#safe-home-automation

[scottiexmariee]

Hiii 💜 can I request LAD short for the boys with a reader who gets arrested (for something stupid) and calls the boy to bail her out? Please and thank you!!

How the boys would react to you getting arrested <3

Characters: Xavier x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Sylus x Reader |

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist

Warnings: Slight violence mention

“This is a free call from Linkon City Corrections Facility from inmate: (Y/N). To accept this call, please press 1.” 

☆Xav would definitely come get you ASAP

☆This man trusts your judgement and knows you wouldn't end up in jail without a good reason, so he wouldn't even question you until you're safely in his arms

☆ He'd get there in record time so you didn't have to sit too long

When Xavier answered his phone at 2am, he hadn’t even looked at the screen to see who was calling. He knew you were out with your friends tonight, so he was already by the phone waiting for you to let him know you’d made it home safe. However, he expected your voice on the other end of the line, not a robot telling him that you were currently calling from Linkon City jail. 

Xavier blinked rapidly, trying to make sure he’d heard the automated message correctly. The message repeated itself when no button was pushed, confirming that he had definitely not been mistaken.

Xavier immediately pressed 1, listening to another spiel from the robot before the call finally connected. His shoes were on before he even heard your voice.

“(Y/N)?” 

“Xavier,” You began, “I promise I’ll explain everything but I need you to come pick me up. Please.” 

He’d already been planning on it, but the pleading tone in your voice would have had him folding regardless. 

“I’m coming,” He assured you, already halfway out the door.

On the other end of the call, you breathed out a sigh of relief. “I owe you my life,”

The second you get released from custody, he's giving you a hug and telling you to discuss it when you're ready.

When he found out that the reason you were arrested was for clocking a man square in the jaw for being unable to keep his hands to himself, he almost took a turn in a jail cell for the night.

"Xavier, it's okay," You insisted, cupping his face with your hands. "I already took care of it. Can we please just go home?"

"I can assure you it will be handled twice if I see him anywhere,"

❅Zayne definitely comes to get you, but he’s not even gonna pretend that he isn’t a little irritated 

❅Imagine working a grueling 16 hour shift as a surgeon, and when you finally sink down into your couch, ready to relax, your phone rings and it’s a a call from jail

❅because that is zayne’s reality and he is STRESSED 

❅#ringring #helpiminjail 

❅He’d cool off on the drive there, but you’re definitely still getting scolded (absolutely a ‘make better choices’ talk)

❅definitely shows up with heavy ‘disappointed but not surprised’ vibes

You'd gotten arrested for the dumbest thing on the planet.

While out on a walk, your Hunter's Watch notified you of a nearby metaflux fluctation, so you sprang into action without second thought.

You located the Wanderer pretty quickly and gave a good chase, even hopping a fence to put and end to it before it caused any severe damage. Unfortunately for you, the fence you'd hopped just so happened to belong to a private government building. You were very swiftly apprehended and loaded into the police car. The officers refused to hear any of your excuses, charging you with Criminal Trespassing.

You were not going to spend the night in jail over this, so you called the only person you thought might still be awake.

Zayne.

Zayne who, unfortunately, had just gotten home from a horrendously long shift not even an hour before your call came. When the Caller ID popped up for Linkon City Jail, his stomach twisted uncomfortably, already having a pretty good idea of who could potentially be calling him of all people. Initially, he was a whirlwind of frustration and annoyance. Not to mention stressed. His lovely partner, currently sitting in jail like a criminal. He'd leave right away, and most of his frustration would dissipate on the drive to come collect you.

Zayne greeted you with crossed arms and a deadpan expression, waiting until the pair of you got in the car before demanding an explanation. After you explained, his frustration was no longer directed at you, but more so at the absurdity of the situation.

Once you two were parked at his house, Zayne cupped the side of your face in one hand, gently resting his forehead against yours in a much needed gesture of affection.

"Please just try to be a little more careful," He said, his tone surprisingly soft. "I'm going to get grey hairs by the time I'm 30 if I have to keep collecting you from jail,"

❀ let’s be honest Rafayel is probably the reason you’re in jail anyway 

❀ probably trespassing to get a material for rare paint or something 

❀ he’d be mad at you because how are you supposed to protect him (miss bodyguard) if you’re getting arrested?

You felt your jaw tick as your name was finally called for your one free phone call. Of course, you were going to call Rafayel and make bailing you out his problem, since it was his fault you were here anyway. "If you aren't doing anything, I have a quest for you, Miss Bodyguard,"

"I'm out of a custom color for this painting. It's in a suuuper easy spot. You can do it, right?"

Unfortunately for you, Rafayel had failed to mention that his stupid 'custom paint color' was located in an area that was restricted to the public. Maybe he didn't even know. It was hard to tell with him. Either way, you'd gotten busted trespassing and whisked away in a police car.

When Rafayel's voice connected on the other end of the line, he was already running his mouth before you could say anything.

"'Getting materials for my paint' doesn't exactly sound similar to 'end up in jail.' How did you get them confused?"

"You're not a very good bodyguard. How are you supposed to protect me if you can't even dodge the police?"

"Wait. Why are you even in jail? Don't tell me you like...punched a baby or something,"

When he finally shut up for long enough for you to explain yourself, he laughed the second you finished talking.

"Really? That's it?"

"It's not funny, Rafayel. Come get me out of here!"

"Oh, relaaax. I'll be there in 20," Turns out, that plot of land actually belonged to Rafayel. He'd bought it when he realized he could get specific (rare) paint colors from the resources. The police, however, weren't aware that he'd send anyone other than himself to get anything from there, so when they just so happened to see you as they passed by, you really didn't stand a chance.

Rafayel was absolutely not going to let you live it down, either.

Now, in addition to your 'Miss Bodyguard' nickname, you had a less appealing one.

'Miss Criminal.'

⟡ Sylus is genuinely amused when he gets the call

⟡ "You don't typically hear of kittens allowing themselves to be caught,"

⟡ He knows you had a damn good reason for whatever you did

⟡ He'd come get you and lowkey bully you about it on the way home

⟡ any trace of you being in jail mysteriously disappears from the system less than 24 hours later 

Sylus almost didn't answer the phone call.

When the unsaved number popped up on his screen, he instinctively reached to dismiss it. He didn't give his personal cell number out often, so he was well aware of who had this number. There wasn't a single person worth his time that would realistically be calling from an unsaved number.

However, a split second later he realized that he hadn't heard from you for a bit longer than usual.

He cracked a grin the second the robot started speaking, informing him that he was receiving a call from his incarcerated lover.

When the line connected, he spoke first.

"Having a good time, sweetie?"

You could hear the smirk in his voice through the phone, which only added to your annoyance. "Sylus. Please come pick me up,"

"Of course,"

When he arrived to retrieve you, he learned that it was an assault charge. You'd beat up a man nearly twice your size, apparently, and a witness had described you as a menace.

As the two of you exited the building, he looped an arm around your shoulders, asking the only question he cared to ask: "Did he deserve it?"

"Absolutely," You responded. "I'd do it again, actually,"

He chuckled, shaking his head with a fondness reserved for only you. He knew that you were the type to stand on business, and he loved that about you. He was honestly a little proud, even.

"Let's not make this a habit, though." He said, gently tugging your motorcycle helmet over your head. "Stick with me more. You wouldn't have gotten caught,"

[simplygojo]

Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Six

author's note ⸺ Hello all!!! I wanna say again, thank you SO MUCH for all the support on this series!! I am blown away by your comments and support and DMs. I SERIOUSLY LOVE Y'ALL!!! ANYways here is chapter 6 pls lmk ur thoughts ilysm <3 pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, sexual themes mentioned, reader uses female pronouns, taglist at end, 3.9k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

previous chapter ୨୧ series masterlist ୨୧ next chapter

The rest of the evening unfolded gently, like the warm glide of a second drink—smoother, slower, and softer around the edges. Conversation flowed easily, the kind that didn’t need to be clever or loud to feel good. 

There were no revelations, no confessions, just small, steady moments: Geto nursing his drink long after yours was gone, you reaching for the bowl of bar snacks just as he pushed it toward you, the unspoken agreement to linger a little while longer than either of you expected to.

When it was time to leave, he walked with you to the subway.

Not because it was on his way—it wasn’t—but because, as he shrugged with a faint smile, “You never know.” 

He rode with you all the way to your stop, never getting off, never needing a reason. He stayed close, quiet but attentive, occasionally murmuring something about the people passing through—soft observations more than conversation. 

It felt less like small talk and more like a way to keep you company and make sure you got home safe.

He really was kind…

The two of you drifted through the city’s flickering lights in the quiet of the subway car, the hum of the tracks beneath you a kind of peaceful backdrop to the steady beat of your thoughts. 

You had the strangest feeling that time was moving a little slower than usual. 

But that’s what these kinds of moments felt like, didn’t they? 

Moments that felt effortless, where even the silence didn’t feel like an absence.

You weren’t sure when exactly…but at some point, you stopped thinking. 

Your mind wandered, drawn to the way Geto’s features softened in the dim light of the subway, the glow casting shadows across his face, making him seem somehow even more present, more real. 

You sat side by side, both of your hands resting between you on the seat, close but not touching.

At least, you thought they weren’t—until you felt it.

A brief, subtle contact, as if the universe had nudged you closer in that moment. 

Geto’s fingers brushed lightly against yours, the touch so faint, so fleeting, that for a second, you questioned whether it had happened at all. It was almost as if he didn’t even notice, his hand remaining still, his focus elsewhere, his attention absorbed by the world outside the subway window.

But before you could really lose yourself in the thought, the sound of the automated voice broke through, crackling over the speakers like an old radio.

Your station. 

You recognized it instantly, its familiar tone cutting through the fog of your thoughts.

You blinked, suddenly pulled back to reality, and stood up from your seat. Glancing down at Geto, you gave him a small smile. 

“Well, this is me,” you said softly.

He didn’t move right away. 

A look lingered in his eyes, like he hadn’t quite accepted that the night was over. The subway car hummed around you, the city lights flickering outside the windows, a faint reminder of the world outside.

His hand rested just beside where your fingers had just touched, barely an inch away, the space between you somehow feeling heavier now—although it was probably just all in your head. 

The soft rush of the city, the low murmur of the train all seemed to seep into the quiet that settled in the air between you.

He finally spoke, his voice a touch softer than usual, “It was really nice catching up. Feels like it’s been longer than it has.”

You met his gaze and nodded, warmth beginning to bloom in your cheeks. 

“Yeah, it was. I’ve missed it.” You paused, unsure how to keep the conversation from slipping into the usual goodbyes.

Then, as the train slowed, he added, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

The way he said it, like it wasn’t a question, like there was no doubt about it, made the air between you tighten just a little more.

You gave him a smile, a little slower this time. “Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

The door slid open with a soft chime. You stepped out, the sound of your shoes against the platform unusually loud in the quiet night.

"Goodnight, Geto," you said, your voice steady despite the subtle undercurrent that ran through it.

He didn’t immediately respond, but his eyes stayed on you, watching as you moved, a flicker of something unspoken in his expression. 

He didn’t follow, didn’t reach for you. He simply stood there, the door sliding shut between you, leaving the space between you both quiet, full of things unsaid.

As the train pulled away, you could almost feel the weight of his gaze lingering, still suspended in the space between you, even though he was gone. The stillness clung to the air, heavy, unbroken.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

You turned and made your way up the stairs, with the station mostly empty at this hour your footsteps echoed against the tiled walls. 

Outside, the city had quieted. 

The sharp edges of the day had worn down, leaving behind something gentler—cool air, the muted glow of streetlights, the distant hush of passing cars.

It was the kind of night that asked nothing of you. 

You walked slowly, not in a rush to get home, the hush of the streets matching the quiet stillness that had settled inside you.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the evening. 

No grand turning point, no dramatic shift. And yet you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had shifted anyway—something small, something soft. You felt lighter. Steady. As though something in you had been gently realigned without you even noticing.

Its warmth stayed with you all the way home.

Inside your apartment, you moved through the motions of your routine with easy familiarity. 

Coat off, shoes by the door, bag dropped with a soft thud. 

The apartment was quiet, but not in a way that made you feel alone more like the world had given you a little space to exhale.

You glanced at the clock: 10:13 p.m.

Funny—it hadn’t felt like nearly five hours. Somehow, the time had just… folded in on itself.

You made your way to the bathroom, peeled off the day layer by layer. 

The water from the shower was already hot, fogging up the mirror and curling into the corners of the room like it was settling in for the night too. You stepped under the stream and let it wash over you, a steady, comforting heat that eased the faint chill from your walk home.

It was the kind of warmth that didn’t just touch your skin—it sank deeper, unwinding something knotted just beneath the surface. 

You tilted your head back and closed your eyes, letting the water drum gently against your scalp, the steam rising around you like a shield. 

You didn’t rush. There was no need. 

Your thoughts wandered loosely, untethered—you hadn’t realized that you missed chatting with Geto until tonight. 

It wasn’t just the conversation itself, but the way it felt—effortless, like playing a familiar melody you hadn’t heard in years, and still knowing every note. It had been a while since you’d let yourself settle into something like that, where the silence between words didn’t feel heavy, but comforting.

You inhaled deeply, the steam filling your lungs, and in that moment the world outside seemed to slip away. There was something about the rhythm of the water, the soft thrum of the pipes, that made everything else feel distant—like it was only you, here, and the quiet.

You thought of the way his eyes had lingered earlier, just a little longer than usual. But you didn’t dwell on it.

By the time you stepped out and towelled off, the tension from the week had left your shoulders entirely.

Later, dressed in a soft t-shirt and tucked beneath the cool weight of clean sheets, you sank into bed with the kind of ease that only comes when the night has given more than it’s taken.

You were tired, but not worn out—just full, in a quiet, settled way.

There was a peace to it. No buzzing thoughts, no spirals to chase. Just the soft afterglow of good company, of laughter that hadn’t needed to be loud, of silences that had felt like enough. A night that hadn’t demanded anything from you but your presence.

You reached over, turned off the light, and let the darkness fill the room. 

For a while, you simply listened—to nothing, to everything.

And as your eyes adjusted to the shadows, a small, contented smile tugged at your lips, warm and weightless.

It had been a good night. And it made you happy to know you had another friend in the city. 

And for once, that felt like more than enough.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

You woke just past ten.

Not late by most standards, but enough of a sleep-in to feel like a small luxury—especially on a weekend, when your body usually insisted on rising with the same weekday discipline. The light in your room was gentle, filtered through the blinds, casting pale strips across the floor.

For a moment, you didn’t move. 

Just let yourself exist in that thin space between sleep and wakefulness, where the mind is soft and the world feels a little quieter. 

Your limbs were warm beneath the sheets, heavy in the best way, like your body hadn’t quite let go of the calm from the night before.

Eventually, you stirred, stretching your limbs beneath the blankets before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor was cool beneath your feet, grounding you further into the day. 

You padded softly into the kitchen, still wrapped in the gentle quiet of the morning.

It was the kind of morning that asked nothing of you. No urgency, no noise.

And then your phone buzzed—loud and insistent, rattling against the kitchen counter like it had something to prove.

You flinched at the sound, the stillness around you abruptly shattered.

Gojo. His name lit up your screen in bold, unmistakable letters, followed by a series of increasingly chaotic emojis in the preview of his missed messages.

You sighed, already bracing yourself as you picked up the phone. It buzzed again in your hand, this time with a video call request.

Because—of course—he couldn’t just text like a normal person.

The call connected with a sharp buzz, and Gojo’s face filled your screen—bright-eyed and messy-haired, already halfway through what looked like a green smoothie in a too-big mason jar.

“Well, well,” he said, grinning. “Look who finally woke up.”

You rolled your eyes, voice still gravelly from your sleep. “It’s barely past ten.”

“For you, that’s practically noon.”

You gave him one of your fakest smiles and walked over to the counter, propping your phone up against the fruit bowl so you could continue doing your morning routine whilst yapping. 

He talked as you filled the kettle and flicked it on, his words folding easily into your usual weekend rhythm—something about his hot coworker who got a nosebleed during a fire drill, and how he, naturally, had been the only one equipped with both tissues and sarcastic commentary.

You laughed as you rinsed your mug and set it down. “How do these things always happen to you?”

“I attract chaos. It’s a gift.” He lifted his smoothie like a toast.

You moved around your kitchen, wiping down the counter absentmindedly, the familiar cadence of Gojo’s voice a steady backdrop to your morning. 

It was easy like this—comfortable. This was what your weekends often looked like. A sleepy catch-up call—either with Gojo or one of your other friends from university. 

You opened the cupboard and reached for the tin of loose-leaf tea. Just as you were spooning it into the strainer, Gojo’s voice dipped casually into something quieter as he changed the topic of conversation.

“Soooo, you ended up hanging out with Geto last night, huh?”

Your hand stilled, spoon hovering just above the tin.

The soft rattle of the kettle heating filled the silence that followed.

You glanced at your phone. Gojo hadn’t said it with any particular weight—just a statement, light on the surface, but with a thread you weren’t sure you wanted to pull yet.

