#when they go to police and leave them and keep their distance

[super-nova5045]

its always “we should beat up and kill rapists and abusers!” but the moment someone actually does you all turn on them

[torturedtypewritersdept]

the fire in his eyes - r.c.

↳PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader

↳SUMMARY:jj maybank had done a lot of stupid shit in his life but threatening to kill you was at the top of the list.

↳ WARNINGS: mature themes, mentions of anxiety, gunshots, gun use, major character death (implied - doesn't happen), gun violence, violence, protective!rafe, etc.

↳A/N: this is a repost from my old blogs @illicitfixations, @lovelornanonymity. all of my works are being reposted to this one + the previous blog has been deactivated.

At the Boneyard, Kooks didn't have rich parents watching over their every move, and pogues got to party without the police shutting them down. They didn't have parents to bribe the law enforcement like the rich kids did, after all. It was a win-win situation. You and Sarah kept it a tight-lipped secret, but parties at the Boneyard had always been their favorites. As you climbed out of Sarah's black Volvo, you two shared a conspiratorial look, matching grins on your faces. Rafe put his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him and leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. You heard a whistle from the crowd, and resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You could feel the eyes of other partygoers on them as you all walked in, clinging to your every move. Topper grabbed a cooler of beers he’d brought with you guys, and cheers echoed from your onlookers.

"Rafe, mind if I borrow your girl?" Sarah's voice was syrupy-sweet, and Rafe shot her a glare, but relinquished his hold on you. 

Without giving you a moment's notice, Sarah grabbed your hand eagerly, snatching you away.

When you next glanced at your boyfriend, he'd busied himself with Topper and the beers. Predictable.

"Look at this, Y/N.” Sarah said, out of breath as you two stopped running. 

Above you towered a red buoy, the kind designed to ward off the big trawlers and cargo ships when they came a little too close to shore.

“You can see it all from up here.”

You heard footsteps, and glanced over her shoulder, seeing Topper advancing towards you two.

"Your bitch is here.” You teased, and Sarah glanced over her shoulder.

"Shut up."

"Sarah! Be careful!" Topper hurried over, worry plain in his voice, and you rolled your eyes.

"I'Il leave you to it.” You called out, and Sarah smiled down at you, waving her goodbye.

You crossed your arms around yourself, looking at the scene around you. There were people

everywhere, Pogues and Kooks in distinct groups,

miniature versions of the Cut and Figure Eight.

"Looking hot as always, princess.” A voice whistles from the side. 

You turn your head, seeing JJ trailing his eyes up and down your figure. You roll your eyes, flipping him off with a fake sweet smile, then walking away.

You made your way to your friends - Rafe’s arms calling your name. You belonged in them like the wind in a hurricane, one just simply couldn’t be without the other. 

The journey across the beach and into the arms of the boy you loved was long and grueling, your feet felt like lead as they drug against the cool of the sand. The promise of Rafe’s touch was enough to make you keep going as your eyes raked over his form at a distance. 

He was laughing with his friends, a yellow shirt gripping his biceps and pink board shorts wrapped around his thighs. His feet were exposed against the sand and a baseball cap sat backwards in his head. You came up from behind him, wrapping your small arms around his middle, trailing your fingers up around his pectoral muscles. 

“Can I buy you a drink, handsome?” You whispered into his shoulder, not tall enough to reach his ear. You felt his muscles relax against your touch. 

“I’m pretty sure the booze is free, we’re at a kegger. Plus, I don’t think my girl would like that very much.” He replied with a smile, turning around to bring you into his chest. “Hey, pretty girl. Missed you.”

Suddenly, Rafe's grip on your waist tightens a bit and a scoff slips from his mouth. It's not long before you notice what forced the change in his

demeanor. Two Pogues, JJ and you couldn't quite remember the other boy’s name, but you recognized him as a friend of Kiara’s. 

"Just walk, don't look at them.” You hear the unknown boy whisper to JJ and it almost brings a smile to your face.

"How do you walk past Kooks and not look at them in all their fucking glory?” The sarcasm seeped from JJ’s lips, purposely making his voice loud enough for you all to hear.

"Hey, princess. When you get bored of this polo wearing asshole..." his words directed toward you as his holds his hand up to his ear with the phone gesture, "call me," he mouths. 

His friend immediately pulled JJ further in the opposite direction before Rafe could so much as

even think to put his hands on him.

"Don't.” You place your hand on Rafe's chest, as he noticeably gets angry. He just glances down at you in confusion. "His time will come.” You reassure your boyfriend, your smile almost as menacing as the one now on Rafe's face. 

He simply nodded along to your words, letting his grip on your waist finally lighten up a bit.

You and Sarah were growing bored as your boys were talking about perfecting their swings for what felt like hours upon hours and you two were looking for any excuse to retreat back to the keg. 

“Sarah and I are going to get another drink. You guys want anything?" You ask, backing away toward the keg already. 

“Nah, I’m good.” Kelce replies, Topper and Rafe agreeing all too intrigued with their conversation about that God forsaken sport. 

You just shake your head and the two of you start walking towards the keg. Your walk was pretty peaceful, but of course that couldn't last for long. You watched as JJ walked in your direction.

"Y/N L/N." Your full name rolled off his tongue,

albeit a little slurred.

"Hi?" Your voice was questioning, and you could only hope you got across your utter confusion as to what he was doing standing in front of you. 

He raised his eyebrows at you, and held out his cup to you silently. Your eyes darted downwards and back up to him again, looking at the murky liquid dubiously. As far as you were concerned, he could've been poisoning you.

"No, thanks."

"Don't you trust me?"

You let the words hang. You knew he knew the answer to that question. JJ waved the cup in front of your face once again, jolting you back to the present.

"Lighten up, princess.” 

You chuckled lowly, though the laugh had no real humour behind it. “Fuck off, Pogue.” 

You met his eyes again, and the corner of his lip quirked up ever so slightly. He looked almost a little stunned. 

"Where'd you learn to swear, princess? The country club?"

"Where'd you learn to swear? Jail?" You bit back, and JJ grinned.

"Juvie, dumbass.” He replied, eyebrows raised. "C'mon. One sip."

“I believe the lady said no, Maybank.” You heard your boyfriend’s merciless voice cut off the intense tension that you and JJ were now sharing. 

"Rafe! Buddy! How are you?"

The taste of beer in the back of your throat turned rancid. This was not going to end well. The muscles in Rafe’s jaw were tensed, sharp lines against the contours of his skin.

"What, is it not fancy enough for you?" JJ kept being persistent. 

"No. We were just leaving."

"Hey, you know what? I'll take it." Topper interrupts JJ, and you start to fear what might happen. 

"Thank you, man. I appreciate it."

"That's nice, but I didn't ask you. If you said pretty please, maybe, but you didn't."

"Oh, pretty please."

"Yeah. Sarah? How about you?” JJ tried to give her the cup.

"Pretty please?"

"You can have it." JJ insists on giving Sarah the cup.

"She doesn't want it, you-" Topper just spills the drink into JJ's face. 

JJ hits Topper, while John B and Sarah attempt to separate them.

"Dirty Pogues!" Topper screams and John B loses it and hits him.

"Hey, John B, don't make me drown you like your old man, all right?" 

People around you scream "Fight! Fight! Fight!" like this is some kind of joke.

The guys continue, and it seems like there are only three sane people in the middle of this, trying to stop it: you, Sarah and Kiara.

Things are getting pretty violent. Topper is holding John B's head, and he's slowly drowning him. Everyone around us is either inciting it or screaming, trying to end it. That's too much for you to watch, so you hide inside Rafe's arms and he pulls you closer.

Out of nowhere, someone screams, "He's got a gun" and you turn to see JJ with a gun pointed at Top's head.

"JJ, stop! Put the gun down!" Sarah screams desperately.

"Did you say something, princess?" He holds his position.

"JJ, what the fuck? Do you know what you are doing? Calm down, please."

"Oh, does princess number two want to join the ‘save the asshole’ party?" 

Your breath hitched in your throat as the cool metal met your temple – you had never been a fan of guns – but you wished that you knew how to use one or atleast how to defend yourself against someone with one as JJ Maybank bore the side of the pistol in his hand into your skull like his life depended on it. Your eyes met Rafe’s and you noted the panic that ran through them, though you knew no one else would and you thanked God for that, because if they had you were sure you would die on this beach, leaving Rafe to cradle what was left of your lifeless body. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion and you could barely hear Rafe’s words or the words of the pogues as they stood by, begging JJ to put the gun down. 

"You better get the gun away from her or I swear to God, your friends will be burying you tonight.” Rafe breathes, almost too calmly. “You know who has more power between us. I can make your life a living hell more than it is now.” 

Everyone knows that's true, even JJ himself. Yet, he didn’t seem to care about that at the moment, all he cared about was getting even with Rafe Cameron, the kook king himself and that’s what he thought he was doing when he pulled the trigger sending a harsh air into the side of your temple. You dropped to the sand and Rafe’s heart stopped for a split second as he raced over to your form. He gripped your cheeks, looking over your face, begging you to say anything as he searched for any source of blood, any place that a bullet would have entered your body. 

“Baby – Baby – talk to me, please!” 

You were dazed, your mind reeling. You wondered if you had been shot, if this was it for you, if you were dying – is this what dying felt like? You couldn’t make your mouth form words and your ears rang. Rafe shook you once again, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Sweet girl, what hurts? Are you hurt?!” 

You could only shake your head no as he looked over you and once he received confirmation that you were okay, he ordered Kelce to watch over you as he made his way over to where JJ stood. JJ looked in Rafe’s direction, knowing he had fucked up, knowing he was about to take the beating of his life. Rafe stalked towards him, anger pulsating through every vein in his body in a way that it never had. Pogues had always pissed him off or been a nuisance to him, but this – this was life or death – this was you and he couldn’t stand by and let these fuckers think they could get away with that. JJ shrunk into himself, thinking about making a break for it and Topper must’ve noticed, because he got to him before Rafe did, jerking him up by the collar of his shirt and snickering. 

“Listen, bud, accept your fate now – Rafe’s gonna kill you.” 

He chuckled and JJ’s fear made itself known as he tried to squirm out of Topper’s grasp. And just as he did, ready to make a break for it and leave his friends to fend for themselves, Rafe stepped in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. 

“And, uh – just where do you think you’re going?” 

He growled. 

“Listen man –” 

JJ was cut off by Rafe’s forehead connecting with his nose, knocking him back abruptly. 

“No, see –, listening after you pull a gun on my girl? That doesn’t work for me.” 

His voice was sinister, yet cool and calm and ready – ready to kill his first pogue. Rafe shoved JJ back even further, his head connecting with the sand. Rafe’s only thought in that moment elicited a snicker from him as he thought about his tiny pogue brain shaking around in his head at the impact. He thought about it again as he ripped the gun from JJ’s grasp and knocked it against his nose, the crunch of his bones could be heard across the beach and Rafe let out a laugh. 

“If you think that hurts, you’re not gonna survive what comes next.” 

Topper snickered, bringing a beer to Rafe’s attention, handing it to him. Rafe’s demented and angry state gave him an idea and before he could even think he spit into the long-neck beer bottle, swishing the remaining liquid around and passing it back to Topper who spit in it as well and handed it back to Rafe. 

“Maybank, you uh–, you thirsty? I got something for you.” 

Rafe laughed menacingly, turning back to the crowd that had gathered around them on the beach before kneeling over JJ while Topper held down his shoulders against the sand and Rafe poured the tainted liquid down his throat. JJ kicked and attempted to scream, but his yells were muffled against the cool liquid as he fought against it. 

“Don’t fight it, princess.” 

Topper snickered, his grip on JJ’s shoulder’s tightening to prevent him from squirming away from Rafe. 

“Stop! You’re gonna kill him!” 

John B yelled, emerging from the crowd. 

“Trust me, JB, I’m not even close to killing him yet and when I am it’ll be justified. He almost took my world away from me, killing him wouldn’t be enough.” 

Rafe spoke through gritted teeth and threw the beer bottle to the side, stradling JJ and beginning to hit him over and over. 

-

You sat on the sand, Kelce’s strong arm wrapped around your waist as you tucked your knees further into your chest and laid your head on top of them. Rafe came barreling toward you, stopping as he took in the tears that were running down your cheeks. Your eyes were closed and you chanted to yourself “Rafe’s coming soon” over and over in a hushed whisper. His heart broke and the sight and he was filled with regret for leaving you with Kelce of all people while you were in this state. He knelt in front of your face, tucking the hair behind your ears and it was like almost immediately, you knew the touch was his. Your eyes flew open, and at the sight of him you cried even harder – a mix of fear and anger washed over you; anger at JJ, fear of Rafe being shot the way you almost had been. You jumped into his arms, almost knocking him over, but he steadied as he wrapped his arms around you and situated you on his lap. You buried your head in his chest and he wrapped one arm under your knees and the other around the back of your hair, pooling it in his hands. You tucked your face as deep into his chest as you could and he placed a kiss on your temple. 

“Hey, sweet girl. Talk to me, baby.” 

“Scared – wanna g-go home.” 

“Okay, mama. We’re going.” 

He whispered against your hairline, pushing himself off the ground by his legs and shifting you in his broad arms before carrying you bridal-style to his truck. 

[pathologicalreid]

cocoon | s.r.

in which your life is put in danger during an otherwise routine case, and you haven't even told Spencer about the baby

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: case violence, withholding information, miscarriage, pathologicalreid's first open-ended angst, fighting, alzheimers, schizophrenia, reader didn't necessarily want kids, mentions hospitals word count: 1.82k a/n: do i even dare tag this as the spencer reid dilf agenda? anyways: don't like? don't read!

Your hands were cold. They shake as you turn the key to your apartment, pushing the heavy door open and letting yourself trudge through. You hold the door for Spencer to come in, carrying both of your go bags after he had refused to let you carry your own.

Using the wall for support, you kick your shoes off, pushing them with your toes until they’re in their designated spot. Your eyes follow Spencer as he makes his way to your shared bedroom. You watch while he stares at the go bags he set on the dresser, seemingly deciding that he’s not willing to spare the energy that unpacking will take before returning to you in the living room.

Sometimes, coming back from cases, everything in the apartment felt welcoming, but now it all seems foreign to you. Home never feels quite right when you’re in the middle of a fight. “Couch or bed,” Spencer says, passing behind you but leaving nothing behind. There’s no tentative touch to your waist or kiss on your head, just the rush of air that follows his movements.

You hum absentmindedly, turning your head to follow his movements into the kitchen, rifling through the refrigerator, looking for something that had been lost to the back with time.

“Bed rest,” he reminds you, refusing to spare you a glance as his head stays in the refrigerator. “Couch or bed,” he repeats, maintaining a clipped tone.

Silently, your lips close to form a small ‘o’, the recognition flickering in your brain as you step around the couch and sit down on the couch. Staring out your sliding door, you watch the sun while it rises in the sky, light pouring through every window of the apartment. You find yourself wanting to shut the blinds and close yourself into the apartment, using the walls as a cocoon to protect yourself.

Trembling fingers pull the cuffs of your sweatshirt over your hands, simultaneously trying to keep yourself warm and put distance between your body and the rest of the world. You tuck your feet underneath you, leaning into the cushions behind you as Spencer finally reveals himself, standing on the opposite end of the coffee table with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“How long are you going to be mad at me?” You ask him, your voice gravely from lack of use, the two of you having barely spoken over the last day.

