#ive had to just keep going and keep smiling

[mononijikayu]

it’s late already. you looked at the clock, it's already past midnight. the lights are off, but the room glows faintly with that gray-blue stillness only found between the last hour of night and the first breath of morning.

fushiguro megumi is asleep in the cot near the bed, curled up like a little bean under a blanket that keeps slipping off. the soft wheeze of his nose and the barely-there shuffle of his hands are the only signs of life in the silence.

you can’t sleep. not anymore.

you’re too tired to sleep. there’s a difference.

but that's just how it was, you think to yourself.

things have to be fair, after alll.

your body aches in ways you’ve stopped naming. the hospital smell has faded from your skin, but the bruises from the IVs still bloom purple and green along your hand.

your head is bald now, scalp soft and exposed, catching cool drafts from the window you cracked open earlier to feel something real. fushiguro toji is beside you in bed. awake, for once.

he’s always stiller than he looks, like a beast pretending to nap but listening for threats. but now, he’s talking. his voice low, slow, fingers brushing gently across the crown of your head.

"so....how about weddings?" you asked him, your voice low, too tired. you tried to make sure that it wasn't something he notices. "how was it like?"

“there was a wedding once when i was still there, well one grand enough anyway.” he says, humming. “back in the zenin estate. when i was a kid.”

you smile faintly. you’ve heard this one.

still, you let him tell it. it doesn’t matter.

you liked hearing him tell it all over again.

“it was some cousin of mine. third or fourth or whatever. rich pricks, you get me?” he adds with a dry snort. “everything was gold and loud. even the rice they threw looked expensive.”

your hand, the bruised one, is cradled in his other palm. he keeps tracing the inside of your wrist, slow, as if his touch could press something back in. life, time, luck. he keeps talking. you keep listening. somewhere along the line, it shifts.

“bride wore something stupid. feathers. like a chicken crossed with a geisha.” he mutters, and you chuckle, soft and tired.

"oh? and then? what else?"

“the mother of the groom, she was such a nightmare, baby.” he says, trying to be animated. “she was so dramatic. she wasn’t there. she missed her son's entire wedding!"

you hum, amused, turning your head slightly on the pillow. “what kind of mother of the groom misses her own son’s wedding? that’s ridiculous.”

he goes silent. completely. the kind of silence that isn't empty but full. swollen. stretched. you feel it first in his chest, how he stiffens against you.

his long fingers on your scalp pause. the ones holding your hand squeeze, too tight at first, then trembling. you turn your head toward him. you felt sorry for saying that.

“toji…”

his jaw clenches. you can’t see it in the dark, but you feel the movement, hear the breath catch. a drop lands on your shoulder. then another.

“shit.” he murmurs. and it breaks. whatever wall he had left in him buckles.

his face presses into the space between your neck and shoulder, and his arms pull you in like he could keep you here, keep you from slipping further, as if the right pressure could fight what medicine couldn’t.

you don’t cry. you’ve done enough of that already. you wanted nothing more now than to make sure you smile. that it was what toji remembers. what your husband rememebrs. you just lift your hand, your good one, and stroke the back of his head.

“i’m still here, baby.” you whisper. "its okay, don't worry."

he sobs, almost like a child. muffled. quiet. ugly in the way grief is when you try to swallow it down for too long. you press your forehead against his.

“tell me more, baby. go on.” you say, breath shallow but warm. “i want to hear more stories.”

“baby…”

“just keep talking. please.”

his breath shakes. he nods into your shoulder, then lifts his head, sniffling hard.

“i saw a buddhist priest trip once.” he whispers, trying to stop his voice from shaking. “during a funeral. landed face first in the incense burner.”

you giggle, even if it hurts. “what happened?”

“we all pretended we didn’t see it, but that man’s eyebrows were on fire.”

your laughter shakes the bed. his hand returns to your scalp, stroking slow, reverent. the kind of touch that wants to memorize what it’s losing.

just then, your beautiful megumi cries. not loud. just a soft, confused sound. the kind of baby cry that doesn’t ask for much. just presence, just your attention, your love. what's left of it.

toji exhales, getting himself together for a moment. he sits up and crosses the room in three strides. he carefully scoops the baby into his arms with ease.

“hey, hey. it’s alright, megumi.” he mumbles, rocking megumi gently.

the baby quiets a little, cheek pressed against his father’s shoulder. toji turns to you. “can i bring him here?”

you nod. “please.”

he lies down beside you again, gently, like you might crack beneath the weight of him. megumi is curled between you both, small fingers clinging to the fabric of your sleeve like even in sleep, your son knows something is slipping.

toji wraps one arm around megumi’s tiny body, holding him close. the other curls around your waist, fingers splayed carefully across the fragile place between your ribs and hip.

he’s holding you like you’re already gone. he's holding you like maybe if he keeps his hands there, keeps you bracketed in warmth and weight, you’ll stay.

your breathing is shallow. he’s memorized the rhythm of it—how uneven it’s become, how each breath pauses too long before it dares to return.

the three of you lie there, skin to skin. breath to breath. you shift just slightly. your weary, broken hand twitches, as if reaching for him in your sleep.

your eyes open, only half. and you smiled back at him. so faint it might’ve been imagined, if he didn’t know every curve of your mouth by heart.

“i love you so much, toji, my baby.” you whisper. your voice is frayed, breath threaded with pain. but the words come easy. as if you’ve waited your whole life to say them like this. “you and megumi... i love you.”

he breaks in a way that he had never done before. it was not in a loud, ugly way but in the way a dam breaks under pressure. quietly. inevitably. all too aware. his throat seizes.

“i love you too.” he says, voice hoarse. he squeezes you tighter. presses his lips to your forehead. “more than anything, baby. more than anything.”

your eyes slip shut again. this time, slower. like it’s safe. like it’s okay now. he stays there, still. frozen. waiting for the next breath. but it doesn’t come.

the quiet settles. not just in the room but inside him. something deep and final. he doesn’t shake you. doesn’t call your name. he just pulls you closer.

his arms around you, around megumi like maybe he can hold the moment long enough to undo it. but it’s done. it’s over. and maybe that’s mercy. maybe that’s love, too.

no, yes. it was love. it was love in another name, with no where to go. it was named grief. a love he was not familiar with just yet. a love that he doesn't want to be familiar with. not in this life. never in any lifetime.

he presses his forehead to yours, blue-green eyes shut tight. megumi stirs between you, lets out a soft sigh, then goes still again. fushiguro toji swallows a sob.

he’s crying without sound now, the kind of tears that come when there’s nothing left to scream about. he didn't want to scare megumi, nor alert him to a loss, a love he shouldn't need to live or know.

“no more pain, baby.” he whispers. voice cracking. shaking. "no more hospitals. no more needles. no more nights wondering if you're gonna make it to morning."

he kisses the space above your brow, slow, reverent. "i love you, i love you." he chokes, the words soaking into your skin. “i love you. more than anything,”

he stays like that for hours.

not because he’s waiting for you to wake up.

but because he doesn’t know how to say goodbye.

not to the only place that ever felt like home.

not when it was you.

[allhailbuckybarnes]

ive been thinking... what about an argument that turns into smut that turns into fluff aftercare or something like that 🧐

listen to me - a robert reynolds oneshot

oneshot warnings: fingering, breast play, canon-typical violence, swearing, tension, mentions of blood, sir kink, praise kink, degradation, a smidge of spanking, slight dom bob, oral sex (fem receiving), aftercare, hurt/comfort, pissy bob, manhandling, bob is your teacher and u are low-key rivals to lovers

~~

Bob wishes you would just fucking listen sometimes. Yes, you were powerful. You could obviously do some serious damage.

But you weren’t careful.

You were reckless.

These thoughts orbited in his mind as he watched the cameras of the warehouse you were at. His eyes flickered from screen to screen, watching you compromise every second of time you had to gather data. He rubbed at his forehead in worry.

Of course Val had to send you in, little to no intel beforehand, and expected you to keep your chill and follow orders. That was always a bad idea.

Your pride was hurt when Bob had argued that you weren’t ready for a solo mission. Yes, you were the newest addition to the team. But that didn’t make you weak.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

You weren’t afraid to absolutely… smack down, when it was needed.

And to think, they had found you in a lab, chained to the wall, abandoned. But, your powers reflected those of Wanda Maximoff's, making you a huge asset. The Avengers could use another Scarlett Witch.

So Val turned that into a media stunt immediately.

Bobby was your teacher, his powers were the most similar after all. As your teacher, he saw how misguided your throws were, he saw the sloppiness of your upper-cut.

He knew the panic of being a new recruit, and it was crystal clear that you were not the most prepared option.

He saw how you overextended your legs when you kicked, caring more about the look of your moves then the power behind them. He knew the trace of your strength and how you misbalanced your magic and physical exertion. He was doing his best, okay?

“Watch those punches, sweetheart.” He would warn over the comms.

You grumbled back, “I don’t see you hauling ass out here Bobby.”

That mouth. That goddamn mouth you had on you.

So disrespectful.

He wanted to teach you a lesson.

“Just finish the mission Y/n,” he muttered, wincing at you taking another blow from a Hydra soldier. God, you were gonna get hurt if you didn't start playing it smarter.

“They are fucking everywhere,” you grunt as another fist meets your side. You throw the man across the home. His body cracks the wall behind him.

Well, so much for laying low.

“Get out of there Y/n! You have enough data for now.” Bob commanded. He could tell your energy was low, a very dangerous position to be in on a solo mission.

“Hold on. I think I see… is that Dmitry?” You gasp. Your heart stops, and you stiffen on instinct.

Bob’s eyes widen. Fuck.

"Y/n drop the damn mission. Get the fuck out of there!" Bob yells, slamming a fist down on the desk, the wood splintering from his stress. Goddamn it, quit while you can, sweetheart.

Even you falter. He can tell on the cameras as your body stills.

Dmitry had seen you, and he was coming right at you.

Your former handler, Dmitry Sidorov, was alive, and he knew the only kill-switch to your powers. He created you... and every horrible thing you'd done at the hands of Hydra, was his work.

You puff up your chest, "I'll handle this motherfucker." It was fake confidence, but you went with it. Bob yelled in opposition, ordering you to, "Stand down."

You raise your hand to your ear, and switch off the comms. Bob yells, and cracks three out of five screens from his pure anger. His eyes blaring golden. You were so frustrating, and now you were going to get yourself killed.

He immediately went to the safe car, pulling up your position and an outside camera to stay updated. He drove fast.

Don't you dare die on me Y/n.

Dmitry saunters towards you, flashing you the wicked smile he always had when torturing you. "Hello, pet." He sneered.

"You better back the hell off, Sidorov." You say, bile rising in the back of your throat. You were nervous.

He laughs, lowly and heartily, and takes another threatening step towards you, "You don't miss me, huh?"

Your eyes gleam, fury burns in your belly as you blast him with your magic, "Hell no I don't you monster." He is thrown several feet away from you.

You reluctantly turned on your comms again, but were met with silence.

I have to get out of here.

You start down the foyer, running towards the exit, and barrel down the stairs. Your ride was a mile off, and you were going to have to run.

"Not so fast darling!" You heard Dmitry yell from behind you, and you turn to see his position, but he's not in sight.

"Reynolds! I need eyes on Sidorov and fast!" You scream.

Bob, who had been silent, finally speaks, "On your six."

He was pissed, you could tell.

You turn and are faced with three guards. Sidorov seemingly took the exit.

Pussy.

Blasting one of them away, you kick the gun from the second guard's hand, and punch him hard. He grabs your arm and you kick him away at the stomach.

The third comes from behind, holding a knife to your throat, you laugh, and push against it, the blood drips down your neck as you grip his arm and flip you both to the ground.

You lean over and pistol-whip him with his own weapon. He stops struggling.

'Fuckkkk... that stings," you groan at the shallow cut at your throat.

"Keep moving Y/n, I'm coming to get you." Robert's voice crackles again, sounding more alert.

Your leg feels funny, and you look down to see blood welling by your knee, fuck.

You limp quickly, using some of your magic and adrenaline to keep running.

You see the safe car, and your eyes immediately flicker to Bob's face.

He is angry.

~~

When you're back at the tower, Bob carries you to the medical wing. You don't meet his eyes.

He is very careful of the wounds you've acquired, being gentle. His face tells a different story. I am so dead.

He hasn't said a word to you besides the basic medical questions he had to ask you. Making sure you weren't going to die on the way back.

His eyes were golden, and the vein in his neck was popped out. That was enough for you to know you were in major trouble.

He left you to get patched up, leaning down and whispering, "The roof. 2100. You had better not be late."

You gulp.

~~

The roof was chilly, and wind whipped at your new bandages. Shivering, you step out and look around. You see Bob sitting near the edge, was he smoking?

His hair was flopped down over his forehead, and he wore a loose jacket with sweats. He was mulling over something, His back was tense. You were so fucked.

You approach him timidly, but the second you take a step into his eye sight, he looks at you. His eyes are still slightly golden.

"Oh look, it's little miss 'doesn't follow orders'," he comments, expression unreadable. You helplessly explain, "I'm sorry Bobby. I got cocky. But it was Dmitry! For fucks sake I panicked!" Your eyes are wide and you're fidgeting. He notices.

His deadpan expression scares you, and he takes a long drag of his cigarette.

"Is that what you want me to file on your report, sweetheart? That you panicked? That you turned off your lifeline?" He growls, voice deep and laced with poison, standing back up. He stares you down, threatening.

Your brows furrow in anger, "Oh don't play the teacher card, Reynolds. It doesn't suit you well." You say with disgust, turning your face away from him.

Robert grunts and steps towards you, "Don't you dare run that fucking mouth at me, girl."

You whip your head around, to be met with his face in yours. Your breathe is short, hot, and angry.

His chin grazes yours, and you can feel the slight stubble there, rubbing against your face. I want to feel that stubble between my legs. No. You're angry!

You want to look at his lips, but you can't tear your eyes away from his. They stare into your very soul, as he picks you apart. Your noses bump and you finally speak.

"Oh yeah? What're you going to do about it, sir? Going to train me extra hard? Gonna give me homework?" You challenge, snickering.

He grips the back of your head and smashes your mouths together, grunting. You squeak in surprise, but kiss him back passionately, mouth open for him.

The kiss is desperate, hateful, and hot.

It was in no way a loving kiss, it was messy, teeth clashing and noses colliding. His tongue felt like fire as it dominated your mouth.

He wraps a hand around your neck, pressing down on the new cut you gained, and pushes your face away to whisper, "I'm going to teach you how to respect my orders, baby. Even if I have to spank you until the sun comes up." He growls into your mouth. You moan, wrecked.

He backs you into the door outside of the stairs, nipping at your collarbone as your hand searches for the handle. Once you find it, your both crash into the stairwell.

He picks you up again, throwing you over his shoulder like nothing, "Fuck this, I want you now."

~~

The next thing you know, you're on his bed, sprawled out and being crushed by his body. You let your hands roam. His strong chest feels rock hard under your palms.

You feel his back muscles, his shoulder blades, sharp, and strained with every movement of his hands on you.

He rips your shirt off, immediately latching his mouth to your breast and sucking hard. You moan loudly, and arch into him, ignoring the ache of your sore muscles.

He stares up at you from your chest, pushing one hand down your pants and rubbing at your mound over your underwear.

"Does that feel good, baby?" He grunts, using his other hand to hold your head still. He stares at every jolt in your eyes, every scrunch of your nose, every twitch of your mouth. He loves it.

You can only moan in agreement, and he snickers at how wrecked you are, "That's right, you can't even talk now, can you sweetheart? I'm gonna teach you real good, hmm?"

You watch his eyes glimmer at your submission. Who knew Bobby could be so hot like this? You nod wildly, and he smirks, continuing his actions.

He was often challenging in training, pushing you a little harder than comfort. It left you frustrated, panting, and slightly pained every time.

But here? Watching him stroke your pussy, his teeth nipping the skin between your breasts? Fuck, he was everything. His hair was a mess, and it stuck to his forehead from sweat. His hands were long and slender and just perfect. The veins made your eyes roll.

He finally sat back and ripped down your panties, admiring the mess you'd made.

"That's a good girl, making such a mess, and I haven't even put a finger in yet." He grunts, observing the way you were clenching around nothing. The praise made you gush. You were fucking His.

You groan, "Please Bobby, I need you." He smirks again, meeting your lust-blown eyes with his own, "Uh-uh, you were doing so well. What's my name baby?"

You flush, the blush running down your body, and pulsing deep inside. "Please... sir," You whisper, embarrassed.

He moans deeply at your innocent look, and pushes two fingers in without warning. You moan and your fists grab the nearest fabric as you bury your face into the mattress. He was so fucking hot.

He groans at your walls squeezing his fingers, "God, baby you are tight." He wants to pound you with his cock, but it doesn't appear you are ready for that yet. Look at this pretty girl, he thought.

