her head thrown back in booming laughter. Well, she certainly didn't mind the bared arms, at the very least.

And thus beget the question: how would he go about this?

"So much regret," Leah groaned into hoodie, pulling at the strings so that her face was pressed up against the hood. "I should have taken a picture. So many pictures could have been taken. So perky. Once in a lifetime. Pictures. Why no pictures, Sam? Sam, I hate you. Hate you so much. Jacob's ass. Noooooo…"

"Young love is like that, Leah. Juicy, obscene, and gone with the wind," Sam regaled, hands thrown out in wonder. They were heading towards gym class, Sam trotting gaily, and Leah dragging her feet, rubbing herself against passing lockers in grief. "You know, you're gonna get bruises if you keep slamming yourself into the lockers," he continued callously.

"Shut up. Don't talk to me. Stupid. Idiot. Moron. Hate youuuuJacob, Jacob, Jacob. Why your ass so yummilicious? Why you no wear leather pants today?"

Sam scoffed under this breath. He'd obviously taken pictures – a whole album of them, in fact. Leah, his cute little pookie wookums, had been overwrought from the high derived solely from Jacob's leather-clad ass and hadn't registered him snapping away on his phone. Oh, he'd give her the pictures.


…and maybe after the promise of Nandos.

Peri-peri chicken.

Anyway. They parted briefly to change into their gym uniform, before congregating with the rest of their class. Their uniform was the typical shirt-shorts combo, although the guys in the athletic teams had the option to wear standard-issue tank tops. Guys like him, who were on the championship-winning lacrosse team.

What? No, of course he hadn't just kissed his bicep. Leah, you're crazy.

They'd started doing warm-ups, splitting up into four single files and spacing themselves out. The gymnasium was reverberating with the yells from the gym teachers and the excited chatter of the students. The gym was split in half with juniors using one half of the basketball court today, and seniors using the other. According to Coach Finstock, they'd be playing netball against the each other because "Mr. Harris is on sick leave, so you lot will have to sweat it out under me. Cut the face, Greenberg, you sick son of a bitch! And take a lap!" Sam grouped himself with Leah and they slid into comfortable synchronisation as they positioned themselves on the court. He was scoping out the younger competition when he froze.

Speak of the leather-wearing devil.

"Leah, check out wing defence," he called over his shoulder, a full-fledged smirk blooming on his face. Jacob Black, the little tyke, in his too-short shorts and fitted shirt was fidgeting in place, clearly uncomfortable with playing sports. Probably got bunched together with his team by Coach Finstock.

"No, nononononono, oh my god, no. Oh my god, fuck. Fuck. Fuck," Leah swiftly swore under her breath, eyes blown wide. "Sam, Sam, why the hell do we have gym with Jacob? When did we ever have gym with him?! This so isn't happening." Her voice was thick with frantic panic. And slight arousal, if Sam had to place it. Which he did. So there. Anyways, he faced forward, grinning. "Sam? Sam? Dude, why do you look like that? You look evil. You look like you're gonna do something mean and unusually cruel like go talk-"

"Yo, Black! Jacob Black!" Sam's voice resounded across the court.

Holy shit. Leah tensed up, almost painfully, as she watched her supposed best friend never wave Jacob over, an arm flailing in the air. Leah took in Jacob's slight form as he hesitantly, no, terrifiedly waved back. Fuck, she was going to kill Sam.

Jacob startled when Sam Uley stalked towards him. He flustered, nay, flubbed embarrassingly and stuttered out a weak greeting in return. Jacob felt terribly underdressed in his Physical Education uniform as it was, and Sam Uley confidently strutting his way, biceps taut and sleek with sweat, with dear Leah in tow was hardly a comfort. Sam Uley sidled up next to him and flung an arm around his shoulders, the muscles thickly woven and strong.

"Hel-lo there, Jacob! I can call you 'Jacob', right?" Sam Uley chirped, stretching out his words languidly. "The name's Sam, and this here's Leah." At this, Sam shoved Leah, who had been standing ramrod straight behind Sam, into Jacob's chest. Leah's arms flailed a little as she struggled to righten her stance, awkwardly pushing away from him.

Jacob couldn't help but falter. He'd had many visions of his first proper encounter with Leah, swamping his mind before sleep, and in dreams by day. He had fancied meeting her in a café outside of school, and introducing himself without the pretences of social hierarchy influencing their interaction. He'd thought possibly they'd convene at a party of some sort, both finding comfort in the peace and quiet of the outdoors instead, and thus forging an instant connection. Jacob had even contemplated the likelihood of bumping into Leah in a grocery store, making small talk by the frozen foods isle and maybe progressing towards a tentative lunch. Basically, the beginning of every conceivable romantic plot line. And yet, in the face of Leah's disgruntled face (still completely stunning in every way), Jacob could feel his heart cement itself in his throat, choking the very air out of him.

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" He managed to wheeze out.

"What? Naw man, it's fine," Leah blaisély shrugged his apology off, having already focused her attentions towards glaring at Sam. Leah had barely glanced his way; hadn't even acknowledged him under the scope of people deserving her even slightest attention.

Jacob could feel his soul shrivel up that bit more.

But he quickly recalled the reasons behind his affections; remembered the days when she would smile sweetly at him, almost fondly, and he strengthened his resolve once more. He could do this. He needed to do this. Affixing a grin onto his face, Jacob stuck a hand out to Leah. He watched attentively as Leah eyed his outstretched hand, a bewildered expression on her face, before she reciprocated with her own callused hand.

Jacob's palm tingled pleasantly.

Sam grinned. For the love of god, Leah was most awkward of socially-stunted giraffes. When he had given her that what-totally-accidental-not-really push Jacob Black's way, he had half-expected this to happen (god damn it, Leah), but at the same time, half-hoping they would fumble and end up in a compromising position – Leah's hand seeking out Jacob's crotch instinctively, giving it a few gropes, and then- BAM! Locker room sex. Alas! Woe be Sam's nefarious plans. Curses! But he was not a man so easily dismayed, nay. He was a man of fortitude! And he really had to stop thinking in, what, Victorian English? He had not the time! He meant- well, he ain't got no time fo' diz shit, 'aight? Whatever, man. Sam rolled his eyes at Leah's totally fake vexation (like, come on, EVERYONE saw you groping Jacob's pecs, Leah), and he jogged mid-court, calling out to their little netball group, "Hey you guys! Do you all wanna go skin versus shirts? Like, you juniors go skins, and us seniors are shirts."

He only says this cause their junior opponents consists solely of guys. Just guys. Guys who wouldn't mind going shirtless. Guys who were now flinging their shirts off to the side. Guys and a completely terrified Jacob, that is. Sam grins when sees Jacob Black stripping himself of his shirt almost (and probably unintentionally) sensually, his entire body shy and hesitant as he pulled the flimsy shirt off his torso. The grin only widens when he feels Leah's expected ball-busting grip on his bicep. Sam pulls away and gets into position, laughing at the absurdity to himself. No one goes shirtless during netball.

Maybe his muscles were exerting their authority again.

And of course, Leah, with her need to vocalise every sexual thought roaming around in her brain (which is, ALL THE TIME), spits out, "Sam. SAM. You idiot. You stupid, amazing, godly moron. Oh, my god, ohmygodohmygod. Do you see that, Sam? Do you see those nipples? They look so red. Fucking swollen. Fuck, he's hot. Fuck. Fuck. He's so fit. What the fuck. Abs. He has abs, like what even is that." Leah's staring unabashedly now, fucking Jacob Black in many, many obscene positions with her eyes. With many different lewd toys and an assortment of kinky shit. Like with feather boas or summat.

