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hanibalistic · 12 hours

Text

#946C47 | SUN WUKONG.

genre | fluff & angst

word count | 9192

warning | violence, blood, death / potential ooc + not accurate to jttw

note | thank you for reading!!!

part |one, two, three

Opening your eyes from death was like coming to the surface after being underwater for too long.

Contrary to popular belief, or at least the way different forms of media presented it, death didn’t feel like anything.

There was no black space with your floating body or a separate plane of existence where you could walk on shallow water toward an afterlife. There was simply nothing, and that 'nothing' lacked nothingness. It was blank. It was a time skip.

The last thing you remember was closing your eyes on the ground, and the first thing you remember was that you died. Nothing happened in between the two memory spots. Your mind and body were dormant, like a computer shut off.

The first sign of life from death was obnoxious and demanding.

Your ears cleared, but every sound around you fought to be noticed by your newly awakened brain that hearing immediately became an overwhelming action.

Your eyes regained sight, but they hurt to use, like the permanent feeling of the sun in your eyes or an invisible eyelash falling inside.

Your limbs moved regularly when you didn't think about it and stopped when you did, which you figured made sense. You never thought long and hard about moving your body parts before you died. When you walk, you walk.

Your breathing—the worst was retaking your first breath. Your body has been rid of everything human during your death. The motion to return those characteristics, such as blood flow and the traveling of air, was as uncomfortable as breaking out of a life-threateningly bad habit, as claustrophobic as suffocating yourself with a pillow.

But mostly, it was painful. It reminded you of being impaled by Wukong's staff; the jolt of pain and the sharp gasps were familiar.

“Woah! Easy there, mortal!”

Bajie stood up, his rake supporting his weight as he grabbed the gourd by his hooves.

Your eyes rolled up and down, opened and closed without a recognizable pattern. Your mouth remained open since your mind was forcing you to suck in big gulps of oxygen as if it was trying to nail into your body that it was alive and functioning again.

Drool dripped down the corner of your lips as a result, and you whined through each agonizing inhale, which lasted much shorter than your exhales because you were desperate to leave the pain where it resided in your lungs.

Resurrection gripped you by the neck and took you for a fly. Bajie didn't need to see the repercussions to know your mortal soul rejected being brought back from the dead. He figured it would happen before you even woke up. It was punishing you, and your body couldn't fight back. Unfortunately, he has no spell powerful enough to elevate your humanity to the point of enduring celestial phenomena.

“Here, drink some water,” Bajie urged by shoving the gourd at your chin. “It’ll clear your senses.”

He stepped closer to you and tipped the gourd up, letting the water pour inside your mouth. You angled your head upward to swallow the fresh liquid better, relishing the much-needed hydration. Peering at Bajie's familiar face, relieved tears welled in your eyes before you closed them to focus on chugging the fresh river water.

He noticed them and chose to remain silent. Dying was never a trivial matter, and neither was resurrection. It was a destined matter, but nonetheless significant and, to some, traumatic.

Although he would have never cried, whined, or writhed, he understood why you did, and that was no insult to your humanity. It was a deduction made based on the experience of a mortal.

Not a mere mortal, just a mortal.

"Thank you," you managed after you finished panting from the massive water intake.

“You’re welcome.” Bajie sat down with a sigh. “I have to say, it is nice to hear your voice again after so long.”

You looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

"You have been dead for more than five weeks. We tried to keep your body within the incense veil of the Keeper's Shrine to accelerate the process, but that was proven unsuccessful. We thought you were gone for good, kid!" he explained.

Brows slightly raised with intrigue, you nodded. You haven't the faintest idea how these things work in their reality, so you've got nothing worthwhile to say. "How long does it usually take someone to return from the dead?"

"Resurrection usually doesn't take this long. Not even for the mortals of this world," he said.

“As I suspected,” you muttered before letting a groan escape. “I need the immortality to get out of my body now!”

Bajie snickered. “That’s a wish I don’t hear often!”

“Yeah, well, I am not fond of living for a long time,” you said. “Life is hard enough as it is. There is no point in extending the suffering.”

You looked down at your hands. A flicker of your home sped before your eyes, and you sighed gently, squeezing and releasing the tension in your fingers. You wondered how much time you’ve lost over there, if you’ve missed any holidays, or important notices from your professors or employers. Were your friends worried? You hoped they didn’t think you’d ghosted them.

“I just want to live a good life. A normal one,” you said. “I don’t want anything grand. Food on the table, a roof over my head, enough clothes…” You leisurely looked up at the trees. “I can learn how to find the tiny things in life enjoyable. That’s not a problem for me.”

Bajie’s smile was arched downward, almost as if he thought you were disagreeable. But there was one thing he knew for sure: he was right. You were no mere mortal. There was nothing mere about you.

“I’m curious,” you started suddenly. “How fast is resurrection for someone who’s not a human?”

"If Wukong were to lose one of his seventy-two lives, he'd return in the blink of an eye,” he explained. “That's the only reason why I haven't tried to kill him to cease his chatterbox of a mouth!"

“Are you sure it’s not because you can’t kill him?” you chuckled airily, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your arms on top. “He is stronger than you.”

"Facts do not equal the truth," he said. "He is stronger than me, but that does not make my inability to defeat him the truth."

“I just woke up, Bajie.” You pressed a hand to your eyes and rubbed them. “Must you speak so strangely?”

“You should learn how to speak more eloquently.”

"If I talked like that in my world, people would make fun of me."

"Gah! Your world is full of dimwits," he scoffed. "I care not for their opinion."

You stared at him with a smirk, then nodded in agreement. You thought the same at some point, so you've decided not to argue with him.

"Where is everyone?" You looked around. The Keeper's Shrine was full of incense, and the forest remained as you last saw it.

“Wukong went on a walk if he’s who you’re looking for.”

You pursed your lips, feeling heat rush to the bottom of your neck at his assumption. He wasn’t entirely wrong, though. You wanted to know where Wukong was—you wanted to see him, especially after the incident that caused your death. It was his weapon that killed you, but you wanted him to know you didn’t blame him for it.

“I was asking about everybody.”

“There is no need to deceive me,” Bajie snorted. “He told us what happened the night you died.”

“I was right, wasn’t I?” you muttered, dipping your chin into your forearm. You remembered what happened, so you could still recall when Wukong fell to his knees from the headache Sanzang caused.

"My Master considers you a hindrance to our journey to retrieve the scriptures. We've had to diverge from the original path to seek hidden temples, and you weren't exactly handling the soul-sucking process well. It was time-consuming, and he thought we had set aside our primary goal of obtaining the scriptures.

Although, make no mistake, my Master is virtuous, especially to humans. But pinning the scriptures against you, he prioritizes the scriptures.

“He thought when the opportunity presents itself, we should not save you from yaoguais. That isn’t to say we cannot protect you from them, only that we should ease off on trying to keep you from dying.”

You rolled your teeth over your bottom lip, the stinging pain in your eyes conjured by your focused stare on the floor.

Bajie provided you with the clarity you have been asking for. A question regarding whether Sanzang has changed his mind due to what happened fell silent on your tongue once your mind realized its obvious answer—no, he has not changed his opinion about you.

As a monk with values, who is true to his religion, he cannot change his opinion about you so long as you continue to hinder their journey.

You weren't so much angry at Sanzang for what he did than you were conflicted. He wasn't off your hook, obviously. There would be undeniable caution toward him from now on.

However, you understood his choices. He has principles that he stood by, and you respected him for that, even though, at times, you thought he was more of a slave than a follower of those rules.

“I just wish he came clean with how he felt about me instead of avoiding it,” you said. “We could have worked something out. I am willing to make accommodations.”

“I don’t believe he thought you strong enough.”

“Must I be?”

Bajie was taken aback. His eyes gave him away, as did the clearing of his throat. He never thought about that. "Well, I–"

“It doesn’t matter," you cut off.

“If something has to happen–for the greater good, I suppose–then it shall happen regardless of my ability. I will always be human, and I will always be unlikely to defeat a monster ten times my size. That is it. My weakness is a factual statement. But… people will always suffer under the hands of destiny. What must happen can't not just because I'm too ill to handle it.

"I will continue to not be strong enough, and I will fulfill my goal while so.”

"Hmph," Bajie scoffed after a moment. There was a hint of laughter in it. He realized that you’ve forgotten an important lesson he taught you: fact does not make truth. But, he supposed there was value in your humble ignorance. “That’s the most grown-up thing I've ever heard you say."

“Thanks,” you laughed. “I learn from the best.”

"Flattery doesn't work on me, kid!" he exclaimed dismissively. "Now go find your monkey! He should be with Sanzang, taking a stroll somewhere. He'll be glad to see you!"

“Who? The monk or the monkey?”

“You know who!”

You carefully got up from the ground. Bajie watched your legs wobble briefly as you rekindled your motor functions. Slowly and steadily, you stepped away from the protection of the Keeper's Shrine, and you halfheartedly threw a peace sign in response to Bajie warning you to be aware of yaoguais.

You tried to be more aware of your surroundings as you traveled through the forest, but the sun was warm on your face, and the ground was solid beneath your feet.

You never thought you would think this, but you were happy to feel alive again.

It felt like summer. Your bloodied sweater was likely abandoned at the place of your death. You didn’t mind that; it wasn’t expensive, and the weather didn’t call for it.

Every heavy step involved planning a proper reaction to finding Wukong and Sanzang. You would be glad to see them again, but you weren't sure if they felt the same. Sanzang probably wouldn't, and the last time you checked, Wukong wasn't happy about your confrontations.

It’d be best to eliminate any possible instances of awkwardness.

After what felt like a half an hour's walk, you stopped moving forward to rest your legs. Bajie said they shouldn't be far, yet you haven't heard a trace of motion anywhere near.

Brows furrowed, with sweat stuck to your skin, you looked around at the trees and bushes littered everywhere in the forest. None have defining features that help you determine where or how far you've gone. You stepped to the side, the friction between the ground and the bottom of your shoes ridiculously vibrant in your ear.

Perking your head down at your feet, your gaze hardened as your ears zeroed in on the environment. Nothing. The cicadas have vanished, the leaves were not blowing, the bushes ceased their rustles, and there was no dancing breeze.

This part of the forest has become silent, and you've learned that it means a predator is lurking.

Pinching the hem of your shirt, you held your breath in your throat as a wavering fear crept around your head like a shadow phasing in and out of sunlight—there was no way. You couldn’t be fooled twice by a yaoguai, could you? The forest housed a variety of creatures and animals. It could just be a grizzly bear!

“Tang Sanzang!”

