#I don’t even remember how we got here but here we go

[jackrrabbot]

fidus achates

dbf!jack abbot x fem!reader

word count ~12.2k (sorry guys, omg)

content warnings/description: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content, AFAB reader, age gap (jack is early forties and in the military, reader is mid-twenties), dry humping, phone sex, filming, hurt/comfort, single internal thought of jack wanting to knock reader up, camping inaccuracies

author's note: santos and garcia exist in this story even though it's before jack is even a doctor at PTMC. just go with it! enjoy :)

masterlist

you and jack take a short camping trip together without the watchful eyes of your father. this is the catalyst.

“Make sure Jack watches over you. I don’t need you getting eaten by a bear. Sacrifice him, if you—”

Your phone’s speaker crackles and your dad cuts out, but you get the gist of what he’s trying to say.

“Dad.” You chuckle. “We’re going to be fine. Promise. It’s a short trip—we’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon. I really wish you could’ve come along, though.” You pout, even though he can’t see you over the phone.

“I know, honey. But one of our military buddies—you know him, Thomas—really needs a helping hand right now. Someone’s got to be there for him, and both Jack and I can’t be away camping. It’s better that he goes so you can spend some time with him. When is he deploying again?”

“Almost right after we come back, I think within a day or two.”

“Yeah, see—I would’ve asked to reschedule the trip, but he’s going to be gone for another who-knows-how-long. You’ll have to go without me, honey.”

You sigh. “I know. It’s just always been our tradition, you know? But, you’re right, it won’t be so bad. Actually, it—... it’ll be good to spend some alone time with Jack. It’s been a while since we’ve hung out, just the two of us.” A loose thread on the hem of your jean shorts scratches your thigh, and you pick at it, anxious about seeing him again after so long.

“Are you implying I’m the third wheel? He’s my best friend, you know.”

You groan, “Daaad.”

He laughs heartily into the phone, tickled by your reaction. “I’m just yanking your chain. I know you two get along. You’re closer in age than he and I are, anyway.”

“Only barely. He’s still old enough that he could be my father.” A very young one, but still. “You’re just… way older.”

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s rolling his eyes. “Haha, hilarious, honey. But no funny business, alright? Regardless of what you say, I know how you look at him. And it’s not a look that’s appropriate for a daughter to give her dad.”

You gape, affronted by his implication. “W-What are you talking about? Actually… don’t answer that. Jack’s going to be picking me up soon. I’ll talk to you when I get back, okay?” You’ve never wanted to hang up a phone call so fast in your life.

“You better. And remember what I said, alright?”

“Of course. Bye!”

You hang up the phone just as you hear a heavy knock on your apartment door. Leaping from the couch, you rush over to open it, not before taking a deep breath in and out and adjusting your tank top and shorts. 

With an unhooking of the chain and a turn of the knob, you open the door.

Jack stands before you, dressed in an army T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, grinning wide when he sees your face.

He takes in your appearance like a breath of fresh air. It’s been far too long since he last saw you. Life has had her way with him over the past several months after coming back from deployment, and he’s been preoccupied—and unable to make time for you. 

…and your dad.

Now, he’s deploying back overseas in the next two days. This trip—and seeing you again—are the only two things that have been keeping him motivated while he’s been back. Days and days of counting down the clock until he could see you again.

He only wishes he had more time.

“Jack, you’re here,” you whisper, disbelieving he’s right in front of you. He looks… good. Strong. Like he could fold you in half. 

You return his smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a hug. 

When you two part, he squishes your cheeks with a single hand, puckering your lips. “Sure am, kid. Are you ready?” 

Babbling, you nod and respond, “Lemmejusgrabmybackpack.” He finally lets go of your face, and you both laugh.

“Are you sure you didn’t need me to bring anything else?” you ask.

“Just your pretty self.” He snaps his fingers. “And your cooler. We’ll need that. I’ve got ice in the trunk ready.”

“Oh, right. I nearly forgot. Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Jack grabs your wrist, and you turn to face him with a tilt of your head.

“Invite me in, and I’ll carry everything to the car.” He lets go of your wrist and leans over the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What are you, a vampire?” You raise a brow, confused. 

“Well, it must be the reason why I still look so good at my ripe old age,” he jokes, but doesn’t budge. He wants—needs—your consent to let him in. To cross the threshold. 

Because, really, he’s not so sure he’ll be able to behave himself around you on this trip. Letting him in now is future insurance just in case he does something against your father’s wishes. It’s not his fault if you give him permission to. 

He’ll try to be a good soldier, though.

He waits with bated breath, heart skipping a beat when you roll your eyes and quip, “Oh, you’re an arrogant one at that. Figures. Come on in then, bloodsucker. You can bite me as repayment for carrying my things.” You wink, gesturing for him to come inside.

“Don’t tempt me.”

The car ride to Raccoon Creek is only forty-five minutes long, and while you’re normally antsy during drives longer than your own commute to work—which is only a five-minute walk away from your apartment—you feel relaxed with Jack behind the wheel.

You hate driving, but he makes it look easy. His right hand is on the steering wheel, making a smooth turn down the winding road leading to the park, while the other casually hangs out the window.

Jack begrudgingly let you plug in your phone to listen to your playlist the entire way, complaining about the state that modern-day music is in.

Whatever, old man. Good music definitely still exists.

You’re about twenty minutes away from the park and too excited for your own good. Your knees bounce in sync with the music, the water in your bottle sloshing with every movement as it sits between your legs.

Jack sees you shaking out of the corner of his eye. “Calm down, kid. It feels like an earthquake in here.”

“Sorry, I’m just excited. I always loved going camping as a kid. It’s usually a tradition I share with my dad, but… it’ll be fun to share it with you now, too.” You look over at him with a grin.

Jack’s fingers twitch against the wheel. You’re too sweet on him.

“I’m excited too, angel. But let’s keep the shaking to a minimum, okay?” With his eyes still looking forward, Jack takes the water bottle from your lap and places it into the cup holder. Then his rough palm greets your knee and squeezes, grounding you. 

His hand lingers—thumb brushing over the soft, moisturized skin—but then pulls back a beat too late. And you notice. But you don’t do anything. Because your mutual attraction may be all in your head—key word, mutual—and you’re a good girl.

And good girls listen to their dad’s rules. Even if you’re sitting in the car alone with temptation itself.

You fan yourself lightly to stop yourself from overheating and point to the GPS. “We still have a little bit farther to go. I’m gonna take a quick nap. Wake me when we’re there?” You lean toward the open window and take in the cool breeze and the scent of the crisp summer air that passes by.

“Will do. Get some rest.”

You sit in the car, bleary-eyed and yawning, as Jack takes a second to check in at the park kiosk. He could’ve just checked in online but was too confused by the website and too stubborn to do it any other way than the old-fashioned one. 

It’s too late now anyway. You’re already here.

A few minutes later, Jack comes up to your passenger seat window, crossing his corded, veiny forearms over the edge. You almost reach out and squeeze but stop yourself.

“Alright. We’re good to go. You wanna take a second to use the restroom? Get some snacks? The only other thing we’ll be eating today is whatever we catch.”

You shake your head. “I’m good on the bathroom, and I brought snacks. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Alright. It’s a few minutes’ drive to where our reservation is.”

“Which is where, exactly? You never really shared the details.”

“You’ll see.”

You hop out of the truck and see the start of the trail leading up to where a walk-in site should be—at least, based on the dusty, barely standing post sign that reads, Walk-In 300 ft. Ahead.

Huh, guess you’ll be a little more isolated. 

Based on the Raccoon Creek map, the loop you’re in is tucked in the outer grounds of the campsite, far away from prying eyes and from the reminder that you’re not alone with only nature.

You don’t mind. 

It’ll be nice to have a real camping experience. A taste of the rugged outdoors. Typically, your dad books a cabin outfitted with power, a kitchen, nice beds, and a bathroom and calls it camping. Says otherwise, it reminds him too much of his time during the service. 

You peer through the window of the truck, looking at Jack on the other side.

Maybe your dad’s logic applies to him too. Maybe this keeps him in it—even while on home leave. You wonder if his days are spent just waiting until he gets deployed again. 

You’re saddened by the thought. You want to fill this very short trip with as much joy as you possibly can before he leaves again.

Did Jack somehow know this is what you wanted? 

Or… is he just sticking with what he’s more comfortable with? Quiet nights, haunted with thoughts for company, and the allure nature brings—even if there’s danger in every corner. Whether that be… bears or enemy combatants.

Maybe you’re overthinking, and he just wants you alone. You turn from the window and look ahead to the trail, a dry laugh escaping your lips.

Nah.

Jack pulls you back to land as you start to drown in your thoughts. He steps around the front of the truck and in front of you. “We’ll probably need to make two trips back and forth to get everything set up. You okay with that, angel?”

“Yeah.” You nod, adamantly. “What do you want me to carry?”

“Take the sleeping bags for now and carry your backpack with you. I’ll take care of the tents and the cooler.”

“Got it!” you say with a salute and a few measured paces to the trunk of his car. He shakes his head at you, lips quirked up and eyes crinkling. You unlatch the trunk and pull out the stuff. 

“You’re really excited about this, huh?” he asks as he joins you, amused by your playfulness.

“Of course… this is my first time actually camping. Not… glamping, like I always do with my dad. I’m glad he ended up letting you do all the booking this time around.”

“It’s a whole different experience. I hope you’ll like it.”

You make space for him to grab the tents and cooler. “I most definitely will. Why hasn’t Dad invited you to our trips before now? We should make this a thing. We can plan it around your deployments.”

“Already thinking about next time?” Jack raises a brow at you. “Let’s see if we survive the night first. C’mon, let’s get our stuff over there.”

Jack tilts his head to the head of the trail, and you walk toward it while he follows closely behind. 

After the second car trip and a quick clearing of the brush covering the gravel pad, you’re ready to set up your home base. 

“So you’ve never pitched a tent before?” Jack asks.

You look at him with wide eyes and a confused expression before you remember where you are. “Oh, you mean—uh, no. Never.”

He shakes his head and smirks. “Stay focused. It’s only the one tent, so we’ll do it together.”

You’re taken aback at this sudden news. “O–Only one tent? Didn’t you say… tents? With an ‘S’?” His eyes follow your pointer finger as it draws the shape of an “S” in the air.

“Did I? My bad.” He shrugs, but he hopes it plays off more nonchalantly than it feels. “It fits two people. When your dad said he wouldn’t be able to join us, I thought it’d be easier. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, not at all. I just… wasn’t expecting this.”

“I’m pretty used to living in close quarters. Sorry, I just assumed you’d be okay with it. Don’t worry, we’ll still be in our own sleeping bags. It’ll be fine for just one night.” He winks and clicks his tongue in an attempt to calm you. It works, slightly.

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, where do we start?”

“This spot is as good as any. It’s level, and since we cleared everything, nothing should be poking us in our sleep.”

Jack picks up the tarp from the ground. “Next: lay the tarp out. Want to do that while I unfold the tent?” 

You nod as he hands you the tarp, and you toss it out over the gravel. 

Jack unfurls the tent. “Alright, now, take one corner of the tent, and I’ll take the other. Pull it tight and lay it over the tarp.” You take one corner of the tent and walk diagonally from him, following his lead.

“All that’s left to do is assemble the poles, slide them through the sleeves here,” Jack says, bending down and threading his finger through one sleeve and pulling it up, “pin them, and bend them so the tent lifts. After that, I’ll stake it down.”

“Huh, I always thought it was harder to set up a tent. It seems pretty simple, actually.”

“That’s just ‘cause I’m here helping you, kid.”

Jack is just finishing up staking the last corner of the tent when you ask, “So, it’s barely noon. What do you have in mind for the rest of the day?”

“We can do whatever you like. But I was thinking we take a hike down to the lake and catch some fish. How’s that sound?”

“Let’s do it,” you say, picking up your backpack from the dirt and slinging it over your shoulder. “Do we need to put our stuff inside the tent, or can we leave it out?”

Jack smiles up at you. “There’s no one around. We’ll be okay. Let’s go.” He stands, then slings the camp chair bag around his back and holds the cooler and fishing pole in each hand. 

You’re about half a mile into your two-mile hike to the lake when you look back at Jack. He quickly glances up to meet your eyes, glinting with the sunlight and… something else. 

…Was he staring at your ass? 

God, you hope he was. It would make you feel a little less guilty to know he also can’t keep his eyes off you.

“Jack, why are you walking so far behind me? I practically have to yell to make conversation.”

“I want to make sure you’re always in my sight.” 

The logic tracks. Your dad did warn him ahead of time that if anything happened to you, he would kill him. And that’s putting it lightly. But still, he doesn’t have to be so far away from you. 

You stop in your tracks, turn around, and stomp toward him. His lips curl up as he watches you approach, and that just irritates you more. He just loves to get a reaction out of you, doesn’t he? Holding yourself back from chirping at him, you forcefully grab the fishing pole from his hands, and it’s quickly stuffed into your backpack, the red floater bobbing in the air from where the pole sticks out.

You thread your fingers through his now-free hand. 

“There. If you walk right by me, you’ll see me at all times, right?”

Jack glances down at your interlocked fingers and squeezes, just a bit. He most definitely could break your hand if he so chose, but his hold is so light that it tickles across your palm and makes you shiver. You clasp his hand just a bit tighter.

He looks back up at you with the same mischievous look he gave you just moments earlier. “I’ve been walking at your pace, sweetheart. Now, you’ll be the one who needs to keep up.”

For the next ten minutes of your hike, you’re nearly out of breath, only getting a chance to breathe when you stop to point out an interesting bird or some pretty shrubbery.

You turn to Jack, pointing at the brilliant, yellow American Goldfinch with the hand not currently clasped in his, but his eyes are locked on yours. A pout graces your face. 

Is he even paying attention? 

You suppose he’s probably more concerned with making it to the lake—before the sun sets—if you keep up this pace. You lower your hand, looking down, and let go of his with the other.

“Hey, what happened? Come back to me.”

You lift your head back up to him, and he pins you with an intense look. 

“I—I’m probably bugging you, aren’t I? I get it… we can just walk the rest of the way without any interruptions. We’re almost there, right?”

He scoffs, and you think he’s going to make a joke, but then he surprises you when he says, “What, are you kidding? Mother Nature is gorgeous, but you’re the only woman I have my eye on.” He kisses the top of your hand gently, relocks your fingers, and pulls you ahead. “C’mon. Just a little more to go. I’ll try to pay more attention to the birds.” 

Jack only lets your hand go once you reach the lake. 

The water is clear and bright blue, and it dazzles beneath the fiery afternoon sun. You're glad you packed your sunscreen and most obnoxious, gargantuan, floppy sun hat.

You swing your backpack around to your front to pull out the folded-up hat, the fishing pole bumping into your hand as it sits in the way. It feels a bit ridiculous once it’s on your head and you see the size of it as you look down at your shadow, but, whatever.

Jack looks at you, appalled, but otherwise makes no comment. 

Hat on, you both walk in step up to one of the piers that circle the lake. There are a few other visitors, but the piers are far enough apart that it doesn’t matter. It’s an intimate setting and perfect for fishing.

Jack sets down the nylon bag with the camp chair and the cooler on the wooden walkway, while you drop your backpack beside them and take off your hiking shoes and socks, wanting to dip your feet into the water.

You look back at him from the edge of the pier when he’s finally set up the chair and retrieved the fishing pole from your bag.

He meets your eyes and pats the seat. “I only brought one chair. I’ll fish while you sit.” 

You nod, lift your feet from the water, then take a few steps and crash into the chair. The hike wore you out more than you thought it would. You don’t even want to think about how your dad would fare if he were here.

Bending over, you reach for your bag, grabbing the sunscreen. You flip the cap, squirt a healthy amount into your hands, and rub it over your arms, legs, neck, and face. Meanwhile, Jack peels off his shirt and lays it next to him as he sits on the edge of the pier, throwing the line over.

The floater plops into the water, audible thanks to the isolated strip of walkway you’re on. Fishing isn’t really something you ever cared for, but since Jack has a permit, you can live vicariously through him.

“Jack… you need to put on sunscreen. Here.” You stretch your arm out to wave it in his face, but he doesn't take it.

“I’m fishing. Do you mind getting it on my back?”

“W-well, how about the front? You’re facing the sun.”

“If you can reach from behind, you can put it wherever you’d like.”

His voice is so smooth and velvety as he says it, and all you can think is, Jack, you can not be saying things like that.

You get down on wobbly knees and sit directly behind him, squirting some of the sunscreen into your hands and gently lathering it over his back. Your eyes connect the dots of freckles that litter his form, and you’re only more entranced as he rotates his shoulders and neck—as if putting on a show for you—and his muscles ripple beneath your touch. 

As much as you’d like to, you don’t linger too long, and soon you finish applying the cream on his back. Shaky hands apply more on his nape, and you circle them to reach his throat, fingers gliding over his salt-and-pepper-covered jawline. You dot his face, careful to avoid his eyes.

He’s just so pretty and a little too confident about it that it makes your head spin. 

You take in a deep—and hopefully silent—breath. Your hands inch down toward his chest, reaching from over his shoulders while sitting on your knees—your chest pressed tight to his back. 

Jack has to hold in a groan as he feels you nearly grind against him to reach over his shoulders, just so he doesn’t get sunburned. You’re so good to him.

You graze his nipples but move quickly to the surrounding taut pec when he flinches. 

“Getting handsy there, angel? Or should I say, devil?” He tilts his head back to you, giving you a sly wink.

“S-shut up. This is for your own good. You already put your life on the line for work. You don’t need to go belly up from skin cancer, too.”

He hums. “Can’t argue with that.”

You loop your arms through his to smear the cream over what you can’t reach from on top of his shoulders.His abdomen noticeably tenses as you glide your fingers over the sun-kissed skin, and you hold back a smile—happy that your touch can affect him like this.

Your fingers trail down to his navel, and even lower, and Jack has to force himself to stop you.

He gently envelops your wrist and says, through gritted teeth, “I think that’s enough, sweetheart. Thank you. Why don’t you sit back now? It might be a while until something bites.”

You reluctantly pull back and place your palms to his back instead. Pressing your cheek against his shoulder and nodding, you whisper a soft “okay,” as your lips brush against the delicate skin.

He shivers, but you’ve already pulled away. The skin on his forehead wrinkles as he furrows his brows in frustration at the situation. He’s trying, but his control is slipping. Slipped. And now he has to try to find ways to justify each and every time he inevitably gets too close. 

You've been sitting on the chair for the past hour, reading your book, when Jack shouts.

“I think we’ve got something!” Jack quickly stands, wrestling with the supposed creature, then reels in what looks like… a catfish? 

“Oh my God, you got one, Jack!” You stand up in a rush, nearly knocking the chair back into the lake.

He looks smug as he dangles the poor fish in front of you. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

The fish seem to be coming in droves now, and after what feels like only a few minutes, the ice-packed cooler holds several species of gutted fish—a nice haul of walleye, bluegill, and bullhead catfish—right next to the pack of beers. At least they’re packed into Ziploc bags.

Luckily, Jack had his army knife handy. Because of course he would.

He stretches in front of you. “God, my back aches. Can I sit?” he asks, pointing at the chair. 

You nod and go to sit by the pier, but as he walks past you, he pulls you back by the waist. He flips himself around just in time before crashing onto the chair, the fabric sinking and taut under your combined weight. You’re surprised it holds. More surprised that now you’re sitting in his lap like a child on a mall Santa. 

“J-Jack, what are you doing? This thing can’t hold the both of us.” You try to wiggle yourself out of his grip, but his hands only tighten on your waist. 

“It’ll hold. I have only the best, and I don’t want your ass to get sore sitting on the pier. Mine did.”

“Oh, and your lap is more comfortable?”

“I’ve been told it’s very comfortable. But I can flip you over and give you something else to whine about, if that’s what you want.” You open your mouth in shock, giving him an incredulous look.

“A-and why didn’t you bring the other chair?” You push because it’s a logical question, but you also want to know if he wants you to keep his lap warm. 

“It would've been too much to carry—even for me.”

It’s a weak excuse, and one you know isn’t true. Disappointment seeps in, but it bottlenecks as you remind yourself that at least you’re in his lap and at least he wants you there.

You glare at him but otherwise get comfortable, submitting to him a bit too easily. His arms bracket you in from where they now rest on the arms of the chair, and you twist your body, draping your legs over his. 

You press your palm to his chest, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. 

His shirt is still lying on the edge of the pier, damp from the harshly fought battles with the fish, and you swirl your fingers over the small tuft of chest hair trailing down his chest. His dog tags shine a bit too bright in your eyes, and you close them to imagine them as if they were dangling in front of you while lying on your back and taking his cock. 

Oh God, the thoughts are getting worse.

Your face starts to heat, not only from the warm weather but also from the close proximity. You’ve always shared a comfortable companionship, but over the past year or so things have been increasingly… intimate. Not obviously, but a few lingering glances and touches more than normal add up. It’s been over half a decade since you’ve met, and you’ve been attached at the hip since day one. But now you think you’re ready to take the next step in your relationship.

If Jack were to feel the same way, well, it’s something your father would just have to accept. You’re both well into adulthood. You’re mature enough to admit you’re helplessly attracted to him.

But Jack is still Jack. He teases, flirts, and touches you, and it burns you from the inside out—but he’s duty-bound to care for you, and he has to balance the act between a dad’s best friend… and something more. Possibly, something more.

Your eyes flit to the silicone wedding band around his finger, the shiny material reflecting the sun. It’s not new—and not something you try to pay too much attention to—but it triggers a core memory from days past, and you decide to bring it up.

“Hey, remember when we first met at Dad’s fifty-fifth birthday and retirement party?”

“How could I forget? The moment when you first became a pain in my ass.” He smiles down at you. It’s a soft look, endearing and warm from the recollection of the memory.

He jokes, but he remembers that day often—remembers how, even after the ache in his heart following his wife’s passing, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel when he first saw you. A light that was quickly snuffed out when your father introduced you to him as his daughter.

You ignore his statement, instead saying, “I was surprised when he first introduced you. I thought you’d be at least as old as him—not twenty years his junior.” 

“Military bonds know no bounds. He was a good role model. I was sad to see him retire, but he served his time. And he knew he had to get out before you went off to college.”

“I still feel so embarrassed and guilty asking you about your ring. I was so naive and… insensitive.” You cringe at the past you.

“You didn’t know, angel. It had been several years since she passed at that point, and I still had it on. It's not your fault you were curious when I showed up alone.”

A few seconds pass in silence. 

“Do you think… you’ll ever find the person? The person who you might set aside that ring for?” 

Jesus, you did not just ask that. 

You shake your head. “Sorry, don’t answer that. It’s not my place to ask you something like that.” You attempt to hide your face in the crook of his armpit, but your stupid hat makes it difficult.

Jack can’t bear the hope—and anguish—hidden in between your words. He tries to reassure you the best he can without cracking his chest open and giving you his heart.

He tilts your head up to him with his thumb and forefinger, finding your eyes beneath the rim of your hat. “Kid, look at me. You don’t have to feel bad. I’m not grieving anymore. The pain is still there, but it’s better now. I loved her—still have love for her—but I know she wouldn’t want me to stay alone forever. But… I never met anyone else, so why take off the ring? It’s as simple as that.”

You try to free your chin from the press of his fingers, but he doesn’t let you. You finally nod in understanding, and only then does he release you from his grip.

“You speak so fondly of her. What you two shared must’ve been really amazing.”

“It was. We were still so young and free at the time. Maybe I’ll tell you more about her someday.” 

“Okay.” A beat later, you add, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for this to turn so… melancholy.”

“It’s okay. If there’s one person in the world I want to open up to, it’s you.”

You both lie in the chair in peaceful silence for a few minutes, watching the sun begin its slow descent over the horizon, when Jack starts to doze off. You rest your hand right over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slow and even out. It’s another ten minutes or so before you gently rouse him from his short nap.

“Jack. Jack, maybe we should head back. I’m getting a bit hungry, and the sun’s starting to set,” you say, shaking him awake.

He just groans and stretches his arms before returning his hands to your waist. 

A few harsh blinks and a shake of his head later, he says, “Okay. Vámonos.”

Jack is setting up the swing-over grill and the firewood while you season what you can of the fish. Luckily, you knew beforehand to bring a few packets of salt and pepper. 

Unlike Jack—who’s willing to risk his health eating the fish raw and unseasoned like he’s on Survivor—you refuse to go without any seasoning. The fish isn’t complete without a sprinkle of smoked paprika, garlic, and onion powder, but it’ll have to do.

You admire how the flickering flames lick across his skin, giving him a warm glow, and his ability to withstand them as he lays the fish across the grill. 

The thought is dramatic, but it’s as if he’d suffer through a little bit of fire to feed you. Nourish you. Take care of you. If only he could brave the paternal firestorm to admit what you’ve already admitted to yourself.

As the nose-wrinkling, fishy smell of the walleye and bluefish morphs into a delicious, woody, salty sea scent, your mouth starts to water. You hand Jack a paper plate, and he serves you up some of the fish as soon as it’s ready.

After squeezing a bit of lemon, you pinch a piece off the malleable flesh and take a bite, moaning lightly at the small taste of heaven. It has a robust, earthy flavor, enhanced by the acidity and the salt and pepper.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack stares, unwilling to draw his gaze from you, even to take a bite from his own plate. He feels an overwhelming pride swell in his chest, knowing that you enjoy something as simple as the fish he grilled for you. He’d do this for you again and again, if only to hear your sweet moans of satisfaction—like music to his ears, looping forever.

Even if they’re only for his food.

You continue to eat, a few hours passing by in casual conversation, and after a few shared sips of the beer he popped open, you’re ready to turn in for the night.

“Jack, thank you for dinner. It was fantastic.” You beam at him from across the dying campfire as he sits in the other camp chair. You yawn, stretching your arms over your head, your top riding up. 

Jack watches as the material lifts, exposing your skin.

“I think I’m ready to head to sleep. Are you coming in soon?”

He nods. “Yeah. I just want to watch the stars for a bit longer. I won’t take too long. Meet you in my dreams, angel.”

“Meet you there.”

You discard your paper plate into a trash bag, then rifle through your backpack, grabbing your nightwear before unzipping the tent and heading in. Plopping down onto your sleeping bag, you quickly change out of your dirt-caked and sweaty clothes and into a pair of flimsy sleeping shorts and a tank top.

You’re barely conscious when Jack comes in only a few minutes later, already stripped down to his boxers as the moonlight from the open flap in the tent pours in.

Though it’s dark, and you're halfway to falling asleep, you can still see the outline of his cock through the thin material, soft against his thigh. Your body forces you awake, eyes nearly glazed over and face growing warm, but you dig your fingers into your thighs to keep you calm.

It’s stupidly hot. Scorching. Both because of the cramped space—thanks to the single tent—and the heat of the night air. You try to wait out your discomfort, hoping Mr. Sandman drags you to his realm soon, but maybe you’ve outgrown that. 

Addressing the problem head-on is best.

“Jack,” you whisper. He turns his head to you as he settles inside his bag.

“Thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?” he whispers back.

You’re not quite sure why you’re whispering. There’s no one around for miles. 

“No, I’ve just been tossing and turning all this time. I’m really working up a sweat. Do you mind if I—… if I just sleep over my bag? I know it’s cramped in here—”

“—No problem at all. Don’t want you sweating all night. You’ll get dehydrated.”

You hesitate but unzip your bag—after a few seconds of sheer panic that you can’t locate the zipper—and escape the sweltering insulation.

Of course he’d bring his standard-issue mummy sleeping bags. You probably should’ve brought your own.

It’s a bit darker in the tent now that the campfire has completely died out, and you can’t tell if Jack is looking at you or has his eyes closed. Only his silhouette is visible from the moon and starlight pouring in—his head tilted in your direction and his arms out, mummy bag not fully zipped yet.

You let a breath escape you, your body finally cooling down. The sweat from the heat dries, but now a nervous one takes its place, your emotions working overtime.

Reflecting on today, this is the most touchy, feely, and cozied up together you two have ever been. And it hurts because you don’t know when the next time you’ll be alone together like this will be. During Jack’s brief stints, while he’s waiting to be deployed, you mostly hang out with him alongside your dad. Or, if alone, somewhere in public or with their other military buddies. 

There’s always someone watching. 

Someone who would judge the girl with a schoolgirl crush on her older, widowed, and too-handsome dad’s best friend.

With an ache in your heart from how close yet far you are, you finally settle against the sleeping bag and try to fall asleep again.

What you don’t expect is for Jack to reach for you, pulling your hips into his so you’re chest to chest.

“Jack—Jack, what are you doing?”

“You’re not zipped in, and I realize you might knock me upside the head if you toss and turn in your sleep. It’s better if I keep you restrained like this. For my own safety.”

“But… doesn’t this defeat the purpose? I’m going to get hot while tucked into you.” Your heart can’t take this anymore. 

“Hm… I guess you’re right.” 

Jack's fingers play with the hem of your tank, and you can feel them slip underneath, his warm, calloused hand pressed to your lower back.

His voice is gruff. “Take it off. The top and shorts. I won’t be able to see anything in the dark.” 

You plead, “J-Jack—”

“—It’s okay. I’ll be a gentleman. I promise.” His hand slowly moves from your lower back to snap the elastic of your straps against your skin, urging you to listen to him. 

“Do it.”

He’s so persistent about it you can’t help but give in. This is only the most logical solution to your problem, after all.

You peel your tank off, nipples peaked as the fabric runs over them, and you instinctively know Jack is watching. 

Gentleman, my ass.

The shorts are discarded at the head of the tent next, your underwear the only thing keeping you modest. You return to his chest and settle against him, the cool material of his dog tags stunning you for a second. You’re only too hyper aware of your peaked nipples rubbing against his skin as he wraps his arms around you again. 

Oh, what he wouldn’t do to get a mouthful of them. But there’s not really a valid reason for that, is there?

After a few heart-pounding seconds of silence, Jack speaks up, “I couldn’t see much, angel. But I don’t have to to know that you’re beautiful. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about this, okay? I just want you to have the best sleep you can. We’ll be leaving pretty early tomorrow.”

You only nod, your face pressed into his armpit and inhaling his heady scent. You fall asleep quickly now.

As you stir, awoken by the alarm on your phone, you see Jack, already awake, leaning over you with an elbow propped up. A soft smile plays on his lips. You’re still drowsy from sleep but feel wide awake the moment you realize the state you’re in. Your breasts are exposed, visible due to the early morning light filtering in through the tent. 

But that isn’t the worst part.

Your legs are tangled with Jack’s, your underwear is soaked, and your core is flush against his thigh. You realize, with shame, you must’ve been grinding on him in your sleep. 

He too must have unzipped himself the rest of the way down overnight, and your body took advantage of it.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of your head, reaching for your top scrunched at the head of the tent. You quickly rise from where you're sprawled on the tent floor, snatching it from his hand and putting it on.

“Jack, I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean to—” you stutter, trying to move your legs from where they’re straddled between Jack’s, but he keeps you still with a firm hold on your waist.

“It’s alright. It was bound to happen with us being closed in and all.” He moves his hand from your waist to rub circles into your upper thigh, then pinches the soft flesh. Let’s see if he can get away with this one. “I want you to keep going. Take what you need.” 

“What?” You look down at him with a shocked expression, his nonchalance only exacerbated as he chuckles lightly into his fist, elbow still propped.

His serious eyes meet your owlish ones, and you gulp. 

“I said what I said.”

You’re flustered, tripping over your words, and Jack uses the opportunity to pull you back onto his chest and lie you both down again.

He waits. Waits for you to tell him that this isn’t right, that you can both forget this happened and move on. But he wants you to take advantage of him. He’s giving himself to you, even if you don’t realize it yet.

You’re both still for a few seconds, waiting for the other to do something. Say something. You decide to make the first move.

What’s a little more humiliation? Jack’s already seen your tits and felt your wet panties glide over his muscled thigh. And… he seemed to enjoy it. That’s all the liquid courage you need to do what you do next.

You hide your face in the crook of his neck and wrap your arms around his nape, pulling at the soft, graying curls, and resume the slow grind of your cunt over his thigh.

He just lies there, letting you use him, and watches you undulate on him like you’re the most precious thing in the world. And maybe—based on the way his breath hitches as you moan, and he relishes the overstimulated tears that drip onto his neck—you are. 

Your clit twitches, but you whine in frustration, not yet close. He decides to help you instead of being a willing bystander and grabs your hips to press you harder against his thigh, desperately guiding you up and down to give you the friction you need. 

“Waitwaitwait—Jack, it’s too—too rough, p-please.” 

Please don’t stop.

“Just give it to me. You can.”

Jack sweats as your hot pants collect in the crook of his neck, holding himself back from ripping off your underwear and taking you right here. If this is as close as he can get without crossing the proverbial line, he’ll take it.

You buck more wildly, sloppily against him as your orgasm fast approaches, and he gives you a final push—harshly spanking you, then gripping and spreading the fat of your ass to help you reach your climax. He’s basically doing all the work now, shifting you up and down so fast that your orgasm barrels toward you without remorse.

A gasp escapes you, one delirious with need—the sting of the spank and the relief of his warm, demanding touch, massaging and gripping your cheeks, finally hurling you over the edge. You come with a cry, muffled against his shoulder as you bite down.

Whispers of praise tumble from Jack’s lips, choked out, as he grapples with the ego boost of you coming on his thigh and the pretty mark you left for him on his shoulder. You’re so out of it, you don’t register his quiet confessions. 

“So, so pretty.” 

“You did so good, kid.”

“I wish… we could be like this all the time.” He kisses your sweaty forehead after that last one.

You lie still against him in the afterglow of your orgasm for a few seconds—catching your breath, reeling yourself back to reality—when you notice he’s hard, his cock twitching against his upper thigh and a wet spot forming on his boxers.

You reach delicate hands over to touch him through the fabric, but he stops you, fingers wrapping around your wrist. 

“We need to leave soon. Why don’t we break down the tent now?”

A frown tugs at your lips. “B-but… what about you?”

