#dvs shoes

[rodolfohb]

DVS

[skatergayerfurt93]

My old trashed DVS Comanche on feet

[warhead]

[jezebelblues]

slowpoke | h.s

summary: harry passes the lime torch to his son. or in which you teach your son how to ride a bike.

cw: fem!reader, literally sickeningly sweet dadrry. (also unedited)

word count: approx 3.1k

| dadrry never fails to cheer me up fr. i hope everyone’s doing alright in light of today, please take it easy.

— as a dv victim myself, i understand how the news of liam’s passing can be a really conflicting feeling to struggle with if you’ve experienced dv. please know i can be an outlet, and ur not alone. <3 ash

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

october, 2023 | london

The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of damp leaves and earth, as the soft sounds of autumn filled the neighborhood streets. Fallen leaves crunched beneath shoes, and the occasional gust of wind sent orange and gold spiraling through the air. In the distance, the hum of city life could be heard faintly, but here, in the quiet of their neighborhood, it felt like a peaceful little bubble in the midst of the bustling world.

YN stepped outside, adjusting her scarf that Anne knitted herself for her birthday last year. Harry followed close behind, his eyes shining with excitement, a grin lighting up his face. His curls tussled in the wind, his hand held tight on his son’s hand. His fifth birthday had just passed in May, and Atlas, their boy, was finally ready to take off the training wheels. Harry, ever the doting father, was already emotional prior to this evening—realizing his baby was ready for a big-boy bike already. His dimples crater his cheeks, the other hand gripping the handle of the small lime green bike, just the right size for Atlas’ small frame.

“This is going to be fun, bub.” He grinned, bending down to look into his son’s wide eyes. “Jus’ like Daddy’s bike, yeah?”

Atlas looked up at Harry, a glimmer of excitement mixed with nerves evident in his expression. “It’s the same color!” He mused, his voice tinged with wonder as he examined the bike again. His little fingers ran along the frame, tracing the lime green paint.

YN smiled at the two of them, her heart swelling. Harry had always loved his bike, the one he had ridden around Italy so many times, and now, here he was, passing that same joy to their son. “Do you remember how much daddy rides his bike around?” She asked, squatting down to his level and gently brushing a stray curl away from his face.

The boy nodded, his eyes lighting up. “He goes really fast! Will I go fast too?”

“We’ll take it slow first, mate.” Harry chuckled, a pang in his chest from the boy’s eagerness to grow up so fast. First was the bike, next was his eighteenth birthday. “You’ll be zooming around in no time.” He tossed his wife a wink, and she couldn’t help but grin back at him.

She looked down the street, a perfect place to practice—quiet and lined with trees, the leaves creating a soft, colorful carpet on either side. It was the kind of autumn day that felt timeless, like something out of a painting. The sunlight filtered through the branches, casting golden streaks onto the pavement.

Harry gave the bike a little jostle in his hands and then looked back at Atlas. “Alright, bubba. Let’s get you started—y’ready?”

He hesitated for a moment, chewing on his lip. He glanced up at his mom, seeking reassurance, to which she knelt beside him, her hand on his small shoulder. “You’ve got it, love. One pedal at a time, hm?”

“I don’t want to fall.” he whispered, his little hands gripping the handlebars of the bike as though they were his lifeline.

Harry crouched down beside him, his hand resting over his on the handlebar. “S’alright if you do. I’ve fallen loads of times, but guess what? Every time, I got back up. That’s what makes it fun. Falling down, getting back up, ‘nd trying again.”

She nodded, running small circles into her son’s back. “Daddy won’t let you fall, okay?”

Their boy looked between them, a flicker of courage dancing in his eyes, and nodded. “Okay, m’ready mama.”

Harry helped him position the bike in the middle of the street. He held it straight up for him, looking at him expectantly, but he hesitated.

His dark curls, so much like Harry’s, peeked out from underneath the spider-man helmet that seemed slightly too big for him. The helmet had been Harry’s doing, of course—safety was always the first priority. He tried to talk YN into letting him scour ebay for an old one direction helmet, but she shook her head with a laugh, insisting on either spider-man or luigi, his all time favorite characters.

Eyes that resembled his mother’s stared at Harry wide, his lips parted.

His eyebrows furrowed, lips pulling into a slight frown. “S’wrong Attie?”

He shrugged, casting a nervous glance toward YN who only smiled and sent him a thumbs up. With a deep breath, his fingers traced the handlebars, gazing up at his father. “Will y’show me again, dad?”

Harry grinned, a breathy chuckle falling from his lips as he nodded. He threw his leg over the bike that sat far too low beneath him. Atlas smiled widely as his dad unstrapped the helmet from his mess of curls, placing it on his own. He couldn’t get it to buckle, and it sat loosely upon him, if he were to tip his head it would surely fall off.

The boy giggled, running off to stand against his mother’s legs as she combed her fingers through his locks. Harry lowered into the seat, his knees nearly scraping the ground as he pedaled. He kicked off into a circle, wobbling purposely. “See, even y’old man has to practice a bit!” He smiled, making a loop around the ones he loved most in this world. He mocked a clumsiness that he had hoped would ease his son, and it did, as he fell into a fit of giggles. As Harry pedaled back to the start point, YN brushed some of Atlas’s curls from his ear, whispering, “You’re gonna go so much faster than him.”

He nodded enthusiastically, giddily running toward the bike his dad now sat off of. “Such a slowpoke, dad.” He grinned as Harry placed the helmet back onto his head, feigning offense as he buckled it under his chin. “Cheeky boy.” He murmured, gently pinching his cheek and wiggling his hand lightly, which cause his son to smile wider. Harry tugged on the helmet, making sure it was tight before he sat onto the bike. He held it steady as he climbed on, the boy’s legs wobbling as he tried to find balance.

Harry leaned down slightly, peering out toward the empty road in front of them. “Okay, high speed, m’gonna hold on while y’start pedaling. Don’t worry about steering jus yet, okay? I’ve got you.”

He made sure his feet were firmly on the pedals, his small frame looking both tiny and determined on the lime green bike as he nodded. Harry’s hands held the back of the seat steady while Atlas gripped the handlebars, his face scrunched up in concentration.

Atlas took a deep breath and began to push on the pedals, slowly at first, wobbly as he adjusted to the motion. Harry jogged alongside him, his large hands keeping the bike steady as he moved forward.

“Good job, Attie!” YN called from behind, watching as her son started to pick up the rhythm.

The boy smiled, and she could see the edges of his uncertainty melting away, replaced by the sheer joy of it. “M’doing it!” he squealed, the surprise in his voice making Harry chuckle.

“You are, baby!” His mother called back, walking quickly to keep up, her scarf fluttering in the breeze. “Look at you go!”

Harry let out an encouraging laugh as he continued running beside his boy, keeping the bike upright. “That’s it, Atlas! Keep going!”

He was pedaling faster now, but his hands were still shaky on the handlebars. His little body swayed as he tried to balance, but Harry was always right there, keeping him steady, making sure he felt safe.

After a few more feet, Harry spoke again, his tone calm and reassuring. “Alright, bub. M’gonna let go now, just for a second. I’ll be right here if y’need me.”

Atlas’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “Okay, daddy.”

Harry’s hands hovered over the seat for a moment, his steps slowing just slightly as he prepared to release his grip. Then, in a brief but powerful moment, Harry let go.

For a few glorious seconds, Atlas rode on his own. The bike wobbled a bit, but he was moving forward, his little feet pushing the pedals, his body balanced, and his face was lit up with pure delight.

“Faster than you, dad!” He yelled, his voice full of joy, and he could see the pride shining in his eyes.

But before YN could take another step, the inevitable happened. The bike tilted too far to one side, and despite Harry’s quick reflexes to grab it, Atlas tumbled to the ground in a flurry of leaves and laughter.

He was on him in an instant, kneeling beside him and lifting the bike off his small legs. “Y’alright, mate?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Atlas sat up, his cheeks flushed from the excitement and the fall, and for a split second, YN thought he might cry. But instead, he let out a breathless laugh, shaking the leaves from his jacket. “That was fun!”

She breathed out a sigh of relief and walked over to him, kneeling beside Harry. “You did amazing, sweetheart. That was so good!”

Atlas beamed up at his parents, his face full of pride despite the tiny scrape on his knee. “Can I do it again, mama?”

Harry grinned, ruffling his hair. “Of course, you can, buddy. Let’s get you back up.”

With Harry’s help, Atlas was back on the bike in no time, this time with even more determination in his eyes. His little body seemed more confident as he positioned himself, ready to try again. Harry stood beside him, keeping a steady hand on the seat for a few moments before slowly letting go, and this time, Atlas stayed up longer before wobbling.

His mom cheered him on from the side, her heart swelling with pride as she watched their son push past his initial nerves and embrace the thrill of riding. His laughter filled the street, echoing off the nearby houses, blending with the rustling of leaves overhead. It was the kind of sound they wanted to bottle up and keep forever.

Time passed in a blur of laughter, gentle falls, and moments of success. Harry’s patience never wavered, and YN couldn’t help but smile as she watched him guide their son with such care, the two of them bonding over each small victory.

At one point, Harry ran a few steps beside Atlas again, his eyes locked on his baby, a look of pure love and pride on his face. “You’re flying now, Atlas! Look at you!”

His grin stretched from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Just like you, Daddy! Look, m’fast like you!”

YN laughed, catching Harry’s gaze as he beamed back at you, his heart clearly bursting with pride. “He’s got your speed.”She teased. “Maybe more.”

“He’s got more than that,” Harry replied softly, his eyes lingering on Atlas before he fell to a brief stop, waiting on his wife to meet up with his strides. “Maybe a little of you too. I guess.”

And so, they continued—struggles of balance, wobbly starts, and triumphant rides that grew longer with each try. YN watched as Harry guided their son, his patience unwavering, their laughter filling the air, blending with the soft rustling of autumn leaves.

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, Atlas rode one last lap, his helmet askew, his grin wide, leaves swirling in the air behind him. YN stood beside Harry, her heart swelling with love for the life they'd built, for the man beside her and the boy in front of her.

"Givin’ his old man a run for his money," Harry mused, slipping his arm around her waist as Atlas played in a pile of leaves, tossing them into the air with a squeal.

YN smiled, leaning into him, her fingers curling around his. "Got a kink in my back already."

Harry's arms tightened around her as his wife smiles, pulling her closer as they watched Atlas giggle, his small hands sending a flurry of golden leaves into the air. The sound of his laughter danced through the air, mixing with the rustle of the trees and the soft evening breeze.

"Y'know," Harry whispered, his lips brushing her ear, voice low and filled with warmth, "I've been thinking–.." He paused, glancing down at her with a soft, adoring smile before his gaze drifted back to their son. "It's hard to believe our little boy's getting so big."

YN's heart swelled at the tenderness in his voice.

"He's growing up too fast," she murmured, resting her head on his chest as they watched Atlas dart through the leaves, his laughter filling the air.

Harry's hand moved gently to rest on her stomach, a subtle but meaningful gesture. "Maybe it's time we gave him a sibling. What d'ya think?"

Her breath hitched slightly, her heart skipping a beat as she turned her head to look up at him. His green eyes were soft, filled with love and hope, the idea of another little one filling the space between them.

"You want another?" She asked gently, her own smile starting to bloom.

Harry's arms wrapped tighter around her, pulling her against him. "I do. I'd love nothing more than to see him running around with a little brother or sister. Just imagine–..”He trailed off for a moment, his voice taking on that playful tone she loved so much. “‘Nother little Styles running amuck.”

YN let out a soft laugh, butterflies in her belly at the thought. She imagined it—another tiny hand holding onto theirs, another set of wide eyes learning to ride a bike, another burst of giggles filling their home.

Atlas, still playing in the leaves, looked up at them, his cheeks flushed, his energy endless. Harry pressed a kiss to her temple as her lips parted. “Dunno if the world could handle three of you.”

He laughed, nibbling her earlobe as she shook in his grasp from a small giggle. YN felt her heart flutter as she leaned back into him, the thought of growing their little family filling her with joy. She turned in his arms, catching his lips in a soft, lingering kiss, before they both turned their gazes back to Atlas, who was still gleefully tossing leaves into the air. "I think you might be right," she whispered against his lips, feeling the warmth of his embrace as they both imagined the beautiful future ahead-one filled with more laughter, more love, and the promise of another little soul to share it all with.

Harry only drew a sharp inhale as he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, wiggling her into a hug with her feet a few inches off the ground.

Just as they shared a soft, lingering kiss, lost in the tenderness of the moment, they heard the unmistakable sound of their son’s giggles. Harry eased her back onto the ground, as they both turned their heads in the direction of their son, just in time to see Atlas bounding toward them, his small arms full of crisp orange and reddened leaves. His cheeks were flushed pink from the chilly air and his recent excitement, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

His curls bounced with every run forward, his laughter bubbling up as he raced over, his tiny legs moving as fast as they could.

Before they could react, Atlas flung the pile of leaves up into the air with an exaggerated grunt, his tongue between his lips in focus, wanting to toss the leaves up high enough to reach them. A flurry of vibrant colors cascaded down over their heads, the leaves scattered across their shoulders, tangling in Harry’s curls and catching on YN’s scarf, all while Atlas’s laughter rang out loud and clear.

Harry feigned a gasp of shock, dramatically shaking his head to get the leaves out of his hair. “Oi! What’s this then, Attie? Attackin’ us with leaves, are ya?”

YN couldn’t help but laugh, her heart full as she shook off the leaves, her fingers brushing through Harry’s hair to remove a few stubborn ones. “Oh no! We’ve been caught in a leaf storm!” she teased, looking down at Atlas, who was now doubled over with giggles, clearly proud of his ambush.

With a playful growl, Harry lunged toward Atlas, scooping him up into his arms and spinning him around. “Y’think you can get away with that, huh?” he said, his voice filled with laughter as he squealed in delight, wriggling in his arms.

Atlas flailed with laughter, tiny hands grabbing at more leaves as Harry twirled him around. “M’leaves! More!”

YN grinned, quickly gathering a pile of leaves at her feet, and as soon as Harry set Atlas back down, she tossed them gently over both of them. “Got you both this time!”

Harry let out an exaggerated “Oof!” as the leaves fluttered around him and Atlas, catching in their hair and sticking to their coats. The boy’s eyes were wide with delight, and he scrambled to scoop up more leaves in his little hands, tossing them right back at YN. “Mama! Catch!”

Before long, all three of them were knee-deep in leaves, tossing them high into the air and letting them fall down like confetti. Harry knelt down beside Atlas, grabbing fistfuls of leaves and tossing them toward YN with a mischievous grin. “We’ll get her, bub!”

He followed his father’s lead, giggling as they both launched leaves toward YN, who pretended to shield herself, laughing as she stumbled backward, covered in the golden debris.

“Alright, alright! I surrender!” she cried, holding up her hands in mock defeat, but her laughter betrayed her as Harry came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her down into the soft pile of leaves they had created together.

With YN now nestled in Harry’s arms, Atlas climbed onto her lap, still giggling, his cheeks rosy from the crisp autumn air. His small hands grabbed at more leaves, sprinkling them over both his parents as they laughed together, completely lost in the moment.

The three of them lay there in the leaves for a few quiet seconds, the sound of their breathing soft, the laughter having died down into contented smiles. The rustle of the trees above, mixed with the occasional burst of wind, made the world around them feel distant and peaceful. Harry’s arm was wrapped securely around YN, while Atlas sprawled across them both, eyes twinkling with joy.

Atlas suddenly sat up after a beat, throwing a final handful of leaves into the air. “More leaves tomorrow, Mama?”

YN laughed softly, brushing a stray leaf from his curls. “Definitely more leaves tomorrow, Attie.”

Harry grinned, ruffling his son’s hair as Atlas wiggled between them. “But now we gotta help y’mum make dinner, yeah?”

And as the last bit of sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a golden glow over them, they shook themselves of the grass and leaves, trotting into their home with rumbling stomachs and full hearts.

[superbreadsoul]

WHEN THE DEVIL MISSES YOU

Rafe Cameron x Reader

DISCLAIMER!: The following story is purely fictional and is made for entertainment purposes. I do not own any of the characters/show/movie mentioned in this story.

WARNING: Toxic exes, heartbreak, open ended/happy-ending, Rafe is/was a bad boyfriend, Reader is not perfect, mentions of drugs/drug use, implied DV.

WORD COUNT: 5285 WORDS

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The moment you stepped into The Boneyard, a haze of neon lights and laughter swirling around, he felt a gravitational pull he couldn’t resist. Rafe Cameron’s gaze consumed you, trailing over every curve, every flicker of your confidence—a vivid reminder of every sleepless night you had caused. The memory of why you had broken up faded like smoke, lost to the undeniable electricity crackling in the space between you.

Heart racing and mind whirling, Rafe downed his drink with a purpose, the burning liquid a faint echo of the fire within him. With a quick flick of his thumb, he typed a message and pressed send before he could think better of it. Just a few heartbeats later, he saw your phone light up across the crowded room.

Rafe: Hey. Miss you.

It was so classically Rafe—simple, straightforward, a shot directly to the heart. As the party exploded into chaos around him, he locked eyes with you through the throng of tipsy revellers. He nodded toward his motorbike parked just outside, a clear invitation in the midst of the chaos.

“I’m heading out,” he stated with a casual confidence, brushing off the clamour of his friends, who were too caught up in their own indulgences to notice his urgency. Reconnecting with an ex, he thought, could only bring a thrill, maybe even a second chance, right?

You paused, a heavy sigh escaping your lips, but your feet had a mind of their own, trailing after him with a mix of reluctance and expectation. The protective stance of your arms crossed over your chest shielded you from the memories tugging at your heartstrings. Why couldn’t you just ignore him?

Rafe was already straddling his bike, the roar of the engine igniting the air around him as he pulled on his helmet. The moment he caught the sound of your footsteps, a smirk unfolded across his lips, a satisfaction deep in his gut. He liked this—this chase, the thrill of wanting.

“Let’s go,” he urged, his voice barely rising above the growl of the engine, a seductive call wrapped in confidence.

“Excuse me?” you replied incredulously, arms refusing to unfold.

He killed the engine with a frown, peeling off his helmet to flash you his trademark cocky grin. “What?” He leaned in closer, resting his arm on the seat, his eyes raking over you with unabashed appreciation. There it was again, that nervous habit of biting your lip—the habit he both adored and hated.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you declared, shaking your head defiantly.

“Why not? Got somewhere better to be?” Rafe challenged, the annoyance bubbling beneath his skin. Why was this so complicated when he was sure that the chemistry was still there, sizzling just beneath the surface?

“With my friends, yeah,” you shrugged, turning the knife deeper. “Why would I go anywhere with you?”

He scoffed, irritation creeping into his voice. “You’re acting like I’m the goddamn devil. Is it so hard to believe that I actually miss you?”

You let out a mockery of laughter, bitter and sweet. “You miss me? That’s rich.”

“I do miss you,” he pressed, the agitation rising with each word. He fought the urge to grab you by the shoulders, shake some sense into you. “Why do you have to act like such a bit—”

“There it is! Now I’m a bitch. That’s exactly what I was waiting for,” you interrupted, a sharp smile on your lips, but the hurt was evident in your eyes.

He couldn’t ignore how well you knew him, how easily you pressed his buttons. The corner of his mouth twitched at your sarcastic jab, but it held no real humour. “Well, if the shoe fits, sweetheart,” he shot back, his grin morphing into something more sinister.

