#I had to call a locksmith and everything

[aajjks]

tw/ hórny èx bf, hè ís à crèèp, nôncôn, èxplïcït ând nsfw thèmès.

It’s hard to break up with someone like him because he doesn’t get the hint- it’s been barely 6 days and he finds himself right in front of your door.

Really horny. And quite frankly messed up.

He bangs on your door- at first he’s gentle, but then he finds himself losing his patience when you don’t open up after a few bangs at your door, even with the bell It’s not working.

He just might have to be a little bit more aggressive with it. See now, he doesn’t like being aggressive with you. He knows that you hate this side of him. That’s why you broke up with him in the first place.

It’s not really a break up to him though because you’re just trying to break and he thinks that this break has lasted way longer than it should have in the first place. So he takes deep breath, and he starts banging at it like a maniac.

“Yn! YN OPEN UP!” But you don’t. You’re really trying to test his patience and then you try to lecture him on his aggressive nature.

His pupils are dilated at this point, he’s feeling so crazy right now, it’s aching and his pants, and he has missed you like crazy-staring at your pictures is not enough anymore. Not at all.

It’s your fault, you know.

It’s your fault that you’re so beautiful and that you have his heart in your hands… he closes his eyes for a moment, and then he takes out the spare keys he had to your apartment-of course, you don’t know about them, but he had a locksmith make them for him.

Without any rational thinking- he unlocks your apartment with ease.

And soon the familiar scent of your home hits him and your ex boyfriend finds himself relaxing, his head feels a little better now. “Yn!~~~” he calls out your name with affection but you still don’t respond.

Weird.

So he decides to check if you’re home. He really hopes that you are because he needs to talk to you and… a lot of other other things.

First to fall of course it’s gonna be your bedroom, his feet, take him to the familiar room so easily, because he remembers every single room in your home, like the back of his hand.

And to his surprise? He hears the shower running. A Cheshire Cat smile spreads across his lips. But before he can think anything else, the shower drops sounds come to a halt.

Oh, so you must be done..

He waits- by sitting on your bed and waiting for you to come out, and he doesn’t have to wait long, so he unzips his pants, creepy? He doesn’t give a fuck.

He needs to fuck you and get you back. He has everything you ever want. Quite frankly, you can be ungrateful. Anyone would kill to be in your place… but too bad he wants you.

And there you are, in all your wet glory-with a towel loosely wrapped around your body, you gasp, expected, in surprised to see him, he smirks.

Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to scream at him, he doesn’t mind you can because he’s missed your voice a lot.

“Hi baby.” He greets you. Licking his lips, because he feels himself getting harder when he stares at your soaked, freshly washed body.

You look so sexy like this I can’t help but remember all the times he would fuck you senselessly in the shower or sometimes when you were done with it.

You’re just so irresistible. You get him so horny for no reason at all. It’s your fault and now you’re going to have to help him out.

“W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” You finally say something to him, even though you’re screaming at him like a maniac, he doesn’t mind.

“I can’t help it baby you know I love you and I can’t live without you-and I’m so horny right now.” He licks his lips again, getting up from your bed to walk towards you.

He needs to touch you right now.

“I told you you couldn’t break up with me but you thought you could.. so I just wanted to give you a little break, but I think it has lasted enough now I need you back.” He groans. You smell so good even his muscles are pulsing.

His eyes are you like a predator and You should know that you cannot escape.

He is way too strong for you.

“Come on now- look at me? I’m so fucking hard because I was thinking about you- and look at you.. fuck…” he breathes out, taking you by your waist.. but then he gets another idea.

So instead of holding you, he drops to his knees.

This is gonna get you so weak for him.

“Let me eat your pussy. Missed it so much.” He looks into your eyes when he grabs your legs. You barely manage to hold onto your towel, which was about to fall. And something switches in your eyes.

You have missed him too.

He smiles. “I bet you missed me too. Fuck- baby let me have a taste please- I’m doing this to make it up to you. I know I pissed you off, so let me make it up.” He breathes, slowly, removing the towel and he starts to tease you by rubbing his hands over to your clit.

You whimper, you’ve always been so weak for him.

He knows you need him-equally as bad as he needs you. And he’s going to make you realize it tonight. He leans his face closer to your cunt, and you grab his wide shoulders for support.

“Oh look at you baby- you’ve already started to get wet.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your thigh, and then his kisses get closer to your heat, “f-fuck. You’re so fucking bad for this.” You moan out. He knows that you’re trying to reject him still even though he knows what your heart and body really want.

Him.

“I know yn.. but fuck- you’re my bad habit.” He replies before he takes one of his fingers out of your pussy and he smashes his mouth into it- his tongue starting to eat you out.

“Nghhh fuck.” You moan as he starts to tease you again with his teeth- he’s so messy right now, all sloppy as he pushes his tongue in deeper and deeper.

That’s how you like it.

His mind is in a frenzy because the noises you’re making are purely sinful- your towel gals to the ground and your back arches.

He won’t let you fall.

He will make you cum in his tongue.

“Ugh fuck..” he groans as he eagerly laps at your juices, you’re giving him so much.

And he knows you’re already going to cum.

“A-Agh fuck don’t stop- don’t fuckin stop.” You command him and grab on his locks- that arouses him anymore- you taste so fuckin good.

He can kill anyone for you.

“O-Oh fuck- baby cum on my tongue- you can do it.” He praises you- his hands on your ass as he squeezes it, you pull on his hair.

His teeth graze your clit.

“Should I fuckin bite? Since you’re so *pants* fuckin mean to me? Nah.. I love you..” he barely manages to speak because you’re suffocating him and you’re going to cum.

“You can *pants* only cum if you come back to *pants* m-me.”

BNHA- hawks, aizawa, bakugo, deku

JJK- gojo, geto, toji, sukuna

[maleyanderecafe]

Locked Out (Kinetic Novel)

Created by: SlowlyTee 🍓

Genre: Horror/Romance

This is a short but complete kinetic novel about a girl named Sallie who gets locked out of her apartment and has to wait it out in her neighbor Kien's apartment until she can get the locksmith to come. It has a very nice art style and a bit of a twist near the end, even if it does feel like it ends in a cliff hanger. You can find more at @slowlytee.

The story starts out with Sallie coming back home from her work after a snowstorm only to find that she had accidentally locked her keys inside of her apartment. She finds that there's nobody she can turn to and instead calls a locksmith to help her get back in. Because of the snow storm, the company estimates that it will take them about an hour and a half to the apartment, meaning that Sallie will have to either stand outside in the cold or find a place to stay. While contemplating on the nearby places and how creepy that one guy at the mall was, her new neighbor Kien comes by and offers for her to stay at his place to wait. Having no real other option, she agrees and hangs out at his place to talk. We find out the reason why Kien is out so late is because of his insomnia and he talks about how he manages it, letting himself work on various projects to tire himself out. As a freelance editor, he is able to work on many projects on his own time. Sallie also talks about her job as a bartender and her desire to be a journalist, even if she knows her family doesn't really support her on this decision. Kien offers her a drink and suggests drinking some wild berry tea which Sallie agrees to. After variously talking for a bit, Kien heads to the bathroom and Sallie ends up passing out on the couch. Upon waking up, she finds that she missed the locksmith by two hours, causing her to panic. Kien comes in to tell her that he decided to pay for the fees and got her door unlocked while she was asleep. When asked to pay him back, Kien instead asks for her to go on a coffee date with him which she agrees to. After being given some wild berry tea leaves, Sallie returns back to her apartment. She decides before sleeping to call the company and figure out how much she owns Kien, however, upon calling, she finds that Kien actually cancelled the service stating that he was Sallie's boyfriend and simply unlocked it for her, leading the caller to get annoyed and scold her a bit for wasting her time. Immediately afterwards, Sallie goes to Kien's house and pins him against the wall angry. She more or less curses at Kien and tells him to not mess with her before he laughs stating that her reaction was very interesting.

First things first, I really like this artstyle in this game-it reminds me of an artist that I follow on instagram though it's not the same person. I think that the snowy atmosphere really brings a very good feeling to everything, not only the coldness that Sallie feels but also the contrasting warmness of when she goes into Kien's apartment. All in all, I honestly just really like the art style for this game. Another thing I like is how generally grounded this game is, as everything that happened is something that could feasibly happen in real life, which I think is always a fun thing to see in these types of kinetic novels. Despite how short it is, it's able to showcase both of the character personalities- even certain things like Sallie turning on Kien at the end by coming to his apartment and pushing him against the wall are also foreshadowed in her conversations with Kien.

Sallie initially comes off as a bit more aloof and reserved towards others, though it's completely understandable given that she's locked herself out of her apartment during a snowstorm. She doesn't actually ask Kien initially when she sees him to perhaps let her stay in his apartment until tlhe snowstorm starts, out of both politeness and out of awkwardness. We see this too when she stays in his apartment at least until Kien makes her more comfortable and insists on paying back Kien even after Kien tells her its okay, going so far as to call on the same day to figure out the pricing. At the same time though, we see that her job wasn't supported by her parents and thus she has to fund her own college classes through bartending. There's a sense of not wanting to have to be in debt in others no matter the cost, so I can see where she might have a kind of turn like this near the end. There are definitely bits of personality that shine through from what initially seems like a more polite and passive protagonist.

Kien, until the reveal at the end, is pretty good at hiding his yandere intentions. It's likely that he has been watching Sallie for a while, either because of his insomnia that allows him to watch over her at various times, or if he was lying just to make conversation with her. It also makes you wonder whether or not Kien himself was the one who locked Sallie's apartment door or if she did honestly forget and he took advantage of the situation. I think the most obvious thing he does is drug the tea that Sallie had- I honestly thought he was going to kidnap her after this instance, but instead he just goes out to unlock her door. Honestly, if Sallie had not decided to call the place to figure out how much she owed Kien, she probably wouldn't have found out that he was doing all of these things, like calling her his girlfriend or unlocking the door himself. I actually like this approach since there are a lot of little subtle hints into what's going on and then an ultimate confirmation at the end to see what he actually did. I am curious about his reaction though since he seems pretty smug for someone who was caught stalking and making a copy of her keys.

The game ends pretty abruptly on a cliff hanger. I think that while it could have made a more clean cut ending, the way that the cliff hanger ends give a sense of intrigue for what is to come. However, I can see why people would not like it since it is very abrupt and seemingly comes out of nowhere. Still, I think that it's a fun short game with a yandere in it with a good art style. Try it out if you haven't.

[mockerycrow]

could we get “here, you can sleep in my shirt” with neighbor!ghost after the reader gets locked out of her apartment in a thunderstorm maybe? i’m horrible w coming up w ideas but have been EATING UP your works lately!

Downpour (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist - crow’s mega masterlist

“Here, you can sleep in my shirt.”

A/N: LOOOOKKKKKK i usually keep prompts for events and this one got sent in after i ended the celebration, but i had to do it!!! i also apologize this took so long. i also made this gn, i know you used she/her pronouns but i finished this when i realized 🫠 i’m sorry!

[WARNINGS: none, tension perhaps!]

THE ENTIRE DAY, it had been raining nonstop. The humidity was raising by the hour, making everything sticky and somehow even more wet than it was before. You’d try to wipe your hands dry from the rain, but it’s like you were just spreading the water droplets around, the air so humid as it never gave the water a chance to dry up on its own. It didn’t help that your entire day went to shit, too. Your car ended up breaking down and you missed the bus by just a few minutes, making you late for work. You ended up missing the bud on the way back as well, forcing you to walk to work in the rain, and walk back home in the rain.

Lucky you, your boss wasn’t as mad as you expected them to be.

You shudder as your soaking wet clothes stick to your skin, making your way up a few flights of stairs to your apartment floor. You had goosebumps lining your arms under your soaked shirt, your shoulders uncontrollably shaking as you walked down the hall, tracking wet droplets onto the carpet that probably hasn’t been cleaned in a few years, but has one of those designs that hide the dirt and grime. You hiss quietly in an attempt to distract yourself, your hands patting your pockets for your keys. You grab them and pull them out and you insert the key into the key hole and you turn—but the damn metal breaks, your key successfully snapping in half. Your jaw genuinely drops as you stand there for a moment, a tense, “Are you fucking kidding me?” spilling from your lips.

