jakescapes

[jakescapes]

ok yall, mean step daddy jake is coming up next 🙂‍↕️✍️

[jakescapes]

im a new reader of urs and i love ur writing sm and i just had a few questions for u!

what inspires u to write? (like motivation, coming up with idea/plotlines, etc.)

what are some of ur pet peeves in writing?

what's ur fav creation of urs?

much love <3

ooohhh i love questions like these. i’ll answer in order

1. tbh motivation for everyone is different. when im rlly motivated to write something it’s when i have the need to finish it in one sitting cuz im so invested in my idea if that makes sense. it’s usually when i come up with a plot that i would have wanted to reader about as a reader. but as per coming up with ideas it just comes so randomly to me. like i have a bunchhhhh of ideas for future fics in my head and new ones pop up in my head all the time.

2. idk if ur asking abt like in writing as a hobby or as in writing fan fics. cuz i dont rlly have any for both however i have a bunch of pet peeves when reading fics. i’m a big reader and i read as much as i write but i literally hate whenever there’s the virgin reader x f boy trope it’s just soooo overdone and i just feel like it normalizes and romanticizes girls having to be pure and untouched while the men don’t have to be. i will never write about that

3. i haven’t written many fics since im pretty new to tumblr however so far i would have to say it’s the war between us. im rlly proud of it and hearing how much love other people gave it and how it benefitted other ppl was the best feeling in the world. i just love innocent young love :3

tysm for these questions and i hoped this help!

[jakescapes]

𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙚𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

pairing: spiderman!jake x reader (f)

synopsis: One night, Spider-Man saves you and you can’t stop thinking about him. His presence haunts your thoughts, and soon he becomes more than just a hero in a mask. But what you don’t know is that Spider-Man has been watching you all along. As the lines between hero and ordinary guy blur, you find yourself drawn to him, unaware of the truth he’s hiding and the complications that come with falling for someone living a double life.

genre: fluff, smut, strangers (not rlly) to lovers

warnings: pretty much none other than brief fight scene, wounding + blood, lying, explicit smut, technically inferred mutual virginity loss but it’s not rlly mentioned, mdni!!

author's note: this one is pretty chill and not as heavy as storyline goes as much as my other fics but i think it's still pretty cute :3 i know i wasn't gonna post this one until my other fic is out but i changed my mind lol anyways enjoyyy

wc: 11.8k

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You’ve always been the kind of girl people liked. Not the most popular, not the type who threw huge parties or walked around with a whole parade of people behind you, but people knew you. They smiled when you walked down the halls. Teachers liked you because you were smart and funny, good but not a try hard. You had your group of close friends and stuck by them. You weren’t loud, but you weren’t invisible either.

You were...just right.

And to Jake, you were everything.

You didn’t know that, of course. To you, Jake was just the sweet, quiet guy who sat a few rows back in your English class, always scribbling in the margins of his notebook, sometimes flashing you a shy smile if you caught his eye.

"Hey, Jake," you said once, a few weeks ago, when you held the door open for him after history class.

He’d blinked, startled that you even knew his name. "Uh—hi. Thanks," he mumbled, clutching his battered backpack like it might float away.

You thought he was nice. Sweet. Maybe a little awkward. You didn’t know that he spent half the class staring at the back of your head, memorizing the way you doodled in your notes when you were bored, the way you twirled your pen when you were thinking.

You didn’t know that every time you laughed with your friends, he wished he could be part of that world, yours, even just for a second.

You definitely didn’t know that Jake Sim, quiet, nerdy Jake, was Spider-Man.

Nobody knew.

And even with the whole city to protect, somehow, you were the thing he couldn’t stop watching.

-

You’ve always liked New York at night. It’s noisy, chaotic, but when you’re walking alone, sometimes it feels like the whole city softens just for you.

Your boots click along the sidewalk as you make your way home from your friend’s house. Your phone is tucked safely into your jacket, your bag slung across your shoulder. You hum quietly to yourself, thinking about the sleepover plans you already started setting up for next weekend.

You don’t notice the figure perched high above you, crouched at the edge of a building. From the shadowed rooftops, Jake watches you with sharp eyes behind his mask.

He should be three neighborhoods over. He knows there’s trouble brewing near the docks.

But he can’t help himself. You're walking home alone, and the idea of something happening to you when he could stop it—

Yeah. Not a chance

He could watch you laugh with your friends for hours. He knows the exact way your nose crinkles when you’re confused in class, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re concentrating, the easy way you smile at people when you pass them in the halls.

He trails you silently, heart thudding harder than it ever does when he’s fighting criminals.

Then, a sudden noise jolts him out of his thoughts. You’re about two blocks from your apartment when it happens.

Two men step out of a shadowy alley up ahead, blocking your path.

"Hey, pretty girl," one of them says with a greasy smile.

You jerk back instinctively. "Get away from me," you snap, fear spiking in your chest.

They don’t listen. One grabs your bag. The other lunges for you, trying to trap you between them.

"Let go of me!" you shout, struggling, but they’re stronger than they look. Panic flashes through you. You twist, trying to kick, and manage to knock one of them off balance, but there’s two of them and only one of you.

Jake doesn’t even think.

He dives.

Thwip! A web zips through the air, snagging the thief by the chest and yanking him backward so fast he crashes into a lamppost. You spin around, gasping, just in time to see a blur of red and blue land hard between you and the second man.

You stumble back, wide eyed, heart hammering.

It’s him. Spider-Man.

He doesn’t even hesitate, just moves. A punch. A sweep of his legs. Another thwip! and the second man is webbed to the sidewalk, groaning.

You stand frozen, staring.

You’ve heard the stories. You’ve seen the news reports. People talking about Spider-Man like he’s some kind of legend. Some of your friends even joked about what they’d do if they ever met him.

You watch, breathless, as he webs the two men up in a neat, dangling package. It’s almost...easy for him. Strong, fast, confident. You can’t tear your eyes away.

And now here he is. In front of you. Saving you.

He turns toward you, breathing a little harder than usual.

"You okay?" His voice is warm, low.

You nod, still stunned. "Y-yeah. I—thank you. Thank you so much."

He hesitates for a second, then says, "Where do you live? I'll get you home."

You stammer out your address, your voice shaking.

"Okay. Hold on tight."

Before you can react, he scoops you up by the waist. You yelp, clutching desperately onto his shoulders as he swings up into the sky.

You’ve seen Spider-Man swoop around the city before, on TV, from your window sometimes, but being in it, flying through the air, the wind whipping around you, the lights blurring below, it’s a whole different world. You tighten your arms around his neck, your face pressed close to the smooth fabric of his suit.

You squeak, clutching at him.

"I’ve got you," he says quickly, as you both rise high above the ground.

You cling tighter, feeling the muscles shifting under his suit, the heat radiating from him.

"This is insane," you breathe out. "You’re insane. You’re amazing."

He laughs under his breath, and it’s a sound you wish you could bottle and keep forever.

When he finally lands lightly on your balcony, your knees are trembling. He sets you down gently.

You stare up at him, breathless.

"Thank you," you say again, your voice small.

He shifts awkwardly, like he’s about to leave, but then he winces slightly, a hand ghosting over his side.

"You’re hurt," you notice immediately. "Wait—don’t go. Let me help."

He tries to protest. "I'm fine—really—"

“No, I owe you.” And you’re already pulling him inside your room. 

You tug the door open, leading him into your bedroom. It’s cozy, filled with little things that make it you. Posters on the wall, a stack of books on your nightstand, fairy lights strung across the ceiling. He turns in a slow circle, taking it all in, his heart racing for a completely different reason now.

He’s in your room.

Jake Sim. Spider-Man. Nerdy kid who sits three rows behind you in English.

Inside. With you.

You dart into the bathroom and come back with a first aid kit.

"Sit," you command gently, patting the edge of your bed.

He obeys, sitting stiffly, still a little stunned himself.

Carefully, you peel back a section of his torn suit at his ribs, revealing a spreading bruise and a shallow gash.

You suck in a breath. "Oh my God. You’re actually hurt."

"I've had worse," he mumbles, watching you nervously.

Your hands are gentle as you clean the wound, your touch light. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath.

You’re so close. Close enough that he can see every tiny detail, the little gold flecks in your eyes, the freckles dusting your nose, the worried way you bite your lip.

And for a second, he forgets about the blood, about the bruises, about everything except you.

He wishes, more than anything, that it could be Jake sitting here like this. Just Jake. No mask. No secret.

Just you, patching him up, caring for him, because you wanted to.

But he knows better.

He knows this life he chose is too dangerous. Too complicated.

Still, he can dream.

…

After he swung away into the night, you just stood there for a second, your bedroom door still half open, the first aid kit forgotten on your bed.

Your heart was racing.

You pressed your hand to your chest like that might calm it down, but it didn’t. You felt like you were still flying, like you could still feel the pressure of his arms around your waist, the rush of the wind in your hair, the firm, careful way he held you like you were something precious.

Slowly, you climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. You stared at the ceiling, wide eyed.

You never really thought about Spider-Man before. Sure, he was cool. People at school were always gossiping about him — "Did you hear he stopped that robbery last night?" or "My cousin swears she saw him swing over Times Square!" But you never paid that much attention.

Until now.

Now, you couldn’t get him out of your head.

The way he moved. The easy strength in his shoulders. The way he didn’t hesitate to jump in and protect you. The way his voice sounded low and a little worried when he asked if you were okay.

You buried your face in your pillow, cheeks burning.

You were crushing. Hard.

Meanwhile, a few blocks away, Jake swung clumsily back toward his tiny apartment, the night air cold against his scraped skin.

He practically stumbled through his window, ripping off his mask as he collapsed onto his bed, still breathing hard.

He covered his face with his hands.

What just happened? he thought to himself.

Of all the people in New York, of all the random twists of fate, it had been you.You, walking alone. You, getting cornered. You, needing him.

And as bad as it sounded. As wrong as it was, he was grateful. Grateful you’d needed saving. Grateful he’d gotten to touch you, to hear you laugh breathlessly into his shoulder, to see the way you looked at him like he was someone incredible.

Not Jake Sim, the quiet nerd in the back of the class. But Spider-Man. A hero.

...

The next morning at school, Jake tried to act normal.

Tried to sit at his desk like his entire soul wasn’t buzzing.

You walked into class with your best friend, Maya, giggling about something. You looked a little tired, but in that soft, pretty way. Jake kept his head down, scribbling nonsense in his notebook, but his ears were straining, tuned to every word.

"You are lying," Maya hissed under her breath, eyes wide.

"I'm not!" you insisted, grinning. "I'm telling you! Spider-Man saved me last night."

Maya gawked. "You're serious?!"

You nodded, leaning in closer so no one else could hear.

Jake’s hand stilled on the page, his heart hammering.

"He was..." you trailed off for a second, your voice going soft. "He was amazing. Like, really amazing."

Maya snorted. "Amazing how?"

You bit your lip, cheeks turning pink. "I don’t know. Just, the way he fought those guys? And the way he held me? He was so...manly. And confident. It was like..." You shook your head, laughing a little at yourself. "I don’t know, Maya. I think I might have a little crush on him now."

Jake gripped his pen tighter, something inside him flipping over.

You had a crush. On him.

Well...on Spider-Man.

He should’ve been thrilled. And he was. Kind of.

But mostly, he just felt this aching sadness swell up inside him.

Because the person you met last night wasn’t Jake Sim.

It was someone stronger. Braver. Someone you could look up to. Not the awkward kid who tripped over his own feet and fumbled his words when you smiled at him.

Jake stared blankly at his notebook, a hollow pit forming in his chest.

If you ever found out the truth, if you ever realized that Spider-Man was just Jake, the kid who barely managed to survive high school without embarrassing himself — Would you be disappointed?

Would you stop looking at him like he was something special?

Jake swallowed hard, forcing himself to smile as the teacher called for attention.

He had to be okay with it. You were safe. That was what mattered.

Even if the closest he ever got to you was behind a mask.

...

After class, the hallways were packed, loud with chatter and the slam of locker doors.

Jake stood by his locker, spinning the dial lazily with one hand, half listening to his friend Mark rant about something that happened in gym.

"I’m just saying," Mark said, waving his arms dramatically, "if Coach expects me to run a mile in under seven minutes, he can —"

Wham.

You bumped into Jake's side by accident, your bag swinging wide as you tried to squeeze past the crowd.

"Oh my god, sorry!" you blurted, reaching down to grab the little notebook that had fallen out of your hands.

But Jake was already crouching down to pick it up, and the second he moved, he winced, the sharp pull of his bruised ribs making him suck in a breath.

He quickly masked it with a cough and stood up, handing you the notebook.

"Here," he said, voice a little tight.

"Thanks," you smiled, but your eyes narrowed slightly. "... Are you okay?"

Jake froze for a split second. His hand was instinctively pressed against his side, over the exact spot you had patched up last night.

He jerked it away, shoving both hands into his jean pockets like nothing happened. "Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine," he said, way too fast.

But when he moved, you caught it, just for a second. His shirt had ridden up slightly, and you spotted a white bandage taped carefully over his ribs. You blinked, heart skipping. It looked exactly like the one you’d used last night... the same pattern of gauze and tape.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Jake was already rushing to explain.

"It’s just, uh, some bruising," Jake added, trying to sound casual. "From... y'know. Soccer.”

You raised an eyebrow. "Soccer?"

"Yeah." Jake coughed again, fake, awkward. "Picked the wrong guy to guard, I guess."

You smiled politely, not totally convinced, but decided not to press. "Well, be careful," you said, slinging your bag higher on your shoulder.

"Will do," Jake mumbled, watching as you disappeared down the hall.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Mark grabbed Jake by the shoulders.

"Dude. Dude. What was that?"

Jake shrugged, trying (and failing) to act cool. "Nothing."

"Nothing?! Bro, she was worried about you! That’s not nothing!"

Mark paused, squinting at him. "Wait... why are you even bruised? What happened?"

Jake hesitated. His fingers drummed anxiously against the locker.

Finally, he muttered under his breath, "I saved her last night."

Mark’s jaw dropped. "What?!"

Jake winced. "Keep your voice down, man!"

“You saved her?" Mark repeated, quieter but no less intense. "Like, Spider-Man, you saved her?"

Jake nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepishly. "Yeah. Some guys tried to mug her. I took them out. She... she helped patch me up after."

Mark looked like he was about to explode. "Dude, you have an opening. After years of crushing on her, you can finally make a move!"

Jake just shook his head, a sad little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

It wasn’t that easy. 

If he wanted to be with you, it had to be as Jake. Not as the hero you thought you knew.

-

It was late. Way past midnight. Your desk lamp buzzed quietly as you sat cross legged on your bed, hunched over your textbook, fighting to stay awake. You had a big exam coming up and your brain was practically melting.

That’s when you heard it.

Tap, tap.

Your head snapped up, heart lurching in your chest. The tapping came again, but it wasn’t from your door. It was your window.

You grabbed the nearest thing, a hairbrush, and crept cautiously toward the sound. And when you peeled back the curtain, you nearly dropped it.

Spider-Man was outside your window. Again.

His mask was on, but he looked... bad. One arm was clutching his side tightly, and even through the dim streetlight you could see the dark smudges of blood soaking through the red and blue suit.

You fumbled the lock open without thinking. He stumbled inside the second you lifted the window, bracing himself against your wall to stay upright.

"Are you okay?!" you gasped, rushing to steady him.

He just gave a shaky little laugh. "Sorry," he rasped. "Didn’t mean to scare you. I just—" He winced sharply. "I didn’t know where else to go."

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of him. The city’s strongest protector, barely able to stand up straight.

"It’s okay," you said quickly. "You’re fine. I won’t tell anyone, I swear."

You helped him over to your bed, your mind already racing. Grabbing the first aid kit from your bathroom once again, you knelt in front of him, hands shaking only slightly.

You peeled back the torn fabric of his suit, biting your lip hard at the sight underneath. His side was an ugly mess of deep gashes and bruises.

It felt... different this time. More intimate. Last time, you were too caught up in the shock to notice. But now, alone in your bedroom in the middle of the night, with Spider-Man so close, it was impossible not to feel it. The air between you felt thick. Your fingers lingered a little too long against his abdomen as you cleaned the wound, brushing over the planes of muscle stretched tight under his bloodied skin. You were close enough to hear the hitch in his breath when you pressed a little too hard, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.

It was crazy. He was sneaking into your room in the dead of night, bleeding and broken... and yet, your heart wouldn’t stop hammering in your chest.

"God," you muttered, forcing yourself to focus. "What happened to you?"

"Ran into some bad people tonight," he mumbled, head leaning back against your wall. "Really bad."

You nodded, trying to stay calm.

"You should rest here for the night," you said softly as you worked, wrapping fresh gauze carefully around his ribs. "No one would know. You could leave in the morning."

He just shook his head immediately, voice hoarse. "No, I couldn’t possibly. I’ll... just stay for a little while. Then I’ll go."

You frowned but didn’t argue. His body was tense, muscles trembling slightly under your touch. Still, he let you take care of him. He trusted you to.

"You really should be more careful," you muttered under your breath, taping the last bandage into place. "Your job’s so dangerous. You’re not invincible, you know."

You meant it seriously, but Jake couldn't help it.

Even through the pounding pain in his body, even through the blood loss, he thought you looked adorable trying to lecture him. Your brows were all scrunched up, your voice low and worried. Like you really cared.

He smiled behind the mask, even though you couldn’t see it. “Thanks, I will.”

The room fell into a heavy silence after that.

The soft hum of your desk lamp, the faint city noise from outside, it all faded into the background.

You were fidgeting without realizing it, your fingers nervously picking at the strings of your shorts. You sat on the edge of the bed, stealing quick glances at him, your heart hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

You hesitated, swallowing hard before you finally spoke.

"I..." Your voice cracked slightly, and you cleared your throat, cheeks burning. "I know this is probably really stupid. And I know you probably hear this from... like, every girl you save."

You laughed awkwardly, trying to fill the space, but it just made you more aware of how close you were.

"I just—" You sighed, looking down at your lap. "I couldn’t stop thinking about you. After the first time. The way you saved me... the way you held me. I kept telling myself it was silly. You probably hear stuff like this all the time."

You glanced up at him, expecting him to nod, to laugh it off, to say something charming and easy.

But he just sat there, completely still.

Because the truth was the opposite.

Jake was used to hearing things about Spider-Man, sure, but it wasn’t always admiration. Most of the time it was fear. Hatred. Distrust. People thinking he was a threat, a vigilante who needed to be thrown behind bars. And sure, some people fawned over the idea of Spider-Man, the hero, the fantasy, but they didn’t know him.

Not the real him. Not the messy, human, hurting boy underneath the suit.

But you... You were different. You were real. You were you.

And to him, that meant everything.

He didn’t know what to say. He was completely, utterly speechless.

You must have taken his silence as an opening, because then you shifted, biting your lip. And next thing you knew, you crawled over the bed toward him slowly, carefully.

He barely dared to breathe.

Your hand reached out, trembling slightly, and you hooked your fingers at the bottom of his mask.

"Can I...?" you whispered.

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

With a careful touch, you lifted the mask just enough to reveal his mouth and jaw, the rest of his face still hidden in shadows. His lips were parted slightly, breathing shallow, waiting.

You leaned in, so close he could feel the warmth of you against him. You hesitated for half a second, and then you closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, almost shy, like both of you were afraid to break the fragile moment. But when he kissed you back, it changed.

His gloved hand rose to cup your cheek, fingers trembling slightly against your skin. You leaned into his touch instinctively, and he pulled you closer, like he couldn’t help himself. The distance between you vanished.

Your lips moved together slowly, languidly, testing, tasting. You parted yours just slightly, and he responded immediately, deepening the kiss.

Your tongues brushed, tentative at first, then with more urgency, clashing softly against each other in a dance that sent shivers down your spine. It wasn’t sloppy or rushed. It was careful, deliberate, like he was memorizing the way you tasted, the way you felt.

There was something raw and electric about the way he kissed you, like he was pouring every ounce of feeling he had ever bottled up into this single moment. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit, anchoring yourself to him, and you felt the way he shuddered slightly, like your touch alone was enough to undo him.

The kiss grew deeper, slower, more intense, every second stretching out between you like it was stitched with gold. It was messy in the way that mattered, the way real feelings always were. A kiss that left your head spinning, your lungs aching, your heart pounding so hard you wondered if he could feel it through your chest.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your faces still so close your noses brushed. Your forehead dropped gently against his, and you stayed like that for a long, lingering moment, suspended between reality and something else, something dreamlike and electric.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t have to.

Everything you needed to say was already written between your lips.

-

Ever since that night, things had been different.

You couldn’t quite explain it, but somehow, Spider-Man had become a part of your life in ways you hadn’t anticipated. He wasn’t just the mysterious, masked hero who saved you that one fateful evening anymore, he became someone you talked to.

Sometimes, late at night when you were curled up in bed with your textbooks or scrolling through your phone, he would appear at your window. His silhouette would loom against the glowing city skyline, and you’d unlock it without thinking twice. You didn’t know what it was about him, maybe it was the way he seemed so untouchable yet so real in those brief moments, or maybe it was just how comforting his presence was. But whatever it was, you felt a connection, even if you knew it couldn’t last forever.

It wasn’t always about danger or saving people. Sometimes, it was just the two of you, sitting side by side, talking about the mundane things you both never got to share with anyone else. Sometimes it was silence, comfortable and easy, the kind of silence you’d never felt with anyone before. And sometimes, there were kisses. Soft, tender kisses that lingered for just long enough to make your heart race and your mind spin.

He was still Spider-Man, and you tried to remind yourself of that every time your lips met, every time you felt that spark. But deep down, you knew, you knew that it wasn’t just the thrill of being with a superhero. It was more.

It felt like something real. Something special.

But then, one night, it all stopped.

He didn’t show up.

You tried not to let it get to you. He was Spider-Man, after all. His nights were long, and his duties never rested. Maybe there was just no time for small talk or stolen kisses when he had the city to protect.

You told yourself it was okay. You told yourself that you understood.

But when night after night passed and you sat alone at your window, staring out into the darkness and hoping for a familiar figure to appear, you couldn’t ignore the disappointment that gnawed at you. You didn’t know why you’d gotten so attached to him. Maybe it was just the fact that he was there, that for a moment, he let you into his world. Or maybe it was the way he made you feel like you were the only person that mattered in those fleeting, stolen moments.

But now he was gone.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You remembered the last time he had come over, and how different that night had felt. You had been sitting together in your bed, his body pressed gently against yours, both of you lying there as if the world didn’t exist outside your room. His hands were intertwined with yours, and the quiet intimacy of the moment felt almost too much to bear.

"I know why you have to keep that mask on," you had said quietly, your voice barely a whisper. "I understand. It’s for your own good." Your fingers had traced small, absent patterns on his hand as you spoke, your mind trying to reconcile the mystery that surrounded him. "But... I can’t help but wonder... what you look like underneath.”

He had hesitated, a flicker of guilt passing through his eyes before he looked away, his gaze drifting towards the window. You felt his fingers tighten around yours, as if unsure whether to speak or to keep it all hidden. The room was silent except for your soft breaths, both of you caught in the unspoken tension.

Finally, he turned back to you, a small, almost sad smile on his lips shown underneath his mask. His voice was low, edged with something you couldn’t quite decipher. "Soon, you’ll find out," he had said, the words hanging heavy in the air.

That had been the last conversation you’d had with him, and now, as the nights stretched on without his visits, you couldn’t shake the thought of what he meant. Soon, you would find out. But until then, all you could do was wait, wondering if he’d ever show his true self to you.

...

Meanwhile, Jake was in his own turmoil.

Every time he visited your window, pretending to be the same Spider-Man who saved you, he felt the weight of his lies crushing him. He couldn’t keep hiding behind the mask. The truth was, he wanted you to see him for who he was. Not as Spider-Man, but as Jake.

The guilt gnawed at him. Every time he saw you, every time his lips touched yours, the shame washed over him, reminding him that he wasn’t being honest with you. You deserved more than this. You deserved the real him, not the superhero persona he wore like a shield.

And so, with all that guilt bubbling up inside of him, Jake decided it was time. He was going to ask you out. Not as Spider-Man. As Jake.

It wasn’t easy for him. He had spent years observing you from afar, watching you laugh with your friends, listening to your stories, memorizing the way you smiled. He had been too shy to ever approach you before, too terrified that you might not see him the way he saw you. But this? This was different. He couldn’t keep pretending any longer. He needed to know if there was a chance. A real chance with you.

So, one afternoon after class, he approached you in the hallway. His heart pounded in his chest, his palms sweating.

"Hey, uh..." Jake said, stumbling over his words, his usual calm demeanor slipping away. He hesitated for a moment, staring at the floor before he finally made eye contact. "Do you want to, I don’t know, hangout together sometime? I could really use a study buddy for the test, and, um... maybe grab some coffee afterward?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard. Jake? Asking you to hang out? You hadn’t spoken much before. He was always the quiet guy in the back of the classroom, a little nerdy and socially distant from everyone. Sure, you knew who he was, but you hadn’t really interacted. The invitation felt... unexpected. But still, he intrigued you.

You tilted your head, considering it for a moment. "Uh... sure? I mean, I guess we could.��� You gave him a hesitant smile, unsure of what to expect.

Jake’s face lit up, and for a brief second, you saw a different side of him, the awkward, unsure side of him that was always hidden behind that calm, cool exterior.

He fumbled for his phone, a little nervous, before he handed it to you. "I, uh, I don’t have your number," he said, his voice soft.

You took his phone and entered your number, feeling a mix of curiosity and excitement bubbling up inside you. When you handed it back, he looked at you, trying to hold back a grin. "Cool," he said, his eyes briefly meeting yours. "I’ll text you soon." He gave you a small, awkward smile before turning to leave, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway, leaving you standing there, both confused and intrigued.

-

The day of your first official hangout had arrived. You had agreed to meet Jake at a cozy café downtown, something simple and lowkey. There was something about him, something you couldn't quite put your finger on, that had you curious, eager to know more.

You arrived a bit early and found a quiet corner near the window, tapping your fingers nervously on your coffee cup. It wasn’t like you had never hung out with a guy before, but this felt different. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was because you’d only really interacted with Jake in class, and now you were about to spend time with him outside of that. You knew he was nice, but you’d never thought of him as someone who would ask you out.

When Jake arrived, he looked a little out of place, wearing a simple hoodie, jeans, and glasses, looking like the normal, shy guy you’d seen in school. 

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft but warm. He gave you a smile, clearly a little nervous.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual, even though you were feeling a little giddy yourself.

Jake sat down across from you, looking around the café for a moment before settling in. As you both started chatting, you realized how easy it was to talk to him. The conversation flowed naturally, bouncing from classes to random anecdotes, and soon you were laughing together over something silly. His humor wasn’t dry or flashy, and it made you feel comfortable, like you had known him better than you actually did.

But then, your curiosity got the best of you, and you found yourself asking, “So, why did you ask me to hang out? I mean, not that I’m complaining, but it’s kind of... unexpected, right?”

Jake paused, his hand shifting nervously around his coffee cup. You could see a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. "I guess, uh..." He scratched the back of his neck, clearly hesitating. "I was just thinking about how... how we never really get a chance to talk much in class. You know, with everyone around. I thought it might be nice to hang out, just the two of us.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a little flattered by his honesty. You’d always noticed how he kept to himself, but you also knew he was always kind and smart. You liked that about him.