"You're welcome." He's Mr. McSmuggerpant right now.

Jacob felt flush and he was panting heavily. Ugh, spooooorts. He wipes his face with his dry shirt. He's passably good at it, of course, but that does not mean, at the very least, that he remotely enjoys it. He curses under his breath (and by "cursing", he means vehemently spitting out, "The heck is this.") that netball is a jumping sport. He hates jumping. And scrambling for the netball. And craning his neck to keep track of the netball. And being jeered at for shielding his face from the monster of a netball rocketing his way. And everything. Yes, Jacob Black hates everything right now. Verily, the only redeeming aspect of this period's tragedy is Leah.

Leah, who was oddly, and very endearingly, bad at netball.

It's weird because Leah is one of the school's most sought-after athletes. She's tall, and incredibly, wonderfully fit, and the right side of aggressive. Leah doesn't play much sports anymore (much to the grief of all the female sports teams), but whenever she does, it's like magic. Jacob remembers skipping class just so he can watch Leah play football out in the field; remembers gazing excitedly as Leah weaved through her opponents, football tucked securely under her arm, the best linebacker he'd seen in ages. He swore his heart skipped a beat when Leah roughly rammed the other girls out of her path, growling and storming her way to a touchdown. His cheeks had ached from smiling so badly.

But. Back to the current not-so-issue at hand. It was near-alarming to witness Leah, of all people, miss the netball heading her way. And the tripping. Leah had tripped a lot. Sam Uley, meanly enough, had only guffawed at Leah's struggling. Well, that certainly wasn't very sportsmanly of him! Jacob huffed as he moved to dry himself off after the long, thought-filled shower. Leah had turned the darkest shade of red and she had obviously been very embarrassed. Jacob winced as he recalled Coach Finstock's booming voice cutting across the gymnasium, "Clearwater! I put you in the boys' team cause I thought you had the balls to play! I mean this both literally and figuratively! Get your act together, Clearwater, cause we're all nauseous watching your sad excuse for playing. Even Greenberg is better than this!"

He had felt so bad for Leah, but Sam had only laughed even harder, and Leah had just shoved him. And if Jacob felt vindicated when he fell face first, well, nobody needed to know.

Distracting. Jacob's slick body was so fucking distracting. But she had managed to sneak a picture of Jacob half-naked, so it's okay.

It's almost a week after, and Jacob is resignedly trudging to his locker. He had figured that the prior week's gym lesson would fulfil the requirements of the second magazine tip. He had even tried to slowly, and maybe, suggestively wipe his sweat with his shirt after the netball game. But to his dismay, Leah had been busy fiddling with her phone. So he'd just felt embarrassed and awkward, and had quickly scarpered into the locker room.

Attempt #2: The Shirtless Wiping

The thoughts that swarm my head of this sortie are only of Leah's endearing netball plays. Despite this, I had tried…

…and so, I fear that I am losing hope. No longer will I attempt a physical means of attracting Leah. Rather, I am perhaps of the humble opinion that my best bet lies within actually starting a conversation with Leah, beyond that of a mere greeting. Yes! Believe it true, Leah has been acknowledging me in the hallways. Regrettably, it is only a nod of recognition, but it is more than I could have hoped for. Truly, I am at Sam Uley's debt for our fruitful, nevertheless awkward, introduction.

Jacob is mindlessly flipping through his guidebook; glancing over the numerous tips he had jotted down, when Sam Uley approaches him.

Tip #27: According to his personality, the way to flirt with him can be different! What kind of guy is he? Is he the quiet or shy type? Or maybe, the boy-next-door? Most importantly, you need to know what kind of guy you want and best suits you. Take this quiz to find out who's Mr. Right and how to get him!

Jacob was pausing over the tip, considering the attached quiz, when Sam sidles up next to him, a hand on Jacob's locker door propping Sam up. Jacob startles, his head whipping upwards from his guidebook, hurriedly snapping his book shut. Sam is grinning cheekily at him. Ugh, Jacob is already expecting something grating pouring out of Sam Uley's mouth.

"Sooooooooooo…" he draws out his voice, Expected. And Jacob feels the allusion of annoyance creeping up on him. But. Leah-debt. So he reluctantly stamps down his exasperation at Sam Uley's childish vocal intonation. "Leah likes you."

…And Jacob promptly chokes.

Sam is a man of unending patience. Yup, his iron will cannot be broken! But there is a limit to how many heartfelt sighs he can take from Leah, and well, enough is enough, godammit. LEAH YOU MORON CAN YOU NOT SEE HOW MUCH JACOB WANTS YOU, YOU FREAKING PEANUT. But apparently, she can't, no matter how many nights and endless hours he spends trying to convince her, so he decides to take things into his own hands. He's always wanted to play cupid.

Hence, confessing to Jacob Black in her stead.

Leah sighed.

She's scrolling through her phone aimlessly, opening and exiting every app she owns as she contemplates the complete absence of a love life. And by love life, she means sexing Jacob up. With feelings too. Sexing Jacob Black up with her totally hot bod (shut up, Sam) and her pressing feelings. Ugh, this is so weird. She's never crushed so badly on someone before Jacob, and she reckons that maybe she's projecting some sort of image on Jacob. Fo' sho', she's never had an actual conversation with him before, so she doesn't even really know him. He could be an asshole. But a sexy asshole.


Leah rolls over, flopping onto her belly and rubbing herself all over the warm patch of grass out by the cafeteria. She idly pokes at her squishy sandwich, making a hole in the bread. It's lunchtime and she wonders where the fuck Sam is. Better not be chatting up Emily. God, Sam's love life was almost as pathetic as hers – but at least they actually talk. Even if Emily is like, a gajillion years older than Sam and refuses to date him. Also, she's the school counsellor. And her cousin. Which, unsurprisingly, makes this a hundred times more awkward. Like, come on, Sam.

Leah's fiddling with her contact book, changing Sam's name to Stupid Friend #1, when she comes across Jake :D on her contact list. She'd met the guy last summer at some town called Beacon Hills that her family stopped over a couple of days before heading out to their actual holiday spot (cause the place be as boring as fuck). They'd hit off immediately and were the bestiest of friends for the short few days Leah was there. She figures his presence was the only thing saving her from the gut-wrenching boredom only a sleepy town like Beacon Hills could bring. Jake wasn't a local though, but hell if he wasn't cute.

He always did like hiding his face behind his crazy long hair, though.

Figuring that she could use some company, she begins typing out an SMS to him. They stopped texting a while ago when school started again, but meh, no one can resist The Fatherfucking Lee-ster. Cause she fucks dads like, chyeah. She's doing some obnoxious hip-thrusting actions in her head now, but stops before it gets too douche-y. Can girls be douches? Hmm… But. She's getting sidetracked. Anyways, Jake time! Leah wonders how he is now, and whether Suuuuuuuup babe 8==D is too casual a greeting.


Sam is grinning at him, although Sam's eyes are burning intensely into the side of his head. So. Apparently, Leah and Sam aren't dating. And Leah supposedly has been crushing on him for months. And Sam figures that he, Jacob, really likes Leah. So Sam thus suggests that Jacob does something about it. Also, Leah ostensibly used to be part of a regional-winning netball team in middle school. Well, these are a lot of assumptions.

Which Jacob really, really hopes are accurate.

"So, Jacob, when are you going to ask Leah out?" Sam casually prompts. And Jacob promptly sputters, "What?!"