It’s too late to call the building manager to come along and help you, and it’s definitely too late to call a locksmith of some sort. You know none of your friends or family are awake by this point, either. You curse quietly as you bend at your knees and pitifully attempt to wiggle the broken part of the key out of the deadbolt, you even try to turn the key by lining up the base of the key to the shaft—but of course, it doesn’t work. You’re so focused on your door that you don’t notice your neighbor across the hall has opened his door, watching you in silence for a moment. “Today of all days.” You angrily mutter, pathetically kicking the bottom of your apartment door, as if it’ll magically swing open for your convenience. You hear someone clear their throat and you jolt because it’s late, and you didn’t expect anyone to be around.

You turn around and blink when you meet eyes with your neighbor—Simon. He’s standing in the doorway, one hand grasping his door, the other leaning on the doorframe on the side. He’s a big man—tall and muscular, shoulders broad and wide, torso following and tapering off near his waist. His arms were big too, and no doubt his legs are the same. He has a strong jaw with little stubble, his hair a shabby blonde, paired with some dark brown eyes that certainly tell a story. He had a bunch of noticeable scars, but you weren’t one to ask about that sort of thing. You know he has a tattoo sleeve, but you’ve never been close enough to know the details of said tattoo sleeve. The thing that surprised you the most, though, is that he’s home in the first place. You knew that he worked in the military, although he was pretty private about everything concerning himself so you didn’t know details. During your small interactions, you’ve managed to become friends.

“Hi.” You say sheepishly, coddling your keys in your hand. Simon’s eyes roam your body from head to toe before his lips curl into the most subtle smile. “Got caught in the rain, hm?” He rasps out, tilting his head ever so slightly to the right. You nod and almost with comedic timing, you begin to shiver again. “Seems you’ve broken your key, too.” Simon adds unhelpfully, moving his hand from the doorframe. You huff and rub your upper arms in an attempt to somehow keep warm whilst dripping water all over the hallway carpet. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.” You reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Simon huffs, the sound nearing a chuckle as he speaks up. “It’s lieutenant, actually.”

Your eyebrows raise for a moment because Simon actually shared something slightly personal with you—his rank in whatever branch of the military he’s in. “Well.. Lieutenant Obvious,” You begin, your voice coming out as a gentle tremble as the cold hallway isn’t doing you any favors. “It’s nice to see you home safe.” Simon clicks his tongue against the inner of his cheek, his eyes boring into your figure without responding. He seems hesitant, his posture stiff as he scans your face and your body language. Simon makes eye contact with you once again, the air thick with tension until he makes his decision; he slowly opens the door wider and steps out of the way, wordlessly gesturing you to come inside.

You try to hide your total and utter surprise, but it doesn’t last long as you quickly tread into his apartment, seeking warmth. You couldn’t say that you didn’t try to imagine what the inside of his apartment looked like—he always came over to yours. His apartment is fairly blank, but in its own way; it’s homey. Comfortable. It’s one hundred percent Simon. There isn’t really any photos of himself nor his family. There’s a couple of paintings that he’s bought over the years, definitely symbolizing different things you don’t know about him. There’s a couple pairs of shoes on a rack near the front door—some running shoes, a pair of working boots, and a pair of shoes that obviously haven’t been worn in years, judging by the layer of dust covering the toes of the shoes. Otherwise, from what you can judge from standing near his living room, you can tell he keeps everything neat and clean.

You hear the front door shut and lock behind you, and you hear his heavy footsteps begin to approach. “You should get warm. I’ll grab ya a towel. Take a shower, yeah?” His voice is low and nearly rumbling in your own chest as Simon approaches you, and you turn to look at him. He presses his lips into a thin line as he makes eye contact with you again, his eyelids naturally lidded. “I’ll throw your wet clothes in the wash for you in the mornin’.”

You nod and don’t bother to question anything at that time, your skin covered in harsh goosebumps, your clothes no where near the point of drying. “Where’s your bathroom?” Your voice is a bit meek as you speak, the coldness of the water is beginning to get to you. Simon walks over to a clothes basket near the couch, speaking as he does so. “Down the hall, middle door on the left. Door should be open.” You don’t waste any time and you quickly get yourself to his bathroom. You close the door behind you and your hand finds the light switch, flipping it on. His bathroom is a decent size—which is surprising for the size of the apartment. You don’t feel incredibly cramped, which makes sense for Simon.

You peel the soaked clothing off of you and they land on the floor with a gross slopping sound, causing you to wince. You decide to wring the remaining water out of your clothes into the bathtub before putting them in a pile on the bathroom floor, as Simon doesn’t have a clothes hamper in there. You put your phone on the sink counter, and luckily you managed to keep it dry. Being stripped from your sopping clothes, your skin is cold to the touch, but you begin to feel yourself naturally warm up. You draw back his shower curtains and manage to figure out how to operate his shower—you always found other peoples bathtubs and showers to be puzzles to use. You turn the knob a couple of times and feel the water that’s splattering down from the shower head into the tub, and you step into the tub after you deem the temperature the right one.

You close the shower curtain and you huddle yourself under the water that’s beating down onto you—it nearly burns as it’s running against your cold skin, but you grind your teeth and bare it because in reality, it isn’t that hot. You’re just incredibly chilly. You make sure to put your head under the stream of water too, and you’re enjoying the warmth so much you jolt when you hear Simon’s knocking at the bathroom door. Before you can answer, you hear the door open—but just a smidge. “I ‘ave a towel for you here,” Simon announces, raising his volume a bit so you can hear him over the water. “I’ll hang it on the towel rack.”

You shout a quick thank you over the water, hear him shuffle for a moment and then the bathroom door closing with a swift click. You appreciate his offer of comfort, while also respecting your privacy in such a vulnerable space. You make sure to take your time in the shower; allowing yourself to bask in the warmth coming from his pipes, the water running over your shoulders and down your torso, replacing any sense of coldness you’d earned by getting stuck in that rain. Eventually though, you decide it’s time to get out. You sigh and turn off the water, and you open the shower curtain and lean over to grab the towel. You shake the water off of your feet before stepping onto the bath mat in front of the tub and you get to work drying yourself.

Simon eventually knocks on the door again and opens it, but just enough for him to shove his hand through the crevice. In his grip is a shirt and some sweatpants with drawstrings. “Here you can sleep in my shirt. Your stuff is in the dryer.” His voice is low and muffled, and you smile a bit to yourself as you quickly snatch up the clothes. “Thank you, Simon.” You say with a soft tone, examining the clothes in curiosity. “Of’course,” Simon begins. “I got you set up on the couch, too. You’re welcome to my refrigerator as well.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise because this is such a drastic difference than a few months ago—probably a year ago by now. “Thank you..” You can’t help but repeat yourself, gratitude lacing your voice. He responds with a simple grunt before closing the bathroom door again.

You dry yourself off completely and you slip the shirt on, as well as the sweatpants. You tighten and tie the drawstrings if you need to, and despite these clothes being clean, they smell like Simon one hundred percent. You don’t complain, though; he smells kind of like freshly raked soil mixed with bourbon, as well as something you don’t quite recognize, but you guess is gunpowder. It’s comforting. It’s a main reason why you know Simon is home half the time; if the hallway smells like him, just a bit.

You find your heart skipping a beat and you can’t get the dopey smile off of your face as you hang the damp towel up on the towel rack, unable to stop thinking about Simon’s sudden kindness. You feel kind of special, from him letting you into his apartment all of a sudden. You take a deep breath in the bathroom mirror before opening the bathroom door, preparing yourself mentally on your neighbors couch; the neighbor you admittedly don’t know too well and probably shouldn’t trust so easily, but you do anyway. And it seems like he’s beginning to trust you, too.

[heartfullofleeches]

I need to see Selene having a sweet morning w her neighbor(wife) so bad. She's so cute?? I just wanna see her be happy and making breakfast for/with them while the vibes are good and sleepy. Let this woman get to sleep in and cuddle her lovely neighbor after brutally murdering her husband just the other night

Selene always wanted of a spring wedding.

Beyond being a child of the season, in her eyes it was to be the most romantic - symbolic of the growth between young lovers to lifelong partners. Furthermore, both mother and grandmother had spring weddings - passing their knowledge and the gift of their wedding gown onto the next generation. Its soft emerald hue matched her eyes and the season 0beautifully. She dreamed of walking down the aisle surrounded by love, the cool spring air, and blooming roses.

So why was she here now - cold and without an ounce of love to her name. The artifical bouquet in her hands scratched at the delicate parts of her skin and hair, autumn winds biting her exposed neck and arms. Spring was too much of an inconvenience for her soon to be husband. He hated the outdoors and insects that roamed freely, and so their wedding was set for October in the confines of an old church.

Selene told herself she could be happy. This was meant to be the happiest day of her life and the start of her days as a doting, loving wife, but as she entered the chapel she'd find someone else taking her place. A beautiful soul with a smile that encapsulated everything she loved about spring. Warm and inviting - impossible to forget or ever let go. Dressed in her best, she could never dream be to as angelic as the creature standing up there with her lover. She falls to her knees, begging to be taken instead. To be loved by that angel. To be chains to that demon so he can never hurt them like he's broken her.

"Selene......"

She screams. Take me instead. Take me....

"Ms. Selene!"

Her eyes flutter open. No longer is she crying on the church floor. A gentle hand rubbing her back draws her from slumber, and the remaining tears from her eyes. The stiffness in her spine reminds her of the most uncomfortably comfort night she's had on someone else's couch.

"Ms. Selene, are you okay? You were crying in your sleep when I came to check on you."

Color darkens her pale face as she sits up, deepened by the hand that aids her. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I.... I'm normally not one to dream, and I believe that was the first nightmare I've had in... years.. "

"It's alright, Ms. Selene. You've had a rough night."

Recollection of the night prior barrel through her like a speeding train as she looks up at the face of her savior. She bawled her eyes out at your doorstep, pleading to stay just one night and be gone before down. Her husband had allegedly changed the locks before leaving town and it was too late for her to call anyone else. You offered your home and bed to her as any would do, but she settled for the couch not wanting to be more of a burden than she was.

You give her hand an affirming squeeze - unknowingly kickstarting the beat of her heart. "You have nothing to be sorry for, and you can stay here as long as you need. We'll call a locksmith later so you can get some of your belongings."

It's hard to believe someone that was a stranger only a few short months ago had shown her more kindness than her husband had in all of their years together. Your arm returns to her shoulder as more tears leak from her tired eyes, pulling her into embrace that wash decades of self loathing off her mind. All that lingers in its wake is how she'd kill to spend every morning in your arms - just like this. Even she had to relieve the pain of her past everyday, it would all be worth it to have you.

"Thank you, Y/n. I know we don't know each other well, but words can not describe how luck I am to have you. Without you I don't know where I'd be right now.."

"Ah, don't worry about it. I know you'd do the same for me. Are you hungry?"

She places a hand to her stomach, unsure when the last time she'd eaten. "Seems. Maybe i should make something for us. You've done enough for me already."

"Nah, don't think like that, we can do it together. I have some pancake mix and some fruit in the fridg if that sounds good."

Selene smiles. "That sounds wonderful, dear."

"Cool." Sporting a smile of your own, you lead Selene into the kitchen. You grab a cutting board and knife, placing both on the table as you digging around for the produce in your fridge. Cutting the fruit, Selene has never known more bliss from slicing anything than her husband's throat.

This truly was her new happiest day.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Compromising Positions: Part Four

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: An unsub is targeting and killing married couples, and you and Spencer go undercover in hopes of drawing out the unsub. Not only does it not work, but it opens a can of worms you don't think Spencer is ready to open.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

Before the night is over, there are many reports of a gunman shooting up a swinger's club in the comfort zone of the unsub. By the time you get there, the unsub has already left, leaving behind many victims who are either dead or injured. The hostess of the club is outside shaken up, eager to get through your line of questioning so she can be alone. Two coroners wheel a dead body past the woman who flinches back from the sight.

"Are you almost done? I can't look at this any longer."

"Almost, ma'am. The gunman tonight, did you know him?"

"James. He and his wife, Maryann, were fixtures here a year ago. They just stopped coming."

"Do you have a last name?" you ask.

"No. We don't share personal details like that."

"You have sex but you don't ask for last names?" She nods. "All of the victims here tonight were men. Do you happen to know why?"