“I’ve always thought you were really pretty. And, well, I wanted to get to know you better. I’ve noticed you a lot, so.”

Your heart warmed at his confession, and you found yourself smiling, even though you didn’t know exactly what to say. You hadn’t expected him to be so open about it. You'd always thought Jake was a quiet guy, but here he was, talking to you like this.

The truth was, you didn’t know why you were so unsure when he asked you out earlier. You should’ve been glad. Jake was obviously attractive, he just didn’t know it. He had all the qualities you’d look for in someone to spend time with. And now, as you sat across from him, listening to him talk about things that made him nervous or awkward, you realized there was something different about him. He didn’t try to impress anyone. He was just... himself.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. "I mean, you’re kind of a great guy, Jake. Seriously."

Jake smiled, looking almost relieved. "Well, I’m glad you think so."

The rest of the evening was filled with easy conversation. After coffee, you walked around a nearby park, enjoying the cool night air. The longer you spent with him, the more you realized how comfortable you felt. He wasn’t overly confident like some other guys, but he had this attractiveness about him that drew you in. There was a certain charm to the way he made everything feel effortless, even if he was still a little shy. 

As you both walked back toward your apartment, the night had started to grow colder. Jake slowed his pace, and you both stopped at the entrance to your building. There was a moment of silence between you, and you could sense he had something more to say.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said quietly, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. “It was... nice to actually hang out without everything feeling like a big deal.”

You nodded, feeling the same way. “I’m glad too. Thanks for inviting me.”

As you both stood there, Jake’s eyes met yours, his gaze soft and full of something unspoken. There was a slight tension in the air, but it felt gentle, like the calm before something significant. You could feel the warmth of his presence, and before you could fully process what was happening, Jake took a step closer, his hand gently brushing your arm.

“Would it be okay,” he began, his voice low and hesitant, “if I kissed you goodnight?”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. It was unexpected but not unwelcome. In fact, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, the flutter in your chest as you nodded, too caught up in the moment to think twice.

He closed the space between you, his face soft and vulnerable. His breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in, and everything felt so incredibly intimate. You barely had time to register it before his lips met yours.

The kiss was slow, careful, as if Jake was testing the waters, making sure you felt comfortable. His lips were warm and soft, and you melted into the feeling, the tenderness of the moment overwhelming in the best way. It was a kiss full of uncertainty, but also something more, something that felt real, something you didn’t expect to feel in a first kiss.

But as his lips moved gently against yours, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of familiarity. The way his lips fit against yours, the slight pressure, the way he kissed so softly and carefully, it all felt... right. You almost felt like you’d been here before, like this moment had been rehearsed in some other life, some other time and you had a sudden rush of deja vu. There was an uncanny feeling that you had kissed him before, even though this was your first time.

Your heart beat a little faster, and for a split second, you wondered if you were imagining things. Was it the way he held himself, or was it the way his kiss made you feel as though you'd known him forever? The longer the kiss lasted, the more you found yourself lost in the sensation, until he pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to break the connection but leaving the air charged between you.

You both stayed there for a moment, not saying anything, just staring at each other, your breaths mingling. Jake’s face was flushed, but there was something in his eyes, vulnerable, but genuine. And there you were, standing in the cool night air, still feeling the lingering warmth of his lips on yours.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, goodnight,” you replied, your heart still racing. You wanted to say something else, but you couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, you watched him step back, his figure slowly fading into the shadows as he turned and walked away.

But as you stood there, still reeling from the kiss, a strange feeling settled in your chest. The kiss had felt so familiar, so much like something that was always meant to happen, and for the first time, you realized how much more there was to Jake than what you'd seen before.

You turned and entered your apartment, trying to shake the feeling that something significant had just begun. 

-

It had been almost a month now since Jake had asked you out. Each date with him had been easy, comfortable, and filled with moments that made your heart flutter. This was your fourth date, and after grabbing takeout from your favorite local spot, you invited him over to hang out for the evening. Your parents were surprisingly laid back about it, so after a brief but pleasant introduction, they gave you both some privacy.

Now, Jake was sitting on your bed next to you, his side pressed against yours as you both snacked on the food, laughing over some inside joke you had long forgotten the origin of. As the day grew longer, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. There was a lightness in your chest, a kind of peace you didn’t often feel, like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

You had never thought that this would be where you’d end up. When you first met Jake, he’d been just another classmate, a little shy, a little reserved, but undeniably kind. You didn’t even think about Spider-Man anymore, your thoughts were entirely consumed by Jake. Now, he was becoming a constant in your life, and you couldn’t imagine not having him around. The way he looked at you, the way he smiled when he made you laugh, it made everything seem a little brighter.

You glanced over at him, and the sight of his grin made your heart skip a beat. You could tell he was happy too, his eyes crinkling at the edges in that familiar, contagious smile.

"You know," you said, a teasing tone slipping into your voice, "I’m really glad you made a move on me."

Jake’s face lit up, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Well, I’d like to think I had a pretty good reason to," he said, his voice full of that same warmth you’d come to love.

You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning in a little closer to him. "Yeah, you definitely did," you teased, resting your head on his shoulder as you continued to laugh. The feeling in your chest was warm, comforting, a happiness that seemed to fill the air around you.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, no outside distractions, just the easy comfort of each other’s presence. Your fingers brushed against his, and you couldn’t help but feel that familiar pull between you, the kind you had felt ever since the first time you kissed him. There was a sweetness to it, an innocence that felt right.

But as you both continued to giggle, the laughter slowly faded into something softer. You found yourself looking up at him, eyes meeting his in a way that felt more intense than before. You both fell into a silence, the tension between you palpable now.

Without thinking, you reached up, your hand gently cupping his jaw. You pulled him toward you, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. It started slow, tender, like you were savoring each moment. But then, as your lips moved together, the kiss deepened.

Jake’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss became more urgent, more passionate. His lips pressed against yours with more intensity, and you felt a spark of something deeper ignite in your chest. The way his touch lingered on your skin, the way his lips moved against yours, everything about this felt so right. It wasn’t just the chemistry you’d felt from the start, it was something more, something that had been building between you two without either of you realizing it.

You responded instinctively, your hands threading through his hair as the kiss became more sensual. The world around you seemed to fade away. It was just you and Jake, caught in this moment that felt so real, so powerful. His breath hitched slightly as you deepened the kiss further, and for a moment, everything else, the outside world, the worries, the questions, vanished. All that mattered was here, right now, in this quiet, intimate moment.

The kiss slowed eventually, but neither of you pulled away. You were both breathless, caught in the aftermath of something more than just a kiss, something that left you feeling dizzy with anticipation and warmth.

You reached up, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw, the slight stubble that prickled your fingertips. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a silent question in their depths. You answered by leaning in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, begging for entry. You obliged, a soft moan escaping you as his tongue met yours, dancing, exploring, claiming. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the intense, overwhelming dance of desire.

Jake's hand descended, his fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, before coming to rest at the hem of your shirt. His eyes, still locked onto yours, asked for permission, a silent question that hung heavy in the air. You responded by arching into his touch, a subtle movement that spoke volumes. He took it as the green light it was, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin. A shiver ran through you, your breath hitching as his touch grew bolder, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb finding your nipple and circling it with maddening slowness.

Your hands, exploratory and eager, mirrored his, mapping out the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs. You could feel the heat of his skin, the taut muscles beneath, the way his breath hitched as you traced the waistband of his jeans. He was hard, his erection pressing against your hip, a testament to his desire. 

You wanted to touch him, to feel him, but you also wanted to take your time, to draw out this delicious torture. So, you contented yourself with exploring, your fingers tracing the lines of his body, your lips following the path your hands had taken, leaving a trail of soft kisses and gentle bites. He groaned, his head tilting back, giving you better access, his body trembling with the effort to maintain control. The room was filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths, the soft moans and groans that escaped your lips, the rustle of fabric as you continued your slow, sensual exploration. The tension between you was palpable, a live wire ready to snap, the anticipation almost unbearable, yet you both reveled in it, drawing out the moment, lost in the slow burn of your desire.

Your nipples began to harden into peaks beneath the thin fabric of your shirt. He took advantage, his thumbs brushing over them, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You could feel the heat building between your legs, your panties growing damp with your arousal. You gasped, begging for more. 

He obliged, his thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching them gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You moaned, your head falling back, your hair cascading down like a waterfall of chestnut waves. He took advantage, his mouth finding yours, his tongue delving in, exploring, dancing with yours. 

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You're so responsive," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "It's like you were made for me to touch." You couldn't respond, your mind foggy with desire, your body aching for more. He seemed to understand, his hands continuing their exploration, his lips finding that sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder, sucking gently, marking you.

You pulled back, your breath ragged, eyes locked with his. His pupils were dilated, the irises a stormy sea of desire. You reached for the hem of your top, a silent invitation. He understood, his hands covering yours, helping you pull it off. Your bra followed suit, his eyes darkening further at the sight of your naked breasts. 

He leaned in, his mouth capturing one taut peak, his tongue swirling, tasting. You gasped, your head falling back, giving him better access. His hands, meanwhile, were busy unbuttoning your jeans, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach, making you squirm. The anticipation was killing you, but you knew he was taking his time, drawing out the pleasure, making this a slow burn you'd never forget.

You reached for him, your hands finding the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head in one fluid motion. Your breath caught at the sight of him, his chest lean and muscular, a light dusting of hair trailing down to the waistband of his jeans. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his chest, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer. 

You could feel him, hard and ready, pressing against you. The knowledge that you had that effect on him spurred you on, your hands roaming, exploring, learning the planes and angles of his body. He let you, his head thrown back, his eyes closed, a look of pure pleasure on his face. 

The room filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and soft moans, a symphony of your growing desire. Jake's hands continued their exploration, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips, dipping into the hollow of your belly button. You shivered, your skin erupting in goosebumps as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down, leaving you bare to his heated gaze. He didn't rush, taking his time, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent conversation passing between you. 

Then, he lowered himself, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart, his breath hot on your most intimate place. You whimpered, your fingers gripping the sheets, your body tense with anticipation. Then, his mouth found your center, his tongue flicking out, tasting, teasing, driving you to the brink of madness.

To be honest, Jake had no idea what he was doing. He didn't have any sexual experience and he was basing all of his movements off of pure desire and instinct. However, you weren’t any more experienced, so each gentle touch and careful caress felt absolutely perfect.

Your back arched off the bed as Jake's tongue delved deeper, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you in place. You moaned, your fingers twisting in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. He whimpered at the foreign taste, vibrating against you, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. "Jake," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper, "Please..." Your plea was lost in a cry of ecstasy as he found that sensitive spot, his tongue circling, pressing, teasing. Your hips bucked, your body yearning for more, for him. 

He responded, one hand sliding up your body, cupping your breast, his thumb rubbing against your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your core.

As your body trembled on the edge of release, Jake slowed his movements, his tongue tracing languid patterns, his hand gentling its touch. You gasped, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you held on for dear life. 

The room filled with the sounds of your pleasure, your moans echoing off the walls, a symphony of your growing arousal. Jake's exploring hands, gripped your thighs, holding you in place, his mouth continuing its relentless assault.

Your breath hitched as you felt a finger slip inside you, then another, your body stretching to accommodate him. He curved them slightly, hitting that sweet spot that made your eyes roll back in your head. 

His hands, those clever, gentle hands, held your hips down, preventing you from squirming away, not that you wanted to. Every stroke, every lick, every suck was a testament to his patience, his control, and his unwavering desire to make you feel. You gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responded with another groan, the vibration against your sensitive flesh pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel it, the coil tightening in your core, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Jake," you whispered, his name a plea on your lips. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, his mouth glistening with your essence. It was one of the most erotic sights you'd ever seen, and it sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. "I need you," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He crawled up your body, his hands trailing fire in their wake, his erection pressing against your thigh. You could see the restraint in his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, and it fueled your desire. You reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around him, feeling him pulse in your grip. He groaned, his head falling to your shoulder, his hips moving in time with your strokes. 

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. "I don’t have a condom with me."

"I don't care," you breathed out urgently. "I need you right now Jake."

And with that, he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled his briefs down just low enough, and positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locked onto yours, ready to take you to new heights of pleasure.

Jake's breath hitched as you guided him, your thumb circling the sensitive tip, spreading the bead of moisture that had gathered there. He watched you through hooded eyes, his pupils dilating with every pass of your thumb, as he slipped it in.

You gasped as Jake slowly pushed into you, his thickness stretching you deliciously. His eyes never left yours, the connection deepening with every inch he claimed. You felt a sense of vulnerability, but also an intense intimacy, like he was seeing into the very core of your being. He paused, allowing you to adjust, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. 

He began to move, slowly, torturously, a delicious friction building with each inch. You could feel every ridge, every pulse, as he filled you. He groaned, his hands finding yours, intertwining them together as he pinned them above your head. "Jake," you moaned, your body arching into his pleasure building like a storm. He captured your mouth, his tongue mimicking the slow, deliberate thrusts of his hips, and in that moment, you knew this was more than just physical. This was the slow burn, the tension filled dance, the promise of a love story just beginning.

Then suddenly with no warning, his hips were snapping forward as he sheathed himself fully within you. A moan escaped your lips, your back arching, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Jake's glasses fogged up, a testament to his exertion, as he continued to drive into you, his movements becoming jerky, his control fraying.

He was a sight to behold, his usually neat hair now a rumpled mess, his cheeks flushed, and his lips swollen from your kisses. The sight of him, so vulnerable and yet so powerful, sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. You reached up, tracing the bridge of his nose, the cool metal of his glasses contrasting with the heat of his skin. They began to wobble, trembling with the force of his thrusts. He lifted a shaky hand toward his face, about to slip the glasses off, until you reached out and steadied them. "Keep them on," you whispered.

He nodded obediently, his hand falling back to your sides as he continued to ram into you.

He let out another whimper, his hips stuttering as he tried to hold back. "Fuck," he whined, his forehead leaning against yours. “It feels too good.” He captured your mouth once more, his kiss demanding, and messy. You gasped, your body arching into his touch, your nails digging into his back. 

Jake threw his head back, his own release imminent. The sight of him, so vulnerable and exposed, sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you. You could see the strain in his jaw, the way his eyebrows furrowed as he fought for control. Your hands, still tangled in his hair, gently guided his face to your neck, allowing him to nip and suck at your skin, leaving little marks of his possession. The room filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the wet, slick noises of your bodies coming together, a symphony of desire that played just for the two of you.

You leaned forward, capturing one of his nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the hardened peak. He let out a guttural groan, his pace faltering as he fought to maintain control. "Fuck, Y/n," he gasped, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you back to his mouth. "I'm going to... I'm going to come."

You could feel him swelling inside you, his body tensing as he struggled to hold back. But you wanted him to let go, to give in to the pleasure. "Come, Jake," you whispered against his lips, "I want to feel you."

With a final, shuddering thrust, he did, his body convulsing as he spilled into you, his cries of pleasure filling the room. 

He let out a guttural roar, his body convulsing as he spilled into you. You felt each hot pulse, your body milking him for every last drop. Your own orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body arching off the bed, your fingers digging into his back. You could feel every inch of him, every ridge, every vein, as he jerked inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

He collapsed on top of you, his body spent, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

You could feel his heartbeat, fast and frantic, matching your own. His glasses were askew, one lens filled with steam, the other reflecting the soft glow of the room.

As the echoes of your shared release faded, Jake collapsed onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. You turned to him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you reached up to push his glasses back up his nose. He caught your hand, bringing it to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're incredible," he murmured, his voice still ragged from your previous lovemaking.

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, not just from the physical pleasure, but from the emotional connection that was growing between you. 

This was more than just sex, more than just a casual encounter. This was the beginning of something deeper, something real. And as you leaned in to kiss him, you knew that this was just the start of a journey that promised to be filled with passion, love, and a lifetime of exploration.

-

Jake sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his messy hair, still looking dazed from everything that had happened. Mark, sprawled out lazily on Jake’s desk chair, tossed a small rubber ball into the air and caught it with a loud slap.

“So…” Mark started, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You finally slept with her.”

Jake groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Dude, don't say it like that.”

Mark laughed. “What? I’m just saying! Took you long enough. But seriously,” his tone shifted, dropping the teasing, “you have to tell her.”

Jake stayed quiet, his hands still pressed into his face.

“Jake,” Mark said more firmly, leaning forward, “you have to tell her.”

“I know,” Jake muttered through his hands, voice muffled but heavy with guilt.

Mark leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “So what’s stopping you? You’re literally Spider-Man. You’re, like, the coolest guy ever.”

Jake lifted his head and gave Mark a hollow look. “Exactly.”

Mark frowned, confused.

Jake sighed, rubbing his jaw. “I’m scared, man. I’m scared that once she knows it’s me under the mask... she’ll think I'm just... not as cool. That she won’t see Spider-Man as this hero anymore and me as... some loser who lied to her.”

Mark scoffed. “You’re not a loser. You’re Jake. You’re the guy she likes. Not the mask. Not the suit.”

Jake shook his head slowly, voice low and raw. “It’s not just that. It’s the lying. I’ve been lying to her from the start. Every kiss, every late night conversation. She trusted Spider-Man... not Jake.”

The ball Mark had been tossing dropped to the floor with a soft thud. He stood up, seriousness written all over his face now. “You can’t keep this secret, man. It’s been what, more than a month since you first went to her window? Since you first kissed her?”

Jake swallowed hard.

Mark clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re not protecting her by hiding the truth anymore. You’re just protecting yourself.”

Jake knew he was right. Deep down, he’d known for a while. But hearing it out loud made his chest tighten painfully.

He had to tell you. No matter how scared he was. No matter what it would cost him.

You deserved the truth.

That’s why Jake found himself back here, dressed head to toe in his suit, lurking in the shadows outside your window once again. He had to tell you. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

He shifted nervously on the rooftop, his heart pounding harder than it ever did during any fight. Finally, he moved to your window, raising a gloved hand to tap softly against the glass.

You were just about to settle into bed when you heard it, that familiar, soft tap.

Your heart stopped. You didn’t even have to look. You already knew who it was.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen in place, a million emotions crashing down on you at once. Betrayal. Confusion. Anger. But... also a terrible, aching kind of relief. And as much as you hated to admit it, you missed him.

Gathering the courage you didn’t know you had, you moved toward the window, your hands trembling slightly as you reached out and unlocked it. Slowly, you pushed it open, and there he was. Spider-Man. Crouched just beyond the frame, the city lights outlining him in silver and gold.

He started to speak, voice hesitant. "Y/n—"

But you cut him off sharply, unable to hold it in anymore. "You don’t get to just show up here like nothing happened," you said, your voice tight with hurt. "You left. You left without saying anything. I waited for you. Every night, I waited, wondering if you were okay, if you were ever coming back. But you never did."

Jake flinched under the mask. Every word hit him like a gut punch. He opened his mouth again, desperate to explain, but then you said something that made his words catch in his throat.

"But..." you continued, your voice shaking slightly, "I can't wait for you anymore."

He stared at you, not daring to move.

"I started seeing someone," you said, barely above a whisper. "He's... he's really great. He cares about me. He makes me happy. And... I really, really like him."

"Oh yeah?" he rasped. "What's his name?"

You hesitated, as if saying it out loud made it all real.

 "Jake," you said quietly. "Jake Sim.”

As much as your words were meant to sting, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief. Even without knowing the full truth, you were choosing Jake, ending whatever you had with Spider-Man for him. For him, even though they were one and the same.

The silence that followed was so heavy, so absolute, it was almost unbearable.

You took a shaky breath and continued, "I'm starting to get somewhere with him. It feels real. It feels good. So I'm sorry, but... you can't come to my window anymore. We can't... we can't talk anymore."

There was a long beat of silence and you were about to close your window and go back inside.

Then, without saying a word, Jake lifted his hand to the sides of his mask. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched, frozen, as he slowly peeled it off.

And when he did... Your jaw dropped.

It was Jake. Jake Sim.

The boy who used to pass you in the halls, quiet and reserved. The boy who rarely looked anyone in the eye. The boy who made love to you so passionately.

He was Spider-Man. He was the one who had been at your window all those nights. He was the one you kissed under the city stars.

The room spun a little as you tried to process it all, your heart thundering in your chest, your mind screaming with disbelief.

Jake just stood there, holding the mask in his hands, his expression open, raw, and painfully vulnerable.

He was scared. Scared of how you would look at him now. Scared that you wouldn’t look at him at all.

He opened his mouth, voice rough with emotion. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve told you sooner."

You blinked at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried, and failed, to find words. Your mind was a complete blur. Spider-Man. Jake. They were the same person.

How? How had you not seen it? You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to breathe, trying to think through the whirlwind of feelings crashing into you all at once.

All those strange little things you'd noticed but brushed off at the time, they came rushing back to you, loud and clear.

The way being with Jake had always felt familiar, even when you barely knew him. The way his voice had this soft, distinct tone that you had heard before but couldn’t quite place.

Or that day when you had caught Jake sporting the same exact wound you had patched up on Spider-Man when the night before. You had chalked it up to coincidence. You hadn’t let yourself question it. But now? Now it all clicked into place with dizzying clarity.

Jake saw the confusion written all over your face. His shoulders sagged, and he gave a small, broken laugh. "I know," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Don't worry, I get it. I get why you're freaking out. And... I know I never should’ve made a move on you first as Spider-Man. I should’ve just... just been honest and done it as Jake." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling. "The whole situation was just so complicated, and I didn’t know what to do. I was scared that if I told you the truth, you’d see me differently. Or worse, you’d want him—" he gestured vaguely to the suit, "—and not me."

You stayed silent, heart breaking a little at the way he looked so small, so ashamed.

"I get it if you don’t think I’m cool anymore," he said quietly, avoiding your eyes. "I know I’m not. Without the suit, I'm just... me. I'm not that fearless or confident guy you thought you knew. I’m just Jake. And if you don't like me anymore because of that, I understand."

You finally found your voice, hoarse but certain. "Jake..." He glanced up at you, guarded, waiting for the inevitable rejection.

"No," you said firmly, taking a step closer to him. "Of course not. I’m obviously shocked because—God—this is so much to take in. But this doesn’t make me like you any less."

You saw the disbelief flicker in his eyes.

"You're still you," you said, voice softening. "The guy who’s kind and funny and awkward and... honestly, way cooler than you think you are. The suit doesn't change that. It never did."

Jake stared at you like he didn’t dare believe it, his hands still clutching the mask at his side, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You moved even closer, until you were right in front of him. And then, without thinking too hard about it, you reached out and gently took his free hand in yours.

"You’re Jake," you said again, your voice breaking just a little. "And that’s all I ever really wanted."

Jake looked at you like you had just pulled him out of a storm he thought he’d drown in. Like he couldn't believe someone would still choose him, him, even after seeing the truth. His eyebrows knitted together, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice small, almost scared.

You nodded without hesitation, your hand tightening around his. "Of course I’m sure."

For a moment, he just stared at you, eyes wide and glassy like he was memorizing every detail of your face. Then, without warning, he surged forward and kissed you. Hard, desperate, almost clumsy with how badly he needed it. You met him halfway, your fingers curling into the fabric of his suit, pulling him closer like you never wanted to let go.

Every emotion you had tried to make sense of, fear, anger, confusion, relief, love, poured out into that kiss. You kissed him like you were telling him he was enough. You kissed him like you were telling yourself that this was real.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you slightly breathless, Jake rested his forehead against yours, his hands still cupping your cheeks like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. His voice was low and serious when he spoke next, almost a whisper meant only for you.

"I need you to know," he said, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles on your skin, "being in a relationship with me... it’s gonna be a lot more complicated than a normal one. I mean, obviously I’ve never been in one before, but —" he gave a small, nervous laugh, "— I can assume." 

You smiled, your heart so full it almost hurt.

"I won’t have a lot of time for you at night," Jake continued, his brows furrowing like he hated even admitting it. "You know, Spider-Man stuff. And... you can’t tell anyone. About me. About this."

You reached up, placing your hand over his, squeezing it. "Jake," you said softly but firmly, "I don’t care what it takes. I want to be with you. I want you."

He closed his eyes for a second, like he was holding onto your words, like they were something he never thought he’d be lucky enough to hear. And then he kissed you again. Slower, deeper, more certain. It was the kind of kiss that made your whole body hum with happiness, the kind of kiss that made all the confusion and hurt fade away.

When you finally pulled away, you couldn't help but laugh a little, shaking your head as the absurdity of everything hit you.

"I just can’t believe I had sex with Spider-Man," you said with a teasing smirk.

Jake's face flushed bright red as he groaned and buried his face against your shoulder in embarrassment. "Don’t say it like that," he mumbled, voice muffled.

You burst out laughing, the kind of breathless, giddy laughter that you only had when you were truly, stupidly happy. Jake started laughing too, his arms wrapping tighter around you like he couldn't believe you were real.

For a while, you just stayed there, tangled up together by your window, holding each other as the city buzzed quietly below. No masks. No secrets. Just Jake and you.

And it was enough.

-

Things with Jake were good. Really good. Your parents loved him. Your mom would always gush about how polite he was, and your dad had already invited him to watch a game together. His parents were just as warm, treating you like you had always been a part of their lives.

Of course, you didn’t get to see him a whole lot, especially at night. But you didn’t mind. You learned to love the little moments you guys shared. A stolen lunch between classes, quick texts during the day, and your favorite of all: sneaking a goodnight kiss at your window before he whipped away into the night.

Dating Spider-Man was amazing in its own way. The secrecy, the hidden smiles, the little inside jokes no one else could ever guess. It only added to the thrill.