You didn’t look up as you answered. “Yeah.”

The word was light, clipped. Not defensive, just... efficient. Like you didn’t feel the need to elaborate.

You put two spoonfuls of tea into your mug and stepped around the open dishwasher, nudging it shut with your hip. 

Gojo didn’t say anything right away, and that was suspicious in itself. You could feel it—his silence had shape to it.

Still, you kept going. Wiped down the counter, flicked a crumb into your palm and tossed it in the sink. “We just caught up,” you added casually, voice over your shoulder. “It wasn’t a thing.”

You didn’t have to look at the screen to know he was smiling.

“Oh yeah?” He said, leaning into the space between you like he always did when he smelled something interesting. “That’s not what heee said about last night.”

You paused with the towel in your hand.

“…What?”

Gojo let out a loud laugh, delighted at your colour-drained face. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

But your heartbeat had already ticked upward, just for a second.

“I haven’t even talked to him since Wednesday,” he added, totally unbothered, eyes squinting with a grin. “You should’ve seen your face, though. Goddamn.”

You stared at the screen, lips parting like you had half a dozen things to say and none of them made it to the surface. Then you blinked once. Twice.

“…You’re so annoying,” you said finally, turning back to your tea like it owed you something. The strainer clinked a little harder than necessary against the side of the mug.

Gojo was still grinning. “Aw, come on. You make it too easy.”

“I hate you.”

“You’re deflecting.”

You exhaled through your nose, slow and pointed, and reached for the honey. “You’re insufferable.”

“You say that, but I know for a fact you miss me every day of your life.”

You squeezed the bottle in your hand a little too tightly. “You’re gonna miss your life if you ever do that again. What the hell is wrong with you?”

He just laughed again, head tipping back against the couch cushions wherever he was. “Okay, okay. Truce. Promise. No more fake-outs.”

You hummed, noncommittal.

The kettle clicked off with a soft pop. You poured the water slowly over the leaves, steam rising between you and the phone propped up on the counter.

“So, to answer your question,” you continued, carefully neutral, “yes—it was fine. Good, actually. It was nice to know there’s another friend in the city.”

Gojo raised a brow, tilting his head like a smug little parrot. “Mmm. Friend, huh?”

You gave him a look. “Yes, Gojo. Friend. Capital F.”

Gojo wiggled his brows. “You say friend like that means something it didn’t used to...”

“Oh my lord, do you ever shut up.” you said flatly, fake-scandalized, snatching up your phone. “You weren’t even there!” 

But even as the words left your mouth, you could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

Gojo dissolved into laughter, head tipping back.

“You don’t know anything!” You added, brandishing the phone like a weapon.

“And yet,” he wheezed, “I know everything.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait—no, don’t—”

Click.

You held the phone in your hand for a second longer, staring at the dark screen, lips twitching upwards at that chaotic interaction.

Then you let out a small, exasperated laugh and went back to your tea.

‘Gojo always blows things out of proportion — this was just another example of that.’  You thought to yourself as you went to sit on your couch to start your lazy morning.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

The rest of the morning passed with a softness that settled into your bones like the warmth of your tea. You let yourself sink deeper into the couch, curling your legs beneath you as the quiet of the apartment embraced you. 

The sound of the show you were catching up on drifted lazily in the background, the plot unfolding at its own pace. 

You didn’t pay it too much attention, letting it wash over you in the same way the morning sun had slowly warmed the room.

Time seemed to slip away. Hours passed in a soft, steady rhythm—just enough to remind you that the world was still moving, but not enough to demand your attention. 

There was no rush, no schedule to follow, just the steady pulse of your own thoughts and the low hum of everyday life.

A few errands nudged their way into your day—nothing major. 

You picked up groceries, took a slow walk through the park, and checked a few emails. The air outside was crisp, the sun filtering through the branches of trees that were just beginning to show signs of spring. 

It was a small reprieve from the buzz of the workweek, a brief moment to catch your breath.

But despite the ease of the day, there was a persistent thought that lingered, always hovering just beneath the surface. 

You tried to push it away, tried to focus on the small details of your errands or the quiet hum of the city around you. 

It didn’t work. No matter how many times you distracted yourself, it crept back in.

Why hadn’t Geto texted you?

He wasn’t obligated to keep in touch. The two of you were just barely friends, and last night hadn’t been anything special or unusual. 

Just a casual catch-up. Nothing to read into.

But still, the thought wouldn’t leave no matter how far you tried to push it back.

Maybe this was just how things would go—occasional texts, brief exchanges, and that was it. 

Once a month you’d get together to catch up, maybe, like a fleeting check-in between old friends. Which is totally fine, because that's all you were—friends.

Nothing more.

You fiddled with the hem of your sweater, walking down the street back towards your apartment with your gaze fixed ahead as you tried to fight the odd twist in your gut.

You couldn’t quite pin the feeling down, but the absence of a text—the silence between the moments you’d shared—felt different than you expected. 

Something about it tugged at the edges of your thoughts, like the quiet undercurrent of a stream you couldn’t see, but knew was there.

You stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, and tried to shake it off. 

You almost reached for your phone to check—check what exactly? 

You weren’t sure. 

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

It wasn’t until the following night that you heard from Geto again.

You were standing in the kitchen, folding a dish towel still warm from the dryer, when your phone buzzed on the countertop. The sound was unremarkable, the kind of everyday chime that usually meant a notification from some app you hadn’t opened in weeks.

But something about it made your hands still.

You glanced over, and there it was—his name lighting up your screen, steady and quiet like it had been waiting for you to notice.

Geto: Busy weekend. Sorry I ghosted.

Two short sentences. No emoji, no punctuation embellishments. Just that even, familiar tone you’d come to recognize—casual, but never careless.

You read it once, then again. The tightness you hadn’t fully acknowledged in your chest loosened, just a little.

It shouldn’t have mattered. 

He didn’t owe you anything. He could ghost you if he wanted. 

And yet the silence had curled around you over the last day like a thread you couldn’t untangle. Now, with just a handful of words, it unravelled.

You: All good. Hope it wasn’t anything too chaotic, lol.

You hit send, then set the phone down—face down—as if that would keep your thoughts from spiralling back into it. But your hands betrayed you, fingers tapping the edge of the counter, heart thudding in a rhythm you couldn’t quite ignore.

Outside, the city breathed in its own quiet way—the low murmur of traffic, the occasional bark of a dog several blocks away, the muted clatter of a neighbour’s life just beyond the thin walls of your apartment. Rain tapped at the windows in a slow, unhurried rhythm, like fingers drumming on glass, steady and soft enough to almost blend into the background.

Inside, time stretched.

Then—another buzz.

Geto: Just some work stuff. Nothing I couldn’t handle.

You smiled before you could stop yourself. It was faint, but real.

Another message came through a moment later.

Geto: Was gonna text last night. Didn’t want to overdo it.

You blinked at that. 

Something shifted low in your chest—quiet and unnameable, quiet and unnameable, but warm, like the weight of a blanket pulled over you in the middle of the night by someone who thought you might get cold.

The words landed softly, but something about them lingered—like the faint trace of perfume in an elevator, or the ghost of a thought you’d almost forgotten. 

‘Overdo it’... overdo what exactly?

It wasn’t the kind of thing someone said unless they thought about it a lot. Considered what the boundaries were. Wondered if they might cross one. Did you even have the kind of relationship where you had to set boundaries? You barely ever see him?

You let your fingers hover over the screen, unsure if you wanted to step into that space he’d opened—or if you were just imagining it.

You: Not sure I’d call one text ‘overdoing it’.

The typing indicator appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then returned.

You waited. The moment swelled.

Geto: Fair.

And then, barely a breath later:

Geto: You doing anything right now? If you don’t have any plans, do you want some company?

Your breathing simply stopped for a moment.

You never did anything on Sundays.

That was the rule—even if it wasn’t one you ever said aloud. Sundays were for soft clothes and quiet routines. For folding laundry and eating leftovers in front of the TV. For getting into bed before ten and letting the weight of the week ahead settle gently onto your shoulders. The kind of day you kept for yourself, tucked away like a pressed leaf between the pages of a worn book.

You hadn’t so much as considered going out tonight.

It wasn’t even a question. You’d already washed your hair, already lit the candle on your nightstand that always meant we’re winding down now. The world had been filed away under tomorrow.

But then—

You: Sure.

You stared at the message, at that one syllable blinking back at you from the screen, and felt something shift in your chest—quiet and irreversible, like the soft click of a door swinging shut behind you. 

It wasn’t what you meant to say. 

Or maybe it was. Maybe some part of you had been waiting for this—waiting for him—to reach through the static and routine of your carefully constructed quiet, and ask.

The typing bubble appeared again, this time almost immediately. No hesitation.

Geto: Okay. You good with me just coming to chill for a bit?

You looked around your apartment— The laundry was still folded in the basket. The half-empty mug of tea on the coffee table. The quiet hum of your Sunday night life, suddenly feeling like a stage you hadn’t meant to set. 

You: Yeah sure! That's fine!!

He didn’t answer right away. 

Why did you use so many exclamation marks…

The typing bubble blinked on, then off, and when it finally returned—

Geto: Great, I’ll be there in 30 :)

And just like that, your night cracked open.

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[ohproserpine]

vi. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, death, hunting, graphic descriptions of injuries, manipulation, allusion to death, grey morality, references to alcoholism, twisted view of love, gorey descriptions of love, murder, heated scene (making out)

˚୨୧₊♱

You never really liked cars.

The first time you had ridden in one was in the 1930s.

It was after one of your shifts, the wet streets illuminated only by the flickering glow of the rusting lampposts. There you stood, still in your glad rags and wrapped in a coat, the misty drizzle kissing your face. Alastor arrived a few minutes later with a honk of his horn, surprising you with a ride home in his latest purchase—a stunning red car with a sleek roof that gleamed in the dim light, its long, sweeping fenders and rounded body cutting a striking figure against the darkness of the night.

As you got into the car, excitement tingled in your veins, eager to experience the wonders of modern transportation. However, the thrill quickly turned to fear as the speeds increased, and your husband, the ass he was, seemed to enjoy nothing more than pushing the accelerator and hearing your horrified screams. Each time the car accelerated, you found yourself clinging onto him for dear life, the rush of wind slamming against your flushed face, your heart racing in your chest.

Since then, you swore never to get into a car again, preferring the safety of solid ground beneath your feet, the memory of that terrifying ride haunting your thoughts whenever you heard the roar of an engine.

Now, standing outside and shivering in the cold, you watched as a long royal blue limo pulled up before you. The sleek vehicle gleamed under the streetlights, its polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the surrounding city. The doors, adorned with gold accents, were automated and opened up for you, revealing a plush interior illuminated by soft, warm lighting. Small steps extended gracefully from below, inviting you to step inside.

Velvette wasted no time and went in first, her stiletto heels clicking against the polished floor as she settled into one of the luxurious seats. Already engrossed in a phone call, her voice echoed faintly through the open doorway, mingling with the low hum of the engine.

Meanwhile, Vox stood by your side, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the pavement. You knew he was making sure you wouldn't attempt to escape, although the thought barely crossed your mind.

After all, where could you possibly run to now? Any endeavor in that direction would likely prove futile and possibly even fatal. The evidence of your soul being sold was clear, evident in the now black color of your sclera.

"Well," Vox drawled, his voice carrying a subtle edge of impatience as he gestured towards the open limousine door. "Aren't you going to go in?"

You hesitated, biting your lip as you reluctantly took a step back. Vox eyed your actions warily.

"Is it safe?" you found yourself blurting out, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

"Is it safe?" Vox repeated with a scoff, a hint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. "Of course it's safe! I made it!"

He pointed to the VoxTek logo on the car—as though he were a seasoned salesman promoting a product. The metal emblem gleamed under the faint streetlights. Yet, rather than assuring you, the sight of the branding only heightened your unease.

Vox noticed the lack of change in your expression and sighed, deciding to take a different approach. With a faint glimmer of empathy, he motioned toward a nearby building which had a large billboard featuring his face and image.

"See there?" he gestured, his tone adopting a persuasive edge. "See what that billboard says? VoxTek is a symbol of power and security. You're in the safest hands possible. This limousine is equipped with state-of-the-art safety features."

His attempt to reassure you only rang hollow in your ears, and despite his words, a sense of unease continued to gnaw at you. Yet, Vox still persisted, his voice softening as he stepped closer to you. You had to crane your head up to look at him while he stared down at you, his figure casting a shadow over your form.

"I assure you," he pressed, his tone gentler now. "You have nothing to fear."

With no other choice but to comply, you reluctantly stepped forward, your movements stiff and hesitant. Vox held your hand as he guided you towards the waiting limousine. As you entered the luxurious interior, the door closed behind you with a soft click, sealing your fate as the vehicle pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the night.

Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of color as the limousine sped through the streets. With each passing moment, the distance between you and Mimzy's torn-down lounge grew.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed when the limousine finally came to a stop, the sudden silence jolting you back to reality. As the door opened with a soft hiss, you gazed out to behold the imposing V Tower looming before you.

Its grandeur was undeniable, with its towering floors and striking red windows gleaming in the night. At the very top, a massive antenna sat, reaching towards the sky like a beacon, while a studio sign was plastered along the building's front, featuring red lips nestled within the arches of the middle V, an iconic symbol of the entertainment empire housed within.

Vox and Velvette emerged from the limousine, their presence causing a few loiterers on the street to scurry away in fear.

Oh, how you wished you could do the same.

Inside the car, you hesitated, nerves coiling in your stomach as you fidgeted with your hands. Then, unexpectedly, Vox turned to you, his expression unreadable as he extended his hand.

Surprised, you paused for a moment before accepting his hand, allowing him to guide you down the steps. The chilly night air enveloped you as your feet touched the pavement, the distant sound of the limo's engine fading away as it drove off.

Seconds passed, and Vox still maintained his grip on your hand, his hold firm. Confusion flickered in your mind as you turned to him, noticing the irritation in his gaze as he eyed your wedding ring.

"Is there a problem, mister?" you asked as you followed his gaze to your ring.

Vox's expression remained inscrutable for a moment before he finally responded, his tone cool and detached.

"I suggest you ditch that," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's a liability now. Doesn't do any favors for your image, doll."

"But I'm awfully attached. It's…" you began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find a good enough excuse.

You knew all too well the consequences of revealing your connection, especially in your current vulnerable state. The mere mention of Alastor's name could unravel everything, plunging you deeper into this mess. With two powerful overlords and a soul contract hanging over your head like a guillotine, caution was not just a choice but a necessity.

"It's a symbol of your past life," Vox interjected, his voice cutting through your hesitation.

"And we're leaving that behind now." He extended his hand, the glint of his metal claws catching the dim light, mirroring the uncertainty in your expression. "Hand it over."

With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly slipped the ring off your finger, a pang of loss gripping your heart as you handed it to the overlord. Vox accepted it with a dismissive nod before tucking it into his pocket, his attention already turning back to the looming entrance of the V Tower.

As you entered the building flanked by both Vox and Velvette, you were immediately struck by the brash, modern atmosphere that engulfed you. The walls were painted in bold hues of pink and red, illuminated by the glare of oversized LED screens that flashed with images and advertisements for upcoming events. The floor beneath your feet was polished to a sterile sheen, reflecting the harsh neon lights that bathed the space.

Velvette, with her usual air of haughty superiority, led the way to your room, her steps brisk and impatient. She barely spared you a glance as she gestured towards the metal door that stood before you, its surface cold and unwelcoming.

With a swish of her fingers, she conjured an obtrusively bright star decoration on the wall, reminiscent of celebrity door decorations found in Hollywood, with your name scrawled in cursive on its surface.

"Right, if there's anything you need, you just go down to the lobby and find someone named Shalom," Velvette barked, her tone sharp and impatient, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route.

"Say, is there a chance I could lay my mitts on a radio?" you asked, hoping to grasp onto some semblance of familiarity in this alien environment, your eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them.

But instead of a response, Vox began to buffer, his screen flashing with bright neon glitches, while Velvette's lips curled into a sneer, her expression one of thinly veiled contempt and amusement at your request.

"Guess I'll take that as a no then?" you smiled tensely, your attempt falling flat.

To your surprise, Vox shook his head, and his screen flashed back to his face, the glitches disappearing as quickly as they had come.

The TV demon reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek smartphone. Without a word, he plopped it into your hand, and you turned it over, confusion evident on your face.

"A phone?" you said, flabbergasted, your eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. You blinked in astonishment, the absurdity of the situation not lost on you. You were more surprised by the fact that it came from his pocket. Does he keep random smartphones on him at all times?

"Yes, a phone," Vox confirmed with a smirk, a hint of pride dancing in his eyes. "Consider it a courtesy from VoxTek. No need for a radio when we have such sleek products. This is the future! You don't need old shit from the past. Those radios barely pick up anything worth listening to, just crappy, barely audible broadcasts."

"Oh," you said, the air deflating from your lungs as a pang of disappointment settled in your chest. The phone was a thoughtful gesture, but it wasn't going to fix your longing to speak to Alastor. "Well. I suppose I should thank you."