"Dude, no offence, but I'm getting tired of Leah's pining. Like, for real, she's been outright pining. Do you know how annoying that is? Well, do you?! (Jacob doesn't know if he's supposed to answer, but Sam's on a roll.) She gets all whiny and then she starts spouting these… these sonnets about your body, and lemme tell you Jacob, I know more about your body than any straight, uninterested man should. I'm not attracted is the thing. Congrats on that eight-incher tho'." And Sam proceeds to grope his crotch.

"Sam!" Jacob cries indignantly and slaps his hand away, scandalised. "How do you even know that?!"

"Oh, no, no. Don't ask me. If anything, you should be interrogating Leah." Jacob's face is red now. How would Leah find something like that out? And Jacob's not sure he even wants to know.

"What- it just- Surely not-!" At this point, Jacob's mind is imploding from embarrassment and the implications. That Leah might be interested.

"It surely is." Sam nods resignedly. Jacob's further mortification is interrupted, though, by his handphone chirping out an SMS alert. Jacob quickly pulls it out (ignoring Sam's "You're deflecting."). And it's from Leah.

He nearly drops his phone from shock. A little fumbling later, and Jacob opens up the SMS to read Leah's cheeky Suuuuuuuup babe 8==D and Jacob beams at the screen. He thought they'd stop texting one another after summer ended. He'd missed a few of Leah's messages when he'd been out at the dentist one day, and Leah never did text him another one. That being said, he hadn't been able to muster up the courage to text back (Leah had always initiated their text conversations). Jacob lets out a little chuckle at the emoticon and rushes to type out a reply.

"You have Leah's number?"

Jacob freezes. Sam's peering over his shoulder. Of course.

It's English Literature when Sam finally pops up, sliding into the seat behind Leah. Leah turns back and gives him a little wave, phone in hand. "'Sup, Sam."

"Hey, Leah. So whatcha doin'? Facebooking? Or is it the Instagrams this time? Godammit, Leah, I told you to stop stalking Holland Roden! It's creepy as fuck." Sam leans forward to look at her phone screen, his annoying nose nudging her cheek.

"Argh, stop it Sam, you're oily. Use your blotting paper, or whatever shit you use to suck up your face juices. And no, I'm not stalking Holland Roden, okay? Shut up."

(Leah's hissing a little too defensively, Sam reckons. And he is reckoning, alright.)

"Hey! I resent that! I'll have you know, my face is delightfully supple and this here, Leah, is the sheen of Youth!" Sam counters, further proving his point by grabbing her hands and rubbing them across his cheeks, smirking at Leah's shrill cry.

"Uley, you're so gross! Fuck you!" Leah huffs and turns away (not before rubbing her hands on her jeans, of course. Weirdo). "And I'm doing some quiz Jake sent me. He says he's mostly Bs, and I wanna see if we match."

"Quiz?" Sam mutters under his breath, and he then continues more loudly, "You're still texting the guy?"

"Yups. Jake's a cool guy. Too bad he doesn't go here, though." Leah distractedly replies, scribbling her answers on the margins of Wuthering Heights (the ponciest of books). "We could've totally hung out. You'd really like him."

"Are you sure about that?"

Leah turns around. She has an eyebrow raised in question. "Sure about what? Jake not going here? Or you liking him? Cause I have to tell you Sam, he was a close second." Leah places a hand over her heart tenderly, flashing him a compassionate gaze.

Sam shrugs nonchalantly ("Hey!") and looks her straight in the eye. "I mean, did Jake ever explicitly tell you he didn't go to La Push High?"

"Well… no," Leah slowly says, "But the dude's got long hair. And these crazy intense eyes. I'm pretty sure if he went here, I'd recognise him." They're silent for a while, Leah busy with her phone, and Sam watching their lecturer get ready. Then, Leah snaps her head up, brows furrowed. "Why? Do you know something?" Her voice is sharp.

"Nooooooope, just curious," he drawls, popping his "P" and leaning his chair backwards. Leah's forehead smoothens.

"…Well, okay."

They lounge around in their seats for a bit and Sam thinks back to his little rendezvous with young Jacob.

Sam had tried giving him some tips (Just go up to her and kiss her! W-what? No! Fine, then how about a little skin service? …Already tried that. What? I-I n-nothing, Sam! …I'm onto you, Black. Anyways, JUST PROFESS YOUR LOVE. I think we're at the point where busting out into song might be acceptable. S-Sam! Don't be ridiculous! You don't be ridiculous. …And you're right – song might be a little too wild…), but Jacob had refused his sagely advice, claiming, ridiculously, that he had it covered.

Ugh, how was he supposed to perform his Cupidly Love-Love Matchmaking Services, if his two targets were beyond stubborn?! (This was beginning to surpass armpit stain-stubborn and nobody wants to surpass that kind of stubborn. Fo' realz, armpit stains be crazy hard to remove. It might also be the reason why he prefers wearing tank tops. Maybe.) Sam groaned heavily and buried his face in his arms. Why? If this weren't a potential OTP, he'd have given up all hope by now. And now, Jacob "Jake" Why-does-he-need-an-alias-again Black has apparently emailed Leah a quiz to take. With the presumption that this is supposed to somehow brainwash Leah into thinking that Jacob was a hot, desirable and eligible young man (not that she didn't already think so, oh my god, he's reminded every day).

So, one can understand Sam's sceptic-ness. He needs to see this quiz; needs to give his Stamp of Wooing Approval; needs to scratch this itch to be all up in Leah's business. It isn't very long before Sam snaps from the curiosity.

"Hey Leeeaaaaahh. Leeeee-steerrrrr. Lemme see that quiz for a bit!" Sam suddenly pipes, and he leans forward. Before she can protest, he's snatching away her phone anyway, and cradling it in his lap.

"Hey- Sam-!" But the lecturer shushes loudly at her, having finally started, and Leah's forced to face upfront, livid. Not before glaring vehemently Sam's way, of course. Chuckling under his breath, Sam turns down the screen's brightness and reads the email.

To: leah_master_of_awesome

From: j_b_009


Hey Leah! I found this a while back, and I think it's hilarious! Try it out and tell me what your score is (I'm mostly Bs)! Heheheheh, time to find your ideal guy! ;D

(Sam raises an eyebrow at this – he can't decide if Jacob is being forward, or unnecessarily roundabout.)

Attachments: QUIZ: WHO IS YOUR IDEAL GUY?.docx

1. What do you do on a typical Friday night?

A) Go clubbing or partying at the hottest events of the social season!

B) Treat yourself to some "me" lovin' with some peace and quiet at home

C) Sleepover at a friend's place for some awesome besties fun!

D) Shopping or working out at the gym – just something to get your heart pumping!

2. What is that one must-have when you leave your home?

A) Your makeup case and beauty essentials – you can't leave the house without being able to look stunning 24-hours!

B) Your music player – you need those background tunes

C) Your cellphone – how else are you going to keep in contact with your friends?

D) Your wallet – you can't do anything without that cha-ching!

3. You're stranded on a deserted island with nothing but the clothes on your back! What do you do first?

A) Make shelter – you want to protect yourself from the harsh environment

B) Ensure a source of food and water – if you're gonna be stranded here, you have to make sure you can actually survive

C) Find help. For all you know, this island may not actually be deserted!