My pretty girl.

So instead he fucks you slow and raw with his fingers, dipping his chin down to suck on your clit. You tasted divine. He moans into your pussy.

You scream and whine, crushing his face between your legs, absolutely drunk on him. He only fucks you harder. It spurs him on.

"Oh fuck! Oh fuck Bobby, I'm gonna, I'm gonna cum!" You scream as you wet his face with your arousal, soaking his fingers without warning. Bob keeps eating you out, finishing his meal.

He flips you over, and lands a harsh smack down on your ass. You let out another long moan. "That's for disobeying me." He grunts.

He flips you back, and pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead, "And that's, for almost dying before I could kiss you." He smiles softly. You are beautiful. All spent and pleasured. You breathe slowly.

Everything with the mission could be figured out later. Now, he had you right where he wanted you. In his arms, at last.

"Let's go run you a bath, honey." He whispered into your temple.

Your head spun at how he could go from so dominate, to domestic in a heartbeat. You sighed, "Okay." Still exhausted from all the physical exertion. He was going to take care of you, it had been so long since that had happened with anyone.

For the first time. Your lessons felt like more than safety training, they felt passionate, intimate, loving.

You could get used to this.

~~

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REQUEST!!!! I hope you enjoy!!!

[ducky-women]

The Diagnosis

Alexia Putellas x Child!R, Olga Rios x Child!R

Summary: In which Alexia finds out what is wrong with her daughter

Masterlist

Author's note: This is sad, but at the same time it's helping me heal something about my private life, if you don't like this just don't read it

Tw: Talks about cancer in children and health decline, angs and no comfort

....

Alexia’s gaze was firmly locked on you in the corner playing with the soft plush toys with Alba, she didn’t let her eyes wander away as tough you would disappear if she even tears them away for even a second, that was until one hand on her arm brought her back towards the woman sitting in front of her

“I’m sorry” she whispered while her hand moved to hold Olga’s hand firmly on hers, she feels her girlfriend squeeze back just as much as she’s squeezing

“No worries” The kind woman answered while smiling sadly at the couple in front of her, she perceived the same dissociation in all the parents she has had to talk to so it’s normal for her, especially in these circumstances

“You were saying” Alexia said while holding her breath for what was about to leave the woman’s mouth

“I’m really sorry” she started while holding a compassionate look “but your daughter seems to have acute lymphoblastic leukemia” Alexia felt as if she was just punched in the gut, all the air leaving her lungs, beside her Olga squeezes her hand as hard as she can while trying to keep the tears forming in her eyes from escaping them but failing miserably

“How could this happen?” Olga asked, desperate for answers, while Alexia seems so far away from the present, not even hearing the oncologist anymore and turning away to look at you in her sister’s lap, unaware of what your future holds, you looked so tiny in Alba’s lap but you looked so happy at the same time while showing her all the plushies that she suddenly wants to scream and cry and beg that maybe the doctor made a mistake, she wants to beg to God to not take you from her, not you, but deep down she has known that this was the only possible outcome

It has started weeks maybe even months ago when you had sudden nosebleeds out of nowhere and started to bruise easily so much that one of the care takers in your daycare was about to call social services, you had no sudden energy to do anything while before you would spend all day running around with the rest of her teammates, you had a fever most days that they couldn’t seem to brush off and no matter how many hours they left you out in the sun you looked as pale as a ghost and on top of that you had also lost a lot of weight because your appetite was suddenly gone even Ice cream wouldn’t do the trick

They had taken you to the doctor many times for the past two months but they were always brushed off as common illness in children like colds or stomach bugs, but you never seemed to get better no matter what medicine they gave you, no matter how many IV’s they put in you, you just didn’t get better

Until one day Irene suggests them to go to a pediatric oncologist, Alexia had almost lunged herself at her friend for even suggesting if it wasn’t for Marta and Caro who had to hold her down, but deep down she had already made the decision to take you, until that decision was taken out of her hands a couple of days ago

Five days ago Alexia had stormed into the ER when out of nowhere you couldn’t breath and when she touched you to lift you up you cried out in pain when she touched a certain spot in your abdomen and when she lifted your shirt a specific spot was bloated so she tried to lift you up gently but firmly so she and Olga could take you to the hospital

There it was test after test in trying to figure put what was wrong with you, until finally two days after your initial visit to the hospital the oncology department agreed to take a biopsy just in case, but it seemed like it wasn’t just in case, you had cancer, her baby had cancer

“….the best option for her would be a series of chemotherapy sessions in hopes that it reduces both the risk of the cancer spreading elsewhere and to well kill the cancerous cells and hopefully be in remission by the end of it” Alexia came back down to Earth once her brain registered what the doctor was telling them, you had hope and she would cling to that hope as much as she could

“What would the side-effects be like?” She surprised herself once she spoke but she needed to know every possible little outcome for you and it was better to be prepared than to be taken by surprise by something else

“Well chemotherapy is designed to kill with various chemicals the cancerous cells by doing it before they can reproduce themselves and reach some important areas like the brain, because they do so, quickly and a lot, but there are other cells in our bodies that also grow and divide quickly, the most common ones are in our hair, our digestive system which includes the mouth and our bone marrow”

“You’re not saying the side-effects” Olga interrupts the doctor quickly and by her tone Alexia can see that her girlfriend is irritated and anxious about everything the doctor is saying

“I was getting there miss Rios” the doctor says calmly and doesn’t seem to be surprised to have been interrupted, she must get that a lot “children with ALL and that are going to go trough chemo are likely to present fatigue due to the anemia because of the low red cells in their body, loss of appetite and a very significant wight loss caused by the nausea and vomiting, easy bruising or bleeding caused by the low platelet counts during treatment, hair loss which can be because either the destruction of the hair cells or because some medications in their treatment cause it”

“This sounds like it’s going to kill her quicker than the cancer” Olga snapped and suddenly the whole office went so quiet you could hear a hair pin drop

“Miss Rios we all want the same thing here” the doctor said gently “and that is to get your daughter healthy and cancer free before it’s too late” Olga looked as if someone had slapped her with the last thing the doctor said

“How much time do we have until we decided to schedule treatment?” Alexia asked trying to get the discussion back into focus

“A week maybe” the doctor answered honestly “why the question though?” she asked curiously

“Because no offense but we would like to hear other opinions” Alexia said directly, she didn’t like to dance around things, much less things that involved her child

“Yes of course” the doctor didn’t even seem offended by what Alexia had said “I get that a lot” she shrugged her shoulders as if it was normal and maybe it was, parents needed to be sure 100% of everything about their child and Alexia and Olga would be like no other parent in the planet

“Thank you so much for your time” Alexia got up since there was really not anything more left to say “we’ll stay in touch” Alexia and the doctor shaked hands and then the doctor brought Alexia in for a hug

“It’s okay to not be okay” the doctor whispers in Alexia’s ear and then releases her, but how could Alexia let herself break?

How could she when that same night she was holding her girlfriend who was sobbing on her chest while silent tears were streaming down her face trying to stay strong for the three of them

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Venom & Honey: IV

✨ summary: Final part. No more secrets. No more pretending. Serial killer Harry ends here. 📝 word count: ~14k total ⚠️ content warning: murder, morally gray protagonists, smut, psychological manipulation, themes of secrecy and survival, brief depictions of violence, alcohol use, small-town paranoia, and emotionally intense scenes 💌 support my work: reblogs keep the story alive. tips are optional but deeply appreciated

⭐️ Part one, two, three

The television flickered against the far wall, its light casting long, broken shadows across the living room.

Y/N sat curled into the corner of the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, the other foot planted on the threadbare rug. A mug of tea rested in her hands, forgotten and cold. The blanket draped around her shoulders might as well have been paper—it didn’t touch the kind of chill that had settled in.

Harry sat opposite her, still as stone. Remote in hand, but he hadn’t moved in minutes. Maybe longer.

They weren’t watching the screen. Not really. Just letting it talk to them. The anchor’s voice was sterile. Trimmed of emotion. Too calm.

“…federal investigators are reopening a series of unsolved homicides believed to be connected by method and location. While no suspects have been publicly named, law enforcement is encouraging anyone who lived in or traveled through the affected regions to come forward.”

The screen shifted. Maps. Red pins. Towns with names that never made the news. Places you’d only pass through if you didn’t know better. But they knew better.

Y/N set her mug down without a sound. She didn’t look at Harry. She didn’t need to.

He stood slowly, the remote slipping from his fingers onto the cushion. His hand dragged through his hair, jaw tightening like he was biting down on something sharp.

“We leave tonight,” he said.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Harry turned toward her. His eyes were darker now—flat and unreadable. “We pack what matters. We’re gone before sunrise.”

She sat up straighter, the blanket slipping from her shoulders.

“You think they’re onto us?”

“I don’t think,” he said, sharp. “I know.”

She didn’t flinch. Just looked at him.

“If we run now, we look guilty.”

His jaw twitched. “We are guilty.”

Her voice dropped. “So are a lot of people who never get caught.”

That stopped him. He paced once—tight, measured—then froze like the air had shifted around him. When he turned back, there was something new in his stare. Something almost… unfamiliar.

“You want to stay?” he asked.

“I want to stop running.”

Harry scoffed, the sound low and mean. “And what—plant flowers? Get a fucking dog?”

“No,” she said, steady. “We get married. We settle. We become everything they’d never think to look for.”

He didn’t smile, but something pulled at the corner of his mouth. Not amusement. Not disbelief. Just recognition.

“You want to play house.”

“ I want to disappear,” she said, “the only way that still works.”

Harry’s mouth twisted. It wasn’t a smile. “You think that’ll save us?”

“I think it’s the only thing left that might.”

He stared at her like she’d lost her mind. Like maybe he had too. The silence stretched between them, thick and alive.

Then, cold and low, “You’re willing to lie to everyone.”

She stepped closer. “We already are.”

The TV kept playing behind them. Blurred images. Faces without names. Ghosts given shape by bad resolution and worse memories. Harry didn’t turn to look. He just stared through her like he was trying to figure out where the edges were.

“Then show me,” he said. “Show me how far you’re willing to go.”

Y/N didn’t blink. She reached past him and switched off the television. The room went quiet. Not peaceful—just emptied out.

“We don’t go far,” she said. “Just far enough. A town nobody’s watching. Close enough to make the backstory believable.”

He didn’t respond. She kept going.

“We don’t change everything. Just enough. New last name. Something no one will remember. Married. No records from the last few years. We leave the gaps blank so they can fill them in themselves.”

Harry shifted his weight. His voice was clipped. “And when they ask where we came from?”

“We say we left the city. We wanted quiet. We wanted a fresh start.”

He nodded once. Not agreement—just motion.

Y/N stepped in. “We find a house that needs work. Something cheap but honest. We go to the hardware store. We buy paint. We wave at the neighbors. Nothing flashy. Just enough to look tired and harmless.”

He gave her a look. “You expect me to make small talk.”

“You don’t have to mean it,” she said. “You just have to smile.”

Harry let out a dry sound, not quite a laugh. “You’ve really thought this through.”

She didn’t look away. “I’ve been thinking about it since the first time we stopped running.”

Harry watched her like he didn’t know whether to be impressed or afraid. “We get married,” she said.

He raised his chin. “That part’s not a joke?”

“No.”

“You think that’s what makes it believable?”

“I think that’s what makes it permanent.”

He took a step toward her. Close enough for her to feel the heat rolling off him.

“You think that ring on your finger turns us into someone else?”

“I think it makes it harder for them to tear it apart.” His jaw tightened.

“We don’t ask about the past,” she continued. “We don’t offer more than we have to. We make it clean. Simple.”

Harry’s voice dropped, quieter now. “And if they still come knocking?”

“Then we’ve done it too well. They won’t see criminals. They’ll see a couple with bills and a mortgage and just enough sadness in their eyes to be believable.”

He looked at her for a long time. No shift in his face. No tell. “What last name?”

“Callahan.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You had that ready.”

“I told you,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about this longer than you think.” Silence pulsed between them.

Finally, he nodded. “You think we can sell it?”

“We don’t sell it,” she said. “We live it.”

Harry stepped close enough to steal her breath. His voice was low and firm. “Then pack light. We start tomorrow.”

They didn’t talk much the next morning.

Harry moved like he was back on autopilot. Silent. Mechanical. He folded clothes without looking at them, checked drawers like he was clearing a scene. Everything about him was practiced—precise. Cold in a way that said he’d done this before. Probably more than once. Y/N packed slower. Just the essentials. A few shirts, a toothbrush, a worn photo she never looked at but couldn’t throw away. She didn’t ask if he wanted help. She knew better. By the time the sun was up, the car was loaded. The trunk shut with a solid, final sound that echoed too loudly in the quiet morning.

Harry slid behind the wheel without a word. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him in place. Y/N stared out the window. Not running. Not settled either. They took back roads. Avoided the highways. Wove through forgotten towns with rusted gas stations and empty lots. No one looked at them twice.

The silence between them stretched long and taut. Not uncomfortable. Just sharp. Like either one of them could cut it if they had to. They passed three towns without stopping.

At the fourth, Y/N leaned forward. “Slow down.”

Harry’s eyes stayed on the road. “What?”

She pointed ahead. “There.”

The house was set back behind a wall of overgrown hedges, its porch sagging under the weight of time. The paint was peeling. The windows were dull. But it wasn’t dead. Not yet. It had the kind of tired bones that looked like they’d survive anything. A FOR SALE sign leaned crooked in the yard, half-buried in weeds.

Harry pulled to the curb, engine idling.

“You��re joking.”

Y/N opened the door and stepped out.

He didn’t follow at first. When he finally did, his hands stayed buried in his pockets. His jaw was locked tight. They walked the perimeter. Looked through the dirty windows. The backyard was fenced in and half-wild. Ivy crawled up the brick like it was trying to hide the house from being seen.

“It’s perfect,” she said.

Harry let out a bitter breath. “It’s a goddamn grave.”

“Exactly,” she said. “We’ll tell them we’re fixing it up. Starting over.” He turned toward her. His face was hard.

“You really think this is going to work.”

“No,” she said. “I think it has to.”

He stared at her, the silence twisting into something more dangerous.

Finally, he looked back at the house. “We call the agent tomorrow.”

The motel was beige and blank. The kind of place people passed through without looking too hard. Vinyl siding, buzzing sign, carpet that smelled like it remembered better decades. The clerk didn’t ask questions. Didn’t even look up, just slid a key across the counter after Harry tossed down a stack of cash. Room 7.

They walked the row in silence, the sun bleeding behind the trees. The air smelled like pavement and motel soap. Inside, the room was stale. Thin bedspread. Dim lamps. The hum of something old and electric behind the walls. Harry dropped the bags and stood in the center of the room, staring like he was trying to burn a hole in the floor. Then he let out a sharp breath and ran both hands through his hair.

“This is fucking stupid.”

Y/N leaned against the door, watching him.

“Pretending we’re people,” he said. “Like we can just buy a house and fake smiles and make polite conversation. Like any of this will stick.”

She didn’t respond.

He turned to her, voice rising. “You really think a fucking ring and a white picket fence is gonna clean the blood off me?”

“No,” she said quietly. “But I think it might be the only thing that ever covers it up.”

He stared at her. His mouth opened, then closed. Something like anger flickered behind his eyes—but it wasn’t loud. It was the kind that sank deep. The kind that ate through your ribs when you weren’t looking.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head low.

“I feel like I’m sleepwalking.”

She walked over, slow, and sat beside him. Not touching. Just close enough.

“That’s how it starts,” she said. “You fake it long enough, and one day you wake up and it’s real.”

Harry looked at her then. Really looked.

“I hope he’s a better man than me.”

Y/N didn’t blink. “We’ll build him from scratch.”

He didn’t laugh. But he didn’t argue.

They sat like that, shoulder to shoulder. The air between them full of everything they hadn’t said and might never say.

“All right,” Harry muttered. “Let’s hear it. The story.”

Y/N nodded.

“We met in the city with mutual friends. We work. Me in a bookstore. You at a garage.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “A garage.” “

You look like you work with your hands.”

That pulled the faintest flicker of something across his face. Not a smile. Not yet. “Fine. I fix cars.”

“We dated for two years. Moved in last fall. Decided the city was too much. Bought the house to slow down. Courthouse wedding. Quiet. Just us.”

Harry watched her. She met his stare. “It’s believable. And boring.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then: “You ready to lie to everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Even when they bring casseroles? Ask about kids?”

“Yes.”

“Even when they trust you?”

“Especially then.”

Harry leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. “You’re more convincing than I thought.”

“You’ll need to be too,” she said. “We can’t afford cracks.”

He looked at her again. Slower this time. “What about when it’s just us?” he asked. “No one watching. You still gonna pretend then?”