"No."

"Do you know if he had the chance to shoot any women?"

"I was in the playroom with my friend. We locked the door when the shooting started, and he came in and he looked at me like I was nothing. So, no, no, I have no idea what he was after. I'm just glad it wasn't me."

"Ma'am, if the door was locked, how did he get in?"

She doesn't have an answer to that. You leave Derek's side and walk inside the swinger's club to where Rossi and Spencer are. The paramedics haven't cleared all of the dead bodies left so there are a few of them when you enter the room.

"This was the last victim. The unsub came from the living room into here."

"The hostess locked herself in here," you say. "It didn't seem to slow him down, though."

Spencer walks over to the door and inspects the lock.

"This is a deadbolt. The unsub could have easily shot his way through. He'd only pick the lock out of habit. The deadbolt is designed for security. It takes expertise to get past that."

You take out your phone and call Hotch to let him know.

"Hey, Hotch. What if our unsub is a locksmith?" You explain to him about the deadbolt. "We knew he was stalking his victims at the gym, but we never knew how he got into their lives. When you're working out, where's the one place you leave everything personal? In a locker."

"Once the unsub finds an alpha male, he can pick the lock, get their address off their driver's license, and duplicate their keys in his work van outside," Hotch agrees.

"Yeah, that's the missing piece to his MO. He got everything he needed from these men before they left the shower."

"Garcia's already ruled out gym employees and members. How's he getting in?"

"It could be a third-party vendor called in to install the lockers. They'd call him in when someone loses their key."

"Alright. Come back to the station. We'll work this up."

You, Derek, Spencer, and Rossi head back to the police station and let local police handle the crime scene. You're hit with a wave of stress as soon as you walk in, and you look to the right to see Penelope inside an empty office. She's overworking herself.

"Hotch. We need to rethink this unsub's decompensation. We thought his wife would be the next logical target, especially if she left him, but if it's other men, he could blame them for breaking up his marriage. It's the same thought process that started him hunting alpha males to begin with," Derek says.

"What does that tell us about where he might be going?"

"Nothing, but it might tell us where he's been."

"Decompensation means he's returning to his old patterns and habits. Maybe he did this before. After his wife left, he sought out some of her partners and killed them," you say.

"You want to look at unsolved murders?"

"Crowley can pull them for us and match them based on the unsub's caliber."

"Good, you might also need to give Garcia a hand working the locksmith angle?"

"Is she okay?" you ask.

"She's juggling two jobs. She might need some help."

"I got this," you say and walk to the office she's in. You knock twice before entering her space. She barely looks at you as she types furiously on her laptop. "Hey, how are you doing?"

"Well, the gyms found out about the massacre so they're giving me information on the locksmiths, and that's a whole other can of worms." She does a double-take when she sees the look on your face. "I'm fine."

"Penelope..."

"Y/N, people are going to die because of me."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. JJ did so much. I am in so over my head, I'm swimming--" She looks to the ceiling and flutters her lashes. "Oh, my God, I hate these things."

"Okay, you need a two-minute break." She opens her mouth to argue but you're not having it. "I don't want to hear it. Let me help you. Take them out. Where's your saline?"

"Front pocket of my bag."

You grab the saline packet as she removes one of her contacts. You sit down on the edge of the desk next to her chair and hand her the saline packet.

"Do you know what your only mistake has been since you started?"

"Oh, hooray. More criticism," she says sarcastically.

"You are trying to replace JJ. Nobody can replace JJ. Now take the other one out, too."

She sighs and does as she's told, placing both contacts in the saline solution.

"I'm not trying to replace her. I'm trying to do this job the way she'd want it done."

"Okay, what's your name?"

"What?"

"Humor me. What's your name?"

"Penelope Garcia."

"Does that sound like JJ to you? No, because you're not her. She was great at this job and you can, too, only if you do it your way and not hers."

You grab the contacts and throw them in the trash, and she gasps.

"Y/N, I'm a little blind right now, but it appears the rough blur that is you just threw out my only pair of contact lenses."

You grab her glasses from their case and slide them onto her face.

"There, you're looking more like you a little more. Because I know you, I know you have something in here that will help." You grab her bag and rummage through it until you find exactly what you're looking for. You pull out a small unicorn trinket and set it on the desk next to her. "Don't be like JJ. Be like you. She's pretty great."

"How often do I tell you I love you?"

"Every day through your actions. Now, can I help with the locksmiths?"

"You just did. I know what to do."

You smile and leave her to do her thing. You spot Spencer by the coffee machine and decide to get this over with now so that there's no more confusion between you two.

"Spencer?" He tenses slightly when he hears your voice but you're not going to let him off that easily. "Look, I don't want to make you uncomfortable here. I know this whole marriage thing freaked you out so just forget it happened, okay?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. How about this? We take things at our pace and when we both get there, we will talk about the next steps after that."

"Okay, deal," he smiles, relief flooding his body.

Penelope rushes out wearing something completely different than before. She is looking more like herself. She has her hair up high in two pigtails, purple makeup is on her eyelids, and she is dressed in a purple fun dress with a white fluffy coat.

"I got it! The unsub. His name is James Thomas. He did work at all the gyms the husbands went to. Is that not enough information? Oh, I have so much more. Last year he suffered from a condition called prostatic hyperplasia. The routine surgery took a wrong turn, snip snip, they had to remove the whole prostate tamale. Boss says he didn't show up for work today, but this is his home address."

She hands over the paper to Hotch.

"Garcia, you should have let me know before you contacted his employer. Otherwise, well done. We need a SWAT team at this address."

"I'm on it."

"Now that's how you do it Penelope style," you grin and wink at her.

The team immediately goes to James' apartment with the SWAT team. You knock once to let whoever is inside know that you're here before Derek kicks the door down.

"FBI! We're coming in!"

You rush inside with your gun in front of you and the SWAT team spreads out to start clearing some of the rooms. There is a woman kneeling on the ground in the kitchen as she looks for something in the bottom cabinets, and Hotch points his gun at her.

"Show me your hands." She puts her hands up. "Who are you?"

"Maryann Thomas."

She is kneeling on the ground with her back to you but you can clearly see the yellow wisps of energy dancing around her stomach. She's pregnant.

"James Thomas' wife? Where's your husband?"

"I don't know! He left for work this morning."

"There's a gun locker in the closet. It's empty," one of the SWAT members says.

"Get up. You're gonna help us find him."

Maryann slowly stands up and turns, showing off her very pregnant belly. If James got a procedure done, how is she pregnant? The baby isn't his and you have a feeling he knows about it.

"Please, tell me what this is about."

You bring her to the kitchen table and lay out some crime scene photos to show her just what her husband is capable of.

"This is who your husband has killed so far. Do you recognize the last crime scene? That's Amy Sanders' house where you and James used to swing."

"James is not a... He wouldn't do that."

"He would, Maryann. He would because he knows he's not the father of your baby."

"That's not true. James is the father."

She isn't going to budge about this so you don't push her on the subject right now. You leave her side and walk over to Hotch who is hanging out in the hallway so he can talk privately away from Maryann.

"She's not going to give him up. She's the wife of an alpha male. She depends on him psychologically."

"Is there any chance that the unsub is the father?" Emily asks.

"Garcia said the prostate surgery was over a year ago, and there's no record of insemination."

"How do we get her to admit it?"

"We need to ground her back into reality and give her something to hold on to for truth. Did you get those files we asked for, the unsolved murders?" Hotch asks.

"Yeah. I can have them here in five minutes."

"Good. If the unsub did kill someone in those files, it's most likely the father of her child. If it's an old swinging partner, he'd be easy to track down," you say.

"That's risky. If we show her the files and he's not in there, we could lose her for good."

"Hotch, let me talk to her. Let me try to get through to her. If the father of her child is in those files, it could get her to talk. That baby is the only thing she would prioritize over her husband. I know I can do it," you say.

"How?"

"Take away the fact that I'm a woman. Right now, two alpha males are in there attacking her marriage. She'll react the same way to anyone challenging her husband's dominance. I'm not a threat. I think she'll listen to me."

"Okay, I trust you."

x

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crushed 11

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, cheating, sleazy behaviour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your next door neighbours hook up, bringing to surface deep-seated feelings.

Characters: Colin Shea, Jonathan Pine

Note: Yo, things are getting intense at work.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like my dog loves belly rubs (that’s a lot). Take care. 💖

You leave a message for your landlord after several failed calls. You come out defeated and hesitant. Your apartment is your comfort, it's your safe space, but it's been breached and you're displaced here. As kind as Jonathan is, that can't last forever. He is your boss after all and you need your job.

The scent of cinnamon draws you to the kitchen, along with the subtle movement clinks and tinking inside. You lean on the doorframe as you watch Jonathan's back, the thin string of an apron tied around his waist and a thicker band along his neck. He hums as he pushes down the plunger of a glass coffee press.

"Uh, hi," you eke out and his long fingers nearly take off the lid of the press. He chuckles and steadies it, shifting to look at you, "er, morning."

"Morning, barely," he muses as he glances at the digital number glowing on the stove, "I've got some scones in and I think we could pair it well with some porridge, if you're fond of it. Or perhaps, yogurt and some fresh fruit. A touch of granola…"

"Yeah, uh, you didn't have to do all this," you rub the back of your neck, "I left my landlord a message. I should head out and figure out a locksmith–"

"Ah, yes, I forgot," he extends a finger, "I've taken care of all that. My own lessor had some recommendations and I was able to arrange the repair. The keys should be delivered shortly–"

"Oh," you blink and chew your lip. He's so helpful. Too helpful. Or maybe you're ungrateful. "Again, thanks, I… I owe you. For a lot it seems."

"I hope it wasn't too much," he says as he checks his watch and grabs the oven mitt, "I only thought to ease the burden–"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You have everything figured out and I'm just helpless," you throw your hands up and cover your face, immediately scalded by your own temper. Why did you say that? "I'm sorry. I'm just so stressed, I can't think. I just want everything to be normal and…" you suck in air, pressing the heels of your hands to your forehead as you rant, "and I'm not this kind of person. I'm the sort to…" you inhale again, dizzy as it stings in your chest, "I just… I just…"

You bend over, clutching your head as you feel like folding. You're startled as Jonathan's hand clasp around your arm and he pulls you up, gently guiding you to sit on the short foot stool beside the counter. He gets to his knees and grips your shoulders, holding you straight as your head lolls. You don't know what's going on, it's like you've lost control of your body.

"Fawn, breathe. Yes? Let's count, one - in," he exhales, "two - out," his thumbs caress you through your shirt, "in… out. Three, four…"

You focus and close your eyes. Are you really having a meltdown in your boss's home? You count in your head, then outloud, measuring you breaths until your heart peters out.

"There we go," he slowly releases you, putting his hands on his knees as he stands with a low grunt, "if the caffeine is too much, I can squeeze some orange juice–"

"I'm fine," you reach up and pull yourself to the feet with the edge of the counter, "really, you've done enough."

"I've done what any decent person would," he shrugs as he opens a cupboard, "you are obviously dealing with a full plate, but I can't help but feel I don't know the half of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Car break's down and you get a visit from a home intruder. A string of bad luck, certainly, and it would have anyone addled, but… there seems a bit more than that. Something that's been bothering you a while," he pours two mugs of coffee, "it isn't my place to delve into your personal life, but I will say, I would help if I could. If you asked."

You shudder. You don't know what to say. The plucking in your chest wants you to tell him everything but that tick in your head says it's none of his concern. You've crossed enough lines. 

He doesn't need to pick up after your stupid feelings. You made the dumb decision to crush on your neighbour, to welcome him in, to fawn over him like an unloved wife. Now you just have to deal with.

Hopefully, the new lock is just the beginning of shutting Colin out of your life.

"Really, it's just the car and the door. I'm sure you've got enough going on with the audit, huh," your voice shakes, betraying you.

"Ah, yes, standard," he places a cup before you, just on the corner of the counter, "I've done it before. Nothing out of the usual," he hooks his finger through the handle of his own mug, "well, one special thing; I don't mind the people." 

He smiles as he lifts his coffee and you feel the world brighten just a lt.

No. No. Not that feeling. Not that flutter. Didn't Colin teach you better? Oh boy. You're not thinking straight, you're tired, you haven't had your coffee, you're crazy!