The look he gives you is incredulous, “I don’t know, how long did you know you were pregnant without telling me?”

His eyes are darker than usual, the grief of the last twenty-four hours overshadowing the gold that usually rims his pupils. You avert your eyes to hide the tears that are pricking your eyes, avoiding his gaze and avoiding his question.

Two weeks. You had known you were pregnant for two weeks before yesterday. There hadn’t been a plan for how you wanted to tell him, but it certainly wouldn’t have been gasping it out after being tackled by an UnSub.

You weren’t in the line of danger, staying with the local police, Spencer, and JJ while the rest of the team cleared through a warehouse. No one suspected an inside job until it became glaringly obvious, with you being the target of the local officer’s rage when something inside him snapped.

Never in your wildest dreams have you ever imagined telling Spencer you’re pregnant with a gun to your head, but that’s exactly what you did.

The confession had startled the officer enough to give JJ a clear shot, and Spencer managed to catch you before you hit the ground in a puddle of tears and apologies.

He knows the answer to his question, but a small, vindictive piece of him wants to punish you with reminders of your mistake. You should’ve told him. It was too late to fix it now.

Wiping underneath your eyes with your sleeves, you watch in your periphery as he drags a chair across the floor, the worn feet scraping on the hardwood. “Here,” he says, holding out a small bottle with an orange cap. He shakes the sports drink in his hand, “You need the electrolytes.”

Your eyes narrow as you reach out and accept the drink, noticing how he’s already broken the seal for you when you hold the bottle close to your chest, “Thank you,” you breathe, emotion constricting your lungs, the bruise on your ribs further straining your breathing.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, and you look up at him. Something solemn and unspoken clouds the darkness in his eyes, and you wish he would just tell you what he’s thinking.

 Uncertain, you shake your head. You’ve been nauseous all day, Gatorade was going to be a struggle—you didn’t need to know how getting food down would go. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, an ineffective repetition of an apology you know he won’t accept.

His expression doesn’t falter, “I’m sure you are.”

Your breathing hitches at his apathy, hugging yourself as tightly as you can without causing yourself any pain. “Go away,” the plea that escapes your mouth is weak, your tone as miserable as you feel, “I don’t need your punishment right now.”

“I’ll sit here until you explain why you didn’t tell me you were pregnant until it was between that or a bullet in your brain,” he vows, leaning back in his chair.

Holding back a reaction to his callousness, you avert your eyes again, instead looking at the care packet that the hospital sent you home with. Spencer wasn’t being hostile out of anger—he was doing this out of fear. “Don’t you think having a miscarriage will be punishment enough?”

For at least a moment, your question renders him speechless. “We don’t know that you’re going to miscarry,” he tries to assuage your concern.

You stare at him blankly, unable to form a coherent response to his attempt at reassurance. You thought you had been on the same side, but his consoling shows you a new perspective. While you had been starting the process of mourning your baby, Spencer was still holding onto the hope that your pregnancy would stick.

“We don’t,” he echoes, grabbing the packet off the coffee table and flipping to your care history. “Your HCG was almost 150,000 this morning, that’s really good. Fetal heart rate was 172, which is right on track for ten weeks,” he points to the percentile charts that the hospital provided for you.

Swallowing thickly, you unscrew the cap of your drink and take a small, calculated sip. The look that you previously hadn’t been able to name in his eyes was desperation, each breath a silent plea for you to not give up. “You want this baby,” you observe, studying the look in his eyes, a sorrowful gleam glossing over his brown irises.

Your comment throws him off balance, “I’ve always been unambiguous in my stance on having kids.” He stands up from the chair and starts pacing around the living room as if he’s expelling nervous energy.

“No, you haven’t,” you tell him, keeping your voice level and trying to stay calm.

Spencer’s footsteps faltered, “Okay, fine. Tell me when I somehow gave you the idea that I don’t want a family.”

Accepting his challenge, you lean your head back on the cushions, tracing the lines of the ceiling with your eyes. “When your mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and we were long-distance while you stayed with her in Vegas, we used to sit on the phone into all hours of the night and you would go on tangents. I mean… these animated rants about the genetic lottery and how the last thing you’d want to do is have a child just for them to inherit your problems.” Emotion burns your throat, but you keep speaking, “You told me you’d feel helpless having a child with your genes knowing that by the time they’re old enough to have a schizophrenic break, you won’t remember who they are.”

He's completely silent, his breathing so level that it doesn’t make a sound. Spencer was just standing in his reality.

“Then,” you take a deep breath, “After Cat.”

“Stop,” he says immediately, the word hoarse and miserable.

You press your lips together, “No,” you respond simply. “You told me you’d never be able to have a child without considering what might have happened had she been telling you the truth. I was fine with that, Spencer. I never wanted kids the way you did, the fervent way you used to talk about having a baby and being the father that you never had, it completely went away, and I was fine with that.”

You watch him push the heels of his hands into his eyes, halting his tears before they can fall.

“I could’ve been perfectly happy with the rest of our lives if it did turn out to just be us, until that little blue plus sign popped up,” you lament. “I tried,” you cry, unable to stop the tears that run down your face, “I stayed out of dangerous situations. I haven't drawn my gun since I found out. I asked Tara to go into that building because I thought I’d be safer outside with you, and I’m afraid to say it but… I don’t think anything would have changed even if you knew beforehand.”

Spencer drops his arms, kneeling in front of the couch as he gathers your hands in his and brings them to his mouth, whispering your name like a prayer. “I want this baby,” he confirms your earlier observation.

Your shoulders slouch in a mixture of disappointment and exhaustion, “Spence, I do too, but it’s not— the bleeding…” you blubber.

He shakes his head, “The bleeding resolved in the hospital,” he reminds you.

Peering down at him, you can’t help but wonder when he became so optimistic in the face of terrible things.

“Promise me,” he begs, “Promise me you’ll do the bed rest and listen to all of the doctor’s orders until we get to go to the obstetrician’s office on Monday.”

Tentatively, you nod at him, “You’ll come with me?” You hiccup a sob, unrelenting tears falling to the front of your sweatshirt.

He nods back, lifting himself so that he’s sitting next to you on the couch, pulling you into him, resting your head on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” he sniffles, carefully putting his arms around you, returning warmth to your body.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” you whisper, your voice unbelievably small as you gather the fabric of his cardigan in your fists.

He drops a gentle kiss to the side of your head—the only part of you he could reach without letting you go, which he wasn’t about to do. “I’m not,” he assures you, “I’m not.”

[maskedbyghost]

Stalker

ex-husband Simon, your favorite stalker, a bit possessive, part two?

You can feel it, can’t you? Someone is watching. Every move you make...someone is there, lurking. It all started a few months ago, right after the divorce. Back then, you brushed it off, thinking it was just the loneliness, your senses playing a cruel joke with you. But now, you can’t ignore it anymore.

Oh, how you wish Simon were here to chase away the lurking shadows. But he made it clear—he doesn’t care anymore. If he did, you’d still be married.

Of course, he didn't use those exact words, he didn't even have to say anything, you just knew it based on his actions. Always working, stationed at the base, or off on some long mission. No texts, no calls, no signs that he missed you or regretted leaving you alone for so long.

What were you supposed to do—wait for him forever? Sleep in an empty bed, cook meals for one, celebrate anniversaries alone? No, thank you. If he wanted to, he would. Plain and simple.

You thought about it for a long time, and when you finally sent the divorce papers, hoping for even a hint of regret, he simply signed them and sent them back. Later, he told the lawyer you could keep everything. He didn’t even call to hear your reasons, which is for the best, probably, fuck him and the years you've spent together.

But now, as you feel someone watching you from across the street, you can’t help but wish Simon was still the man he used to be—the one who would have chased away anyone who dared to harm you.

But you’re not sure if your stalker wants to harm you, at least not yet. He always kept his distance until you found a bouquet of tulips, your favorite flowers, sitting in your kitchen. That’s when the fear set in. He had been inside your house, and the cameras didn’t catch a thing.

Next to the delicate petals, you found a note. It said: ‘You looked beautiful in that red dress last night. Too bad your date didn't appreciate it.’ As you read the words, a chill ran down your spine. Your friends had pushed you into that date with a guy who didn’t even call afterward, despite the evening going well. Now, you can’t shake the feeling that this stalker of yours had to do something with that.

Did he scare the guy off? Even if that was true, why hadn’t he approached you directly?

The note and the flowers only deepened your unease. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder every time you left the house, checking for shadows or strange movements. The feeling of being watched became almost unbearable.

Days passed, and the unease settled into a constant anxiety. You started checking the security footage obsessively, but it always showed nothing out of the ordinary. It was as if he had a way of slipping in and out of your life without leaving a trace.

Every day, a fresh set of flowers awaited you after work. Tulips, daisies, roses—all your favorites. Each bouquet was accompanied by a new note, but Mr. Stalker never stepped out of the shadows, never made direct contact with you.

'Just a little something to make you smile.'

'These flowers are a reminder: I’m always watching.'

'These flowers are just the beginning.'

'You’re mine in every way that matters.'

Those are just a few notes you got over the past two weeks. You even contacted the police, but their response was less than helpful. They claimed there was nothing they could do and dismissed it as the work of a shy admirer. But there was nothing shy about stealing your underwear, you thought. And yes, you had definitely noticed the absence of your underwear since this all began.

One night, as you were trying to wind down from another exhausting day, your phone rang with an unknown number. A sense of dread washed over you as you answered.

“Hello?” you said, your voice trembling. There was no response, just silence on the other end. You repeated, “Who is this? What do you want?” but the silence remained.

The call ended abruptly, leaving you feeling unsettled and anxious. Minutes later, your phone buzzed with a new message. You hesitated before opening it, your heart pounding. The message read: 'I just wanted to hear your beautiful voice.'

And now he has your number? You wondered if this was a new tactic to unsettle you further or if it was a sign that the stalker was becoming bolder.

In the days following the phone call, the messages continued, each one more personal than the last. 'You look beautiful with your hair down.'

Along with the messages, the stalker began sending gifts��more flowers, small trinkets, and sometimes even items that felt oddly personal, like a charm bracelet with an engraving of your initials. Each gift was accompanied by a note, one note even read, 'Soon, we’ll be together.' The fuck you will, you thought.

The gifts and messages weren’t the only signs of the stalker’s presence. A few times, you noticed a shadow moving outside your window—brief glimpses of a figure that vanished before you could get a clear look.

Tonight, you decided to take a walk to clear your mind. You quickly changed into comfortable clothes, grabbed your jacket, and checked that you had your phone and keys. As you reached for the door, you took a deep breath, hoping the fresh air would help you feel better. But when you opened the door, you were met with a sight that froze you in your tracks. Standing just outside your door, barely an arm's length away, was him. His presence was both shocking and surreal. He looked directly at you, a strange mixture of relief in his eyes.

"Hello, love."

"Simon?"

[yandere--stuck]

would u ever write more for stanley.. its so dry out here.. stanation is suffering in a drought……….

You're so right, I'm so sorry, Stanation!!!!

---

💰 Stanley's obsession for you manifests into rocketing between pitiful internal justification for his possessive feelings for you and deep, deep self-loathing and disgust with himself while trying to distance himself from you. Oh, and who could forget, Stanley allowing himself to indulge in fantasies of you returning his feelings and living out happily ever after together. Ha, like that'll ever happen! … But, a man can dream, can't he? Just nice, sappy, romantic stuff, you know? Cuddling together in bed, making the kids breakfast with sleep still in both your eyes, watching the sunset together on the porch, and scaring off any lousy creep that tries to take what's his with one of his many guns. In fact, he may already be doing that last one.

🎲 Talks a big game and acts like a tough guy around you, but it couldn't be further from the truth - at least when it comes to you. In reality, when Stan's around you, he feels one second away from breaking and acting like a lovesick puppy. He feels like a kid with a crush! He hasn't felt this way since he was a young man! It'd be embarrassing if it, if you, didn't make him so happy. He just feels lucky he hasn't turned into a babbling, blushing idiot in front of you or the kids. That's for when your backs are turned. There have been some close calls, though. Like the time he got so lost in listening to you speak that he hadn't realized he'd started resting the side of his face on his hand while staring at you, hearts practically in his eyes. The moment he realized, he'd run off from you with a shout of, “Nonspecific excuse!”

💰 Stan is a bit of a collector, and that certainly doesn't stop with you. He loves snatching little keepsakes from you. Nothing you'd miss, or nothing you'd miss for long. Discarded doodles, forgotten gloves, change that had fallen to the floor unnoticed, and occasionally, your phone, to make sure he didn't have a competition. Everything he keeps goes into his study. He also likes swiping your unfinished snacks or drinks and finishing them himself - he thinks of it as an indirect kiss (yeah, he's gross, what of it?) And it's hard to admit even to himself, but he gets a certain thrill whenever he snaps a candid shot of you from one of the polaroid he swiped from stock for “store use.” That's not all, though! He goes through security camera footage and rifles through it for cute videos of you - ah, but hey, you're always cute, aren't you? He saves them all and watches them religiously. He also may secretly go through Mabel's scrapbook to find pictures of you and make copies of them for his own personal collection, always making sure it gets returned to Mabel seemingly untouched. It's probably the most organized collection he has! And, of course, he's put a framed picture of you right beside the one of Mabel and Dipper in the laboratory downstairs. It makes Stan think of an imagined, impossible world where you and he raise the two together. Your own little family.

🎲 Another fantasy he indulges in is drugging you up and keeping you hidden in the laboratory. It'd be so easy. You're so trusting of him when you really shouldn't be, when he doesn't deserve to be. It'd be so easy to steal you away all for himself. Gravity Falls is a weird town. Strange things happen, and they either go unremembered or unspoken. Sure, you'd be missed, but it's not like the police force in town would get very far. Heck, he'd put more faith in his grand-niblings cracking the case than Blubs and Durland! And, well, you stole his heart first. It's only fair. And Stan would take such good care of you, he knows it! He'd keep you all nice and drugged up. Maybe you'd be euphoric and clingy, or your brain too foggy to escape or do much for yourself, or maybe he'd give you something so that you're too sick to even consider leaving for the hospital lest your condition worsen any further. You'd need him. That's all he'd ever want.

💰 Stan is very protective of you. He tries not to be so obvious, but his temper had such a short fuse when it came to you. You were just so sweet, so nice, even to a scumbag like him! You were so good with the kids, always such a help around the shack, even going so far as to visit on your day off just because you liked the Pines’ company. Liked his company. I mean, how the hell could anyone think they're good enough for you? Nah, nah, nah, he's not letting any mouth-breathing idiots in this town try to make moves on you just because they're too stupid to realize you're outta their league! And if he even thinks he hears someone a bad word about you, he'll be up in their face, cussing them out and making threats (as well as very rude hand gestures.) It's embarrassing for him afterwards, though. He doesn't want to think he's losing control and becoming more obvious, but with how Mabel claims it was ‘so sweet’ of him to be so protective of you, he can't help but worry.