“No,” she said. “Then I’m just your wife.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was loaded. Real.

Harry didn’t speak again until she’d come back from the bathroom, toothbrush clinking into the cup by the sink. She climbed into bed without a word. He lay there, eyes on the ceiling. His voice came low. Measured.

“What do you want this to look like? In five years?” Y/N turned her head. “If we don’t get caught?”

He didn’t answer. Just waited.

“I want a yard,” she said. “Mornings that don’t feel like we’re one knock away from running. Neighbors who wave. A kitchen that smells like something I made.”

Harry glanced over. “You don’t cook.”

“I’ll learn.”

A pause. “What else?”

She hesitated. “I want a baby.”

The room shifted. Not colder. Just heavier. He stared at the ceiling again. “You sure about that?”

“No,” she said. “But I want something that doesn’t vanish when it gets scared.”

Harry didn’t speak right away. Then, quietly: “I think about it too. You. Holding something that’s ours. A kid who doesn’t know what we’ve done.”

Y/N rolled toward him. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That they’ll find out?”

He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “I’m afraid they’ll turn out like me.”

She moved closer, her fingers brushing his. “Then we raise them better.” He nodded once.

“You’d be a good dad, Harry.”

He laughed under his breath. “You’ve got a warped idea of good.”

“No,” she said. “Just an honest one.”

When he kissed her, it wasn’t rushed. It was careful. Like he was afraid he’d break something if he moved too fast. When he pulled back, his voice barely scraped above a whisper. “If we do this, we do it all the way.”

“We will.” He looked at her like he didn’t trust the hope flickering in his own chest.

“No lies. Not between us.” “None,” she said. “Not here.”

They left early. No fanfare, no talking. Just the kind of silence that understood what the day meant. They found the shop on the edge of the next town. Faded awning. Rusted bell above the door. Inside, it smelled like old books and dust-covered perfume. Y/N drifted to the display case, glass fogged slightly at the edges. She studied the tray of rings. Most were gaudy or green with age, but one caught her eye. Thin gold. Barely there. Worn smooth where a name used to be.

“This one.”

Harry didn’t ask why. Just took it from her and slid it onto her finger. It fit. He looked at it for a beat too long, then turned to the tray and picked something without ceremony. A plain silver band. Scratched. Faded.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you’re going with?”

He shrugged. “It’s not about the shine.”

She didn’t argue. Just nodded.

At the register, the clerk didn’t ask questions. Just rang them up and slid the rings across the counter. The receipt read: H. and Y/N Callahan.

In the car, Harry tucked his into his pocket. Y/N kept hers on. He glanced sideways as he started the engine. “Looks right on you.”

She turned to him. “You mean that?”

His hand stayed on the wheel. “I don’t like people looking at you.”

Y/N smiled, faint. “Then I guess we’re doing the right thing.”

The courthouse sat squat and gray at the edge of town. No steps. No archways. Just a door that said you didn’t have to be special to be let in. Harry parked without speaking. He didn’t move.

Y/N looked over. “We can still back out.” He didn’t look at her. “You want to?”

“No.”

“Then why say it?”

“Because I’m not pretending this isn’t real.” Harry finally turned. His stare was sharp enough to cut.

“You want this.”

She didn’t blink.

“I do.”

He let out a low breath that almost passed for a laugh. “Get used to saying that.” Inside, the clerk handed them a form and barely looked up. Just asked for names.

“Harry Callahan.”

“Y/N Callahan.”

The clerk raised her brows. “Already matching?”

Y/N smiled. “Just making it official.”

The ceremony took place in a room the size of a supply closet. The officiant had a voice like an answering machine. She asked if they were sure.

“Yes,” Harry said. Y/N echoed it. They didn’t wait for the rest. Harry kissed her hard. Nothing gentle. Just possession in the shape of a promise. His hand at the back of her neck. Her fingers curled in his shirt.

The officiant cleared her throat. “Congratulations.”

Harry didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. Outside, the sun was too bright. The sidewalk too quiet. They stood there for a moment, not looking at each other.

“Well,” he said. “There it is.”

“There it is,” she echoed, threading her fingers through his.

He didn’t let go. “You’re mine now,” he muttered. “And I’m yours.”

Y/N looked up. “I’ve always been yours.”

He kissed her again. Slower. Like sealing something. The ring on her hand caught the light as they walked to the car. Simple. Plain. A fact. When she suggested they celebrate, Harry didn’t even pretend to entertain the idea.

“No.”

She blinked.

“No?”

“We’re not doing champagne and candlelight like this is a fucking storybook.”

“It doesn’t have to be a storybook. Just… a breath.”

He stepped in, too close. “We breathe when it’s over. Not now.” Then he turned and opened her door.

“Get in.”

Y/N didn’t argue. She slid into the passenger seat and said nothing as the car pulled away. The ring was heavier now. Not because she regretted it. But because now it meant something. A name she could never take off.

The motel room felt tighter than it had that morning. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the name she’d signed, still drying on a stack of legal papers. Maybe it was the man standing in the center of the room, hands braced on his hips like he was ready to tear the walls down.

Harry hadn’t said a word since they left the house. Not during the drive. Not while the realtor gushed about “fresh starts” and “turning points.” Not even when Y/N signed Y/N Callahan and slid the pen across to him.

She kicked off her shoes by the door, watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at the TV. It wasn’t on.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, but sharp. “You think this is gonna work?”

Y/N leaned against the dresser. “It has to.”

He turned. Eyes cold. “That’s not an answer.”

She shrugged. “You want me to say I’m sure? I’m not. But we said the vows. We signed the papers. We picked the house. So unless you want to start over again in another zip code, this is it.”

Harry stared at her for a long time. His jaw clenched. Then unclenched. “You just snapped your fingers and decided we were a married couple.”

“No,” she said. “I decided if we were going to lie, we’d do it like people who want to survive.”

He stepped closer. “You know who doesn’t survive? People who get comfortable.”

“I’m not comfortable,” she snapped. “I’m exhausted.” His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not anger. Just something tight, trapped behind his teeth.

“You regret it?” he asked.

“The house?”

“The name.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the cheap floral bedspread.

“I don’t regret anything that keeps us alive.”

Harry watched her like he was waiting for the ground to open beneath them. Like he didn’t believe it wouldn’t.

“Say it again,” he said. She looked up. “What?”

“What you said. Back at the courthouse.”

Y/N knew what he meant. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I do.”

Something in him pulled taut. She could see it. The part that didn’t know whether to believe her or break something. He sat beside her. Not close. Just enough to feel the distance between them.

“I don’t know how to be this,” he said. “A husband. A neighbor. A man with a goddamn lawn to mow.”

She turned toward him. “Then don’t try to be all of it at once. Just be here.”

He stared down at his hands. Fingers calloused. Knuckles scarred. “I’ll fuck it up,” he said.

“Probably,” she said. “But you won’t walk away.”

Harry didn’t speak. He didn’t promise. But when he lay back on the bed, he didn’t turn away from her either. The motel room was still. Too still. The kind of quiet that only came when the weight of everything sat on your chest like a second skin.

Y/N lay on her side, staring into the dark. The sheets were thin and scratchy, but that wasn’t what kept her awake. It was the ring on her finger. The name she’d taken. The man next to her, who hadn’t said another word since he laid down.

Harry was flat on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded. But Y/N could tell he wasn’t sleeping. Not really. His breathing never evened out. His shoulders never dropped. He was still watching for something, even with his eyes closed.

She rolled onto her back. Counted the cracks in the ceiling. She didn’t know what she expected marriage to feel like. But this—this haunted stillness, this silence after the storm—felt closer to the truth than any vows ever could.

A few minutes passed. Then Harry shifted. A twitch in his hand. A furrow in his brow. Then, barely audible:

“…don’t leave.” The words came out broken. Fragile. Nothing like the way he usually spoke. No bite. No control.

Y/N stayed still. His breath hitched, jaw clenched. A small, choked sound slipped out of him—closer to a whimper than anything else.

She turned slowly to face him. He was still asleep. But not at peace.She reached for his hand, hesitated, then stopped herself. Let it fall back to the mattress. Whatever haunted him, it wasn’t hers to fix. Not yet.

Still, her chest ached in a way she hadn’t prepared for. A kind of loyalty that made no sense and felt impossible to shake. Eventually, his breathing slowed again. The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.

Then he opened his eyes. Blinking once at the ceiling before turning toward her. “You’re not stupid.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

His voice was rough, still thick with sleep. “I was an asshole. Earlier.”

She didn’t say anything. “I know why you said what you said. About getting married. About staying.”

She watched him carefully. “Do you?”

Harry turned his head, looking at her in the dark. “You’re trying to keep us alive.”

Her mouth was a thin line, but she nodded. He added, quieter now, “And maybe I didn’t hate hearing you say it.”

The silence between them shifted. Not as sharp now. Just heavy. Real. Y/N turned her face into the pillow. “I wouldn’t leave you.”

Harry didn’t respond. But he reached across the bed, found her hand under the sheet, and didn’t let go. Not soft. But steady.

They had a plan.

Harry made the call from the curb, his voice effortlessly cool as he paced, phone pressed to his ear. Y/N watched the tension in his jaw, the careful steps he took, each one measured like they were walking a fine line. Ten minutes later, a silver car slid to a stop behind theirs. A woman stepped out—mid-fifties, hair pulled back into a tight bun, clipboard in hand, smile already rehearsed.

“You must be Harry and Y/N Callahan?” she asked, her tone smooth but with an edge of business.

Y/N nodded, a practiced smile on her lips. “That’s right.”

“Great. Let’s take a look.”

They walked the house slowly, step by step. Two bedrooms, worn hardwood floors, a kitchen with cabinets that looked like they’d been forgotten long ago, painted a faded, chipped yellow. It smelled like dust and stale air, like no one had cared in years. But the light streaming through the back room was perfect. The bones of the house were strong. Y/N could already picture a future here, something solid. Harry didn’t speak much, but he didn’t scowl either.

Back in the living room, the realtor flipped through her paperwork, eyes flicking between the pages, not quite looking at them.

“So,” she asked casually, glancing up from her notes, “are you two married or…?”

Harry turned just enough to catch Y/N’s eye. He didn’t hesitate. His voice was smooth, practiced, like everything had already been decided.

“Married,” he said, no pause between the words. “Just got back from the courthouse.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the lie slipping out before she could stop it. She didn’t know why it felt so easy.

“Oh!” the woman said, smiling warmly. “Congratulations! When was the big day?”

Y/N’s eyes went wide, her heart skipping a beat. Harry’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer like it was all part of the plan. His lips brushed her ear, voice low.

“This weekend, actually,” he said, the words falling out like they’d been rehearsed. “Just us. Quiet. No one else.”

The realtor’s smile widened, a knowing nod as she scribbled something down. “New house, new name, new life. You two are jumping in headfirst.”

Paperwork followed. The forms were handed over. They signed them slowly, carefully, like this was all real. Y/N wrote “Y/N Callahan” with a steady hand. Harry’s signature pressed right next to hers.

When they stepped out onto the porch, the sky had already turned fully blue, the fading heat of the day slipping away. A few cars rolled past, a neighbor walked a dog across the street. The weight of what they’d just done—what they were still doing—hung in the air, thick and unspoken.

They were still at the front porch with the realtor when someone called from across the lawn. “Hey there!”

A man in his late forties, plaid shirt, work boots, a faded baseball cap in hand. He waved as he crossed the patch of dead grass that separated the properties.

“I’m Todd. Live just down the way.” He pointed toward the house barely visible through the trees. “Saw the car, thought I’d say hi.”

Y/N stepped forward with a smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N. This is Harry.” Harry gave a nod, reserved but polite.

“You folks moving in?” “

Just signed the papers,” Y/N said, glancing at Harry. “We’re… newly married.”

Todd smiled wide. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood.”

He turned slightly toward Harry. “You a carpenter or somethin’? Lot of fixer-upper work to be done on this place.”

Harry shrugged. “Handy enough.”

“Well, if you ever need anything, me and my wife are just around the bend. Real quiet around here. Folks mostly keep to themselves.”

“Perfect,” Harry said. Todd gave a little wave and turned to leave. “See you around, Callahans.”

Y/N watched him go, the name sounding strange and real all at once. Harry leaned in close, murmured low in her ear, “There’s our first believer.”

She smiled, small. “Now we just need the rest.” Moving day came without ceremony.

They loaded their few bags—two duffels, one cracked suitcase, a box of odds and ends—into the car and drove the fifteen minutes to the house that was now legally theirs. The front porch still leaned slightly to one side, the paint still peeled in long, tired strips, but it was theirs. A new name on a deed. A false beginning.

Y/N held the house key in her hand for a moment before unlocking the front door. The sound of it opening echoed strangely loud in the empty space.

Harry carried the heavier bags without a word. He dropped them just inside the threshold, then stepped back onto the porch, scanning the street like he always did—casual, but alert.

Inside, it was colder than she remembered. The kind of chill that came from a place sitting too long untouched.

They left their things in the front room and climbed back into the car to visit the secondhand shops across town. Y/N made a list on the drive: couch, table, two chairs, something for the bedroom. Nothing too clean. They were supposed to have a past.

By mid-afternoon, they had pieced together the bones of a home—furniture with worn corners, old but sturdy. Harry tied everything down in the back of a borrowed truck from a shop owner who didn’t ask for a name or license. Just cash.

The sun was low when they pulled back up to the house and began unloading. Harry carried the couch in mostly on his own while Y/N followed with a box of mismatched dishes.

It was nearly dark when the knock came. Sharp. Too loud for the quiet street.

Harry froze mid-step. Y/N blinked from where she sat on the edge of the bed, head snapping toward the door. Her pulse kicked hard.

Harry moved before she could. Silent. Controlled. His hand brushed the small of her back once as he passed, more instinct than comfort.

“Stay here.”

“Harry—”

He looked at her, and she stopped. He cracked the door open.

Marlene stood on the porch, holding a casserole dish wrapped in foil and a smile too wide for the hour.

“Hey there,” she chirped. “Sorry to drop in late, but I made too much and figured—new neighbors, new marriage, you probably haven’t had time to cook. Oh. I’m Marlene by the way.”

Harry didn’t speak. Just stared. Y/N stepped in behind him, smile already fixed in place. “That’s really kind. Thank you.”

Marlene beamed and handed over the dish. “Strawberry-basil chicken. It’s better than it sounds.” She peeked around them, eyes darting inside. “You two settling in?”

“Slowly,” Y/N said. “But it’s starting to feel like home.” Harry still hadn’t said anything.

“Well,” Marlene said, backing away, “just wanted to drop this off. If you ever need anything, we’re right across the street. Nice meeting you Callahan’s.”

“Appreciate it,” Harry said. Flat. Measured. Marlene waved once and disappeared into the dark.

Y/N closed the door slowly and turned. Harry hadn’t moved. His eyes were still locked on the door like it might open again.

“She’s just being friendly,” Y/N said.

He turned to her. “She knocked like she was coming to arrest us.”

“She brought a casserole.”

“So did the woman who tipped off the cops two cities ago.”

Y/N set the dish on the counter and turned. “You think it’s poisoned?”

Harry didn’t answer. He stepped to the window and peeled the curtain back just enough to watch Marlene cross the street.

Y/N moved behind him, hands on her hips. “We’re married. We’re in a house with our name on it. This is what we wanted, remember?”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“You’re going to get a lot of them. Welcome to domestic life.”

He looked at her, sharp. “She knew our name.”

“She’s our neighbor. She probably heard it from the realtor.”

“She said it like she’d been practicing it.” Y/N stepped closer. “You think she’s dangerous?”

“I think anyone’s dangerous if they get curious enough.” His voice was quiet now. Focused. She could see the calculation running under his skin.

“You’re not going to be able to live like this forever.” Harry’s eyes didn’t leave the window.

“I don’t need forever. I just need long enough.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. Just stood beside him, watching the street settle into silence again.

They settled into the house the way you settle into a lie—carefully, one detail at a time. Y/N took morning walks with a canvas bag over her shoulder, stopped by the market, the hardware store, the post office. She smiled at clerks. Remembered names. Asked about kids that didn’t exist.

Harry worked on the porch. Repaired the cracked step. Repainted the trim. He kept a tool in his back pocket even when he wasn’t using it. Just in case. They moved like people who planned to stay.

A week passed. Then another. And on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, Marlene waved Y/N down from her porch.

“Girls are getting together Friday night. Wine, snacks, gossip you didn’t ask for. You should come.”

Y/N nodded, smile in place. “Thanks. I’ll be there.”

Friday came with a breeze and the smell of someone grilling three streets over. Y/N stood in front of the mirror adjusting her blouse—something softer than she’d usually wear. Floral. Clean. Belonging to the kind of woman who made banana bread and waved at mailmen.

