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Summary
“I didn’t ask for an explanation.” Connor stepped closer, close enough that Hudson could smell him—expensive cologne, a hint of sweat, the lingering smoke from the party. “You did what you were told. That’s what good puppies do, isn’t it?”
The word puppy hit Hudson like a slap. Not in a bad way. In the way that made his breath catch and his hands twitch at his sides, wanting something to hold onto.
or hudcon smut after the met gala w no plot 🥳🧁