You flinched at the piercing holler, your hands flying up to your head to take cover until you recognized it screamed a familiar name. With bated breath, your arms fell to your sides, and you spun toward the voice. It sounded everywhere around you, an echo throughout the forest, but you recalled seeing where the birds flew from where they were hiding in the trees.

They wouldn't fly toward the sound of danger, so you should go in the opposite direction.

You jogged, ignoring each stumble at uneven grounds until you eventually came across a spacious field.

An abandoned building stood destroyed as if a terrible storm had blown a hole through it. It had collapsed into itself, leaving no room to check for its interior. In front of the house was an unkept grass field flattened and charred haphazardly by what you could only assume was a forest fire.

The sun shone down like a spotlight at the one you’ve been looking for—Sun Wukong, in the flesh, standing with his waist slightly bent and a desperate expression on his face.

You opened your mouth as you walked forward. You stopped when you almost tripped on something soft, your feet flying up and stomping on the ground behind you to catch yourself.

Instinctively glancing at the blockage, you gasped aloud when you saw the one-eyed yaoguai at your feet. Its mouth opened with an unreleased scream, and blood stained like tears down its eye.

The sunlight panned across the grass field at your attention, an example of your mind clearing out spaces for other things besides Wukong. That was when you finally saw them—the dead bodies. Multiple lifeless bodies were lit atop the bladed grass—your eyes widened at the soaking red grass tips, and then you glanced up at Wukong.

"Why can't you just do this one thing for me!" Wukong screamed at his Master. He pressed a hand to his chest, willing his nails to cut through his body into his heart. "I killed all these yaoguais! I'm going rogue again! I'm becoming a hindrance! You have to punish me. It's your responsibility!"

Sanzang stared woefully at Wukong’s desperation. His hand remained under his chin in preparation, but he did not grant Wukong’s masochistic wish.

Sensing the monk's unwillingness to cast the spell, Wukong bit his lower lip, a frustrated redness doubling across his face. He gritted his teeth and pressed his nails to his head, digging into the flesh enough to draw blood. He hooked his fingers around the gold fillet and didn't try to take it off. He only pretended to because he knew he needed it now more than ever.

"Master, please!" he begged through a hoarse scream. "You were willing! When [Name] was–"he gasped through an irritated growl– "when they were dying! You were willing to let them suffer! You chose to punish them because you thought them an obstacle! I've become one, too, yet you won't punish me! How dare you!"

“You let me kill them! You left that on my conscience!” Wukong accused, but his finger pointed at himself more times than it did Sanzang.

This wasn’t the outcome Sanzang desired when he let you die.

Wukong hadn't been impatient about your resurrection; he was hopeless. If he were told how long it'd take for your body to return, he would have waited earnestly by your side, holding your shell close and keeping it warm. But he wasn't warned about the unpredictable duration, and you never woke up.

He thought you were gone and spiraled back into his beastly nature.

However, Sanzang knew very quickly that the descension to madness was deliberate. Wukong was still clever and disciplined. He still retained what was taught throughout the journey before your sudden emergence.

This murderous spree was not a marker of his return to how he used to be—the supremely arrogant and destructive monkey who nobody trusted or liked. It was a cry for condemnation, a plead to be retributed.

Wukong killed you, so someone else should kill him, too. He can suffer no pain but yours.

Sanzang read him like an open book. Unfortunately, giving in to what he wanted would only reinforce the behavior, so he stepped back and refused to spell, no matter how much bloodshed he caused.

"Wukong..."

"No! You're not listening to me!" The monkey groaned into his hands before harshly rubbing his palm down his face. "What more must I destroy? When will you be satisfied, Master?"

"I am not satisfied by your behavior, Wukong. Understand me," Sanzang said. "I simply will not stand to let you guilt me into hurting you."

"You've already done that," Wukong spat.

"You cannot truly be bothered by this, can you?" Sanzang questioned. "The immortal peach has been consumed. Trust nothing else but the product of the celestial garden. Their death is not definitive."

"They're still dead!"

"Then I suppose they are."

A fiery sensation burned behind Wukong's eyes and painted Sanzang red. The staff appeared in his hand, still uncleaned with the scent of your blood, and he abruptly lunged at the monk, who took the unplanned bait and immediately began to chant the fillet-tightening spell.

Wukong fell to the ground but didn't squirm or writhe as much as usual. Exhausted pants escaped his lips, and he drilled his head against the floor, his eyes squeezed shut as he leaned his senses into the agony. When he looked up at Sanzang again, his body barely able to move at his will, he managed a triumphant smirk.

"Is this what... I must do...?" he gritted out, "I... I have to perform the bottom of the barrel... for you... my Master... to grant me just a little mercy!"

Sanzang pursed his lips in disdain. "You push the limits of my tolerance, you blasted monkey."

Your gaze hardened at the familiar insult you remembered reading in the book. Their conversation didn't provide any context to the argument, but you could tell Wukong had done something forbidden, and Sanzang was punishing him.

After Sanzang's voice fell, Wukong finally started to exhibit signs of discomfort as he scratched at his fillet. You never knew if the spell could adjust the tightness of the fillet, but it seemed Wukong couldn't handle the pain quietly anymore.

His cries filled your ears, making you wince. It wasn’t that the novel didn’t describe it well enough or the actors had lousy acting. The reality of the band-tightening spell was simply much more painstaking.

You quickly stepped over the dead yaoguai to run toward him. Your knees gave out when you were near Wukong, and you fell, your palms scraping the dirt. You ignored the mild pain and scrambled over. You grabbed onto him and pulled him to your chest, a hand over his shoulder and the other at his hand, and then you snapped up at Sanzang, your brows furrowed with anger.

"That's enough! Stop hurting him!" you shouted, tears rolling down your face uncontrollably. You didn't think you were particularly upset, only that Wukong's cries affected you like most people's agony. Or, perhaps you were just afraid you couldn't convince Sanzang to stop.

"He understands. He won't do it again, whatever it is. He gets it, so just stop!"

Sanzang looked at you, his voice trailing off to a pause. You gulped nervously, your hands squeezing Wukong closer to your side as if that was any help. You looked at Sanzang like he's a cautionary tale, eyes cowering but gaze unwavering—confronting him bravely and silently, watching him like he's a demon but cradling Wukong like the opposite.

"You're back." He glimpsed at Wukong, whose ear pressed against your chest. "Please return to the Keeper's Shrine by sundown. The night is dangerous."

Walking away from your fallen figures, he untied his horse by the tree and left, holding on to the rope, slowly strolling further away from the bloodbath on the floor.

You gritted your teeth into a frown as a hand clumsily wiped at your wet eye. Confusion tinkered above your head like floating question marks at Sanzang's attitude. Undoubtedly, he wouldn't express much excitement considering his present grudge, but you thought he almost looked relieved. Not because you resurrected but because Wukong has finally calmed down.

He stared at the grass with his arms around your waist, silently waiting as the world calmed around you. His hands no longer trembled as they did—an initial reaction to your sudden presence. Dry eyes made wet by trapped tears and bare neck made hot from a veiny and sour sensation, he relished even the fabric of your shirt against his skin.

Your heart palpitated irregularly, and Wukong suffered gentle panic from that. Discarding the logic that your heart was responding to the worrisome event just now unfolded, your racing heartbeat filled his head with unhinged outcomes that served to take you from him again.

There were no yaoguais around; he's murdered them all. Those who were smart had fled long before the altercation with Sanzang. The bugs whispered in their home, and nature resumed its daily wandering, moving leaves and blowing breezes.

The longer you embraced on the floor, letting the sun kiss you warm, the more you relaxed. The world felt brighter than before, and your stillness in each other conveyed feelings hidden snuggly within the thousand words your exhausted bodies couldn't express.

Your heart began to slow down to how a human heart was meant to beat: soft and steady. Alive. He wasn't entirely human, but Wukong thought his heart moved in identical shapes. He measured yours and matched it with his own, his senses isolating and gathering to hear inside your chest and his body, an overdramatic calculation to further prove to himself that you were alive.

But his relief traversed your aliveness. It was a much-needed release from remorse. It was vindication. You being here was permission for him to stop physically and emotionally tormenting himself. You being here, hugging him so gently, unlike his feared expectations, where you'd flinch away because your memories wrote that he was your killer—your endearing hands spoke: you can stop punishing yourself. You no longer have to pay for a sin you thought you committed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry it went down like that.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” You shook your head. “I don’t blame you. Honestly, I don’t think I blame Sanzang either.”

Perhaps nobody is the problem. One thing merely led to another. If one backtracks too much, one would end up at the wall of God's home, and it just wasn't possible for him to take the fall for everything.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Hm?” You glanced at him, the gaps of your fingers decorated with the rough fur atop his head. “What?”

“Are you well?” he rephrased.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s good.” It was barely audible.

“What about you?” you asked. “Are you okay?”

Wukong felt the shape of your waist on his palm. Solid, pudgy, human.

“Yes,” he replied. “I’m okay.”

Wukong joked that you should exercise more, and you reluctantly agreed.

Instead of using the Nimbus cloud for faster travel, you and Wukong decided to walk back to Keeper’s Shrine together. It was an opportunity to reconcile, and since there wasn’t much to catch up on about you being stuck in a void, you gave him space to discuss the recent downward spiral of his mentality.

He tip-toed around the notion that he descended into total abandon after your death. A core part of himself that was so carefully nurtured by years of religious practices and those around him was gone just from you closing your eyes. Even someone like him could understand the significance of that, the significance of you.

You read between the lines and didn't say anything. Instead, you changed the topic. You shifted to talking about trees, specifically about climbing them.

“I want to say–“ you paused briefly to reach a hand up for the tree branch above your head– “you are part monkey, so climbing a tree is an ability built into you at birth.”

"It remains that I can climb a tree with ease, and you cannot," he retorted, peering down at you leisurely from above, where he laid cross-armed on the tree branch you were trying (and failing) to get to.

His snarky remark didn't motivate you. It wasn't his intention to anyway, as he flashed you a mischievous grin when you clicked your tongue and glared at him. His tail danced below the branch, taunting you by curling and uncurling, creating the illusion of a support hook and taking it away. You heaved a sigh; you wouldn't have grabbed his tail to pull yourself up anyway.

"You know–"He sat up, his legs dangling over and his waist bent down to lean toward you. "You really need to train the muscles in your arms."

"Tsk. I bet you don't even know the anatomically accurate terms for the muscles," you muttered and then peeked away when you realized neither did you know them. "Shut up if you're not going to help me!"

Wukong laughed, but it sounded like a holler. Slapping a hand to his knee and staring at you with a gaze you shouldn’t trust, he pursed his lips and agreed. He extended his arm out for you to hold.