She kissed Harry on the cheek before leaving. “Don’t stay out too late,” he muttered.

His eyes followed her out the door.

Marlene’s house was warm and cluttered. Smelled like cinnamon and something expensive burning in a candle jar. There were six women there already. One from the post office. One who worked at the school. One whose name Y/N didn’t catch but who poured the wine like it was her job.

They asked polite questions at first. Where are you from?

Do you like it here? What color are you painting the kitchen?

Then came the real ones. “So,” said Dana, the redhead from the post office, “Harry doesn’t talk much, does he?”

Y/N smiled. “He’s quiet. But steady.”

“Steady’s good,” Marlene said. “Steady’s safe.”

A beat passed. Then Claire, the one with the wine, leaned in. “Is he good to you?”

The room didn’t flinch. No one laughed. It wasn’t a joke. Y/N didn’t blink. “Yes. In all the ways that matter.”

The others nodded slowly, as if weighing that. No one asked what that meant. By the time she left, her throat ached from smiling.

Back home, Harry was where she knew he’d be—on the back steps, rolling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. The porch light buzzed above him. The air smelled like dust and pine.

He didn’t look up when she stepped out. Just said, “Well?”

“They bought it.”

Still no eye contact. But he nodded once. Y/N sat down beside him. Close, but not touching.

“Marlene. Dana. Claire. All of them. They asked about you.”

“What’d you say?”

“That you’re good with your hands. Quiet. Married.” “Did they believe it?”

She shrugged. “They liked the ring.” He flicked the cigarette once, still not lighting it. “You say anything stupid?”

Y/N smirked. “Just enough to pass for normal.” He finally looked at her. Sharp.

“They ask about your past?”

“They asked about kids.” His stare didn’t waver. “What’d you tell them?”

“That we’re hoping to.” Harry studied her like he was deciding if that was part of the plan or something else entirely.

“You really want that?” he asked.

“I said what I needed to say.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then looked away. “You’re better at this than I thought.”

“I’ve been learning from the best.”

That almost got a smile out of him. Almost. They sat in silence. Crickets droned in the dark. The wind moved low through the trees.

“You know,” Y/N said finally, “you don’t always have to be the one watching the edges.”

His voice was quiet. “Someone has to.”

“Maybe not tonight.”

He glanced over. She saw it in his eyes—that split-second hesitation, like he didn’t know whether to let her in or shut her out.

She reached up and brushed her fingers along his jaw. Then, without asking, she kissed him.

It was slow. Deliberate. No performance. No mask. Just heat, need, and everything that hadn’t been said.

Harry didn’t pull away. When he kissed her back, it was with the kind of hunger that came from staying too still too long. His hand curled around the back of her neck, grounding her. Their bodies pressed close. Her knees bumped his. She didn’t care.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads stayed touching. “This is dangerous,” he said, breathless.

“So is everything else.”

Harry leaned in and kissed her again, sharper this time. His fingers gripped her tighter, like something in him had snapped. Like he couldn’t stand the distance anymore.

Y/N gasped into his mouth, and that was all it took.

Harry stood, pulling her with him. They stumbled through the back door in silence. The air inside was thick with heat and cheap wood polish. She barely had time to turn before he pressed her back against the wall, his mouth on hers again—rougher this time. Possessive.

Her hands slipped under his shirt. His skin was hot, muscles tight like wire under her palms. He groaned into her mouth when she scratched lightly at his ribs, and it was the sound of a man barely holding it together.

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. “Tell me this is okay,” he said, voice low and raw.

She nodded, breathless. “It’s okay.”

That was all he needed. His mouth crashed into hers again. Her back hit the wall with a quiet thud, and she felt the shift in him—controlled, but just barely. Like he was toeing the line between restraint and wreckage.

Harry’s hands found her hips, then slid lower, tugging at her waistband. She helped him. Shorts down. Shirt off. Her skin prickled under the sudden exposure. His gaze raked over her, hungry, but with something darker behind it—like he needed this to make the world stop spinning.

He turned her around. Pressed her chest to the wall, one hand on her back to keep her there, the other at his belt.

“Is this how you want it?” he growled into her ear. “Fast and filthy?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “I don’t care—just do it.”

He yanked her hips back. She felt the hard line of him against her and then— One deep, brutal thrust.

She cried out, her hands flat against the wall. He filled her completely, no hesitation, no tenderness. Just raw need.

“Fuck,” he hissed, grinding into her. “You feel that? So fucking tight for me.”

His hand slid up her spine, curled into her hair. He yanked her head back enough to bite at the side of her throat.

“You like being taken like this?” he muttered. “You like when I don’t pretend to be a good man?” She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

“Yes—Harry—fuck—”

He slammed into her again, and again, the sound of skin on skin loud in the quiet room. The rhythm was merciless. Her legs shook. Her moans turned desperate. Then his fingers slipped between her thighs, found her clit, rubbed rough and fast.

“Come for me,” he ordered, voice gravel and fire. “Now.”

She shattered—gasping, trembling, clawing at the wall as the orgasm tore through her. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

“Gonna come inside you,” he panted against her neck. “Mark you. Fill you up so deep they’ll smell me on you for days.”

She whimpered at the words, her body already begging for more.

He groaned, low and brutal, and buried himself one last time—deep and final. His release hit hard, hips stuttering as he spilled into her with a strangled noise.

They stayed there for a beat. Pressed together. Breathing hard. Her face against the wall. His chest heaving against her back.

He leaned in and bit her shoulder, not hard. Just enough to claim. “Told you I’d ruin you,” he whispered.

She laughed—weak, wrecked. “Then do it again.” And he did.

Later, when their skin was still damp and their breathing had just started to even out, the knock came.

Sharp. Heavy. Three times. They both froze.

Y/N’s hand tightened on the bedsheet. Harry’s entire body went still, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the door like he could burn through it.

Another knock. Louder.

He moved fast. No panic—just precision. Controlled like a weapon. “Stay here,” he said, already pulling on his jeans.

Y/N sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “Harry—”

He turned. His voice was a growl. “I said stay.”

She didn’t argue.

He grabbed a shirt off the floor but didn’t bother with buttons. Stepped toward the door, slow and lethal.

He checked the peephole. Then cracked the door open an inch.

Marlene stood on the other side. Hair down, makeup smudged like she’d had a glass too many, holding a foil-wrapped dish in her hands.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “Sorry, I know it’s late—just thought I’d bring something over. Todd, my husband, is out cold, and I had leftovers.”

Harry didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Y/N appeared behind him, this time dressed, hair pulled back, face calm.

“That’s really sweet,” she said. “Thank you.”

Marlene smiled and handed over the dish. “Tuna bake. Not poisoned again, I promise.”

Harry took it. Barely. “You two settling in okay?” she asked.

“We are,” Y/N said quickly. “The place is starting to feel like home.”

Marlene nodded, satisfied. “Good. Well, I won’t keep you. Night night Callahans.”

She gave a wave and turned into the dark. Harry shut the door. Locked it once. Then again.

He stood there for a second too long, chest rising and falling like something in him hadn’t settled.

Y/N set the dish on the counter. “She’s just being nice.”

“She knocks like she’s got a badge.”

“She knocked like a woman holding a hot pan.” Harry didn’t laugh.

She walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax either.

“I don’t like it,” he said. “I don’t like how often our name comes out of her mouth.”

“She’s nosy. Not a threat.”

He turned to her finally. “You don’t know that.”

“No,” she said. “But if we start treating every knock like a raid, we’ll burn out. Fast.”

His hands gripped her hips like he was still trying to ground himself. “I’m not used to people showing up like that. Not unless someone’s bleeding.”

She looked up at him. “Then let’s make this the first place where that’s not true.”

Harry stared at her for a long beat. Then bent his head and kissed her forehead, quick and rough. The only way he knew how.

The house had gone still. The old walls creaked every now and then. Pipes groaned somewhere deep under the floor. Outside, crickets screamed into the dark. Inside, there was only the sound of the clock ticking and the occasional shift of the sheets.

Y/N stirred. Reached for Harry.

Her hand met muscle, tense and unmoving. He was awake. Lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling like it was watching him too.

“You okay?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t answer right away.

When he did, his voice was flat. Quiet. “Can’t stop thinking.”

Y/N rolled onto her side, resting her cheek on her arm. “About what?”

“Everything,” he muttered. “The name. The house. The casserole.” She watched the shape of him in the dark. His jaw was clenched. His hands fisted in the sheets.

“You think someone’s onto us?”

“No,” he said. “I think I’m not made for this shit.”

She moved closer, her knee brushing his.

“It’s supposed to feel strange, Harry. We’re building a life out of smoke. Of course it’s gonna shift when you step on it.”

He finally turned his head. Looked at her. “You ever think we’re just playing house until someone calls our bluff?”

“Every day.” He didn’t blink. “And that doesn’t scare you?”

“It does,” she said. “But not enough to make me run.” His hand found hers under the sheet. Still rough. Still coiled tight. But there.

After a stretch of silence, he spoke again. “I keep thinking I’ll ruin it.”

She swallowed. “Ruin what?” “You. This. Everything we built. One wrong word. One fucking instinct I don’t bury fast enough.”

Y/N didn’t pull away. “You won’t,” she said.

“You don’t know that.” “I do.”

He stared at her like he wanted to believe it. She reached out and touched his chest, right over where his heart was hammering.

“I didn’t marry a version of you I made up,” she said. “I married the man who got me this far.” His throat worked.

“I don’t want to lose it,” he said.

“Then don’t.”

Harry exhaled slowly, like the fight was bleeding out of him just a little. After a while, his arm came around her waist. Pulled her close. And this time, when he closed his eyes, he didn’t open them again.

The days began folding in on themselves.

It started small. Y/N walked to the corner store most mornings. Bought coffee. Milk. A loaf of bread even when they didn’t need it. She remembered names. Asked about people’s dogs. Laughed too loud at things that weren’t funny. It wasn’t hard to make them like her.

Harry stayed back. Worked on the house. He replaced the broken slats on the porch. Scrubbed years off the window glass. Sanded the kitchen table until it looked new. His hands stayed busy. His mind didn’t. He watched the street. Learned the neighbors’ routines. What time their porch lights came on. Which car belonged to who. Which windows stayed open too long after dark. They ate dinner at the table. Didn’t talk much. Sometimes they walked around the block. Held hands when they passed someone. Smiled when people waved. Said things like have a good one and we’re loving it here.

The lie was becoming muscle memory. Then came Marlene’s second invitation.

Y/N had been coming back from the post office. Mail tucked under one arm. A grocery bag swinging from the other.

Marlene waved from her yard. “Girls are getting together Friday night. Again.”

Y/N smiled. “I’ll be there.”

That night, she told Harry while he was fixing the hinge on the back door. “They’ll ask more questions,” she said. “They always do.”

He didn’t look up. “Let them.” “They asked if you were good to me last time.”

Harry paused. “Did you lie?”

“No.” That made him look at her.

She didn’t flinch. “I said you were good in all the ways that mattered.” His gaze held hers a little too long. Then he went back to the hinge.

“I’ll give them something worth talking about,” he muttered. “You’re supposed to be harmless.”

“I am.”

“No, Harry,” she said softly. “You’re just hidden.”

Friday came. Y/N wore something soft again. Something that made her look safe. Normal.

She kissed Harry before she left. He didn’t say anything—just nodded once and watched her walk out the door like he expected the world to end before she got back. Marlene’s house was warmer this time. The lights dimmer. The wine poured faster.

Same women. Same circle. Same smiles that didn’t quite meet their eyes. They asked about home renovations. About Harry.

“He’s intense, huh?” Dana said, chewing on a cheese cube.

Y/N smiled. “He’s quiet.”

Claire leaned forward, wine glass in hand. “He ever scare you?” Y/N’s face didn’t move.

“No.”

The room went still for half a breath.

Then Marlene laughed. “Girl, if that man ever looked at me like he looks at you, I’d hide the knives.”

More laughter. Brittle. Y/N just sipped her water and smiled.

When she got home, Harry was on the back steps again. Cigarette in his fingers. Unlit. Always unlit. He didn’t look up as she sat beside him.

“Well?” he asked.

“They’re suspicious.”

He flicked the cigarette. “They ask about me?”

“Always.”

He turned to her now. Eyes sharp. “What’d you say?”

“I said you’re quiet. Handy. Protective.”

He gave a low grunt. “You lie well.”

“I didn’t lie.”

He looked at her. Really looked. Then nodded once. “Good.”

They kept building the lie, one nail, one conversation, one half-truth at a time.

Harry finished patching the bedroom wall. Replaced the back door lock with something heavier. Reinforced the window frames, then pretended he was doing it for the draft.

Y/N bought curtains.

She planted lavender in the front yard and told anyone who passed that she read it kept bugs away. That it made a place feel lived in. That it was good for sleep.

No one questioned her.

They painted the kitchen a soft yellow that Y/N said looked like light even when the sun wasn’t out.

Harry hated it. But he didn’t argue.

Sometimes they stood in the half-finished fake nursery and didn’t say anything. Just looked. At the walls. At the little space they were pretending to prepare. Like if they stared hard enough, it might become real.

Y/N started writing things down. A notebook. Spiral-bound. Cheap. She listed names, neighbor house numbers, birthdays they were told in passing.

Todd—next door. Early riser. Drives a gray truck. Marlene—never lets things go. Always watching. Claire—Sunday school. Unmarried. Keeps wine in a travel mug. Dana—Post office. Likes to stir the pot.

“What’s that one?” Harry asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Y/N didn’t look up. “It’s our story. The one we’re living.”

“We’re not writing a novel.”

“No,” she said. “We’re creating a record. So we don’t forget what we said.”

Harry grunted. “Smart.”

“You didn’t tell Todd your name, right?”

“No.” “Because he used it before you introduced yourself.”

Harry froze. His eyes narrowed, calculation kicking in. “The realtor told him.”

“She never used our name in front of him.”

Harry stood and moved to the window. Peeled the curtain back just enough to see through. Nothing out there but grass and sky. But his jaw stayed tight.

“You think he knew?” he asked. “I think we don’t get the luxury of assuming he didn’t.”

She turned the notebook toward him. Neat, precise handwriting. Lies written like facts. Harry looked at it a moment too long.

“Keep going,” he said. “If someone knocks, I want you to have the answers before they even ask the questions.”

Y/N nodded. “Already do.” The knock came a week later.

Midday. Bright sun. No shadows to hide in. Harry answered it.

A man stood on the porch. Mid-forties. Clean-cut. Clipboard in hand. Badge clipped to his belt. The kind that was real but quiet. Not loud enough to scare the neighbors. Just official enough to make your pulse shift.

“Sorry to bother you,” the man said. “Are you Mr. Callahan?”

Harry didn’t flinch. “Yeah.”

“Mind if I ask a few questions?” Y/N stepped into the hall. Calm. Casual. Dish towel in her hand.

“What’s this about?” she asked, smiling like it was nothing.

“Cold case work,” the man replied. “We’re following up on some regional threads. No suspects. Just trying to close some loops.”

Y/N’s smile didn’t falter. “You’ll have better luck at the bar down the street. People there talk more than they drink.”

The man smiled politely. Looked back at Harry. “You been in town long?”

“Few months,” Harry said. “Bought the Becker house.”

“From where?” Y/N didn’t give Harry a chance to answer.

“Upstate,” she said. “Small town. Not worth naming. We wanted quiet.”

“No family nearby?”

“Just us.” The man nodded and wrote something down.

“Well,” he said, handing over a card, “if anything strange pops up—or if you remember something from your last town that felt off—give me a call.”

Harry took the card. Didn’t look at it. The man tipped his head and walked off the porch.

The second the door closed, Harry turned. “We need to talk.”

He paced the kitchen like it was a cage.

The detective’s card lay on the counter, untouched. Like it might burn if either of them picked it up again.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, restless. Unmoored. “He knew something,” he muttered.

Y/N leaned against the sink, arms crossed. “He was fishing.” Harry shook his head. “He had a name. A face. He’s not knocking on every door in town.”

“Which is why we didn’t slip. We gave him the same story we’ve given everyone else.”

He stopped and turned on her. “You don’t understand. These guys don’t knock unless they already have a thread.”

“And pulling it leads where?” she asked. “To a house we don’t own anymore? A town we left clean? A name we buried?”

Harry’s fists clenched at his sides. His voice dropped. “It leads to us.” Y/N didn’t move.

“No, it leads to people who used to exist. Not us.”

“He was looking at me like he knew,” Harry said. “Like he’d seen my file. Knew what I’m capable of.”

“You think you’re the only one who’s done things worth forgetting?” That stopped him.

“You think I dragged you into this?” she went on, stepping forward. “You think I tied my life to yours out of convenience? I’m not just covering your tracks, Harry. I’m burning mine too.”

