#some nightmares occur on other streets

[opencommunion]

"My husband did make it home safely later that day. His testimony of what occurred was frightening. He spoke about how the sounds of chatter and business that normally fill Nuseirat’s streets were replaced with cries of pain. He spoke about a general sense of panic. He spoke about how 'bodies littered the streets and the injured struggled to find help.'

Nedaa al-Tahrawi was at home in Nuseirat when she heard gunfire piercing the air. Her family quickly assembled in one room after hearing her brother shout that the camp was being invaded. 'The situation was terrifying,' Nedaa said. 'Before long, there was a deafening explosion that shook the ground itself.'

The family tried to flee their home. But there was a huge crater outside which meant they could not escape. 'In a matter of minutes, our house and neighboring houses were reduced to rubble,' Nedaa said. 'We were trapped in a nightmare.'

Nedaa’s brother was among the very many people injured during the massacre. More than 270 Palestinians were killed. Yet that fact was completely overlooked by Joe Biden, the US president, who welcomed the attack on Nuseirat as it involved the rescue of four Israeli captives.

Zainab al-Jamal was injured in the attack, which killed her father, her brother and his wife. In a Facebook post, Zainab wrote about how Israel’s soldiers stormed into her home and opened fire. Zainab and some other members of her family managed to hide under a bed and somehow evaded detection. When the gunfire eventually halted, Zainab emerged from beneath the bed to find her father’s dead body.

Zainab wrote of closing 'my eyes in pain, trying to shield the children from noticing, as we evacuated the house before it collapsed on us.'"

[sukirichi]

SUKI SUKI? @! ÷ 2? I THINK YOU HAVE CLOSED THE REQS BUT IT OCCURRED TO ME TO ME MAGICALLY HELP. LISTEN !!!! husband bonten but the first time they met with y/n, like THE FIRST INTERACTION OF EVERYONE AND IN WHAT SITUATION DID THEY HAVE AN INSTANT CRUSH TO EACH OTHER AND EVERYTHING THAT CONTAINS?×)÷,×!",!)0273*?× ¡÷ 2 I PRAY YOU TO WRITE IT, IT DOESN'T MATTER IF IT IS IN 10 YEARS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 IM CRYINH

BONTEN MEN MEETING THEIR WIVES FOR THE FIRST TIME !! (PART ONE)

☁️ mikey, haitani ran, haitani rindou

☁️ unedited. mild angst on mikey's part. ran is technically not a first meeting, but yeah! suggestive on ran's part. fluff. cursing. mikey is lowkey a stalker. (only putting the three of them first because it was getting too long 😭)

♡ — MIKEY

It’s just another day, another mission. There’s nothing new for Mikey. And even if there was, there’s hardly anything he looks forward to now. Whether it’s a mission accomplished or mission failed, he hardly notices. His executives will take care of it, anyway. So he walks aimlessly in the streets he calls his, unafraid of the night’s darkness and the dangers it might bring – quite frankly, because he is the danger that lurks. What is there to be afraid of when he’s the worst imaginable nightmare around?

So lost in his own thoughts, it takes him a second to register the collision of his body with someone else. “I’m sorry!” a sweet voice cuts through the night air. You sound adorable and apologetic enough Mikey’s eyes light up for just a brief moment. Dark, lifeless eyes come to life as he glances at you – bowing in apology while clutching your satchel to your chest. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to–”

At any other day, Sanzu would’ve handled this for him. At any other day, Mikey would’ve let it slide and moved on because he just doesn’t care. You’re a civilian, anyway, and you knew better. No one bumps into him like this by accident. Curious, he tilts his gaze to you. There’s only one good conclusion of your unabashed expression that of guilt and genuine embarrassment – you must not have any idea who he is and treated him like you would anyone else.

He’s not the fearsome Manjiro Sano to you.

He’s just a stranger you inconvenienced, and for some reason, that soothes him. He’s not a killer in your eyes. He’s not a person who’s continuously done the wrong thing for the past few years. He’s just... him.

“It’s okay,” he replies after a moment, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie. “It’s late, though. You shouldn’t be out around this time of night. It’s dangerous.”

“Oh, I know,” you scrunch up your nose, “Gangs are running rampant and all. But this is the only time I can take a high-paying shift, and what’s the point of safety if I can’t pay my bills, right?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. He hasn’t worried about bills in a long time – Kokonoi has that covered. Instead, he nods, finding it hard to look away from you. “Stay safe, then. And if you need help, then...” Then, what? The gangs would help? Bonten would keep you safe? No, that was ridiculous. Bonten was the one thing everyone wanted to be protected from.

It hits him, then, that he is the monster that makes everyone feel unsafe. And for once in his life since he’d established Bonten, Mikey feels sick.

He doesn’t want to be the cause of your worries.

— It doesn’t take much to find out everything about you – where you work, where you live, when your shifts happen, and even silly details like what your favourite flavour or cup ramen is. He tells himself he’s doing this for your safety, and in a way, he is. You weren’t kidding when you said you take graveyard shifts because it pays the best, so upon finding out you come home really late, and go to work just as, Mikey takes it upon himself to watch from afar. Never approaching, never striking a conversation – because he doesn’t know what to say, and how could he explain he knows your routine by now – but always watching. Guarding. Protecting. He must look ominous gazing upon you from buildings afar, but he’s content with it. He thinks he can do this for as long as he likes, simply watching you from afar.

— But then he realizes he wants more.

— And he doesn’t know what ‘more’ means exactly. More time with you? You don’t even know who he is. More conversations? He’d probably stumble over his words, or make the worst jokes. Fuck. He hasn’t joked in a while. Would you even find him funny? He thinks about all day long, all night long, until you’re the only one running into his mind and he’s been so mentally checked out of his own meetings that his executives have – politely – asked him to just take a while for himself.

— So he does, and because he was never good at controlling his urges, he goes to you. He dresses a little nicer than usual; a newly ironed shirt, a good pair of jeans, and even asked Rindou to fix his hair up for him. “Going on a date?” he’d teased, but even Mikey doesn’t know how to answer that. It’s not a date, but he’d be damned if he let another day go by that you didn’t know his name.

— He introduced himself, rather awkwardly, and pretends like he didn’t come to your work on purpose. “I didn’t know you worked here,” he says, and it couldn’t be a bigger lie. But you just smile up at him like you’re happy to see him, like you’ve been hoping to meet again, and for a moment, Mikey lets himself believe that it could be true. Maybe he deserves that smile. Maybe someone actually wants to see him. He lingers on that delusion long enough that he’s matched his routine with yours – walking you back home, letting you talk about how much you hate your boss, and hate your sleazy customers even more. It’s not easy being a waitress, especially when you’re forced to wear tight-fitting clothes with the intention of attracting customers. And it gets to him. The darkness and rage he’s been letting quietly simmer beneath his veins as to not scare you off finally resurfaces.

— He hates it all – hates how you’re in such an unfortunate situation, and there’s only so little he could do. Until he realizes he’s the Manjiro Sano. After sending in Sanzu to deal with your boss, who may or may not have been gently blackmailed into treating you better and giving you higher pay or else, Mikey notices the weight being lifted off your shoulder. You’ve started smiling more and even invite him to your place one time to celebrate your ‘fortunes.’

“Are you sure?” he asks rather warily, “I mean, it’s late at night.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you reassure him, and lead him inside your home. He almost feels bad for you for being so unaware. You don’t have the slightest idea you’re bringing a killer in the safety of your home, but he doesn’t get the chance to dwell on it when you turn on the lights. He’s greeted by your homey apartment, a little cluttered, a little messy, and it’s a little small for you that he can’t imagine would be comfortable – but it’s yours, and you’re proud of it. Pulling out a mat, you tell him to make himself at home while you prepare some celebratory snacks. They’re nothing fancy – mostly chips, cheap wine, and a few hardened candies.

It’s probably the worst timing to realize he’s falling in love.

First of all, there’s nothing romantic about watching you lean against the counter, humming to yourself as you pop open the wine. Second of all, you don’t look enticing or seductive. Not in your mismatched pyjamas and even more hilariously mismatched socks. But you are enticing – from the way your throat vibrates at your humming, to your quick, swift movements preparing the snacks. You look so at home, so content, that he can’t help but want that for himself. Want you for himself. He wants you at his place and to decorate it as you wish. He wants you to liven it up and scatter knick-knacks all over his room. He wants your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. He wants you – wants all of you – from your crumpled shirt, to your aching shoulders after a long day at work, wants to kiss it all better for you.

He wants you.

And when the Bonten Head wants something, he will get it.

— If someone told him that a few years from now that his silly musings at three in the morning would finally come true, he’d have scoffed at them. But this is his reality is now, and how he’ll spend the rest of his life.

You’re standing next to him in his bathroom, brushing your teeth while simultaneously humming to yourself. He’s heard the melody enough to have memorized it. And when he’s having a hard day, he sings it to himself, although it never sounds as good like when you do it. The tune is comforting, a reminder you’re in his life now, that everything’s worked out. You married him, and he couldn’t be a happier man.

“Something wrong, Manjiro?” you ask after rinsing your mouth, turning to him with a hand on your hips. Stern, yet unbelievably gentle. Cupping his cheeks with your hands, he melts. “Tell me. How can I make it better?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, and it’s the truth. The moment is all too perfect. You’re here with him, you’re safe, and you’ve loved him after everything he’s done. “Just wanna hold you.”

You break him to it. Lunging into his arms, you giggle and bury yourself around his neck, knowing full well he’ll catch you. Mikey laughs, too, but it’s quieter, more reserved, the sound nearly muted because your skin is pressing against his so hard that it becomes hard to fathom there was ever a time he felt he wasn’t worth of love. And maybe he still isn’t. He still has Bonten, he still has horrible urges, he still gets the demanding itch to kill and hurt – but you’re there, in his arms, and he feels the darkness slowly simmer into tamed shadows.

♡ — HAITANI RAN

Ran is not subtle with his feelings. He believes in the beauty and art of flirting, of holding one’s gazes for just a second longer than what was considered polite, the fleeting, yet burning touches one could pass off as innocent. He’s had enough experience in his life to have mastered it. He’s handsome, he’s irresistible, and he knows it. Beauty and charm is a weapon he wasn’t ashamed of wielding, especially not around his current flavour of the month – or more like months, now. He’s played this game of tic tac toe with you, this push and pull, for so long that he feels he’ll lose his mind.

Like everyone else in Bonten, he usually gets what he wants. But you’re different. You’re attracted to him – that much he knows – but you’re the one responsible for all of Bonten’s uniform and suits that your attraction borders just on the edge of professionalism. But he knows. Oh, he knows. You aren’t so subtle yourself.

Each time he comes around for a fitting, your lips twitch as if you’re fighting back a smile. He also doesn’t fail to notice how you’re gesturing around to your staff in the shop to give you two ‘privacy.’ Bonten executive or not, Ran isn’t foolish – he knows he’s the only one receiving this special treatment. Knows you don’t touch your other clients like this – with a perfectly manicured nail grazing down his arm, your eyes lidded with lust, your blood-red lips caught between your teeth.

It makes Ran yearn.

He wants those same claws to run down scratches behind his back. He wants to take those lips into his mouth, instead, to have you ruin his suits by staining it with your lipstick on his collar, his neck, his tie, his pants. It’d give him more of a reason to come back, anyway. But you just had to be so professional that he always leaves the shop with his pants feeling tighter than ever, his lungs constricted because it becomes hard to breathe around you, yet feeling so addicted to the high of having you so close, yet so far away.

“You should come back for another fitting,” you call out to him just as he swings the door open. He freezes. He’s always the one scheduling a fitting. Unable to help it, he shuts the door and locks it, smirking to himself when he hears the vague hitching of your breath behind the counter.

“And why is that?”

“Oh, you know,” you manage to tease, but ah. He can see right through you. Even with your nonchalant facade, he can tell he’s getting under your veins with every step he takes to close the distance between you. Damn the counter. Damn any customers who might be waiting outside. For now, there’s only him and you, and he thinks he may damn well truly ruin his pants when you look up at him with eyes blown wide with want. With need.

He wishes you could just let go and give in.

“I, in fact, don’t know. But do care to enlighten me,” leaning down, he rests his arms against the counter, glad to finally be at your eye level. You’re prettier in this angle, which baffles him, because you’re already so pretty enough it hurts. And he can’t help but wonder if you’d look a hundred times better in... different angles. An angle under him, perhaps, where you’re helpless and forced to clutch his biceps while you hold on for dear life. Because Ran guarantees once he gets his hands on you, he’s never letting go.

“I just think,” with narrowed eyes, he feels your heated gaze travel from his face that’s inches away from yours down to his chest, and to the bulge constricted around his pants. You let out a breathy sound at the sight of it, his body responding by growing even harder. “Your pants are too tight for you now. Perhaps we should make you a better one?”

“I have other ways in mind in which we could resolve this problem. Preferably one that doesn’t consist of measuring tapes,” he raises his brow, watches as you slowly unfold and unravel right at his palms. It’s almost satisfying. Almost. He’s wanted you for so long that frustration is more what he feels right now, and impatience. “Although I’m not entirely against using ropes.”

♡ — HAITANI RINDOU

Rindou doesn’t concern himself with civilians. He has better things to do, and after a long day, he’s more than ready to just plop himself into bed and wake up only when the world is ending. Or, he could just let it end, too. He couldn’t care any less. Unfortunately for him, though, the universe has different plans for him that night. He just wanted to get a damned drink, for fuck’s sake, until he hears screaming and the shuffling of feet as soon as he steps out of the convenience store.

“Stop him!” someone squeals, the cry helpless and desperate. From where he stood, wine bottle on one hand, he could see the figure of a man running with what seemed like a bag clutched to his chest. “Someone help, please!”

Rindou sighs. There’s nothing more that he hates more than petty crimes that are more inconveniences than impactful. Before he could register what he’s doing, Rindou’s arm extended out in front of himself, and within the blink of an eye, the thief whizzing past him had been caught by the collar. The thief struggles against his hold, whining and thrashing with curses thrown his way.

“Let me fucking go, you oaf!”

“I don’t think so,” Rindou tips his head to the side just as a figure appeared behind the thief. You stand there, wheezing to catch your breath with your hands on your knees. At the sight of him effortlessly restraining the thief, you break out into a relieved sigh and snatch back your bag, holding it more possessively. And oh, aren’t you just pretty? With your skin layered with a sheen of sweat from all that running, cheeks damp with tears, your frown now replaced with a grateful smile – Rindou feels like you’re the thief. “Whoa. Careful with that smile, sweetheart.”

Your brows furrow, and he nearly groans. It should be a crime for someone to look so adorably confused. “What?”

“Okay, that’s enough, they got their bag back, now let me go!”

Right. He still had a lame excuse of a criminal on his hand. With a roll of his eyes, Rindou throws the man against to the ground until he’s coughing out blood from when he hit the pavement. He hears you gasp, and it makes him wince. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. You’re probably afraid of him now.

“Run along,” he warns the petty thief, and he didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as the man disappears, Rindou turns to you, a lazy smile making its way into his face. “You know, I usually hate being troubled, but this might be the first time I don’t mind as much.”

Your jaw drops. You look around frantically in your bag for a moment, and just when he thinks you can’t get anymore interesting, you pull out a wad of cash and shove it to him. Rindou cocks a brow. “And what is that for, sweetheart?”

“To-to thank you for saving me! And it’s also an apology because I troubled you...”

Rindou fights the urge to scoff. “I feel like I should be offended,” he says in a sing-song manner, only because you don’t take the teasing well, and the sight of you stumbling over your words is already making his night. He wants to reassure you it’s no trouble at all, that he’ll easily catch all your thieves for you, or that you can steal his heart and never give it back to him. But he doesn’t, because he’s just met you, and maybe, just maybe, he’s curious how this will go.

“Oh, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Say, if you really want to thank me, why don’t we share this?” he lifts his wine bottle, and you eye it for a moment before nodding eagerly. His heart drops. He lowers the bottle, his voice growing darker – yet make no mistake. Behind his scowl and hardened eyes, his heart is beating a mile a minute, and his skin is burning impossibly hot. “Don’t you think you say yes a little too easily?”

“Uhm, but you saved me. You helped me, and this is how you want to be thanked.”

Rindou thinks his brain might short-circuit. You are definitely trouble.

“I could be more dangerous than him, you know,” he leans toward you menacingly to prove a point, but you don’t cower. Your breath hitches, and you clutch your bag tighter. But you don’t move away, and neither can he. Now that he’s closer, he can smell your strawberry scented perfume and he shuts his eyes, greedily inhaling the scent. Shit. He hasn’t even drunk anything, and he already feels intoxicated. Taking a step back for his own sanity, Rindou levels you a warning glare. “You really should be more careful, sweet. Perhaps it’ll lower the chances of you running into trouble.”

“Oh,” you look dejected, though he could just be imagining it. “Yeah, okay, uh... I’ll be more careful. Thank you again...?”

“Rindou.”

“Rindou,” you repeat, and he realizes his name sounds sweeter when you say. With a scrunch of your nose, you eye the wine in his hands again. “Will I see you again? I really want to thank you for your help.”

With such a sweet offer, how can he resist? He’d be stupid to say no – even if you were trouble, it’s fine. He wasn’t notorious for being a troublemaker for no reason anyway.

[spdrvyn]

im begging for miguel x reader where he’s sick/tired/woke up from a nightmare and is in desperate need of shooting. so she takes care of him - pure domestic contentment- grooming him/washing/shaving/brushing hair/towel drying/changing clothes (and socks 🥺)/feeding him - doing everything to relax him and make him feel loved

solace in your sweetness

summary: in the deep trenches of the night, miguel wakes up due to night terrors and you're very deadset on comforting him. no matter how many times he denies you that.

tags: hurt/comfort. very sweet and fluffy. reader isn't a spider-person. fem!reader.

notes: i love this request so so much, i have been ITCHING to do it. thank you so much for requesting, i hope you enjoy reading this one!

Miguel didn't really have nightmares when he was younger. On the occasion that Gabe would bother him to watch a scary movie, there would be instances where he had them, but it wasn't a regular occurence. How naïve was he when he thought that he'd be able to leave those behind in his youth?

It started simple, he would be in the barren, empty streets of Nueva York. Before he would slowly watch every thing dissolve around him, glitch by glitch, pixel by pixel, unable to do anything but to just stand there, before he fell into the abyss and woke up.

The darkest part of his mind had always managed to make the scenario more horrifying, another time it was zombies, another time it was zombies again, but of only Gabriella. There was even a version where he was being chased by the other dead version of himself. He consulted many articles, read and bought a lot of books, and even tried meditating, but none of it worked so he just decided to live with it for a while. It wasn't like they happened every night, no big deal.