Brief words of encouragement (to receive his help, not to climb the tree) had to file out of his mouth for a few seconds before you decided he was trustworthy enough.

You sucked in a deep breath in preparation. Gripping the tree branch extra tightly with one hand, you let go of the other hand and pulled yourself up with all your might to grab onto Wukong. But he retracted his arm abruptly, leaving you to scramble the air with your fingertips.

You gasped, your forearm clumsily curling around the branch for your safety, your brows furrowing, and a string of scolding words ready at your opened mouth.

“Sun Wukong!” His shameless laughter drowned out your words. “I could have died!”

He paused immediately. The speed of the emotional shift was eerie. You awkwardly folded your upper lip between your teeth and shrunk your head between your shoulders at his widened, disbelieving eyes. You hadn't meant to say that. It wasn't retaliation. You said it because it made sense—if you fall from the height of this tree, you'll die.

“How could you joke about that?” Wukong whispered, and then he turned away dramatically, with the back of his palm against his forehead and the other wiping an invisible tear from his eye. “I told you how much I went through when I thought you were dead. You know how much you mean to me!”

It took you a moment. When you realized he was fooling around—still—you rolled your eyes.

“Haha, very funny.” You blew a large knot of air out of your mouth. “Help me up, damn it! Stop being annoying!”

He jolted at your shrill voice. A sneer crept onto his face, but when he reached for you again, he held your arm and swiftly hoisted you upward into the empty spot beside him. His hand hovered before your body as you adjusted to the seat.

"See? That wasn't so hard," you mused when you were done.

"You're being dramatic."

You chuckled through pursed lips, which made you sound triumphant. Looking over at him, your eyes squinted knowingly, you pointed out, "You remember what happened the last time you told me I was being dramatic, right?"

"Oh dear," he groaned, closing his eyes tightly and facing skyward with his hands on his head as if he were airing out his grievances to Heaven. "I'm never going to live that down, will I?”

"Not until I leave this place."

Wukong opened his eyes slowly.

Sky blue is a blinding color, or perhaps the Sun. He never cared to know. He didn't look up too much because of all the enemies who lived there. But he became curious recently. You made him curious. He wondered if your sky was as difficult to observe as his.

“What do you plan to do when you go back?” he asked.

It wasn’t something you thought about until he asked. Everyone was working to find a way to bring you home. Erlang Shen has, surprisingly, sent you a few update letters on his progress, occasionally requesting a written reply to gather more information.

You never thought it was an impossible feat; if there’s a way for you to arrive here, there’s a way for you to leave. But the operation completely slipped your mind these days.

"Eat an actual meal?" you slurred from a pout. "Sandwiches, french fries, ice cream…" A faux, tearful sob choked up your throat as your eyes squeezed, and you covered your head with your hands. "I'll kill for a can of Pringles even."

“It sounds like you miss home a lot,” he commented.

“Not really.” A disagreeing scrunch showed up briefly on your face as you shrugged. “Outside of the food, a select group of people… and the internet, I guess. I don’t think I miss it that much.”

Wukong nodded. Unlike you, he’s obsessively thought about your departure since Erlang Shen began sending letters to you through any form of a flight animal. He understood there wasn’t anything more to think about. Any emotional obstacles he encountered have been dissected and analyzed so thoroughly that, at this point, he was merely recycling his thoughts and worrying himself.

How wonderful would it be if you decided not to leave? If there wasn't anything you missed, why couldn't you stay? But he knew better than to ask you of such a huge favor—abandoning your life, leaving all that you've built behind, discarding your potential to be greater over there than here. For him or not, he couldn't ask you to do that, and he wouldn't.

His head was lowered, and his eyes fixated on his lap to avoid showing the microchanges in his expressions. But you weren't looking at him. When he discreetly turned to you, you were staring at the sky.

Contentment filled the air around you; you seemed to enjoy the view as if you never got to properly look at the blueness back where you came from. He smiled to himself and faced forward.

Whatever time you’ve got left with each other. Months, weeks, days, or even just hours—Wukong considers all seconds of it destiny.

He understood if something has to happen, then it shall.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said.

You widened your eyes faintly and turned to him.

His confession was unexpected. It was well-received because you somewhat returned the sentiment. When you leave, Wukong's world, full of magic and adventures, won't remind him of you. But your world full of stories and sculptures would always remind you of him. Rather than missing him, you supposed you would think of him a lot.

“I’m going to think of you,” you returned.

He smirked briefly and fiddled with his thumbs, letting the silence eat away at the end of that conversation before he opened his mouth to speak again.

“I’m still sorry,” he muttered, “about everything.”

It wasn't lost on you how groundbreaking it was that a character designed to be as arrogant as Wukong opened his mouth to apologize to you. You honestly didn't think you cared too much about what happened. The void didn't make you suffer. You fell asleep and then woke up—the process of them was painful but not enough to justify a grudge.

“过去已成往事,” you said. “Water under the bridge.”

Wukong raised a brow, a somewhat impressed hum sounding from his throat. “How many idioms did that pig teach you?”

"He didn't teach me. He just says it a lot."

"He does. Sometimes, I pretend I understand what he's saying, not to give him satisfaction. Wukong scoffed, the hair on his body almost trembling in distaste. "Oh, by the way," he said through a sharp inhale and sat up. "What is Pringles?"

“Oh! Uh, it’s a brand of chips, but you don’t know that.” You held up your hand and pressed your fingers into a thin line. “It’s about this big. Depending on the flavor, it can be salty, spicy, or even sweet–“ you inhaled before returning to your previous mourning position– “Oh my god, I might actually kill for a single Pringles chip.”

Wukong scoffed and crossed his arms. “You can’t even climb a tree.”

“Hey, strength is not the only factor that makes up a killer,” you argued. “There’s motivation. There’s, uh, cleverness, calmness, wit–“

“Out of all four of them, you only have one,” he mused, leaning toward your face. “And it’s none of the latter ones.”

You smiled sarcastically before abruptly slapping a hand to his shoulder, surprisingly shoving him off the tree branch. A gasp ripped through your mouth, and you covered it. Carefully but quickly, you leaned your torso forward to glance at the ground.

There wasn't a shadow of Wukong anywhere, which didn't make sense. The tree was tall, but it wasn't giant. You were still able to get a clear view of the ground! Either he has a secret hidden power of teleportation that he never told you about, even though it might have been handy in furthering the process of finding your way home, or he whisked himself away at the last second and went into hiding to prank you.

Couldn't say you missed those pranks, really.

"I know you better than believing you would fall to your death, Wukong, so come out–gasp!”

A sharp wind cut over your hair as the Ryui Jingu Bang extended in length at lightning speed. The leaves around you shifted, opening doors to let the sun in.

Wukong, crouching on the top of his weapon with impeccable balance, was elevated to your face level. He grinned with amusement as he waited for you to slowly reveal yourself from your forearms, which covered your face from the gusts of wind just now. You opened your eyes to see him; under the sunlight, he thought they looked whimsical like water.

"Hey," he greeted, bringing a hand off his knee to softly flick the tip of your nose with his fingers. "You know, I wish you would still worry about me a little, even though you know I'm competent."

"I do worry," you said. "I'll worry about you for a long time."

He whistled playfully. "For a long time?"

When you leave, there is no knowing how much chaos he'll cause and how much he'll suffer from it. You never wanted him to suffer, so you worry—you worry a great deal.

You worry about him, and you are afraid for him. You grieve for him, and you cheer for him. Here or there, together or separate, it'll all be for him.

"Yes," you confirmed.

Wukong grinned. It was silly, but his heart knocked with an irregular rhythm, and he was both flustered and bitter.

“Come on,” he reached a hand out, “let’s head back.”

You stared at him dubiously before taking his invite. He carefully tugged at your arm, and you let him, maneuvering your body to allow him more accessible access to pull you to his chest. His hand went under your knees, holding you sturdy, and you didn't bother to hold onto him for extra stability.

“Hey, you know–“ you looked up at his chin–“the last time you held me like this, I asked about those dreams you had of me. You still haven’t told me anything about that.”

He grimaced. He still didn’t plan to.

Wukong didn't want to leave you alone with Sanzang, but under Bajie's physically violent persuasion (repeatedly knocking his back with a rake), he caved and went with everyone else to the nearby river for some water.

You weren't nervous because you knew it wasn't a confrontation. There was nothing serious the monk had to confront you with; you didn't count his opinion of you being incompetent and weak as a subject of a confrontation. His problem with you being a hindrance to their journey was but his speculation.

His feelings were valid, but they were also of his own making.

Sitting across from him by the fireplace, you remained silent and waited for him to speak. He didn't look at you. Either he didn't want to, or he felt too awkward. You didn't mind. His white horse, all curled up a few feet behind him, was a sight for sore eyes.

"Erlang Shen sent us a letter."

"Oh?" You perked up. It has been a while since you last received news from him.

"They think they've found a way to bring you home, and he has requested that you go back to test the method."

Jaw dropping slowly at the surprising news, you managed a few absentminded nods before looking down at the ground.

Your shoes weren't new anymore. They were stained with dirt, dried petals, blood, and barely scraped-off substances. The bottom of it felt thin because of all the walking you've done. Perhaps you were wrong. The first thing you'd do when you return should be to get a new pair of shoes.

"I've been here long enough," you said. It was a thought that resulted from your shoes, perhaps. "They're bound to figure something out one of these days."

"I agree." Sanzang nodded. "Except, there is a problem."

You squinted your eyes and squeezed your hands together. It felt like your heart should beat faster, in rage, disappointment, or dissatisfaction, but you were steady as a log and calm as the mountain.

It didn't take him too long to reveal his intention, and you caught on immediately. No wonder he shooed everyone away and requested to speak to you privately. This wasn't a confrontation. This was a request, a shameful request.

It has been cleared up whether Sanzang hates you, but the solved mystery merely turned into a problem that could only be solved by your departure, which cannot happen until you lose the remainder of your lives.

Sanzang wanted you to deal with your immortality faster.

"I heard from Bajie that you find me bothersome," you said.

His face was still like a rock. He didn't so much as twitch a muscle. If the tension weren't evident, you'd find the time to admire the stoicism.

"How surprising that you didn't figure that out from my actions alone," he said. "But he tells the truth. I do find you bothersome to our original journey."

"You must understand I cannot be faulted."

He paused for a prolonged second, his fixated eyes a loose image of gears turning in his head.

You were correct—to some level, at least. You never asked to be here; teleportation was beyond your control. You never asked to consume the immortal peach; even he cannot blame you for falling for that insolent monkey's many tricks. You never asked to undergo excruciating pain; your human body would never be fit for magical trials.

Nothing was your fault, except everything was because you're here. Everything happened because you're here. It may not be your intention to be here, but you were—results trump intentions. That has always been the curse.