🎲 Stan gradually becomes more physically affectionate with you. “Accidentally” brushing his hands against yours, leaving a hand on your shoulder or arm for a bit too long, nearly embarrassing himself by wrapping you up in a hug in front of everyone. He just can't help it! He's… He's in love! He's in love with you, and he wants to be with you. You make him happy just by being near him. You make his life better just by being in it. He wants to hold you, hug you, kiss you, be with you, and keep you with him forever. But, Stan also knows he can't. You'd never agree to it, surely. No matter how much Stan wants to think otherwise. Old bastard like him, he wasn't good enough for you - but then again, he thought no one was. But he could take comfort in you just being near him (if you ever tried to leave, he doesn't know what he'd do…) That way, at least, he couldn't screw anything up. That's all he'd do, anyway. It'd fail, just like all of his other relationships and all because of him. He should know better. He should know that he's a fuckup, that he destroys everything he touches, and that everyone he's ever known has suffered because of him. He just… He just wishes he could be closer. He knows he's not good enough for you to love him or need him and that he never will be, but God, does he wish he was.

[ebodebo]

Your stalker is Simon, but he never goes too far. Gives you calls, stays a distance away from you to keep you safe at night or whatever, he leaves you notes when your mental health is going bad, reminding you to eat or drink water or like to drink your meds? Sorry if it's a bit weird :3

Number One Fan

—thinking about stalker!simon riley…MDNI

It was late, eleven or so at night, as you trudged into your house. Your dick of a boss was being a pain in the ass about office hours, so you stayed later to hopefully get in his good graces and get that overtime check.

You set your keys on the table at the entrance, wiping your tired eyes as you hung up your coat. You walked into your room, noticing a neatly folded piece of paper on your nightstand. You halted, feeling a sense of uneasiness, before gently stepping to grab the note, deeply sighing as your eyes scanned over the words etched into the paper.

Take your vitamins, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold, now would we? Also, no more alcohol. Bad for you.

- G

You had a stalker. Well, have had one for the past two months or so. It’s strange, really. The guy can get in and out of your house with ease, but he doesn’t ever take anything. He just leaves notes reminding you to take your medication and calls when you have a terrible night.

You called the police the first time you found a note, but they said they couldn't do much since it wasn’t a direct threat to your health, so you stopped calling them. Initially, you thought the guy would get bored of you and leave, but sixty-ish days later, you are still getting his ominous notes and calls.

It was looking like you had attracted a nester.

You grabbed the tainted paper and stuffed it in your side table drawer, along with all the other numerous notes he had left you. Turning on your heels, you walked back into your kitchen, reaching to grab a fresh bottle of wine. There was nothing like a little bit of liquid courage to take the edge off.

As you poured the wine into your glass, your home phone rang, startling you to where you had spilled some of your wine on the counter, causing it to leak down your wooden cabinets below.

“Shit,” you curse, grabbing a wad of paper towel and setting it in the red to soak up as you walk over to the phone.

“Hello,” you answer, voice a little agitated.

“Left you a note,” the gravelly voice said, making the hairs on your neck stand. It was him—your stalker. You gripped the phone tighter, wrapping the coiled cord around your pointer finger.

“Thought I wrote no more alcohol,” he says sternly.

“I told you to stop calling this number,” you muttered.

“Just checkin’ up,” he urged.

“Well, don’t,” you hissed, feeling a slight numbness to your pointer finger as you pulled the cord tighter.

“Boyfriend isn’t treating you well,” he says knowingly. Your eyes widen. He was right. Your boyfriend was a major douche, but you’d been dating him since high school, so you felt this odd sense of obligation to continue being with him.

“He’s…fine,” you say, though your voice carries hesitation.

“That so?” He smugly questions.

“Yes. You need to lose this number,” your voice is assertive and strong. Maybe he’d finally take the hint.

“He can’t even make you come.” He was right, again. Let’s just say your boyfriend mainly caters to his urges and needs, leaving you to pull out your vibrator in the middle of the night and take care of it yourself.

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head again. You part your lips to speak but are unable to make any words come out. You find yourself genuinely dumbfounded for the first time since he showed up.

“Tell me I’m wrong?” He urges in a low voice.

“I—he’s, he’s more than proficient in the bedroom, but that’s none—” you lie, unsure of why you felt the need to defend your boyfriend to a random guy before he cuts in.

“I could make you come and not even touch you,” he lazily says, words oozing in confidence. You loathed how his words shot straight to the spot between your legs. God, what the fuck were you doing? Getting all worked up over your stalker, who you couldn’t even fucking see. Maybe you were just as crazy as him.

“You couldn’t,” you assert, trying to keep your tone strong, but he could hear it. The needy strain it held. He let out a rough laugh. You wrapped the cord tighter around your finger and saw it turn a pale white.

“Let me see those pretty tits he gets to see,” he encourages. You suck in a sharp breath, teeth coming out to sink into the flesh of your bottom lip, piercing the skin a little making coppery liquid coat your tongue.

Your conscious is telling you that you shouldn’t be doing this, you had a boyfriend, and this guy was insane, but the little devil on your shoulder told you to pull your tits out and make him put his money where his mouth was, which overrode your better judgment.

You could hear his deep breaths rasping over the phone when you uncoiled your hand from the cord, skimming up your stomach to the dip of your breasts, gently unclasping your bra, and pulling it out from the bottom of your shirt.

You hesitate a moment before you grip the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and throwing it to the side. You were now bare from the stomach up, awaiting his response.

“Wish I could take one of em’ in my mouth. Give em’ a nice squeeze while you ride my cock,” he rasps. You gasp, finding yourself bringing a hand up to caress a breast gently.

“But, this is about you. I’ll make you feel good,” he assures, his voice husky as he watches you play with your breasts.

“Okay,” you find yourself choking out, breathless.

“Pull your shorts down,” he commands. You oblige, slipping your shorts and panties down, dropping them so they both hang around your ankles, revealing your bare cunt.

“Christ. Fuckin’ perfect pussy,” he gruffs. You sink your teeth more deeply into the fat of your lip, feeling wetter as the seconds pass.

“Let me see you touch yourself,” he says. “Go on.”

You take your hand caressing your breast and bring it to your slit, carefully dragging your pointer and middle fingers up and down where you ache. Your lips part as you let out little breathy noises that have the guy nearly coming in his pants.

“Doin’ so good,” he lazily says. “Sink them in.”

You moan into the phone as you sink your fingers deeper into you, grazing your sensitive clit. Swirling and pumping in and out, spewing lewd moans that go directly into his ear that have him heavy breathing.

However, you change positions so your hand presses against the wall for support, shifting the phone to smush against your cheek and muffling your voice.

“Can’t hear you,” the rumbled voice says through the phone, making you lean more into it, wanting to feel his voice on your skin.

“Need to hear you, or I won’t let you come,” he states matter-a-factly.

“Fine,” you grit, taking your hand off the wall to correctly grasp the phone so he can hear all your mewls and moans as you continue pumping your fingers in and out of yourself.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised. You hate that the sentiment just made you impossibly wetter; your arousal covered your fingers, but he wasn’t done yet. He had made you a vow, and he intended to see it through.

“Faster, faster, faster.” You quickened your pace, following his directions—so obedient. The pace quickly turned into a feeling you had only ever been able to give yourself, but on a different level. It made your skin itch with desire. It was a mix of euphoria and nirvana—something people only prayed they could reach.

It was taboo, and unethical, and wrong. Maybe that’s what made it feel so good. Knowing it was immoral. Maybe it was the massive adrenaline rush you were getting. Or perhaps the dopamine being shot through your body. Honestly, you really didn’t give a shit what it was, you just knew it felt so fucking good.

You felt that familiar toe-curling tightness in your lower stomach, signaling your climax. Moaning so loud as your arousal coated your fingers as your body violently shook, almost knocking you off your feet and onto the hardwood floor.

Once you felt your high diluting, you gripped the phone tighter, issuing a quiet “hello” to see if he was still there. He was silent for a moment before finally speaking, his voice hoarse.

“Clean up your mess.” Was all he said before abruptly hanging up, leaving you to stand with a cold hand as the air brushed against your soaked fingers. But, you did as you were told, sticking your fingers in your mouth as you sucked them clean of any remnants of yourself. Doing just as you were told because you are not anything if not an excellent listener.

a/n: sorry if you didn’t want smut, but this was just such a hot idea…also, i don’t condone cheating unless it’s with simon riley xx

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[thedreadvampy]

Guys I am BEGGING you to mask up if you're going to counterprotest the fash. They DO take photos and they DO spread them around their networks for targeting reasons.

This is not just targeted at people who consider themselves Serious Radgy Activists, antifa or anarchists.

This is for you, your mum who's angry about people targeting your neighbours, your nan who thinks the racists are being silly, your pals from the pub.

This is for everyone. We all need to stay safe at anti-racist demos.

It can feel paranoid, but things can escalate fast and it's hard to walk back once your photo's out there. A bit of overabundant caution when it's not 100% necessary is better than looking over your shoulder for years or getting jumped unexpectedly in the pub because of a photo you didn't even know was taken.

Honestly, especially with more and more police crackdowns against protesters, this is a good habit to get into at any protest or demo where there's the slightest chance of things kicking off, with fash or with cops.

You don't have to go full black bloc, but even if you're not planning on diving into the fray, stay safe - consider:

Cover your face. Wearing a mask can also help prevent COVID in your network, but if you don't have one or don't want to wear one, cover the bottom half of your face with a snood, balaclava, scarf, etc. If you need to eat, drink, smoke or vape, turn AWAY from the front of the line and ideally duck behind a banner or another person to do it. Keep masked until you're out of line of sight of the demo.

Cover your hair, especially if it's coloured or you have an interesting haircut. I usually part my mohawk down the middle and tie it to disguise the undercut, and bundle it up at the back to disguise the length, before I put on a hat or scarf - but I'm paranoid, and a hat, a headscarf or a hood will be fine. A baseball cap is good too - the brim further obscures your face from a lot of angles.

Cover up big tattoos, or tattoos that are highly identifiable from a distance. I have an upper arm sleeve and I'm honestly still working on summer options for this, but consider long sleeves for arm pieces, a light scarf/bandana for chest/neck tattoos, long trousers or leggings for leg tattoos, and/or gloves if you have hand tattoos (often the easiest to identify cause they're rarer). Even mesh or fishnet can be ok, or in a pinch you can use plasters or draw over it with a felt tip - you don't necessarily need to hide it fully if that's too hard, but try and make it harder to recognise.

If there's an accessory you often have on you in your regular life - colourful shoes, a bag with a fun design, exciting glasses frames, favourite earrings, etc - consider swapping it out for a more generic option. You don't want to put loads of effort into covering your face then get jumped on the way to work because someone recognised your backpack!

Don't help the fash out - if you take any photos, try to avoid including people's faces or tattoos as much as possible. If you post pics on socials, give them a quick once-over and consider putting an emoji or drawing over anyone's face visible.

If you see photos of someone you know at a demo, let them know (especially if they've come from rightwing accounts). If you see one of the fash taking photos, warn people and make the effort to help others cover up if they need it.

We haven't seen fascist/white nationalist mobilisation at this scale in a long time, and most people trying to help haven't dealt with this shit before. The risk factors are different to protests you may have gone on before.

Fash do sometimes come back and target people individually outside of demos if they've marked you out as an enemy. Keep safe, keep covered, keep together.

Few additional safety/security tips:

Once you've arrived at the demo, don't go anywhere alone until you're well away from the area. Stick with a buddy or a group you feel safe with and you're less likely to be jumped. Definitely don't leave on your own.

Cops are not your friends! They've been arresting as many anti-racist activists as racist ones. so remember: no comment, no personal details, don't tell them anything, and this includes blue bib PLOs. If they tell you to do something, ask 'under what power' and if they can't demonstrate that you're legally required, don't.

Don't drink or do drugs at a demo - you're adding risk for everyone around you

If you have your phone with you, make sure it's password-locked. We all sometimes lose or drop our phones and if it gets into the wrong hands you want it to be secure.

If you don't want to risk fighting, that's ok - numbers are still super important and tbh most of us aren't super keen on throwing down. Make sure that if things do seem like they might kick off and you don't think you can defend yourself, that you're moving towards the centre of the crowd and that you're not out on your own.

Look out for each other. Step in if someone's being harassed or attacked - step in as a group so you have more backing, if possible. If you're white, even if you're not able/up for fighting, it can be helpful to be part of a human barrier around people who are more likely to be targeted (eg people of colour and people who are wearing hijab/are otherwise visibly Muslim). When you're surrounded by other people, you're way less likely to get attacked.

If the fash seem to have gone, don't immediately disperse and don't post on socials that you're leaving. Especially if you're defending a specific place, it's very easy for them to wait till you've gone and come back later - give it at least an hour after the expected fash action, ideally longer.

On the flip side, don't be the last small group of people left standing. The usual rule for higher-risk demos is 'when we leave, we leave together as one' - however, for community defence, as above, doing that too early can out the people you're defending at greater risk. However, if there's like 5 of you there when 20 fash come back, you might be screwed - unless you're confident you can handle yourself, try to make sure the counterprotest crowd doesn't fall below 10-15 people. If it does, and you haven't specifically planned for that, you should consider calling it quits and leaving together.

If you're traveling to and from a demo on public transport, keep security in mind - you and the fash may be traveling to and from the same place. As much as possible, stay with buddies. Put away any signs and try not to look like you've just come from a protest. If you feel nervous, consider taking a more roundabout route home, or hopping off the train partway and getting back on the next one.

Don't do the fash's work for them. It's tempting to repost white nationalist calls to action to warn people, but you're kind of just spreading their rhetoric along with it. Instead, keep info to places, times and groups - you don't need to include the fearmongering about immigrants!

Don't post about where you are in too much detail, for the same reason - especially hotels and refuges!!! Fash are targeting those places for a reason, and when you've gone home, the people they're targeting are still there. If you post "we're at X hotel where asylum seekers live," could the wrong person see that and think "oh, that's where the bastards live, I'll remember that"? Remember, it's people's basic safety we're here to defend! Similarly, think about how much detail you share about tactics, who told you or how they knew - on social media you're not only talking to your own side.

also Stand Up To Racism have been at the forefront of a lot of these counterprotests. there's a whole sordid history there which mean a lot of people hate them, but more immediately they're just not always the best example of practical security. Just today they called time on a demo in Newcastle before the advertised fash demos were even due to start, and they are often very free with information and with people's photos. don't take your lead from them! they're playing a role in coordinating things, but ultimately they are not prepared when it comes to keeping either activists or the communities we're protecting safe.

if in doubt, skew on the side of caution - cover up more, share less info, stay in larger groups for longer, and stay later. If you come alone, it's ok to attach yourself to the side of an existing group - they'll understand.

[itneverendshere]

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (five)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst

part one; part two; part three; part four

Rafe could still feel the salt air on his skin, even if he was a thousand miles away from that damn island. It sticks to him, the way the Outer Banks does. Like he could never really shake it off, no matter how fast he ran or how far he got.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not for him, not for you.

The bus rattles down the highway, windows fogged up from the heat inside, condensation mixing with the dirt. It stinks—of sweat, of old clothes, of people trying to disappear. Like him. Rafe sank deeper into his seat, arms crossed over his chest, hat pulled low so no one got a good look at him.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have to do this.

They were going to ship him off like a stray dog. Get him out of sight, out of mind.

And Rafe almost did it. For you. He was this close to turning back and going along with it, just to make sure you were safe, make sure your parents didn’t take it out on you. But he knew he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let them win. Couldn’t let them pull him out of your life just like that.

The bus jerked as it hit a pothole, snapping him back to the present. There was an old guy sitting across from him, his head lolling to one side as he snored. People getting out, getting on, moving like ghosts through the aisles. No one looked twice at him, which was exactly how he needed it. He couldn’t take risks of someone recognizing him, not yet. Not while he’s deranged mother could still ship him back wherever she wanted.

