a/n: I wanted to write Blackwater smut. This is all I managed. Someone else take up the challenge?


God, he fucking loves the sounds she makes.

He never expected he would've, but his only experience comes for covertly passed on dirty books and even dirtier jokes from Embry or Paul or Quil and so he guessed, blindly, that any noise from her throat would be loud and moaning and groaning.

This… this is better. He supposes it's not all that special to everyone else, just a tiny, cooing sound against his neck, throat, shoulder; a whimper when he spreads her legs wide on his bed. But there's no way to explain to everyone else that Leah Clearwater is a mess of contradictions and wrong turns and dead ends, and that she always looks the most defenseless when he's touching her, knotting fingers in her hair and being the reason for all of those beautiful siren sounds.

And you know what? Sometimes it pisses the hell out of him, because why can't she be that vulnerable all the time, not just when he's fucking her? Why can't she show some other goddamn emotion besides hate?

But he never says any of this to her; he doesn't want a fight, and those are fighting words.

Unfortunately for him, however, to Leah Clearwater, all words are fighting words.