“Yeah—go fuck yourself, Rafe.” The words shot out of your mouth like daggers, each one piercing the space between you with a sharp finality. Disappointment etched across your features, you turned on your heel, striding away from him and back toward the ecstatic chaos of the party, where laughter mingled with loud music—an escape you desperately craved.

“I would,” he called after you, his voice oozing with sarcasm and something deeper, a longing laced within the bravado. “But you’d do a better job, like always.”

The words hung in the air, thick with tension, and it took all of your willpower not to spin around. But you did stop, your shoulders tensing as you felt a mix of disbelief and indignation wash over you. Turning back to him, eyes wide, you growled, “Shut up, Rafe!” 

Embarrassment crept up your neck, and you quickly glanced around, desperate to ensure no one else had overheard. The laughter and cheers from the party felt miles away, amplifying just how isolating this confrontation had become.

“You’ve never minded me being loud before,” he teased, still perched on his bike, the engine purring a soft backdrop to this storm brewing between you. A devilish smirk spread across his face as he continued, “In fact, I’m pretty sure you’ve begged me to be loud.”

A rush of memories surged within you, ones filled with shared secrets and heated rendezvous that ignited every part of you. Come on, baby, cum inside me, come on, baby—god—Rafe!

You shook your head violently, as if trying to dislodge the sweet and agonising recollections. Your heart raced as you instinctively rushed forward and  reached up to cover his mouth, glancing around nervously to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Rafe!” you hissed, a flush creeping into your cheeks.

His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise before erupting into laughter, each peal of sound ricocheting off your frazzled nerves. The joy in his eyes only deepened with the sight of you, flustered and frantically shushing him, but there was something else, too—a glimmer of mischief, an understanding of the power he held over you.

“Don’t look so panicked,” he teased, the laughter spilling over with every word. “This is pure nostalgia, babe. How can you not enjoy it?”

In an impulsive mix of embarrassment and anger, you shoved him lightly. “You’re disgusting,” you huffed, turning to walk away, determined to sever this tenuous connection.

He held onto your wrist with an understated urgency, refusing to let you flee back into the festering chaos of the party. It was a gentle tug, but it carried with it an unspoken plea that reverberated between you. “Just get on the back of my bike, will you?” Rafe said, rolling his eyes as he gazed down at you, the challenge glinting in his stormy blue eyes. “Come on. We’ll talk.”

“Talk? We’ve been through this a thousand times before. It’s never just ‘talking’ with you,” you replied, your voice steady yet laced with an underlying tension. You met his gaze with a deadpan look, one that dared him to deny the weight of your words.

Rafe’s expression shifted, his eyes darkening slightly as they bored into yours. He took your assertion as a challenge rather than a warning. “Yeah? And?” he shot back, his voice holding a hint of defiance, coaxing you into a verbal duel. “You’ve never had a problem with that before.”

The air thickened with unresolved emotions—each syllable exchanged was a loaded bullet, and you pressed on. “We’re not together anymore, Rafe,” you reminded him, disbelief creeping into your tone, as if it should have been obvious.

“Yeah, ’cause you broke up with me,” he retorted, stepping closer, his grip tightening just enough to send a ripple of heat through your skin. “You dumped me,” he emphasised, the words bitter on his tongue, as if the act was an open wound, still fresh and raw.

“Yes. Yes, I did. And for a good reason,” you replied softly, guilt and pain twisting in your chest like a knife. The memory of the decision lingered between you, hanging heavy in the air, an unspoken truth that cut deeper than any argument you’d had.

“Which is?” Rafe asked, a tone of vulnerability creeping into his voice. It was a tone unfamiliar to you, the usual bravado stripped away to reveal something softer beneath. For the first time, you sensed a glimmer of confusion clouding his certainty. He’d never truly understood why you had chosen to end things, why you had thrown away four years that had been both exhilarating and exhausting.

“Are you kidding? We were fighting all the time, Rafe!” you snapped, the bafflement colouring your words. How could he not see it?

“So? Couples fight,” he countered, the defensiveness creeping back into his tone. “It’s normal!” It was a tired refrain, one that you had heard too many times before, yet it still echoed painfully in your heart.

“But it was more than that!” you fired back, feeling frustration bubble up from within. “It was toxic! We kept circling the same arguments without ever fixing anything. You refused to change, and I was… I was miserable. We weren’t making each other better; we were dragging each other down!” 

And with that, the truth spilled over, painfully honest and raw, as if it were a wound torn open.

He stared at you, the reality of your words settling in, a shadow flickering across his face. “You think that’s how I wanted it?” he asked, surprise and a hint of hurt laced through his voice. “I thought you were better off with more fight in you, not less. You were always the strong one, Y/N. You could take it.”

“And look where that got us!” you shot back, your heart racing. “I fought until I couldn’t anymore! And you just… you just kept pushing!”

“How we fight? Is NOT normal, Rafe!” The words burst from your lips like fireworks, filling the charged air between you with a mixture of anger and desperation. Drained, you felt the heat radiating from your flushed cheeks as you took an unsteady breath. “I get angry and I yell. YOU get angry and you start throwing things and snorting coke!” 

Rafe’s brows furrowed, a hint of stubborn pride rising to the surface as he shot back, “That’s what I do,” tightening his grip on your wrist slightly, as if anchoring you to his world. “That’s just how I deal with things!” 

In that moment, he was a ticking bomb, aware yet indifferent about the damage he could inflict. He knew his approach wasn't healthy, wasn't good by any standard, but when frustration coursed through his veins like wildfire, it felt as if he had no other outlet.

“Well, I couldn’t deal with that! It just made me paranoid, Rafe!” Your voice rose, the plea soaked in anguish. Each word felt like a lead weight dropped into the void of your troubled relationship.

“Then why did you stay with me for so long?” The question slipped out of his mouth like ice, cold and sharp, flaring his temper further. Beneath the surface, a tempest brewed—an awareness that you were two sides of an ever-widening divide. You yearn for something better; he craved your presence, but the gulf between your realities made it feel insurmountable.

You paused, your face softened by a deep sadness, your heart aching as you prepared to lay bare your truth. “Because I loved you,” you whispered, but even those simple words seemed to hang heavy with uncertainty.

Something tightened in Rafe’s chest at your confession. The doubt gnawed at him—Bullshit. “You have a funny way of showing it,” he scoffed, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Breaking up with the person you love? Because that really shows how much you care.”

The mist in your eyes began to swell, and you felt the familiar, bitter taste of despair creeping in, like an old friend returning. “Yeah. Okay, Rafe,” you murmured, your voice small and breaking as you turned away, blinking back tears and attempting to clear the lump lodged in your throat.

“Stop.” The command slipped from his lips, harsh and unyielding. His heart ached as he caught that familiar shimmer in your eyes, the telltale sign of tears threatening to cascade down your cheeks. The lightness of silence fell around you both, suffocating and heavy. He released your wrist, his hands itching with the desire to wipe your tears away, but he stalled himself, feeling the weight of the history that constrained you both. “Don’t start with the crying bullshit,” he said, steeling his resolve. “You’re the one who ended it.”

Every syllable felt like a stab to your raw heart. The sting echoed with the immense hurt of being belittled—the same hurt that had been inflicted over four painful years together. You nodded to yourself, your eyes focused on the ground as you struggled to hold back the tears, hugging yourself tightly as though it would somehow provide solace.

Watching you shrink, feeling yourself become the reason for your sadness, clawed at Rafe’s insides in a way he couldn’t comprehend. I hate this. He hated this feeling— Hated being the one to dim your light.

With a frustrated scoff, he ran his fingers through his tousled hair, the uncertainty crippling. “Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, grappling with his emotions. Against all better judgments, he closed the distance between you, grasping your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze.

You resisted, refusing to look up, each moment of contact driving you deeper into anguish as you fought the tears welling in your eyes. You stared stubbornly down the road, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer, almost desperate tone. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he lifted your chin, coaxing you into his fiery blue gaze. “Crying never solved anything,” he muttered, a tremor in his voice as anger mingled with something raw and unfettered—his jaw clenched tight.

Every fibre of him railed against the vulnerability on display, but beneath all that anger was an unsettling pleasure. Some dark part of him whispered,— Maybe you do enjoy making her cry.

Your heart sank further. He always had a deft way of making you feel stupid—like a mere child caught in a whirlwind of adult frustration. “Talking never solved anything between us either, Rafe,” you replied, pushing him away, your voice thick with strained emotion and decisive hurt.

You could see the flicker of pain in his eyes at your words, a fleeting glimmer of understanding that clashed with the raging storm beneath the surface. In that moment, the world around you faded, leaving only the weight of your emotions, the fragility of your relationship hanging in the air like broken glass.

Rafe faltered, a man caught between the desire to hold on and the need to let go. Each breath felt heavier as the silence deepened, filled with the unspoken intensity of your past and a fragile hope for the future—or perhaps, a final closing chapter. 

Yet in that suspended reality, neither of you knew how to bridge the ever-widening gulf between love and war. The battle raged on, but with every tear shed and every harsh word thrown, the question remained: was there still a path worth fighting for, or would this be just another painful cycle ending in loneliness?

He lets you shove him away, swallowing the protest that rises in his throat. Your truth hits like a crushing wave, undeniable, but it leaves him grappling for breath. You’re right, he thinks, but the words wither on his tongue. The warmth of your presence is intoxicating and infuriating all at once, and as you retreat into that familiar silence, he knows you’re already lost, spiralling into whatever headspace you escape to when confrontation looms.

“Y/N,” he attempts again, his voice edged with frustration as he grabs your wrist and yanks you back toward him. “You’re just running away again.” 

“Running away?” Your voice ignites the air, fierce and razor-sharp. “You’re the runner in this relationship, Rafe! Not me! I stayed for four goddamn years trying to get you to— to talk to me— to even look at me and treat me with respect!” The rawness of your emotions spills over, fueling the fire that rages between you as you shove him toward his bike. 

“Respect you?” He snaps back, fury bubbling to the surface as he steps back to her. “If my idea of respect includes putting up with your bullshit, then I���m happy to keep being disrespectful.” The bite in his tone cuts through the tension like a serrated knife, even as he knows it’s counterproductive.

Rafe is all too aware of the damage he does when his voice rises, the chaos it sends skittering across your face. It’s the quickest way to elicit a reaction from you, rivalled only by the fleeting moments when he makes contact—those moments when rage eclipses empathy.

“And I did look at you,” he sneers, venom dripping from his words. “I looked at you plenty of times with my hand around your neck.”

Your breath hitches, and the pain in your chest wells up into your throat as you stare at him, horrified. “God—look at you! You don’t even care about what you’ve done to me! How you've treated me!” Your voice trembles, rough with emotion, tears pooling in your eyes as you confront the truth—you feel battered by his unrelenting cruelty. 

“Are you kidding me?” His voice drops low, bitter, an undercurrent of wounded pride threatening to burst forth as he steps closer, invading your space. With a commanding presence, he towers over you, pinning you against the back of his bike. There’s a twisted satisfaction in the way your tears reflect his power, a fleeting belief that maybe, just maybe, he’s the one still in control.

“You constantly pushed me away! You ran away the second things got serious between us!” Your words snap like a taut wire, each syllable infused with the hurt that has festered over those long, winding years.

Rafe’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking as anger boils underneath the surface. “Me? Running? Huh?” His voice drips with incredulity. “Is that what you call it when we’re in the middle of a fight and the next minute, I open my eyes to see you with one foot out the goddamn door?” 

Each word gets heavier, crashing down upon the space between you like a thunderstorm, drowning both your voices in a deluge of unresolved rage and passion. 

“Okay, well here I am, Rafe! I'm not running now, am I? So what do you want to do? Go on! Tell me! What’s your brilliant plan to work this out?” Your voice is a fierce challenge, hands firmly planted on your hips, glaring up into his stormy eyes, filled with expectation as if he might suddenly pull a solution from thin air.

In that moment, the silence stretches, a fragile tautness woven between you—his anger and your sorrow finding a tenuous balance. But deep down, beneath the swirling maelstrom of emotions, you both know there is no easy answer, no quick fix. Only the relentless push and pull of two souls bound by passion and pain, teetering on the precipice of what’s left to lose. 

But for now, all he can offer is silence, and the unspoken fear that whatever comes next may define not just who you are together, but whether there is even a "together" left to salvage.

Rafe stood motionless, fists clenched tightly at his sides, framing the rage and confusion simmering just beneath the surface. He glared down at you, his expression a mix of frustration and something deeper that he couldn’t quite articulate. Your gaze bore into him, eyes glistening with hurt, expectation, and something else—love. It was exhausting, the way you looked at him, a relentless reminder of all he felt yet refused to acknowledge.

Why did you hold this power over him? It wasn’t fair. With each moment that passed, he felt his anger slowly unravelling, eroded by the depth of your gaze, replaced by a tumult of emotions that threatened to sweep him away. With one determined stride, he closed the distance between you, his heart pounding wildly.

In a sudden rush, he cupped your face with rough hands and crashed his mouth against yours, a desperate collision of passion and unspoken words. 

You melted into him, your breath hitching as the world around you faded. You fisted his shirt, anchoring yourself to him, losing your resolve as desire crushed the anger that had fueled your fight. Rafe moaned with satisfaction, deepening the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours, exploring every corner of your mouth as if trying to memorise the taste of you. He missed you—oh, how he missed you.

His thumb brushed tenderly against your cheek, wiping away the tears that had slipped down in the heat of the moment. His kisses were often rough, driven by frustration and anger, but this felt different—fierce yet vulnerable, almost pleading. 

Yet, you felt a sobering reality seep in, a mix of longing and regret. You pushed against him weakly, your hands clenched around the fabric of his shirt, torn between wanting to pull him closer and needing to push him away. Rafe, sensing your struggle, didn’t relent. Instead, he pressed you back, forcing you onto the seat of his motorcycle, effectively caging you in with his body.

His hands were everywhere—grasping your hair, sliding across your waist, fingers inching dangerously close to where they shouldn’t go in public. But even in his reckless abandon, he held on to a shred of decency, hesitating just beneath your breasts, like a thief caught in the act, unsure of whether to risk it all.

The intoxicating heat of the moment enveloped you until awareness crashed back like a cold wave. You became hyper-aware of his touch, and suddenly you were shaken from your trance. Pushing him away, you hurriedly wiped your lips with the back of your hand, a bitter taste lingering on your tongue along with the chaos of emotions. “No! You can’t just do that—you can’t just kiss me and think it’ll make it all better!” Anger bubbled up through your tears, and you choked on the words, the frustration spilling over like an unrelenting tide.

“Why?” he snapped, his voice ragged and raw, dripping with exhaustion. He gripped your arms with a fierce intensity. “Why can’t I just kiss you and make it better?” Each word was a confession, a battle of its own, laying bare the ways he’d always known how to avoid the conversations that truly mattered.

You stood there, heart racing and breaths coming in ragged gasps, your voice trembling as you confronted Rafe. “Nothing ever got solved that way! Why do you think we kept fighting? We were miserable together, Rafe!” Your voice cracked under the weight of your frustration, tears threatening to spill.

Rafe leaned into your space, the anger in his demeanour suddenly turning mocking. “Oh, we were so miserable,” he sneered, fingers tightening around your jaw, pulling you closer to him, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Is that why you were always begging for me every night, huh? Because we were always miserable?”

The sharpness of his words pierced through you, and you felt like an exposed nerve, raw and aching. A soft whine escaped your throat as you buried your face in your hands, the familiar sense of despair washing over you. Once again, you were thrust back to square one, caught in a cycle with him that made your heart race and your spirit ache. He never truly took the time to understand the depth of your feelings, the turmoil that swirled within you.

“You can fight this all you want,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he nudged your head up with his nose, forcing you to confront him. “But you and I both know that you like when I’m rough with you, when I’m mean.”

His lips descended toward yours, capturing you in another kiss that felt more like a claim than an act of affection. This kiss was possessive and insistent, as if he was trying to expel any remaining resistance left in you, as if he could kiss away all the pain and anger.

“No, Rafe,” you whispered shakily against his lips, tears spilling over now, coursing down your cheeks. “I was afraid of you.”

The confession echoed between you like thunder, and suddenly, something within him shattered. Rafe stared at you in disbelief, his expression morphing from arrogance to something resembling vulnerability. His lips parted, but no words came—only the heaviness of your revelation hung in the air like a brick.

He had braced himself for your scorn, ready to hear you say that you hated him—his ways, his behaviour, his mercurial anger. But to hear you voice your fear, small and broken like a timid whisper, shattered him to his core.

“Your behaviour—the coke—your anger,” you choked out, each word painful and raw, forcing its way through your tears. “After Peterkin—” You flinched at the name, the reminder of the sheriff he shot like a sharp knife slicing open old wounds.

Like a bucket of cold water washed over him, Rafe stood there, realisation dawned on him like a terrible wave. The world around them had faded into an indistinct blur, and all he could focus on was the anguish etched into her face.

“Wait,” he breathed, his voice strained as if it were both a question and a plea. “Is that why you broke up with me?”

For a moment, she stayed silent, and Rafe listened to the steady rhythm of her heavy breathing, each shaky exhale a reminder of their shattered relationship. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her red and blurry eyes reflecting the pain she couldn’t articulate. 

“I couldn’t take it,” she finally rasped, her words slipping out in a sorrow-soaked confession. “I felt so guilty, trying to keep what you did to Peterkin a secret. Do you even understand how hard it was to know my boyfriend… murdered someone?” 

The weight of her words hung between them, pulling them into a chasm of fear and uncertainty. “I was so scared, Rafe. You were constantly on coke; you just got so violent. I couldn’t—I couldn’t do it anymore. You don’t even remember what you did to me, do you? I never even told you—”

Goddammit. Rafe closed his eyes, a frustrated groan escaping him, reverberating in the quiet night. He had tried to drown out memories of what he’d become, but they crashed over him like a relentless wave. 

Yes, he remembered. The rage that had blindsided him. The destructive path he had taken that had led to moments where his hands had hurt instead of healed. When he had lashed out at her, the one person who had stood by him through it all. How had he let it come to this? 

She turned away, trying to wipe her tears in vain, as if she could wish away the pain that lingered between them. Rafe felt his heart wrench at the sight of her suffering.

“Oh, for f—look at me!” he snapped, an edge of desperation creeping into his tone. He stepped forward, needing her to hear the urgency in his voice, needing her to face him. “Please, just look at me!” 

Torn between the impulse to lash out against his own anguish and the overwhelming need to reach out to her, Rafe was caught in a tempest of emotion. He wanted to scream to silence the doubts and fears. But he also wanted to pull her into his arms and promise her he would never let go. 

Finally, you reluctantly turned to him, her eyes a mixture of hurt and weariness, silently pleading for clarity. 

“Rafe…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You don’t understand how much I’ve lost.”

“No, I don’t,” he admitted, his voice steadying as he fought to regain his composure. “And that’s why I need to know. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want to confront this… us… whatever this is, together. I know I’ve hurt you, and I know I’ve hurt myself. But I want to change. I want to fight this for you—for us.”

Her eyes searched his, as if trying to gauge the sincerity behind his plea. “It’s going to take more than just words, Rafe. I need to see you willing to fight—a real fight.”

“I’ll fight every damn day,” he vowed, honesty pouring from his heart. “You have to believe me. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I can’t be that person and lose you in the process.”

A silence fell between them, heavy like the night sky. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Finally, she sighed and stepped back, creating distance that felt insurmountable. 