"Don't mention it," Vox replied casually, his demeanor shifting back to its usual aloofness, his tone devoid of any genuine warmth or concern.

With a resigned sigh, you turned and stepped into your new room. You looked around the décor curiously, taking in the sleek modern furniture and it's peculiar design.

Velvette followed closely behind you, her eyes, framed with smoky eyeshadow, narrowing as she regarded you with disgust. The glint of her perfectly manicured nails caught the harsh overhead lights as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Really? A hooverette dress?" Velvette sneered, each syllable dripping with disdain. "You're like a relic from the '40s. Outdated."

You felt a surge of anger at the comment. Sure, you died near the 1940s, but that didn't mean you were outdated. Before you could even muster a response, Velvette raised a hand, and with a flick of her fingers, she effortlessly transformed the fabric of your dress. It rippled and shifted, morphing before your eyes into a pink silk pajama robe, trimmed with a cream-colored fur. She stepped back, a self-satisfied smirk curling her lips as she admired her handiwork.

"Much better," she declared with a clap. "Listen, you're representing VoxTek now. Even when sleeping, we can't have you looking like a washed-up has-been, can we?"

Swallowing your pride, you forced a tight-lipped nod, suppressing the urge to lash out in defiance.

"Yes, ma'am," you managed to grit out, your voice strained. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she retorted, her tone sharp and dismissive. "I've got a lot of work to do, and you've got a long way to go before I can get you stage ready."

With that, Velvette stormed out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor with each brisk step. As she disappeared from view, Vox leaned in, his shadow casting a long silhouette against the wall. He reached for the doorknob, his fingers gliding over the cool metal.

"Goodnight," he murmured softly, his voice barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning. With a gentle pull, he closed the door with a thud, sealing you in with your thoughts and fears. The latch clicked shut, and you were left alone, enveloped in the eerie silence of the unfamiliar space.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to survey your room even closer.

Your eyes swept over the tall walls adorned with abstract artwork, bursts of vibrant colors contrasting sharply with the subdued hues of the furniture. The wide windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, with skyscrapers twinkling in the distance like distant constellations.

Approaching the plush king-sized bed, you sank into its cloud-like mattress, feeling its comforting embrace envelop you. It was definitely an improvement from Mimzy's lounge. And yet, despite the luxurious trappings, a sense of confinement lingered. After all, a gilded cage remains a cage.

As you assessed your situation, it became clear that you were going to be the star attraction in Velvette's upcoming fashion extravaganza. Her shows were always a hit, and this year's circus-themed spectacle had her buzzing with excitement. The lead model was a singer-actress you'd heard of; you'd seen her the day Mimzy dragged her into the lounge. Pity the poor girl died.

Given the circus motif, it was apparent why Velvette had chosen you. Your background as a singer, coupled with your doll-like appearance, made you the perfect fit for the role.

The best course of action now was to play it safe. Going along with her plan was sure to draw attention, from the lowest imps to Lucifer Morningstar himself. Your face was bound to be plastered on every screen in the infernal realm, broadcasted to demons and damned souls alike. Even with his hatred for the picture shows, Alastor would have to be both blind and deaf to miss this.

He would come for you, you knew it deep in your bones, and yet a pessimistic voice in the back of your head whispered doubts.

Did you even deserve to be taken back after all of this?

With these thoughts weighing heavily on your mind like an anchor dragging you into the depths, you closed your eyes, seeking solace in the darkness behind your lids. But sleep remained elusive, evading your grasp.

As the night wore on, exhaustion crept over you like a heavy fog, its tendrils enveloping you in a suffocating embrace. Despite the turmoil raging within, your body succumbed to weariness, and gradually, you slipped into your dreams.

˚୨୧₊♱

Both you and Alastor embarked on a slow journey through the darkened streets of Louisiana, the car's headlights cutting through the enveloping gloom like beacons. Carefully navigating the labyrinthine city, you avoided the occasional patrol car with its blinding flashlights, skirting through shadowed alleys and side streets to evade detection.

Finally reaching the outskirts of town, where the forest awaited, Alastor brought the car to a halt, the engine's low hum fading into silence. Turning to you, he noticed the fear etched on your face, your wide eyes reflecting the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

With a tender touch, Alastor took your face in his hands, calling for you. "Cher?"

You turned to him, your lips parting slightly as tears welled in your eyes. Alastor's touch was feather-light as his fingertips traced a delicate path along the curve of your cheek. With a gentle brush of his thumb, he coaxed your eyelids closed. Tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving a trail in their wake. As you blinked your eyes open again, you were met with the tender press of his lips against yours.

"We did what we had to do," Alastor murmured against your lips, his voice a low rasp that sent goosebumps dancing across your skin.

With his eyes closed, he leaned in closer, his kiss growing more urgent, almost desperate. You responded in kind, the roughness of the kiss igniting a fire within you.

Feeling his fingers threading through the back of your hair, you whimpered and melted into his embrace, your hands clutching onto his broad shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his button-up shirt. Alastor groaned in response as he lifted you effortlessly from the passenger seat and settled you onto his lap. Your chest pressed flat against his, the rhythm of your heartbeat syncing with his own.

As the sky grew darker, the moon mingling with the fading hues of sunset, the wind whispered through the open windows of the car, carrying with it the promise of a new beginning.

Alastor eventually pulled away, his gaze lingering on your tousled hair and puffy lips as he leaned back in his seat, taking in every detail of your appearance. Seeing you in such a ruined state stirred something within him.

"Are you ready?" he asked. You nodded meekly in response, your heart racing.

Truth be told, you didn't think you could ever truly be ready for what you were about to do.

Your husband hummed in acknowledgment, allowing you to slip off his lap as he straightened his brown coat, the fabric rustling softly with each movement.

Guiding you out of the car, he then reached into the backseat, retrieving his hunting gun. The metallic click of the firearm being loaded echoed in the quiet night. And you damn near fainted when he handed it to you, the weight of it feeling heavier than you could bear. The metal surface was icy against your palm, and you fought the urge to recoil, but Alastor pressed it firmly into your hand, his touch reassuring yet commanding.

"You'll need this," Alastor spoke lowly, bending down to your height, his glasses slipping further down the bridge of his nose. "Use it for safety. There might be wild animals out."

You hesitated, the weight of the weapon heavy in your hand, but the urgency in his tone spurred you to nod in agreement.

"Do you remember when I taught you how to hunt?" he questioned, slipping on a pair of dark leather gloves he had pulled out of his pocket. His voice was low and smooth, laced with a hint of nostalgia. "You remember how to shoot, no?"

You nodded, eyes still glued to the gun, unable to tear your gaze away.

"Words, cher. Use your words."

"Yes, love," you whispered, finding your voice. Alastor smiled, the rough texture of his glove grazing gently against your cheek as he pressed his hand to your face one last time before stepping away.

Your husband made his way to the trunk of the car, the soft glow of the taillights casting long shadows across the forest floor. With strong pull, he opened it, revealing its contents. Your breath caught in your throat as he retrieved a shovel and a black body bag, the sight sending a sickening feeling through your stomach.

Alastor slung the bag over his shoulder and began walking, his steps confident, as if he knew exactly where he was going. The weight of the bag seemed inconsequential to him, swinging lightly with each stride. There was an odd, almost unsettling look in his eyes as he whistled a tune, the sound echoing eerily through the silent woods. A glint of something primal and untamed flickered within their depths.

Nonetheless, you followed him, drawn to his presence like a moth to a flame.

Trudging deeper, the shadows seemed to grow darker, more menacing. The silence pressed in on you from all sides, broken only by Alastor's whistling and the sound of your footsteps crunching on the forest floor. Each step felt like a descent into madness, the unknown lurking just beyond the reach of your flashlight's beam.

Suddenly, Alastor halted in a secluded corner, where the trees were decaying, their long branches resembling gnarled fingers reaching out for you in the darkness. He turned to you, the dim light of your flashlight reflecting off his glasses, giving his brown eyes an otherworldly glint.

In that moment, illuminated by the pale beam, he looked almost demonic, his features twisted by the play of light and shadow.

"I'll be back shortly, cher," he hummed with a smile, adjusting the bag over his shoulder. You couldn't help but notice a darkened spot on his brown coat, the collar of his white button-up now stained with crimson. "Stay here."

With that, he disappeared into the darkness, his figure swallowed by the shadows of the forest, leaving you alone amidst the looming trees.

Time stretched on endlessly, each minute feeling like an eternity as you stood alone. Faintly, you could hear the distant sound of Alastor's shovel breaking through the earth's surface, its metallic scrape and the muffled thud as it struck the soil sending another wave of nausea curling in your gut, each noise a grim reminder of the task at hand.

All you wanted was to escape, to return to the safety of your quaint house in the city.

More than anything, you longed to open a bottle of whiskey, to drown your fears and sorrows in its comforting embrace. Maybe have a second, or a third, and just forget.

Forget about all of this. Forget it all ever happened. But deep down, you knew that no amount of alcohol could erase the memories of tonight, each image now etched into your mind like scars on your soul.

All of a sudden, a rustling sound behind you sent a jolt of adrenaline through your veins, followed by the distant but unmistakable bark of dogs. The sound seemed to come from all directions, surrounding you in a menacing chorus.

With a sharp gasp, you spun round and round in a whirl, your vision tunneling with fear as you scanned the darkness, eyes wide and frantic. Every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig, seemed to magnify the sense of dread that gripped you. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, the cool night air burning in your lungs as you struggled to keep your composure.

And then, without warning, something lunged from the darkness, a blur of movement that sent your heart racing even faster. Instinct took over, and without thinking, you raised the gun and fired, the deafening sound reverberating through the silent forest.

You gasped for air, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you found yourself sitting on the damp, muddy ground. The recoil of the gun had sent you sprawling backward, leaving you disoriented and breathless.

With trembling hands, you clutched the gun closer to your chest, the cold metal providing a shaky sense of security in the darkness. Despite the fear coursing through your veins, a surge of determination propelled you forward, your muscles tensed and ready for whatever danger lay ahead. Scrambling to your feet, you pushed yourself onward.

Each step was punctuated by the crunch of underbrush beneath your boots, the sound amplifying in the stillness of the forest. Amidst the shadows and foliage, you caught a blur of brown, relief flooding through you like a wave crashing against the shore.

Oh, heavens, it was just a deer.

As you trudged towards the poor animal, your foot caught on a branch, and you stumbled, the unforgiving forest floor meeting your body with a painful thud. In the fall, your gun slipped from your grasp, skidding off into the shadows.

Wincing, you pushed yourself up to your knees, the earthy scent of decay mingling with the metallic tang of blood. You looked toward the fallen creature, its form now visible in the dim moonlight filtering through the trees. But as you crawled over, dread crept into your heart.

There, lying face down on the dirt, was Alastor, his once-immaculate brown coat now dirtied, blending seamlessly with mud. His glasses lay shattered and discarded in front of him, glinting faintly in the dim moonlight that danced across the forest floor. A pool of crimson blood seeped from his head, staining the earth beneath him.

Your eyes widened with renewed horror as the truth dawned upon you, and you fell onto your back, scrambling away from the corpse of your husband, the damp earth sticking to your palms as you clawed at the ground in your panic.

The bark of the dogs were louder now, closer. Ignoring the dizzy vertigo in your head, you pushed yourself to your feet, your senses on high alert.

You choked out a broken apology but found that you could not hear it, that you could not make any sound at all.

You breathed, it was all you could do, all you could manage at the moment, and with the terrible weight on your chest, even that was made difficult.

What have you done?

˚୨୧₊♱

"Salutations! It's Tom back on the airwaves! Hold onto your hats because we've got some news that'll knock your socks off! Alastor Caron, the big shot radio host and husband of underground singer Dolly, also known as Y/N Caron, has been found pushing up daisies out in the sticks of Louisiana!

That's right, folks, he's dead!

Word on the street is, ol' Alastor met our maker with a bullet to the head in what can only be described as a real tragic whodunit. Sources close to the case are whispering in the wind, suggesting that Dolly herself might be mixed up in this spicy little affair. The coppers found her fingerprints on the gun! Can you believe it?! Stay tuned as we peel back the curtain and spill the tea on this sto—"

You shut the radio off with a frustrated slam of your fist, the sound echoing through the desolate living room.

Eviction papers and newspapers, crumpled and worn from countless readings, are strewn haphazardly across the table.

"Gone Girl," "Husband-killer," "Missing Marionette," "A Doll's Vanishing Act," "Manhunt underway for Suspected Murderer," "Louisiana Radio Host dead; Wife blamed."

The headlines scream, each word a painful reminder of the nightmare engulfing your life.

Empty bottles litter around you, their contents spilled and forgotten, the sharp scent of alcohol mingling with the drowning feeling of grief that permeates the room. Sirens wail in the distance while red and blue lights dance along the walls, cast by the dim light filtering through tightly shut curtains.

As you reach for another bottle, the drinks blur into one another, their labels indistinguishable in the dark room. The burning sensation as the liquid courses down your throat offers temporary relief from the turmoil raging inside your mind, numbing the pain and grief threatening to consume you. Each sip takes you further into a haze.

The room spins around you, items warping and dancing in a twisted mockery of your predicament. There are whispers now, soft and insidious, slithering into your ears like serpents. You try to push away the accusing voices echoing in your mind, drowning them out with your bottle's numbing embrace. But with each passing moment, the weight of the accusations grows heavier, dragging you deeper into despair.

Nausea churns in the pit of your stomach, and you finally stop moving, the dizziness overwhelming you. A deathly coldness settles over you, seeping into your bones like icy tendrils, causing you to shiver involuntarily. Your fingers lose their grip on the bottle, and it crashes to the ground with a shattering sound that echoes in the stillness of the room, shards of glass scattering across the floor like stars falling from the sky. You follow suit, collapsing onto the floor, limbs heavy and muscles twitching.

You stare vacantly ahead, unable to move, your eyes glazed over with a hollow emptiness as a sense of dread washes over you, suffusing the air with an oppressive weight. Each breath feels like a battle, your chest tightening with every inhalation, as if your lungs were filled with water.

Your breaths grow more labored, each one shallower than the last, until they eventually cease altogether, leaving you gasping for air that refuses to come.

The world around you fades into darkness, the edges of your vision blurring as consciousness slips away, leaving you engulfed in a silence broken only by the faint echo of your last heartbeat.

˚୨୧₊♱

There was screaming.

Footsteps thudded along a path nearby, accompanied by the fluttering of wings as creatures soared overhead.

You awaken with a startle, disoriented and groggy.

Slowly sitting up, you find yourself surrounded by a crimson landscape, a pentagram shimmering ominously in the air above you. As you move, your hand sinks into something cold and wet, a sickening squelch accompanying the sensation.

Horror grips you as you realize your hand is touching a corpse, its monstrous form adorned with twisted horns, jagged tails, and rows of sharp teeth. The pair of lifeless eyes shift and stare into you, devoid of any trace of humanity.

Frozen with terror and panic, you scramble away from the grotesque sight, the ground slick with crimson ichor, each step leaving bloody handprints and footprints in your wake.

The evening light of this place reveals a grim environment surrounding you – a lumpy, uneven field of corpses and bones, a mass grave unlike any you've ever seen. But these corpses are not human; they are demonic, twisted and contorted in death.

Before you can even make sense of this grotesque scene, a spear slices through the air, its sharp tip gleaming in the dim light. With a thud, it embeds itself into the ground beside you. A sharp, stinging sensation follows as your cheeks burn, crimson liquid trailing down your skin.

Gasping for breath, you look up and catch sight of a figure soaring overhead, its massive wings spread wide against the crimson sky. Each beat sends a gust of wind rushing past you, whipping your hair around your face. The figure's single eye fixates on you, its gaze piercing through the darkness, the other obscured by a large 'X' mark.

Adrenaline surges through your veins as you run away, the cold sweat of fear prickling your skin.

Your surroundings blur into a chaotic whirlwind as you race through the labyrinthine alleys of Hell. With every stride, your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. Each footfall echoes in the narrow passageways, the walls closing in around you like a vice, but the chase of the angel behind you drives you forward, your muscles burning with exertion as you push yourself to your limits.

Suddenly, you're yanked to a stop, your body colliding with a stone floor as you're pulled into a hidden doorway. Pain shoots through your arm, and you wince, clutching it tightly against your chest. It throbs with a dull ache, bruised from the fall.

As you cautiously lift your gaze, you find yourself in a familiar setting—a speakeasy, though more rugged and rundown than you were used to. The air is thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. Mismatched furniture and a barely held-together bar give the place a sense of makeshift charm.

"Well, look who it is."

The voice freezes you in place, and your eyes nervously move upward to see a familiar blonde woman before you, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim light, her eyes dark and intense.

"Mimzy?" you whisper, disbelief coloring your voice.

"It's me!" she cheers, swinging her legs and jazzing her arms up in the air. With a jump, she plops onto the ground, circling your hunched-over form with a mischievous grin. "How you doin', Dolly?"