"You are not at fault, yes," Sanzang said. "But I blame you still. Just for being here, for being the clog that springs it all to life."

“But… that is not the only problem," Sanzang said.

You rolled your eyes and groaned, giving him a pointed raise of your brows to continue.

"You distract Wukong."

"That–" You poked your tongue at your inner cheek and squinted curiously. With an acknowledging hum and a sudden position that expressed intrigue in the conversation, you nodded at Sanzang. "Do you know about his dreams?"

It was the first time Sanzang's features ever shifted. He leaned back at your abrupt interest and frowned. "I don't know what you're speaking of."

"Really?" Your voice was low and dubious, but then you remembered Sanzang would, at any given chance, snitch on the blasted monkey he spoke so lowly of, and all your doubts vanished. He would have told you to embarrass the monkey. If he didn't, it was either he really disliked you or was telling the truth.

"He is distracted around you. Less cautious, more naive, and making careless mistakes. It’s as if he's lost his head.”

"Doesn't he always act like that?" you questioned. Walls of texts—blurred texts—from their novel flashed slowly before your eyes, and you faintly shook your head. "Actually… no. Wukong doesn't act like that. You…” The minor accusation fell weakly on your tongue. Your unwillingness to stir trouble made you backtrack, and you sighed. "Never mind."

“He enjoys your presence,” Sanzang said. “Surely, you’ve noticed that.”

"You don't think I got the memo when he fed me the immortal peach?" you grumbled through a sardonic chuckle. "I'm leaving, Sanzang. I shouldn't feed into it."

“How do you feel about him, then?”

Arching your neck to stare him down, you wondered why the monk would be interested in how you felt outside of hoping he'd find leverage against Wukong. It felt like a trap. A normal conversation with him about potentially romantic feelings felt like a trap. But, more importantly, you weren't sure how you felt about him, so you got the perfect excuse not to answer the question.

“I’m not telling you that,” you replied monotonously.

“That’s fair.”

"I also won't force myself to do what you want," you added firmly. "I will try my best at the temples, but if it's physically impossible to continue, I will stop whenever I want. I do not care about your peace. I won't push my limits for you. You'll just have to wait it out."

Silence engulfed the air.

“That’s fair, too,” he replied.

You have been here long enough to watch the seasons change.

If you had the exact date, you could tell if Winter already arrived or if it was still late Autumn. To combat the cold, they had brought you to a town mid-journey and bought you a thin cloak. White fur was sewn to the collar to form a makeshift scarf. Those were the only options; you'd rather not freeze in the occasional snow.

It kept you warm, and it kept you safe. You had pulled it closer around yourself when the Buddha you met this morning notified you that you were rid of your immortality.

“Can’t sleep?”

You peered up at Wukong, who sat beside you with one leg propped up.

"No," you replied.

"Me neither." He tapped his index finger against his knee. "Oh, by the way, it's not real fur."

"Huh?"

He turned to you and pointed at your cloak, which you then wrapped tighter around yourself.

"I went back to the store to ask. It wasn't the best idea. I nearly scared that old man half to death showing up at his home," he snickered faintly and rubbed the back of his head. He stared at the floor almost bashfully. "I noticed you were doubtful when we got you the cloak. That was the only problem I could think of, so I had to go back and make sure. I just kept forgetting to let you know."

You stared at him, subconsciously reaching up to touch the warm softness around your neck. A smirk played on your face, and you turned away to hide it. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"No problem," he muttered. "So! Tomorrow, early in the morning, you and I will head back to see that third-eyed freak! I can't say I'm excited to see him ever again!

You pressed your legs closer to your chest and pursed your lips. Wukong was trying too hard to fill the awkward silence that wasn't meant to be awkward. It was an anxious sadness—the anxiety of experiencing an impending sadness—bottled and replaced by awkwardness. It was a facade. You two just didn't know what to say to each other before the eternal separation.

A bitter taste developed around your mouth, forcing you to salivate uncomfortably. You swallowed the knots, feeling them drop past your throat and bounce on your heart to make it beat irregularly.

You enjoyed being around Wukong. If you allowed it, you might even let your feelings for him develop and eventually admit that you liked him. But you didn't allow that, as you've decided to prioritize returning home.

Nobody accused you of making that choice, not even Wukong. He would never. It was you who felt guilty for choosing to leave, and that still plagued you to this day.

"I'm so sorry," you said suddenly.

Wukong slowly met your eyes. The confusion initially sitting in them vanished when he saw your furrowed brows and tearful eyes—whimsical like water. He wasn't wrong about that. Panicked, his hands hovered around your face, and he wiggled about, unsure what to do.

"What happened? What did you do?" he asked. "I'm sure you didn't do anything bad. Don't worry, I'll help you, okay? I promise."

You closed your eyes and cried quietly to yourself; flat whimpers, breathy hiccups, tears that were too cold against your cheeks, and comically placed hiccups. Wukong raised his brows, amusement bubbling at the brim of his quirked-up lips upon realizing how ridiculous (just a little!) you appeared.

"Wukong, I wanna go home, but... but I–I don't want to leave. I don't–gasp, I don't want to leave you." You closed your eyes to squeeze more tears out. "I'm sorry. Maybe I should... I should just stay. I should stay here with you."

"Now, what about your Pringles chip?"

He chuckled when you cried harder at the mention of a past conversation. Putting his hand flat on the ground, he pulled himself closer to you and leaned his torso forward. His free hand gingerly wiped at your face, being extra aware of his sharp nails. You kept crying, and he didn’t feel like he could say anything to make you feel better besides agreeing to your sudden change of decision, but he couldn’t.

"Don't be silly," he said.

He would be happy to have you stay with him forever, but you didn't want that. You were doubting your decision now because of him because you didn't want to leave him. But Wukong understood more than anyone else that he wasn't the significant marker that made up who you were.

Your home, your school, your hobbies, your friends, your family, your potential career choice—those things made you who you were. Besides not wanting to be the reason for you making a spur-of-the-moment choice, he also wanted you to be surrounded by what you knew.

You wouldn't achieve anything great in his world, but you would in yours. You deserve that chance.

"You have to go home," he whispered. "You can finally eat a proper meal. I want you to eat well."

You sniffed. "But I'm never going to see you again.”

His hand paused and hovered around your face. The established consequence felt much more threatening when you said it out loud. He calmed his nerves, pressed his palm against your face, and then urged you to move toward him. You did. Releasing the cloak on your shoulder, you climbed onto his lap and lay on his chest, snuggling close for warmth.

“Yeah, I guess we won’t see each other again,” he muttered, looking ahead at the forest. He tilted his head, inhaling thoughtfully. “I’m okay with that.”

“You are?” Your brows furrowed.

“Not the way you’re thinking!” he exclaimed. “I just… we can’t change that. No matter how much we beg or–“ he looked down at you– “cry, that’s never gonna change. We live in different worlds. We probably weren’t even meant to know each other.”

You threw your head back on his arm and groaned lowly. “Why are you saying all of this now?”

“What? No! I just meant–“ He laughed and pushed your head up so you’d look at him. “You’re going home. You have to go home. If we can’t change the fact that we’ll never see each other again, I guess I’d rather you never forget me.”

“That…” You rolled your eyes. “That won’t be an issue for me, but you!”

“Me?”

“Yes, you! 可以不爱我但绝不可以忘记我," you said. "You don't have to love me, but don't you dare forget me."

He cracked a smirk. "I do love you."

"It's for the later future!" you gently exclaimed as your head went slack against his shoulder. “Please don’t get in trouble, Wukong. Don’t get hurt, don��t do anything bad. I want you to live.”

“Oh, I’ll live,” he mused. “Not sure about the other ones, though.”

You knew those were wishful thinking. If his journey went the way the novels detailed, you also knew he would be okay. You weren't sure why you said those things—perhaps you wished him a smooth journey, but that wasn't why people admired him so much. Looking at him, you figured it's okay for him to get hurt occasionally. Hell, he might even deserve it once in a while, but you didn't say that out loud.

Wukong stared down at your suppressed grin, his hands soft around your limbs to remember their shape.

You didn't know that he would love you for far longer than you'd be here with him.

The Tanghulu almost fell apart when you bit into the strawberry on top. You caught the sugar pieces with your free hand.

The line leading toward an opened temple continued to move. It was mainly occupied by tourists, at least you believed so. There was hardly any reason for a local to be at a tourist attraction on a regular weekday except for you. You had a reason.

Taking a broad sweep across the crowded area, you arched your neck to look above the sea of heads at the food stands lined up in a row at the back. You chewed on the cold fruit as you debated what to eat next. There was a stall selling Liu Sha Baos, and next to it had an array of condiments set out for bagged Lou Meins. Humming in agreement, you decided to hit those stalls first after visiting the temple.

Erlang Shen’s method worked. He had suggested going back home the same way you came, which would be through turbulence on an airplane. Creating a makeshift turbulence was easy for just about anybody there, and you remembered Wukong waving goodbye at you a second before the clouds, picked up by the wind, covered your sight. And then you were gone—you suddenly woke up in the emergency room, startling a nurse.

Time barely passed when you were there. You slept through the rest of the flight after the turbulence, possibly causing inconvenience to the passengers seated by the window whenever they needed to use the restroom. They probably noticed something was wrong when you didn’t wake up even after the plane landed. They called an ambulance, and you had only just arrived at the hospital not too long ago.

You didn’t turn back. You visited your family and stayed with them for however long you had previously planned. It was a great way to distract yourself from the out-of-world experience. But nothing quite pulled Wukong off your mind.

You went hiking with your mother for the first time. The mountain reminded you of him. Heading to the supermarket and seeing the fruit section made you think of him. The way your grandpa talks reminded you of Bajie a little! And there was a newly released game about Wukong himself! You haven’t bought it yet. Maybe you would sooner or later.

“Hey! Can you walk?”

You jumped at the voice behind you and instinctively bowed in response, an apology leaving you like a ghost. Seeing that you were next ahead to admire the statue, you put the Tanghulu on the paper plate and back inside the plastic bag it came from. As you walked ahead, you dusted your hands on your jacket and stopped at the center of the opened temple. Looking up, you bit your lower lip to avoid laughing.

The Sun Wukong statue looked nothing like Sun Wukong.

But your memory made it look every bit like him.

“I found you,” you said. “I’m sorry it took so long. I was out of the country with my family. But I went to many places and ate a lot of good food.”

He stared back at you, unmoving. Your eyes softened at the replacement in your head—you wondered what he was doing now.

Subconsciously walking forward, your heart beating gently at your ear as you ignored the unnoticeable ‘Do Not Touch’ sign, you placed a hand on the statue’s feet and smiled.