You’d think he’d be scared. Rafe didn’t have a car, a plan, not even a place to sleep that night, or the next.. But scared? At this point, he was drained. Tired of running in circles, tired of people telling him who he was, and what he should be. Tired of feeling like he didn’t belong anywhere, except maybe with you.

But that was over now.

And fucking god, he hadn’t slept since. Not a minute. Not since he left. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was you. Lying there in his bed, so peaceful, so damn beautiful, tucked under his arm like you always did. You looked at him that night, just before you drifted off, and smiled like everything was fine. Like you had tomorrow. Like you had forever.

But Rafe knew. He knew it was the last night he’d hold you, the last night he’d wake up next to you. And he didn’t say a fucking word. Didn’t tell you he was leaving. Didn’t tell you that he had no choice but to go. He just watched you sleep, memorized every inch of you—how your hair fell across your face, the way your hand clutched his shirt in your sleep, the way you always stole the blankets.

He could’ve woken you up. Could’ve told you he was running, that he had to leave. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Rafe just couldn’t watch your heart break. 

He glanced out the window, watching as the big trees blurred past, the town behind him fading as the distance grew. He didn’t know where he was headed. The only thing Rafe knew is that he couldn’t go back. Police would be looking for him, no doubt. Tony would get them on his case, only for the sake of keeping the money from your parents. Your dad would find another way to keep him as far away from you as possible. He’d probably already planned to shut down any chance of you hearing from Rafe, anyway. 

And your dad? He’s probably already planning to shut down any chance of you hearing from him.

Rafe shifted in his seat, pulling his hoodie tighter around him as the bus slowed down at another random stop. Somewhere off the highway, another town that looked just like the last one. The bus groaned as the doors creaked open, and a few people shuffled on. His stomach growls. Haven’t eaten since… well, he can’t remember when. But food wasn’t the priority right now. Staying off the radar for a while was. That, and trying not to think ‘bout you.

But you were all he thought about. All he could think about was you, still wrapped up in those blankets, still asleep, still not knowing it was goodbye. It was driving him out of his mind.

The bus shuddered to a stop again, and he saw a sign out the window. Lincolnville. Some small-ass town that probably only got one diner, one bar, and a bunch of people who didn’t care about strangers. Perfect.

Rafe grabbed his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder as he made his way to the front. The driver gave him a half-assed nod as he stepped off the bus, gravel crunching under his boots. The air was cooler there, crisp and clean, like a different world from the sticky humidity of Kildare.

It was also quiet. Too quiet. Just the sound of the bus pulling away, leaving him behind with nothing but the clothes on his back and a couple of crumpled bills he saved up from work, in his pocket. He glanced down the road and spotted the diner. Neon lights flickering, the kind of place that was open 24/7 but never full. His stomach growled again, and he figured he might as well get something in him.

The bell over the door jingled as Rafe stepped inside, and it was exactly what he had expected. Old-school booths, sticky linoleum floors, and a waitress who looked like she had been working here since before he was born. She eyed him as he slided into a booth by the window, but didn’t say nothin’. Just grabbed a menu from the counter and plopped it in front of him.

“Coffee?” she asked, barely looking at him.

“Yeah, sure,” Rafe muttered, running a hand through his hair, after taking the hat off. “Black.”

She shuffled off, and he stared down at the menu. It was all the same greasy food he’d seen a hundred times before, but it’d do. He ordered a burger, something cheap, and leaned back in the booth, staring out at the empty street.

He thought about you again. Wondered if you were okay, safe. If you’d figured it all out by now. Maybe you did. You were the smartest person he’d ever had the pleasure of loving. The only one really. He wondered if you were still thinking about him. 

The waitress sat the coffee down in front of him, steam rising from the cup. He took a sip, the bitterness waking him up just a little. But it didn’t stop the thoughts from spiraling.

Rafe would figure it out. He always did. And maybe, one day, when the dust settled, he’d come back for you.

Time feels different out here, like it slips through his fingers faster than Rafe can keep up. But maybe that’s just how it goes when someone is trying to leave their past behind.

He ended up in a place called Huntsville. It’s about as far from the Outer Banks as he could get without leaving the South. Small town, but big enough where people mind their own business. There’s something peaceful about that—being able to disappear into the background, no one asking too many questions. Just another face in the crowd.

He got a job working at a garage off the highway. Nothing fancy, but it pays the bills. He was lucky enough to find the place when he did.

The owner, Jerry, took him in because he had experience working on engines back home, thanks to his old boss’s obsession with boats and making him learn how to fix them. Jerry didn’t ask much, just showed Rafe what needed fixing and let him do his thing. He’s got a gruff way about him, but he’s fair. Sometimes, Rafe thinks he knows he’s running from something.

Most days, it’s just him and the smell of oil, grease, and old tools. He doesn’t mind it. It’s simple. Clear. He fix what’s broken, and it works again. Not like life. Not like the mess he left behind.

He lives in a run-down apartment above the garage, just a one-room deal with a bed, kitchen, bathroom, and a busted TV. But it his, you know? He doesn’t owe it to anyone. No one can take it from him. He makes more than enough to keep the lights on, and keeps some food in the fridge, and that’s good enough. He never needed much to survive. 

He's changed. The baby face he used to have? It’s gone now. Got a scruff of a beard that he can’t be bothered to shave most days. His hair’s longer, falls into his eyes when he’s working. Somedays he feels like shaving the whole thing off, but it doesn’t really matter. He likes it that way—keeps people from getting a good look at him. He’s leaner too, but stronger. Not the gym kind of strong, just the kind that comes from hauling parts and wrenching on cars all day. His hands are even rougher now, calloused from hours of work.

Sometimes, Rafe catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and hardly recognizes the guy staring back. It’s weird, though. He thought if he could change what he looked like, maybe he’d stop feeling like he was still stuck in the same old skin. But that shit doesn’t go away. No matter how much dirt you pile on top of it.

Every now and then, someone’ll ask where he’s from. He usually just says “down east,” keep it vague. The southern drawl gives him away, though. He can’t help it, still talks like he never left the island. He figured it didn’t really matter here—nobody was going to connect him back to Kildare. Back to you.

And that’s the part he still hasn’t shaken.

You. No matter how far he goes, no matter how many miles there are between you, you’re still there. In the back of his mind, in the dreams he has when he’s dead tired from a long day. He tried to let you go. He had to. But it’s like something inside him refuses to forget.

He tried to visit you once. Maybe a year and a half after he left.

You’d gone off to college like you always talked about, following your dreams, doing the things you said you would. He wanted to see you, just one last time, see if you were okay. He figured maybe he’d catch you on campus, just watch from a distance, y’know? See if you were still thinking about him, if you missed me like he missed you.

He didn’t tell a soul where he was going that day. He’d packed up early, threw on an old flannel and a baseball cap, and drove for hours. His heart felt like it was going to give out the whole time, like it was trying to talk him out of it, but he didn’t listen. He couldn’t. All he could think about was seeing you again.

He had to know.

He pulled up to your campus, parked the truck a few blocks away where nobody’d notice him. It was a hell of a lot bigger than he imagined, all these buildings, students walking around like they had somewhere important to be. He felt out of place the second he stepped foot there. His boots scuffed against the concrete, and all he could think about was how different your world was from his now.

He wandered around for a bit, keeping his head low, his cap pulled down over his eyes. He didn’t want anyone seeing him, didn’t want you seeing him. Not yet. He wasn’t ready for that. 

Then he saw you.

You were sitting outside with some friends, books spread out on a table in front of you, the sun hitting your face just right. Your laugh carried over to him, soft and sweet, and jesus fucking christ, it was like a shot to his chest.

You looked... free. Like everything was finally falling into place for you. Like you didn’t have a single worry in the world.

He couldn’t move. Just stood there, hidden in the shadows of some tree, watching you. You were so beautiful it damn near took his breath away. You were smiling and it hit him then.

He’d been holding onto this idea of you—of who you were when you were together—but maybe that wasn’t you anymore. You’d moved on. You had a life now, one that didn’t have space for a guy like him.

You were really doing what you always said you’d do. Living your dreams. Being somebody.

He thought about what would happen if he stepped out from behind that tree, if you saw him. You’d probably cry, maybe even run up to him, throw your arms around him like old times. But then what?

He knew you. Knew how you were. You’d ask him where he’d been, what happened, and before he knew it, you’d be trying to figure out how to fix everything for him. That’s who you were. You’d sacrifice everything, drop all the shit you’d been working so hard for, just because you thought you could save him.

He couldn’t let you do that.

So he stood there, taking it all in—how happy you looked, how light you seemed without him. It hurt like hell, but a part of him was relieved too. You were okay. Better than okay.

You were doing fine without him. He could live with that.

He drove back to Huntsville that night, the road ahead of him hazy with tears he refused to let fall. By the time he got back, it was late, the town quiet, the lights in the garage flickering like they always did.

Rafe parked the truck, and just sat there.

He hadn’t seen you since. Never tried again. You were better off without him. Shit, maybe that’s what he needed to believe to keep going. Because if he didn’t, if he let himself think about how good it felt to see you again, even from a distance, he’d never be able to stay away.

And hell, maybe that’s why he’s been stuck here, never really able to shake it. Even now, when he closes his eyes at night, he thinks about what it would’ve been like if he’d stayed. If he’d found some way to fight instead of run. But he was too scared.

Scared that you’d grown to hate him for what he did. 

He tried to move on. There’ve been other women. Just passing flings, nothing serious. They come and go, and none of them stick around long enough to really matter. Not that Rafe ever let them. It’s easier that way—keeping things light, keeping things simple. But every time he looks at one of them, he’s thinking about you. Every time they smile at him, he’s thinking about your pretty grin, about the way your eyes lit up when you two were alone, just you and him, like the world didn’t exist outside of those walls.

But he knows he can’t get that back. Fuck, maybe he doesn’t deserve to. He left. He ran. And that’s on him. He didn’t tell you, didn’t give you a chance to follow him.

The morning is already sweltering by the time Rafe gets to the garage. Another scorcher, sun beating down like it’s trying to fry him alive. Sweat clung to him before he even started working, so he decided to strip his shirt off, letting the heat hit his bare skin. His shoulders are broad now, tanned from long hours out in the sun, grease smeared across his chest and arms from a morning spent elbow-deep in some busted old engine. He runs a hand through his hair—it's shorter than the day before. He’d cut it himself last night and shaved the beard too.

First time in months he’d even thought about doing it. He grabs a rag, wiping the oil from his hands as he bends against the open hood of the car.

“Rafe!”

Jerry’s voice snaps him out of it, the old man waving him over from under the hood of another car. “Need a hand with this transmission. You gonna help me with this, or you gonna stand there daydreamin’?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it,” Rafe mutters, shaking his head and bending back over the engine, grabbing a wrench from the toolbox and heading over. The work is good for him. Keeps his mind off everything, keeps his hands busy and his head clear.

Jerry grunts, sliding further under the car on the creeper. “Pass me that ratchet, will ya?”

He grabs the tool from the bench and hands it over. “Here.”

The old man doesn’t even look up. Just keeps working as he rambles away.

“Transmission’s shot to hell, but we’ll get it runnin’ again. Always do.” He grunts again as he tightened something, then mutters to himself, “Damn thing’s been makin’ more noise than my wife at a family reunion.”

Rafe can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, well, you tell her that, not me.”

Jerry’s laugh rumbles out from under the car, "Boy, if I told her that, I’d be sleeping in this garage for the rest of my life."

Rafe smirks as he watches him  work. Sweat trickles down his back, and he wipes his forehead with his arm. The summer heat’s brutal, like there’s no air left to breathe.

“Speaking of wives,” Jerry starts, sliding out from under the car, cleaning his hands on a dirty rag. “You ever think about it? You know, settlin’ down? Gettin' yourself a girl, maybe even kids someday?”

The question catches him off guard. He huffs out a breath, avoiding Jerry’s eyes as he fiddles with a wrench, trying to act like it doesn’t mean much to him. “Nah, not really.”

The older man raises an eyebrow, giving him one of those looks like he’s not buying it.

“Don’t gimme that. Every time we go down to Smitty’s for a drink, you start lookin’ all mopey. Especially after a couple beers. Start talkin’ about this girl you left behind.”

He tenses. He doesn’t like where this is going, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to talk about you. Not here. Not now. He sets the wrench down with a clink and leans against the car, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “That was a long time ago.”

“Maybe.” Jerry shrugs, grabbing a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it up. “But from the way you talk about her, she still rattlin’ around in that head of yours.”

Rafe stays quiet, staring at the oil-stained floor, the cigarette smoke swirling in the humid air. He can’t deny it. You’re always there, no matter how far he runs, no matter how hard he tries to forget.

Jerry takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling slow, like he’s thinking about something “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to pry, but you ever think about goin’ back? Maybe fixin' things with her?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Nah, she’s better off without me. She’s got a whole life now. College, friends, probably some new guy too.” His voice sounds bitter, even to him, but he can’t help it. “No reason for me to go screwin’ that up.”

“Maybe. But from the way you talk, sounds like she was pretty important to you. And if she was, maybe you oughta stop runnin' and try to figure out if there’s still somethin’ there.”

It’s not that simple. It’s never that simple. He left for a reason. 

“Besides,” Jerry continues, a little grin tugging at his lips. “I ain’t never heard you talk about another girl the way you talk about her.”

Rafe shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t talk about her.”

“Oh, you do,” Jerry chuckles, flicking his cigarette butt onto the ground. “You just don’t realize it. Especially when you’re a few beers deep. Start mumblin’ about ‘the girl.’ Always ‘the girl.’ Like there ain’t no other one that ever mattered.”

He’s never meant to say anything. Those nights at the bar, when the drinks start flowing and the memories start flooding back, he tries to keep a lid on it. But sometimes, it slips out. And it’s always you.

He pushes off the car, grabbing the ratchet again, trying to ignore the mess of feelings inside him. “That’s just the way it is.”

Jerry nods, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Well, you do what you gotta do. Just don’t wait too long. Life’s funny like that—if you don’t grab what you want when you have the chance, sometimes it’s gone before you know it.”

He knows the old man’s right, but what the hell’s he supposed to do?

Show up at your door, after all this time, after all the silence, and what—ask you to throw it all away for him? For a guy who ran at the first sign of trouble?

They work in comfortable silence for a bit, the hum of the fans and the clang of tools filling the space. He likes it better this way.  But then the sound of tires crunching on gravel gets his attention. A car pulls up outside, engine smooth as silk. Not the usual beat-up trucks or clunkers they got in this place.

Jerry’s voice is muffled, back under the car. “Go check that out. Might be my 4 o’clock appointment.”

He stands, stepping over some scattered tools as he makes his way toward the open garage door. “Yeah, I’m on it.”

As he gets outside, the sun hits him full force again, baking his skin. He squints against the glare, but his eyes are already on the car parked just outside.

“Damn,” he whistles, low under his breath.

It's nice. Real nice. Some high-end, foreign model he didn’t see around these parts. Glossy black paint, chrome accents. Clean, like it’d just rolled off the lot. Whoever owns it has money. More than anyone he has ever known in this town.

He steps closer, his eyes running over the curves of the car. He can almost feel the engine purrin’ from where he stands. He hasn’t worked on a car like this in a long time, not since—

But before he can finish the thought, he hears a voice.

“Uh, excuse me?”