"How?" your mind scrambles. "You-You…"

"I know! You thought I was dead?" she snickers before knocking you upside the head playfully. "Welcome to the afterlife, you ditz!"

"What?" you rasp, eyes frantically darting from her to your surroundings. "What are you talking about? Why do you look like that?!"

"Look what? Adorable~?" Mimzy hums and waltzes over to a gramophone, inserting a disk and starting a scratching melody that fills the speakeasy.

Hello, Dolly! Well, hello, Dolly! It's so nice to have you back where you belong~

"Come on, Dolly," Mimzy says, her voice low and melodic as she sways to the music. The bedazzled fringes of her dress sparkle in the dim light as she twirls, her heels dragging along the floorboards. "You haven't been living under a rock, have you? Or did'ja just arrive?"

You're lookin' swell, Dolly I can tell, Dolly You're still glowin', you're still crowin' You're still goin' strong

"I don't understand," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to comprehend what's happening. Everything feels like a dream—a nightmare, more accurately. "Where am I? What's going on?"

"We're both dead," Mimzy chuckles, tapping her heels along to the beat.

We feel the room swayin' While the band's playin' One of your old favourite songs from way back when

"What do you mean?" you manage to croak out, the words barely audible over the music.

Mimzy pauses mid-twirl. "Oh, Dolly," she sighs, shaking her head. "Hell, darling. We're in Hell."

Your blood runs cold at her words, the reality of your situation sinking in like a heavy weight on your chest. The memories of that fateful night flood your mind, filling you with a sense of guilt and despair.

Before you can voice your thoughts, Mimzy grabs your hand and pulls you into a dance, the gramophone's melody swirling around you like a sinister lullaby.

"So, take her wrap, fellas," Mimzy sings along, her laughter echoing off the walls. Her eyes gleam with a mischievous light as she leads you through the steps of the choreography you once knew so well. She twirls you around and drops you into a dip. "Find her an empty lap, fellas!"

"Dolly'll never go away again~"

You feel a surge of frustration building within you, the absurdity of overwhelming your senses. With a shout of anger, you push Mimzy away, a scowl etched deep on your face. She stumbles back, nearly losing her balance in her heels, her smile fading into a look of annoyance.

"Will you cut it out!" you snap, your voice echoing in the empty speakeasy. "Tell me what's going on!"

"Killjoy." Mimzy rolls her eyes and lets out a scoff, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She moves over to the gramophone and turns it off, the melody abruptly silenced.

"I just told you what was going on, you doof!" Mimzy retorts, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The speakeasy falls into an uneasy silence, the air thick with tension, broken only by the faint sound of distant screams echoing outside the building. You gesture toward the source of the noise with a look of shock.

"Alright, I know well enough why I'm here, but what is that?" you inquire, your voice tinged with apprehension.

"An extermination. Angels come here to rid of sinners and such," Mimzy shrugs, her expression nonchalant despite the gravity of her words.

"Well, what about Alastor?" you press, the worry evident in your voice.

Mimzy's expression darkens, a flicker of anger crossing her features before she quickly masks it with a smirk. "Oh, you mean your darling husband? He's probably causing chaos somewhere, as usual. He'll be fine."

"I don't think he even knows you're here," she adds on with a yawn. "He probably thinks you're up in the shiny gates of heaven with his momma or something."

"Al knows I'm already dead?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yup!" Mimzy chirps, her grin widening. "Your death came out in the news months ago. But only Lord knows why it took 'em so long to get you through purgatory."

The barrage of new information leaves you dizzy, your head spinning with the implications. "Wait—my death? The news?"

Mimzy moves over to the bar, kneeling down the worn floorboards as she digs through the bottom drawers.

"Didja know there's this little killin' business in Hell? I.M.P.—the Immediate Murder Professionals. And there's this cute little fella named Blitzo who does deliveries for me. I was his first costumer and poor guy needs the extra money so—"

"Mimzy, why are you telling me this?" you interject, confusion evident in your tone.

Mimzy's grin widens as she peeks at you from over the counter, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Well, sweetcheeks," she purrs, continuing to leaf through piles of paper, "if you paid attention to their name, they do murder. Murder in the human world, to be exact. And I hired them to go snuff you out!"

"But lo and behold, to my surprise," Mimzy continues, her tone laced with amusement, "you did their job for 'em! And this is what they brought back as proof."

With a flourish, Mimzy procures a newspaper from the depths of the cabident, her hands waving it around in excitement. She throws it to you, and you catch it, fumbling to see the headline. Your stomach churns as you take in the bold letters.

'LAST SWING: Speakeasy Star Suspected of Husband's Murder Dies in Alcohol Overdose.'

"Hi-larious!" Mimzy snorts as she presses a finger against the title, her expression gleeful. You hold the paper up, your hands trembling as you read through the article detailing your own death.

With a cackle, Mimzy jumps onto a nearby table, her movements lithe and energetic as she snatches the paper away from you.

"So, did'ja do it?" she taunts, leaning in close to your face with a devilish grin. "Didn't take you as the type. What was it? Poison? Housewife classic, I tell ya. Maybe a knife? Good ole push him down the stairs? Or was it a gun?"

You tense up at her last words, a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead. Mimzy smirks, her snicker ringing out like a sinister melody. Curls bounce around her face as she leans in closer, her lips practically ghosting against your cut.

"You shot him?"

"I—" you stutter, your breath catching in your throat as you run a hand through your frazzled hair, the disheveled strands tangling under your trembling fingers. "I didn't mean to! Heavens. I thought he was a deer!"

At that, Mimzy bursts out in loud laughter, tears streaming down her face as she clutches her stomach, doubling over with mirth. The sound echoes off the grimy walls of the speakeasy.

"Is that right?" she wheezes between fits of laughter, slapping her knee while still shaking with amusement. "No wonder he looks like a deer! Oh! The irony!"

"Deer?" you whisper out in confusion, your mind struggling to grasp the implications of her words amidst the chaos of her laughter. She laughs even harder at your response, kicking her feet in the air with unrestrained glee.

After a few minutes, she finally calms down. With a skip in her step and a glint in her eyes, she saunters over to you. Humming a tune, Mimzy twirls around you again, her movements fluid and graceful despite her earlier outburst.

"I know something you don't know~" she sings.

"What do you mean?" you frown, your voice trembling as you gaze at her, searching for any hint of what she's hiding.

"All in good time. I've told you a lot already, didn't I?" Mimzy replies cryptically, her tone snappy. "Let's see—I graciously saved you from that angel that was ready to spill your guts out, I've given you a wonderful welcome, helped you learn about your death, and, well, you were involved in my murder. I'd say the scales aren't balanced! You owe me. A lot."

Guilt churns in your gut as you nervously wring your hands. "Mimzy, no words can express how much guilt I feel about your—"

"Oh, cut the weeping dame bullshit. I don't care about that," Mimzy interrupts with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand. Her eyes gleam with a predatory intensity as she leans in closer.

"I'm feeling generous today," she purrs, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. "So, I'll make you a deal."

You eye her warily, the guilt in your gut twisting into a knot of apprehension. Despite your unease, you nod, silently urging her to continue, bracing yourself for whatever devil's bargain she has in store.

"In exchange for absolving your involvement in my murder and providing information on your husband," she whispers, her voice dripping with malice, "you'll owe me a favor. A big one. I want you to work for me again."

You tense, your mind racing as you process her proposition, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. "What?"

Mimzy's smirk widens at your reaction, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she relishes in your discomfort. "That's right, sugar. I want you back on the job, working for me just like old times."

"Well I… I don't have much of a choice, do I?" you reply, clenching your fists in frustration.

Mimzy's laughter reverberates through the speakeasy, each chuckle sending shivers down your spine.

"Of course not! Would you prefer to go running to Alastor instead? Oh, dear hubby, please shield me from the consequences of my sins! My apologies for putting a bullet in your skull!" she mocks your voice, drawling the syllables out as she clasps her hands together and bats her eyes at you.

A surge of humiliation and guilt washes over you, weighing heavy on your shoulders as you struggle to come to terms with the choices before you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. Despite the overwhelming guilt and shame swirling within you, you know that you're cornered. Mimzy has you right where she wants you, and the only way out is to play her game.

"Fine," you say through gritted teeth, your voice tinged with resignation. "I'll work for you again."

Mimzy's grin widens, her sharp teeth flashed at you. "Excellent choice, darling. You won't regret it."

With a snap of her fingers, a contract materializes in her hand. She hands it over to you, and you read through it. Funnily enough, it looks almost identical to your previous employment contract in the living with her, but one detail catches your eye.

"To settle the debt incurred due to the aforementioned act, Y/N Caron, acknowledging the gravity of her transgressions, agrees to become a singer for Mimzy's Lounge for a duration of ten decades," you read the line in shock. Turning to Mimzy, you clutch the contract tightly, your nails threatening to break the paper. "Ten decades?!"

"What?" Mimzy scoffs, her voice dripping with derision. "You stuck here for all of eternity anyways, and so is your husband. Might as well do something."

With a theatrical flourish, Mimzy reaches into her chest and pulls out a pen, waggling it teasingly in your face. "So? What will it be? Are ya gonna sign the contract? Or am I gonna have to throw you out where those angels can tear you to pieces?"

You read through the contract again, your eyes frantically scanning the paper for any loophole or escape route, but you come up empty-handed. With a sinking feeling in your chest, you realize that you're in this for the long haul.

"But what about Alastor?" you pressed, urgency creeping into your voice.

Mimzy's laughter filled the speakeasy, bouncing off the walls like mocking echoes. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed with faux sympathy, "haven't you read the fine print? Your dear Alastor is strictly off-limits. Can't have him interfering with our little arrangement, now can we?"

"But… I need to see him," you pleaded, desperation lacing your words.

Mimzy's smirk widened into a wicked grin as she leaned in closer, mischief gleaming in her eyes. "And I need to make sure my end of the deal is fulfilled," she countered firmly.

Glancing down at the contract, you saw her pointing to a specific section. "Y/N Caron's husband, Alastor Caron, is strictly forbidden from being physically present around her in any way, shape, or form for the safety and integrity of this agreement."

"But… can't we find some middle ground?" you asked, a sliver of hope lingering in your voice.

"Ah, I've got an idea," Mimzy grinned , reaching into her drawer and pulling out an old radio. She extended it towards you. "You can talk with him as much as you like. This little radio will be your hotline to him. But there's a catch: he stays far, far away from you and this joint. How's that sound?"

Twisting the radio in your trembling hands, you felt the weight of the decision settle heavily on your shoulders. The device seemed ancient, its surface worn and its knobs slightly rusted, yet it held the power to bridge the seemingly insurmountable gap between you and Alastor. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly brought the pen to the paper, the ink blotting the sheet as you signed your name away, sealing your fate.

"It's a deal."

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[flemingsfreckles]

Drunk Dial

Synopsis: After a rough night out, you accidentally call your ex-girlfriend to come pick you up, causing unresolved feelings and confessions to be made.

Warning: mentions of alcohol consumption, drunkenness, mention of nonsexual nudity, language, unwanted sexual attention from men

WC: 3.7k

A/N: this was supposed to be like a 1k little fic and then it became this, I’m debating a part 2 if people are interested as well

You try and catch your breath as you pull out your phone, hand shaking as you click though your contacts. Your best friend was out of town, she’d be no help. You debate a few other names, some had kids, you couldn’t wake them at this hour, some you didn’t feel comfortable asking. Until your eyes fell on her name.

You shouldn’t call her. You were supposed to be no contact. But maybe she’d answer. She was in town, as far as you knew, she didn’t have kids, she was a safe person for you. You still shouldn’t call her. Despite knowing you shouldn’t click her name, you do anyway. Letting it ring and ring. As it rings, you receive a text.

Jessie: butt dial?

You respond embarrassingly fast. The ringing stops, you hear the automated voice begin to talk about a voicemail. You end the call and text her back.

You: No

Jessie matches your embarrassing response time, but instead of responding with a text, she calls you back.

“Hello?” She says. As she picks up the phone she’s able to make out the loud music muffled by the sound of the building and the noise of the occasional car on the street.

Your stomach sinks hearing her voice. You had gotten so used to hearing that soft, sweet, voice everyday until you didn’t. Until you went weeks without hearing it. You clear your throat trying to clear your mind. “I’m sorry, I didn’t have anyone else to call.” Your voice breaks slightly.

“What?” You can hear the sleep in her voice. That was the voice that you used to hear in the mornings after your spend the night, the voice you heard after she’d fall asleep cuddled into your side watching a movie. You hear her clear her throat. “What’s going on?”

“Oh my god you’re sleeping, I’m so sorry. I’ll call someone else.” You quickly pull the phone from your ear, you can hear Jessie talking but it’s too late as you hit the button ending the call. Less than a second later Jessie is calling you again.

You stare at her picture looking back at you. It was one you had taken of her on your one year anniversary date. You had taken her for a hike, packing a picnic for the two of you to enjoy with a beautiful view of a waterfall. The photo is her, black baseball cap sitting on top of her curls, smiling at you as she holds out a flower to you. You let it ring, and ring. Until her face disappears.

Jessie: Answer the phone.

Jessie: I’m not kidding.

Her face appears again, you sigh. You didn’t have much of a choice, she was still someone you trusted, you were too far from home to walk, not to mention it was 2am. you slide your thumb slowly across the screen, answering the call.

“Um.”

“Where are you?” Her sleepy voice is gone, instead it’s been replaced with one of concern.

“Outside of Marathon.” It was a bar the two of you frequented while together, which probably didn’t help, memories flashing through your head at every turn when you were inside. The booth the two of you shared the first time you went there. The table you stood at watching as she played darts with another patron, coming back between throws to cuddle into your side. You saw the large table that had been filled with Jessie’s teammates the first time she brought you to meet them. The bathroom stall that the two of you had done some rather inappropriate things in, it was all here, leading you to ordering drink after drink, drowning out your sorrows and the memories.

“What are you doing at a bar at 2 in the morning?”

“I went out Jessie. Which was a mistake, I’m going home now.” You huff, you didn’t want to have to explain to her. You didn’t want to admit that you were trying to move on. You didn’t want to have to admit that you got stood up, that would be embarrassing. You didn’t want to have to explain to her how you spent most of the night trying to reject men who thought they had a chance, one of them not caring for your rejection at the bar, finding you later on the dance floor and grinding himself against your backside, causing you to bolt from the establishment.

You hear loud rustling on the other end of the line. “Okay, I’m going to come get you okay?” There’s more sounds, likely of Jessie moving around but you can’t tell. The sound of keys and a door closing.

“No, Jessie you don’t have to, I can get home.” You stand turning, looking down both directions of the street. You could walk either way. It was a city, it was set up in blocks. Over a few up a few, or up first then over, it didn’t matter.

“No. There’s a reason you called, do not start walking home.” Her voice is stern, you can picture her face, eyebrows scrunched, her lips pulled tight. “Seriously, stay where you’re at.” You hear the car start. “I’ll be there in a few minutes, do not move.”

You don’t respond, instead choosing to hang up. You know deep down that probably will send her into a slight panic, thinking you weren’t waiting outside the bar. Per Jessie’s request, you stay where you’re at, but you wander over to the curb, sitting down in a rather clumsy manner. You think back though your evening, your mess of an evening. A couple of tears begin to flow as you feel sorry for yourself. You drop your head into your hands, your elbows propped up on your knees. You sit like that until your thoughts are broken into by a voice.

You hear your name being called and look over to see Jessie walking quickly toward you. You quickly bring your hands up to your face trying to clear the tears that stained your cheeks.

“Hey.” Jessie bends down when she reaches you. “Are you hurt?” You shake your head to her. “What happened?”

“I was supposed to be meeting this girl that I was sort of chatting up.” You swallow down tears and your pride as you continue on. “She um, well she stood me up, she never showed, so I had a couple drinks, and then a couple more, and then there was this man who tried to get me to go home with him, and he came up behind me when I was at the bar and he um.” Your eyes flick to Jessie. She was watching you with such intensity you felt as if you were suddenly under a microscope, being picked apart.

“You can tell me.” Jessie lets a hand come rest on your bent knee, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

“He put himself against me and it just, I asked him to stop, he didn’t, so then I ran. And I didn’t have anyone else to call, I’m so sorry. I just want to go home.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’ll get you home, can you stand up?” You nod. Ignoring her outstretched hand you attempt to get up yourself. Once you’re nearly standing it’s as if someone has spun the globe, feeling suddenly off balance you stumble a few steps.

Jessie’s hands are immediately reaching to you, one on your waist, the other gripping your bicep as she stands you upright. “Woah. You’re clearly not okay.” You hear her mumble to herself. “Come on, I'm parked just around the corner.”

“Piggyback.” You say to her. You didn’t want to walk your feet feeling like they were made of lead. You wanted a ride, Jessie frequently would pick you up on her back, or carry you bridal style, or across her front, it always made you feel special. Made, you remind yourself, in the past, she didn’t do that for you anymore.