“I remember you,” you whispered. “I love you.”

“Hey! Please don’t touch the statue!”

You turned your head at the warning. A strong breeze blew toward the direction of the voice just as you turned, enough to knock the security storming at you to the ground. You slowly released your hand from the statue, mouth slightly agape as you watched passersby help the security stand up. Pulling at the strap of your bag, you glanced at Wukong one last time, the weird coincidence lingering in your mind, and then you went to apologize.

Before you could walk out of earshot, you faintly heard a little boy speak to his mother behind you.

“Mom! Did you see that? The words on his staff lit up just now!”

#black myth wukong #jttw sun wukong #sun wukong x reader #sun wukong

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turtle-taetell · 1 day

Text

goodbye Mersmp

Super long message below!! (Funny story!)

and a message to the CCs at the end! <3

This is a piece that means so much to me. 21 months ago the designs for Theo and Faye got released. That day, i drew them! On paper with the supplies I had laying around, in a sketchbook smaller than my hand. At this point I was proud of my art but still very nervous about it. I had no idea how to draw them. I struggled a lot.

The second time I drew it, a year had passed. I felt I had been able to grow a lot as an artist and was excited to show how much I improved, so I redrew it! I loved how the lineart turned out and was so so excited to see the finished piece! But guess what? I hated it. I colored it in and still hate it to the point that I don’t even have the final version saved to my phone. It makes me feel ashamed.

But now, Mersmp has come to a close and the characters I have grown to care about so deeply have gotten their happy ending. So I wanted to give this piece that as well.

And finally, I think I can finally say I did.

I started drawing this final piece as soon as I was able to screenshot their epilogue designs. I was determined to make it right. So I sat down and drew, and drew, and drew, only taking an hour break to have dinner with a friend (don’t be like me). Finally, at 3am, eleven hours later, I was satisfied.

In this final piece are things that show just how tired I was. There are countless freckles on both characters, even under their scales! That’s a lot of dots. But wait… not the smallest. If you zoom in close enough they have pores! Much smaller than their freckles. That’s really a lot of dots! My freckle brush must have really come in clutch, right? WRONG! I dont have a freckle brush! All of this was done with one single smooth brush and I made Every. Single. Dot. Individually. That must have been pretty hard on my stylus, right? ONCE AGAIN WRONG! I don’t have a stylus! All of this was done on Ibis Paint x, a free art program, on an old janky ipad I got for free because it was so broken, all drawn with my finger. Even if I got a stylus, my ipad is too old to connect to any of them, including apple pencils.

The moral of this story is to never give up and not to let your resources limit your creativity. It doesn’t matter what medium you use, just do something to learn and keep pushing to improve. You will get there. Despite everything, you can do it.

And to the Mermp crew: Thank you for everything you have done. Through the story you have told and the community you have built, you have helped myself and others to grow in many ways. I myself learned a lot from Theo, learning that I do in fact go nonverbal at times and that does not mean there is anything wrong, and that I can feel conflicted and unsure about gender and expression. I learned I don’t need to be fixed. Just like I have now learned to look at the first redraw. I may not like it, but it is an expression of who I was at the time. Similar to Cella and Bite. Those characters may not like what they did in the past, but they are able to look back and recognize that it made them who they are today. If I always was proud of my first redraw, I may have never pressed myself to make this third one as beautiful. Thank you for the stories and lessons you have shared with us and allowing us to grow along side you and your characters.

And maybe, one day, a year or so from now, I can return to this and redraw it again, seeing what other things I enjoy in the future and how they may shape me to change.

With love, Turtle.

#artists on tumblr #fanart #my art #mer smp #mer smp theo #mer smp faye #mersmp theo #Mersmp finale #redraw #i love them sm #A message to the Mersmp creators

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yan-lorkai · 2 days

Note

Since I checked that suggestive fic are fine could you write one for Jamil where reader has been pining for him for a long time but he is hesitant since he has Kalim to take care off and can't slack off or smth

Ignore if you want :) and sorry if I overlooked a rule!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: I've made you wait quite a bit, darling, but I finally finished writing this ⁽⁠⁽⁠ଘ⁠(⁠ ⁠ˊ⁠ᵕ⁠ˋ⁠ ⁠)⁠ଓ⁠⁾⁠⁾. Though I let it end in a happy ending, originally it was going to end in a more bittersweet way. Either way, I hope you like it!

You had always known there was something about Jamil that captivated you, pulling you in with each passing day. He was more than just the stoic and responsible figure that stood in Kalim’s shadow. He was hardworking, kind and always reliable, traits that only made your heart ache with longing. For so long, you kept your feelings hidden, knowing he carried more responsibility than anyone should, but tonight, something in you snapped.

You watched Jamil move through the courtyard, his shoulders slightly hunched from the weight of the day. You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to tell him how you felt, even if you knew there was a risk he might push you away. He needed to know that there was he could lean on.

"Jamil," you called out softly, your voice barely carrying across the courtyard. His steps slowed, and he turned toward you, his usual unreadable expression in place.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice steady but his eyes filled with that quiet exhaustion you had come to recognize.

You swallowed, nerves threatening to choke your words. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Jamil raised a brow, stepping closer. “I’m listening.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you gathered your courage. “I, uh… Well, Jamil, I like you. A lot. I know you’re always busy, taking care of Kalim, and I know how hard you work, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way. I've been holding onto those feelings for a very long time.”

For a moment, there was silence. Jamil blinked, visibly taken aback by your confession. He opened his mouth to speak but seemed to hesitate, his brows furrowing in deep thought.

You pressed on, feeling your chest tighten. “I just wanted you to know. I know you have a lot on your plate, and I don’t want to be a burden, but I had to tell you how I feel.”

Jamil exhaled slowly, his eyes softening as he watched you. He looked like he wanted to say something, but again, the weight of his responsibilities seemed to pull him back.

“It’s not that I don’t…” He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I can’t afford to get distracted right now. Kalim needs me. I can’t let my guard down, even if it’s for something — someone — I care about.”

Your breath hitched at his words but before you could respond, a familiar voice broke through the tension.

“Oh, come on, Jamil!” Kalim’s voice rang out from behind the nearby fountain, startling both of you. He stepped out from behind the marble structure with a wide grin, looking between you and Jamil like this was the best thing he’d ever witnessed. “I knew you liked them too! You don’t have to worry about me so much!”

Jamil’s eyes widened in shock, a flush creeping up his neck. “Kalim — what are you — how long have you been listening?”

Kalim waved off Jamil’s question with a laugh, completely unbothered. “Long enough! I wasn’t spying, I promise, but I heard some of what you said. Jamil, you work so hard, but you’re allowed to be happy too! I can take care of myself sometimes, you know.” He grinned, glancing at you. “And besides, I think they’d make you really happy, they always looked at you with such adoring eyes!”

Your heart fluttered, unsure of what to say. Kalim, in his usual cheerful way, had just dismantled all the walls Jamil had carefully built around himself.

“Kalim, it’s not that simple,” Jamil muttered, still looking flustered.

Kalim crossed his arms, his grin never fading. “It is that simple! You deserve to have someone who cares about you. I’ll be fine! And, you know, I kinda already figured you liked them.”

Jamil looked down, clearly battling with himself, but Kalim’s words seemed to have chipped away at his resolve. He glanced back at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of uncertainty and… something else.

After a long pause, Jamil let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I do like you. More than I’ve wanted to admit,” He finally said, his voice soft but sincere. “But I’ve always been worried that if I let myself have something for me, it’ll somehow mess everything up.”

You stepped closer, your heart swelling with hope. “You won’t mess anything up, Jamil. You deserve to have something for yourself, too. I’m not asking you to change anything — I just want to be there for you, like you’re always there for everyone else.”

Jamil looked at you for a long moment, and finally, his tense posture relaxed. He exhaled deeply, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe… you’re right.”

Kalim clapped his hands, clearly thrilled with the way things were unfolding. “See? This is great! I’ll be fine, Jamil. You two go ahead and be happy together!”

Jamil shot him a look, but there was no real bite behind it. Instead, he turned his attention back to you, his eyes softening in a way you’d never seen before. “I can’t promise I’ll always get it right,” he murmured, his hand reaching for yours. “But I’ll try. If you’re willing to put up with that.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with warmth as you took his hand. “I’m more than willing.”

As you stood there, hand in hand with Jamil, Kalim grinning like he had just orchestrated the happiest ending possible, you couldn’t help but feel that, maybe, everything had finally fallen into place.

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georgiapeach30513 · 8 hours

Text

How I'm Looking At You, Part 5

Summary: It's just you and Ari

Pairings: Ari Levinson X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, teasing, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, dry humping, videoing, masturbating (M) in front of another, breeding kink, cum play, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4K

Series Masterlist

You peek over your shoulder, smiling at the giant man that continues to get closer, and taking only one tiny step at a time, to your backside. You’d nearly finished the dishes from breakfast, and the giant form of Ari is stalking towards you. Always. Like a shadow that you didn’t want to get rid of. A playful hunt for his prey. Your talk with him was much needed, and even though there’s a paranoia of someone finding out and this blowing up in your face, you’re enjoying this time.

It’s lighthearted, just like the books say it should be. Well, depending on which type of book you’re reading, but you’ve almost guessed which ones are a bit more dark. Yes, you do judge a book by its cover, but only because there is usually a difference. Not always, but the darker themed stories always had a particular look about them.

You didn’t hate those stories, but they didn’t fit Ari. You liked stories that you could see Ari in. Sometimes he was a hockey player with his fast talking mouth. Sometimes he was a cowboy; sweating and showing off his work made muscles. Other times he was a teacher, and you really liked him being a teacher. Letting him explore your body, and teach you all the ways to sin. It was close to real life.

You finish the last dish right before Ari crowds your body with his own. His heated breath is on your neck, causing your feet to spread apart. His mouth presses up against your heated column, and he chuckles. Giving a nip at your neck before pressing his pelvis into your ass. It’s cruel the images and thoughts that you have running through your mind. You feel him, but not enough at the same time.

Your imagination is running rampant with all the ways he could have you. “Uh uh,” he tsks, rolling his hips into yours, and you mewl out his name, “Don’t go in your head, stay right here with me at this moment. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

That is what you want to do, but he makes it so damn hard, and he’s so hard, pressing into you. And he’s clouding your vision, and your judgment. He rolls his hips into you again, and your knuckles lighten with how hard you’re clinging to the sink. “A-a-are you going to inspect me again?”

“Is that what you’d like?”

“Uh huh,” you want so much more than that. You want to feel him on the inside. You want him crawling into your being, and truly claim you. Ari kisses his way down your body. Starting to sink down to his knees, and he grabs the hem of your dress. Inching higher up your body. Exposing more of your tender flesh.