Though, it was a big deal to you. Which was his true fear, he didn't want you to fawn over something so trivial. He didn't want you to go out of your way to take care of him, despite how much it would fill the big, gaping hole in his heart.

So when he jolts awake from another night terror, he keeps himself as quiet as possible. He slowly looked over to the side of your bed, relieved to see that you were still in a peaceful sleep. He shifts silently and keeps his footsteps light as he makes his way over to the kitchen for some tea. The calming, minty aroma sweeped his senses, but it'd be better to work right now instead of relax.

He went back to the bedroom, setting the teacup down on the bedside before pulling out a small tablet. He winced as it opened, the brightness of it hurting his eyes even with glasses on. After lowering it, he immediately goes to rifle through his files.

That is until he felt the weight of your head on his shoulders, you looked up at him with a frown. "You're working."

"I am," Miguel spoke like he was caught with a hand in the cookie jar. As embarrassed as he was, it was too late. You should probably be going back to sleep, he remembered that you also had work early tomorrow. "I just got thirsty, go back to sleep, cariño."

A bald-faced lie, would you believe it or would you not? Your brows furrowed and your pout deepened, it made Miguel's palms sweat. Moments like these forced him to think if you really did have superpowers, there were too many instances where it seemed like you read his mind word for word.

"Why are you lying to me, Miguel?" Shock. It was his face, wasn't it? "Did you have any another nightmare? Why didn't you wake me up?"

Miguel's pride had shattered, you were too good at this. A little more and you'd be unmasking every single villain in the city. "You need to be up early, I just didn't want to ruin your beauty sleep." He closed his files and turned off his tablet, this was his fate now.

You all but groaned at his remark, kicking the bedsheets off of your body before stamping out of the bedroom. "Where are you-"

"Stay there, don't move an inch." He didn't want to incur God's wrath, so he obeys. Crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the pillows, his smell picked up on the scent of food being freshly cooked. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but by the lord, it smelled delicious.

Miguel was left there to wait for a while, this sort of reminded him of his younger days too, granted a lot more blissful. There were times when he was younger where Gabe had nightmares too, he'd come knocking on Miguel's door, asking if he could stay there for a while or if he could play video games with him.

To which Miguel would begrudgingly agree, but he normally tried to keep Gabe as uninterested in whatever they were doing as possible so that he could fall asleep already. This usually resulted in him falling asleep then Miguel having to sleep on the couch, but it was whatever. I mean, he only stopped doing that at the young age of 11.

So now being the one taken care of, it made Miguel feel like there was an outside force tipping the scales. After being a caretaker, one way or another, his whole life, having you step in and take him for a breather was like seeing a fish head on a lion's body.

You came back soon enough with a plate and spoon in hand, it was made clear to Miguel exactly what you were cooking. Tomato sauce with meatballs, you diced a small bit of the beef with the spoon before scooping some soup up, bringing it close to his mouth. "Ahhh,"

"I can eat on my—"

"Ahhhhh."

"For shock's sake—" he quickly took a bite, his eyes lit up as he swallowed. "It's good."

You smiled knowingly, finally allowing him to feed himself as you handed him the plate. "I know," then your expression hardened. "I'd like to talk to you about what you dreamt about, if that's okay with you." Miguel sighed, reaching over to the bedside to take a long sip of his tea.

His heart told him that it was perfectly fine for you to know about what was troubling him for so long now, but his mind, his rationale, told him to shut his trap about anything that could cause you any sort of worry or distress. When he doesn't respond to you after another moment, you lean in closer.

"Miguel, I'm always going to worry about you." You whispered, "That's just how I am, but it's because I love you. I love you so much that I can feel how much you're hurting even when you're trying to hide it from me."

"I love you too," he closed the gap to press a kiss to the crease on your forehead, you released a short breath. "I just- I don't know how to say it, I guess."

You placed a hand on his chest, "I can put the pieces together, I just want you to get this off your chest." He wished he had the ability to deny you, you're his weakness, especially when you bat your eyelashes and look at him so sweetly like you have all the love in the world to give.

He tells you as much as he can about his dream, it's all a mess. There were many parts that he wished he could just go back and erase, he didn't even want to go through with this idea in the first place. But you were so... understanding of him, it felt creepy. Not creepy, that wasn't the right word, but it was unsettling.

Being comforted by someone else always made Miguel feel like the other person had a 'holier than thou' attitude, that or he was horribly pitied to the point where he didn't want to keep opening up anymore. You carried none of those qualities, you simply nodded, listened in pure silence, but you'd chime in with some remarks every now and again. He doesn't know how he got so lucky with you.

You gave him some advice. Miguel's experiences were gut-wrenching which resulted to his night terrors, but you could share the sentiment. To some degree, at least. The advice was to just talk about it, letting that feeling build over time and dreading the next time you fall asleep would result to more casualties in the long run. And that if he had no other people to turn to, you were the first on his roster (granted he'd talk to you first anyway, but that's besides the point).

After putting away his empty plate, you joined him in bed again, it's probably still very late into the night, only three hours until you get up for work, but you didn't mind as long as you got to spend it with Miguel. However he wishes to.

The feeling of yours lips on his forehead, face nuzzled into his hair while your fingers drew shapes into his back.

The way he wrapped his arms around your hips, slotting one of his legs in between yours, and the sound of your heartbeat.

He falls into a blissful sleep, knowing you will protect him from the horrors that lurk in the shadows. For once in his life, Miguel has been taken care of and he's so glad that it's you.

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Want You Back | ateez x reader

Pairing: werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

Genre: fluff mostly, romance, poly, a little angst?

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1317 words

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Epilogue

As if the world had been drained of all its colour, layers of grey, ominous and threatening storm clouds covered the skyline of Seoul with bitter winds shrieking through the city. Flashes of brilliant but powerful and menacing flares of lightning exploded through the sky followed by the force and fury of thunder filling everywhere with its roar. 

You’re standing in the centre of the abandoned street and in front of you, is yourself, looking like a ghost of the past, dressed in a beautiful glowy white off-the-shoulder dress of a flowery pattern and smiling at you somberly. You blink thrice, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing.

“It’s time.”

Jolting awake in your seat, you place your hand on your chest to regulate your irregular breathing. It happened again, another nightmare just like every night.

The lights in the plane are dimmed and it’s eerily silent as the rest of the passengers are either asleep or lost in whatever they’re doing. The atmosphere does not help your currently unsettled and uneased state. It’s raining softly outside and though the sound would usually be like a soft lullaby, this time, it instils an unnerving feeling.

Squinting at your phone in your half-conscious state, you note the date and time with a soft sigh escaping your lips; it’s 1AM on the 1st of March 2024. It had become a routine to wake up at this exact time every night. Usually you would be drenched in cold sweat with a flustering feeling of fear slowly creeping in. 

Your dreams felt very real, almost like a deja vu. They were ongoing for as long as you could remember. Initially, they started as ambiguous visions which were very vibrant and light. It felt like you were watching a version of yourself grow up in tandem with you. You were in places that sparked a sense of familiarity but you were unable to decipher the locations. In addition, you were meeting people that stirred an ardent feeling, and you felt like you had known them your whole life. You were unaware of who these other persons were. Whenever these particular persons entered, everything became hazy and obscure. 

After turning 20, the night terrors began and you experienced an opposite side of these dreams filled with heartbreak, pain and fear. Another group entered and provided some solace but then your most recent dreams consisted of a heart-wrenching and distressing situation where you found yourself laying on the ground covered in blood and ash, gazing at another figure right across from you who is also unconscious. You're calling for them but while your lips move, you can't hear the name. And then you fall into darkness and awake again.

Although you tried to boil down these hallucinations to a simple coincidence, you couldn’t. You were aware of your interesting birth. Firstly, on the night of your birth there was a torrential thunderstorm that appeared unexpectedly and grew into something of such force and fury, it drained the world of all its light. Secondly, in the city of Seoul, there had been a report of an attempted rebellion by an enigmatic group. Not much came out of it as many claimed it was heresy and the media reported it being a disagreement of a rowdy and drunk group of people that got out of control and ended up in property damages.

If that’s the case you shouldn’t be that bothered by it right? Wrong. Turns out, it was one of eight incidents that occurred within a three year span. And every night on your birthday, a dream of yours reaches its peak wherein you find yourself by a lake and a temple, and an apparition of you stands there with a pretty braid and decorated flower crown, and gold eyes staring right back at you with a smile. 

You read that gold eyes tended to belong to werewolves.

That’s when your mind would swirl right back to that night in Seoul. Rumours by some fanatics claimed it was an act to start a werewolf war and theorised that’s why there was hardly any evidence or traces. Though you weren’t one to suddenly believe in werewolves, something about that situation felt off to you.

When your parents articulated that your inclusion in the family business after university would primarily entail you overseeing the operations in Seoul, you were more than happy to hop on a plane. 

You wanted to know more about that night.

And you weren’t alone in it. Your close friend Bangchan whom you had grown up with, lived in Seoul. He was in a kpop group that currently had some time off before they prepared for their next big venture, a collaboration with two other kpop groups for a variety broadcast feature.

Returning to your seat, you attempted to relax yourself before your touchdown in Seoul. 

“Another bad dream?” a voice asked.

Turning to your right, you looked at your father’s trusted secretary who was accompanying you on the trip.

“Just the same old thing Mr Kim.” you answered softly.

Mr Kim had been working with your father for as long as you could remember. He appeared on the doorstep of your home one day with a bright smile, seeking employment as either a gardener or caretaker. Somehow he was able to help your father out of a bind with another company and become his right-hand man in all future business ventures. To you, he seemed like a real leader and was good at taking charge.

“Hm,” he hummed, “What’s the name of Chan’s group again? I can never remember.”

“They’re called Stray Kids,” you respond, pulling out a magazine from your bag, “That’s them.”

Mr Kim surveys the page you’re showing him before continuing.

“And they’re collaborating with two other groups for some showcase?”

“Mhm, one of the groups is called TXT.” you turn the page and point to another group.

“And the other?”

You flip through the pages to locate the other group. Truth be told, this group entices you in a way you can’t explain. But that’s the purpose of kpop groups anyway, as you always tell yourself.

“Ah there they are!” you muse, “That’s them.”

Mr Kim looks at the page and doesn’t say anything. He stares at it wistfully and pensively, tracing a finger over the one in the centre.

“What’s their group name?”

“Ateez,” you answer, “They’re called Ateez.”

-

Meanwhile, an angel stands near the Moon Goddess looking on at the situation.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I am.” the Moon Goddess answers.

“You’ve reset the timeline, changed the past and altered fate itself. How are you so sure about this?”

“I have not changed fate. They are the makers of their own fate. As for the timeline and the past, well, I’ve simply just tweaked it a bit.”

“Simply t-tweaked-” the angel stammers, “Do you even know what you’re saying?? You drastically changed the whole timeline. I don’t even know how this is going to turn out and neither does the author!”

The Moon Goddess turns to the angel confused, “What are you even saying Dongwook?”

“Nothing, sorry, I blabber nonsense when I’m stressed.”

“Look,” the Moon Goddess begins, “I know you have a lot of questions but be patient. All you need to know for now is that I’ve simply created an alternate timeline of the former and mirrored them, so that the events of the previous have now become their past lives.”

“So what happened in the previous timeline is now mirrored to have occurred on the night of their births?”

“Mhm, they’re right back where they should have been in the former timeline, where they were supposed to stay and settle. Now, they need to find each other again and make amends.”

“And teach those criminals a lesson!” the angel sneers.

“Yes,” the Moon Goddess smiles, “And a lesson they shall receive.”

End of Book 1.

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Book 2 Summary Preview:

A new timeline is created, and a new life awaits you. But your past ghosts haunt you deeply. Given the chance to visit Seoul, you seek answers for your weird dreams, but answers aren't the only thing that awaits you.

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a/n: ahhhhhhh I did it!! I actually completed my first story! didn't expect it to turn out like this but I'm excited to see where it goes :D thank you for joining me so far on this journey. <3 there's a lot I didn't include in book 1 that I know some of you was looking forward to and I'm truly sorry about that. I hope you will stick around for book 2 as I will be incorporating all what was left out. thank you for supporting me and thank you to those who recommended Want You Back in their recs list! :') <3 Stay tuned though! Chapter 1 of my new series The Hybrid House will be published soon! I'll leave a link here and come back to it as soon as it's out. See you soon! <3

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Taglist:

@eastleighsblog @sehun096rainbow @greensnakeglobep @satsuri3su @zonked-times @sugarrush-blush @lomons @explorewithd @chatsgotmytongue @scarfac3 @popcatx0 @angrynightnight @sannieluvrr @idfkeddieishot @alicia-dpa @park-simphwa @puppyminnnie @mysticfire0435 @sundayysunshine @chngbnwf @dementedaly @thunderous-wolf @itsmeregan @cookiechristie @hyukssunflower @lelaleleb

[bettyfrommars]

Welcome Back to The Nightmare Factory

Steve's Version Part 1: When the Night Comes

m a s t e r l i s t

Blurb 1

Nightmare!Steve x fem!Reader

word count: 2.2k

18+ONLY, lurking monsters, night terrors, star-crossed lovers

Author's Note: Hi, I've missed you. Until now, we've only explored this world with Nightmare!Eddie, but it's time to throw Steve into the mix. Different reader, of course, and I plan to jump around to random scenes as this progresses; it shall not be a linear experience. Nightmare Steve is a biker Steve hybrid that will often cross over into the world of Hawkeye that I created for my biker!Steve au.

Also, you do not need to have any knowledge of the original Nightmare Factory or biker Steve to enjoy this xoxox

You didn’t know how long you’d been waiting on the bench under the bus stop awning, but the sun was sinking on the horizon and the air vibrated with the promise of rain.  A drizzle dotted a few fine pinpricks on the sidewalk, yet you could feel a damp chill seeping in through your bones as if you were already soaked.  

Across the street between monochrome, saltbox roof houses, stood an old brick building.  A flickering neon sign out front had the outline of a purple hand on it, palm out announcing Psychic Readings in a mustard yellow that rivaled the melting sun beyond. 

You looked down at your wristwatch, only to realize you weren’t wearing one, and then checked up and down the empty street. Just when the thought occurred to you that there were no other humans around, the flutter of a curtain in one of the houses across the way caught your eye.

Maybe the buses stopped running at dusk and you’d missed the last one.  But then, how would you get…to wherever you were going? 

“It’s never on time,” a voice next to you spoke up, making you jump.

You were certain that there had not been anyone sitting on the bench with you a second ago.

“The bus, it’s never on time,” she repeated. The woman had short, dark blonde hair tucked behind her ears, a spray of freckles across her nose, and a restless smile tugging up the side of her mouth. “There is always a lot of traffic at the factory on Fridays.”

“The factory?” You cocked your head, trying to understand. 

The last offering of fuchsia in the sky flickered and was gone in a blink, erupting a sudden fear in your gut at the loss of light. The fresh blanket of cold made your toes cramp, as if they’d met with one of those icy pockets in sunless, concrete corners.  

The woman kept the side of her face to you at all times, never turning to look at you straight on.  You had this crazy notion that perhaps the other side of her didn’t exist.  

The sight of a motorcycle approaching warmed your heart and your guts for some reason, and you hoped that the bus was not far behind.  The rider inched to a halt at the curb in front of you, stomping one booted foot down to steady himself, engine grumbling.  In the amber glow of the single streetlamp, you were able to get a look at him.

Wearing sunglasses at night, he raked a big hand through his head of thick, unruly hair, and reached up to light the smoke that was held between his lips.  The lighter’s flame let you see the square line of his jaw and that the tattooed lettering on the knuckles of one hand spelled LOVE.  He wore leather and denim, with a red shirt, and he tipped his chin to you before turning to the other woman on the bench. 

Behind him, the neon psychic sign blinked furiously as the bus in question crawled into view.

”Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Steve said to the other one on the bench, exhaling smoke out the side of his mouth. 

“Of course,” she stood to button her coat.  “Beers are on you this Friday.”

“Remind Eddie if you see him, I might be running late again.” He hadn’t gestured to you, but somehow you knew that you would be the one to make him run late.

The bus rattled closer; it was filled with blue light and odd, dark shapes.

“Are you ready?” The man on the motorcycle tossed the smoke to the pavement and extended his hand to you.  “Jump on.”

You got to your feet and hesitated, trying to figure out where you knew him from.  

“But I’m waiting for—-”

At that, the air brakes on the lumbering passenger vehicle hissed, coming to a stop, and a cloud of fog billowed up around it.

“You were waiting for me,” Steve tipped his chin at you. "I made a promise."

At another glance, you saw through the windows that it was crowded in figures wearing black shrouds, shuffling forward at the sight of you.  They were moaning with unspecified longing that somehow translated into the creepiest sound you’d ever heard.  Gasping, you took his hand, and he pulled you close, urging you on the seat behind him.  

“I got you,” he whispered.

On the bench, Robin filed her fingernails with an emery board, blowing a pink bubble with her gum like she hadn’t a care in the world.  

You held onto Steve’s leather jacket to swing your leg over the bike, zipping your torso flush to his warm back.

Behind Robin stood an endless sea of the same shrouded creatures, clustered dead still in the night as if being actively born from it.  Some had antlers, some had hunched backs, and others were impossibly tall and thin. Lining up front to back and shoulder to shoulder, appearing out of seemingly nowhere, collectively withering one long, low growl.  

You hugged him frightfully close, squeezing your eyes shut to bury your face in the back of his neck.  He smelled like warm summer rain, damp earth, campfire smoke, and a zest of vanilla spices.  Safe, I'm safe.

He revved the throttle and told you to hang on tight, but you wavered, checking to find that the army of faceless ghouls were right there—they’d been yards away, but now they were within arm's reach, hovering.

But then you were in the wind, head forced back by the velocity, choking on a scream, whimpering unintelligible pleas into the leather of his jacket.

He shifted gears and it felt like you’d entered some type of warp speed, engine humming between your legs.  Eyes shut tight, you swore you felt sharp swipes of skeleton hands at your back and heard the shrieking wails of defeat as the masses lumbered to catch up.

The flap of enormous wings sounded as a few took to the sky, but Steve shifted again, lowering his head.  “Don’t look,” he begged.  “Soon they won't be able to touch us.”

Back at the bus stop, the door to the bus squealed open, and Robin did not look up from picking a piece of skin from her cuticle.  

“Good luck with the next one, Dickie,” she said to the driver who hulked in his seat like Mothman, one clawed hand clutching the wheel.