He stared at her, chest rising fast.

“I know what we’ve done,” she said. “I know what we are. But we didn’t get this far just to run again because some asshole with a clipboard knocked too loud.”

Silence settled like smoke. Harry stepped closer, slow. “You’re not scared?”

“Of him? No.”

“Of me?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then: “I was. Once.” He looked like that hit somewhere he didn’t want to admit existed.

“And now?” Y/N met his eyes. “Now I think you’re the only person I trust to watch the door.”

His jaw flexed. Something behind his eyes cracked—but didn’t fall apart. He reached up, brushed his fingers along her jaw.

“If I told you to pack a bag right now—”

“I wouldn’t,” she said.

Harry’s mouth twitched—half a scoff, half something softer. “You’re stubborn.”

“No. I’m tired of running.”

He exhaled hard, like her words knocked the air out of him. His hand dropped to her waist, grounding himself.

“What if he comes back?” “Then we smile wider. Say less.”

“And if he asks the wrong question?” “Then we lie better.”

Harry nodded once. Sharp. Decided. But his hand didn’t leave her waist.

By morning, Harry had a name.

Detective Colin Graves. County-level. Floated between jurisdictions. Specialized in “unsolved patterns”—whatever the hell that meant. He wasn’t local. He wasn’t friendly. And he sure as hell wasn’t just making rounds.

Y/N stood behind him at the laptop, reading over his shoulder.

“No kids. Divorced. Drives a black Charger. Government plates,” Harry said. “He’s staying at the motel near the highway.”

She glanced at him. “You want to confront him?”

“No,” Harry said. “I want to watch him.”

That afternoon, they drove to the edge of town. Not together.

Y/N took the car. Parked three spots down from the detective’s room and walked to the gas station next door. Pretended to look at scratch-offs. Bought a coffee she didn’t want.

Harry followed on foot twenty minutes later. Baseball cap. Sunglasses. Moved like he belonged there.

They didn’t speak. But they both saw the same thing.

Room 6. Curtains drawn. No sign of movement. Car parked outside, engine still warm. “He’s in there,” Y/N said later, once they were back home, doors locked, curtains closed.

Harry scrubbed a hand down his face. “I need to know how close he is.”

“We’re not following him.”

“I won’t get out of the car.” “Harry—”

“I’ll drive behind him. Watch where he goes. That’s it.” She stared at him for a long time.

Then nodded. “One hour. If you’re not back, I burn everything.”

He smiled faintly. “Deal.”

The next morning, Graves left the motel just before 8 a.m.

Harry tailed him three miles to a diner on the outskirts of town. Watched him sit in a booth, order black coffee and eggs, and scroll through a stack of folders.

He didn’t take notes. He didn’t pull out a laptop. He just stared at the papers like they were old friends.

Then—he pulled out a photo. Held it low, like instinct told him someone might be watching.

Harry couldn’t see the face. Just the edge of a shoulder. A blur of motion. Like the picture had been taken fast.

Still, his gut tightened. He knew that posture. That turn of the neck.

It was him. The image wasn’t good. But it was him.

Harry backed out of the parking lot and didn’t look back. At home, he found Y/N in the living room, rearranging books they didn’t read.

“He’s got a photo.” She looked up. “Of you?”

“Blurry. But yeah.” She sat down slowly. “Then it’s real.”

“Yeah.” “Do we run?”

Harry stared at her. “No.” Her eyebrows lifted. “No?”

“We’ve got a better shot if we act like we’re not worried.” “You think we can outwait him?”

“I think we can outlast him.” Y/N stood. Crossed the room. Stopped in front of him.

“If you stay,” she said, “you have to stop pacing. Stop checking the window every five minutes. Start acting like you belong here.”

Harry’s mouth twitched. “I’ve never belonged anywhere.”

“You do now.”

They stood in silence.

Then she added, “Also, we’re going to dinner at Marlene’s next Friday. She cornered me and said it’s time.”

He groaned. “Do I have to speak?”

“You just have to eat and look like you wouldn’t bury someone over a parking space.”

“No promises.” Friday night came too fast.

Y/N wore a pale blue dress with sleeves that made her look softer than she felt. Harry shaved. Tucked his shirt in. The kind of effort that made people say things like what a nice couple instead of what are they hiding?

Marlene’s house smelled like pot roast and fresh rolls. The table was set with mismatched plates and too many candles. There were five other guests—all couples, all local.

Harry offered a bottle of red wine they’d picked up from the corner store. Marlene beamed. “A man with manners.”

He smiled, thin and practiced. “Trying my best.” They took their seats. Y/N next to Marlene. Harry at her side.

The small talk started immediately.

Claire asked about their house. Todd asked about the porch repairs. Dana—always Dana—asked if Harry was finding work “or just enjoying the break.”

He answered smoothly. “I fix things. Doesn’t matter whose house it is.”

“Bet you’re handy,” someone muttered.

The room laughed.

Y/N watched the way Harry smiled, how he leaned in when people spoke. Not too close, not too far. He laughed when appropriate. Ate what was served. Let himself be seen, just enough.

She couldn’t decide if it scared her or made her proud. “Y/N tells me you two met back in school,” Marlene said over dessert.

Harry didn’t miss a beat. “High school sweethearts.” “Where was that again?” Claire asked.

Y/N smiled. “Upstate New York. Tiny town. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.”

“You ever get homesick?”

Harry’s jaw ticked. Y/N stepped in. “Sometimes. But mostly we’re glad to be out. Too many ghosts back there.”

Marlene refilled glasses. “Well, you two are a good fit. Real magnetic. You’ve got one of those… energies.”

Y/N tilted her head. “What kind?”

“Like you’ve been through some shit together,” Marlene said, voice light but eyes sharp.

Harry held Y/N’s gaze for a beat too long. “Guess we have,” he said.

The table went quiet for half a second. Just long enough. Then someone made a joke about marriage being its own battlefield, and the room moved on.

Later, after the goodbyes and thank-yous, Y/N and Harry walked back home in the dark.

The night was thick with crickets. Windows glowed behind drawn curtains. The world had quieted, but inside, both of them were wide awake.

“She’s onto us,” Y/N said. Harry didn’t ask who.

“She’s watching everything.”

“She’s smart,” he muttered. “Sharp, but bored. She’ll dig until she either finds something or finds a better distraction.”

“She thinks we’re haunted.” He glanced at her. “She’s not wrong.”

They reached the porch. The steps creaked under their weight. “You were good tonight,” she said.

Harry’s mouth twitched. “Felt like playing dead.”

She looked at him, serious. “Don’t get too good at it.”

He pulled her in. Kissed her hard. Quick. Like he was claiming something he was afraid might get taken.

“I’m only doing this because you asked.”

“I know.”

“Next time she invites us,” he said, opening the door, “we’re suddenly out of town.” It came on a Tuesday.

The mailbox creaked open like always. Nothing unusual. Just coupons. A bill. A card from the hardware store.

And an envelope. No name. No stamp. Just their address, typed neatly.

Y/N stared at it for a second too long before sliding it into the crook of her arm and heading back inside.

Harry was at the sink, fixing the faucet.

She dropped the rest of the mail on the counter and held the envelope up between two fingers. “This was in the box.”

He turned. Wiped his hands on a rag. Took it. Slit it open with the tip of a screwdriver.

One sheet of paper. Plain.

Printed in bold, black font: “You can paint the walls and change the name. I still know what you did.”

That was it. No signature. No threat. No clue.

Just that. Harry stared at the words like they might rearrange themselves into something less dangerous.

Y/N didn’t speak. Just waited. He folded the paper once. Twice. Then again.

Slid it into his back pocket. “We burn it,” she said.

“No,” Harry replied. “We keep it.” She frowned. “Why?”

“Because it’s a message,” he said. “And you don’t destroy evidence until you know who sent it.” Her voice was steady. “You think it was Graves?”

“No. Too loud for him. He’d ask you face-to-face.”

“Then who?”

Harry didn’t answer. She watched the way his jaw set. The muscle ticking like a clock running out of time.

Then, quietly, she said, “You think it’s Marlene.” He didn’t move.

Which told her everything. “She’s not stupid,” Y/N said. “But if she knew anything real, she’d go to someone. Not play games.”

“She’s not playing,” Harry said.

“She’s warning.” Y/N exhaled slowly.

“So what do we do?”

“We act like we never saw it.”

“And when the next one comes?”

Harry looked at her—calm, cold. “Then we write one back.”

By Friday, the tension had teeth.

Y/N caught Marlene watching from across the street. Not pretending. Just standing at her front window, arms crossed, face blank.

She didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. She just watched.

Harry didn’t mention it. But that night, he cleaned his gun.

They didn’t have any reason to believe Graves was still in town. His car hadn’t been spotted. His room at the motel was empty. But that didn’t settle anything. The absence felt worse than the presence. Like a shadow that had learned how to hide.

Y/N found herself checking the mailbox more than once a day. Looking for another envelope. Another signal. Nothing came. But that didn’t make her breathe easier. Harry grew quieter.

Not tense. Just internal. Like he was pulling the thread inward, wrapping it around himself. Thinking. Planning. She let him have the silence. Let him pace and stare and scribble notes in the margin of her notebook.

But on Sunday morning, he said it out loud.

“If she’s the one watching us,” he said, standing in the doorway with his coffee, “then we have to make her stop.”

Y/N looked up from the table. “You’re talking about Marlene.”

He didn’t blink. “Yeah.”

“And what does ‘make her stop’ mean?”

Harry’s eyes were unreadable. “It means we show her we’re not the kind of people you send letters to.”

Y/N stood slowly. “No.” He watched her. Still, but sharp.

“We don’t touch her,” she said. “We don’t corner her. We don’t make a fucking scene.”

“She’s not going to stop.”

“She will,” Y/N said. “Because she’s scared. She just doesn’t know what exactly to be afraid of.”

Harry set the mug down harder than he meant to. “She’s poking at something she doesn’t understand.”

“She understands enough. That’s why she’s trying to remind us she’s there.”

His jaw flexed. “She’s going to push it too far.”

“And if we push first, we lose.” They stared at each other across the room. Both stubborn. Both right in their own way.

Then, quietly, she added, “Let me talk to her.” “No.”

“She likes me.”

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t.”

“I can calm her down, Harry.”

He crossed the room in three strides. Took her face in both hands—not gentle, not rough. Just urgent.

“If she lays a trap and you walk into it—”

“I won’t.”

“I’m not losing you.” “Then trust me,” she said. “Just this once.”

His hands dropped. He didn’t nod. But he didn’t stop her. Y/N baked something.

Banana bread. The easy kind. Warm, dense, and just messy enough to look homemade.

She walked across the street slow and steady. Held the foil-wrapped loaf like an offering. Knocked twice.

Marlene answered with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, this is a surprise.”

“Figured it was time I returned the favor,” Y/N said.

“Can I come in?” Marlene hesitated.

Then stepped aside. “Of course.”

The house was as tidy as ever. Candles lit. A fresh vase of flowers on the kitchen table. It smelled like lemons and something just slightly artificial.

Y/N set the bread down. “Still the nicest house on the block.”

Marlene laughed once. “Means I’ve got too much time on my hands.”

They sat. The silence between them pulsed. Y/N folded her hands neatly on the table. “I’ve been meaning to ask… have we done something wrong?”

Marlene blinked. “Wrong?”

“You’ve been… quiet. Watching.”

Marlene took a sip of her tea. “I’m nosy. Everyone knows that.” “But lately it’s felt personal.”

Marlene didn’t deny it. Just looked at her. Really looked.

“You know,” she said slowly, “I used to be good at reading people. Before the wine, before the kids. Before my husband couldn’t sleep. Before he got restless. Before all of it.”

“I’d say you’re still good at it.” Marlene tilted her head. “You ever lie to your husband?”

Y/N’s throat tightened. “What?”

“Little ones. Big ones. Doesn’t matter.”

“I try not to.”

“Try,” Marlene repeated. “That’s a funny word.”

Y/N didn’t blink. “Have you been asking around about us?”

Marlene smiled faintly. “What would I ask?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said. “But if you’re going to accuse us of something, I’d rather you do it with your whole chest.”

The silence cracked like ice. Marlene leaned back in her chair. “Do you know what a dead giveaway is?”

Y/N waited.

“It’s when people smile too much,” Marlene said. “When they never ask questions. When they learn everyone’s name in under a week.”

Y/N nodded. “You think I’m too friendly.”

“I think you’re scared.”

She let that sit. Then leaned forward, voice low. “Do you want to know what I’m scared of?”

Marlene didn’t answer.

Y/N said, “I’m scared that this town will spit us out like a rotten tooth. That we’ll be chased again. That the only place we ever felt even a little safe will close its doors and bolt the lock.”

“And what would it take,” Marlene asked, “for me to believe you’re here for real?”

Y/N looked her in the eye. “It would take you deciding I’m worth protecting.”

Marlene didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. But something shifted in her. A beat passed.

Then she stood. Cut two slices of banana bread. Handed Y/N one.

“Next time,” she said, “add a little nutmeg.”

Y/N smiled. “Noted.”

Harry was waiting on the porch when she got back.

Arms crossed. One foot bouncing. The cigarette in his hand wasn’t lit—hadn’t been for days—but he held it like it anchored him.

Y/N stepped into the light. Quiet. Composed. “Well?” he asked.

She walked past him and into the house. Set her keys down. Peeled the foil off the rest of the banana bread and slid it into a container.

He followed her. “Did she say anything?”

“Yes.” He waited.

“She’s watching us,” Y/N said. “But not because she wants to blow this up.”

Harry leaned against the counter. “Then why?”

“Because she doesn’t know what we are. And that scares her.”

“Good.”

“No,” Y/N said, turning to him. “Not good. People who are scared get reckless. They talk to the wrong people. They make noise.”

“She threaten you?” “No.”

“Did you threaten her?” She arched an eyebrow. “I brought banana bread.”

Harry gave her a long, unreadable look. Then: “So what now?”

“I don’t think she’s the one we need to worry about.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Y/N leaned on the sink, arms crossed. “She never asked the right questions. Not once. All her jabs were wide—guesswork. Like someone tipped her off but never gave her anything real.”

Harry was already putting it together. “Todd.”

“She mentioned him in passing. Twice. Same way people test water temperature before they get in. Said he talks in his sleep. That he’s restless lately. That he never used to care about gossip until now.”

Harry was quiet. Y/N went on, voice lower now. “And you remember how you said he used your name before you gave it?”

“Yeah.” “I think he’s the one who left the note.”

Harry pushed off the counter. Started pacing.

“Graves talks to someone,” Y/N said. “Todd hears enough to get curious. Starts watching. Starts whispering to his wife. She doesn’t know if he’s right, but she knows the tension’s real.”

Harry stopped pacing. Looked at her. “So what do we do?”

“We keep Marlene close,” Y/N said. “Let her feel like she’s in the loop. Let her think she has the upper hand.”

“And Todd?” Harry said it like a man already writing the ending.

Y/N stepped toward him. “We don’t touch him. Not yet.”

He studied her face. “But eventually?”

She nodded once. “If he keeps pulling at the thread, we pull back harder.” Harry smiled, slow and dangerous.

“Now you sound like me.”

She stepped closer, pressed her hands to his chest. “No,” she said softly. “I sound like your wife.”

Harry didn’t tell Y/N what day he planned to watch him.

Just said he had errands. Needed parts for the leaky pipe. Wanted to hit the hardware store before the rush.

She didn’t press.

By noon, he was parked down the block from Todd’s worksite—a half-finished duplex on the edge of town. Contractors moved like ants across the gravel. But Harry only watched one of them.

Todd stood near a stack of lumber, talking to a man with a clipboard. Laughing. Smiling. Easy. He looked like the kind of guy who kept beer in the fridge and played softball on Sundays. Average. Forgettable.

Harry hated that most of all. He watched for over an hour.

Watched Todd take two calls. Watched him eat a sandwich on the back of his truck bed. Watched him pause once—just once—and stare out at nothing, shoulders tense like he was bracing for something that never came.

Harry leaned back in his seat. He knew that posture. Knew that stare. He’d worn it himself more times than he could count.

Paranoia didn’t always come from guilt. Sometimes it came from fear.

At 2:17, Todd walked around the side of the lot, toward the porta-john. Harry followed on foot, slow, hands in his jacket.

He didn’t plan to say anything. Didn’t plan to be seen.

But as Todd stepped out, they locked eyes. Both froze.

Todd’s jaw tightened. “Harry.” Harry gave a small nod. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your break.”

“You following me?” “Should I be?”

Todd looked away. Wiped his hands on his jeans. “You don’t like me.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know you.”

“You think I’m watching you.” Silence.

Then Todd laughed, but it was hollow. “You ever feel like something’s rotting under the surface? Like the whole place is too perfect, too quiet?”