D) Start a fire! You need to keep warm, and make smoke signals

4. What are your favourite subjects in school?

A) Drama, Mass Communications and/or Applied Psychology

B) Art, Music and/or History

C) Physical Education, Language and/or Literature

D) Physics, Chemistry and/or Accounting

5. You find out your best friend and you are crushing on the same guy! What do you do?

A) Your friend is so not competition! He seems to likes you more anyway! Why should you be the one to give in?!

B) You talk to your friend about it, but to be honest, you don't actually mind the single life. He doesn't seem to be that into you anyway

C) You let him go – your friend has been crushing on way longer than you. Also, you don't want to break up a friendship over a guy

D) You evaluate your feelings for him. Do you honestly see a future with him? If no, you let him go, but if yes, you'll fight for the very end for him!

6. It's a typical school day! What do you wear?

A) Your gears are always shifted to FABULOUS – you'll wear your newest, best-looking clothes

B) You have your own individual tastes. It doesn't matter what other people are wearing as long as it's what you want to wear

C) Whatever is vogue at the moment – Bordeaux tones, boxy jackets, whatever!

D) Anything comfortable, probably a pair of jeans and a shirt. You're here to study, and you don't want to spend a lot of time agonizing over some clothes

7. Who's your celebrity crush?

A) Ryan Gosling – his smoldering gaze leaves you weak at the knees

B) Tyler Hoechlin – his shy personality is terribly endearing (and muscles!)

C) Harry Styles – his face is like a work of art! AND LET'S NOT FORGET HIS HAIR

D) Benedict Cumberbatch – his acting is amazing, and he seems like a funny, nice guy in real life

8. Where do you go to have lunch?

A) You have refined tastes, so you prefer grabbing lunch at a restaurant, or a café

B) When you like certain foods, you stick to it. So you go to the same eatery every day, or interchange between the same few

C) You like to try the latest craze!

D) Anywhere with affordable, good food. You'll take McDonald's if it's most convenient

9. Last question! What kind of vehicle do you drive (or want to drive)?

A) The most stylish, expensive car you can get – a Lamborghini or an Alfa Romeo

B) A motorcycle – something that's compact and fast

C) A convertible! They're cute and you'll love the wind running through your hair!

D) Something with many seats – you'll want to be able to ferry as many family and friends as possible. Like a Jeep, or a BMW



Your ideal guy is: RICH AND GENTLEMANLY

You have expensive tastes, and you love being the centre of attention. When trying to attract him, show him exactly why you're desirable, be it with your looks or your daring personality. He'll come chasing after you fervently himself! Ideal dates would be at a fancy restaurant where he can display his suavity.



You're the kind of girl who is kind of quiet and enjoys her "me" time. When tackling him, show him that you are on the same wavelength. Talk about your similar interests, and make him understand that you're ready for a long-term, serious relationship. Hanging out at each other's house and at comfortable, quiet areas are the perfect place to date.


Your ideal guy is: FRIENDLY AND FUNNY

You are very amiable, and you think friends are incredibly important. When flirting with your crush, you should try hanging around the same group of friends. That way, he can see you in your natural habitat, and there's a medium for the two of you to get talking! Long walks at the beach and movie nights would best brew the potion of love!



You are sensible, and thus, prefer guys who have a good head on his shoulders. You are mature for your age, and have your priorities straight. You know what you want, and how you want it. When approaching your guy, you want to make sure you can establish at emotional connection with them. You have an ideal guy, but you won't stick to that definition if someone you connect with better comes along. When tackling him, it's all about making sure you can actually be friends first. After that, everything else falls into place. Dates should be at places where you know you'll enjoy yourself at.

Sam stares blankly at the screen. Well, if this is Jacob's idea of wooing Leah, it's no wonder both of them are going absolutely nowhere. (That being said, he still forwards the email to himself. Also, he's mostly Cs. Not that anyone cares, of course. …Aaaaand, he'll make Emily take it. No point wasting a good opportunity. Naturally.)

Jacob exhaustedly sinks into his arms – mentally and emotionally drained. Sometimes he wonders what the hell he's even doing. He likes Leah so much. But he's beginning to feel a little hapless. So many lies. He's been lying to Leah since the first time he talked to her, and he's beginning to wonder if he'll ever be able to dig himself out.

His teacher's voice is a drone in the background and lulling him into a cloudy sense of lethargy. Jacob can't even lift his head up anymore, the burden of his thoughts weighing down on his shoulders in an almost physical manifestation. It had started out small – something more akin to lying from omission rather than any actual deceit, but it had snowballed from there and Jacob has no idea if he can even speak to Leah anymore without blurting everything out and shredding apart her tentative trust in him – Jacob Black.

Jacob had met her at Beacon Hills last summer, and for the short four days of Leah's stay, he'd been entranced into his very first love.

It had been the anniversary of his mom's death, the anniversary of the car crash that had put his dad into a wheelchair permanently. Every year, on the week after the mourning day, his entire family would be in a slump. His sisters would come by for a quick visit to Mom's grave before they swiftly vacated the La Push premises (to avoid experiencing any real feelings), and his dad would drink himself into a stupor. It wasn't that his dad was a drunkard, least of all a violent one. Billy was usually a cool dad.

But on that week (and because his dad would limit himself to only a week), he would get packs upon packs of beer and drink them all in a period of grieving. Jacob hated it. He had hated seeing his father clutch his beer can like his life lay hanging on it, hated that his dad even turned to drinking as an escape from his mom's death, hated that his sisters were too cowardly to face the reality that their family was barely hanging on a thread, hated that he could do nothing about it.

But what he had hated the most was seeing his dad cry – seeing the thick streams of tears rolling down his face and dripping onto his flannel shirt. Jacob couldn't stand witnessing his dad, red-faced, letting out wretched sobs as hid his crumpled face in his hands; reduced to a shuddering ball in his wheelchair – unable to face the pristinely kept framed photograph of his mother on the table, surrounded by beer cans. He could almost understand his sisters' absence as he was huddled on the floor, against the kitchen counters, listening to the echoes of his father's choked cries.

So, that summer, Jacob had packed a weekend bag and drove off in his Rabbit, driving further than he ever had; driving until he felt he was far enough from home that his heart didn't ache with every beat.

And he had ended up in Beacon Hills.

Meeting Leah had been happenstance.

Jacob was mopping in a diner here, looking out the window, unseeing, his food getting cold in front of him. He was staying in the cheapest motel the little town could offer, and in the dankest part of it. He had camped around for a couple of days so far, much longer than he expected, and he had switched off his phone after shortly informing his dad where he was and how long he'd be staying. No need to make Dad think another one of them was leaving him forever.

Like his sisters.

Jacob was bumming around, really. Walking the streets of Beacon Hills till he was hungry, or until he reached the edge of the town. Then, he'd turn around and head to the nearest diner for some recuperation, before returning back to the motel. Not much exploring – he didn't care for whatever it was the place could offer him. It was a Tuesday, another day of lurking around before slouching into… "Betty's Kitchen" for a little food. He was thinking about nothing in particular, just staring listlessly out the window, when someone plops down opposite him.

Jacob lazily glances towards her, long hair hiding almost half his face.


"Um, hey. This seat taken?" She looks… fidgety. But confident and self-assured. Not that Jacob gives a shit.

"Go ahead."

She nods to herself. "Right, thanks."

The waitress comes and goes and there's a plate of warm scrambled eggs and toast shoved before the trespasser, who happily digs in. Jacob sighs under his breath before shifting his gaze back to the window. It's going to be dark soon, but Jacob can't bring himself to stomach his ice-cold pasta, much less start dragging himself back to his empty, impersonal room.