“Nothing about me. It’s just a natural reaction to us being cramped in here, that’s all. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Let me—”

“—I told your dad I’d take care of you. You needed to get off. I helped you. That’s it.” 

You’re taken aback, mouth open but left speechless. A mix of shame, guilt, and despair swirls inside you—his flippant tone adding heavy droplets of anger to the mix. 

Is he fucking serious?

You feel cheap. Used. This is the moment you finally feel brave enough to do something to push past the boundaries of your relationship, and he shuts it down. 

It dawns on you what he’s doing. He wants this—you—too. His actions over the past twenty-four hours have betrayed him, revealing what you’ve always hoped to be true. That he feels an irrevocable attraction toward you. And your excitement is quickly shut down when you realize he’s not going to do anything more about it than hide behind lame excuses. If he’s going to deny you like this… well, maybe it’s time to move on. You’re done waiting for him.

“You’re an ass, you know that?” Tears sting your eyes as you quickly push yourself off him, grabbing your shorts and rushing out of the tent.

Jack watches you leave, pain wracking his chest. He shouldn’t have been so indifferent. So clinical. His no-frills dismissal of the reciprocation you wanted to give—ah, you’re too fucking doting on him. But his job is to protect. To serve. To obey. Giving himself to you has never been part of the equation… as much as he’d like to. 

He knows he fucked up.

Bringing you out here, to the far, isolated loop of the park, was his chance to feel closer to you. You managed to worm your way into his poorly fortified defenses—out in the call of the wild, where he’s usually alone with nightmares from time wasted and lives lost—and he took advantage of his own weakness for you.

But what’s he to do to course-correct? You two aren’t meant to be.

And so, even with a disgusting guilt and for a short while, he feels satiated by what little he could offer you, even if he can’t offer himself.

You’ll get over it.

The car ride home is silent, with only the sound of the wind whipping into your face to quell your frenetic thoughts. He looks over at you leaning on the window, disturbed by the quiet. Even if he doesn’t enjoy your music, he always wants to hear you. Always. 

Once home, he walks you to the door of your apartment, your name leaving his lips before you can close the door in his face.

“I know you’re upset with me. You have every right to be. But… I had a really great time. I’ll miss you. Give your dad a hello and a goodbye for me, okay, kid?”

You look back at him, sighing. It’s not fair that he has to leave tomorrow. You want more time to stew and act like a petulant child. But instead, you drop your cooler to the ground and give him a warm—but respectful—hug. 

“I had a good time too, Jack. Stay safe overseas.” 

He stands stock-still, surprised you responded in kind, but returns your hug. “I’m thinking of you. Remember that.” He cradles your cheek, wipes away an eyelash, and then heads into the elevator.

As you watch him leave, you’re left wondering what the fuck you’ll do now.

“Why couldn’t he come again? You’re really bringing the vibe down, sourpuss,” Yolanda asks, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You’re currently sitting opposite Yolanda and Trinity in a cozy booth in the far corner of a bar, with your hands stretched out and head sideways on the table. You groan.

“He has some finance-bro presentation for work tomorrow. He won’t be able to hang out tonight. But fuck him, right, ladies? Tonight’s girl’s—” You glance up and see them making out, not ignoring you, but too wrapped up in each other for your voice to reach them. While you’re glad to have accepted their invitation to hang out—after not seeing them for a while—you had hoped that your recent fling would be here with you to make this less of a third-wheel situation. 

You met him on a dating app—he’s cute, gentlemanly enough, and decent in bed. He buys you nice gifts sometimes, too.

Trinity breaks the kiss, needing air, and turns back to you. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“He’s not coming.”

She reaches a hand over the table to pat yours. “That’s a shame. We probably could’ve gotten him to pay for all the drinks.”

You laugh, cheering up slightly. “Yeah, probably. Anyway… I think I’m gonna head out soon. I have work tomorrow.” You move your arms from the table and lift your head, rifling through your bag to double-check you have all your personal items. 

Your face feels warm from the few drinks you’ve had, accompanied by a pounding headache, and you're already tired from your long day at work. It’s really time to go.

“Are you sure? It’s still not too late… Why don’t we dance? Or have one more drink?” Yolanda asks, twirling the straw in her empty margarita glass.

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but I’m exhausted. You guys have fun, okay?”

They both give you a sad smile. 

“Let’s call you an Uber.” Trinity says.

You crash into your bed after getting undressed and completing a half-assed version of your nighttime skincare routine. Your phone pings, and you check it to see that Nathan has texted you, wishing you a good night and apologizing for not making it tonight. It’s almost sweet, and you start to smile, until that quickly turns into a frown when he follows up immediately with:

Do you think you could send me a little something, you know, for good luck? ;)

I’ll treat you to the bonus I get if I secure this client tomorrow.

You roll your eyes. You’re not against sending a few sexy pics now and then, but you’ve already gotten ready for bed. Still, the thought of an all-expenses-paid trip to the Maldives does sound good right about now.

You make the difficult decision to get out of bed and dolled up for this amateur photoshoot—the only incentive being an expensive gift in return—and put on your best set of lingerie. It’s just been sitting alone, thrown into the far end of your closet after Nathan gifted it to you not too long ago.

The babydoll dress is a sheer, pastel mesh color that complements your skin tone perfectly, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. It pairs well with the thong in the same color, with cute little bows adorning the sides of your hips. You take a good look at yourself in the mirror, satisfied with what you see. He chose a good one. 

Sitting back in bed and on top of your comforter, you try to work yourself up. You flick your nipples through the ruffly mesh and run your fingers over your slit, barely covered by the thong. 

Previous hookup encounters with Nathan invade your mind—as a mood setter—but it doesn’t work. After minutes of trying and trying to get yourself turned on for the man who bought you the lingerie pass, you give up. Instead, your mind flits to Jack and that early morning after you spent the night cuddled together.

Minutes turn into seconds, and you’re already wet, the stringy satin clinging to your cunt. 

You open your phone’s camera and position yourself to take some pictures, snapping a few of your perked nipples poking through the thin bra and your damp thong. More photos are taken, each lewder than the last—the final few exposing your breasts and soaked cunt, bra tucked under and thong pulled to the side.  

Going the extra mile—even though Nathan doesn’t deserve it—you also film a quick video. Featherlight touches graze your nipples, and deft fingers split the seam of your pussy. You give yourself a few light slaps over your clit, making you jump. You tease, barely nudging a single digit inside your hole, moaning Nathan’s name. It’s deadpan, but he won’t notice.

The production is shit anyway. The darkness of the room and the dust trapped in your phone speakers don’t do you any favors for visual or audio, but he’ll get what he asked for. You quickly shoot off the risqué material one at a time, then fall asleep—too tired to change back into your sleepwear. 

The last thought in your mind before entering dreamland: You wish Jack were here to help soothe the ache in your heart and in your cunt.

Jack’s phone pings as he’s lying in his bunker, about to fall asleep. He’s been tossing and turning all night, anxious for tomorrow.

He’ll be home again, this time for a lot longer. He’s itching to see you again after months of mostly radio silence between you two since the trip. He’s sent a few texts here and there, and you’ve responded, but they’re curt. Dry. Diplomatic.

At least when he’s back, you’ll have to see him at some point, right? 

Even if it’s just with your dad—pretending everything is normal between you two—and giving him the cold shoulder when he isn’t looking. Always the good girl, putting on a brave face so Daddy won’t have to worry. He’d be crushed if he found out you couldn’t even stand to be near his best friend anymore. 

Jack reaches under his pillow to grab his phone, sitting up straight in bed when he sees several text messages from you. He opens your text chain, your contact pinned at the top.

Jack nearly passes out when he sees what you’ve sent.

His eyes zip from one photo to the next, too impatient to process each and every one pixel by pixel. You're wearing a pretty lingerie set, but not one that he would pick out. He much prefers a birthday suit—less fuss. A dozen or so images of your perky nipples and sopping pussy greet his wide eyes. 

His heart nearly bursts out of his chest. He can’t see your face—the image is cropped out or just out of frame—but including it might’ve actually sent him to the infirmary. Why didn’t he take more pictures with you—of you—during the trip?

Maybe he thought he wouldn’t have to. Like somehow it could’ve ended another way—with you two together. You don’t need photos when you’ve already got the real thing. It’s wishful thinking, and now the only thing he has as a reminder is a broken heart and a sore wrist from thoughts of you crying on his thigh.

The last message from you is a video, and he adjusts the volume so it doesn’t blast, but at least he’s tucked away in his own quarters—a nice perk of being a long-time sergeant. 

He does it as if lowering the volume absolves the wrongness in his more-than-willing participation and engagement with your lewd messages. Still, his thumb hovers over the play button, trying to convince himself to delete the texts and forget this happened—but it’s a losing battle. 

The short clip plays, and what he hears is like Apollo’s lyre, your moans and the squelch of your cunt seducing him—but one bad pluck of the animal gut in the form of another man's name pulls him from his hypnosis.

It’s a name that doesn’t belong to him. It rots Jack from the inside out, grime curling into his mouth, and he almost spews it onto the floor. 

He already knows you didn't mean to send this to him, but he’s devastated and envious. Ready to march on a warpath leading to the man who let you slip through his fingers with tears in your eyes. He’s replayed that moment of you leaving the tent one too many times, trying to rewrite the story in a way that would lead him back to you. 

Jack should’ve reached for you then. Reassured you that the moment wasn’t just because of a warped sense of duty. 

He wants you.

And you’re no longer the eighteen-year-old girl he initially met. You’re a grown woman, one who’s capable of making her own decisions. Jack chooses courage now, because if he doesn’t act, paltry, meager men will take what’s rightfully his… what has always been. And he fears you’re already being pulled away by forces he can’t control.

The only other obstacle is your dad. But Jack can take him in a fight, if necessary. He hopes it won’t come to that.

He aches for you. Wants to take the next steps in life and move on with you. But he can’t, not yet. Not until he’s back home and he can show you he means it. But now he has all the motivation he needs to try to get back in your good graces.

Instead of deleting the texts, he saves the material, then he does what he thinks is best to rectify the mistake he made all those months ago.

He calls you.

You’re awoken from a light sleep when your phone goes off, vibrating on the nightstand. 

Your eyes adjust to the bright light on the screen as you hold the phone over your face—careful not to drop it—and you see that you have a few missed phone calls from Jack. You sit up in bed.

It’s midnight. What could he want? It’s been—well, since before the camping trip—that you last spoke on the phone. You don’t bother returning his call. Whatever he wants to talk about can wait at least until you're fully conscious. 

You clear the notifications from Jack one by one when you happen to see another one from Nathan:

Hey, did you fall asleep? Where are my pics :(

That makes you freeze, anxiety jolting you into full coherency. You know you sent those off… But if not to Nathan, then to whom?

You immediately return Jack’s call, not even bothering to look through your messages to confirm what you did. You know you sent them to him. Because, maybe, deep down, you wanted to send him those photos.

The line connects, and you speak up first. “Jack?”

He feels his nervousness dissipate, rejuvenated after going so long without hearing your saccharine melody.

“Angel… it’s been a while.”

“I take it you saw what I sent you?” You tug at the bows adorning your hips, loosening them and twirling the slack satin.

“Heard it too.”

You bring your phone to your chest, groaning in humiliation as the soft sheets rustle beneath you. Despite that, you grow hot at his wrecked voice and utter honesty. How is it that after all this time—even on complicated terms—he can still make you fall apart with just his voice?

You quickly bring your phone back to your ear to ask him the burning question. “Did… did you like what you saw?”

Jack’s brain buffers, pulse racing at your shy, innocent, but very loaded question. He doesn’t respond right away but feels the need to praise you for being so good to him. 

“…Yes, God, yes. You don’t know what you do to me, kid.”

Butterflies flutter inside your stomach, and you almost want to throw your phone into the wall from the overwhelming joy you feel at his response. 

“W-why are you calling?”

“Why do you think? I hear you moan another man’s name, and you think I won’t address it?”

“You don’t have the right to be upset. I walked out on you… but you pushed me away.” You pout and chew on your lip. You’re not letting him get away with his behavior that morning.

He’s stunned into a short silence, but ultimately he’s glad you called him out. You’ve been more mature than him throughout everything, and he runs his fingers through his curls in embarrassment.

He puffs out a tired breath. “I know. But that’s also why I want to talk to you. I want to apologize for that day. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Letting you go… well, it’s one of my biggest mistakes. I won’t make it again.”

Coming from Jack, it’s the most heartfelt and mournful apology you’ve ever heard. Would it be too quick to forgive him already? The distance and time apart only make you more willing to throw the water under the bridge.

You start to tear up and begin to say something when Jack interjects, “And I want to tell you that you’re devastating. Just…” He chuckles. “I can’t even get the words out. Stunning. Even if you’re moaning another man’s name.”

Heat works its way through your body at his words. Still, you respond, with a sniffle, “And while wearing the lingerie he bought me.” You throw that in to make him hurt. Just a little bit more.

“You’re really killing me here, you know that?”

You laugh, and he feels as if all’s right with the world again. “Sorry. Thank you for apologizing, Jack. I’m—I’m also sorry for not reaching out to you more. I shouldn’t have held such a grudge against you. I know you only have the best intentions.”

He really doesn’t. Not with your video still playing in the back of his mind. Not when he’s nearly two decades older than you and he thinks about knocking you up. But as long as you want him just as badly as he does, it'll be alright. “I should’ve reached out too. It’s not your fault.”

You both listen to the hushed sound of the other’s breathing through the phone, not wanting to disturb the quietude brought by your mending of fences. 

A few peaceful seconds pass in silence. “So… what now?” 

“You tell me. What do you want, angel?”

“I want—I want you. I… I want to be with you, Jack.” Your voice comes out shaky and in a pathetic whisper, but that only endears you to him more.

“Then you have me.” Jack twists the silicone band on his finger, already planning your life together in his head. He’s going to take such good care of you. That nearly excites him more than the thought of getting you underneath him. Almost. 

“What do we do about my dad?”

“Don’t worry about him. We’ll talk to him together. I didn’t tell you, but I’m coming home tomorrow.”

If you weren’t already sitting up in bed, you would probably levitate. You smack your chest as your heart pumps a little too fast. “You’ll be here? Tomorrow?”

He’s amused by your sweet reaction. “Yes. Wait for me.”

“Okay, I will.” You nod, even though he can’t see you over the phone. “I—I missed you.”

“Me too, sweetheart. More than words can say.”

A moment later, Jack speaks up, addressing you by name. He doesn’t want the call to end. He wants to feel close to you again with a new understanding that he can be a little selfish. Because that's what people who let themselves feel and receive love do.

“Before we hang up, I want to try something. I want you to send your boyfriend a little present.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just… sleeping together. And what present?”

“That’s good. It’ll make this easier. I want you to touch yourself. Make him a video like the one you sent me. I’ll talk you through it, baby. Tell him who you were really thinking about when you made it.”

Your mouth hangs open. The gall. The nerve. The audacity. But his possessiveness and need to claim you in front of the audience of one make you squirm, your cunt starting to leak from just his words.

He tuts into the phone when you don’t respond. “Be a good girl and answer me.”

Affirming words spill easily from your lips. “O-okay. I’ll do it. What—what would you like me to do first, sir?”

Jack groans into the phone as he clutches it, his other hand moving beneath his boxers to free himself, and you giggle at his reaction. 

“Put me on speakerphone. Use one hand to film and the other to pinch and squeeze your tits. Perk them up real nice.”

You rip your comforter away from your body to play with your nipples through the mesh lingerie—sensitive—as the fabric rubs into them. As you tug each one roughly, your other hand shakes as it holds the phone while recording. It’d be so much more difficult to focus if you were also FaceTiming each other. But luckily for you, Jack probably doesn’t even know what that is. You’re patient enough to wait to see him tomorrow. In person.

You moan softly, more enthusiastically this time around than earlier tonight. Poor, poor Nathan.

“Say my name. Say it, baby.” You can hear the lewd squelches coming from Jack’s end as he jerks his cock, and you whine his name—loud enough for the phone to pick up—your nipples stinging from how brutally you’ve tweaked them.

He grunts, “Now, slowly drag your hand down and touch your clit. Make sure you give him a good look, angel.” Jack’s breathing quickens, and you hear him spit, lubing up his already wet cockhead and fisting himself to spread more slick down his length.

You follow his command. You trail your fingers down the slope of your body until they reach your center. Making sure the camera is focused on your cunt, you manage to splay yourself open, giving the lens a nice look at your soaked and slippery folds. Your digits press harsh circles into your clit, and you have to stop yourself from squirming too much to keep the phone from rocking. “J-Jack, I’m—I’m getting close. Pleasepleaseplease keep talking to me. Tell me what I’m doing to you.”

“Already going to come? We’ve barely started, kid.” 

Hearing him call you kid at this very moment does unspeakable things to you. Things it shouldn’t.

He laughs at you, mockingly, but he’s getting close too. He twists his rough fist up and down the length of his cock, putting his phone on the nightstand so he can massage his balls, throbbing and full for you.

It’s really too bad that all his come will be going to waste.

“You want my praise? That it?” he drawls, words slurring as his balls tighten. “You should be here, helping me with this.” Jack punctuates his statement with a rough tug of his cock, hopeful that you get his point through his voice alone. “This is all your fault. You’d like to see how hard and leaky I am for you, hm? I’ll prove to you how much you drive me crazy tomorrow. It’s a promise.”

Jack starts to stroke himself faster, the globs of spit trailing down to his balls and sheets from his hurried pace. He wants you to come first.

“A-angel, please, put the heel of your palm on your clit and three fingers in your cunt. It won’t fill you like I will, but it’ll work.”

He sounds absolutely wrecked, but he’s past the point of total humiliation now. As long as you do what he says, you’ll both be rewarded.

You rub your swollen clit with the heel of your hand, fucking yourself on three digits—and he’s right—it’s not enough. But he’s not here right now, and you need to come. He needs you to come.

“Are you doing it?” When all he hears is a high-pitched “Mhm!” from you, he gives the final directive. 

“Come, baby. Need to hear you. Show him what it’s like when a man really makes you come.”

You finally crest, overloaded with physical sensation and Jack’s praise, ragged and through gritted teeth. You let out a pathetic wail, orgasm ripping through you and making you drop the phone onto the bed next to you with a soft thud. You twitch, worn out, but can hear him shift in his bed, adjusting to make himself more comfortable.

With a strained voice, Jack says, “Good girl. That’s a… very good girl.” He gives you a few seconds to catch your breath. Then, he immediately follows up with, “Stay with me, angel. I need to hear your voice.”

A few more strokes of his cock, and your whispers and quiet confessions push him over the edge. 

He comes with a rumbling groan, thick spend making a sloppy mess over his hand, down his length, onto his sleep shorts, and into his sheets. At the tail end of his orgasm, he idly thinks about making you lick clean his mess. Maybe feeding it to you and watching your eyes glass over with the taste. Tomorrowtomorrowtomorrow.

With that in mind, Jack flops back onto his pillow, exhausted but satiated. He whispers your name, hoping you haven’t fallen asleep yet. You respond with a soft hum, and he lets out a breath. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. I needed that. We both did. Are you okay?”

“Mhm. Just tired,” you whisper back, head nestled sideways into the pillow.

“Okay, I don’t want to keep you up too long. You probably have work, right? Sweet dreams, angel. I’ll see you tomorrow. And… you don’t have to send him the video if you don’t want to.” Nathan will know soon enough that only Jack has a claim on you. 

You snort. You already know what he really wants. “I already sent it. Guess I should burn this lingerie set now, huh?” 

His lips curl up in a devilish smirk. He doesn’t deserve you. “Goodnight,” he says.

“Goodnight, Jack. Love you.” 

He freezes. He’s not sure if you meant those last two words or if they just spilled out of you due to your post-coital haze and fatigue. But he doesn’t get the chance to confirm, as he can tell from your silence you’ve fallen asleep.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” He hangs up. 

Love you.

You’ve just come home from work—tired and nearly passed out—when you hear a knock at the door. He texted you a while ago when his plane landed. Is he here already?

You open the door and see Jack, still in his military outfit and carrying his luggage, dropping it as you jump into his arms.

“It’s good to see you, kid.” He whispers into your neck, inhaling your scent. Your scent’s a little sweaty and like the outside, but you smell like home.

“It’s good to see you too, Jack.” You bury your face into his shoulder, wanting to crawl inside his skin, but content with just a hug for now. You can feel his back muscles even through the thick material of his outfit, and it’s as if he’s gotten even stronger since you saw him last. You’re glad he’s holding you up because you would have quickly dropped to your knees to give him a warm, wet welcome home. But the apartment floor is hardwood, and he hasn’t even stepped inside yet. There’ll be time for that later.

He tilts your chin up from where it's tucked into his shoulder and kisses you. It’s soft and gentle, like a ghost haunted by its past trying to grasp something real. But you’re solid against his touch, and he lets himself feel your lips and soft skin and supple body against his.

He kicks his gear into your apartment and closes the door, then carries you to your bed, still kissing you. He doesn’t bother to ask for permission to enter this time. You’re tossed onto the bed with a soft thud, and Jack bends down to cradle the side of your face with his warm palm, his intense stare meeting your loving one.

“Let me make good on my promise. Are you gonna let me eat out your sweet cunt? Or do you want my cock now?”

Your body shakes, and you make a cute noise in the back of your throat. “D-don’t you want to change first? Maybe let me make you something to eat?”

“No. I want to take care of you. Let me?”

You can’t help but beam at him. It’s no use fighting him. “Okay.” 

You lay your hand over his and notice his wedding band is gone.

“Dad? Dad, are you okay? You’re staring off into space…”

You and Jack give each other a worried look as you sit opposite your dad at lunch. You slightly regret having told him about your relationship. Maybe this could’ve been kept a secret until… nevermind. That’s too morbid. He’ll just have to accept this.

Your dad shakes his head. “Sorry, I—I didn’t expect this, but to be honest, I can’t say I’m surprised.” He sighs. “As long as you’re both happy, I’m happy. I can’t dictate your life anymore, honey. But Jack, if you hurt her, you won’t be dropping twenty. You’ll just be dropping. And I don’t mean pushups. Understand me?”

Jack smiles, turns to you, and brings your hand to his lips, kissing it. “I sure do.”

[chanceofwhat]

Based off of this short by @someoddwritings for @aroace-get-out-of-my-face ‘s Safety Alarm AU

(Basically, magic user Ford dies and Stan goes nope and resurrects him.) (read their thing first though it’s really good and makes this read better)

“So,” Ford eventually has to ask, “how did you do it?”

Stan blinks at him from the armchair. It’s late, he’s still tired from the incident, and he was expecting they’d go to bed soon. Instead, now Ford’s talking, and his tone sounds like he’s trying too hard to keep it light.

“Do what?” is the first thing Stan’s brain offers, because how could he possibly know something Ford doesn’t know?

“Don’t be obtuse, Stanley.” Ford rolls his eyes, “How did you resurrect me? Did you memorize a spell beforehand? Did you even use an incantation?”

Oh, this. Of course. Stan shrugs,

“Nah. Actually, I’ve got no idea what happened there. I just sorta… focused. I’m thinkin’ it was probably easier because you do so much magic stuff, so I figure you had a bunch of magic in you already or something.”

Ford furrows his brow,

“That’s not really how that works, Stanley.”

“Well, clearly it is, ‘cause you’re here.”

“Yes. I’m here. Because you brought me back to life.”

Stan makes a dismissive “eh” sound and shrugs again. Ford fully does a double take,

“‘Eh’?! What do you mean ‘eh’?! You resurrected me! It took you less than a minute! I was dead, Stanley—“

Stan winces at the word,

“Can we stop talkin’ about that? I don’t wanna think about it anymore.”

“No,” Ford feels himself get louder as he grows increasingly agitated, “I need you to understand the magnitude of what you accomplished! You performed a true resurrection in under a minute without—“

“Shut up!”

Ford’s loud confusion quiets as Stan begins to shout,

“I know you were dead, so stop fucking saying it! I saw your head cracked in half, I saw your ribs crushed into little bits, I saw your heart smushed flat, I KNOW. And I’m not lookin’ forward to sleepin’ tonight because I’ve been seein’ it all again every time I close my eyes. I’m probably gonna have nightmares about that forever, and I’ve got no fucking idea how I fixed it!”

Stan slumps further into the plush chair, looking miserable,

“I don’t know how I fixed it, and I don’t know if I could ever do anything like that again. I barely even remember doing it. I just know I saw you and… you couldn’t be dead. It was wrong. I remember thinking it just had to be fixed and you couldn’t exactly do it so I had to fix it and my hands felt funny and I got all dizzy and then you were back, so I was done, and that was that.”

Ford looks at his face exhausted brother sympathetically. He gets it— he still thinks too often about the state he found Stanley in originally, tied up and dying of heatstroke in the trunk of his own car. He remembers the magic he performed to bring his dying brother to him, the surge of energy that his determination brought; that’s something he knows about magic, it feeds on passion and intensity, it works better the more you want it.

Yet, some selfish part of Ford can’t stop thinking about how much work it was for him. The locator spell, the teleportation— both with incantations and specific methods that called upon his expertise— finding his brother within the car, cooling him down, not having enough magic left to bring him into the house with anything but his tired muscles, and that’s not even considering the safety alarm itself—

And Stanley hadn’t even been dead.

It took time after all that for Stanley to recover, and Stanley hadn’t even been dead. Ford died today, and all he has to show for it is a twinge in his back and his legs from how he was awkwardly forced to the ground when the boulder landed on his upper half. When he awoke 36 seconds after his own death, he didn’t even have a headache.

He wants to tell his brother how impressed he is, how incredible such a controlled, intent-based display of magic is. He wants to shout and throw something because how could anyone perform something as complex as a true resurrection without the proper use of spells or incantations, it’s a flippant dismissal, even an offense, to everything he thinks he knows about magic.

Between the incredibly loud, emotionally intense warring sides in Ford’s head, his voice comes out calm and gentle,

“I can prevent nightmares, if that would help.”

Stan looks at him. Ford offers a small, tired smile,

“I know a spell that induces dreamless sleep. I’ve used it on myself before. I can use it on you, if you’d like.”

Stan nods, a small movement.

“That would be nice.”

Ford nods in return.

“Let’s go to bed, then. I think we’ve both had enough excitement for one day.”

When they walk down the hall to what Ford expects to be the guest room only to find Ford’s own room, extended a few extra feet with an extra bed in it, Ford can’t bring himself to argue. Especially not with how grateful Stan looks.

He all but tucks Stan in, using what little magic he has available this evening to ensure him a dreamless sleep and help him drift into it. When Stan conks out, he brushes a strand of hair out of the peaceful, sleeping face before putting himself to bed as well.

When he wakes up only an hour later, plagued by images of Stan’s death that he’s not sure he’d be able to heal the same way, he gives himself a dreamless sleep as well.

[koveragewithkiera]

“Let Me In” Pt. 1

Modern AU: Smoke x Annie

This wasn’t supposed to turn into an actual mini-story, but it did lmaaooo. Will be following my idea for the song “Let Me In” by. Tanerelle, but I learned shortly after crafting this idea that I must always include plot with my porn so here we are. This will be part 1 before the good stuff comes, but I hope y’all still enjoy it and that it gets everyone excited for the next part :). I will be uploading the second part of Witchy before that though because I need to get more coordinated with my stories lol.

WC: 3.2k

Characters: Smoke (29), Annie (29), Stack (29), and Dee (OC; 25)

Enjoy! :)

————————

He was back.

After four years, two months, and eleven days, Elijah “Smoke” Moore finally returned home. Home not simply being Mississippi, not simply Clarksdale, but home.

When he’d showed up to his home (or what he believed would still be home) for the first time in half a decade, he was met face to face with the barrel of a wooden Ruger Nine the second the front door opened. It was far from the first time Smoke was placed in such a predicament, but he couldn’t remember the last time it caused him to freeze up. His eyes quickly shifted to meet the holder of the firearm, seeing her eyes piercing into his with a searing glare. He’d been blessed in his youth to witness the many emotions those beautiful eyes could hold, but never had he seen such resentment held in them.

Smoke hadn’t thought to put his hands up, some part of him didn’t feel to be in true danger, but his voice shook slightly as he’d finally spoken after a small stare-off between the two. “How you be?”

As her eyes hardened even further and her finger brushed up against the trigger daringly, he realized those words were clearly not what she wanted to hear. This time, his hands did raise a bit. “Come on now, Annie.”

“Figured you had to be a haint.” His heart stuttered over the sound of her voice, he’d yearned for it so even with the bitter tone of it. She dropped the barrel, but her grip remained the same. “And I don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

Smoke didn’t exactly relax, but he did sigh as she continued to guard the door. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’m guessin’ you not gone let me in?”

Annie raised a lethal eyebrow his way, not a single ounce of her softening under his gaze. “You should consider yourself lucky I’m lettin’ you leave this property unscathed.”

She took one calm step back, placing the rifle into one hand as her other promptly slammed the door right in his face. Smoke didn’t flinch at the action, just dropped his head with a dry chuckle before walking from the porch and towards his truck. He hadn’t known how he’d expected the interaction to go, but he at the very least hoped for them to speak more than a couple of sentences. And at the very very least, he hoped she’d let him into her home. Their home. A home they’d built with one another, cherished with one another.

This was the first of a long line of rejections he would face in the coming weeks.

———————————————————————

Clarksdale was a small town, and it was absolutely impossible to avoid running into one another, no matter how hard Annie definitely tried. But things didn’t become any easier with how intentional Smoke became about entering her life once more. During the second week of his return, he dined in the very front booth of her restaurant, Mama Lucille’s, for four nights straight with the hope she would eventually cave into even a sliver of an interaction. On the fifth night, he had only just parked his truck when his phone lit up with a notification from his brother.

Stack: So… apparently you just got banned lmao. Dee just told me

Smoke’s lip curls up as his fingers type furiously.

Smoke: How the fuck she know that?

Three little dots pop up and disappear just as quickly.

Stack: Annie texted her. You def ain’t gettin that no time soon 💀

Smoke’s head falls back with an annoyed groan as he tosses his phone to the side. He has half a mind to walk in anyway, maybe pretend to be his twin just to at least make her speak with him. He decides against it, Annie could tell the difference between the two with all five of her senses blocked away. He pulls out of the parking lot with a sigh, already thinking of his next potential plan.

———————————————————————

Stack gets a mysterious allergic reaction about a week later after the siblings have brunch at the diner. It’s nothing dire, but it hits him when they’re on the way home and he realizes his tongue is feeling a bit bigger than normal.

He’s in the middle of blabbing about something neither his sister or brother are paying true attention to when he realizes what’s happening. “The fuck? What the fuck they put in my food?!”

Dee startles a little in the back seat, her eyes rising up from her phone at the clear panic in Stack’s voice. “What you mean? You only had pancakes, bacon, and grits.”

Stack snaps his seatbelt off and starts shuffling around the truck to look for his EpiPen. His panic increases tenfold when he realizes it’s not in there. “My tongue is swelling up, I think they slipped me something!” His words start to get a little muffled as he feels around the swollen muscle. “Them niggas tryna take me out!”

“Relax, aight.” Smoke’s voice isn’t unusually calm, but it’s clear he’s not as shocked as the other two. “We just need to get you that stuff from Annie.”

Stack’s too busy trying to dramatically draw his breaths in (it reminds them of him as a kid) to notice Smoke’s behavior, but Dee clocks it immediately with a howling laugh. “Elijah, you did not!”

Smoke’s eyes remain forward on the road, already en route to Annie’s house. Their house, but he ignores that thought at the moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

This draws Stack’s attention as his memory finally clicks the last time he had a reaction without his EpiPen. Smoke was usually the responsible one of the two, but there were two things Stack absolutely never left the house: his blade and his fucking pen. His head whips towards his brother with a shout. “Di’ ‘ou do som’in to my ‘ood?!”

Smoke rolls his eyes defensively. “Nigga, why would I do something to your food?”

Dee checks around the backseat area just in case, her head shaking in amused disappointment. “Cause the last time his EpiPen went missing was when Annie kicked you out the house for a week.”

“‘ou mo’da’fucka’!” Stack’s hands twitch to wring around his brother’s neck. His face just drops into his hands with a distressed groan.

Dee rubs a soothing hand over Stack’s shoulders, trying her damndest to not laugh in his face. Her eyes find Smoke in the rear view mirror. “You're going straight to hell, you know? This won’t kill him, but this gotta be something only the Devil would accept.”

Smoke meets her eyes with a shrug before returning to the road. “I ain’t do shit to his food. They could’ve gave him the wrong order.”

And he wasn’t lying. He didn’t touch a thing on Stack’s plate.

But if he accidentally slipped a bit of his grapefruit juice into Stack’s glass of orange juice, then sue him.

By the time they make it to Annie’s home, Smoke has semi-figured out what exactly he plans to say, with no help from either of his siblings. As he approaches the door, he wonders the possibility of being met with a rifle yet again. But this time, the door opens to an even more devastating sight.

The last time he’d come to her house, he hadn’t been able to properly appreciate the sight of her for long before the door had been shut in his face. This time, he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but.

His eyes first land on the dark jeans that accentuate the curves of her thighs and the long length of her legs. They scroll up slowly to her waist, where a pretty brown belt cinches around it, before reaching the tucked ends of her knitted, sleeveless, cream turtleneck. The entire outfit glues to every slant of her figure, and what a figure she’d grown into over the last few years. Smoke would’ve felt like a voyeur of sorts if he weren’t so familiar with what laid beneath the tight layers.

Her hair was slicked back nicely into a ponytail with a bump at the end, and it swayed as she opened the door. Her tone is clipped and expectant, and if he had to bet, she’d likely seen the exact moment the truck pulled into the driveway. “Yes?”

Smoke sets his shoulders, keeping his eyes on hers with a quieter tone. “Stack’s having a reaction.”

Annie’s gaze only grows more agitated before she dips her head with a heavy scoff. She bites her lip in a necessary attempt of restraint before maneuvering herself to gain full view of the truck. She makes eye contact with the younger twin as he sulks in the passenger’s seat. “Stack!”