“My my, this is a pretty pair of panties you have on,” you were a bit bold when you walked up to your room. The lingerie is sheer, and show everything. “And you’re so wet, Darling,” your slick has stained a darkened spot right at the gusset of your panties, and he spreads to your thighs. “I think you’re very frustrated, can I help you with that?”

“Yes, please,” you whisper, unable to raise your voice higher than that. He slowly pulls the fabric down your thighs, stopping at your feet, and he gives them a little tap, and you step out of the underwear. Peering behind you when Ari stuffs them into his pocket.

“I’ll save this for later,” he smirks up at you before looking at your drenched folds. Ari’s tongue flicks over your velvety lips, moaning at the taste of you before he slaps a hand on each cheek, and pulls you apart at the seam. He gawks at your delectable body. Ready to devour you. “Have you had anything inside of you?”

“No. I’m scared.”

“Can I try?” You nod your head, whispering please, and his index finger immediately starts its exploration. He runs the digit up and down your split, gathering up your arousal. Teasing at your entrance before playing with your clit. His mouth hangs open in awe as he fondles you, and then he rubs over your entrance.

Adding enough pressure that a tiny bit pushes through, and you want more. You back your ass up towards him, pushing more of his meaty finger inside of you, and Ari gives a swift bite on your cheek, “You’re impatient today. I’m not working in the field. And I told the idiots to go buy some much needed seeds. Apparently I’ve run out. And right now, I really want to play.”

“And I — I need friction,” he rolls his eyes, looking up at you expectantly, “That’s what the books say.”

“You read trash, you know that?” You push your butt back towards him again, and feel his finger slightly breach through your walls, and a pornographic moan wails out of your lips, “You are a filthy girl. How does this feel?” He sinks his finger fully in. Circling his finger inside of you, and watching your body accommodate him. Your pussy stretches around him, begging for another finger. Holding himself there, while you try and regulate yourself. “Is it that good that you can’t speak?”

You aren’t sure what it is. You just know that even one measly finger has receptors flaring up throughout your body, and you can’t make sense of time. The only thing you recognize is Ari. He is both the beginning and the end.

He plunges himself in and out of you, smiling as your body starts to rock with his rhythm. Pulling his finger fully out, before sliding another with it. “Oh, you look so pretty taking me like this. Stretched out and full.”

You preen at his words. Cheeks heating up from embarrassment and pleasure. Everything is fire as he works your body. Diving in and out of your wetness, and he sticks his tongue out, cleaning your skin of the excess honey. Moaning just as much as you are. His hips buck, mimicking your own movements.

“It’s like you were made for me,” Ari’s thumb starts to circle your clit, and he removes his tongue from you to watch how much your virgin pussy is stretched over his thick fingers. He feels everything. Can feel your walls caving in as he takes you to the edge of pleasure. Damn, you were a minx begging to get out. You were too perfect for this world. Even for him.

“Darling, you’re almost there. Will you let go for me? You’re doing such a beautiful job,” whimpering his name, he drives harder, “There ya go. You’re doing so well. Let go, baby. Just let go,” his words are shattering everything inside you. The buildup isn’t slow it is a crash into whatever sin wagon he is taking you on. “Fuck yeah. Yeah, you’re coating me with your cream. Oh god, this is beautiful.”

His fingers slow, coaxing you through your high, and you look over your shoulders, “Before you take it out, can you show me?” His eye lifts up, and his finger wiggles inside of you. “I mean with your phone.”

“Do I have to delete the picture after?”

“No. I just want to see it. Can…you can video it,” it’s doubly forbidden because there’s not supposed to be photos or videos of you. But the idea of being able to watch Ari from multiple angles, see yourself take him, makes you weak in the knees.

Ari gulps as he reaches for his phone. His fingers press down on it before you feel him push and pull out of you. Hearing the squelching sounds of your pussy before he removes his fingers. Stretching you wide open for the camera, and then zones in on your exposed hole. He clicks on his phone again before he leans forward, sucking and licking around your pussy. Cleaning you up in his way.

“I don’t think you know what you do to me.”

“Can you show me?” He leans back, gazing up at you with such a fascination that it makes you squirm. The intensity in his gaze makes you feel weak in the knees. “I’ve shown you what you do to me,” garnering as much confidence as you can muster, you let your dress fall back down, and turn around. Leaning back on the counter, you look down at Ari. “Ari, you’re not talking. Can I see you? See how you — no, what you do when you think of me like this?”

“You want to see me fuck myself?” You nod enthusiastically. Imagining all the ways that Ari compared to the men in the books, but also how it worked. You’ve never seen a naked man before. Can only imagine what lurks below his swollen pants. “What do the books tell you about that?”

“That,” you inhale deeply, blowing the cold air out. A slow flush of heat runs up your body, and settles in your cheeks where they light on fire. “That you, um — you fist your throbbing cock. I’ve never seen a cock.”

“If I show you, you have to promise to put these panties back on,” you didn’t quite understand. He took them off of you to keep, and now he’s wanting to put them back on you after he’s finished. You don’t want to think too much because there’s an ache inside of you to see him.

“Get on your knees,” you fall to your knees immediately, while he gracefully gets to his feet. Towering over you, and palming his crotch. “All the doors are locked, and the curtains are closed.”

“I don’t care,” at this moment you didn’t. You just want to see Ari’s vulnerability like he’s yours. Your eyes roll up to gaze at him, and his jaw tenses. His Adam’s apple quivers, and with trembling hands he slowly undoes his button. The two of you keep your eyes locked on one another, and you can’t help but wiggle around with anticipation. You are finally going to see what lies beneath his clothes

His fingers grip the zipper, and pull it down ever so slowly. “Darling, you ready to see what you do to me?”

“Yes, sir,” a shiver runs up Ari’s spine, and he plunges his hand into his underwear, and brings out a behemoth of a cock. His hands fall to his sides, and he lets you look at him in all his glory. A steel rod covered in the most beautiful silky skin. Pearls of precum glitter the crown, and you see his heartbeat pulsing in a vein that you very much want to trace with your tongue.

“Can I touch you?”

“You can if you use your mouth. But this is about showing you how I get off when I think about you,” lifting up to your knees, you stand face to face with his beautiful member. Inhaling his aroma while you inspect him before touching him. “Look up at me when you touch me.”

There’s something primal in his voice. The rawness, and yet the almost childish way that he asks you to look up at him empowers you. Inching closer you look up at him through your lashes. Flicking down to his aching cock. You pucker your lips, and glance back up at him. You’re so close, and going even slower. Slower. Until your lips whisper against his mushroom head, and his essence explodes on your tongue.

Your breathing becomes erratic, but you collect yourself enough to flatten out your tongue, and lick his split clean. Moaning at his musk, while his legs tremble. “Ari, I think you should show me how you fuck your fist.”

His movements are harsh as he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out your panties. Leaning forward, he reaches under your dress, and swipes the sheer fabric through your drenched cunt. Soaking the panties in your slick before he wraps it around his cock.

His fist tightens, and he gives his cock a hard pull. Panting as he pumps himself over and over. Keeping his eyes on you. “I’ll never get my fist as tight as you. I can almost feel your walls gripping me so tight. Your juices leaking out around us, while you make the prettiest sounds. No one will ever be closer to you than in those moments. I will be inside of you. Loving every inch and every curve of your body. You’re going to feel me for days. And your cunt will be molded to me. Your body will beg for me, and my body will never get enough of you.”

His hips thrust forward, mimicking the ways he wants to fuck you, “You like that? You like imagining how I’m going to feel stretching out that beautiful pussy? How my tongue is going to paint your body, and I’m going to fill you,” his words clip off immediately. You pout up at him, but he shakes his head. Denying you what you desperately crave.

“I want to know how your cum feels inside me though,” he moans. Eyes rolling in the back of his head before he looks back down at you. “I do. I want to know what it feels like to feel you for the rest of the day.”

“You really are a filthy dirty girl, huh?” He watches. Waits. And you wiggle around. Smiling because he really was talking to you like they do in the books. “You wanna be my little slut?”

“Yes,” his breathing deepens. Every exhale is a growl more than breath, “Yes, please. Sir,” you look down at his length wrapped in your panties. Staring as his balls tighten, and the most beautiful cry of your name echoes into the room. He maneuvers the panties over his tip, and he nearly howls. Heart beating in his chest as he stills his moments.

“Did you come?” You scoot closer to him. Observing his cock, and glancing up at him. Smiling and nodding his head. “Can I see?” His breath huffs out as he opens up your panties, and you peer at the thick creamy essence of Ari. “Can I touch it?”

“You’re going to. Give me a minute.”

“Can I taste it?” He squeaks as he exhales, shaking his head no. “That’s not fair! You get to taste me.”

“Darling, stand up,” keeping your eyes on him, you get to your feet. And he opens up the soiled panties. Holding them out for you. “Step in.”

“They’re dirty.”

“And you’re going to get to feel my cum pressed up against your delicious cunt for the rest of the day,” the hesitation isn’t because you don’t want to feel him. It’s because it is so salacious and wrong, but it’s your little secret. You could go home with your panties soaked with Ari. Nobody would ever know that you have him right at your pussy. That you made him come so hard. You earned his cum.

You stand there staring at the panties, and your mouth turns devilish as you put one foot in. Stepping into the other side. You pull your dress high, letting Ari fully see you pussy as he pulls his mess up your body. His cums touches your heated skin, and you sigh. Whimpering and rolling your hips at the feeling of him. And Ari taps on your pussy twice.

“There’s a good girl. The panties are perfect to see me smeared all over your skin,” he holds up his phone, snapping a photo of your creamy mound, and he holds the contraption up to show you. “You look pretty like this.”

“How would I look if you were leaking out of me?”

“Even better.”

“What about,” you gulp, knowing you could be taking things too far. There’s a power in your words. And yet, it’s something you feel in your core. A desire that’s so deep that you can’t even explain. “How would I look if you really claimed me?”

“How so?” He calmly asks, reaching for you, he pulls you closer to him, and you lift his hand up, placing it on your belly.

“How would I look if I was swollen from your seed?” He growls. A deep rumble moves up his chest, and his fingers pulse on your stomach, “Do you want to fuck a baby in me? Let me walk around always full of you, and everyone would know that you fuck me like your personal breeding slut?”

His pupils blow wide. Black pools replacing the most perfect beautiful cerulean. Ari’s lids close slightly, staying half mast. His fingers tremble on your body, “Have you fuck me so deep that you start growing in me?”