Dickie looked from Robin to the road ahead and back a few times, trying to understand what was happening, before sinking his wings with a sigh.

“Do you need a ride, sugar?” His voice was usually deep and bellowing on the job, but just then it came out in a comically high-pitched southern accent.  

—---

The first time you met Steve, he’d been waiting in the corner of your bedroom.  

Waiting for you to go to sleep.

But you were up late watching Ewoks: The Battle for Endor on the small, VCR combo TV that was perched on your dresser.  The violet crescents under your eyes hinted to the lack of sleep you’d been getting the past few months.  You’d been having a bad rash of nightmares, and if you didn't know any better, you’d think you'd been specifically targeted somehow.  

This was not the first time you’d unknowingly had a movie night with shadow Steve, but it was the first time you’d felt his presence.  He was nothing but a dust mote of a glimmer, but still, you stared right at him, and asked if anyone was there.

Had he made a sound? Had he accidentally snickered a bit too loud at the giddy Ewoks? Or were you starting to sense him though the cosmic barrier that kept you in different worlds?

It made his heart stall for a second, mouth agape, and a hand outstretched, ready to come clean.  To let you know that he wasn’t just some creep off the street, that he was just doing his job—but of course you couldn’t see him.  If he ever got the chance to explain it all to you, he’d let you know that the two of you were on different channels of reality.  Like switching stations on a radio, he could tune into you, but you didn’t know how to tune into him.  

So, there was no way that you could…

“Back again I see,” you hummed, turning to face the screen from where you sat propped up against the headboard in your pajamas.  “Where will you be hovering tonight? On the ceiling or at the foot of the bed?” 

Were you talking to him? As far as he could tell, you were the only two in the room.  

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered, defiantly.  

Did you really mean it, or were you trying to convince yourself?

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” but even as he stepped forward, he knew the effort was fruitless.  

The sound of a barely audible whisper made you turn the volume on the tv down.

Okay, before you’d been bluffing, but that time you really heard something.  

Flinging the covers off to jump out of bed, you spun around, wielding the remote out in front of you like a weapon.

“Who’s there?”

Nothing.  No one. Just you and all of the nightmares you’d been having about paralysis demons pinning you down and sucking out your soul.

A horrifying thought occurred to you then that maybe they’d followed you out of your dreams and into the waking world.  

You tossed the remote back onto your bed, spinning around to address the room.  “If you have something to say to me, do it now.  Don’t be a fucking coward and wait till I'm asleep.”

Your declaration was met with nothing but the garbled conversations on the TV.

It took a while for you to finally get to sleep, but once you did, that’s when the rattling on your closet door started.  It was just a few scratches at first, coming from the inside, but then the doorknob wiggled.

Steve stepped out of the corner and walked—nay, floated.---around to the other side of your bed to act as a barrier between you and whatever was coming out of the closet.  The beeping on his watch told him you were entering a deep sleep; he’d also draped an invisibility layer down just in case you did happen to wake up during the confrontation.

The closet door creaked, opening an inch, just enough for three long and meaty, hairy fingers to curl into sight.

“Wrong room, genius,” Steve said curtly.

The door propped ajar just enough so that one big, milk white eyeball could peer out.  “Steve?” A garbled voice whispered.  “I thought you were at the abandoned hospital with Hopper tonight?”

“I was,” Steve answered.  “But now I’m here, asking you not to bother with this one.”

The big eye twitched, blinking a few long blinks.  “Whatever you say, dude. I’ve got better places to be.”

Whispers tickled at your ears, as if someone was having a conversation nearby, but not close enough to fully comprehend the words.  

You heard the name Steve.

So then you muttered it outloud: “Steve?”

Shocked, he spun around, staring at your parted lips.  But then a snore escaped from the back of your throat, and he eased back.  

“I won’t let them bother you,” was what he said, and you believed him.  Whatever that meant.

—-----

The motorcycle began to slow, and you took the opportunity to check behind you, slumping with relief to find that the highway was empty.  Lined with evergreens on either side, the road shot straight out behind the two of you into ominous, smoky oblivion, as if there had never been a town or a Psychic sign or a bus stop.  

Steve knew he was cutting it close, his time with you would be over soon, but he wanted to take you out and show you something cool, maybe even impress you.  He’d told you about the crimson-colored lake before, about how you could see Mermaids and all manner of sea creatures.  It didn’t make sense that they were all in a lake, but still, there it was.

“Have you ever seen a mermaid in real life before?” He asked over his shoulder, shouting above the wind.  

You hadn’t, not that you were aware of, anyway. Everything felt so real, it hadn’t even occurred to you that perhaps you weren’t even in the real world.  

“Well, don’t talk to them, and don’t look at them for very long,” he warned.  “They’ll bite your face off as easily as wink at you.”

You nodded, taking in that information.

“I want to show you where—-”

But then the road dropped off at an abrupt cliff edge that appeared to jut straight down into a sea of stars.  It was like a reflection of the sky above.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—” Steve yelled as the bike caught air.

You were going down, falling into the ether of nothingness, and you couldn't tell if the blood-curdling scream you heard belonged to you or someone else.

You clung to Steve while you plummeted down through the infinite space of some unknown universe, about to crash and burn. 

Was this it? Is this how you die? 

In bed, your eyes flew open with a jolt, clutching a pillow to your chest like you might’ve once held onto a boy for dear life.  The pillow smelled like warm summer rain, campfire smoke, and vanilla spices.

After a few blinks, you realized that was the first time you’d slept all through the night without being forced awake by terrors in a very long while.  

-----

Thank you for reading, and much love to those of you who have enjoyed this world from the start. Now that I'm writing again, I'm working on a very special chapter for Nightmare Eddie as well that I can't wait to share with you.

[dutifullylazybread]

Hi Darcy!! Love your writing so much!

Since you're opening up Headcanon requests, I was curious: What do you think Rolan's nightmares contain? Same for Cal and Lia maybe?? I love how you alluded to Rolan's nightmares with how he wakes up "choking on his own panic" I always think Rolan's nightmares are either about his mother, Lorroakan, or both! I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

Thank you so much! 🥹 I had a blast reading through your fics the other day—so thank you for sharing such lovely writing with all of us.

So this was a really interesting thought exercise for me. I was a little nervous to start this headcanon list, because I wanted to do these three characters justice.

I have done my best to pull from nightmares I have had, and I have also conducted research to make sure I am not working solely from one point of view.

Content warnings: Nightmares as a result of living through some pretty terrifying experiences, parental death/finding deceased parent (mentioned at the end of all three sections) and discussions of past abuse (found in Rolan's section).

Nightmares - Cal, Lia, and Rolan

Cal

Cal dreams of falling.

To be specific, he dreams of when Elturel descended.

The reason I say this is because I came across this MtG card illustration of the Descent into Avernus, and it has stuck with me:

So when Elturel descended, would it really be too surprising if some people lost their footing and fell off the edge?

As Elturel is dragged into Avernus by these chains, cityfolk are being ripped off of the ground. If they can’t grab onto something stable enough to hold fast while the city descends, or if they aren’t flush to the side of a building, then they are likely flying off of the edge.

Cal had been running errands for the general store that he worked at when Elturel descended. Were it not for the sturdy building he found himself pressed up against, he might not have survived the Descent.

Now, he frequently dreams of falling into the River Styx. He doesn’t usually wake up when he hits the water, but he will dream of staring up at the city, and he can’t move. He can’t swim to the surface.

Cal also dreams of Moonrise Tower’s dungeons. He remembers the smell of rot and death, and he remembers the sounds of things moving around in the shadows.

When these nightmares take a turn for the worse, he manages to get out of the prison cell, and he starts searching for Lia. He knows something bad has happened, but he can’t find her.

He, like Rolan, dreams about finding their mother's body.

Lia

Lia dreams of Zariel. My personal headcanon is that, when Elturel was pulled into Avernus, Lia was likely in the city’s square (Shiarra’s market). This would be a place where there would be a lot of people, especially when the Descent occurred. So after the city was pulled into Avernus and chained above the River Styx, Zariel landed in the city square.

Zariel would have made this appearance to 1) scare everyone shitless, 2) to show off the forces under her control, and 3) to make it clear why she chose to drag Elturel into Avernus. She would make it known then and there who was at fault, because she would want to sow dissent amongst the people of Elturel.

And Lia, who had been in the midst of training, was right there. Perhaps paces away from Zariel. And she brought a detachment of her devil army with her. 

Lia dreams about fleeing the marketplace. She never looks behind her, because she fears either Zariel or her devils will be there, at her heels.

While she runs, she searches for Rolan and Cal, calling out for them but receiving no answer.

She tries to find her way home, but as she flees, the city’s streets become almost maze-like. 

And, at a certain point, she feels like she is running in place. The street stretches out in front of her, her legs are moving under her, but she simply can’t gain enough traction to push herself forward.

She will usually wake up just as she feels something grapple her from behind.

If her nightmares turn into sleep paralysis, she might dream that Zariel is in the room with her, watching from the shadows cast by her wardrobe.

When Lia dreams about their mother, she dreams about trying to run towards her but never reaching her. When having these dreams, she feels like, if she can't reach her, something very, very bad will happen.

Rolan

So I agree with you that Rolan dreams about Lorroakan. There are indeed instances where he just relives Lorroakan's abuse as a flashback.

He also dreams about getting lost in the Shadow-Cursed lands. He wanders through the forest, calling for his siblings.

If he dreams of Elturel, then he dreams of running through the house, calling out for Cal and Lia and their mother. No one answers. 

It’s like he is moving through a strange haze. He is looking everywhere, but he knows that no one is there. He can hear chaos outside of the household, and it makes him panic.

Something is banging on the front door. He cannot find his family, but he knows he needs to before whatever is outside gets in.

I do headcanon that their mother died before Elturel was returned to the material plane, but she was alive prior to the Descent. 

Rolan and Cal found her body.

In his nightmares, Rolan rushes out into the garden, thinking that he might find Cal or their mother there.

The garden wrapped around the house. And when he immediately steps outside, he is struck by this deep, sickening dread. He knows something is wrong. He wants to go back inside, but he is compelled to keep walking forward. He remembers looking for his mother out here before and finding something horrible.

He wants to go back inside, but he can’t.

Before he rounds the corner to where the flowerbeds are, he wakes up.

[colossalcriminal]

Memory Lane, Detroit. - j.m.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader, slight Connor x fem!Reader, Hank x Daughter!Reader (mentioned), Last of Us x Detroit: Become Human crossover. Summary: They say home is where the heart is, but when Y/N stumbles upon Detroit on their journey to Wyoming, she feels as though home is where her heart once was, and where it could be one day.

Content warnings: mentions of death, pregnancy, late30s!reader x 50s!Joel. Android revolution failed in 2002, outbreak occurred in 2003.

They're in Detroit.

Something about it hits her like a tonne of bricks or tripping on cobblestone when wearing nice heeled shoes like they used to. Either way, she stumbles, nearly falling. Maybe it's the air, the feel, the familiarity, but she's certain it isn't the look of it.

Detroit is unrecognisable, for the most part.

That's what one nightmare after another does to a place, she guesses.

"Come on, I know somewhere we can stay the night."

Joel and Ellie follow her, nearly mindlessly. The former takes note of this as Y/N's domain, her territory, etched into the back of her brain, and the girl isn't one to argue with her like she does with Joel.

They walk, as they have done through the summertime. Every now and then her eyes trail over a familiar street sign, or an old store. She swears you could hear a subtle whistle in the wind, a slight hum of laughter, but she decides it's the ghost of her youth.

Not terrible, is one way to describe the house. The disease has been kind enough to leave it remotely untouched. It's dark, but the windows are open and the curtains are torn, so it has been touched.

Joel goes to open the door, the handle doesn't budge, he grunts. "Hold on." He steps away with a huff, watching her movements. Y/N kicks over a potted plant, the organism long dead and smelling slightly foul if you're close enough to it, underneath is a silver key. "Spare."

She unlocks the door with a professional force, the kind you'd employ if you were a resident of the property, but Joel doesn't ask her just yet. Ellie is the first to go inside, instantly hopping onto the couch. The springiness surprises her, a giggle escapes her lips, Y/N smiles. "Ellie, there's a room down the hall for you. On the right." She listens, dashing down the hall and into the bedroom whilst the older woman stays put. "Hello?"

"Who're you calling out to?"

Her head snaps in Joel's direction at his query, he stands near the entry to the kitchen. "Was just wondering something."

The house is empty, apart from the three of them. She goes past him into the kitchen, there is a nearly empty bottle of liquor by the sink, a singular photograph on the surface of the dining table. "You alright, darlin'?" Her partner says from behind her, he presses his chest to her back, his arms caging her against the table.

"Yeah." He catches a glimpse of the photo she stares at before she turns to face him. "Just thinking, honey."

A sigh escapes his mouth, his hands plant themselves on her waist. "I know." And he does, he knows what she's thinking about. "Any idea where he is?"

Y/N shakes her head. "For all I know, he could be-"

Joel interrupts her, his digits lightly dig into the flesh of her midsection. "Don't think like that. C'mon, now," His right hand travels, his fingertips lightly hooking under her chin, she finally looks into his stormy grey eyes.

The corners of her lips tug upward, the smile is small, she places a quick peck on his lips. "Let's get some rest, hm?" They slowly step to the living room, he settles in to the sofa first, she doesn't join. "Hold on, just wanna see something outside. I'll only be a minute."

"Be careful."

And so she is, silently leaving the house, her hand stays on the handle of her gun, fingertip teasing the trigger.

It's eerily quiet. A rustle. It's faint, almost nonexistent, she turns to her left. "Jesus, fuck."

The subject of her curses tilts his head, his eyes squint momentarily. "Y/N?"

"Yeah, Connor."

They look at each other, it isn't brief or fleeting, their stares bore holes into the other.

Connor looks just as he did twenty years ago, his skin smooth, hair dark and eyes youthful, but his clothes are rugged, his CyberLife jacket has been lost and his tie is ripped. The sleeves of his button up are folded to reveal dirt stained forearms.

His eyes, they're dim, dark brown and dull, probably from some many years of lonesome survival. They soften upon her, her own tiresome eyes could mirror his, the underneath of them are dark and slightly hollow.

Also hollowed out are her cheeks. Small wrinkles fold over each other at the outer corners of her eyes, her hair isn't as long as it once was, but for the most part, Connor smiles at how gracefully she has aged, despite the obvious circumstances.

"How are you?" The question is futile, but he hasn't had much practice with human interaction in recent decades.

"Surviving." Her brows furrow, she's unable to remain curt, cool and collected, worry flashes across her features. "You're still here? After all this time?"

The android nods, somewhat proud, a little. "Taking care of the house."

"I guess no one expects an android to stick around." He smiles a little at the humor in her sarcasm. "Where is he? My dad."

Connor takes a step forward, and judging by the frown playing at his lips, she knows what is coming. "Y/N," Her head begins to nod, despite the news still inching off the tip of his tongue. "Hank died. Seventeen years ago."

"Oh."

Something shifts in her stomach, a revelation, a sense of relief. A conclusion has been presented to her, certainty floods her veins, a light has shone itself upon the darkness of unknowing and death.

"Was he," The woman sucks in a breath. "was he alone, or in pain? Was he bitten?"

"No. No, he was sick. He had been for about a year, he decided it was time." Y/N's lips purse, she continues to nod feverishly, her brain processes his words. "He thought of you. You and Cole were the last Hank spoke about. We didn't know you were alive."

On that cool day in September twenty years ago, she'd arrived in New York for university, but had barely made it through her first lecture when the news echoed throughout the bustling city.

"Yeah, I know." Y/N sniffles, not from tears, but something tingles. "I tried driving back to you, couldn't make it past Pittsburgh, it'd been quarantined by then."

Connor nods. "Yes."

"I found a group, a couple of us settled in the Boston QZ."

He tilts his head, curious. "Boston's far, what are you doing here?"

She rubs at her temples, shifting her weight between her feet. "We think we've found something, a cure, we need to get her to a lab in Wyoming."

"Her?"

"It's complicated."

"I can help."

"What?"

The android is unfazed. "I can help you get to Wyoming."

A click sounds, from behind her, she turns to find Joel, weapon in hand and pointed for Connor's head. "Y/N, go inside, I'll deal with him."

She shakes her head, a breathy chuckle leaves her. "No, Joel, this is Connor."

His gun lowers. "That Connor?"

"Yeah. Connor, this is Joel, my,"

"I'm her husband." He finishes, face suddenly scrunching in disbelief when he faces her, no one can pinpoint the expression he holds.

"I will give you both some time to talk." Connor, in true android fashion, abruptly walks away, his hands clasped behind his back.

Y/N sits on the stone steps that lead to the porch of the house, planting herself next to where Joel stands. She tugs on his trousers, he sits next to her. "That android thing?"

"That android thing cared for my dad and kept this house in shape." She tells him. "My dad worked the deviant cases to stop the android revolution with him. I was nosy, pestering Connor for information."

"Haven't changed much, honey."

Her shoulder bumps his, it does little damage. "When you met me in Pittsburgh?" He nods, urging her to continue. "I had driven from New York, was just about to start my first year of college."

Joel's hand rests on her thigh, the warmth of his palms comforts her skin, she leans into him completely and he welcomes her touch with a kiss to her hair. "He wants to help us get Ellie to Wyoming."

"Can he use a gun?"

"Mhm."

"Alright, then."

Removing her head from his shoulder, she looks up at him, kissing his lips once, twice, until he holds her jaw and keeps her lips put against his for a third, longer time. She chuckles into his affection, they part minimally, until the similar rustling of an android's footsteps return. "Hey, you're sure you want to come with us?"

Connor nods at her question, he holds his hand out to Joel, who takes it firmly, barely shaking it. "I'll see you both inside."

"Yeah, baby." Her hand trails along the side of his torso, fingertips hovering over his leg as he gets up, Connor takes Joel's place next to her. "It's good to see you, Connor, after so long."

He smiles, fully, this time, slightly toothy. "You, too, Y/N. You've grown."

"Mhm." There's a certain glee in his awkwardness, "Hate the fact that you look the same, so damn great, fucking android."

The familiar sound of her sardonic humor hits his ears, it's like music to his mechanical brain, he dares to chuckle. "Sorry, about that. You don't look too bad yourself." It takes everything in the blue of his blood not to mention how similar she is to Hank.

A moment of silence, there's something she wants to say, Y/N remains chewing on the words, stewing in her vocabulary. "You can say it."

"I'm pregnant."

That isn't what he's expecting, he's taken aback, eyebrows raised for just a moment. "Congratulations."