Stack shoots up at the sound of her yell, immediately rolling down his window. Dee rolls her own down as well, waving to the other woman with a bright smile. It almost breaks through Annie’s reserve, but she responds to Dee with a polite nod before gesturing her head to Stack. “Come on!”

Stack exits the truck quickly to ensure Annie doesn’t change her mind. Smoke feels a small twinge of hope, but it is swiftly swiped away as Annie blocks the side of the door he attempts to slip through.

Her eyes harden in warning. “Just him.”

Stack freezes up as he balances between the outside and inside of the doorframe. He shrivels as the two stand in a bit of a stare off, but his decision is made as the throbbing of his tongue only worsens. “‘orry ‘moke, ‘ou ‘ook my pen.”

Smoke would feel betrayed if he wasn’t so focused on the way Annie’s eyes dangerously gleamed into his. He was trying his damndest to find something, anything, that would help him break through to her. He doesn’t even fully register that Stack has entered the household, instead finding it increasingly harder to voice his thoughts. To voice anything really.

His lips move before his mind is able to catch up, but it's already too late. “You look beaui-”

She shuts the door before he can even finish the sentence. His jaw tightens, his teeth threatening to crack his golden grills, as he slowly saunters to the truck with an air of defeat. When he gets in the driver’s seat, Dee doesn’t give him her usual shit this time, but she does advise him to take his foot off the metaphorical gas pedal.

“That’s one thing she could never stand about you. You always gotta make something happen as soon as possible. Sometimes, things just gotta come along on their own.”

Smoke shakes his head with sigh, resting back on the headrest. “I don’t want her thinking I gave up.”

Dee shoves his shoulder softly, shutting down that reservation instantly. “She knows you too well for that. Trust me, this isn’t the type of thing you can force ‘Lijah.”

———————————————————————

Though Smoke doesn’t say as much, he does in fact take Dee’s words into consideration. When they get home that evening, he makes the final decision to step back from his scheming. It’s an agonizing effort, and as time wears on, it only places his mind even further from being productive at work. Stack takes notice of it first, but only bust his balls over it, throwing quips at his chivalrous act of celibacy and how stupid of a commitment it was to make in the first place. As for Dee, she wouldn’t care too much about his muddled focus if not for how downright pitiful he becomes in the face of business.

Now Dee loves her brothers more than anything on this earth, but even that has its potential limits.

It’s on the fifth week of their return that she bustles into Smoke’s room with a barely-spilling bucket of water in hand. “Get up, Smoke.”

Her older brother grumbles something under his breath about it being too early, pulling the comforter further along his body. It’s enough of an answer for her. She empties the bucket in one swoop, and Smoke’s limbs flail about in an image comparable to that of a cat escaping a bathtub. A loud thud echoes around the room as he falls from the bed in a tangle of soaked sheets, coughing and heaving from his sister’s sick attempt of practical water-boarding.

His head finally manages to submerge from the sheets, his words fighting to escape through his shaken demeanor. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

It doesn't deter his little sister in the slightest, her hand placed on a pointed hip. “We’re going to the supermarket.”

Smoke reaches for his phone, his eyes widening in the face of Dee’s audacity. “It ain’t even 9 am yet!”

Dee’s voice remains steady as she explains the plan. “Annie goes to the supermarket on Broughton St. at 9:15 every Saturday morning before the rush comes at 10:30. We need to leave here at 8:45, you have 30 minutes to get ready.” She turns to walk out of the room with that, but he stops her just as she reaches the door.

“Wait, wait.”

She turns back to him with an unfazed expression. He’s still gaining his own bearings due to the last fifteen minutes, but he has to ask this first. “Why are you doing this? I thought you said not to scheme.”

Dee scoffs. “That was before I remembered something I can’t stand about either of y’all.”

Smoke’s face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

Dee’s eyes squint in annoyance. “Y’all are fucking miserable without one another, and you make everybody else just as miserable instead of just talking or fucking it out like normal people.”

They make it to the market a little earlier than Annie but go ahead and start shopping around. Dee takes advantage of the new delivery of fresh produce and sends Smoke off to look through that section while she moves through the other items of her grocery list. He tries his best not to, but every thirty seconds or so, he finds himself glancing at the time on his phone. Annie would’ve gotten there about ten minutes ago, and he knew his woman to be the punctual type when it came to her routine. Ten more minutes go by of him appearing to look through the ripeness of the seasonal peaches before he almost caves into just searching around for her. Then a laugh, that laugh that hadn’t graced his ears in a torturous amount of time, sounds just to the far right of him.

Smoke’s head whips towards the direction, his eyes landing on their target the second he looks her way. And there she is, standing in the middle of the bread section adorned in a white, patterned sundress that falls just to her knees. She’s speaking animatedly with an older, shorter woman, and it’s the most expressive Smoke has seen of her since coming home. It makes him freeze in place, simply wanting to watch her like this during the chance he has to do so. The way her eyes scrunch up when her lips curl into that radiant smile… it will never fail to take his very breath away. He looks at her as if it’s the first time he’s ever looked at her period, and he’s hit with a sudden moment of deja vu.

At 15, Smoke had choked and stepped into the nearest alleyway when she began walking his way.

At 29, Smoke stands still as his mind and soul scream for her to turn his way.

When she finally does so, his heart cracks at the way her smile diminishes in recognition. But it can’t help but beat a little harder when she doesn’t immediately look away.

The older woman in front of her takes notice of Annie’s change in attention, and when she turns to the direction of Annie’s eyes, Smoke is barely able to register the sound of a squeal.

“Why is that my favorite math student?!” The older lady screams just loud enough to be heard, but not enough to disturb the other shoppers.

Her exclamation pulls the two of them from their momentary daze, and Smoke can’t help but give the older woman a small grin once he recognizes her voice. He walks towards the two women with a polite nod. “Ms. Ruby.”

“Oh, it is you!” Ms. Ruby pulls him into a tight embrace, and he has to bend down a good bit to comfortably adjust to her. She pulls away with a squeeze on his biceps. “I was afraid I was mistaking you and your brother for a second, it's been years!”

“Yes ma’am, it has.” Smoke masks his strained tone, trying not to keep straying his gaze Annie’s way.

Ms. Ruby looks between the two with clear joy, the underlying tension in the air falling straight over her head. “This is just the biggest coincidence! Running into my two star students in the same morning!”

Annie’s smile isn’t as genuine now, and Smoke picks up the sarcasm easily. “Yes ma’am, it is.”

Ms. Ruby clearly doesn’t notice as she brings her attention to Smoke. “Well, what is it you’ve got going on now? I feel like I heard about you being engaged at some point.”

This causes Smoke to stutter uncharacteristically, and he can’t help the way his gaze wanders between the two women. “Oh, well yes I-”

Annie cuts him off with a strict tone. “It broke off a few years ago.”

Smoke crumbles under the weight of the statement paired with the hidden glare behind her eyes. He knew her too well.

Ms. Ruby sends him a look of pity, giving his arm another squeeze. “Oh. Well, I am so sorry to hear that Elijah.”

Annie clears her throat abruptly, smiling warmly towards Ms. Ruby. “If y’all will excuse me, I’ve got some more errands to run. It was wonderful seeing you, Ms. Ruby.” Her smile twitches downwards as she gives Smoke a onceover. “Smoke.”

But before she can make her escape, Ms. Ruby grabs hold of Annie’s hand. “Oh well wait, I would just love to have brunch with you two! I leave town tomorrow evening, but maybe we could try in the afternoon?”

Smoke clasps his hands together as Annie’s grip tightens on her basket handle. The two silently communicate for a little before Annie finally takes the leap.

“Actually, I think Smoke might be b-”

Smoke cuts her off before his mind can fully catch up to speed. “I’ll be free.”

Annie’s head whips to him in shock, but before she can reprimand him, Ms. Ruby is already more than excited. “Amazing! Annie? It’ll give me a chance to try that food of yours since I wasn't able to visit your restaurant.”

Smoke watches as she softly bites her tongue, a tendency of hers whenever she’d been holding a few choice words from spilling. She grins harshly, her lips puckering as she responds. “I would love to, Ms. Ruby.”

Ms. Ruby laughs gleefully. “Excellent! Alright, I won’t hold y’all no longer!” She gives them both two quick hugs, waving as she walks away towards the produce section. “I’ll see y’all then!”

They each hold their breath, remaining quiet as she walks away. Once she’s out of ear shot, Smoke turns to Annie with an apology on his tongue. “Annie, we don’t-”

Annie doesn’t give him the chance to say more. “Be there at 1.” She struts off a few aisles away without another word. Smoke takes a self-encouraging deep breath, just barely hiding his excited grin as he walks with a small pep in his step to find his sister.

————————

Hope y’all liked it! The next part is going to be very very fun to write hehe. But wish me luck because I’m deadass nervous lmao. 🫶🏾

Til next time!

Taglist:

@thelifeoflagab , @omgffs , @bigjh , @championshipshade , @mindyouthisismyaccount , @brownskincheyenne , @lizbehave , @hdfen2474 , @sweetarchivistsiege , @strawberrylemonades-stuff , @whysoceerious , @chknnwffls , @thefutureemmywinner , and @partylikemajima

[iandarling]

Ian wakes up in the hospital with memory loss after getting a head injury;

- - - - - - -

“Mr. Gallagher, your husband is here!” said a cheery nurse, waking him up from his groggy sleep. His head was pounding and the light burned his eyes.

Ian had no idea what she was talking about.

The last thing he can remember is smoking weed with Lip as they did each others homework. Lip was always better at maths than him, but Ian excelled at English. So.

“Huh?” He mumbled as his eyes closed and opened again. The light was bright and his leg hurt like a motherfucker. Actually, his leg felt…longer than usual. It was heavier to move, and not just because of the cast.

“Jesus Christ, Ian.” He heard a rough but concerned voice, as a man entered through the open door.

Ian knows he knows that voice. He focused he eyes and stared ridiculously at Mickey fucking Milkovich.

“— and you’re always the one complaining ‘bout me not checking both ways before crossing the road, and now look at ya! A broken leg and a concussion, you scared the fucking shit outta me Ian.” Said Mickey Milkovich as he leaned down and kissed Ian on the mouth.

Mickey kissed him. They had never kissed before. Ian distinctly remembers the other guy saying that kissing was gay, and that he would never do it. Until now.

Wait, husband?

“I don’t know what’s going on.” Ian said dumbly, not sure how to begin forming his thought. Mickey had grown smile-lines, and Ian could see the shadow left from his shaven beard. And he was much taller and broader than he’d ever been before.

Mickey looked older. Much older. Ian was suddenly aware of how long his legs felt, how his toes touched the bed railings, how his arms felt heavier and bigger. His distress must’ve been obvious, because Mickey immediately looked upset.

“Your head hurtin’? Nurse said she gave you the good stuff so you shouldn’t be in pain…” Mickey bit his bottom lip and sucked in some air. He was concerned. Mickey Milkovich was concerned about him.

“Why did the nurse call you my husband?” Ian asked. Before he could get an answer he asked another, “and why do you look so old?”

“That’s a shitty joke, Gallagher,” Mickey began but soon realised Ian was not joking. He must’ve seen the truth on his face, because he took a step back.

“What do you mean, old?” His tone was flippant but Ian could hear the concern underneath it.

“You’re definitely not sixteen anymore,” Ian responded and began touching at his own face. He could feel stubble and his jaw was wider.

“Try twenty-six,” Mickey whispered as Ian gaped in horror. That would make him twenty-four, maybe even twenty-five, if his birthday had passed. What time of year was it?

For some reason Ian found himself instantly believing Mickey words, despite it all sounding insane. Somehow Ian had ended up in the future, a future which contained a calm and gentle Mickey Milkovich. A Mickey who kissed him because they were —

Ian forgot how to breathe. He had a husband.

“We got married!” Ian gushed as he admired Mickey Milkovich standing before him. Ian could feel his cheeks heat up as he smiled at him. Mickeys eyes softened impossibly, a sight Ian had never seen before but knew instantly he wanted to see again.

“Yeah, man. Two years ago. Hold on, I’ll call the nurses or sumthin’ because this ain’t right.” Mickey pressed a button beside Ian’s bed, and moved to open the door.

Ian stopped him by grabbing at his hand. He could feel the cool metal ring against his skin. It was a nice silver colour, perhaps a little basic, but definitely masculine in that way jewellery for men looked. Ian decided he liked it.

“What’s going on, Ian?” His husband asked. Ian had no idea how to answer that.

“I was doing homework with Lip, and then I woke up in this bed, and I’m older and married and my leg fucking hurts.” He blurted out and Mickey looked even more panicked than before.

He gripped a chair with one hand, and pulled it closer to Ian’s bed, sitting down beside him. Ian was still holding his left hand, fingers touching the ring and the rough tattooed skin under it.

“You got hit by a bike on your way home, hit your head pretty bad, and fell on your leg.” Mickey began explaining. A concussion he said, it might explain the headache and confusion.

Ian was twenty-four, an adult, married to Mickey Milkovich.

“I can’t believe we got married,” Ian blushed as he studied the ring some more. As it lifted slightly from the skin, he could peek some letters etched into the inside. Ian.

“I had the biggest crush on you, I was obsessed! And fuck if you don’t look even better as a grown man. God, look at those biceps.” He pretended to ignore his own red face as he soaked in the sight of Mickey in a tight black t-shirt.

“Not too bad looking yourself, stud.” Mickey tried to joke, but Ian could tell he was anxious. His foot was tapping fast on the linoleum floor, and his breathing was getting quicker by the second. Ian felt a need to squeeze his hand in comfort.

A nurse came in, and Mickey began talking. She paged a doctor, and Mickey explained everything again. Ian’s head was still hurting, and his confusion was only getting worse. It didn’t help that his leg was in a cast and he couldn’t move properly.

“Just tell me it’ll be alright,” Mickey pleaded with the nurse who was asking Ian a series of questions. Who’s the president (wrong answer,) what day is it (again, wrong,) what did he have for breakfast (wtf is a chia seed pudding??)

“It is not uncommon with head injuries that a person may experience memory loss, and most of the time their memories will come back within a day or two.” The doctor said as she wrote something down on her clipboard.

Ian felt Mickey squeeze his hand. It was grounding. Safe. Familiar, somehow, even though they never held hands before. But Ian supposed his body might remember things his mind had forgotten.

“The important thing is to keep to your regular schedule, your routines and habits, without overstimulating or overwhelming yourself. I assume you’re going home with your husband? Still, we’d like to keep you for observation for another couple a’ hours.” The doctor said and Ian nodded. He didn’t mind.

“I texted Lip earlier, said he’s on his way. They all are.” Mickey smiled at him and Ian eased up a little. His big brother was coming. They all were, the whole Gallagher clan. Just like they always did — they showed up for one another, come rain or shine, they would always be there.

Ian wondered how they would look all grown up.

“Is there anything else you remember? Try and imagine smells or tastes — our senses are tied closely to our memories.” The nurse spoke gently, and Ian closed his eyes and tried as hard as he could.

Snippets and visions appeared and disappeared just as quickly as he saw them. It was all a mess, like his mind scrambled ten years of memories into soup, but he tried to filter some of it out.

The colour yellow, an ugly suit, mayo?

“We were in prison?!” Ian shouted at Mickey who finally coughed out a laugh. He could remember the cold cell and the itchy suits. Panic consumed him once more.

“Yup. We’re two gay ex-cons, but we have our own legal business now. Renting an apartment on the fucking west side and everything.” Mickey was proud as he spoke, but Ian couldn’t wrap his mind around the prison of it all.

He could smell fire and smoke, but the room he was in was still safe.

“Arson?” He tried a guess and Mickey nodded sheepishly. Fuck.

“Technically you tried to stage a political protest but it sorta ended up violent. Don’t worry, it’s all good now.” He squeezed Ian’s hand again, and he found it comforting.

While he wanted to ask more questions, his train of thoughts were interrupted by a gaggle of Gallaghers entering the room. Lip walked first as expected, but what Ian had not expected was to see him carry a little boy in his arms.

“Eeeeen!” The boy screamed and clapped his hands in his direction. Two years old perhaps, maybe less, Ian wasnt the best at gauging ages.

Everyone looked older. Carl was taller, Debbie had become a young woman, Liam was a whole teenager, and an unknown blonde woman walked with Lip. And who was the little redhead girl who ran up to Mickey with a big grin in her too big boots?

“Uncle Mickey!” She shouted happily and jumped into his lap. Mickey, barely blinking at the onslaught, wrapped an arm around her tiny frame, one hand still holding onto Ian.

“Hey lil red,” He mumbled. The little girl looked just like Debbie did as a child. The same quizzical expression and big grin. Debbie had a daughter, Ian remembered in horror.

Mickey turned his head back to Lip and spoke again. “Ian’s struggling with some memory loss from his concussion. Go easy on ‘im, aight.” It was a threat, but not a dangerous one. Ian knew what those sounded like.

“Hey Ian,” Lip began and moved towards him. The baby in his arms was cooing and clapping his fat hands at Ian. “You remember this one?” He joked, as he held out the little boy.

No, Ian thought to himself. He had no idea who this was. But he knew in his heart that he cared deeply about him. “He’s yours?” He guessed, and Lip nodded in that peculiar way of his. He always seemed to be eight steps ahead of the game.

“You wanna sit with uncle Ian, Freddie?” He asked his son, and without hesitation plunked the little boy down in Ian’s lap. Lip had a son, Ian was an uncle. And he was married to Mickey Milkovich. Turns out the future isn’t all that bad.

Ian held onto the little boy with one arm, and kissed his head. He had always loved babies. As he looked around the room, his eyes landed on his youngest brother. Liam had tears in his eyes as he waved a little. He was no longer a baby.

“Last I saw you, you were still in diapers.” Ian tried to joke, and he heard a few scattered laughs.

“I outgrew them.” Liam joked back. Hearing him speak full sentences threw Ian a little, but he smiled at his siblings and pretended everything was okay. Mickey squeezed his hand again, as if he could magically feel Ian’s distress. Ian squeezed back.

“Heard you broke your leg again, that fucking sucks man.” Carl told him and lifted up the plain blanket to take a look at his cast. So Carl hadn’t changed a bit, that’s good to know.

“I’m Tami, Lips fiancé” The tall blonde girl said, and nodded towards him. Ian smiled back.

“Lucky Lip, poor you.” She laughed, Lip flipped him off. Everything was normal. Ian breathed deeply and tried to remember more. Fiona was not here, because she had left…she had left for Florida of all places. He remembered a picture of her sunburned face under some palm leaves.

When he told the group this they all exhaled in relief and began talking like normal. It seemed his memories would return eventually, he just needed to unscramble the eggs his brain had become.

Thankfully, the nurse had given him some more painkillers, so his head wasn’t hurting him anymore. Ian talked and smiled as he played with Freddie, his nephew, all while holding Mickeys hand. It was pleasant, if not strange, to see his family all grown up.

After a while it was decided the guests would leave, and Mickey could take Ian home.

Home. He had a home he shared with his husband. For a strange reason, Ian could remember the touch of the blue coloured carpet in their living room. Huh.

Mickey handed him some crutches and Ian balanced on them as he got out of bed. His legs were fucking long, and he towered over Mickey. He liked that. Very much.

“Let’s get you home.” Mickey kissed his jaw nervously. Ian smiled and leaned down for a proper kiss. He could do that now — kiss Mickey Milkovich — they were husbands.

Ian couldn’t wait to remember every memory they’ve made together.

“Yeah, I wanna go home.”

[demie90s]

Oops?

Georgia Amoore x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: You pull up courtside in sweats with your bestie, fresh off a “break” with your maybe-ex.

Genre: Flirty, Slow Burn, Post-Break Tension

Word Count: ~ 1.2k

Warnings: Light cursing, flirtation, implied relationship drama

The seats were too close for how unserious we looked.

Me and my friend Paris pulled up to the Mystics vs Sky game dressed like we rolled straight out of a TikTok live and into these courtside seats. Matching sweats, no bras, hair barely brushed, and candy stashed in my Louis tote like we were sneaking snacks into a movie.

“I don’t even know how you got these seats,” I said, shoving another watermelon Sour Patch in my mouth and chewing slow.

Paris giggled, popping her gum with the side of her tongue. “Girl, I told you. Derrick owed me somethin’. Said I been ‘good.’” She did air quotes and rolled her eyes. “Like… what does that even mean?”

I blinked. “It means next time, ask for Bora Bora.”

“Girllll you know he too old for me to explain that.”

“…hoe… find a way.”

We both started laughing like we weren’t two grown women being recorded on five different iPhones. The girls behind us were whispering, and I could already tell the clip was gonna end up on Twitter: “not her at a whole WNBA game dressed like it’s pajama day 😭😭😭” — yeah, and still the finest in the room.

I reached over and grabbed another handful of Paris’s candy.

“Damn.”

“You should’ve brought your own.”

“I did—you just ate mine first.”

I rolled my eyes, legs stretched, arm slung across the back of the seat. “Bitch be grateful. I’m snack taxin’. You lucky I ain’t eat ya whole purse.”

The camera panned past us once or twice, probably thinking we were girlfriends. Happens all the time. I didn’t mind. The real issue was who wasn’t here.

She.

The girl I was supposedly on a break from. The same girl who used to sit next to me at these games in all her polished, too-perfect glory. And the same girl Georgia Amoore definitely knew.

Whether they got along was complicated. They smiled in public—took little pictures, tapped phones, gave each other compliments that sounded like insults. Real cordial. But Georgia? Georgia had always had that look in her eye.

Like she been waiting. Like she knew something my girlfriend didn’t. Like the moment I was up for grabs, she’d be right there—casual.

When halftime rolled around, there she was.

Walking up with her hair still damp, mouth twisted like she wasn’t doing nothing out the ordinary. No smile, no smirk. Just calm. Like this wasn’t a setup.

I blinked slowly, the Sour Patch mid-chew. Paris’s whole body straightened.

“Bitch,” she whispered. “Why is she—”

“Shhh.” I waved her off like I wasn’t suddenly sitting straighter too.

Georgia didn’t say anything right away. She just brought a jersey—and held it out like she was handing over a receipt.

“Here you go.”

I stared. I knew what this was. The quiet flex. The “I ain’t even tryin’, I just know what I’m doing” energy. Her eyes didn’t leave mine.

I took the jersey with a grin, folding it over my lap like it was a Birkin. “How considerate.”

She nodded. “Figured she wouldn’t mind.”

Paris coughed a laugh into her drink. I didn’t blink.

“You figured right,” I said. “We on a break.”Georgia’s eyes scanned my face, then flicked to the camera crew nearby before she shrugged.

“Breaks don’t mean unavailable.”

“Oh, I know,” I replied, biting my straw. “But you was always real friendly.”

Georgia leaned on the rail beside us, arms crossed, real nonchalant like she didn’t just make me remember the way she smiled at me the first time we met—with her sitting right beside me.

She glanced down at my legs, then back to my face. “You look comfortable.”

I blinked. “That a problem?”

“Nope,” she said, pushing off the rail. “It’s just good to see you without the filter.”

She didn’t mean the Instagram one. I knew it. Paris knew it. Hell, my ex probably knew it too.

Georgia started walking off, turning her head just slightly. “Tell Paris to stop sharin’ her candy. You gon’ eat her outta house and home.”

I sucked my teeth. “Mind your business, Amoore.”

She raised one hand without looking back. “I’m tryin’ to.”

Paris leaned in, gasping. “She’s been waitin’ to risk it all. I felt that.”

I smirked, sliding the jersey into my lap with a little shake. “If she don’t stop playing with me… I’ma start wearing this shit around the house.”

After she walked off, jersey-less and smug as hell, Paris was fanning herself.

“She been plottin’, bitch.”

I didn’t respond. I was too busy pretending not to replay that whole interaction like a TikTok in my head. Because let’s be real—Georgia was always a little too friendly.

Not in a messy way. Not even in a disrespectful way. Just… observant. Quiet. Calculated. Like she didn’t believe in rushing nothing.

Even when my ex was in the room, Georgia would throw those little comments, always under the radar:

“Y’all cute. You sure you not single, though?”

“Damn, I like girls who talk back.”

After the game, me and Paris lingered. Mostly because I was still chewing the last of her candy and she couldn’t find her lip gloss.

That’s when Georgia showed back up—this time in slides and sweats, curls half-dry, and a plastic grocery bag swinging at her side like she’d just picked something up on the way out.

“Y’all still here?” she said, like she didn’t mean to walk straight over.

Paris blinked. “I mean… traffic.”

“Mhmm,” Georgia grinned. Then she looked at me. “You eat yet?”

I blinked slow. “No, but I did steal all her snacks.”

Paris cut in quick: “She really did. That’s not even a joke.”

Georgia tilted her head. “Wanna come get something? I’m grabbing food down the street. No pressure.”

She said it calm. Real nonchalant. Like this wasn’t exactly what she’d been waiting for. Like it wasn’t an opportunity wrapped in lemon pepper and laid out in neon lights.

I looked at Paris. Paris looked at me. We both looked at the bag in Georgia’s hand like it had the answers to life.

Really, what was I supposed to say? I’m on a break. I’m hungry. Georgia She don’t even look pressed. That’s the scariest part.

“Sure,” I said, shrugging like I wasn’t already standing up. “But I’m not sharing.”

Georgia smirked. “I could’ve guessed.”

By the time we slid into the booth at a late-night spot barely holding on with a B-rating in the window, it was clear: this wasn’t a date. It wasn’t a “just friends” moment either.

It was… open-ended.

She passed me a fry without looking. She let Paris go on about Derrick and his bad knees. She asked if I still did streaming. I asked why she played so damn calm.

And somewhere between me stealing her lemon pepper wing and her wiping honey mustard off my lip with her finger, I realized—

My ex ain’t ever had me laughing like this.

Georgia didn’t push. She didn’t ask questions about her. Didn’t even bring her up again. She just existed beside me, calm and easy, like this was always an option.

Like she knew—I’ll wait. But I ain’t waitin’ forever.

I wasn’t gonna say it out loud, but damn… food tastes better when you don’t feel guilty.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[sammyquarius]

The JukeJoint

Note: This is part 2 of Beneath the Mississippi. Enjoy

Part 1:

Clarksdale, Mississippi – That Night

The juke joint pulsed with life.

It was loud, packed, and hazy with the sweat of laughter, fried food, and cheap perfume. The sound of blues guitar slid through the air like smoke low, slow, aching. Folks crowded into the small wooden building, their bodies swaying to the music like the whole place was holding its breath and remembering how to breathe all at once.

In the back kitchen, Annie moved like she never left.

Her hands seasoned meat like a memory. Cornmeal battered catfish cracked in hot oil. Steam rose from pots and pans like the past boiling over, and every now and then, she’d glance through the small order window and see Smoke moving through the crowd like a shadow with too much weight on his shoulders.

He hadn’t said much since she agreed to cook. Just gave her that same quiet look, like he didn’t quite believe she was real.

But Annie was real—and so was the attention she drew.

Out in the joint, a tall, caramel-skinned man in suspenders leaned on the bar beside her serving window, watching her with a little too much interest and an easy smile.

“Girl, if I’d known heaven was back in town, I would’ve set up a welcome parade,” he said loud enough for Smoke to hear.

Annie rolled her eyes but didn’t bother hiding the smirk. “Get outta here, Leon,” she called, her tone dry.

“I’m just sayin’, if you cook like that and look like that, Smoke better watch his step.”

Smoke stiffened across the room, glass halfway to his lips. His jaw clenched tight enough to crack the glass if he wasn't careful. Stack saw it right away.

“Oh hell,” Stack muttered, grinning behind his cigarette. “Here come the thunder.”

Smoke didn’t answer. He just kept watching, eyes locked on Annie and the man grinning at her like he had a shot in hell.

Stack nudged his girl Mary beside him. “Better go keep my fool brother from blowing a gasket. You know how he gets.”

Mary arched one perfectly plucked brow, her pink lips twitching with amusement. “He better not say a damn word unless he wants her to walk out again.”

Stack smirked. “I’m just here for the drama. And the hushpuppies.”

Mary smacked his chest and moved toward Annie.

Back in the kitchen, Annie felt the shift before she saw him. Smoke stepped through the swinging door like a storm rolling in off the delta.

“You enjoying the attention?” he asked low, trying like hell to sound casual and failing miserably.

Annie didn’t turn around. “I’m cooking, Smoke. Not auditioning for a man.”

“You didn’t shut it down either.”

That got her to spin around, eyes flashing. “Excuse me?”

Smoke took a step closer. “He was flirting.”

“And?”

“I don’t like it.”

Annie laughed. It wasn’t kind. “You don’t get to like or not like anything, Smoke. You gave that up when you walked away.”

He winced like she’d hit him. Maybe she had.

Before things could go further, Mary stepped in, cool and collected, like she’d been watching from the shadows. “Okay, y’all need to cool it before somebody gets burned,” she said, slipping off her gloves and tying on an apron. “I came to help. Lord knows Stack ain’t doing nothin’ but talking loud and looking pretty.”

Annie’s lips twitched. “You sure you want to be back here with us broken folk?”

Mary shrugged, eyes soft but tired. “Stack and I fight more than we don’t some days. He says he’s tryin’ to protect me, but half the time it just feels like he’s pushin’ me away. Like lovin’ me out loud is something he’s afraid of.” She glanced at Annie, her voice steady. “But I stay. Even when it’s hard. Even when he makes me question if I should.”

Annie blinked, surprised by the rawness in her words.

“We all got our fights,” Mary said gently. “Yours just came back wearing boots and regrets.”

She glanced at Smoke, then gave Annie a quiet nod of sisterhood. “Don’t let the past boss your present. You want to cuss him out, do it. You want to feed him? Do that too. But make sure it’s what you want.”

Smoke stood there, silent, watching the two women find something he couldn’t touch. Something he didn’t have anymore. Not yet.

Stack poked his head in, grinning. “Y’all done? Or should I send for the church elders?”

“Boy, get outta here,” Mary snapped.

“Just making sure nobody’s bleeding.”

Smoke turned to leave, the scent of fried catfish and hard truths thick in the air.

Annie watched him go, heart thudding like a drum in her chest. She didn’t know what would happen tomorrow. Hell, she didn’t know what would happen in the next five minutes. But she had her apron on, her hands full, and Mary beside her.

And for now, that was enough.

Gonna start working on part 3!

Note: For more content follow me on https://www.tumblr.com/sammyquarius

[lotusloong]

Fine Dining

Relationship: Sun Wukong X Female Chubby!Reader

AN: So I got permission from @skymoral to write this! I used their Mafia AU Wukong to write horny filthy smut cause I really like him ♥ Nearly 6k words and 90% of it is just straight up smut, you have been warned.

Tags: Smut, D/S Dynamics, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Cunnilingus, Anal Play, Ass Eating, But only a little, Minor Violence, A random demon threatens Reader, Wukong takes care of the problem, Implied/Referenced Torture, Slight Yandere Themes, Reader loves her protective monkey tho, Reader has anxiety, Female Reader, Chubby!Reader, If I missed any tags let me know

Read it on AO3!

With a quiet ‘click’ you shut the door closed behind you, standing shyly as the meeting concluded. You kept your hands clasped and close to your chest, watching as daddy’s business partners packed up their documents and cash, shaking hands and chuckling at inside jokes. Some of the older members still had whiskey in their glass and weren’t going to move from their chairs until they were finished. That was okay, Wukong didn’t mind when they stayed over time. He had laughed to you once that the drunker they were, the more secrets they gave away.

You gave a dreamy sigh as you watched your husband, your insides tingling. His shoulders rolled as he cracked his neck, a cigar gritted between his teeth, and the sight of it makes you smile. The meeting must have gone very well if he was breaking out the cuban. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his tailored suit pants, the suspenders holding them up on clear display. He always complained about running hot during these meetings and having to take his blazer off. You never complained, you got to see that beautifully sculpted chest in a buttoned down dress shirt that could barely contain him.

You were just admiring the curve of his biceps when a shadow falls over you.

You look up to see a cat yaoguai you don’t recognize leaning on one arm against the wall above you. You take a step to the side, edging away from the stranger in a way that's not obviously rude but still gives you personal space. Daddy always told you to be on your best behavior when his business partners and their goons came to visit, and you were a good girl who did just that. That didn’t mean you wanted them in your personal space.

“Uhm, hello-”

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing in a dangerous place like this?” The cat, you think he’s a leopard of some sort, purrs at you. His tail flicks upwards with interest even as you edge further away.

“I-” You start, but he interrupts you again.

“You must be an assistant or something, cute piece of eye candy like you.” You try not to grimace at his words, remembering to be polite and courteous. “Why don’t I take you out tonight, huh? Have some fun?” You shudder and wrap your arms tight around yourself.

“N-no thank you.” You mumble. The cat stares at you for a long moment, ears pricked up and focused on you. After a beat of silence, he lets out a chuckle.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“...No, thank you.” You repeat. The leopard snarls and steps further into your personal space, and you cringe, ducking down to make yourself smaller.

“You think you can say ‘no’ to me, bitch? You’re fodder here, for us to enjoy and use how we want. If I say you’re going out with me, you’re-” His claw is in your face, index finger pointed threateningly at you. You bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep from whimpering in fear.

Another figure steps into your personal space, and you’re about to cringe and run away, when the new person wraps an arm around your plush waist and pulls you close. You look up to see Wukong, his diamond red eyes glancing between you and the cat yaoguai with laser focus.

“Everything okay, peachy girl?” He rumbles, puffs of black smoke pouring from the corners of his mouth. His unruly hair flows down his back, and immediately one of your hands moves to wrap around the soft locks, twirling it around your fingers to soothe your nerves. Your belly is roiling with anxiety and fear - fear that you’ve disappointed him by not being the gracious host you’re supposed to be as his wife. This cat is going to complain about you and Wukong is going to be so upset-

“Sorry, Great Sage,” The leopard gives a polite bow, sending you a wicked glare, “just a little confusion between-”

“When I want your opinion I’ll pull your brown nose out of your boss’ ass.” Wukong growls, the lit end of his cigar burning bright as he takes a deep breath to keep his temper. The yaoguai’s eyes widen in fear and he ducks his head, his hands trembling where they’re clasped before him. Wukong turns his body towards you, pulling you closer to him and lowering his voice to a quiet purr. You bury your face against his chest as he speaks.