You pick up your cup and blow out a chestful of air. Get your head on straight. One man at a time. No, one thing at a time.

💗

“You know, I don’t mind if you’d rather stay another night,” Jonathan keeps one hand on the steering wheel, his other arm slack against the armrest, “I can understand if you don’t feel safe–”

“No, I’m good. I just want to get back on track. Everything feels so… disorderly.”

“I know what you mean. Even if I tend to live a nomadic life. Some people thrive on being settled, others not so much,” he muses, “have you heard about your car? Do I need to keep Pine’s luxury taxi in service?”

“Taxi? Oh, I’m so sorry. No. I uh, I can take the bus. And I can spot you some gas money–”

“I’m joking, darling,” he assures with a ripple of his fingers, “I don’t mind. It’s nice to have someone else for the morning ride. I find waking up alone a bit sombre… in a strange city. I’m a far way from home.”

“Uh, yeah, I can’t imagine…”

“I recall you mentioned you’ve never visited England. Pity. You should think about it one day. If you need a personal tour guide…”

“Mmm, yeah, maybe someday. Probably not anytime soon,” you mull and turn your gaze out the window.

“Of course,” he agrees, “I shouldn’t complain so much, traveling for work can really be a privilege. I know at least, it has afforded me the luxury of meeting many good people.”

“Yeah,” you say absently as your vision blurs and your mind drifts.

“...sisters? You said you have some a few towns over?”

You shake yourself from your trance. Your head clears as you straighten in your seat.

“Yeah, my one sister is pregnant, another’s getting married, the other two… well, they’re younger, they’re still growing up,” you say, “don’t really see them much.”

“Lots going on. So there’s going to be a wedding?” He prompts, stopping at a light.

“Hm?”

“Your sister?”

“Er, yes, yeah, actually, I still haven’t got the invitation,” you chuckle nervously, “I’m sure it’s in the mail.”

“And are you a bridesmaid?”

“I… she didn’t say anything,” you utter. You hadn’t even thought of that.

“Well, I’m sure she has a lot to plan, in due time,” he cranks the wheel and pulls a U-turn to come parallel to the curb in front of your building, “you are delivered. Nice and safe.”

“Thanks again,” you grab your bag from your feet and hit the button on your seatbelt. “I really… I owe you.”

“You don’t,” he assures, “all I ask is that you text me. Let me know you’re safe and behind locked doors.”

“Huh, yeah, I can do that,” you almost sigh in relief.

It’s weird. You dread being alone but you long for it. Your solace has always been by yourself. You just have to keep Colin out and you’re hoping that Ally will already have him distracted. You think back to the day before and how eager she was to get him to herself. Yeah, he doesn’t care that much about you. That’s what started this all.

“Well, I’ll see you at work.”

“See you at work,” he returns, his tone as lacklustre as you ever heard it.

You get out, a tug of guilt at the nape of your neck. You feel like you should say something else but you don’t know what. You let the door close softly as you step onto the pavement. You head up the walk, not looking back, too embarrassed to.

You let yourself into the building and pull out the new key from the locksmith. It’s shiny and silver with a yellow thread strung through the eyehole. You ease the front door closed behind you and listen to the building. It’s quiet, mostly.

You climb the stairs one by one and peek down the hall before you come up completely onto the second floor. There’s no one there and your door is as it should be. Locked tight and on the hinges.

You make your way down towards it, carefully to keep your keys from jingling. Your bag falls down your elbow as you wiggle the lock, the new key not catching right away. A click and slow grind jars you and as you look over, you nearly scream.

Colin appears from behind Ally’s door. Shirtless, in his usual grey sweats, looking casually sinister as he places a hand on the door frame. He snickers as he steps out. You turn back and fumble to twist the handle.

As the door opens, he’s on you. He closes you in as he catches the handle and pulls the door shut. You whimper and turn to face him, cowering as he sneers at you. You press yourself to the wood as he crowds you.

“Think you can run away with that pretty boy?” He taunts, “think I wouldn’t be waiting?”

“Colin, I– I’m sorry–” you gulp and look over, “Ally…”

“She’s off on another work trip. Kinda like you, huh? Hanging out with her boss off the clock. You must’ve had a lot of fun.”

“Look, whatever I did, it’s… there’s been a misunderstanding, alright? We’re friends. We were… I’m sorry I misinterpreted–”

“Honey, you are so stupid. I’m not done with you.”

“Please–” you beg.

“Get this. You were the perfect girl. You cooked, you did my laundry, you let me use your Netflix, that’s what every guy wants but you’re just not fuckable,” he scoffs, “well, my perspective changed on that. You know,” he leans in further and lowers his voice. “I didn’t picture myself balls deep until I saw you shaking in fear.”

“Get away,” you croak and push against his chest, “I’ll scream.”

A subtle click mutes his response as he opens his mouth but clenches his teeth. He tilts his head and listens. You hear the deep grumble of your downstairs neighbour, Curtis? You can’t remember, you never see him. He waits and pokes his tongue into his cheek.

“You fucking scream and I’ll remember. I’ll make sure when I fuck you that it splits you in half. So be a nice girl, like you always are, and let me in.”

“Please,” you reach to grip the key, trying to free it from the lock. You could jab him with it, get him off of you for long enough to get inside.

“If you wanna pretend I’m that preppy fuck, I don’t m–”

He jerks and nearly headbutts you as he bounces off the doorframe beside you. He cradles his face as he grunts and you gape at Jonathan as he squares his shoulders and steps up. How?

“You will back away,” Jonathan warns, “go back to your pathetic apartment and stay there.”

“Ah, not this douche–” Colin slips his hand down his cheek, revealing the split in the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, this douche,” Jonathan confirms, “I smelled it on you. I knew you were nothing but a weasel.”

“Whatever. She’s been begging me for it,” Colin spits, “you know, she sits there and pouts, watches me from across the hall, listens to me through the wall as I fuck girls hotter than she’ll ever be, wishing it was her–”

Jonathan moves so quickly, it leaves you stunned. The crack of his fist against Colin’s face makes you yipe and you quiver as you catch your voice in your hands. You keep flush to the door as your eyes wet.

“I do not like violence,” Jonathan says as he rubs his knuckles, “but I am not unfamiliar with it.”

“Fucker!” Colin bends over, drops of his blood landing on the floor.

“If you persist, I’m afraid I must as well.”

“Urgh,” Colin stands straight and spits onto the hardwood, “just wait…” he looks past Jonathan, “he can’t be here all the time.”

He turns and stomps away, keeping his hand on his jaw as he snorts and coughs. You stare after him, shaking in humiliation. It all happened so fast.

Jonathan waits until Colin’s door slams before he turns to you. He puts his hand on your shoulder and you flinch, “why didn’t you tell me it was him?”

You shake your head and stick your lip out.

“I should’ve guessed,” he tuts, “twisted man. Absolutely repuls–”

“How did you get in here?”

“A man let me in. Downstairs. Um, beard, very blue eyes,” he explains.

“Why?”

He gives half a smile, “ah, you left this in the front seat,” he holds up your lip balm, “I was trying to return it.”

“Oh,” you glance past him, frowning at Colin’s door.

“Darling, I know you are growing tired of me but I simply cannot leave you alone.”

“Yeah,” you nod numbly and turn to the door, jerking the key to the side, “I don’t wanna be alone.”

[skauni]

Opposites Attract: Phillip Graves x Fem!Pre-K Teacher!Reader

It’s been a week since you moved to this apartment. You were in apartment 17C, and honestly, you didn’t know anyone was in apartment 16C until you saw him sitting in front of his door muttering to himself because his key broke off in the lock.

“Everything OK?” You asked, walking over, he looked up and waved his hand. “Everything’s fine, I’m just waiting here for a locksmith; my key broke off in the damn—” “Darn,” you swiftly corrected his language out of habit. He snorted in amusement at the correction. “Darn, doorknob.” He finished. “Are you new?” You asked, he shook his head. “No, I’ve just been on deployment for a while.”

You paused. Taking in the information. “Oh, you’re military? What rank?” He proudly answered that question. “Commander.” You simply nodded. “Would you like company while you wait, Mr. …?” You trailed off, he took the hint. “Graves. My name is Philip Graves.” He said. “And sure, I could use some company Mrs. ..?” You chuckled as he used your tactic. “Miss, I’m not married. And I’m Y/N. But my students call me ‘Ms. Y/L/N’.”

Philip thought on that a moment. “Students? So you’re a teacher, huh?” You nodded. “I teach Pre-K.” He chuckled. “That explains the curse word correction…” he commented lightheartedly, you scratched the back of your head. “Sorry—it’s honestly a habit I can’t break at this point, I’ve been teaching Pre-K for 2 years.” Philip nods. “It’s alright, I thought it was funny, a bit cute too that you corrected it.” He teased. You blushed in embarrassment.

“Sh-Shut up!” You said, he chuckled softly and patted the space on the doormat beside him. You paused for a second before sitting beside him. “So how’d you break the key off? Did you put it in the right way?” Philip just shrugged. “I probably did. I’m too tired to remember what the fuck—“ you cut him off and correct him. “Frick.” He chuckled again “—frick, I did.” You nodded.

There was a moment of silence before you got up after checking your phone. “It’s almost 10PM, I’d better get going to make sure I’m not tired during my class tomorrow. Bye, Philip!” You waved. Philip waved back as you went into your apartment. You couldn’t get to sleep for the next 30 minutes because all you could think about was his stupidly charming grin and piercing blue eyes though.

A few weeks later you ran into him again, this time at the store as you looked for things for arts and crafts time for your class to buy. He saw you reaching for some coloring packets on the top shelf so he came up behind you and got them down for you. “There you go, Ms. Y/L/N.” He said. You flushed red and took the item from his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Graves..” You murmured flusteredly.

Over the next week you and Philip got to know each other, and before you knew it, 2 months had gone by and you two started dating. Today, after coming home from work at the pre school, you saw Philip standing by your door with a duffel bag. Uniform on and stubble shaved. “Deployment?” You sighed out softly. He nodded. “Sorry doll… got the call, I have to go in. You know?” He said. You nodded. “I understand, I’ll be waiting for you to come back.”

When you said that he gave you that stupid, charming grin he always seemed to have for you. He pushed off the wall and walked up to you. Softly tilting your chin up as he kissed you tenderly. “Bye, Doll.. love you.” He said. “Love you too, Commander.” You teased. He chuckled and turned, walking down the stairwell. His footsteps fading with the echoes as he left to catch his flight back to the base.

[sexynetra]

16 for a ship of your choice <3

16. "Why do you know how to do that? Nevermind, don't tell me."

How do we feel about some Arrilana tonight :) (as always, crossposted to ao3!)

It was too early in the morning for this shit. Lana punched the door of the rental car before sagging against the brick wall behind her. Why this stupid city necessitated cars, she would never understand.

She should call a locksmith -- or the rental company. She wasn't a AAA member, but maybe they could help. Still, when she pulled out her phone, there was only one number her hand moved to type.

"It's 6:30 AM; you'd better be dying," Arrietty's voice was groggy, and Lana grimaced.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

She heard shuffling on the other end, followed by a few muffled swear words. "Sorry, accidentally tripped over the dog since it's, you know, still dark out."

"Arri," Lana whined softly, sliding down the wall.

"I'm kidding. What's up? Do you need something?"

"Ilockedmykeysinthecar." It all came out in one mumbled breath, and Arri didn't respond for a moment.

"Sorry, was that supposed to be English?"

Lana groaned, taking a deep breath. "I locked my keys in the rental car and I have no clue what to do. I hate cars; this would never happen with the subway."

Some more shuffling on the other line, then Arri's voice, sweet as butterscotch. "Where are you? I'm on my way."

Lana felt the tension leaving her shoulders. She didn't know how, but she knew Arrietty would make everything better. "Outside Elliott Bay. Thank you. I'll buy you coffee as a thank you."

"You were going to do that anyways," Arrietty pointed out, and Lana could hear the smile in her voice.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get cocky. I'll see you soon?"

"Give me 15 and I'll be there."

"I owe you my life."