“No, just, here I’ll help you walk.” She loops her arm around your shoulders and tries to get you to step but you let your feet remain in place, heavy to the ground.

“Jessssie.” You know you sounded whiny, but you didn’t care, the drinks in your bloodstream telling you it was okay. “Please.” You give her a pleading look, one you knew she had a hard time refusing back when the two of you were together. So what if you were pulling on her heartstrings a little, she was the one who offered to come get you.

Jessie lets out a huff, realizing it’ll be easier to get you to the car carrying you, instead of fighting your drunkenness the whole way. “Fine, but no piggyback, that’s not safe with you like this.”

“Koala then.” Before she can say yes, you're lunging at Jessie, wrapping your arms around her neck and your legs around her midsection.

You feel one of Jessie’s hands come to rest high on your back before the other finds its way to your ass, just like how she would have carried you when you were together. Her hand is only there for a moment before she whispers a quick apology and moves to your lower back. “Sorry, habit.” As soon as she apologizes she starts walking.

You rest your head on her shoulder, watching as she keeps her gaze forward, aggressively avoiding looking over at you. You admire her, her face, her eyes, the way her soft curls bounced in front of your face with each step she took, the smell of her shampoo bringing back even more memories. With each step your body gently bounces with her. Before you know it she stops walking and she slowly releases the hold on your back.

She keeps one hand on your back to steady you, her other reaches for the car door, opening it before gently pushing you toward the seat. “Get in.”

You're clumsy climbing into her passenger seat. Jessie’s hand comes to rest on the top of your head making sure you don’t hit it as you step into the car. As soon as you’re seated you let your head flop back to the headrest and your eyes fall shut as Jessie closes the door and she walks around climbing into the driver's seat. You hear the noises of the car as she turns it on, the radio softly playing.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

You hum back, hearing her words but the weight of your arms suddenly feels too much, your eyelids equally heavy, you didn’t want to open them, so you don’t. You remain in the passenger seat, eyes closed not moving. You hear Jessie shift in her seat, her own buckle being undone before she’s leaning over the console toward you, her hand blindly reaching for the seatbelt. You open your eyes to her face just inches from yours.

You begin to look at the freckles on her cheek. Freckles that you used to study when you’d wake up before her. The beautiful spots, you had once spent a whole evening trying to kiss each one, you spend hours and we’re still unable to kiss every single one. Freckles that haven’t changed despite everything between the two of you feeling as if it had.

“Close your eyes, you’re staring.”

“You’re pretty.” Is all that comes out of your mouth as you close your eyes again. Jessie finally is able to click your seatbelt before buckling her own. It doesn’t take long for the gentle movement of the car and your exhaustion to take over lulling you into deep sleep.

The raging headache you woke up to was preventing your ability to open your eyes, let alone pull yourself from your bed. You roll around reaching out to your nightstand hoping to find water but instead finding a lamp. You didn’t have a lamp on your nightstand. Your eyes open and then shoot wide when you realize where you were. You were in Jessie’s bedroom. You frantically roll over finding the other half of the bed to be empty.

You pull yourself from the blankets and the pillows that were encapsulating you in the smell of your former lover. Your feet touch the ground and you look down to see you weren’t in the jeans and shirt you had gone out in last night. You were in a pair of loose shorts and a simple shirt that you knew was Jessie’s.

You crack open Jessie’s bedroom door, looking out to the rest of her place, scanning the room until your eyes meet hers. She’s sitting on the couch, a pillow and blanket donned across the cushions, she had clearly slept there last night.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” She stands up from the couch but doesn’t move toward you. “Are you alright?”

“I mean, hungover, but yeah I’m okay, I think.” Your hands come down to the bottom of Jessie's shirt that sat across your chest. “I remember calling you but honestly, I don’t really remember anything after I got in your car.”

“I can tell you, if you want.”

You nod and make your way into her living room, sitting on a chair that sat adjacent to her sofa.

“You fell asleep on the ride home, I decided to bring you here, which I know wasn’t exactly what you asked but I was worried about you. I wanted to be nearby in case you needed anything, I don’t know what you drank or ate, it just didn’t feel right dropping you off at your place alone.” Jessie looks over to you, checking that you’re following her explanation.

You nod at her, encouraging her to continue.

“I brought you into my room, got some clothes for you, I then left to come get settled out here and then you came out here, um, without a shirt complaining that you couldn’t get your pants off so I helped you change. You said that was okay but obviously you were drunk so you can’t really consent but I figured it was okay, I just wanted to help you.”

You reach a hand out, placing it on her forearm. She stops talking, her attention being grabbed by the feeling of you hand on her body. “That’s fine Jessie, I asked and you were helping me. Plus it’s nothing you haven’t seen or touched before.”

Jessie smiles quickly, letting a quick laugh fall from her lips as she looks down shaking her head. “That’s what you said last night too. But, yeah then I tried to get you to brush your teeth, that was a challenge.”

You winced at your own behavior, embarrassed that you probably acted like a child. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, it was fine. Then I got you into bed, made you drink some water, and you passed out pretty quick.” Jessie says, ending her sentence with a nod. What she didn’t tell you was how you had blabbered on about the girl you were supposed to have met that night.

“Jess, I don’t even think I want to date her.”

“Who?” Jessie asked as she rummaged in her closet for an extra toothbrush and a fresh washcloth.

“The girl who stood me up.”

Her hands froze as she reached for the small towel. She didn’t expect to have to talk about this with you. “Oh.”

“I think, I think, I’m just trying to get over you. Like you’re the love of my life, and we couldn’t make it work. And it hurts. And I want to fill that hole. So I got on Tinder, and I swiped and swiped and no one was even close to as amazing as you, but I’ll have to settle for someone right?”

“Um.” Jessie was pretty sure you had no idea what you were talking about, just letting every thought you had fall out of your mouth. She assumed you wouldn’t remember most of the night, especially this. She handed you the washcloth, to which you gave her a pouty frown. She sighed before wetting the washcloth herself, gently rubbing it across your face. As she wiped you began talking again.

“No one makes me smile like you did, no one makes me feel the heat, the butterflies, whatever it is, that feeling, no one can even compare. You’ve ruined love for me Jessie Fleming, no one can compete with you. I think I’m always going to love you, I still do. I want to text you after every game, I want to call you at night to hear your voice before I sleep. I miss waking up next to you. I just, I miss you. And I can’t have you. I was a distraction to you.”

The break up with Jessie had been amicable. You both came to the conclusion that life was too much. Jessie having to juggle the national team, being captain, dealing with the lawsuit, the drone scandal, on top of playing for Portland, she didn’t have time for you. You didn’t have much time for her either, having just gotten a new promotion, it came with new responsibilities. Responsibilities that had you in the office early and coming home late, responsibilities that had you traveling more often than not. The two of you watched as the living relationship you had built crumbled before your eyes, breaking both of your hearts. It would have been easier if you’d fallen out of love, if you had a huge fight, but you didn’t. Life had simply gotten in the way, and that hurt so much more.

“Let’s go get you tucked in.” Jessie says, trying to avoid the conversation you were having. She couldn’t do this with you, especially when she was pretty sure you didn’t know what you were even saying. She led you to the bed, pulling back the covers on what used to be your side of her bed, letting you climb in before pulling the sheet up for you. “Here’s water, drink some. If you need anything I’ll be out there.” She points toward the door.

“Stay?” Your question was almost a whisper, as if you were scared to ask. Jessie watched as you looked between her and the empty side of her bed.

“I,” Jessie shook her head at you. She longed so badly to be back in your arms, to fall asleep to the sound of your breathing. “I can’t.” She had turned and left you in the bed, her bed, leading herself to the couch where she knew she’d have a sleepless night, running through all the confessions you just told her.

”Well, I’m really, really sorry for putting you in that situation.”

“It’s okay, really.”

“No, it’s not, we were supposed to be no contact. I’m sorry I broke that.” You try to make eye contact with the Canadian, wanting her to know that while sure part of you was so happy to see her again, you felt embarrassed, you shouldn’t have made her come get you.

“It’s really okay, I’d rather you be safe than not call me.” Jessie grabs the pillow, placing it on her lap, her hands kneading at it.

“Well, thank you. Seriously.”

“Of course, I’m maybe not in love with you anymore, but I will always have love for you. And I’m always going to care about you. You can always call me.” Jessie said, knowing she was lying through her teeth. She still was very much in love with you. That’s why she jumped at the opportunity to come help, to see you again.

“Thanks.” You say quietly and Jessie nods slightly. The two of you are left in a silence for a moment. It was a new silence between the two of you. Silence had been common in your relationship, Jessie wasn’t always the biggest talker and you both enjoyed the peacefulness, but those had never been uncomfortable silences. This was uncomfortable.

“Well.” You clap your hands together across your lap. “I should go, get out of your hair, I’ve done enough.” You push up from the chair. “Where are my clothes from last night? I’ll give you these back.” You pull at the shirt you had on.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, just wear them home.” Jessie walks over to her kitchen counter handing you a reusable bag. “Here’s all your stuff, wallet is in there too. Your phone was charging next to the bed.”

“Yeah I grabbed it.” You show her the outline of our phone in the pocket of her shorts.

“Okay.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll be going.” You take a couple steps towards the door, finding the sneakers you had worn out the night before. “I’ll wash the clothes and get them back to you tomorrow, or I can bring you them tonight?”

“Whenever, it’s just sleeping clothes, I don’t need them back right away.”

“Okay.” You reach for the door before quickly turning to look at Jessie one more time. “Thank you again, and I’m really sorry.” The brunette just nodded at you. A smile that you couldn’t quite read across her face. She opened her mouth briefly before shutting it as if she wanted to say something but changed her mind. You head out the door, closing it behind you, unsure if you’d see her face again anytime soon.

As the door closed Jessie turned to face away from the door, backing up a few steps and letting her back rest against it for a moment. Maybe she should’ve told you, that you had told her about your feelings. Maybe she should’ve told you she still feels the same about you, that she’d be willing to try again, that she wanted to try again. But she hadn’t, and she’d have to learn to live with that.

[optiblog]

OPTİVİSER - GOLD

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[mrsaltieri-real]

The Next Stop (Ethan Landry x AFAB!Reader)

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: slight langauge, AFAB!Reader, (no pronouns specified) vaginal fingering, clit rubbing, smut, public smut, slight dub-con, strangers, slight exhibitionist/voyeurism kink, shame kink, masturbation, (vibrator) mentions of Ethan being Ghostface and the killings.

A/N: I’ve been thinking about the gif below a LOT as of late, he looks so fucking hot and this just sprang to mind last night and I whacked it all together. It’s hot, I think. Getting fingered by Ethan on a train but you have no idea who the fuck he is??? Uhhh yeah, this plays into my exhibitionist kink nicely.

The subway was oddly quiet, granted it was coming up to three in the morning, but still. You’d stayed at college late, cramming for your upcoming finals until you’d noticed just how late it really was and decided it was time to race home, get a few hours of nyquil induced sleep before having to relive the same day again tomorrow. You could say you were a bit of an overachiever. You texted your roommate quickly once you flopped down in a free seat, utterly exhausted, telling her you were on the way home but didn’t receive a response.

You sighed, leaning your head back against your seat and mindlessly played around on your phone, flipping from app to app absently when you suddenly felt the uneasy feeling that somebody was watching you.

The subway car only had about fourteen people inside, some were asleep, others were hunched over their own devices, working from a laptop or texting from their cell as you had been. Everyone except a tall, lean curly haired guy who stood with his hand gripping the pole beside him so tightly his knuckles were completely white, his dark brown eyes shamelessly staring at you with an endearingly intense glint shining in them.

You cleared your throat, tearing your eyes away from his fervid and observing gaze, focusing your consciousness back onto your phone. He was pretty, no doubt about that, the way he was staring at you made a dull flutter cascade through your core and inflame your stomach. The coach came to an abrupt stop, your hand flying out to catch yourself on the pole beside you to stop yourself falling out of the seat and the automated woman on the speaker announced that you were two stops away from your destination. Your phone buzzed in your hand and you glanced down, seeing your roommate text you back that she was heading to bed and for you to make sure you get home safe.

As you were about to respond, you were suddenly aware that someone had sat down carefully beside you. You glanced up for a moment, noticing the curly haired boy had settled in the seat next to you, eyes now set forward at the doors of the train. The smell of his cologne filled your nose, the scent subtle yet having an unprecedented effect on you, thighs tensing and your cunt clenching. You looked away quickly, sending a quick reply to your roommate and wishing her a good night before placing your phone into your jacket pocket, choosing to settle your gaze on the window, watching as New York passed you by, trying to ignore the boy sitting beside you.

His knee was touching yours, the rough material of his jeans rubbing against your bare skin at every jostle of the train. His hand resting on his thigh deftly dropped between the small gap separating the two of you, his bare fingers making contact with your soft skin casually. Your eyes instinctively darted down, watching as his fingertips began to faintly stroke your skin, grazing over the hem of your skirt.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at his pretty face and noticed he looked almost bored, completely uninterested and still not looking at you at all. You felt his fingers glide over your thigh, stopping abruptly as he reached the middle, a soft tap of his fingers as if he was ordering you to open your legs for him.

You couldn’t do this, let some random fucking guy you’d never met start touching your pussy on the middle of the subway.

Just from the limited contact alone, you were already pathetically wet. It was like your body and mind had completely separated from one another as you lightly inched your legs apart, allowing him to slide his hand between them, his fingers grazing at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You let out a small, shaky sigh as he dragged his fingers up, stopping just before he made direct contact for a few seconds, as if he were making a decision about how he wanted to touch you before the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your strained clit through your panties softly, the touch so faint it shouldn’t have even had that much of an effect on you, but alas, it did.

Your breathing hitched and from the corner of your eye, you could’ve sworn you’d seen his lips twitch up into a small smile but you didn’t bother to look, worried it would snap you out of whatever the fuck had gotten into you.

This wasn’t you, you weren’t even the kind of person to interact with a stranger unless it was entirely necessary, but here you were, at three o’clock in the morning with your legs open and dying to let this random guy touch your pussy in a public space, practically gagging for it.

He began carefully moving his middle and forefinger in a gentle circular motion, rubbing your clit teasingly through your damp panties before, without warning, they were pushed aside, the hot pads of his fingers finally making direct contact with your strained, aching clit.

Your hand wrapped around the cold pole next to you again, this time to stop yourself from moaning aloud, your eyes fluttering closed as he began to play with your clit, his fingers skillful as he rubbed in small circular motions, his eyes still fixed ahead of him as though he wasn’t doing anything, as though this was an completely normal interaction. Perhaps it was for him, but at that moment you couldn’t care less. You didn’t care that the subway car was littered with strangers that could very well be watching this guy touch you so intimately, making you push yourself against his fingers like a needy whore with your head tilted back, eyes screwed up as you focused on just how good he was making you feel.

His fingers moved from your clit, dragging down your slit and collecting your juices, briefly plunging them inside and curling upward, pressing firmly against the spongy tissue and making you let out a soft whimper, looking down to see this strangers fingers gently pumping in and out of your cunt. Your legs were so wide from him now, your knee was practically resting against his thigh.

He removed his fingers before moving his fingers back up, using your juices coating his fingers to carry on playing with your exposed clit. Your chest began to heave, your hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over you casually, still not looking at you. Soft moans and gasps escaped you and you sunk your teeth harshly into your bottom lip and bit the inside of your cheeks so hard you could almost taste blood, trying desperately to be as quiet as you could manage as you clenched around nothing, feeling the fire in your stomach build and burn hotter and hotter with each expert glide of his slick fingers, your legs opening wider and wider for him which seemed to please him judging by how fast his fingers began to work your clit.

The pressure was perfect, the speed of his strong fingers was making your impending orgasm loom dangerously close as your back arched from your seat, pushing yourself against his long fingers before your eyes flew open and you came with a soft gasp on this tips of this stranger's fingers, hand gripping the cold metal of the pole so hard it’s a wonder it didn’t bend. Your eyes flew open as you reached your peak, meeting a man’s shocked and wide eyed gaze as he stared at you, mouth agape as he watched you cum, body shivering and writhing as you pushed your hips down against the strangers fingers, feeling them slide from your clit and into your soaked hole with every movement of your body.

The train stopped as you felt the warmth of his fingers abandon you. He cleared his throat a little, still not looking at you as he stood up, grabbing his bag from the ground and walked toward the doors. You finally moved your gaze onto him, watching as he left the train car, walked onto the platform without even looking back and disappeared up the steps of the station and vanished out of sight.

You felt suddenly self-conscious as your eyes met an older woman’s, her expression nothing short of disgusted, and the man that had watched you cum, his eyes still as wide as dinner plates as he stumbled up from his seat and adjusted himself in his pants, leaving the train looking completely dazed, as though this was the highlight of his month. Maybe it was. You shifted in your seat, feeling your wetness covering your thighs and no doubt staining the seat beneath you as you quickly closed your legs, crossing one over the other and pulled at the hem of your skirt, eyes quickly moving away from the woman and back through the window, beginning to bite at your nails, feeling satisfied yet extremely vulnerable and disgusting.