It’s soft, hesitant. 

Wait a fucking minute.

His body moves before he can think about it, and when he finally locks eyes with the person standing a few feet away, he nearly passes out on the spot.

He must be hallucinating.

It’s you.

[disasterofastory]

A shocking night (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

A shocking night // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 2/14 Warnings: shower smut, a bit dub-c, dead bodies

Summary: You meet Brahms, the living one, for the first time.

It's so quiet you can hear the rapid beating of your heart as it tries to break free from the hold of your ribcage. Your chest heaves as you pant and gulp for air. Your lungs burn. You can feel the wild rhythm of your pulse at the tip of your fingers. It makes your limbs numb and frozen. It makes you stop from running and escaping this hellhole.

The entrance door of the mansion seems far away. Too far away.

Your eyes are on the man. He is the only one still alive. The other three lie on the ground, bloody and motionless. They chose the wrong house to break into. Your attention falls on them for a second before snapping back at the one who stares at you from behind his mask. The white but dirty porcelain is familiar. Too familiar.

"Brahms?" Your voice is high and panicked. At first, you think he doesn't even understand your question. He tilts his head to the side before nodding. His posture is still tense and ready to jump at any second if you dare to move even an inch. His broad chest moves up and down as he pants. The white shirt he wears is dirty and bloody, too. Everything is.

How is it possible? You heard about the history of the family who hired you. Malcolm told you about their son who died in the fire that still marks the outside of the house. That's why you were so accepting to take care of a toy. You had no idea what secret they hid among the tall walls of the mansion.

"Y/N?" Your heart stops beating for a second when a high, childlike voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Your eyes focus back on the man in front of you. "Yes?" You ask back, gasping. "Are you going to leave?" He asks. It's a dangerous question. You hear the silent warning underneath his words. "No, Brahms," you force yourself to speak. "I won't leave you." He nods. Even through the mask, you can see the satisfaction that your reply brings to him. "Did they hurt you?"

Did they hurt you? You have to think about his question. You don't remember. Everything happened so fast. In one second, you were asleep, and the next, you woke up at the sharp sound of breaking glass. You went to see what it was, and before you knew it, chaos ensued. Brahms broke through a mirror and killed everyone. Well, expect you.

He steps closer, and your back presses against the wall as you try to keep your distance from him. His hand lands on your shoulder, sliding over the curve until he reaches your neck. His touch is surprisingly gentle.

Oh, now you remember. One of the men grabbed your neck when they noticed you. Your head is still dizzy because of it. And because of everything else. "I'm fine," you tell him. "Please, Brahms." Tears gather in your eyes as you stand still in his hold. "Please, don't hurt me." The man frowns behind the mask as he moves his gaze from your neck to your face. Your face is wet from crying. Your eyes shine with tears and panic. He shakes his head. "If you are good to me, I will be good to you." His words do nothing to calm you down, and his thin voice makes you want to cry harder. How is it even possible? The boy, the man in front of you, should be dead. Taking a deep breath, you reach for his hand still on your neck. His fingers curl around your fingers instantly. "We have to do something with… them," you tell him, glancing at the lifeless bodies behind Brahms.

You are not even sure what you should do. Call the police? You are sure Brahms wouldn't let you, and you would end up in prison without a question. Nobody would believe you. But maybe being behind bars would be better than staying here.

"I will take care of them," Brahms says. His voice is normal now, and you are surprised at how good it sounds. "What will you do with them?" You ask him. "I will take care of them," he repeats his previous words, and you get the hint. "Okay," you nod. "Take care of them, Brahms." At your instruction, the man's posture straightens. He almost seems happy that you told him what to do. "I will go and make some tea, okay?" You ask him. He is not happy about letting you go out of his sight, but the promise of warm tea after he is done makes him relent.

You know this is your chance to escape, but you can't make yourself do it. You are too afraid. And too tired. You sit at the kitchen island for what it feels like forever. You hear Brahms moving around in the other room, and you can see his dark form outside, but the greenery of the garden hides what he is doing. Well, you have a guess, anyway.

"Are you done?" You ask him when he appears under the door of the kitchen. He is even more dirty than he was. His boots are almost black because of the mud outside.

You have to clean up everything tomorrow. You stop at the thought. What? There is no way you will stay and play nanny after this madness.

When Brahms nods, you push the other mug his way, and he sits down in front of you. "How will you-?" Before you can finish your question, he pulls on the mask, and you get a glimpse of his thick beard and lips. "Oh." For long seconds, none of you say anything. Brahms just stares at you while sipping from his cup, and you look back at him with several unanswered questions. "Brahms," you break the silence after a while, clearing your throat. You are still afraid to say the wrong thing and anger him. As it seems, he has a sure place for dead bodies. He says nothing but watches you, waiting. "You were here the… whole time?" He nods. "And the… doll? It is just a toy, isn't it?" He nods again. The thought of him watching you without your knowledge sends unease down your spine. He was there the whole time, and you did know nothing about it. "Your parents," you continue. The words roll down your tongue slowly and carefully. "They wanted to protect you." You heard about him killing a little girl. Brahms nods, putting down the mug onto the wooden surface. It's empty. You have not enough courage to ask him why he did what he did. "You…" Your throat tightens. "You killed those men so easily." He reminded you of a feral beast, taking down those men easily and quickly. Even when they begged, Brahms didn't have mercy in his heart to throw them out and let them run away. "They hurt you," he says. His gaze falls on your neck, watching the dark bruise already forming on your soft skin. It makes him angry. "You came out to protect me?" He looks into your eyes again as he nods. "Will you hurt me?" He thinks for a long, horrible second and shakes his head. The dark curls on the top of his head frame the porcelain mask on his face. "The mask," you continue. "You can take it off." His muscles tense, and he shakes his head again. "Okay," you nod, looking at the clock on the wall. "It's late Brahms. You should take a shower and go to sleep." "No," he replies, and his voice is childlike and high again. You frown at his answer. "Do you want to go to sleep like this?" You ask him. He is dirty and bloody and sweaty. He shakes his head. "Then go and shower. You will sleep better." "No." "Brahms," you sigh. "It's late, and I'm tired. Please, just do as I say." After watching over the doll for weeks, you fall into your caretaker role automatically. "Will you be there?" "While you shower?" He nods. "If you want me there." You have to force your face not to grimace. "Will you bathe me?" 'No' is your first reaction, but you keep it yourself. He is so calm now. You don't want to do anything that can disturb it. "If you want to." He nods again, standing up. "Then go and get some clothes and meet me in your room, okay?" You can see he wants to argue for a second but decides against it at the end. He must be tired, too.

While you wait for Brahms in his room, your eyes are glued to the doll in the middle of the bed. He stares back at you. The dim lights reflect in his glass eyes. You are almost angry at it. There were moments during your time here when you foolishly thought taking care of a toy wasn't the biggest waste of your time.

A thought gets stuck in your head, and you frown. Your eyes are still on the doll when you hear the real Brahms's arrival. "Brahms," you say his name. He stops, watching your back until you turn to look at him. He holds his clean clothes against his chest. "Your parent. They won't come back." Your question sounds like a statement, but the man nods anyway.

You need several deep breaths to calm yourself. Upsetting Brahms won't lead you anywhere good.

"Come," you break the silence after a while. Your voice is surprisingly steady. "The sooner you get cleaned, the sooner we can go to sleep."

In the small space of the bathroom, Brahms seems even bigger. He towers over you easily, watching you put his clean clothes on the toilet through his mask. His heart is wild in his chest. He imagined you this close to him so many times before. Of course, he acted on his desires several times, but now you are awake. You know about him. And you will stay. "Take off your clothes, Brahms," you tell him, trying to look everywhere else but him as he slowly does as you say. "You don't like me?" His voice is a mix of his real and childlike pitch. You gulp. "Of course, I like you, Brahms." "Then why don't you look at me?" He is confused. You don't like how he looks like? Maybe you would prefer Malcolm instead of him? The thought angers him. That man is weak and incapable of protecting you. You force yourself to look at him. "I just thought you would feel uncomfortable," you lie. Oh. The man calms down within a second. How nice of you. "Now go," you tell him, pointing at the already running water. For a moment, you think he will obey again, but at the last second, he grabs your wrist, trying to pull you with himself. "Brahms!" You gasp. "What are you doing?" "You are dirty, too." "I will take a shower after you go to sleep." "No." "Brahms!" You don't stand a chance against his strength. The sleeve of your shirt is already wet. "Get in with me!" The anger is clear and powerful in his voice. Blood freezes in your veins at his sudden aggression. "Okay! Okay!" You gasp, afraid. With a quick step, you are under the water, too, letting your clothes get soaked and stick to your body.

Being so close to him, you don't have any other option but to stare at his bare upper body. His skin is several shades darker, with dried blood and dirt on it. His chest is covered in dark hair that barely hides his hard muscles. How can he be so fit while living inside the walls?

"No," he breaks the silence when you reach out for the sponge. "I don't want that." After his last outburst, you decide to let it go. Pouring some soap in your palm, you smear it all over his chest. Your lungs burn for air as you stare into nothing, trying not to think about what you are doing right now. You can feel his muscles quiver and move under your touch. "Am I a good boy?" Brahms asks, making you look up at him in surprise. "Yes," you reply. "You are a good boy." "I protected you." "You did, Brahms." "And good boys get rewards, right?" You gulp. "I guess you are right." "Then take off your clothes." Fuck. "I will take off my clothes if you wash your hair. I can't reach it." The man thinks about it for a second, then nods. By the time you reach for your shirt, he is already washing his hair.

Brahms's heart thuds in his chest as he watches you get rid of your clothes. Soon, you are bare and soft in front of him. Your hair is soaked, and small drops of water run over your skin, caressing the parts he wants to touch, too. His large palms almost burn with need, and his fingers twitch with need. "Am I still a good boy?" He asks, staring down at you. He doesn't even try to hide the fact that he is mesmerized by your breasts. Your nipples are hard peaks almost grazing his chest. "Yes." Your reply is barely louder than a whisper. "Then I can wash you too." It's more of a statement. "Brahms, I don't think it-" Your words end in a startled gasp as he tugs you closer without your permission. His hands are large on your back. His erection is pressed between your bodies. The friction makes him grunt. He caresses your skin, starting on your back and slowly but surely slipping to your front. His thumb flicks over your nipples, playing and teasing them. "Brahms!" You want to sound stern, but your voice trembles at the pleasurable feeling that goes straight between your legs. When he tugs on one of your nipples, your back arches on its own. He knows your body better than you think, and his little secret pulls a naughty smirk on his lips. "Y/N," he says your name, almost whining. "You said I am a good boy." "You are," you tell him. "But you shouldn't-" Your moan is loud and clear in the small room. His long fingers slip between your legs even when you try to close your thighs. "Let me get my reward," he says, on the edge of demanding. "I am a good boy, Y/N. I protected you from those men." "You did," you cry out, feeling him on your most intimate part. His fingertips graze over your slit, opening you up to caress you some more. He isn't sure what he is doing, but it doesn't stop your body from reacting. You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. His breathing is heavy next to your ear, and his hips rock against your stomach. He grinds his cock to your skin for some friction and whines every now and again. "Teach me, Y/N," he says. "Tell me what to do to be your good boy." If he is a good boy, you won't leave him. You won't even try it. "M-my clit," you tell him, reaching down for his hand to lead him to the small buddle of nerves. "Rub it, Brahms. Here!" He does as you say, watching your face to see what feels good and what isn't. The man draws small circles on your clit while his fingers get soaked in your juices. He can feel the familiar pull on his balls as he continues to grind against your body. Your soft stomach feels like heaven on his aching cock. Your hands snap up to his shoulders, grabbing onto the man to keep your balance. Your legs shake, and your thighs open for his curious fingers. He feels proud when he notices it. "Call me a good boy," he pants demandingly. "Tell me I'm your good boy, and you won't leave me." His fingers on you move faster, rubbing and teasing. "You are my good boy, Brahms," you tell him, gasping and moaning. Hot coil burns in your stomach as you feel your orgasm approaching. "So good!"

You almost fall against the tiles when Brahms squats down in front of you. Your nails scratch over the wall to find your balance. For long seconds, you forget how to breathe as you stare down at the man's curly, wet locks in front of you. You can feel the cold of his mask on your thigh as he pushes it out of the way. "Brahms!" Hearing his name falling out of your lips in a shocked cry makes his cock jerk and leak even more pre-cum.

The scent of your arousal is thick and heavy in his nostrils. Saliva gathers in his mouth as he takes several deep breaths to burn your smell in his memory. When one of your hands finds his hair in a strong pull, he doesn't waste any more time. He leans closer and closes his lips around the small bud he teased a few minutes ago. The vibration of his moan strikes over your body. Your taste floods his mouth, and he can't help but crave more. He devours your pussy like his life depends on it. His tongue flicks over your clit, and his cheeks hollow when he starts to suck on it. "Fuck!" You scream, letting your head fall backward. "Brahms!" Your hips grind down on his face with fastened pace as you chase your release. His muffled whines and moans echo in the small bathroom, mixing with your cries until both of you reach your highs and fall over the edge. His cum lands on the ground until the still running water washes it down the drain while your pussy gets cleaned by his tongue. Your muscles twitch and jerk under every swipe on your sensitive center. "Good boy, Brahms," you gasp for air. "You are my good boy."

[woso-dreamzzz]

Duck on a String

Jessie Fleming x Child!Reader

Summary: Jessie isn't at training

Jessie was missing.

Okay, well, that was a bit of an exaggeration. She wasn't missing in the sense that the police had to be called but she was definitely missing from training.

She hadn't texted or let any of the team know why but Emma and the other staff hadn't seemed to mind. Regardless though, it was enough for Magda to drag Pernille and Niamh to Jessie's door despite their complaining.

The curtains are closed so Magda can't nose around through the windows so she knocks on the front door.

There's no answer.

She knocks again.

"Maybe she's not in," Niamh says, shoving her hands into her pockets," Can we leave now? I'm hungry."

Magda knocks again, harder this time.

"She's probably sick," Pernille says," She might be napping, Magda. We don't want to-"

The door creaks open.

Magda expects Jessie. Maybe Jessie in her pyjamas or with major bedhead, all red and feverish.

Instead, she gets you.

You're kneeling on the top of the entrance hall table that Jessie uses to put her keys on. You're absolutely tiny and there's no way you could have unlocked the chain lock without it.

Magda expected a sick Jessie.

Instead she gets a sick you.

You're still sitting on the table with wide eyes. Your cheeks are all red and even from the distance, Magda can feel the fever raging through you.

Despite this, you look absolutely adorable, dressed simply in a little duckling shirt and shorts.

"Er..." Magda's at a loss for words and it's clear that Pernille and Niamh are shocked too.

"Hi, sweetheart," Pernille coos at you," Do we have the right house? Is Jessie Fleming here?"

You wiggle down from the table and Pernille reaches out quickly in case you fall but you seem fine.

"Mama!" You call," Mama!"

Footsteps sound and the door open furthers.

"Duckie!" Jessie scolds," What have I said about opening the door?"

"Sorry," You say before pointing at the girls in front of you," Here for you."

Jessie lays a kiss on your cheek before pushing you further into the house.

You waddle off and Niamh smothers a laugh as you pull a set of wooden ducks on a string after you.

Jessie stands in front of her teammates awkwardly. Unlike you, she's not sick. She looks perfectly fine, if a little nervous.