"Well, thanks, yeah, kind of. Shit world we're in." Connor doesn't respond, he agrees. "But Joel takes good care of me. Been doing so for sixteen years."

"That's good." He looks at her, rather than ahead across the street like they have been doing. "You can always come back here."

She does the same, also smiling. "Yeah? Thanks, Connor."

Quiet, Detroit is so quiet, peace is a smell in the air.

The door to the house opens at such a speed, it threatens to fly off its hinge. "Joel said there's an android!"

"Fucking Joel." Y/N mutters.

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (15) Nightmare

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 15)

Summary: Rosie tells us about her family's sanctuary that is 221B, but also about wars over board games. In the end, it's the story about someone else who also needs a safe haven.

Fifteen Years Old

I felt oddly protective of our home from an early age, and I didn’t want it invaded by my friends. Not that I was ashamed of all the bric-a-brac, Papa’s experiments, or how different it was to other homes I’d visited. It was just...our space, a safe haven where we all could lower our guards, Papa in particular. Over the years, his fame had increased exceedingly, and his derisive façade kept journalists and fans at bay. The moment he entered 221B, he discarded said façade by hanging his coat on the peg.

Another thing to consider, were the battles that always ensued whenever one of us challenged the others to a board game. Having an outsider witnessing that…well, we’d surely be sectioned for life if that were to occur. 

(More likely, the person would be granted vicious dreams for eternity.)

But as Papa points out; there’s always something. In this context, someone.  My friend Liwia. Her parents were Polish, and moved to England two years before Liwia was born. They were Catholics, and having to adjust to a society that was more liberal toward queer people than Poland, took its time. When Liwia came out to them as a lesbian the year prior, they’d tried to pin it on her friendship with me. I was after all related to quite a few of the sort and Liwia’s parents seemed to believe the ludicrous lie that queerness was contagious.

It took them some months to get over it, but once they realised that Liwia still was her normal self, they discarded the original idea of sending her to Poland to live with her strictly religious grandparents. Neither of the Barczykowskis was prepared when said grandparents announced that they were visiting London that summer, staying for at least a fortnight. 

***

Dad and I were in the middle of a Scrabble war, when Papa came home. Not that we realised it at the time. We were too engrossed in arguing.

“It’s bloody unfair to use all the medical terms and diseases you can come up with to win, you know!” I exclaimed accusatory.

“Oh, come now, Rosebud,” Dad teased, looking as pleased as the cat that ate the canary.

“Don’t you dare Rosebud me,” I said through clenched teeth. 

Dad only used that pet name when we were at war over the board games, and it rubbed me up the wrong way.

“Children,” Papa chastised, barely able to suppress his glee.

“You’re home,” we said in unison.

I waited for the inevitable eyeroll and his obviously, but none came.

“We have a guest,” Papa said and waved a hand, and that’s when I saw Liwia standing by the sofa wringing her hands, a look of despair in her eyes.

I leapt to my feet and walked over to hug her tight.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered into her hair.

She explained about her grandparents, and with just one look over at Papa, receiving a nod, I turned back to assure my friend that she could stay at Baker Street for as long as she needed, if her biased grandparents started to make her life a living nightmare.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson,” Liwia said politely.

I could literally see the relief wash over her, the tension in her shoulders dissipating and a tiny smile forming on her lips.

“Please, call us John and Sherlock,” Dad said. 

Then he turned his attention to me with a devilish grin.

“Does this mean you declare defeat, Rosebud?”

“You wish!” I snarled and left Liwia’s side to go into battle with my father.

(Before you go all bananas on me - this will continue tomorrow...)

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

More tags in the replies.

[anna1306]

Hey, I saw your Quarry asks were open! Could I possibly request one with reader and Nick? Maybe they get separated from the rest of the counselors after he’s been infected, things get a lil spicy with the whole “werewolf brain” kicking in(however you’re comfortable portraying that), but once the others catch up to you, their presence start to make things dangerous? Thank you!

It may have ended up a lil too spicy 🫢

Devour you

Nick Furcillo x Reader

Warnings: mention of blood, smut (18+), possessiveness

There were times when you said that you liked horror movies. Especially ones like Friday the 13th, when group of people got stuck in the woods and were chased by some kind of maniac. You hated it now.

The summer was so good, it started good. You loved the whole time you got to spend in the Hackett's Quarry. You got yourself new friends, new hobbies, unique experience and most importantly... Nick. You got really close to each other after all this time. Romantically close after some time.

So when you learned that you got another night here, you didn't even think about panic of Mr.H. You were just glad that you got to spend another night closer to Nick. It was great opportunity to spend some time together without a single worry about your day-to-day life.

And then... The chaos ensued.

You still didn't understand fully what was going on. One moment you were sitting near the bonfire, having fun, and the other moment Nick was bleeding, being seriously wounded. You took him to the lodge with others, helping him to the best of your abilities. And when your friends went away to take some supplies and possibly call for help, you stayed back with him. And even there you couldn't be safe.

"There's someone there." Nick whispered to you, suddenly alerted. You looked at the door and darted to it, closing it just in case. When you turned around, Nick was already trying to sit up. You helped him out, carefully holding his shoulders. "We need to get out."

"You sure that there is someone?" You asked him suspiciously, and Nick nodded quickly. "Alright. But the others..." You reminded him of other councelors, who could still be in the lodge. Nick shook his head, grasping your forearms.

"Someone is close. They are far. They won't be here in time." He looked at you, desperation and plea in his eyes. "I want to... I want to protect you."

"You are wounded, you need protection yourself... Shit... Alright, let's go. I will hide you and come back for them." You helped him stand up and you both got out on the street through the window. It took you some time to find your way, but you managed to do so before you heard noise from the lodge. Hurriedly, in the dark of the night, you lead him to some guest house, trying to cause as little harm to him as you could to the best of your abilities.

Once you stumbled in a house, you tugged him to the bed, placing him to sit on it. You darted back to the door, closing it and checking the windows carefully. To see if anyone was there and if this place was truly safe for the boy.

"Alright, are you okay? Does it terribly hurt? I can gonna try and find something for the wound." You came back to Nick, looking at his bloody skin, pointing a flashlight at his figure, but he only shook his head, wincing away from the light.

"I'm fine. It almost doesn't hurt." He answered, and you breathed out. You wanted nothing more, but to cuddle with him and go to sleep, forget all about the nightmares that occured here. But that was impossible. Almost a dream in these circumstances.

"Alright. I'm gonna leave you here so I can..."

"No, don't go!" Nick grabbed your hand fiercely. You winced from the sudden movement, looking at him surprised.

"I need to check on the others. They might need our help." You tried to get your hand from his grasp, but his fingers held your wrist tighter than you imagined, gripping it stronger with your every try to free yourself.

"Don't leave me. They can manage on their own, they have a gun, you don't have anything, I can't have something happen to you. I need you." He almost begged you, not wanting to let you go. You had never seen him like this, so you were frozen for couple of minutes.

"Nick... Are you sure you're alright?

"Yes, I am, I... Don't leave me, please." He pulled you closer to himself, hugging you tightly by your waist, locking you in his arms and not intending to let you go in near future.

"Nick..." Your heart clenched at the sound of his desperate voice and clinging moment. "I'm here. I just... Shit, I don't know who or what is out there. I don't want it to get to the others. Or to us while we are here alone. Our strengths are in numbers."

"I can protect you." He retorted, his face buried in your stomach. You put fingers through his hair, caressing his head.

"You are wounded, love. You need rest and help. Not to protect me." Nick glanced up at you, his eyes almost glistening in darkness.

"I am fine. And I can and I will protect you, I promise." He insisted, moving his hands lower, on your hips. You stumbled a bit from the pressure, clutching his shoulders in response to stabilize yourself.

"Nick, I got it. I'm not going anywhere, I won't leave you, you can let go of me." You smiled a bit nervously, when you noticed his eyes never wavered from your face, nor did his hands moved away from your hips.

"I know. I just can't possibly let you go." The boy whispered, tugging you to himself, so you would sit on his laps. You blushed, looking down at him in surprise.

"Nick, come on. You are wounded, we... Can be in danger. We can't do that now..." He shook his head, stubbornly reaching forward to kiss your jaw.

"I said. I will protect you." He sounded almost angry at your stubbornness, emphasizing every word. But when you took the moment to gather your thoughts, Nick just flipped you over, quickly changing the pose and looming over you on the bed.

Your breath caught up in your throat, when Nick kissed you hungrily, not losing any time. He positioned himself between your legs, and while you had been... Intimate with each other more or less before, this quick and almost aggressive pace was something new. You felt his arousal through his jeans and sensed the tension in his shoulders, as he desperately clutched your hips.

"Nick." You moaned, as soon as he pulled away from your lips. The boy moved to your neck, leaving hickeys on it. You closed your eyes, as you tried to catch your breath. "Fuck, Nick, wait..."

"Mine." He groaned, tugging at your shirt. You almost heard the sound of a ripping fabric, and you decided that it's better to wear your shirt, rather than looking for a new one here in the darkness in an unknown house, so you quickly raised your hands, letting him take it off of you.

You breathed out harshly, feeling Nick's lips on your neck. As he slowly lowered his affection on his body, you trembled. You didn't expect such passion from him, that just overcame him in an instant, seemingly out of nowhere. You put your hands in his hair, tugging at thr strands.

"Nick..." His hands were working on the zipper of your shorts, him clearly not listening to you. He pulled them down, throwing the clothes away, after that taking off his own shirt in sharp moves. "Wait... Your wound." You furrowed your brows, when you couldn't notice the traces of the bite of this strange animal on his body.

"To hell with it!" Nick retorted instantly, pressing himself into your body again. He was almost burning up, his skin was hot and you hissed. He must have had a fever. You tried again.

"Nick, wait, why are you so... Fast and pressing? I'm not going anywhere, I'm..."

"Mine. You are mine." The boy hissed, leaving feverish kisses on your skin. "You can't even imagine how you make me feel. Your voice. Your skin. Your smell. Your touch. Your kiss. I'm obsessed over you. What have you done with me?" He whispered almost panting, not stopping even for a moment, as he gripped your thighs.

"I... Fuck... Nothing." You breathed out, clutching his shoulders, giving in to him completely. He was too persistent, too hot to think about something else, was it danger or your friends. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he groaned, pressing his arousal into you.

"I will make you completely mine." He whispered, going down on you. You whimpered, covering your mouth with your hand, furrowing your brows. In response, Nick left a bite on your thigh. "I want to hear you, don't hide from me. I want everyone to hear how I make you feel."

"You've gone mad." You breathed out, looking down at Nick. You could swear that his eyes were glowing, but you weren't able to oppose it much longer. Not when he covered your sex with his mouth. "But I like it..." You moaned, closing your eyes and throwing back your head.

You put your fingers through his hair again, tugging and pulling at it, while he quite literally devoured you. He was never that eager and passionate about you. It was a whole new experience. You couldn't help but moan, losing yourself in your feelings. Nick worked fast on bringing your first orgasm, and you, overcome with tension, emotions and fear, just let yourself go. But the boy never stopped, pressing himself only more to your core.

No matter your pleas for a minute rest at least, he never stopped. The noises in the room were overwhelming, Nick seemingly enjoyed it more than he ever could apparently, his determination was astonishing and mind-blowing.

Suddenly he growled almost animal-like, his iron grip on your hips becoming tighter. You hissed from sudden discomfort mixing with your pleasure, not understanding why he suddenly became more aggressive.

"... Y/n?! Nick?!" You heard screams from the street. The guys caught up to you, and apparently it stressed out Nick to this point.

"Mine..." He groaned, his nails digging in your thighs. You whimpered and tugged him on his hair, upper, closer to you. At the same time you wrapped your fingers around his cock, trying to ease him into his own climax.

Nick growled at the touch, his grip on your thighs becoming unbearable, as he slips hand over your sex, to get you to that high. You bit through your lip, feeling metal taste.

"Mine!" He kissed you, hungrily licking at your wounded lip. His fingers worked faster, coaxing another orgasm out of you, as you crushed down in his hands. He followed you in couple of seconds, staining you with his seed.

You didn't hear, feel or see anything for several minutes straight. Pain in your body, which was mixed with the pleasure, overwhelmed you as well as your emotions of fear, lust and love. As you were coming down from your high, you heard Nick's nervous voice.

"Oh hell, oh shit, fuckfuckfuck, Y/N, I'm sorry." You opened your eyes to see frantic Nick, looking at you, seemingly frustrated at something. You lazily reached out to him, taking his hand in yours.

"Hey, what are sorry for?" You smiled lightly, looking at him tiredly. He licked his lips, gripping your fingers.

"I hurt you. There... There are bruises! Scratches! Blood... You are almost unconscious, I..."

"Nick... You made me cum. Two timeS in a row. I'm fine with little bruising." You blurted out shamelessly with almost drunk smile. His grip tightened up for a second, but he mirrored your smile.

"Nick! Y/N!" Amy's voice sounded really close, as you glanced at the door. They came really close to you.

"Shit..." You winced, when you tried to sit down. Nick furrowed his brows, as if fighting with pain, his eyes glancing over you. "Nick, give me my shorts."

"You will leave me?" He asked you, clearly unbelieving your words. You sighed, losing last crumbles of understanding about what was going on with him.

"I don't want them to see me like this. And I bet you don't want them to see me naked either." You explained quietly. Nick nodded and stood up, going straight to your shorts. You barely could see anything in the darkness, but the boy navigated his way pretty well on his own, you noted.

When he returned to you, you put on the shorts he gave you and reached for the shirt, wincing from the pain. When you stood up, you felt blood from the deep scratches Nick left on your thighs. Shit, he was honest, it must have looked awful. It felt like it. The boy watched you with pained expression on his face.

Suddenly he stood up and take his shirt off, keeping only tank top on his body. He hugged you and wrapped the piece of clothes around your waist, tying its long sleeves, so your hips would be covered.

"I'm sorry." He whispered again. But before you could say anything or move to the door, he looked at your face with that strange fire in his eyes, that was almost menacing. His voice dropped a tone "If they even dare to look at you strangely, I will kill them, take you away and devour you whole."

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

You Feel Like Home To Me 💕✨

Part two to Home

Summary; Eric is sniffing around you once more which causes Eddie to have some realisations. Or alternatively, the one where Eddie gets a clue.

Warnings; Jealous Eddie, fluff, a bit of angst. 18+, minors dni. Friends to lovers, Eddie gets a clue ;)

If you enjoyed this then lmk 💕

Also is anyone experiencing trouble with the tags tonight? This is my second repost ✨ Annoying as heck 😩💕

Do not copy, reuse or repost my work.

✨💕✨💕

When you woke up after the party with a pounding headache and memories flooding back to you from last night, you were immediately embarrassed.

You told Eddie that he was so cute, that you wished he liked you. Shit!

What the hell did you say to him when you next saw him? How did you explain yourself?

Maybe you could just pass it off as being tipsy and Eddie would accept that.

You had hidden his you felt for so long so hiding it for a little longer wouldn't matter.

All you knew is Eddie had looked after you and you knew he cared for you as a friend, so in no way were you going to jeapordise that.

Somehow you had to move on from Eddie because you knew he would never return your feelings;.

💕✨💕✨

Eddie couldn't wait to see you. The new Nightmare on Elm Street movie was out and he was psyched to take you to go and see it.

Robin and Steve were coming along too and it was going to be a great night to just hang with friends, maybe smoke a little weed, bliss.

Things had been a little strange since the party, he has only saw you once since then and you hadn't brought up what you said after the party so he didn't either.

There was no way he was bringing up how you made him feel, that you felt like home because he didn't understand it himself.

Hopefully things would go back to normal soon...

What Eddie hadn't counted on was walking into Family Video and a grumpy Steve greeting him.

"Munson" he nods and Eddie claps him on the bag.

"What's up Steve? Not enough babes for you today?" he teases and Steve actually does crack a smile.

"Shit dude, it's him. He's been coming in for days. Annoying prick" Steve points to where you're working and Eddie stiffens.

Eric is there, a smarmy grin on his face and he is making you smile, the smile that's usually only reserved for him.

He doesn't like that one bit. Steve is right Eric is a prick, a handsy prick who's lucky he still has teeth after what occurred at the party.

You peer up at him and beam while rushing over to him. "Eddie"!

He never tires of the way that you light up when you see him. Your expression is what he feels inside every time he sees you.

"Hey princess. You ready for movie night?" at this point Eric struts up to you both and as you leave Eddie's arms, Eric smugly slings an arm around your shoulder.

Eddie's stomach clenches and he tries his best not to give into the urge of ripping Eric's arm right of you.

This concerns him because he's protective of you for sure but this feels so much more than that.

He's jealous, he's never been jealous at least like this anyway... This is different. The emotion fills him and all he wants to do is keep you close and away from those grabby hands of Eric's.

Coming in here. Flirting with my girl he fumes. Wait a minute... My girl.

You weren't his. Sure he thought you were smart, beautiful and sweet, amazing and funny but you weren't his

Fuck, he'd like you to be though, he really would and that's why things never worked out with Penny or Monica or any of the others.

Well shit...

💕💕

Much to your surprise, Eric had decided to join you at the movies, which had put Eddie in a foul mood.

You figured it was because Eric was encroaching on your time with Eddie.

It's not like you had met many of his dates, if you did meet them they didn't last long, Eddie never really had any girl that stuck around, it's like he was waiting for the perfect girl but just hadn't met her yet.

So maybe Eddie was jealous of Eric a little bit because he was scared that he would lose you as a friend.

That would never ever happen. Still, it's not like you could stay single all of your life while pining over Eddie.

He would meet an amazing girl eventually, you know you needed to move on from him and maybe giving Eric a chance was the way to do that.

Eric's arm casually slips around yours as he sits in the middle between you and Eddie.

"Hey, Munson. Scram. Three's a crowd dude" The look on Eddie's face makes you sense danger as his brown eyes flash.

"You know, I think I'm fine right here" Eddie growls and Eric shrugs.

"Suit yourself, dude"

The next half hour is the most awkward of your life as Eric flirts shamelessly with you and Eddie is concentrated on the movie, though his demeanour is tense.

Halfway through it, you're thirsty and Eddie offers to get you a drink. Eric follows him and your nerves grow even more as you exchange a glance with Robin and Steve.

This was not going to end well...

💕

Eddie didn't know why Eric followed him, he was getting on his last nerve.

"Dude, this is going great. Gotta say think I'm going to score tonight" Eric nudges him and Eddie stiffens.

"What?" Eric grins and throws an arm around him, Eddie thinks for a brief few seconds about punching Eric in his stupid smug mouth and shrugs his arm away.

