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I'll Teach You How To Love (Me)

One of the werewolves imprints on a mysterious woman. He travels to the ends of the earth to find her, and then discovers he has an impossible task. He doesn't just have to convince her to love him. He has to convince her love exists at all.

Right- this is a multi-chapter fic. I own nothing. It's in second person, so you can really pick a werewolf besides Jake, Quil, Sam, and Jared. In my mind, it's Embry, and that may be established later. Each chapter has a song which inspired it. I will provide links to the songs. You need to listen to them to get the right mood. I own nothing. REVIEW.

2. The Long and Winding Road

Rating 0/5   Word Count 670   Review this Chapter

Six years.

You have counted every day. You, with a perfect memory, recall every instant, every heartbeat, every false hope, every disappointment.

And you refuse to give up. She’s out there somewhere. She’s real. Of the seven billion people on the face of earth, one of them is her, and you will find her. You can’t help her if you can’t find her.

You worry about this a good deal, because it’s your goal in life to keep her happy and safe, and you don’t even know if she’s alive.

But you believe she is, because you have to- and besides, you’d know. It would register in some deep place in your consciousness if she weren’t all right. You are certain of this.

After all, the two of you are tied together, aren’t you? You are hers forever, in a way that is more than anything else. You will never love anyone else.

And you don’t know her name. You know nothing about her.

But it simply doesn’t matter. You are hers. You love her, and that is all that matters. Someday, you will find her.

It’s been six years. You have not stopped phasing, since you estimate she’s younger than you.

It’s something you’ve thought about, because all you can think about is her. And all you know of her is her appearance. You remember every detail of her face, every thing about her is imprinted (no pun intended) for eternity upon your changeless mind.

You have to find her. It’s your obsession, your purpose, your raison d’etre, your heart, your soul.

One of your tools is a sketch of her, done from memory (you always did like to draw) which you show to people.

Find this girl, it says. Reward.

There’s no reason, and several people have called. Why do you want to find her? Are you a relative? Is she a runaway? A criminal?

You give pointedly vague answers, because you don’t want to admit to them (or yourself) what you are.

Essentially, you are a stalker. Trying to find a total stranger so you can spend the rest of your life with her… if the police knew about this, they’d probably lock you away.

But you know you would never hurt her. If she wants nothing to do with you, you will have nothing to do with her.

You would never force so much as your friendship on her. She has nothing to fear from you. You would convince her of this, but you can’t find her. Until, one day, six years into your search, the call comes on the private cell number you have for this purpose alone.


Your voice sounds strange and breathless with anticipation- you don’t recognize it yourself.

“Hello. My name is Fred Williams. I saw your poster. The one with the girl-“

“Yes? Do you know where she is?” You pray he will ask no questions. You can’t answer them.

“She lives on Lakemont Boulevard. In the Sunset building. Apartment 12D.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much. So much,” I breathe.

“She calls herself Rachel.”

“Thank you again, sir. I don’t know…”

“I live in the apartment above hers. You can drop the money by when you come to see her,” he informs. His voice is cold.

He’s selling her out, you realize. He thinks you’re some kind of criminal coming to get her and he’s risking that to get the money.

You would be furious at him, but without his betrayal you would never have found her. “I’ll do that. Thank you. Good-bye.”

You shut the phone and start the car, quickly. It is a short drive to Seattle. You don’t breathe the whole time, it seems.

Until you have climbed the stairs and stand in front of her door.

You knock softly.

You have come home.