#and one of my dreams would be to finally break out of my shell and sing my heart out on a stage

[gweelczz]

“Home”

Sammie ‘Preacher boy’ Moore x Y/N (Sugar)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, smut (Y’all KNOW he a FREAK) MDNI

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap your Willy!) mentions of child abuse, this fic is LONGGGG I got a bit carried away y’all I’m sorry!!!

Summary: A lover’s quarrel breaks out between the two love birds and it’s up to Sammie to choose what he goin do

The Mississippi sun had dipped low, bleeding red across the fields when the shouting started. Folks in Clarksdale knew better than to pay too much mind to lovers’ quarrels, but when it was Preacher Boy Sammie Moore and his girl Sugar — everybody knew.

“You always talking ’bout dreams, Sammie,” Sugar snapped, arms crossed tight against her chest, her voice trembling more with hurt than anger. “But you too scared to chase ‘em. Scared of your daddy. Scared of what folks gon’ say.”

Sammie’s fists were balled at his sides. Not to strike — Lord, no. Just trying to hold it all in. His pride. His shame. His fear.

“I ain’t scared,” he bit out, jaw tight.

“Then prove it,” she shot back, tears glassing her big brown eyes. Her skin, a rich dark ebony with that gold shimmer whenever the light caught her just right, looked like it belonged to some goddess out the old stories. Her coily hair framed her face, a wild crown she didn’t even know she wore.

He said nothing.

That silence — heavier than any slap — broke her heart clean in two.

Sugar turned on her heel, dust kicking up under her bare feet.

“You ain’t ready,” she said, voice small now. “And I ain’t waitin’ ‘round watchin’ you let yourself rot.”

He watched her walk away. Watched until the blue of her skirt disappeared down the road toward the woods where Annie’s shack sat hidden behind a crooked fence of bones and bottle trees.

——

Annie’s place smelled of sweetgrass and turpentine, smoke curling out the chimney like lazy fingers. Inside, herbs hung in bunches from the rafters. Jars of oil, roots, and stones lined the shelves. Every color and spirit of the Delta lived in that little shack.

Sugar slumped into a chair, head in her hands.

Annie — full-figured, dark-skinned, with a warmth about her like a heavy quilt — sat across from her, shelling peas slow and easy. She was only a few years older than Sugar, but the way she moved, the way she looked at you, made her seem like she’d lived two lifetimes already.

She watched Sugar for a long minute, not rushing her.

“Man’s got chains on his soul,” Annie finally said, voice low and knowing. “Ain’t easy breakin’ ’em. ’Specially when them chains was put there by his own blood.”

“I just…” Sugar started, but her throat caught. She shook her head. “I just want him to see what he could be. Not what folks tell him he gotta be.”

Annie smiled, soft and sure.

“Don’t give up on him, girl. Some seeds take longer to sprout. But when they do, Lord, do they grow strong.”

Outside, the night thickened. Crickets sang. Somewhere, a hound barked long and low.

And then — a knock at the door.

Sugar turned, heart thudding.

There he was. Sammie.

Hat crushed in one hand. A scraggly bunch of wildflowers in the other. Dirt smudged on his knees from where he’d fallen once, maybe twice, on the way over.

He looked at her like a man standing at the edge of a cliff. Like he knew the fall would kill him but he was ready to jump anyway.

“I cain’t do this without you, Sugar,” he said, voice raw. He dropped the flowers, sank to his knees right there on Annie’s worn floorboards.

“You hear me?” he begged, hands trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bein’ a fool. I’m sorry for not fightin’ harder. I’m gon’ be better. I swear it on my life.”

Sugar’s chest squeezed so tight she thought she might fall over.

Annie sat still, shelling peas, not saying a word. She knew some things had to be worked out without her hand in it.

Sammie looked up at Sugar, eyes wide and wet, heart cracked open for the whole world to see.

“You my home, Sugar,” he whispered. “Ain’t no point in dreamin’ if you ain’t in it.”

The flowers were crushed. His hands were dirty. His voice was breaking.

But it was real.

God help her, it was real.

Sugar knelt too, lifting his face in her hands.

“Don’t you ever make me walk away again,” she said, voice shaking.