“Rafe… I don’t know if I can trust what you’re saying. It’s so hard for me,” she said, tears welling up again. 

“I know,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper. “But if you let me, I’ll show you—every single day. I’ll—I’ll get clean, and I–I won’t run from my reflection in the mirror anymore. I refuse to be the man who brought you pain. Okay? I’m–I’m gonna take care of us. I’m gonna take care of you.”

She looked down, contemplating, chewing on her lip as the weight of his words began to settle. The barriers she had built to protect herself were carved from fear but also love. Love that had once defined their relationship.

“I… I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to change,” she managed, a shard of quiet desperation threaded in her words. “It’s going to take time, Rafe. You can’t expect me to just jump back in.”

“I’m not,” he reassured her gently. “I want to be patient. I want to rebuild. I just can’t imagine a future without you in it.”

“Promise me you’ll keep fighting,” she said softly, her gaze finally locking on him with a fierce intensity, as if her heart was dangling by a thread. “Promise me you won’t give up on yourself.”

“I promise,” Rafe said firmly, sealing that promise with determination. “But I need your help too. I need you to consider that maybe we could find our way back.”

Her expression wavered, hope flickering as she searched for a sense of purpose in the storm raging within. 

“Okay,” she said slowly, a semblance of resolution breaking through. “But only if you’re serious about this.”

Rafe nodded, relief flooding through him. He extended a hand toward her, not forcing contact but offering it and hoping she would take it. After an agonising moment, she glanced at his hand and then at his face, searching for sincerity.

Then they both took a step toward each other, a tentative toe in the water of rebuilding a shattered world. 

As their fingers entwined, he felt the warmth of her skin, a reminder of what they had once shared. The night still held shadows, but glimmers of light began to break through, carving out the possibility of healing.

In that bittersweet moment—where fear mixed with hope—they stepped onto the path of understanding, aware that though the road ahead would be long and filled with obstacles, they were committed to facing it together, one day at a time.

The End.

[itacats]

Butcher Shop Connection

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: DV, abuse, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: The fragile joy of connection with Simon is quickly overshadowed by the suffocating weight of home. Confronted by Tom’s cruelty, you struggle to protect yourself, both physically and emotionally, while clinging to the small glimmers of kindness Simon offers. In a world defined by shadows, hope flickers like a hesitant flame, but it’s a light you’re not ready to embrace—yet.

A/N: Ah, the emotional whiplash chapter. One moment, you’re swooning over rolled-up sleeves and car repairs, and the next, you’re wading through the muck of heartbreak and resilience. Hang tight; the rollercoaster isn’t over yet. 🎢

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 3 - Cracks in the Foundation

The moment you step through the front door, the warmth and joy from your encounter with Simon evaporate like dew under the harsh light of the morning sun. The house is quiet, but not in a comforting way—it’s the kind of silence that makes your chest tighten and your senses sharpen. The faint creak of the floor beneath your shoes feels deafening as you step into the kitchen.

Tom is there, leaning against the counter, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The shadows from the dim overhead light stretch across his face, making his expression even harder, more menacing. His eyes lock onto yours immediately, sharp and unrelenting. You can feel the judgment radiating from him, an oppressive weight settling on your shoulders.

"You’re late," he growls, his voice low and heavy, each syllable dripping with accusation.

Your heart races as you glance at the clock on the wall. It’s not that late—barely past eight—but you know it doesn’t matter. Tom’s moods don’t follow logic or reason; they’re a storm that sweeps in, indifferent to your explanations or pleas.

"I... I got stuck at the store," you begin, your voice trembling slightly. You hate how small it sounds, but before you can finish, he cuts you off.

"Out with someone else, are you?" he snaps, his voice rising. His face twists, his features contorted into something unrecognizable. "Who is it?"

The questions come at you like a barrage, cold and sharp, each one landing with a sting from his fists. You try to answer, to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Your mind flashes back to Simon—his gentle smile, the warmth in his eyes—and for a split second, you imagine what it would be like to tell Tom the truth. But you know better.

"Tom, please," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. "It was just the car—"

"Don’t lie to me!" he shouts, slamming his hand down on the counter. The sound echoes through the room, and you flinch instinctively, your body betraying the fear you try so hard to conceal.

"I’m not lying," you say, your voice breaking. "Please, just—"

"What? Do you want kindness?" Tom interrupts, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. "You know kindness never looked good on me."

His words hit like a blow, the same venomous refrain you’ve heard countless times before. The bitterness in his tone is more cutting than the words themselves, a reminder of how far you are from the kindness you once hoped for in your life.

That night, you curl up on the couch, your knees drawn tightly to your chest. Silent tears trace cold paths down your cheeks as you replay the argument in your mind, each word cutting deeper than the last, the memory of his hands staining your skin in ugly hues. The house feels colder than ever, the darkness pressing in on you from every corner.

When morning comes, you force yourself to your feet, your body moving on autopilot. You reach for the makeup on the bathroom counter, your hands trembling slightly as you smooth the heavy foundation over the forming bruises on your cheek. It feels like a mask, a way to conceal not just the physical marks but the emotional scars that run much deeper. The person in the mirror doesn’t look like you anymore.

You step into the butcher shop later that day, the bell’s cheerful chime feeling oddly out of place against the weight in your chest. You paste on a smile, the same practiced expression you’ve perfected over time, and make your way to the counter.

Simon is there, his eyes lighting up as he spots you. But the excitement in his gaze dims slightly as he takes in your stiff posture, the way you shift uncomfortably as you dig into your bag for your wallet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice gentle and full of concern. The question is simple, but the way he asks it feels different—like he truly wants to know, like he’s ready to hear whatever you have to say.

For a moment, you hesitate. The warmth in Simon’s voice feels like a balm against the chill that’s settled deep in your bones, and you’re tempted—so tempted—to tell him the truth. To let someone else carry the weight for a little while.

But then the walls go up, as they always do. You smile, the expression tight and forced, and shake your head. "I’m fine," you say, the words hollow even to your own ears.

Simon doesn’t press, but the concern in his eyes doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might not let the matter drop. There’s something about him—his quiet determination, the steady strength you’ve seen in the way he carries himself—that makes you wonder if he could be the one to finally break through your defenses.

But you can’t let him. Not now. Not yet.

As you leave the shop, you glance back over your shoulder. Simon is still watching you, his gaze steady and unwavering. In that brief moment, you allow yourself to imagine a life where kindness isn’t just a fleeting encounter but a constant presence. Where the warmth of someone like Simon could replace the cold reality of your world.

"Maybe one day," you think, the words both a hope and a prayer. For now, you carry the thought of Simon with you, a small light in the darkness that has become your reality.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

Thank you to @ghostlythots for the extra tags that I should have added!

[billieshrry]

I’ll Be Watching You • B.E.

Summary: Billie has had her eye on you for awhile, you don’t know just how far she’ll go to get you.

Warnings: violence (dv from a m*n), psycho!billie, stalker!billie, ummm murder?, sorta bimbo!reader, age gap (not mentioned but billies a few years older)

Authors note: hi guys I’m trying to write so more ppl see my posts and blog and follow me so i can make friends Lol. I hope u enjoy!

The wind blew through your hair as you walked home from work. The chilly fall weather was soothing, but you could feel your cheeks turning red the closer it got to sunset. You walk in the door at 6:34pm on the dot, bending down to pet your cats before tossing your keys in the dish by the front door and sliding your shoes off.

He followed you inside, his arm on your back.

You didn’t notice the girl across the street watching your every move from her garage, where she was pretending to focus on her exercises.

You just waltzed into your home, into her sight, oblivious as ever. It was kind of cute to her, how clueless you had been for the past 3 months.

You didn’t bother to wonder who could’ve been watching through your bedroom window. She saw it all. She watched your midnight dances in your tight little tank tops and matching underwear. She watched you study, enamored by the way your eyes squinted when you focused. The way you nibbled on your pen, probably so confused because your little head could only process so much. She watched you fuck him, how short and unpleasant it looked. How quick he was, how he never paid attention to you.

You never once closed the blinds, the curtain, or shied away from the window frame.

It’s like you wanted her to keep watching, she felt like you were inviting her into your home. You wanted this. You wanted her. So, she did what anyone who felt wanted would do.

She gave you want you wanted. She never stopped watching, never stopped taking mental notes on your every action, your every emotion.

So when she saw him take you upstairs, she thought she knew what she was about to watch. She mentally prepared for the 4 minutes she was about to endure.

She watched you stand on your tippy toes, your entire body in frame, as you tried to find a specific set of lingerie in your drawer. You wanted to look sexy for him.

For him? Or for her.

It almost reminded her of the first time she saw you, when you were walking home from your job at the café in the quaint little town you lived in.

You accidentally let your cat out of the house, and it climbed up into a tall bush in front of the house. She watched your struggle, your short limbs unable to reach the poor cat’s hiding spot. She watched as you looked around, wondering if anyone could help you. She watched as you skimmed over her, not even noticing the pale, black haired girl who was pretending to work out in her garage. She just kept lifting the dumbbells, wondering how dumb you were.

Silly little thing, she thought. What a silly, little girl.

She placed the dumbbells down and put her headphones onto her collarbone, wiping the sweat from under her nose before crossing the street to your house. You turned quickly, hearing the leaves rustle as someone approached you. You jumped slightly when you heard the deep yet smooth voice from behind you.

“Need a little help, babe?”

You turn over your right shoulder, seeing what you think is the most beautiful girl in the world. Her eyes pierced yours, her teeth glimmering in the sunset lighting, her skin bright and so clear. You stutter over yourself, looking up at her. Her clothes stuck to her chest with sweat, her arms glistening and her bra strap just barely hanging out of the tank top she was in.

“Y- yes please! My cat, my stupid little cat, she got stuck in this bush! I knew I shouldn’t have opened the door so wide, my music just made me completely forget about real life! I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry!” You ramble to the stranger in front of you.

“Hey, hey, shh,” she says, calming you down although now her own heart rate is through the roof. “I’ll get the poor kitty, you just go inside.”

You oblige, running in to make sure your other cat was okay. You watch through a front window as she climbs into the bush to get your scared little fuzzball, your heart swelling with appreciation. She pets Oscar’s (your cat’s) head lovingly before smiling at you through the window. You come back outside, your smile wide and your eyes bright, practically skipping to get your cat from the sweet stranger who lived across the street.

“Thank you! Thank you so much! Seriously I owe you! That could’ve really scratched you up!” You say, looking at the light red scratches on her upper arm from the twigs in the bush.

“Really, it’s no problem. I’m right across the street if you need anything. The name’s Billie.”

You smile at the girl, and although you feel bad for interrupting her workout, you believe her sentiment. You introduce yourself to her before she walks back across the street, slipping her headphones on before laying down on the bench and lifting the dumbbells again.

And that, that was the last interaction you two had.

To your knowledge, at least.

Billie, on the other hand, became obsessed with you. Watched your every move. Watched where you drove, watched when you came home, watched who you invited into your house. She was intrigued by your innocence, by your trustfulness to have people in your house without knowing what they would do. Without knowing their true intentions. Without knowing that she was watching everything.

So when she watched you pick out a little lace bra, with the cutest little bow in the front, she took a deep breath, slouching down in her chair, feeling herself get hot.

She watched you bend over, ass toward the window, as you pulled your old pair of panties off. She watched your back arch, your cute little ass right on display for her. She watched you slip on the matching thong to the bra she saw you choose, biting her thumb and taking mental photos of you. She never wanted this to end.

But then, she saw something that she never expected to see.

She saw that man, that boy that had the luck of the draw with you, storm into your bedroom and slap you across the face. She watched as you tumbled over, your hand immediately holding the sting on your cheek. Billie shot up out of her chair, full of shock, which quickly turned into anger. She watched as he pulled his fist back again, but she quickly pulled the blinds. She wouldn’t watch anymore. She physically couldn’t.

Billie paced her room for an hour, peeking out of her front window every few minutes, checking if he was still there. If your light had shut off, if the blinds were closed, if he was gone.

Finally, at 10:12pm, she watched as he stormed out of your room. You were sitting on the bed, sobbing, with your face red from tears and your arms bruised from him. She watched you get up to turn the light off, and then she watched him exit your house.

She knew exactly what she had to do.

She couldn’t do it today, it’d be too obvious, she thought. But she started to watch him instead. She knew everything about him in the span of 24 hours.

Where he worked, his address, his parents, the name of his first pet, his license plate, his first grade teacher.

Billie found it all.

So it was no accident when she drove to the mechanic shop 2 days later. She pulled into the parking lot across the street, watching everyone leave their job for the night. But when she laid her eyes on him, her heart sped up. She was excited.

Billie was ready to kill the man that hurt you, all while you were watching a cozy show in your cute little bedroom, oblivious to it all.

She followed him to a gas station, and as he got out of his shitty little car, she pounced. The station was empty, the night was silent, and she made sure nobody would hear him scream. The hood she used around his head was full of chloroform, so his weak little body went limp in her arms in a matter of seconds. She shoved him into the backseat of her car, and sped home.

As she pulled in, she watched you dig into your bowl of popcorn in your bedroom, your eyes never leaving the screen. How ironic that the movie you were watching was Scream. How festive.

When she pulled into the garage and dragged his unconscious body into her basement, she tied him up to the chair and felt herself get excited. It had been a minute since she had been in this position, ready to kill for a girl. That’s why she had to move into your neighborhood in the first place.

She waited 2 hours, perfecting her tools on the table, waiting for him to wake up. So when he did, and he realized where he was (or realized he didn’t know where he was) the boy started to scream. He wailed and cried, looking at the knives in front of him, feeling his hands and legs tied down.

“Shut up you pussy.” Billie said, almost laughing at his pleas for her to not hurt him. “You fucking hurt my girl, so I’m gonna fucking kill you, alright?”

And so, she did exactly that.

She turned on her speaker in the basement, singing to herself some old classic rock, grabbing her favorite switchblade out of the 4 she had on her tray.

Her feet crinkled the tarp that lay underneath her and your boyfriend.

His eyes locked with hers one last time before she took the knife across his throat, watching the blood spill out of his stupid, ugly body.

Billie carved out his organs, ripping his beating heart out of his chest and holding it up in pride after an hour of torture. Holding the little bitch’s life in her hands, the little bitch that had the audacity to hurt you.

She smiled to herself, thinking of you and how happy you’d be to know he’s gone.

She saved you.

All of this happening while you snuggled up in your bed on the cozy October night, dreaming of the girl you had met that one time from across the street.

Dreaming of the girl who just murdered your boyfriend.

🙂🙂🙂 sorry guys but i felt spooky and im def gonna make a part 2 or make this a series or something if you want it. Also i didnt proofread so sorry

[btsugarush]

Tracing Your Tattoos | jjk [teaser]

summary: you never expected to reunite with the ex that broke your heart years ago after he disappeared on you during your pregnancy, but here he was in the the flesh, asking for a place to stay.

pairings: ex boyfriend!baby daddy!jungkook x f!reader

warnings: smut, angst, alcohol addiction (jungkook is a recovering alcoholic), exes to lovers, brief violence, fluff, 18+, minors dni

warnings for teaser: DV, strangulation

word count: 922

You let out an airy sigh as you enter your home, relieved to finally kick your shoes from your aching feet. You peel off your jacket, hanging the denim on your coat rack. You notice Jungkook still sitting on the couch, just as he was when you left for work this morning. “Hey, honey.” You greet the brunette. “Hey.” He mumbled, his eyes staying glued to the tv screen. You furrow your brows at his lackluster tone, finding his unenthusiastic attitude off putting as he usually greets you at the door, but you chose not to dwell on it. “Where’s Junior?” You keep the conversation moving, venturing towards the kitchen.

“Asleep. Where else?” He says with agitation in his voice, subtly hinting that he wasn’t quite in the mood for talking. He takes a sip from a plastic red cup that you hadn’t spotted in his hand until now. You sense the hostility in the room, so you decide to address it. “Is there a problem?” You ask the brunette, who still refuses to look away from the television. “No,” he burps. “Do you want one?”

You scoff, throwing up your hands as you refuse to argue with him and his random act of rudeness. You focus on the mess that was left in the kitchen, rolling your eyes. Leave it to Jungkook to make a mess and not clean it up. You grab the garbage from the counter, stepping on the peddle of your trash can, the lid popping open.

You notice an empty glass bottle sitting atop of the heap of garbage, and a frown forms your lips. You throw the trash in your hands back to the counter before you grab the glass bottle from the trash, reading over the label. ‘Jack Daniels’. Your cheeks heat up with rage, and you stomp over to Jungkook, slamming the bottle on your coffee table. “What the fuck is this?!” You shout angrily.

Jungkook finally pulls his gaze away from the tv, looking from the bottle to you. “A bottle.” he replies in a snarky manner. “Yeah, that much I fucking gathered. What’s it doing here?” You cross your arms, giving him the 3rd degree.

“I had a friend from my sobriety class come over, and we had a little drink. So what?”

“So what?! You drank the whole fucking bottle, Jungkook. You’re not supposed to be drinking at all, you’re a recovering alcoholic!” The brunette scowls as though he didn’t need your reminder. “I know that.” He slurs a bit, his voice nonchalant. “Then why the hell are you drinking with your sobriety buddy when you should be attentive to our five year old?”

“You know I’ve had a tough week, so give me a fucking break.” He takes another swig of what was in his red cup, which you could only presume to be the rest of the Jack Daniels. “That better not be alcohol in that cup.” You point to the red solo cup. “And if it is?” He glares at you, his eyes glossy.

You huff, stepping around the table to snatch the cup from his grasp but Jungkook is too quick, moving the cup away from you. “Jungkook, give it here.” You demand, reaching for it once more, though it was all to know avail. Fed up, you smack the bottom of the cup, watching it fly out of his hand and hit the floor. “What the fuck is your problem?!” He bellowed, abruptly standing up from the couch.

“No, what’s yours?!” You size him up, not backing away just because he towered over you. “You promised me you changed, but here you are drunk with our son only in the next room! You’re fucking hopeless!”

“I’m hopeless?” He chuckles. “If I’m hopeless then you’re pathetic. Having that damn kid when you know I never fucking wanted him in the first place!” He spat. You felt a pang in your chest, your eyes watering a bit. You refused to let them fall though. Instead you pull your hand back and slap Jungkook across the face. The brunette’s head turned upon impact, and you could see him bite down on his lip ring.

Before you’re able to process what you’ve done, Jungkook lunges at you, knocking you down onto the couch. He straddles you, his hands flying around your throat. You struggle to get him off you, your fists pounding against his chest. The struggle only makes him squeeze tighter, your eyes watering as you lose oxygen.

“Daddy?” The sound of your son’s voice rings in your ears; Jungkook’s grip suddenly loosens, and he finds himself pulling away from you. The look on his face is a look of terror, shame, and sadness as Junior stands there in confusion. Though the child didn’t understand what was going on, it was the mere fact that he was witnessing his father strangle his mother, and that made Jungkook sick to his stomach.

Jungkook looks from the five year old, to you, lying there trying to catch your breath. He runs his fingers through his hair, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He shakes his head, standing up from the couch and darting to the front door. He puts on no shoes, or jacket, just opens the door and leaves you there alone with Junior. You sit up from the couch, the tears you wouldn’t let fall finally did so.

Junior approaches your shaking frame, looking up at you with worried eyes. “It’s okay, mommy.”