Arri laughed, warm and bright. "I'll see you soon," she murmured, followed by the click of the line disconnecting.

~~~

If it was anybody except Lana who had woken her up, Arrietty would have given them a piece of her mind before blocking their number for the rest of the morning while she slept in.

But -- it was Lana. So Arri pulled on her warmest hoodie and defrosted her car as quickly as humanly possible.

Arrietty spotted Lana before Lana spotted her. She was shifting back and forth on her feet, a coffee in each hand. Her well-fitted maroon blazer was too thin for the early morning chill, and she could see her shivering.

Parking, Arri was already tugging her own hoodie off as she walked over. "You're gonna freeze out here," she murmured, snagging one of the coffees before draping her hoodie over Lana's arm.

"And you aren't? You're in a t-shirt, take this back!"

Arrietty just laughed, taking a long sip of the coffee. "I'm stronger than you." She winked, kneeling down in front of the car. "So the keys are inside?"

Lana knelt down beside her, pretty lips twisted into a grimace. "Am I going to have to break the window to get it out?"

"Do you have a bobby pin on you? And maybe some gum?"

Lana wrinkled her nose as she pulled a pin out of her carefully styled updo, a few strands of soft brown curls falling in front of her face. "Gum? With coffee?"

"Just trust me; I know what I'm doing." She held out her hand, palm up.

Lana waffled for a few seconds before depositing the bobby pin and a stick of gum from her purse.

Arrietty gave her a wink and a bright grin before turning her attention to the car door in front of her. "This shouldn't take long -- the car is pretty old; it should be easy enough to trip the lock."

Lana blinked slowly, sitting back on her heels and tilting her head. "Don't love that you know how to break into a car. Why do you know how to do that?"

Arrietty opened her mouth to reply but Lana put her hand up quickly. "Nevermind. Don't tell me. Just get it open."

Arrietty closed her mouth and raised one eyebrow, crossing her arms and staring at the woman beside her.

"... please," Lana tacked on finally, at least having the decency to look ashamed.

With a soft laugh, Arrietty turned her attention back to the door. "I spoil you too much. I should have told you to call AAA and rolled over to go back to bed."

"But you didn't," Lana hummed happily.

"You're so lucky you're pretty," Arrietty mumbled under her breath, poorly disguising her smile as she got to work on the lock.

[krikoxo]

Sorry for not writing yesterday.... Madam... It was Monday and I had a bit too much on my to do list... But it got done... And now I'm super happy to be in your asks again...

But I did think about you all day.... And wished I would have half an hour for myself to write you a horny ask.... But here I am now! Still in bed... And really horny and needy... But more on that and why that is in a few more sentences.

I absolutely get the penetration part... It just sounded like it, which is kind of a relief, cause I promised the next girl who wanted to play with my butt... I can't say no to... So you might just leave it intact...

I actually didn't count getting high as intoxication... My bad. I usually don't get high that often(maybe like once a year or even two) cause I really lose myself... And I don't like to lose myself if nobody will control or take advantage of it.... But if you promise to take advantage... You can get me high...

Ooh, thrillers and mysteries!! So you probably know all about, Christie and King and others in the genre (probably much more than me)! I'm probably not the person who will understand romance books... They feel a bit cheap... But no judging and to each their own! I think I might be able to recommend some books if you want to get recommends from little horny me... but do be warned, I usually go for a bit heavier and harsher books...

Now a bit about why I'm always horny and needy in bed... I have... Well I would call it really sensitive skin... So you touch me... I jump... And then get hornier and hornier by the gentlest touch... And materials are also fun on my skin... So I love to sleep in satin... But it makes me extremely horny.... So I may have had an extremely normal day... I go to bed and get very horny... And I wake up even more so... The fact that I managed to enjoy some oysters with friends on Sunday doesn't help either, because they are somewhat of an aphrodisiac so they really aren't helping... And I don't know if I should ask you for permission or act on my own account...

I'll have a question you may not want to answer... So I'll throw in an answer to something you like asking your followers, a dark perverted fantasy... But first the question... What do you think are your worst traits which people(or me in particular) would not like about you...? Ofcourse you are free to refuse to answer... But I'll share a special fantasy I got from being needy for you...

We reserve a day... You pick a game.. A game you really like and are really good at... And we start playing until you want to stop... But there are stakes... Every time I lose... I have to share something... And it's a game I've never played... So you start teaching me... But I lose the first game... And I give you my name... Then continue losing... And little by little you know everything... My city, street, the building, the apartment and you even have photos of the keys I use to get home... (a locksmith can make copies from a photo)

Then you say that now you know everything and I should get better before trying again... But I'm too needy... It's only lunchtime and I don't want to stop... So we change the stakes... I first give consent for cnc... Then little by little I've given consent for somno, free use, you've gotten my limits list and you like it... It's not that big... And it's pretty much the same as yours with a couple more additions... I then consent to stalking and r@pe... Finaly @buse and corruption...

At this point I've gotten better and better at the game... But I would need to be really lucky to beat you, but I have the chance... We play again and I don't get lucky, but I get to buy a tracking device and always keep it on myself...

Then I get a photo... Of you with a devilish smile... And then a text... "Did you enjoy giving everything over? Did you find it thrilling that little by little you lost all your freedom? That anywhere you travel, I might snatch you up for a couple of days and you can't stop me? Do you even want to? Or do you want me to come pay you a visit at your place while you're sleeping?"

I felt so overwhelmed... That the only things I could do were start sobbing and start touching myself... All while recording a video for you... Because last time we played a game I promised to make videos of every time I cry in a horny matter and to send them....

Maybe I'm just not good at games...

Hi sweetheart.

I would say, without a doubt my worst trait is that I tend to get bored of things very easily. What I mean by this is if I feel like someone isn’t putting in effort it’s not hard for me to just stop caring instead of trying to reach out.

Definitely not my best characteristic but I’m working on it:)

As for that sexy little fantasy I love the idea of slowly breaking you down into my most ideal toy. You seem like you like the idea of being broken and put back together again<3

[whereisyourstar]

Just Thirty Steps

Part 2 of the Stand By, Hold Back, Be Patient series

Part 1 Part 3

Rating: SFW

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Mentions of abuse (parent to child), referenced home invasion, fear, reader's continued bad financial decisions, the slow burn isn't even a puff of smoke yet, overzealous italics

Fear is a known quantity. A turbulent childhood exposed you to the concept early—any child of divorce, especially a long overdue one, knows that particular flavor of fear. It stayed with you in your teen years, when you found yourself so completely under your mother's thumb that you could barely breathe. It followed you to the city, where you'd been happy for the first time in too long, ensuring you make its acquaintance in anxiety, in decision paralysis, in losing friends. It made a home for itself in that shitty rented bedroom, first in the personal bite of poverty, then in the invasion of your space, your sense of security. The incident. The attack.

This was supposed to be different. This place, your cabin with its gruesome past, the quiet woods, your sweet dog, was supposed to be safe. You had been safe here. You'd kept to the routine, kept to yourself for the most part, hadn't caused trouble, had been smart, and yet—

It's broken. You look out the windows obsessively and the press of the forest is claustrophobic around your home. There's a sinisterness out there now, you've seen it firsthand, heard it breathe, bargained with it, and you cannot unsee it. That silence you liked so much before is now strained between the next knock of tree limb or shift in the foundation to makes you jump out of your skin.

You do think of running. It's what you do when you're scared, it's natural—scared of your parents fighting, so you're the first to school in the morning. Scared of your mother, so you run as far as you can from her. Scared of the city, so you run to wilds. Scared of the wilds, so—what? Where do you go from here? You put everything into owning this place, so sure of it, and you don't see a clear path out.

Sometimes you glance at your phone, at the messages and calls piling up from a number you haven't had the guts to block yet. You could go home. Back to the town that reminds you so much of Crystal Lake, where your mother never left and would invite you back with open arms, then make you pay for it every single day. You've been granted a chance to leave, for whatever reason, and these are your options: admit defeat, prove your mother right, and go home with nothing. Or stay.

Is your pride worth your life?

You get as far as picking up your phone before you stop, breathe, and hold yourself back from wrenching it at the wall instead. The phone is a useful tool no matter how much you hate it, and you don't have tantrum repair money just now.

It takes two days of huddling in fear just to get that far, and it's like a switch is flipped in your brain immediately after. The safety is gone from this place, so what do you do? How do you make it safe again? How do you protect yourself from something like Jason Voorhees, the newest iteration or the ghost?

The next day is spent researching. If you learned anything while pursuing your unused Music Theory degree, it's that you're a subpar student but a damn fine researcher. So you hunker down and look up everything on your house, comparing blueprints (courtesy of the now-defunct New Beginnings Development Co.'s public plan submissions to the town of Crystal Lake) to advice online. Your door locks are infamous in the locksmith community for being particularly easy to break (great), but your windows are actually pretty high-quality. The outer walls are comprised of thick, sturdy oak logs, sourced directly from the small clearing the cabin sits in, and sealed to withstand floods, high winds, and the occasional determined animal. Ditto with the roof, and you're actually impressed with New Beginnings—for a scummy development company, they actually put some real money down building this place. If it weren't for the location and the murders, you're certain it could have easily sold for over a million, billed as a rustic second home for city-weary socialites. Which, well. You certainly saw the appeal, and barring the murderer in the woods, still can't believe you got this place for what you did.

You write down exactly what you need—replacement locks, replacement keys, power tools you've learned to use from videos—and call up the hardware store in town. The older woman on the other end redirects you to a chain store forty-five minutes out of town and gently insists on getting a locksmith, to which you say you'll think about it. No way are you trusting this to someone else, your every neuron hates the idea of letting someone have access to your house, to these needed locks, but you don't say that part aloud. The bored employee who gets the phone at the chain store puts you on hold for twenty minutes while he finds the items you're looking for, but he comes back successful, and that's all you care about. "Perfect," you tell him, already standing from your computer chair and stepping into your shoes. "Can you hold all of that for me for…two hours? I'm pretty far out, but I promise I'll be there to get it." The employee says something about being off shift in thirty, but he puts your stuff under the desk and slaps your name on it all. Heracles, awakened from his nap by the sudden movement, sits up and tilts his head at you curiously. And damn, you never thought you'd be this kind of person, but you can't just leave him here for that long. Not with what you both know lurks out there. To the employee, you say, "Ah, wait—are dogs allowed inside?"

Shoes on, Heracles harnessed and leashed up, keys in hand, hunting knife strapped to your left hip and hidden by your t-shirt, all that's left to do is…go out there. The truck is parked next to the right wall of your house, under a little awning that just covers the cab. It's thirty steps, maybe less if you carry Heracles and use every inch of your stride to hustle to it. Thirty steps. You check the window near the front door, peer from behind the curtain as conspicuously as possible. No shapes in the forest, no white masks, no viscious knives. A fat, brown little bird sits on a branch just outside and chirps cheerfully, like nature itself is teasing you for being so nervous. It's just thirty steps.

You open the door, usher yourself and Heracles out, and slam your key into the lock the same instant you close it. Normally you would turn it three times, listening for the clunk with each turn, but you don't have that kind of time. God, your hands are already shaking. You turn, scan the forest, heart racing impossibly fast, and still nothing. Ten steps. Heracles stops to sniff a tuft of grass and you can hear your own pulse. Twenty steps. The truck is right there, fucking beautiful in all its promised faded sanctuary. Thirty, you twist your key in the lock, Heracles jumps right in and you silently promise him an entire chicken breast all to himself for being such a good boy, drop into the seat, close the door. The lock clicks. You turn the engine over on the first try and only jump a little when the casette that came with the truck starts up its folksy crooning. Seatbelt goes on, gear shifted, and you're rolling down the grassy tire-trail that serves as a road to and from the main road.

