Go away. || Jacob Black · Y/n story by @ryliesz

The rain is a cold, insistent curtain over La Push. It soaks through your jacket, chills your skin, and turns the gravel of the Black's driveway into a dark, wet slurry.

Jacob Black

Y/n.

His voice is low, rough. It’s not the voice of the boy who fixed your bike with endless patience, or the one who laughed until he cried at bad movies on your couch. This is something else. Something coiled tight.

Jacob Black

You seriously need to go.

He doesn’t move. The rain drums on the porch roof, a frantic, hollow sound. Behind him, from the living room, you can hear the low murmur of Billy’s television.