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 15 - 'Not Like That ’ | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.4k

You trudged up to Layla’s apartment, your emotions in complete turmoil. Trent’s touch still lingered on your skin, his promises echoing in your ears, but the guilt—oh, the guilt—it weighed you down. It felt like it was dragging you under. You went from being under your brother’s roof to on top of Trent’s dick in twenty minutes flat. You felt horrible and yet at the same time so unconditionally smitten. Layla opened the door and, at the sight of you, her face softened. She didn’t need to ask what was wrong. One look at you, and it was written all over your face: you were head over heels in love.

“Y/N,” she said softly, a small smirk forming on her lips as she crossed her arms. “Tell him.” She started bluntly. You blinked, confused. Was she talking about Jack? If so, absolutely not. You weren’t ready. 

“What?” You asked her naively, still not sure what she meant. Was she talking about being in love with Trent? If so, absolutely not. You weren’t ready. 

“Don’t give me that,” she said, stepping aside to let you in. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re in love with him. You’ve been in love with him. Tell him.” You stepped into her apartment, shrugging off your coat and kicking off your shoes before collapsing onto her couch like a marionette whose strings had been cut. You felt hollow and brimming over at the same time—his smile, his laugh, the feel of his hands on you, it all filled you with so much joy you thought you’d burst. Oh and that orgasm wasn’t so bad either. And yet, the shadow of Jack’s disapproval loomed over everything, darkening your happiness.

“I can’t,” you mumbled, pulling a cushion onto your lap and hugging it tightly. “I can’t just tell him.” Layla walked over and sat next to you, one leg tucked underneath her. 

“Why not?” she asked, resting her chin on her hand like this was the simplest problem in the world.

“Because… what if he doesn’t want to hear it?” you whispered, staring at the cushion like it held all the answers you were looking for. “What if he thinks I’m putting pressure on him or making things worse with Jack? I actually have no idea what we’re doing. One day we say we’re stepping forward and the next we’re behind closed doors again.” You began to babble 

“Y/N.” Layla reached over and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at her. Her voice was calm but insistent. “Love isn’t meant to be hidden behind closed doors, even if this relationship is. It’s meant to be shared, to be shown. You know that better than anyone. You have to tell him” You looked down at your intertwined hands, your throat tightening. 

“But what if loving him isn’t enough? He keeps saying we’ll tell people soon, but what does that even mean? What happens next? Jack will be furious, and I—I just don’t know if I can keep doing this. It feels like I’m stuck in the middle of this storm, and I don’t know which way to go.” Layla squeezed your hand, her eyes softening as she tilted her head.

“That’s for you and T to figure out. Together. But you can’t figure it out if you’re both holding back. I know you think he knows you love him, but have you said it? Have you looked him in the eyes and told him how you feel?” Your lip quivered as tears welled up in your eyes. You shook your head. 

“I’m scared.” You whimpered.

“Babe, you can be scared but things will stay exactly as they are unless you do something here. Not making a decision is also making a decision.” She gave you classic Layla advice. Something you knew to be factually true but you dreaded it’s harsh realities.   

“I’ve loved him my whole life, Lays. Why am I so terrified of him knowing? Why am I so scared to just say it?” Layla leaned forward, brushing a stray tear off your cheek. 

“Because it’s real,” she said softly. “You’re scared because this love, this big, beautiful, terrifying thing you feel—it could change everything. And change is scary. T isn’t some boy you’ve been hooking up with that you met at a club and caught feelings for… This is the type of relationship that was written in the stars.” She smirked. And you giggled at the cliche. “Sorry that was cheesy but seriously, it is. It’s a for life type thing. And, Y/N…” She gave you a pointed look. “If you’ve loved him for this long, it’s not going anywhere. This is it. He’s it. And you owe it to yourself—to both of you—to tell him. Keeping it inside is only hurting you.” Layla had seen you ache for his attention for years and unbeknownst to you, you held his attention for years but now you were at a place where the tides had changed, you were finally together. Finally able to tell him just how you felt . And you had to make the decision. How badly did you want this? How much were you willing to risk? Truly, how much did you love him? And you knew the answer. He was all consuming. The type of love that made your heart hurt. The idea of life without him terrifying. You sniffled, wiping at your eyes. Her words hit you right in the chest, a painful truth you couldn’t ignore. But the thought of saying it, of laying your heart bare, made your stomach twist in knots.

“I just…” Your voice broke, and you looked at her helplessly. “I don’t want to lose him, Layla. What if I say it and he doesn’t feel the same?” Layla shook her head, her expression gentle but firm. 

“You won’t lose him, Y/N. Not Trent. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. That boy is a goner, whether he’s admitted it aloud or not. He’s in love with you. And if you tell him how you feel, I think you’ll finally see it too.” You stared at her, your heart pounding as her words began to sink in. A part of you wanted to believe her, to trust that this overwhelming love wasn’t one-sided, that Trent felt it too. But the fear was still there, clawing at your chest. You leaned back against the couch, closing your eyes and taking a shaky breath.

“I’ve loved him my whole life,” you whispered again, more to yourself than to her. “And I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified of anything in my life.” Layla smiled, reaching over to squeeze your knee. 

“That’s how you know it’s worth it.” She cooed gently. “He’s worth it but Y/N… you’re worth it, he’ll show you that if you give him the opportunity to.” She hummed with a warmth that she’d given you your whole life. 

A girl you and Jack mutually knew was throwing a party tonight and so like many other times you found yourself out with Trent and yet simultaneously being anything but that. The party pulsed around you, the bass thumping through the walls and into your chest as you stood beside Jack and his friends. You tagged along with them but in reality it was soley to be close to Trent. You had decided you wanted to tell him and whether or not you would tonight or not didn’t matter, you just couldn’t get enough of him. You were drunk off the Tequila shots you took before you arrived and the love that was all consuming.  You were doing your best to blend into the group though, sipping your drink and pretending to laugh at their jokes when you heard Aiden’s voice cut through.

“Mate, Jess is here. So fucking leng. You gonna clap again?” he asked Trent, grinning as if it were the funniest thing in the world. You froze. The words hit you like a slap, sharp and stinging. Your breath hitched, your stomach twisting in knots as you glanced at Trent. He looked annoyed, shaking his head at Aiden’s comment, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done. You loved him and even though it was in the past… maybe he had loved Jess, maybe he’d even had told her he loved her.  But with you… he hadn’t told you. He couldn’t tell you. He had you hid behind closed doors while all his friends still talked about his previous lovers. 

“I need a drink,” you mumbled, your voice unsteady as you turned on your heel and walked away. Trent’s head whipped around at your sudden departure, his brows furrowing. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to know why you left.

“I’m gonna grab a drink with her,” he said to the group, already following you. His long strides quickly closed in on you, and he called out over the noise once a safe distance apart was made.

“Baby, stop!” He whispered a quiet yelp. You loved him, you knew you loved him now and you were going to tell him but right now the thought of someone else having the man you loved hurt more than you could imagine.  You kept walking, heading toward the quieter end of the hall, away from the prying eyes of the party. Tears were already stinging your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, not yet. Trent caught up, reaching for your wrist. “Baby, stop. Please,” he said again, softer this time. You stopped but didn’t turn to face him. He stepped in front of you, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he tilted your face toward him. “Hey, look at me,” he whispered. “What’s going on?” Your lip trembled, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“Jess? Really? Aiden had to say that in front of everyone? And you have nothing to say to him? I just—I can’t— ” You broke off, shaking your head as tears blurred your vision. Trent’s expression softened. 

“Baby, don’t,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. He kissed the top of your head, trailing soft kisses down to your ear, then along your jaw. “Don’t let Aiden’s stupid comments about the past get to you. I’m here with you. You know that.” You pushed him away, tears spilling down your cheeks. 

“You’re not though, are you? You’re here with Jack and Aiden and everyone else! And Jess—she was yours, wasn’t she? She got to have a piece of you, even for a moment, everyone knows that and I don’t. I never have. I just…” You trailed off, your voice breaking. Trent’s jaw tightened. He sighed heavily, running a hand down his face. It hurt that Trent belonged to everyone but you. 

“Y/N…” he said carefully, his tone laced with frustration and concern. He didn’t want to kick off and explain why you and he were doing things this way and why you didn’t have to worry but he just couldn’t. He didn’t have it in him. 

“Do you know what?” you snapped, your voice rising with each word. “Then I’m not here with you either.” You rashly blurted out. How could he stand there and let Aiden talk about him having sex with another girl right in front of you? If he wanted to act like you were nothing, then you were going to show him just what it felt like if you were nothing to him. 

“Don’t do this,” Trent said firmly, stepping toward you again. But you were already too far gone, the envy and hurt drowning out any rational thought, all of it mixing with the liquor in your stomach. 

“Have a good night with Jess,” you spat before yanking your wrist free of his grip and storming down the hall. But it wasn’t about Jess specifically, not even a little. It was idiotic, it was brash, and childish but you were drunk and you were feeling petty and tired of being nothing in his life to everyone around you two.

“Y/N, wait!” Trent called after you, his voice breaking slightly. But you didn’t stop. You shoved past the other partygoers, ignoring them as tears streamed down your face. You barely registered Trent’s footsteps behind you or the way he called your name one last time before letting you go but you didn’t turn back. The ache in your chest grew heavier with each step you took, but your pride wouldn’t let you stop. When you reached the front door and stepped outside, the cold air hit your face, sharp and biting. You stopped, clutching your arms around yourself as the weight of your emotions threatened to crush you. The world felt too loud, too bright, and all you wanted was to escape. Inside, Trent stood frozen in the hallway, his hands on his hips as he exhaled a long, shaky breath. Aiden passed by, raising a brow.

“What’s her problem?” he asked, oblivious. Trent didn’t answer. 

“Fuck.” He ran a hand over his hair, muttering to himself. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what to do. And the thought of losing you because of a stupid joke? It made him feel like the ground was crumbling beneath him. He was annoyed that you were being childish and yet annoyed there was the slightest smallest part of him that knew it was mildly fucked up he couldn’t tell off Aiden. 

Trent was beyond frustrated. He sat stiffly on the couch with some other lads, forcing himself to appear relaxed even as he felt anything but. He hadn’t been able to focus on a word of their conversation. His eyes kept flicking toward you, his heart sinking every time he saw you laughing or talking with some guy on the other side of the room. You looked too damn happy for someone who had stormed off earlier, leaving him fuming. You made your point, if Trent could act like you were nothing to him at this party… So could you. Every casual touch the guy gave you, every time you leaned in close to talk over the music, it felt like someone was twisting a knife in his chest. He stayed seated, but his fists were clenched tightly, his jaw set. He was trying—really trying—to keep his temper in check, but it was a losing battle. But then he saw Noah. The sight of Noah in the kitchen with Josh—drunken, stumbling Josh—made Trent freeze. His mood darkened instantly, his anger sharpening into something cold and focused. What the fuck was he doing here? Trent’s mind raced. Had Josh just shown up, or worse, had you invited him? That thought alone was enough to make his blood boil. His breath came quicker as he watched Noah struggling to keep Josh upright. Whatever they were talking about, it wasn’t good. He could feel it in his gut. And then Josh’s voice broke through the noise of the party.

“I saw her location—where the fuck is the slut?” Josh slurred loudly, his words venomous. The word sliced through Trent like a blade. In an instant, he was on his feet, storming across the room. His long strides closed the distance in seconds, and before Josh even realized what was happening, Trent shoved him hard. Josh’s back hit the wall with a thud, his shoulder pinned under Trent’s hand. His drunken smirk faltered as Trent leaned in close, his face a mask of fury.

“Call her that fucking one more time,” Trent growled, his voice low and dangerous. Josh’s initial surprise melted into a cocky, drunken grin. He laughed, a sound that only fueled Trent’s anger.

“I’m just here to tell Jack what a little whore his sister is for his best friend,” Josh sneered, his words slow and deliberate, dripping with malice. Trent’s grip on his shoulder tightened. His muscles tensed, every fiber of his being screaming to put this prick in his place. But before Trent could act, Josh turned his attention to Noah.

“What about you, Noah? You in on this, bro? Do you get a turn with her too?” Josh mocked, his voice loud enough to draw a few curious glances from nearby partygoers. Noah’s face twisted in disgust. His hand flexed at his side, his body coiled like a spring. 

“Fuck you, bro,” he spat, his voice sharp and cold. Josh’s grin widened. He was too drunk to recognize the danger in Noah’s expression. Noah said he wouldn’t keep this from Jack when asked but he just as hell wasn’t going to let Josh talk like this.  

 “Come on, let’s find the whore. Make sure she gets a front-row seat to watch me tell Jack what she’s been keeping quiet while keeping her mouth stuffed,” he jeered. That was it. Trent’s hand slammed harder against Josh’s shoulder, pinning him so tightly that Josh winced in pain. 

“I told you to shut the fuck up,” Trent hissed, his voice trembling with barely restrained rage. But before Trent could do anything more, Noah stepped in.

“Nah, enough of this,” Noah snapped, shoving Trent’s hand away. He stepped forward, his fist flying in one smooth motion. The punch landed square on Josh’s face with a sickening crack. The impact echoed in the room, and for a moment, everything seemed to pause. Josh stumbled, his back sliding down the wall as he crumpled to the floor. Blood poured from his nose, staining his shirt as he groaned in pain. His drunken bravado was gone, replaced by a dazed, pathetic look as he clutched his face.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Noah barked, his voice thunderous. He delivered a sharp kick to Josh’s legs, making him flinch. Josh scrambled, his movements clumsy and panicked.  Trent grabbed Noah firmly, his fingers digging into his shoulder as he pulled him back.

 “That’s enough, bro,” he muttered, his voice low but sharp, glancing down at Josh, who was slumped against the wall clutching his bleeding nose. The rage still simmered in Noah’s eyes, but Trent’s grip was unrelenting. “Leave it. He’s not worth it.” Josh muttered curses under his breath, swiping at the blood dripping onto his shirt. 

“This isn’t over,” he spat, his voice thick and slurred from the alcohol. “Jack’s gonna know everything. She’s not hiding behind you anymore.”

“Get the fuck out of here before I finish what Noah started,” Trent snapped, his voice taut with restrained fury. Josh shot them both a venomous glare. Noah flexed his sore knuckles, the adrenaline still coursing through him. 

“All for that whore? Fucking keep her.” he slurred, his words muffled by the blood dripping from his nose. He staggered to his feet, still holding his face as he stumbled toward the door. Trent stood frozen for a moment, his chest heaving as he watched Josh disappear into the night. He let out a shaky breath, his anger still simmering but tempered by relief. Noah shook out his hand, flexing his fingers. His knuckles were already red and swelling, but his expression was calm. 

“Bloody hell, that felt good,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Trent turned to him, his shoulders still tense. 

“Thanks, mate,” he said quietly. His voice was rough, laced with genuine gratitude. Noah shrugged, his lips twitching into a small, humorless smile. 

“No one can talk about her like that,” he said simply. Trent nodded, his jaw tightening as he glanced back toward the party. His focus shifted, his mind racing with worry. Where were you? Had you heard any of that? Had Josh already said something to you before this? He didn’t know, but one thing was clear—he needed to find you— the games needed to end. 

“Should’ve let me hit him one more time,” Noah muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Trent ignored the comment, his focus already shifting to what needed to happen next. They couldn’t afford for this to spiral any further.

“Come on,” he said, gripping Noah’s arm and leading him back into the party. As they navigated through the crowd, Trent’s mind raced. Jack was somewhere in this house, completely unaware of the chaos brewing just outside. He had to keep it that way—at least for now. They found Jack by the bar, laughing with a group of friends, a drink in hand. The sight of him, so carefree and unbothered, made Trent’s stomach twist. It wasn’t guilt, exactly—he didn’t regret you—but the weight of the secret between them felt heavier in this moment. Jack’s laughter trailed off when he noticed them approaching. His gaze flicked to Noah’s hand, the bruises already starting to form. 

“Oi, what happened to you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Noah hesitated for a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening. He’d told Trent he wouldn’t lie to Jack if asked directly, but this wasn’t the time to blow everything up. Not after what had just gone down.

“Nothing, mate,” Noah said, brushing it off with an exaggerated shrug. “Some idiot showed up who wasn’t invited, started mouthing off. We sorted it.” Jack’s brow furrowed slightly. 

“Yeah? Who was it?” Trent stepped in before Noah could answer, his tone calm but firm. 

“Doesn’t matter. Just some waste man trying to start shit. It’s all sorted now.” He forced a smile, hoping to diffuse the situation. “No big deal.” Jack’s eyes lingered on them for a moment longer, suspicion flickering across his face, but then he shrugged, letting it go.

“Fair enough. You lot are on edge tonight, though. Chill out, yeah?” Trent chuckled, a hollow sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Yeah, mate. All good now.” He nudged Noah, silently urging him to back up the story.

“Yeah, sorted,” Noah added, though his voice lacked the usual confidence. He flexed his knuckles again, the sting reminding him of what had just gone down. Jack seemed satisfied, his attention already drifting back to the conversation he’d been having before they arrived. Trent and Noah exchanged a glance, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

“Where’s Megan?” Trent asked suddenly, desperate to steer the conversation away from anything that might circle back to Josh or you. Jack smirked, gesturing vaguely toward the living room. “She’s around somewhere. I need to find her actually.”

“Yeah, should do,” Trent said, feigning a casualness he didn’t feel. As Jack turned back to his friends, Trent let out a quiet sigh of relief. For now, the immediate danger had passed, but the tension in his chest remained. Josh might have been dealt with, but the underlying issue—the secret he and you were desperately trying to protect—was far from resolved and yet simultaneously falling apart. Noah leaned in slightly, his voice low enough that only Trent could hear.

 “This is getting pretty fucking messy, mate.” Noah whispered. Trent nodded, his jaw tightening. 

“Yeah. But I’m not letting it fall apart. Not now.” Trent replied determined. Noah didn’t respond, but the doubt in his expression spoke volumes. Trent clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He’d already risked too much to let it all slip away now. He wasn’t letting your drunken childishness derail where you and him had been headed but he let you have your space for the night, agonizingly, because his best mate, your brother was still in the room. It felt like he was in every room, literally and figuratively.

The party continued to thump with music and laughter, but Trent could barely hear it over the storm in his head. His eyes were fixed on you, your face glowing under the dim lights as you talked to some guy on the far side of the room. You weren’t doing anything inappropriate—he knew that. He knew you wouldn’t… well he hoped you wouldn’t. Still, the way you leaned in, smiled, and laughed, it was clear the conversation was casual, harmless. Yet, it felt like a knife twisting in his gut. 

“Staring much?” Jess’s voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, smooth and sharp as glass. She had sidled up next to him, her drink in hand, watching him with that familiar, knowing smirk. Trent tensed, his jaw tightening. 

“What do you want, Jess?” He snapped not angry at her but angry with his circumstances.

“Relax,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “I’m just observing. You’ve been glued to her all night—well, from a distance anyway.” She took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes flicking between him and you. He didn’t respond, refusing to take the bait, but his silence only encouraged her. “But she’s just Jack’s sister, though, right?” Jess said, her tone almost playful, but there was an edge to her words. He didn't reply but his silence was telling and she knew exactly why and she was going to confirm her long time suspicion. “Fine, then why do you care so much about who Jack's sister's talking to?” The question, the way it was phrased, hit like a slap, and Trent’s gaze finally broke from you to meet Jess’s, her brow raised. His expression was cold, defensive, but she didn’t back down. 

“She’s not just Jack’s sister,” he said quietly, but firmly, his voice low enough that only Jess could hear. Jess tilted her head, her smirk softening into something more curious. 