It's only when you allow yourself that sigh of relief that you catch movement in your rearview mirror. You watch in horror as Jason just walks out of the woods directly in front of your house and stands there, watching your truck as it rumbles away. He's illuminated by a midday sun, the details of him brought out by it even as you leave him behind. Tall, but you knew that, and dressed in a bafflingly mundane green work shirt and dark brown carpenter pants. The hockey mask is there, as expected, and his weapon is firmly sheathed on his belt. For some reason, that scares you more than anything—a man like that could kill you with your bare hands, you're certain. Had he been watching you? But Heracles hadn't reacted at all, his tail high and wagging with the simple joy of being outside.

You feel his eyes on the back of your neck the entire time you drive.

That bored employee, bless his soul, kept his word about hiding your items behind the counter. You give your name, pay—all the while wincing at the necessary addition to your credit card debt—and consider asking about one of the electric chainsaws you saw walking in. Better not—even if you could afford something like that, you're more likely to hurt yourself trying to wield it than successfully scare off Jason.

You aren't particularly anxious to get back home, so you let Heracles wander the store, then the shopping center it's situated in. He turns heads—he always has, that bully breed reputation precedes him—but those brave enough to ask if he's friendly are always treated to a thorough assault of sniffs and hesitant tail wags. There's one woman with two kids that is so kind, so respectful in directing her children in how to pet Heracles without scaring him, that you're tempted to hand over his leash and walk away. He'll keep those children safe, you knew that even before he flopped onto his back so they could rub his belly, and maybe this lone woman could benefit from some companionship? Whatever life they can give him, it's better than the one you're taking him back to. Will begging for his life even work a second time?

But the family leaves and your mouth stays shut. You can't shake the sense of shame that grips you for not taking that chance. You can't escape your situation, but maybe he could have. As an apology for being such a selfish owner, you buy him a too-expensive hotdog from a nearby truck and let him eat it in three bites, stroking his silky ear the entire time.

On your way back, you wonder if you shouldn't call the non-emergency line in Crystal Lake and ask for an escort to the cabin. Even if you don't fully explain your reason, you doubt it's the first Jason-related anxiety call the department's gotten. Probably not even the first of the year.

Something in you is…resigned, though. You're either about to die horribly, or you're not. You hope it's the latter, else all this planning and researching ways to fortify your house has been an exercise in futility, but if it's the former…well, then you don't have to worry about it anymore. It's the exhaustion that constant fear begets, that numbing, but recognizing it for what it is doesn't change your decision. Still, you rewind the cassette and let it play in its entirety twice on the way home, and by the second time around you know enough of the words and melodies to sing along.

Heracles, who had been sound asleep in the passenger seat for the last leg of the drive home, sits up ramrod straight as you turn onto the not-really-a-road. He stares through the windshield with that preternatural focus from before and whines, high and tight.

"He's out there," you whisper to him, knuckles white on the wheel. "I know."

The rest of the ride is silent. Only the dull roar of the truck's engine prevents you from jumping every time a too-near branch thwips against its body, and you silently thank your past self for not shelling out an extra 500 for a newer, quieter car. You're announcing your presence as obtrusively as possible out here, but when you have every reason to believe you're going to be murdered as soon as you step out, frugality is all the comfort you're likely to get.

It's well past sundown when you back the truck cab under its awning. Heracles' whining has progressed to a full, trembling rumble and, more than anything, your heart breaks for him. "Thirty steps inside, buddy," you tell him. "Just thirty steps."

Your hand barely touches the door handle when there is a massive thud and the entire truck jolts on its suspension, dipping backwards severely, and you know before you even look back. You just see the legs in your back window, standing in the truck bed, which means the rest of him is leaning over the top. An image, violent as it is startling, flashes behind your eyes of that machete puncturing through the truck's roof and finding its home in the top of your skull.

Heracles is with you as you throw open the door and sprint for freedom. Your bags of hardware and tools are heavy, but you've got them slung on your arm and keys in the other hand. The truck door stays open, let the bastard keep it if he wants. Fifteen steps, you can make it in fifteen at this stride.

Something slices the air directly next to your head and your steps falter, then twist, as you flinch. It's over, this is going to be the death of you. You hit the ground hard and the breath is knocked out of you. Precious seconds are wasted scrabbling in the grass to get your balance back, getting as far as your knees when you see that deadly machete half-buried in a trunk a few feet away. And, terribly, there's Heracles standing at that same tree's base, his hackles raised and head down as he growls mercilessly at the man behind you. If that's Jason's only weapon, if you can get ahold of it before he does, maybe you and Heracles will be enough to scare him off. Maybe—

As you push off from the ground, you swing your bag-laden arm behind with all your might and feel it connect with something solid. Jason doesn't make a sound, but you know the combined weight has to be close to forty pounds, which should be enough to knock anyone off their balance, even if only for a moment. The momentum half-turns you as you launch forward, and you have just enough time for your heart to sink when two giant hands snap painfully around your upper arms and bear you back down to the ground.

You cry out before the incoming ground can empty your lungs a second time, and distantly you hear Heracles barking, but mostly you just hear that breathing. It's all around you, you can feel it on your face as Jason takes you to the ground and keeps you there. Nowhere else to look but into the terrible emptiness behind the hockey mask's eyes, nothing to do but struggle—in response to your foot finding some purchase in the dirt, enough to lurch you a touch, he pins your thigh down with his knee. You cry out again, pain and panic, and realize belatedly that you have your breath again.

"Heracles, run!" you scream, stretching your neck and craning backwards to try and see him. A glimpse, and he's just standing there, right next to that fucking machete that will almost certainly kill him, and you want to cry. "Run! Heracles!" He barks, ear-splittingly loud, then whines twice. Another glimpse, he's moved backward a pace. A grim hope spreads through you and you try, one last time. "Go! Go, Heracles, just go!"

He goes. You hear his paws scrambling in the grass, then the crash of underbrush, until all that's left is Jason's panting and your own shallow breaths. A silent thank you to a god you don't believe in for letting your boy escape his fate twice.

You crane your neck back, finding it unstrangled, uncrushed, completely untouched, and feel a cold chill when you see that Jason is staring into the forest where Heracles just ran.

He's off you instantly, all the pressure, both physically and in presence alone, disappearing as he stands and begins to stomp after Heracles.

You gurgle something like a no as you try to get your aching limbs to cooperate. Nothing's broken, you're numb with fear but you know you'd feel that, but everything aches where you've been pinned. Just getting onto your hands and knees is a trial, and Jason is already gone by then, but you still have to try. A faltering effort gets you to your feet, and you straighten every inch of your bruised spine into standing. Your target is just ahead—he left his machete in the tree when he went after your dog. His mistake. The handle is grimy in your bare palm, filth of the sort you're glad you can't clearly see coating its surface, and it's slick enough that you almost lose your footing on your first pull. Second attempt, two hands, and you finally feel how much resistance you're up against. Third attempt, two hands, and a leg braced against the tree's thick trunk and—like it's butter, the machete slides right out.

It's huge. Easily three times the size of your hunting knife, and even that had felt like a dangerous amount of naked blade. This thing is monstrous, the edge wickedly sharp and obviously maintained. You dedicate an entire second to looking it over before giving a practice swing—so much lighter than you thought it would be—and swallowing your abject horror at what you're about to do. Just go into the woods to hunt a killer with his own weapon. Hurt him, kill him, maybe manage to scare him off, but you have to do it at all costs. For Heracles.

You get three shaking strides in when the underbrush crunches directly to the right and suddenly he's there again, stepping out between the trees. And, if you hadn't been slammed so hard into the ground before, you could almost believe that that's your dog he's bringing back to you. Silky tan fur, boxy head, pink nose, and bright, trusting eyes. Your dog, your Heracles, walking sedately next to Jason Voorhees, content to be led by the leash in his hands.

It makes no sense. Like before, that night on the porch, you suspect a trick. What's the angle here? Get your dog back, just to force you to watch while he kills him? Keep Heracles for himself after he's gotten rid of you? Heracles is remarkably calm, hackles down and only a little white around the eyes to be standing next to a complete stranger, and a male one at that—could Jason have given him something? Sedatives?

Jason stares at you, the machete in your hand. You hold your ground, stubborn and paralyzed, and try to keep the tremble out of your voice when you say, "Let him go."

Even in the barely-there light, you can see him lift his massive hand and point directly at you. The machete. A trade.

Okay. Give the killer back his weapon so he can have an easier time killing you after. You're obviously not going to do that, but—

Oh. Jason tosses the loop of Heracles' leash with surprising accuracy, lands it directly on the tip of the machete, and you scrabble to take the loop without slicing a finger off in the process. You look up and Heracles is already trotting over, tail starting to wiggle as he noses into your shin. "Holy shit," you breathe, bending at the waist to smooth a hand over his silky coat to check for damage. Nothing, save for a twig caught in his jowls, which you pick out and toss away without thinking. "I've got you, buddy, it's okay, it's—" But this is no time to celebrate, not with Jason looming and breathing so heavily just steps away. You straighten, make what passes for eye contact with that mask. "I'm going to pick up my keys, unlock my door, then put this machete on the ground, and you are going to wait until Heracles and I are back inside to get it. Deal?"

It's insane even as you say it. Absolutely nothing is stopping him from stepping over and crushing your head in one hand right now, you have no bargaining power here, but he brought your dog back and you have to believe that means something.

Jason Voorhees stands utterly still, not even the rise and fall of his chest visible in the darkness, when he purposefully dips his head into a nod.

You keep him in sight the entire time you walk backward to get your abandoned keys. Machete up, even as your aching arm quivers. A spare thought goes to the bags, their contents now spread out on the ground, and you have to mark them a lost cause. Your fault for not putting that into the deal, not that you'd much like to scrounge around for anything with this man watching you. Then it's up to your door, where you fit the key into the lock without looking on your second try, and you herd Heracles in. Drop the machete in the gravel-dirt that makes a walkway, slip behind the door, and slam it shut. Just like that other night, you turn its shitty unreplaced lock, then drag your table in front of it.

The developers at New Beginnings failed to give your front door a peephole, a fact which you're glad for, because it means you're not tempted to press against the wood and peek. You listen at a distance from the door that you hope means a machete won't come slicing into your stomach from the other side. No chance in hell you're going to stand by a window, despite how nice and safe your windows are, and watch that way. After a considerable amount of time, minutes ticking by in your head, you hear the gravel crunch once, twice. The sound of breathing behind the door, faint but there, then another shifting crunch, and nothing else.

When you finally back away from the door, Heracles looks up at you and wags his tail, jowls falling back into a perfectly happy smile. Jesus. This dog will be the death of you yet.

The sofa is your bed for the night, your actual bed all but abandoned at this point. You curl against the plush arm and lay your head down, but you're too tense to even think about sleep. What the hell was that? He was going to kill you, he had you pinned to the ground, forcing you to be aware of just how breakable all your limbs are. He threw that machete just a breath away from your head! But, for the second time, you are coming out of an encounter with a half-mythical local monster no worse for wear. Your body hurts, and you know you'll be more bruise than person in the morning, but you're not dead. How many people can claim that?

You stroke a hand down Heracles' back, comforted by his unconscious weight sprawled across your legs. How many people can also claim that Jason Voorhees found their dog in the woods and brought that dog back unharmed? Never mind that you were trying to get Heracles away from him in the first place, purposefully driving him to the trees…the question still stands. Not to mention how many people have successfully bargained with the man.

Exhaustion gets the better of you after hours of this. It's a blink-and-wake sleep, where one second you're bathed in the nebulous safety of your cabin, blink, then you're being licked awake Heracles. Sun pours in through the windows, burns your tired eyes, and you flail a bit in confusion before conscious thought kicks back in.

Routine. Get up, check the locks, feed Heracles, feed yourself. Admit that you need to go to the store and actually grocery shop—what's a little more credit card debt. Change out of these dusty clothes, you slept in yours last night, and do a thorough self-inspection in the mirror after a shower. Bruises on your upper arms, purple and ugly and painful. Bruises on your spine, and another on your thigh. It aches to walk, but the fact that you can is a significant win in your book.