"Come on man, tell me. You've tapped that right? Spill the deets" fury fills him and he glares at Eric.

"Don't talk about her like that" he warns him who did the douchebag think he was?

Didn't he realize how special you are? How any guy would be lucky to be with you. Of course, it would help if Eddie thought at least one guy was good enough for you but he didn't.

Not even Steve and he liked Steve a lot.

"I'm warning you, man. Shut up if you know what's good for you" Eric's smug smirk falls at these words and he snorts.

"Lighten up man. She's single, isn't she? Or are you in love with her or some shit?" Eddie doesn't hear anything else the douchebag says, he's coming to the realisation on something he should have known anyway.

Something he's suspected for a while but especially in the last few days.

He loved you and he was a fucking idiot for not seeing it any sooner.

"Really, Munson you think she's going to like a freak like you? Give me a break" Eric doubles over laughing and something inside Eddie snaps.

"Shut the fuck up. I mean it" he tells him coldly and all the colour drains from Eric's face before he laughs again, cocky as shit.

"Bet it will eat you up if I get there first huh?"...

At this point, Eddie stalks up to Eric but before anything can happen he hears you call his name.

"Babe, you gotta get your guard dog on a leash or something" Eric nods to you and you scowl, placing a tender hand on Eddie's chest before he lunges for Eric.

"I think you should go," you say to Eric who gapes, then shrugs.

"Whatever, got plenty of chicks I can score with" Ugh, you watch him go feeling disgusted.

Okay so Eric was definitely out of the picture, however you turn to Eddie still pissed at his attitude as well.

"We need to talk"

💕💕

You follow Eddie out beyond pissed as he calls Eric a few choice names. The ride home is fraught with tension and Eddie follows you inside as he still mutters about Eric.

It's all true, yeah but you're still annoyed at his attitude before Eric showed his true colours.

"Yeah he was a dick Eddie but before I knew that you were in a mood about something"

He swallows. ''That asshole was only after one thing"

"If he was a nice guy would you have the same problem?" he's silent then he speaks again.

"I would if he was an asshole who just wanted one thing"

"What does it matter? You sleep with women all the time so what does it matter if I wanted to sleep with a guy? No strings, no feelings just like you do?" you snap.

He doesn't say anything for a moment then looks you dead in the eye, resolve on his features.

"Yeah, and none of them works out and I've finally realised why" You pause and wonder what he means, motioning him to finish what he's saying.

"I'm in love with an amazing woman and I want her to know that she's the best thing that's ever happened to me and she feels like home"

Oh... your stomach sinks and you're desperate to show that you're happy for him even though your heart is breaking so badly.

"Oh, that's...that's great" he walks over to you and cups your cheek, his eyes warming.

"Oh, princess, come on. You know it's you I'm crazy about" You're stunned for a few seconds then break out into an ecstatic smile, trying very hard not to cry.

"Really?" he blushes as your hand entwines with his.

"Yes, took me long enough to realize, I think deep down I always knew. Seeing you with that douchebag was a wake-up call. I love you, sweetheart, you're my world, my home. I hope you know that"

All the anger and tension has faded from your body and your teary - happy tears - as you listen to Eddie's confession.

"I love you too Eddie" You kiss him and he pulls you closer to him, deepening the kiss.

"I'm sorry I got so jealous, I'm sorry I was with those women when I should have realised it was you I wanted"

You kiss him again and he holds you close, you fit perfectly in his arms and contentment fills you. It's been such a whirlwind of a day but it couldn't have ended any better.

"It's okay, you did realise. You're here with me right now and all I want to do is feel your lips on mine" he grins.

"As you wish princess"

✨💕

Eddie marvels at you in his arms, naked body pressed close to his. The rise and fall of your breathing as you make love.

Sex has never felt like this before, it feels so incredible and he knows it's because it's with you.

"I love you" he looks deep into your eyes as he says this and your warm smile makes his heart skip a beat.

You whisper against his neck as you press kisses over it, that you love him too.

He holds you close to him, fireworks explode in his mind as you clench around him tight.

"Eddie" your soft moans drive him wild and he orgasms, spilling his seed inside you, he captures your mouth with his in soft kisses as your back arches and you orgasm whispering his name over and over again.

He smiles as you fall asleep in his arms, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

It's you, it's always been you. Now that you're his, he feels at peace, content.

Because you're his home, you always have been. Always will.

[comfortless]

how would ghost spotting with könig go?

You’re out on a silly ghost tour in the dead of night, roaming the streets of Vienna with other tourists trying to make the best of your trip. It’s scarier than visiting abandoned buildings or roaming the streets of your hometown because in truth— you don’t really know where you are! The tour guide prattles ever onward about the Kaiserwalzer restaurant where you can dine with strange figures just as one does arrive.

No one in your little group seems to bat an eye or notice the giant shadow trailing after you, the barely-contained malevolence in those pale blue of his eyes. You force yourself to listen to some story of locals meeting pale faced women in white dresses and orbs of light as you shuffle after the group. The architecture itself already feels as though it’s closing you in, without the added presence at your back, looming over you as though he’s your personal tormentor.

You’re shivering by the time the guide stops to talk about the history of the next site, failing to reel in your panic when the stranger rests a heavy hand on your shoulder and corrects the guide rambling about the devil seen in the ruins that remain of the castle before you. It was built in the twelfth century, not later, he says, gives your shoulder a little squeeze when you stare up at him in wide-eyed bewilderment.

The thought of brushing his hand away occurs, but when one of the others further ahead of you lets out a shriek of terror, claiming that they saw something you find yourself clinging to his arm instead. Even when you flinch back with whispered apologies to the stranger, throughout the rest of the tour he keeps you tucked close, just in case you get scared again. (Probably pretending to startle himself just for a chance to squeeze at your waist every now and then.) You try to ignore the coos in German about what a sweet couple the two of you were, even when they have a very obvious effect on the man still pressing against your back. /:

He even offers to walk you to your hotel when it’s all over. But what if you get nightmares…? Maybe you should let him inside, just for a little bit…

[jekyll-doodles]

How do the lords act in the after? Do they stay in there human forms? And if not is the rest of alagadda back to their human forms or in the other form?

[Final conclusion on the four contracted individuals inhabiting ■■■ verse, ■■■ space-■■■ time, aka "SCP Wakey Wakey". Each individual has sufficiently fulfilled their end of our agreement. It is unfortunate I was not able to see the final confrontation – it fell outside of the set times I was granted for observation, you know. Take what I say with a grain of salt, as stories passed around tend to morph. I know I have the broad strokes intact, but some of the lesser details are… lacking.]

[And, of course, what really happened to that fiend mustn't be made known to anyone else in this universe, especially the foundation. They are a suspicious bunch and while that serves a good purpose most days, in this instance that lack of trust will only cause more problems. So, as per the lords’ wishes, let us keep the decided fate of the ambassador enclosed only here. Not a word of it is to be spoken. The detail that the ambassador was successfully “neutralized” is all they need to know.]

The After:

Considering the atrocities that entity had and was still committing at the time, I had expected some kind of fight to take place when the confrontation occurred. Unsurprisingly surprising, as human nature often is, it was far more quiet and calculated attack. That time recovering in foundation custody did them well after all, not that I had many doubts that it would. More so, having over a year of officially planning the endeavor, seemingly seamlessly blended into their casual lives. The majority of said planning went unnoticed by said foundation – not for a lack of trying though. In the final days however, it was palpable that the time was coming. Even when keeping up human appearances. There were days spent in planning and of passing down the final judgment on the target entity. And then, they ventured back. The return was admittedly without notice. But a notice might've opened an opportunity to interfere or assist -- they did not need either. No more people needed to experience the horrors of their home.

The fateful day, under that yellow sky, would have seemed like every other day before and after. The streets and citizens were as they had left them: in utter ruin and revelry. The few souls that could recognize the return of their missing lords were either obliviously overjoyed, or watched in silent dread. Those few left with enough sense to know something was different. Something important. Perhaps it was the return of the black lord that troubled them, his anguished visage steadfast as he was marched back to the palace by the other three. Distant sounds of cheering echoed around them, for what they knew to be an execution-in-waiting.

The city and palace no longer held its control over their senses; it bent to their wills and inconspicuously shifted routes that led them where they needed. Back to where this nightmare started, and where it would end. The throne room was emptied, save for its sole prisoner. The black lord of Alagadda approached the throne, ushered in by the restraining grips of the red and yellow lords by his sides, and the white lord gliding behind them. He greeted his king kindly. There was a shift from the stationary creature as he groaned in his agony. And then they appeared, cocksure of themself, at their prisoner's side. It most likely berated the deserters, and especially expressed disgust for the anguished's live return. Would have demanded answers to their actions, before it dealt out their punishments. 

And so, the lords said what it desired to hear. The white lord announced their abrupt leave was to find the disgraced lord and bring him to proper justice. The yellow lord and red lord, as on rare occasions, agreed : it was a surprise gift to the ambassador, the red lord remarked, letting it be the one to personally dispose of their former colleague. To be the one rip away his mask and smash him to pieces, ensuring the only memory of him left would be a mere stain on the throne room's floor. The execution would be a fine spectacle for their king too, he added. The black lord attempted to protest, which devolved into vile insults, and was silenced by the other lords. It was quite a show.

Respect where it’s due though, the ambassador was no simple fool. 

They were a sadistic fool. And the chance to execute the black lord again had them giddy with excitement. 

And so, the lords did as it desired. Shutting off the entrances to ensure there was no possible exit nor interference. They dragged the black lord forward and roughly knelt him before the ambassador. It leaned down to him, its insidious laughter echoed around them. Just as it had for untold years. Just as it had when they were human. It gloated about how he could not escape now nor ever again. That this was all inevitable -- suppose it was right in a way. It delicately reached down, intent on caressing his porcelain façade before abruptly digging into his face and ripping it away with a flourish. Finally putting an end to the nuisance before them. However, a single finger of its had made contact with the mask when, suddenly, the ambassador would have found themselves unable to move, as if caught in some invisible web. 

Well. Quite literally, actually. 

Imagine: an insidious spider fruitlessly trying to struggle its way out of a web, only to look up and see its spinner descending upon it. The illusion of the control it had and of the masked lords vanishing right before its… face. And from the shadows of the throne room, mesmerizing beings emerged that it had not known before. Had not been able to anticipate nor manipulate. And how could it? For all it knew about manipulating humans, it failed to truly understand the full scope of humanity. And now, it never would. They spoke no words to it. Instead, bonds of chains, of wire, of thorny vines snaked and intersected with the web, impaling and further holding the entity in place. And by their wills, they condemned the former ambassador to be erased from continued existence. Ensuring it would never harm nor return again. With no trace left of the entity, the hanged king was next. Unlike in the past, no more would they allow him to wallow senselessly in his sorrows and anguish. His fate was more merciful and kind. A quick execution, finally released from his bonds and laid to rest after a lifetime of suffering and causing great pain. And with both entities gone, the city itself rippled at the seams. The dimension fully bending to the will of its new overseers. 

The change was gradual; a shuddering sigh of relief let out by the land itself. The lost memories and colors returned, along with the proper sun and sky. Wildlife reemerged. The island was now surrounded by a glittering sea, no longer a viscous abyss. Those first few days must have been exhausting for the citizens and other lost travelers. Suddenly finding themselves back in their homes or shelters, as themselves again without the feverish cardinal urges of carnage and flesh. No more masks to hide behind. No more dreamlike stupors. Granted, the lords' new abilities made organizing and informing them of their new situation a far more manageable task. However, it was not the first step they took when the city regained a more familiar landscape. After all, they were still them. They too, like the rest, had lives to reconnect. Amongst all the other residents that reunited with lost loved ones: an eldest son hurriedly returned to his family, a wife and husband reunited with each other and their baby, and a new family rose from the ashes of the broken hearts of a widower and orphan prince. The city began to mourn, and to heal.

It was decided that the native citizens could choose for themselves if they would like to stay in their warped homeland, or be relocated and acclimated back into the “real world”. With assistance from the foundation -- one of the few times the lords allowed them to be involved in Alagaddan affairs -- those that wished to be returned were issued the necessary documentation, assistance, and educated on modernity. Travelers from other dimensions that wished to be returned to their native reality were helped similarly, though that process was slightly trickier. Those that wished to remain, and those that wished to return to, adjusted to life in their changed homeland : An ethereal city, quilted from their past and the present, that granted a sense of comfort and peace to its inhabitants.

For now this would be a new beginning for a lost people and their city of dreams, and The End of my meddling in their universe. They would all live happily in The After.

----

[Note to my colleagues who, in their defense, have learned not to trust me with happy endings: You may rest your suspicions this time. Alagadda is going to be fine. And while the lords now find themselves to be immortal, which poses its own set of hardships to be faced later down the line, I promise they will be alright. From the beginning, they were more than merely them, and have now simply metamorphized into being distinctly More than merely them. They, along with their city, have now shifted from symbolizing one truth to another. You merely need to hold some faith in humanity's benevolence.]

[selineram3421]

HC 12 where Alastor got into a fight with Vox, who managed to get wires around his throat and microphone, breaking his ways to talk. Reader finds out and helps make sure he isn't bored while recovering? (Plus some assurances about not being weak despite the temporary loss)

Ok, I hope you don't mind me using this as the next part of the Dream demon reader stories. Nightmare

HC 12: "Can you talk?"

Radio Silence

Platonic: Alastor & Reader Oneshot

Wanring! ⚠

⚠ blood, descriptive injuries, cussing, Jeffery Dahmer mention ⚠

~

"Good evening! I'm Katie Killjoy.", a blonde skinny demon introduces herself as soon as the cameras start rolling, now on air.

"And I'm Tom Trench!", a smaller demon with a gas mask says. "A brawl between two overlords has occurred at the T.V. studio. The Radio Demon Alastor and one of the Three V's, Vox!"

Pictures appear on the screen of the mentioned demons. A glitched out picture of Alastor and a clear high definition one for Vox.

Katie's smile widens. "That's right! These two overlords have had it out for each other since their first meeting! Getting into multiple battles!", she says and grabs her cup of coffee.

Tom flinches as the cup moves. "Haha!", he laughs nervously and pulls on the collar of his shirt. "They've been fighting for over a few hours now. Tearing up the streets and causing chaos!"

Footage of the fight is shown on screen, there's debris and bodies littering the ground. The two overlords are ways away but still visible for the viewers. There's tendrils and wires destroying everything in its way.

"No one knows what the reason for this fight was, but who cares!? We're getting views!", Katie says.

Something is flung towards the camera and the feed goes out, turning the screen into static.

"Looks like we'll have to check in later with our copter camera!", Tom declares.

"Up next, It's Dahm Good with Jeffery! Showing us what body parts will give you the proper nutrients!", Katie shoves Tom to the side, sending him flying. "All that and more after the break!", she finishes, throwing her mug at Tom.

.

"You tacky piece of shit!", Alastor growls, using a tendril to hurl a large piece of debris at Vox.

Earlier, before the fight had started, the red dressed demon had begun breaking the studio building and wanted to do it live. So he summoned his cane, placing it just behind him to broadcast and possibly record for you to listen later. However Vox quickly put a stop to that by summoning up wires to toss whatever he could to injure his rival, breaking the microphone in the process.

"Tacky!?", Vox shouts offended, barely dodging the piece of cement. "At least I don't look like something in a antique store!"

"Antiques are treasured.", he hisses, opening up a portal behind the t.v. demon. "Not like some shitty television that can be tossed out."

Alastor's smile widens as a tendril comes up and latches on his rival's arm from the portal, yanking him back.

Vox's screen cracks on the ground, a corner breaking off completely.

Music to the Radio Demon's ears as the arm twists, breaking in half revealing wires, metal, and sparks.

"Two can play that game!", Vox shouts, sending wires to shoot towards Alastor.

He's able to dodge most of them, but a small one manages to wrap around his neck, tightening as it sends a surge of electricity.

The T.V. demon's screen flickers. Vox scowls as he feels himself start to shut down.

With one last effort, he has the wire around his rival's neck send another shock, worse than the one before.

Blood gushes out of Alastor's mouth. He chuckles, his voice distorted with heavy radio static as he disappears through the shadows.

Leaving Vox lying on the ground with a cracked screen and a twisted arm.

.

You were sitting at the bar after waking up from a long nap, sipping the drink you had with a silly straw and kicking your feet like a kid. Husk had a little t.v. at the corner of the bar, made to stay out of Vox's range.

"Ah fuck.", the cat demon grumbles as the news takes over his show.

"We are back to take a look at the Overlord battle! It seems like it finished not too long ago! The Radio Demon is nowhere to be seen but Vox is still in the area.", the skinny blonde says with a sickeningly wide smile. "We'll get more details soon! Our next story-!"

Husk changes the channel with a huff. "Annoying bitch.", he grumbles.

"Fight? Since when?", you ask and look at Husk confused.

"Don't look at me, I don't know shit.", he says and opens a bottle of booze.

Feeling worried, you decide to pay a visit to Alastor's radio tower in the colony.

"Alastor?", you call out once entering the building, walking up the stairs to get to his recording room.

After looking around, you find that its empty and take a moment to think of where else your friend could be.

The basement?

With a shrug, you start going down stairs and go through the back door that leads to the hallway. You hear a familiar sound and go down the hall, opening the basement door. Making your way down some more stairs and over to the sounds of crackling static.

"Al?", you call out.

There's a flash of red to your left. Looking over, you see Alastor holding his neck and kneeling on the floor, almost gasping for breath.

"Oh shit, Al!", you run over and slide on your knees to get to him. "What happened?", you ask now in front of him.

There's blood dripping from his mouth, his eyes still radio dials.

"Can you talk?", you ask, carefully placing your hand on his cheek to wipe away some blood splatter.

He tries to speak, but grumbling static cuts through and he coughs up blood.

You quickly shush him. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Dragging a tall cannibalistic demon to his room was not what you had planned today but you could make an acception. His eyes slowly go back to normal, now looking exhausted.

"Upsy-daisy", you say as you lift him up a bit and place him on the couch.

Al? Can you hear me? You ask, trying to talk in the head space.

Its mostly for long distance communication but it works well for any situation, something you both agreed upon when going over the details of the deal.

He doesn't respond, instead turning his head away from you. You feel him block you out, very much like closing the door in your face.

"Fine, you don't have to talk that way. How about your microphone, hm? I'm sure he'll speak to me.", you ask, placing your hands on your hips.

Alastor cringes, his smile forced. With a wave of his hand, the microphone appears.

In half.