Did that really just fucking happen?

Despite the disgust you felt in yourself, it only added to your satisfaction. It felt new, different and exciting. You couldn't lie, you absolutely loved the combination of the mixed feelings.

Needless to say you never saw him again, you’d never really expected to. You thought about him a lot though, pressing your vibrator against your clit while you were alone in your bedroom, imagining the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his fingers as they expertly touched you, and just how fucking pretty he was and how hard he’d made you cum and just how easy it was for him to touch you, as if it was completely normal.

That was, until a few weeks later. You were at home, working on your thesis for class when the news grabbed your attention.

“Ghostface killers finally come to a grisly end. The family of killers, Detective Wayne Bailey and his children and resident Blackmore University students Quinn Bailey and Ethan Bailey, formally known as Landry, all brutally murdered after targeting previous survivors of the 2022 Woodsboro massacre, Samantha and Tara Carpenter, Chad and Mindy Meeks, and celebrity Gale Weathers.”

Your eyes widened as soon as you saw “Ethan’s” picture lighting up your screen, recognition hitting immediately. That was him, the stranger from the subway you'd all too willingly opened your legs for. Then your blood ran cold when the realisation that you’d let a murderer get you off and make you cum on a fucking train hit you like a ton of bricks.

[2-dsimp]

what will pyrok do if his children or darling getting hurt because of him (his evil plans for the future has this coming too)

and will he be a loving father or he's only breeding

Yandere!Alien KillerClown x Fem reader

Tw: suggested Fluff, pregnant reader, mentions of gore, death, curses, home invasion, angst, kidnapping,

Synopsis: You and your cursed alien mate, Pyrok have a couple buns in the oven, and everything was absolutely perfect… Too perfect. Sometimes the greatest of fortunes can bring misery in an instant.

◣────•~❉᯽❉~•────◢

Who knew the ominous doll you bought from the antique store would end up becoming your doting alien lover?

Sure, there was a rough patch between you two coexisting under the same roof at first. But surprisingly, the relationship blossomed into a pleasant cushy lifestyle.

Contrary to his primal instincts and lack of emotional intelligence. The killer alien clown was more than willing to learn how to care for you. Especially since he deducted how humans were fragile than most species.

As the weeks went by, the bond mark he inscribed upon you during your first meeting grew. Giving him the freedom to fully embrace you, protect you, fuck you with his feelers and appendages till you passed out. Within his still imperfect original form.

You certainly didn’t expect to be carrying his brood either but you didn’t mind it one bit. Love was a foreign concept to him but through actions alone you knew he cherished you deeply.

Those high pitched chatters of his teeth, and the peculiar heart masks he wore. Were signs of deep affection and vulnerability from his species of World Devourers. W.D. For short.

Half an hour before the home invasion, You two had been cuddling as he fretted over y’all’s precious horde. Rubbing his cheek against your belly clicking and chittering. Trying to calm his babies that were making a ruckus within you, so you’d be in less discomfort.

That was until something caught his attention you noticed the inscription start to faintly glow. You knew this meant one thing, the croon who had cursed him was near.

Oddly enough you found the clown alien hesitant. This was his chance to free his body entirely from the curse of being a automated doll.

All Pyrok had to do was locate and kill the croon but he didn’t want to leave you.

Not when his little mate was so vulnerable, and warm. Not when for the first time, in the entirety of his existence, he felt satiated. With no desire to mindlessly devour planets, like he used to before he met you, the one who made him feel whole.

However, You saw that while he was doing fine, the curse still had a weakening effect on him. It pained you to see him succumb to the randomly triggered phantom hunger pangs.

The curse prevented him from feasting, using the masks he adorns to show his emotions. It turns them into his prison, melting them upon his face. Leaving him without a mouth, to even scream.

The alien clown would always hide away within the box you brought him in, morphed in his small doll form. He didn’t want to show his weakness better yet invoke any worry from you. Whenever the curse took ahold.

So you knew what he needed to do, and urged him to go and come back home to you and y’all’s growing family. You told him that you’d be waiting for him safe and sound.

The clown alien made you promise, that you’d be secured within your apartment that he recognized as y’all’s love nest. Using the silly human pinky promise you taught him once before.

Once he was sure your vitals were stable he then left out the window wearing a cloak, to find the old croon and end his suffering. Unfortunately, yours was only beginning.

《We have the contaminates in our sights, begin the extraction of deadly life forms immediately.》That radioed voice, clicked. And just like that you were blown away by an explosion coming from the front entrance.

Luckily you managed to land on your back. Instinctively curled to protect your little bundles of sunshine’s packed inside your womb. Your nerves were frayed, eyes wide with horror.

As Masked and heavily armored personnel, came filing in, ransacking your home. You were treated as an afterthought, as they searched for the antique doll, your dearest Pyrok.

From the side conversations, you picked up on the dreadful phrase, code black. They considered your silly alien clown to be a threat to the entire planet. Leaving no other options but his inevitable execution.

You let out a sigh of relief, thankful that your alien spouse was nowhere near. Though you felt on edge, seeing the personnel set their sights on you. After they found the basement filled with the stench of death. Bones of those who spoke to you in the aliens presence decorated the walls. Alongside organs he had saved in jars to snack on later.

《Ma’am you’re required to come with us immediately, under suspicion of harboring a extraterrestrial threat.》

A man spoke, roughly grabbing you by the arm hauling you to your feet. You could only grit your teeth, in the back of your mind you could only pray that he would accomplish killing the croon who cursed him all those decades ago.

Cradling your belly, you were determined to keep your promise to him. You’d find a way to protect you and your children. You had to, after all promises were meant to be kept right?

————

To be continued?

[kumkaniudaku]

Me and Your Mama

Summary: Terry and Patrice learn more about their love through life changing news on New Year’s Eve.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4,436

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy

Recommended Reading: Spoiled, Caught

Author's Note: We're at the end of Ficmas! Thanks for all the requests sprinkled in the middle. This has been a fun little ride and hope you feel fulfilled at the end of this one. Stay safe this New Year's Eve. See you in 2025.

Several mornings passed between Christmas, New Year's Eve, and their five-hour drive up north with no attempt to confirm Patrice's suspicion. She'd purposely avoided all conversation about it, preferring to push the thought to the back of her mind until she and Terry could no longer tiptoe around the growing elephant in the room. 

Moments after luggage was rolled into their downtown D.C. hotel room, the pair braced themselves for punishing winds and bitter cold in search of the nearest convenience store to pick up comfort snacks and three different pregnancy tests. Terry did the honors of selecting what he thought were the best options based on his research, while Patrice forced herself to take an interest in potato chips and snack cakes a few aisles over. 

She couldn't bring herself to engage. Talking about it, whatever it was, would make the dreams more real. And if what she dreamed wasn't true, she didn't know how she could pretend that all was well while her heart chipped and shattered inside her chest. So, she stayed away and let Terry put on his brave face for the both of them.

In the bright convenience store nearly empty as people prepared for a night out to celebrate the incoming new year, they felt like children caught doing something wrong instead of an adult couple on the precipice of discovering what the rest of their lives could look like. 

Terry mumbled through passive small talk with the smiling cashier, staying just vague enough in his answers to avoid the glaring topic of the day before ushering Patrice out of the automated sliding doors and back toward their home for the next few nights. 

Once they returned, neither of them spoke. Patrice slowly unpacked plastic bags filled with items, leaving the slender white boxes for last. 

She drug a fingernail across the box on top, then looked at Terry, who couldn't take his eyes off her. "I think I'm gonna pee by myself if that's okay." 

"That's cool," he answered, offering support with a weak smile. "I'll be out here if you need me."

Most of Patrice's time in the bathroom was spent staring at her reflection in the mirror. She slowly lifted the hem of her thick, cashmere sweater to examine her stomach, twisting side to side for the best angle. Nothing of note. The small bump that did exist was no different than any other day. At least, that's what she told herself as she ran her fingers along the slight curve. 

Unfolded instructions littered the bathroom counter, each saying a variation of the same thing: Pee, wait, have a minor panic attack, then check the results. Or something like that. Patrice's eyes were starting to cross from information overload. 

On the other side of the door, Terry stared out of the large bedroom window at nothing in particular as thoughts quickly ran in and out of his brain. He'd never considered being anybody's dad unless Patrice was on the other side of the fantasy. Maybe once or twice when other partners brought it up, but nothing concrete. Nothing this real, nothing that felt this right. 

Sure, it was quick. And sure, it was probably not a great idea to introduce a child into a relationship that was only recently recognized by the state as a legal union. Any boy, girl, or otherwise would be dropped into a marriage not much older than them and cared for by two humans still trying to understand life. But they'd be loved. They'd be showered in affection from sun up to sun down. He had no doubt about it. What greater joy than to hold a child that was half him and half the woman he loved with every fiber of his being? 

But he was only one part of the equation. Ultimately, Patrice was the deciding factor. Patrice and a collection of three pregnancy tests two minutes away from unveiling their fate.

The toilet flushing made Terry blink back into reality from daydreams of diaper changes and kindergarten graduations. He caught a glimpse of himself in the window's faultless glass before turning in enough time to see Patrice poke her head out of the bathroom for his attention. 

She fiddled with her fingers and rocked on her heels. "You can come in if you want." 

He nodded, careful not to appear too eager or unconcerned, and moved to join her for the wait. 

The soft click of the door closing sealed them into the room together. Terry silently shuffled into the room past Patrice to sit on the closed toilet lid and nervously ran his palm down the back of his head. He took a deep breath before looking over at Patrice, who'd gone back to obsessing over how her stomach looked beneath her clothes. 

"Hey," he spoke in a sweet, low tenor to avoid startling her. She looked over, eyes shining from suppressed tears, and found him looking at her with round doe eyes. He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. "Come here, sweetheart." 

Sweetheart. To Patrice's soul, the word felt like warm chicken soup on a winter evening. She could never question how Terry felt about her. He'd been there to offer comfort through a tumultuous, frightening week. Feeling his large hands grip her waist to pull her between his legs grounded her in the right there and then. Regardless of the results, he'd still be around to kiss away the bad times and laugh with her through the good. 

Patrice lightly placed her cold hands on his face while he looked up at her, waiting for anything she decided to say. 

She closed her eyes and sighed. "What if it's negative?" 

"Well. We'll go out and drink champagne all night like we planned. I hate the taste on its own but know I'll love it on your lips when we kiss at midnight. Then we move on. Maybe have a conversation that we should've had a long time ago on the drive home." 

"And if it's positive?" 

Terry took a deep breath, allowing the words to come out in a mind-clearing huff. "We skip the champagne and keep the kiss. But we have to celebrate either way, baby. Time's gonna pass no matter what." 

For all his mixed bag of positive and negative traits, Terry's sneaky optimism was Patrice's favorite. A short, airy laugh came through Patrice's nostrils as she tossed her head back and groaned. 

"You're always so sure of things and I'm sitting here about to throw up my lunch." 

Terry rubbed his hands up and down the back of her legs with a smile. "I'm not sure of shit, really," he laughed. "I just know that we'll be alright in the end. This Gunny I was close with told me everything goes back to baseline. Don't sweat the bullshit in between. So, that's what I'm doing. Waiting it out."

"That doesn't scare you? The waiting?" 

"Sometimes." A quick glance down convinced him to slowly lift Patrice's sweater with one hand and hold it in place while he pressed feather-soft kisses across her abdomen. Kisses for her? Kisses for who he hoped lived inside? He didn't know. But he spoke against the area to communicate with whoever would listen. "But waiting always brought me something better than what I had. How could I not trust the process when I have the result standing right in front of me?" 

A rush of emotions broke the levees holding Patrice's tears back, sending a wet stream sliding down her hot cheeks. Terry wiped her face with the back of his hand in silence, the gentleness in his care working double time to soothe whatever thoughts and feelings were coming forward for her. 

When the short bout of crying had ceased, and she was left with nothing but her husband, a timer ticking down to mere seconds and a looming result hanging over their heads, Patrice ran her thumb along Terry's cheek and smiled down at him. 

"I love you more than I ever thought I could, but we gotta slow down, Terrence. I'm worn out." 

Terry answered her joke with a low chuckle that bounced his shoulders and spread his smile wide. "I'm with you, baby. That should be our New Year's resolution." 

"Either that or finally getting around to that budget we've been talking about. Might have to add a baby fund line item." 

"We got it. Don't worry." Terry assured before kissing the inside of her wrist. "Whatever happens, we're okay. Gimme a kiss."

Sweet affection in the face of potentially life-altering change offered some sense of normalcy as they allowed the world to turn into abstract concepts with shared, tender smooches. 

They'd almost forgotten what brought them into the bathroom until the harsh trill of Patrice's phone timer ripped through space and time, again placing them smack dab in the middle of the present. 

When Terry reached to grab one of the tests after silencing the noise, Patrice jolted forward to grab his wrist. "Okay, wait!" she panted. "I-I'll grab one, and you'll grab one. Then we'll do the third one together. Does that make sense?"

"Alright. Which one do you want?" 

"I don't fuckin' know! Choose for me! I can't do this, TJ!" 

Terry wore a crooked smile as he calmly plucked two tests from their containers and placed the digital option into Patrice's palm face down. He took the analog test and covered the result with his thumb before swallowing the lump in his throat. 

A deep breath rushed through parted lips. "Turn it over on three. One, two…" 

Three never came for Patrice. Even after Terry had uttered the number and turned his test over slowly, Patrice kept her eyes closed, waiting for him to spill the beans. She couldn't bring herself to verify on her own accord. He'd have to be her eyes and ears. 

Silence hung in the air for a few seconds, making the wait agonizing until Terry broke the seal. 

"Treecey," he called out. "Please look with me. I need you to see." 

A deep breath helped her blink her way back into clear eyesight. She didn't look at Terry or try to peek at the pink test in his hand. Instead, she flipped her test over with trembling fingers and stared at the small digital screen displaying a single word. 

"Oh –" was all she managed to choke out before looking up at Terry's beaming smile and tear-soaked face. "Does yours say –?" 

"Two lines, baby. Two!"

Disbelief gave way to unadulterated shock. "Oh. My. God. Look at the other one!" 

"You have to do it with me!"

Another countdown as they held on to the final test together preceded an excited flip and harmonizing reactions that could only be described as happy sobs. 

Patrice rocked Terry in a tight embrace while he clung to her, crying into her sweater's soft fabric more than he'd cried in years. An avalanche of emotions wrapped in disbelief that he'd been immeasurably blessed after his year started with so much strife. His losses came with gains ten times above what he could ask or think. 

His wife brushed tears from her already stained face before kissing the crown of his head and repeating, "You're gonna be a daddy, Pooh. You're gonna be a daddy!"

Emotions distorted his deep voice. "Swear?"

"Swear, baby. You're gonna be a daddy."

He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, not caring who he disturbed. Then, he'd run down the hallways, through the lobby's doors, out into the cold D.C. air, and holler to anyone who would listen that his wife, the girl he fell in love with before he could legally drink, was carrying a child that might look just like him someday. 

But he couldn't get past sharing the excitement seemingly gushing out of his pores with the only other person who could understand his joy. He chose to lift Patrice up in the air as he stood tall, spinning her in a slow circle before gingerly placing her back on her feet and pressing his forehead against hers. 

"What the fuck," he laughed as he tickled her sides, causing her to giggle back. "I'm having a baby. With my baby!"

"I guess I couldn't beat teen pregnancy. My parents are going to be so disappointed in me." 

"Stop it." The thought of his parents sitting in their living room without a clue that their firstborn was miles away receiving such big news flipped on a light bulb in Terry's head. "Our parents! Should we call? We should call them now. Do you wanna do a group FaceTime or like a conference call or what?" 

Patrice watched Terry fumble around his pockets for his phone until he came up empty-handed and reached for hers. She pushed the device further away and shook her head. "Nuh-uh. Can we just…enjoy the news by ourselves tonight. I want it to be our secret a little longer. Is that okay?" 

"Of course, Piggy. Whatever you want. I'm sorry, I just - shit. This is insane. You have a baby in there. Should we tell them we're a party of three tonight at dinner?" 

"No," Patrice laughed, finding his unbridled excitement adorable. "If they cancel this reservation because you playin', me and you might have a problem, Daddy." 

Terry bit his lip and lowered his head to kiss at her neck. "Damn, I love hearing you say that. Say it again."

By the time they were approaching a swanky steakhouse on Patrice's long list of places to visit, she'd called him Daddy so much in jest that she almost told the hostess that that was the name on their reservation. 

Pockets of quiet conversation held over candlelight and crisp white tablecloths greeted them as they were led through the dimly lit restaurant to the table for the evening. Terry moved to pull out a chair for Patrice, but she stopped him with a kind smile. 

"I'm gonna run to the restroom. Mommy bladder is starting early. Order something cute for me?"

Her joke made Terry smile like a little boy until she was out of his sight and safely inside the ladies' room. 

Romantic jazz music oozing out of speakers concealed inside the walls like smooth red wine gave Patrice time to replay the day in her head, unable to contain the elation on her face as she washed her hands at the sink. 