It wasn't exactly the most normal relationship, but you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

[jakescapes]

LMAOO

so i actually might finish it tonight and post it..

i speed ran the brain storming and just wrote it instead of doing my assignments and i’m like 90% of the way there rn 😭ofc i’ll have to reread and revise but it’s actually mostly done

ok so maybe i might actually post spiderman jake first

[jakescapes]

ok so maybe i might actually post spiderman jake first

[jakescapes]

ur telling me we are getting a step dad jake ouuu i can't waitt 🤭

-🐶

yess i cant wait for it tooo

still figuring out the storyline rn but i feel like it's gonna be rlly good :)

[jakescapes]

NONONOOOO I MISSED RHE VOTIGN SPIDERMAN JAKE PSLDPSLSLSDSLLSLSLSSSS

DONT WORRYY

since most of yall want the step dad fic i’ll post that one first cuz i already have some of it done anyway

but then after i’ll post the spiderman fic don’t worry 🙏

i have a rlly cute story idea for that one can’t wait 😜

[jakescapes]

how are we feeling abt a nasty step dad fic? 🙂‍↕️🤓

[jakescapes]

hii love how are u doingg?? and how do we feel abt coachella week 2 for enha!?!?! they did so good jake cursing was so yumm 😫 and the teased cb at the end omgg i cant wait also they are going on tour and u flying out to see them is so real i got lucky this time tho they actually have two stops where i live so u best believe im going wish i could take u with 🥲 but besides all that i hope ur doing good and taking care 💕

-🐶

i’m doing good i hope u are too!

but enhypen’s coachella week 2.. was WAY too freaky i wanna kms 😭😭 being a jake stan is so hard i was way too overstimulated but they all did so good ofc

definitely can’t wait for their comeback i just know it’s good be so good but unfortunately i won’t be able to see them this tour :( tickets were just way too expensive for me to fly out as well but hopefully next time! and i hope u have so much fun pookie 🫶🏻

and a new jake fic is cooking up in my google docs so stayed tuneddd 😜

[jakescapes]

i’m gonna jump off a fucking cliff

[jakescapes]

i fucking knew he was gonna pull this shit

JAY SAID "GET READY TO SHAKE YOUR ASS"

DUDE I'M GONNA BOUNCE THIS ASS ON YOUR DICK IF YOU DON'T STOP BEING SO FUCKING HOT GODD

JAKE CURSING JAKE CURSING JAKE CURSING AGHHHH FUCKKKK

[jakescapes]

ENHYPEN US TOUR????!!!/&/@:& wkKnKWJEHE WHAT THE FUCKKKKK

none of the dates are even that close to me though 😫😫😫😫

but it is in summer so i have an excuse to fly out to see them WE’LL SEE

hanosuwbe dnakehwbrnm

[jakescapes]

your new jake fic???!! 😫😫😫

i cant even explain in words how good it was IHDFHSDHFSO it was so sad but the happy ending was perfect

pls tell me u have another fic cooking up 🙏🏻

uhhh.. i don’t rlly have anything atm so sorry 😭

i actually am kinda having writer’s block rn but i have a few ideas for my next fic although don’t expect a new one so soon just yet lol. i usually take a while on all my works cuz i procrastinate and im super busy (and also most of my writing is 10k+ words lol)

when i get there ill post a teaser so stay tuned!

but so glad to hear u liked it and also if u have any asks/requests feel free to send 🤗

[jakescapes]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚞����.

pairing: jake x reader (f)

synopsis: You were just a kid when the war took him from you. Your best friend, your first love, the boy who promised he’d never leave. He wrote you letters from boot camp, from the trenches, from a world falling apart. But then, the letters stopped. You didn’t know if he was lost, or if you were. And when the war finally ended, you stood at the docks, heart racing, searching every face… hoping he still remembered how to find you.

genre: angst, smut, fluff

warnings: mentions of death, trauma, fighting in war, reader and jake don't see each other for a long time, mentions of masturbation, explicit smut, mdni!! (lmk if there's more)

author's note: just note that jake's and reader's pov changes pretty frequently later on in the story so don't get confused, kinda proofread, also i dont know anything abt military/army stuff i just tried to wing it, and the ending is kinda rushed but i hope it's not too bad, hope you enjoy!

wc: 18k+

--------------------------------------------------------

People say the world changed the moment the war began, but for you, the world only changed the day he got drafted.

The year was 1942, and the air smelled like warm bread, motor oil, and the bloom of spring. The world felt large, but not too large, not when you lived in a small town tucked between golden fields and slow rivers, where everything you needed fit into the corner diner, the library, and a boy named Jake.

Jake was the kind of boy who would hold your books even if you didn’t ask, who’d get flustered when your hands brushed, and who always insisted on walking you home even when you lived two blocks away. You’d grown up together, sandlot summers and homecoming dances, and somewhere between old treehouses and secret glances during homeroom, he’d become yours.

No one could separate you two.

Until the draft letter came.

He found out on a rainy Tuesday, a cruelly normal day. You’d just kissed goodbye after school, your cheeks flushed from the wind and love, when he saw the letter in the mailbox, his name on the front in unforgiving type. Jake didn’t speak for a long time, just held it like it was made of fire.

“They can’t take me away from you,” he finally whispered, clutching your hand like it was the last real thing he’d ever feel.

But they did.

You could feel the edge of something. Maybe it was in the way the air tasted too still, or the way he looked at you like he was memorizing your face. You wanted to believe you had more time.

“I leave in two weeks,” he said, barely audible.

The world tilted.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty six hours.

It wasn’t enough.

You’d spent your whole life together, school dances, ice cream after exams, sneaking into drive in movies. He’d never been away for more than a weekend. You used to joke he was clingier than your little sister’s cat, and he’d grin and say, “Can you blame me?”

But now he was being ripped away.

You grabbed his hands, soaked and trembling, and pulled him to your chest. He buried his face into your shoulder like he was scared he’d fall apart if he let go. You didn’t cry, not yet. Not until that night, when you read the letter over and over until the words blurred.

He was yours. But now, the war wanted him too.

-

It was the kind of morning that would haunt you for the rest of your life, the kind that would burn itself into your memory so deep, it felt like you were still living it, even years later. The air was cold, but you didn’t even feel it. Your whole body was numb, frozen in the moment.

You stood at the edge of the dock, the sound of the waves crashing beneath you, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears. The ship loomed before you, getting bigger with every second. The ticking of time felt like a countdown, and with every minute that passed, you could feel the distance growing between you.

Jake’s hand trembled in yours, and when he looked at you, his eyes were red, his face wet with the tears he’d been trying to hide. But you could see them now. You both could. You had no more strength to keep the tears inside, and neither did he.

“I’ll write,” he whispered, his voice cracking, but his words didn’t bring you any comfort. You could barely catch your breath as the tears welled up in your eyes. You wanted to believe him. You needed to.

“I know,” you choked out, but it was like the words came from someone else, someone who didn’t know what it was like to love him, someone who couldn’t imagine how empty your life would be without him.

He pulled you closer, his arms tight around you, and you buried your face in his chest, desperate to breathe him in, to feel him close, just one more time. “I’ll come back,” he said, but his voice cracked, and you could feel the doubt in the words. He wasn’t sure. Neither of you was sure.

Your hands gripped him harder, as though you could make him stay, as though you could stop this moment from slipping away. You looked up at him, your eyes swollen, your heart breaking in ways you couldn’t put into words.

But he pulled away slowly, his hand lingering in yours for a second longer, as though you both knew this was the last time you’d ever feel him so close. The first bell rang, sharp and final.

“No...” you gasped, shaking your head, not ready to let go. You couldn’t.

Jake swallowed hard, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I have to go,” he whispered. His voice was so broken, it felt like it was shattering with the words. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”

You tried to speak, but your voice caught in your throat, and before you knew it, you were crying harder than you ever had in your life. You clung to him, as though you could keep him here, just for a little longer. He kissed your forehead, soft and final, his lips trembling against your skin, and it felt like the last time you’d ever be able to hold him.

“I love you,” he said, his voice barely audible through his sobs.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your words swallowed by the weight of your grief.

But it didn’t matter. The ship’s horn blared, and Jake pulled away, his hands shaking as he wiped at his face. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his shoulders shook with every step he took toward the ship. You watched him go, wanting to scream, wanting to run after him and pull him back, but your legs felt like stone, and all you could do was watch him disappear into the crowd.

The distance between you grew with every step he took, until there was nothing left but the sound of the waves crashing against the dock, and the quiet, aching emptiness in your chest.

And you realized, then, that nothing would ever be the same.

-

Jake stood on the deck of the ship, gripping the cold steel railing with white knuckles, as the distance between him and you grew. He hadn’t been able to look back, not once. His feet felt like they were cemented in place, and the weight of the promise he’d made to you, the promise to return, was almost too much to bear. But he had no choice. He had to go. The draft letter had come. His name had been called, and like the others, he had no say in the matter. The war needed him, and there was nothing left to do but obey.

But as the ship pulled away, Jake’s chest tightened with a suffocating pressure. His mind was still caught in that moment on the dock, the look in your eyes, the way you held him, as if letting go would be the end of everything. He could still feel your trembling hands in his, the heat of your tears on his skin, the way you clung to him like he was your lifeline. And, damn it, he had to leave you. He had no choice.

He turned away from the edge of the ship, trying to focus on the men around him, trying to hear their jokes and talk. They were trying to distract themselves from what lay ahead. But all Jake could think of was your face, the way you had whispered your love as if it was a promise you weren’t sure you could keep. You hadn’t believed him when he said he would come back. And he couldn’t blame you.

Jake rubbed his face with both hands, trying to steady the tremor in his fingers. The first few hours on the ship were a blur of cold air, loud voices, and the constant rocking of the boat. But as night fell, the noise dimmed, and Jake found himself alone with his thoughts.

His mind kept returning to you, the way you’d kissed him goodbye, the way you’d held onto him like he was your whole world. You had always been his world, too. You guys spent your lives together, grew up side by side, and somewhere along the way, you’d fallen in love.

As he lay on his cot that night, staring up at the low, creaking ceiling, the weight of the empty space beside him felt unbearable. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was your face, eyes swollen from crying, lips trembling as you whispered your last “I love you.” And it tore him apart. He hadn’t wanted to leave you. Not like this. But what choice did he have?

He turned onto his side and buried his face in his pillow, as if that would drown out the noise in his head, the ache in his chest. His hands, which had been steady for so long, now shook uncontrollably as he thought of you. He wanted so badly to write you a letter, to tell you that he was going to try to come back, that he’d fight with everything he had to return to you. But how could he say that when part of him was unsure? How could he promise you something he wasn’t sure he could deliver?

-

The ship groaned as it met the dock, its hull grinding against the worn wooden beams like it, too, was exhausted from the journey. A sharp whistle cut through the early morning mist, jolting Jake upright. His boots hit the metal floor before his brain caught up.

“All right, boys! Off the boat!” someone barked from above deck.

Jake grabbed his duffel, heart pounding. The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible. Around him, men scrambled up the stairs, heavy footsteps echoing off steel walls. Some joked nervously, others were stone faced, eyes blank as if bracing for whatever came next. Jake pushed forward, chest tight, until sunlight hit his face, and then came everything else.

The dock swarmed with activity. Soldiers in pressed uniforms shouted orders over the roar of trucks and chattering voices. The scent of diesel, salt, and sweat mingled into something acrid and sharp. Jake scanned the crowd instinctively, as if he’d spot someone familiar, someone from home, but there were only strangers here. Uniforms and faces blurred together in a blur of khaki and fear.

A tall guy beside him exhaled deeply. “Well, this ain’t a vacation resort,” he muttered. He stuck out a hand. “Will. From Chicago.”

“Jake,” he replied, gripping his hand tightly.

Their small moment was interrupted by a voice blaring from a mounted speaker. “All new arrivals, fall in line to the left! Orientation in ten minutes!”

Jake followed the tide of soldiers through the bustle, past crates and barking sergeants, past others being loaded onto transport trucks. Dust coated his boots, his lips, his lungs. There was a crackling anxiety in the air, something too heavy to name.

The orientation tent was hotter than outside, crammed with sweaty bodies and nervous energy. A man with deep lines in his face and a chest full of medals stood in front of them, arms crossed. When he spoke, his voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Let me make one thing clear,” the officer said. “This is not camp. This is not school. This is war. Some of you think you’re invincible. That you’ll make it out untouched. I’m here to tell you—”

He paused, eyes hard. “You won’t.”

The room was dead silent.

“You will see things you won’t forget. You will lose people you care about. And the only way you’ll make it through is if you remember why you’re here. So dig deep. Find that reason. And hold onto it.”

Jake’s fists clenched at his sides. The weight of it all, where he was, what he’d signed up for, settled like a stone in his stomach.

The officer dismissed them with a gruff, "You’ve got ten minutes to find your cot and report back for uniform and weapons issue. Move."

Jake stepped out of the tent, blinking under the harsh sun. He felt sweat start to collect beneath the collar of his shirt. Around him, other men muttered to themselves or stared blankly ahead. He caught up with Will, the tall guy from Chicago.

"You ever shoot anything before?" Will asked, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

Jake shook his head. "A deer once. With my uncle. Didn’t feel good."

Will nodded slowly. "Yeah. That’s how you know you’re still human."

They found the row of cots assigned to their group, simple, metal framed things with rough sheets and a canvas bag of standard-issue gear at the foot. Jake sat on his thin mattress creaking beneath him, and glanced around the tent. The men beside him were all doing the same thing, taking in the space, the weight of what was ahead, and the deafening quiet of realizing there was no turning back.

That night, Jake lay flat on his back, staring up at the canvas roof of the tent. The stars outside were blotted out by clouds, but he knew they were there. Somewhere. Just like you.

-

Jake had expected the camp to be loud, but not like this. The clamor of boots pounding the dirt, men shouting orders, and the smell of sweat and metal assaulted his senses as soon as they disembarked. His stomach churned with nerves and dread, and he wondered if he’d ever feel like himself again.

This was it. The place where they’d strip away everything he was, everything he had ever known, and build something new. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for it, but it didn’t matter. The army had made it clear: he didn’t have a choice.

The first thing that hit him was the heat. It wasn’t just the dry, suffocating air that stuck to his skin; it was the intense weight of the place, the way it pressed down on him, making him feel smaller, weaker, like he was part of a machine rather than a person.

They were thrown into it immediately. No time for niceties or introductions. Just barked orders and forced routines. Push ups. Running. The air tasted like dust, and the sound of heavy feet slamming the ground echoed everywhere.

Jake didn’t have a problem with the physical stuff. He’d been athletic all his life, used to running through the heat, throwing footballs, climbing trees with you during his childhood, or running through fields with his friends. This wasn’t the same, though. This wasn’t fun. This wasn’t for the simple joy of it. This was punishment, and there was no one to help him through it.

He didn’t know anyone at first. There were the usual faces, boys from other towns, some tough, some quiet, some who didn’t care about being there. They all wore the same uniform, but Jake could already see the differences. Some had an edge to them, like they’d been through things he couldn’t even imagine, while others were scared, out of their depth, with no idea how to adjust.

Jake had never felt like an outsider, but here, at camp, everything was different. There was a group of boys from a big city who had a way of talking, laughing, and carrying themselves that made Jake feel like a country kid with no clue. They’d been to bars. They’d been in fights. They’d done things Jake could never even imagine. But there were other boys too, quiet, like him, who were just trying to get through it.

At first, they didn’t say much to each other. No one had the energy for conversation. The brutal drills, the relentless push of the officers, and the constant exhaustion left no room for anything else. But slowly, Jake began to make connections. He wasn’t sure if it was just because they were all in the same miserable situation or if something deeper was happening, but he found himself gravitating toward a couple of the quieter boys. One of them was Will, the same boy from the boat ride in. Over time, he became one of Jake’s closest friends, the kind of person who didn’t speak often but always noticed when Jake needed grounding. He didn’t ask questions. He just understood the look in his eyes. They didn’t need to talk about home, about the life they had to leave behind, about the people they missed, because they both felt it. The absence. The distance. And it weighed on them all in different ways.

But it wasn’t just the quiet ones who stood out. There were a couple of boys who acted like they had nothing to lose. They were loud, reckless, and constantly boasting. They cracked jokes during drills, refused to take things seriously, and seemed to get off on making the other boys uncomfortable. They’d find any excuse to pick a fight, to throw a punch, to remind everyone that they were tough. It was like they were trying to prove they were better than everyone else. Jake had never understood that kind of attitude. He wasn’t here to make a name for himself. He was here because it was what he had to do. And he was going to get through it, even if it was hard as hell.

Jake missed you more than he cared to admit. The loneliness was unbearable, and it only got worse as the days stretched on. The first few weeks were a haze of physical exhaustion and mental torment. Every day, Jake fought to keep his emotions buried, but they kept coming back. Memories of you, of the life he left behind, of the love that felt so far away. The other boys might’ve been able to pretend they were tough, but Jake wasn’t that kind of guy. He wasn’t pretending. Every day, he fought just to hold onto the part of him that was still his, even though it was slipping away.

-

The mornings always hit like a punch to the gut. The bugle’s blare pierced through the air just before dawn.

“Up! Let’s move, boys! You want to sleep, go home!” one of the sergeants bellowed.

Jake groaned, dragging himself upright. His legs were sore. Hell, everything was sore.

“You alive over there?” Will muttered from the next cot, already pulling on his boots.

“Barely,” Jake grunted. “I think my spine left sometime around yesterday’s third mile.”

Will let out a low laugh. “Guess that means we’re getting stronger, huh?”

“Or broken,” Jake said under his breath.

Outside, the cold hit his skin like slaps. Lines were already forming, boots crunching over the frozen dirt. Another day, another round of drills meant to kill the softness in them.

“Let’s go, recruits! Obstacle course in ten!” came the shout.

Jake jogged beside Will across the field, his pack bouncing painfully against his back. Mud splashed up his legs as he dropped into the first crawl under barbed wire. Machine gun fire cracked overhead, blanks, but loud enough to remind them what they were training for.

“Keep your head down, pretty boy!” someone yelled behind them.

Jake grit his teeth, pushing forward.

Later, during a break, Jake sat on a rock, sweat cooling on his back.

“You doing okay?” Will asked quietly, passing him a canteen.

Jake took it, nodding. “Just tired.”

Will looked at him sideways. “That’s not all.”

They grew quieter as training pressed on. The days became a blur, early wakeups, forced marches, weapons drills, crawling through mud, eating whatever food they were thrown, collapsing into their bunks bone tired.

At night, Jake would lie still, eyes wide open, whispering your name like a prayer.

-

Camp was always full of noise. Shouting, training, the sounds of heavy boots scraping across the dirt. But today, it was something different. The loud guys, the ones who always seemed to make everything a joke, had gathered near the barracks, their voices cutting through the air like knives.

Jake had his back turned, pretending to be busy with something else, but he couldn't ignore the crude laughter that rang out. He heard one of the guys, Tony, he thought his name was, talking about some girl back home, his voice too loud, too arrogant.

"Man, when I get back home, I’m gonna take her out, mess around a little," Tony’s voice rang out. "She’ll be begging me to come back for more after I’m done with her."

A few others laughed, chiming in with their own stories. Jake’s jaw clenched. His fists tightened involuntarily at his sides. He knew what kind of talk they were capable of, but hearing it now, after everything, after leaving you behind... it hit differently.

He kept his head down, trying to ignore them, to pretend it didn’t hurt. But the words cut deep. He could still hear your voice in his head, your soft whispers, your love. And this... this was the complete opposite.

His face flushed with anger, but he didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

Will, who’d been sitting nearby and keeping half an eye on the exchange, leaned over to Jake. His voice was low and urgent.

“Hey, just ignore him, alright? He’s just running his mouth. Don’t give him what he wants.”

Jake didn’t answer, but his jaw twitched. Will could see it. The way Jake’s hands shook slightly, the way he kept clenching and unclenching his fists like he was trying to hold something back. “Jake,” Will said again, more firmly. “Come on, man. Not worth it.”

But then the tension shifted. He could sense someone was looking at him, and when he glanced up, it was one of the other guys, Rick, the one who liked to stir things up. Rick had caught him staring, and his lips curled into a smirk, like a predator who’d just found its prey.

"What’s your problem, pretty boy?" Rick taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "What, you don’t like hearing about how your girl’s probably waiting for you back home, huh? You think she’s gonna stay loyal while you’re off here playing soldier?"

Jake's fingers twitched. His heart pounded harder in his chest. He didn’t answer, but Rick kept going, egging him on.

Will straightened, already stepping forward, hand outstretched. “Alright, Rick. Back off. Don’t be a dick.”

But Rick ignored him. “What’s the matter? What you looking at me like that for?”

Jake's anger burned hotter, but he stayed silent, knowing if he said anything, it would only give him more fuel. But then he did something that crossed the line.

Jake kept a photo of you in his chest pocket, always. Folded once, then twice, tucked between his dog tags and his skin. Rick’s gaze dropped, just long enough to see the corner of it peeking out. Before Jake could react, Rick darted forward and snatched it.

“Rick, stop!” Will snapped, already reaching for the photo, but Rick had it in his hands now, holding it up like it was some prize.

"Ohhhh," Rick drawled, as his eyes locked on the photo. "Looks like we got ourselves a sweetheart over here." He waved it in front of Jake’s face, teasing him like it was some kind of joke.

Jake's heart stopped for a moment. He tried to snatch the photo out of Rick's hand, but Rick was faster, pulling it away and laughing as he waved it around like a trophy.

"You’re real sentimental, huh? You really think she’s still thinking about you? I bet she’s out there with another guy right now, probably giving him the same shit you were getting." Rick’s voice lowered, full of venom. "She’s probably fucking him right now while you’re stuck out here, pretending to be a man."

That was it. The words hit Jake like a punch to the gut. The image of you, of your kindness, of everything you meant to him... and now this piece of trash was talking about you like you were just some other girl?

Jake didn’t think. His fist shot out before he could stop it. 

Will shouted, “Jake, wait!” But it was too late.

Jake felt the satisfying thud of his knuckles connecting with Rick’s jaw, the sickening crack that followed, and then the satisfying silence that followed as Rick staggered back.

But it didn’t last long. Rick stumbled but recovered quickly, wiping his mouth and glaring at Jake like he was a threat.

"You fucking coward," Rick spat, his voice twisted in pain and rage. "You wanna fight, huh? Fine."

Before Jake could even brace himself, Rick lunged, swinging hard and catching Jake across the cheek with a blow that made his head snap sideways.

“Stop it!” Will shoved himself between them, trying to keep them apart. 

But it was like throwing yourself into a fire. The two of them were already in it, fists flying, shoulders slamming, boots scraping violently against the dirt. Jake’s anger carried him, fists moving on instinct, every punch fueled by the pain of being away from you, of hearing someone disrespect what he’d held onto for dear life.

“Jake, don’t—!” Will was trying to pull him back, even taking a few hits himself in the mess of flailing arms. “You’ll get thrown in for this!”

The rest of the boys egged them on, yelling and laughing, forming a loose, chaotic circle. Some were shouting for Rick, others for Jake, but none of them were actually trying to stop it.

Then: “Enough!”

A soldier’s voice, sharp and thunderous, cut through the noise.

Two officers stormed in. One grabbed Jake by the collar and yanked him back with force. Another shoved Rick down against a wall. The fight was over, just like that, left hanging in the air like smoke.

Rick was clutching his face, blood dripping from his busted lip. “That asshole started it,” he growled, voice full of spite as he pointed at Jake.

Will stepped forward, eyes burning. “Bullshit. He crossed the line. Jake didn’t start anything.”

But the officers weren’t listening. One of them turned on Jake with a cold glare. “I don’t care what he did. You threw the first punch. That’s on you.”

Jake didn’t say a word. He didn’t care. Not about the punishment. Not about the bruise already forming on his jaw. All he cared about was you, and protecting the one good thing he had left.

“Send him to the hole,” one of the soldiers snapped. “Solitary confinement. Let him cool off.”

Jake barely registered the walk there. Will tried to say something to him as they dragged him off, but Jake just gave him a faint shake of the head.

Jake was hauled off to a small, empty room, the door slamming shut behind him with a deafening finality. The darkness of the room felt like it pressed down on him, but he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t going to regret it.

His hand throbbed from the punch, his cheek swollen and bruised. But he didn’t care. No one was going to talk about you like that, no one.

And when the pain finally settled, the coldness of solitary confinement became his only companion. 

The hole was exactly what it sounded like, cold, dark, and hollow. No light came in except for the thin crack under the door, just enough to remind Jake he wasn’t blind, only buried. The air smelled like damp earth and metal, and the walls were so close it felt like they might close in and crush him if he breathed too hard.

He sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, one arm cradling his throbbing hand. His knuckles were split and raw, but the sting didn’t bother him. Not really. It was the silence that got to him, the kind that let his thoughts grow too loud.

He kept seeing your face.

Not the picture, the real thing. The way your brows would furrow when you were thinking too hard, the way your mouth tilted when you were trying not to smile. He remembered how you looked the last time he held you, forehead pressed to his chest, hands clutching at his uniform like they could stop time. God, he missed you.

Jake clenched his jaw, leaning his head back against the wall. He didn’t regret hitting Rick. He’d do it again—hell, harder—if it meant shutting him up. No one was allowed to talk about you like that. No one got to twist something so sacred into something ugly. You weren’t some girl. You were his girl. The only thing that still felt pure in a world that was turning to ash around him.

He pulled the now crumpled photo from his pocket. He’d managed to grab it off the ground just before they dragged him off. It was smudged, bent at the corners, but your smile was still there. Soft, honest. Like a light.

Jake swallowed hard. He ran his thumb gently over the edge of the paper, like he was afraid of hurting it any more than it already was.

This doesn’t break me, he thought to himself. 

Because you were the reason he was still trying. Through the yelling, the exhaustion, the fear. You were the thread pulling him forward. Not duty. Not pride. You.

He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes.

He could still feel your hands in his, your lips against his cheek, the sound of your voice when you whispered I love you like it was something fragile. And here, in the silence, in the cold, surrounded by shadows and concrete, Jake clung to that memory like it was the last real thing he had.

Because maybe it was.

- 

Training was getting more brutal.

Jake had expected it to be tough. He expected the early mornings and the yelling, the endless drills that left his muscles burning and his stomach aching. But what he hadn’t expected was how fast everything would start to feel mechanical. Wake up, march, run, shoot, repeat. No time to think. No room to feel. Just orders and obedience and the constant hum of tension in the air.

He learned quickly, though. Too quickly, maybe. His body adjusted before his mind did. His hands got steadier with a rifle, his shoulders stronger with the weight of a pack. He stopped flinching at the sound of gunfire. And when the sergeant barked commands, Jake moved without hesitation. Focused. Determined. Like every bullet he fired was another step closer to coming home.

Still, there were moments. Brief, quiet ones, where the monotony would break. Like during marksmanship training, when they’d all lie flat in the dirt, eyes locked on the targets downrange. Jake’s breathing would slow, his heartbeat syncing with the steady rise and fall of his chest. And for a second, it was just him, the trigger, and a single thought whispering through his mind:

Get back to her.

But not everyone took it that seriously.

There were guys who cracked jokes every chance they got, who didn’t take anything seriously unless it came with a threat of extra laps. And then there were the ones who watched the officers, especially the female ones, with a hunger in their eyes that made Jake sick.

That was how it started.

Jake sat on an overturned crate in the shade, a tin of lukewarm beans in his lap, half listening to the guys around him swap stories back home and bets on who’d drop out of training first. The midday sun beat down hard, and his uniform clung to him with sweat. He was exhausted, sore, but grateful for the momentary break. 

He didn’t notice her until he felt her hands.

Cool fingers slid over his shoulders, smoothing over the muscle like she was inspecting him. Her touch was slow, deliberate, too deliberate, and Jake stiffened instantly. The voices around him fell into a hush.

“Well, look at you,” came her voice, soft and close, brushing the shell of his ear. “Didn’t take you for the quiet type, Jake.”

His name, spoken like silk, made his jaw clench. He didn’t turn around, just stayed perfectly still as her hands ghosted down his arms.

“Lieutenant Calloway,” one of the guys greeted her with a grin, nudging another with his elbow. “You’re interrupting our best shot. You know he ranked top three in marksmanship this week?”

Calloway was one of the few women stationed near the front of training, a combat specialist with a reputation for being both ruthless and flirtatious, depending on who you asked. She carried herself like she owned every room she walked into, with a smirk that could cut and boots that clicked with authority. Rumor was, she’d taken down three grown men in hand to hand combat during a drill once. Still, her eyes often lingered where they shouldn’t, and lately, those eyes had been on Jake.