"......", you're in shock like surprised pikachu as you hold the poor broken cane. "What the fuck!? How-! Wha-", you look down at Mic's closed eye and back at Alastor.

He still won't look at you.

.

You've been taking care of him for a while now.

Making him food easy to eat, taking over most of the weird chores, and playing music in the recording room to make it seem like all was fine.

Fixing Mic was a little tricky but you got it after a good two weeks. The cane soon took the radio broadcasting from your hands.

Alastor...was still upset, he hadn't tried to speak to you through your shared mind link or Mic.

You were done and you were going to kick that damn "door" down. Sitting down across from him at the end of his bed, you cross your arms and look right at him laying in bed.

Friendship therapy bitch! You broke down the door.

He turned his head to look at you in surprise, as if he didn't think you'd be able to do that.

I've spent years disassociating in my head, it should not be a surprise. You wear a straight face.

Get out. He sighs and looks away.

No, you need to talk to me and I'm not leaving until you do. You frown.

I have nothing to tell you. He furrows his brows.

Bullshit. You huff.

What do you want me to say? Alastor turns to look at you. I failed to get rid of that scum? That I couldn't rip him to shreds because losing my voice was worse than anything else? That I'm too weak because of backing out for that reason!?

"You are not weak.", you say out loud. "Your voice is part of your power and its completely understandable why you left."

He rolls his eyes and looks away from you again.

Your frown deepens. "Vox hasn't made any appearances since that fight."

Alastor perks up at that, looking at you with interest.

"Oh, now you listen?", you let a smile slip. "He hasn't shown up in any talk show's, at clubs..", you begin to laugh and cover your mouth.

He starts to smile genuinely.

"When 666 news asked for an interview, you could easily tell it was a prerecorded voice to answer questions...pfft! You could hear Velvette and Valentino fighting over which buttons were the right ones to press! Hahahaha!", you laugh loudly, not being able to contain it for much longer.

His shoulders shake as he silently laughs along with you.

Thank you.

"No problem.", you say after finishing your last fit of giggles. "Just remember that I will kick that door down again if you don't talk to me when you clearly need to."

Noted.

Your friend could be an idiot sometimes, but you're an idiot too. So, whatever.

~

The title is perfect✨ Mwuah💋

~Seline, the person.

From the prompt-list: ✨here✨

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An extra bit that's not in the story, just for fun:

Warning: suggestive

"So you're like his nurse?", Angel asks with a raised brow.

You were currently making soup, the easiest thing Alastor could eat with how badly his throat is damaged.

"Does that mean you wear the skimpy nurse outfit and do check ups?", the spider demon winks at the last part.

"Angel!", you gasp out, face flushed. "No! Bad!", you scold and whack him with a spoon.

"Ow! Hey!", he flinches away.

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

Tend The Light | One-Shot

For the first time since being dragged into this hellscape… you finally had something to look forward to.

A chance encounter with your fellow survivor, Alan Wake, leads you to make an offer he can't refuse.

Pairing: DBD!Alan Wake/F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Romance, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Smut, Infidelity

Notes: Hey guys! I recently finished Alan Wake 2 and I play him almost exclusively these days on Dead by Daylight, so I've become a little obsessed with him lol. I like that he's sad and just some dude suffering indefinitely. I also like that he tries to be a good person but still makes self-serving decisions that affect others, and just how introspective he is (though he gets in his own way). It doesn't help that Ilkka Villi is both attractive and an incredible performer and his voice actor, Matthew Porretta, is just so pleasant to listen to. ANYWAY, this is the first of many brain worms I've been infected with and is currently the only Alan Wake fic I've finished. Time will tell if any others fall out of my head. I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist Catalogue

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

Do not take for granted daybreak’s warmth  For when the night comes, we must tend even to the light

The Entity’s Realm was not an easy place to get used to.

You had been there for a couple months, scrambling to escape the trials you were forced to endure with your many fellow survivors, failing far more often than not. But you were surprised by your own resilience, quickly discovering your strengths and weaknesses and doing your best to help those around you.

Even so, to make it in this world was exhausting, the trials almost near-constant. You felt like you barely had time to breathe before you were being sent to the next one, having to brace yourself for yet another fight for survival.

Today, however, you were given the precious gift of rest, and you were desperate to make the most of it. 

You started off by lounging around in the office building you and the other survivors made a home out of. It was amongst a cluster of city structures sharing a street, a seemingly endless fog surrounding the area, keeping you from wherever the killers might be stalking.

You were thankful for the separation outside of trials, but it did little to truly alleviate the horror of this new reality. Facing the deaths of your teammates and yourself everyday was a hell you couldn’t have come up with even in your worst nightmares.

You wanted to sleep, but you only felt tense. Getting up, you decided to find something to occupy yourself with while you waited for the next trial to pull you in.

You chatted for a bit with some of the other survivors, though they were eventually called on by the Entity, leaving you alone for a short time with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. And dark thoughts they were, mostly a looping montage playing in your head of every death you had suffered in this place that just got longer and longer with each new one to occur.  

Now that was something you didn’t want to dwell on.

You decided it would be a good time to explore the area. You idly wished you could run off and find a way out of this place, but there wasn’t much use in fleeing. No matter how far you wandered, the Entity would always have you in its clutches.

You moseyed about for a while, first in the building you resided in and then in the surrounding ones. Every structure in the area was a corporate facility and they all seemed to look exactly the same, boring you quickly.

However, you reached the very top floor of the building across the street and realized there was a stairwell up to the roof; something the others didn’t possess.

Mildly enthralled by the revelation, you found yourself under a dark sky, night quickly falling overhead. You took a step toward the half wall that separated you from the sheer drop to the ground below but were startled when you realized someone else was already there.

Alan Wake, you recalled, thinking back to the brief introduction he gave you upon your arrival.

He seemed like a very kind man from what you could tell, but quite distant. Beyond helping in trials, he didn’t interact much with anyone except Saga and Rose, who had apparently joined him from their shared world.

He braced his elbows against the top of the wall, looking over his shoulder at you as you stood there awkwardly.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone would be up here. Hope I’m not disturbing you,” you told him. 

“Not at all. I don't own the place, you can stay here if you like.” He offered you a small quirk of his lips before turning his gaze back out over the horizon. His tall, lean form was stiff and his expression contemplative. 

Taking his words at face value, you approached his right side, keeping a couple of feet between you to give him space. You studied his profile from your peripheral vision, noting just how handsome he was, what with his long dark locks and big blue eyes, now slightly obscured by the furrow of his thick brows.

He seemed to glance your way and you were quick to avert your gaze, settling on the sky instead. You were surprised to see a smattering of stars decorating the night, a lovely window into the vast darkness beyond this horrid place.

“It’s beautiful…” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.

Alan followed your line of sight to the heavens. “Yeah, it really is.”

“I do wonder, though,” you started, half-facing him as you spoke, “is it even real? Or is it just another one of the Entity’s tricks?”

“Hard to know what’s real here,” he stated, “but I like to imagine it is. Seeing the actual sky gives me the hope that there’s somewhere beyond this place.”

“And maybe even a better chance of escaping.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, titling his head as he looked at you fully.

“If the sky isn’t under the Entity’s control, then maybe there are… I don’t know… holes in its design? Maybe even weak spots to exploit if we get lucky.”

He let out a quiet huff. “I see you’ve heard some of the conspiracy theories going around.”

You laid your cheek against your palm, supported by your elbow atop the concrete wall, looking at him with an amused grin. “You a nonbeliever then?”

“Anything’s possible, I guess. I just don’t think we should put all our eggs in one basket.”

“I don’t disagree, but as a working theory, it’s pretty solid. I mean, think of the fog. The Entity uses it to transport us not only around the Realm but from our worlds, right? There’s bound to be some wiggle room in between.”

He shook his head, chuckling lightly. It was a nice sound. “You make a compelling case, I admit. Were you a lawyer in your past life?”

You rolled your eyes at that. “No, no. Nothing so prestigious. What about you? You have an interesting career outside of this hellhole?”

He stared down at his hands, folded in front of him. “I was—or I am a writer. Did pretty well for myself before things fell apart. You know how it goes.”

You raised a brow. “Were you famous or something?”

He scratched his beard, looking almost diffident. “Uh, yeah, you could say that. But that was a long time ago. Saga and Rose are the only ones who really know that about me here. And, well, I guess now you do too.”

“Wow, I didn't realize I was in the presence of such a celebrity. How exciting.” Your voice was teasing, but you were being genuine, finding it quite enjoyable getting to know him.

“No pictures, please,” he joked, flashing you an easygoing smile. And what a nice one it was, the sight filling you with butterflies.

How had you never noticed just how attractive he was until now? You supposed survival was somewhat higher on your priority list up until this moment. He was quite a bit older than you as well, but that wasn’t much of a deterrent in your eyes.

You felt disappointed, however, when he rubbed his arm with his left hand and you caught the gleam of a golden wedding band on his finger.

Well, you could settle for friendship. It was the least you could hope for in a place like this, and you’d take what you could get.

You laughed airily at the quip before asking, “What genres did you write?”

“Horror and crime thrillers mostly.”

“Impressive. Stories like that aren’t the first ones I usually reach for, but I definitely enjoy them.”

“Yeah? What’s your preference?”

You were a bit surprised by his curiosity, not expecting him to be as willing to socialize as you currently were. You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, however.

“It’s a bit embarrassing, but I’m more of a romance enthusiast. Though I’d say poetry is my favorite kind of writing above anything. I dabble in it myself, actually,” you admitted sheepishly.

“A poet, huh?”

“I know, it’s pretty pretentious,” you said with a laugh.

“No, not at all,” he assured. “What do you usually write about?”

“Hm… a little bit of everything, I suppose. It’s honestly a great way to express some difficult emotions in an abstract way. And there’s a fun challenge in figuring out how to structure it and whether to make it rhyme or not.”

“Not my personal strong suit, but I respect it. You publish anything?”

You shook your head. “No. I always thought about it. Even compiled all my work into a manuscript, but I never had the guts to.”

“Afraid to put yourself out there?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Got a mixed bag of insecurities, I guess. Fear of rejection and imposter syndrome are the most notable. But I think the hardest part is knowing I’d be baring my soul to the world. That kind of vulnerability… It's scary.”  

He nodded. “I understand what you mean. Once you show your face to the masses, there’s no going back. When I first started out, I really wanted the fame, you know? But I realized too late just how overwhelming it all was. It felt like…” he paused, trying to find the words. “It felt like I was drowning in it.”

“I could only imagine,” you mused solemnly. “Do you still write, though? Even if there’s not much of an audience to share it with?”

“Guess I could. But no. It’s been months since I’ve tried. Since I ended up here, actually.”

“Same here. Hard to find time or focus on creating something when we’re all being stretched thin by these damn trials. Not exactly high on the priority list.”

He chuckled at that. “That’s definitely part of it.”

You fell into an unexpectedly comfortable silence after that, the two of you returning your gazes to the sky. Your mind ran amok with questions you wanted to ask him, hoping to continue this pleasant exchange a little longer. Then an idea popped into your head.

“I have a… proposal for you,” you said, facing him again.

“And what’s that?”

“What if, over the next—oh, I don’t know—few days or so, we both write something brief that we can trade when we see each other again? How does that sound, Mr. Wake?”

“You can just call me Alan,” he replied with an amused laugh before considering your offer. “Something brief, you said? Would a short story work?”

“Yeah, of course. Write whatever’s most comfortable for you. Maybe no more than a couple pages? I’ll just whip up a poem on my end if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all. I like the idea. It sounds—”

“Fun?” you interjected with an impish smirk.

“Yeah, it sounds fun.” The smile he returned with was relaxed, a far cry from the clearly troubled man you normally witnessed him as.

For the first time since being dragged into this hellscape… you finally had something to look forward to.

***

The day arrived when you had a moment of respite, yet again visiting the roof of the building across the street.

You were buzzing with nerves, the realization that an actually published and well known author (in his world at least) would be reading your work hitting you like a brick to the face. But you felt good about what you had written, spending every moment of the last few days not in trials scribbling furiously in the notepad you had found. Fortunate to be surrounded by office supplies, you mused.

The poem itself was about your time here in the Realm, and all the pent up emotions that came with it. You ended it on a hopeful note, however, both for your own sanity and the fear that if you went too off the rails with what you felt, you’d somehow scare Alan off.

You waited for quite some time for him to meet you, the sky darkening like it had the night you first spent in his company. You were suddenly worried that maybe he forgot, or that he never intended to participate in this silly little exchange you came up with from the start.

Just as you were about to call it quits, disappointed thoroughly, the door to the stairwell burst open, Alan huffing as he jogged over to you.

“Sorry I took so long, I just got caught up in editing,” he told you breathlessly, leaning against the roof wall as he held out a notebook in his hand.

You were both relieved and giddy that he not only showed up, but clearly rushed over to meet with you. You had to hide your bashful smile as he stood to his full height, looking sheepishly down at you.

“It’s no problem. Just thought you got cold feet on me for a minute there.”

“No, nothing like that. I was pretty curious to see what you’d bring,” he replied earnestly. “And I wanted to know your thoughts on my own work.”

He seemed excited, and that had a warm feeling bloom within your chest.

“It might be a little too soon to think so highly of my opinion, Alan,” you said with a laugh.

“Then let’s not waste any time.”

He offered you his notebook, and you gave him your notepad in return.

“One thing I’d like to ask of you,” you started, feeling shy now that your hard work was in his hands.

“Sure, anything.”

“Could we check these out… later? The idea of you reading my poem right in front of me is a bit embarrassing.”

He chuckled at that. “I won’t judge you harshly, I promise. But yeah, we can just meet up again tomorrow if you’d prefer that.”

You let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, I appreciate it. And I’m quite excited to dig into whatever you made. I’m sure it's great.”

“What did you just say? It’s a little too soon to think so highly of me?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Hey, you’re the famous one out of the two of us. Not exactly the biggest gamble there.”

“You never know. Plenty of shitty authors have a big following. The typical reader isn’t looking for a masterpiece.” He shrugged. 

“And neither am I,” you countered, giggling.

“Touché.”

Despite agreeing to meet again to talk about your prospective pieces, the two of you stayed on the roof for a couple hours longer, idle chatter turning a bit deeper as time waned on.

You shared the highlights of your life before, describing the night you were taken and what you had left behind. Who you missed more than anything.

Eventually, he told you an abridged version of his own life. Your heart broke for him as he explained he spent the last thirteen years—going on fourteen now—trapped in what he called the “Dark Place”, away from his wife. He tried desperately to escape and get back to her, but he only managed to swap one prison for another. A worse one, which was something he didn’t think was possible.

“So many years I could have spent with her… wasted.” He sighed heavily, and you could feel the weight of his experience just by looking into his tired eyes.

You ended the evening on that somber note, promising to meet again the next night.

As soon as you were alone, you opened his notebook, hunkered down in the corner of the conference room you made your home, eyes greedily taking in every line.

It was only three pages long and his handwriting was a bit messy, but it was really good. It seemed to be a horror retelling of The Scorpion and The Frog parable, and the way he crafted ambiance in every line—not wasting a single word to express exactly what he wanted to—was masterful. How he could make something so subtle yet so succinct was a mystery to you.

You felt both jealous of his ability and humbled by it. You almost regretted giving him your poem, believing it couldn’t possibly live up to his standards, but that would have meant you’d never have gotten to experience such a gem.

Your one critique, however, was this clear bitterness that seemed to permeate every sentence. You didn’t expect a happy little fairytale from the man, of course, but you would have loved to see more range in the expression of the characters at least.

You could barely sleep, not only going over what you wanted to discuss with Alan about his story, but battling with the abject fear of what he’d have to say about your poem.

You were even a little distracted the entirety of the following day, fumbling a bit more than usual in your trials and probably pissing off a few of your fellow survivors. But hey, everyone has had an off day at some point.

You could barely contain your nerves when the time finally came to regroup with Alan, rushing over to what was now officially your meeting spot.

He was already waiting for you when you arrived, leaning his lower back against the wall of the roof, facing the stairwell door. His eyes jumped up from your notepad in his hands as you approached, a warm smile on his face.

“Glad you made it,” he greeted, beckoning you over. “So… what’d you think?”

Amused by his eagerness, you went ahead and jumped right into it.

You explained to him your thoughts on his piece, though you tried not to let slip the true degree of your zeal for his talent while praising his strengths or sound too harsh while offering your criticism.

He looked thoughtful at your words, simply nodding as you finished your verbal annotation. “I’m glad to know you enjoyed it, and I appreciate the honesty.”

“Of course,” you replied. “I doubt my opinion holds too much weight, but I figured I’d offer it anyway.”

“Well, now that I’ve read your poem, I think I get to decide just how much weight your opinion holds,” he told you, a brow raised.

Your gut lurched a bit at that, apprehensive of just what he’d have to say about your talent as a writer. “And what did you decide?”

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, contemplating his words. “I think you have a knack for setting the tone you want to express, and your descriptions are so vivid, they’re almost tangible. I also think the way you’re able to show your emotions through the text is as impressive as it is relatable.”

Your eyes widened at his praise, completely shocked that he enjoyed your work so much. You sensed the pit of anxiety that once formed in your belly morph into butterflies. An elatedness coursed through you, making you feel like a teenager with a crush on her teacher, basking in his approval.

“My only real gripe is that you handhold your audience a bit. There seems to be a tendency to over explain yourself. I also think you could benefit from a little more subtlety,” he added, grounding you back in reality for a moment. “But I’m no publisher or poet, so take that with a grain of salt.”

You nodded, storing his words for later, your mind flitting over all the ways you could have changed your poem to make it better. “Thank you, that’s great to know. You’re the first person I’ve ever shown my writing to, so it’s nice to get an opinion outside of my own head.” 

“I’m the first? Really?” He seemed surprised by your confession, brows furrowing.

You nodded, feeling timorous yet again. “You know, beyond assignments from my school days. I’ve kept my poetry under lock and key for the most part.”

“And you were willing to show me?”

You chuckled lightly. “Well, you’re a famous writer, who better to get an appraisal from? Not to mention, I thought maybe this could help me get closer to you.”

You weren’t sure, but you could swear you saw a blush color his cheeks. His tone as he replied was self-effacing, however, “Not sure why you would want to. I’m just a lonely old man after all.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling a pang in your chest at his statement. “You’re not old, Alan.”

His lips quirked up into a small grin. “Well, I’m certainly getting there.”

Shaking your head, you looked down at the notebook in your hand, ready to return it to its owner. “Regardless, I was wondering if you still want to do this. Keep writing for each other, I mean.”