“What happened, peachy? You can tell daddy.” His words should be comforting, but all you can think about is how you’re causing problems by being here. You had just wanted to visit him and ask if he would have lunch with you, and now you’ve managed to piss off this mobster and he’s going to be so disappointed in you-

“Whoa, whoa…slow down baby, slow down. Deep breaths.” It startles you to realize that your breathing had been growing quicker as your thoughts spiraled. You squeeze your eyes shut and tremble, unwilling to look at Wukong’s face, and the frustration that will no doubt be burning in his eyes at how difficult you are. You do as he says and breathe, trying to rein in your emotions and not cause even more trouble. You angle your head up, gently tugging at his hair for him to lean down. He does so without complaint and your lips brush across the shell of his ear as you whisper.

“I just wanted to have lunch with you and then he-...He started talking to me and asked me out, I said no, I said no, daddy-” Even if he’s upset with you for this, you want Wukong to know that you would never leave for a night out with someone else. He needs to know that you wouldn’t do that.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright.” He whispers back to you, a calming chirp in his voice. “Then what?” You swallow your nerves.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” You start, but Wukong gently tuts, his claws tracing soothing circles over your entire back. It helps ground you. “I didn’t mean to upset him…He said I can’t say ‘no’ to him, that I’m-...”

“...You’re what?” He hisses. You shiver at the sound.

“...I’m fodder for everyone to use…” You whimper the words out, feeling ashamed. Bile rises in your throat that you force back down, choking on air. A low growl starts up in Wukong’s chest, right against where your head is still cradled against him. Fear freezes your veins to ice and a cool numbness washes over you. He’s angry with you now. He has to be.

You peek up at him, fully expecting to see red diamond eyes glowing and glaring at you, a snarl of disgust and disappointment on his handsome face as he shoves you away from him and tells you to get out.

That is not what happens.

His glare is pinpointed on the yaoguai still before you both, who is now trembling with barely restrained panic. Wukong uses two clawed fingers to pull his cigar from his mouth and hold it out, using his thumb to flick the ashes onto the hardwood floor. He angles his head up and blows a black smoke ring, wisps trailing from his lips like a caress. He's so handsome when he smokes…

“Bull King?” He calls over his shoulder towards his brother in arms. You watch over his shoulder as Demon Bull King looks up from his conversation with Erlang, large ears perked up and attentive. He had been casually swirling the amber scotch in his glass as the two of them spoke, Erlang looking slightly more relaxed than usual surrounded by allies he respects.

“Yes, brother? What's the problem?” The bull snorted. His and Erlang’s eyes glanced over the sight the three of you made, taking in your uncomfortable body language and Wukong's simmering rage. You see Erlang’s eyes narrow, his third eye honing in on the leopard before you both. 

“This one is yours right?” Wukong asked, voice calm. 

“Yes. New hire, kinda stupid.” Bull King laughed, his grin sharp and mean and full of teeth. Erlang snorts as well, his posture changing from relaxed to business within moments when he picks up how tense Wukong currently is. You could feel the muscles of your monkey’s back flexing under his shirt, but his body language was still calm as he observed his cigar. His hand was still rubbing soothing circles against the small of your back.

“How much?” The Monkey King asked. 

“Uh-” Bull King shrugged, rolling his eyes skyward as he thought. “Think 500 even? You wanna buy him?” 

“Something like that.” Wukong muttered. 

“Of course brother, I've got plenty more-” Demon Bull King barely spoke the words before Wukong moved, his arm leaving you with lightning speed towards the leopard. 

The cat couldn't even choke out a gurgle to plead for his life before Wukong's clawed hand was gripping tight around his throat and squeezing. The leopard’s mouth opened in a silent cry, eyes wide and panicked as his feet left the ground. The pressure of Wukong's hand around his windpipe grew worse and he kicked his feet and tail desperately for any kind of way to ease the burning in his lungs. Wukong was scowling now, upper lip curled and revealing the massive canines hidden beneath. With no hesitation he brought his lit cigar up towards the leopard's mouth.

“What should I do with you, hmm?” He purred. A shiver raced down your spine at the tone of his voice - something dangerous and cruel coming to the surface as he glared. You bite your bottom lip, trying not to squirm too obviously as heat pools in your lower belly. You feel the length of Wukong's tail side up the length of your legs and wrap around the curve of your ass, keeping you close to his side and not at all helping with the warmth gathering in your core.

Wukong brought the cigar closer to the yaoguai’s face and you prepared to watch as he put the burning filter out on the idiot cat’s cheek. Instead, your mouth dropped open in shock as Wukong instead dropped the whole cigar into the gasping mouth of the leopard, using his now empty hand to force the mobster’s mouth closed. The thrashing grew wilder and more uncoordinated, a high pitched whine of agony leaving the leopard's chest as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Wukong didn't flinch, not even when the cat managed to land a hard kick to his shin. 

“You lay your eyes on my mate, try to steal her from me, insult her and her honor, and then try to brush it off like it's no big deal.” Wukong hisses, dragging the flailing mess of a yaoguai closer to his gritted teeth. The leopard is sobbing against the hand covering his muzzle, fat tears streaming down his face in rivers as smoke puffs out his nose at a rapid, uneven pace. He watches Wukong's teeth as they move closer, as if to bite into the fur of his jugular and tear him to pieces. The Monkey King does no such thing, simply tossing the thug to the ground with a growl. 

The leopard hits the hardwood with a dull ‘thud’ and immediately starts to hack and cough, spitting out a drool-covered cigar and wet ash that stains the fur of his muzzle grey. He heaves for breath as henchmen surround him. One of the stronger enforcers stomps his foot on the leopard’s back, squishing any breath he may have managed to scramble into his lungs in an instant. 

“What do you want done to him, Great Sage?” He asks. Wukong thinks for a moment, pulling his lighter from his pocket and fiddling with it, switching the flame on and off as he thinks.

“Get him some place comfortable for now. I’ll visit him later.” The henchmen do as he says, dragging the whimpering mess on the floor out the door without hesitation. Wukong waves a hand at another goon, who rushes up to Demon Bull King with the previously mentioned cost for the leopard. Bull King snorts in amusement, taking the offered cash without complaint and going back to enjoying his scotch while chatting away with Erlang.

You stand stock still behind your husband’s back, shocked by how fast everything changed and trying to process what you just saw. Wukong turns to you, red eyes staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. His thumb still fiddles with his lighter, the repeated glow of the flame coming on and turning off making him look more demonic than usual. Your nerves are still frayed, and all you want to do is collapse in his arms and kiss him, beg for forgiveness for not doing what you were supposed to do-

“Come on, sweet peach.” His arm wraps tight around your waist, his thumb stroking the curve of your tummy as he pulls you into his firm side. The smell of his cologne and musk wash over you, making you shudder in relief as you bury your nose against him. Your own arms wrap tight around his waistline, gripping onto the material of his dress shirt as you walk out of the meeting room.

The walk through the hallways is quiet and tense. Wukong looks straight ahead as you move, taking each turn that leads straight to your shared bedroom. You try to calm yourself as you walk, letting the peace and comforting presence of your husband chase away the lingering anxiety you felt back in the meeting room. Before long you find yourself standing in front of your bedroom door and Wukong ushers you inside with a gentle push of his hand against the small of your back.

Your arms wrap around yourself in an effort of comfort as the door clicks shut behind you. You turn to look at Wukong, opening your mouth to apologize again only for him to hold a hand up to silence you.

“Strip.” Is all he says. You’re a good girl, so you listen. 

You take your layers off one by one, shivering not from the chill of the room but from the heated red eyes watching your every move. Your nipples harden and your core heats up despite the lingering anxiety of disappointing him taking root in your heart. Your arms go back to how you had them before, hugging yourself and pushing your tits close together as you give your husband the most apologetic look you can muster.

“I-I am sorry, daddy. I really didn’t mean to-...to ruin things-” You start, only pausing briefly as Wukong uses a finger to beckon you closer to him. Without hesitation you step up to him and his warm hands grip yours and bring them up to the buttons of his shirt. Catching on to what he wants, you begin to undress him, trailing your fingers delicately over every inch of fur and skin revealed to you. The intimacy of the moment has your breath stuttering in your chest and you can feel your slick dripping from your cunt and onto your inner thighs as you work. Wukong’s own hands settle back onto your waist, thumbs stroking the soft curve of your belly to your hips, his eyes watching your every move with an intensity that’s almost too much. You slip your fingers into the waistband of his slacks and work them off, happy to see he went commando today.

The hard length of his cock is completely unsheathed and presses against the curve of your mound and the softness of your belly. Thin trails of precum bead at the head and smear against your skin, you can feel it throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

You don’t know if you should bend over and beg him to fuck you sensless or get on your knees and plead for his forgiveness. 

Your anxiety must show because his hands are suddenly both cupping your face, his thumbs stroking over the ridge of your cheekbone as he angles your head to look up at him.

“Now, listen to daddy, baby girl. You-” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you tight against him. The warmth of his chest bleeds into you, soothing your frazzled emotions. “did nothing wrong today. You were sweet and thoughtful for wanting to get lunch with me, and you were very polite before that needle dick tried to-” He snarled and glared off to the side before taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The anxiety ebbed away, your heart feeling lighter as he reassured you.

“S-so…you’re not mad at me?” Wukong chuckled at your words, the force of it shaking his chest under your hands. You bit your bottom lip, your hips wiggling in eager anticipation at the sound, your cunt twitching.

“No, sweet peach, no. I was actually thinking…you looked so upset by everything, it’s my job to make sure you’re happy and well taken care of…” Wukong threaded one clawed hand through your hair, gripping the strands and pulling till your throat was angled like an offering before him. You moaned softly at the action, eyes fluttering closed in bliss. He brought his lips down to the juncture of your throat, giving a teasing nip to the skin with incredibly sharp canines. You bucked your hips against his in desperation at the feeling. The previous bite mark he left was still fresh on your skin, along with the numerous purple hickeys he left. You wanted him to sink his teeth back into your shoulder and break the skin again, to make you cry his name as he marked you for the world to see as his.

“I’m going to take care of you, sweet girl.” He growled into your ear. He nipped at your earlobe, making you hiss at the sting before pulling away from you. You whimpered in protest, hands sliding away from his soft fur as he made himself comfortable on your bed. He lounged back against your shared pillows on full display, his cock thick and engorged where it leaked over his tummy.

“Well come on. Don’t keep daddy waiting~” He purred. You shuddered, feeling weak in the knees as you eagerly climbed up to join him. You wanted that cock inside you, forcing you open and making you see stars as he used you-!

“Nuh-uh, what are you doing peaches?” He interrupted you as you settled on top of him, thighs locked around his hips and your pussy hovering over his dick. You raised a confused eyebrow at him even as you rocked your slick pussy against his length.

“I-I thought…” You trailed off, unsure what else it is he could have meant. Wukong chuckles, his claws settling onto the curve of your ass and pulling you upwards, away from his hips and towards-

His face.

You stutter, gripping his shoulders and digging your knees into the mattress below to stop him from pulling you further up. He was strong enough that he could do it regardless, but he pauses for you anyways.

“You-you want-? I don’t think-” You try to protest despite the fond exasperation on his features. “What if I hurt you somehow? Or I’m too heavy-?” Wukong barks out a laugh at that, sharp canines on display.

“Sweetheart, you know what I’m capable of. I’ve carried mountains without issue! And if, somehow, you were magically able to hurt me I would brag about it for the rest of eternity.” He brought a hand up to gesture at his face, putting on a voice that had you giggling into your hands. “‘Oh, what? This? Yeah I ate my mate’s juicy cunt so good she bruised my neck while cumming.’ Come on, don’t be silly.” His hand moved to the meat of your ass and gave it a harsh slap, your hips jumping at the force. You squealed at the sting of his palm and moved forward, his arms sneaking their way under your knees to pull them above his broad shoulders.

Your hips hovered above his muzzle as you peered down at him, still unsure. Wukong’s red eyes were focused completely on your mound and the slick coating the skin of your thighs. He licked his lips, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as drool coated his fangs. The heat in his gaze made you shudder, your nipples hardening as pure want coursed through you. 

“O-...okay daddy…” You whimpered.

“Good girl. Now take a seat on your throne.” He purred the cheesy line at you as you grabbed onto the headboard for stability as you lowered yourself closer. An amused snort barely makes it out of you before his hands are suddenly gripping your waist tight, yanking you the rest of the way down and onto his eager mouth.

You cry out, back arching as heat envelopes your sensitive pussy. He wastes no time letting you adjust, Wuong’s tongue already bullying its way between your lips and lapping at your slick with the intensity of a man starved. He sighs under you, his whole body going lax as his hot breath leaves his nose in a harsh exhale against your mound, eyes fluttering closed as he savors your taste. You can only sit there and take it, moaning your approval as the thick muscle of his tongue pushes against your clit before going back down to lap against your hole. One of your hands grips the headboard till the wood creaks under your fingers as you ride his face properly. Your other hand tangles in his thick mane of hair, tugging at the strands while you grind your pussy against his mouth.

He groans low in his chest at the feeling, letting you take your pleasure from him. You let your head fall back as bliss consumes you, getting lost in the feeling of his hot mouth working wonders against your dripping hole. His tongue is thick and hot, pressing against your engorged clit before he suckles the nub hard enough to make your knees shake where they sit around his head, and then moves back down to stretch your gummy walls with his tongue.

“F-fuck, daddy-! Feels so good…so good, oh my g-od-!” You whimper. Wukong groans against your pussy again, and a wet sound echoes from behind you. You peek over your shoulder to see his free hand gripping his cock, squeezing up and down in time with his tongue as it fucks your needy hole. Precum dribbles in a steady stream down his pink length and coats his hand, the sight of his slick making your cunt clench down hard on his thrusting tongue. You need him, you need him inside you-need to taste-

You squirm and buck your hips desperately, trying to get his arm wrapped around your waist to relax just enough for you to reposition.

“Daddy, daddy please let me-I want to turn around-” You plead. He pulls his mouth off your swollen cunt with a desperate gasp, licking his chops as his chest heaves under you.

“...You want to turn around?” He pants, giving you a questioning look. He takes a moment to nip and suckle at the skin of your thigh as you try to catch your breath.

“I want your cock, please daddy-...please, I want to choke on it-” You stare longingly over your shoulder where his hand is still playing with the head of his dick, thumb rubbing over the weeping head. That should be your hand, your tongue lapping up all that musky smelling pre and swallowing him down till you choke.

He chuckles underneath you, a cheeky sound that makes your heart squeeze inside your chest.

“Well, whatever my peaches wants~” He removes the arm locked around your waist, gripping your hips with both hands to help flip you around. You shuffle and try to keep your legs from hitting him in the face, settling back down with your plush tummy pressing against the length of his chest as you lay across him. Hard muscle is unyielding to your weight, your tits pressing together on top of his waistline as you move your face closer to his cock. His fur tickles your nipples, his hands find their way to the meat of your ass, and his hot and heavy cock is pressed right against your face. You coo at it, nuzzling your cheek against its heat as precum smears across your skin.

The heat of Wukong’s mouth returns to your dripping pussy, sucking hard at your puffy lips and making your hips buck uselessly against him. Pleasure coils in your tummy and you moan, sticking your tongue out to kitten lick the thick cock before you. Salty pre floods your mouth and Wukong’s musk fills your nose, heady and addicting. You trail your tongue downwards, stopping to suckle at a particularly thick vein pulsing with your daddy’s heartbeat, and reach the folds of his sheathe. Wukong’s tongue is pressing hard against your spasming hole, so you decide to return the favor. You press your own tongue into the sensitive skin of his sheathe, lapping at the base of his cock hidden underneath with wide strokes of your tongue, savoring the salty taste of his sweat that's gathered there.

A rumbling groan leaves him from under you, his own mouth working fervently in response to your touch. You kiss and lick your way back up, drooling openly and lapping at his sensitive pink head before sealing your lips around him. His hips buck up and push him further into your mouth, and he presses a sweet kiss against your clit in apology. 

You hum in the back of your throat, unbothered, and swirl your tongue over the leaking slit. You relax your jaw as much as you can, taking a deep breath in through your nose as you push yourself further down his cock, until you can feel the head nudging the back of your throat. So much is still left in your hands, his heavy balls sitting full right below you.

You focus on using one hand to squeeze the part of his cock your mouth can’t reach, letting the weight of him sit fully on your tongue and dribble precum down your throat. Your other hand makes its way to his sack, massaging and playing with his balls as they twitch against your palm. You bob your head slowly, trying to match the rhythm of his tongue as he wiggles it inside you. It's so hard to focus when the heat coiling in your belly winds up tighter, your cunt fluttering and leaking over his face. Wukong indulges in your taste, the lewd sound of his tongue lapping at your twitching hole filling the room.

And then his fingers dig into the meat of your ass cheeks, spreading them open to get a view of your asshole, twitching in time with your oversensitive cunt. Your cheeks burn knowing that he's watching, but you don't stop, keeping his fat cock shoved as far down your throat as you can handle. A thick vein pulses in time with his heartbeat against your tongue. He pulls his mouth away with a shuddering gasp, his hot breath puffing against your heated skin. 

“Gonna eat this tasty ass out, so you just be a good girl and take it, okay?” You don't even have a chance to respond before his thick tongue is wriggling against your hole, the tight ring of muscle clenching down hard. You keen at the feeling, your hips stuttering and your hands moving to grip at the fur of his thighs. You pull off his cock to moan, the heavy weight of it leaking against your cheek as you're forced to accept his touch. You can feel his tongue, wet and thick as it presses against soft gummy walls of your ass, your pussy clenching on nothing as he plays with you how he wants. It's overwhelming, being stretched in such a new way.

You had talked about anal in the past but hadn’t found the right time to actually experiment with anything. The foreign feeling of his tongue takes a moment to adjust too, but within moments you find yourself pushing your ass back against his mouth, moaning your approval with your face pressed against his length.

“F—fuck thats…nggh, it feels good daddy-” He gives an approving hum from below as one of his hands lets go of your ass. His fingers trail delicately over the puffy lips of your pussy before sinking in knuckle deep with ease. His fingers curl and press against the sensitive spongy spot inside and the coiled heat gathering in your tummy tightens. You’re babbling now, repeating his name like a mantra as the coil finally snaps and you cum. Your cunt gushes over his hand and face, his tongue pulling out of your ass to lap from your clit all the way back up, groaning at the taste of your slick. Your hips buck uselessly against his hold, your legs squeezing tight around him as you rock back and forth. 

When you finally catch your breath again his hands are roaming the expanse of your hips and lower back, rubbing soothing circles into the muscle as his mouth suckles away at your oversensitive lips. You whimper and wiggle at his touch, oversensitive to the point of discomfort.

“Ss-too much…” You moan, aftershocks still tearing through you and making your limbs shake. Wukong simply chuckles underneath you, and within moments you find yourself flipped over on your back, pillows beneath you. You look up at the towering frame of your husband as he looms over you, his thick mane of hair falling over his shoulders and around you like a curtain. With weak hands you reach up and tangle your fingers in it, pulling him close and kissing him. You can taste yourself on his tongue, his breath is hot against your lips. His hands roam from your hips and over the soft curve of your tummy and waist, finally cupping your tits where they’re sandwiched between the two of you. His fingers sink into the softness of your body, indulging in the squish and smirking into your kiss at the whimpers you give. 

When he pinches your hardened nipples you squeal, breaking the kiss to throw your head back against the mound of pillows beneath you and bucking your hips up and into his. Despite its exhaustion your body responds to his touch, heat already building back up in your core.

“Wukong…pl-please daddy, fuck me, I-...I want it so bad-” You plead, staring up and into his molten eyes. They glow softly in the dim light of your bedroom, and the eerie glow sends shivers racing down your spine. He presses another kiss to your lips, one hand leaving your chest and trailing down to your mound. He grips his cock and drags it through your puffy cunt, smearing slick and precum as his head pushes against your hole.

“Fuck, alright peaches, alright…Let daddy take care of you, gonna fuck this slutty pussy till you’re screaming-” He pants, his breath puffing like steam from his muzzle. He licks his chops and presses inside, his cock stretching you open and making your thighs shake where you have them squeezed around his hips. His tail circles around the length of your calf, another way to ground himself to you.

“Sh-shit…slides in with ease, huh baby? Such a good slut for me, always so eager…your cute little cunt knows who owns it, huh?” He hisses, grunting at the tight squeeze his words cause. You whimper and gasp, tugging desperately at his hair as your body tries to adjust to the thick cock bullying its way inside you. Your back arches and presses your tits against the soft fur and heated skin of his chest, his arms immediately moving to circle under you and hold you close to him while his hips rock against yours. 

It’s slow and tender, the way he starts. His hips give shallow, deep thrusts against you as he huffs in your ear, his lips pressing kiss after kiss to the juncture of your neck. The closeness has your clit grinding against your waist with each thrust, the fur there tickling your sensitive skin even as it's coated in your own slick. He holds you like he can’t bear to let you go, as if you’ll disappear the moment he separates from you. You grip him tighter and press a kiss to the shell of his ear, whispering against it as the head of his cock kisses the entrance to your womb repeatedly. 

“I won’t leave…never, I’ll never leave you Wukong. I l-love yo-u…!” Your voice sounds ruined when you speak, and it has him groaning low in his gut as his thrusts turn sloppy, his rhythm lost as he loses himself. You keen and wrap your legs tight around his hips to keep him snuggled deep inside you, biting the muscle of his shoulder as the heat inside you coils tighter and together once more.

“L…love you-...too-” He moans brokenly, and it’s enough. You cum once more, squeezing his thick cock where it’s buried inside you. He follows after you, a broken sound leaving him as he shudders over you, warm viscous ropes of cum pouring into your slick cunt and squirting back out when the pressure becomes too much. You can feel it filling you up, flooding your womb and leaving you feeling full and satiated as your whole body trembles with aftershocks. You hold Wukong close to you as his arms finally give out, letting his weight settle on top of you. You pant together and bask in your shared bliss, his cock still giving the occasional twitch as more cum leaks out from him and into your already stuffed pussy. 

You bring a shaking hand up and play with his long hair, twirling the strands between your fingers as you remember what it feels like to be human again.

“Th-thank you…” You manage to squeak despite the exhaustion you feel. Wukong shifts above you, pulling his face from where it was buried between your tits to look up at you.

“...Hmm?” He grunts. You give a tired snicker, delighted by the dazed look on his face.

“Thank you for taking care of me like you do. You always come in to save me when I need it.” You mumble. You try not to think of the discomfort you felt earlier with the leopard, wanting to keep the peace of the moment for just a little longer. Wukong smiles and presses a kiss to the area right above your heart. “Course. Anything for my sweet peach.”

[docholligay]

Thicker Than Water

Do I even think this is good at this point? Could not fucking tell you. Probably not. But it's more than I have written in a long long time, and it combines just, so many of my favorite things, and it's with the new dollies Papa brought for me from across the seas. About 4300 words, I would love it if you could find one nice thing to say! This will absolutely be the regular liveblog draw and I reserve the right to give extra draws if you lie well.

I HAVE NOT SEEN PAST EPISODE 17. PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL ME AND KNOW I AM AWARE I AM JUST MAKING SOME SHIT UP BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW ANY BETTER THAT'S FINE WE'RE FINE.

The trouble with Hawkeye was--among other things Roy would list--you had to be able to read her. Hawkeye considered what she was feeling at the moment to be, like so many other things, on a need to know basis, and not relevant to the overall mission. 

Luckily, Roy had become very good at reading her. 

Unfortunately, not needing to explain herself to Roy had left her with little will to improve in this arena. 

Even less fortunately, a decision had to be made, and quickly, with nearly a dozen of his men around him, and Hawkeye doing everything she could to hide any anxieties in particular. 

It was like solving a Rubik’s cube colorblind. 

Roy took a long look at Hawkeye, her arms crossed and staring straight forward. A hellish barb stuck out of her leg, blood pooling around it. 

“The convoy should be here soon.” A kid. Probably nineteen. Roy guessed he should probably dismount the high horse about being and recruiting young in the military, but anyone could be a medic. You didn’t need to get to them young. 

“So we should wait?” Roy snapped his fingers, and the medic’s eyes widened at the sparks. 

“Uh, well, the thing is--I mean I don’t have anything to give her, so it--it’ll be bad. But…” he looked over to the wound, making a mental calculation, “Given what I know about the coating, leaving it in might be worse. If we wait. So. But, yeah.” 

“Love the confidence.” He muttered under his breath, walking over to Hawkeye. “Thoughts, Lieutenant?” 

She looked up at him, and Roy tried to read. Her eyes flicked over to a staring group of men, mixedly loyal, annoying, or both, waiting to see her squirm. But she would not give it, and she nodded stoically. 

“Take it out.” 

“Agreed.” Roy spun around and gestured to the entrance of the tent. “If you aren’t operating, being operated on, or me, I need you to leave. Go to your tent, go to the mess, go to hell, I don’t care, but get out of here, and be far out of the way.” 

“I need someone to hold her down.” He nearly stuttered it out. 

“I’m not here to be decorative.” He looked back over to the group. “That was an order I just issued.” 

He eyed Roy as several much bigger soldiers, not to mention what was possibly a good quarter ton of Al, left the canvas tent. Even Ed said nothing to question him, the one bright spot in an otherwise miserable day. 

“I’m not sure...this is going to be excruciating, sir. I--” 

Roy delivered his well-practiced glower.  “And I’m sure she loves hearing that. I wasn’t asking for a consultation. We’ve got it.” 

Roy knelt next to Hawkeye and took off his gloves, folding them neatly and laying them to one side. 

“Give us a minute.” he gave a smirk.  “Please.” 

The young medic looked to them both, and then nodded. “”I’ll get my tools.” 

Roy took off his coat and put it underneath her back. “Remember how all Alchemists are weak and pale and don’t have any physical fitness requirements, so we’re like squishy little baby birds? You’re always telling me this. So, if you fight back too hard, you’re going to hurt me. Having physical standards and all. There’s a reason I don’t mess with you and Hughes’ little war games. You need to try and stay still.” 

“The only weight an alchemist has ever lifted was a book.” 

“You like to say.” He rolled up his sleeves. “So be careful with me, I’m delicate.” He looked her in the eye.  “Me and you. We’ve got it. We don’t need anyone else.” 

He could feel her trembling as he put his arm around her shoulders and grabbed her elbow. It twisted his stomach into a cramp. The medic walked back over to them with a cart, rolled over the stone and dirt. He sat on the ground next to Hawkeye and ever so slowly cut around the wound, exposing the sick burgundy of it. Roy took a quick glance at the ceiling. 

Hawkeye took a short, brave breath and closed her eyes. “Keep talking.” 

“Boy, is that something I thought I’d never hear from you. Maybe he was wrong and you are dying.” He nodded to the young man, who was pale with anticipation. “I was thinking about our office the other day. My office, of course, but I let you in there. Who in the world let you set that up? Was it me?”

There was the high metallic ping of some tool Roy was too cowardly to look at, and she stiffened. 

“If it was me, I’ll write myself up. If it was you, I’ll make you do the paperwork.” Hawkeye’s back arched, and a cry stalled in her throat. “Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I’ll have you do the write up either way. Your penmanship is neater.” 

He heard the rasp of something against flesh, and listened instead to Hawkeye, taking a deep breath. 

 “You don’t even--” A swallow “Know where the forms are. Ah!” 

“Exactly. Exactly.” He held her tighter, and she twisted against him. “Makes me feel like a damn kindergarten teacher. And don’t try to make me feel bad about bringing this up now,” he tried to keep hold of her, “you never make yourself available to discuss this when I want to, so I have to take what I can get. Let me tell you what else is irritating--” 

His mind raced through a dozen things. Something she thought would be stupid, and funny, and would irritate her in the way only he could. Something that would make her forget the same thing he was trying very hard to forget. Had she pushed him aside, when the attack came? He couldn’t remember, and he couldn’t ask, because Hawkeye would roll her eyes at him and say something about how he was always in the way, so why should this be any different, or just roll her eyes and expect him to supply the sentence himself. Should it be him, gritting his teeth? He was a talker, he was a wheedler, he was a weaver, that was what he did, was talk and explode things, and if here he was failing at the first one when all he had to do was try and hold on to Hawkeye, to keep her still, and say bullshit, but the sound of it all was so loud, and the smell of Hawkeye’s blood was tin in the air and--

“Sir?” The medic interrupted, his hands bloody and his eyes soft, “This will be the worst part. It’s wrapped--”

Roy popped like hot sap in a fire. “Just do it!!” 

He complied with a twist and a tug, and Hawkeye found the end of her tether. 

“Roy!” She screamed it as she bucked her head against his shoulder, and a sheet of ice went down his back, the taste of bile in his mouth. She stopped herself and bit her lip, a prickle of blood coming from it.  She must have felt him freeze up. Hawkeye.

“No. Don’t.” He grabbed his glove and put it in her mouth. “Bite on that. You know, I think you’re trying to give me a complex about my name.  I always liked it, but you must not.  I am never having a good time when you say it. Not once.You know it means king? What do you want me to change it to? You think I look like an Andrew?” 

There was a crisp yank of Hawkeye’s leg, and then she collapsed into him, panting. There was an arc of small holes across his glove. The sweat from her forehead dripped onto his neck. It took him a moment to realize he and the medic were panting too, the three of them having run a race to the finish. Hawkeye remembered herself first, raising a hand to push the hair off her face. She closed her eyes, took two very calm breaths, pushed herself to to sitting, and promptly threw up in the instrument basin. 

“I got it out.” The medic remembered, the spell broken.  He held the twisted, bloody thing aloft. There was a small chunk hanging from the top barb. 

“I see that.” Roy lamented, his gaze sharpening,  “Go get something to clean her up.” 

The young man sprung to his feet for some fresh towels, and Roy took her shoulders. 

“You’re okay. It’s over.” He reassured himself as he squeezed her shoulder. 

“I’m fine, Colonel. Water.” She spat. “Please.” 

“Right.” He shook off the haze of the moment and began to fix his shirt, buttoning it at the sleeves. “Thanks for missing my jacket. I’ll charge the glove to your paycheck.” 

He walked to the other end of the tent, took the water from the bottle and drank deep himself, the cool of it breaking against the dry of his throat. He poured some of it into a small cup and went back to Hawkeye, who at least had been supplied a towel to wipe her face as the young man bandaged her wound. 

“Here.” He crouched by her. “I suppose you’re going to want the afternoon off. Lucky for you I don’t have much to do.” 

She drank the cup in one gulp, and handed it back to him without a word. She leaned back on her hands, closing her eyes. 

Roy stood up and went back to the water bottle, pouring another glass. He motioned to the young medic, who looked even younger than he was in the wake of the incident. He scampered over to Roy. He should be playing tag or something, Roy thought. It was easy to talk kids into games they had no business playing. It was part of the job.

“You like being a medic?” he nodded. “You want a better position?” Another nod. “As far as you’re concerned, she didn’t even whimper, and I expect that to be the gossip I hear at dinner.” 

“Yes, sir.” He saluted, and it seemed like he meant it. 

“Is she cleared to leave?” Roy wished he’d put his coat back on. He looked more authoritative with the coat. “I’d like to get back to my quarters.” 

“Yes, sir. I doubt she can put much weight on the leg, sir. It’ll be better tomorrow, sir. She needs some rest--” 

“Sir, I got it, I hear you.” He strolled back over to Hawkeye and gave her the cup of water. “You’re dismissed. The only thing I want from you is to tell the doctor to bring something for the pain when he arrives.” 

He gave another stiff salute, and left quickly, seemingly forgetting this was the medical tent and technically his domain. 

Hawkeye set down the empty cup and took a slow breath out. She pushed herself up onto the good leg, and tried to stand up, wobbling nearly over until Roy rushed under her arm. 

“Goddamnit Hawkeye, knock it off. I’m going to go get Armstrong. He’ll just throw you over his shoulder or something. Be done with it.” 

Her eyes widened. “No.” 

“Don’t be more irritating than usual. “ 

“I can manage.” She took a hop, and leaned heavily on Roy. Too heavily. It was easy to forget by looking at her, by seeing how quickly she moved in battle and with a grace that could surprise you, but she was not a delicate fairy of a woman. Roy struggled and nearly fell, which he did not consider very flattering to him, but to think any further than that would be to consider that possibly Hawkeye was right about his book to gym ratio. 

“You can’t. I’m getting Armstrong.” 

“Don’t!” 

He leaned her up against the sturdy metal table, which was currently holding both a bin full of instruments and puke, as well as several bloody towels, and picked his coat up out of the dirt. 

“Listen to me. I cannot carry you. Remember my very moving speech about being a fragile baby bird? I thought it was pretty good, but maybe I was the only one listening.” 

She snapped at him. “What would you do if I fell in combat?”

“What I’m trying to do now! Tell Armstrong to pick you up and move it before I burn a hole in his ass!” 

“I’ll walk. Just--a second. I can do it.” 

“I don’t like your color.” he stiffened up and threw his coat back over his shoulders..  “Lieutenant. I am your superior officer. As your superior officer, I am telling you, you are not going to walk anywhere. As your superior officer, I am telling you to accept the help from Major Armstrong.” 

“Permission to speak freely, sir.” She said, unimpressed by the coat. 

Her eyes attempted to bore a hole in him, but he deflected the gaze with a wave of his hand. 

“No. Denied. I have a pretty good idea of what you’ll say, Lieutenant, and I’m not in the mood.” He pushed back his hair, and it fell into his face just as quickly,  “You have my permission to shut the f--” 

There was a set of footsteps, rapidly approaching the tent, and Roy turned to meet them. 

Hawkeye gave an exhausted smile. “Hughes.” 

“Knock knock.” Hughes walked in and quickly surveyed the bloodied towels, Roy’s crossed arms, Hawkeye’s bandaged leg, and the general sense of argument and exhaustion in the room. “You two have all the fun without me.” 