“You’ve always liked her.” Jess stated very matter of fact. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Trent scoffed, shaking his head as he tried to brush her off. 

“Oh, don’t I?” Jess raised an eyebrow again, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall beside him. “Come on, T. You’ve been obvious about it for years. Even when we were…” She waved her hand vaguely, not needing to finish the sentence. “You were still buying her gifts. I mean, you bought her a car. Do you think I didn’t notice that?” She raised her brows. Trent stiffened, the guilt hitting him like a tidal wave

“That’s different.” He ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily. 

“Different?” Jess laughed lightly, incredulous. “You bought her a fucking car, Trent. And the next night, you were in my bed. How is that different?” She laughed incredulously.  He didn’t answer, his silence saying more than he could. Jess studied him for a moment, her expression softening. “Look, I don’t care what happened between us. It was over before it even started. But you’re being stupid if you think this is just going to go away. You like her. No—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I was being nice, saying you ‘like’ her. You’re in love with her.” Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, and he turned away, staring at the floor. “You always have been.” She doubled down. 

“I can’t be in love with Jack’s sister,” He muttered more to himself, discouraged by reality, the words feeling hollow even as he said them. Tonight was turning into a larger mess than he anticipated. His brain was just filled to the brim with a sludge of turmoil. You and him fighting, trying to keep this whole thing  a secret, Josh showing up, him jealous of you talking with other men, angry you couldn’t be together in public, having to hide how he felt, and now Jess calling him out for being in love with you… it was all too much. Then she let out a quiet laugh, stepping closer. 

“You are. And I think you’re scared because it’s the first time you actually mean it.” He looked at her, his throat tightening but Jess just returned a look back at him expectantly.  

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but it was riddled with conflict.

“It’s never simple,” Jess replied, her tone gentle now. “ But T…I’ve never seen someone so blatantly in love in my life. You’ve told a lot of people that word before but I don’t think you’ve ever meant it the way you mean it about her. I’ve known you for a long time and you’ve never acted the way you do around anyone else the way you act around her.” She gestured toward you, still deep in conversation with the guy on the other side of the room. “With her, it’s different. You’ve been hiding it, albeit pretty sneakily for a while, but it’s written all over you. In everything you do, everything you say, you’re in love with her.”

“I… I…” Trent swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he struggled to find the words.

“You love her,” Jess said, cutting him off. “Just admit it to yourself, Trent. Because the longer you keep hiding it, the worse it’s going to be. For you. For her. For everyone.” He didn’t respond, his thoughts a tangled mess. “Tell her,” Jess said softly, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze before walking away. Jess had deduced the situation on her own but Jess knowing could very well lead to Megan knowing… and to Jack knowing. He felt nauseous. Trent stood frozen, his fists clenched at his sides. His gaze drifted back to you, and his heart ached at the sight of you laughing at something the guy said. He was frustrated—at Jess for figuring him out so easily, at you for talking to another guy, at himself for hiding his feelings for so long. But most of all, he was frustrated because he knew Jess was right. He was in love with you, and there was no running from it anymore.

The party had been a blur of bright lights, loud laughter, and pointless conversation. You played along with your usual charm, smiling at jokes you didn’t find funny, entertaining questions you didn’t care to answer. But your mind wasn’t really in it. How could it be when Trent was here, somewhere in the room, pretending as if you didn’t exist? It was infuriating. The way he leaned casually against the wall, his sharp eyes roaming the crowd as if he wasn’t tracking your every movement. He let you play your game, allowed you to laugh and flirt and pretend you were nothing to him. But it was a charade, one you hated as much as you hated him for going along with it. You weren’t even listening to the person in front of you. A friend of a friend, someone whose name you couldn’t remember and whose voice was drowned out by the buzzing in your ears. Instead, your focus was razor-sharp on Trent. Every time he moved, every time his gaze slid your way, it sent a ripple of satisfaction through you. You weren’t speaking to him, but you wanted to make sure he was paying attention. And he was—oh, he definitely was. The occasional flicker of frustration in his expression betrayed him, even if he didn’t know it.

As the party began to wind down, the energy in the room shifted. The pounding bass softened into a mellow hum, and the crowd thinned, clusters of people dispersing to quieter corners. The air, once thick with excitement, now carried a calm buzz, like the tail end of a high. You felt the tension between you and Trent only grow in the quiet. He hadn’t approached you all night, but you could feel his presence like a magnetic pull. But there he was, next to Jack—the thorn in your side, the immovable obstacle keeping you apart. Jack leaned against the wall beside Trent, his body language casual but his presence heavy, like a silent barrier between the two of you. His protective instincts, his inevitable misplaced anger, and his stubbornness were like chains around Trent, keeping him tethered and out of reach. Jack wasn’t even looking at you; he was busy talking to Megan, laughing at something that didn’t matter. Yet his very presence was enough to keep Trent rooted where he was, holding him back, keeping him from coming to you. Trent, on the other hand, wasn’t laughing. His focus was sharp, his jaw tight as his eyes stayed locked on yours. There was a heat there, an unspoken apology mixed with longing and frustration. It was infuriating to see you so close yet so far, finding himself stuck in a position he clearly didn’t want to be in. You tried to act unaffected, but you could still feel his eyes on you, a weight you couldn’t shake. And so the night dragged on, the tension between you and Trent simmering like an untamed flame, burning quietly under the surface. Neither of you moved toward the other, both waiting for a break in the armor, a crack in the barrier that was Jack. And then it came. Jack leaned over to Trent, his arm loosely draped around Megan. 

“Alright, I’m heading back with Meg,” he said, nodding toward you, who was still chatting with a group of people across the room. “Look out for her, yeah?” Trent’s stomach tightened at the request, but he nodded casually but in his head he was saying ‘finally.’ Finally he could go and stop this stupid game, finally he could go and get his girl.  

“Yeah, I got her.” The second Jack walked out of the party, Trent made a beeline for you, his jaw set, his movements purposeful. The group you were standing with noticed him before you did, their conversation fading as Trent approached. You turned to find him standing just a little too close, his dark eyes locked on yours with a mixture of annoyance and something else—something deeper. 

“Alright, we all done here?” he asked, his tone low and bordering on impatient. You blinked in confusion, glancing around. 

“What are you talking about?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder nervously. Nervous Jack might’ve still been there. Trent took your wrist and gently pulled you out of the group. You stumbled slightly in your heels, your cheeks flushing with heat as the two of you stepped into a quieter corner. “What is your problem?” you asked, flustered and trying to catch your balance. He stared at you, his jaw clenching briefly before he spoke. 

“Did you like talking to other lads more than me?” he asked, his tone deadpan but mocking. His eyes burned with something more intense. Your brows furrowed in confusion.  

“What? Are you serious right now?” You tried to fight back but you could feel the power shift. Your game had been flipped on it’s head. Trent knew you didn’t want to talk to anyone else and he wanted to hear you say it. Trent didn’t respond immediately, his lips pulling into a slow, devious smirk as he studied your reaction. 

“Did you like talking to those other lads more than me?” He asked again arrogantly. He was annoyed, sure, but the game of it all—the chase, the tension—sparked something in him. He thrived on it, on winning, and right now, he was certain he had the upper hand. You tried to hold your ground, tried to pretend you didn’t care, but every nerve in your body was tuned to him. And when your eyes met, the game stopped. For just a moment, there was no pretending, no clever quips or feigned indifference. Just the two of you, caught up in the closeness of the other. 

“I…” You tried to talk but you couldn’t come up with anything witty. Your thoughts were drenched in tequila and annoyingly, a longing for Trent. 

“Did you like the way he touched you?” he questioned you, his voice dropping lower, his eyes narrowing slightly. Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked away, suddenly sheepish. 

“No,” you muttered softly and bashful, staring down at your feet as your heels began to ache. Trent’s smirk softened into a knowing smile, and he reached out to pull you into his arms. 

“C’mere, baby,” he murmured, wrapping you up in his embrace and swaying you gently. The warmth of his touch melted away your embarrassment, and you buried your face against his chest.

“I don’t like parties without you.” You mumbled. Drunkenly, you clung to him tighter. You missed him all night. The whole evening was stupidly lonely. Before you even ever kissed Trent, you used to always spend parties with him. You’d find yourself tucked off in corners but now you only wanted that more. 

“I knowww,” he teased, dragging out the word playfully as his fingers traced lazy circles on your back. “That’s why you’re supposed to stay with me.” His words made your heart flip, and when you looked up at him, the softness in his eyes unraveled you. “Could’ve kept my hands on this waist all night,” His hands dropped to your waist with a squeeze.  “Could’ve whispered in my ear how much you wanted me the whole night, baby.” His tone dropped and so did his hands, he palmed your ass and your breath hitched. “Maybe could’ve even tucked off in one of the bedrooms…” He continued with a dangerously handsome smirk. At first you smiled loving where this was going but then the reality of what got you to this very moment came rushing back again.

“But we can’t… we couldn’t…” you began, your voice heavy with doubt. “People will know, and…”

“Nah,” Trent interrupted, his voice firm yet tender. “It’s just about you and me, pretty girl. We can.” And then he leaned in and kissed you. Your mind blanked, every thought replaced by the overwhelming sensation of his lips on yours. The party, the risks, the people—it all melted away. When he pulled back, you stared at him in disbelief. 

“You just kissed me… at a party,” you whispered, your voice tinged with awe and nervous excitement. He grinned, unbothered by the potential consequences. 

“Don’t care who sees.” He kissed you again but you hesitated, guilt tugging at you. He could read you like a book. “Jack’s not here.” He sympathetically smiled.  

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I think it was the tequila. I didn’t mean to be a brat earlier.” You sheepishly admitted. 

“You were a brat,” he replied, his smirk returning, and you swatted playfully at his chest.

“But I really am sorry,” you cooed, your tone sincere and gentle as you smiled at him.

“I know, pretty girl,” Trent said, his voice soft and reassuring. “We’re good, though. You know we are.” He confirmed as you nodded, a giggle escaping your lips as you leaned in to kiss him again, this time without hesitation. The room seemed to fade as you lost yourself in him, in the sheer audacity of kissing him in a room full of people. But the magic of the moment was interrupted when you noticed the stares. People had seen the kiss. You pulled back slightly, your eyes darting around the room. 

“T…” you whispered nervously. He simply smiled, brushing a thumb over your cheek. 

“Doesn’t matter, baby,” he said softly. “Let ‘em see.” For the first time, you felt the tides shifting. The secrecy, the constant hiding—it was beginning to feel like it might not matter anymore. Trent was right. It was just about you and him. Maybe the time was approaching. Trent loved you, he just didn’t care about anything else anymore.

You stumbled into Trent's house, your body thrumming with energy, the unresolved tension from the party driving you both toward this moment. The door clicked shut behind you, but it was barely registered before Trent's hands were on you, firm and insistent, pulling you against him as his lips found yours in a bruising kiss.

"Come here. Need more of you," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.You giggled breathlessly as his arms wrapped around you, lifting you as if you weighed nothing.Instinctively, your legs locked around his waist, and he held you tightly, his lips brushing along your jawline, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck. The house was dim, but you hardly noticed; your entire focus was on him-his warmth, his scent, his touch. By the time he carried you upstairs, you were both a mess of laughter and breathy whispers. He reached the bedroom door, nudging it open with his shoulder before setting you down for the briefest of moments, only to scoop you back up and toss you onto the bed. You landed with a surprised gasp, the mattress bouncing slightly beneath you as you propped yourself up on your elbows. Trent stood at the edge of the bed, towering over you, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your cheeks burn. You giggled sweetly with a juxtaposed seductive stare.  "Don't look at me like that," he said, his lips curving into a smirk as he began unbuttoning his shirt, his fingers deft and quick.

"Like what?" you asked teasingly, your voice tinged with mischief as you let your knees fall apart, the fabric of your dress slipping higher up your thighs.

"Like you don't already know how much I want you," he muttered, his tone rougher now. His shirt fell to the floor, revealing his broad chest and toned abs, and you couldn't help but let your gaze linger, biting your lip as your own anticipation built. And then your playful teasing faltered when he spoke again. “Get this off. Teased me all fucking night.”  He cooed as his hands reached for your dress, tugging it up and over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in just your underwear. "God, look at you… fucking unreal" he breathed, his eyes raking over your body as if he couldn't quite believe you were real. You scooted back on the bed, your thighs parting further as you gave him a knowing look.You spread your legs cheekily giving him a good view of you. His eyes were fixed on your glistening pussy. His jaw clenched, and he crawled toward you, his movements deliberate and predatory. "Always teasing me," he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

"Always," you whispered, your breath hitching as he leaned over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His lips crashed against yours, and the kiss was all-consuming-hot, messy, and desperate. You tugged at his waistband, your fingers fumbling with his belt, and he groaned into your mouth as you finally freed him. Trent pulled back just enough to look down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of hunger and adoration. His hands slid down your body, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he tossed your underwear aside.You couldn't respond; your breath hitched as his fingers slid through your folds, his touch gentle yet purposeful. His gaze dropped to where you were already wet for him, and a low groan escaped his lips. "So fucking pretty f’me," he said, almost to himself, as he spread your slick with his fingers. "Already so wet."

"T," you gasped, your hips bucking toward his touch, craving more.

"Patience, baby," he teased, though his own restraint was wearing thin. His fingers circled your clit, drawing out a whimper from you as your body arched into him. "Tell me how bad you need me," he demanded softly, his voice tinged with urgency.

"More than anything. Please, baby,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your hands reaching for his shoulders to pull him closer. He leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a soft, almost reverent kiss. 

"Then be patient and let me give you everything." Before you could respond, he moved lower, his mouth replacing his fingers as he tasted you, his tongue sliding over your most sensitive spots with devastating precision. You cried out his name, your hands tangling in his hair as he took his time worshiping you, his touch both tender and unrelenting. When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your slick, his eyes met yours, dark with need. He climbed back up your body, his hand guiding himself to your entrance, and as he pushed inside, you both let out matching moans of relief and pleasure. "All mine," he murmured against your lips, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first before his pace quickened, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

"Yours," you whispered, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. And in that moment, nothing else mattered-just you, Trent, and the way you both made each other feel completely whole. Then suddenly, he flipped you over effortlessly, his strength sending a thrill down your spine. You instinctively arched your back, presenting yourself to him, desperate and needy. The cool air hit your exposed skin just before the sharp sting of his palm connected with your ass, eliciting a gasp from your lips.

"That's it, baby. That's my girl," Trent murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with pride and desire. You felt his hands slide up your thighs, firm and possessive, before they settled on your hips, gripping you tightly. His thumbs caressed the soft skin of your cheeks, a stark contrast to the way his fingers dug into you as he held you steady. He pulled his hips back slowly, teasing you, before driving into you again with measured control. The sensation was overwhelming. His steady, deliberate thrusts sent sparks through your entire body. Your mouth opened in a silent cry, your fingers clutching the sheets beneath you as your body responded to him, pleasure building rapidly with every stroke. "Fuck, you're perfect like this," he muttered, his voice dripping with reverence as he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back. His lips found the curve of your shoulder, placing a gentle kiss there before his breath ghosted against your ear. Trent hesitated for a moment, his thoughts betraying him. Not now. He couldn’t. He knew he shouldn't say it, knew he should hold back, but he couldn't resist.  "I love…” He began but then he caught himself. “I love it when you cum for me," he confessed against your back, his voice rough with need and affection. And while it was true he did love to make you cum, he loved you a lot more than anything else. Still, his words made your whole body shiver, and he noticed the way your walls clenched around him in response. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" he teased, snapping back to the moment with a cocky grin tugging at his lips as his pace picked up. Trent adjusted his angle, pulling your hips higher so he could thrust deeper, his strokes faster and more relentless.

“Oh my god. You fuck me so good, T.” You whimpered. “Please keep going. Shit. You’re so deep.” His hands gripped your ass firmly, guiding you as he chased both your pleasure and his own. Your muffled moans filled the room, your face pressed into the mattress as you struggled to keep up with the overwhelming intensity of his movements. Your back arched even further, giving him everything, and he groaned in appreciation. The recoil of your ass from his hard thrusts had Trent in pure heaven.

"You're so good for me, baby," he praised, his voice thick with emotion and lust. "Taking me so well." His words sent you spiraling, and you felt the tension in your core snap as your orgasm hit you like a wave, your entire body trembling under him. Trent felt you unravel, your walls fluttering around him, and it only pushed him closer to the edge.

"Fuck, that's my girl," he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his release, his grip on you tightening. With a final groan, he buried himself deep inside you, his body tensing as he spilled into you. He stayed there for a moment, his chest heaving as he pressed kisses to your damp skin, his hands soothing the spots where his grip had been firm. He pulled out slowly, watching as you collapsed onto the bed, your body completely spent. Trent lay down beside you, pulling you into his arms as he kissed your temple.  "You okay, baby?" he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You nodded, your cheek resting against his chest as you caught your breath.

"Better than," you murmured, a lazy smile playing on your lips 

"Good," he said, his arms tightening around you protectively. "Because you're not going anywhere. You're mine."

"Always yours," you whispered, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull you into blissful contentment. The silence that fell between you was thick but comfortable, the kind that spoke volumes without words. Both of you were utterly spent, your bodies and minds floating in a haze of bliss. Trent broke the quiet after a while, a hearty laugh bubbling from his chest, shaking both of you.

"You're amazing, pretty girl, you know that?" he said, his voice rich with affection. He leaned over, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his tenderness making your heart flutter despite your exhaustion. He rolled onto his side, but not for long. With a soft tug, he pulled your limp body back into his embrace, wrapping you up as though he couldn't bear to let you go. His hands ran gently over your bare skin, soothing and grounding you, while his lips peppered kisses into your hair. You nuzzled into him instinctively, the warmth of his chest against your cheek and the steady rhythm of his breathing making you feel safe. The feeling of fullness-both physical and emotional-left you blissfully tired, your body melting into his. You were tucked into Trent's bed, his scent surrounding you like a cocoon. Your body was spent, your skin still humming from the intensity of your time together. You nestled closer, letting the warmth of his embrace lull you into a state of almost delusion. 

"Baby?" you murmured hesitantly, your voice soft and drowsy. "Did I see… erm… Josh at the party?" You asked cautiously but curiously. Trent's grip on you tightened slightly as he hummed in response, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

"Don't worry about that, pretty girl," he murmured, his voice steady but his jaw clenched. You shifted to look up at him, catching the faintest flicker of irritation in his features before he kissed your hair again, soothing you back into his chest. A faint memory flicked in your head. Did you see Josh on the ground? Was Noah talking to him? Did Trent see him?

"Did he say something?" you asked, your brow furrowing in concern. Trent's hands slid across your bare skin, as if staking his claim that you were his now, his touch grounding both of you as he let out a deep breath.

"Nah, we're done talking about that lad in my bed," he said firmly, his tone softening as he cupped your chin and tilted your face up to his. His thumb brushed your lips as his dark eyes locked onto yours. "You only say my name in here," he added, leaning in to kiss you deeply. Your heart fluttered as you melted into his kiss, his possessiveness igniting something deep inside you. 

"Only you," you murmured against his lips. "Always you." He pulled back just enough to gaze at you, his expression softening as his thumb traced your cheek. "I've waited my whole life to say your name," you admitted shyly, the vulnerability in your voice making his chest ache.