His- no, their table is silent, punctuated only by the girl's satisfied hums with every scoop of her creamy-looking eggs. Jacob discreetly observes her for a bit, taking in her short, cropped hair and piercings. Both her ears are heavily pierced, with what looks like silver spikes protruding from the cartilage. She's wearing a hoodie, like he is; the only difference her hunter green to his dark grey. Her features are fine, but she has a strong jaw and even stronger eyebrows. She is so striking and he imagines that she must be attached.

His scrutiny must have been intense, because she looks up after a while, but Jacob doesn't turn away. He watches her fumble with conversation.

"Err, so… uh, you from around here…?" she asks hesitantly, twiddling her unused fork in the air. Her voice is louder than when she had asked for a seat. Probably from the nourishment. She's perked up anticipating, her body language open and engaging. Oddly enough, all he can think about is how incredibly attractive she is, even through the hazy throes of melancholy his mind is in.

Definitely attached, then.

Jacob idly wonders where she's from, and what she's doing here, and if she'd be resistant to him grabbing her hand. He doesn't know why he wants to. But he does. He registers his fingers twitching at the thought.

When he doesn't reply, she eventually blurts out, "Uh, okay, never mind," and diverts by taking a long gulp from her cup of iced tea. Adorable. He watches her throat constrict and swallow her tea, eyes rapt upon her form. Her neck is lean, and the muscles defined. Jacob has never really had a type of girl, although, as he appreciatively drinks in the girl before him, this must be it. He's not too sure why he's considering socialising her with her, but he is. So he decides to play along.

"No." Her head snaps up.

"Hmm?" Her voice is quizzing, but oh so inviting.

"I'm not from around here."

Her eyes widen and a smile begins to form on her thin lips. "Oh! That's cool. Me neither. I'm just stopping by before my family heads off to Phoenix."

The words, That's nice, form and drift into his mind, but he would rather much prefer to listen to her speak, so he stays silent and continues gazing at her, chin propped up on his palm. Incredibly handsome. He can barely rein in the hunger from his roving eyes as they survey her sharp cheekbones.

The girl flushes a little at his unwavering attention and Jacob watches the warm tint travel up her ears and turn them pink. Hmm. She must know how appealing she is. She squirms a little in her seat, and all Jacob can think about is how he remembers seeing her in tight jeans before she sat down, and how her thighs must look now, filling the denim wonderfully. He sits a little straighter, but it's hardly noticeable under the folds of his hoodie.

"I'm Jake." He doesn't feel like using his real name. It only reminds him of exactly why he's here in the first place. (This is the first lie.)

"Oh, right! Right, I'm Leah. Leah Clearwater," she brightly replies, holding out a strong hand. He brings up a hand to reciprocate, and she gives it a happy shake. When she moves to unfurl her hand, he doesn't relent, causing her to jerk a little.

"Um, my hand."

"It's warm," he says in lieu of explanation. She eyes him weirdly.

"…It is," she slowly draws out.

And they sit there in silence for a while. Their connected hands rest on the table, diagonally, and Jacob stares at their clenched hands. Then, he can't help but crack a grin at this, and when Leah catches him, she starts smiling that beautiful smile. And suddenly, they're giggling, the both of them, hands still clutched. Leah's laughter is a clear and wondrous sound, even as her eyebrows are furrowed in awkward confusion.

"I'm sorry," he starts out, slightly breathless, and then he releases her hand. "I don't even know why I did that."

Leah quickly snatches his hand back. "Oh no, it's fine," she says. And now it's Jacob's turn to feel a little flushed. He shivers a little, as the miserable fog he had sunk into the past week begins to dissipate in the face of the girl before him.

"Leah," he breathes, testing the name on his tongue. He warms inside when he notices Leah biting her lips. "So, how long are you staying here?"

Jacob remembers their meeting vividly. They had sat there in the diner, warming the seats, till late into the night. Conversation had been smooth, comfortable, although occasionally stilted by stretches of silence as they awkwardly looked everywhere but at each other in bashfulness. He recalls how awake he had been, even in the peak hours of the morning, as if Leah's presence had sliced upon the fugue his state of existence had sunk into long before he could even remember falling into it.

Leah didn't make him forget his mournful state; rather, made him embrace it, a little. Because he'd told her – told her exactly why he had escaped to Beacon Hills. And Leah, she hadn't judged him for making poor decisions, or even pretended to know exactly how he was feeling. Instead, she'd offered her condolences by slipping into the seat next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders, and pulling him down against her shoulder until they were cuddled warmly on the PVC bench.

Jacob remembers being lulled into a sense of safety, a sense of completeness, as he listened to the rumble of Leah's voice, ranting about what she planned to do in Phoenix, her thoughts on organic foods, why she hated Michael Cera but couldn't stop watching all his movies; and for the first time in a long while, Jacob felt wrapped up in love, ears still buzzing from the vibrations of Leah's cool.

And how could he regret ever driving to Beacon Hills, if he'd found peace here?

Leah had advised him, of course. Took his mind off of things, but whispered these snippets of wisdom in her own indirect way. Rather than suggesting he do things, she'd asked him what he wanted – and Jacob had felt… empowered. She had asked him where he wanted to go from here, if he was ever going back, why he didn't bring a friend along, if he considered making friends at all (and that it was okay if he preferred remaining alone), what his plan for the future was, if he ever felt it within his means to forgive his sister, if he wanted to help out his dad, how he was going to help his dad out.

But Leah never made him feel like he had to do any of it. Like he had to have a plan for the future, like he had to forgive his sisters, or make friends, or help his dad out, or go back home, or anything. Leah made him feel like he had a choice – and Jacob had curled up against her, squeezing his eyes shut as he shed the first tears since his mom was buried in the ground.

It had felt so good.

But he had lied to her, in his own way.

Because she was from La Push. He had almost blanched when it had tumbled out of her lips. In a town miles away from home, in a diner out of hundreds, of all the tables in this one queer diner, Jacob had met a fellow Quileute.

But of course.

He didn't know why, but he didn't want her to know. Didn't want her to be able to track him down, not after he'd shed his secrets and left himself raw for her to ravage. He didn't think she would, no, Leah was too kind, too wondrous, too remarkable, but he was scared. A cornered boy who felt like it wouldn't hurt to omit these insignificant details.

So he did.

When she'd asked him where he lived, he had mumbled a vague answer about it being "somewhere around". When she'd wondered what his last name was, he had buried his face in her shoulder and groaned out that it was "so embarrassing". When she'd asked if he'd ever heard of La Push, he had shook his head and drawled out a "Nooooooope" if only to divert from his frantically beating heart.

And now, as Jacob pulled himself to return home as the bell rang, all he could think about was why he didn't just tell her. Because he was in love, and he didn't know how to stop.

Jacob had returned home the moment Leah left Beacon Hills. Without her around, there was no real reason to linger around a boring town with boring people. So he'd packed up and left, but not without exchanging numbers with Leah, promising to stay in touch.

On his drive back (with much help from a map, because he had no idea how he even got to Beacon Hills), he had stopped by a barbershop. Cutting his hair had been an idea he had fondled with for years. He hadn't though, kept it long and flowing because his mom had loved his long hair, had loved running a brush through his locks, and speaking gently into his ear as she untangled the threads from his running around. But after her death, Jacob had realised that he didn't actually like having it long. He loved that his mom loved his hair, but without her around, his long hair was more a nuisance than anything else. So he had cut it short, he had the sides sheared, and kept the slightest of fringes.