Roy threw his hand up. 

“Is he allowed to know you’re human, or is that verboten too?” 

---

Out in the dust and sand, things were more like they had been in the war. One of the few aspects of it Roy had never particularly hated, though plenty of people did. There wasn’t enough room for officers to have their own quarters, so there was a tendency to double up in whatever arrangement made sense. No one had even asked if he wanted Lieutenant Hawkeye with him. No one ever needed to. 

They hadn’t asked where he’d wanted his quarters, however. He would have said, “Closer to the med tent, or closer to the officers’ mess tent, or closer to anything at all.’ Or maybe he wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t realized he’d be hauling one half of Hawkeye across the field. Hughes had his arm wrapped around her chest, under her armpits, and was doing a fairly impressive job of hauling her along. Roy both realized he was mostly providing balance, and that he was exhausted by the effort. Thank God for Hughes, he’d thought more than once.

The tent was large canvas, with a large bed, plush as Roy remembered for all the annoying higher ups he had now become, and a smaller, less nice bed for the subordinate officer. When had he become this? It seemed the years had been such a grind, but when he looked back at them, he wasn’t sure what the moment had been. 

Roy gently dumped Hawkeye on the larger bed, Hughes following suit. 

“This--” she protested.

“I’m tired of carrying you. This is where you stay.” Roy grabbed the pillows and piled them behind her back. “Where’s your bag? You’re sweaty and you’re making my bed sweaty.” 

“They told me as soon as I got off the convoy. Doctor’s right behind me, though I’m sure he’s probably reassuring the medic that Roy’s not gonna burn his tent down. Here, I stole this for you.” He took a slice of cake in a cardboard box out of his bag, and set on the side table. “The fancy lads with the fancy food are in camp. You deserve a treat.” 

Roy brought over one of her multiple grey t-shirts, and Hawkeye slowly took off the sweat soaked one and replaced it. Hughes squeezed her shoulder and gave her a little smile. 

“Can I fix your hair?” 

“I’m alright.” 

“Of course you are! I wasn’t worried about you for a minute, you could do this twice a month and come out swinging.” He looked at her.  “Maybe once a month.” He whirled around to look at Roy. “You, I’m not so sure.” 

He grinned and rubbed at his arm, wincing. “I think I hurt my shoulder.” 

“Precisely. Honestly, it’s more that as the father of a daughter, I should learn to do more than pigtails.” He sat down next to Hawkeye.  “Elicia’s hair’s not long enough for a braid, but she’s going to want them any day now. I don’t want to be a leech on Gracia. So let me practice on you.” 

Hawkeye looked at him with a haze of true exhaustion. “Okay.” 

“Thanks.” He took Hawkeye’s hair out of its bun, and smoothed it as he began an uneven low braid, filled more with kindness than with skill, and he laughed. “You see I need the practice.” 

Hawkeye’s eyes were far away, and she started to shake, just a little at first, enough that Roy could ignore it, and then a cold sweat broke out on her brow. Roy could read Hawkeye, but Hawkeye could also read him, which he found at equal parts annoying and useful. 

“I’m fine, Colonel. Don’t be worried.” Her voice did not shake, but only through sheer will. 

Hughes roped up the end of her braid “Who’s worried? We’ll just get you warm. We’ll get some food in you.” He looked at Roy, “This is just a thing that happens.” 

Roy wanted to argue with Hughes that he knew that, that he had seen more combat and more destruction and more ugliness than Hughes had ever seen riding a desk, that he was condescending, but it was so damn comforting that he couldn’t manage any of it. Fucking Hawkeye. Fucking Hughes. How they fucking cared about him. How annoying. 

Roy grabbed an extra blanket from off the end of the bed and tossed it over Hawkeye. “You need to lay down and rest. You’re off duty.” 

Hughes picked up the piece of cake. “You should eat this.” 

“I don’t want it.” She closed her eyes. 

“Where exactly is the rumored doctor?” Roy wondered aggressively. 

“Colonel. I’m fine. Just tired.” 

“It’s Grand’s. I thought you’d enjoy that. Considering your feelings.” Hughes sat down on the bed. “I stole it at great personal and professional risk, so it’s the least you can do for me.” 

There was a call from the front of the tent, and in came a serious looking man, who Roy was delighted to see looked old enough to be shaving. He nodded to Roy and Hughes with an the confidence that could only come from a man who had gotten to avoid the hard work, and set a bottle on the small table next to Hawkeye’s slice of cake. 

The examination was mostly perfunctory, and mostly to avoid having Roy as an enemy, and all that was fine by Roy. Hawkeye looked over at the bottle, sitting poker straight, holding herself still as possible, as the doctor gave her some instruction about rest and signs to watch out for that she mostly planned on following as long as it didn’t get in her way. 

Roy took the bottle and twisted off the top, handing it to her. “Take this.” 

She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it just as quickly, giving in the twin temptations of modern medicine and her own bone-deep exhaustion. She should measure it, she should reject it, she should do a dozen things, but the number one thing she wanted to do was the thing she did, which was take a reasonable drink of the bottle and let it numb her tongue. 

Hughes turned and smiled at the doctor. “Thanks.” 

“That means you’re dismissed.” Roy added. 

“Roy. C’mon.” 

Roy smiled in his charming, warm, and utterly fake way. “Thank you for your help, doctor. I’ll have someone report to you in the morning. That will be all.” 

“Of course, Colonel.” He picked up his bag and left through the flap, Hughes securing it before his shadow could even fully leave. 

Hawkeye laid back on the pillows with a deep sigh and a heavy flop, eyes closed. 

Roy shook his head. “You’re a ridiculous person. I don’t know why I bother.” 

“Stop talking.” 

Hughes grinned. “See? She’s fine. You know you should probably get to--” 

“I don’t need it from you.” He looked down at Hawkeye, pulling up the blankets. “I’m going to touch you. Don’t be paranoid.” he tucked them in around her and turned back to Hughes. 

“Well, you need it from someone, and Hawkeye’s tired, so it’s just me. If you didn’t want to get dinner, I do have some new pictures of Elicia to show you, and--you’ll never believe how cute she’s gotten--you know, Gracia was just saying the other day about you--” 

“Maes, it’s been a long day.” 

“Sun’s not even down yet.” 

“Maes.” 

“Anyway, Gracia was saying you--Hawkeye, are we keeping you up?” 

“No.” She smiled sleepily, her eyes still closed. “I like it.” 

“Great. Anyway, she was saying you should really meet this girl --” 

___

Roy sat down on the small bed and took off his shoes. He blinked back a wave of exhaustion that had finally crashed over him, as if his body had suddenly remembered the effort of holding so much tension. 

“She’s out cold.” Hughes gave him a glass. “Here. Have some brandy.” 

“I do think I hurt my shoulder.” Roy massaged it for a moment. “God, she’s strong.” 

Hughes sat down next to him and took a drink. “You’re not usually on the receiving end, so it’s easy to forget, but considering she’s flipped me over her back a time or two, I’m not all that surprised. ” 

“Thank you.” He stared into his glass. “For being here.” 

Hughes considered a moment. “She scare you?” 

“It wasn’t the greatest moment of my life.” He lifted the glass to his lips, but mostly wetted them. “Hawkeye. God. She’s so stubborn. I fought with her at--” He glared playfully. “See, this is why you need to pick up a job in Eastern. She listens to you. ” 

“No, she lets me get away with things. Besides, Gracia hates the east. You’re on your own.” He shook his head. “Roy, I know we’ve had a lot happen, but you remember the early days. She had to be more. Everyone treated her like garbage for the crime of being a woman. Hawkeye holds a grudge.” He chuckled.  “Honestly, like no one I’ve ever met. Impressive.” 

Roy swirled around the brandy, the heavy legs of the liquor making rivers back into the sea of the glass. He took a drink, long and slow, flipping over the events of the day in his mind and assembling them, like a man playing solitaire. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“You look tired.” 

“No wonder Information gave you a promotion.”

“Ass.” He snorted, smiling. 

Roy sighed heavily . “She pushed me out of the way.” 

“Of course. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but, she’s just kept doing the same job since you met. You’re her Alchemist. She keeps you alive.” Hughes laughed. “And honestly considering the Alchemist, they ought to give the woman a medal.” He swirled the brandy in his cup. “Hawkeye’s Hawkeye, and I don’t try to fix it. You’re you.” 

“She could burn her life better.”

Roy glanced over at Hughes, who was considering. He took a drink and moved the words around like scrabble tiles, waiting to present them. 

“Not to her, Roy. And that’s her choice to make.” He nodded. “I don’t try to fix it.” 

Roy looked up at the ceiling. Hughes was annoying: Sometimes by accident, sometimes by design, but he was much keener and smarter than he pretended to be. He was a fantastic fighter, a brilliant informant, because he watched people. He understood them. It had been that way since they were young. All these things benefited him.

Hughes interrupted his thoughts by ruffling Roy’s hair with a smile. “And I like you both.’ 

But the greatest thing he was, was kind. This was also by accident and design. 

There was an unsuccessful tangle with the knot Hughes had tied at the midpoint of the zipper, and an angry man called through the tent flap. 

“Hughes, are you gonna come do your job, or are you gonna keep playing grabass with your little friends?” 

“I better go.” Hughes poured the remains of his brandy into Roy’s glass. 

“Pretty sure I outrank him.” Roy said, unsure if it was true, but sure enough that he could make the man think it. 

Hughes stood up and nodded to Roy. “I’ll come check on you after.” 

“I’m beat flat.” Roy shook his head, set down the glass, and began to unbutton his shirt. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Hughes took a moment to look around the room before grabbing his bag. 

“Well, if she’s not gonna eat this, I will.” He picked up the slice of cake and gave a little rub to Hawkeye’s arm.  “Goodbye, little friends!” 

He left out of the flap and zipped it behind him. Roy thought about getting up to tie the knot, but his body felt like it was made out of lead. The bed felt so soft beneath him. He tossed his shirt onto the floor and laid on his back. Hawkeye’s breaths were deep and slow on the other end of the tent. It was okay. Everything was fine. He didn’t need to fix it. 

He fell into sleep like a child falls out of bed, without warning, and all at once.

[mggssocks]

The Eighth

the eighth masterlist

pairing: Fem!Kook!Reader x Rafe Cameron

cw: a little nsfw smut but it's quick. that's it.

a/n: last chapter got so much love my heart is exploding so much rn. here's my appreciation: an extra long chapter five days before it was supposed to drop. lol thanks again.

“What?!” Becca’s voice shrieks through your phone speaker, nearly making you drop the blouse in your hand. You’re halfway through unpacking your suitcase- this time, for good.

“I just don’t see any point in going back to the OBX,” you say, folding the blouse and placing it into the drawer like it’s the final brick in a new chapter. “I mean… besides you. But even then, you’re about to start your whole family-business journey. I’d just be a distraction.”

“No, you wouldn’t! Stop saying that,” she argues. “And what about my birthday? You promised you’d help me set up.”

You sigh and sit on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be back this week to grab the rest of my stuff. And obviously I’ll be there for your birthday. But after that… it just doesn’t make sense to move back. My future’s here. You know it is.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end before she groans. “You’re the worst. But I love you, so I’m letting it slide.”

A small laugh slips from you. “Fair enough.”

“You’re gone. Marie’s going back to Charleston once summer’s over…”

“She lives in Charleston,” you tease. “Did you forget?”

“I know,” she says defensively. “But now I won’t have any real friends around.”

“Since when are you and Marie so close?” Your brows lift in amusement, even though she can’t see you.

“We’ve… gotten to know each other,” Becca answers carefully, her tone softer, layered.

There’s a pause -just a second too long- but you let it go.

“Well, at least thank you for finally taking my advice,” you say, flipping through the hangers in your closet. “Anyway, I gotta go. Celeste and I are heading to the spa.”

“Ohhh, remember when we used to go to the spa together?” Becca replies in a playfully jealous voice. There’s still a hint of something real beneath the teasing.

“Bye, Becca,” you say with a smile, shaking your head.

“Bye, Y/N. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You hang up and sit back for a moment, looking around the room. Your new room. For the first time, the thought of not going back doesn’t make your stomach drop. It just feels… like the beginning.

-

Fashion shows. Board meetings. Watching designers drape, pin, and sketch. It all flies by in a blur of espresso, stilettos, and showroom lighting. Before you know it, it’s Thursday evening, and your driver is pulling up in front of your parents’ house.

You step out of the car, instinctively glancing at Tannyhill across the lawn. Same wraparound porch. Same house you used to sneak out of just to crawl into his bed.Now it just feels… far away. Like it belonged to a different version of you.

“Thank you,” you murmur as the chauffeur shuts the car door behind you.

The house is quiet when you enter. Too quiet. The type of silence that tells you no one’s home- and for once, you’re grateful.

You don’t have the patience for your mother’s smug “I told you so” about how much you enjoyed your New York experience.

You head upstairs and start packing two more suitcases. and when you go to look for your sewing kit, you remember exactly where it’s at and your heart sinks. You’re folding dresses when the sound of raucous laughter and revving engines cuts through the calm.

You pause. Walk to the balcony.

The street is packed. People line the sidewalk with their phones out, filming and laughing. A car crawls in reverse down the road, someone splayed dramatically across the hood, exhaling a bong rip toward the sky like it’s a music video.

You don’t need to guess whose party it is. Typical Rafe.

You roll your eyes, grab your hoodie, slip into your shoes, and snatch your keys. You’re not doing this for him. You just need your sewing kit. Nothing more.

You drive the short distance. Park a few houses down, out of sight. The place is chaos. Drunken twenty-somethings everywhere- red cups in hand, bass shaking the ground.

Children, you think to yourself, and you’re caught off guard by the word. Just a couple months ago, you were them.

Now? You feel different. Older, somehow. Maybe not wiser- but definitely not the girl who used to show up at these parties.

You slip through the front lawn, head down, hoodie up. You move like muscle memory through the crowd, avoiding faces, avoiding his face.

You know exactly where your kit is. In the sitting room. The one where you told each other you loved one another for the first time.

The memory stings, but you keep moving.

You round a hallway corner—and pause. There he is.

Rafe.

He’s laughing with some guy, drink in hand, head thrown back. Effortlessly magnetic. You duck your head and detour down another hallway, heart hammering.

In the sitting room, your kit is still there. Tucked in the corner behind the couch. Moved, definitely. He didn’t throw it out, though. He kept it. You spot the mannequin with the fabric still pinned in place. Part of you considers taking the whole thing, but it’s too bulky, too obvious. You rip the fabric off, fold it quickly-

“Hey, don’t touch my shit-”

You freeze. You know that voice. You turn slowly. There he is.

Rafe Cameron.

Arm draped casually around Sofia’s shoulder. Her expression shifts the moment she sees you.  She steps slightly out of his hold, discomfort flashing across her face.

His entire demeanor changes. The laughter’s gone. His eyes soften, like he didn’t expect to see you again, especially here.

You feel your throat tighten, but you won’t let yourself cry. Not in front of him.

You hold up the sewing kit wordlessly, forcing out a quiet explanation.

“I left this.” You don’t meet his eyes.

He blinks. Swallows. “Oh.” It’s all he says.

The weight of the summer sits heavy between you. He doesn’t move. Neither do you.

“I’m gonna-” you start, voice barely above a whisper.

But then you stop. There’s nothing left to say.

You push past him before he can see you fall apart, the sewing kit clutched tight in your arms like it might hold you together.

You move through the crowd. Down the porch stairs. Out of the noise.

You toss your things in the back seat, climb behind the wheel, and slam the door shut. You don’t know where you’re going. Just that it’s anywhere but here.

Somehow, you end up at the marsh- the one Rafe brought you to that first night. The place where everything started, when the both of you stopped pretending and actually saw each other for the first time.

Now, your knees are pressed tight to your chest, your arms wrapped around them, staring blankly at the dark water stretching in front of you. The marsh is quiet, save for the occasional chirp or rustle in the trees, but all you hear is static in your own head. A buzzing from the weight of it all crashing down on you.

Life is moving too fast. Too much.

And you’ve been trying to outrun it since the second you landed in New York.

That phone call. Her voice answering his phone. You shoved it so far down in your brain it doesn’t even feel real anymore. Probably some sort of trauma response. But seeing him tonight -really seeing him- with her?

His arm draped so effortlessly around Sofia, like it belonged there. Like the last two and a half months never happened. Like you didn’t say “I love you” in that exact same room where he stood tonight, letting another girl anchor herself to him like she knew him better than you ever could. It burns.

Your chest aches as the tears start to come. Slow at first, and then all at once. The memories, the pain, the humiliation. It feels like mourning a life that barely even had time to exist.

And then—

“You’re here.”

You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. It slices through the silence, warm and familiar, even now.

But still- you do. You turn. And there he is.

Buzzed hair damp, probably from the humidity or maybe the beginnings of rain. Eyes glassy. Breath uneven. His party-boy sheen is gone. It’s just him, stripped down in the moonlight.

You look away quickly, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater, praying the darkness hides the wreckage on your face.

“Yeah… I am,” you say, trying to sound indifferent. You fail.

He steps closer. “Mind if I sit?” he asks, nodding toward the spot beside you.

You barely respond, just shift slightly to make room.

A flash of lightning splits the sky above, casting everything in sharp silver for half a second. A warning, maybe. Or a sign.

He settles beside you. The space between you is small, but it feels like miles.

“I didn’t expect you to come back,” he says, voice low, eyes locked on the water like it’s safer to look at something else.

You let out a hollow laugh. “I’m not really back. Just picking up some more stuff.” You pause. “So… yeah. I guess I made up my mind.”

He turns to say something, but before he can-

“You moved on pretty fast,” you say, finally meeting his gaze.

He blinks. “I’m not moved on.” His voice sharpens. Defensive. “You think I wanted this?”

“You didn’t not want it,” you fire back. “You gave up, Rafe. You didn’t fight for me, you didn’t call, you didn’t even text. You let Sofia answer your phone like nothing between us even mattered.”

He stands now, breathing harder. “You think that’s what this is? Me moving on? I was drunk. She picked up my phone because I was too messed up to know where it even was.”

“Don’t,” you say, standing too. “Don’t blame the alcohol or the party or anything else. You ended things. You pushed me away. You told me if I left, we were done. So I left.”

“And that was a mistake,” he mutters.

“Yeah, no shit.”

The thunder rumbles in the distance. Rain starts. Light at first. Barely more than a drizzle.

“You said you loved me,” you say quietly, eyes on his. “If you did -really, truly did- you wouldn’t have ended things the way you did.”

His eyes shimmer, but he doesn’t let the tears fall. Not yet. “I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

“I wanted you.” Your voice cracks. “I would’ve fought for us. You were just… too scared to fight with me.”

Silence. The kind that feels loud. And then it starts pouring. A heavy, curtain-like rain that soaks your hoodie and your short and makes the whole world blur around the edges. You’re crying again. But you don’t care.

You step closer. “You say you love me, Rafe, but when it mattered- you shut down. You ran. You always run. So no. I don’t believe you ever loved me. I don’t think you ever could.”

He’s silent. Frozen. Staring at you like he wants to say everything but can’t find the words.

You scoff through your tears. “That’s what I thought.”

You turn, soaked, heartbroken, shaking..but then-

His hand wraps around your wrist. Firm. Certain.

“Wait,” he breathes, spinning you around so fast your chest bumps his.

Your breath catches.

His voice drops, rough and shaking. “What do you think about this?”

And then- He kisses you. Not soft. Not sweet.

It’s everything. Angry. Desperate. Like he’s trying to prove every word he couldn’t say. And for a moment, the rain, the hurt, the heartbreak- It all stops.

You’re soaked- and not just from the rain.

The moment your back hits the leather seat of Rafe’s car, it’s clear where this is going. His mouth crashes against yours, urgent and unrelenting. There are no words. None needed. You’ve both already said too much, and yet not nearly enough.

His hands roam under your soaked hoodie, gripping your waist, peeling the fabric off like he’s starving for you. Your tank top follows, tossed somewhere into the front seat. And then it’s him- his shirt, his jeans, every barrier between you stripped away until all that’s left is skin and heat and rain-slicked desperation.

You don’t even remember climbing into the back seat. Maybe he pulled you. Maybe you pulled him. But it doesn’t matter now. His body is between your legs, his glistening tip sliding slowly along your entrance, teasing you, taunting you. Your hands brush against in his damp hair as he trails kisses down your neck, grazing your collarbone, biting gently at the shell of your ear.

And then-

He thrusts into you.

A broken moan escapes you both, loud and raw. He holds you closer than he ever has during sex- like he’s trying to crawl inside you, like he’s trying to stay. His thrusts are deep, slow, and intentional, hips grinding against yours with every movement. It’s not just sex- it’s something else entirely. Something heavier. More dangerous. More real.

Your lips find his again, mouths moving in sync, tasting each other through moans and shallow breaths.

Rain drums hard against the roof of the car, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the sounds between you. The wet slap of skin, the soft gasps, the cries of pleasure. Steam fogs the windows, wrapping you both in this cocoon of lust and love and unspoken heartbreak.

“Rafe,” you whimper, breath shaky.

He hears you this time. “I’m here, baby,” he breathes against your lips, biting gently on your lower one, then trailing kisses along your jawline.

Your head falls back. Eyes roll. One hand braces against the fogged window, streaking down with condensation. The car rocks beneath you.

“I’m so close,” you cry out, voice trembling. You pull him closer, your lips finding his in a messy, desperate kiss.

“Cum for me,” he growls, holding your face in one hand. “Cum all over my dick, pretty girl. Show me how much you missed me.”

He laces his fingers through yours, grounding you, anchoring you.

“That’s it -right there-” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m cumming-”

Your thighs clamp around his hips, and your body goes rigid- completely still as the orgasm rips through you. White-hot. Paralyzing. Perfect.

“Oh, baby,” he moans into your neck. His thrusts grow sloppier, more frantic. He’s close. So close.

And then he stills. A soft curse under his breath, followed by a deep, guttural moan as he spills inside you, hands gripping you like he never wants to let go.

The only sound now is your breathing. Heavy. Labored. Quiet.

You both move slowly, silently, gathering your clothes in the dim light, pulling them back on like armor. No words exchanged. Not yet.

You clear your throat, adjusting your hoodie. “I should get going,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, not on him.

He nods and opens the car door, stepping into the wet gravel. He reaches a hand out to help you down, knowing your knees are shot. You take it. His touch still lingers when you let go.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, walking with you to your car parked nearby. The rain has lightened, but the world still feels heavy.

Thank God you’d put the top up on the convertible earlier.

He opens the door for you. You slip in. He doesn’t close it right away. Instead, he leans against the window frame, chin resting on crossed arms, staring at you like he’s memorizing your face.

“I love you,” he says softly.

It almost breaks you. You want to melt into him. You want to say take me with you or come with me. You want the whole fairy tale. But this isn’t a story with a perfect ending. Not tonight. So instead, you give him a small, pained nod.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

He steps back as you start the engine. But just before you shift into gear-

“Hey,” he says again, and you look up. His eyes are pleading. “Promise me you’ll keep in touch.”

You pause. The words claw at your throat. You wish you could say yes. God, you want to say yes. But you know better.

“I can’t,” you say truthfully.

And then you’re pulling away.

You drive off into the night, the sound of gravel crunching beneath your tires. Tears blur your vision, but you don’t stop.

Not this time.

- 

The familiar weight of landing in New York hits your chest the second the plane touches down- though this time, it doesn’t feel like a trip. It feels like a turning point. You stare blankly out the window as the chauffeur navigates through the familiar rush of yellow cabs and honking horns, the skyline rising in front of you like it’s daring you to start over.

When you arrive at Celeste’s building, the doorman greets you by name this time. The little things -like that- make it feel real. Permanent.

You step into the penthouse, expecting to feel overwhelmed, but instead, it’s like the city has exhaled just for you. Celeste is, as always, dressed like she’s about to be photographed for Vogue- today in tailored wide-leg trousers and a silk blouse, sorting through a stack of mail with a glass of green juice in hand. She glances up as the door clicks shut behind you and offers you that signature smirk of hers. Knowing. Effortless.

“Hey, you,” she says, setting the mail aside, fully turning her attention to you. “Back in the city for good?”

You try to sound upbeat. Normal. Like your heart isn’t still bruised. “Hey. Yeah, looks like it.”

You nod once, tight and unsure, like saying it out loud might make it more real. Celeste reads you like a book but doesn’t push. Instead, she lights up like she’s been waiting for this moment.

“I actually have a little something for you,” she says, opening a drawer and pulling out a small black box.

Your brows lift. “What’s this for?”

“Just open it,” she insists with a twinkle in her eye.

You walk over, the heels of your boots clicking against the marble, and open the box. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, is a gleaming silver key.

You blink. “A… key?”

“To your own apartment!” she grins, practically bouncing.

You blink again, this time slower. “Wait, seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

You laugh, stunned. “Is this your really polite way of kicking me out?”

She gasps playfully. “Never! I just figured you’d feel more creatively free in your own space. You’re building something. You deserve to do it in your own place.”

You look at the key again. It shines like a new beginning. “When do I move in?”

“Well, I’ve got to get to the studio for a shoot, but this weekend for sure. Oh! And we are definitely going furniture shopping.”

-

The weekend blurs into a frenzy of shopping for fabrics and furniture, installing bookshelves, choosing wall art, and figuring out if you’re a “scented candle girl” or not (you decide you are). The apartment is high above the chaos of the city- quiet, sunlit, and breathtaking. A place that feels like yours. You barely have time to think about Rafe. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about you.

Chelsea texts to say Rafe stopped by. Brought flowers. A little box. A note. You promise to respond. But you don’t. You tell yourself you’re busy. The truth is, you’re scared of what answering him might do to the carefully built walls around your new world.

Nights are harder. You unpack your OBX things alone, piece by piece, item by item. A hoodie. A half-full sketchbook. The sewing kit. The mannequin.

You sit on the edge of your bed at 1:03 a.m., phone in hand, his contact open. You think of calling.

But instead, you imagine him asleep. At Tannyhill. Or not asleep at all. Maybe with someone else. Either way, you lock your phone and press it to your chest.

-

The weeks slip by like water- fashion meetings, showroom launches, networking brunches. You’re productive. Pulled together. Floating between espresso machines and editorial boards like you’ve been doing it your whole life. There are flashes where you feel like yourself again. Then there are moments where you wonder if you’ve just gotten really good at pretending.

You’re wandering the halls of the Met one late afternoon, alone, trying to trigger some spark of inspiration for your next collection. You linger in front of a massive piece that feels too abstract to be brilliant but too deliberate to be random.

“This is stupid, right?” The voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

You glance to your side. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, tousled dark hair and that New York City jawline. He’s beautiful. Effortlessly so.

You raise a brow. “Stupid’s a strong word for a piece that’s hanging in the Met.”

He grins. “Alright, pretentious, then.”

You cross your arms, turning slightly toward him. “It’s commentary on chaos versus intention. Maybe it’s not meant to be pretty. Maybe it’s just honest.”

His smile deepens. “Okay, art school. I stand corrected.”

You laugh -actually laugh- and it surprises you. The tension in your chest loosens a little.

“I’m Owen,” he says, offering a hand. “Photographer. Born and raised here. Are you one of those impossibly cool transplants?”

You take his hand. “Y/N. Designer. Recently relocated. And yes, impossibly cool.”

He tilts his head toward the museum café. “Can I buy you a coffee to make up for calling your art stupid?”

You hesitate, glancing down at your phone. “I actually have to be somewhere in a few. But… I wouldn’t mind keeping the debate going sometime.”

He grins again, slower this time. “You’re smooth.”

You shrug. “I’ve been told.”

He pulls out his phone and opens a new contact. “Then let’s make it official. Number?”

You trade phones and type in your info. A moment later, your phone buzzes with a text.

[Unknown]: I owe you a latte and a second opinion on pretentious modern art.

You glance up at him with a soft smile. “Looking forward to it.”

You smile softly as you step back out into the golden hush of early evening. The sidewalk is bustling. The city smells like roasted peanuts and ambition. But as you make your way through the crowd, your mind drifts.

You think of Rafe.

You shake your head and try to focus on the present- the sound of car horns, the art still swimming in your head, Owen’s text lighting up your phone.

But the ache? It lingers anyway. Like a bruise in a place only you can feel.

-

The city glows below, windows lit like stars scattered across the skyline. You’re tucked up at your desk by the window, sketchpad in front of you, a soft pencil dragging across the paper as you bring a new design to life. Your Mac is on in front of you, FaceTime connected to Becca, who’s lying across her massive bed back in the OBX.

“I swear to God,” she says, mid-rant, “if my mother tries to set me up with another guy who ‘owns his own landscaping business,’ I’m committing to girls only. I’m done.”

You grin without looking up. “So girls only now?”

“Girls only,” she confirms, sighing dramatically and rolling onto her back. “Men are exhausting.”

At that moment, both your phone and Mac ding. Instinctively, your eyes lift to your Mac screen.

Unknown Number: You doing anything tomorrow night?

You pause, blinking. You don’t recognize the number, but you already know. A smirk tugs at 

your lips as you pick up your phone and type back:

You: I’m sorry… who is this?

“Who’s got you smiling like that?” Becca’s voice cuts in, amused.

Your eyes flick back to the screen just as the reply comes in.

Unknown: You’ve gotta be kidding me. Camera guy? Bad at reading art? Does any of that ring a bell? You schooled me earlier today on it.

You laugh to yourself, shaking your head.

“Y/N!” Becca’s calling again, waving a hand in front of her camera.

You type quickly:

You: Ohhh. Yeah, you were pretty bad at reading art.

“Okay, spill,” Becca says, sitting up and propping her phone on her bed. “Who is he?”

You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Just this guy I met earlier today at the Met. I was looking at one of the new installations and he came up and started talking trash about it. I couldn’t not correct him.”

Becca gasps. “You schooled a stranger?”

“I couldn’t help myself.” You grin as another message pops up:

Unknown (now saved as Owen): So???

You: ‘So’ what?

“What’s his name?” Becca asks, practically bouncing.

“Owen,” you say, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling. Not on purpose- just instinct.

“Owennn,” Becca drawls teasingly. “I like that. Is he cute?”

“He’s actually really cute,” you admit. “And a photographer.”

“Oooh, artsy. That’s very New York of you.”

Owen: You doing anything tomorrow night?

You: Most likely not doing anything. What’s up?

Owen: A friend of mine is hosting an art exhibition. You should come.

You raise an eyebrow at your phone.

Becca watches you with narrowed eyes. “So is Rafe just… gone? Like, totally out of the picture now?”

You pause, your pencil hovering above the sketchpad. “I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “I mean… what picture is there to be in? He ended it.”

Becca makes a face, then hesitates.

“What?” you ask.

“Speaking of him,” she says slowly, “he won’t stop harassing me about you.”

Your heart dips unexpectedly. “What?”

“I wasn’t sure if I should even tell you or if you wanted to hear it. But he keeps texting, asking how you’re doing, if I’ve heard from you. He’s… kind of a wreck.”

You don’t know what to say. Your chest tightens but you quickly sit up straighter, clearing your throat. “I don’t know what he expects,” you say. “He made his choice. And I made mine.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I just thought you should know,” Becca says gently. “I didn’t want to keep it from you.”

You nod, eyes flicking back to your phone. Owen’s message is still glowing.

Owen: It’s in SoHo. Chill crowd, I promise. Come have fun.

You press your lips together, then type:

You: Okay. I’m in.

Becca catches the subtle shift in your mood but doesn’t press.

“Owen better be worth it,” she teases instead.

You smirk and shake your head, looking back down at your sketchpad. “I’m just trying to make friends.”

-

You step into the warehouse, the scent of paint and champagne mingling in the air. The space is dimly lit with warm amber bulbs that hang loosely from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the exposed brick walls and concrete floors. Occasional bursts of flash from both professional cameras and iPhones flicker through the room like fireflies.

Clusters of people sip from slender champagne flutes and laugh in that low, throaty way that only people born into wealth seem to perfect. At a glance, you could almost believe they’re just normal twenty-somethings living the starving artist dream. But it only takes a few seconds to tell- these aren’t broke New Yorkers chasing artistry. These are the children of CEOs and hedge fund managers, reveling in the aesthetic of struggle like it’s performance art.

You shift slightly in your powder blue backless halter top and tailored black capris that kiss just below your knees. The outfit is simple, elevated, and perfect for the fading end-of-summer warmth. And yet, you feel entirely out of place. You can feel the stares, subtle but unmistakable, trailing you like perfume as you walk further into the gallery.

You pull out your phone.

You: I’m here. Where are you?

As you lower your phone, your eyes scan the artwork- colorful, chaotic, interesting in a raw kind of way. You pause in front of one, arms crossed as you tilt your head thoughtfully.

Then you hear it- an enthusiastic voice floating across the room.

“Thank you! Thank you so much for coming! You guys are amazing!”

You glance toward the source and spot her. She’s moving from group to group like sunlight, radiating ease. She’s got blonde hair styled in a messy ponytail tied with a vintage scarf, a pale pink off-the-shoulder t-shirt tucked into white bloomer shorts, and beat-up, hand-drawn Converse covered in doodles and signatures. She looks like Gigi Hadid if Gigi had a passion for art school critiques and lavender incense.

She sweeps her bangs out of her eyes and makes direct eye contact with you, her bright smile catching you a little off guard.

“Well, I know I haven’t seen you before,” she says, walking right up to you.

You offer a polite smile and extend your hand. “Hi, I’m-”

“Oh, sorry- I’ve got this germ thing.” Still, she takes your index finger between hers in a loose little shake that somehow feels more genuine than any firm handshake you’ve had. You laugh.

“-Y/N,” you finish.

“Noel,” she replies, her cheekbones practically casting shadows in the moody lighting. “Thanks for coming to my exhibit. I seriously appreciate it.”

“Y/N!” a voice calls from behind you.

You turn and spot Owen, striding over in a white long-sleeve layered under a black T-shirt, well-worn jeans, and his camera slung around his neck. He looks like he just walked off a ‘cool guy at an indie film festival’ Pinterest board.

