#dvs shoes

[rodolfohb]

DVS

[silohdistribution]

Estamos aquí para cambiar su perspectiva sobre el uso de un zapato, y nuestra gama de todos estos zapatos DVS, diseñados con pura clase y moda, serán los únicos que prevalecerán. Cada zapato se ha hecho con el mayor cuidado posible y asegura que el que los tiene puestos no sienta la necesidad de quitárselos hasta que realmente los necesite.

[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

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

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.

[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.”

[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**

[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 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!

[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

[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 :))

[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!