“You can’t say things like that,” he struggles to get out. The timbre of his voice an octave higher. Your hand roams down his front, and you cup his hardening cock. “Darling.”

“Why not?”

Ari spins you around, and pins you to his front. Rocking his hips forward into your ass once, and his mouth attaches to your neck. The heated breath from his mouth sending chills throughout your body, “Because, I want to bend you over that fucking table, and breed you like you’re my personal whore. Fuck you so deep that my seed grows inside of you. Have you walking around all innocent, while you have a secret, and it’s that I’m growing in your belly.”

“I want you to,” your voice chokes out. You tug and pull at his hands and arms. Trying to force his touch where you want it. “Ari, use my body. It’s yours. Fuck your baby in me!”

“My god,” walking you forward, Ari inches you to the counter, slamming you down onto the wood. And his hips buck into your backside. Hunching into your body like a teenage boy with no self control, “You can’t say things like that to me.”

“Why? Ari, I want you to!”

“Because I’ve never made love to you. I’m not going to use you for breeding. I want to. My god, I want to see your belly swelling, and know it was me that did that. I want everyone in this fucking town to see you happy, and glowing. I want to be the one that gives you all your firsts, and take you to heavens you have never been to. But you don’t need that right away. Your books are such glorious beautiful trash, but for the sake of my fucking sanity, quit talking like that.”

“Will you fuck a baby in me one day?” He pistons his hip bones into you harshly. An infuriating way to mimic fucking when you just want him in you.

“Darling,” he’s so rough as he pretends to rut into you. Pinning your hands onto the counter. Controlling you in ways that you don’t fully understand, but you want to go to whatever sweet sin he’s taking you to, “I will fuck as many babies in that pretty pussy as you’ll let me. I will own your body, your pleasure, and every one of your disgusting thoughts.”

One more hard push forward, and warmth invades your backside, and you moan at the feeling of his warm cum sullying your dress. If everyone wanted to call you the town dump and a whore, they could. As long as you are Ari’s whore. “But let me first take you on a date or maybe teach you how to kiss. Sex is clouding your brain because you’re so uptight.”

“Then just fuck me,” your words are teasing, but you’re serious. “If you just fuck me then I can focus on everything else.”

“You’re so needy.”

“Fuck me!”

“Not yet, sweetheart,” his lips leave a gentle kiss behind your ear before he stands up. Popping his neck while he checks out his spunk soaking your cotton dress. “You’re beyond frustrated. Why don’t you grind yourself on the arm of my chair? Let me sit on the couch while you give that pussy some much needed friction that you keep talking about.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Spinning around you glare up at him, and he just smirks. of course he’s making fun of you. He’s experienced, and you’re a sniveling child begging for his cock, and he won’t give it to you.

“You’re a grown adult acting like a child because I won’t sink my cock into,” it isn’t fair! The women in the books got the guy so quick. You just want to feel him. “It’s adorable, and I understand your frustrations. There are times I look at you, and just want to swipe everything off the table into the floor, slam you on that wood, and spread your legs while I rail into you. But you’re not ready.”

“How come you’re the only one that gets to decide?”

“Because all you’re focusing on is sex. I’m trying to be an adult because I know that you’re spiraling. I understand it. And I will let you be that way, but know that I am making a hard — very hard. I just came twice, and that’s not easy to do. And I haven’t even been inside of you. You seriously can’t understand what you do to me,” his resolve is failing. If you continue to talk to him like that, he will have his way with you. He’d lick up every tear that spilled out of your beautiful eyes if he had to.

“In time,” your eyes fall to his chest. Staring at a patch of hair that is peeking out of the top. “Would you be willing to do some of the things to me that’s in the books?”

“Like what?” You piqued his interest. His body is practically vibrating with giddiness.

“You said sit on the couch, while I grind on you,” there’s certain things in particular you like in the books. You can’t explain it. Possibly because of your upbringing and the fear and punishment you feel when you’ve done something wrong. You like the bit of humiliation. With boundaries.

“Can — can I be naked?” Ari bites his tongue, groaning again. “I’ve never had someone suck my — my titties. A-a-a-and I want you clothed. And talking dirty to me.”

Your curiosity and willingness to try the things you’ve read about astounds him. It’s like you were this perfect woman that was plucked out of the sky and placed right on his lap. Amazing. Just amazing how filthy you are, and yet there’s an innocence because you don’t understand. From what Ari has gathered, sex is vanilla here. But you want to be naked, while you make yourself get off. You want him to suck your tits. All while you straddle and ride him. Ruining his pants with your juices.

“I like it when you talk dirty to me because I know when we’re not in this space that you would never do that. James told me what you said to Jacob,” his fucking name was James? Just James? “Thank you. I’ll be your darling out there, as long as in here I’m your whore,” the shame of it turned you on. You aren’t even going to try and make sense out of it. You just want Ari to own your body. You want him to destroy it. Use it. Do whatever he wants to do as long as it’s him.

“And I’d like to make us a picnic, and we have our first date by the river. Okay?” His mouth turns up into the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen, and he nods his head.

“How does my cum feel on your pussy?”

“I think it’d feel better in my pussy,” without another word, you turn towards the stairs. You would like a nap, and to read a bit more from a particular book. You didn’t care what Ari said, you want him to fuck you, and fill you up. You’d already made up your mind about this life. And it wasn’t worth living if Ari couldn’t be inside you.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@floral-recovery-blog @pandaxnienke @rogersbarber @buckybarnesisdaddy @theinheriteddutchess

@patzammit @steviebbboi @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @kandis-mom

#How I'm Looking At You #ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x fem!reader #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x y/n #ari levinson x you #ari levinson smut #ari levinson fic #ari levinson fics #ari levinson fanfic #ari levinson fanfics #ari levinson fanfiction #red sea diving resort #chris evans #chris evans character

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hardlyinteresting · 7 hours

Text

Lemon drops

Jake Seresin x reader

Nights at The Hard Deck just got a lot more interesting.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please), I grew up in an Army household so some of my Navy knowledge may be slightly off base (no pun intended)

This one-shot will exist in the same universe as other one-shots I have planned. But, they can all be read entirely independently.

Word count: 1.3K

Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

Friday nights at The Hard Deck are always busy. Sailors and pilots all stopping by on their way home from base eager to let loose, that's to be expected. What he's not expecting is to walk in on a bachelorette party in full swing.

In a Navy town, it's not completely unheard of for last-minute bachelor and bachelorette parties to fill the local dives, but the larger-than-normal crowd and the young woman dancing on one of the tables has Jake rolling his shoulders back before he settles into the night. He'd been looking for a chill vibe, a cold beer and a few rounds at the pool table. But, he won't complain about a night of flirting, he fancies his odds in a room full of jealous bridesmaids and tag chasers.

Rooster and Coyote seem to have gotten a head start if the empty glasses, or the girls they're helping line up shots at the pool table are any indicator.

Leaning against the bar Jake waits patiently for Penny to finish making a tray of shots. Lemon-coloured liquid poured from the silver shaker he's so rarely seen used at The Hard Deck, into sugar-rimmed 1 oz glasses. His eyes follow the tray over to the crowd of already tipsy ladies all dressed up to celebrate the blonde in her “bride” sash and tiara. But his attention lingers on the woman who laughs brightly as she raises the tiny glass for a toast.

“To the bride! I think I speak for everyone when I say that we love you so much, and we're all so excited for this next chapter of your life!” The rest of the party cheers in response, “Now, let's get drunk and start drinking something that's not just sugar”

She's quick to down the lemon drop shot, quickly licking the drip that rolls down the back of her hand. She's sun-kissed and glowing even under the dim overhead lights. She must be from the area, not just passing through. The music is loud and the bar chatter is louder, and she's stunning as she moves her hips to the sound stepping down from the table. She's licked away the sugar rim on the glass by the time she makes it through the crowd to lean at the bar next to him. It's only when Penny sets a beer in front of him that he realizes he's been staring at the mystery girl.

She's even cuter up close. And for the first time in a long time, he's speechless. Several recycled one-liners rattle around inside his head, but not a single one feels like it's worth the breath. Something about the way she moves through the room, either unaware or intentionally disinterested as several other patrons turn their heads to look her way, tells him she'll have no trouble shooting him down. Regretfully, it only makes him more intrigued.

And as if she couldn't get sweeter, the scent of her perfume or her shampoo, or the hell if he knows knocks him back. Brown sugar and vanilla. Of course, she smells like sugar. He scolds himself as he replays the image of her pink-tongued and unctuous in her attempt to clean the syrupy glaze dripping across the back of her hand. He may be a self-proclaimed flirt and widely identified playboy but he does do his best to be a gentleman. Despite his attempts to think of church surgeons, or his mother's lectures, geography lessons, or complex aerodynamics, he knows it will be ages before he's able to completely erase the surprising saccharine bar room sight from his mind.

“Whiskey, please,” she asks Penny, “and thank you for making those shots”.

“For you girls it's no problem,” Penny insists, sliding the glass of whisky across the bar.

If he bothered to look up he'd catch her raking her own eyes across his form, paying attention to read his name badge, and trace his pins in an attempt to keep herself from ogling his broad shoulders, and strong arms. The khaki uniform does him all sorts of favours. Penny gives her a knowing smirk as she slides the whiskey across the bar.

Unashamed, his eyes follow the intriguing girl back across the room lingering too long on the back pockets of her little denim shorts.

He's no stranger to wooing pretty girls in bars. He won't brag, but he's got an admirable success rate when it comes to finding a partner for the evening (and he's never heard any complaints). But, something about this girl is different. She's not just pretty, but she's stunning in a girl-next-door kind of way that damn near knocks him off his feet. The way she talks with her friends, and laughs without hesitation has a smile forming on his own face and he feels like a damn idiot for watching her from across the room. She pays no mind to any of the pilots or other patrons who mosey over to shoot their shot with her and the rest of her party, but she accepts every challenge that comes her way at the dartboard and the pool table.

“What's wrong hangman? Cat got your tongue?” Penny laughs, “I was sure you were going to try to chat her up”.

The truth is for the first time in a long time he feels like he might be out of his depth. Like a schoolboy with a crush on the new girl in class.

“The night is still young,” he shrugs.

But the night flies by, he drinks his beers, and laughs with his own friends, makes his own bets, but never crosses the room.

She buys her own drinks, and corrals her drunk friends safely into the backs of taxi cabs, calling out for them to text her when they get home. And when closing time rolls around she settles her tab and says goodbye to Penny with a hug, and a reminder that she'll see her later.

Jake goes home alone, the thought of the sugar sweet girl on his mind.

When he returns to The Hard Deck next it's a week later. He saunters in with a grin. a bet with Rooster and Phoenix waiting to be won at the pool table, and an ice cold beer with his name on it calling for him.