"What's with the kid?" Niamh asks and Jessie looks unbelievably more awkward.

"That's my Duckie," She says," She's sick."

"That explains nothing."

"I-"

There's a crash sound behind her.

"Mama! Duckies go crash!"

"Do you want to come in?" Jessie asks," It's just..." She jerks a thumb behind her.

"That would be nice, Jessie," Pernille says, guiding everyone inside.

You're sitting in the lounge when they make it inside. Your wooden ducks on a string are now sitting on their sides and you've got the biggest pout known to man on your face.

Jessie sets them right and you're off again, wandering around the room in a circle as you drag your ducks behind you.

"I adopted her," Jessie admits," Do you remember the club did that benefit for kids in foster care? Bought them new clothes and toys? I was holding a duck. She was really excited about it."

"A kid is a big step," Pernille advises, not unkindly.

"I know," Jessie says," But...But I looked at her and just knew. You know?"

"Er...not really no," Magda replies, scratching the back of her head as her eyes track your circular motions," But I trust you, Jess. She seems sweet."

The dopiest smile appears on Jessie's face. "Duckie's great. She so sweet."

You turn your head at the sound of your nickname and wander over. Your ducks come trailing after you and you keep a tight grip on their string.

"Hi, Mama!" You give her a big kiss on the cheek.

"Hi, Duckie." Jessie's still got that silly, dopey smile on her face as you give her another kiss. "Theses are my friends Magda, Pernille and Niamh."

"Hi, Magda, Pernille and Niamh!" You say before looking back at Jessie with the exact same dopey smile that she has. "Mama, my duckies say quack!"

"That's right!" Jessie says," Duckies do say quack!"

You giggle hysterically before breaking into a coughing fit that has Jessie gently rubbing you back.

"All better!" You chirp, swiping your nose with your sleeve before hopping down. You grab Niamh's hand and tug at her until she's standing, walking around with her in circles as you pull along your ducks.

"Duckie's usually shy," Jessie admits," She must like you all."

It doesn't seem like you're shy at all until the hours lag on and you grow tired. The sun has set and Jessie's made dinner for all five of you.

That's when the shyness sets in along with the fatigue that Niamh reckons comes with whatever sick bug you've got.

You don't walk in circles with your ducks on the string and you stay very firmly planted in Jessie's lap as she zips up your fluffy duckling sleepsuit.

You yawn, head slumped against Jessie's collarbone as you stare at the three football players. Mama's running her fingers through your damp hair and you really thought her friends would have been gone by the time that you had finished your bath.

You yawn again as your eyes focus on Magda and Pernille. You don't really want to go up to them but you've been having thoughts about them ever since Magda helped you with your farmyard animals puzzle when Mama was cooking.

You wiggle off Mama's lap and toddle over to them.

You take Pernille's hand and put it into Magda's.

"Love each other," You say in your sleepy haze," Forever. Date."

Magda looks up at Jessie in confusion but her teammate is already cooing over you, lifting you up into her arms. You burrow into them quickly and Jessie places a soft felt duck into your hands.

"I think it's bedtime," Mama says to you," Don't you think so?"

"Duckie go night-night," You agree.

Mama smiles. "That's right. Duckie is going night-night. Can you say goodbye to my friends?"

"Bye-bye."

Mama carries you up to bed after taking your temperature one last time. She rubs your back and gives you kisses before tucking you into your bed with your duckie bedsheets and your duckie pillows.

"Goodnight, duckie."

"Night-night, Mama."

[soft-girl-musings]

Stranger Danger

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

MK Spring Bingo entry #5

tags: reader is being stalked & responds in a way the author (a woman) has been taught to, emotional protector steven grant to the rescue, no use of y/n

wc: 1,138

fic summary: There's safety in numbers, do you want mine? (too soon?)

_____________________

“Oops, careful!”

Steven drops the last of his veggie wrap as a pair of kids rush past the bench he’d been hunched over. As he picks up the debris, he sees where one of them dropped their hat. He picks it up and half-jogs after them to return it.

“Gotta stay aware of our surroundings, yeah? Don’t want to lose our valuables.” The kid rolls their eyes but thanks him before running off to catch up with their friend.

“Oh my gosh, hi!”

Steven turns around to find you walking swiftly toward him, your smile too wide and tone too familiar.

He’s never seen you before.

“... hello,” he answers cautiously, taking one step back but failing to put much distance between the two of you. You practically cling to his side when you approach, takeaway cup and phone in hand.

“Sorry I’m late, but you are terrible at giving directions, mister.” Taking his arm, you begin to walk away from where you’d appeared.

This wouldn’t be the first time he’s forgotten conversations or plans. But as he racks his brain for something, anything tied to you in his memory, Steven notices the panic in your eyes and the slight waver in your voice.

Your hands shake a bit as you unlock your phone, passing your cup to him. He takes it, still bewildered but obedient. “I swear, the cafe never spells your name right. Let me make a note for next time.” You type swiftly, showing him the screen.

being followed, please pretend you're my boyfriend

Steven doesn’t know you.

But he nods, grasping your arm closer with his free hand and gives his most convincing grin. “Steven with a ‘V’, love.”

Relief instantly washes over your features and you relax a little. “Right. I’ll remember that… Steven.”

His smile grows before he remembers why you're holding onto him. “Do you want to sit down? Or go somewhere else, maybe I could call someone–”

“N-no, it’s fine. Let’s just sit. In plain sight,” you half-whisper. Steven nods, ushering you back to the bench in the middle of the busy square. When you sit, you don't let go of his arm.

Instead, you type into your phone as you speak. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” Steven glaces at your notes app again.

do you see a man in a black jacket?

Steven scans the area, careful not to look too suspicious. Unlike the person he’s sure you’re referring to: a man in dark clothes, hands shoved into his pockets and rigid as he looks around with increasing urgency. His prominent frown grows when he sees Steven next to you.

“Yeah,” Steven says to both your questions. He looks away from the menacing figure, but sets your drink down and wraps his arm around you. He's glad to feel you settle into his side, still shaking but catching your breath.

“I take it you don’t know Mr. Black Jacket?”

“No, I do. Sort of. He’s a regular customer of mine,” you sigh. “One who doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Ah.” Steven keeps the guy in his periphery, splitting his focus between him and you. “Stalker, then?”

You freeze up at the term. “Yeah… he’s been pretty relentless.” 

You meet his eyes, which are swiftly filling with concern. “Thanks again for… this. I usually find a mom or another woman to walk with me until he leaves, but I saw you with those kids and just… panicked, I guess.”

“S’not a problem, love.” Steven knocks your foot with his, drawing a small smile from you. “Glad to help you feel safe.”

You laugh a little. You let your gaze drift over to the man in black, an uneasy pit growing in your stomach when you briefly make eye contact.

“He usually goes away after a while. I've told the police, but they can't do anything unless he… you know.” Your brow furrows as your grip loosens. “I don't mean to take over your afternoon, but would you mind waiting with me?”

In that moment, you could have asked Steven for the moon and he'd find a way to lasso it down for you. 

He squeezes your hand. “‘Course I can. Lovely day with lovely company, quite the ideal afternoon in my books.” 

Steven dives right into talking about anything and everything that comes to mind– which, as you learn, is a lot. Normally he'd hit a wall after a few minutes, either because he'd realized he had talked himself in circles, or his less-than-captive audience was visibly zoned out. But you hang on his every word, grateful to be arm in arm with a stranger describing the supposed viscosity of ancient Egyptian embalming oil. It's a welcome distraction. 

So distracting, in fact, that after an hour you realize the crowd has thinned around you. With Mr. Black Jacket nowhere in sight.

“I think he's gone,” you sigh with relief. Steven stands when you do, handing your things back.

“Patience won out in the end,” he beams. You see a brief look of panic cross his features.

“He doesn't know where you live, does he? Do you need an escort?” Steven's already taken a ludicrously long lunch break, but the inevitable lecture from Donna would be worth it if it meant ensuring your safety.

You shake your head. “I've been careful.” Extending your hand, you smile. “It was nice to meet you, Steven with a ‘V’.”

“Likewise, love.” He shakes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Another look crosses his face before he continues.

“Do you want my mobile number?” His words come out too fast; if you hadn't spent the past hour listening to him, you might have missed what he said. “Just in case you need someone to wait with you again, or keep an eye out. Would that be alright?” He shakes his head, stepping back. “'Matter of fact, forget I said anything, don't want you to think you've traded one creep for another–”

“Sure.”

Your simple answer stops him in his tracks. “Oh, you don’t have to–”

“No, it’s fine. Really. When you offered, it felt nice to know someone could be in my corner on this side of town.”

You take out a scrap of paper and a pen from your bag. “How about this: you write it down, and I’ll add your contact if I ever need my knight in shining armor again.”

Steven concedes, pen and paper in hand as he scribbles his number down (then asks for a new paper in case the first was too illegible).

When you leave, he watches until you turn the corner. He goes the opposite direction, back to the museum. Part of him hopes you’ll never have to reach out, for your own sake. The rest of him hopes you do anyway.

_____________________

A/N: oh steven, the man that you are. a couple more bingo prompts will be focused on this dude, which is excellent practice for some exciting projects down the line...

as always, ty for reading <3

event tags: @moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[harknessxo]

HIIIII LIIIIIIZ!!! just popping in to send some love and hugs and a request (bc I watched Agatha series) Agatha x reader where Agatha is the most trusted person in reader’s life but -without Reader’s knowing- is also reader’s crazy stalker

I hope you’re doing well sweetie!!!!

Paring: Serial-killer!Stalker!Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Unbeknownst to you, you had the pleasure of being Agatha’s next victim but she takes a liking to you.

Warnings; bit of angst, death (not the reader), kidnapping, stalking.

Word Count: 3.3k

Part 2, Part 3

A/n: I know the request was for stalker!Agatha BUT it’s spooky season so I made her a serial killer too. Also, three key factors inspired this number one being the fanfic Way Down We Go by @p-taryn-dactyl , number two being the series Killing Eve, and lastly the song The Diner.

Agatha had been on a killing spree for the past three months. She would go after the women that looked like someone from her past that did her wrong. Why you may ask? Because she was still seething in her own self hatred for allowing herself to trust and needed someone, or someones, to take it out on. Of course the police had been trying to catch her but she never left enough clues or evidence behind for them to tie anything to.

All the crime scenes looked the same. The person was murder by a slit throat left with a purple Agatha Christie stuffed in their mouth and the scene was cleaned out, leaving no trace of any DNA. They called her the Angel of Death. All they knew was that all the victims seemed to have the same features and that Agatha would stalk them before she killed them.

Unbeknownst to you, you had the pleasure of being Agatha’s next victim. You fit the description of the person that did her wrong and like all her other ​​casualties, she started stalking you. Details from where you worked to what type of coffee you drank. She did all of this to find the perfect moment to strike but this time it was different. For some odd reason she felt drawn to you.

She had been watching you from afar for weeks now. She knew your work schedule, your favorite coffee shop, and even what type of movies you liked to watch. It was strange to her, she had never felt this way before about any of her other victims. She was drawn to you in a way that she couldn’t explain. She wanted to get closer to you, but she knew that she couldn’t. Not yet anyway.

It was recently that you started to feel watched, like there was always someone looming over you but when you turned around there was no one there. You thought you were just paranoid, that your anxiety was getting the best of you but things in your house started to disappear.

Agatha would sneak into your house at night, taking small things here and there. She wanted to learn more about you, but she didn’t want to risk being seen. She was being careful not to leave any trace of herself behind. She knew that the more she took, the more likely you would notice, but she couldn’t help herself. There was something about you that she just couldn’t resist.

You truly started to get scared when your underwear started going missing as well. You told your best friend Wanda about it and she comforted you. She told you to talk to the police and you did but they told you you didn’t have enough evidence and that maybe you had simply misplaced your things. You felt terrified and then came the day you actually met Agatha.

She applied for a job at the same place you worked, hoping to get closer to you. She said her name was Agnes to avoid raising any suspicion. She was excited to be working in the same place as you, but she had to keep her cool and act like she didn’t know anything about you. She kept her distance, wanting you to be the one who approached her and it finally happened when you accidentally bumped into her in the lounge room.

Agatha had been in the lounge, pretending to be on her phone purposely getting in your way so you bumped into her. She stumbled a bit, pretending to be surprised by the collision.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see where I was going!” You started to apologize immediately.

“It’s alright, dear, no harm done.” She said, looking you up and down. You were even more interesting up close.

“I have never seen you before, are you new?” You asked curiously after taking a look at her. Agatha nodded, maintaining her friendly demeanor.

“I started a few days ago, yes.” She replied with a smile. “My name’s Agnes. What’s yours?”

“I’m Y/n.” You shook her hand. She smiled as you shook her hand, her grip a little tighter than necessary. She had finally gotten to meet you, and she was trying to hide her excitement.

“Y/n, what a lovely name,” she said, still holding your hand, “I have a feeling we’re going to be good friends.”

“I- thank you,” you blushed at the compliment, “well I have to get back to work, I’ll see you around!” She nodded, watching you walk away. She knew she had to be careful not to let her true intentions show, but it was getting harder and harder to resist, she knew you were meant to be.

“See you around.” She said quietly. She couldn’t help but watch you walk away, admiring your figure. She wanted to reach out and grab you, to pull you back and keep you close to her. But she knew she had to be patient. She had a plan, and she was determined to see it through. She made a mental note to keep a closer eye on you, and to continue her little “games” with your belongings.

Over the passing weeks Agatha’s obsession over you only grew. She stalked you almost constantly and when she wasn’t doing that, she was out killing. As Agatha began getting closer to you, gaining your trust, there was someone getting in her way, Wanda.

Agatha had been so focused on you that she hadn’t noticed Wanda’s presence. Wanda had been watching Agatha from afar, sensing something was off about her. She knew that Agatha was up to something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Wanda had tried to approach you, to warn you about her, but Agatha had always managed to intercept her.

You didn’t understand why Wanda was so against Agnes. Agnes was always sweet to you and helped you out with everything. At some point you started telling her everything about the things that had been happening to you, that of course being her. She would listen intently as you told her about the things that had been happening to you. She would nod and act sympathetic, even though she was the one behind it all. She would offer advice and try to comfort you, all while secretly enjoying your trust in her.

She was a master manipulator. She knew exactly what to say and do to keep you under her spell. She would listen to your worries and fears, offering you comfort and support. She would pretend to be concerned about the things that were happening to you, all the while secretly relishing in your fear and vulnerability. She knew that she had you wrapped around her finger, and she was loving every minute of it.

“That’s really strange. I really hope it’s not a stalker or anything.” She said with fake sympathy.

“I’m starting to get scared, Agnes. What if I’m being stalked by that serial killer that’s been all over the news?” Agatha tried to suppress a smirk, but she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at the fact that you were scared of her.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing. You’re perfectly safe.” She said, placing a hand over yours in a comforting gesture.

“I hope you’re right. I was actually thinking of staying with Wanda tonight. She’s been worried about me.” Agatha’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Wanda’s name. She didn’t like the idea of you staying with her. She wanted you to rely on her, not Wanda. She forced a smile onto her face, trying to hide her jealousy.

“Wanda, huh? You sure that’s a good idea? You don’t want to be a burden to her.”

“Oh no she wouldn’t mind. I’ve stayed with her countless times plus it was her idea.” Her grip on your hand tightened even more. She was getting annoyed now. She didn’t like the idea of you staying with someone else, especially Wanda. She forced herself to relax, not wanting to raise any suspicion.