"Good," he whispered, kissing you again, slower this time, savoring you. "You’re gonna keep saying it because you're just for me. You're not for anyone else." His arms wrapped around you tighter, his hands splaying possessively over your back as if holding onto you could erase any doubt, any threat from earlier. You felt the intensity of his words, his need to claim and protect you, and it made you feel more cherished than ever.

"Never," you whispered, letting yourself surrender to the safety of his arms. "I'm not going anywhere, T."

"Damn right you're not," he whispered back, his lips brushing against your temple as he held you close. "You're mine, baby. Always mine." He told you thinking maybe tomorrow he’d tell you why. Tell you that you’d always be his because he loved you, loved you more than anything in the whole world. Maybe tomorrow he thought. 

"Okay, sleep," you muttered, the two words slipping from your lips as if it was all you could muster. The short admin slicing his thoughts and plans. Trent laughed softly at your minimal vocabulary, the sound vibrating against you and filling the quiet room. 

"Alright, baby," he whispered, his voice laced with amusement and adoration. "Sleep, l've got you." The heat of his body, the sound of his heartbeat, and the gentle strokes of his hand on your back lulled you into the deepest comfort. Just as you felt yourself slipping into sleep, you felt the softness of his lips pressing a final kiss to your temple. "Night, my pretty girl," he murmured, holding you tighter as you drifted off in the safety of his arms. But while you and Trent slept peacefully cozied up together in his bed tangled in the sheets and blossoming feelings of love… Jack was across town wide awake. 

Jack had always been clever. It was his knack for strategy—whether it be at his work or in his personal life—that made him a force to reckon with, something you’d been weary of and should’ve stayed weary of. But you had a lapse, that night, when he left the party, his mind was already spinning. He knew something was off. It wasn’t the first time he’d caught glimpses of tension between you and Trent, but he needed proof. Concrete evidence. So, he set the trap. Before leaving, he texted you, casually asking if you were staying at Layla’s, knowing full well you’d say yes. It was easy—too easy. He then told Trent to make sure you got home safe, a move so seemingly innocent that it didn’t even rouse suspicion. He’d done it 100 times. And then, when he checked your location at 5 a.m. and saw you at Trent’s house, the pieces all fell into place. Jack didn’t call. He didn’t text. He didn’t want to give either of you a chance to prepare or cover your tracks. Instead, he got into his car, the early morning stillness doing nothing to calm the storm brewing inside him. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a pale golden glow over Trent’s neighborhood. Inside, the house was quiet. You were still asleep, curled up against Trent in the tangled sheets, the remnants of the night before lingering in the air. Trent stirred slightly when he heard the doorbell, the sound faint but persistent. He frowned, groggy and disoriented. He assumed it was a delivery—an early package or maybe a neighbor. With a quiet groan, he carefully slid out of bed, trying not to wake you. He pulled on a pair of joggers as he headed down the stairs, yawning as he reached the door. When he opened it, the sight that greeted him made his blood run cold. Jack stood there, his jaw tight, his eyes blazing with a fury Trent had never seen before.

“Jack—” Trent began, but he didn’t get the chance to say more.

"Want to tell me why my sister's here right now?" Jack's voice was measured but sharp, the kind of calm that felt more dangerous than an outright yell. He stood in Trent's doorway, taking in the sight of his best friend-disheveled, shirtless, and looking completely culpable. He was able to force a faux calm for the moment staring at Trent in just a pair of joggers, a hangover, tiredness, and guilt etched onto his face. Trent hesitated, his hand gripping the edge of the door as if he could keep Jack out. 

“Mate, listen—” he started cautiously, his voice low, but Jack wasn't having it. Trent tried to caution him. He hesitated, his body blocking the entrance but Jack was already moving past him through the door frame into the house. 

“Don’t ‘mate’ me,” Jack snapped, shoving past him into the house. “Where is she?” Jack demanded, stepping forward, his voice low and menacing. Trent opened his mouth but Jack spoke first again. “Nah go on what lie do you have for me now?” Jack snapped his fury starting to come to the surface “Where. Is. She?” Jack was pacing, his anger barely contained. “I knew it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I fucking knew it. All this time, I thought I was being paranoid, but no. You two—”

"It's not what you think. It’s not like that." Trent sighed, his head hanging for a moment before he turned to face Jack.  

"Not like that?" Jack repeated, his voice raising. "Don't insult me, bro. Don't stand there and pretend like I'm an idiot. My sister's at your house, and you're here in joggers looking like you've just crawled out of bed with her because I know she's fucking upstairs. So tell me how exactly is it not like that?" The tension between them escalated quickly, their voices rising, the heat of the argument echoing through the quiet morning.

“Jack,” Trent said, his voice steady but strained.

“Stop fucking lie to me!” Jack roared, his fists clenched. “You’ve been sneaking around with my little sister behind my back, haven’t you, yeah? Have you not been fucking my sister?” Jack snapped. Trent winced the words thrown at him with disgust. The house of cards had begun to  fall. Upstairs, you woke with a start, the shouting downstairs pulling you from your sleep, the sound of voices reaching your ears.  You sat up, confused, pulling the sheets around you as you listened. Your chest tightened as you registered Jack's voice, laced with anger and disbelief. Panicked, you scrambled out of bed, throwing on the nearest clothes you could find. You stumbled pulling on Trent's oversized t-shirt, the first thing within reach, and darted down the stairs, fear coursing through you.

"It's not what you think, Jack!" you blurted out, your bare legs exposed under Trent's shirt-a sight that immediately worked against you. Jack turned to you, his face a mixture of anger and betrayal.

 "Oh, it's exactly what I think," he snapped, gesturing toward you. "You're standing here, in his house, wearing his shirt. How is this not what I think?" He asked you almost mockingly.

"It's not-" you started again, your voice trembling, but Jack cut you off. The sight of the two of you together, the minimal clothes, the guilt written all over your faces, it was like gasoline on the fire of his anger. You tried to explain, but he was too wound up to listen.

"It is, though," Jack shot back, then turning his attention to Trent. "How long, huh? How long have you been fucking my little sister?" Jack’s realization that his best friend had been having sex with his sister stoked his fury even more. He felt betrayed, blindsided by the two people he trusted most. You flinched at his words, tears welling up in your eyes. His accusation cut deep, the sting of it like a slap to the face. His voice trembled with anger and hurt as he spat out his next words, his intense gaze snapping back to you “You’re really doing this? You’re actually sleeping with him? And for what? Just because he finally gave you a chance?” Jack’s words were filled with venom.

"Stop!" you shouted, stepping forward. "Jack, please it’s not like that, you don't understand,” you tried to say, but your voice was barely a whisper. Jack scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, so what is it, then? Enlighten me, Y/N. Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're sneaking around with my best mate. My best fucking mate!" Trent stepped forward, his hands raised slightly in a defensive gesture. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Jack’s gaze stayed on you, his eyes narrowed with a mixture of betrayal and disgust. “I can’t believe you, Y/N. Sneaking around like this? How long has this been going on? How long have you been lying to me to fuck my best friend?” He spat, his words cutting deep.  Your stomach twisted painfully at his harsh words. You couldn’t answer any of the questions. You couldn’t organize your thoughts fast enough. You felt your cheeks burn with shame, tears welling up in your eyes, blurring an expression on his face you’d never seen before. 

"Jack, listen to me. You're right. Okay? You're right. But it's not just—" Trent spoke up but then he paused, glancing at you before continuing. "It's not just fucking. I swear to you, mate. It's not like that." Jack's face twisted in disbelief but he stayed locked on you. You were the weaker link, he knew what buttons to push.

"What are you even doing, Y/N? Huh? With him of all people? You’re fucking my best mate like… like what are you doing? You’re slutting yourself out because what…? He’s a footballer?” Jack yelled at you, his thoughts starting to get a little tangled his cadane more stuttered but the offense still there. .

"Hey!" Trent cautioned him with a bark, his voice sharp as he stepped between the two of you. "Don't talk to her like that." Jack's eyes narrowed, his fury now directed at Trent. 

"Don't you dare tell me how to talk to my sister. You don't get to protect her now, not after this." Jack always knew Trent was protective of you, but he’d always thought it was more of a brotherly instinct, a result of spending so much time together and growing up around each other. But now, as he looked at the two of you, it all seemed so obvious. He felt naive, like a fool who’d missed all the signs. He could see the way Trent stood close to you, a shield against the world, and it wasn’t just because of friendship. It was love—real, raw, and unmistakable. He was hurt but he was going to let hurt ransack both of you with words dripping with misdirected anger. 

"Jack, please," you whispered, your voice breaking. Your eyes pooling. Jack gave you everything, he did everything for you, you were more than a sister and right now, your pleading eyes couldn't save you. You had driven a knife straight into his heart. He wanted you to live with him so you weren't alone, he included you with his friends to make sure you always fel included. Surrounded by people who loved you and you took it advantage of that... and you took advantage of him- minimizing him to a tool of leverage.

"Don't look at me like that," Jack said, his voice cracking as he pointed a finger at you. "Like some scared little kid who doesn't know what they've done. You knew what you were doing. Both of you did."

"Mate, listen to me," Trent said firmly, his voice steady despite the tension. "I get it. You're angry. You have every right to be. But don't take it out on her. This is on me." Jack shook his head, his jaw clenched as he backed away from you both. “Jack…” Trent cautioned, his voice steady but sharp as he stepped in closer to him begining to try to take a high road and Jack could feel it.

“Nah, don’t get all high and mighty on me,” Jack snapped, jabbing a finger in Trent’s direction. “I’ve seen you with girls. I’ve reaped the benefits of your girls. You’re not going near my fucking sister.”

“Fuck off, mate,” Trent bit back, his frustration boiling over. “You don’t know what’s been going on. You don’t know anything about her and I.” Jack scoffed, his anger only growing. 

“Oh, I don’t know anything? I know enough. I know you’re the same as you’ve always been—charming your way into girl’s beds and throwing them away when you’re done. Not her. Not my sister. I swear—” He tried to keep talking but you couldn't hear this fight go on. The pain was radiating off everyone in the room.

“Seriously, just… can you both shut up and listen?!” you shouted, your voice trembling but firm enough to cut through their argument. You moved toward Trent cautiously but surely, ignoring Jack’s glare and grabbing Trent’s face between your hands. “I love him.” You whispered. Trent’s dark eyes softened instantly, his tension melting as you pressed your nose to his. “I love you,” you repeated, your voice breaking slightly, as the tears officially began to fall. 

“I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned into your touch. “I know. I love you so much, baby.” He exhaled deeply, his breath warming your skin as he absorbed your words like they were the air he needed. He let his eyes flutter closed. But the moment of bliss and finality was slashed in half by Jack’s fury. Love wasn’t enough. The betrayal outweighed it all. 

“Oh, bullshit!” Jack exploded, his voice shattering the moment. “You’re sleeping with him because you finally got your chance. Because Trent finally gave you one,” he snapped, his voice dripping with contempt. Your hands fell from Trent’s face, and you turned to Jack with tears pooling in your eyes. His words cut deep, and the weight of them was too much to bear. “You’re just another girl to him, Y/N. Just another notch on his belt. Is that what you want? To be another one of his conquests? Another girl who fell for the ‘footie player’ charm?” The words were like a punch to the gut. You felt your heart shatter under the weight of his accusations, the shame and embarrassment washing over you in a tidal wave. He'd never spoken to you like this. You were almost having a hard time standing. Jack flashed a look to Trent, the fire and fury behind his eyes unrelenting. “And you're just saying that to keep her in your bed like every other girl you said that lie to. Be fucking for real right now.” Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried to hold yourself together, but Jack’s harsh words made it impossible. Trent’s face darkened, his own anger rising as he stepped in front of you, shielding you from Jack’s verbal assault. 

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice low and simmering with fury. “You don’t know what you’re on about, Jack. This isn’t some game, and she’s not just ‘another girl’ to me.” Jack scoffed, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. It wasn't that Jack didn't believe you could be that girl, he just was so hurt that he had been lied to by the closest people to him but the only way he he could manage it right now was let it come out in the form of anger.

“Right. Because you’re suddenly a saint? Give me a break, Trent. You’ve been with dozens of girls. Why should I believe this is any different?” You stepped further away from Trent with pooling eyes. 

“Because it is different,” Trent shot back, his voice firm. “She’s different. You’re my best friend, Jack, but you don’t get to speak to her like that. Talk shit about me, whatever mate, I’ll firm it. But you don’t get to reduce her to some cheap fling just because you’re angry.” Jack’s eyes blazed with anger, his hands balling into fists at his sides. How were you, his little sister, suddenly Trent’s— no longer his. It stung. Before you could even process either’s words, Jack groaned loudly, his frustration boiling over about Trent speaking about you.

“Give it a fucking rest. This is such bullshit,” he spat, his voice thick with disbelief and anger but most of all hurt. But he wouldn’t let that side come forth, all his energy was being channeled into tearing what you thought you had a part. “Trent, you say you love every girl to keep them around until you’re done with them. You don’t mean it.” His accusation sliced through the air like a knife, and you felt your heart shatter under the weight of his words. The possibility of Trent’s love being a lie, just another line, sent a fresh wave of pain crashing over you. Everyone in the room’s heart aching and shattered. Your lip quivered, and you could feel your knees weaken as your emotions swirled into a storm of confusion and hurt. You stepped further away from Trent once more needing distance from the conflicting emotions and the two men who had been so central to your life. You looked between them, your eyes darting from Trent’s conflicted gaze to Jack’s furious one, the betrayal stinging more than anything else. “And you, god fucking damnit Y/N,” he turned to you, his voice breaking, “I thought you were smarter than this. I thought you had more self-respect than to throw yourself at him just because what? He paid attention to you?” The accusation hit you like a sledgehammer. It arguably was the worse one. Belittling you to a slut who was desperate for any attention you could find, that was merely a fling to Trent, he couldn't love. You couldn’t stop the sob that tore from your throat, your shoulders shaking with the force of it. Jack’s words felt like they were tearing you apart from the inside out, exposing every fear and insecurity you’d ever had.  Jack momentarily regretting his words seeing you begin to fall into hysterics. His hurt was simply coming out in the form of verbal attacks. He didn't believe any of those things but he didn't have a clear enough mind to be rational, to listen, to be kind. Trent’s jaw clenched, his patience snapping as he stepped closer to Jack, his eyes blazing with a protective rage. 

“Jack! Enough, bro! Don’t you dare talk to her like that. You’re her brother and you’re way out of line. I’ve never treated her like anything less than she deserves, and you know that.” Jack shook his head, his face twisted with hurt and betrayal. ButJack's words were seeds begining to plant in your brain and grow rapidly. What if this was all true. We're you just an easy target for Trent, did he just tell you he loved you because it could be used as a tactic. We're you merely a convenience? Because treating how you deserved... surely wasn't hiding you and his feelings for you. You couldn't think straight let alone regulate your breathing. Trent reached out to grab your arm, but you pulled away, tears now streaming down your cheeks.

“Fuck you both,” you whimpered, your voice cracking under the strain of your emotions. With that, unable to take it anymore, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the house, the sound of the door slamming behind you echoing in the silence that followed. Outside, the cool morning air hit your face, mingling with the hot tears that continued to fall. Your mind was racing, your heart aching with every step you took away from them. The pain was almost unbearable, caught between love and betrayal, and you didn’t know where to go or what to do. All you knew was that you needed to get away, to find space to breathe, to think, and to try and piece together the shattered remains of your trust and your heart. It was all too much. The crescendo was worse than you could’ve ever imagined. Tempers had flared and each relationship had been left in tatters. 

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 16 - For Years xx

[legy]

hi! i'm caelum. you might know me from @goldentruths-pod or from posting online. im in a financial quicksand pit and i really, really, really need help.

i'm disabled and receive approx ~$950 a month from social security. this has gone from "rough but survivable" when i first started receiving SSI to "i am literally not making ends meet" in 2024. right now my current status is that i am covering my basic needs but any kind of extra purchases are impossible. and the extra purchases i need to make keep piling up because i just can't afford them. some things i need include, in vague level of priority:

dolphin, my cat, is years overdue for a vet visit. this is going to be $300 minimum, possibly more because she has an adversarial relationship with the vet. she needs dental work done which they had quoted me as being $1500 but ive been putting it off for so long that i would not be surprised if that's more expensive too

i have learned today that my gold crown needs to be replaced. really unhappy about this one. it was a miserable experience the first time (everything that went wrong did go wrong, i'll spare you the details) but what is relevant here is that my insurance does not cover this and it was $900 last time. insurance also does not cover extracting the tooth either so that's cool. i have some time before this one is due (my next consult is in july)

my phone is approaching "unusably broken". i've had it for close to 4 years now. the call speaker no longer works (i can only use the phone on speaker mode) and it struggles to run apps or a web browser which makes things like GPS pretty dire. this would be like ~$100-$150 probably, i havent done serious phone shopping yet

my driver's license is expired and i need to get a new one. this was $110 last time. note i havent driven a car in years due to the disability but it's really valuable to have a universally recognized form of photo ID and ive already been hassled over it being expired

god this one is so embarrassing to get into but i had to flee my previous apartment last year due to it escalating into a DV situation. the other tenants did not pay the heating bill, which was in my name (and my dumb ass didnt close the account because it was the middle of february and i didnt want to freeze them to death) so i have a $250 utility bill in collections. i might be able to dispute or debt forgiveness this one but tbh ive been so fucking drained given everything else going on and also my phone barely works so i havent pursued it. especially since i can't afford to pay it if i cant challenge it

i would really like to have a passport again. my previous one was destroyed by my landlord in 2018 but even if it wasnt it'd also be expired now. not sure how much this one costs. likely $200?

my food stamps were slashed in half (covid emergency ending lol) and do not cover my food costs for the month so im paying like $150 a month on food that i didnt have to previously. i can maybe fix this one but im slowly losing my mind from malnutrition from trying to not go into debt and also eat. so i havent had it in me to go 1v1 welfare bureaucracy and possibly make everything even worse

my shoes are probably two months out from fully decomposing. they were $100 three years ago and id like to get something comparable given they lasted me this long

the rest of my clothes are also very literally becoming threadbare, falling apart, or are too big and keep slipping off. i legitimately feel embarrassed to go in public these days because i dress so shitty all the time

insurance doesnt cover my HRT anymore so that's $30 a month i didnt used to have to pay

im sorry this turned into such a ramble. i'm in such a bad way right now, i have been for quite a while and the dental work news is really just the final straw. i can't really have a fundraising goal because due to the SSI asset limit i can never own more than $2000. & i'm aware both that this is the poor people sending each other the same 20 dollars website and that there are people urgently trying to raise money to escape an active genocide. but i held off from making this post as long as possible & idk what else i can do

anyway if theres anything you can contribute to help me i would appreciate it more than anything. at the very least i need to do something about my tooth.

http://paypal.me/hivehum

[kpop---scenarios]

Red Lights (1)

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Warning: Mentions of DV, Feeling like you're being stalked, language,

Genre: Stalker, Serial Killer

Word Count: 2k

Everything Taglist:

@wife2straykidss @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon

@dwaekkiiracha @silly250 @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1

@satosugu4l @gabriellamarie @tsunderelino @iovecb97

@1810cl @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat

@pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog

@anskiiz @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @skzooluvr

@jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx @ayyonoona @31maze13

@stay-tiny-things @thegingerthatwaited @hoesheez @stayatinykatsy

A/N: If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, let me know!

Don't look back. Don't look back. Keep running. Run faster.