“I won’t,” he promised. “I swear it.”

And in that little shack, under the watchful eyes of the ancestors hanging thick in the smoky air, Sugar forgave him.

——

Sammie led her back to his daddy’s house, hand in hand, heads bowed against the heavy southern night. He didn’t care if his father was sitting on the porch with a belt or a bottle.

This time, he wasn’t walking alone.

And this time, he wasn’t running from himself either.

The porch light was nothing but a flickering bulb, casting long, mean shadows across the yard. Sammie slowed his steps when they reached the gate, hand tightening around Sugar’s.

There he was — Preacher Moore — sitting in his rocking chair, a half-drained bottle of corn liquor at his feet, the old hunting belt looped lazy across his lap like a coiled snake. His face, carved rough like old wood, didn’t flinch when he saw them coming.

Sammie’s throat dried up. Every memory of every beating, every harsh word, every dream stomped down under his father’s heavy hand — it all came rushing back like a flood.

Sugar gave his hand a squeeze.

“You got this, baby,” she whispered.

Sammie swallowed hard and stepped forward.

The porch boards groaned under his weight, but he didn’t falter.

Preacher Moore watched him, slow drag on his cigarette, eyes hard as river stones.

“You finally decide to come back with your tail tucked?” he rasped.

Sammie stood straight. For the first time, he didn’t look away.

“I come back a man,” he said, voice steady. “And I ain’t askin’ your permission no more.”

The cigarette paused halfway to Preacher Moore’s mouth. A dangerous flicker lit in his eyes.

“You gettin’ mighty bold for a boy livin’ under my roof,” Preacher Moore growled.

“I ain’t just livin’ under your roof,” Sammie said, taking another step closer. “I’m buildin’ somethin’. And if you can’t see that, then maybe I need to build it somewhere else.”

Sugar stayed right behind him, her presence a warmth at his back, a shield he hadn’t even known he needed.

“I wanna sing,” Sammie said, the words dragging out of him rough and painful like pulling a thorn from flesh. “Not just in church. Not just in secret. I wanna sing the blues. I wanna write my own songs. Play my own music. And I ain’t gonna be ashamed no more.”

The porch went still. The crickets even seemed to hush.

Preacher Moore’s face cracked — not much — but enough for Sammie to see something raw underneath. A flash of fear. A flash of sorrow.

“You think singin’ them devil songs gonna feed you? Gonna save you?” Preacher Moore spat.

Sammie shook his head.

“No, sir,” he said. “I think bein’ me gon’ save me.”

He reached back, took Sugar’s hand in his again.

“I got folks standin’ with me now. Folks who believe I ain’t just some broken piece of you.”

Preacher Moore set the cigarette down. The belt slid off his lap and onto the porch with a soft thud.

For a long time, he said nothing. Just rocked. Just stared.

And then, like a levee finally giving way after too many rains, the fight drained out of him. His shoulders sagged. His chin dipped. His pride — that big, ugly thing that had ruled the Moore house for two generations — cracked and crumbled like old clay.

Preacher Moore dragged a hand down his face, voice rough with something like regret.

“You your own man now,” he muttered. “Ain’t nothin’ I can do to change that.”

Sammie felt the breath he didn’t know he was holding rush out of him.

“You sure that’s what you want, boy?” Preacher Moore asked, almost gentle now.

“I’m sure,” Sammie said. “Been sure.”

Preacher Moore nodded once, stiff and slow.

“Then go on,” he said. “Go sing your songs.”

It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was enough. Enough for tonight.

Sammie turned to Sugar, who was smiling through tears, her thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand.

Together, they stepped off that porch — not as preacher boy and dreamer girl — but as something new. Something stronger.

The night wrapped around them as they walked into a future that, for the first time, was theirs to claim.

———

The road to Sugar’s house twisted through cotton fields and thick woods, the night air humming with the slow, secret music of the Delta. Sammie held Sugar’s hand tight as they walked, his heart still hammering from what he’d left behind on that porch.

Preacher Moore’s voice still echoed in his ears, but it was faint now, like a storm rumbling far off. What mattered was the hand in his, the steady light ahead — the little house Sugar’s granddaddy had left her when he passed.