Then, in the following weeks, he had busied himself with a job, and with all his savings, he had bought himself a new wardrobe. Suspenders, ties, loafers, shirts, slacks, chinos, bow ties, cuff links, brogues, tie pins, belts, jackets, blazers – at least one of each. Because after Leah, all he could think about was how much he hated the rut he was in – wearing clothes he didn't like, growing out hair at a length he despised, living day by day like he wouldn't mind if he didn't wake up for the next.

And thus, his totally-not-hipster-side emerged.

Leah groans. Nooooooo, she's mostly D's. Fuck. Damn it. She's tempted to change her answers so she would match up with Jake… But uh, that would be a little weird. She misses him. A lot. God, it was only a couple a months ago, but she'd connected with him on a spiritual level, damn it. Her cheeks pink a bit, recalling his touchey-feelyness. They had had hand sex, practically – their hands reaching for each other's every single time they'd met up during the span of her stay in Beacon Hills.

Sometimes, when she wasn't too busy ogling Jacob Black, or fucking around with Sam, she wonders if she's projecting Jake's personality onto Jacob's rocking bod, because fuck if that isn't the hottest thing. But then she'd feel guilty for Jacob, who didn't deserve her half-assed feelings (although her feelings for his hotness are definitely full force), and sad that she… well, she doubts she'll ever see Jake again.

Fuck this, she just wants love, damn it.

And she reckons Jake got plenty of it… wherever it was he lived. He was nice, good-looking, a little sensitive, but wasn't that a big thing these days? S.N.A.G.s? Sensitive New Age Guys? The girls in his hometown would be clambering all over that. Leah can't help but sigh a little. Aagh, she isn't good at these feelings thing. It's easier to just goggle at some hot guy and leave it at that. But she'd liked Jake, and well, he isn't exactly a viable choice now, is he?

And Leah can't help but feel that, if she tries, she can like Jacob too. Because he's sweet. And gentle. And most importantly, not a teenage douchebag. But fuck, how's she supposed to get to know him better if he's always shying away from her and isn't that just fucking precious because he's shy and fuck that you can't be shy and totally hot does he even know how fucking appealing that is like what even is that.

Which pretty much sums up her feelings about the Jacob situation.

She'll have to chase him down somehow, though, and force awesome conversation down that delicious-looking throat and he will like it, damn it. Then, they'll date and she'll get him to wear leather pants fucking everyday and he'll be a good little boyfriend and do it. Yes. Game plan set.

(She'll wear her battle underwear too, cause fuck if they didn't make her body look like a fucking wonderland.)

When Jacob gets Leah's email reply that she's mostly D's, he smiles ruefully and thinks that he should've expected it. All this failure, all this embarrassment, all of it, really, was meant to culminate to this. He pulls out his guidebook, scribbles down her answers along the margin of the quiz, and flips the crisp pages to the very last one.

Tip #101: Just be yourself! Approach him as is, because you want a guy to love you for whom you are! Hang out with him! Go to your favourite places and show him what you're really like. If it's meant to be, he'll be falling over himself to be with you! Good luck~

He'd written this down as a last result really, something he figured he'd only do if all else failed. It was funny, sort of, that his spirit had been wilted down so quickly, but he wanted Leah so much, and, well, what was the point of waiting around anyway?

Leah lazes around on her bed, pyjamas on, and face mask delicately sealed onto her face. If she's gonna be tackling Jacob tomorrow, she's going to look like a freaking goddess. She has her laptop strewn on her bed, and she's trolling YouTube, snorting at dumb cat videos. Fucking cats.

She'll take fifty.

She startles a little when her phone pings next to her. Weeeeeiiirrddd, Sam rarely texts her at night. She finishes watching the video first though, cause Uley can fucking wait, and then she rolls over onto her back and unlocks her phone.

And promptly drops it onto her face.

"Pffthk-! Fuck!"

Jake wants to meet up. THE ACTUAL FUCK.

Hey babes, I'm in La Push tonight (found it!). Wanna meet up? =)

She mostly sputters because no, Jake, he can't just babes her. This is just… mind fucking, is what it is. Because she's finally going to try her luck with Jacob (chyeah right, she was going to fucking devour him), and now Jake, fucking Jake-who-has-a-mysterious-last-name-cause-he-likes-being-mysterious-and-shit wants to meet up.

She doesn't know what (who) she wants (…to do).

But she washes her face, fixes her hair, gets the fuck out of her pyjamas, and rushes to meet him anyway. Cause she's a masochist like that.

(And she's wearing her battle underwear anyway, cause if Jordin Spark's has taught her anything, it's that LOVE IS A MOTHERFUCKING BATTLEFIELD DAMN IT.)

Jacob is so nervous he feels like puking. He tugs at his hoodie as he waits.

Leah power walks her way to the beach, swaddled in a hoodie and her hands bundled in the front pockets. It's already nightfall and the air is chilly, the cold seeping into her bones and only the thought of Jake's warm hands urges her to speed up. Unless, of course, he's gotten himself a babe (too likely) and she'll have to deal with trying to siphon off body heat through sheer force of will.

Leah wonders why Jake's in La Push, though. It's along the edges of Seattle and definitely not a town someone drives by to get, well, anywhere. In fact, almost no one comes to La Push. Maybe a few strange tourists looking to "immerse themselves in Native American culture" (although they're hardly traditional). Which means that Jake came here for a specific purpose. She could be that specific purpose.

Argh. She's so nervous she feels like puking. All over her front like a fussy baby.

Jake had texted her his location (by some rocks shaped like a disgruntled horse), and Leah can't help but wonder if he's spoken to the locals here beforehand – because everyone in La Push know about that particular landmark. The misshapen rocks are somewhat a source of local pride and serve as a tourist attraction on public holidays.

When Leah spots the beach in the distance, she quickens her stride and jogs over to the lone figure facing the sea. It's Jake alright – she recognises the dark grey hoodie and she's thankful Jake's decided to wear something familiar (not that she'd miss his flowing hair). She can already feel the vestiges of a full-blown smile reach her lips.

Her hearts pounds in her chest as she reaches out to tap his shoulder.

"Jake! I can't believe you'r-"

Her face falls. That's not Jake.

"Jacob Black," she states, voice hollow. Leah's confused at first. Why's Jacob Black here? is the first thought that passes through her head, but she connects the dots quickly enough. Because now that she's up-close with Jacob, seeing him in Jake's hoodie, without the glasses obscuring his face, and most of all, looking as guilty as fuck, it all comes together.

"You cut your hair," she whispers and Leah sees Jacob/Jake flinch. He's wetting his lips (something Jake always did, fuck), and he's shifting his weight between his feet, eyes fixed onto the ground.

He opens his mouth to make a few aborted attempts at speech. "Y-yeah, I did-d."

And it seals the deal. The deal, being that-

"Fuck, Jake- Jacob, you lied to me? You knew- You knew that I was from La Push. And fuck, all this time- in school? All the times we met, you never thought to- Fuck." Leah runs a hand through her hair and she turns away – she can't even look at him. "Just, fuck you, Jacob, I can't even-"

Leah's a woman of action, so she takes her anger out on Jacob and shoves him, hard – hard enough that he yelps and falls into the sand. "Yeah, you deserved that," she spat.

And she's just, she's just so angry because- Because, what? She doesn't even know. She doesn't know why Jacob did what he did, why she's so angry with him, why Jacob asked to meet up now of all times, why she didn't make the association earlier because, fuck, "Jake" is hardly the best of fake names, why Jacob looks so at peace with what's happening – like he's resigned himself to her hatred.