Another woman, tall like a model and beautifully sepia-toned, applied lipstick in the mirror and noticed how she tried but failed to stop grinning. She smiled at Patrice before speaking. "You're glowing," she complimented. "I need whatever you've got going on tonight." 

Patrice chewed the inside of her cheek after a bashful thank you. She wanted to keep the words in and pleaded with herself to walk out of the restroom and return to Terry without uttering another word. 

"I'm pregnant," she blurted, unable to fight the urge. "My husband and I – he's the tall one out there waiting on me – we just found out that I'm pregnant. We were best friends over a decade ago, and I still can't believe we're married. Now, there's a baby inside me with half his DNA. I'm having a baby with Terry Richmond. Oh my God." The realization of her social blunder hit her like an 18-wheeler. "And I just told a stranger all my business. I am so sorry!" 

"No, no! That's incredible, girl! Can I hug you?"

Patrice didn't know why she obliged, but she did, allowing herself to sink into this woman's arms like she was an old friend and not someone whose name she didn't know. The woman rubbed her back and squeezed tight before pulling away. 

"Congratulations, sis. Happy Holidays." 

While Patrice received well wishes on the other side of the establishment, Terry gave his full attention to the cocktail menu as a server attempted to provide recommendations. 

"That one is a crowd favorite," the young man pointed out. "Is she a rum lover? It comes with top shelf Appleton Estate if so." 

Terry chuckled to himself. "She is, but she can't have any right now. We just found out she's pregnant before we got here." Further explanation caught in his throat. He didn't mean to offer up their secret. Excited Terry had done the talking, not calm and reserved Terry. 

He watched with wide eyes and an internal scolding rattling around the container of his mind as the server smiled and jotted a note on his pad. "First, congratulations! I'll note that to the staff and see if we can't do something special for you and your beautiful date. Second, no worries at all. We can turn that one into a mocktail and not lose too many of the flavor notes." 

"Thanks," Terry breathed out. "Hey, can you make sure you don't tell her I said that? It was supposed to be a secret." 

"Our lips are sealed, Mr. Richmond. Consider it a little something extra to celebrate the new year." 

Terry made a mental note to leave a handsome tip behind as Patrice reappeared from her time away. Her smile hypnotized him until she was close enough to remind him about her chair. He scrambled to his feet to take care of his duty, nervously pushing her to the table as if this were their first date. 

When he was back in his seat, he watched her survey the room and menu, taking in each of her features. 

High cheekbones passed down from a long line of majestic women. Soft, mahogany skin that mesmerized him in golden hour light every evening. Dark, expressive eyes that told the story of her inner thoughts, even when she tried to hide. Full lips he couldn't resist. The total package. Everything he hoped for was wrapped in one person. 

Terry sat across from her, smitten. His grin showcased all of his teeth and then some while she scanned the appetizers for something to satiate her peckishness. 

Prolonged silence made Patrice glance up and then double-take when she noticed Terry's one-sided staring contest. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" 

"Just trying to remember how you looked on the second most important night of our lives." 

Sudden bashfulness sent heat rushing to her face. "The third," Patrice corrected with a smile. "Don't leave out New Orleans." 

Terry chuckled at the memory. "Baby, the sun was barely in the sky when you decided to disturb the whole third floor."

"It was time to wake up anyway. That's what's wrong with the world now." 

Jokes and discussions about the possibility of dessert before dinner dominated the conversation until their server returned with two drinks meant to loosen their lips and hips for the evening. A subtle wink between Terry and the server communicated all he needed to know without tipping off Patrice as she excitedly watched beautifully decorated glasses hit the table. 

"To our first night out as Mom and Dad," Terry toasted, prompting Patrice to raise her glass. 

Mom and Dad—parents to be—two bodies forming one in a few months—a culmination of thousands of experiences leading them to a fate written before they were born. The concept sounded so foreign yet so familiar. 

Patrice dabbed at misty eyes, sniffling out a breathy, "To Mommy and Daddy." 

Glasses softly clinked before she joined Terry in a long sip and starry-eyed gazes across the table to officially kick off a night of celebration. 

Or so they'd hoped. Full bellies caught up with exhausted minds and bodies once silver forks hit clean porcelain plates well before their planned 10 p.m. exit. They tried to negotiate the next move with each other: a little walk for digestion, maybe a minute to listen to street performers play go-go renditions of oldies their parents would enjoy, perhaps another dessert to keep the mood high. 

All of their suggestions paled in comparison to hearing the mechanical whir of the hotel's lock precede the door swinging open to a warm room. There were no crowds trying to cram their bodies onto a rooftop brimming with eager folks anticipating good fortune as the clock flipped forward on a new year. There was only each other and the comfort of familiarity. 

Bottles of Sprite from the downstairs market acted like expensive bottles of bubbly poured into scavenged plastic cups next to a collection of fatty snacks, and cell phones switched to silent mode to avoid distractions. 

Terry and Patrice two-stepped hand in hand to jams playing from the television broadcast, dressed down in comfortable clothes and sporting ever-growing smiles. 

Under warm lamplight, Terry held Patrice's hand over her head to help her spin like a wind-up ballerina before pulling her close. "What were you doing last year around this time?"

"Ugh, don't remind me," she groaned, a sour look making her frown momentarily. "I was in a bathroom stall breaking up with my ex. Then Phee got us so drunk that we ended up blacked out before the countdown. I still don't know how we got back to her house or why we were cuddled up in her bed like that."

"Sounds like the kind of chaos you three get into when you're unsupervised."

"Whatever." Patrice laughed before making her fingers dance across Terry's broad shoulders. "What about you? What were you doing?"

Terry let a wry smile creep across his face. "Alone and sleeping. I didn't think there was much to look forward to, and I had to work in the morning anyway. Don't even think I turned the TV on."

The thought of Terry sleeping in on the night handpicked for blind optimism drew a sympathetic look from Patrice. "We both had a rough go at it, huh?"

"I don't know, mine was pretty chill. You were the one missing chunks of time." Patrice took faux offense at his joke, slapping across his chest before they let off laughs that slowly dissipated into a comfortable silence. 

Terry rested his head atop Patrice's, his mind taking a winding road back to the beginning while she hummed a made-up tune to herself. 

"Fifth-period Forensics with Mr. Turner. Junior year. You were wearing little strawberries crocheted on a pink sweater and your hair in a high ponytail. Kind of like tonight."

Patrice looked up and tilted her head in confusion. "What?"

"That's the moment I fell in love with you. I'd always liked you, but that's the moment I realized that I loved you," he clarified. "I spent so much time denying it, tiptoeing around how I felt and trying to find you in other women long after we were done, but I kept coming back to you acing that pop quiz in a pink strawberry sweater."

Patrice chuckled and smiled, recalling the time when her feelings blossomed beyond butterflies in her tummy at the mention of his name into a full-bodied, ever-present yearning for his heart. 

Terry waited expectantly, longing to know if there was a moment for Patrice – if her love had a spark that rocked her world the way she did so long ago for him. 

Flashes of bright light and distant cheering cut in just as Patrice seemed ready to confess, stealing her attention for a second too long. 

She gasped like a child on Christmas morning. "Look, baby! We can see the fireworks from here." Patrice tugged Terry along, all two hundred plus pounds of him yielding to her will slowly but surely. 

He had to admit, the sight was beautiful. Bright flashes of light turning into whimsical bursts kept him captivated as the clock ticked down the final minutes of the year. He slowly embraced her from behind, needing to feel her warmth combined with his for comfort. Patrice watched in content silence, smiling to herself while Terry watched the show unfold from the reflection in her glasses. 

Two minutes left. Two minutes to cap off a whirlwind 365 days and march triumphantly into a new slate. Two minutes to release long-forgotten truths buried in the recesses of Patrice's mind. She leaned back against Terry and craned her neck to admire him from her vantage point. 

A jawline fit for a man meant to be showcased to the world. Piercing eyes that shifted and changed with his emotions. Skin marked with blemishes telling countless stories – some he'd share and others that would follow him to the other side. Full pink lips that talked her through good, bad, and intimate times. All the features that might grace a child not yet named and growing in her womb.

"Senior prom night. You told me you loved me, and I said it back because I always said it back. But, that time, it felt different. It wasn't like sayin' it to my parents or my friends or the stray cat Mama let us feed. A different part of my heart meant it. That was the first moment."

Terry looked down at her, smirking and silently encouraging her to continue. She turned in his arms and then took hold of his ears to rub gentle circles against them. 

One minute left. Seconds dwindling. She continued. "The second time was today. And I hope there's a third, a fourth, and one hundred more to come. I never want to stop falling in love with you, TJ." 

Terry squeezed her a little tighter as if she might vaporize and blow away if he didn't hold on for dear life. "Yeah, me too," He whispered, drawing closer to her lips. "Never." 

Faint voices shouting a countdown in unison floated through empty streets and up to the 10th floor to surround a couple preparing to embark on a new journey. 

“Ten…nine…eight…seven…”

An excited buzzing, nearly perceptible by touch, sparked across the city. Heartfelt 'I love you's' shared as one breath passed between Terry and Patrice just before they connected lips and tongues. 

“Six…five…four…”

Colors painted their bodies from the window, bathing them in light one last time from January to December. A final salute from the Most High. 

"Three…two…one! Happy New Year!" 

Endless possibilities coated in an extra dose of magic felt real for the first time in forever. A lover's embrace carried hope and a promise. They'd start anew in lockstep the way the stars intended, with an extra set of fingers and toes to usher through life at some point in the future. 

But, for a moment, Terry and Patrice stood suspended in time, drunk off the taste of each other, ushering in the new year the only way they knew how. 

Together.

———————————

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[stevespookington]

We are heading into severe weather season in the US soon (and by soon I mean tomorrow) (disclaimer, this is all general advice. pay attention to the official weather sources in your area for alerts and important information. I am not an expert, weather info is just a hobby for me.)

National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA)/National Weather Service (NWS) has (for now anyways) the Storm Prediction Center (SPC) which is a great source of information to stay weather aware.

The SPC puts out Convective Outlooks. These show where thunderstorms and severe weather have the potential to pop up. (With temperatures warming up, the movement of warm air leads to convection in the atmosphere which results in thunderstorms and sometimes severe weather. There is a good blog post going into more detail here)

Specifically, the outlooks are:

Day 1 Outlook (today and early tomorrow morning)

Day 2 Outlook (the next 24 hours following early tomorrow morning)

Day 3 Outlook (the next 24 hours)

Day 4-8 Outlook (the next days, but these are never too certain due to the way the models work)

These outlooks are timestamped with Zulu time aka Coordinated Universal Time (UTC). You can see how that compares to your local timezone here.

Today (3/13/25), the weather outlook is okay, just a slight risk of thunderstorms across the US. However, Friday (3/14/25) and Saturday (3/15/25) both have a widespread risk of severe weather including strong winds and tornadoes.

If you are in any of these colored regions, stay weather aware! Now, this doesn't mean you have to panic, but keep an eye on the weather reports in your area!

I tend to check the SPC in the morning so I know when I have to really be paying attention to the weather for the day/coming days.

Below is more info on the color coding which you can read more about here. (In addition here is a powerpoint from the NWS with more information "12 Things You Need to Know: Severe Weather Outlooks")

Tips on staying weather aware, it's important to have access to several weather sources.

Check the SPC for updates!

Find your closest NWS Forecast Office via zip code on weather.gov

Keep an eye on the local news and local weather reports

Consider getting a weather radio! (info here from NWS) This is good for if you lose power/internet as you can check the automated radio stations near you

Check the radar (I use the radarscope app) but you can check online with websites like radar.weather.gov or wunderground.com

Ryan Hall Y'all is a youtube channel that livestreams during most severe weather outbreaks

More weather info:

Severe Weather 101

How NOAA Satellites Help Us Stay Ahead of Severe Weather Season

How to Use and Interpret Doppler Weather Radar

TropicalTidbits - Info on hurricanes and other tropical weather

NWS - Emergency Supplies Kit Info

Weather Prediction Center - similar to SPC but more generalized

What to do During a Tornado (via NWS):

Stay Weather-Ready: Continue to listen to local news or a NOAA Weather Radio to stay updated about tornado watches and warnings.

At Your House: If you are in a tornado warning, go to your basement, safe room, or an interior room away from windows. Don't forget pets if time allows.

At Your Workplace or School: Follow your tornado drill and proceed to your tornado shelter location quickly and calmly. Stay away from windows and do not go to large open rooms such as cafeterias, gymnasiums, or auditoriums.

Outside: Seek shelter inside a sturdy building immediately if a tornado is approaching. Sheds and storage facilities are not safe. Neither is a mobile home or tent.  If you have time, get to a safe building.

In a vehicle: Being in a vehicle during a tornado is not safe. The best course of action is to drive to the closest shelter. If you are unable to make it to a safe shelter, either get down in your car and cover your head, or abandon your car and seek shelter in a low lying area such as a ditch or ravine.

NOAA and NWS are under threat from everything going on right now. (Hundreds of weather forecasters fired in latest wave of DOGE cuts.) They provide vital services and do very important research about our weather and climate. While 5calls.org does not currently have a template centered on NOAA/NWS, they have similar ones that you could reference, modify, and use. (I have modified one below that you might consider using.) (5calls.org also has other very important scripts that you might use for other issues.) Please consider calling your representatives and telling them how important weather information is to everybody and that they should be protecting it, not defunding it. Not only for severe weather, but for climate change research and more.

Hi, my name is [NAME] and I’m a constituent from [CITY, ZIP]. I'm calling to demand that [REP/SEN NAME] oppose any legislation, or efforts by the executive branch to dismantle or abolish the National Weather Service or the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. The recent reduction in staff is unacceptable, and will put Americans' lives and property at risk to severe weather. Reduced warning capabilities will put lives at risk and could potentially make response and recovery more hazardous and more expensive. Thank you for your time and consideration. IF LEAVING VOICEMAIL: Please leave your full street address to ensure your call is tallied.

While this is geared towards the US, a lot of this information can be applied via resources specific to your country. And finally, to quote Ryan Hall, Don't be Scared, Be Prepared.

[cl0udy3]

Shadow X Reader Enemies To Lovers Forced Proximity? (Context: I’ve Just Watched The Sonic Movie)

𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫

shadow the hedgehog x fem!rabbit!reader tw: none?? wc: 3093 helloo! sorry this took so long i was just so doubtful with my writing and i still am, plus i've been slightly busy with classes this week but i figured i should post something and 3000 words felt like enough! i really hope you enjoy it thanks for requesting!!

You never imagined that a simple quest for healing could lead you into a nightmare. Tonight, driven by a desperate need to recover a mysterious artifact—one that might mend the wounds of your past—you find yourself standing before the looming entrance of an abandoned research facility. Its rusted doors and crumbling walls speak of secrets long buried, and as you step inside, the cold, stale air wraps around you like a warning.

Your heart beats steadily, each thump echoing the determination that pushes you forward. “I have to do this,” you whisper, the words heavy with memories of what you’ve lost. Not so long ago, you had a life filled with love, laughter, and the warmth of family. But that life was shattered one fateful night—a night when everything you held dear was ripped away by forces you still struggle to understand. That evening, when the sky burned with anger and the streets erupted in chaos, you lost your family. Your parents, siblings, and the home you cherished were all taken in a senseless, calculated attack orchestrated by none other than Dr. Eggman.

Eggman, ever the master of chaos and technological terror, had targeted your town as part of a broader scheme to sow fear and destabilize the region. Under the guise of a sudden catastrophe, his monstrous machines descended upon your neighborhood, unleashing a barrage of explosives and automated drones. Amid the chaos of shattering glass, screeching metal, and the roar of Eggman’s engines, you were left standing alone in the wreckage. The screams of your loved ones still echo in your mind, a constant reminder of that night—and of Eggman’s ruthless ambition.

Almost immediately after stepping into the facility, you sense that you are not alone. As you move cautiously through a corridor lit by sporadic, flickering emergency lights, the sound of measured footsteps echoes behind you. You stop, instinctively turning toward the noise. Out of the shadow emerges a figure whose presence fills the space with an intense, brooding energy.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” a deep, gravelly voice demands. The figure steps forward into the weak light, revealing himself to be none other than Shadow the Hedgehog. His crimson eyes burn with suspicion, and his stance is all business—an imposing contrast to your gentle demeanor.

You straighten your back and meet his gaze. “I’m here on my own mission,” you reply firmly. “I’m looking for something that doesn’t concern you. I don’t mean to cause trouble.” Your voice is steady despite the underlying vulnerability, each word carrying the weight of loss—a loss of home, family, and the life you once knew.

Shadow’s eyes narrow. “This facility isn’t a place for someone like you,” he says, his tone laced with contempt. “I have my orders, and I can’t afford distractions.”

Before you can argue further, the building shudders violently. A deep rumble vibrates through the concrete floors, and the emergency lights begin to flash more urgently. Your instincts scream that something is terribly wrong. Then, without warning, a deafening explosion rocks the facility. The blast shatters nearby windows and sends debris tumbling from the ceiling. In an instant, the corridor transforms into a chaotic maze of dust, sparks, and collapsing walls.