“Ah, I see you’ve met Noel,” he says.

“I have,” you smile, glancing between them.

“Oh, you two know each other?” Noel asks, pointing between the two of you with a curious look.

“Barely,” you tease.

Owen clutches his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Wow. That’s bestie to you.”

You laugh -really laugh- and feel some of your nerves melt away.

“We met at the Met yesterday,” you explain.

“She schooled me on art,” Owen adds with a shrug.

“I like you already.” Noel loops her arm through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You’re surprised- but not unwelcome to it.

“Wait, wait- Noel, are you cheating on me already?” another voice rings out.

You turn to see a tall, stunning girl walk over. She looks like a young Kimora Lee Simmons- statuesque, glam without trying, dressed in sleek trousers and a cropped blazer with a diamond tennis bracelet that sparkles every time she moves. Her presence is commanding in that effortless New York way.

“Don’t pay her any mind,” Noel says with a grin, squeezing your arm lightly.

“Hi,” the girl says to you with a slow smile, already assessing your vibe with ease.

“Y/N, this is Allegra, my roommate. Allegra, Y/N, Owen’s friend,” Noel says. 

Allegra narrows her eyes at you, then points a manicured finger in your direction. “Wait a second… you’re the girl who moved in at Lucent apartments, aren’t you?”

You blink. “Um- yeah, I guess I am.”

“I knew you looked familiar. I saw you coming in with Celeste the other day. She’s basically Manhattan royalty, by the way.” Allegra smirks. “Nice to finally meet our mystery neighbor.”

You nod with a nervous smile, but she’s already waving it off like she’s claimed you as one of her own.

The rest of the night becomes a blur of laughter, art debates, and light gossip. You find yourself trailing after the trio like a lost puppy- Noel’s bright warmth, Owen’s quiet charm, and Allegra’s bold confidence make it easy to fall into step. Somewhere between sips of rosé and Noel dragging you to see her favorite piece (“it was inspired by a dream I had after eating expired cheese”), you realize something surprising.

You could really see yourself being friends with them. Allegra reminded you so much of Becca’s attitude and Noel had that same sweetness of Marie.

-

“Do you ladies need me to walk you up?” Owen asks as the four of you step out of the cab in front of your building. The city hums quietly around you, late-night traffic whispering in the distance. He’d been sweet enough to cover the ride, despite Allegra’s half-hearted protests.

Noel raises an eyebrow, a few stray paintbrushes and a folded sketch in her hand. “What, to like… protect us?”

Owen shrugs. “Well… yeah.”

Noel bursts out laughing. “What are you gonna do? Blind someone with the flash of your camera?”

Allegra tosses her hair over one shoulder, smirking. “Or maybe hit them with an aggressively artistic critique?”

The two of them crack up and you stifle your own laugh, trying not to completely gang up on him- though the image was funny. Still, there’s something endearing about his concern.

“We got it,” Allegra says with a wink as she slips her arm through yours, leading you and Noel toward the front entrance.

“Bye,” Owen calls, one hand in his pocket and the other lifting into a lazy wave.

“Byeeee!” Noel chimes back, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet street. You glance over your shoulder and smile, waving with the hand not tangled up in Allegra’s.

The elevator ride up is slow and golden-lit. Allegra leans casually against the mirrored wall, like she’s in a Vogue street-style spread without even trying.

“So,” she starts, eyeing you with genuine interest, “where are you from?”

“Outer Banks. North Carolina,” you reply, shifting your weight slightly.

Noel perks up. “Is that like… beachy?”

You smile at her phrasing. “Yeah, it’s a string of barrier islands off the coast. Small town. Lots of boats. Lots of gossip.”

Allegra hums. “Sounds like an Instagram dream but also my personal nightmare.”

The elevator dings softly and the doors glide open.

“You guys from here?” you ask, stepping out into the hallway.

“Born and raised,” Noel says proudly, tucking her brushes into her tote. “Well, technically Westchester, but still. Close enough.”

“I’m from L.A. Originally,” Allegra says. “Moved here at eighteen to kickstart my modeling career. Got bored of having palm trees in every picture.”

You knew it -her bone structure, that effortless confidence- she had to be a model.

As you approach your door, Noel strides across the hallway and grabs the handle of the one directly across from yours. She stops suddenly and gasps.

“No way!” Her voice is way too loud for nearly two in the morning.

Allegra quickly shushes her with a finger to her lips. “Noel,” she hisses. “It’s 1:47 AM.”

Noel ignores her, spinning back to face you. “You live here?”

You nod, slightly amused. “Moved in a few weeks ago.”

Allegra’s eyes widen slightly. “Small world.”

“Astoundingly small,” Noel says in a much more hushed tone. Without warning, she wraps you in a tight, excited hug. “We’re literally neighbors!”

Allegra raises an eyebrow and gives you a more reserved, almost too cool hug- the kind where her arms barely touch you but still somehow feel polite.

“Well,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “welcome to the building. And thanks for showing up for the art show. That meant a lot to her.”

“Of course. Thanks for kind of adopting me for the night.” You grin, unlocking your front door.

The three of you exchange quiet goodbyes before you slip inside and click the door shut behind you.

The heels come off first.

You lean against the wall for a second, the silence of your apartment washing over you like a long exhale. Then you smile -genuinely, softly- as you realize that for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like an outsider.

You feel… home.

-

It’s officially one week before the first day of fall- and just two weeks before you’ll have to head back to the Outer Banks. You’re trying not to think about that too hard. For now, you’re tucked inside a thrift store in the East Village with Allegra and Noel, weaving through tightly packed racks of vintage coats and worn-in leather jackets.

You tug on a long camel trench and examine yourself in the dusty mirror near the corner.

“You’re giving cool-mom-at-school-dropoff,” Noel comments, deadpan as ever, while she flips through a rack of oversized corduroy blazers.

“She needs something edgier,” Allegra declares, sweeping over with a ridiculous faux-fur bucket hat that looks like it crawled out of a 90s music video. She plops it on your head without warning. The three of you burst into laughter as you turn to face the mirror, your reflection looking like someone who accidentally time-traveled from a Beastie Boys tour.

Then your phone starts ringing. Becca. She’s FaceTiming you.

You quickly swipe to answer, tugging the bucket hat off your head. “Hey, Becs!”

“Hey,” she replies, slightly breathless. Her phone is propped up on a treadmill at the gym- she’s mid incline walk, cheeks pink, hair up. “Where are you?”

“Thrift store. Jacket shopping. It’s about to get cold and I’m wildly unprepared,” you say, brushing a lint-covered sleeve off your shoulder as Noel places another tragic-looking hat on your head, sending both girls into another fit of giggles.

Becca squints. “A thrift store? In New York?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I mean, I get the ones in Kildare. They’re basically curated. But New York City thrift stores? That’s… bold.”

Allegra immediately grabs your wrist and flips the camera so it faces her.

“It’s a New York thing,” she says smoothly, flashing Becca a perfectly casual smirk. “You wouldn’t understand.”

There’s no venom in her tone, but it still makes your stomach twist slightly.

Becca presses her lips together, raising her eyebrows like she’s biting back an opinion. You know her well enough to read her thoughts before she says them. So before any passive-aggressive digs can happen, you swipe the camera back to your face.

“Anyway,” Becca says, changing the subject. “Just calling to remind you my birthday is in exactly two weeks.”

“I know, Becca,” you say with a smile, balancing your phone on top of the shelf of racks as you flick through a rack of quilted jackets. “I don’t need reminders for things I’d never forget. I already bought my ticket- I’ll be there two days early to help set up.”

“Okay, well… that’s the other thing,” she says, tone dropping. Her pace on the treadmill slows.

You freeze a little, glancing up at Allegra and Noel, now throwing what they’ve dubbed “ugly hats” at each other across the aisle. One lands on the floor and earns them a death glare from the teenage employee behind the counter.

“What ‘other thing’?” you ask cautiously.

“Rafe is also helping.”

You blink. “I’m sorry… in what world is Rafe Cameron helping set up for your party? And why?”

Becca exhales. “Apparently, he and Beau are friends again. I don’t know all the details. But if you ask me? He’s using Beau to get to me to get to you. Classic Rafe move.”

You sigh deeply, head tilting back slightly as you stare at the ugly fluorescent lights above.

“Anything else I should know before I book a hotel instead of staying with you?”

Becca hesitates. “Yeah… but I’ll save it for when you get here.”

“Great,” you mutter, sarcasm clear. You say your goodbyes, and after the call ends, you slip your phone into your pocket, shoulders heavy.

“So…” Noel starts, her voice light and curious. “Who’s Rafe?”

“And seriously, what kind of name is that?” Allegra adds, tossing a vintage wool beret back onto the hat rack.

You exhale slowly, stepping toward the exit. “He’s my ex. And I honestly don’t know.”

Allegra and Noel exchange a look as the three of you step back out onto the sidewalk, empty-handed.

“He’s gonna be at your friend’s birthday?” Noel asks, already adjusting her oversized denim jacket.

“Apparently,” you say with a tight, exhausted smile. Just the thought of seeing Rafe again has your stomach in knots. Not because you miss him -though you do, in ways you haven’t admitted- but because you’re not ready to answer the question of why you haven’t responded to him. Why you’ve left all his texts unread. Why you’ve made it so easy for him to believe you’ve moved on.

“You need a pick-me-up,” Allegra says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Sushi? I know a place in SoHo. It’s low-key but their spicy tuna rolls are transcendent.”

You nod quickly, grateful for the change of topic. “Yes. God, yes.”

The three of you link arms, laughter trailing behind you as you disappear into the golden hour glow of the Lower East Side, pretending -for now- that your past wasn’t about to catch up with you in two weeks.

-

Your stomach twists as you turn into the long, curved driveway of Becca’s house, the gravel crunching beneath your tires like it’s warning you to turn back. Familiarity should bring comfort, but today it just heightens your nerves.

You don’t see Rafe’s black SUV anywhere- your eyes scan the area twice just to be sure. But there is a new, sleek Porsche parked off to the side. You can’t tell if it’s his or Beau’s. It could belong to either of them, and honestly, that uncertainty only makes your anxiety worse.

You kill the engine and sit for a second, hands still on the wheel. Just breathe.

Grabbing your duffle bag from the back seat, you walk up to the house. You don’t bother ringing the doorbell. Her parents are out of town, conveniently avoiding the chaos of their daughter’s birthday weekend. Classic. Still, even after all these years of friendship, they never quite warmed up to the idea of you letting yourself in like this was your second home. Maybe it was a wealth thing- boundaries and status, even among best friends.

The front door clicks shut behind you, muffling the sounds of muffled music and distant voices. You head straight down the hall, past the grand staircase, through the foyer lined with glossy family portraits, and toward Becca’s favorite part of the house- the theater room. Well, favorite aside from her bedroom, which was more like a curated showroom of mood boards and mid-century modern dreams.

As you round the corner, you collide -hard- with a firm, familiar chest. The contact knocks the breath out of you, and your fingers tighten reflexively around your bag strap. You look up. Rafe.

His hair is more buzzed than you remember, and he smells like expensive cologne and laundry detergent and summer. Your throat tightens. For a second, neither of you moves.

“…Hey,” he says, voice low and uncertain. He doesn’t sound surprised you’re here- more like caught off guard by how early.

“Hi,” you say, stepping back quickly like distance will give you composure.

He stares at you, jaw clenching slightly, like he’s holding back words that have been sitting on his tongue for weeks.

“Rafe! Can you grab more waters for the cooler?” Becca calls from inside the theater room, her voice cheerful and oblivious to the sudden tension in the hallway.

You take the moment to sidestep around him, not looking up again until you’re safely inside the room. And when you do glance back -just for a second- he’s still standing there. Still watching you. Like he hasn’t seen you in months. Like he’s afraid to blink. And just like that, your heartbeat kicks up again.

You hate how much it still affects you.

“Becs!” you shout, dropping your duffle bag to the floor as you step into the theater room.

Becca is halfway up a ladder, taping a curly string of party décor to the ceiling. She looks down at you and beams.

“Y/N!”

She doesn’t even think- she jumps from the ladder without a second thought and launches herself at you. You yelp as the two of you tumble backwards, collapsing onto the plush theater chairs in a heap of limbs and laughter.

“Ow!” you cry through a laugh, clinging to her. “Are you trying to kill me before the party even starts?”

“She’s trying to kill herself,” Beau calls from the other side of the room, where he’s fiddling with some laser lights near the stage setup.

“Hush, Botox,” you tease without looking at him.

Becca gasps dramatically but doesn’t snap back- she’s too giddy. She’s hugging you like you’ve been gone for years, not weeks, and you hug her back just as tightly.

Once you’re both upright again, she brushes glitter off her leggings while you catch your breath- only to glance up and freeze.

Rafe’s just walked in, a heavy case of water bottles balanced in his arms. The moment your eyes meet, something sharp twists in your stomach. You drop your gaze just as quickly.

“Over here,” Beau calls, gesturing to the snack bar setup.

Rafe silently detours, dropping to one knee as he begins loading the bottles into the mini fridge. His shoulders are tense, but his gaze flicks up to you more than once as he works.

Beau comes over and throws a one-armed hug around your shoulders. “Glad you made it, trouble.”

You smile, distracted, and glance back toward Rafe before turning your attention to Becca, who’s unplugging the vacuum and wrapping the cord in her arms.

“You could’ve warned me,” you mutter under your breath, lips barely moving as you smile in that painfully fake, we’re-in-front-of-other-people kind of way.

Becca glances at you and mimics the exact same forced smile. “You knew he’d be here.”

“Not this early!” you hiss, still smiling, both of you locked in this weirdly telepathic girl-code exchange of facial expressions and fake grins before you break into real laughter.

“We’re going up to my room,” Becca announces to the guys as she tosses the vacuum cord over her shoulder.

Beau nods. “Cool. We’re ordering pizza- what do you want?”

“Pepperoni, please,” Becca calls back.

“Pi-” you start to say, but Rafe cuts in from behind the counter, not even looking up.

“Pineapple,” he mutters.

Your eyes snap to him.

Beau looks between the two of you, eyebrow raised, clearly clocking the tension.

“Yeahhhh,” Becca says quickly, clapping her hands. “We’re going upstairs now.”

She grabs your wrist and guides you toward the hallway. “Call us when the pizza gets here!” she tosses over her shoulder as you both leave the room, her voice a little too bright, a little too fast.

As soon as the door swings shut behind you, you exhale.

She doesn’t say anything for a few steps. Then: “Well, that wasn’t as awkward as it could’ve been.”

You groan. “It’s barely been two minutes.”

“And look at us- already surviving.”

You bump her shoulder lightly with yours. “We’ll see.”

You and Becca are sitting cross-legged on her bed, knees almost touching, her hands gripping yours like she’s about to deliver life-altering news. She’s got that look on her face- eyebrows pinched, lips pursed, eyes dancing like she’s fighting the urge to burst.

“Becca, you’re scaring me,” you say, narrowing your eyes.

“Just… don’t freak out, okay?” she pleads, squeezing your hands once before pulling hers back to brace herself. Her eyes squeeze shut. “Marie and I slept together,” she blurts, then immediately shoves her fist into her mouth, eyes wide and panicked like she just confessed to murder.

There’s a full five-second delay in your brain. Like a loading sign. Spinning. Spinning.

“Like… slept slept together?” you ask slowly. “Or just… same bed, passed out after a movie…?”

Becca groans. “Slept slept together,” she repeats, cracking her eyes open, waiting for your judgment.

You blink at her. Then again. “Wow,” you finally breathe. “I have so many questions.”

She exhales sharply, half laughing, half still bracing. “Remember when you and Rafe went to breakfast that one morning? And you told us to hang out?”

You nod slowly. “Oh, trust me, I now know exactly what kind of ‘hanging out’ went down. Ew.”

“I was gonna tell you,” she insists, flopping back onto the bed. “That night we were on your balcony? When you were crying and I told you to go after him instead? I had the perfect opening!”

You lean back on your palms, eyes wide. “Wait… is that why you said you were done with guys?”

She blushes instantly. And then bursts into laughter, covering her face with her hands.

You laugh with her, shaking your head. “Oh my god, Becca.”

“I mean… girls are still men, in some ways,” she groans into her hands. “But like, at least this one moisturizes and smells like lavender.”

“I need a minute to recover,” you say, pretending to fan yourself.

The two of you fall into light chatter, laughter trailing into comfort. Eventually, Becca groans and hops off the bed.

“I think I have an eyelash stabbing my retina,” she says dramatically, disappearing into the ensuite bathroom to investigate in the mirror.

Just as she closes the door behind her, there’s a soft knock at Becca’s bedroom door.

“Y/N!” she calls from the bathroom, voice muffled. “Can you grab that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting it,” you mutter, rolling off the bed. You open the door- and freeze.

Rafe is standing there, a plate in each hand and two bottles of water awkwardly tucked beneath his arm. His eyes unreadable, flicking from your face to somewhere over your shoulder and back again.

You’re surprised. But not really.

“I brought these up… for you guys,” he says, his voice low, like he’s not sure if this is going to earn him a thank you or a door slammed in his face.

Your mouth opens a second before your brain catches up. “Thanks,” you say dryly, reaching for the plates.

He nods, then grabs the water bottles from under his arm and reaches past you to set them down on the dresser near the door. You notice the way his arm brushes yours- probably not by accident.

As you start to close the door, he hesitates. “I, uh-” he points to one of the plates, the one clearly meant for you. “I picked the ham off the pineapple. I know you don’t like it.”

You glance down at the plate. Then back at him. Your walls threaten to slip. “Thanks… again.”

He shrugs, shoving his hands deep into his pockets like it’s the only way to stop himself from saying more.

And then -because of course he can’t help himself- he leans a little closer, that smug half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You always get that look when you’re about to close the door on me,” he murmurs. “Just like you did that night in the rain- right after you let me fuck you in the back of my car.”

Your breath catches. Heat shoots to your cheeks.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god,” you whisper, scandalized.

Rafe raises both eyebrows innocently, clearly smug.

Without another word, you slam the door in his face- not hard, but not gently either.

From the bathroom, Becca calls, “What was that?!”

You walk back to the bed with the plates and water, cheeks burning. “Rafe being Rafe,” you mutter, flopping down and groaning into the pillows.

Becca pokes her head out from the bathroom, eye red and watery. “Was he shirtless? I feel like that is something he’d do.”

You throw a pillow at her, laughing.

-

You’re in the kitchen flipping pancakes, the warm scent of butter and syrup wafting through the air. You’re dressed in a black bikini, a semi-sheer white sarong tied low on your hips. Your hair is out, natural and untamed, curls soft and framing your face. You hadn’t bothered to style it today- and somehow, that made you feel more like yourself. More like home.

Behind you, Becca dances barefoot around the island, her playlist blasting through the portable speaker as she chops a medley of strawberries, kiwi, and mango into a giant fruit bowl.

“With how loud your music is and how good those pancakes smell, you better be making some for us too,” Beau’s groggy voice cuts through the beat. You turn your head and laugh as he steps into the kitchen, shirtless and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“I’m making damn near the entire box,” you say with a grin. “Trust me, Becs and I aren’t about to eat a dozen pancakes on our own.”

“Speak for yourself,” Becca calls from across the kitchen.

You flip the final batch onto a plate and start assembling them into four neat servings, layering fruit for yourself and Becca and leaving two plates plain.

That’s when Rafe walks in. He’s in a white ribbed tank and low-slung shorts,he clearly just rolled out of bed. Your eyes meet for a brief moment- just long enough to make your heart flutter in spite of yourself.

You quickly pass a plate to Becca. “This one’s for him,” you say under your breath.

She raises an eyebrow but takes it anyway, walking it over to Rafe without a word. Still, when you turn around, you nearly crash into him.

“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping back.

He steadies the plate in one hand. “Thanks… for the pancakes.”

You nod once. “Yeah… No fruit?”

“Not today,” he says with a shrug, then glances at your plate and back to your face. “You think I should get some?”

The question is simple, but something in the way he asks it makes your stomach tighten. You raise an eyebrow and smile, unsure why it feels like middle school-level flirting all over again.

“You should probably get some,” you say softly.

His grin creeps in slowly. “Do you want me to?”

You bite your lip, trying not to look too amused. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he repeats, that teasing lilt in his voice now, like he’s enjoying this more than he’ll admit.

You chuckle. “Yeah.”

“I’ll get some just for you.” He’s already reaching for the fruit bowl, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he scoops a generous helping into a smaller bowl. You catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

You take the bowl from him and set it on his plate, your fingers brushing his in the exchange. His gaze lingers for a second longer than it should.

“You look really pretty,” he says suddenly, looking down as he adjusts the bowl next to his pancakes like he’s trying to hide the heat rising to his face.

You freeze for half a second. The compliment lands heavier than you expected.

“Thank you, Rafe,” you say quietly, warmth spreading through your chest and up your neck.

“Y/N!” Becca calls through the sliding door, already stepping out toward the patio with her plate and a drink in hand.

You grab your own plate and cup, your pulse still dancing from the interaction.

“Yeah! I’m coming,” you call back, but your eyes flick back to Rafe one last time before you follow her out. He’s watching you walk away.

And for a moment, it feels like everything -the tension, the history, the attraction- is suspended in that charged space between pancakes and fruit.

You push the door open, the summer air hitting your skin as you step outside, trying to shake the feeling that you’re still carrying Rafe with you. Even out here.

“Tell me you weren’t just in there flirting with him,” Becca says flatly, popping a strawberry into her mouth as she reclines back on the lounge chair beside you.

You roll your eyes, chewing on a bite of pancake. “We were having a normal conversation, like functioning adults. Shocking, I know.”

“Reminder: he broke up with you. Over the phone.” Her tone is calm but edged with just enough sass to land the blow.

You wince and narrow your eyes. “Jesus, Bec. You don’t have to remind me like that.”

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs. “Don’t let him sweet-talk his way back into your life. You’ve come too far for that.”

“I ignored him for weeks after the breakup,” you say, your voice tight. “And that was after we slept together.”

Becca’s head snaps toward you so fast her sunglasses nearly slide off. “Wait… what?”

You freeze, a half-chewed bite of pancake turning to dust in your mouth. “Oh.”

Her brows shoot up. “Did you just say you had sex with him after you broke up?”

You swallow hard and glance away. “Technically, yes.”

She spins on the lounge chair to fully face you, abandoning her plate altogether. “Y/N.”

“Okay, fine,” you groan, pushing your sunglasses to the top of your head. “We did.”

Her mouth drops open in pure betrayal. “When? When the hell did this happen?”

“Shhh!” You reach over and swat her arm, scanning the patio door nervously. “Keep your voice down.”

“Well maybe don’t drop breakup bombshells like that poolside and I wouldn’t have to yell.”

You sigh and tuck your legs underneath you. “It was when I came back to grab more stuff. I wasn’t planning on seeing him- swear. But I went to the marsh to clear my head and… somehow he showed up too.”

Becca raises a brow. “You’re telling me this was a coincidence?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” You shrug, embarrassed. “One minute we’re arguing, the next it’s pouring rain, and we’re in the back of his SUV and he’s-” You pause, waving a hand vaguely. “-doing things.”

Becca blinks. “Okay. First of all? Public, post-breakup sex in a rainstorm? Iconic. That’s some Titanic level drama. Love that for you.”

You smirk in spite of yourself.

“But second of all,” she continues, “how did you not tell me this? I’m your best friend. This is the kind of stuff we live for.”

You groan and sink deeper into your chair. “Because I’ve been trying to forget it happened myself, that’s why.”

“Forget what?” Beau’s voice interrupts as he and Rafe push through the patio door, both holding plates stacked with pancakes.

Your eyes widen. You glance at Becca like please say nothing.

“None of your business,” she says breezily, standing up as she spots the massive wheelbarrow full of bright pool floaties behind them. “What are you two doing?”

Beau sets his plate down on the nearest table. “Blowing up floaties. We got dolphins, flamingos, one of those ridiculous oversized pizza slices-”

“Wanna help?” Rafe asks, looking mostly at you.

Becca doesn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely not.”

You take a long sip from your iced coffee and look away, pretending to suddenly find the trees in Becca’s backyard fascinating. Because if you look at him again, even for a second, you might not be able to keep pretending last time wasn’t unforgettable.

-

You and Becca are waist-deep in the pool, rotating through floaties under the guise of “testing” them. In reality, the boys are doing all the heavy lifting -Beau manning the electric pump, Rafe handling the ones that need manual inflation- while you and Becca lazily drift around, swapping floaters every now and then.

You’re currently slung over a giant yellow banana float like a sleepy panda on a tree branch, arms and legs draped dramatically, your sunglasses hiding the fact that you’re shamefully watching Rafe.

Why did he have to take off his shirt? And why does he look so hot blowing up pool floats? You’re pretty sure no one’s ever had that thought before, but here you are.

The sun reflects off the water, and you feel yourself slowly drifting toward the pool’s edge, still clinging to the banana float and trying not to stare too hard as Rafe finishes with a donut-shaped one.

He walks over to the edge where you’ve floated, shirtless, tan, and looking maddeningly unbothered. His hand wraps around the front tip of the banana float, halting your journey. The water ripples against you.

“Heyyyy,” you whine, startled from your daydream. “I was floating.”

He laughs, low and amused, and plops the donut float into the pool beside you. “Time to switch out,” he says with a smirk, like he’s talking to a child refusing to get off the swing.

“I don’t feel like switching.” The protest barely leaves your mouth before he’s stepping into the pool with zero hesitation, water sloshing around him. In one smooth motion, his arms are around your waist, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You let out a small yelp as he gently drops you into the donut float.

“I would’ve gotten up,” you grumble, adjusting your position. “This is just… a lot. All these float switches? I think my fingers are officially prunes.” You lift a hand for dramatic effect and flop your head back.

“Oh yeah,” Rafe says, climbing out of the water again, his shorts clinging to his legs. He shoots you a playful look over his shoulder. “You’ve definitely got the hardest job here. Lounging in the pool while we blow up thirty inflatables.”

“You forgot the part where I also have to rotate every five minutes so my tan doesn’t get uneven,” you add.

“Tragic,” he calls back, grabbing another deflated float from the pile.

Becca, across the pool on a flamingo float, calls out, “If she complains one more time, throw her 

on the pizza slice and spin her around.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Rafe says with a teasing glance your way, his lips tugging into a familiar smirk- the kind that makes your heart beat faster than you’d like to admit.

You sink a little deeper into the donut float, willing your pulse to chill out.

Because God help you… he’s still got it.

[shadamyheadcanons]

Total Recall

For the 2025 Shadamy week prompt: Forgotten. Kindly beta’d by the lovely @shadowsfascination.

Shadow wakes up in an unfamiliar bed with amnesia and finds that a vaguely familiar pink hedgehog took him in, promising to take care of him until he remembers everything. He keeps a journal while he’s there so he can at least remember some things over time. 5.8K words.

Cross-posted on AO3.

Day 1

I woke up this morning with a splitting headache, a bump on my head, and not a single memory of how it happened...or who I was. Who anyone was. I must’ve grunted in pain, because a pink hedgehog dashed into the room to check on me. She was fretting and worrying over me, but I couldn’t really focus.

She introduced herself as Amy and said we were friends, but I don’t know. She feels more important than that, somehow. She must mean something else to me. Whatever it is, it must be positive, because I instantly felt better once I saw her. Safer.

Amy promised she’d take care of me until I got my memories back, and she gave me this journal so I could write things down as I remembered them. When I asked her why she’s helping me, she said she’s always there when a friend needs her. She also mentioned she felt guilty, but she wouldn’t tell me why.

Day 2

The stabbing pain in my head this morning was just as bad as yesterday, maybe worse. I couldn’t even leave bed, so she fed me soup and pet my head for a while. It felt...nice. I kind of want to fib and tell her I need to stay in bed more often, but the idea of lying to her makes me feel sick for some reason.

Day 3

I tried walking around the house today, but I was too dizzy to make it far. Luckily, Amy was there to help guide me to a seat in her kitchen, and she talked to me while we ate lunch, telling stories about all our friends. A couple of names sounded vaguely familiar, but the details escaped me. She didn’t seem to mind.

When I asked if looking after me was a nuisance, Amy instantly denied it, saying it’s nice to have someone else around for a change. Apparently, she used to live with her friend Cream, but then Cream moved back in with her mother, leaving Amy by herself.

It looked like she was trying really hard not to look sad. I wonder if she’s lonely. Maybe I’m lonely, too.

I told her I liked being with her here so far, and she looked really happy. I think I’ll mention that more often.

Day 5

I remembered something today. She was playing music while she made us breakfast. I recognized the chords, the words, the tone...I spoke some of the words, then sang a few lines as the lyrics came to me.

Amy was thrilled. She instantly perked up and started talking a mile a minute about the band—Hot Honey, she called them—and how she’d brought me to a concert with her, how much fun we’d had together, how much I liked it. She played song after song of theirs, excitedly chattering away.

But I didn’t understand. I told her that although I recognized the songs, I didn’t like them.

I wish I hadn’t done that. She went quiet and looked really sad.

I wanted to make her feel better, so I admitted that although I didn’t really like the songs, they felt meaningful. Important. She smiled a little.

She hasn’t played Hot Honey since then.

It was grating. It was sappy.

But I kind of miss it anyway.

Day 6

Not too much happened today. My head’s been feeling better and I can walk now, so Amy said we can go out tomorrow.

I noticed she had blankets and a pillow set up in another room, so I asked if she always slept there. She said it was just temporary, that she usually sleeps in the bed I’m using. She told me she was fine sleeping there and it wasn’t a problem, but I don’t know. It looks uncomfortable to me. I told her there was probably enough room for both of us in the bed if we slept close enough, but her face went bright red, and she got all flustered and said no.

Not sure what that’s about, but I kind of want to see her do it again.

Day 7

I’m apparently a fan of flowers, so she took me out to a public garden today. She must be right, because I remembered all of their names—lilacs, azaleas, rhododendrons, magnolias. It’s weird what my brain hangs onto; little facts are fine, but whenever I try to think of details about people or my past, it’s like there’s this weird bubble in the back of my head stopping me. If I try to push it, I get this sense of wrongness, like I’m snooping somewhere I shouldn’t be.

But flowers are easy. I even told her scraps I remembered about their supposed “symbolism,” whatever that means, and she looked happier and happier the more I shared. Memories came back in bits and pieces: times when I’d seen each flower for the first time, the books I’ve scoured to learn more, the feeling of soil passing through my fingers, and the joy of raising my own flowers and watching them bloom. Upon remembering I had a garden myself, I immediately stopped and asked Amy about it. Luckily, she’d asked a friend of hers, Silver, to look after it while I was under the weather. She really does think of everything.

Halfway through, she spotted some bright yellow daffodils and gasped. She brightened up and told me I gave her a bouquet of them once to cheer her up. I can’t remember doing that, but the smile on her face was warm and familiar. If she always looks that way when she gets flowers, I’ll have to get them for her more often.

At the end, she lamented that it was too early in the year for lavender, saying those were my favorites. But I don’t think they actually are. They aren’t right now, at least. I pointed to a patch of roses we’d already passed and said those were my favorites, especially the red ones. She looked confused, but then she smiled again and told me she loved them, too, and that “Rose” is her last name.

It suits her.

On a whim, I asked if I could call her that, and her eyes widened. She smiled shyly and agreed. Her cheeks were pink.

Rosy, even.

Day 9

Today, Rose introduced me to two of her friends, a fox with two tails and an...echidna? I think that’s what he’s called...named Tails and Knuckles.

Two people named after body parts. Not exactly creative, but it does make me wonder where my name came from. What am I a shadow of? I tried to think back, but all it gave me was an unsettling sensation in the back of my mind: a gentle voice, followed by a stabbing pain.

I decided the answer could wait.

I’m not sure why Knuckles was there. It seems like Rose doesn’t always have a reason for bringing people over, she just does it. He mostly lounged around and pestered me about what I did and didn’t remember and seemed disappointed with how little I knew. But when I called Rose by her last name, he lit up and started hounding me about her instead—how “close” we were, how much I liked her, how long I was staying with her—smirking obnoxiously the whole way through. Rose eventually got him to back off.

Tails asked about my headaches. How frequent they are, what triggers them, that kind of thing. He talked to me about amnesia, too, saying this kind usually only persists for a couple weeks in Mobians and my memories will probably be back soon. The others seemed relieved, but I’m not sure how to feel about it.

After checking on my health, Tails showed that he’d brought a two-wheeled vehicle with him, saying he’d been in the process of tuning it up when my...incident happened. He encouraged me to take a seat and start it up, explaining that I’d been built with what he calls “vehicular intuition,” so I’d know how to ride it even without my memories. He’s awfully smart for a kid. Smarter than Knuckles, at least.

At first, I didn’t recognize it. The striking jet black and sharp angles called out to me faintly, but it wasn’t until I sat down on the seat and started up the engine that it clicked.

Powerful sensations and images flashed behind my eyes—wind whipping through my quills, scenery blurring past, the growl of the bike beneath me, the simple joy and freedom of it all—and my heart pounded.

My bike. Mine.

I almost shed a tear. I’ve missed it that much. Luckily, I regained focus in time to blink it back. I think I’d be okay if Rose saw me cry, but the other two? Not a chance.

After they left, Rose begged me to take her on a ride with me, and I immediately said yes. She’s a difficult person to say no to.

The familiar thrill of racing returned to me, but the feeling of someone clinging to me was fresh. I don’t think I’ve ever given Rose a ride before. I’ve been missing out. The way she held me made my chest feel warm and light, and whenever I sped up or turned a tight corner, she’d let out a cute little squeak.

I kept driving her around until the sun set. Once I brought her home, she finally explained why she’s been feeling guilty about my amnesia. She said I was helping her build a new addition on her house and she accidentally knocked me on the head with a hammer. Said she felt awful, should have been more careful, all of that. I didn’t like seeing her so unhappy, so I hugged her and told her it was alright, and she calmed down.