Harry didn’t answer.

Todd looked him in the eye again. “I get these feelings. Like something bad already happened and I’m just waiting to find out when.”

Harry tilted his head. “That’s a hell of a thing to say to a guy you barely know.”

Todd swallowed. “Maybe I’m saying it to the only person who gets it.”

For a split second, Harry didn’t see a threat. He saw himself. Before. Tired. Haunted. Not evil—just broken in the wrong place.

Then Todd added, “Marlene thinks I’m being dramatic. That I’m bored. But something’s off, man. I feel it.”

Harry nodded once. “If you figure out what it is… let me know.”

Then he turned and walked away, slow and careful, every step loaded with the realization that the enemy might not be the man with the clipboard… or the woman with the smile.

Sometimes it was the weight they all carried. Y/N was on the porch when he came home.

She didn’t look up when he parked. Just sat there, watching the sky darken in slow folds. The quiet stretched between them like thread waiting to snap.

Harry climbed the steps and sat beside her. Didn’t say anything for a while. Neither did she.

Finally, she asked, “Did you talk to him?” Harry nodded once. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“He’s unraveling.”

Y/N looked over at him. “Unraveling how?”

“He talks like someone who’s waiting for a disaster. Says he doesn’t know why. Says he just feels it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That sound familiar?” Harry didn’t answer. Just ran a hand down his face and muttered, “It’s him.”

“You’re sure?” Harry turned to her. Voice low. Certain.

“Yeah. He’s the one who wrote the letter.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “He said that?”

“No. But it’s all over him. He’s scared of something. Or someone. Doesn’t know what—but he’s sniffing around. And he’s looking at us like we’re the reason.”

“Maybe he’s just paranoid.”

Harry shook his head. “No. It’s pointed. He thinks we’re hiding something, and he’s not going to let it go. He’s not curious—he’s convinced.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment. Then: “You feel bad for him?”

“No,” Harry said, too fast. Too firm. “I see myself in him, and I hate it.”

Y/N didn’t look away.

“You still think he left the note?”

“I think he wanted us to feel it. Wanted us to know someone was watching. But not enough to come at us straight. That’s the part that matters.”

She let out a slow breath. “So what do we do?” Harry stared out at the street. Todd’s porch light flicked on across the way.

“We don’t touch him,” he said. “Yet. But we don’t give him anything, either. No waves. No small talk. We become exactly what he already thinks we are.”

“Which is?”

“A secret.”

They waited three weeks.

Let the letter settle. Let the rhythm of the neighborhood lull back into something harmless. Then Y/N extended the invitation.

Marlene accepted too quickly. Todd didn’t say anything.

The night arrived cool and cloudless. Y/N lit candles and cooked chicken with lemon and thyme. Roasted vegetables. A tart for dessert. It was the kind of meal you only made when you wanted everything to look deliberate.

Harry set the table. Checked the locks. Didn’t say much. They came at six.

Marlene brought flowers. Todd brought silence.

The first glass of wine disappeared fast. The second even faster. Conversation stayed polite: work talk, garden talk, little jokes about the neighborhood busybodies.

Y/N smiled through all of it. Harry watched Todd.

By the time dessert hit the table, the shift came.

It started with a breath—too long, too heavy—and then Todd said, “You ever read those old case files out of Albany?”

The room went still. Marlene didn’t even glance up. “Todd.”

He kept going. “One of them’s still open. No leads. Just a name and a timeline and a photo from a gas station camera.”

Harry didn’t blink. Y/N’s hand tightened around her wine glass.

Todd looked at Harry, then at Y/N. “You ever think about how easy it’d be to disappear if you planned it right? Burn the records. Change a few details. Act normal.”

“Todd,” Marlene snapped, louder this time. “Not now.”

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, shrugging. “Sometimes people move into town and they’re so normal it circles back around to suspicious.”

Harry set his fork down slowly. “You accusing someone?” Todd’s eyes were too bright. “I’m asking a question.”

“No,” Harry said. “You’re not.” Y/N reached over and touched Harry’s hand. A warning. A plea.

Marlene stood abruptly. “I said not now.” But Todd wasn’t listening anymore. His hands were shaking.

“I’ve seen the footage,” he said. “It’s grainy, but the walk—the posture—it’s you.”

Harry’s voice dropped low. “You sure you want to keep talking?”

Todd looked at him—and something shifted. Like he realized, for the first time, just how close he was standing to something that could bite.

Marlene grabbed his arm. “That’s enough. I’m sorry. He’s been… he’s not sleeping. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

But Todd yanked away. “I know exactly what I’m saying.” Y/N stood. “Then say it clearly.”

The room was sharp with silence. Todd opened his mouth. Closed it.

Finally: “I think you two aren’t who you say you are.”

Marlene’s face collapsed. “Jesus, Todd.”

“I think you’re dangerous,” he added. “I think people should be more careful around you.” No one moved.

Then Harry smiled. Slow. Crooked. “Then it’s good,” he said quietly, “that people don’t know us very well.”

Todd pushed back from the table hard enough to rattle the glasses. “I knew it,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “I fucking knew it.”

Marlene grabbed at his arm. “Todd—”

But he was already moving, storming through the kitchen, flinging the front door open like he couldn’t breathe in the house anymore.

The silence that followed felt enormous.

Y/N stood at the head of the table, hand still on her wine glass. Harry hadn’t moved. His smile was gone. What sat in its place was quieter. Sharper.

Marlene stayed rooted where she was, jaw tight, eyes shining. “I’m sorry,” she said finally.

Y/N sat back down. “You don’t have to apologize for him.”

“I do.”

Harry’s voice was low. “Has he been talking to Graves?”

Marlene looked up sharply.

“No. Not that I know of. Graves hasn’t been around for weeks.”

Harry didn’t blink. “Then where’s he getting his information?”

Marlene sighed. Rubbed at her temple. “He’s been on Reddit. Old forums. True crime groups. He’s always been into that stuff, but lately it’s gotten worse. Like… compulsive.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Compulsive how?”

“He stays up all night scrolling through case files. Downloads PDFs. Makes lists. Cross-references timelines. It’s like he’s trying to solve something that hasn’t even happened here.”

She paused, her voice catching.

“He’s not sleeping. Barely eating. He prints out blurry security footage and circles things like he’s in a movie. And I—I’ve tried to tell him to stop, to let it go, but he thinks he’s onto something big. That he’s the only one paying attention.”

Harry crossed his arms. “And he thinks we’re the missing piece.”

Marlene nodded. “He saw that footage out of Albany. Said the guy’s walk looked like yours. That it gave him a feeling.”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “So this isn’t about us. Not really. It’s about what’s unraveling in his head.”

Marlene looked at her. “It is about you. Or it became about you. Because once he gets that idea in his head, it doesn’t let go.”

They all sat with that. Then Marlene’s voice went low. Tight.

“I’m not going to the sheriff. Not to Graves. I don’t care what you’ve done—or what you haven’t. I’ve lived long enough to know people come here for all kinds of reasons. But you need to know that he’s not letting this go. And the more you push back, the more he’ll dig.”

Harry tilted his head. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying if you want him to stop,” Marlene said, eyes locked on his, “you’ll have to make him feel like there’s nothing left to find.”

Y/N stood again. “Would he hurt someone?” Marlene looked down at the table, at the crumpled napkin in her hand.

“I don’t know anymore.”

The first few days after the dinner felt like bruises forming—nothing visible, but sore just the same.

They didn’t rush. They watched.

Todd went quiet, but not in the way they hoped. He didn’t stop. He just got quieter about not stopping.

Marlene came by once, said he was working longer hours, barely speaking at home. That he’d cleared out the garage and set up a table, printed out maps, case files, old photos from towns they’d never mentioned to anyone.

“He’s spiraling,” she said. “And he’s smart enough to do damage.” Harry just nodded.

They waited another three days. And then they started. The shift was subtle. They didn’t drop the act—they deepened it.

Y/N stopped walking with her usual confidence. She ducked her head at the grocery store. Looked over her shoulder. She stood too long at the edge of the street when Todd’s truck passed, like she thought about stepping into its path.

Harry became colder in public. More clipped. His eyes harder, his voice lower, more protective. He looked like someone trying to keep something from slipping out of his grasp.

They left their trash can lid open, let papers spill out—receipts with strange numbers, a torn photo with just the edge of Harry’s face visible. A fake classified ad circled in red. Nothing provable. Just enough to catch a hunter’s eye.

And finally, the envelope.

They slipped it into Todd’s mailbox in the dead of night—inside, a photo printed on cheap paper. Grainy. Cropped to look like surveillance. Todd at the hardware store. A timestamp. His own name written in a shaky, anonymous scrawl.

No message. No return address. Just a mirror held up to his worst fear.

The next few days, he didn’t wave from the porch. Didn’t walk the dog. But Y/N noticed the curtains twitch whenever she stepped outside.

Then they left the front door unlocked.

They didn’t sit close together that night. They didn’t light candles or play music or do anything that might’ve read as ordinary.

Harry sat in the chair by the window, back straight, arms resting on his knees like he was waiting to be called to war.

Y/N stayed curled on the couch, sweater draped around her shoulders, knees drawn up like she couldn’t get warm.

They kept the lights low. The silence between them was intentional.

At 11:13, they heard the gate creak. Harry didn’t move.

Y/N reached behind the cushion, her hand closing around the pistol, but she didn’t lift it. Not yet. The door opened slowly. No knock. No hesitation. Just Todd, stepping into their house like he’d done it before.

He held a hammer. Not raised—just in his hand, like he didn’t know how to put it down. His face was pale. Sweating. There was something wild in his eyes, but also something hollow.

“Thought you’d be asleep,” he said. Harry didn’t rise.

“Why are you here, Todd?”

“I know what you did,” Todd said. His voice cracked. “I can’t stop seeing it. All of it. You killed all those fucking people.”

Y/N stood. Not close to Harry. Not close to Todd. Diagonal. Calculated. “You’ve been watching us,” she said softly. “Why?”

“I had to,” Todd said. “I had to know. Something’s wrong with this place. With you.” He took a step forward.

Harry rose.

“I’ve seen your file,” Todd went on. “Or most of it. Redacted as hell, but I pieced it together. And her?” He looked at Y/N. “She’s not just collateral. She’s part of it.”

Harry stepped between them. Todd gripped the hammer tighter.

“She killed him, didn’t she?” he said, voice ragged. “The guy in Albany. I always thought it was you. But now I think it was her.”

“No,” Harry said. “She just made it look like she did.” That stopped Todd. Just for a second. Then he screamed.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even verbal. It was just a sound—deep, cracked, animal. He lunged. The hammer swung. Harry caught his arm. They struggled. Not wild, not fast—methodical. It had the weight of something practiced.

Y/N moved behind Todd as he twisted, snarling, trying to break Harry’s grip. She didn’t shout. She didn’t panic.

She raised the gun and said one thing: “Let him go.”

Harry did. Todd stumbled backward, just enough to see Y/N clearly.

She pulled the trigger. One shot. The sound was thunder in the quiet house. Todd hit the floor. He didn’t move again. Y/N stood still, the gun lowered, her hands shaking for real now. Harry turned slowly. Walked to her.

“You okay?” She nodded.

“I missed the timing,” he said. “He came too fast.”

“You did what you were supposed to.”

Sirens would come soon. They knew that. Neighbors would say they heard shouting. A break-in. That Y/N sounded terrified.

They’d believe it. She was a good actress, and the bruises on Harry’s arms would back the story.It was self-defense. It had to be.

The sirens started before the blood even cooled.

Red and blue bounced across the living room walls like a twisted light show. The neighbors poured out onto their lawns in robes and slippers. Marlene’s scream broke through it all—raw, high, and guttural.

Y/N stood in the doorway, pale, arms wrapped tight around herself. She hadn’t let go of the gun until the squad car pulled up. Harry had taken it from her. Wiped it clean. Set it on the table like it had always lived there.

The sheriff came in first. He was younger than they expected. Late thirties. Sturdy build. No-nonsense eyes. His badge read Miller. He scanned the room, expression unreadable. Didn’t touch anything.

Just said, “We’ll need you both to come down for an interview.”

Harry nodded. “Of course.”

Y/N didn’t speak.

Two EMTs rolled Todd’s body out under a white sheet. Marlene’s cries followed them to the curb. Someone—maybe a deputy, maybe a neighbor—was holding her back. She wasn’t screaming at Y/N. But she wasn’t not screaming at her either. The house filled with people. Flashlights. Cameras. Footsteps. Their life, unpacked. Everything bagged, tagged, and rearranged into evidence.

It wasn’t until they were in the back of the cruiser—no cuffs, no formal arrest—that Harry leaned in slightly toward Y/N.

“He bought it,” he murmured.

Y/N kept her eyes straight ahead. “He had to.”

But something in her chest stayed tight.

The station smelled like paper and stale coffee. They were separated immediately—two interview rooms, two detectives. But Sheriff Miller was the one who sat across from Harry. No pen. No pad. Just folded hands and a steady gaze.

“You want to tell me what happened?” Harry recited it clean. The hammer. The break-in. The yelling. The fear.

“He came in armed. He wasn’t in his right mind. We tried to talk him down—”

“And your wife shot him.”

“Yes.”

Miller nodded. “We’re still collecting evidence. Your story mostly lines up. But there’s something you should know.”

Harry didn’t move. “Go on. ”

“We’ve been watching Todd. Quietly. For months.”

That did it. Just a flicker—Harry’s eyes narrowing a fraction. “Why?”

“Tips. Online activity. He was posting under three different aliases. Uploading altered crime scene photos. Names of people who disappeared ten, fifteen years ago.”

Harry said nothing. Miller went on. “He was obsessed. But more than that—he was interfering. Digging into places he shouldn’t have. We were building a case. Then tonight happened.”

Harry met his eyes. “You’re telling me this why?”

“Because if this had gone down three days later, we’d have nailed him ourselves. Your name would’ve stayed clean.”

Harry leaned back in the chair. “And now?”

“Now,” Miller said, “you’re part of the file.”

Y/N’s interview went slower.

They asked if she’d ever seen Todd act aggressively before. If she’d felt unsafe. If she had ever sought out protection—a restraining order, anything like that.

“No,” she said. “But I was scared. And when I saw the hammer—”

“You fired?”

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

The detective across from her nodded slowly. “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.”

Y/N blinked. “Then why do I feel like I’m on trial?”

“Because you survived,” he said. “And people don’t like when survivors don’t act broken.”

They were released just after 3 a.m. No charges. Not yet. The sheriff’s final words before they left were simple: “Stay in town. We’ll call you if we need anything else.”

Outside, the town was dead quiet. Harry lit a cigarette with shaking hands. Y/ N didn’t look at him.

“What now?” she asked.

Harry exhaled smoke, slow. “We wait.”

They waited. Didn’t go anywhere. Didn’t talk to anyone. Just kept the porch light off and the blinds drawn and listened for footsteps that never came.

Three days passed. The house still smelled faintly of blood, no matter how many times Y/N scrubbed the floor.

Then the call came. They were needed back at the station. No urgency. Just procedure.

The same grey walls. The same old coffee smell. But this time, the interview rooms stayed closed. Sheriff Miller met them in his office, sleeves rolled up, eyes tired but calm.

He gestured for them to sit. Didn’t offer water. Didn’t fake a smile. “It’s done,” he said.

Y/N glanced at Harry. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s closed. You’re cleared. Everything checks out. We reviewed the footage from the neighbor’s porch camera, compared it to the forensics, the timeline, your statements.”

He leaned forward slightly. “It was self-defense.” Harry’s shoulders relaxed just slightly. Y/N didn’t move.

“No charges,” Miller added. “You’re free to go.” That was it. They stood.

Walked out into the quiet morning, the air sharp and clean. No one followed them. No one stopped them. The sun was just starting to rise.

Back home, the house felt too still. Like it had been waiting for them.

Y/N set her keys down on the counter. Harry hung his coat. Neither spoke. They sat on the couch, not touching, not looking at each other. Just breathing. Then—three soft knocks at the door. Y/ N stiffened.

Harry stood first, slow and careful, and opened it just a crack.

It was Marlene. Her face was red. Her eyes swollen. She held nothing in her hands. Just stood there shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Y/N moved behind Harry.

Marlene’s voice broke. “I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve said something sooner. I—I thought he was just obsessing. Just… playing detective. I didn’t know how deep he was in. I didn’t know he’d… do that.”

Y/N stepped forward slowly. “You don’t have to—”

“I do.” Marlene choked on the words. “He changed. He wasn’t always like that. He was kind once. Gentle. Before the… the cases. The paranoia. I lost him before you ever met him.”

She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“I’m not asking you to forgive him. I just—I didn’t want you to think I was like him. That I hated you. That I still do.”