“Just for one night?”

“Yeah, I just need a quick break from all this craziness.” Agatha nodded, her expression unreadable. She didn’t want to push the issue any further, but she couldn’t help but feel anger and frustration. She didn’t like the idea of you being away from her, even if it was just for a night.

“Are you alright, Agnes?” You asked, sensing the sudden change in mood. She snapped out of her thoughts and looked at you with a forced smile.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.” She said, trying to sound casual. She let go of your hand and straightened up, “I must get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course. See you tomorrow!”

She gave you one last look before walking away. She couldn’t believe you were going to stay with Wanda. She clenched her fists in anger, trying to control her emotions. She knew she had to find a way to keep you close to her, and she would do whatever it takes even if it meant hurting you slightly.

After much thinking, a plan was made in her mind. She was going to follow you to Wanda’s house so she would know where she lived and after that all she had to do was wait for you to leave the next day so she could kill Wanda.

She waited until you left work before following you to Wanda’s house. She made sure to keep a safe distance, not wanting to be seen. She watched as you entered the house, making a mental note of the address before driving back to her house to get her things ready. She made sure to pick the freshest purple Agatha Christie from her garden.

You hung out with Wanda the whole day the next day. Watching movies or just simply talking. You dreaded having to go back home. It was around 11:24 when you finished the last movie of the night. You and Wanda talked for a little longer before you started to gather your things and bid her goodbye.

Agatha watched from a distance as you said goodbye to Wanda. She was growing impatient, waiting for you to leave. She was tempted to just barge in and take you away, but she knew she had to wait. She watched as you left the house, making sure you were out of sight before making her move. She sneaked inside Wanda’s house through the front door that was dumbly left unlocked. She stepped inside slowly but the door creaked as she was closing it.

“Y/n? Is that you?” Wanda called out from her couch. Agatha froze at the sound of Wanda’s voice. She had hoped that she would be able to sneak in without being noticed but it was just a little bump in the road. She decided to simply walk into view.

“No, it’s not Y/n…” Wanda quickly jumped off of the couch as soon as she saw it wasn’t you.

“Agnes? What the hell are you doing here!?” Agatha smirked as she saw the look of fear on Wanda’s face. She stepped further into the room, her eyes fixed on the redhead.

“Oh, you know, just paying a little visit,” Agatha said casually while playing with the knife in her hands.

“Get out of my house you psycho!” Wanda shouted, backing away slowly. Agatha chuckled, taking a step closer to her.

“Now now, no need to be rude. I just want to have a little chat with you. You see, I have a little score to settle,” she said, her voice dripping with malice.

“Score? What the hell are you talking about?” Agatha took another step closer, her eyes glinting with madness.

“You’ve been getting in my way, Wanda. You’ve been trying to keep Y/n away from me. I can’t have that, you see. I need her, I know we are meant to be and I won’t let anyone stand in my way.”

“You…you’re her stalker aren’t you?” Wanda’s voice trembled. The brunette smirked, her grip on the knife tightening.

“Guilty as charged…well not really,” she said with a twisted smile. “And I’m here to make sure you don’t get in my way anymore.”

Wanda tried to make a run for her back door but Agatha caught up to her, yanking Wanda back by her hair making her yelp in pain. Agatha pinned her body against her own, the knife pressed against Wanda’s throat.

“Naughty girl. Trying to run away from me,” Agatha hissed, “Any last words?” Agatha whispered into her ear tauntingly but before she could actually say anything she slit her throat. Wanda’s body dropped on the floor with a thud. Agatha stood over her, watching as she choked on her own blood when suddenly she heard the front door open.

“Wanda? I accidentally forgot my phone on the coffee table-” You froze in your tracks at the sight before you, Wanda’s agonizing body on the floor with a purple Agatha Christie in her mouth. You ran to her body, laying her head in your lap.

“Wanda! Wanda, stay with me! Please!” You sobbed holding her now cold body closer. Eventually you got a hold of your phone and with your bloody hands dilated 911. They arrived at the scene quite fast and it was determined that this was yet another killing from the Angel of Death. They took you into questioning and you told them what had happened.

You told them you had stayed with Wanda and left at around 11:43. Half way through the way home you realized you had left your phone at her house. You just let yourself in knowing Wanda wouldn’t have minded and that’s when you found her dead body. By the looks of your interrogation and the way the crime scene was left a mess they came to the conclusion that you had interrupted the killer's kill.

They send you back home after giving you a change of clothes. A police officer escorted you home and made sure no one was inside before leaving. You made sure all your doors and windows were locked before you decided to take a shower. It was hard for you to fall asleep after what you had witnessed. It wasn't until about 3 am that you finally fell asleep.

The next morning you woke up feeling very groggy. You went into your kitchen to make coffee and that's when your phone started ringing. You were quick to answer it when you saw it was your coworker Monica.

“Hello?”

“Y/n, are you home?”

“Yes I am, why?”

“I need you to turn on your tv like right now.”

“Um okay,” you speed walked to your living room and turned your tv on to the news channel.

“What did you want me to-” you paused when you saw it. It was a picture of Agnes on your screen with the headline being ‘The serial killer known as The Angel of Death has been identified as Agatha Harkness’.

“Y/n? Are you still there?”

“…she was right there…the whole time- she lied about her name- she fucking killed Wanda!”

“I know. I’m so sorry Y/n. Do you have some family you can stay with? I think it might be best if you called the police.”

“I…I don’t have anyone else. Wanda was all I had.”

“I’m truly sorry for your loss. Why don’t you stay with me? Just until they catch that psycho.”

“I think that’s a good idea. Can you pick me up in an hour? I’m gonna call the police and pack a few things.”

“Yeah that’s fine, just send me your address. I’ll see you then.”

“See you.” you hung up finally let your tears fall. You hid your face in your hands when you heard your doorbell ring. You quickly wiped your tears and walked towards the door. You checked the peephole and saw nothing. You were about to walk back to the kitchen but curiosity got the best of you and you decided to open it. At first you saw nothing until you looked down. A purple Agatha Christie with a tag attached to it. You shakily picked it up and read it. ‘Sorry, baby.’ It read. You immediately closed the door and locked it. You walked back to the living room where you had left your phone to call the police but froze when you saw someone sitting on your couch.

“Ag- Agnes-”

“Now you know that’s not my actual name,” she turned to look at you.

“Agatha…”

“Good Girl, Now I need you to behave and not run.” Of course you didn’t listen and made a run for the door but Agatha tackled you to the floor. You started to scream for help, trying to get away from her hold but she covered your mouth.

“Shh, sweet girl, I can’t have you getting me in trouble. I did this for us, okay?” She said, her voice soft but deadly. You only looked at her with absolute fear in your eyes, realizing who this woman was. She held you down, her grip tight on your body. She looked down at you with a mix of possessiveness and obsession. She knew that you were terrified of her, but she didn’t care. In fact, she found it endearing.

“Don’t be afraid of me, sweetheart. I couldn’t have you spending time with that…Wanda, when you belong to me,” she said, spitting out Wanda’s name with disgust, “Now I am going to move my hand and you’re going to stay as quiet as a mouse, understood?”

You hesitantly nodded your head in response. The second she moved her hand away you started to scream at the top of your lungs. Her expression turned cold as you started to scream. She quickly covered your mouth again, her eyes flashing with anger.

“I told you to be quiet,” she hissed, “I don’t want anyone else to hear you. You’re mine, and I’m not going to let anyone take you away from me. Don’t make me hurt you.” She pulled you closer to her, her body pressing against yours as she held you in a vice-like grip. You didn’t listen and kept squirming against her, your screams muffled by her hand. She sighed defeated before taking a syringe out of her pocket and injecting it into your neck.

The effects of the syringe were quick. Within seconds, you felt your body growing heavy and your mind becoming fuzzy. You tried to fight it, but it was no use. Your screams slowly faded away as your body went limp in her arms.

“If only you would have listened.” She gently picked you up and carried you over to the couch, laying you down on it, “You’re so much more beautiful when you’re quiet,” she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of possessiveness and adoration before she went to pack a couple of your things.

After she was done, she picked up again and took you to her car, placing you down on the passenger seat. She got into the driver’s seat and started the car, driving off. She glanced over at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of possessiveness and affection. She reached over and brushed a strand of hair out of your face, her touch surprisingly gentle.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re safe now. You’re with me.”

Taglist; @polaris-likethestar @wandasreallover @oh-no-bummer @phixiesworld @eliscannotdance @venomhimbo @aka-patsy @Melonlord14 @scoliobean

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {3}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It's Charles birthday and you have to find the perfect gift. Warnings: 18+ only, allusions to smut, alcohol WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four

Charles’ Birthday Week 2022 “I need you to steal something for me.”

Lando blinked twice as he tried to compute your words before giving up. “What?”

Despite hearing the shower still running, cupped your hand around his ear and whispered, “I need you to go to Charles’ apartment and steal a race suit. It’s for his birthday and I’m running out of time. Please?” 

He perked up knowing you weren’t going to actually get him arrested and started to get a little excited as he nodded. “Okay, but you have to keep him distracted so I can borrow his keys.”

“You’re not even going to ask what I’m doing?” 

“No, I want to be surprised too.” Lando grinned and kissed your nose before getting out of bed and dressing in record time to leave. 

You had spent a long time wondering what to get Charles for a birthday gift when he could literally afford to buy everything he wanted. It had only been when an old video began circulating online a few days ago that the idea sparked to life. You just hoped Lando remembered to disable the alarm.

“Where’s Lan?” Charles asked when he found you alone in bed. 

For a moment you were struck by how good he looked with just a towel slung around his hips and water running down his chest. “He had to pop out, shouldn’t be too long.”

Charles smirked as he climbed onto the bed, the towel falling away as it got caught on the bedpost. “That’s a shame,” he chuckled, caging you beneath him as droplets of cold water fell onto your skin. “He can join in when he gets back.”

Your lips parted to meet his but before they could touch an alarm sounded on Charles’ phone and he pulled back with a frown. “That’s my home security…” He reached for the phone and you snatched it from him before he could open the live video feed and see what Lando was taking. “What are you doing?”

“It’s just Lando,” you admitted as you buried the phone under your pillow. “I sent him on an errand to your place so we could have some alone time.”

“Why would you do that?” Concern contorted Charles face as he sat up and pulled the sheet around his body. “Is this not working for you?”

“No, no, shit, it’s not like that. I love what we have.” The lie didn’t make him relax like you were hoping and your stomach knotted with the need to erase the look from his face. “I love you, and Lando.”

“Moi aussi,” he replied but he still kept his distance as he tried to understand. “Do you want to spend time one-on-one, is that it? I should have offered…”

“Charles, please, shut up,” you groaned as your head fell into your hands. “I don’t want that, I always want us to be together. When we are together I feel like I finally know where I belong, like I have a proper family, and I really wanted to do something special for your birthday to thank you for giving me that and now the surprise is ruined.”

The sheet slipped from his fingers as he reached for your hands and pulled them away from your face. “My birthday?” 

“Since I have to share you with everyone else for your party I thought I could give you a present early but I needed Lando to help. Now it’s not a surprise.”

“I still don’t know what it is, so that’s a surprise,” he reminded softly. 

You sighed and gave him a small nod. “I guess that’s the most important part. But the suspense is gone.”

“I think I can help with that,” he smirked and reached under the pillow to grab his phone before calling Lando on speakerphone. “Mon cher, where are you?”

“Well, uh, you see, we…needed milk,” Lando lied weakly before you heard the bell of the convenience store door in the retail shops downstairs before Monsieur Verne greeted him like an old friend.

“Oh, I thought, nevermind. I should call the police, I think someone has broken into my apartment.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth before you could laugh but a small choked sound broke through at Charles' growing amusement. 

“Fuck, okay it was me, please don’t call the cops,” Lando admitted as the elevator pinged and you heard his panicked voice repeat the request before the line cut out as it always did on the ride to the top. 

“You are so mean!” you gasped but it ended in laughter as Charles tossed his phone to the side table. 

“He lied to me,” Charles chuckled with a shrug and you both turned at the sound of the front door slamming shut and feet sprinting through the house. 

“I don’t think that can really count as a lie,” you teased before Lando filled the doorway, a bottle of milk in his hands even though there was a new bottle in the fridge. “Hi baby.”

“Please don’t call the cops,” he pleaded as he climbed onto the bed. “I forgot the passcode again.”

“No shit,” you giggled as you combed his hair out of his face and he relaxed enough to see the glint of mischief in Charles’ eyes. “He’s fucking with you.”

You took the bottle from his hands as Charles reached for him, tugging him against his body before taking his breath away with a heated kiss that left Lando in a daze. “No more lying,” Charles warned as he nipped at Lando’s bottom lip just hard enough to make him whimper. 

Raising your hand, he turned his attention to you and the small smirk tipping up your lips. “Yes, amour?”

You bit your lip and eyed the flushes on their cheeks, wanting that heat for yourself. “I lied too.”

Your fingertips hurt and you remembered just how much you hated sewing when you were younger. You thought needlework would be like riding a bicycle and it took a few stabs to prove right as you looked at the final product with satisfaction. Just in time too.

The big celebration was set to start in a few hours but you and Lando were going to meet Charles at his house to get ready for his birthday party together. He had spent the afternoon at his mother’s with his brothers and it was times like this that you wished the relationship could be made known. Then you wouldn’t have to miss sharing these moments with him and his family. 

Next month would be the same with Lando’s birthday.

“Spitz, baby, ready to go?” Lando had been serious about wanting to be surprised and had kept out of the office which was filled with your computer desk and sim-setup. 

“Ready!” You grabbed the bright red gift box and folded Charles’ race suit up before carefully placing it in and sealing it up with a big bow. “What did you get him?”

“Another bottle of Tom Ford.”

“Nice,” you grinned. It was certainly a favourite for all of you and Charles knew it since he wore it more than any of the other bottles he owned, depleting the bottle quite a bit in the last few months. 

Lando carried the box for you, balancing his smaller one on top, and grabbing the keys for your Mercedes Maybach that was parked in the garage next to his Fiat Jolly. The heavy tinting that your car could provide was definitely needed since it was going to be impossible to keep your hands to yourself. Lando hadn’t even changed into his clubbing clothes and he looked mouthwatering, it was only going to get harder for you when he and Charles were dressed up in their finest.

It seemed like all of Monte Carlo had taken to the streets for their Saturday night and it was gridlocked. The minutes ticked away and you ground your teeth as you debated parking and making the rest of the short journey on foot to Charles apartment.

“We’re going to be late if this doesn’t start moving,” you grumbled and Lando reached across the driver’s seat to squeeze your thigh.

“Relax, Spitfire, it’s not race day.”

“Not helping, Norris. I’m not good with going slow.”

His warm laugh filled the car and his hand ran dangerously high up your thigh. “Don’t I know it.”

There was hardly any time to get dressed when you finally arrived at Charles’ and you were in such a rush that you completely forgot about the present in your car. It wasn’t until you climbed in the backseat and Charles found it waiting on his seat in the front.

“C’est risqué?” Charles asked as he lifted it up and gently shook it beside his ear, trying to figure out what it was.

You chuckled and leaned through the middle of the seats to fix up a few strands of his hair that had gone amiss. “It’s not a double ended dildo, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“So I can open it with the others?” You were suddenly nervous but gave him a nod because shying away wasn’t in your nature.