The place wasn’t much to look at to anybody else. A two-room clapboard house, porch sagging a little, white paint peeling like old bark. But to Sammie, it looked like freedom. Looked like home.

Sugar fished the key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She didn’t say much, just pulled him inside by the hand. The house smelled like lavender and fresh bread, warm and good.

Sammie had only been here a handful of times, always with the nervous, guilty feeling of a boy sneaking into someplace he didn’t belong. But tonight was different. Tonight, she opened the door wide and left it open behind him, like she meant for him to stay.

“Granddaddy wanted me to have it,” Sugar said, setting her purse down. “Said a woman needs her own land to stand on.”

Sammie nodded, drinking it all in — the soft quilt folded on the couch, the little wooden cross nailed above the door, the framed picture of Sugar’s granddaddy smiling wide in his Sunday suit.

“You know,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him, “I got my own shop now too. Folks come from all over for my oils and teas. I do good.”

He smiled, proud in a way he didn’t know how to say out loud.

“I know you do,” he said. “Ain’t nobody like you, Sugar.”

She laughed, light and low.

“One day,” Sammie said, voice almost breaking with the bigness of it, “I wanna be able to take care of you too. Not ’cause you need it. But ’cause you deserve it.”

Sugar crossed the room in two quick steps and pressed her forehead to his.

“You already do,” she whispered.

They stood there a long moment, breathing each other in, letting the world fall away.

Sammie knew he didn’t have much. A voice. A few songs still trapped inside him, scratching to get out. A heart bigger than he knew what to do with.

But somehow, standing there in the warm light of Sugar’s house, it felt like enough.

Tomorrow, there would be work to do. Songs to write. Battles to fight. Maybe even more nights spent arguing with ghosts and memories.

But tonight — tonight he had her.

Tonight they had a roof, four walls, and a world of dreams between them.

And sometimes, Sammie thought, that was more than enough to start a whole life on.

The hum of cicadas mixed with the soft shuffle of feet on the old wooden floors of Sugar’s house, and Sammie, still buzzin’ from the confrontation with his father, felt the weight of it all.

Sugar’s house was quiet now, the air in the room feelin’ as heavy as the memories. The house was sturdy and worn, like time had kissed it just right. A little faded around the edges, but still standin’, just like her. Just like him.

Sammie’s fingers trembled as he rubbed the back of his neck, still feelin’ the heat from his father’s words mixed with the pride he hadn’t known he could hold. But Sugar… she was the one who’d always seen it in him, even when he’d been too blind to see it himself.

She sat beside him, her body close but not touchin’, her presence like a balm for all his frayed nerves. He could feel the heat of her, the warmth of her gaze that was so full of pride, so full of somethin’ deeper that he couldn’t quite put into words.

“You did it, Sammie,” she said, her voice soft but steady like a slow river. “I’m so proud of you, baby. I always knew you had it in you.”

He let out a breath, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “I ain’t never thought I’d be here, Sugar. Never thought I’d be standin’ up to him like that. Didn’t think I had the strength to fight for what I wanted. Hell, didn’t think I deserved it.”

Sugar’s eyes softened, her lips parting like she was about to speak but then she just shook her head. Her hand reached out, like it always did when he needed it most, and she placed it over his.

“You deserve every bit of it, Sammie,” she said, her voice full of that calm confidence that always made him feel like maybe he wasn’t so lost after all. “And you’ve got so much more in you than you even know.”

His chest tightened, and he didn’t know if it was from the weight of her words or the way she made him feel like a man again. A real one, with dreams and a purpose. And as she looked at him, that proud smile on her face, Sammie couldn’t help but feel a pull deep in his gut. She always did that to him — made him feel seen in a way no one else ever had.

“Sugar…” he breathed, his voice a little rough. “You’ve always seen me. Always been the only one who believed in me when I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror.”

Sugar moved closer, her body just inches from his, and he could feel the heat of her against his arm. Her touch was like a spark, and Sammie swore his heart skipped a beat. She was always so sure, so confident in everything she did. But tonight, he saw something else in her eyes — something softer. Something real.