Harry studied her, quiet. Measured. Then opened the door wider. “You want to come in?” he asked.

Marlene shook her head. “No. I just needed to say it.” Her voice cracked again.

“Be careful, okay? This town… it’s not what it looks like. It never is.” Then she turned and walked back across the street.

The door clicked shut behind her. Harry looked at Y/N.

“You believe her?”

Y/N stared at the closed door. “I don’t think it matters.”

They stood there in the stillness. The case was closed. The blood had dried. The story would fade. But the house would always remember. And so would they.

They sold the house in early spring.

Didn’t make a fuss about it. No open houses. No goodbyes. Just a discreet agent, a cash buyer, and keys slid across a counter without ceremony.

It had never felt like home anyway. Not really. Too many nights spent listening for footsteps. Too many shadows that didn’t belong to either of them.

The packing was quick. Efficient. They didn’t own much. Never stayed long enough to collect clutter. Y/N taped the last box shut and stretched her aching back, one hand instinctively resting over the gentle curve of her belly. The bump had come quiet and soft, just like everything else that had found its way into their lives when they weren’t looking.

Harry loaded the final box into the trunk. Slammed it shut. Wiped his hands on his jeans. She turned and faced the house one last time.

It looked the same as it always had—small, square, harmless. Like nothing bad had ever happened inside. Her palm stayed on her stomach. Harry came up behind her. Slipped an arm around her waist and leaned close, his breath warm against her ear.

“In England,” he murmured, “no one will know who we are. The house is tucked in the countryside. No neighbors for miles.”

Y/N smiled faintly, eyes still on the front porch. “Don’t kill anyone,” she said.

Harry chuckled, but it was low, dry, and just sharp enough to leave a mark. “No promises.”

She turned to him then—really turned. Looked up at him with something between amusement and disbelief. He kissed her forehead.

They got in the car. The engine turned over like it knew the way. And just like that, the house and all their haunting history was behind them. Gone.

As they pulled onto the road, the house disappeared in the rearview—like the lives they left behind had never existed, and the ones they’d stolen were finally theirs to keep.

[reminiscingthesea]

Part three of yandere stalker Phainon x nerdy reader !!

A/N- i don’t know how many times I’m gonna say this, but ty guys sm for all the support and love ive been receiving under comments!! I really enjoy reading them!!

Warning- Contains smut, reader is inexperienced, insecure thoughts, foul language, manhandling, AFAB reader

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It had been some time since that incident, and it was safe to say, you were truly shaken to your core. Luckily, your boyfriend best friend Phainon was here to help keep yourself safe during such difficult times. He walked with you to your lectures, even if it meant being late to his, he accompanied you whenever you went out, especially at later hours, he messaged you everyday, asking things like how you were, what you ate, if he needed to come over, if you needed a cry or a laugh. The two of you spent hours on the phone, too. Going to sleep on call and waking up to burning hot phones and a time reader that read- “7:46:50”- He was truly too good for you, and it made you doubt yourself. Did he truly like you? Was he still giving mixed signals? Was he doing this out of the kindness of his heart, or because he felt as though he had a duty to as your best friend?

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“.. Phainon, you’re too good to me- taking me out to dinner at such an expensive restaurant and not letting me pay you back? I really don’t deserve this, your kindness..” You spoke timidly, keeping your eyes down on your plate of delicious, well seasoned food- which was lobster Thermidor with a side of cute, buttery bread buns that were oh-so soft. You felt a small rush of heat dust onto the skin of your cheeks as Phainon gently interlocked his hand with yours from the other end of the table, leaning his head down to get a glimpse of your face, a small, loving smile gracing his lips.

“C’mon, don’t say that.. we’ve grown so close together over these past few months, and it’s nearly the end of the semester, you know I like treating you to nice places for dinner.” He spoke softly, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, before continuing. “I like treating my closest to dinner, and you’re very close to me, [Name]. Never forget that.”

You looked at him with slightly widened eyes now, taking in his deep words. Was this his way of confessing his love for you? No, it couldn’t be. Phainon treats all of his friends to lunch and dinner, but not normally at a price like this..

“I don’t know what to say, Phainon.. I’m so, so grateful to you, you’ve helped me so much. But please listen to me. Don’t waste your time on someone like me. You deserve someone better, prettier, outgoing- I just make things awkward between us since I’m not as chatty with you, I..” Sighing shakily, you looked at him with tears welling in your eyes. “Just please, tell me how I could ever repay you.. you’ve saved my life countless of times, I’m truly indebted to you..”

Phainon looked back at you with an equally as sad look, he looked like a kicked puppy who was left in the rain by its owner.

“I understand that such traumatic events will alter your view on your worth, make you feel bad about yourself. But [Name], when I tell you that you truly mean so much to me, I mean it. You don’t have to believe me right now, but I’ll wait. Albeit, sadly. But as long as it takes, I’ll wait.” How he wanted to confess to you right then and there on the spot, but he himself had his own doubts that he just couldn’t wrap his head around as to why he had them.. he had removed every obstacle in his way- your bullies, Mydei, danger- and had your trust and respect for him. So why now was he so hesitant? Was all of this for nothing? Was he worried you’d reject him due to your beliefs on how he’s too good for you?

Even then though, he had a small thought at the back of his head that told him ‘Don’t confess, and you’ll only hurt her more.’

You could only nod and carry on with the rest of your dinner, a somber, dejected look on your face, and he copied too. The rest of your dinner was awkward to say the least. Neither of you looked each other in the eyes, only sneaking quick glances when the other wasn’t looking, nor did the two of you talk, until the bill came- to which Phainon paid the whole sum of 10,500 credits, as you gave him a pouty look from across the table.

As the two of you walked out and begun making your ways back to campus, you clutched his wrist delicately.

“Phainon. I promise to pay you back, okay? Just don’t reject it, please..”

To this, Phainon could only laugh quietly and turn to face you fully. ‘You could pay me back with your love’ he thought to himself as he began speaking.

“Oh, fine. Since you’re so stubborn and such a sweetheart, I’ll let you pay me back. But! At a discounted price of 50% off. I don’t make the rules.”

You sputtered slightly and shook him, shaking your head.

“50%?! I can’t pay you back only 50% of the money you spent on me today!” You exclaimed, a crazed expression on your face as you tried to get him to change his price to a higher one.

“Oh? 50% isn’t a good enough percentage? Oh fine, since you’re such a good negotiator, I’ll let you pay me a maximum of 25%! A minimum of 0%, is allowed though.” He teased lightly, winking and grinning as he saw your face morph into a more frustrated one.

Suddenly, you shoved a bunch of credits to his chest and grabbed his hands to clutch them

“Look. I wanna do something nice for you to pay you back. I won’t let you win this either- so just take the credits and this’ll all be over.” You concluded confidently, as the pair of you reached your campus’ entrance and walked right in. You had a dead-set, stubborn look on your face as you walked back to your dorm, and Phainon could only laugh in adoration as he stuffed the credits into his wallet.

“Oh alright fine! You win! I’ll stop ruffling your feathers and let you pay me back tenfold. But just know, I’m gonna be spending even more money on you next time! And ah-ah-ah! Don’t even think about taking it as an opportunity to pay me back even more, I won’t let it happen!” He declared loudly in the otherwise empty hallway besides the two of you standing outside your dorm room. ‘He’s so perfect..’ you pondered to yourself quietly, before flashing him a small, sweet smile. But there was a hint of sadness behind it, and Phainon saw.

But before Phainon could talk to you further, you quickly said your goodbyes and waved him off, before disappearing into your dorm room.

Phainon stood there, an unreadable look on his face as he stared at the now closed door in front of him. How badly he wanted to break that door down and make you love him just as he loved you. But he simply, couldn’t bring himself to do so.

How pathetic of him.

.

.

.

Sitting at his desk, he opened his computer screen to monitor your activities through the camera in your room. It was something he hadn’t done as often as before, considering how much closer the two of you became over these last few weeks. Though, he made a mental note to sneak in another camera from a different part of your room, just for better… angles. The mirror might be a good option!

However, the sight that absolutely blessed his dirty little eyes of faux purity, was truly a sight to behold.

It was you, on your bed, with nothing but a shirt on. Your panties were long discarded on the floor, and so too was your bra, assuming it was the soft blue pair of underwear laying on the floor just a few meters from his bed.

Immediately, blood rushed to his cock as he pulled it out from his shorts, quickly rubbing his hand up and down over its generous length, his thumb gently teasing his tip, the same way he gently rolled it against the back of your hand before. His mouth agape, eyes lidded as he continued watching the footage reverently.

But what got him really going, was when you brought two fingers to your pussy, which he obviously couldn’t see considering the camera’s placement on your headboard behind your bed. But it had an elevated view, so he saw how the two fingers gently eased their way into your cunt slowly, whilst your thumb teased at your clit.

“F-fuck..! fuck, so- mmghh…” You moaned softly, rocking your hips to no specific beat, as your finger on your bud worked harder to provide more stimulation. But after a few moments, your loving moans turned into whines and whimpers of frustration and sadness. Phainon, who was edging himself to hear your moans, heard this change, causing a pout to adorn his gracious face.

“Oh, [Name].. you must be having so much trouble trying to please yourself… if only I was th-“

“If only you were here, Phainon… you’d make me feel so good….”

Oh.

oh.

To this, Phainon immediately stood up from his desk, eyes widening and face flushing. The shock was enough to send him over the edge, cum spewing onto the table in front of him. He bent over the table, his head tilted upwards to look at his computer’s screen as you continued your strings of moans of pleasure, but also sadness. He began rubbing his cock, now hot, sticky, and even harder, much faster now, your moans and his creating a beautiful symphony.

Finishing with a gasp, he buried his face in his arms, breathing heavily. However, you were still touching yourself, moaning weakly, trying to reach your peak of pleasure like the guy behind the camera, but nothing.

“..Poor [Name].. unable to please herself without my guidance?..” He whispered softly to himself, slowly getting up to his full height and looking down at the computer screen of you pathetically trying to please yourself, whilst also murmuring degrading comments about yourself in the process.

“Nobody gets to hurt what I love. Not even yourself.. I will show you my love for you, [Name].. I’ve been stupid enough to deprive you of it for so long…” His fingers gently caressed your form on his computer screen, a hint of sadness behind them.

He knew what he had to do. He had to show you his soaring love for you, a love that knew know bounds, a love that he starved of you by his own insecurities. He hurt you, and he was going to change that.

He began cleaning his desk.

.

.

You sobbed pathetically into your pillow, you couldn’t do it. God, you were so bad at everything, even at pleasing your own cunt. You couldn’t even do it yourself, you needed someone- someone who you probably doesn’t even like you-. Feeling the wetness of your cunt beneath your ass now, you let out a shaky sigh, on the verge of bursting into even louder cries of frustration and disappointment.

Amidst your tantrum, you heard loud, firm knocks on your dorm room’s door. Scrambling to get your clothes back on, you messily made it to the door, not caring about your appearance besides having some clothes on. Your hair was a mess, your face was flushed and wet with tears, your lips and legs quivering as you opened the door to see Phainon.

“P-Phainon- I’m sorry I don’t look good-“

“Let me in, [Name]. We need to talk.”

He pushed himself past you as you closed the door, before his hand met your wrist and pulled you close to him, pinning you against the wall near a table. Your vision became blurry as your eyes darted across the room in shock. Phainon’s hand cupped your face, turning it to face him fully as he spoke.

“I’ve held this for too long. [Name], I love you. I’ve loved you this entire time. And I know you love me too, you were just too scared to say it. Ever since… ever since we met, I’ve always thought about you, the things we’d do together as a couple. Kisses, romantic dates, cute things.. I need you. And you need me too. You’re perfect for me, and I’m perfect for you.” His voice was quiet and husky as he spoke, his face so close to yours, your lips almost touching his as he spoke. Your eyes widened, tears brimming in them once more, your mouth agape.

“Ph..Phainon.. I love you- I love you so much- you don’t know how happy I am to hear this I-“ Without thinking, you crashed your lips against his, capturing him in a soft kiss. You’ve never kissed anyone before, but this felt right, as he reciprocated just as fervently. Phainon then deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he pinned you harder against the wall, his knee coming up between your legs, his hand tangling into your hair.

You could only moan softly in response as you grinded needily, helplessly, against his knee, seeking the pleasure you’ve been so starved of all this time. With a few deep gasps of air from you and him, his mouth took refuge on your neck, his head burying in the crook of it as he mouth began sucking and leaving large love marks on the soft skin.

“Gonna show you my love for you, yeah? Gonna fuck it into you for being such a good girl and waiting all this time for me..” He picked you up off the floor, your arms wrapping around his neck, as your legs wrapped around his waist, before carrying you back to your room.

He laid you down on your bed carefully, before peeling your clothes off, one by one. His touch was worshipping, reverent, his eyes never leaving yours. He smiled softly to himself as he took your pants off, breaking his gaze with yours as he glanced at your panties, the same light blue ones that were discarded on the ground just a few minutes ago.

As he peeled off your panties, revealing your glistening cunt to him, he threw it aside, along with the rest of your discarded clothes on the floor besides the bed. He took his shirt off, making way for his muscular, defined torso and body. You swore you saw stars in that moment, heat creeping up onto your face as your hand unconsciously lifted up to caress the firm skin there. Phainon chuckled, breaking you out of your stupor.

“Like the view?” He teased playfully, a smug, but loving grin on his face as your eyes met with his once more. He lightly took your hand and interlocked it with his, before coming back down on you and kissing you softly, his hair tickling your cheeks as he did so. Whilst you were so caught up with the kiss, you didn’t catch his free hand running up your thigh, creeping near towards your ever growing, wet pussy, teasing the sensitive flesh around it.

You squirmed as his toned, but slim fingers began teasing the entrance of your cunt’s hole, almost rimming it with the pad of his fingers, before gently siding them in.

“Phainon!~” You gasped sweetly, holding onto his hand tighter as his fingers worked their magic within the gummy walls of your hole. Your hips jerked slightly as his thumb rubbed the ever-so sensitive bud of your clit in circular motions. He smirked to himself as he felt your walls tighten so nicely around his fingers, it almost made him cum again, as he thought of how much tighter you’d wrap yourself around his needy, greedy cock later on. But he had to prepare you first. After all, what’s love without passion and care?

His fingers then began increasing the speed of their thrusts, curling up gorgeously within you, hitting such sweet spots, making you squirm and whimper in pure pleasure. Tears began flooding the shape of your eyes once more, moans being robbed from your throat as his thumb worked even quicker ministrations against your clit. The knot deep within you grew tighter, so so tight, about to snap- until his fingers curled deeply and hitting a sensitive spot in you- before you moaned his name loudly- squirting and coming undone right then and there, all over his hand.

You saw white for a few moments, your gaze glassy as you came back to reality through Phainon’s hand gently stroking your arm.

“Look at you.. so needy and desperate for me.. you squirt like a whore, but you seem inexperienced” He mused to himself, basking in how your expression changed from pure ecstasy to embarrassment and slight shame.

“I am inexperienced, so what? You think someone like me’s gotten game before..?” You replied hastily, a slight bite behind your tone as you spoke, to which, Phainon only smiled apologetically.

“I’m not shaming you, I’m more than honoured to be your first. I’ll never let you forget this.”

He pulled his fingers out, which were now coated in your secretions and slick, before licking them clean, ravishing the taste. Then, he pressed a chaste kiss against your cheeks and lips, as his head began pressing sweet kisses along your collarbones, going down, down, down, until his face was met with your sopping, heavenly pussy. He’s always wanted to taste you like this. Make you squirm in delight and pleasure as his tongue would work wonders against the skin of your beautiful cunt.

He didn’t wait for a response as he dived right in, his warm tongue coming out and rolling against your clit, making you jerk your hips up again in delight and satisfaction. He roughly held them down with his hands on each bone, before lifting your legs up over his shoulders for better access. He revelled in the way your thighs tightened around his neck, closing in as his tongue inserted itself into your dripping pussy’s hole, making quiet slurping noises against the flesh, bringing his hand back to stimulate your poor clit again. Your movements and squirms only made him eat you out quicker, more devoutly, aiming to please you and only you as you drew closer to falling over the edge.

“P-phainon- Phainon! I-I can fucking feel it I- please..” He could tell you were coming closer to the edge once more, and the ministrations of his tongue and fingers only quickened in response. Your hand gripped onto his pearly white locks tightly as you grew even closer to cloud nine. And then, with a sharp jerk of your hips against his head, you came all over his mouth with a loud cry, throwing your head back in delicious pleasure, your hips grinding against him as his tongue obediently lapped against your pussy, taking in all of your smooth, rich, sweet cum, coating his lips like lip gloss. He hesitantly pulled away from the comfort and warmth of your pussy and legs, carefully setting them back down on the bed, caging him in, his hand caressing the soft skin of your trembling thighs.