“Oh, I know,” she purred, still behind Jake, bending slightly so her breath touched the back of his neck. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

The guys laughed. One of them whistled. “Damn, Jake’s pulling!” someone snorted.

Lieutenant Calloway finally moved into view, circling in front of him, her sharp uniform pressed tight against her frame, her lip gloss catching the sun. She leaned down just enough to be eye level with Jake, her gaze smoldering with something that made his stomach twist, not with desire, but discomfort.

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” she said, her voice lower now, more intimate. “Anything... distracting you?”

Jake’s eyes flicked away, a subtle, defensive move that only made the other guys lean in more.

“He’s got a girl,” someone said with a laugh, jabbing a thumb at the barely there corner of your photo sticking out of his pocket. “Real pretty one too. Right, Jake?”

The lieutenant’s head tilted, and her expression darkened with curiosity. “Oh?” she said, dragging out the word. Her gaze dropped to the pocket. “Is that true?”

Jake didn’t answer right away, just reached down and tucked the photo back in gently, protectively.

“Yeah,” he muttered, finally. “It’s true.”

For a second, something unreadable passed over her face. Surprise. Annoyance. Maybe even something more. But then she smiled again, lazy and confident, and crouched slightly, her fingers brushing Jake’s knee.

“Well,” she said smoothly, “she’s not here, is she?”

The boys hooted and hollered, eating up the scene like it was their evening show.

Jake’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. Cold. Unmoving. He didn’t yell. Didn’t curse. Just gave her a quiet look that said more than words could.

She stood up slowly, lips curling with amusement. “You let me know if you change your mind,” she said, then turned on her heel and walked away, hips swaying as she left.

The second she was gone, the guys erupted.

“Bro, what are you doing?”

“You have to be the dumbest man alive.”

“She basically threw herself at you!”

Jake didn’t say anything. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the tin of beans aside. His shoulders were tense, his chest heavy. But his hand found its way to your photo again, pressing it flat like it grounded him.

They didn’t get it. They wouldn’t.

You were real.

And no matter how many people looked at him like he was crazy for saying no, he didn’t care.

After mess, he slipped away, brushing off the guys with a half hearted excuse, and wandered alone to the edge of camp. His boots crunched against the dry dirt path, the sun pressing hot against the back of his neck. That woman, Lieutenant Calloway, still lingered in his mind, not because of her touch or the way her breath had tickled his skin, but because it reminded him of how far from home he truly was. Nothing about her, or any of this, compared to you.

Then he saw the mail truck pulling in through the front gates, slower than usual, kicking up a tired cloud of dust behind it. The guys back near the tents hollered and sprinted over, hopeful as always. Jake didn’t move at first. Mail call had become more of a letdown than anything. Letters took ages to arrive. They had to pass through military censors, often rerouted or delayed by transport issues, especially if they were coming from overseas. A note sent in good faith could take three, sometimes even four weeks to arrive.

Still, something nudged him forward.

And then someone called his name.

He turned just as a corporal tossed a thin, slightly wrinkled envelope toward him. Jake caught it mid air. One look at the handwriting and his heart stopped.

Your name sat in the top left corner, familiar and soft, the ink slightly smudged but still entirely you. The curl in your letters was the same as always, just a little flourish that made his throat tighten. His hands trembled as he tore it open, careful not to rip the precious paper inside.

The letter was three pages long, folded neatly but creased like you’d smoothed it over a few times before slipping it into the envelope. The paper smelled faintly like lavender, or maybe that was just his memory playing tricks on him.

There was a faint lipstick mark near the bottom of the last page. Your shade, he’d recognize it anywhere. You’d kissed the letter before sealing it, and Jake’s breath caught when he noticed it. His thumb brushed over the mark like it was made of gold. 

The noise of the camp faded as he read.

Jake,

I don’t even know where to begin. Everything feels a little quieter without you. The diner’s been too still, and I swear even the stars look lonelier these days. I still walk past your house out of habit, half expecting to see you sitting on the porch with that dumb smile, waiting for me like you always did.

I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts in places I didn’t know could ache.

Jake swallowed hard, his fingers curling tighter around the page. He could almost hear your voice reading the words aloud, soft and sincere.

Things here are the same and not the same. The seasons are changing. I picked flowers yesterday and thought about how you used to tuck daisies into my hair. I still wear that little bracelet you gave me, you know the one that barely fits. I never take it off. It makes me feel close to you, even when you’re on the other side of the world.

Everyone says I should be strong, and I am. I really am. But I have days where I just want you to walk through the door and say this was all a mistake. I know you can’t. I know why you had to go. But that doesn’t make it easier.

Write me when you can. I’ll wait for however long it takes. Just knowing you’re out there, thinking of me too, is enough to get me through.

Be safe. Be smart. Come back to me.

I love you.

—Y/n.

Jake stared at the final line for what felt like forever.

“I love you.”

He read it over and over, the words blurring until his eyes stung. Something inside him cracked open. Not the loud kind of break, just quiet and slow, like melting ice. His chest ached, but not in the empty, lonely way it had before. This was different.

This was hope.

He pressed the letter to his lips, then folded it back into its envelope like it was something holy.

For the first time since he arrived, Jake felt something close to whole.

Each word wrapped around him like a blanket, a tether pulling him back to who he was before the war, before the draft letter, before the distance. It was you. Your voice, your rhythm, your little comments and worries and stubborn hope. He read it once, then again, slower the second time, and again after that.

And for the first time in days, he let himself exhale.

-

The days felt longer now.

Not just in the way time drags when you’re waiting for something, but in the way silence settles into the spaces someone used to fill. The town looked the same. Same dusty roads, same buzz of the diner’s neon sign, same breeze rustling through the wheat fields, but it all felt off. Like the world was continuing on without noticing the hole he left behind.

You still walked the path to school, passed the bench you two always sat on, and caught yourself turning your head at every tall figure in the distance. You knew it wasn’t Jake. It never was. But the hope didn’t care.

Sometimes, when the wind was just right, you swore you could hear his laugh echo across the street.

You kept in touch with his family. His mom had you over for tea on Sundays. She’d set out two cups every time, like muscle memory, then hesitate before putting one back. Neither of you talked about it.

His dad would give you these half smiles, like he wanted to say something comforting but couldn’t find the words. So you’d sit in the living room, watching old reruns on a grainy TV, and pretend for a little while that things were normal.

You still wrote to Jake every week.

You filled pages with silly stories from school, updates on your little sister, thoughts you didn’t say out loud. You told him you were okay, because you were trying to be, but you also told him the truth. That you missed him. That his absence wasn’t just a space, it was a weight.

And every day, you checked the mailbox. Every day, you opened it with shaking hands. And every day, for weeks, there was nothing.

Until there was.

It came on a Thursday. The sky was cloudy, and you were already halfway back to the house when you decided to check one more time. The envelope was smudged, creased from its journey, and your name was written in Jake’s handwriting, sharp, messy, unmistakably his.

You stood frozen on the porch, staring down at it like it might vanish if you blinked. Then your hands moved, tearing the seal open with more care than you thought you were capable of.

Inside was his letter. His words.

Hey you,

I got your letter. I must’ve read it ten times before I could even breathe. I can’t explain what it meant to me, having a piece of home, of you, in my hands. Everything here’s rough. The days blur. The nights are worse. But reading your words felt like someone lit a fire in a frozen room. It reminded me why I’m still standing.

Training is brutal. It’s early mornings and yelling and dirt that never really leaves your skin. My body’s sore in places I didn’t know could be sore. They drill us until we can barely think straight. Running laps, crawling through mud, learning how to shoot like machines. I’m getting better though. I ranked third in marksmanship last week. The other guys were joking I’ve got a sniper’s eye. It’s kinda funny. I kept thinking about how you always teased me for being good at carnival games. Guess that skill’s coming in handy.

Some of the guys here are decent. Some remind me of the boys back home. Quiet, serious, scared under the tough talk. But others, they’re different. Loud. Crude. Like they’ve buried whatever soft parts they had a long time ago.

Then there’s Will. He’s one of the good ones. We’ve become close over the past few weeks. He doesn’t talk much about home, but when he does, I can tell he’s carrying something heavy. I guess we all are.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m not alone out here. There’s still good in this place, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re eating well. I hope the stars still look the same at night, and that sometimes you think of me when you see them.

I think of you constantly. I miss you more than words can stretch.

I love you.

Always,

Jake

You pressed your hand to your mouth, breath catching in your throat. Tears welled in your eyes, but you let them fall.

Because this… this was everything.

He was alive. He missed you. And he was still yours.

That night, you laid in bed. It was late.

The kind of late where the world outside your window felt hushed, paused somewhere between midnight and morning. The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting pale light across your room in silver streaks. The sheets tangled around your legs like vines as you lay on your side, wide awake, staring at the place on the pillow Jake used to rest his head when he would visit your room.

You reached out, almost instinctively, your fingers brushing the empty space.

God, you missed him.

It was more than just the way he looked or sounded, it was the way he made you feel. Safe. Warm. Like the chaos of the world quieted when he wrapped his arms around you and whispered nonsense into your hair. The scent of him still lingered faintly on the old sweatshirt you wore, though it had faded weeks ago.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to recall the exact feeling of his fingertips tracing your spine. The warmth of his breath on your neck. The way his voice dipped low when he said your name like it was something sacred.

Your body responded before you could stop it, heat blooming slowly beneath your skin, low in your belly, in that place where only he knew how to touch you right. You exhaled shakily, the ache of distance crawling into your chest.

It wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t just want, it was need. A hunger for closeness. For his voice in your ear, murmuring soft promises. For his hands on your waist, grounding you. For the press of his lips against yours, slow and reverent like he had nowhere else to be.

Your thighs shifted under the covers, the ache growing deeper now. A dull, desperate kind of longing that pulsed through you like a secret.

You bit your bottom lip.

It was moments like this, alone, in the dark, with only memories and echoes, that made the distance feel like a thousand miles too far.

You clutched the pillow tighter, whispering his name like a prayer, like maybe the stars would carry it to him somehow. Maybe he was lying in his cot halfway across the world, thinking of you too. Maybe his hands ached to hold you just as badly.

You squeezed your thighs close together.

“I miss you,” you whispered, voice catching in your throat.

And in the silence, your heart thudded softly beneath your ribs, slow, steady, full of him.

- 

The sky was thick with smoke.

Jake ducked low behind a crumbled stone wall, his helmet knocked sideways, his chest heaving like it couldn’t figure out whether to breathe or break. Dirt and blood streaked down his arms. His rifle trembled in his grip, his knuckles pale around the metal.

Gunfire cracked like thunder, sharp, relentless, too close.

“Move up! MOVE!” someone screamed, but the voice was distant, like it came through a tunnel.

Jake didn’t move.

His boots were stuck in mud and fear, his ears ringing from the explosion that had just gone off less than a few yards away. When he turned his head, he saw the body of Mark lying still, his eyes open, but vacant. Just a second ago, he was laughing at a dumb joke someone made. Now… now he wasn’t laughing.

Jake blinked.

He wasn’t supposed to freeze. He wasn’t supposed to feel this paralyzed. He was trained for this. They’d drilled it into him for months, how to fire, how to move, how to think like a soldier. But nothing, nothing, prepared him for the way it felt to watch someone die with your name still on their lips.

He scrambled forward, heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted out. Dust and ash flew into his mouth as he threw himself behind a truck riddled with bullet holes. Across the clearing, he caught sight of Will, his face covered in blood, one arm hanging useless, but alive. Barely.

“JAKE!” Will bellowed. “GO! GO!”

He ran.

Bullets zipped past him like angry bees, ripping through bark and canvas and bone. He slipped once, fell into a ditch, his hands digging into gravel and soaked earth as he scrambled back to his feet. His lungs burned. His vision blurred.

Focus. Keep moving. Don’t think. Don’t feel.

But he did. He felt everything.

Every scream, every blast, every inch of fear that slithered down his spine like cold water. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as he caught glimpses of fallen bodies, people he knew. People he didn’t. Blood pooled like rainwater.

He wanted to scream. To cry. To run. But he didn’t.

He fired when he had to. He dragged a boy to cover, barely fifteen, sobbing and clutching his leg. He shouted for help. He crawled through dust and heat and deafening noise, because there was no other choice.

Jake slammed his back against a wall, breathing ragged. He didn’t know how much longer this fight would last. Minutes? Hours? Days?

But if he made it out—when he made it out, it would be for you.

...

The roar of battle had dulled into something distant, muted like an old radio, static and fading. Jake’s ears still rang. His fingers twitched occasionally, even though the fighting had stopped.

He sat on a cot in the field medic station, shirt torn at the shoulder and caked with dried blood, his own, mostly. A long graze cut across his ribs, stitched quickly and sloppily by a medic whose hands had seen too much today. His knee was bandaged too, sprained from diving into cover. Nothing fatal. Nothing serious. Not like the others.

The cot across from him was empty now.

Will had been taken away an hour ago, still breathing, thank God, but barely conscious. Some of the others hadn’t been so lucky. Names Jake had memorized in the span of weeks were now reduced to still forms wrapped in canvas and zipped up.

He pressed a hand over your new letter that came in this morning, soft and worn from rereading. He didn’t need to open it again. Every word was already burned into his memory:

Jake,

The leaves are starting to fall. Not in bursts, just a few here and there, orange and gold drifting past the window like they forgot where they were going. I think you'd like it today. The air's got that crisp edge you used to say made everything feel cleaner.

I went by the lake yesterday. Sat on the old dock with my feet dangling above the water like we used to. It was quiet. Still. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine your hand in mine. I remembered the way you used to rub circles into my palm with your thumb, like you were tracing something only you could see.

I talk to your mom sometimes. She makes me tea and tells me stories about you when you were little, like how you used to sleep with your shoes on in case someone called you to play. I laughed until I cried. Mostly cried, if I’m being honest.

The nights are the hardest. The world gets too quiet and my thoughts get too loud. I fall asleep with your letters next to my pillow. Sometimes I dream about you, sometimes I don’t. The nights I don’t feel the loneliest.

I miss the way you used to look at me like I was the whole sky. When there was no war, no distance, just you and me and everything we hadn't done yet.

I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re warm. I hope you’re still you. 

You promised me you’d come back. Don’t make me wait too long.

I love you.

—Y/n

Jake closed his eyes and swallowed hard. That lump had returned to his throat again, stubborn and heavy. He reached for the pencil beside his cot, pulling a new sheet of paper from the medic’s table nearby. The tent buzzed with low voices, moans of pain, the shuffle of boots. But all Jake heard was you.

And so, he wrote.

Y/n,

I made it through another one. Barely. We lost a lot of good men today. Faces I used to eat beside, laugh with, sleep next to. But I’m still breathing, and I think that counts for something. A bullet skimmed my ribs and twisted my knee up, but I’ll heal. I’m one of the lucky ones.

They’re transferring me tomorrow. Another station. New faces, new dirt, new nightmares. But I’ll go. Because I have to.

You’d laugh if you saw the food they tried to give us here. It’s worse than anything I ever made you try back home. I miss your cooking. I’d kill for your burnt toast. I miss you, Y/n. More than I know how to say without sounding broken.

You keep me whole. Every word you write, every memory I’ve tucked into the folds of my mind, it keeps me fighting. Don’t stop writing. Please. And don’t stop waiting. 

Love you more.

—Jake

He folded the letter, pressed it gently against his lips before sealing it.

Then, leaning back on the cot, with the noise of the wounded swirling around him and the weight of war pressing down on his chest, Jake let himself close his eyes.

For a moment, he let himself dream of home. Of you

-

The rain came down hard that night, pounding on the tin rooftops of the barracks like it had a bone to pick. Jake sat on his cot, half wrapped in his blanket, boots still on, staring at the wall. Seven weeks. Seven full weeks and no letter.

He rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tight. Maybe the post just hadn’t come. Maybe the storm held things up. Maybe you were just busy, but he didn’t want to believe that. He couldn’t. He had written you three times since the last reply. Poured his heart into every word. Told you about the move, the injury that barely missed his ribs, the kid he helped drag out of a crater. And still… nothing back.

He didn’t know that somewhere, hundreds of miles away, your letter had arrived. That it had sat, neatly sealed, your name scrawled in the corner in a worn canvas mailbag.

He didn’t know that Corporal Henry, the quiet post officer with a crooked smile and a lisp, had volunteered to take the night route through the woods when the roads were blocked. He always made sure the mail got through, rain or shine, even if it meant sleeping in the jeep or sneaking past checkpoints. He took pride in it. Called himself "Cupid in combat boots."

Jake didn’t know that the truck never made it. That the convoy got hit on a narrow bend three miles from the base. That Henry was gone. Just gone. And with him, every envelope meant to tether a soldier back to the world that still held warmth and softness.

And Jake didn’t know that your letter, your four pages, your lipstick kiss, your hopeful heart, was buried in mud and soot somewhere in a shattered mail sack, never to reach him.

He sat there, jaw clenched, turning a pencil between his fingers.

"Still nothing?" John asked from the bunk across, a new recruit like Jake, still adjusting to the rhythm of camp life.

“Haven’t heard back in weeks,” Jake said softly. “Feels like I’m writing to a ghost.”

John was quiet for a moment. Then: “I know the feeling.”

Jake glanced at him.

“Lost touch with my sister,” he added. “Mail’s been messed up since we got here. Whole platoon’s grumbling.”

Jake’s fingers tightened around the paper. “She’s all I think about. I don’t even recognize myself anymore without her.”

“You’re not alone, Jake,” he said, voice low. “None of us are.”

It helped. A little.

But he still couldn’t help but wonder if you’d given up on him.

The knot in his chest hadn’t untied in weeks. He kept a stack of letters by his bed, corners curled from being opened and reread until the words blurred. Not one of them were new.

Another month passed.

Another month of checking the mail line every morning, his breath catching when the officer called names that weren’t his. Another month of carrying a letter opener in his pocket like a good luck charm, like maybe it’d finally be needed.

But it never was.

Jake had written to you endlessly. At first, he told you everything, what the food was like, the training drills, the way the other boys bickered over card games and who had the best aim. He wrote about John, how they’d become fast friends, how they’d both miss home. He even told you about the way the sunsets looked on the horizon here, hazy and red, bleeding into the sky like fire and smoke.

But now?

Now the letters were different. Shorter. Uneven. Scratched out and rewritten, sometimes crumpled and rewritten again.

They stopped talking about the world around him and started focusing on only one thing.

"Why haven’t I heard from you?"

"Please, Y/n, please write back."

"Did something happen? Did I say something wrong?"

"I’m losing my mind without you."

"I can’t do this if I don’t know you’re still there."

He stared at his latest letter, fingers trembling slightly as he folded it with aching care, the way you used to fold your notes back in school. He kissed the edge of the envelope, just in case. Just in case it reached you. Just in case you still remembered him.

The panic gnawed at his insides now, eating away what little calm he’d scraped together in the past few months. His bunk didn’t feel like a place to sleep anymore. It felt like a cage. Nights bled into mornings without rest. The air felt thinner.

He checked every face that came through camp, just in case they carried news. He began to feel like a ghost among the living, drifting, waiting, hoping. Hoping for ink. Hoping for your handwriting. Hoping for anything that meant you hadn’t vanished from his world without a word.

Jake still kept your photo in his pocket. Still kissed the lipstick print you’d left on your last letter. But the memory of your voice had started to fade. He hated himself for that.

And still, he wrote. And begged. And waited.

And waited.

-

It’s been three months, maybe four, and not a single letter. You still check the mailbox every day, hoping to see his handwriting, that familiar scrawl that would make your heart race. But every time, it’s the same: bills, junk mail, nothing from Jake.

And with every empty envelope, the silence grows heavier.

You can still hear his voice in the back of your mind, though it’s fading. The sound of his laugh, the way he’d say your name like it was something special. The way his eyes lit up when he smiled at you. All those little things are slipping away, no matter how hard you try to hold onto them.

You tried calling his parents, hoping they’d know something. But there was no answer. You left a message, but no one called back. It’s as if he’s just vanished, leaving you with nothing but uncertainty.

Everything feels off now. The world looks the same, but it’s different. The colors are duller, and the quiet seems louder. The diner still smells the same, coffee and greasy fryers, but it doesn’t taste right anymore. You can’t even remember the last time you laughed, the last time it felt real. It’s like the joy you used to find in the small things has been drained, and you’re left grasping at something that’s no longer there.

You still wear his jacket sometimes. It’s too big for you now, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands, the collar too high, but it still smells like him. When you pull it on, it’s the closest thing you can get to a hug from him. A reminder of what was. A piece of him you can still hold onto, even if it’s just fabric.

Every day, you keep writing. Hoping that somehow, someway, your letters are getting to him. You write about your days, about the small things you miss. You write about how everything feels so empty without him. But as the days go on, your letters change. They go from hopeful, to desperate.

"Please, Jake. Where are you?"

"I miss you. I miss your laugh, your voice, the way you always knew what to say."

"Just write me back. Please. Tell me you’re okay. I need to know you’re okay."

"I can’t do this without you. Don’t leave me hanging."

You don’t know where he is, don’t know what’s happening to him. And with every unanswered letter, that fear in your chest grows. You just couldn’t shake the fear that maybe… maybe something had happened. Maybe the war had taken him, too.

You look at the last letter you sent. You set it down carefully, as if it might somehow feel your pain if you handle it too roughly. Your fingers shake, and you can’t stop them. You press your palm against the paper, as if holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll read it and write back.

But it’s been weeks. It’s been months. And you wonder: will you ever hear from him again?

You stand by the window, staring out at the stars. They’re the same as they’ve always been, yet tonight, they feel farther away, as if they, too, are lost in the emptiness that fills your life without him.

-

One year.

It had been an entire year since you last heard from Jake. One year of silence. One year of waiting, hoping, begging the world to give him back. And now, everyone in town had started to look at you with that same tired sympathy, soft eyes, tilted heads, gentle voices like you were some fragile thing they were all waiting to see crack.

They didn’t say it outright. Not all of them. But it was in their voices, in their words, in the way they talked about him like he was a ghost.

“He was a good boy,” they’d say, past tense like a dagger.

“He loved you so much.”

“You were lucky to have him.”

And the worst one: “You’re so strong.”

Strong. As if pretending you weren’t still breaking every single day was strength. As if smiling when someone brought up his name wasn’t a full body effort. As if going through the motions, pretending to exist without him, counted as bravery.

They didn’t get it. None of them did.

Because Jake wasn’t dead.                                                                                                            He wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

You would know. You’d feel it. There’d be a shift in the universe, a hollow space inside you that would open up and never close again. But it wasn’t like that. Not yet. There was still something inside you that swore he was out there, somewhere, still breathing. Maybe writing you a letter right now. Maybe just lost. But not gone. Not really.

School was harder now. You sat in math class, staring blankly at the board, your pencil still. Jake used to help you with this stuff. He was great at it. You remembered your messy notebooks and him making stupid jokes about x being too dramatic for always needing to be found.

And then there were the art projects. He hated them. “I can’t draw a straight line, Y/n,” he’d groan, handing you his supplies with those puppy eyes. “Please, you’re the artistic genius here. Help me, and I’ll owe you my soul.”

You always caved.

You missed those days. The simplicity. The noise of his laugh in the hallway. The way he used to tap his pencil when he was thinking. The way he’d scribble your name in the margins of his notebook when he thought you weren’t looking.

You walked home slower now. You talked less. You smiled like it was a chore.

But every night, you still wrote letters. You didn’t care how foolish it made you seem. You wrote as if he’d answer. You folded them and tucked them into the little wooden box by your window. If he came back, they’d be waiting.

He promised he’d come back. You were still waiting.

-

Jake hadn’t gotten a letter in nearly a year.

At first, he made excuses. Maybe the mail was slow. Maybe the war effort was rerouting things. Maybe… maybe you were just busy. Life didn’t stop back home. He knew that. But as the weeks turned to months, the silence grew louder than the gunfire.

He stopped checking the post with that same flicker of hope. Now he barely looked. John still asked sometimes—“Maybe today?”—but Jake only shook his head, teeth clenched like that would keep the ache down. He didn’t have it in him to keep pretending anymore.

You were probably gone. Moved on. Found someone else. Someone safe. Someone who didn’t write from battlefields soaked in blood and slept on dirt floors next to dying boys.

He didn’t blame you. He couldn’t. You deserved warmth. You deserved flowers and steady hands, not shaking ones that still smelled like gunpowder.

But even now, despite the silence, the ache, the anger, Jake still thought about you. Constantly. He’d stare at the sky during night shifts, eyes tracking stars like they might carry your name. He’d trace the folded crease of your photo until the paper started to wear thin. And when he was crouched low in a trench, bullets screaming overhead and friends crying out beside him, the only thing that ever kept his heart from crumbling was you.

You. Always you.

You were his only calm. The only part of him not swallowed by this nightmare.

And at night, when the cold was too deep and his body trembled from something more than weather, his mind slipped. He’d dream of you, soft skin, warm breath, the way you’d press your nose against his cheek when you hugged him tight.

He’d bite his lip, trying to contain his whimpers as he stroked himself sloppily, wondering if that’s how you would probably do it. He’d whine quietly as he would speed up, dreaming of your body, and what laid in between your legs, wanting so badly to get just one look at it.

Sometimes he’d wake up breathless, heart racing, his body burning with want. It wasn’t just lust. It was desperation. The need to feel human again. To feel close to you, even if it was only in his head.

But when it happened, when he would finally finish and come back to himself, skin damp, breath shaky, he’d bury his face in his hands and curse. Not out loud. Just quiet, ashamed. Because he felt guilty for wanting that kind of closeness with someone who might not even be his anymore.

Still, the memory of your touch haunted him. And in the middle of war, that haunting was the only thing keeping him alive.

Even if you never wrote back, even if he never saw your face again... You were his world.

-

Jake had never really considered the fact that, after he got drafted, the war might actually end. Back then, it felt like being pulled into a storm you didn’t come back from. He didn’t think that far ahead, none of them did. There was no point in imagining a future when every day could be your last. You lived in minutes, in footsteps, in the space between orders.

But now, after more than two years of blood, dirt, and death… it was finally coming to an end.

The winds, though still sharp with the bite of lingering winter, carried with them a sense of possibility. Hope. The faint scent of spring began to trickle through the icy silence, whispering that the end was within reach. But with that hope came an overwhelming sense of dread. Because the cost of victory, the price of it, was something none of them were ready to face.

Jake stood at the edge of the makeshift trench, his eyes scanning the foggy horizon. His heart hammered in his chest, and the familiar weight of his rifle felt like both a lifeline and a burden. He was scared, more scared than he'd ever been, but not of dying. No. What scared him was the thought of not getting to say goodbye. Of not getting to feel your touch again, to hear your voice, to know that he'd fought this battle and come home for you.

"You okay, man?" John’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He’d become a brother to Jake over the past months, and his calm presence always seemed to ground him.

Jake didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just nodded, offering him a tight smile. "Yeah. Just thinking."

John didn’t push him. Instead, he leaned against the sandbag, rifle in hand, eyes narrowing as he peered out into the distance. "This is it, huh?" he said softly. "The last push."

Jake’s throat tightened, but he didn’t trust his voice to say anything. So, he simply nodded again. The battle, the war, it all came down to this moment. If they won, if they made it through today, they could finally go home. But there were no guarantees. No promises. Only the brutal, unforgiving reality of war.