You need to get to work, you've been half-assing it these past few days—understandably, but your supervisor is going to notice soon—but something nags at you. All that research, all that motivation from yesterday to try and make this place safe for you…that's still a viable plan. And all that hardware is still sitting out there, scattered in the dirt, assuming Jason hasn't helped himself.

You have shoes on and keys in hand before you can stop to think about it. Just a quick step outside, grab what you can, and scurry back in before anyone can stop you. Easy. "Stay right here," you instruct Heracles. "Back in a sec."

Open the door. Slip out as quickly as possible. Close the door. Perfectly to plan, and you almost don't care that you forgot your hunting knife, except something catches on your shoe and you barely avoid tripping on it. Heart pounding, you glance down accusingly and find the handle of one hardware store bag caught on the tip of your shoe, its twin standing upright next to it. That is...not how you remember it.

It's all there when you crouch to take inventory, even the receipt. You count it twice, and every door lock, key, and tool you bought is in the two bags like nothing ever happened. You know you didn't leave it all like this, but can't make your brain reconcile the memory to the evidence right in front of you.

Maybe movement catches your peripheral, maybe it's just a sense, but you look up and see him there, standing very still in the treeline. An imposing, ragged creature, watching you just as much as you're watching him. You stand, a prey animal caught in the sights of a predator, and no claws to protect you.

"I see you, Jason."

[mythbcund]

━ ˊ * ⧼ wolfgang novogratz / cisgender male / he/him / tangled ⧽ ━ “Well, a fake reputation is all a man has.” ━ RAFFERTY "RAFF" HART was seen wandering the cobblestone streets of Grimmstead, a town that feels both too familiar and utterly strange. From what I know, they’re THIRTY-ONE and work as a LOCKSMITH / ODD JOB HANDYMAN. They totally remind me of eyes that always seem to know where the door is, calloused hands that are proof of hard work, tousling your already-messy hair, sly fingers that can sneakily snatch anything, laughter while you’re on the run, which is probably why they get compared to FLYNN RIDER FROM TANGLED / RAPUNZEL. And if you ask them why they’re in Grimmstead, they’ll probably tell you they just arrived, looking for a fresh start or simply passing through. But nobody knows if that’s the truth. There’s something about them that feels oddly out of place, as though they should know more, but don’t. Perhaps they’re tied to one of Grimmstead’s many forgotten stories.

— 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 !

full name : rafferty eugene hart. nicknames : raff, rafe. age : thirty-one. gender : cisgender man. pronouns : he / him. sexual orientation : pansexual panromantic. height : 6 ft. 3 in. tattoos and piercings : a couple of tattoos here and there on his torso and arms, no piercings. personality traits : clever, adaptable, playful, opportunistic, reckless, stubborn, self-centered, street-smart, guarded. fairy tale spirit : flynn rider (tangled). occupation : local menace and odd job handyman.

— 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 !

this backstory contains : mentions of homelessness, parental abandonment, the foster system, and miscellaneous criminal activity.

rafferty hart wasn't born into much privilege. his parents, young and overwhelmed, left him at a hospital as an infant, disappearing without a trace. the foster care system became his home, and raff spent his childhod bouncing from one home to the next. each placement was temporary, leaving him with the philosophy that nothing in life was permanent — not families, not homes, and definitely not people.

by the time raff was ten, he'd already learned how to fend for himself. in crowded foster homes, he became the kid who could talk his way in or out of anything. he had a knack for slipping through most places unnoticed, whether it was sneaking into the pantry for extra food or disappearing when tempers flared. his cleverness won him admiration among peers but often landed him in trouble with adults.

his teenage years were marked by rebellion, and he was a constant thorn in the side of his foster families, skipping school, sneaking out, and picking locks for the thrill of it. at 17, raff ran away, convinced he could do better on his own. he lived out of a beat-up car for months, working odd jobs and small cons to get by.

in his early twenties, raff used his knack for mechanics and locks for legitimate work. he taught himself how to repair just about anything, making a name for himself as a reliable handyman. still, old habits died hard, and his sticky fingers occasionally got him into trouble. moving from town to town became his way of life, never staying long enough to form real connections.

raff rolled into grimmstead six months ago, the town drawing him in with its charm, familiarity, and mystery. deciding to linger, he picked up work as a locksmith and handyman, quickly becoming the guy you called for everything. his easygoing nature and quick wit made him well-liked, but his guarded demeanor kept people at arm's length all the same. he's trying to make this place a permanent home, but a part of him knows he's gonna get himself in trouble first.

— 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 !

rapunzel ( tangled / rapunzel ) : she's bright, idealistic, and a little too curious about raff for his liking. maybe they've clashed because she sees through his charming facade or can call him out on his opportunism and inability to trust people. i see them as sharing some initial animosity stemming from fundamental differences, but would love if circumstances forced them into a reluctant partnership of sorts.

maximus ( tangled ) : a no-nonsense, rule-abiding person ( possibly tied to the town's law enforcement ) who views raff as a troublemaker and keeps a close eye on him. they might even outright dislike him, convinced he's up to no good. raff, on the other hand, likely finds their stern attitude both amusing and annoying.

a neighbor or two

a few close friends

flings and flirtations, past or present

regular clients

some enemies or just people who find his attitude generally annoying

[lemonsbakery]

Hey uhm what are your ocs

cracking my knuckles.

CR OCS :333

Strawberry cat cookie/CC (blunt little girl with a terrible memory. needs therapy so badly)

Chocolate cat cookie/010 (mentally ill in so many ways . in a me way but I'm not like so scary)

Vanilla cat cookie (I HATE HER EVIL CAT GHOST LADY)

Cherry cat cookie (the mom of the cat triplets. People keep victimizing her even though she was also apart of the problem)

'Flour' cookie (cocaine. Father of the cat triplets. I hate him)

Dog treat cookie (SILLY SKATER LESBIAN GIRL underaged smoker and also has a crush on strawberry cat cookie in the future but cc is really fucking stupid and cant pick up on dog treat cookies obvious pickup lines)

Linzer cookie (dead military ghost lady, also known as silly lesbian emo girl)

Banana candy cookie (therapist and scientist, also known as lesbian scene girl)

Banana split cookie (eldest child of banana candy and linzer, really liked lofi, died at like um 11 or something)

Berry jam cookie (youngest child of banana candy and linzer, really liked vocaloid, died at like 9 years old)

Spritz cookie (SILLY SO SILLY SO SO SO SO SO SILLY AND COOL AND people keep watering magic down to innocent and sweet magic so much more, candy is silly but not stupid. shes a little stupid but not fucking DUMB) (also she/magic/candy pronouns for spritz thankies)

PISS COOKIE. (joke oc)

Flan cookie (HAUGHTY LOCKSMITH WHO has a little kid issue and also is sort of a roguefort fangirl but he will never admit it to anybody else)

Girl scout cookie (bothers haughty locksmith and keeps getting stuck in unconventional places, for example, inside of traffic cone and a vending machine. Also she knows Everyones home address.)

Pink grass cookie (BASED ON THOSE LIKE. UM. THOSE EGGS THAT HAD THE FLAVORED GRASS IN IT. Shes so mentally ill and um she kind of has some Serious issues with. everything oh god save her shes so fucked the religious trauma is insane)

Moose tracks cookie (47 year old single train conductor that's rivals with two other train stations but also thinks its all fun and games and loves her rivals and also will call you sweetheart, honey, and dearheart)

Microplastic cookie (wip. I am not elaborating.)

OTHER OCS :33

Mio Mirai (Girlboss v-tuber who will manipulate you and act cute while doing it)

Junichi Mirai (Brother of girlboss v-tuber. Makes really good eggs. My friends keep calling him a whore)

Grace Happyfield (Genius fucking 12 year old with cat ears and is also being raised by two maniacs that love her so much and she loves them both too. One is her mom and the other is this girl owned by my friend who taught her how to properly kill men and get away with it by being a cutie pie xx Oh and her moms a lesbian)

Alice Happyfield (GRACIES MOM!! She had her daughter kill her husband and experimented on his body. Sold the leftovers)

Harmony (I dont have a last name for her. shes 12 and had a crush on her friend who was a girl but uhoh her friend who was agirl got assassinated for being openly pansexual!!! uhoh!! shes also friends with Gracie heheohoho)

Egret Flowers (Roblox oc, really silly child that has underlying attachment and self image issues. Also she doesn't have a face)

Lilith (TMC oc, basically shes like Gabriel but instead she targets men specifically by gaining their trust and crushing them)

Alexander Weeks (FNAF oc, he's so transgender and really wants his mom dead . Btw keep in mind that he's a fnaf oc and a minor that's transgender in the 1980s)

Alex (same guy as above but make him an edgy robot that really likes cats)

Zombie cat (Read the name)

Sorrel (Epithet erased oc!! Her epithet is creativity, she basically turns fiction into reality at the expense of her own or others energy. She has no idea how to properly work it shes like 11 OH AND SHE HAS A MOTHER FIGURE THAT ALSO HAS AN EPITHET THATS MUSHROOM THEMED and and also sorrel likes baking)

Cloth (An alien that crash landed on earth. He is completely convinced that he's a human)

Ecole (An alien that crash landed on earth with cloth. She is cloths sister. shes is a famous dancer, and is on every magazine from her home planet. She wants to smack some sense into her brother)

Sew (ANOTHER ALIEN that crash landed on earth. She doesn't think she's a human or an alien, he is just himself. They also really like surfing and skating)

Doll (An old porcelain doll that was abandoned in a garden. It now tends to the plants itself since nobody else will)

MY PErSONA!! (I'm counting this as an oc because my persona has lore

theres more, but ill spare you LMSFAO

[liarist]

Trust and Secrets

Chapter 3

Jessy sent me a newspaper article that was about the body found, it was a small article of no more than 200 words. Jessy was angry that not enough importance was given to the matter.

Thomas confirmed that the body found was not Hannah's, but he was not told whose body it really was.

After the conversation with the group, I started to read the note that I had found in Hannah's cloud, it gave me the impression that she was writing to get over it. What was really going on? What was going through her mind? What was making her feel this way?

File found!

It was a document similar to the previous one, but this time, it resembled a diary. The message was much clearer. Hannah was with an unknown person, visiting a family. They discussed an incident of which we had no knowledge, and as Hannah said her goodbyes, she felt a lot of guilt.

The hacker and I debated about it, and for some reason, we felt it must be connected to something else.

I went to the Aurora to have a drink, needing to relax a bit after so much stress.

While reading the group chat, I ate some chips. They were planning a search in the woods on Sunday, and Cleo's mom was distributing flyers. Phil gave me one, but I had to pretend I didn't know what they were talking about.

I felt bad about lying to them.

Jessy began explaining everything to me, and I sent a picture of the pamphlet to the hacker.

I rested my head on my hands.

"Ade… Adeline… Wake up" I open my eyes and see Phil "You've fallen asleep, it's too late, and we're closing, do you want me to take you home?" I just nodded.

He drove me home, and before I said goodbye I dared to ask

"Should I tell the others about me?"

"I don't know if it would put you in danger, I would say no. You've never told anyone about yourself, even I don't know."

"And it's not that I don't trust you, you know that, don't you?" I asked

"I know you trust me and there are just things you don't feel good talking about, but don't worry, I'm your friend and I know you'll talk about it when you feel good about it"

"Thanks Phil."

I see Cleo's chat, she started to explain to me what it was like when she met Thomas at Hannah's house, apparently he had taken something from there. Also, it was weird that he had been able to get in, as the spare key was in Cleo's possession, and he didn't have the key to Hannah's house as they had argued, and he gave the key back to her

What did Thomas take, how did he get into Hannah's house?

I started looking on the library page for some book of legends of the place and when I found "Midnight in Duskwood" I sent the code to Jessy to go look for it at her leisure

"Adeline? I have Poke's number.

You need to call him.

His account blocks any chat requests automatically."

"Okay, I'll call."

One tone, two tones, he answers. But apparently he wasn't able to hear me properly, so he's added me to chat.

Truth be told, it was a conversation I wished to forget. Apparently Poke is no drug dealer, he's a locksmith, a very expensive one who can't write.

I discussed this information with the hacker, now we know how Thomas got into Hannah's house.

I take a break to take a shower and go out to buy some things to eat. And as I finished eating my mashed potatoes, an audio came in from Jessy. Apparently the book had been borrowed, and they didn't know when they were going to return it since they were already late in delivering it.

Chat Notification

"I already knew you were going to disappoint me again, but Dan not showing up even on the first day is pretty strong," Phil was telling Jessy.

"What?"

"You swore to me that I wouldn't be sorry to give him a job, didn't you tell me like that?

"Phil I'm so sorry, I'm sure you have a good reason!"

"Yeah, but that's no good to me.

And while we're at it:

Tell Cleo not to snoop around here anymore. What do you think the customers think?

You don't need to answer."

After that last message from Phil, Jessy came to the chat to report what had happened, saying that her brother had been beating her up about Dan and Cleo, and that's when the discussion began