To be honest, I bet there’s more to the story than that. Tails mentioned I’m supposed to be some kind of “Ultimate Life Form,” so I highly doubt a sweet, silly, petite girl could knock me out with a hammer, especially by accident. She’s probably being too hard on herself for something. She does that a lot.

But she does have a hammer she keeps by the door, this giant yellow and red thing. Just looking at it does make my head hurt.

Day 11

Rose invited over an obnoxious blue hedgehog this afternoon—Sonic, I think? He wouldn’t shut up and kept sprinting around making dumb jokes, saying he ‘would race me if I were feeling better.’

As if I’d need to be at full power to beat that buffoon in a race.

Rose seems...fond of him. She has terrible taste. I didn’t tell her that.

She asked me if I remembered anything about him, and I told her that she must have hit me pretty hard if I managed to forget someone that annoying. I thought she’d be upset, but she laughed instead and said that some things never change.

Day 14

Today

Day 15

Yesterday I

Day 16

Rose and I went to a city two days ago called Westport Westopolis to run a few errands. While we were there, we ran into a man in a military uniform with two differently colored eyes. He started to snap at me about my “extended vacation.” Rose got mad and stepped between us, maybe to defend me, but I couldn’t hear what she said to him because I caught sight of a weird logo on his chest that spelled out “G.U.N.”

It felt like my head was splitting in two.

Unsettling, terrifying noises ricocheted in my mind—panicked voices, pleading, screams—ending with a deafening bang.

I don’t know what that sound was, but it made my stomach turn.

After the bang, my vision went black, and my legs gave out. I don’t remember hitting the floor, though. Maybe Rose caught me. She did say she carried me home, and I’ve never caught her in a lie. She must be stronger than she looks. I couldn’t even leave bed until today, so I’m sure I was no help.

I think something bad happened to me, and I’m scared of finding out what it was. Is it possible to just bring back the good memories? Am I wrong to want that?

I hope I never run into G.U.N. again.

Day 17

Rose thought we could use a nice day off after what happened, so she brought me to the city park with some food and a blanket so we could eat outside on the grass. She said it’s called a “picnic.” The word wasn’t familiar, not even a little. Rose got really sad when I said so. She thinks I’d probably never been on one, even before I lost my memories. She immediately turned determined, scrounged up some food—bread, strawberry jam, peanut butter, chips–and brought me to the city park.

I don’t think this will help me regain any memories, but I don’t mind. She’s cute when she gets all determined like this. Are all female hedgehogs as pretty as she is? I asked her, but she told me to stop embarrassing her. She was as red as the strawberry jam.

I figured Rose would find us a table somewhere, but instead, she spread out the blanket right on the grass. We were halfway through our meal when Rose’s friend Cream hopped over to us with a small blue creature in tow who she calls “Cheese.” She let me hold him. He has an odd texture, warm and soft but jiggly. Not sure what to make of that, but it’s comforting somehow. A few other Chao stopped by, too. They’re clingy, but I like them.

The afternoon passed with no discussion of who I used to be; Rose, Cream, Cheese...all they cared about was who I am now. The temperature and breeze were relaxing, and it was nice to see them laughing and enjoying the comfortable weather. Their voices and the natural sounds of the park were gentle. I would’ve gladly spent all day there.

Rose once told me I’d promised her years ago that I’d keep everyone safe, that I’d made it my life’s mission to protect the Earth and everyone on it. I think I’m starting to understand why.

Day 20

We went grocery shopping in some square today—Station Square, I think it’s called. She had a pretty long list. She’s going to teach me how to make cupcakes. It’s another one of those things I know I’ve never done before. Is she still avoiding my past because of what happened with the commander, or is she just as reluctant to dredge up my memories as I am?

Taking a look at the list, I recognized enough items that I’m sure I could have dashed around the store and cut the time in half; I’ve experimented with my strength and speed here and there, and they’re both returning to me. Even as I thought of it, though, I lost all desire to rush. If I ran, I wouldn’t get to walk by her side. I’d miss the cute way her nose wrinkles when she’s comparing prices. I wouldn’t have gotten to reach the cake mix she was too short for and enjoy the smile it earned me.

Maybe you don’t need a reason to spend time with someone. Maybe the right person is worth it all on their own.

Day 25

Today, Rouge and Omega stopped by. I don’t remember everything about them, but their names are the only ones I’ve known right off the bat so far, and I felt better having them here.

Before they came in, Rose poked her head out the door and whispered something to them about not mentioning “assignments” around me right now, and every so often, she or Rouge would steer the topic away from something. Omega didn’t like that very much. They cut him off when he started mentioning something about target practice, and his internal motors made this disgruntled rumbling noise.

I get the feeling Rouge and Omega—and me, by extension—don’t visit Rose. Rouge didn’t know where the bathroom was, and Omega was analyzing the house’s structural integrity like he’s never been here. I can apparently teleport when I’m at full strength, so distance isn’t an issue, and she clearly needs the company, so why don’t we visit her?

Rouge apologized for not checking up on me sooner, saying they’d been really busy. Whichever “assignments” they’re being sent on must be stressful; Omega was grumpy, and there were bags under Rouge’s eyes. I told them to look out for themselves.

When Rose stepped out to bring in the cupcakes we’d made together, Rouge asked me about her—whether I felt comfortable here, if I wanted to stay somewhere else, all that. I told her I was happy here with her. When I called her “Rose,” though, Rouge stopped. She didn’t respond like Knuckles had. She and Omega exchanged a nervous glance. I asked what was wrong, but they both stalled out. Rouge just said that I was welcome to come back to live with them anytime, especially if I “needed some distance” after I got my memories back. Rose came back with the cupcakes before I could ask what she meant.

Distance from what? From Rose? Why? I like her. I like her smile. I like her cooking. I like how she laughs, even if I don’t always understand why. I like the warm feeling I get when she holds my hand to lead me places. I like hearing her hum when we’re doing chores around her house. I like how she says my name. She puts an extra...something into it that no one else does.

What miserable version of me would want to avoid her? What was I afraid of?

Day 31

It’s been a month now, and I think I need to talk to Rose.

The longer this goes on, the less and less I want to know about whatever darkness is lurking in my past. Every time I think back, all I feel is pain and dread, and I can’t help but wonder if I was ever as happy as I am now. I like the world I live in. I’m not sure I always did.

It feels like almost everyone wants to pull me backwards, but I’m tired of looking back. Why can’t I move forwards instead? Why can’t this be me?

Rose has put in so much time, so much effort into helping me regain my memories, but if anyone will accept my decision, it’ll be her.

I’ll tell her tomorrow.

Day 32

I did it. I told her...and she accepts me!

She said she’d noticed how nervous I was about it, and she understood why. She even told me she loved me—every version of me—memories or not, and that she’d be happy to let me stay here no matter what I choose to do about my amnesia!

But...something odd happened. I can’t explain it, but she said this one phrase that echoed in my mind, and my brain...lurched, as if something was settling into place. She said, “I don’t care what you choose, Shadow. I want to give you a chance to be happy!”

My head’s been spinning ever since. Hopefully I’ll feel better in the morning.

I don’t know how I’ll break the news to everyone else, but with Rose by my side, I’m sure I can do it.

This is who I am.

Shadow sat on the edge of his bed—Amy’s bed—feeling his muscles shake. His jaw clenched harder with each cheesy, embarrassing, lovestruck journal entry his ignorant self had written over the past month.

The immense weight of his agonizing past had lifted for scarcely a moment, allowing him just enough room to drop his guard...and let her in.

And by the time he’d awoken that morning, the entire world had crashed down on his head once more. Raw and honest and unforgiving, leaving him broken like a neglectful Atlas.

His fingers tightened, wrinkling the pages, and his chest clenched. All the years I spent keeping my distance, and she breaks it all down in an instant. And as if that weren’t enough...

Vivid images of the massacre flashed behind his eyes, the gruesome tragedy that had taken everything from him.

Shadow’s heart pounded in his chest, and his breathing grew rough and unstable. His eyes went wide and his expression strained as he stared at nothing, but no tears dared fall.

Energetic footsteps, heavier than expected for a silly, petite hedgehog, bounded around the corner. Amy poked her head in. “Shadow, do you want—”

Shadow choked and threw the journal aside, feeling his face shift into that of a cornered animal. “A-Amy—!”

At the mention of her first name, Amy gasped, and her brow wrinkled in concern. “Shadow? Are you...”

He tore his gaze away.

Shadow heard Amy’s footsteps grow closer, and the bed sank next to him. Her hand hovered for a moment, then rested on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Her light reached out to him. He panted and tried to pull away as he always had, only to fall even further.

The ARK.

Gerald.

MARIA.

Amy wrapped her arms around his shoulders, desperate yet reassuring. “Shadow, it’s okay! You’ll be alright! I’m here.”

Shadow clenched his jaw until it hurt, and he grasped the sheets on either side of him. He could see Amy’s expression pinch out of the corner of his eye, and she rubbed his back. “Is there anything I can do?”

He met her gaze. Try as he might, Shadow couldn’t lock out her warmth, not the way he could just a month ago. He stared for a long moment at the woman he loved—the one he could never have because she was so enamored with someone else—and he sighed. Shadow looked down and shut his eyes. “Take out your hammer.”

A baffled noise escaped Amy’s throat, but she summoned it. “Um...okay...?”

Shadow took the hammer from her hands and held it to his forehead. “Right here. Just...”

After a moment of silent confusion, Amy gasped and ripped the hammer from his hands, throwing it aside. “SHADOW! That’s not funny!” There was a pause, and then her vitriol faded. “Shadow...?”

He felt the tears hit his knees before he even knew he was crying. “Take it back,” he croaked, voice cracking. “Take it all back.”

“Oh, Shadow.” Pain was evident in Amy’s voice, too, and she wrapped her arms around him fully, gentler this time. “I know it’s hard. You’ll be okay.”

“I was h-happy...for once...” he managed through shuddering breaths.

“Shh...it’s alright.”

Shadow turned in Amy’s hold and clung to her, letting himself break down in the arms of the only person left who was allowed to see his tears. He wept for Maria. He wept for Gerald, flawed though he was. He wept for the Shadow of yesterday who’d never known pain or loss or inhibitions, and he wept for the innocence he’d lost yet again.

Brainwashing, amnesia, time travel, and now I almost forgot all over again...only to remember every time. How many times will I be forced to lose them?

Shadow wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, mourning pain both old and new. Amy didn’t falter, not even after his breathing slowed and his muscles stilled.

At last, he lifted his head, vision bleary and head aching. Amy was gazing up at him, eyes watery with tears she’d shed on his behalf. “I’m so sorry!”

Shadow pulled back, baffled, but he held onto one of her hands. “Why?”

“Because I’m the reason you got amnesia in the first place!” she insisted. “I feel awful.”

Shadow was shaking his head even before she finished. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Amy glanced back at the hammer she’d left on the ground, then shot him an incredulous look.

“...Not on purpose,” Shadow added.

Amy groaned and hid her face. “You told me to use a regular hammer, but I got impatient and used mine!”

“In your defense, it was faster.”

“But you told me to be careful!”

“I got in the way,” he fibbed.

Amy yanked at her quills and scrunched her eyes shut. “I should’ve just done the job myself! If only I’d—”

“Amy.”

She peeked her eyes open a crack. Shadow threaded his fingers with hers and pulled them away from her quills. “Stop trying to make me blame you. It’s not going to work.”

Amy stared up at him and sniffled, but she remained silent.

“You’ve been taking care of me. Feeding me. Housing me. Helping me. Making me happy. And it worked.”

As he said that, though, he felt his face fall. It worked...just not forever.

Amy squeezed his hand. “I don’t know everything you’ve been through, and I know it can’t be easy, but you have good memories, too,” she insisted. “Whenever I hear you talk about Maria, it never sounds like you regret meeting her.”

“Of course I don’t!”

Amy jumped, so he averted his gaze and quieted down. “I would never regret meeting her. I couldn’t. Not for a second.”

Amy nodded, encouraged. “And think of all the adventures you’ve been on! Think of your friends! What about Rouge and Omega?”

Shadow’s chest warmed, then instantly tightened. “They’ve been covering for me. All this time. That’s why they were so exhausted.”

“Huh?”

“They’ve been keeping Team Dark going without me this entire time. How much longer would they have kept doing that? A month? Two months? Forever?” All so I could keep playing house with you, happy and ignorant?

I nearly threw away everything we’ve been through together.

The thought repulsed him.

“Because you would have done the same for them,” Amy countered, learning forward to get a better look at his face. “You’re kind. You’re dedicated. And if this had happened to either one of them, you wouldn’t have hesitated for a second.”

There was silence for a moment. Shadow just stared, sensing she had more to say.

Amy’s lower lip trembled. She held on for a few moments before blurting out, “You shouldn’t have been here in the first place!”

“What?!”

“No, no!” Amy spluttered, holding her hands up defensively. “I mean you shouldn’t have been there the day I...” She glanced back at her hammer and cringed.

Shadow rolled his eyes. “You were putting another wing on your house, and no one else would help. Of course I showed up.”

Amy scratched the back of her head and looked down at her feet. “Ah...not quite.”

Shadow’s ears perked up.

Amy bit her lip. “See, I actually...didn’t ask anyone else,” she murmured. “I had it handled. I could have called Tails if I needed help with construction, and I could have asked Knuckles if I needed more strength...but I didn’t. I can do all that by myself.”

With anyone else, Shadow would have snapped in irritation. He kept his tone gentle. “Why did you ask me?”

Amy looked up at him, fidgeting with her fingers. “Promise you won’t get mad at me, okay?”

Shadow nodded. I don’t think I could if I tried.

She paused, then let her head drop, resigned. “Because I wanted to get to know you better.”

Shadow’s heart pounded. “Really?”

Amy nodded, peeking up at him shyly out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve wanted to get to know you since we talked on the ARK, but you’ve always kept your distance. I could never get close.”

Shadow’s heart ached. I never meant to hurt you. He opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat.

Amy twiddled her thumbs in her lap. “But I knew one thing that would work. No matter how busy you are, you’ve always found time to help me. Every single time I’ve asked you for help, you’ve been there.”

Memories of Amy’s voice drifted into his head.

“Thank you so much for coming with me to this concert, Shadow. I never could have gone alone. It’s so much better with you here!”

“Ah, Shadow, I’m so glad you’re here! Cream went into this weird-looking castle, and she hasn’t come back out! Will you go in there with me to look for her?”

“Shadow, please help us! Give them a chance to be happy!”

She’s right. I really will do anything for her.

“Shadow!”

He didn’t know he was grasping at his chest until Amy threaded her fingers with his. Her voice pulled him out of his stupor. “I’m sorry! I know it was wrong. It’s just...you’re so sweet, and brave, and kind...and you don’t hear that often enough. I wanted to know more. I—”

Shadow stalled out as she rambled, at a loss for words. His heart fluttered.

Does she...?

Every word died in his throat. Instead, he grasped her hand with both of his and held it to his chest, letting her feel his racing heartbeat. Her ranting immediately stopped, and one solitary tear faltered, nearly falling from her eye. A voice from fifty years ago, quieter than Amy’s but clear, floated in from the back of Shadow’s mind.

“You have a big heart! It may be difficult for you to express it, but I know that deep down you really do care. About me. About everyone! What you do is what defines you. I know you’re having a hard time finding answers, but I’m certain you will one day. Then, you’ll find even more people you can trust.”

Shadow found his voice at last. “I really wish you could have met her.”

Amy’s confusion lasted for only a moment before melting away, but she remained silent.

He brushed away the tear she’d almost shed, breathed in deeply, and let it out. “She would have loved you almost as much as I do.”

Amy’s eyes bugged out. Shadow slid his hand onto her cheek, making his intentions clear. He waited for a few terrifying seconds that felt like years, praying he hadn’t misinterpreted.

Finally, Amy glanced at his lips...and leaned in to meet him.

Her lips were warm and soft, and Shadow’s eyes fell shut at the pleasant sensation. His motions were tentative from nerves and inexperience, just as hers were, and he lingered for only a few seconds before pulling back. Amy leaned in to follow him, apparently just as reluctant to end the contact, and he pressed their foreheads together to stay close. Her breath tickled his lips, and a shy smile spread across her face. He couldn’t hold back a small grin of his own.

“So does this mean you’ll forgive me?” Amy asked, hesitant but hopeful.

Shadow scoffed and rolled his eyes playfully. “The girl I’ve had a soft spot for since the beginning resorted to subterfuge to spend more time with me, then pampered me for a month? I’ll live.”

Any last trace of hesitation vanished from Amy’s face, leaving behind cheeks dusted pink. Shadow tilted her head down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before aiming a smile her way. “Thank you, Amy.”

“Ah—”

She snapped her mouth shut. He raised a brow. “Hm?”

Amy pursed her lips, deliberating, and then her expression turned sheepish. “You know...you can keep calling me ‘Rose,’ if you want...” Her eyes shot open. “I mean—you don’t have to, but...”

Shadow perked up. “I can?”

Her smile was small and secretive. “It’s...nice. No one else calls me that, so...it feels special when you do.”

Shadow smirked roguishly. “No problem. ‘Rose’ it is.”

A happy little noise escaped Amy’s throat, and he knew even before looking that her tail was wagging. As he kept looking around her room, though, Shadow’s stomach churned with nerves once more. “So...I know I’ve recovered by now, but...is your offer from last night still valid?”

She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

Shadow tugged absently at the blanket underneath him. “I know you’re lonely, and I’ve found a lot of happiness here. More than anywhere else.” He squeezed his eyes shut, ignored the way his stomach flipped, and met her eyes. “I don’t want to leave.”

Amy’s face barely had time to light up before he was pulled into an enthusiastic embrace. “Of course I want you to stay!”

Shadow choked from her strong hug, then laughed and quieted down when she loosened up. He listened patiently, happy just to hear her rant excitedly about all the new ideas she had for the house.

At last, she retreated, showing the exhilarated, post-rant expression he knew most were never patient enough to see.

Their loss.

Shadow ruffled her quills. “In that case, you’d better have supplies ready when I get back.”

Amy frowned. “What do you mean?”

Shadow stood up and adjusted his gloves. “I really do need to talk to Rouge and Omega, but if I’m moving in, then you’ll need that extra wing on your house more than ever.” He smirked down at Amy. “And it’s been established that you can’t handle that yourself, right?”

Amy leapt to her feet and gave a grumpy pout, cheeks puffing out in irritation. “That wasn’t—! Oh, you—!” He chuckled, and she crossed her arms. A few seconds later, though, she stood up straight and snickered. “Are you sure about that? You’re not just going to ask me to sleep in the same bed with you again~?”

Amy giggled, clearly expecting him to get flustered just as she had. Shadow raised a brow.

There’s nothing you can say that’s more embarrassing than that journal.

Shadow snaked an arm around her waist and cradled the back of her head, showing his own smirk when her eyes shot open. He pulled her close, closer than before, and pressed their lips together. He lingered longer this time, deepening the kiss and feeding more passion into it. He tilted his head and lightly scratched her scalp. Inexperience be damned, he kept going even as her fingers dug into his biceps, only pulling back when she whined quietly against his lips.

Shadow broke contact, unable to hold back a smug smile at her wide eyes and flushed cheeks. He leaned up to whisper in her ear.

“Not yet.”

Amy squeaked quietly. He released her and stepped back, unable to hold back a lighthearted laugh. She briefly stumbled, face even redder than before, and he felt his smile turn more genuine.

“I’ll see you later, Rose.”

She held a hand to try and hide her face, but her bashful smile showed through. “O-okay.”

He took a moment to enjoy the sight before teleporting away.

I never want to forget this day.

[bowxs]

BOWXS’S 150 (+4) FOLLOWER CELEBRATION!!

I want to start by saying I genuinely could not be any more grateful than I am for all of my followers, my mutuals, or even people who just liked or reblogged my work!! I love you all so much and you’ve made my dreams come true (which i never thought could happen). I cant say thank you enough💕💕💕 I know im still a beginner writer and i have so many ways i can improve, and all of you have been so patient and kind to me :) I love every single request, reblog, comment, or like i get! I genuinely smile so big when I see you guys like what ive written!!

Now I don’t really know how this is supposed to work, but heres what im gonna do: Below, there will be a numbered list of sfw & nsfw prompts that you can give me + ask for any character I write for (i will make a list incase you dont know! please remember the list is always changing so dont be afraid to ask).

when submitting an ask, please just give me the number of the prompt and the character. feel free to mix and match the prompts!!

full disclaimer- i did get all of these off of pinterest

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, I LOVE YOU!! XOXO

characters i will write for:

Billy Butcher

Soldier Boy

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Percy Jackson

SFW PROMPTS -

1. “not everyone is going to hurt you”

2. “can you just kiss me? one last time? thats all i ask.”

3. “thats not what i meant and you know it”

4. “I’ll be here to keep you safe”

5. “of course i noticed. i notice everything about you”

6. "you ever think that we are meant to be? like in every universe?”

7. “i dont think im ready to let go yet”

8. “just a few more minutes. please.”

9. “stop crying, please. it hurts me”

10. “im so proud of you”

11. “i dont think ive ever seen you wear that before”

12. “im not used to being.. taken care of”

13. “what are you staring at?”

14. “what are we?”

15. “tell me how you fell in love with me, again. i forgot”

16. “i want to have a family with you”

17. “come here, baby. i gotcha”

18. “i’ve never done this before.”

19. "breathe, I got you."

20. “my girl looks so good”

21. “just shut up and kiss me already”

22. "i have to pee so bad please get up."

23. “"were not going to bring this up ever again."

24. “you smell so good”

25. “i waited for you”

26. “you didnt have to do that”

27. “ill do it because i love you. thats it.”

28. “i dont deserve this. you.”

29. “poor thing, had a long day?”

30. “i want it to be us. together.”

31. “its you. its always been you”

32. “i wont let you go out there and kill yourself”

33. “you look stupid”

34. “you know you love me”

35. “tell me i look pretty”

36. “this is forever”

37. “i cant do this without you”

38. “i never thought youd care”

39. “talk to me”

40. “you look good in my clothes”

41. “come sit on my lap”

42. “your lips might kill me”

43. “say it again”

44. “i love you”

45. “please, dont leave”

NSFW PROMPTS -

46. "be good for me and spread your legs”

47. "don't worry ill take good care of you."

48. "i know a workout you might actually enjoy."

49. "i had no idea you were into this kinda thing."

50. "don't tempt me."

51. "i want it to hurt."

52. "i've never done this before."

53. "don't be afraid. it's just me.”

54. "wanna join?"

55. "mind if I join?"

56. "i'm either joining or watching, you pick."

57. "don't make me take you home and punish you."

58. “stop it were in public.”

59. “ill fuck you in the bathroom stall if you dont stop”

60. “stop teasing me”

61. “people will see”

62. “do you think they can hear us?”

63. “i havent even touched you yet”

64. “just a bit more”

65. “you like that? god your a slut”

66. “dont talk like that then cry when i fuck you too hard”

67. “where do you want it?”

68. “stop whining, i got you”

69. “i know you can take it”

70. “atta girl”

71. “stay still, i wanna take a picture”

72. “smile for the camera”

73. “whatever you want baby”

74. “were gonna get caught”

75. “your making a mess everywhere”

76. “do you feel how deep i am?”

77. “are you that excited to have me back?”

78. “keep your eyes on me”

79. “touch yourself- but only cum when i let you”

80. “round two?”

81. “just shut up and fuck me”

82. “im gonna be late since someone cant keep it down for 5 minutes”

83. “move your hand for me”

84. “im not done”

85. “keep talking, baby”

86. “your cute begging for forgiveness now”

87. “i should fill your mouth up, maybe youll be quiet then”

88. “you feel so fucking good”

89. “is that the best you can do?”

90. “use your words”

[cainetarot]

PICK A CARD: Truth about this connection?

⚠️MY READINGS ARE EXTREMELY ACCURATE, TAKE IT WELL AS IT RESONATES, MY BLOG CHANNEL DO NOT SUPPORT SUGARCOATING STRICTLY ⚠️

PILE 1

ALOT GOING ON HERE...like sooo much.

This can be a chaotic one, things are fast 💨. Burden, juggling emotions or people maybe. Not having emotional clarity here. Ya'll have expectations from them or vice versa, but ya'll need to be patient rn.

If u genuinely feel the urge to seperate or sum, remember it's okay to do it 🫵

One of u or both see long term potential in this connection, happy ever after but ya'll need to understand, it should be BOTH WAYS. Not like one be giving too much and other is deceptive.

Expect a confession or impulsive moments sooner, damn this pile resonates with their pic....AHANNNN confirmed! 😏😏

In the pic, look how they're sitting, girl be lookin at him (as if she hopes for something). Damn ya'll keep up with urself here, love urself and dont hesitate to kick em OFF if they're not sure of what they doing 💀💀.

If they unsure about stuff, that means they aint serious about it and yk u dont deserve to be an option. I'm getting that song "KEEP UP", may take a look at it's lyrics 🫨

I see potential, but immaturity aswell. U deserve someone emotionally available. Not an immature confused ASS.

I'm channeling something...😂😂

Ya'll are smart BROSKI- 💀

Like damn, I dont think ya'll are easy to mess with...TF 😶

Wow, feels like 1v1....make sure to overplay. Will u? FOR EXTENDED/PERSONAL PAID READINGS DM ME STARTING FROM JUST 2.99$

PILE 2

This is a karmic or past life connection.

Either for a lesson, spiritual awakening, or to WAKE YOU TF UP.

Here someone has a bad ass pride and ego, they like your attention, they liked feeling admired by you and u made them have an EGO BOOST?? WHAT!? 😭😭

Damn ya'll carry too much for this connection, u showed them love, maybe even cried over them, or supported them emotionally 🥹.

BUT ARE THEY DOING THE SAME? THINK.

This person wanted control. They are not good at showing emotions, but they like being respected. They may come off as "strong, silent, powerful " but they don’t like feeling weak or vulnerable. CONTROL ALERT ⚠️

They be longing or remembering u, but no...NO WAY their butt gonna show it. 💀💀

If u feel they are cold, logical, and emotionally distant, but deep down...they were hiding their damn emotions 🤌🏻

Their hot and cold behaviour, disappearance, or "MAYBE" shi- aint worth ur time tbh. U ARE full of love and U DESERVE that too 🔥

Karmic connection will teach u self love, and ur meant to learn it that way. What's next? FOR EXTENDED/PERSONAL PAID READINGS DM ME STARTING FROM JUST 2.99$

PILE 3

As I was shuffling I WAS BLUSHING SOO BAD DUDE..

Anyways 🤣...extremely funny how I got 3 PAGE cards.

Ya'll have passionate shi- going on FR like damnnn, this connection has transformed suddenly. But it wasn’t over emotionally.

PLOT TWIST, This person keeps tabs on you. They be stalking...this person has curiosity over u. The Lovers..

DO I NEED TO TELL U NOW?

Either a twin flame or soulmate energy 🌟

The chemistry. The pull. The intensity...MWUAAHH 💋💋

BUT...their butt may have a choice involved, holding back, silence or loneliness??

Dawg why do we have EGO ALERT here, similar to pile 2. They might’ve chosen pride over vulnerability...Yet still, they wanted to feel “chosen” by you 🤣.

HAHA, ain't no way, u were strong, intelligent, and emotionally sharp!

Definitely, I sense a spark 🔥 and passion here, the flame hasn’t died.

They’re watching you. They still feel the pull.

I got the lyrics, "Damn baby, I'm a train wreck, too..I lose my mind when it comes to you...I take time with the ones I choose"

OMG- I LOVE THIS SONGGGGGG!!

But will u wait for them to be vulnerable? or is it done? FOR EXTENDED/PERSONAL PAID READINGS DM ME STARTING FROM JUST 2.99$

Make sure to follow me, and DM for paid personal/extended readings

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🪐PROMISED PAID READING DELIVERY WITHING 24 HRS OF ORDER PLACEMENT.

FOR UPCOMING TAROT SUGGESTIONS, LOVE READING SUGGESTIONS AND ANY QUERIES DM ME.

EMERGENCY 1$ READINGS OFFER AVAILABLE ONLY TILL 29 JUNE 2025 ✨

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Subscribe and follow my blog channel CAINE TAROT, AND PLACE ORDER NOW!

#tarotreadings #pickapile #lovetarot #cainetarot

[ikeu05]

he’s on my court (unfortunately)

nine ⟢ 3-in-1 shampoo loser — wc: 745

the sky had turned a sleepy shade of lavender by the time yn wandered into the court. it was technically booked, but she knew no one would be there — it was that rare lull between practice slots. the air was still, the silence loud enough to hear her own thoughts and her hands itched for the distraction of a volleyball.

she hadn’t even changed into practice clothes. just sneakers, sweatpants and jake’s hoodie she’d accidentally taken a month ago after one of their endless “who gets the court” battles. she had taken it as reprimand. she hadn’t meant to keep it, not really, she wanted to burn it. but here it was, wrapped around her like a poor substitute for comfort.

she dropped her bag with a dull thud and stood at the edge of the court, staring at the net like it had personally wronged her.

that’s when she heard footsteps.

she turned, mildly alarmed, only to see yunjin—the girl she sort of knew through heeseung, who dated her and vaguely from campus events—walking in with a half-apologetic expression and a bottle of juice in hand.

“didn’t mean to scare you,” yunjin said softly, offering the juice like a peace treaty. “i saw you walk in from across the quad. thought maybe you could use a shoulder?”

yn blinked. “that’s… weirdly nice. are you a serial killer?” her eyes widened as she accused her further “worse… aren’t you jake’s friend?”.

yunjin laughed awkwardly, holding up a hand in defence “technically. he’s just my boyfriend and cousins friend so unfortunately, i have to hangout with him.”

yn cracked a smile of sympathy and took the juice.

they sat in silence for a moment on the bleachers, yn’s fingers turning the cap of the drink over and over.

“you don’t have to talk,” yunjin offered. “you just looked like you needed a witness to whatever mental breakdown you’re about to have.”

yn laughed, the kind of laugh that cracked and fizzled midway.

“i liked someone. for a long time,” she finally said. “and he didn’t like me back. i mean, i knew that. i’m not delusional. but he didn’t even care enough to text me back once my sister came to visit. he was just with her the whole time.”

yunjin tilted her head. “sunghoon?”

yn gave her a side-eye. “damn, the confessions page is working overtime.”

yunjin gave a sheepish shrug. “campus isn’t that big. and he keeps posting these weird thirst traps? always going viral.” she mumbled the last bit, remembering how heeseung and jay commented on how hot he looked after just waking up.

that made yn groan. “yeah. that did NOT help.” she leaned back. “but the worst part? jake.”

yunjin raised an eyebrow. “jake?”

“he’s just always… around. like i know we share the court and wtv, i’m bound to see him here and there but it’s like.. he’s ALWAYS there.” she exhales, mind thinking through all the times jake’s been pestering her, on court and on text as well. “i want to hate him, and i DO. but sometimes it’s almost comforting to see him? you know what i mean?”

yunjin nods in agreement, “it’s like seeing a familiar face in a new seminar or something. i get it.” then she grinned. “so let me get this straight. sunghoon, crush, radio silence. jake, enemy, low-key concern. and you’re spiraling.”

“exactly!” yn threw her arms up. “am i insane?!”

“no,” yunjin said, then paused. “i mean… maybe a little. but who isn’t? you’ve got a lot going on. it makes sense it’s all crashing at once.”

yn stared at her for a second, then whispered, “you’re too wise to be heeseung’s girlfriend.”

yunjin cackled “facts.”

they sat for a while longer, the sky darkening, the court lights flickering on.

“i’m rooting for you,” yunjin finally said. “whether you key sunghoon’s car, spike another volleyball at jake or get in trouble for literally anything. just send me a text once and i’ll coming in running.”

yn smiled, for real this time. “thanks. seriously. for being a random kind stranger.”

“anything for the girl who called me pretty when i was on the verge of a breakdown with my new haircut,” yunjn said with a wink, then smirked. “also, i brought cookies. they were for heeseung, but you look more broken than him right now.”

yn chuckled, grabbing the small box from her, watching her wave bye as she walked away.

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[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s8 episode 13 “per manum” thoughts

guys... it is per manum time.

i’m SHAKING over here, omfgggg. i’m ready. but also, and in a very real sense, i am NOT. 

so, i know a little bit about what happens in this episode… but not much. i’m excited and nervous and a bunch of other things.

i’m curious to see if doggett will be here today, or if he got the day off after so many scully absences

let’s GO! i’m ready to CRY!!!

(post-episode thoughts: Y'ALL... this might be my longest post yet. if it isn't, it is definitely up there in a place of honor, like second or third.

so, i pinpointed the exact moment i fell in love with doggett, because anyone who wants to save scully is absolutely swoon-worthy to me. GOD, his loyalty... and then i fell MORE in love with him at the last scene over how gentle he was. god. oh my god. i'm down bad for a guy named john.

there is SO much to unpack here, and i will do my very best. but just... i'm crying. i love them. i want them to all be happy.

i was so SAD!!! because scully and doggett were both upset, and doggett didn't know why she was acting like that, and he seemed really hurt because the truth is very important to him, and scully was SUFFERING AGAIN, OH MY GOD???? WHEN DOES SHE GET REST?! in the present day AND IN THE FLASHBACK SCENES!!!! which i ALSO HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT!!

but in the end, the big secret i was wondering how long would last was disclosed, even if terrifying new possibilities were raised (and if the plot is... confusing). and now, hopefully they can understand each other better and be partners with full trust in each other...

except, she might still be going MIA for a bit, so who even knows if they will get a CHANCE to be proper trusting partners? and even if they are, it will still hurt because he isn't mulder... *breaks down in sobs again*

she just wanted it to be okay. and then her... the way she... and he... gestures vaguely and cries more.

i need to just get started or i'll begin analyzing the whole episode before i even under the "read more" line. wow... a lot to say. genuinely tearing up, it isn't even hyperbole. they fucked me up with this one)

we begin with a “previously, on the x files…”, which means shit is gonna go DOWN

so let us begin with the uncomfortable recap of scully’s abduction arc and the rows of human ova. yeah. it still icks me tf out. i’ll have to write a think piece on that someday. and mulder plucking hers up. 

and crying scully telling skinner that the impossible has happened!!

yes, yes, i remember all of this. 

okay. now some other lady is giving birth. this feels intimate. i’m not sure i’m supposed to be seeing all of this. 

oh god, i’m gonna have to watch scully do this at some point…

LMAO, girl... i think you’re past the point of starting over tomorrow, kath. 