The sounds of the camp had shifted. Men were preparing, tightening gear, checking weapons, exchanging quiet words of encouragement. The silence that hung between the chaos was thick with anticipation. Every soldier knew this could be the end. But there were also the soldiers who knew, deep down, that this might not be the last battle they fought.

"We go out there, we give it everything," John said, clapping Jake on the shoulder. "We make sure we win. For everyone back home."

Jake swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep within him. For everyone back home. For you. He wasn’t going to die here. He couldn’t.

The sound of a whistle broke the tense silence. It was time.

The soldiers rushed into position, the rhythmic thud of boots on the frozen earth shaking the ground beneath them. The officers shouted commands, their voices lost in the chaos of the battlefield. Jake’s heart pounded in his ears as he joined the line, rifle raised and ready.

And then it was upon them. The deafening roar of gunfire, the cries of soldiers, the flash of explosions lighting up the sky. Jake felt the ground tremble as the battle unfolded before him, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes were fixed on the mission. On the goal. The only thing that mattered now was victory.

He pushed through the smoke and chaos, John by his side. They didn’t need to speak. They didn’t need to look at each other. Their movements were instinctive, trained to perfection. Enemy soldiers fell, and each shot, each pull of the trigger, brought them one step closer to home. To you.

But the battle wasn’t over yet. It raged on, wave after wave of relentless fire. The world around him was a blur of gunfire and screams. He kept his head down, focused, but every so often his mind would flash back to you, the way your laugh echoed in his ears, the warmth of your touch. Those thoughts, those memories, were the fuel he needed. The reason he kept going.

"Jake!" John’s voice cut through the noise, and Jake turned just in time to see his friend take a bullet to the shoulder, falling back with a grunt of pain. "John!" Jake shouted, diving to his side to help him up.

"I'm good," he grunted, waving him off, though his face was pale. "Keep going! We’re almost there!"

But Jake hesitated. He wanted to stay with him, to make sure he was okay. But the moment was fleeting, and he knew John wouldn’t want him to stop.

"Stay alive!" Jake shouted over the noise, his voice thick with urgency.

John just flashed him a tight, pained smile before pushing Jake away, urging him forward.

And Jake did just that. He pushed forward through the haze of gunfire, through the cries of the fallen. His rifle was steady in his hands, each shot bringing them closer to victory.

The final push came in a surge of adrenaline. The enemy forces were faltering, their resistance crumbling under the weight of the assault. And then, with one last explosion that seemed to shake the very earth beneath their feet, the battle was over.

Silence fell over the battlefield. Not the peaceful silence of peace, but the heavy silence of finality. The victory. The end. It was done.

Jake collapsed to his knees, chest heaving, his hands slick with sweat and dirt. His whole body trembled, not from fear, not anymore, but from the release of everything he’d held inside for so long. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind only exhaustion and disbelief.

Was it real? Was it really over?

He looked around the field, what was left of it, and for a long, suspended moment, it didn’t feel possible. He half expected another wave, another bomb, another gunshot to crack through the air. But it didn’t come.

It was over.

The war, the blood, the terror, the nights spent writing to you under dim flashlight with shaking hands, it was all finally behind him. He could barely comprehend it. The idea that he might never have to kill again. That he might actually get on a boat, or a plane, or just something that didn’t smell like death and sweat, and head back across the ocean… back to you.

Home.

The word hit him harder than any bullet ever could.

He could go home.

Not tomorrow, maybe not next week—but someday soon. That promise, once just a desperate fantasy scribbled on the back of your letters, was now something real. Tangible.

All he could think about was seeing you again. Holding you. Hearing your voice. Burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting it all go.

But then— The realization hit.

Hard.

Would you even want to see him?

It had been years. Years since he last touched your hand, years since he looked into your eyes without a uniform between you. The letters stopped coming a long time ago, and even though he kept writing, every chance he got, every spare moment he never knew if you read them.  

What if you had someone else now? Someone who made you laugh, who wasn’t broken and angry and hardened by war?        Someone who wasn’t him?

Jake swallowed hard, the raw edge of doubt carving into the hope he’d just let himself feel.

Maybe you changed. Or worse, maybe you hadn’t. Maybe you were still the same beautiful, kind, soft hearted girl who loved him once, and he was the one who had changed beyond recognition.

What if you didn’t like the way he changed? What if you looked at him and saw only a stranger with too much weight in his eyes and too many ghosts in his chest?

What if everything he’d held onto through the war… had already let go of him?

The thought choked him.

For a long time, Jake just stood there, staring at the blood-soaked ground, his fists clenched, not from anger, but from fear.

Because after surviving hell, he wasn’t sure he could survive your silence.

"Jake!"

John’s voice pulled him out of the storm in his head, and Jake turned, barely registering the pain in his legs as he forced himself upright. John was limping toward him, bloodied but alive.

"We did it, man."

Jake could only nod. His throat was too tight to speak, his chest too full of everything. Of relief. Of ache. Of hope.

John stepped closer, his voice softer now. “We won.” He swallowed hard, glancing up at the hazy sky like he couldn’t believe it either. “We’re going home.”

Jake let the words sink in. Let them echo through the emptiness inside him that war had carved out.

We’re going home.

And for the first time in what felt like years, Jake let himself believe it.

-

The air felt different now.

It wasn’t just the weather, though spring had finally started to bleed its way into the cold, frostbitten mornings. It was something deeper. Something no one wanted to say too loud in case it jinxed it.

The war was ending.

Not tomorrow. Not next week. But soon.

There were whispers everywhere, officers in tents with folded maps, mess hall rumors passed between bites of canned beans, and wide eyed new recruits who looked like they might not have to die here after all. Even the veterans who'd long since given up on hope were starting to carry themselves a little lighter. Like they could finally feel the end crawling over the horizon.

Jake felt it, too.

And for the first time in a long while, he let himself imagine the other side of this, what it would be like to come home. What it would be like to walk streets that didn’t smell like gunpowder and ash. What it would be like to sleep in a bed that didn’t creak every time you flinched awake from a dream.

Jake sat against a sandbag wall, helmet in his lap, dirt caked beneath his fingernails and across the scar that still ran along his ribs. His uniform hung loose on him now, too many pounds lost in the months of fighting, but he was still here. Breathing. Standing. Somehow.

The sky was pale, washed out in the way early mornings always were. And for once, it wasn’t filled with smoke. 

John sat beside him, resting his chin on his knee. He looked tired, bone deep tired, but he was smiling for the first time in a long time.

“They say we’ll be heading out by the end of next month,” he said, nudging Jake lightly with his boot. “Home. Can you believe it?”

Home.

Jake tried to picture it. His street. His porch. The schoolyard. You.

The thought almost knocked the air out of him.

“Yeah,” Jake muttered, voice low, guarded. “Feels... unreal.”

“Hell, I don’t even know what I’m gonna do first,” John said. “Sleep in a real bed. See my mom. Eat bread that doesn’t taste like cardboard.” He glanced at Jake, eyes flickering with something more knowing. “You?”

Jake swallowed hard. His eyes drifted to the folded photo tucked deep into his breast pocket. “I don’t know,” Jake lied. “I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

But he knew. He always knew.

He wanted to see you.

Even if you didn’t want to see him. Even if someone else had taken his place. Even if you'd moved on.

He still had to find you. Just to know. Just to see you one last time.

He didn’t know if you’d still be there when he returned. He didn’t know if you’d moved on, if you’d given up on him, if he even had a place in your world anymore. But that didn’t stop the dream.

Every time he saw a boat in the harbor, he pictured you on the other side of the ocean.

Every time he stared up at the stars, he wondered if you were under them too, thinking of him.

Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined what it would feel like to see your face again.

The guys joked around him, laughing louder now, talking about the suits they’d wear, the trains they’d ride. 

But Jake sat quiet, staring at the horizon. Because the war might’ve been ending, but something inside him still wasn’t sure what was waiting on the other side.

And yet, even through the doubt, there was a flicker of something fragile in his chest.

Hope.

-

The whole town buzzed like a shaken soda bottle, tight with anticipation, about to fizz over.

“Did you hear? They’re bringing the boys back this Friday, down by the docks.”

“They say the war’s really over now. Can you believe it? After all this time?”

Two years. Two entire years since Jake was drafted. Since you kissed him goodbye under a sky too blue for what it was carrying. Since he tucked your photo into his chest pocket and promised—promised—he’d come back to you.

The bunting had started going up, red, white, and blue strung across shop windows and porch railings like hope could be hung and measured. Women were dusting off their nicest dresses, young girls rehearsing their smiles, pretending they weren’t afraid of what they might see, or not see, on that dock.

People were planning barbecues, gathering in groups to make banners. The post office put up a sign that said Welcome Home, Heroes! in sloppy, heartfelt paint. The bakery was giving away free pies to returning soldiers.

And through it all, people kept asking you.

“Are you going to the boats, sweetheart?”

“Bet you’re counting the hours.”

“How are you holding up, honey?”

The questions scraped against your ribs. Because what were you supposed to say? That you hadn’t heard from him in years? That letters stopped coming with no explanation, like he just vanished into the fog of war? That even his family had no answers, and the military said nothing except vague words like “transfer” and “radio silence”?

No. You didn’t say any of that.

And now the war was ending. The boys were coming home. But no one could tell you if Jake would be among them.

So you stood on your porch the night before the boats arrived, wind pressing against your dress, and wondered…

Will you be on that dock, Jake? Will I see your face in the crowd, or just another empty space where you should’ve been?

You wanted to believe.

God, you needed to believe.

Because the thought of seeing him again, of running into his arms, of hearing his voice, of brushing your fingers over his jaw to make sure he was real, was the only thing keeping your heart beating steady.

And if he wasn’t there?

You didn’t have an answer for that.

...

You didn’t sleep the night before the boats came.

Not a second.

You laid in bed with the moonlight spilling through your curtains, the covers bunched at your feet and Jake’s letters spread around you like pages of a sacred book. You read them one by one, some so worn the ink had begun to fade, others smudged from tears both old and new. His handwriting, the loops of his y’s, the smudge of a fingerprint near one of the margins, felt like pieces of him you could still touch.

Every word felt like a heartbeat.

Every “I miss you” like an ache in your ribs.

When the first rays of dawn lit the sky, you were already dressed, hair pinned back, Jake’s jacket pulled over your shoulders like armor. His mom met you at the door, eyes rimmed red, hands shaking. She didn’t have to say anything. Neither of you did. 

Your parents were waiting just outside, your father pacing, your mother clutching a thermos of coffee she hadn’t taken a single sip of. The moment they saw you, your mother reached out and squeezed your hand, her eyes mirroring your own blend of hope and fear. You all walked together, a quiet, aching unit.

The walk to the docks was the longest one of your life.

When you got there, it was chaos, but the good kind. Families pressed together behind the roped off edges of the harbor, voices trembling with anticipation. Mothers clutching photographs to their chests. Little kids sitting on their fathers’ shoulders with tiny flags in their hands. The scent of saltwater and smoke and something sweet from the nearby bakery wrapped around the crowd.

And then the horns blew.

The ship appeared, slow and massive, metal groaning against the dock as it settled. The ramp lowered.

And the soldiers began to disembark.

You couldn’t breathe.

All around you, people were screaming names, sobbing with joy. Girls in bright dresses threw themselves into the arms of boys in uniform. Families collapsed together, laughter and tears indistinguishable. You watched a woman faint when her husband kissed her on the forehead, another boy swept his mother off her feet like a kid again.

But you stood frozen.

Scanning. Searching.

Your fingers gripped Jake’s mom’s arm so tightly she winced, but she didn’t tell you to stop. Her eyes were darting too. Desperate. Silent.

You searched for a sign, for the shape of his shoulders, the swing of his walk. He had to be here. He had to be.

Minutes passed like lifetimes.

And then...

Your eyes landed on him.

Across the dock, just past the others. Shoulders hunched, dirt still in the seams of his collar. A duffle bag hung loosely from his hand. His hair was longer, his jaw darker, his frame even leaner. But it was him. You knew him like you knew your own breath.

He looked up.

And everything else disappeared.

The bag slipped from his fingers with a soft thud. His eyes widened, mouth parting like he wasn’t sure if you were real, if this moment was real. And then he said your name. Barely above a whisper. Like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Y/n…?”

But he didn’t get the rest out.

Because your feet were already moving.

You ran. So fast you barely registered the wind catching your dress, the people you pushed past, the gasps of strangers as you flew through the crowd. You ran like you had something to prove to time itself.

By the time you reached him, tears were streaming down your face. You didn’t slow down. You didn’t say anything.

You just kissed him.

Hard. Desperately. Like he was air after drowning, like he was a fire in the middle of winter. His hands found your waist, your back, your hair, like he couldn’t touch enough of you fast enough. He kissed you back with everything he had left, lips trembling, breath catching, heart beating so wildly you could feel it against your chest.

You clung to him like you’d never let go, fingers twisting in the collar of his uniform, knuckles white. The world around you could’ve collapsed, and you wouldn’t have noticed. All that existed was the warmth of his mouth, the way he whispered your name between kisses like a prayer, like a vow. His nose brushed yours, cheeks damp with tears, and he pulled you even closer, burying his face into the crook of your neck for just a second, just to breathe you in.

“God,” he rasped, voice breaking. “You’re real. You’re actually here.”

You nodded, kissing the edge of his jaw, his temple, anywhere you could reach. “I thought I lost you,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his. “I thought you were—”

“I’m here,” he breathed. “I’m here. I’m here.”

And just like that, the world tilted back into place.

His parents came rushing in not long after, tears spilling freely as they engulfed him in hugs and kisses. His mother clutched his face, kissed his cheeks a dozen times, smoothed down his hair like she was trying to memorize him all over again. His father gripped his shoulder, strong and silent at first, until he wasn’t. Until the hug broke and the tears came.

You stood just behind them, still breathless, still stunned, your heart thudding in your chest like it hadn’t quite accepted reality yet. He was here. He was real.

But as you looked at him, really looked, you noticed the differences. He was still Jake, of course, but there was something in his eyes now that hadn't been there before. He was older, naturally. More built, solid from training and hardship. His posture was straighter, more controlled. His skin looked rougher, kissed by sun and wind and soot. There was stubble on his jaw, and a sharpness in his gaze. He didn’t wear that wide, innocent Jake smile you remembered so clearly. The boy you knew had grown into a man.

A man who had been through hell, and survived.

And something about that made your stomach twist. In awe. In sorrow. In love. You didn’t even realize you were staring until his mom leaned in close and whispered, “You deserve tonight with him. For never losing hope.” His father gave a soft nod to your parents, the unspoken blessing passing between them.

...

That night, you laid curled up in his bed, the same bed you used to sneak into just to talk or kiss under the covers when no one was looking. The sheets smelled like home. The soft ticking of the clock on his dresser, the faded poster on his wall, the books still stacked in the corner, everything was the same, and yet it wasn’t. You weren’t teenagers anymore. This wasn’t just another sleepover after a dance.

Your thoughts tumbled, unruly and loud. You thought about the way he’d kissed you like his life depended on it. The way his hands trembled. The silence in his eyes. You thought about the years you’d spent not knowing, the ache of unanswered letters, the fear. And now, he was just down the hall, finally safe.

You heard the bathroom door creak open.

He walked into the room, towel slung over his shoulders, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. He wore only sweatpants, no shirt, and your breath caught.

“So nice to have some hot water,” he said casually, like this was any normal night.

Jake slipped under the covers beside you, his body warm from the shower, his scent clean but still familiar, still him. You shifted closer without thinking, your hands instinctively finding his chest, your head resting against his shoulder.

Jake shifted under you, his hands trembling as he ran them over your back, his fingertips digging into the soft fabric of your clothes, pulling you closer, closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of your presence. His lips didn’t leave yours for even a second, and every kiss was another piece of the world falling back into place. His mouth tasted like salt and the remnants of the battle, but it was still home. 

You pulled back slightly, breathless, your hands now running over the planes of his chest. Your fingers ghosted over the hard muscles beneath his skin, and you noticed the scars. They were there, small, faded marks from the battles he’d faced, the battles he’d fought for this moment. For you.

“You’re here,” you whispered, voice shaky, as if it was a dream you were scared of waking from. Your eyes trailed down his body, noticing how much had changed. His body was different, broader, stronger, his abs more defined, his skin rougher. The carefree, innocent boy you once knew was no more. He was a man now, hardened by experiences neither of you could have predicted. And even though that realization left a bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t deny the way it made your heart race.

“Jake…” You murmured his name like a prayer, as you pressed your lips to the small scar near his ribs. Your hands roamed back up his body, to the firm muscles of his shoulders, to the spots you knew by heart.

His hands gripped you tighter, his breath unsteady. “What are you doing?” he asked, voice low and thick with emotion.

“Just remembering you,” you said softly, your lips trailing over his skin, kissing the hard edges of the man he had become. “Just remembering what I’ve been waiting for.”

You heard his breath hitch, and the next thing you knew, Jake had flipped you gently onto your back, his weight pressing down on you but not suffocating. He kissed you again, this time slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to make up for the months lost to silence. His hands slid under your shirt, dragging it over your head, his touch sending electric sparks across your skin.

But then, in the midst of the heat between you, he paused. His lips hovered over yours, his forehead pressing against yours, the rawness of his vulnerability hanging between you.

In the stillness, he asked, “So… why didn’t you ever write me back?” The weight of his question lingered in the air, a quiet plea that somehow felt more fragile than any explosion or battle wound.

You blinked. Slowly sat up. “What?”

Jake swallowed hard, his grip on your shoulders tightening. His voice cracked when he spoke next, raw and thick with emotion. “I wrote. I wrote so many letters. Every week. Every damn week. I sent them all to you, and nothing came back.” His eyes filled with tears, but this time, he didn’t try to hide them. “I thought you gave up on me. That you had moved on.”

Your heart shattered all over again, the pieces splintering, but this time, you had him in your arms. You had him back. And that was all that mattered. You cupped his face in your hands, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “Jake... no. You were the one I never gave up on. I wrote you. I never stopped. I thought I was the one who was forgotten.”

The confusion hit both of you at the same time, like a silent shockwave.

Jake’s expression slowly shifted, realization dawning behind his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “No, it wasn’t you.” He sat up, breath picking up. “I remember, some of the guys were saying the same thing. How their letters stopped coming. How they thought their families gave up. But they didn’t. Something must’ve happened. Something went wrong.”

Jake’s chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, and then, finally, he let the tears fall. He let himself break down, his body shaking as he held onto you, as if you were his anchor in the storm that had raged inside him for so long. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought you... I thought you hated me.”

You shook your head, pressing your forehead to his. “No. I could never hate you. I would’ve waited for you. A thousand years if I had to.” You paused, the weight of your words sinking in. “I love you, Jake. I never stopped.”

He kissed you then, a desperate kiss that spoke of everything that had been lost, everything that had been fought for. His lips were gentle at first, exploring, tasting, but then, it deepened. His body pressed into yours, his hands wandering over you like he couldn’t remember the last time he touched you, as if you were the lifeline he’d been grasping for in the dark. His tongue traced the edge of your lips, coaxing you into a deeper kiss.

You couldn’t help but moan softly, your hands tangling in his damp hair. The feel of him was overwhelming, grounding you, reminding you that the battle had been worth it, that he was worth it.

But then he pulled back just enough to catch his breath. His voice was hoarse, laden with emotion as he asked, “So, what now?”

You smiled softly, hands running over his broad shoulders, across his chest, feeling the weight of all that he had endured. “I may have an idea.” 

His breath caught as your hands slowly descended from his broad shoulders, grazing down the taut lines of his body until they hovered just above the waistband of his pants. Jake's gaze followed your every movement, his chest rising with a quick, sharp inhale. 

You let your hands hover just above his crotch area, your fingers barely brushing against his pants before you gripped him firmly, a low groan escaping Jake's lips. You flipped him over, straddling him, positioning yourself firmly on top. He watched you in awe as you slowly descended, moving lower and lower down his body. His teeth gripped his bottom lip as you slowly tugged at the hem of his pants. 

Jake's voice was hesitant, his brows furrowed. "Y/n, you don't have to," he said softly.

But you shook your head, kissing his v line. "No, I want to," you whispered, your eyes full of reassurance. "Let me do this for you."

You eased his pants down just enough for the slit in his underwear to be exposed. Fuck, he was hard now. You could see it and your mouth watered at the sight in front of you. You glanced up for a moment to meet Jake’s eyes. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his lips slightly parted, and his gaze was intense, full of desire.

Then you slid it out.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you took in the sight of him, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his desire palpable and intoxicating. You leaned in, your breath hot on his skin, and you could hear his breath hitch in response. You ran your tongue along the length of him, tasting the saltiness of his skin, feeling him twitch at the contact. You looked up at him again, your eyes meeting his, and you saw the raw, primal need reflected back at you. It sent a jolt of electricity through you, making your own desire burn hotter. You took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, feeling him fill you, tasting the sweetness of his pre cum. 

You could feel him, hard and throbbing, as you began to move, taking him deeper, feeling him hit the back of your throat. You could hear his ragged breaths, feel his hands fisting in your hair, and it spurred you on, making you want to take more of him, to give him more pleasure. You could feel your own desire building, your body aching for him, but you wanted to make this last, to draw out this moment of pure, intense pleasure for as long as possible.

The room filled with the sound of wet, sucking noises as you worked Jake's cock with your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head. You could feel him throbbing, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hands fisting in your hair, guiding you, urging you on. You could feel the tension building in him, his body taut, his breath coming in short gasps. 

You knew he was close, and it made you want to push him over the edge, to feel him come undone in your mouth. But you also wanted to tease him, to draw out this moment of pure, intense pleasure. You slowed your pace, pulling back, running your tongue along the length of him, feeling him twitch and shudder at the contact. You could hear him groan, a sound of frustration and desire, and it made you smile, made you want to continue this dance of give and take, of pushing and pulling, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

You took him deep again, feeling him hit the back of your throat, and you hummed, a sound of pleasure that vibrated through him, making him groan louder. You could feel him getting harder, his breath coming in short gasps. You pulled back again, running your tongue along the sensitive underside of him, feeling him shudder.

Jake's grip on your hair tightened, his body tensing as he tried to hold back. You looked up at him, your eyes locked onto his, and you saw the struggle in his gaze. 'Y/n,' he groaned, a warning in his voice, but you just smiled, a wicked glint in your eye. You wanted to taste him, to feel him let go completely. You took him deep again, your fingers digging into his thighs for support. You could feel him pulsing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was close, so close. You hummed around him, the vibrations pushing him over the edge. 'Fuck!' he cried out, his body convulsing as he came in your mouth. You swallowed every drop, savoring the taste of him, a sense of satisfaction washing over you as you watched him come undone. You licked your lips, a smirk playing on your mouth as you looked up at him.

You stood up, your eyes never leaving Jake's, and slowly began to undress. Jake watched, his eyes darkening with desire, his breath hitching as you unzipped your skirt, letting it pool at your feet, stepping out of it, leaving you in nothing but your lacy underwear. Jake's eyes raked over your body, a low growl escaping his lips. He reached out, his fingers tracing the lace, making you shiver. He hooked his fingers into the sides of your underwear, slowly pulling them down, his knuckles brushing against your skin, sending jolts of electricity through you. You stepped out of them, completely bare before him. 

He reached down, positioning himself at your entrance, looking down at you with a mix of love and lust. “I've missed you so much,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He pushed into you, slowly, gently, filling you completely. You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying out, his parents' room just down the hall a stark reminder of your need for silence. 

Jake moved slowly, his thrusts measured, controlled, his body tensing with the effort to stay quiet. You could feel every inch of him, your body stretching to accommodate him, the pleasure building with each slow thrust. You looked up at him, your eyes locked onto his, and you saw the same struggle reflected back at you. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with your shared desire, the soft sounds of your bodies coming together, the only noise in the room. 

Jake's pace quickened, his hips snapping forward as he struggled to keep quiet, his breath coming out in short, ragged whines. He was losing control, his grip on his restraint slipping, and it was the most exhilarating thing you'd ever seen. 

He leaned down, his mouth finding your breast, his teeth grazing your nipple, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sting. He was muffling his sounds, his moans vibrating against your skin, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. His thrusts became more urgent, more insistent, his body slamming into yours, the bed creaking softly under the force. You could feel the tension building in him, the way his body was coiling, ready to snap. 

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him in deeper, encouraging him, wanting to feel him lose control completely. He growled, a low, guttural sound that sent a shiver down your spine, and you knew he was close once again. He moved faster, his hips a blur, his body slapping against yours, the sound of your wetness filling the room. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he whimpered.

He was fucking you so hard, his body consumed by the need to come, and it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. You could feel your own orgasm building, the pleasure coiling in your belly, ready to explode. You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but a soft moan escaped you as he hit that spot inside you, sending you spiraling over the edge. “Jake!” you cried out, your body convulsing, your nails digging into his back as you came undone. 

He followed soon after, his body tensing, his mouth finding yours, swallowing your cries as he came inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

He collapsed on top of you, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, a testament to the intensity of your shared passion. The room was filled with the sound of ragged breathing, the air thick with the scent of lovemaking, a silent testament to your reunion.

Jake, still trembling from the intensity of his orgasm, slowly pulled out of you, a soft groan escaping his lips. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before rolling off of you, leaving you feeling empty and cold without his warmth. He stood up, his body still glistening with sweat, and you watched as he padded silently to the bathroom, his muscles flexing with each step. The sound of running water filled the room, and you could picture him wetting a few towels, his hands moving efficiently, his mind already planning his next move. 

He returned a few moments later, his eyes soft as he looked down at you, a small smile playing on his lips. He sat down on the bed, his body turned towards you, and he began to clean you gently, his touch soft and reverent. 

He ran the towel over your skin, his fingers following the path of the cloth, tracing the lines of your body, making you shiver. He cleaned himself next, his touch more brusque, more hurried, as if he couldn't wait to be done and back in your arms. Once he was finished, he tossed the towels onto the floor, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, a promise of more to come. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He stood up, pulling the covers over you, tucking you in like a precious treasure. He turned off the lights, casting the room into darkness, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner. He climbed into bed next to you, his body spooning yours, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck, his body warm and solid against yours. You closed your eyes, a sense of contentment washing over you, as you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of Jake's arms, ready to face whatever tomorrow might bring.

-

Life after Jake came back was quieter, but in a way that felt fragile, like the world was holding its breath around him.

You remember the first time you saw him step off that ship, you almost didn’t recognize him. His face was leaner, his eyes older. There was something in the way he carried himself, stiff, guarded, like he wasn’t sure how to be in a place where no one was trying to kill him. But when his gaze found yours across the platform, there was a flicker of the boy you used to know. Just a flicker. Enough.

Some nights were harder than others. He never talked much about what happened, not at first. But when you stayed over, curled up beside him in his bed, he didn’t always sleep. Sometimes he’d jolt awake, his chest heaving, sweat beading along his hairline. You didn’t ask what he saw in those dreams. You didn’t need to.

You just held him.

It was in those moments you realized that no matter how much time passed, Jake would never be the same boy you grew up with. The war had taken pieces of him. From the fight. From the blood. From the friends he lost. There were ghosts in his eyes now, things you could never chase away. But you didn’t try to.