"You know how bad you're badmouthing Hannah when I went to see him yesterday," she said.

"It was one of those. She always dressed like that, like she was one of those."

"But if she wants men to look at her like that."

"And she was always flirting with anyone. So it was to be expected that someday she'd get one of those.""

She was completely shocked, had Phil really said something like that?

"Should I talk to him?" asked Richy.

"Yes, Richy, talk to him please."

I preferred to be the one to talk to him, but I doubt I would be completely objective.

The next private chat I see is Jessy and Dan, Dan was apologizing for missing work and asked the black Swan out in compensation.

I continued decrypting and found another picture, it was a tree with a raven logo, I sent it to the Hacker, and he told me to share it with the others, we started debating what it could be about, that the “faceless man” was after Hannah as she had “sinned”.

Then Richy said he thinks I got the image from the hacker.

The next day, I started looking at the conversations I had access to. Dan was blaming Cleo's mother for prompting her mother to go out when she is not well enough to do so, after that I talked to Cleo for a while, she told me the situation and how she felt about it.

The next private chat was Richy and Jessy, Richy was going to tell him something about me, what was he going to tell him about me? He doesn't know me, none of them know me, what is he planning?

After a while Jessy wrote me and sent me two pictures, he was asking me for help to pick out an outfit for a date, the date he has to with Dan, but in theory I have no knowledge of that

"Adeline, let's go on a date."

I didn't expect that, and I felt bad for Dan.

Jessy and I started talking about various things and then said goodbye.

Then Dan texted me saying he got stood up, he seemed a little drunk, his tongue was a little loose, I mean he was talking very easily, he said things about everyone. I think he really wanted to get it off his chest, I think he needed to.

"Don't even think about driving!"

"?"

"You're drunk!"

"I'm fine, no problem."

"Please don't drive, can't someone come after you?"

"I've got it all under control."

After that, he disconnected.

I started talking to the Hacker of the information Dan had given me. What Thomas took from Hannah's house was a bracelet with the initials J.H. on it.

An unknown number starts calling me, I answer, but only one person's breathing can be heard, please don't let someone called me while masturbating.

The call comes in again, I answer again and this time his camera is activated.

"I told you to stay out of this, but you ignored my warnings, Do you think this is all a game?"

The camera focuses on a person through the trees, it was Cleo, then the call cuts off. I feel the panic run through my body, I was going to write to Cleo, but a call comes in from Jessy.

"Something terrible has happened, Dan was in a serious car accident last night, he must have lost control. The car flipped over several times, the doctors don't know if he will survive, It's all my fault!" she says crying.

I took a breath of air, I must prioritize things, first I must write to Cleo. But she didn't answer.

"Adeline, now I have to ask you something very important.

I know it's a bit of a strange favor and the decision may have serious consequences for you.

But you can't tell anyone about that video."

I wanted to cry, I didn't know what to do or how this could have repercussions, but in the end I decided to trust him.

[icelily17]

Well now I'm finally home! What a nightmare of traveling, I hate flying

So my husband and I were supposed to fly from Houston TX to Detroit for a layover before heading home. Except we had a delay for that flight that kept getting pushed back to the point where we figured we missed our connection. Tired and angry, we agreed to sleep in a hotel in Detroit and fly out first thing the next morning.

Except we found out the layover was ALSO delayed and we actually would have made it on said flight! Oh well, too late, we fly home and get in around 9:30am our time.

Except our bag is locked in the Delta office because they flew out with that original connecting flight so it showed up before we did, and no one is around to help. No problem! Go upstairs, get a Delta employee from the ticket counter amd they come get the bag. Awesome!

Except I have a message from my dad who's watching our cat while we were away for 6 days to call him asap. And when I do he says my key wouldn't work and he hasn't been able to get in this whole time. That's okay! We gave Goobly enough food and water, the real problem would have been her litter but that's easy to deal with. We'll see what he was talking about when we get there.

EXCEPT, turns out that Dad was right, the deadbolt wouldn't unlock and we couldn't get inside, Goobly meowing desperately all the while because why wont Mother and Father come in and give pets and kisses?!?

Welp, turns out the deadbolt was from the 70s and should have been changed ages ago but hasn't. And when we called the office for help they sent a couple maintenance people who tried to effectively break us in to our own home but no dice. Time to call a locksmith.

Luckily, the two locksmiths that came (on behalf of the building managers so we don't have to pay--I think) were two older men in their 60s that I SWEAR deserve their own sitcom. Those two had been business partners for 40 years and they were hilarious and kind. One was an old curmudgeon and the other was this little wiry Italian American that was cracking jokes and they honestly made everything so bearable.

So in the end getting home SUCKED but that final stretch with the locksmiths gave me my sanity back. Oh and Goobly was perfectly fine, if not a little spooked from the noise of the old lock getting destroyed and a new one put in.

[aro-pancake]

This is the scam of "authorized assistance" (forgive me if the term is wrong, but it's a direct translation from Portuguese)

I had to deal with that shit last week, and let me tell y'all, they devised the best ways of keeping you trapped.

It wasn't for a tractor, but for a smart lock, and it was hell on earth.

Story time:

I started at 10am, when my locksmith came by because I couldn't take it anymore of my lock not working properly. Nice guy. Very professional and polite. I scheduled it the previous day. He advised me to call upon the warranty.

So, off to Google we go, to find out where I could get it. I get 1 (one) place, in my whole metropolis (please note that I live in a very large urban area). I try calling, and the number doesn't exist. I go to their website and find a new number and a WhatsApp, and finally get a contact. They couldn't send a technician before the first next month, and it would cost me 350 bucks for someone to come by and see if there was something wrong. That, was last Friday, July 12th. I could also take the thing to them, but I'd also need to pay someone to remove it from the door for me. So, after an hour of going nowhere, they recommended that I contact the technical support team for the maker, and give me a phone number.

Again, the phone number doesn't exist, so we gotta find another way of contacting them. Mr finds a local office and the number I was given previously is WhatsApp only, so I try to contact both. They kept me on hold for 15+ minutes and I'm talking in loops with the bot on WhatsApp asking to speak with a person, as they keep redirecting me to the "authorized assistance" that I already talked to.

Ok. Finally, I get through to someone on WhatsApp. They ask me to send them videos of what's going wrong with the piece. I send it. They send me a couple tests to run, and I do them to no avail. They tell me to return to the "authorized assistance", and I tell them that it's becoming a safety issue and I have urgency (my mother is coming next week). They say there's nothing else they can do.

Annoyed, angry, pissed off, and after spending another 20 minutes on the punching bag before I had a breakdown, I look at the intercom. It's the same brand. Huh, interesting. So, I call a neighbour who's with the buildings administration, and ask him who do they call when we need maintenance. He gives me the number. It's 2pm by now.

I contact them, send the videos and ask how soon can they send someone in.half an hour later, my intercom rings. It's the technician. He opens the whole thing, and reinstalls it. No more issues. 150 bucks. Really nice guy, very polite, made a funny comment about the apartments previous owner (that no one in the building liked, btw) and about the guy who sent me their number.

That was a small thing in one of the highest populated areas in Brazil.

Now, imagine your tractor goes down in the middle of a harvest. It's Fucksville Nowhere. You'd be lucky to get any technician to go at any time. If you can't go on with the harvest, you'll lose everything.

So, yes. Farmers not only should be able to fix their gear, but they need to. It's a matter of securing their own livelihoods.

Crops and livestock are a massive investment, many times at high personal costs. Farmers only get paid upon delivery of their product. A crop field will easily have hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of moneys invested in them, along with time and effort. So, a single broken tractor, during crop season (because stuff only breaks when you need it), will set them back by a lot.

[treasure-coast-locksmith]

How Do I Choose a Reputable Locksmith in Port St. Lucie?

Alright, so here’s the thing—most people don’t even think about locksmiths until something goes wrong. I mean, when was the last time you planned ahead for getting locked out?

Yeah, nobody does. But when it happens—whether you’re standing outside your car, your house, or your office—it’s the worst. And the last thing you want is to call someone sketchy who might make things worse.

So, if you’re in Port St. Lucie and you’re wondering how to find a locksmith you can actually trust, let me walk you through it like I would a good friend. No fluff, just real talk.

Stick With Someone Local to Port St. Lucie

Let me tell you—being local makes all the difference. We’ve heard stories from Port St. Lucie residents who waited hours after calling those “nationwide dispatch centers” that promise fast service, only to find out the technician had to drive in from another metro area.

One customer told us he was stuck outside his shop after a break-in and the locksmith he called never even showed!

Compare that to a local locksmith who knows the streets, the neighborhoods (I mean we all got Google and Apple Maps, but still), and how fast things can escalate during emergencies.

When you’re locked out or need help fast, someone who’s just a few minutes away is priceless.

Here’s what you should ask:

How long have you been serving Port St. Lucie?

Do you cover my specific neighborhood?

What’s your average response time?

Trust me, those answers will tell you a lot. Ask them stuff like:

How long have you been working around here?

Do you cover Tradition?

What’s your usual response time?

Credentials—Yeah, They Matter!

You wouldn’t let just anyone into your home or car, right? Same goes for locksmiths.

While Florida doesn’t have super strict licensing statewide, a solid locksmith will still have their paperwork in order.

Ask to see if they’re insured and bonded. Sounds fancy, but it just means if something goes sideways, you’re not stuck with the bill.

And they’ll have no problem showing proof if they’re the real deal.

Check Out What Others Are Saying

You know how we all stalk Yelp before trying a new taco place?

Same logic applies here.

Pull up Google reviews, peek at their Facebook, maybe even Nextdoor if you’re part of that.

Look for people who mention actual jobs—like, “Daniel came and rekeyed my whole house after a tenant left,” not just “Great service!”

And honestly? Pay attention to how they reply to reviews too. If they’re rude or defensive, that’s a red flag.

A good locksmith cares what people say.

Ask the Right Stuff Upfront

When you’re on the phone with them, just ask straight-up:

Can you give me a rough price over the phone?

Are there any extra charges I should know about?

How long will it take you to get here?

A trustworthy locksmith will answer everything clearly. If they dodge the question or throw shady upcharges at you later—nope, not the one

Watch Out for the Scammers

This one’s wild. Ever see those ads online that say “$15 Locksmith!”? Yeah… run.

Here’s what happens: they get to you, claim your lock is “high security,” and suddenly you’re out $250. Total bait and switch.

A buddy of mine fell for that once—guy showed up in an unmarked car, no uniform, and wanted cash only. Total nightmare.

So just trust your gut. No ID? No marked vehicle? Prices feel sketchy? Move on.

A Real Pro Handles It All

We always say, if someone can only unlock your car but can’t rekey your house or install a smart lock—they’re probably not in it for the long haul.

Look for locksmiths like us who offer residential, commercial, and auto services. It usually means they’ve invested in the right tools and know-how.

Bonus points if they’ve got a mobile unit like ours that can cut and program keys on the spot. That’s next-level helpful.

Why Treasure Coast Locksmith Might Be the Right Fit?

We’re not just another locksmith company—we’re your neighbors, and your go-to team when you need help fast.

At Treasure Coast Locksmith, we’ve helped thousands of people across Port St. Lucie with everything from last-minute lockouts to large commercial security upgrades.

One situation we remember well: a small business owner in St. Lucie West got locked out just before opening time. We were there within 20 minutes, got him back in without damage to the lock, and even rekeyed the building for extra peace of mind.

That’s the level of urgency and care we bring to every job.

We’re fully licensed, insured, and backed by over 15 years of real-world experience. Whether it’s your home, your car, or your storefront, we’ve got your back—with transparent pricing, no upsells, and honest work every time.

It’s not just about unlocking doors; it’s about earning your trust.

A Few Quick Tips Before You Need One

Save their number in your phone. Seriously, do it now.

When they show up, ask for ID. Just to be safe

Always ask for an invoice—it helps track what was done and keeps everything clear.

Final Thoughts

So, what do you think? Feel more prepared?

Bottom line: Choose someone local, check reviews, ask questions, and go with your gut. If something feels off, it probably is.

And hey, if you’re around Port St. Lucie, give us a call at Treasure Coast Locksmith—we’d be honored to help.

We got your back! Whether you’re locked out, upgrading your locks, or just playing it smart.

Stay safe…!

Treasure Coast Locksmith Port St. Lucie

📞 (772) 758-1322 🌐 treasurecoastlocksmith.com 📍 245 SW Parish Terrace, Port St. Lucie, FL 34984

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