You practically prayed to whatever out there might listen that he would agree, not wanting to lose this friendship building between you. You never thought you’d find someone you were so intellectually compatible with in a place like this—or ever.

A selfish part of you wanted to see if this could bloom into something more despite him making it clear he still loved and missed his wife. You didn’t think you could stand giving up these late night rendezvous, talking into the small hours of the morning and getting to see the warmth of his smile and hear the sound of his deep laugh. If you could swim in those bright blue eyes, you would have already dove in.

What had gotten into you?

You braced for his answer, preparing for the deep-seated disappointment that would inevitably follow in the wake of his rejection.

“Yeah, I’d like that very much,” he answered instead. “I have to admit, writing for an audience again after a decade of only doing it for survival has been… nice. Sure, there’s freedom in it no longer being a necessity, but I had lost all motivation until you came along. This last week has been the most normal I’ve felt in years. Though… it might be selfish of me to want to hold on to it.”

Your heart raced in your chest, relief and an overwhelming joy filling you whole.

“I’m happy I could do that for you,” you told him earnestly. “And it’s not selfish at all. We should hold on to the few good things we have. Nothing wrong with that.”

He offered you a fond smile at your words, and you knew in that moment you would give anything to keep it gracing his handsome face.

“In any case,” he replied, voice soft, “thank you.”

“Maybe I should be thanking you for being so willing to play along with my silly game. I don’t think anyone else would have given me the time of day.”

He chuckled, placing his large hand on your shoulder and squeezing it gently, to your surprise. “Well, I look forward to what comes next.”

The contact was warm and sent you reeling despite how little it was.

The two of you then exchanged your notebooks once more and he retired for the night, leaving you to your own devices, your gaze following his tall form as he retreated to the stairwell.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and looked back up at the sky, stars still twinkling in the night. How strange it was that those constellations would remain painted in the heavens during your entire existence, and yet your life was just a stream of ceaseless change. Like a tide. Like the wind. Impermanent. 

You knew what you would write next.

***

You and Alan continued your little exchange over the next several weeks, the two of you growing closer with every evening spent in each other’s company. His gentle guidance in helping you hone your craft was appreciated greatly, and you could tell your work was improving.

Although you didn’t spend much time together outside of your allotted meetings, the two of you would still chat in passing, and it appeared like you were the first person Alan tried to help when you wound up together in trials.

You were happy that you had finally found a good friend here. 

However, your crush on the man was forming into full-blown feelings, which were getting harder and harder to ignore. Sometimes, in the quiet, intimate moments shared between you, you considered telling him the truth. But one glance at his wedding ring had you biting your tongue, yearning filling your days more than fear, it would seem.

You savored every conversation made under starlight, keeping all the easy banter and every dark confession locked away inside of you. The fact he was willing to confide in you, that he thought so highly of you and your opinion… you would never take it for granted. 

Tonight you brought with you a tin of stale butter cookies you found while scrounging in the area, wanting to indulge in this little treat with Alan. He deserved this small comfort after all.

“Hey, you,” he greeted affably as you came through the stairwell entrance, patting the spot beside him on the ground where he had placed a quilt he found a couple weeks prior. “What do you have there?”

You sat with crossed legs next to him, face heating up just by being in his proximity. You opened the tin and held it out to him. “Brought a snack for us to split.”

His eyes seemed to soften at your words, grabbing a cookie from the top. “Thank you. I appreciate you willing to share your treats with me. God knows they’re far and few between.”

You shrug, your gaze unable to meet his, feeling suddenly shy. “Least I could do for you taking pity on me,” you tease.

“And here I thought you were taking pity on me,” he replied with a chuckle, taking a bite out of the stale confection. He smiled at the taste, sighing in contentment as he leaned back on his hands, his legs stretched outward.

His reaction made you happy, warmth settling in your belly along with the treat. You glanced over at him, seeing a crumb stuck in his beard. You giggled, leaning over to pluck it from his hair.

“Saving some for later?” you joke as you flick it into the distance.

He looked abashed as he laughed awkwardly. “I promise I’m not usually this much of a slob,” he assured. “Maybe I should just shave the damn thing.”

“No!” you said far too quickly, your eyes widening at your own outburst.

“No?” he questioned, quirking a brow.

“Sorry, it’s just that I like the beard. Call me a sucker for facial hair,” you admitted sheepishly.

“Is that so?” He was clearly amused, making you let out a puff of air.

“What can I say? I like the rugged look.”

“What else are you a sucker for?” His voice dipped low, the rasp of it sending a tingle down your spine.

Was he messing with you? You couldn’t be sure, but the butterflies in your belly made it hard to think clearly, especially with the way he leveled his gaze on you.

“Pretty eyes,” you let slip. His surprise at your words emboldened you to elaborate, “You definitely have a pair of those. Like looking at a clear blue sky.”

He huffed out a laugh, the corners of those lovely eyes creasing as he grinned at you.

“Well, I think your best trait is your smile,” he told you. “You could light up a room with it.”

Your breath hitched at the compliment as he leaned closer.

“Speaking of, you have something…” he paused as he placed his large hand against your face, dragging his thumb delicately across the side of your mouth to clean it, “here.”

Your heart hammered in your chest at the contact, the man never having touched you like this before. The air suddenly shifted, thick with an unexpected tension. Breathlessly, you tried to alleviate it by joking, “Guess you’re not the only slob here.”

His thumb then began to stroke across your bottom lip almost experimentally, rendering you frozen in place.

“Seems we have a lot in common,” he replied, voice distant as he seemed to contemplate something.

You could see the way his eyes drifted between your own and your lips, the silence between you heavy with what might come next.

As if possessed, Alan rushed forward, moving his thumb from your mouth just as he kissed you.

It was firm but gentle, and there was an evident desperation clawing up and out of both of you as you finally jumped into action, returning the kiss with equal fervor.

This was all you had wanted since that very first night under the stars with him, unable to stop the whimper that escaped you as his tongue invaded your mouth. Both of his hands now cupped the sides of your face, and you gripped the lapels of his suit jacket for purchase, losing yourself in the moment completely.

Suddenly, Alan ripped away from you, scrambling backwards as if struck.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and concern, seeing the way he breathed hard and his eyes widened. Before you could speak, Alan jumped to his feet, holding the back of his head with his hands, evidently distressed.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, refusing to look at you before he turned, already retreating to the stairwell. “I—I’m sorry. Goodnight.”

“Alan!” you called, dismayed by the way he was hurrying off.

But he was already gone, leaving you alone with nothing but the sky for company. Tears pricked your eyes as you shuddered, the warmth from his touch now replaced with the chill of the night creeping back in.

You couldn’t stop the way your cries echoed in the dark.

***

A week passed, and every night you went back up to the roof, waiting.

He never came.

He avoided you in common areas and even in trials now, refusing to look you in the eye or speak to you.

Another week passed, and your visits to the roof dwindled to every couple of days.

Two more weeks passed, and you stopped going altogether.

You had felt heartache before, but this… this was different. The connection you had, the way your minds and bodies seemed to move in sync when you were together—even outside of the romantic longing you held for him, you had never experienced anything like it.  

Losing this nameless thing you shared with Alan felt like a void sitting inside of your chest, slowly eating away at you until eventually there would be nothing left.

And the kiss. Even a month after your separation, you still couldn’t get the sensation of his lips off your mind. You felt stupid for holding so tightly to something that never should have happened in the first place.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you decided to write.

After finishing the poem, agonizing over every detail, you went up to the roof one last time. You set the folded piece of paper on the quilt that was still laid out on the concrete, placing a heavy bookend you found on top of it to prevent it from blowing away.

If he had washed his hands of you without so much as giving you a chance to speak to him, you could at least tell him through pen on paper. He was a writer after all. That might be the only thing to make him understand.

The next day, though, you felt a sudden embarrassment for giving him even the slightest indication of how you felt, believing that he might not see the page if he stopped visiting the rooftop to avoid you anyway. Worse still was the thought of another survivor finding the poem, which was addressed to Alan and had your name written at the bottom.

When you had the chance to get away from the trials for the day, you snuck back up to the roof, desperate to grab the piece of paper you had left. You wanted to try your best to go back to the way things were before you ever stumbled upon Alan in the first place.

Your heart halted in your chest, however, when you stepped through the stairwell door.

Alan was there, leaning against the edge of the roof wall, staring out at the darkening horizon just like the night that started it all.

You were frozen in place, simply standing there, questioning if you were imagining things for a second. Before you could pull yourself together and spin on your heels to escape, Alan had turned around, the soft call of your name from his lips making you pause.

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, unable to even speak as he beckoned you over to him.

“Please…” he said, voice tight. “We need to talk.”

Hesitantly, you nodded, joining him by the wall. It was silent for a long while and he seemed to be avoiding your gaze. You wondered what he could be thinking.

Slowly, he pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and your stomach dropped when you realized what it was.

“I read it,” he confirmed, “and it got me thinking.”

You felt a surge of panic at that, terrified that he was about to rub salt in the wound—tell you how little you truly meant to him in the weeks you spent in each other’s company.

“I shouldn’t have left it here, I’m sorry,” you said quickly, finally able to get words out of your mouth.

“No, no, don’t be,” he urged, glancing down at you, “I’m glad you did.” His eyes moved away from you again, looking pained as he quietly added, “I’m sorry for how I handled things. It wasn’t fair to you.” 

An apology. It wasn’t something you really thought would be said in this moment, but you could tell it was genuine—if the anguished, deep frown marring his face was any indication. 

“I appreciate it,” you told him. “And for what it’s worth… I’m sorry too.”

His eyes were wide when they met yours. “What are you apologizing for? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You swallowed thickly, dropping your head. “For wanting you even when I knew I shouldn’t.”

Glancing up at him from your peripherals, your shame apparent, you could see the way his expression softened. 

“There’s something I want to tell you,” he started, “and I would like for you to just listen.”

You turned to him and simply nodded, watching as he sighed deeply and placed his elbows atop the wall, staring at his hands in contemplation.

“All these years, wandering in the dark… the only thing that pushed me through was the thought of Alice and getting home to her.” As he spoke, you felt your heart sink into your gut, both in guilt and the renewed heartbreak of believing he was about to end things between you for good.

Still, you remained quiet.

He continued, “Despite the hopelessness of it all, I felt some sense of control in the Dark Place. My writing could affect reality, and that meant that if I just wrote the right thing, I could get out. But here… it’s different. The rules are different. My writing has no effect, and when I first arrived… I just panicked.”

He sighed again, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms as if to wipe away the vision of all the years he believed had been wasted. “The change—it made me feel like I was losing the very last of my hope. That I’d never make it out of this alive.” He paused to look down at you, that blue gaze reflecting his misery like the surface of water. “If I lose it, this stubborn thing that’s pushed me through thirteen years of madness and terror and the drowning loneliness… what would I have left?”

You could feel tears welling in your eyes, his sadness palpable.

He let out a shaky breath and a soft chuckle, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. “Meeting you, spending time with you—it reminded me of better days. It reminded me that there is still hope, still a flicker of light in all this darkness. I think, in many ways, you may have saved me from throwing in the towel completely. It was hard not to be drawn to you because of that.”

Your lips parted in surprise at his words, the warmth of them settling upon you like a blanket. It may not change the outcome of this night—he may still choose to keep his distance—but now you knew the truth. You meant something to him too.

“But,” he started, “giving in to the temptation of pursuing you… It was an admission that being trapped here might be a more long term situation than I wanted to believe. The kiss—of course it felt like betraying Alice, but what it meant was somehow worse. It felt like I was giving up on her. On getting back to her.”

His brows furrowed. “After a few years, I began to wonder, you know? Wonder if she had moved on in my absence. She had every reason to believe I was dead, and each passing year must have been like tossing more dirt on my empty grave.”

You regarded him morosely, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he took another shuddering breath, running his hand through his hair the way he always did when he was particularly distressed. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but you refrained. 

“If she’s moved on, I understand. The thought stings, but I would forgive her. I’ve made my peace with that.” A beat. Another breath. “Since meeting you, though, I began to wonder about something else.”

His eyes were swirling with the shadows of his grief, like souls caught in the river Styx. Perhaps you were caught now too.

“If she knew of my circumstances… would she give me that same grace?” he asked. “And even if she did, could I forgive myself for letting her go?”

He fell silent then, gaze cast down as you took in every word. The heaviness of his confession weighed on him like gravity, and you wanted to help him carry the burden of it. His feelings for you were the cause of this after all. You couldn’t help but consider yourself partially responsible, even if he adamantly denied it.

“Regret…” you began, choosing your words carefully, “is a starved thing. You don’t have to let it eat at you.”

He looked at you quizzically at that, the slight tilt of his head the only indication you needed to continue. “Thirteen years is a long time, Alan. I know how tired you are. You’re sick of fighting.”

“Are you saying I should just give up on ever going home then?” he questioned, an edge to his tone.

“No,” you replied, shaking your head, “don’t give up. None of us should.”

“Then… what are you saying?”

“Let yourself have this.” Your voice was low, gentle. “You wonder if Alice would give you the grace to accept comfort where it can be found, but why don’t you give yourself that grace? You know better than anyone how hard it is to come by in a place like this.”

He let out a puff of laughter, though there was no real humor in it. “I just wish I knew what she’d think. If she’d hate me for it.”

“I know I’m biased in this situation,” you told him honestly, “but I think Alice would understand.”

His lips parted, momentarily stunned, before he moved closer to you, his eyes full of hope as he placed his hand tentatively against your cheek. His palm was warm, a welcome feeling in the cold air.

“As much as I want this,” he whispered, “I don’t know how much of myself I can give to you. Alice… I am wholly hers.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, a pang of disappointment and jealousy carving into your heart knowing that she would always come first. Knowing that if the two of you ever did escape, he would be going home to her and not with you.

You released a breath, letting the feeling wash over and off of you. There was no use in worrying about the future now. You had to live in this moment. It was all that mattered.

“I know,” you replied. “I accept that. Whatever this is, it doesn’t need a name—it doesn’t need to be a promise. I’m just here for you if you need me.”

The tension between you was thick, the yearning in his expression making your heart race.

“Okay,” he murmured, yet made no move to close the remaining distance between you.

“Alan,” you coaxed, bringing your hands up to cup his face, “would you feel better if I kissed you first?”

He closed his eyes, swallowing thickly as he moved to grip your wrists. He kept your hands firmly planted against his cheeks, looking as if he was basking in your warmth.

“I’m not sure,” he replied candidly, though his voice was soft, “but we can try.”

You smiled at that, pulling him down as you stood on your toes to make up the difference, your lips pressing into his. It was chaste and sweet, more of an invitation than anything.

When you pulled back to gauge his reaction, his eyes were opened, half-lidded, and dark.

Suddenly, his hands moved from around your wrists to tangle into your hair, pulling you back to him and kissing you deeply. It was as passionate and desperate as that very first one, but this time there was no holding back.

His tongue pressed against the seam of your mouth and you easily opened up to him, craving nothing more than to devour and be devoured.

If regret was starved, then what did that make want? Perhaps it was a forest fire or a black hole—all-consuming. 

Before you could react, Alan grabbed you by the hips, pulling you up with surprising strength to seat you on the wall. Out of instinct you wrapped your legs around his waist and clutched his shoulders, separating your lips from his as a gasp of fear left your mouth at the thought of dropping down, down, down to the concrete far below.

His wide palms braced against your spine, holding you close to him as he looked at you, a playful smirk gracing his handsome face. He leaned forward to kiss the line of your jaw, the hair of his beard tickling your skin, before he whispered, “I won’t let you fall. Trust me?”

The deep rasp of his voice was your siren’s call, your body and mind helpless to the way they were drawn to this man standing between your legs.

“Yes, I trust you, Alan. Always,” you replied, voice small but undeniable in its conviction.

He let out a wavering sigh into the flesh of your throat, your words having had an effect on him. He withdrew from the crook of your neck to smash his mouth against yours once again as you ran your fingers through his dark, thick locks, combing them gently out of his face. You shivered as his hand crawled underneath your shirt, callused skin scraping deliciously against your side.

You pulled away for a breath then, your lips swollen from the barrage of forceful kisses.

“Alan,” you breathed, his eyes opening at the sound, “how far are we taking this?”

He paused, pressing a kiss against your cheek as he considered his response. “It’s been a long time since… well, you know,” he said, letting out a low chuckle. “But I want this—want you—if you’ll have me.”

The words emboldened you and you tugged his face forward to give him another searing kiss on the mouth, desire coursing through your veins like your own blood.

“Need you,” you murmured against his lips, what little self-control you might have had draining out of you as though a stopper had been prised from the inside.

His breath hitched at your reply, and he gave you a final, hard kiss before pulling away.

“Not here,” he said, voice like smoke. 

He helped you back onto solid ground then, grabbing your hand to lead you to the quilt stretched across the floor. Between sweltering crashes of your lips, the two of you ripped off your shoes and you laid atop the blanket, which was folded over and thick enough to cushion you a bit from the harsh, cold concrete under you. Alan dropped to his knees to follow you down, crawling over your supine form.

You reached out to touch him, yanking off his jacket and tie. Afterward, you unbuttoned the dark blue shirt beneath, relishing in every inch of his toned chest and abdomen exposed to you.

Alan let out a guttural noise as he pulled off your top and released your breasts from your bra, cupping them in his hands. His fingers were firm as they pressed into the flesh there before rolling your nipples between them, eliciting a wanton sigh from you.

“My little poet,” he spoke on the crest of an exhale, bringing his lips down to your chest to kiss and nip at the skin there, “you are so fucking beautiful.”

Despite the desperation vibrating through your every cell, it was clear that Alan wanted to take his time; wanted to soak in the feel of you and the sounds of pleasure he pulled from your mouth. He wanted to savor this moment. Savor you.

His hands and his lips traveled down your body until his fingers slid into the sides of your jeans, peeling them slowly off of your legs along with your panties. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he stared at your exposed heat, dark blue eyes filled with hunger.

He fell back over you, supporting himself on one arm as his hand lowered slowly, watching your face as he grazed his fingertips along your slit. You were already breathless from the intensity of his gaze upon you, the small gasp you let out at his touch making you nearly dizzy.

He teased you for a while, biting his bottom lip as he took in your every noise and expression, the sight of his teeth pressing into the skin the most erotic thing you thought you’d ever seen.

“Please…” you mewled pathetically, needing him to take this that little bit further before you went mad.

He smirked down at you, lowering his head to rasp into your ear, “Please what?”

You let out a huff, equal parts a laugh and a frustrated sigh. “Please give me more,” you replied, hoping your words satisfied him.