Because slowly, piece by piece, he started to come back.

It was in the way he’d crack a crooked grin when you teased him about the way he still hated tomatoes. In the way his laugh started to sound less forced, more like the one you remembered echoing down the old dirt roads when you were kids. He began to tease you again, poking fun at your terrible card skills, stealing the last piece of pie when you weren’t looking.

And when he smiled—really smiled—you saw it.

The old Jake. The one who once chased you through fields in the summer heat. The one who carried your books home from school. The one who left part of his heart in the letters you kept folded in a box under your bed.

You didn’t love him in spite of what the war had done. You loved him because of it. Because he was still standing. Because beneath the scars and shadows, he was still Jake. Yours.

And it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t easy, but it was enough.

Because sometimes, surviving was the bravest thing of all.

[jakescapes]

guys… enha’s coachella performance..??!!!!! idek where to begin

istg if some local tries to ask me who the aussie one is.. it’s wraps 💔

[jakescapes]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚜.

pairing: jake x reader (f)

synopsis: You were just a kid when the war took him from you. Your best friend, your first love, the boy who promised he’d never leave. He wrote you letters from boot camp, from the trenches, from a world falling apart. But then, the letters stopped. You didn’t know if he was lost, or if you were. And when the war finally ended, you stood at the docks, heart racing, searching every face… hoping he still remembered how to find you.

genre: angst, smut, fluff

warnings: mentions of death, trauma, fighting in war, reader and jake don't see each other for a long time, mentions of masturbation, explicit smut, mdni!! (lmk if there's more)

author's note: just note that jake's and reader's pov changes pretty frequently later on in the story so don't get confused, kinda proofread, also i dont know anything abt military/army stuff i just tried to wing it, and the ending is kinda rushed but i hope it's not too bad, hope you enjoy!

wc: 18k+

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People say the world changed the moment the war began, but for you, the world only changed the day he got drafted.

The year was 1942, and the air smelled like warm bread, motor oil, and the bloom of spring. The world felt large, but not too large, not when you lived in a small town tucked between golden fields and slow rivers, where everything you needed fit into the corner diner, the library, and a boy named Jake.

Jake was the kind of boy who would hold your books even if you didn’t ask, who’d get flustered when your hands brushed, and who always insisted on walking you home even when you lived two blocks away. You’d grown up together, sandlot summers and homecoming dances, and somewhere between old treehouses and secret glances during homeroom, he’d become yours.

No one could separate you two.

Until the draft letter came.

He found out on a rainy Tuesday, a cruelly normal day. You’d just kissed goodbye after school, your cheeks flushed from the wind and love, when he saw the letter in the mailbox, his name on the front in unforgiving type. Jake didn’t speak for a long time, just held it like it was made of fire.

“They can’t take me away from you,” he finally whispered, clutching your hand like it was the last real thing he’d ever feel.

But they did.

You could feel the edge of something. Maybe it was in the way the air tasted too still, or the way he looked at you like he was memorizing your face. You wanted to believe you had more time.

“I leave in two weeks,” he said, barely audible.

The world tilted.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty six hours.

It wasn’t enough.

You’d spent your whole life together, school dances, ice cream after exams, sneaking into drive in movies. He’d never been away for more than a weekend. You used to joke he was clingier than your little sister’s cat, and he’d grin and say, “Can you blame me?”

But now he was being ripped away.

You grabbed his hands, soaked and trembling, and pulled him to your chest. He buried his face into your shoulder like he was scared he’d fall apart if he let go. You didn’t cry, not yet. Not until that night, when you read the letter over and over until the words blurred.

He was yours. But now, the war wanted him too.

-

It was the kind of morning that would haunt you for the rest of your life, the kind that would burn itself into your memory so deep, it felt like you were still living it, even years later. The air was cold, but you didn’t even feel it. Your whole body was numb, frozen in the moment.

You stood at the edge of the dock, the sound of the waves crashing beneath you, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears. The ship loomed before you, getting bigger with every second. The ticking of time felt like a countdown, and with every minute that passed, you could feel the distance growing between you.

Jake’s hand trembled in yours, and when he looked at you, his eyes were red, his face wet with the tears he’d been trying to hide. But you could see them now. You both could. You had no more strength to keep the tears inside, and neither did he.

“I’ll write,” he whispered, his voice cracking, but his words didn’t bring you any comfort. You could barely catch your breath as the tears welled up in your eyes. You wanted to believe him. You needed to.

“I know,” you choked out, but it was like the words came from someone else, someone who didn’t know what it was like to love him, someone who couldn’t imagine how empty your life would be without him.

He pulled you closer, his arms tight around you, and you buried your face in his chest, desperate to breathe him in, to feel him close, just one more time. “I’ll come back,” he said, but his voice cracked, and you could feel the doubt in the words. He wasn’t sure. Neither of you was sure.

Your hands gripped him harder, as though you could make him stay, as though you could stop this moment from slipping away. You looked up at him, your eyes swollen, your heart breaking in ways you couldn’t put into words.

But he pulled away slowly, his hand lingering in yours for a second longer, as though you both knew this was the last time you’d ever feel him so close. The first bell rang, sharp and final.

“No...” you gasped, shaking your head, not ready to let go. You couldn’t.

Jake swallowed hard, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I have to go,” he whispered. His voice was so broken, it felt like it was shattering with the words. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”

You tried to speak, but your voice caught in your throat, and before you knew it, you were crying harder than you ever had in your life. You clung to him, as though you could keep him here, just for a little longer. He kissed your forehead, soft and final, his lips trembling against your skin, and it felt like the last time you’d ever be able to hold him.

“I love you,” he said, his voice barely audible through his sobs.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your words swallowed by the weight of your grief.

But it didn’t matter. The ship’s horn blared, and Jake pulled away, his hands shaking as he wiped at his face. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his shoulders shook with every step he took toward the ship. You watched him go, wanting to scream, wanting to run after him and pull him back, but your legs felt like stone, and all you could do was watch him disappear into the crowd.

The distance between you grew with every step he took, until there was nothing left but the sound of the waves crashing against the dock, and the quiet, aching emptiness in your chest.

And you realized, then, that nothing would ever be the same.

-

Jake stood on the deck of the ship, gripping the cold steel railing with white knuckles, as the distance between him and you grew. He hadn’t been able to look back, not once. His feet felt like they were cemented in place, and the weight of the promise he’d made to you, the promise to return, was almost too much to bear. But he had no choice. He had to go. The draft letter had come. His name had been called, and like the others, he had no say in the matter. The war needed him, and there was nothing left to do but obey.

But as the ship pulled away, Jake’s chest tightened with a suffocating pressure. His mind was still caught in that moment on the dock, the look in your eyes, the way you held him, as if letting go would be the end of everything. He could still feel your trembling hands in his, the heat of your tears on his skin, the way you clung to him like he was your lifeline. And, damn it, he had to leave you. He had no choice.

He turned away from the edge of the ship, trying to focus on the men around him, trying to hear their jokes and talk. They were trying to distract themselves from what lay ahead. But all Jake could think of was your face, the way you had whispered your love as if it was a promise you weren’t sure you could keep. You hadn’t believed him when he said he would come back. And he couldn’t blame you.

Jake rubbed his face with both hands, trying to steady the tremor in his fingers. The first few hours on the ship were a blur of cold air, loud voices, and the constant rocking of the boat. But as night fell, the noise dimmed, and Jake found himself alone with his thoughts.

His mind kept returning to you, the way you’d kissed him goodbye, the way you’d held onto him like he was your whole world. You had always been his world, too. You guys spent your lives together, grew up side by side, and somewhere along the way, you’d fallen in love.

As he lay on his cot that night, staring up at the low, creaking ceiling, the weight of the empty space beside him felt unbearable. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was your face, eyes swollen from crying, lips trembling as you whispered your last “I love you.” And it tore him apart. He hadn’t wanted to leave you. Not like this. But what choice did he have?

He turned onto his side and buried his face in his pillow, as if that would drown out the noise in his head, the ache in his chest. His hands, which had been steady for so long, now shook uncontrollably as he thought of you. He wanted so badly to write you a letter, to tell you that he was going to try to come back, that he’d fight with everything he had to return to you. But how could he say that when part of him was unsure? How could he promise you something he wasn’t sure he could deliver?

-

The ship groaned as it met the dock, its hull grinding against the worn wooden beams like it, too, was exhausted from the journey. A sharp whistle cut through the early morning mist, jolting Jake upright. His boots hit the metal floor before his brain caught up.

“All right, boys! Off the boat!” someone barked from above deck.

Jake grabbed his duffel, heart pounding. The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible. Around him, men scrambled up the stairs, heavy footsteps echoing off steel walls. Some joked nervously, others were stone faced, eyes blank as if bracing for whatever came next. Jake pushed forward, chest tight, until sunlight hit his face, and then came everything else.

The dock swarmed with activity. Soldiers in pressed uniforms shouted orders over the roar of trucks and chattering voices. The scent of diesel, salt, and sweat mingled into something acrid and sharp. Jake scanned the crowd instinctively, as if he’d spot someone familiar, someone from home, but there were only strangers here. Uniforms and faces blurred together in a blur of khaki and fear.

A tall guy beside him exhaled deeply. “Well, this ain’t a vacation resort,” he muttered. He stuck out a hand. “Will. From Chicago.”

“Jake,” he replied, gripping his hand tightly.

Their small moment was interrupted by a voice blaring from a mounted speaker. “All new arrivals, fall in line to the left! Orientation in ten minutes!”

Jake followed the tide of soldiers through the bustle, past crates and barking sergeants, past others being loaded onto transport trucks. Dust coated his boots, his lips, his lungs. There was a crackling anxiety in the air, something too heavy to name.

The orientation tent was hotter than outside, crammed with sweaty bodies and nervous energy. A man with deep lines in his face and a chest full of medals stood in front of them, arms crossed. When he spoke, his voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Let me make one thing clear,” the officer said. “This is not camp. This is not school. This is war. Some of you think you’re invincible. That you’ll make it out untouched. I’m here to tell you—”

He paused, eyes hard. “You won’t.”

The room was dead silent.

“You will see things you won’t forget. You will lose people you care about. And the only way you’ll make it through is if you remember why you’re here. So dig deep. Find that reason. And hold onto it.”

Jake’s fists clenched at his sides. The weight of it all, where he was, what he’d signed up for, settled like a stone in his stomach.

The officer dismissed them with a gruff, "You’ve got ten minutes to find your cot and report back for uniform and weapons issue. Move."

Jake stepped out of the tent, blinking under the harsh sun. He felt sweat start to collect beneath the collar of his shirt. Around him, other men muttered to themselves or stared blankly ahead. He caught up with Will, the tall guy from Chicago.

"You ever shoot anything before?" Will asked, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

Jake shook his head. "A deer once. With my uncle. Didn’t feel good."

Will nodded slowly. "Yeah. That’s how you know you’re still human."

They found the row of cots assigned to their group, simple, metal framed things with rough sheets and a canvas bag of standard-issue gear at the foot. Jake sat on his thin mattress creaking beneath him, and glanced around the tent. The men beside him were all doing the same thing, taking in the space, the weight of what was ahead, and the deafening quiet of realizing there was no turning back.

That night, Jake lay flat on his back, staring up at the canvas roof of the tent. The stars outside were blotted out by clouds, but he knew they were there. Somewhere. Just like you.

-

Jake had expected the camp to be loud, but not like this. The clamor of boots pounding the dirt, men shouting orders, and the smell of sweat and metal assaulted his senses as soon as they disembarked. His stomach churned with nerves and dread, and he wondered if he’d ever feel like himself again.

This was it. The place where they’d strip away everything he was, everything he had ever known, and build something new. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for it, but it didn’t matter. The army had made it clear: he didn’t have a choice.

The first thing that hit him was the heat. It wasn’t just the dry, suffocating air that stuck to his skin; it was the intense weight of the place, the way it pressed down on him, making him feel smaller, weaker, like he was part of a machine rather than a person.

They were thrown into it immediately. No time for niceties or introductions. Just barked orders and forced routines. Push ups. Running. The air tasted like dust, and the sound of heavy feet slamming the ground echoed everywhere.

Jake didn’t have a problem with the physical stuff. He’d been athletic all his life, used to running through the heat, throwing footballs, climbing trees with you during his childhood, or running through fields with his friends. This wasn’t the same, though. This wasn’t fun. This wasn’t for the simple joy of it. This was punishment, and there was no one to help him through it.

He didn’t know anyone at first. There were the usual faces, boys from other towns, some tough, some quiet, some who didn’t care about being there. They all wore the same uniform, but Jake could already see the differences. Some had an edge to them, like they’d been through things he couldn’t even imagine, while others were scared, out of their depth, with no idea how to adjust.

Jake had never felt like an outsider, but here, at camp, everything was different. There was a group of boys from a big city who had a way of talking, laughing, and carrying themselves that made Jake feel like a country kid with no clue. They’d been to bars. They’d been in fights. They’d done things Jake could never even imagine. But there were other boys too, quiet, like him, who were just trying to get through it.

At first, they didn’t say much to each other. No one had the energy for conversation. The brutal drills, the relentless push of the officers, and the constant exhaustion left no room for anything else. But slowly, Jake began to make connections. He wasn’t sure if it was just because they were all in the same miserable situation or if something deeper was happening, but he found himself gravitating toward a couple of the quieter boys. One of them was Will, the same boy from the boat ride in. Over time, he became one of Jake’s closest friends, the kind of person who didn’t speak often but always noticed when Jake needed grounding. He didn’t ask questions. He just understood the look in his eyes. They didn’t need to talk about home, about the life they had to leave behind, about the people they missed, because they both felt it. The absence. The distance. And it weighed on them all in different ways.

But it wasn’t just the quiet ones who stood out. There were a couple of boys who acted like they had nothing to lose. They were loud, reckless, and constantly boasting. They cracked jokes during drills, refused to take things seriously, and seemed to get off on making the other boys uncomfortable. They’d find any excuse to pick a fight, to throw a punch, to remind everyone that they were tough. It was like they were trying to prove they were better than everyone else. Jake had never understood that kind of attitude. He wasn’t here to make a name for himself. He was here because it was what he had to do. And he was going to get through it, even if it was hard as hell.

Jake missed you more than he cared to admit. The loneliness was unbearable, and it only got worse as the days stretched on. The first few weeks were a haze of physical exhaustion and mental torment. Every day, Jake fought to keep his emotions buried, but they kept coming back. Memories of you, of the life he left behind, of the love that felt so far away. The other boys might’ve been able to pretend they were tough, but Jake wasn’t that kind of guy. He wasn’t pretending. Every day, he fought just to hold onto the part of him that was still his, even though it was slipping away.

-

The mornings always hit like a punch to the gut. The bugle’s blare pierced through the air just before dawn.

“Up! Let’s move, boys! You want to sleep, go home!” one of the sergeants bellowed.

Jake groaned, dragging himself upright. His legs were sore. Hell, everything was sore.

“You alive over there?” Will muttered from the next cot, already pulling on his boots.

“Barely,” Jake grunted. “I think my spine left sometime around yesterday’s third mile.”

Will let out a low laugh. “Guess that means we’re getting stronger, huh?”

“Or broken,” Jake said under his breath.

Outside, the cold hit his skin like slaps. Lines were already forming, boots crunching over the frozen dirt. Another day, another round of drills meant to kill the softness in them.

“Let’s go, recruits! Obstacle course in ten!” came the shout.

Jake jogged beside Will across the field, his pack bouncing painfully against his back. Mud splashed up his legs as he dropped into the first crawl under barbed wire. Machine gun fire cracked overhead, blanks, but loud enough to remind them what they were training for.

“Keep your head down, pretty boy!” someone yelled behind them.

Jake grit his teeth, pushing forward.

Later, during a break, Jake sat on a rock, sweat cooling on his back.

“You doing okay?” Will asked quietly, passing him a canteen.

Jake took it, nodding. “Just tired.”

Will looked at him sideways. “That’s not all.”

They grew quieter as training pressed on. The days became a blur, early wakeups, forced marches, weapons drills, crawling through mud, eating whatever food they were thrown, collapsing into their bunks bone tired.

At night, Jake would lie still, eyes wide open, whispering your name like a prayer.

-

Camp was always full of noise. Shouting, training, the sounds of heavy boots scraping across the dirt. But today, it was something different. The loud guys, the ones who always seemed to make everything a joke, had gathered near the barracks, their voices cutting through the air like knives.

Jake had his back turned, pretending to be busy with something else, but he couldn't ignore the crude laughter that rang out. He heard one of the guys, Tony, he thought his name was, talking about some girl back home, his voice too loud, too arrogant.

"Man, when I get back home, I’m gonna take her out, mess around a little," Tony’s voice rang out. "She’ll be begging me to come back for more after I’m done with her."

A few others laughed, chiming in with their own stories. Jake’s jaw clenched. His fists tightened involuntarily at his sides. He knew what kind of talk they were capable of, but hearing it now, after everything, after leaving you behind... it hit differently.

He kept his head down, trying to ignore them, to pretend it didn’t hurt. But the words cut deep. He could still hear your voice in his head, your soft whispers, your love. And this... this was the complete opposite.

His face flushed with anger, but he didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

Will, who’d been sitting nearby and keeping half an eye on the exchange, leaned over to Jake. His voice was low and urgent.

“Hey, just ignore him, alright? He’s just running his mouth. Don’t give him what he wants.”

Jake didn’t answer, but his jaw twitched. Will could see it. The way Jake’s hands shook slightly, the way he kept clenching and unclenching his fists like he was trying to hold something back. “Jake,” Will said again, more firmly. “Come on, man. Not worth it.”

But then the tension shifted. He could sense someone was looking at him, and when he glanced up, it was one of the other guys, Rick, the one who liked to stir things up. Rick had caught him staring, and his lips curled into a smirk, like a predator who’d just found its prey.

"What’s your problem, pretty boy?" Rick taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "What, you don’t like hearing about how your girl’s probably waiting for you back home, huh? You think she’s gonna stay loyal while you’re off here playing soldier?"

Jake's fingers twitched. His heart pounded harder in his chest. He didn’t answer, but Rick kept going, egging him on.

Will straightened, already stepping forward, hand outstretched. “Alright, Rick. Back off. Don’t be a dick.”

But Rick ignored him. “What’s the matter? What you looking at me like that for?”

Jake's anger burned hotter, but he stayed silent, knowing if he said anything, it would only give him more fuel. But then he did something that crossed the line.

Jake kept a photo of you in his chest pocket, always. Folded once, then twice, tucked between his dog tags and his skin. Rick’s gaze dropped, just long enough to see the corner of it peeking out. Before Jake could react, Rick darted forward and snatched it.

“Rick, stop!” Will snapped, already reaching for the photo, but Rick had it in his hands now, holding it up like it was some prize.

"Ohhhh," Rick drawled, as his eyes locked on the photo. "Looks like we got ourselves a sweetheart over here." He waved it in front of Jake’s face, teasing him like it was some kind of joke.

Jake's heart stopped for a moment. He tried to snatch the photo out of Rick's hand, but Rick was faster, pulling it away and laughing as he waved it around like a trophy.

"You’re real sentimental, huh? You really think she’s still thinking about you? I bet she’s out there with another guy right now, probably giving him the same shit you were getting." Rick’s voice lowered, full of venom. "She’s probably fucking him right now while you’re stuck out here, pretending to be a man."

That was it. The words hit Jake like a punch to the gut. The image of you, of your kindness, of everything you meant to him... and now this piece of trash was talking about you like you were just some other girl?

Jake didn’t think. His fist shot out before he could stop it. 

Will shouted, “Jake, wait!” But it was too late.

Jake felt the satisfying thud of his knuckles connecting with Rick’s jaw, the sickening crack that followed, and then the satisfying silence that followed as Rick staggered back.

But it didn’t last long. Rick stumbled but recovered quickly, wiping his mouth and glaring at Jake like he was a threat.

"You fucking coward," Rick spat, his voice twisted in pain and rage. "You wanna fight, huh? Fine."

Before Jake could even brace himself, Rick lunged, swinging hard and catching Jake across the cheek with a blow that made his head snap sideways.

“Stop it!” Will shoved himself between them, trying to keep them apart. 

But it was like throwing yourself into a fire. The two of them were already in it, fists flying, shoulders slamming, boots scraping violently against the dirt. Jake’s anger carried him, fists moving on instinct, every punch fueled by the pain of being away from you, of hearing someone disrespect what he’d held onto for dear life.

“Jake, don’t—!” Will was trying to pull him back, even taking a few hits himself in the mess of flailing arms. “You’ll get thrown in for this!”

The rest of the boys egged them on, yelling and laughing, forming a loose, chaotic circle. Some were shouting for Rick, others for Jake, but none of them were actually trying to stop it.

Then: “Enough!”

A soldier’s voice, sharp and thunderous, cut through the noise.

Two officers stormed in. One grabbed Jake by the collar and yanked him back with force. Another shoved Rick down against a wall. The fight was over, just like that, left hanging in the air like smoke.

Rick was clutching his face, blood dripping from his busted lip. “That asshole started it,” he growled, voice full of spite as he pointed at Jake.

Will stepped forward, eyes burning. “Bullshit. He crossed the line. Jake didn’t start anything.”

But the officers weren’t listening. One of them turned on Jake with a cold glare. “I don’t care what he did. You threw the first punch. That’s on you.”

Jake didn’t say a word. He didn’t care. Not about the punishment. Not about the bruise already forming on his jaw. All he cared about was you, and protecting the one good thing he had left.

“Send him to the hole,” one of the soldiers snapped. “Solitary confinement. Let him cool off.”

Jake barely registered the walk there. Will tried to say something to him as they dragged him off, but Jake just gave him a faint shake of the head.

Jake was hauled off to a small, empty room, the door slamming shut behind him with a deafening finality. The darkness of the room felt like it pressed down on him, but he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t going to regret it.

His hand throbbed from the punch, his cheek swollen and bruised. But he didn’t care. No one was going to talk about you like that, no one.

And when the pain finally settled, the coldness of solitary confinement became his only companion. 

The hole was exactly what it sounded like, cold, dark, and hollow. No light came in except for the thin crack under the door, just enough to remind Jake he wasn’t blind, only buried. The air smelled like damp earth and metal, and the walls were so close it felt like they might close in and crush him if he breathed too hard.

He sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, one arm cradling his throbbing hand. His knuckles were split and raw, but the sting didn’t bother him. Not really. It was the silence that got to him, the kind that let his thoughts grow too loud.

He kept seeing your face.

Not the picture, the real thing. The way your brows would furrow when you were thinking too hard, the way your mouth tilted when you were trying not to smile. He remembered how you looked the last time he held you, forehead pressed to his chest, hands clutching at his uniform like they could stop time. God, he missed you.

Jake clenched his jaw, leaning his head back against the wall. He didn’t regret hitting Rick. He’d do it again—hell, harder—if it meant shutting him up. No one was allowed to talk about you like that. No one got to twist something so sacred into something ugly. You weren’t some girl. You were his girl. The only thing that still felt pure in a world that was turning to ash around him.

He pulled the now crumpled photo from his pocket. He’d managed to grab it off the ground just before they dragged him off. It was smudged, bent at the corners, but your smile was still there. Soft, honest. Like a light.

Jake swallowed hard. He ran his thumb gently over the edge of the paper, like he was afraid of hurting it any more than it already was.

This doesn’t break me, he thought to himself. 

Because you were the reason he was still trying. Through the yelling, the exhaustion, the fear. You were the thread pulling him forward. Not duty. Not pride. You.

He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes.

He could still feel your hands in his, your lips against his cheek, the sound of your voice when you whispered I love you like it was something fragile. And here, in the silence, in the cold, surrounded by shadows and concrete, Jake clung to that memory like it was the last real thing he had.

Because maybe it was.

- 

Training was getting more brutal.

Jake had expected it to be tough. He expected the early mornings and the yelling, the endless drills that left his muscles burning and his stomach aching. But what he hadn’t expected was how fast everything would start to feel mechanical. Wake up, march, run, shoot, repeat. No time to think. No room to feel. Just orders and obedience and the constant hum of tension in the air.

He learned quickly, though. Too quickly, maybe. His body adjusted before his mind did. His hands got steadier with a rifle, his shoulders stronger with the weight of a pack. He stopped flinching at the sound of gunfire. And when the sergeant barked commands, Jake moved without hesitation. Focused. Determined. Like every bullet he fired was another step closer to coming home.

Still, there were moments. Brief, quiet ones, where the monotony would break. Like during marksmanship training, when they’d all lie flat in the dirt, eyes locked on the targets downrange. Jake’s breathing would slow, his heartbeat syncing with the steady rise and fall of his chest. And for a second, it was just him, the trigger, and a single thought whispering through his mind:

Get back to her.

But not everyone took it that seriously.

There were guys who cracked jokes every chance they got, who didn’t take anything seriously unless it came with a threat of extra laps. And then there were the ones who watched the officers, especially the female ones, with a hunger in their eyes that made Jake sick.

That was how it started.

Jake sat on an overturned crate in the shade, a tin of lukewarm beans in his lap, half listening to the guys around him swap stories back home and bets on who’d drop out of training first. The midday sun beat down hard, and his uniform clung to him with sweat. He was exhausted, sore, but grateful for the momentary break. 

He didn’t notice her until he felt her hands.

Cool fingers slid over his shoulders, smoothing over the muscle like she was inspecting him. Her touch was slow, deliberate, too deliberate, and Jake stiffened instantly. The voices around him fell into a hush.

“Well, look at you,” came her voice, soft and close, brushing the shell of his ear. “Didn’t take you for the quiet type, Jake.”

His name, spoken like silk, made his jaw clench. He didn’t turn around, just stayed perfectly still as her hands ghosted down his arms.

“Lieutenant Calloway,” one of the guys greeted her with a grin, nudging another with his elbow. “You’re interrupting our best shot. You know he ranked top three in marksmanship this week?”

Calloway was one of the few women stationed near the front of training, a combat specialist with a reputation for being both ruthless and flirtatious, depending on who you asked. She carried herself like she owned every room she walked into, with a smirk that could cut and boots that clicked with authority. Rumor was, she’d taken down three grown men in hand to hand combat during a drill once. Still, her eyes often lingered where they shouldn’t, and lately, those eyes had been on Jake.

“Oh, I know,” she purred, still behind Jake, bending slightly so her breath touched the back of his neck. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

The guys laughed. One of them whistled. “Damn, Jake’s pulling!” someone snorted.

Lieutenant Calloway finally moved into view, circling in front of him, her sharp uniform pressed tight against her frame, her lip gloss catching the sun. She leaned down just enough to be eye level with Jake, her gaze smoldering with something that made his stomach twist, not with desire, but discomfort.

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” she said, her voice lower now, more intimate. “Anything... distracting you?”

Jake’s eyes flicked away, a subtle, defensive move that only made the other guys lean in more.

“He’s got a girl,” someone said with a laugh, jabbing a thumb at the barely there corner of your photo sticking out of his pocket. “Real pretty one too. Right, Jake?”

The lieutenant’s head tilted, and her expression darkened with curiosity. “Oh?” she said, dragging out the word. Her gaze dropped to the pocket. “Is that true?”