“I ain’t never stopped believin’ in you, Sammie. You’ve got this, baby. You always had it in you.”

Her words were like a lullaby, and as they lingered in the air between them, Sammie couldn’t help but draw her in closer. He wrapped his arms around her, pullin’ her to him, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held her tight, his chest full of so many emotions he couldn’t even name.

The softness of her body against his made his breath hitch. Sugar felt like home. Like everything that had ever mattered. Her scent filled his senses, and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.

“You make me feel like I can take on the world, Sugar,” he murmured, his voice low, rough with the weight of what he was feelin’. “Like I ain’t never been broken, like I’m whole again. I ain’t never been able to thank you for that.”

Sugar’s hand slid up his back, her fingers light against his skin, and she pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were dark with emotion, and the softness in her gaze made Sammie’s heart ache.

“You don’t have to thank me, Sammie,” she said, her voice a whisper now, like the words were only meant for him. “I’ve always been here for you. Always will be.”

Sammie’s chest tightened again, and this time, he didn’t fight the urge to kiss her. His lips brushed hers, soft at first, like he was askin’ for permission. But when she didn’t pull away, when she leaned into him, it felt like a release. He kissed her deeper, the tension in his chest unwinding as he pulled her closer, feeling her warmth flood him.

He didn’t know how long they’d been sittin’ there, lost in each other, but when he pulled away, breathless, he looked at her with all the words he hadn’t said, all the things he still needed to say.

“Sugar, I ain’t never been more sure of somethin’ in my life. I need you. I’ve needed you since the first day I laid eyes on you. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Sugar smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and her fingers grazed the side of his face, tender but firm.

“You don’t need to say nothin’, Sammie. I’ve known. I’ve always known.”

And before he could say another word, she leaned in again, kissing him with the kind of tenderness that made him ache deep inside. He held her tighter, his hands roaming to the small of her back as the heat between them built, the air thick with need.

Sammie pulled Sugar into his lap allowing his hands to rest on her waist not going any lower than that, pulling he looked into her eyes silently asking for permission to touch her which she gladly granted. Leaning forward he kissed her once more, the kiss full of want, need and hunger. His hands moved down to grab handfuls of her ass causing them to moan into each other’s mouths, their breaths mingling together.

Sugar’s hips ground themselves against Sammie’s making him bite down onto her lip, she pulls away swirling her tongue around his ear before biting down onto it. She trails her lips lower kissing on his neck tasting the salty sweat with her tongue. Meanwhile he’s lifted up her dress with permission, unbuckling his pants afterwards letting her sink down slowly onto his cock.

They moan into each other’s mouths once again, Sugar wrapping her hand around his throat and his fingers tangled in her hair as she rides him. “Sugar? Lemme try somethin hear?” He speaks through moans and she answers with a breathy “yes”. With permission granted he flips them so she’s now under him, his hips rolling into her while his free hand protects her head from slamming into the arm of the chair.

Pulling down the straps of her dress he exposes her breasts to him, lowering his head he takes a nipple into his mouth. His free hand reaches down between them finding her clit giving it tight fast circles to match the pace of his thrusts. “Sammie… Baby…” Sugar pants out watching him angle his hips to go deeper hitting her spot without knowing.

“Baby right there” he pulls off her nipple long enough to respond in his baritone voice “right there sugar?” To which she nods gripping the back of his head when he dove back in sucking on her nipple. She gasps arching her back slightly moaning loudly into the air not caring about who heard. “Sammie… I’m gonna…” he keeps his tempo the same while rubbing her clit, pulling off to rest his forehead against hers. “C’mon sugar, cum for me, let go”

The coil in her stomach snaps and she swears she sees white as she cums around his cock, Sammie thrusts a few more times before pulling out cumming on her stomach with a low groan. They lay there for a few moments before Sammie gets up picking Sugar up bridal style carrying her down the hall.

“Let me take care of you, Sugar,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur. “I ain’t gonna leave you like this.”

He lifted her into his arms, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her body press against his. Her head rested on his shoulder as he carried her, every step slow and deliberate as if he didn’t want to break the moment. The bed creaked softly as he laid her down, his hand lingering on her side for a moment longer than necessary.