This is her fantasy playing out, isn't it? Some dumb, "be careful what you wish for" bullshit. Because this is Jake – sensitive, kind, oddly seductive Jake – in Jacob Black's body. Cause they're the same person. But there's no relief, no excitement because now she doesn't have to war between pining over Jake and lusting after Jacob.

Leah just feels hurt and her heart is wrenching as she says more than asks, voice trembling, "Like, what the fuck?"

Her head is throbbing and Leah quickly blinks back tears, trying to rein herself in. Just, fuck this.

So she fumes a bit; paces around the beach angrily for a while; shouts at the sea for a crazed moment, and then at Jacob, calling him a bitch, a coward, the largest idiot she's ever met; and blows off the steam of betrayal by shooting Jacob, crouched pathetically in the same place he fell, evil looks.

It's only when she's feeling marginally better, that she plops down beside him and manhandles him into a cross-legged position, so that they're facing each other. Jacob submissively relents and curls into himself, petrified. She'll be aroused about his subservience another time.

Because, fuck, she still likes him. And this makes her deflate a little more, letting out a long-suffering sigh at Jacob's apparent stupidity.

"Well? Explain," she demands, roughly interweaving his hands in hers, because she's going to give herself this, at least. It's still their thing. Fuck, they're still a thing.

He awkwardly shifts in place, as if any sudden movements will make Leah crack and beat him up. Not that it didn't cross her mind for a moment.

Or many, many moments.

They sit in silence, the wind blowing and ruffling their hair. Leah scrutinises Jacob while he gathers the balls to say something. Even in the darkness of the night, the moonlight gives her enough to work with. He's very different from the guy she'd met last summer, different enough that she can sort of console herself that, of course she wouldn't have noticed (because, yeah, she's bad at faces, but not that bad. Even if she does occasionally mistake Sam's face for an ugly horse).

Jacob is a lot more ripped. Jake had been scrawny – his build mostly hidden by his hoodie – but she'd seen his sleeves slip a little too far down his forearm, and he'd looked worryingly thin. His face had been mid-puberty, cheekbones barely developing and his jaw a little too wide for his lean face. But despite all of this, he'd been inexplicably charming – exuding pheromones that gave his features a more sensual feel.

And she had been charmed, alright.

Looking at him now, she can appreciate the differences. For one, Jacob had grown into his face, and his jaw looked strong rather than that too-wide awkward. Those fucking cheekbones too. She could write rhapsodies about them, really. And his body – just so fucking fit. She definitely notices how his once-loose hoodie is now stretched against his pecs – pecs she wants to grope, lick and bite.

But his eyes remain the same – still that intense gaze she'd encountered in the diner. Even when cowering she can feel the burn of it on her knees; Jacob staring aimlessly at them. Without his glasses hiding his face (and oh my god, this is such a Clark Kent moment that she barfs a little at the back of her throat), Leah can reconcile the peculiar Jake from Beacon Hills, and the shy Jacob from high school.

Fuck this.

"Anytime now," she breathes, annoyed. Jacob startles and she watches him brace himself, finally tilting his head up to meet her gaze, almost… coyly from under his long lashes.

She does not need this shit right now. And by this shit, she means Jacob's thick eyelashes, which are just exoti- distracting.

"Jacob," she huffs.

"Oh! Right. Uhm, at first, it was- I just didn't wanna be Jacob. When- when I met you. That is," he fumbles, hands trembling in hers. "I didn't think you'd be from, you know, from La Push. I just- you know why I left, right? I wanted to forget. For a little bit."

Leah's acquiescing silence seems to bolster courage in Jacob and he quickly continues, as if afraid his momentum will be lost if Leah gets a word in.

"And then, well, you told me you were from home, and I- I don't know, I clammed up. What if you told someone, or if you knew who I was, and I didn't," he takes a deep breath here, "I didn't want to lose you." His voice cracks at the end.

"I panicked, and then I thought it'd be… easier if you didn't know, cause you were the first friend I had in a long time, and I wanted you to still like me. Cause I didn't know you back then. I- I hadn't ever heard of you- didn't know you would never out me like that. Or that you might still be friends with me anyway. It was easier. And I was scared," he rasps, eyes a watery and red-rimmed.

"Then- then, we met in school, and I, Leah, I really wanted to tell you, but, you were always with Sam, and you guys are popular and I didn't know if you'd still want to be friends. Or if you'd still remember me.

"Then, we started talking, a little, in school. You know, after gym, and- and I was so excited. I didn't think I'd ever get a chance to talk to you. Ever. And I sort of wanted you to realise but I sort of didn't too. Cause I knew you'd hate me. A lot. But I thought I should tell you, so then, here we are-" Jacob finishes abruptly. He's choking back sobs now, stifling his sniffs with his hoodie, and Leah just can't.

They sit in silence as she processes everything, reeling between wanting to comfort the sniffling Jacob and pulling her fist back into a… punch of why you so stupid boy you trippin' major ballsack and stupidly enough I accept this idiocy. Leah takes a few deep breaths as she leans back onto the palms of her hands, watching Jacob wipe away stray tears with his sleeve (crying is ugly, but fuck if Jacob isn't incredibly attractive right now).

She gets it.

Even if she doesn't agree with what Jacob did, she gets it, damn it. Jacob was at a hard time in his life, and fuck, she wishes sometimes that she weren't so empathetic. Or sympathetic, whatever. Just so she has an excuse to punch him (or roughly sex him up). But looking at him now, Leah can practically see the insecurity suffocating Jacob.

Ugh, she's such a good person.

Leah exhales heavily through her nose before she's crawling next to him, and tugging him down, so he can bury his head in the crook of her neck. She runs her hand through his hair and strokes the soft bristles. She hooks her chin over his head. "God, Jacob, you messed up, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh," came the wet affirmative, muffled against her clavicle.

"There, there. No need to get so upset. I'm not that mad at you anymore. Sort of," she says in what she hopes is a consoling manner. Jacob gives a little hiccup in response. He's lucky he's so adorable.

"So… Then, why now?" she asks. Leah can feel him tense under her touch.

"What?" asks Jacob in a tiny mumble.

She continues, voice a low murmur, "Why tell me all of this now? I mean, you've waited so long, and what? You suddenly had a change in heart? You could've kept this all quiet and played me for a little longer, you know."

"It wasn't!" he starts. Jacob quickly pulls away, panicked. "I wasn't playing you!"

Leah sighs and wraps her arms around his head, pulling it back onto her chest. "Okay, then, fine, wrong words, sorry. But the questions stands."

She looks down at his face. Ugh, more sexy lip-biting. They were starting to look a little swollen. Her mouth waters slightly.

"…I like you," and it's the way Jacob says it – hands clutching her hoodie tightly, looking at her earnestly, cheeks flush – that she knows exactly what kind of "like" they're talking about.

Mind = Blown.

"…and I wanted to start on a fresh slate," he continues, nervously sinking into his hoodie like a scared-but-mega-foxy-hot turtle.

Leah can't even right now.

Jacob's breath stuttered as he quickly inhaled.

This is, hands down, the most embarrassing day of his existence.

Jacob has prepared himself, a little, for what he wants to tell Leah when he confesses – a speech, of sorts. What he hasn't taken into account is the crying that he would be doing. As he recounts the thought-processes behind his deception to Leah, Jacob is terrified when he feels the beginnings of tears take hold of him. He tries to halt the onset of embarrassing waterworks, tries to stifle it, but he ends up a bawling mess anyway, and Jacob cannot for the life of him imagine anything as mortifying as breaking down pitiably before the woman he is trying his hardest to ensure can still regard him with mild camaraderie by the end of this.