Jake didn’t answer right away, just reached down and tucked the photo back in gently, protectively.

“Yeah,” he muttered, finally. “It’s true.”

For a second, something unreadable passed over her face. Surprise. Annoyance. Maybe even something more. But then she smiled again, lazy and confident, and crouched slightly, her fingers brushing Jake’s knee.

“Well,” she said smoothly, “she’s not here, is she?”

The boys hooted and hollered, eating up the scene like it was their evening show.

Jake’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. Cold. Unmoving. He didn’t yell. Didn’t curse. Just gave her a quiet look that said more than words could.

She stood up slowly, lips curling with amusement. “You let me know if you change your mind,” she said, then turned on her heel and walked away, hips swaying as she left.

The second she was gone, the guys erupted.

“Bro, what are you doing?”

“You have to be the dumbest man alive.”

“She basically threw herself at you!”

Jake didn’t say anything. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the tin of beans aside. His shoulders were tense, his chest heavy. But his hand found its way to your photo again, pressing it flat like it grounded him.

They didn’t get it. They wouldn’t.

You were real.

And no matter how many people looked at him like he was crazy for saying no, he didn’t care.

After mess, he slipped away, brushing off the guys with a half hearted excuse, and wandered alone to the edge of camp. His boots crunched against the dry dirt path, the sun pressing hot against the back of his neck. That woman, Lieutenant Calloway, still lingered in his mind, not because of her touch or the way her breath had tickled his skin, but because it reminded him of how far from home he truly was. Nothing about her, or any of this, compared to you.

Then he saw the mail truck pulling in through the front gates, slower than usual, kicking up a tired cloud of dust behind it. The guys back near the tents hollered and sprinted over, hopeful as always. Jake didn’t move at first. Mail call had become more of a letdown than anything. Letters took ages to arrive. They had to pass through military censors, often rerouted or delayed by transport issues, especially if they were coming from overseas. A note sent in good faith could take three, sometimes even four weeks to arrive.

Still, something nudged him forward.

And then someone called his name.

He turned just as a corporal tossed a thin, slightly wrinkled envelope toward him. Jake caught it mid air. One look at the handwriting and his heart stopped.

Your name sat in the top left corner, familiar and soft, the ink slightly smudged but still entirely you. The curl in your letters was the same as always, just a little flourish that made his throat tighten. His hands trembled as he tore it open, careful not to rip the precious paper inside.

The letter was three pages long, folded neatly but creased like you’d smoothed it over a few times before slipping it into the envelope. The paper smelled faintly like lavender, or maybe that was just his memory playing tricks on him.

There was a faint lipstick mark near the bottom of the last page. Your shade, he’d recognize it anywhere. You’d kissed the letter before sealing it, and Jake’s breath caught when he noticed it. His thumb brushed over the mark like it was made of gold. 

The noise of the camp faded as he read.

Jake,

I don’t even know where to begin. Everything feels a little quieter without you. The diner’s been too still, and I swear even the stars look lonelier these days. I still walk past your house out of habit, half expecting to see you sitting on the porch with that dumb smile, waiting for me like you always did.

I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts in places I didn’t know could ache.

Jake swallowed hard, his fingers curling tighter around the page. He could almost hear your voice reading the words aloud, soft and sincere.

Things here are the same and not the same. The seasons are changing. I picked flowers yesterday and thought about how you used to tuck daisies into my hair. I still wear that little bracelet you gave me, you know the one that barely fits. I never take it off. It makes me feel close to you, even when you’re on the other side of the world.

Everyone says I should be strong, and I am. I really am. But I have days where I just want you to walk through the door and say this was all a mistake. I know you can’t. I know why you had to go. But that doesn’t make it easier.

Write me when you can. I’ll wait for however long it takes. Just knowing you’re out there, thinking of me too, is enough to get me through.

Be safe. Be smart. Come back to me.

I love you.

—Y/n.

Jake stared at the final line for what felt like forever.

“I love you.”

He read it over and over, the words blurring until his eyes stung. Something inside him cracked open. Not the loud kind of break, just quiet and slow, like melting ice. His chest ached, but not in the empty, lonely way it had before. This was different.

This was hope.

He pressed the letter to his lips, then folded it back into its envelope like it was something holy.

For the first time since he arrived, Jake felt something close to whole.

Each word wrapped around him like a blanket, a tether pulling him back to who he was before the war, before the draft letter, before the distance. It was you. Your voice, your rhythm, your little comments and worries and stubborn hope. He read it once, then again, slower the second time, and again after that.

And for the first time in days, he let himself exhale.

-

The days felt longer now.

Not just in the way time drags when you’re waiting for something, but in the way silence settles into the spaces someone used to fill. The town looked the same. Same dusty roads, same buzz of the diner’s neon sign, same breeze rustling through the wheat fields, but it all felt off. Like the world was continuing on without noticing the hole he left behind.

You still walked the path to school, passed the bench you two always sat on, and caught yourself turning your head at every tall figure in the distance. You knew it wasn’t Jake. It never was. But the hope didn’t care.

Sometimes, when the wind was just right, you swore you could hear his laugh echo across the street.

You kept in touch with his family. His mom had you over for tea on Sundays. She’d set out two cups every time, like muscle memory, then hesitate before putting one back. Neither of you talked about it.

His dad would give you these half smiles, like he wanted to say something comforting but couldn’t find the words. So you’d sit in the living room, watching old reruns on a grainy TV, and pretend for a little while that things were normal.

You still wrote to Jake every week.

You filled pages with silly stories from school, updates on your little sister, thoughts you didn’t say out loud. You told him you were okay, because you were trying to be, but you also told him the truth. That you missed him. That his absence wasn’t just a space, it was a weight.

And every day, you checked the mailbox. Every day, you opened it with shaking hands. And every day, for weeks, there was nothing.

Until there was.

It came on a Thursday. The sky was cloudy, and you were already halfway back to the house when you decided to check one more time. The envelope was smudged, creased from its journey, and your name was written in Jake’s handwriting, sharp, messy, unmistakably his.

You stood frozen on the porch, staring down at it like it might vanish if you blinked. Then your hands moved, tearing the seal open with more care than you thought you were capable of.

Inside was his letter. His words.

Hey you,

I got your letter. I must’ve read it ten times before I could even breathe. I can’t explain what it meant to me, having a piece of home, of you, in my hands. Everything here’s rough. The days blur. The nights are worse. But reading your words felt like someone lit a fire in a frozen room. It reminded me why I’m still standing.

Training is brutal. It’s early mornings and yelling and dirt that never really leaves your skin. My body’s sore in places I didn’t know could be sore. They drill us until we can barely think straight. Running laps, crawling through mud, learning how to shoot like machines. I’m getting better though. I ranked third in marksmanship last week. The other guys were joking I’ve got a sniper’s eye. It’s kinda funny. I kept thinking about how you always teased me for being good at carnival games. Guess that skill’s coming in handy.

Some of the guys here are decent. Some remind me of the boys back home. Quiet, serious, scared under the tough talk. But others, they’re different. Loud. Crude. Like they’ve buried whatever soft parts they had a long time ago.

Then there’s Will. He’s one of the good ones. We’ve become close over the past few weeks. He doesn’t talk much about home, but when he does, I can tell he’s carrying something heavy. I guess we all are.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m not alone out here. There’s still good in this place, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re eating well. I hope the stars still look the same at night, and that sometimes you think of me when you see them.

I think of you constantly. I miss you more than words can stretch.

I love you.

Always,

Jake

You pressed your hand to your mouth, breath catching in your throat. Tears welled in your eyes, but you let them fall.

Because this… this was everything.

He was alive. He missed you. And he was still yours.

That night, you laid in bed. It was late.

The kind of late where the world outside your window felt hushed, paused somewhere between midnight and morning. The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting pale light across your room in silver streaks. The sheets tangled around your legs like vines as you lay on your side, wide awake, staring at the place on the pillow Jake used to rest his head when he would visit your room.

You reached out, almost instinctively, your fingers brushing the empty space.

God, you missed him.

It was more than just the way he looked or sounded, it was the way he made you feel. Safe. Warm. Like the chaos of the world quieted when he wrapped his arms around you and whispered nonsense into your hair. The scent of him still lingered faintly on the old sweatshirt you wore, though it had faded weeks ago.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to recall the exact feeling of his fingertips tracing your spine. The warmth of his breath on your neck. The way his voice dipped low when he said your name like it was something sacred.

Your body responded before you could stop it, heat blooming slowly beneath your skin, low in your belly, in that place where only he knew how to touch you right. You exhaled shakily, the ache of distance crawling into your chest.

It wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t just want, it was need. A hunger for closeness. For his voice in your ear, murmuring soft promises. For his hands on your waist, grounding you. For the press of his lips against yours, slow and reverent like he had nowhere else to be.

Your thighs shifted under the covers, the ache growing deeper now. A dull, desperate kind of longing that pulsed through you like a secret.

You bit your bottom lip.

It was moments like this, alone, in the dark, with only memories and echoes, that made the distance feel like a thousand miles too far.

You clutched the pillow tighter, whispering his name like a prayer, like maybe the stars would carry it to him somehow. Maybe he was lying in his cot halfway across the world, thinking of you too. Maybe his hands ached to hold you just as badly.

You squeezed your thighs close together.

“I miss you,” you whispered, voice catching in your throat.

And in the silence, your heart thudded softly beneath your ribs, slow, steady, full of him.

- 

The sky was thick with smoke.

Jake ducked low behind a crumbled stone wall, his helmet knocked sideways, his chest heaving like it couldn’t figure out whether to breathe or break. Dirt and blood streaked down his arms. His rifle trembled in his grip, his knuckles pale around the metal.

Gunfire cracked like thunder, sharp, relentless, too close.

“Move up! MOVE!” someone screamed, but the voice was distant, like it came through a tunnel.

Jake didn’t move.

His boots were stuck in mud and fear, his ears ringing from the explosion that had just gone off less than a few yards away. When he turned his head, he saw the body of Mark lying still, his eyes open, but vacant. Just a second ago, he was laughing at a dumb joke someone made. Now… now he wasn’t laughing.

Jake blinked.

He wasn’t supposed to freeze. He wasn’t supposed to feel this paralyzed. He was trained for this. They’d drilled it into him for months, how to fire, how to move, how to think like a soldier. But nothing, nothing, prepared him for the way it felt to watch someone die with your name still on their lips.

He scrambled forward, heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted out. Dust and ash flew into his mouth as he threw himself behind a truck riddled with bullet holes. Across the clearing, he caught sight of Will, his face covered in blood, one arm hanging useless, but alive. Barely.

“JAKE!” Will bellowed. “GO! GO!”

He ran.

Bullets zipped past him like angry bees, ripping through bark and canvas and bone. He slipped once, fell into a ditch, his hands digging into gravel and soaked earth as he scrambled back to his feet. His lungs burned. His vision blurred.

Focus. Keep moving. Don’t think. Don’t feel.

But he did. He felt everything.

Every scream, every blast, every inch of fear that slithered down his spine like cold water. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as he caught glimpses of fallen bodies, people he knew. People he didn’t. Blood pooled like rainwater.

He wanted to scream. To cry. To run. But he didn’t.

He fired when he had to. He dragged a boy to cover, barely fifteen, sobbing and clutching his leg. He shouted for help. He crawled through dust and heat and deafening noise, because there was no other choice.

Jake slammed his back against a wall, breathing ragged. He didn’t know how much longer this fight would last. Minutes? Hours? Days?

But if he made it out—when he made it out, it would be for you.

...

The roar of battle had dulled into something distant, muted like an old radio, static and fading. Jake’s ears still rang. His fingers twitched occasionally, even though the fighting had stopped.

He sat on a cot in the field medic station, shirt torn at the shoulder and caked with dried blood, his own, mostly. A long graze cut across his ribs, stitched quickly and sloppily by a medic whose hands had seen too much today. His knee was bandaged too, sprained from diving into cover. Nothing fatal. Nothing serious. Not like the others.

The cot across from him was empty now.

Will had been taken away an hour ago, still breathing, thank God, but barely conscious. Some of the others hadn’t been so lucky. Names Jake had memorized in the span of weeks were now reduced to still forms wrapped in canvas and zipped up.

He pressed a hand over your new letter that came in this morning, soft and worn from rereading. He didn’t need to open it again. Every word was already burned into his memory:

Jake,

The leaves are starting to fall. Not in bursts, just a few here and there, orange and gold drifting past the window like they forgot where they were going. I think you'd like it today. The air's got that crisp edge you used to say made everything feel cleaner.

I went by the lake yesterday. Sat on the old dock with my feet dangling above the water like we used to. It was quiet. Still. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine your hand in mine. I remembered the way you used to rub circles into my palm with your thumb, like you were tracing something only you could see.

I talk to your mom sometimes. She makes me tea and tells me stories about you when you were little, like how you used to sleep with your shoes on in case someone called you to play. I laughed until I cried. Mostly cried, if I’m being honest.

The nights are the hardest. The world gets too quiet and my thoughts get too loud. I fall asleep with your letters next to my pillow. Sometimes I dream about you, sometimes I don’t. The nights I don’t feel the loneliest.

I miss the way you used to look at me like I was the whole sky. When there was no war, no distance, just you and me and everything we hadn't done yet.

I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re warm. I hope you’re still you. 

You promised me you’d come back. Don’t make me wait too long.

I love you.

—Y/n

Jake closed his eyes and swallowed hard. That lump had returned to his throat again, stubborn and heavy. He reached for the pencil beside his cot, pulling a new sheet of paper from the medic’s table nearby. The tent buzzed with low voices, moans of pain, the shuffle of boots. But all Jake heard was you.

And so, he wrote.

Y/n,

I made it through another one. Barely. We lost a lot of good men today. Faces I used to eat beside, laugh with, sleep next to. But I’m still breathing, and I think that counts for something. A bullet skimmed my ribs and twisted my knee up, but I’ll heal. I’m one of the lucky ones.

They’re transferring me tomorrow. Another station. New faces, new dirt, new nightmares. But I’ll go. Because I have to.

You’d laugh if you saw the food they tried to give us here. It’s worse than anything I ever made you try back home. I miss your cooking. I’d kill for your burnt toast. I miss you, Y/n. More than I know how to say without sounding broken.

You keep me whole. Every word you write, every memory I’ve tucked into the folds of my mind, it keeps me fighting. Don’t stop writing. Please. And don’t stop waiting. 

Love you more.

—Jake

He folded the letter, pressed it gently against his lips before sealing it.

Then, leaning back on the cot, with the noise of the wounded swirling around him and the weight of war pressing down on his chest, Jake let himself close his eyes.

For a moment, he let himself dream of home. Of you

-

The rain came down hard that night, pounding on the tin rooftops of the barracks like it had a bone to pick. Jake sat on his cot, half wrapped in his blanket, boots still on, staring at the wall. Seven weeks. Seven full weeks and no letter.

He rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tight. Maybe the post just hadn’t come. Maybe the storm held things up. Maybe you were just busy, but he didn’t want to believe that. He couldn’t. He had written you three times since the last reply. Poured his heart into every word. Told you about the move, the injury that barely missed his ribs, the kid he helped drag out of a crater. And still… nothing back.

He didn’t know that somewhere, hundreds of miles away, your letter had arrived. That it had sat, neatly sealed, your name scrawled in the corner in a worn canvas mailbag.

He didn’t know that Corporal Henry, the quiet post officer with a crooked smile and a lisp, had volunteered to take the night route through the woods when the roads were blocked. He always made sure the mail got through, rain or shine, even if it meant sleeping in the jeep or sneaking past checkpoints. He took pride in it. Called himself "Cupid in combat boots."

Jake didn’t know that the truck never made it. That the convoy got hit on a narrow bend three miles from the base. That Henry was gone. Just gone. And with him, every envelope meant to tether a soldier back to the world that still held warmth and softness.

And Jake didn’t know that your letter, your four pages, your lipstick kiss, your hopeful heart, was buried in mud and soot somewhere in a shattered mail sack, never to reach him.

He sat there, jaw clenched, turning a pencil between his fingers.

"Still nothing?" John asked from the bunk across, a new recruit like Jake, still adjusting to the rhythm of camp life.

“Haven’t heard back in weeks,” Jake said softly. “Feels like I’m writing to a ghost.”

John was quiet for a moment. Then: “I know the feeling.”

Jake glanced at him.

“Lost touch with my sister,” he added. “Mail’s been messed up since we got here. Whole platoon’s grumbling.”

Jake’s fingers tightened around the paper. “She’s all I think about. I don’t even recognize myself anymore without her.”

“You’re not alone, Jake,” he said, voice low. “None of us are.”

It helped. A little.

But he still couldn’t help but wonder if you’d given up on him.

The knot in his chest hadn’t untied in weeks. He kept a stack of letters by his bed, corners curled from being opened and reread until the words blurred. Not one of them were new.

Another month passed.

Another month of checking the mail line every morning, his breath catching when the officer called names that weren’t his. Another month of carrying a letter opener in his pocket like a good luck charm, like maybe it’d finally be needed.

But it never was.

Jake had written to you endlessly. At first, he told you everything, what the food was like, the training drills, the way the other boys bickered over card games and who had the best aim. He wrote about John, how they’d become fast friends, how they’d both miss home. He even told you about the way the sunsets looked on the horizon here, hazy and red, bleeding into the sky like fire and smoke.

But now?

Now the letters were different. Shorter. Uneven. Scratched out and rewritten, sometimes crumpled and rewritten again.

They stopped talking about the world around him and started focusing on only one thing.

"Why haven’t I heard from you?"

"Please, Y/n, please write back."

"Did something happen? Did I say something wrong?"

"I’m losing my mind without you."

"I can’t do this if I don’t know you’re still there."

He stared at his latest letter, fingers trembling slightly as he folded it with aching care, the way you used to fold your notes back in school. He kissed the edge of the envelope, just in case. Just in case it reached you. Just in case you still remembered him.

The panic gnawed at his insides now, eating away what little calm he’d scraped together in the past few months. His bunk didn’t feel like a place to sleep anymore. It felt like a cage. Nights bled into mornings without rest. The air felt thinner.

He checked every face that came through camp, just in case they carried news. He began to feel like a ghost among the living, drifting, waiting, hoping. Hoping for ink. Hoping for your handwriting. Hoping for anything that meant you hadn’t vanished from his world without a word.

Jake still kept your photo in his pocket. Still kissed the lipstick print you’d left on your last letter. But the memory of your voice had started to fade. He hated himself for that.

And still, he wrote. And begged. And waited.

And waited.

-

It’s been three months, maybe four, and not a single letter. You still check the mailbox every day, hoping to see his handwriting, that familiar scrawl that would make your heart race. But every time, it’s the same: bills, junk mail, nothing from Jake.

And with every empty envelope, the silence grows heavier.

You can still hear his voice in the back of your mind, though it’s fading. The sound of his laugh, the way he’d say your name like it was something special. The way his eyes lit up when he smiled at you. All those little things are slipping away, no matter how hard you try to hold onto them.

You tried calling his parents, hoping they’d know something. But there was no answer. You left a message, but no one called back. It’s as if he’s just vanished, leaving you with nothing but uncertainty.

Everything feels off now. The world looks the same, but it’s different. The colors are duller, and the quiet seems louder. The diner still smells the same, coffee and greasy fryers, but it doesn’t taste right anymore. You can’t even remember the last time you laughed, the last time it felt real. It’s like the joy you used to find in the small things has been drained, and you’re left grasping at something that’s no longer there.

You still wear his jacket sometimes. It’s too big for you now, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands, the collar too high, but it still smells like him. When you pull it on, it’s the closest thing you can get to a hug from him. A reminder of what was. A piece of him you can still hold onto, even if it’s just fabric.

Every day, you keep writing. Hoping that somehow, someway, your letters are getting to him. You write about your days, about the small things you miss. You write about how everything feels so empty without him. But as the days go on, your letters change. They go from hopeful, to desperate.

"Please, Jake. Where are you?"

"I miss you. I miss your laugh, your voice, the way you always knew what to say."

"Just write me back. Please. Tell me you’re okay. I need to know you’re okay."

"I can’t do this without you. Don’t leave me hanging."

You don’t know where he is, don’t know what’s happening to him. And with every unanswered letter, that fear in your chest grows. You just couldn’t shake the fear that maybe… maybe something had happened. Maybe the war had taken him, too.

You look at the last letter you sent. You set it down carefully, as if it might somehow feel your pain if you handle it too roughly. Your fingers shake, and you can’t stop them. You press your palm against the paper, as if holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll read it and write back.

But it’s been weeks. It’s been months. And you wonder: will you ever hear from him again?

You stand by the window, staring out at the stars. They’re the same as they’ve always been, yet tonight, they feel farther away, as if they, too, are lost in the emptiness that fills your life without him.

-

One year.

It had been an entire year since you last heard from Jake. One year of silence. One year of waiting, hoping, begging the world to give him back. And now, everyone in town had started to look at you with that same tired sympathy, soft eyes, tilted heads, gentle voices like you were some fragile thing they were all waiting to see crack.

They didn’t say it outright. Not all of them. But it was in their voices, in their words, in the way they talked about him like he was a ghost.

“He was a good boy,” they’d say, past tense like a dagger.

“He loved you so much.”

“You were lucky to have him.”

And the worst one: “You’re so strong.”

Strong. As if pretending you weren’t still breaking every single day was strength. As if smiling when someone brought up his name wasn’t a full body effort. As if going through the motions, pretending to exist without him, counted as bravery.

They didn’t get it. None of them did.

Because Jake wasn’t dead.                                                                                                            He wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

You would know. You’d feel it. There’d be a shift in the universe, a hollow space inside you that would open up and never close again. But it wasn’t like that. Not yet. There was still something inside you that swore he was out there, somewhere, still breathing. Maybe writing you a letter right now. Maybe just lost. But not gone. Not really.

School was harder now. You sat in math class, staring blankly at the board, your pencil still. Jake used to help you with this stuff. He was great at it. You remembered your messy notebooks and him making stupid jokes about x being too dramatic for always needing to be found.

And then there were the art projects. He hated them. “I can’t draw a straight line, Y/n,” he’d groan, handing you his supplies with those puppy eyes. “Please, you’re the artistic genius here. Help me, and I’ll owe you my soul.”

You always caved.

You missed those days. The simplicity. The noise of his laugh in the hallway. The way he used to tap his pencil when he was thinking. The way he’d scribble your name in the margins of his notebook when he thought you weren’t looking.

You walked home slower now. You talked less. You smiled like it was a chore.

But every night, you still wrote letters. You didn’t care how foolish it made you seem. You wrote as if he’d answer. You folded them and tucked them into the little wooden box by your window. If he came back, they’d be waiting.

He promised he’d come back. You were still waiting.

-

Jake hadn’t gotten a letter in nearly a year.

At first, he made excuses. Maybe the mail was slow. Maybe the war effort was rerouting things. Maybe… maybe you were just busy. Life didn’t stop back home. He knew that. But as the weeks turned to months, the silence grew louder than the gunfire.

He stopped checking the post with that same flicker of hope. Now he barely looked. John still asked sometimes—“Maybe today?”—but Jake only shook his head, teeth clenched like that would keep the ache down. He didn’t have it in him to keep pretending anymore.

You were probably gone. Moved on. Found someone else. Someone safe. Someone who didn’t write from battlefields soaked in blood and slept on dirt floors next to dying boys.

He didn’t blame you. He couldn’t. You deserved warmth. You deserved flowers and steady hands, not shaking ones that still smelled like gunpowder.

But even now, despite the silence, the ache, the anger, Jake still thought about you. Constantly. He’d stare at the sky during night shifts, eyes tracking stars like they might carry your name. He’d trace the folded crease of your photo until the paper started to wear thin. And when he was crouched low in a trench, bullets screaming overhead and friends crying out beside him, the only thing that ever kept his heart from crumbling was you.

You. Always you.

You were his only calm. The only part of him not swallowed by this nightmare.

And at night, when the cold was too deep and his body trembled from something more than weather, his mind slipped. He’d dream of you, soft skin, warm breath, the way you’d press your nose against his cheek when you hugged him tight.

He’d bite his lip, trying to contain his whimpers as he stroked himself sloppily, wondering if that’s how you would probably do it. He’d whine quietly as he would speed up, dreaming of your body, and what laid in between your legs, wanting so badly to get just one look at it.

Sometimes he’d wake up breathless, heart racing, his body burning with want. It wasn’t just lust. It was desperation. The need to feel human again. To feel close to you, even if it was only in his head.

But when it happened, when he would finally finish and come back to himself, skin damp, breath shaky, he’d bury his face in his hands and curse. Not out loud. Just quiet, ashamed. Because he felt guilty for wanting that kind of closeness with someone who might not even be his anymore.

Still, the memory of your touch haunted him. And in the middle of war, that haunting was the only thing keeping him alive.

Even if you never wrote back, even if he never saw your face again... You were his world.

-

Jake had never really considered the fact that, after he got drafted, the war might actually end. Back then, it felt like being pulled into a storm you didn’t come back from. He didn’t think that far ahead, none of them did. There was no point in imagining a future when every day could be your last. You lived in minutes, in footsteps, in the space between orders.

But now, after more than two years of blood, dirt, and death… it was finally coming to an end.

The winds, though still sharp with the bite of lingering winter, carried with them a sense of possibility. Hope. The faint scent of spring began to trickle through the icy silence, whispering that the end was within reach. But with that hope came an overwhelming sense of dread. Because the cost of victory, the price of it, was something none of them were ready to face.

Jake stood at the edge of the makeshift trench, his eyes scanning the foggy horizon. His heart hammered in his chest, and the familiar weight of his rifle felt like both a lifeline and a burden. He was scared, more scared than he'd ever been, but not of dying. No. What scared him was the thought of not getting to say goodbye. Of not getting to feel your touch again, to hear your voice, to know that he'd fought this battle and come home for you.

"You okay, man?" John’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He’d become a brother to Jake over the past months, and his calm presence always seemed to ground him.

Jake didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just nodded, offering him a tight smile. "Yeah. Just thinking."

John didn’t push him. Instead, he leaned against the sandbag, rifle in hand, eyes narrowing as he peered out into the distance. "This is it, huh?" he said softly. "The last push."

Jake’s throat tightened, but he didn’t trust his voice to say anything. So, he simply nodded again. The battle, the war, it all came down to this moment. If they won, if they made it through today, they could finally go home. But there were no guarantees. No promises. Only the brutal, unforgiving reality of war.

The sounds of the camp had shifted. Men were preparing, tightening gear, checking weapons, exchanging quiet words of encouragement. The silence that hung between the chaos was thick with anticipation. Every soldier knew this could be the end. But there were also the soldiers who knew, deep down, that this might not be the last battle they fought.

"We go out there, we give it everything," John said, clapping Jake on the shoulder. "We make sure we win. For everyone back home."

Jake swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep within him. For everyone back home. For you. He wasn’t going to die here. He couldn’t.

The sound of a whistle broke the tense silence. It was time.

The soldiers rushed into position, the rhythmic thud of boots on the frozen earth shaking the ground beneath them. The officers shouted commands, their voices lost in the chaos of the battlefield. Jake’s heart pounded in his ears as he joined the line, rifle raised and ready.