(reminds me of that time one of my teachers in high school told me she was screaming about not wanting to do this anymore while in labor. and i was like yeah, dawg, i am not doing that shit. why did she tell me that? we were in geometry)

okay, um, where were we?

the nurse is checking, the monitor is going sicko mode, and the doctor comes in and click click clicks on the computer. and declares there must be an emergency c section! she’s freaking out! naturally!! she doesn’t know wtf is wrong! 

he says they’ll take care of it. 

the father of the baby (named duffy) leaves for a second to scrub up, but the doctors LOCK THE DOOR ON HIM. guys, that is NOT COOL, you said he could be there??? 

needles needles, no, no, no, ma’am... she’s begging them not to let anything happen 

EAUGHHHHH, i don’t wanna see the surgery... no no no nooooo nooo la la la, i don’t like it, nooo

she says she can’t feel anything and something must be wrong and i am lightheaded. woohooooo. okay. okay. hang in there, hang the fuck in there.

girl, i can’t look, why is there squirming... she wants to seeeeee

they take the baby out, but it’s not normal, like it’s weird... but okay, a lot of babies are weird.

oh. it sounds like a goat though. that isn’t super normal, i don’t think, but what do i know?

ohhhh, it is an alien, okay, yeah. well. that’ll do it 

she wanted her husband back!!

damn. alien baby. fucked up.

reading my notes back like that is actually super funny. let us take deep and calming breaths as the theme music relaxes us.

intro time. our boy mulder is here today, EVERYBODY CHEER!

still taking deep breaths. paranormal activity. scully serve. baby. moon. mulder falling. eyeball. truth is out there. let’s get fucking going!!!!

we open with an ultrasound photo! scully seeing the baby!! trying to judge if she is showing yet. don’t worry girl, you've got a little bit more time before you have to tell people, lmao. but you're cutting it close.

GOD, i cannot believe she is gonna have a baby... i’m gonna CRY.

she’s staring in the mirror. trying not to tear up. i'm in pain.

goes down to her office. and down there is duffy! the husband from before! who was having an appointment with doggett!!

oh no, he says he knows her. is he going to spill everything…?

oh, he contacted her 8 years ago. yeah, so that actually was not her he spoke with, then. he talked to mulder about his wife being abducted by aliens. but now she is dead.

he just keeps saying she is dead, she is dead, she gave birth to an alien. doggett confirms that he did write to mulder years ago. doggett is watching her. she asks him to start from the beginning. they sit down.

kath was a multiple abductee. one procedure would give her cancer, another would cure her. close up on scully’s face. continued closeup as he says they implanted an alien embryo in kath.

she asks for medical proof, and he passes an ultrasound, saying that anyone with a trained eye can see it is weird. especially for a woman who was never supposed to be able to conceive.

it looks blurry to me, but that’s about it? again, what do i know.

he says they’ve gone through 3 sets of doctors. they killed his wife and stole her alien baby. doggett is still watching.

scully says they’ll be in touch and seems very thrown off.

OH GOD. things are tense:

“thank you, agent doggett. i’m sure the rest of my afternoon can’t possibly be so amusing”

“i thought you’d find it interesting, actually” he sits down.

“interesting? as in preposterous and outrageous?”

“well, unless i’m mistaken, you already knew that man’s story”

she looks confused

“the abduction, the tests, a bout with cancer, then a remission”

“what exactly are you getting at?” she walks closer

oh my god, my blood is running COLD

“that’s your story, agent scully. i’d say right down to a tee”

DON’T ATTACK HIM SCULLY, HE DOESN’T KNOWWWW... there are tears in her eyes and her mouth is open

“i mean, except for the pregnancy” she keeps staring. “it’s all right there in the x files” 

he seems confused and she seems confused we are all confused. she turns to stare at the files. yeah, he did read 'em all. and he just wanted to HELPPPPPP, MY GOD....

“well, i appreciate your thoroughness, agent doggett, and your familiarity with the x files cases in those cabinets, but my personal files are my personal files, okay?”

she’s barely holding back tears now. “sure, of course" he shakes his head as she walks away, absentmindedly walking into an elevator. 

and then this must be a flashback, because mulder is here! he has been looking for her all over!

she had a doctor’s appointment and he immediately clocks something is wrong. even if she says nothing is the matter.

“i’m… i’m sorry, i haven’t told you, i don’t know why i haven’t. i mean you were… you were always there for me during my illness, but, um…”

i’m holding my breath over here.

he leans in. “don’t make me guess” <- is he worried she’s sick again?

she tells him she cannot conceive “and i am not ready to accept that i will never have children” 

wait, he knew that though, right? because he had her damn ova. and didn’t they talk about it after emily?

oh WHAT? well, he says there’s something he hasn’t told her either… “i hope you forgive me and understand why i would have kept it from you” 

ohhh no... now he has to tell her. 

I COULD HAVE SWORN THIS ALREADY HAPPENED THOUGH?? am i crazy? can someone please let me know. tysm.

well, she is obviously gagged that first of all, he broke into a facility and FOUND them, and also that he didn’t tell her, but she was dying at the time, and he didn’t want to give her more bad news!!

and it was bad news... because the doctor said they weren’t viable. she pushes the elevator button. she wants a second opinion. it closes most of the way. he tries to open it. they lock eyes and he lets her go.

GOD, the way she looks at him trying to hold the doors open and then shakes her head a little and looks away… and he lets her go. FUCK ME.

back in our time, doggett runs into scully, who is standing in the corner of the elevator looking incredibly out of it. “agent scully? what are you doing?”

“um, i don’t know. i guess i just forgot to push the button” <- ohhhh, poor thing. she was just sitting in there. terrified.

and now he opens the elevator! “i wasn’t exactly clear on what you wanted to do about this guy haskell. about his wife’s story”

“there’s nothing to do”. 

he nods, and lets the door shut

oh GOD, this is CRAZY already. i need a sip of water.

scully is off to the genetics company that made the ultrasound for kath.

it seems to be totally empty. but she hears faint voices. knocks on a door. hears someone screaming that she is afraid. a doctor is talking to ms. hendershot….

it’s the doctor we saw before!! at the start of the episode!! from the emergency c section alien baby! saying it is different, and he would know, because he knows both cases!

scully is peeking in and then runs away. hides in a closet FILLED WITH WEIRD BABY CORPSES PRESERVED IN FLUID?? oh my fucking GOD, get her out of here???? literally WALL TO WALL FUCKED UP BABY CORPSES. 

she investigates…… holds her head up next to the cases.

THE DOCTOR WALKS IN!! poor scully is on the SPOT!! she says she is here with her friend and worried!!! and i love that she cannot lie to save her life.

he tells her ms. hendershot is fine. and that she can’t be back here. no one mentions the giant closet of dead babies. pretty large elephant in the room.

she gets home. calls the number on her ultrasound.

she calls dr. parenti, and tells him she is afraid. asks him to compare an ultrasound to hers. he’s not in his office. IS HE PLOTTING SOMETHING WITH THE OTHER GUY??

“dana… are you going to be okay?” she says she’ll be okay. not sure i'm buying it, though.

THIS PARENTI FUCKER IS IN THE BABY CORPSE ROOM!!!!! unboxing an alien baby!!!!!! another one???

guys…. we need to do something now.

okay, flashback to months ago now: her meeting dr. parenti. he tells her that there is a chance. and she FALLS DOWN, saying it is too good to be true.

scully, my baby...

he says the odds are good if they start soon, and she wants to know if they can start right away. he says, well... you do need a father. did you have a donor in mind? and SHE DOES, SHE JUST NEEDS TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO ASK HIM, OH MY GOD??

back to the current time period. she is really beautiful. dr. parenti says the ultrasound looks fine to him. “why do you ask that?” <- YOU KNOW, YOU FUCKER!

she thanks him. and as he leaves he SAYS SHE HAS TO TELL THE FBI AT SOME POINT, LMAOOOO, OH GOD. HE CALLED HER ASS OUT: “can’t keep it a secret forever, dana” 

she does not wanna think about all that, LMAO, her face. but i can't laugh too hard, because i know this parenti fucker is up to evil.

OH GOD, DOGGETT GOT A CALL IN THE OFFICE FROM DR. PARENTI ABOUT AN ULTRASOUND... OH MY GOD, SHE SAYS IT WAS HERS….? HE IS LIKE "COME ON SCULLY, THAT WAS ONE OF THE DOCTORS THE HASKELLS WENT TO"

oh my GOD, i just watched that scene and i was not breathing:

“excuse me, agent doggett, but are you investigating me?”

“no, i was doing a background check on mr. and mrs. haskell before i dropped the case, like you asked me to”

“no, i didn’t ask you to drop the case. i said there was nothing to do”

“well, if there’s nothing to do, then why are you investigating?”

“you are jumping to conclusions”

“no, i’m just trying to do my job, only it gets hard to do if the person you’re working with is keeping secrets and telling lies” <- DAMN!!!!

cut her some slack, bro... she’s in a tough place :(((((

she gets close to him. “i am not investigating these people, agent doggett. parenti is my doctor. is that so strange?”

we see him thinking….

so like…. is he putting it together? because she said there was an ultrasound… some people get those all the time, i guess it doesn't have to mean anything…

did the doctor leave a message or just talk to doggett? because that has to be a hippa violation.

lmao. he called her a liar, though. there is something sickly funny about that in these circumstances. she IS lying. and she IS bad at it.

“is there something about him i don’t know?” her concern seems legitimate.

“no. but duffy haskell is a piece of work, i’ll tell you that much”

a class act in conflict de-escalation.

we’re actually just taking the conflict elsewhere, because duffy is now with doggett and scully in skinner’s office!! he was sending mulder threatening letters as president of MUFON ohio. he wrote to dr. lev saying he would kill her if he hurt his wife. which he says did happen; dr. lev “stole the alien baby out of her womb” <- well. this isn’t making you sound less crazy, man.

scully is making this face, lmaoooo 

doggett is like well, i can’t even find any documentation that you were married, let alone that dr. lev is in any way suspicious. something sickly funny again about him calling him a liar. he said that alien baby was out of wedlock.

skinner says it’s a crime to threaten anyone. haskell turns to scully and asks if she believes him. turns to scully again. says there are other women out there just like kath. 

they all look at each other.

haskell leaves, calling someone on his phone. HE CALLS DR. LEV?? reports that they poked holes in his story. which dr. lev tells him they knew would happen. says they’re still risking losing hendershot. “then it’s time to let her go” CUT SCENE TO MORE CREEPY ALIEN BABY WITH DR. LEV??

WHO IS THIS DUFFY GUY.....?

scully comes home….

resting her hand on her abdomen. someone knocks at the door. jump back in time. it’s mulder. she welcomes him in; asks to take his coat. OH, she’s nervous. he can’t stay. he has to get back to the office.

OH, she already asked him, so she’s making him answer now. “it’s not something i get asked to do every day”, he says. she’s scared.

“look, if… if you’re trying to politely say no, it’s okay, i… i understand” <- she’s not looking at him. it is too much to look at him.

he, however, is looking straight at her. “see, as weird as this sounds- and this sounds really weird, i know- but i-i just wouldn’t want this to come between us”

oh, she’s crushed. “yeah. i know. i-i understand. i do” she looks at the ground.

“but. the-the answer is ‘yes’” <- LMAO, OH GOD. what did he do all that for? oh my god, her FACE, AND SHE HUGS HIM :(((

HIS DUMBASS SAYING HE’S A PRO AT THE DONOR PART, OH MY GOD. and he leaves for the office before she can really start crying.

god, he was in and out of there... LMAO, he was scared af to have that conversation!!!

we should unpack that at another time.

back to her apartment in the present day. alone. but we get a knock on the door. who is it??? the gunmen?

it’s hendershot!! she tells scully her baby is in danger, and so is her's!! GIRL!!! this is escalating!!!!!

now it’s 3 in the morning in washington DC, and doggett is…. somewhere? meeting skinner and scully at a diner!!! he wants his coffee black, mind you!

oh, he came here though, at such an hour. skinner says thanks for coming down. scully is looking far into the distance.

doggett asks if she’s going somewhere. skinner explains with HR formality that she is going on a leave of absence. “hey, great” HE’S TRYING TO BE SUPPORTIVE... but also he sounds deeply sarcastic. “can i ask why?” “no” 

he turns to skinner. “so i’m the x files now? just me?” "agent scully isn’t quitting the FBI, she’s just going away” she won't say anything...... making skinner do all the talking....

he stares at her. she’s looking away. “thanks for getting me out of bed to give me the news” he gets up to leave. “drop me a line if you get a chance”

DOGGETT, PUT IT TOGETHER... i feel bad for him, omfgggg, but like it’s RIGHT THERE, BUDDY, COME ON!!! YOU’RE SO CLOSE! she still won’t look at him. 

skinner says she has to tell him. she tells him she can’t.

she runs out after him: “agent doggett?” (very tense pause) “i want you to understand”

“what is it you want me to understand, agent scully? the secrets or the lies?” <- STOP, I FEEL SO BAD FOR BOTH OF THEM :(

“i told you… i’m not doing anything behind your back”

“you’re supposed to watch my back, agent scully” <- oh shit…. he has a point... but he doesn't KNOWWWW why she is doing this...

skinner comes out behind her. “if i was putting you at risk in any way, you can be sure that i wouldn’t let you down. i hope you know that”

“i only know what you tell me”

she turns to skinner. says she has to go.

and hendershot is in scully's car!!! doggett asks who that is. skinner says he doesn’t know.

doggett gets in his truck. 

scully and hendershot are off to a research hospital. scully explains to a team of doctors that hendershot believes she is about to give birth to an inhuman baby.

she has no medical records. hendershot explains they killed her friend who knew too much.

the doctors says they will induce labor now. 

OH SHIT! scully tells the doctor she isn't the only one in danger…

doggett is looking at an ultrasound… when some guy name joe comes in the office. asking why he is sitting in the dark. “i’m in the dark pretty much most of my time on the x files, joe” <- STOP, I FEEL BAD FOR HIMMM :(

he was running haskell’s prints…. they found out that haskell has been dead since 1970!!! what?!!! 

damn, they’re hooking hendershot up to some stuff at the hospital, and scully is right next to her, and i’m gonna have another incident where i almost pass out, huh?

she asks scully how long it will take. “probably somewhere between four and 12 hours”, she answers, in medical mode. scully squeezes her arm. hendershot tells her she’s afraid. says she had a boyfriend, but she looked at the dates, and there’s no way... and now she’s sure it was an abduction.

the doctor calls scully over and loads up a tape. she’s getting her own ultrasound. she looks at it, smiling. “i see what would appear to be a healthy baby at 14 weeks” <- HOLD ON, I GOTTA DO SOME MATH... so she’s 3.5 months pregnant, so it has to be like…. august? september? sigh, i don’t fucking KNOW!!!

why did they say that line about mulder being gone in may?? had they NOT said that, we would be FINE, even if that means some of the episodes were out of order, but nOoOoOo!!

scully asks if she is sure. the doctor asks if she wants to know the sex. she just says she wants it to be okay. so they’re gonna do that other test with the amniotic fluid.

meanwhile…. doggett runs out and catches a guy named knowle on the street! he says he needs to know about the haskell fingerprint NOW. knowle says he could be intelligence... he claims there is no conspiracy. but doggett wants to know for scully :(

OH GOD, now they’re doing the test on scully, and tbh i always wondered how that stuff worked. and the answer is: a giant fucking needle. LIKE COMICALLY LARGE, DAMN. 

doctor tells her she needs to take it easy after the procedure, and she once again mumbles that she just wants to know if it is okay. oh god. poor thing. i don’t wanna think about membranes rupturing. she better lay her ass down.

(as i edit my notes i am now googling this procedure to see what sort of stuff it can tell you and how severe it is. eek. makes me dizzy)

do not move, girl, i’m serious. she sees the VHS…. gets up. girl, i told you not to do that... but whatever.

takes the tape out. sees IT IS SOMEONE ELSE’S?? THE FUCK?? 

scully goes to get ms. hendershot and tells her they have to go NOW. starts getting the needles out of her. 

what the FUCK is going on?

doggett is running for skinner. asks how to get to scully right away. they’ve all been misled by this haskell guy. he thinks it’s a setup. he needs to get scully, wherever she’s gone.

skinner says she’s safe at a hospital. OH DAMN, HE SAYS “look, this involves doctors. doctors who may have killed pregnant women. now, a hospital could be the worst place in the world for her. TELL ME WHERE SCULLY IS” 

yeah, it is official: i love this man.

and he tells her. doggett instructs him to call security now and runs after.

scully is trying to smuggle herself and hendershot out. but the doctors notice patients missing.

and a friend of doggett’s says to follow them!! it’s knowle!! do we trust him??

hendershot is really pretty….

they’re leading them into a black van. she asks who they are and he doesn’t answer. and they are speeeeeeding out. the men are medics. but SCULLY, NO! SHE GROANS IN PAIN BECAUSE SHE JUST HAD THE THING DONE and shouldn’t even be on her FEET!!!

they are being chased while hendershot is in labor, because of course she is. scully says you HAVE to stop the car, and knowle tells her no. and she says you HAVE TO!!! so they finally do.

time to have a baby in the back of the woods. 

knowle grabs scully, claiming he’s making sure she doesn’t hurt herself, it’s for her own good, but obviously she is NOT taking that laying down and swipes at him, calling for hendershot. calling her first name.

and they sedate scully. while hendershot is giving birth and screaming, and scully hears the weird goat baby bleat as she begins to pass out. and someone is flashing a flashlight on scully. 

she wakes up…. somewhere???

was that knowle or not???

she’s got a million tubes hooked up to her. and calls out for doggett. WHO IS SITTING NEARBY!

“lie down agent scully, you’re not taking any more chances” HE GRABS HER SHOULDERS AND MAKES HER LIE BACK DOWN, OMFG… he is not risking a damn THING with her. “what happened to me?”

“you’re okay, you’re fine" little pause "and your baby’s fine” (OH MY FUCKING GODDDDDDDD) she sighs in relief. “but you’re very, very lucky”

(nah, i'm tearing up just editing these notes... he was sooooo gentle. FUCK!!!!!!)

so what happened?? she’s back at the same hospital she tried to run away from?

allegedly, hendershot is fine, and her baby is fine too. but scully is convinced they switched her alien baby with another one they had on hand. they’re saying she overreacted, that it was really her ultrasound- just an old tape they taped over.

and he sent the men who came to get them: “they say they saved your life. how can i question that, standing here?” 

(fuck. actual tears as i edit this. whyyyyyy)

“it was all planned. you know that. from the moment that man walked into our office. we used to get at ms. hendershot’s baby and now we are being used to cover it up” she lays back down. “oh my god”

(she must be realizing she exposed herself and will now be brought into their trap.... i guess, that is, if they didn't already know)

“at least you’re okay” <- but is she??

“why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“i was afraid. afraid that they‘d use it against me to take me off the x files so that i couldn’t find mulder” <- OH MY GOD??? she thought they would use it to keep her away from finding him??? like she was too closely involved or something? or would it just be a convenient excuse by the higher ups to get her out of the way?

he grabs her shoulder. leans in close “i told you i’d help you. i said we’d find him”

she tears up. he walks away.

back in her apartment. she finds mulder sleeping on the couch, so i guess we’re back in time. he says he came back and waited, he must have dozed off.

she’s crying. “it didn’t take, did it?” “i guess it was too much to hope for”

he pulls her in for a hug as she cries. “it was my last chance”

he kisses her forehead: “never give up on a miracle”

and i think she kissed his cheek, but it was hard to tell... hold on, let me rewind. she hugs him. 

back in the modern day, still in her hospital bed, she rests a hand on her abdomen.

the end

WHAAAAAAT THE FUCK. 

oh my god, first thought: WHAT IS GOING ON? is scully okay?? what happened to ms. hendershot? was it really an alien baby?? scully seemed convinced they switched her baby out… and doggett seemed to think something weird was going on, too…

and they brought her back to the hospital… and the tape thing actually seemed plausible, but why would they take care of scully and hurt hendershot? it makes no sense… and scully heard the goat noises, but she was getting sedated… and it WAS her doctor who was in the alien corpse room…. so maybe he was lying about everything looking okay…

well, these plots never make any fucking sense, so i honestly think i would just be wasting my time trying to piece it together. tbh.

head in hands... yeah. i do need doggett. 

but in a way that is actually about scully, because there is NOTHING hotter than a man taking care of scully. everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes, including someone as tough and reckless as scully. the way he was holding her shoulders down so she couldn’t get up... telling her he said he would help. letting her know he meant it. GOD.

trust seems to be SO important to him, which is sick and twisted for a show with the occasional tagline “trust no one”. he is just a good GUY, and he is stuck in this situation.

and OHHH MY GOD, he was so angry and confused, and he knew scully was lying, but he didn’t know about WHAT. she wouldn’t tell him, even thought skinner said she should, because she knows the hard way not to trust anybody. and of course she doesn’t trust him after he was sent initially by kersh to watch over her, and of course she resents that he isn't mulder!!! she had tried to sneak away from him before, and he was like "don’t do that again". and other times he got frustrated and didn’t understand her point of view, so she didn’t want to tell him, and she was scared because how was this happening? what if something happens? and also, what if they used it against her to take her away from looking for mulder? and oh my god. oh my god, i just... i need to lay down.

and GOD, mulder keeping that secret from her (that i frankly thought they already talked about, LMAO)

so i assume that part took place sometime in s7? and he waited for her at her apartment and fell asleep on the couch. and she cried because it didn’t work. and he told her to never rule out a miracle, and there is a miracle... but was it?? was it a miracle?? or was it someone playing god and abusing women??

oh my god. 

hold on i just. i need a breath. 

okay, i’m not done, i am not fucking DONE.

skinner being dragged into this at 3 in the morning and doing all of the talking, explaining to doggett that she was leaving… fuck me. how do you think that conversation on the phone went?

and then doggett was so mad, because he KNEW she was lying. but she wasn’t doing it to be malicious, she was SCARED!! and she had EVERY REASON TO BE!! but he didn’t know that!!

and that he thought she would be interested in the case, but she immediately shut down because it hit too close to home, and he was thinking “why is she getting mad?”. he just accepted that he crossed a line with her personal files even though they were in the x files... 

and then when she said that it was her doctor who called about an ultrasound, he just thought she was lying because it was too weird to believe, and then he was like wait a minute… what is going on here…

GAHHHH, when he came to skinner and said you need to tell me where she is NOW, that was the moment. that motherfucker snatched my heart with both hands. he had some moments that definitely warmed me up to him (his get well soon card, awkward comforting, carrying scully to the hospital) but that was it, bro. i’m all in now. he is my friend. i will kiss him on the forehead.

and the trust he placed in her, particularly in the last episode, must have made the lack of trust she displayed toward him sting all the more… when he said she is supposed to watch his back, GOD, my heart was hurting…. she was trying to explain without explaining, and he said “i only know what you tell me”

and holy fuck, i thought i was going to faint at that last scene. the way he made her lie back down, told her to stop taking chances, she’s fine, your baby is fine, just… oh my god. grabbing her shoulder. saying he told her he would find him. for a man like him, his word is everything. 

i’m gonna fucking CRY.

and terrified but brave scully, after just having had a procedure done that put her at risk, going to get ms. hendershot out because she HAS to do the right thing no matter what, oh my GOD. she had to get her to safety. and then trying to get to her while she went into labor and having to be restrained and sedated… and thinking she saw what she maybe really did see…

and being so scared because how did this happen, is it really a miracle, or is this another terrible thing that was taken from her? and those horrifying baby corpses she ran into, and knowing that this is a possibility now- how can you keep going on with life like that didn’t happen? like it isn’t looming over you? like when the clock is up it might be… 

god. just. oh my god. 

i do find the whole abduction arc and lack of agency thing pretty, um. how do you say... gross. but in terms of scully’s pregnancy arc, idk exactly where it is going, so i can’t have a fully formed opinion yet.

i do know what i think happens at the VERY end, and i have my thoughts on that, but until we get there, my lips are shut.

fucking…. doggett… scully… 

is she going to still go on leave? but where could she even go? if this really is part of the conspiracy, there isn’t a place she could go to be safe. which is fucking horrifying. god. the sort of cosmic terror of intergalactic conspiracy just was made real for me. which i think is a good thing. means the writing finally paid off.

i’m also struck by skinner in all of this, who had his own life changing field trip with doggett and realized he was Good, and he can’t make that choice to trust him for scully, but he tried to get her to tell him. i was honestly worried he would just tell him, but he didn’t say anything at all until doggett basically gave him no choice. and then as soon as he said where she was, doggett RAN out the door. 

and mulder… poor mulder, never having that conversation with her, because when would the right time be? and he finally does and she’s hurt- of course she’s hurt- he holds the doors open. but she won’t look at him and so he shuts them.

and then when she finally gets him to her place to answer, she’s so nervous she asks to take his coat. he says he doesn’t want it to come between them and she starts to cry. she wanted it to be HIM. specifically. the father of her baby. she knew before she even got in that office. she just wasn’t sure how to tell him that.

and he’s so awkward as he says yes in a prolonged fashion that she thinks is a no, because he really means it- he doesn’t want anything to come between what they have, whatever you call it, or however you put it into words or don’t or can’t…

and then he was WAITING there the day of, fell asleep on her couch, holds her while she cries, kisses her forehead, tells her not to rule out a miracle… and what may be a miracle finally comes when he’s gone. fuck.

and from scully’s perspective, she just. tells him in an elevator that she can’t have kids and she isn’t ready to accept that. so he admits he has known and has had her ova the WHOLE time. of course she is shocked that 1. he FOUND them in a government facility and 2. he KNEW that the whole time and never told her, and of course he didn’t tell her because she was dying, but then when would a good time to tell her be?? from her perspective it still hurts, he still kept that from her.

and she gets another opinion, and when the doctor says it might work she FALLS, sinks down, wants to begin right away, not even thinking that isn’t something she can just do, she has to ask him.

when she does she’s so scared. can’t look him in the eye. thinks he is saying no and tells him she understands, it’s okay, it’s okay. but he says yes and she jumps into his arms. he makes a stupid joke and he leaves before they can think about it. 

and then it doesn’t work, and she comes home to him sleeping there on her couch, waiting for her, having to tell him it didn’t work. the tears in her eyes having sat there on her ride home, him trying to give her some privacy and not come with her because you know she wouldn’t let him, she’s fiercely independent. so she drove home in silence. and when he sees her he knows. brings her in. she stands on her tippy toes to rest her head on his shoulder. he leans his forehead against hers and kisses it, telling her that miracles do happen. 

and then. he vanishes.

and the juxtaposition of him prying the elevator doors open and then doggett doing the same as she stood there, having not pressed any buttons at all, lost in remembering… and he knows something weird is going on, but knows it doesn’t matter if he asks, because she won’t tell him…

but now he knows. and she is reminded that he meant his promise. they will find him. he doesn’t say things and not mean them. 

and then factor in his own personal angst about hearing she’s having a baby, and is worried about if that baby is even a fucking human or not, after his own experience with losing a child- not a baby, a child he saw grow up-

and i don’t think he’s told her about that, and he sure isn’t going to want to now, but every time she does something or says something it will bring back all of those memories he had with his own boy and the pain of losing him again…

well. fuck.

it is safe to say that i enjoyed this episode, even if the giving birth and needles freaked me tf out. luckily, i can just reread my notes to rewatch it all over again without seeing that! woohoo!! 

and i think the next one is a two parter, but i see it mentions reyes, which i am SO excited about!!! because i do not know a damn THING ABOUT HER!!  i’m READY FOR ANOTHER WOMAN ON THE SHOW THAT ISN’T DIANA, YEAHHHHH

is she going to be doggett’s new partner while scully is away? but again! where is scully going to go? is there anywhere she can hide? because if there was nowhere i could hide, i would want to keep working just so i could find mulder! but that might put you in even MORE danger, so what is she to do?

oh, scully. 

and now i have to deal with knowing a two parter is coming and that it’ll probably take me 2 weeks to watch them both, LMFAO. but somehow i will be very brave and get through this. even in the heat. the terrible heat. i will push through.

well damnit, now that we have seen such suffering, i want everything to end happy-ish even more now. i’ll keep brainstorming my happy-ish ending au. like i always say, not TOO happy. but they all hold hands forever and ever. the end!

i am VERY curious to hear what you thought of this episode. did this one also make you fall in love with doggett? did you cry?

(groans and explodes)

[yourch1ld]

Stupid Dare (Part 1)

additional tags: sfw, phiilip graves × male!reader, college!au, call of duty

A/N: so, hello, I'm new here and here's my stupid fanfic (?), this is mid, but I swear I'll try make next chapter better and cooler, thank you in advance for your time! <3 (and yes, English is not my first language, so sorry if there're mistakes).

Part 2

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Finally, the moment came when you moved away from your toxic parents to another place — a college you barely scored enough points to get into with a scholarship. You thought things couldn’t get worse, that a new life was ahead and everything would be great.

WRONG.

It was the end of August, and you arrived at your college dorm in Texas. There are no words to describe how nervous you were, but a kind lady helped you find your room and not get lost in the chaos of students just like you.

Your former friend always said that no matter what, you’d be able to make new acquaintances and friends. But that also didn’t go the way you hoped. You became a loner, and the only looks you got were judgmental — or curious… curious about how weird you were.

The only thing you were lucky with was work. Sure, working at the local McDonald's wasn’t fancy, but you got paid well enough to not starve.

Things couldn’t possibly get worse… right?

They could.

There was someone called Phillip Graves. He was on the football team — not the most popular one there, but still got attention from girls. Though nothing more than flirting ever happened between him and them.

It was Friday evening of the first week of classes, and all the football guys were hanging out in one of the rooms, playing “Truth or Dare.”

As usual, they spun the bottle, and at some point, it pointed to Graves. A mischievous grin appeared on his face and he simply said, “Dare.”

"Then we dare you to start a relationship with that weirdo..."— one of the guys said.

"Yeah, remember that LGBT pin on his bag? So pathetic..." — another one added.

"If you want, we could even pay you a little extra to fuck him and record it, ‘cause this is too funny to just do it for a game..."— the team captain said while looking at Phillip.

The grin stayed on the boy’s face.

It was pathetic that he agreed — but that was drunk Graves…

The next morning, Phillip began his little hunt.

He tracked you down and slithered like a desert snake toward a mouse — right when you were alone in the open area behind the school, sitting in the grass.

"Hey, cutie, is it hot out here, or is it just ‘cause a thing like you’s around?"— a devilish smile crept across his face as he came closer, leaning over you.

You didn’t answer, just blushed and looked up. Clearly, no one had ever flirted with your virgin ass back in your hometown.

"Don’t be nervous, babe, it’s just me — Phillip. You can call me Phil if that helps you relax."— he suddenly sat down next to you and rested his head on your shoulder like he had known you forever.

It looked like a damn romcom (sorry), but you couldn’t do anything about it.

That kept happening for several days. He’d come sit by you, say a few words…

Honestly, it made Phillip feel relaxed, and your quietness seemed kind of cute.

One day, you finally started talking to Phillip, and oh God — you liked his temperament, his voice, the way he moved his hands…

It was probably the first time you fell for someone — not some game character, but a real guy.

But of course, in Graves’s head, there was already a plan.

One that was in motion.

And you — you were the target, the prize, the toy in his hands. Like 3-in-1 instant coffee.

[sophieops]

"Letters Never Sent" : Letter Six

[Date: Unknown. Folded differently from the others. Torn at the corner, smudged like it had been held too long before being tucked away.]

To: You (but you’ll never read it)

I’m writing this because if I try to say it out loud, I’ll break.

And I’ve broken enough times for you already.

There’s no drama in that. No bitterness. Just… a tired kind of honesty. The kind that settles in your chest when you stop trying to outrun the silence.

It’s funny — how you always acted like I was the fragile one. Like I needed saving, or soft words, or warning signs before getting too close to the fire. But you were the one who flinched when anything started to feel real. You were the one who stayed quiet when it mattered most.

I would’ve forgiven you a thousand times, Hayato. For your silence. For your distance. For your refusal to say what I know you felt but wouldn’t let yourself admit.

I never needed you to be perfect. I just needed you to meet me halfway.

I waited.

You didn’t come.

And I kept waiting.

Sometimes I think you wanted to. That maybe there were nights you almost did — when the street was too quiet, or your fists ached, or the weight of your own detachment finally pressed too hard on your ribs. I think you thought about it. And maybe you thought that was enough.

But I needed more than almost.

I needed you to fight for me the way you fight for everything else — with blood in your teeth and something wild in your eyes. But when it came to me, you looked the other way. Not because I didn’t matter — but because I did.

And that’s what hurts most, I think. Knowing that you felt it. But not enough to try.

You never let me love you out loud.

And now, I don’t know what to do with everything I never got to give.

I still remember the way your voice softened when you didn’t realize I was listening. I remember how your eyes flicked toward me when someone else said my name. I remember the way your hand twitched once, like you were going to reach for mine — and then didn’t.

You were always on the edge of something.

So was I.

But you never jumped.

And now here we are — both on opposite sides of a silence we helped build.

I’m not writing this so you’ll feel guilty. I’m not even writing it so you’ll come back.

I’m writing it because I need you to know that I would’ve stayed.

Even through the silence. Even through the cold.

I would’ve stayed if you had just given me something to hold onto. Anything. But you didn’t. And now I don’t know how to—

(the letter stops here. The rest of the page is blank. Ink smudged at the bottom where it looks like she pressed the pen too hard, then didn’t finish. It was folded, but not sealed. As if she meant to tuck it away… or give it to him… and never decided.)

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