Sugar closed her eyes, her body still humming with the aftereffects of everything they’d shared. But Sammie knew there was more to do. He wasn’t about to leave her just like that.

He stepped away briefly, his movements purposeful as he went to the basin in the corner. He ran his hands under the water filling up a huge pot heating up the water on the stove, the steam rising in the small space. He grabbed a soft cloth and soap, his hands shaking slightly with the anticipation of what was next.

When the water was ready, Sammie dumps it all into the bathtub before he returned to Sugar, who was propped up on the pillows, her eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. She smiled weakly, her voice soft. “You don’t have to do all this, Sammie. I’m fine.”

He shook his head, his expression serious. “You deserve every bit of care, Sugar. You trusted me, and I’m gonna show you how much you mean to me.”

With a gentle touch, he helped lift her into his arms again, guiding her to the edge of the bed. He carefully wiped her skin with the warm cloth, his touch slow and steady as he cleaned the traces of their love from her body. Each stroke was soft, as if he was worshipping every inch of her, every curve, every part of her that he cherished. He then lifts her into the tub gently washing her body. The cloth moved over her belly, down her legs, until every trace of him was gone, and all that was left was the soft heat of her skin.

Sugar looked up at him, her eyes full of vulnerability and trust. “You make me feel safe, Sammie. Like I’m the only one that matters.”

Sammie’s heart ached. He placed the cloth back in the bowl, then turned his attention to the small copper pot of warm water he’d heated. He poured it gently into a shallow basin, setting it between them.

“I’m gonna wash your hair now, Sugar,” he said, his voice low. “Let me take care of you, just like you took care of me.”

She nodded, a soft, grateful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. He was so gentle with her, so focused, his every movement thoughtful and deliberate. He poured the warm water over her hair slowly, his hands cradling the back of her neck as he worked the lather into her thick curls. His fingers massaged her scalp, and she let out a soft, contented sigh.

“Mm, that feels good, Sammie,” she murmured, her eyes closing as she relaxed into his touch.

Sammie continued to work, washing her hair with tender care, making sure every strand was clean, every inch of her body pampered. He rinsed her hair, his hands careful and slow as he ran them through the curls, feeling the smoothness of her wet locks slip between his fingers. There was something so intimate about it — the way he was taking care of her, the way she let him in.

When he was finished, he dried her off gently, wrapping a soft towel around her shoulders, letting the warmth of it sink into her skin.

“You’re perfect, Sugar,” he whispered, his eyes full of adoration. “I just want you to know that. You’re perfect.”

Sugar looked at him, her eyes full of gratitude, and Sammie swore his heart skipped a beat. She reached up and cupped his face, her thumb tracing the edge of his jawline.

“You don’t have to do all this for me, Sammie,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “But I’m glad you do.”

Sammie smiled, his hand brushing through her damp curls, his heart full. “I’ll always do this for you, Sugar. I’ll always take care of you.”

He laid beside her then, pulling the covers over them both, his arm around her waist. Sugar nestled into his chest, her breathing slow and steady as she drifted into a peaceful sleep, the weight of the day finally settling in. Sammie held her close, his heart full of love and pride, knowing that, for once, everything was exactly as it should be.

[billiegabbysyd]

Angsty Billie request: reader is a flight attendant, and on her last rotation for the month, the plane she’s working on crashes into the ocean. Reader survives, but she’s left with lingering injuries, trauma and ptsd from her experience.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

cw: men and minors dni, 18+, angst, dealing trauma while also maintaining a relationship, very sad, no y/n usage

a/n: more requests coming soon!

wc: 2.9k

the ocean had never felt so heavy. it clung to you skin like a memory, and the dead silence of a hundred cries never heard again.

you don’t remember the impact. one second, there were clouds, clipped seatbelt clicks. the next, screams…the thing you couldn’t forget and then the sound of water swallowing everything. you remember being yanked into blackness, lungs burning. and then: nothingness.

when you woke up on the shore, everything is pain.

your body was riddled with bruises and burns. your arm is sliced open where a tray table had hit you, and you think your shoulder was dislocated..or broken? maybe. but you were alive. you were alive, and no one around you is moving.

it took three days. for help to arrive.