You breathe heavily as you take a sharp corner, hiding yourself against the brick wall in the dark alley. You can hear the stomping of his feet from down the street, he's looking for you. You slap your hand over your mouth, trying to silence your breathing. You watch the opening of the alley, the dim light casting small shadows over the damp pavement. You're trying not to cry as you feel like your entire stomach is going to come up and out of your throat.

The footsteps slow down, now only the shuffling of his feet is what you can hear. You watch as he steps into the light.

Your breath hitches as you hold your hand over your mouth harder.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” He sings, his voice is low, it's menacing.

Terrifying.

���If you think I won't find you, Y/N..” He pauses with a low chuckle. “You're sorely mistaken, my love… I always find what belongs to me.”

**

“You need a boyfriend.” Your friend, Soomi says, glancing over at you as the two of you browse through the racks of clothes.

“What I need is some new pants.” You laugh. “Not a boyfriend. I have no interest in dating again, not after Derek.” You say, shuttering at the thought of your ex boyfriend and the hell he had put you through during your short lived relationship.

“Derek was bad, yes, but not all are like that.” She says, handing you a pair of pants she had picked out for you.

“I'm sure they're not.” You smile, making your way to the change room. “But I have no interest in finding out if they are good or bad.” You finish, walking into the room, closing the curtain behind you.

“You can't let one bad experience dictate the rest of your dating life.” She sighs.

You pull open the curtain, cutting her off from what she was going to say next, glaring at her. You knew she was trying to help you, but she barely knew half of the shit you had put up with when you were with Derek, and how hard it was when you left him only weeks ago. Not to mention the fact that you were sure he was stalking you after you broke up with him. He didn't want to break up, and you'd thought he might have finally just accepted it after you blocked him on everything and moved to a different apartment but now you weren't so sure.

Your mind flashes back to a night in your old apartment, you had ordered dinner for you and Derek. You were so excited, the table looked so cute, flowers and candles, the food laid out as you waited for him to get back from work. As you heard the door unlock, your heart dropped, suddenly the rush of feeling like you somehow fucked up took over your body as he walked in the door. He loudly and aggressively took off his shoes, dropping his briefcase on the floor as he stomped towards you. You smile at him, and he shoves you against the wall, wrapping his hand around your throat, squeezing tightly.

“Who the fuck is this shit for?” He snaps. You're clawing at his hands trying to peel him off of you as you desperately try to breathe.

“Y-you.” You choke out, gasping.

“Fucking whore.” He spits, releasing you to drop to the floor as he walks away, slamming the bathroom door.

You shake your head as you come back to reality. “Yeah, I know.” You sigh. “I'm just not ready yet, okay?” You half smile. She nods her head, accepting it, for now. But you knew that it wasn't the last that you'd hear about it.

A few hours later, you're laying in bed, scrolling through your phone mindlessly, not thinking about a single thing, doing whatever you want without a care in the world. It was a refreshing feeling, one that you weren't used to. When you had been with Derek, you were constantly on high alert, always tense, anxiously waiting for one of his break downs, waiting for him to snap and get mad at you for something miniscule, blowing it so out of proportion.

You shake your head at the memories, rather trying to focus on current positive things in your life. You plugged your phone in, turning on your favorite show and simply drifted off into a peaceful sleep - or what you hoped would be.

But it wasn't. You tossed and turned as your dreams became increasingly more terrifying with each turn.

Snapshots of you running down the sidewalk in the middle of the night, hiding in the alley, against the wall. Your hand covering your mouth. You can see his shadow… he's standing there, slowly walking towards where you were hiding in the dark.

“Please no.” You cry out…

Until finally, you shoot up in bed, feeling the sweat dripping from your face. Your chest throbs as you sit with your eyes closed, trying to breathe through it.

You take one more deep breath, opening your eyes, seeing the shadow of a man standing in your doorway. You close your eyes again as you let out an ear curdling scream, opening your eyes once more and seeing no one there now.

Your body shakes as you try to decide what to do. Did you call the cops? Check your apartment? You locked the door…you swore you did but now you were second guessing yourself. Did you leave a window open? Was this just a dream? Yeah that must be it, it was just a dream, maybe a figment of your imagination.

You rolled out of your bed, your legs shaking as you slowly made your way out of your room. Your fingertips hover shakily above the hallway light switch as your heart races. You can feel your face heating up as you squeeze your eyes shut, clicking the light on. You take a breath before you just barely open one eye, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Both eyes open as your heart settles down, and your anxiety slowly fades away. You shuffle through the rest of your apartment, seeing nothing out of place. Your door was locked, your windows closed. You felt safe now, safe enough to turn out all the lights once again and crawl back into your bed. Sleep came easily for the rest of the night, but the nightmares refused to fade.

**

A few days later, you're standing at the bar, grabbing four drinks to bring back to your table of friends. You walk over, setting them down in front of each girl, before taking your seat beside Soomi.

“So.” Seulgi says, clasping her hands together. “Soomi says you're refusing to go after any men ever again?” She asks, cocking her head to the side.

“Oh my god.” You laugh. “For the foreseeable future, yes I have absolutely no plans.” You say, taking a sip of your drink. The three girls stare at you, each one raising an eyebrow.

“That sounds suspicious.” Chae says, giving you a side eye as she flips her hair behind her shoulder.

“It's not suspicious.” You say. “Why is my romantic life always the topic of conversation these days?”

“Because, it's like you're living in the past with Derek. So he swore at you once or twice, that's enough to swear off all men?” Seulgi asks.

“Especially maybe one with brown hair, gorgeous eyes and the most attractive face you'd ever seen?” Soomi sings.

“Um.” You breathe. You had never told any of them the real reason you broke up with him, or the fact that you thought he was stalking you after the break up. You knew they would worry, and while you loved them for it, it would be even more relentless than the conversations about your love life. “Look at that, more drinks needed. I'll get them.” You say, standing up from your chair, and walking back to the bar. You take a seat on the stool as you wait for the bartender to be finished.

“Y/N?” You hear from behind you. You turn around, and surprisingly, you see a man that Soomi had just described.

“Yes?” You say, almost hypnotized by his looks.

“It's me.” He laughs. “Chan.”

“Okay?” You say, laughing awkwardly. You had no idea who this man was or how he knew who you were.

“Are we still on for Saturday?” He asks.

“I'm sorry…” you begin. Before you can continue, the bartender is impatiently standing in front of you waiting for you to order. You tell him what drinks you want and when you look back, Chan is gone. You pay for your drinks, bringing them back to the table. You sit down in your chair, looking at each girl.

“The weirdest thing just happened to me.” You say. “A guy just came up to me and asked if we were still on for Saturday.” You murmur.

“Oh?” Seulgi responds.

“Yeah and he knew my name.” You add, looking between each girl.

“What did you say?” Chae asks.

“I couldn't really say anything, the bartender was tapping his foot while waiting for me and when I looked back he was gone.” You explain.

“That's weird.” Seulgi murmurs, giving you an uncomfortable look.

“What did you think of him?” Soomi asks.

“Why?” You wonder.

“Just, you know, curious.” She smiles.

“He was oddly specific to someone you described earlier.” You mention.

And then it hits you.

“Oh Christ, Soomi.” You sigh. “What did you do?”

“I signed you up for a dating site!” She squeals, clapping her hands. “Chan was one of the first you matched with.”

“What about I don't want to date, do you not understand?” You ask.

“I thought maybe it would be the little push you need!” She exclaims. “You have to get back out there!”

“That's not your decision to make.” You snap. “Delete it and fucking stop. I will tell you when I'm ready!” You spit, standing up, grabbing your purse and storming out of the bar.

You walked home that night, taking your time, hoping the cool air would help you calm down. It didn't really work. You were pissed off, annoyed and hurt. She had no boundaries and didn't fucking listen. You should have to explain yourself to her why you don't want to date right now.

Your walk was quiet and uneventful. You got home and checked your phone, seeing a few missed calls and texts from the girls, but mostly from Soomi, apologizing. You decided to ignore her for the rest of the night, maybe tomorrow you'd talk to her but tonight you had no interest at all.

The next day, you were wandering around the grocery store near your house when your cart bumps into someone else's. You looked up in horror, you'd been so wrapped up in your own head tou hadn't been paying attention to where you were going.

“I'm so sorry.” You say, looking up, seeing a familiar face. “Chan.”

“Y/N.” He smiles. “No worries at all.” He finishes, pulling his cart away to move around you but for some reason you felt compelled to explain things to him.

“I didn't know!” you yell. He turns around to look at you. “About the date I mean.”

“Oh?”

“My friend signed me up for the dating site… without my knowledge.”

“Oh shit. I'm sorry.” He says. “Why would someone do that?”

“She wants me to get back out there.” You sigh.

“Well that's not her decision to decide when someone is ready.” He responds.

“That's what I said.” You giggle. “Anyways, I'm really sorry.”

“Hey, it's all good. I don't want you to feel like you're being forced.” He smiles. “But if you ever decide to change your mind… I'd love to take you out.” He says, pushing his cart away. You watch him walk away, cursing Soomi silently in your head.

“Chan, wait!” You yell out. “You know…one date couldn’t hurt… right?”

“No.” He smiles.

“One date couldn't hurt.”

**If you enjoy my writing and would like to help me keep it up, please commission a story HERE**

[skatergayerfurt93]

My DVS Comanche eu 41 on feet with white short socks

[warhead]

[lulunothulu]

“A Bullseye to the Heart” Ch. 8

Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Latina Reader

Summary: Flashbacks creep into your dreams, causing you to wake up in a panic…it’s a good thing Jake is there to calm you. Jake finds out what happened to you, what happened with your ex, and why you’ve been getting paid off.

Content: Flashbacks(kinda gory), torture, anxiety attack, talks of suicide, some swearing, DV, will end on a happy note.

Word count: 4,019

A/N: While I think you can assume this is a middle eastern place that she was taken/sent to, I didn’t label the people for obvious reasons. Please be mindful of this and really put yourself in her shoes. Next chapter will be a lot less traumatic. I promise 💗 (Please do go back and read the other chapters, this won’t make a lot of sense if you don’t. All linked in my Masterlist!)

Chapter 8

“What were you sent here to do?” The man asks. His dark hair and even darker eyes bare into yours, daring you to speak. He’s wearing jeans and a black shirt, his mouth and nose covered in a mask.

You’d figured out that he was the leader of the terrorist organization whose weapons you were supposed to bomb. You’d been in their custody for a few days, tied to a pole on the ceiling like a slab of meat in a butcher shop.

They did this to weaken you for torture, you knew that. You’d been trained for this.

“Answer me!” The man yells. When you don’t say anything but stare at him, he nods to a man on your left.

This one compared to the leader, was huge—broad shouldered and muscular even under the loose shirt he wore.

The other man smiles, a whip coming into your view. Before you had time to brace yourself, the whip cracks and slams into your skin.

You seethe in pain, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of screaming in pain.

Except, when the whip is pulled away from your back, a chunk of flesh follows. You let out a blood curdling scream at that.

“All you have to do is tell us who you were working for,” the Leader tells you. “Your Admiral must’ve told you something.”

“I don’t know anything,” you gritted.

He sighs. “Fine.”

And again, you’re whipped.

Over and over again.

So much so, you could feel the blood trail down your spine and legs.

You knew you’d bleed out before they could get anything out of you. You almost begged for it to happen.

After a week of being whipped and beaten by a wooden so badly it broke, you knew you weren’t making it out alive.

Day after day, the same questions.

“Who do you work for?”

“Why are you here?”

“Where’s your back up?”

And each time, you’d give them nothing. An occasional spit in the Leader’s face but that would result in him slapping you, followed by the larger man’s fists.

By the end of that week, they’d send you to a medic who would treat you, let you heal for a week, and then it would start again.

Two months into it, you began losing hope that you’d ever be found.

Two months in, you were still being tied up to the bar in the ceiling. Occasionally you’d be sat down, given food, only for them to turn you upside down and dunked in water. They’d ripped out your nails, cut your skin, burned your healing back.

And still, nothing from you except for an occasional “fuck you”.

By the end of the third month, you’d come to expect the lashings. You’d come to expect the beatings.

But that last day, you were taken to a clean room. A surgical room. Fear riddled your body, beginning to expect the worst. When a doctor walked in with the Leader and his torturer, you were tied to the bed, your pants pulled down your legs.

“You are leaving,” the Leader tells you. “But not before we leave you with a parting gift.”

His eyes crinkle in what you assumed was him smiling. Behind him, the doctor walks up to you and marks your hip with a blue marker.

“Here is safe,” he tells the torturer.

You hear a machine whir behind him and when he moves, you see the torturer holding a hot stamp. A skull and bones symbol red as a chili pepper is being heated by some sort of portable hot stove.

“No,” you say, quietly at first but louder the closer they get to you. “NO!”

They only laugh. The torturer comes close, before whispering, “This will hurt. Do not move.”

You feel the doctor and the Leader hold your legs in place as the hot stamp finally makes contact with your skin.

You scream, blood curdling and raw. You scream until you can no longer breathe, the scent of burning flesh fills the small room. You feel yourself falling in and out of consciousness, but the doctor wakes you up completely with some smelling salts.

They pull your pants back up before untying you and dragging you out of the room and into a garage before putting a hood on your head. They throw you into the back of a truck before laughing and driving you somewhere.

“You’re lucky we didn’t do more than that with your pants down, girl.” The Leader tells you. “Thank your God we didn’t.”

You only sob. You were sure they were going to kill you. But when they stop and pull you out of the truck, you have to blink when they pull the hood off.

You were in an open field. The sun gloriously kissing your skin and grass whistling in the soft breeze.

They push you to your knees before you hear the cocking of a gun.

“Thank your Admiral for us,” is the last thing they say before shooting up in the air.

It was flare. They shot…a flare.

Instantly, you hear the whirring of a helicopter coming from behind a mountain in front of you. Behind you, the truck doors slam before the two men leave you on your knees, bloodied all over your body, and tears running down your face.

You were going to be okay. You were going to be saved.

So then why did the man’s words echo in your mind?

* * *

“Thank your Admiral for us.”

You woke up with a jolt, someone’s hand was holding yours and you had to fight to free yourself from their grip.

You were sweating, panting for fresh air.

It was just a dream. You’re home, safe.

You tried reasoning with yourself but it was no use. You were panicking, and hard.

Beside you on the floor, Jake sits up, rubbing his eyes before turning to you.

“Hey, did you sleep–”

Jake stops talking when he sees the way you hold your chest, face frozen in panic and breathing rapidly. “What happened?”

“They’re here,” you breathe, staring off into space. “They want me back. They’re gonna kill me this time.”

“Hey, hey,” Jake soothes, squatting beside you. “Breathe.”

“I. Can’t. Breathe.” you sputter. “It’s–oh my god–Jake I can’t–”

“You can,” he tells you. “C’mon, Sweetheart. You’ve got this, just like me.”

He brings one of your hands to his chest, the warm surface clothed in cotton, heart beating under your fingertips. “Feel my heart?”

He grabs your other hand and brings it to your chest, your heart pounding against your hand. “Match my heartbeat, Y/N. You can do it.”

You feel yourself slow down, the world around slowing. Jake’s green eye is the only thing you’re focusing on.

“Count with me,” he goes on. “One.”

“O-one.”

“Two.”

“T-two.”

“Three.”

“Three.”

“Four,” Jake smiles.

“Four,” you smile back.

“Do you feel better?” he asks.

You nod. “Yes, thank you.”

“Did you have another nightmare?” he asks, rubbing the hand on his chest with his thumb.

“Yes,” you tell him, feeling yourself fully relaxed. “It was like a movie.”

“How so?”

“I saw what they did to me in a compilation,” you shudder. “I saw every lashing, every cut, everything.”

“Tell me about it.” Jake’s eyes are soft on you, encouraging you to go on.

“I saw them beat me that first week,” you tell him after a few deep breaths. “They had whipped me and beat me with a wooden bat.”

Jake’s eyes flashed with anger before he nodded for you to go on.

“They-they did that for a month. The next month was the same but this time they let me sit instead of being chained to a bar on the ceiling.” You drop the hand on your chest in your lap, squeezing Jake’s hand in yours.

“They pulled my nails out next and cut my back wounds open again,” you went on. Tears form in your eyes again before you tell him, “The last day of the third month, they branded me. Called it a ‘parting gift’.”

He remembered. The skull and crossbones on your hip.

“They told me to be glad I didn’t get…you know, while my pants were down. That I should thank my God.” You were fully sobbing now. You couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“They told me to thank my Admiral,” you cried.

Jake let go of your hand before wiping the tears that fell with his thumb. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“That was the only thing I could focus on when the Navy saved me,�� you tell him, tears drying. “‘Why would he say that?’, I asked myself. And then it hit me.”

You look up at Jake again before saying, “I think Simpson knew I was going down. Even after I radioed in that I was.”

Jake’s blood runs cold, he wanted to tell you what he knew but wanted you to tell him what you knew first.

“I think that’s why they paid me off,” you continue, tears long gone now. “They must think I know something.”

“Well do you?” he asks, not able to contain the curiosity anymore.

You nod. “I think the weapons they wanted me to bomb were U.S. made and that’s why they sent me to bomb them.”

“Why do it themselves when they can send one pilot to bomb them?” he adds.

“Exactly,” you agree. “That’s why they wouldn’t let Rooster or Phoenix and Bob come with me. They knew I was going down or dying trying to fight my way out.”

“But why keep you for three months?” he asks.

“Who knows why the Navy does what they do,” you sigh. Changing the subject you tell him, “When I got back, I was so broken–physically and emotionally. Maybe that’s what made me an even bigger target to Nick.”

Jake’s spine straightens at his name. “Why’s that?”

“I was a walking target, I had the look of someone who had been through something horrible.” You shake your head and chuckle. “I was so open to wanting someone to show me love and affection, I fell right into his trap.”

You look at him, watching as Jake’s eyes harden before he asks, “What did he do?”

“He was nice,” you start. “At first he was. Asking if I wanted to talk about what happened, then asking if I needed company. He moved in not even two months into knowing him.”

You scoff, remembering how naive you were.

“Rooster hated him the moment I introduced him to him and Nat,” you continued. “He was a lot like you actually.”

“How so?” Jake asks.

“Nice, a ladies man, handsome…” You look away at that last word.

“That’s why you didn’t trust me at first,” he fills in the blanks.

“Yeah.”

“Do you trust me now?” he asks.

You turn to him, a small glimmer of hope in your eyes.

“Yeah, I really do.”

“Why?” Jake asks. “If I’m the same as him, why do you trust me?”

“You never made a move to kiss me the first few times you were with me,” you whisper.

* * *

Jake only stared.

That motherfucker tried to kiss you the first few times he saw you? He was ready to pummel that fucker into the ground if it meant you would never see him again.

You must’ve seen the anger in his eyes because he shakes it away and swallows it down. “I’m you trust me.”

“I am too,” you tell him. “I’ve never told anyone that, about what I suspected with the Navy and with Nick.”

“I’m glad you finally got it out,” he tells you. “I really am. It’s good that you talk about what happened to you.”

“What about you?” You ask. “Has something like that happened to you?”

Jake shakes his head, remembering his old weapon system officer. “Not me, but my old back seater.”

“What happened?”

He’d told this story twice in his life. Once at court after everything happened and the second time to Lt. Addams’ parents.

“We were sent to bomb some important buildings in Afghanistan,” he starts. “They held all sorts of jets and weapons that could’ve comprised the U.S. military that were stationed there. So they sent Lieutenant Addams and I—that was my partner’s name.”