He grinned at your begging before kissing you hard, pulling back just as he sunk his fingers into your already soaked entrance. You cried out at the intrusion, the delicious stretch of his two digits making you paw at the quilt beneath you for purchase.

“That’s it…” he cooed, tone both teasing and fervid, “I want to hear how good I make you feel.” 

A clever stroke of his thumb made you keen loudly, back arching. Your eyes screwed shut, feeling yourself getting nearer to the edge with every stroke of his fingers.

“I’m close, Alan,” you whined, your body beginning to tremble.

To your dismay, however, Alan stopped completely, pulling his fingers from your heat. You let out a complaintive groan and Alan chuckled, capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

“Not yet,” he said lowly, pulling back, “I want to be inside you when you come.” 

Your breath hitched as he licked his fingers clean of you, clearly enjoying the taste, before sitting on his haunches. He reached down, undoing the belt on his slacks, slowly unzipping them and tugging them down far enough to release his hardened length.

You bit your lip at the sight of it, appreciating its size. Alan moved to hover over you again, tracing his nose along your cheek as he lined himself up with your entrance. Just the feel of him pressing against you had you swallowing in an anticipation so blazing, it made your skin flush.

“You still want this?” he asked in a whisper. “Because there’s no going back.”

You grabbed the sides of his face, making him look at you, “Do you?”

You could see the storm in his eyes—cyclones of azure blue—so disquieted, yet so full of hunger.

“Yes,” he murmured, searching your visage as if to find your answer there.

“Then I do too.”

A ghost of a smile danced across his features before he was kissing you again, almost bruising in its vigor. He pulled away just enough to watch your face when he pushed forward, slowly sinking into you with a shaky exhale. You gasped at the stretch of him and your head lurched up slightly, your open mouth breathing heavily into his.

He closed his eyes as he buried himself to the hilt, opening them only to stare into yours and utter, “God, you feel incredible.”

You weren’t his and he wasn’t yours, but you joined together like you were made for him. Like a final puzzle piece slotting into place. You had never felt so whole. 

You knew then you would be ruined for anyone else.

He caged your head between his arms and your hands dropped from his face to the back of his neck, just as he drew his hips back and thrusted forward again; slow and deliberate.

He kept this measured pace, his length dragging against your inner walls in a rhythm both excruciating and exquisite. If it wasn’t him, you would have begged for it to be faster and harder by now. But you knew how precious your time could be—knew that this might be your last and only moment in his embrace—and you wanted to enjoy it. The sounds you let escape from your mouth were just sighs of pleasure, your fingers grasping at his skin and hair in desperation.

He hitched your legs over his waist, lowering his body to press against yours, his hands sliding under your head to cradle it like it was porcelain. His nose brushed against yours, his gaze so intense, you could feel it burning through you.

“What have you done to me?” he rasped, his hot breath billowing across your flesh.

You let out an airy laugh at his words, replying, “Nothing you haven’t done to me.”

He smoothed a thumb against your cheek, his lips quirking into a small smile that you could feel when he kissed you again.

He began to quicken his pace, his thrusts firmer—deeper. You moaned into his mouth and he only grunted in response, slipping a hand between you to rub circles against the most sensitive part of you.

“Alan,” you breathed, digging your fingers further into his hair, panting between every heated kiss, “I’m so close.”

He drew back, voice rough like sandpaper as he demanded, “Then come for me, sweetheart.”

He held you nearer and your eyes screwed shut, overwhelmed by all of the sensations, your nerves ablaze.

“Look at me.” The command was spoken softly, but it left no room for argument, his free hand sliding down to grip your jaw. When you peered back up at him, the sight of his intense gaze—blue irises swallowed by the black of his pupils—left you gasping for air.

It took only a couple more strokes of his length before you were coming undone beneath him. Your back arched and your eyes watered both from forcing them to stay open for him and the ferocity of your climax.

You cried out his name as he worked you through your high, growling, “That’s it, sweet girl.”

His grip tightened on you, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he drew closer and closer to the edge. He captured your lips in a fervent kiss, a low moan spilling into your mouth as he came, warmth flooding into your depths.

He melted into you then, letting out a shaky exhale as he pressed his sweaty forehead against your own while the two of you caught your breath. His hands caressed your hair, and he let out a contented sigh before drawing back to look at you.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, a softness in his gaze that still managed to make your heart skip a beat, even after everything.

He told you he wouldn’t let you fall, but didn’t he know? You already had.

“I’m more than okay,” you replied, tone wispy and teasing.

He grinned down at you, eyes crinkling at the edges, before kissing you again. This one was different, though; far more languid than the fever that had just consumed you both. So tender, it left you aching for more when he finally pulled away.

Carefully, he removed himself from you, the two of you hissing at the feeling. He zipped his slacks back up before laying beside you, tugging you into his arms.

“Here, let me keep you warm,” he said, feeling you shiver now that you were exposed to the chill of the night air.

You let out a quiet giggle as you rested your head upon his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat beginning to slow to a steady, soothing rhythm. Every sensation you felt in this moment was a reminder that this was real; that you weren’t alone anymore.

A comfortable silence fell over you, simply breathing together in the dark. In a small voice, you couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “What comes next?”

“I don’t know,” he responded honestly. You felt him kiss your hair, arms squeezing just a little tighter around you. “But what I do know is that I want you here with me. Whether that’s just tonight… or the rest of eternity spent in this hell.”

You ran a hand across his bare chest, smiling while you turned to look up at the sky above. The stars seemed closer somehow, as if you could reach out and pluck one from the heavens like a diamond from its velvet display.

You faced Alan once more, propping yourself on your elbow, “Then I suppose we should make every second count.”

He reached out to graze his knuckles against your cheek, a flood of emotions filling you both as you looked at each other. He tugged you toward him, kissing you, all the things he couldn’t seem to say bleeding into every movement of his lips.

He finally drew back, eyes pulling you in like whirlpools as he murmured, “I intend to.”

When you fell into him once more, bodies molding together, you failed to notice that the piece of paper folded neatly and tucked into Alan’s jacket pocket had come loose, sitting upon the concrete.

A breeze swept across the roof and caught it, blowing it off into the night. It wouldn’t be until the next morning that either of you would realize it was gone, a minor disappointment shrugged off and soon forgotten as you kissed under sunlight for the first time.

If anyone were to come across the page, however, curious as they pulled it open, the words that might greet them would read:

I was a shadow in the times before But when I met you, something sparked A flicker became a burst, became a wildfire And the breadth between us contained entire galaxies  An entanglement of a million stars heating up inside of me When our lips met, every sun erupted into a supernova And I knew what it meant to feel warmth  Your absence is a black hole  The cold it leaves in its wake settles bone deep Your faraway gaze betrays the ghost that now takes your shape And your pain is a sacrificial dagger Thirsting for a little more of your blood I can share in your darkness if you let me Harden every molten spill that lingers between us Let our dreams be dreams in such a nightmare But know this: If ever you turn to me, the glittering constellations in your eyes renewed I will always be here, Tending to the very light you once gave me  I will remind you of what it means to feel warmth

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

Masterlist Catalogue

[fyodoro]

HIIIIII!!!!! i um want to request angst of akito and toya (separatly) x reader bc there isn't rnough of it rahhh have a good day baba

->𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐲

After a fight with their dads, they can’t seem to keep their emotions in check for the rest of the day…

With Akito Shinonome & Toya Aoyagi | Genre - hurt with some comfort, angst

Cw) mentioned fights, crying, cursing, slight anxiety, nightmares, suggestive (?) for like a sentence in Toya’s part (it’s rlly not suggestive you’re just on top of him fixing his hair but I’m putting a warning just in case), reader in in vivid bad squad but it’s not explicitly stated

-> Akito Shinonome

It wasn’t unnatural for Akito to be on edge some days. In fact, it’s more unnatural for him not to be on edge. So of course, no one batted an eye when he showed up to practice with a look of irritation spread across his face today.

He was clearly getting even more ticked off when everyone went off track, talking about their day instead of practicing. However, It felt like you were the only one who noticed.

“Shinonome, what about you? How has your day been so far?” Kohane asked sweetly.

His face twisted in disgust as he remembered the events that occurred an hour before he met up with the group. The memories he thought he was finally able to ignore flashing vividly across his mind.

“My good for nothing dad- actually no. Forget it. I’m not telling you guys. Hell- we aren’t even practicing, so I’m leaving. Bye.” Throwing his bag over his shoulder, Akito stormed off. The rest of you were left in shock.

“What’s up with him? He never leaves practice.” An remarked. She was right, practice usually made Akito feel better, he never just left.

The thought of your your boyfriend being alone and angry right now made you feel guilty. You should be there for him, right? But what if he didn’t want you to be there for him right now? He sounded pretty upset.

Your mind raced with these thoughts, conflicted on what you should do.

“(Name), you alright? You look a little troubled.” Toya asked. He always picks up on these things.

“Yeah… just a little worried is all.” You replied.

Toya was quiet for a moment, thinking of what he would do if he was in your shoes. He was Akito’s partner, and knew him just as long if not longer than you have. He was used to these outbursts and would leave him be for a while til he cooled down.

But he was only Akito’s partner, you were his significant other. The responsibilities were completely different.

“Why don’t you try talking to him? I’m sure he’s more comfortable talking to you than any of us.” He finally said.

With someone else saying it, you felt more okay doing it. It’s not a crazy idea, it’s a normal one in-fact. The only thing you were worried about was…

“Thanks Toya, I’ll go find him. I’ll see you all tomorrow, yeah?” You bid your farewells to the group before heading off. ‘Just where could he have went?’ You thought.

You caught onto his first few words- he had a fight with his dad. There’s no way he went back home so soon after that. The only other place you could think of was Weekend Garage, or somewhere around that spot.

Truth be told, you were terrified. You knew Akito better than you knew yourself, and when he’s in these moods, he tends to make… rash… decisions. Ones he knows he’ll regret later. You didn’t want to be the cause of any poor choices he makes, especially between the two of you.

After what felt like a marathon, you finally arrived at Vivid Street. Panting a bit from the long walk, you kept an eye open for the ginger boy. Walking down the musical streets full of liveliness, you couldn’t help but feel at ease. It’s best you feel good now before you get crushed later, right?

Turning one last corner, you spotted him. Hastily walking up to him, you grabbed his shoulder.

“The hell do you think- oh. (Name), it’s you.” For a split second, he seemed to have calmed down. But only for a split second.

“What was that back there, you never ditch practice! And- I’m worried about you. Can you please just talk to me?” Your voice expressed all the concern it possibly could.

He stared at your frame for a moment with an unreadable expression. Just what was he thinking? Then again, you couldn’t really blame him. He must have been out of it ever since whatever occurred that made him snap.

“Jesus (Name), you’re wasting your time. You come all the way out here for me and you don’t even…” Akito’s voice grew quieter and quieter. Starting harsh, ending weak.

But what happened next was something you would have never expected.

Tears fell from Akito’s eyes. His nose went red as he started sniffling, while trying his hardest to stop anymore tears from coming out.

“S-shit.”

Thankfully you were in a secluded spot of Vivid Street, near an alleyway. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him cry, including you.

You pulled him into an embrace and began rubbing circles on his back, trying your best to soothe him. Though, this only seemed to make him cry more.

“‘s okay Akito, let it all out…” You spoke softly.

That was all he needed to break down more, seemingly tearing all his walls down in that moment. He let out choked sobs into your shoulder. You could tell your shirt was getting wet, but you couldn’t care less, not now at least.

“M-my fucking dad- I can’t fucking deal with his shit. I can’t- I can’t I can’t I can’t!” More sobs escaped his mouth. He was getting more and more emotional by the minute.

You scratched his scalp as he cried more. You couldn’t care less about the peering eyes in your direction, though you’ll never tell Akito about them. Right now all you want is for him to let everything out.

When his sniffles became less frequent and his sobs stopped you pulled away, intertwining your hand with his so he still knew you were with him. Akito averted his eyes away from you, looking at anything but you. He felt… embarrassed. Why wouldn’t he be? He just broke down on you in the middle of Vivid Street, making you deal with his pathetic self.

At least, that’s what he thought about it.

“Let’s go get you some pancakes. You haven’t eaten today yet, have you?” You asked.

He shook his head slowly, feeling even more ashamed. If only he knew there was nothing to be ashamed of in front of you…

“Y-yeah… let’s go.”

You knew there was still a lot to talk about, but you wanted him to take his time gathering his thoughts. Plus, he needs to eat.

You’ll do anything it takes to make him feel better, even if it means blowing your money on the fluffiest pancakes on the menu.

-> Toya Aoyagi

Toya swore he’d never wear his heart on his sleeve. Well- he never explicitly swore. But he’d never allow himself to express his emotions, especially if they could end up as a burden.

It wasn’t like he wanted to do this. It just felt like he had no other choice. He ended up looking stoic and blank in his teenage years because of this, but by now he was accustomed to this lifestyle.

There were few things that could make Toya crack, it was probably the shortest list in the world. Of course, he’d never share it with anyone. Not in a million years. The reason why being…

He thought it was pathetic. He thought it made him look fragile. The last thing he wanted anyone to think of him was that he was fragile.

So when a nightmare gets the best of him? He can’t help but feel worthless. It didn’t help that you were right next to him, sound asleep nonetheless.

He tried to catch his breath from what felt like the scariest thing he’d ever experience. Sweating bullets down his forehead as the events of the nightmare flashed across his mind. ‘Couldn’t this happen any other night?’ He thought.

In the midst of his panic, he finds his eyes wandering back to you. Your sleeping figure looking so peaceful as you let out soft snores. He couldn’t bring himself to wake you up for something so bothersome, not when you were like that. But at the same time, he finds peace in your sleeping presence.

Toya pushed his hair back a bit, trying to distract himself from the terror he just felt. His panting eased a bit, but not for the reason he wanted it to.

He felt his eyes watering, cheeks feeling wet but only in lines. He touched his face, feeling small tears lurking down his face. ‘Of course…’ he thought.

He was too focused on wiping all of his tears away to notice your shuffling. Eyes shut with his hands on either side of his face, vigorously rubbing. He felt a softer hand pull them away.

“(Name)-“

“Toya.”

He stared at you for a moment, unsure of what to say. Was he the reason you woke up? Guilt flooded his chest, making him feel even worse than before. Only he could become such a hazard in a short period of time…

You brushed your fingers through his hair, attempting to put it back into place. He felt himself shrink a bit as you climbed on top of him, legs on both sides of his torso. You were more focused on getting his hair back into place, but he didn’t miss the way you briefly examined his wet eyes. He knew that you knew he wasn’t okay right now, and there was no way to avoid it.

“You’re hair is too beautiful to be such a mess… but even when it’s messy, it still looks perfect.” You stated it like it was a fact, catching Toya off guard.

“It’s really not…” He said meekly.

You pushed yourself off of him and back to your spot next to him. You looked at him in disbelief while he scratched the back of his neck. ‘Does he seriously not see how perfect his hair is?’ You thought.

“I’m not an idiot, Toya. I know you’re upset right now and I know you were just crying. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to though.” Even when you wanted nothing more than to help you, you still wanted to respect his boundaries and privacy. Toya appreciated that about you.

“It was just a bad dream- a really bad dream. Um, I don’t think I wanna go into the details… if that’s okay.”

You smiled warmly at him and nodded your head. If he didn’t want to talk about it, that was okay. Even if he never told you what it was, it was still okay. As long as he doesn’t bottle it up, you’re okay with not knowing what the dream was about.

Your smile made Toya’s heart melt into mush, making him tear up once again.

“T-Toya! Why are you crying now?” You asked.

“I’m not- I guess I am a little bit huh… ah. I just feel so lucky to have you, that’s all.” He said back, a small tear running down his cheek.

You pulled Toya onto your chest, which he gladly accepted. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck while you played with his hair. He was finally starting to feel better…

“Even if you don’t talk about it, now or ever, that’s okay. I just want you to be happy Toya, more than anything else. So please- don’t be afraid to ever let anything out, especially around me. I’ll always be here for you.”

Your words of affirmation went right to his heart. He held you tighter than before and you swear you felt him smile. While this time he didn’t cry, he definitely would have been okay with crying after that.

[kryptonianheroao3]

Men in Black - Wenclair AU

Wednesday Addams is the private investigator.

Agent E - formerly known as Enid Sinclair, is the MIB agent. Recruited by Agent Y years ago, Enid is still fresh faced, a bit naive sometimes and sees the best in every alien she's sent to find.

One day, Wednesday Addams is tracking a suspicious teacher. She's been hired by some boy's parents after the boy has come home, having nightmares of the teacher's eyes in the back of his head that allow him to know what is going on behind him at all times. For Wednesday, this is a mediocre case. Not worth her time, but being Wednesday, she had told her family she wanted to make her own way, and that means she needs to be able to pay rent.

So she tracks down this teacher, follows him everywhere, until one night, she follows him to a bar but when she tries to enter, the bouncer refuses after she doesn't know the password. So what does she do? She sneaks in around the back and finds something that she had never expected.

Aliens. Aliens everywhere. Aliens that look like humans with minor differences, aliens that look like animals, insects and little green men. And what else does she see? The teacher, with his wig removed and what is clearly an extra pair of eyes on the back of his head.

So she runs. She quickly ducks back out of the bar and onto the street, knocking into a woman in black suit with bright blonde hair. She apologises, but when she sees this woman enter the bar, she can't help but sneak back in. The woman had looked human.

And when she reenters, she sees the blonde woman, apologetically, arresting the teacher after he violated his restraining order that Earth has against him, but when the woman pulls out a small device, Wednesday quickly ducks away, barely registering the flash that occurs behind her. When she looks back over, the woman and teacher are gone, and the rest of the patrons are acting like nothing happened.

So Wednesday Addams starts a new case. The case of the Men in Black. Because once she did research, dug deep and hacked into a few government archives, she started to find all kinds of bed crumbs. Ghost stories of the Men in Black who appear whenever anyone claims to have met aliens, going all the way back to Roswell, 1947, and people who claimed to have met aliens and yet suddenly had no recollection of the event.

Harmless research, until one day she finds herself being drugged and dragged into the back of a car by two men wearing identical black suits and sunglasses. When she wakes up, she's greeted by Agent W, the head of the US branch of the MIB.

Agent W wants to neuralise Wednesday and send her on her way, but Agent E has other ideas. She knew Wednesday had been following her all along, they knew she had been investigating the MIB and hacked into archives.

Agent W sees a potential MIB problem. Agent E sees a potential MIB recruit.

And that's how Wednesday Addams becomes Agent A. All records of her identity scrubbed from her existence, everyone she knows neuralised of her existence.