“Dammit!” Shadow curses, his eyes scanning for a safe path. As the dust clears, you notice a massive, reinforced door slam shut behind you, sealing off any obvious exit. The roar of falling debris and the creak of twisting metal underscore the urgency of your situation.

“We’re trapped,” you say, your voice barely audible over the cacophony. Despite the danger, you force calm into your tone. “We have to work together if we’re going to get out of here.”

Shadow hesitates, his jaw clenching as he sizes you up. “I work alone,” he grumbles, yet there’s a flicker of reluctant understanding in his eyes. “But right now, I don’t see another option.”

As you both move deeper into the facility, the environment becomes a brutal test of survival. The corridors twist unpredictably, littered with fallen beams and sparking remnants of outdated technology. Every step forward is accompanied by the sound of crumbling concrete beneath your feet. Amid this chaos, your thoughts drift back to that terrible night. You remember the screams, the blinding flashes of fire, and the overwhelming sense of betrayal by a world that once promised safety and love. You recall how you were left standing alone amid the ruins of your former life, with nothing but fragments of memories and a desperate hope that someday you might reclaim a piece of that lost innocence.

“Watch your step,” Shadow orders as you navigate a narrow passage. You comply, carefully placing your feet on the uneven ground, though your eyes betray the growing anxiety “Sorry,” you mumble after a particularly close call when a chunk of debris nearly topples you over.

Shadow grunts. “Just stay focused. We’re not out of this yet.” His tone is terse, but you catch a glimpse of something softer in his eyes—a silent acknowledgment that survival matters more than pride in moments like these.

At one point, as you both scramble to avoid a falling slab of concrete, your path narrows into a claustrophobic tunnel. The ceiling begins to crumble overhead, sending sharp fragments of metal plummeting toward you both. 

"Move!" Shadow barked, shoving you forward as the ceiling behind you collapsed. You barely had time to react before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a tight space—a maintenance shaft, if you had to guess. Dust and debris clouded the air, the sound of the explosion ringing in your ears. Then, silence. The passage behind you was sealed shut. No way out. No space left between you. 

Your breath hitched as Shadow shifted slightly, his arm brushing against yours in the impossibly tight space. The dim emergency light flickered above, barely illuminating the cold steel walls pressing in on both of you. Your back was already against the vent, but no matter how much you tried to shrink into yourself, the space between you and Shadow was nonexistent.

"Move over," you muttered, though you both knew there was no room left.

Shadow let out a short, irritated breath. "If I could, I would." His voice was steady, but there was something tense about it, like he was concentrating on anything but the fact that you were practically pressed against him.

You swallowed hard, hyper-aware of the way his fur barely grazed your arm. The warmth of him was unexpected—contrasting against the cold steel biting into your back. You weren’t supposed to be this aware of him. Not like this.

"Well," you tried, a smirk playing at your lips despite the way your heart was hammering. "Didn’t think you’d be the type to get flustered over something like this."

Shadow's ear twitched, but his expression remained unreadable. His eyes flicked to yours, crimson in the dim light, calculating. "You think I’m flustered?"

You blinked, suddenly unsure if you should be pushing this.

"Please," you scoffed, though it came out weaker than you intended. "I can practically feel you vibrating with tension."

Shadow’s jaw tightened, and instead of snapping back, he moved. Just a fraction of an inch, barely enough to notice—except you noticed everything. His chest almost brushed yours with the subtle shift, and the charged air between you felt suffocating.

"It's not the space that makes this unbearable," he muttered, voice low.

Your breath caught.

You should’ve been able to brush it off. Make some snide remarks. But you didn’t. Because you weren’t sure what he meant, and that uncertainty made your stomach flip.

Silence stretched between you. Too much, too little, too charged. The only thing keeping you grounded was the rhythmic rise and fall of Shadow’s breathing, steady but controlled—like he was trying to keep himself in check.

"As soon as we get out of here," he finally murmured, voice softer now, "this never happened."

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, forcing out a chuckle. "Right. Sure."

But you weren’t so sure anymore.

After a few moments, the two of you manage to wriggle out of a small crack in the rubble, though not without a challenge. As you get out, you brush the dust and debris off your dress.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice unexpectedly soft, edged with a concern he rarely shows.

You force a smile. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I… appreciate it.” For a moment, the hostility between you seems to soften into something resembling mutual respect.

Once you’ve taken a brief pause to catch your breath, you exchange a glance with him. “Look,” you say, determination rising in your voice, “I know we just met, but if we don’t trust each other right now, we’re both doomed. I need your help, and you need mine.” Your words carry not just the urgency of survival.

Shadow’s eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t quite place—something that borders on understanding. “Fine,” he says grudgingly. “But we do this my way.”

As you make your way through the dark, crumbling corridors, the conversation inevitably drifts to the ghosts of your past. In a rare moment of quiet, you lower your voice and confess, “I wasn’t always alone. I had a family—a home. It was the happiest time of my life… until that night changed everything.”

You pause, memories pressing down like a weight on your chest. “It was a cold autumn evening. My parents, my siblings, and I were home, laughing, making plans for the future. Then came the sirens, the thunder of engines, the roar of Eggman’s machines. It wasn’t random—it was calculated. A message. A show of power meant to instill fear.” Your voice tightens, but you push through. “Explosions tore through our neighborhood. I remember the screams, the blinding flashes, and the terrible, inescapable realization that my world was ending. I was just a teenager, and in a matter of minutes, I lost everything.”

A heavy silence follows. The only sound is your footsteps against the worn floor and the distant creaks of the collapsing structure around you. You exhale, slow and steady, before continuing.

“After that night, I kept asking myself why. Why my home? Why my family? Why did I survive when they didn’t?” You shake your head, a bitter chuckle escaping. “I never found an answer. Just more emptiness. More silence.” You glance at him, hesitating. “I guess that’s why I kept searching—for something. Some kind of sign that all of this wasn’t meaningless.”

Shadow’s gaze flickers with something unreadable. “And do you really think you’ll find it?”

You let out a breath. “I don’t know,” you admit. “But I have to try.”

His expression shifts, almost imperceptibly, but you catch it—the smallest crack in his usually impenetrable exterior. “I’ve spent too much time in the dark to remember what it means to hope,” he says finally, his voice quieter, laced with regret. “I was created for a purpose. Molded into a weapon. And in the process… I lost parts of myself I’ll never get back.”

The raw admission lingers, mingling with the distant echoes of a collapsing world. You glance at him, then at the path ahead. “Maybe tonight will remind us both of what we’re fighting for,” you say softly. “At least, I hope so.”

Your conversation is cut short as you approach an emergency exit—a reinforced door with a control panel sparking erratically. The panel flashes a series of warnings: “Critical Structural Failure Imminent” and “Override Required.”

Shadow immediately kneels by the panel. “Stand back,” he instructs, his fingers flying over the interface with practiced precision. You watch his every movement, admiring the focus in his eyes even as the tension mounts.

“Is it going to work?” you ask, your voice filled with anxious hope.

He doesn’t look up. “It has to,” he replies tersely. “We don’t have much time.” His tone leaves no room for discussion, yet you sense the determination behind every word.

Desperate to contribute, you rummage through your bag and pull out a worn datapad. “I found some schematics earlier,” you say, tapping on the screen with shaking fingers. “They might provide a workaround.” Your eyes meet his—a silent plea for trust amid the chaos.

Shadow hesitates, then nods. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.” The two of you huddle over the datapad, exchanging ideas and piecing together a solution as the building continues its ominous groaning.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours. Every beep of the alarm sends your heart into fresh panic, and every spark from the panel reminds you of the stakes. Finally, with one decisive keystroke, the panel displays a confirmation: “Override Successful.” The reinforced door shudders, its mechanisms groaning in protest before it begins to slide open, revealing a sliver of cool, fresh air beyond.

Relief washes over you. “We did it!” you exclaim, your voice ringing with genuine excitement. For the first time that night, hope sparkles in your eyes.

Shadow’s expression remains guarded as he steps forward to fully open the door. “Don’t celebrate yet,” he warns. “We still need to get out without triggering the rest of the collapse.”

You nod, determination shining through. “Right. Let’s move quickly.” Together, you step through the threshold into a narrow corridor leading to the outside—a passage that, against all odds, seems intact.

The air outside is cold and crisp, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside. For a moment, you both stand there, catching your breath as the distant sound of crumbling concrete fades behind you. The night sky looms overhead, filled with stars that seem to wink in silent encouragement.

Shadow breaks the silence, his voice unusually soft. “I didn’t think I’d end up saving anyone tonight.” His admission comes more as an observation than a boast, revealing a hint of surprise at the unexpected bond forming between you.

You give him a small smile, your voice gentle and warm. “Maybe we’re both more capable than we think.”

As you both make your way away from the facility, you find temporary refuge in an old, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the complex. Inside, the dilapidated structure is dimly lit by a few scattered, flickering bulbs. The silence here offers a brief respite from the chaos you just escaped.

Settling onto a dusty crate, your body still thrumming with adrenaline, you exhale sharply. “Well, we made it,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Shadow. Your hands are still unsteady, your mind replaying every close call, every moment you almost didn’t make it out. “Didn’t think I’d live to see another sunrise.”

You drag a hand down your face, swallowing the bitterness rising in your throat. “I lost everything once—my family, my home, the life I was supposed to have. And for what? Some power-hungry lunatic’s need to prove a point?” Your jaw tightens. “People talk about healing like it’s inevitable. Like time smooths out the edges, makes the pain easier to carry. But some wounds don’t heal. They just fester.”

Shadow sits a few feet away, his gaze fixed on the darkened warehouse interior. “Safety isn’t something I’ve known for a long time,” he says at last. “Maybe… maybe there’s a chance to change that.” His voice carries the weight of years.

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t believe in safety. Not really. People like us? We don’t get peace. We get moments—brief pauses between fights. And the second you start thinking otherwise, the world reminds you exactly what it is.” Your fingers drum against your knee before stilling. “I didn’t come here looking for hope. I came here because I needed something—anything—to make this fight mean something.”

Shadow finally turns to you, his crimson gaze unreadable. “And do you think you’ve found it?”

You scoff. “I don’t know,” you admit. “But I keep looking. Because if I stop… then what the hell was the point of surviving?”

His expression shifts—just a flicker, almost imperceptible—but you catch it. The smallest crack in the walls he’s built around himself. “I’ve spent too much time in the dark to remember what it means to hope,” he says finally, his voice quieter, laced with something that almost sounds like regret. “I was created for a purpose. Molded into a weapon. And in the process… I lost parts of myself I’ll never get back.”

The raw admission lingers in the stale air. You don’t offer reassurances or some empty promise that everything will be okay. You both know better than that.

Instead, you push yourself to your feet and glance toward the broken windows, where the first hints of dawn begin to seep through. “Maybe tonight was about more than just survival,” you murmur. “Maybe it was a reminder of what’s still worth fighting for.”

Later, on a creaky rooftop overlooking the sleeping city, the two of you finally allow yourselves a moment of stillness. The night’s horrors are behind you, but they’ve left their marks—some visible, others buried deeper. The cool morning air stings your lungs, but it’s a welcome reminder that you’re still here.

Shadow watches the horizon, his voice quieter now but filled with an unexpected sincerity. “I never imagined I’d find someone like you in all this mess. You’ve made me question everything I thought I knew about trust… and what comes after.”

You huff out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Trust isn’t something I give freely. And hope? I don’t think I have it in me to be the kind of person who believes everything will turn out fine.” 

He studies you for a moment before nodding, something resigned yet resolute in his expression. “Perhaps… together, we can find a way to let the light in. Even if just a little.”

As the sun rises higher, casting long shadows across the city, the weight of the night lingers—but so does the unspoken understanding between you. Whatever happens next, neither of you is walking this road alone.

You smirk, stretching the stiffness from your shoulders as you start toward the streets below. “So, what now?”

Shadow glances at you, and for the first time, there’s something almost resembling amusement in his gaze. “Now… we see where this path leads.”

You scoff but fall into step beside him. “Fine. But don’t expect me to start preaching about hope and redemption.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he deadpans.

And with that, the two of you disappear into the waking city, stepping forward not toward certainty, but toward whatever fight comes next.

[super-ion]

Oh, hello! Welcome!

I take it this is your first time out in the deep black?

Oh no, no need to get defensive about it, Everyone has to start somewhere. We get many travelers paying tribute at our little church here. You've got the look of someone who's never been beyond low orbit. I'm guessing one of the third wave colonies?

(It's the implants. Secondwave culture is a bit more uptight about them and you don't look like you're trying to rebel)

You're wondering why we have valuable real estate set aside for a shrine of all things?

You're wondering what sort of god spacers worship?

Do you know what a god is? I'll tell you. A god is an idea given life.

So what's the idea that keeps us flying?

Most folk born planetside might think the god of spaceflight is all fire and noise. Nah. Any moron with enough money and explosives can build a rocket.

No, the idea that keeps us going out here is faith that ask these tiny little pressure vessels will hold together and find their way through the black.

Back in the ancient days, back before thinking machines and all that, the very first leaps off the ground were guided by computers that were hand made. I shit you not, little old ladies hand sewed the memory together.

Huh…? No, I mean like, hard coded read only memory, literal ones and zeros locked into magnets and wire.

That's my point though. Our god began life as the god of seamstresses. She's the god of sewing and weaving. She's older than civilization and she's gone by many names in many cultures.

Yeah, no, of course we don't hand sew our computers, that lasted all of like a decade. Hell, textile work itself went totally automated not long after. Point is she took men into space and brought them home safely. That sorta thing leaves a mark on a god. It changes them.

A ship. A station. A fleet. They're all systems. People and life support and sensors and actuators and control loops. It's all a web, a giant fucking tapestry of connections and she's the master weaver at the center.

But of course the web is massive, and she isn't literally weaving shit. She's all of the maintenance. Corrective and preventive. So it falls on all of us, the pilots, the mechanics, the algae farmers, the sanitation workers, everyone. We're the sewers and weavers. We're the ones patching and mending the tapestry. We're the ones adding to it constantly.

So that's what the shrine is for. That's the religion in out here in the black. Deep space is a bitch, and all we have to count on is the ship and the crew. She reminds us of that.

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Products & Services Worth The Splurge

Fashion:

A great couple of bras in black/nude (your best skin-toned shade)

Comfortable, breathable, and seamless underwear

Outerwear (Coats, jackets, blazers)

The perfect pair of jeans

An LBD that works from day to night

Comfortable, sturdy, sleek, and timeless footwear (a versatile black boot, a black heel, white sneaker, and a black flat/loafer/sandal)

A timeless and versatile crossbody or shoulder bag (a larger one for the daytime/work or school and a smaller one for nighttime/events)

One or two well-made classic jewelry item(s)

A conversation-starting item or accessory

Beauty:

Sunscreen

Any skincare/skin cosmetic products that are game-changers for you

A quality hair brush, comb, and hair towel

Your signature scent

A quality razor/hair removal product

Vitamin C/Retinol serums

Reliable hair tools and sturdy nail tools

A quality hair heat protectant/scalp cleansing or conditioning spray

Makeup brushes and beauty tool cleaners

Home:

Lamps/lighting

Couch/desk chair

Everything for your bed: Bed frame, mattress/sheets/pillows, etc.

Knives

Dishwasher-safe and microwave-safe dishes & cups you love

A full-length mirror

Vacuum

Storage solutions/cedar blocks or moth balls

Quality holders for everything: Paper towels, shower storage, hooks, mailbox/key bowls

Name brand paper products/household cleaners

Electric toothbrush & Waterpik

Sound-proof headphones/Airpods

MacBook Air

Health & Wellness:

High-quality lettuce and/or sprouts

Organic frozen fruits and vegetables (if fresh is too pricey)

BPA-free canned goods

Potassium bromate & glyphosate-free grain products

Snacks free of artificial colors

Quality coffee

An at-home massage tool/heating pad

Fur products for skin/hair removal

Vitamin C/Retinol serums

Quality running shoes

Anything that goes near your vulva or into the vagina: Sex toys, lube, condoms, toy cleaners, pads/tampons/menstrual cups, cleansing wipes, etc.

A yoga mat, resistance band, and a pair of small ankle weights

Spotify subscription

Books and audiobooks

Services:

Therapy

A top-tier haircut

House cleaning (even if it's only once every couple of months)

Top-tier hair removal/brow maintenance services of your choice

Best doctors, dentists, OB/GYN, and dermatologists you can get

At least one personal training/styling session in your life

Professional/Social:

Ownership of the domain for your full legal/professional name and/or business name

A CPA/bookkeeper/fiduciary financial advisor

Automation workflow/content management system software

A lawyer for contract review/LLC services

Personalized stationery/"Thank You" cards

Memorable client gifting for the holidays/milestone successes

Niche skill-based certifications (Google, AWS, Hubspot, etc.) or courses made by trusted professionals in your field

Subscriptions in world-leading and industry-authority digital publications