He smiles to himself.

“He was my best friend,” he continues. “I grew up with him and we joined the Navy together and then eventually flight school and so on.”

He looks up at you, watching as you listen so intently, you’re practically holding your breath.

“Well, we got into a disagreement,” Jake tells you. “He wanted to take things slow and I wanted to speed up, elimisome time from our arrival time.”

He takes a deep but shaky breath before looking away, down at the hands he held in your lap. He takes his time, caressing each of your knuckles, examining the small scars on your right hand. He flips your hands over to see your smooth palms, coated in light sweat.

“I went faster and didn’t anticipate the upcoming turn,” he goes on. “It was too late. I was too late. I should’ve died but I yelled for him to eject and I thought he was coming with me. But he—”

Jake’s breath hitched in his throat as an angry sob trickled up instead. He blows out a few breaths before looking up at you with tearful eyes.

“He didn’t eject in time.”

“Oh Jake,” you start.

“I should’ve listened to him,” he tells you. Then quietly he adds, “It should’ve been me.”

“Jake,” you start.

He feels your hands let go of his and move to his cheeks, you tilt his head up to face you before saying, “You are exactly where you need to be. If you weren’t here, I’d probably still be dealing with Nick. Or worse.”

Jake’s eyes glisten with tears, hearing you say that means so much to him. Being able to definitely say that he was a hero for you, meant that his mistake with Addams was paid back in full.

Because it may not have been Addams, but it was someone else who needed his help the most.

“You’re exactly the person I needed when I least expected,” you go on. “I know it hasn’t been long but I do think of you as a good friend. Thank you, for everything.”

He smiles up at you. This beautiful woman before him was a fighter, and he damn well deserved to be here—even just for her.

A knock on the door startles you both out of the mini staring contest you were in, making Jake turn in the direction of the front door.

He checks his watch which reads 2:45 AM.

“Who could be here so early in the morning?” He asks.

Before you even get to answer, you both hear pounding on the door. Jake feels you freeze, terror paralyzing you into speechlessness.

“Y/N!” He hears Nick yell. “Get your sorry ass out here! We’re going home.”

“How did he find my house?” Jake asks himself.

“He must’ve followed us home after we left Hard Deck.” You answer.

Jake looks at you, taking your hands in his again. “Go into my room, there’s a box under my bed. The code is 07-12-89. There’s a gun in there, just in case you need to use it.”

“What about you?”

Jake looks at you like it’s the last time he’ll see you. He tries to memorize your eyes, the way your lips pull back when you smile. He brushes a strand of your hair back before smiling at you.

“I’ll be okay, Sweetheart.”

When Nick pounds on the door again, Jake points for you to be quiet and go to his room. You obey, running as quietly and quickly as you can.

Once Jake is sure you’re safe, he calmly walks to the front door, opening it just as Nick was about to pound on it again.

“Can I help you?” Jake asks.

“Yeah,” Nick says, the smell of alcohol on his breath. “I’m looking for my girlfriend. She’s in there.”

“Girlfriend?” Jake pretends to think. “Wait, I thought you were single.”

Nick angrily grunts before adding, “No, she’s confused. She’s sick in the head.”

“Well if that’s the case, she’s definitely not here,” Jake smiles. “I only allow sane people in my house.”

“Then let me in to look for her,” Nick drawls.

“No can do, buddy,” Jake says, blocking Nick when he makes a move to enter the house. “See, I don’t know you and you w already tried to kick my ass earlier today—well, yesterday. So that’s a hard no from me.”

Nick frowns in anger, face contorting into something ungodly. “Let me in. I saw her go into the house.”

Jake’s heart was pounding.

Not because he was scared, but because he was furious. Why can’t this guy just get the hint?

“Dude, even if she was here,” Jake starts. “She doesn’t wanna see you. So, take the hint.”

“Who the hell even are you?” Nick asks, pushing Jake back a bit.

“I’m just a guy who doesn’t like the way you’ve been treating Y/N,” Jake states. “And quite frankly, I don’t want you in my property so get the fuck off my porch and go home.”

“I don’t think so,” Nick seethes. “I want her and only her. So get her out here or I’m burning your house to the ground.”

“Those are some strong words for someone who’s worked really hard to become a pilot,” Jake smiles. “Do you really wanna throw that all away for some girl?”

Nick seems to ponder his words, brows furrowing in thought.

“Because that’s what? Two years of your life down the drain? And for what? A girl who doesn’t even want you?” Jake continues. “Is she really worth it all?”

Nick’s eyes focus on something behind him and Jake doesn’t even need to turn around to know who he’s looking at.

“Y/N,” Nick says. “Let’s go.”

Jake turns around to see you standing there, head held high, body squared, and feet planted. You look like the woman you once were, the one he’d seen pictures of in the Top Gun classroom and halls.

Strong and bold. Confidence radiating from your glossy bronzed skin.

You weren’t scared, and you made sure Jake and Nick knew it.

“I’m not leaving with you,” you say firmly.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘No’?” Nick bellows. “You’re coming home with me and we’re gonna talk about…us.”

“No,” you say, pushing past Jake and squaring up to Nick. “You’re going home and I’m staying here. You’re not good for me.”

“What? And he is?”

“Yes,” you say simply, catching Nick off guard. “He’s good for me. He and my friends, the ones you tried to keep me away from.”

Nick scoffs at that, rolling his eyes.

“What do you want? My apartment? You can have it,” you say, tossing your keys at him. “But what you can’t have is me. I’m done, I’ve been done for a long time, Nick. From the first time you put hands on me, to the last time you did. You will not hurt me again. So get off his porch and go home.”

Nick stares at you incredulously—Jake does too. He knew you’d finally had a breakthrough and was prepared to do anything to get Nick out of your life. Even if that meant standing up for yourself and doing the scariest thing you could ever do.

Confront him.

With a swipe at his face, Nick shakes his head before slapping you across the face. Your head turns but your body doesn’t move.

“You made a mistake,” Nick says darkly.

“No,” you say. “You made a mistake.”

You point behind Nick, where two officers, Bradley, and Natasha stand.

“Goodbye, Nick.”

* * *

2 months later

It’s been a fairly good two months. You’d been living with Jake since that night. You couldn’t bring yourself to go back to your lonely apartment. And besides, you liked living with Jake.

Every morning since that night, Jake has made a point to leave you notes on the fridge, telling you when to expect him home. Granted, you’d be at work. But it’s the thought that counts.

Nick was kicked out of the Navy and served a few months in jail for the assaults he committed in the week before his arrest. You were also granted a permanent protection order against him.

Life was starting to look up.

You’d been hearing nicely, emotionally at least. You even told your therapist everything you told Jake.

The only thing you worried about now was whether or not Jake was going out on a date on weekends.

You hated to admit it, but I fell for him. And hard.

You didn’t want to, but the way he treated you was so different to what you’d ever experienced, you couldn’t help yourself.

But it seemed like Jake went back to his man-whore ways. You’d be at work and glance over to where he and the rest of the group were to see him all over a new girl each week.

You tried not to let it get to you, but it still did.

You figured you’d use this time to heal yourself—better yourself. You’d get to be as great as you could be so that when—and if—Jake wanted you, you’d be ready.

So now, you’d focus on you. Until the time was right.

Because even though it wasn’t meant to be right now, you knew it was meant to be. Otherwise, why would he leave you flowers and notes everyday? No man who wasn’t fawning over a woman would ever do that.

And yeah, there was a little voice in the back of your head that says maybe he’s just trying to be nice…but why do all that?

Either way, you were doing what was best for you. Because you owed it to yourself to do it.

No matter the outcome.

For now, you would go to work, go to your weekly therapy sessions, and smile at the life you get to live.

But that’s exactly what you get to do.

Live.

* * *

Jake’s date for the week smiled up at him as she attempted to seem hotter than she was. He’d brought her to Hard Deck to meet the group but now, he kinda didn’t want her around.

She smelled too sweet, she laughed a little too loud, and she just felt…wrong.

She wasn’t his Bullseye.

Not his. But his.

You’d just brought over a round of beers and were talking to Natasha when your date tapped on your shoulder.

“Yeah, I don’t drink beer. Can I have a white wine?” She says, rudely snapping at you to hurry. “Chop chop.”

Bradley’s eyes widen and he takes a long swig of his wet before looking at Jake with a wild expression.

“Sure,” you say. Jake watches as you take the beer, glancing his way with a dissatisfied expression.

She’s gonna rip me a new one later.

“Why don’t I get it for you?” Jake suggests. “Just in case.”

“Oh, Jakey,” his date says. “That'd be great. But honestly, we can just leave. This place is dingy and old.”

Behind her, Natasha and Bob’s mouths fall open, Coyote and Payback following suit. Bradley only cackles, making his date turn around in annoyance and Bradley turn around to avoid her gaze.

“So Jakey,” Bradley starts. “Are you leaving or are you staying?”

Jake looks at Bradley, then his date, and lastly you at the bar. You were serving Maverick a beer and smiling at something he said.

You were beautiful tonight. Your hair was curled and half tied up in a white bow, a white linen shirt and jeans your uniform for the night.

As if feeling his eyes on you, your turn just in time to catch him smiling at you before he turns to his date.

“You know what,” he starts. “I think I’m gonna stay.”

Bradley smiles. “Good choice.”

Next part

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me. I had a hard time with this chapter mainly because I wanted it to be sensitive but also raw. So thank you for reading it if you read it. And remember that there’s always someone out there that loves you 💗

Tags: @lonelysoul50 @akilatwt @russopalette @emma8895eb @djs8891

[izasbjdphoto]

A Breakdown of my New Impldoll 1/4 Plump Body (with a MNF Alicia head)

So I've had this body since April, as I ordered right at the release of the Impldoll 1/4 Plump body in real skin back in January/February 2024 to make use of the event to get extra hands and feet. I also got the Susu head, but I split it off with @poupeesdecirque (who made an amazing modded hybrid out of it) as I didn't need it.

I had intended at first to hybrid my DiM Gayane on the body, but then I realized that despite all the annoyance I had with her default body, I didn't see her as super curvy... So I decided to put my Fairyland MNF Alicia on it.

Here she is once I got her a dress. There is nothing slim about this body, so don't even bother getting her slim mini clothes, they will not fit. The dress is intended for Iplehouse JID girls with the glamour bust (my girl has the large bust), but I do think she can share shoes with MNFs from what I've noticed, as mine is wearing her old MNF sized shoes easily.

I'm gonna post the nude doll body pics under the read more cut:

Let's take a brief look at the body upon opening it. Look, no flat butt!! I gotta say, the level of detail on this body is insane. Like the detailing along the areola and the finger knuckles are beautifully done.

The one thing I am a little confused on is that her groin lacks all definition. It's just an odd choice with such a body, as she has even defined knuckles on her toes, but they haven't put anything there for girl dolls since the SGB Star Body, that one didn't have any crotch detailing.

Oh well, not much I can do about that other than mod it myself. But since my girl doesn't go commando, I don't care enough to add the detailing myself.

Now let's compare the Fairyland MNF A-Line girl body to the Impldoll 1/4 plump body. The Impldoll body is a good bit taller and thicker!

I took off the S-Hook and put a 3D Printed neck key on it as the neck would be way too short with just a washer. MNFs have really thick necks on top, so there is gapping, but it's no noticeable one the wig is on. Let's get a good turnaround view:

In the side and back view the gapping his more noticeable, but she stands solid. I did wire her arms legs as she liked to kick herself, but now she is great.

Impldoll even sent her with some coated wire to install as the owner. I used aluminum wire from my own stock as the Impldoll one was a titch too weak and thin to hold up against the elastic.

She sits easily on her legs, and can easily sit with her knees raised to her chest. The engineering is really nice on this aesthetic body, and Impldoll provides a lot of colors to choose from.

But do keep in mind any non "standard" colors (color matching and darker resins) there will be a good several month delay in getting your order. They mentioned this on their Instagram recently as people got worried about waiting 6+ months for dolls that others received within 3 or less months (I ordered a standard color, so it was fast).

I'll end the post with a small resin comparison. I have many other normal skins I can compare, to Impldoll real skin, such as DV normal pink and normal (yellow toned), 2D Doll normal yellow, DFA normal pink, TD Doll normal pink, etc... so just let me know if you want a resin comparison and I will do so.

Thanks for looking!

[madelynraemunson]

CALL OUT MY NAME ♛

(Book #2 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club Series)

CEO!bachelor!steve × fem!college grad!reader

MODERN AU • 18+ | BOOK #1 (e.m.)

slight age gap (Steve is 31, reader is 23); reader goes by the nickname "Sweets"

CW: slight age gap relationship, drinking, smoking, gambling, physical altercations, manipulation, abuse (DV, emotional, financial, mental), profanities, eventual smut

*loosely inspired by sara cate’s salacious players club*

↳001 (PROLOGUE) // 002 // 003 // 004 // 005 // 006 // 007 EPILOGUE

Summary: 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄. Steve Harrington has the WORST luck with the ladies. His high school sweetheart left him for another dude, his former fuck buddy is dating his roommate, and his dream girl is a lesbian. King Steve is losing hope. That is until he meets you — a newly graduated university student from Seattle — when your paths cross on a fateful night in Sin City. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas... that is until your risky business trickles over to Hawkins, Indiana, a town your best friend knows of a little too well.

theme song: call out my name by the weeknd

tag list is open 💌✨

Chapter 001: PROLOGUE

word count: 1.7k words

♛

Winter 2024

“WATCH OUT INDIANAPOLIS — you're about to get... absolutely SOAKED!”

The booming voice of a man in Steve’s bedroom stirs him awake.

Letting out a ferocious yawn, The King rubs his eyes free of the annoying crust in the corner of his sockets, flopping around one more time before doing his routine stretch.

“Google,” Steve commands. “Turn off the TV.”

The TV immediately switches off. It’s nothing personal to meteorologist Marcus Bailey, but if Steve ever needed an accurate forecast of Indianapolis, all he would have to do is look outside his penthouse window. And that, after brushing his teeth, is just what he does.

"G'morning Indy,” he sighs happily on his balcony before going back inside.

Steve then makes his way over to the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast.

“Google,” he calls out again. “Open the curtains, please.”

Google replies:

“Opening curtains. Good morning — Steve.”

"Google, what's my schedule looking like today?" "Google, text Dustin." “Google, what is the weather looking like in Nevada?” “Google, turn on my shower tunes.”

The best thing about not living with Eddie Munson anymore, is that Steve can shamelessly sing Amy Winehouse in the shower without being hounded about it.

“We only saaaid GOODBYE, with WORDS!” Steve sings, confidently off-key. “I died a hundred times! You go back to her, and I goooo baaack toooo…”

"Scanning fingerprint...”

an automated voice announces at the entrance of Steve's walk-in closet.

Swish...

The door slides open. Sauntering his way inside, Steve ventures for some slick black athleisure down to the shoes, his usual musky cologne, and some matching sunglasses (despite the gloomy forecast prediction).

Black. 🎶

Steve Harrington is ready for the day.

---

"Google, make reservations for 3 people at Tony's Steakhouse at 7pm please."

All Steve had left to do for the day now was grocery shop. Which was always a hassle. Because sometimes, the store doesn't have the specific brand he's looking for so the shopper has to opt for an alternate version. Or sometimes, the shopper assigned to him that day chooses produce that is nearing its expiration date making every fruit in his bag a mushy mess. It doesn't happen too often, but it sure feels inconvenient as hell when it does. There are worse problems in life though, so Steve really can't complain.

*Ring, ring. Ring, ring*

The very distinct and custom ringtone has Steve bolting across the room to answer the call. One of his best friends was on the other line.

"Yello?" he says into the phone.

"Hey, it's Shy Girl," comes a voice. "Eddie and I are pulling in."

"Pull off to the side. Valet's got it. I'll send you guys up."

A bottle of cabernet sauvignon a la Steve awaits the pair when they make their way over. Consider it a Tony's pre-game.

"GameWorld stock is up 4% today,” Steve's buddy, and owner of Hellfire Gentlemen's Club Eddie Munson announces as the two clink glasses. "I don’t have much faith in it though, figure I’ll get my pie slices from actual grocery stores. Like Meijer.”

“Everyone's always gonna need groceries,” Steve points out. "Definitely. Just don't day trade. Not now."

"Ooh, you hear that, Eds?" Shy Girl nudges him. "You gotta be careful where you put your money."

"I gotta be careful with my money, period," Eddie smirks. "You're a danger to my pockets, angel."

"Oh but you love me," she says.

"Yeah," Eddie gives in, grabbing his lover's dainty digits, trailing his fingers across hers, and rubbing the glistening rock that took up most of her left hand on the distal side. "I sure do."

"I'm just... so proud of us," Steve sappily reflects. "So much has happened over the past two years and we've all come so far."

"Yeah," Shy Girl agrees. "And it's about fucking time we celebrate."

"I agree," Eddie chimes in, raising his glass once again. "This weekend trip is going to be... one for the books."

"Viva Las Vegas," Steve toasts. "Cheers."

"Viva Las Vegas!"

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

Black and red.

They're the two colors that occupy your closet the most. But of course, after graduating from Washington State University (or Wazzu, for short), you expected nothing less.

You could do with some more sequins though, you think to yourself as you pack your bags.

"What do you think of this, Sweets?"

Peering over your shoulder, you see that your best friend, Elle has started festivities early, managing to hold two glasses of champagne in one hand, and six-inch stilletoes in the other.

"Can't take the party out of the girl, that's for damn sure," you respond.

When you left Seattle to attend WSU Pullman, Elle was your only friend in business class. Mainly because the class was predominantly for dudes, but eventually you found out that you two have a lot in common.

Elle is everything you would want in an older sister figure: she is both book smart and wise, she is sexy, and she eats men for breakfast. And, now that she's about to celebrate the launching of her lingerie business (along with her Dirty 30s Era), and you're about to enter your new-grad era, you two are hitting up Las Vegas to go ham together one last time.

It's all so bittersweet. You owe everything to the Warrens, having taken you in when you were a lost undergrad. It also sucked quite a bit not having a support system after graduating high school. You and Elle were all each other has. Which makes this inevitable separation so much more painful.

"Are you sure you're okay with Vegas by the way?" you question. "I know since the split, being surrounded by gorgeous girls 24/7 can kinda be triggering.”

"Don't worry about it, love," she shakes it off. "The past is in the past. This is a new era of me."

Cheers to that. Clinking your airport-pregame champagne glasses with one another, you raise a toast to yourselves, celebrating how far the two of you have come over the past four years.

"To friendship."

"To friendship."

"To being elegant and educated."

"To elegance and education."

"And to being girl-bosses for the rest of our lives."

You giggle as you raise your glass of champagne even higher.

"To being girl-bosses for the rest of our lives," you two take a sip at the same time. "And no matter how near and no matter how far, we're always gonna be besties."

"I love you, Sweets."

"I love you too, Isabelle."

divider from @plum98

🏷️ taglist: @potatobeanpie @xblueriddlex @angietherose @winchester-angel @aactuaaltraash @hugdealer @hazydespair @frostandflamesfanfic @mediocredreams @bl0ssomanddie @corkadymu @eddiesguitarskills @mrsjellymunson @cadence73 @m-chmcl-rmnc @n-slayaaaaa @corrodedcoffincumslut @kennedy-brooke okay i think i tagged everybody

10/23/2024 -- @micheledawn1975 @maisiepotatobeans @1deverland just updating the tag list :))