Absolutely humiliating.

Jacob is not prone to (much) dramatics, but even he cannot help but think that the fates are plotting against his happiness when, in a moment of utter weakness, he blurts out his affections to Leah in the most unbecoming way imaginable – tears running down his cheeks, flush like a ripe fruit, and his coif a corrupted havoc on his head.

His coif.

What little pride still remaining is as ravaged as his hair.

Leah, understandably, is looking shocked beyond words, and Jacob begins the process of extracting himself from Leah's arms when she swoops down and kisses his cheek.

"Holy fuck nuggets." Jacob is not in at the moment. Please leave all the messages you desire as he endeavours to re-attach his drifting soul from where it is floating away in the wake of Leah's lips against his flesh.

Leah laughs under her breath as she pulls him forward, resting her forehead against his. "Yeah, holy fuck."

Correction: Best day ever.

"You wore them on purpose?!" Leah cannot believe this shit.

"Yeah," Jacob says shyly, squeezing his hands around Leah's.

"Unbelievable. Fuck, Jacob.And this was you trying to 'tackle' me?" Leah asks, still blown out of her mind. The little minx.

They're lying on the sand, pressed up side-by-side, clasped hands resting on their thighs. Jacob is, apparently, confessing to the multiple incidences in which he attempted to fucking seduce her.

Jacob hums his affirmative. "I thought, maybe, I was dressing a little too conservatively? I thought that if tried going to school in something, mm, s-sexier, you'd notice me more or something." He looks a little flustered at the end.

"Fuck yeah, babe, I could barely even function that day," she confesses, "Your ass in leather is the stuff of fantasies. My fantasies. For the entire week."

Jacob looks at her, confused. "But I thought… you didn't notice." It comes out as more of a question.

Leah furrows her eyebrows. She lets go of Jacob's hand (but not without him letting out a small whine) and rolls on top of him, straddling his thighs. "Jacob, you have no idea how hot you are, do you? I don't think anybody could look away."

At this, she slips her hands under his hoodie and runs them over his fucking abs that are warm and smooth and hard and she is living the fucking dream oh yeeaaahhhhhh

If he weren't lying down, she'd be running her hands over something else, just saying.

Jacob whimpers under her fingertips, his cheeks bright red. "Leah," he whines.

She just grins at him.

"Any other tackling attempts?" she teases, drawing back her hands from under his hoodie. Her grins widen when she sees how Jacob looks both relieved and disappointed. She's still straddling him, though, and she grinds downwards, reveling in Jacob's surprised gasp.

Definitely hard then.

"Um, yeah. Do you remember when we, uh, mm-! H-had gym class together?"

"Yeah," Leah breathes. Shirtless!Jacob is one of her favourite Jacobs.

Not that she wouldn't say yes to Bottomless!Jacob. Definitely not.

"I, uh, tried… posing a little? Like, when I had to take my shirt off," he mumbles, diverting his eyes.

"Posing a little," she says blankly.

"Uh, yeah, like… flexing? But you were using your phone anyway so uh, just forget about it," he says quickly, as if saying it faster will render her unable to catch him admitting to abtastic sin.


All those glistening muscles.

Leah idly wonders if Jacob will be opposed to modelling as she paints him like one of her non-existent French girls.

Not that she can paint.

So she'll just admire the view.

With a camera recording him. You know, for future reference.

Leah pulls out her phone from her jean pocket, inwardly savouring the broken moan Jacob lets out as she near-humps his lap (whaaaaaat, she's already resisting tearing off his hoodie and licking a trail down his… trail). She unlocks her phone and flashes him one of her more recent pictures.

"Leah!" Jacob cries, sounding a mix of scandalised and embarrassed (and arousal, defo) when he realises it's his muscles that are featured as her phone's background. Leah is extremely thankful for high-definition phone cameras. Definitely the greatest invention of the decade.

"What? Perfect jack off material right here," she drawls, snaking a tongue out to lick her lips (It's about time Jacob knows the kind of torture he puts her through whenever he gives his own lips a thorough fucking).

Jacob whines and hides his burning face in his hands, but Leah can see him smiling.

Ack. Much kewt. Very seduce. Wow.

So Leah bends over and kisses his fingers, still splayed across his face, a smile stretching over her own lips.

When Sam spots Leah and Jacob walking down the hallways hand in hand, he tackles the both of them, yelling out their names. Sam sidles up between them, ignoring Leah's indignant cries and Jacob's awkward wiggling, breaking the matrimony of their hands, and throws an arm over both of their shoulders.

"FINALLY! Jacob, you sly dog, congratulations! I must warn you: Leah's vicious. If you don't set out the rules, maybe a safety word or three, she'll leave you aching for days. Very poor BDSM etiquette." Sam shakes his head resignedly. "I'd start slow too – at least three dates before the riding crop. Although I wouldn't count on no cock rings before the second date."

"SAM! Shut the fuck up!" Leah shouts, roughly shoving his head forward. Sam just bursts out laughing. He's happy for them, of course – his OTP is now CANON EVERYBODY (totally a good excuse to start planning a wedding. Or at least an engagement party).

He's definitely got dibs on godfather.

And godmother.

"…I don't mind," Jacob whispers, too low for Leah to catch. But Sam catches alright.

The kinky little shit.

Sam wiggles out of his own self-imposed three-man chain and makes icky sounds, turning to face the two of them (who, in a span of two seconds, have re-attached their hands. Ugh, they're that kind of couple).

"You know what? The two of you deserve each other. Definitely deserve each other."

Jacob turns to glance shyly at Leah and timidly smiles. Leah just grins and gives his ass a firm grope.

Sam will deny it under duress, but his inner fanboy squees.


He can't decide between Jeah, Leacob or Jaceah.

Author's Notes and Thought Processes:


This has to be the most self-gratuitous fic out there.

There are way too many themes discussed here – summer love, texting, physical transformation, nerdy Jacob, popular Leah, high school, quizzes, emails, awkward flirting, and all that good stuff.

The only thing that's missing is a coffee shop with a hot barista (I could be the hot barista plz).

I just wanted to write a happy one-shot that doesn't involve an angsty, insensitive Jacob and a depressed, often pregnant (lol) Leah. Those fics are nice to read, of course, but hell if they aren't INCREDIBLY morose. WHERE'S THE LUUUURVE DDDDDD:

I'm sure you've realised the massive use of text-speak and internet memes. I figured that Leah, being a modern, up-to-date kind of person, would be aware of these things, and I felt that she'd be easy-going enough to use this in everyday speech. This is my headcanon, of course, because my headcanon!Leah is a very chill kind of person.

Also, about hipster!Jacob… Well…! I'm not a hipster myself (honest), but I've always found hipsters who keep denying their hipsteryness incredibly amusing. So shout out to hipsters in denial! We love you but also find you very annoying most times!

The diner called "Betty's Kitchen" is a tribute to one of my most favourite channels on YouTube called, yup, Bettyskitchen. It's basically a cute old Texan lady cooking stuff. Much addiction. AND HOW CAN ANYONE MISS ALL THOSE TEEN WOLF REFERENCES.

This fic took me months to write, and I am incredibly happy with how it turned out. Woo hoooooooo!

Thank you for reading! As for all of the readers and supporters of my Not A Man, Not Ever A Woman story, I LOVE YOU MUCH KISSES MUY MUY MUY (BEST KISSY SOUND EVAHSZXC) *3*