three days of drinking rainwater and digging through wreckage. three days of seeing faces that you wish you hadn’t. your co-workers. passengers you gave extra peanuts to. children. those faces burned in brain forever.

you were pulled from the beach on a stretcher. barely conscious, whispering billie’s name to a medic who asks, “is that your sister?”

you shake your head. “she’s…my-.”

the hospital was chaotic and a blur. sterile. reporters tried sneaking into your room. you say nothing. you didn’t want to talk about surviving. the word “miracle” makes you sick.

billie arrives on the fourth day. she bursts into the room relieved. she hadn’t slept, hair was mess, and she couldn’t take her eyes off you. raw, red eyes, and a tightness in her jaw like she hasn’t unclenched it since she got the call.

“hey,” she says softly.

you try to speak, but your throat cracks. the breathing tube was gone, but you just can’t…you reach a shaky hand out instead.

she doesn’t hesitate. she walked straight to the bed and folds her arms around you tightly. never wanting to let you go.

“i thought i lost you,” billie whispered into your neck, voice breaking.

you gripped her shirt in your fingers, clinging to her.

you didn’t go home for another two weeks.

when you did, the world changed. everything feels louder and less real. your shared apartment is too quiet. billie was supposed to be on tour, but she couldn’t. she just didn’t want to leave you. you didn’t complain.

she sets up the bed just how you liked it before. you couldn’t sleep without her. if she got up to do something during the night, you would wake up screaming and she’d rushed to your side. after that, she sleeps doesn’t get up without letting you know. just her presence keeps the water away, keeps your dreams from drowning you.

your body was healing. your mind wasn’t.

it felt like you were going crazy.

you flinched at loud noises. you couldn’t even look at your reflection without feeling like you’re back on the island. you haven’t opened the bedroom window since you got home. sometimes, you stare at the tv, but the sound was always off. silence was safer.

“i’m worried about you ,” billie says one night, sitting across from you on the floor, fingers playing with the hem of her shorts.

you look away.

“there’s nothing to be worried about.i am fine”

she nods quietly as tears fall. “you’re not. i miss you…as selfish as that sounds.”

you finally meet her gaze. “i miss me, too.”

weeks blur, losing all meaning. you just go through the motions day to day. a shell of your former self.

billie becomes your life. she makes sure you eat, reminds you to take your pain meds, she holds you through your panic attacks.

there are days when you snap, when you cry without spontaneously, when you tell her to leave, because you hate how you are now, and you hate that she has to see

she never does.

“you’re not broken,” she tells you one night when you’re curled up in the corner of the bathroom, shaking and cold even though the shower’s steaming. “you’re surviving.”

“it doesn’t feel like it,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i hate this. i hate me.”

billie kneels in front of you. Her hands are gentle as she brushes wet hair from your face. “don’t say that. you’re still you.

“i don’t know how to be me anymore, b.”

“that’s ok, babe. it takes time.”

eventually, your wounds scar over. You stop waking up every night.

you start therapy. taking about the to a stranger with a kind face who doesn’t flinch when you say, “ my friend’s body floated by me.”

billie waits for you every session. sometimes, you cry in her arms after, other times you don’t say a word.

she always waits. she always there.

the first time you go near the ocean again, it’s your idea.

she doesn’t push. just drives. you both end up at the coast around sunset. the beach is empty. you stand at the edge of the parking lot for ten minutes, shaking.

“i can’t,” you say.

“that’s ok baby, at least you came,” Billie tells you.

but then you feel her hand in yours. warm. safe. secure.

when you’re close enough to hear the tide, you start crying. mourning and healing all at once.

billie stands by you, arms wrapped around you, forehead against your temple.

“i’m alive, b,” you whisper. it’s just hitting you for the first time.

“you are” she says. “and i’m so fucking glad.”

after that.

some nights still bring nightmares.

but billie is there through it all. you start to smile again. laugh again. making coffee in the mornings while you and billie chat about little things. she brings you to her studio and plays you half-finished songs, letting you pick your favorites.

billie stayed.

through the worst of it.

through the healing.

she’s there. and slowly, you realize—

so are you.

-thank you for the request 🫶🏾