And then it was upon them. The deafening roar of gunfire, the cries of soldiers, the flash of explosions lighting up the sky. Jake felt the ground tremble as the battle unfolded before him, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes were fixed on the mission. On the goal. The only thing that mattered now was victory.

He pushed through the smoke and chaos, John by his side. They didn’t need to speak. They didn’t need to look at each other. Their movements were instinctive, trained to perfection. Enemy soldiers fell, and each shot, each pull of the trigger, brought them one step closer to home. To you.

But the battle wasn’t over yet. It raged on, wave after wave of relentless fire. The world around him was a blur of gunfire and screams. He kept his head down, focused, but every so often his mind would flash back to you, the way your laugh echoed in his ears, the warmth of your touch. Those thoughts, those memories, were the fuel he needed. The reason he kept going.

"Jake!" John’s voice cut through the noise, and Jake turned just in time to see his friend take a bullet to the shoulder, falling back with a grunt of pain. "John!" Jake shouted, diving to his side to help him up.

"I'm good," he grunted, waving him off, though his face was pale. "Keep going! We’re almost there!"

But Jake hesitated. He wanted to stay with him, to make sure he was okay. But the moment was fleeting, and he knew John wouldn’t want him to stop.

"Stay alive!" Jake shouted over the noise, his voice thick with urgency.

John just flashed him a tight, pained smile before pushing Jake away, urging him forward.

And Jake did just that. He pushed forward through the haze of gunfire, through the cries of the fallen. His rifle was steady in his hands, each shot bringing them closer to victory.

The final push came in a surge of adrenaline. The enemy forces were faltering, their resistance crumbling under the weight of the assault. And then, with one last explosion that seemed to shake the very earth beneath their feet, the battle was over.

Silence fell over the battlefield. Not the peaceful silence of peace, but the heavy silence of finality. The victory. The end. It was done.

Jake collapsed to his knees, chest heaving, his hands slick with sweat and dirt. His whole body trembled, not from fear, not anymore, but from the release of everything he’d held inside for so long. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind only exhaustion and disbelief.

Was it real? Was it really over?

He looked around the field, what was left of it, and for a long, suspended moment, it didn’t feel possible. He half expected another wave, another bomb, another gunshot to crack through the air. But it didn’t come.

It was over.

The war, the blood, the terror, the nights spent writing to you under dim flashlight with shaking hands, it was all finally behind him. He could barely comprehend it. The idea that he might never have to kill again. That he might actually get on a boat, or a plane, or just something that didn’t smell like death and sweat, and head back across the ocean… back to you.

Home.

The word hit him harder than any bullet ever could.

He could go home.

Not tomorrow, maybe not next week—but someday soon. That promise, once just a desperate fantasy scribbled on the back of your letters, was now something real. Tangible.

All he could think about was seeing you again. Holding you. Hearing your voice. Burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting it all go.

But then— The realization hit.

Hard.

Would you even want to see him?

It had been years. Years since he last touched your hand, years since he looked into your eyes without a uniform between you. The letters stopped coming a long time ago, and even though he kept writing, every chance he got, every spare moment he never knew if you read them.  

What if you had someone else now? Someone who made you laugh, who wasn’t broken and angry and hardened by war?        Someone who wasn’t him?

Jake swallowed hard, the raw edge of doubt carving into the hope he’d just let himself feel.

Maybe you changed. Or worse, maybe you hadn’t. Maybe you were still the same beautiful, kind, soft hearted girl who loved him once, and he was the one who had changed beyond recognition.

What if you didn’t like the way he changed? What if you looked at him and saw only a stranger with too much weight in his eyes and too many ghosts in his chest?

What if everything he’d held onto through the war… had already let go of him?

The thought choked him.

For a long time, Jake just stood there, staring at the blood-soaked ground, his fists clenched, not from anger, but from fear.

Because after surviving hell, he wasn’t sure he could survive your silence.

"Jake!"

John’s voice pulled him out of the storm in his head, and Jake turned, barely registering the pain in his legs as he forced himself upright. John was limping toward him, bloodied but alive.

"We did it, man."

Jake could only nod. His throat was too tight to speak, his chest too full of everything. Of relief. Of ache. Of hope.

John stepped closer, his voice softer now. “We won.” He swallowed hard, glancing up at the hazy sky like he couldn’t believe it either. “We’re going home.”

Jake let the words sink in. Let them echo through the emptiness inside him that war had carved out.

We’re going home.

And for the first time in what felt like years, Jake let himself believe it.

-

The air felt different now.

It wasn’t just the weather, though spring had finally started to bleed its way into the cold, frostbitten mornings. It was something deeper. Something no one wanted to say too loud in case it jinxed it.

The war was ending.

Not tomorrow. Not next week. But soon.

There were whispers everywhere, officers in tents with folded maps, mess hall rumors passed between bites of canned beans, and wide eyed new recruits who looked like they might not have to die here after all. Even the veterans who'd long since given up on hope were starting to carry themselves a little lighter. Like they could finally feel the end crawling over the horizon.

Jake felt it, too.

And for the first time in a long while, he let himself imagine the other side of this, what it would be like to come home. What it would be like to walk streets that didn’t smell like gunpowder and ash. What it would be like to sleep in a bed that didn’t creak every time you flinched awake from a dream.

Jake sat against a sandbag wall, helmet in his lap, dirt caked beneath his fingernails and across the scar that still ran along his ribs. His uniform hung loose on him now, too many pounds lost in the months of fighting, but he was still here. Breathing. Standing. Somehow.

The sky was pale, washed out in the way early mornings always were. And for once, it wasn’t filled with smoke. 

John sat beside him, resting his chin on his knee. He looked tired, bone deep tired, but he was smiling for the first time in a long time.

“They say we’ll be heading out by the end of next month,” he said, nudging Jake lightly with his boot. “Home. Can you believe it?”

Home.

Jake tried to picture it. His street. His porch. The schoolyard. You.

The thought almost knocked the air out of him.

“Yeah,” Jake muttered, voice low, guarded. “Feels... unreal.”

“Hell, I don’t even know what I’m gonna do first,” John said. “Sleep in a real bed. See my mom. Eat bread that doesn’t taste like cardboard.” He glanced at Jake, eyes flickering with something more knowing. “You?”

Jake swallowed hard. His eyes drifted to the folded photo tucked deep into his breast pocket. “I don’t know,” Jake lied. “I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

But he knew. He always knew.

He wanted to see you.

Even if you didn’t want to see him. Even if someone else had taken his place. Even if you'd moved on.

He still had to find you. Just to know. Just to see you one last time.

He didn’t know if you’d still be there when he returned. He didn’t know if you’d moved on, if you’d given up on him, if he even had a place in your world anymore. But that didn’t stop the dream.

Every time he saw a boat in the harbor, he pictured you on the other side of the ocean.

Every time he stared up at the stars, he wondered if you were under them too, thinking of him.

Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined what it would feel like to see your face again.

The guys joked around him, laughing louder now, talking about the suits they’d wear, the trains they’d ride. 

But Jake sat quiet, staring at the horizon. Because the war might’ve been ending, but something inside him still wasn’t sure what was waiting on the other side.

And yet, even through the doubt, there was a flicker of something fragile in his chest.

Hope.

-

The whole town buzzed like a shaken soda bottle, tight with anticipation, about to fizz over.

“Did you hear? They’re bringing the boys back this Friday, down by the docks.”

“They say the war’s really over now. Can you believe it? After all this time?”

Two years. Two entire years since Jake was drafted. Since you kissed him goodbye under a sky too blue for what it was carrying. Since he tucked your photo into his chest pocket and promised—promised—he’d come back to you.

The bunting had started going up, red, white, and blue strung across shop windows and porch railings like hope could be hung and measured. Women were dusting off their nicest dresses, young girls rehearsing their smiles, pretending they weren’t afraid of what they might see, or not see, on that dock.

People were planning barbecues, gathering in groups to make banners. The post office put up a sign that said Welcome Home, Heroes! in sloppy, heartfelt paint. The bakery was giving away free pies to returning soldiers.

And through it all, people kept asking you.

“Are you going to the boats, sweetheart?”

“Bet you’re counting the hours.”

“How are you holding up, honey?”

The questions scraped against your ribs. Because what were you supposed to say? That you hadn’t heard from him in years? That letters stopped coming with no explanation, like he just vanished into the fog of war? That even his family had no answers, and the military said nothing except vague words like “transfer” and “radio silence”?

No. You didn’t say any of that.

And now the war was ending. The boys were coming home. But no one could tell you if Jake would be among them.

So you stood on your porch the night before the boats arrived, wind pressing against your dress, and wondered…

Will you be on that dock, Jake? Will I see your face in the crowd, or just another empty space where you should’ve been?

You wanted to believe.

God, you needed to believe.

Because the thought of seeing him again, of running into his arms, of hearing his voice, of brushing your fingers over his jaw to make sure he was real, was the only thing keeping your heart beating steady.

And if he wasn’t there?

You didn’t have an answer for that.

...

You didn’t sleep the night before the boats came.

Not a second.

You laid in bed with the moonlight spilling through your curtains, the covers bunched at your feet and Jake’s letters spread around you like pages of a sacred book. You read them one by one, some so worn the ink had begun to fade, others smudged from tears both old and new. His handwriting, the loops of his y’s, the smudge of a fingerprint near one of the margins, felt like pieces of him you could still touch.

Every word felt like a heartbeat.

Every “I miss you” like an ache in your ribs.

When the first rays of dawn lit the sky, you were already dressed, hair pinned back, Jake’s jacket pulled over your shoulders like armor. His mom met you at the door, eyes rimmed red, hands shaking. She didn’t have to say anything. Neither of you did. 

Your parents were waiting just outside, your father pacing, your mother clutching a thermos of coffee she hadn’t taken a single sip of. The moment they saw you, your mother reached out and squeezed your hand, her eyes mirroring your own blend of hope and fear. You all walked together, a quiet, aching unit.

The walk to the docks was the longest one of your life.

When you got there, it was chaos, but the good kind. Families pressed together behind the roped off edges of the harbor, voices trembling with anticipation. Mothers clutching photographs to their chests. Little kids sitting on their fathers’ shoulders with tiny flags in their hands. The scent of saltwater and smoke and something sweet from the nearby bakery wrapped around the crowd.

And then the horns blew.

The ship appeared, slow and massive, metal groaning against the dock as it settled. The ramp lowered.

And the soldiers began to disembark.

You couldn’t breathe.

All around you, people were screaming names, sobbing with joy. Girls in bright dresses threw themselves into the arms of boys in uniform. Families collapsed together, laughter and tears indistinguishable. You watched a woman faint when her husband kissed her on the forehead, another boy swept his mother off her feet like a kid again.

But you stood frozen.

Scanning. Searching.

Your fingers gripped Jake’s mom’s arm so tightly she winced, but she didn’t tell you to stop. Her eyes were darting too. Desperate. Silent.

You searched for a sign, for the shape of his shoulders, the swing of his walk. He had to be here. He had to be.

Minutes passed like lifetimes.

And then...

Your eyes landed on him.

Across the dock, just past the others. Shoulders hunched, dirt still in the seams of his collar. A duffle bag hung loosely from his hand. His hair was longer, his jaw darker, his frame even leaner. But it was him. You knew him like you knew your own breath.

He looked up.

And everything else disappeared.

The bag slipped from his fingers with a soft thud. His eyes widened, mouth parting like he wasn’t sure if you were real, if this moment was real. And then he said your name. Barely above a whisper. Like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Y/n…?”

But he didn’t get the rest out.

Because your feet were already moving.

You ran. So fast you barely registered the wind catching your dress, the people you pushed past, the gasps of strangers as you flew through the crowd. You ran like you had something to prove to time itself.

By the time you reached him, tears were streaming down your face. You didn’t slow down. You didn’t say anything.

You just kissed him.

Hard. Desperately. Like he was air after drowning, like he was a fire in the middle of winter. His hands found your waist, your back, your hair, like he couldn’t touch enough of you fast enough. He kissed you back with everything he had left, lips trembling, breath catching, heart beating so wildly you could feel it against your chest.

You clung to him like you’d never let go, fingers twisting in the collar of his uniform, knuckles white. The world around you could’ve collapsed, and you wouldn’t have noticed. All that existed was the warmth of his mouth, the way he whispered your name between kisses like a prayer, like a vow. His nose brushed yours, cheeks damp with tears, and he pulled you even closer, burying his face into the crook of your neck for just a second, just to breathe you in.

“God,” he rasped, voice breaking. “You’re real. You’re actually here.”

You nodded, kissing the edge of his jaw, his temple, anywhere you could reach. “I thought I lost you,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his. “I thought you were—”

“I’m here,” he breathed. “I’m here. I’m here.”

And just like that, the world tilted back into place.

His parents came rushing in not long after, tears spilling freely as they engulfed him in hugs and kisses. His mother clutched his face, kissed his cheeks a dozen times, smoothed down his hair like she was trying to memorize him all over again. His father gripped his shoulder, strong and silent at first, until he wasn’t. Until the hug broke and the tears came.

You stood just behind them, still breathless, still stunned, your heart thudding in your chest like it hadn’t quite accepted reality yet. He was here. He was real.

But as you looked at him, really looked, you noticed the differences. He was still Jake, of course, but there was something in his eyes now that hadn't been there before. He was older, naturally. More built, solid from training and hardship. His posture was straighter, more controlled. His skin looked rougher, kissed by sun and wind and soot. There was stubble on his jaw, and a sharpness in his gaze. He didn’t wear that wide, innocent Jake smile you remembered so clearly. The boy you knew had grown into a man.

A man who had been through hell, and survived.

And something about that made your stomach twist. In awe. In sorrow. In love. You didn’t even realize you were staring until his mom leaned in close and whispered, “You deserve tonight with him. For never losing hope.” His father gave a soft nod to your parents, the unspoken blessing passing between them.

...

That night, you laid curled up in his bed, the same bed you used to sneak into just to talk or kiss under the covers when no one was looking. The sheets smelled like home. The soft ticking of the clock on his dresser, the faded poster on his wall, the books still stacked in the corner, everything was the same, and yet it wasn’t. You weren’t teenagers anymore. This wasn’t just another sleepover after a dance.

Your thoughts tumbled, unruly and loud. You thought about the way he’d kissed you like his life depended on it. The way his hands trembled. The silence in his eyes. You thought about the years you’d spent not knowing, the ache of unanswered letters, the fear. And now, he was just down the hall, finally safe.

You heard the bathroom door creak open.

He walked into the room, towel slung over his shoulders, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. He wore only sweatpants, no shirt, and your breath caught.

“So nice to have some hot water,” he said casually, like this was any normal night.

Jake slipped under the covers beside you, his body warm from the shower, his scent clean but still familiar, still him. You shifted closer without thinking, your hands instinctively finding his chest, your head resting against his shoulder.

Jake shifted under you, his hands trembling as he ran them over your back, his fingertips digging into the soft fabric of your clothes, pulling you closer, closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of your presence. His lips didn’t leave yours for even a second, and every kiss was another piece of the world falling back into place. His mouth tasted like salt and the remnants of the battle, but it was still home. 

You pulled back slightly, breathless, your hands now running over the planes of his chest. Your fingers ghosted over the hard muscles beneath his skin, and you noticed the scars. They were there, small, faded marks from the battles he’d faced, the battles he’d fought for this moment. For you.

“You’re here,” you whispered, voice shaky, as if it was a dream you were scared of waking from. Your eyes trailed down his body, noticing how much had changed. His body was different, broader, stronger, his abs more defined, his skin rougher. The carefree, innocent boy you once knew was no more. He was a man now, hardened by experiences neither of you could have predicted. And even though that realization left a bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t deny the way it made your heart race.

“Jake…” You murmured his name like a prayer, as you pressed your lips to the small scar near his ribs. Your hands roamed back up his body, to the firm muscles of his shoulders, to the spots you knew by heart.

His hands gripped you tighter, his breath unsteady. “What are you doing?” he asked, voice low and thick with emotion.

“Just remembering you,” you said softly, your lips trailing over his skin, kissing the hard edges of the man he had become. “Just remembering what I’ve been waiting for.”

You heard his breath hitch, and the next thing you knew, Jake had flipped you gently onto your back, his weight pressing down on you but not suffocating. He kissed you again, this time slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to make up for the months lost to silence. His hands slid under your shirt, dragging it over your head, his touch sending electric sparks across your skin.

But then, in the midst of the heat between you, he paused. His lips hovered over yours, his forehead pressing against yours, the rawness of his vulnerability hanging between you.

In the stillness, he asked, “So… why didn’t you ever write me back?” The weight of his question lingered in the air, a quiet plea that somehow felt more fragile than any explosion or battle wound.

You blinked. Slowly sat up. “What?”

Jake swallowed hard, his grip on your shoulders tightening. His voice cracked when he spoke next, raw and thick with emotion. “I wrote. I wrote so many letters. Every week. Every damn week. I sent them all to you, and nothing came back.” His eyes filled with tears, but this time, he didn’t try to hide them. “I thought you gave up on me. That you had moved on.”

Your heart shattered all over again, the pieces splintering, but this time, you had him in your arms. You had him back. And that was all that mattered. You cupped his face in your hands, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “Jake... no. You were the one I never gave up on. I wrote you. I never stopped. I thought I was the one who was forgotten.”

The confusion hit both of you at the same time, like a silent shockwave.

Jake’s expression slowly shifted, realization dawning behind his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “No, it wasn’t you.” He sat up, breath picking up. “I remember, some of the guys were saying the same thing. How their letters stopped coming. How they thought their families gave up. But they didn’t. Something must’ve happened. Something went wrong.”

Jake’s chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, and then, finally, he let the tears fall. He let himself break down, his body shaking as he held onto you, as if you were his anchor in the storm that had raged inside him for so long. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought you... I thought you hated me.”

You shook your head, pressing your forehead to his. “No. I could never hate you. I would’ve waited for you. A thousand years if I had to.” You paused, the weight of your words sinking in. “I love you, Jake. I never stopped.”

He kissed you then, a desperate kiss that spoke of everything that had been lost, everything that had been fought for. His lips were gentle at first, exploring, tasting, but then, it deepened. His body pressed into yours, his hands wandering over you like he couldn’t remember the last time he touched you, as if you were the lifeline he’d been grasping for in the dark. His tongue traced the edge of your lips, coaxing you into a deeper kiss.

You couldn’t help but moan softly, your hands tangling in his damp hair. The feel of him was overwhelming, grounding you, reminding you that the battle had been worth it, that he was worth it.

But then he pulled back just enough to catch his breath. His voice was hoarse, laden with emotion as he asked, “So, what now?”

You smiled softly, hands running over his broad shoulders, across his chest, feeling the weight of all that he had endured. “I may have an idea.” 

His breath caught as your hands slowly descended from his broad shoulders, grazing down the taut lines of his body until they hovered just above the waistband of his pants. Jake's gaze followed your every movement, his chest rising with a quick, sharp inhale. 

You let your hands hover just above his crotch area, your fingers barely brushing against his pants before you gripped him firmly, a low groan escaping Jake's lips. You flipped him over, straddling him, positioning yourself firmly on top. He watched you in awe as you slowly descended, moving lower and lower down his body. His teeth gripped his bottom lip as you slowly tugged at the hem of his pants. 

Jake's voice was hesitant, his brows furrowed. "Y/n, you don't have to," he said softly.

But you shook your head, kissing his v line. "No, I want to," you whispered, your eyes full of reassurance. "Let me do this for you."

You eased his pants down just enough for the slit in his underwear to be exposed. Fuck, he was hard now. You could see it and your mouth watered at the sight in front of you. You glanced up for a moment to meet Jake’s eyes. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his lips slightly parted, and his gaze was intense, full of desire.

Then you slid it out.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you took in the sight of him, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his desire palpable and intoxicating. You leaned in, your breath hot on his skin, and you could hear his breath hitch in response. You ran your tongue along the length of him, tasting the saltiness of his skin, feeling him twitch at the contact. You looked up at him again, your eyes meeting his, and you saw the raw, primal need reflected back at you. It sent a jolt of electricity through you, making your own desire burn hotter. You took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, feeling him fill you, tasting the sweetness of his pre cum. 

You could feel him, hard and throbbing, as you began to move, taking him deeper, feeling him hit the back of your throat. You could hear his ragged breaths, feel his hands fisting in your hair, and it spurred you on, making you want to take more of him, to give him more pleasure. You could feel your own desire building, your body aching for him, but you wanted to make this last, to draw out this moment of pure, intense pleasure for as long as possible.

The room filled with the sound of wet, sucking noises as you worked Jake's cock with your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head. You could feel him throbbing, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hands fisting in your hair, guiding you, urging you on. You could feel the tension building in him, his body taut, his breath coming in short gasps. 

You knew he was close, and it made you want to push him over the edge, to feel him come undone in your mouth. But you also wanted to tease him, to draw out this moment of pure, intense pleasure. You slowed your pace, pulling back, running your tongue along the length of him, feeling him twitch and shudder at the contact. You could hear him groan, a sound of frustration and desire, and it made you smile, made you want to continue this dance of give and take, of pushing and pulling, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

You took him deep again, feeling him hit the back of your throat, and you hummed, a sound of pleasure that vibrated through him, making him groan louder. You could feel him getting harder, his breath coming in short gasps. You pulled back again, running your tongue along the sensitive underside of him, feeling him shudder.

Jake's grip on your hair tightened, his body tensing as he tried to hold back. You looked up at him, your eyes locked onto his, and you saw the struggle in his gaze. 'Y/n,' he groaned, a warning in his voice, but you just smiled, a wicked glint in your eye. You wanted to taste him, to feel him let go completely. You took him deep again, your fingers digging into his thighs for support. You could feel him pulsing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was close, so close. You hummed around him, the vibrations pushing him over the edge. 'Fuck!' he cried out, his body convulsing as he came in your mouth. You swallowed every drop, savoring the taste of him, a sense of satisfaction washing over you as you watched him come undone. You licked your lips, a smirk playing on your mouth as you looked up at him.

You stood up, your eyes never leaving Jake's, and slowly began to undress. Jake watched, his eyes darkening with desire, his breath hitching as you unzipped your skirt, letting it pool at your feet, stepping out of it, leaving you in nothing but your lacy underwear. Jake's eyes raked over your body, a low growl escaping his lips. He reached out, his fingers tracing the lace, making you shiver. He hooked his fingers into the sides of your underwear, slowly pulling them down, his knuckles brushing against your skin, sending jolts of electricity through you. You stepped out of them, completely bare before him. 

He reached down, positioning himself at your entrance, looking down at you with a mix of love and lust. “I've missed you so much,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He pushed into you, slowly, gently, filling you completely. You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying out, his parents' room just down the hall a stark reminder of your need for silence. 

Jake moved slowly, his thrusts measured, controlled, his body tensing with the effort to stay quiet. You could feel every inch of him, your body stretching to accommodate him, the pleasure building with each slow thrust. You looked up at him, your eyes locked onto his, and you saw the same struggle reflected back at you. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with your shared desire, the soft sounds of your bodies coming together, the only noise in the room. 

Jake's pace quickened, his hips snapping forward as he struggled to keep quiet, his breath coming out in short, ragged whines. He was losing control, his grip on his restraint slipping, and it was the most exhilarating thing you'd ever seen. 

He leaned down, his mouth finding your breast, his teeth grazing your nipple, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sting. He was muffling his sounds, his moans vibrating against your skin, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. His thrusts became more urgent, more insistent, his body slamming into yours, the bed creaking softly under the force. You could feel the tension building in him, the way his body was coiling, ready to snap. 

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him in deeper, encouraging him, wanting to feel him lose control completely. He growled, a low, guttural sound that sent a shiver down your spine, and you knew he was close once again. He moved faster, his hips a blur, his body slapping against yours, the sound of your wetness filling the room. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he whimpered.

He was fucking you so hard, his body consumed by the need to come, and it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. You could feel your own orgasm building, the pleasure coiling in your belly, ready to explode. You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but a soft moan escaped you as he hit that spot inside you, sending you spiraling over the edge. “Jake!” you cried out, your body convulsing, your nails digging into his back as you came undone. 

He followed soon after, his body tensing, his mouth finding yours, swallowing your cries as he came inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

He collapsed on top of you, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, a testament to the intensity of your shared passion. The room was filled with the sound of ragged breathing, the air thick with the scent of lovemaking, a silent testament to your reunion.

Jake, still trembling from the intensity of his orgasm, slowly pulled out of you, a soft groan escaping his lips. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before rolling off of you, leaving you feeling empty and cold without his warmth. He stood up, his body still glistening with sweat, and you watched as he padded silently to the bathroom, his muscles flexing with each step. The sound of running water filled the room, and you could picture him wetting a few towels, his hands moving efficiently, his mind already planning his next move. 

He returned a few moments later, his eyes soft as he looked down at you, a small smile playing on his lips. He sat down on the bed, his body turned towards you, and he began to clean you gently, his touch soft and reverent. 

He ran the towel over your skin, his fingers following the path of the cloth, tracing the lines of your body, making you shiver. He cleaned himself next, his touch more brusque, more hurried, as if he couldn't wait to be done and back in your arms. Once he was finished, he tossed the towels onto the floor, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, a promise of more to come. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He stood up, pulling the covers over you, tucking you in like a precious treasure. He turned off the lights, casting the room into darkness, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner. He climbed into bed next to you, his body spooning yours, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck, his body warm and solid against yours. You closed your eyes, a sense of contentment washing over you, as you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of Jake's arms, ready to face whatever tomorrow might bring.

-

Life after Jake came back was quieter, but in a way that felt fragile, like the world was holding its breath around him.

You remember the first time you saw him step off that ship, you almost didn’t recognize him. His face was leaner, his eyes older. There was something in the way he carried himself, stiff, guarded, like he wasn’t sure how to be in a place where no one was trying to kill him. But when his gaze found yours across the platform, there was a flicker of the boy you used to know. Just a flicker. Enough.

Some nights were harder than others. He never talked much about what happened, not at first. But when you stayed over, curled up beside him in his bed, he didn’t always sleep. Sometimes he’d jolt awake, his chest heaving, sweat beading along his hairline. You didn’t ask what he saw in those dreams. You didn’t need to.

You just held him.

It was in those moments you realized that no matter how much time passed, Jake would never be the same boy you grew up with. The war had taken pieces of him. From the fight. From the blood. From the friends he lost. There were ghosts in his eyes now, things you could never chase away. But you didn’t try to.

Because slowly, piece by piece, he started to come back.

It was in the way he’d crack a crooked grin when you teased him about the way he still hated tomatoes. In the way his laugh started to sound less forced, more like the one you remembered echoing down the old dirt roads when you were kids. He began to tease you again, poking fun at your terrible card skills, stealing the last piece of pie when you weren’t looking.

And when he smiled—really smiled—you saw it.

The old Jake. The one who once chased you through fields in the summer heat. The one who carried your books home from school. The one who left part of his heart in the letters you kept folded in a box under your bed.

You didn’t love him in spite of what the war had done. You loved him because of it. Because he was still standing. Because beneath the scars and shadows, he was still Jake. Yours.

And it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t easy, but it was enough.

Because sometimes, surviving was the bravest thing of all.