“You taste amazing.. you need a taste of yourself.” He whispered against your ear now, bringing his head up and kissing you again, your essence invading your tastebuds; a foreign taste.

“Phainon, wanna make you feel good too..” You spoke sweetly, getting up and pushing Phainon down into a sitting position. He moved to a side of your bed, as you got off and got onto your knees, beginning to remove his pants hastily.

“Someone’s desperate” He teased again, spreading his legs for your better access as you pulled his pants down, now staring at the giant bulge protruding through his boxers. You then pulled them down, before being met with his girthy, thick, big cock, which bobbed against his abs. In a nervous daze, you grabbed it with you hand softly, kissing the angry red tip that leaked sweet precum all over it.

“It’s really big..” You whimpered, slowly stroking his length, tightening your hand around it for more pleasure. Phainon laughed faintly, grabbing onto your hair, his grip tightening slightly as you jerked him off faster, his head lolling back a little.

“Gonna make you feel good too..” You promised, before slowly taking in his whole dick in your mouth, your cheeks puffing out from his great size, as it filled up your throat. With soft gags and moans, you began sucking him off, tightening your mouth and throat around him and bobbing your head up and down.

To this, Phainon moaned your name loudly, throwing his head back as he pushed his length further down your throat, pushing your head deeper, his grip on your hair becoming even stronger. Just as he dreamed, you looked up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes of yours as you’d suck him off, mouth full of him, your sounds of struggle and gags playing a part in sending him over the edge.

“Fuck.. you suck cock like a whore too, you’re so- fuck, ah~.. good at this, aren’t you? I’ll p-pay you back… tenfold-“ He uttered loudly as he was nearing his peak of pleasure. Feeling his cock pulsate in your throat, you tried sucking him off faster, until his thick, warm, gooey cum filled your mouth, to which you immediately gagged at, taking his cock out your mouth and gagging slightly. The taste wasn’t something you were used to, of course not. So as you coughed up the cum, Phainon lifted you up off your legs and onto his lap, rubbing your back as you coughed up.

“Shh.. you sucked me off so fucking good. Wanted to make me feel all good too? What a sweetheart, hm?.. You want my cock to fuck your sensitive, tight pussy? Yeah?” He continued praising you as he moved the two of you back to the head of the bed. He was now sitting beneath you as your hands met with the headboard above your bed, your face leaning right next to the camera there.

But he wasn’t worried about that right now, as your legs caged him by the his sides next to his hips, your pussy just above his cock.

“P-Phainon.. what if it doesn’t fit?” You asked worriedly, now taking in his full length with your eyes as you looked down at him and his cock, your eyes meeting his face, which had a look of love and affection painted onto it.

“You’ll be fine, you’ll take me in just good, y’hear?”

With enough reassurance, Phainon held your hips as you slowly, carefully, aligned your cunt’s entrance with the head of his cock, and gently lowered yourself onto it. You cried out as he stretched you out, feeling his whole size fill you up within a matter of seconds. And once you had fully engulfed his cock, you bottomed out, crying in pleasure, almost about to cum just from the feeling of his cock inside you.

“See, taking me like a champ. Now, start riding me, just move your hips like that- yes, fuck.. you’re so good…”

You rocked your hips, moving up and down on his cock, pants of pleasure coming out of your mouths, your own eyes rolling back at the pleasure as you rode him. You sped up your riding to let him cum quickly, still eagerly wanting to please him just as he did with you before. As he moaned in pleasure and held your hips with a bruising grip, he looked up at you with pure reverence and admiration in his eyes. The way your eyes rolled back, or closed in pleasure and determination, the way your hair fell over your face, the way you bit your lip in pleasure, trying to hold back your moans.

But he could see you were growing restless and tired as you bounced and rode him quickly, trying to make him feel good.

“Phai..non.. I’m so tired- I’m sorry- couldn’t make you feel good..” You sobbed pathetically, your voice soft as you sniffled in familiar frustration, the ache in your thighs and hips growing less dull and quiet, and more pronounced and intense.

At this Phainon shushed you gently, coaxing you to move a bit and change your position, so that you weren’t hunched over the headboard, and instead, sitting over him, cock stilled within you. He then, without a word, lifted you effortlessly by your hips, as if taking you off his cock, before slamming you right back down onto it, his tip now hitting the spongey sweet spot within you. You threw your head back in shock and surprise, a cry of pleasure ripping from your throat as tears ran down your cheeks, your mouth agape. But he wasn’t done, as he now kept moving you up and down manually on his cock, feeling his high coming back, as well as yours with how you tightened around him in the cuddling embrace of your slick, warm, gummy walls. Even louder moans and cries sounded from you, all the more desperate and pleasing as you both drew closer. His groans mixed with your cries like a hymn sung by the divine angels above.

Then, with a final upwards thrust of his hips into you, you collapsed over him, both of you cumming onto one another. He felt your warm cum coat his cock, as his own thick seed painted your walls comfortably. Panting against his chest, you couldn’t help but grind weakly against him in overstimulation and tire, moaning tiredly.

Phainon breathed out a sigh of relief and pleasure, before lifting your head up to look up at him.

“We’re not.. we’re not done yet. You’re gonna feel every last bit of my love for you, [Name].”

With that, he pulled out and flipped you over onto your back, so that you were beneath him once more. He tossed your limp legs back over his shoulders as he inserted his dick into you once more, eliciting a loud moan from you in response. He interlocked his hands with yours as he fucked you like this, taking pure delight and pleasure in the way your face contorted into a bonny look of delectable bliss. Your tongue lolled out as your eyes rolled back yet again, sweet, pornographic moans ringing out from deep within your throat as he fucked you hard and fast. You truly could feel the love behind his hard thrusts as he hit you in all the right spots with his greedy, monstrous cock, which would elicit even louder moans from you. You cried out in even more overstimulating pleasure as you came again, shattering into pieces as he bit into the generous skin of the thigh next to his head on his shoulder, making you squeeze around him like a glove.

And then, just as he was about to cum in you, he pulled out and spew his release all over your tits with a laugh, painting your pretty breasts with his load.

“Oh dear.. I’ve made such a mess, haven’t I? I’m so clumsy, let me clean it up for you..” He voiced, his tone mocking and playful as he leaned down and stuck his pink tongue out once more, before licking and sucking one of your nipples clean from his cum, fondling and tweaking the other with his other hand.

“A-ah!~ Haah..~ Phai- fuck!… Phainon please-!~” You sobbed out, unable to take even more pleasure and satisfaction as he sucked on your sensitive nipple, pulling it out with a satisfying ‘pop!’, creating a more reddish colour to its skin, before moving onto your other tit, licking it clean of his cum as you whined his name arousing-ly. It was all enough to make you cum again with an exhausted cry, your back arching upwards off the bed.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, [Name], my perfect girl.. love you so much, doll.. you tired now?..” He asked hotly against the shell of your ear again, peppering sweet kisses against the skin near it. Unable to speak properly, you simply nodded your head and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down next to you on the bed, cuddling him and letting his warmth comfort you, as the smell of sweat and sex lingered in the air around you. But the two of you didn’t care at the moment, only holding each other, with Phainon spooning you and rubbing your sore legs.

After a while, you both came back to your senses from your dazes on cloud nine, looking at each other with love in your eyes.

“I love you, Phainon..”

You cupped his face in your hands, rubbing his cheeks and squishing them, making his lips pucker out. You kissed his silly looking lips, and Phainon could only smile in response.

“I love you too, [Name]. But right now, we have to clean ourselves up, we stink.” He joked lightly, his tone now taking up its more lighthearted and bright side. He giggled as you whined about being too tired and sore to move.

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you, silly” He then picked you up delicately in a princess carry, taking you to your bathroom and setting you down on the edge of the bathtub, before turning the water on and filling it up with warm water. He then, with your permission, added in some of your bath soak- a sweet vanilla scent- and mixed it all in until the water turned all bubbly and pretty. Dipping you in first and following through, with a sigh of satisfaction at the warm water, he pulled you towards him and let the warm water soothe both of your aches and sore spots.

“Thank you..” You mumbled quietly, giggling as he started washing your hair for you with your bottle of shampoo, following suit with his own hair.

“You’re gonna smell like vanilla and strawberries once you get out of here, Phainon” You joked playfully, causing him to pinch your cheek softly

“I wouldn’t mind. At least I’d be able to have your scent all over me where ever I go”

Laughing quietly, you let him pamper you, massage the knots and kinks from your back and thighs as the two of you would wash each other. Each of you putting the other’s hair into a soft bun as the conditioner was added in.

“You look silly, Phainon” You giggled, seeing the tiny ball of sopping white hair sit atop his head due to him having shorter hair than yours.

“Only for you, my love” He responded, kissing the top of your head and tucking it into his chest as the two of you sat in the heat of the warm waters.

.

.

After some time, Phainon got out to clean up the mess you two had made on your bed- to which you protested until he’d simply shut you up with a kiss and tease you about how cold it was outside the water. Not before long, he came back into the bathroom with a towel around his waist, and another in his hand. Picking you up, he patted you dry with the towel, with teasing, lingering touches in some areas, and wrapping the towel around your form, leading you to your now spotless, fresh smelling room.

“Sorry, I don’t have any clothes for you..” You spoke ashamedly as he helped you dress up into some lighter clothes now, to which he only responded by smiling slightly.

“I’ll be fine with wearing my other clothes, unless, you want me to sleep naked?” He now had a smug little grin on his face, but you knew his words held no actual lust behind them as his eyes were full of a familiar kindness and love.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind the view, but I don’t want you waking up with a fever in the morning.”

And with that, you were both cuddling in your now cleaned bed with new sheets and all. He had his sweatpants on from before, as well as his shirt, and you had your comfy pajamas on. He spooned you as he did before, tucking your head under his chin in the crook of his neck as you drifted off slowly to the feeling of his soft, pink lips peppering sweet kisses all over your face, his legs and arms tangled with yours.

“I love you, [Name]. I’m so glad everything worked out in the end..” He breathed out, before succumbing to the land of dreams himself, feeling the nighttime air of the open window gently making its way in and cooling down your room.

You were all his now, as he has always been yours from the start.

[chiharuuu22]

There's a flow going on in my head. It goes something like this.

It was almost midnight when the alarm blared. Whumpee woke up with a start and winced in pain. Something was going wrong, but Whumpe was unable to move. His body was weak and full of wounds from defeating a powerful enemy, so he could only lie on his bed. As he tried to get up, Caretaker and Member A entered. Caretaker helped Whumpee, while Member A helped pack up. Caretaker helped Whumpee put on a jacket, socks, and a shawl while explaining that the enemy might have discovered their headquater. The enemy would attack them again sooner or later. The Team Leader decided that they should evacuate the headquater tonight.

Once they were finished, they left the room. Whumpee hobbled along with Caretaker, and Member A said she would get ready in the car. Outside, everything looked chaotic and tense, and all members tried to secure their data and important items before leaving. Whumpee also saw two other injured members being carried away.

Whumpee, Caretaker, Member A, Member B, Member C, and Member D boarded the same car and left immediately for another headquater. The Team Leader divided his members into small groups and sent them in different directions to outwit the enemy. When they had moved away from the base, they all heard the sound of an explosion. Yes, the Team Leader destroyed their headquater to prevent the enemy from detecting them next.

Member D drove the car quickly and occasionally changed his route to make a run for it. The way he drove the car meant that everyone had to hold on to their places. Meanwhile, the Team Leader's voice kept coming over the radio where he instructed various things.

Whumpee sat leaning against Caretaker. He really didn't feel okay. His whole body ached, his head was dizzy, and his stomach was queasy. Unfortunately, they could not stop to create as much distance as possible. Everyone in the car felt sorry, but they had to keep going tonight. Whumpee understood and he didn't protest, but because of his condition, Whumpee felt useless.

Whumpee vomited many times. Cold sweat was pouring down his face, tears were flowing, his breathing was labored, and his body was shaking. Caretaker tried to calm Whumpee down. Whumpee groaned loudly when their car hit a speed bump, then he vomited again. Whumpee felt like he had to vomit to get rid of his nausea. However, there was nothing else he could vomit.

They traveled for hours and during that time Whumpee felt like he was going to die. Caretaker tried to make Whumpee feel better by helping him drink or slipping pieces of chocolate in his mouth to give him some energy. Whumpee was just trying to keep him from losing his consciousness. At least, during this escape.

When they finally reached the other headquater, Whumpee really couldn't feel himself anymore. Whumpee lost his consciousness. Whumpee did not know whether his two comrades were the same as him or not. Whumpee was just grateful that they made it and fainted when Member D finally entered the secret garage.

Whumpee woke up on a bed in a dimly lit room. He saw Caretaker adjusting his IV and walked over to him. Caretaker said Whumpee had been unconscious for most of the day. Caretaker also said they were in a hidden headquater in Region X. Caretaker explained that everyone was safe except Whumpee and the other two who were both injured, all of whom fainted after arriving.

This new place was not as comfortable as the previous base, but at least Whumpee could rest to recover. Caretaker smiled warmly soothingly, her hand stroking the back of Whumpee's hand gently before asking if he wanted to eat a little.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

HAVNT BEEN ABLE TO DRAW ON MY TABLET AS MUCH LATELY. but i HAVE been able to doodle very much on paper while at work. so i have a massive backlog o traditional art i have yet to post. (its literally all OC stuff) to begin, please say hello to two little characters of mine, Copper and Gossamer

[robotwrangler]

Wow. We’re so back? I don’t know why but I have been feeling so great this week. And not just “okay” but actively happy, giddy, full of zest for life and whatnot!

[megumi-fm]

.

[tirasamu]

ive been in such a transitional period of my life and today i had a convo w someone who i look up to so so much and she told me the industry im switching to will be the perfect fit for me and she thinks im going to thrive there and i just want to burst into tears over it

[rangersoup]

Personal rant in the tags that I’ll probably delete later

[inorganicorgan]

Unclear who's holding who hostage in this relationship (picrew)

WARNING:: BARELY CONTAINED YAPPING

The story: Inessa is OBSESSED with Essex. Terrified to ask them but every time she sees them she experiences the worst bisexual panic known to man. She is INFATUATED for months before Essex even notices that she's stalking them. When they DO notice that Inessa is the one leaving them increasingly more threatening and violent love notes, they assume Inessa is human, just a particularly sick and weird lonely one and decides they want a free meal, because it's been a good long while since they've been properly full.

It's worth noting at this point that Inessa can sense magical or otherwise inhuman people. It's how she instantly sees through Jess-Ava's disguise (if Jess-Ava didn't give it away with her A+ acting). She assumes all vampyrs can do this.

(spoiler alert they can't)

So Essex slides up real smooth next to Inessa and asks for her number. Inessa promptly melts and gives it to them. They text for about thirty seconds before Essex decides it's probably safe to invite Inessa to their house. It is ABSOLUTELY not safe Inessa is insane and shouldn't be trusted even a little bit but they invite her regardless.

When Essex inevitably tries to turn a teenage make-out session into a true crime story, Inessa shoves them off while they spit out all the dust Inessa's rapidly regenerating carotid artery turned into, utterly confused at why Essex would even try that. She then reveals her sixtyfivehead and waits for Essex to tell her that no, they didn't express an interest in her just to eat her because they thought she was human.

They don't.

She runs home and gives herself a pat on the back for keeping it together long enough to make it to Jess-Ava's old cabin. She proceeds to ugly cry for six straight hours.

Essex feels like shit and tries to make it up to her by going on a few real dates, although just as friends. Inessa doesn't let the friends status stay though and they eventually start for real dating after a few months and it's not questionable at all

[seraphidae]

light emeto warning

[tommygotwrittenoff]

i need eddie to get another guy friend in season 8, and buck loses his shit about it (again), so he breaks up with t because he's convinced that the weird feeling he gets when he sees them together is because he is Really attracted to the new guy.

[m340700]

HELLO

okay firstly THANK YOU FOR READING MY SILLY FICS!!! im v v glad u liked them!! that fic in particular that u rbed there is one of my favs personally LMAO creepy sun is so >>>> and secondly.. on my MHA BLOG? MY BAKUGOU WORSHIP BLOG????? ngl i did see u in my notifs over there when i saw ur tags LOL when i tell u i went O.O LMAOOOO. hope u liked them!! some of those r... old writings aldasdlakd. but!! anyways!! hope ur having a wonderful day!! stay swagilicious<3

HI SHAY!! ur silly fics r good argh i bear gifts

i like the way you write them i think the silly dynamics are great !! humans are so vulnerable and you tease the daycare attendant are my favs they did something to my brain actually. and yes you are correct creepy sun >>>>>> your works are nice please have some nice flowers for ur day

[echo-s-land]

Someone told me that he 'like hanging around with me' and he 'love my smile' today