The exclusive club was just ahead and you knew it would be a few hours before you would be able to indulge yourself again so you trusted Lando not to crash and half climbed through the seats to kiss Charles.

“Happy almost Birthday.”

Three tables had been pushed together for all the presents the guests had bought but, after Lorenzo and Arthur had carried out a large cake and everyone had sung Happy Birthday, it was your gift he picked up first.

“Is it kinky?” Pierre asked in your ear as he draped an arm over your shoulder. “Personalised, diamanté cock rings?”

“I swear you think about our sex life more than we do,” you teased with a prod to his ribs. Charles scanned the crowd but like magnets his eyes found yours almost instantly and you gave him a smile as he tugged the bow open.

The material shook slightly in his hands and you wondered if maybe you had overstepped the line when he lifted it out of the box. Beside you, Pierre gasped and his arm fell away as Lando slipped in the narrow space.

“I, I, um, saw an interview,” you stammered as you felt the hundreds of eyes on you. Lando placed a comforting hand on the small of your back and you tried to calm your racing heart before continuing. “And you mentioned your grandma and your race suit and I thought you might like…”

Charles ran his hand over the stitching where you had unpicked the Shell logo, replacing it with a cross. “I love it. Thank you.” He slung the racing suit over his shoulder and crossed the floor to pull you into a friendly hug but his words were certainly more as he hid his lips in your hair. “I love you.”

Max found you as the lights dimmed and the party started to get into full swing. Lando had disappeared into the DJ booth while Charles was being pulled every which way by his friends and family wanting a minute of his time.

“That was nice of you, the gift,” Max said after he ordered two gin and tonics. “Kind of weird too.”

“I'm still more normal than you.”

“Debatable, we are equally fucked up,” he argued, passing one of the drinks to you. “Didn’t know you could sew.”

“You learn a whole lot of useful skills when you can’t afford new things,” you murmured into your glass before taking a sip. “It was either darn secondhand, worn and torn race suits or not race at all.”

“Fuck,” Max swore and tipped his glass back to gulp a few mouthfuls down before changing the subject from the reminder of your fathers lack of decency to provide for all his children equally. “What have you been up to? I hardly see you anymore.”

“I see you literally everyday at work.”

“Yeah, but that’s work, it doesn’t count. You haven’t raided my fridge in weeks.”

“I’m maturing, Max Emilian,” you said as you clapped him on the shoulder, “buying my own groceries and potpourri. You should be grateful, not asking me twenty questions.”

You turned away from the bar and grinned at the sight of Lando at the mixing board, a headset over one ear as he bobbed his head to music he was making. The dance floor was full of people from the F1 world but there were still a lot of faces you didn’t recognise and you wondered if Charles would’ve introduced you to them under other circumstances.

“Fine, no more questions if you come to breakfast tomorrow,” Max bartered and you nodded absentmindedly, throwing a thumbs up as you made your way to the dance floor.

You spotted Charles’ white shirt and snuck up behind him to cup your hands over his eyes. Rising up on your tiptoes your lips brushed the shell of his ear and you purred, “Hey, big boy, wanna dance?”

Your hands were torn away and you frowned as Charles turned, but the eyes that met yours weren’t the right shade. “Fuck me, you look like your brother from behind.”

“He went to the bathroom,” Arthur said as he jutted his thumb towards the dark hallway. “Do I even want to know…?”

“Nope, definitely not,” you cut him off. “Just have a few more drinks and forget this happened, yeah?”

“I don’t think I am ever going to forget you calling me, well Char, big boy, Verstappen,” he laughed.

“She’s not a Verstappen, petit frère,” Charles corrected him as he threw his arms around the both of you and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “What did I miss?”

“She called me-”

“Arthur!”

Arthur clamped his mouth shut with a laugh that rocked his shoulders and he wriggled out of his brother's grasp to disappear into the crowd. Charles kept his arm around you as he started dancing along to the music Lando was playing, both of their smiles brightening when their eyes met.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked in your ear.

Your nose wrinkled and you shook your head. “Nothing, just an inchident.”

Click here for part four.

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[specialagentlokitty]

Derek Shepherd x reader - let me help

Hiyyaa could you possibly write a fic with Derek Shepherd where reader is in an abusive relationship and he always takes care of her bruises etc. But she always pushes him away and tells him not to do anything abt it. Then she starts closing herself off and one day shows up severly injured, and Derek had no choice but to interfere.. - Anon💜

TW: abusive relationship

Derek had been down this road over and over again, you turning up at the door to his trailer asking if he can help with some bruises and if you could stay the night.

And just like the past year, this was no different, you came a few times a month.

“You fall again?” He asked.

You shrugged a little and let Derek tend to the bruises and small cuts on your face, and he stayed quiet for a minute.

“You can’t keep doing this (Y/N), something has to be done.”

“Derek don’t get involved.”

“So you’re asking me to just sit here and wait for you to come to my door black and blue again?” He asked.

“Derek just leave it okay? Don’t do anything.”

He sighed and sat down on the chair and he looked at you with a frown on his face.

“What’s it going to take for you to leave this relationship?”

“Just drop it.” You snapped.

You tossed everything in the bin and you pulled your jacket back on and he stood in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re not going back are you?”

“Derek get out the way.”

“No.”

“Derek move!” You snapped.

He looked at you and clenched his jaw as he stepped away from the door to let you leave.

“Just let me help you, please.”

You said nothing as you left and he sighed heavily as he watched get in your car and leave once more.

He sighed to himself and went back inside.

Except instead of seeing you at work the next day, you weren’t there.

He did see you the following day, and when he went to talk to you, you chose to ignore him, and you began to distance yourself from him.

You never came to him to fix your injuries, you didn’t message him or call him to let you know that you were okay.

And he was starting to get worried.

He tried to catch you in the elevator, or on the stairs so you would talk to him, but you wouldn’t, you’d simply run away or begin to talk with someone else.

Then one evening, as he was sitting outside he saw your car pulled up and he stood up.

“(Y/N)?” He asked.

He watched as you got out, but you never came around.

“(Y/N)?”

He walked around and he saw you sitting against the car, beaten to a pulp, hands trembling and breathing heavily.

“Jesus Christ..”

He helped you up, and he helped you inside, sitting you on his bed, he began to clean your wounds.

You had tears silently falling down your face, and he didn’t dare say anything, he just cleaned your injuries and helped you like he always did.

Then he sat next to you and carefully wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and you began to cry even more.

“Hey I’ve got you..” he whispered.

He held you tightly, and you sobbed into his arms for hours until you finally fell asleep.

Carefully laying you down, the doctor covered you up and he looked at your phone blowing up with texts and calls.

He couldn’t do it anymore, so he grabbed his phone and called the only person he knew would be able to help him.

And they both met outside your apartment.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Mark asked.

“You’re just going to have to trust me, police are already on their way.”

“How long we got?”

Derek shrugged and mark nodded, both of them knocking loudly on the door and they waited for it to open.

When it did, Derek didn’t even speak he pulled his hand back and punched your boyfriend in the face, knocking him to the ground.

“What the hell?!”

“That’s for (Y/N).” Derek growled.

He pointed to mark.

“Watch him.”

Stepped over your boyfriend Derek began gathering everything of yours he could find and fit into bags, clearing all your things out.

He broke your boyfriends phone and he carried on, handing bags over to mark to set outside so he could carry on packing.

Every time your boyfriend tried to get back up, Mark shoved him back to the ground.

Derek wasn’t going to let you be hurting again, not by a long shot and he was going to make sure the person hurting you was put away for a long time

[tuxebo]

[ 🗯 : in this line of work, you always end up alone. ]

disclaimer: i cannot control if the characters act ooc in some responses, please rate them accordingly with the stars to prevent ooc responses as you continue.

chat with mindanao ! we hit 68k interactions omg im squealing.

prev. ‹ docs. › next. (reqs are open!)

✧ — miles morales:

¹ VISITING YOUR FAVORITE SPIDER-MAN: (best friends to lovers + playdate energy) per your usual routine, you decide to visit your best friend and spend the day helping him fight crime on earth 1610.

² KISSES BEFORE DINNER: (uses of lipstick + mama rio almost catches you) you and miles were alone in his room, you on his lap as you peppered his face with kisses. not realizing how risky that was, mama rio snaps you out of the moment when she calls you to dinner.

³ FALLING ASLEEP ON CALL WITH YOUR IBF: (serious situationship? + long distance friendship) during a late night call, you decided to fall asleep on call together. as much as he'd rather hold you in his arms, this would do for now.

⁴ HE LEARNED TO RIDE A MOTORCYCLE: (established relationship + twin miles) you met your boyfriend through his twin. unlike you and his brother, miles was a goody-two-shoes so to impress you he decides to try something new.

✧ — miles morales (e42):

¹ PHOTO BOOTH KISSES: (fem! user + established relationship) some way, some how, you managed to get your boyfriend to go to a photo booth with you. deciding to take advantage of the situation, you pepper his face in kisses, leaving lipstick marks on his face.

✧ — miguel o'hara:

¹ YOU TEND TO GET INTO PETTY ARGUMENTS: (established relationship) you and your husband often find yourselves in petty disagreements. however, this time, he really pissed you off. your solution? taking your ring off.

² LYLA IS THE BEST WING-AI: (friends to lovers + lyla being a good wingwoman) miguel seemed to be the only one who didn't realize just how attached he was to you. in an attempt to get hq running back to normal, lyla calls you back to hq early.

✧ — hobart brown:

¹ KISSES THAT STING: (uses of lip plumper + established relationship) trying out a new plumper, you forgot to warn your boyfriend before giving him a kiss. now you have to explain why your lips sting and what the hell's a plumper.

² BIG BRO DUTIES: (platonic + siblings au) your brother has never had the best relationship with your parents and eventually he moved out as soon he could. as much as he didn't like them, he still cared deeply about you and decided it would be best to keep you safe in the form of his alter ego.

³ WORLDS APART: (platonic or romantic) hobie may not have a means to get to your world, but he'll find away if it means helping you. when he finds out miguel and the spider-society didn't send back up when you needed it, he does just that.

⁴ ANOTHER POINT FOR SPIDER-MAN: (enemies to lovers + hero!hobie x enemy!user) hobie was indifferent to the trivial crimes you committed but once he realized how desperate the police were to catch you, his interest was peaked.

✧ — gwen stacy:

¹ YOUR EARTH WAS ERASED: (best friends to lovers + comfort) you and gwen quickly became best friends after she joined the spider society. such close friend that she had the tendency to come into the room you had at HQ unannounced. one day, she barged in at the wrong time and finds you crying over the earth you lost.

² KISSES ARE ALWAYS THE SOLUTION: (established relationship) while helping gwen with her makeup, you accidentally apply too much lipstick. the only reasonable solution is kissing her so it transfers— obviously.

 ✧ — spider-man noir:

¹ CHESS AND EGG CREAMS: (enemies to lovers) finally, after years of searching for you, peter was able to get you to fall into a trap he crafted so carefully for you. now that you're here, why not play a little game?

² EASING A DETECTIVE OF HIS STRESS: (detective!peter x bartender!user) you couldn't help but notice that the detective that frequents your clubs has been particularly stressed lately. it wouldn't hurt to start with a drink on the house to relieve that stress.

 ✧ — jonathan ohnn (the spot):

¹ BEING THE SPOT HAS ITS PROS AND CONS: (established relationship) you are one of the only people who doesn't find your boyfriend's new form appalling. but that doesn't mean it's any less scare when his head pokes through holes in the walls.

✧ — benjamin reilly:

¹ WORKOUT ASSISTANCE: (established relationship + ben has such himbo energy and i live for it) it's no secret your boyfriend is a BIG fan of exercise, doing so all around your shared apartment. and the last time i checked, staring is no crime.

[perfectly-imperfect82]

Is that a kid? -Arsenal x reader

Leah and Katie were leaving the looker room when a sight caught there eyes and stopped them in there trackers. A little girl was crying and screaming in a security guards arms, desperately fighting to get down.

"Hey, what's going on here?" Katie demanded as she ran over with Leah right beside her

"She's a lost kid, we are trying to get her to the police station" the taller security guard said

"She looks terrified" Leah stated

"Put her down now" Katie demanded as they looked hesitant

"She's going to run off again. We are just trying to get this over with fast" the shorter one said still holding on to you as you continued to fight in his arms. Both women continued to stare him down

"Okay" he said gently placing you on the ground and just like he said, you took off as fast as your little legs could carry you. Leah and Katie followed you at a slightly distance in hopes of not freighting you more. They ended up following you into the media room where you ran under a table

"Hey sweetheart, what's your name?" Katie asked kneeling down next to the table as you just looked at her with tearful eyes

"I'm Katie and this is Leah" Katie said pointing at Leah who waved. Both sharing a look when you didn't come out

"Do you know where your mommy and daddy are?" Leah asked hopeful but you just continue to look between them

"We may be here a hot minute" Leah said taking a seat on the floor and Katie following suit

"What are you guys doing in here?" Caitlin asked as she and Kyra entered into the room

"Is that a kid?" Kyra asked loudly walking up with Caitlin who looked confused, you whimpering and sliding further back under the table. Caitlin gently grabbing Kyra to stop her. "Why don't you go find some juice and snack for her?" Kyra nodded before heading off

"Who's the kid?" Caitlin asked taking a seat on the floor next to Leah and Katie

"Don't know, security found her" Leah said, both women watching as Katie continued to try and coax you out from under the table

"Kyra sent us with a juice box and crackers " Beth said as she and Viv showed up, "steph is taking Kyra home" Viv said causing Caitlin to nod at the info

"There really is a little girl here" Viv said shocked as Beth handed the food to Katie

"Want some?" Katie asked holding the juice box and cracker out to you. The girls smiling softly when they watched you wipe your tears before nodding and coming out from under the table but still keeping a distance

Katie opened the crackers and held them out to you, which you took happily

"These are my favorite, you know" Katie said and smiled fondly as she watched you hold out a cracker to her "thank you darling" taking it and watching as you continued to happily munch on the rest of the crackers

"Here" Katie said slowly moving over next to you to hand you the juice box, which you took as you looked at the other people in the room with curiosity

"That's Caitlin" Katie said causing Caitlin to give a small wave which you shyly returned "and Viv and Beth" Katie said pointing to the other two women who both said hi

"They are my friends" Katie said causing you to nod as you let out a yawn and rubbed your eyes

"Tired?" Katie asked and getting a nod in reply

"Here" Caitlin said hanging her sweatshirt over to Katie to put on you, seeing as you were only in a short sleeve and jeans in winter

"All warm and cozy now?" Katie once she got the jack on you, you only nodding before holding your hands up to her

"You want me to pick you up?" Katie asked making sure she understood what you wanted. Once you nodded, Katie quickly picked you and gently placing you on her hip. All the girls smiling softly as you wrapped your arms around her neck and rested you head on her shoulder

"She asleep?" Katie whispered and Caitlin nodded

"Poor thing must be exhausted" Beth said

"She can't be more then 3" Viv said taking a closer look at you

"Let's get her to the police station to figure who she is" Leah said "I'll drive. I'll go get my car and pull it around front"

"Keep us updated on the cutie" Beth said as her Viv left

Caitlin watched with a fond smile as Katie gently rubbed you back to keep you a sleep

"If she is an orphan, we are taking her home aren't we?" Caitlin asked with a smile as Katie nodded before placing a chaste kiss to her lip