He heads to the bar first, leaning waiting to be served when he smells the hauntingly familiar smell of vanilla sugar. He's damn near certain his heart stops when she turns around behind the counter, a megawatt smile on her when she says, “hey, what can I get you?”

“Whiskey. Neat. Thanks Sugar,” the name rips off his tongue before he can stop it.

“Coming right up hot shot,” she laughs.

“It's ‘Hangman’, actually. But you can call me Jake”.

She hums, setting his glass in front of him, “you were in here last week, weren't you”?”

“Sure was,” he confirms, allowing himself to memorize the way she leans back against the middle counter, her arms crossed; so calm and so cool. He suddenly feels the need to swallow hard, his cheeks warming under her directed gaze.

“You won a lot of money off of my friends,” he offers when she says nothing else.

She shrugs, “it's a habit I can't seem to break”.

He hopes she never does. Watching Payback and Coyote empty their wallets had been the highlight of his week.

“Well, maybe when your shifts over, you can come and try your luck with tonight's crowd, Sugar,” Jake offers. It's a feeble attempt at flirtation compared to his usual routine, but none of his words seem to be coming out right, his mind going blank each time he looks at her in her jeans and white tank top. Thoughts of lemon drop shots, short shorts, and table dancing fill his mind. Suddenly he's 13 again, asking a girl to the school dance with a racing heart.

“I'm here ‘til closing,” she tells him, saving him from his spiral. She sorts her station and wipe down the bar top, “but don't worry, I'll be able to watch you show off from over here”.

And with that she gone again, moving down the bar to help another customer.

Nights at The Hard Deck sure just got a lot more interesting.

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #Pour me another drink

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daydreamerwoah · 11 hours

Text

Family Tree (Chapter 5)

Simon x Y/n <3

You thought cleaning out the downstairs would be difficult, but doing the three bedrooms upstairs was a real challenge. It made no sense that your dad had clothes on top of clothes.. on top of clothes in every single one of the rooms. He had more clothes than you did in your entire lifetime. Figuring it'd be better to start with the master bedroom, you found items ranging from suits that looked like they hadn't been touched in over 30 years to his uniforms from his time in the army. You didn't know what to do with any of it. You thought it would be better to combine it all in one room; the items that you thought about keeping - like military and sentimental things - you put in the smallest room and would go through them later. Shirts and pants that looked like they had better days, you gathered them in bags to donate and throw out.

Once you finished that, you started going through the chester and nightstands. Opening one of the drawers, you thought it would have been more paper, maybe even junk like pens or something. But what you found were pictures. A ton of them. Picking some of them up carefully, you looked at each one, all in different places. From a desert to what looked like the woods, it was pictures of several men posing in their combat uniforms; some had rifles in their hands, but all had a neutral look on their faces. Sitting on the bed, you dug in the drawer further, finding more pictures. Ones that were of a man who strikingly resembled you. You hadn't realized until that moment that there weren't any pictures in the home. None hanging on the wall or in a small frame on the fireplace mantle. You didn't even really know what your dad looked like until you went through those particular ones.

He kept them hidden. But why?

Maybe he wasn't a picture-type of guy. No. That didn't make sense. There were a ton of pictures in there, so he obviously liked taking pictures.

You briefly thought about disregarding them for the time being, but when you saw one with a woman who looked the same as your mother, you froze. There she was, standing in front of what looked like Big Ben in London, along with the man from the other pictures - your father. But that wasn't what made you swallow the thick lump in your throat. It was the small child she was holding in her arms; you.

So many questions ran through your mind, it was hard to keep up with them. But the one that stood out the most was why. It was obvious that your mom and dad didn't stay together, but why was that? Mary gave you the story, but you couldn't really trust what she said. She had been lying to you for years.

Eyes became slightly red and watery as you continued to stare at the picture. It wasn't until a lone tear ran down your cheek that you realized you were crying a little. Cleaning long forgotten, you set the pictures on the floor in front of you and stood up, making your way downstairs and out the home. Looking next door, you found yourself walking in your neighbor's yard and up to her door. Softly knocking on it, you patiently waited for her to open it with the friendly smile she always had on her face.

"Oh, come in dear," she said, stepping aside and allowing you to go in. She led you to the kitchen, instantly putting on the kettle to boil. "What do I owe this visit?" she asked as she sat down at the table across from you.

You fiddled with your hands in your lap as you looked at her. You were nervous, but for what reason.. you didn't know.

No. You knew exactly why you were.

"Um.. well I-I was wondering if you could," you briefly paused, "Well my dad. . ." Why was it so hard to get the damn question out.

Alice gave you a knowing smile, "You want to know what he was like," she said, finishing your thought.

You nodded, swallowing the small lump in your throat.

The high whistle of the kettle went off, "Let me just get us some tea," she replied, standing up to make a cup for each of you.

**********************************************************************************

With two knocks on the front door, Kyle opened it, revealing Johnny, Price, and Simon standing there. It was Saturday evening - a day later than what Ella originally planned to cook - and they all gathered in the living room while she was finishing up the last preparations in the kitchen.

Ella loved cooking, and she usually did something for almost every holiday or just random weekends. She came from a big family who spent a lot of their time in the kitchen, especially during the Christmas holidays. It was only heaven's sent when Kyle met her and tasted her cooking for the first time. He knew right then and there she was his for life. The guys only agreed with him that she was excellent in the kitchen, and they always enjoyed when she mentioned she was going to invite them over.

With a few beers in their hands, 141 settled on the couches to enjoy the rugby match that was on.

"Food's almost ready guys," Ella said, wiping her hand on the towel she had thrown over her shoulder as she came in and sat on the armrest of the couch next to Kyle. They all nodded before their focus went back to the TV.

When a break in the game came on, Kyle looked at his girlfriend, "Y'didn't invite any of the girls from work?"

"I did. Remember, Y/n said she couldn't make it. And you know I don't talk to the other girls at work," she said.

A weird, sort of playful tension formed in the air as Kyle, Johnny, and Ella glanced at Simon. Price - who was clueless since he wasn't there at the pub - looked at each of them before his eyes landed on Simon, who kept his vision on the TV. A low chuckle erupted in Johnny's chest, making Simon finally look his way, narrowing his eyes.

A very short staring contest happened between the two before someone cleared their throat.

"Alright. What the hell's goin' on?" Price asked, making Ella giggle and the two boys snicker.

"Ask Ghost," Johnny replied.

Simon huffed, "Funny bloke aren't cha."

That got everyone laughing, and Ella felt the need to stop the teasing from her boyfriend and Johnny, "My coworker ran into Ghost. Like literally... Said she bumped into him. She didn't know I knew him, so when they showed up at the pub on Wednesday, she was.... surprised, to say the least. She's a bit shy, I guess," she said, making John finally understand what was going on, "But I think-" she looked at Kyle and smirked "-Ghost here has a little crush on her."

"Comedians," he retorted instantly.

"Come on mate," Kyle chimed in, "You gotta admit it was funny seeing you two ogle each other."

"We weren't ogling."

Johnny had to add to it, "Yeah. You were just ogling her."

While the others did laugh a little at the comment, Ghost just playfully scoffed. Although even he had to admit it was rather... cute. At least you were. He remembered how, even in your scrubs, you still looked as though you hadn't even been at work. The way your eyes kept flickering over to him made his stomach flip for some reason. He was thankful you hadn't noticed how his clothes were since they had been at the range all day. The small dirt stains on his jacket were obvious to him, but he hoped you hadn't seen it. Yet his eyebrows furrowed at the thought of why he even cared about what you thought of his jacket.

He didn't like the way your presence caused him to feel a certain way. It wasn't that he didn't want you to be sitting there, but he didn't know what to do other than look at you when you weren't glancing in his direction. You intrigued him. The way you dodged the topic of family and the quietness about you had him thinking about the interaction more than he wanted to for the next several days.

"Dinner's ready!" Ella shouted, pulling him out of his thoughts.

The guys migrated into the kitchen, piling on their plates of delicious food before heading back to the living room to watch more of the rugby match. Before Simon could make his way back to his seat, Ella caught his attention, "I think Y/n might have a little crush on you too," she whispered, making him playfully roll his eyes.

"Fuckin' hell," he somewhat chuckled as he made his way to the living room.

Now was time to plan for you and him to at least speak the next time you saw each other, she thought.

**********************************************************************************

That following Monday, you were almost certain you could avoid Ella's questions when she asked you about what you did over the weekend. You went from saying you had to do paperwork to moving some things at home. But this just led to more questions from her: When did you buy the home? Did you want to throw a housewarming party?

Fuck she was going to make your head explode. But you knew deep down she meant well. You just wanted to keep that wall up you had between your past and anybody you talked to since you moved. It was like forbidden territory to get too close to you, afraid of being judged if they knew how fucked up your situation was.

"Boys asked about you," she smiled as you two sat in the breakroom eating your lunches.

With an eyebrow quirked, you lowered your sandwich from your mouth as you chewed your food "Huh?" It sounded muffled.

She nodded, "Yeah. You should come hang out with us sometime," she asked, hopeful.. a little too hopeful.

"I think I embarrassed myself enough in front of your friends. I'm good," you retorted before taking another bite of your sandwich.

"You didn't embarrass yourself," she argued, "Besides... you already know Simon at least," she giggled.

You internally groaned, "I don't know him. I told you that."

"But you wanna get to know him, don't you?" that fucking smirk displayed on her lips.

You froze as your eyes widened a little.

Damn, she was good... real good. You could deny all you wanted to Ella that you didn't want to be in front of the quiet man again, but you couldn't lie to yourself about taking an unusual interest in him. Maybe it was the way he barely said anything at the table or the fact that you couldn't see his entire face, but you thought about him at random times throughout the weekend. When you went to the store, you saw a couple with their surgical masks on and instantly thought about him. Or when you picked up a bottle at the liquor store, you wondered what type of bourbon he enjoyed.

But it was pointless. Ghost - as you remember what Ella told you - didn't seem like he would ever be interested in you. Plus, you had too much on your plate to even be thinking about liking him, let alone anyone. You could barely fathom how you fell into a friendship with the girl sitting across from you.

Shaking your head in an attempt to brush off what she had said, you shut down the conversation, "I like being single."

What a lie.

Well, it wasn't that you did or didn't... it was just that you didn't want to think about the lack of intimacy you had in your life. Sure, you dated a couple of guys in the past, but it always ended up with a broken heart and bitter feelings about wanting to ever fall in love again. The last five years of your life was trying to get back on your feet and separate yourself from your chaotic mother and harsh stepfather, that you rarely thought about anything close to a relationship, sex, any of it. You could even say you're a little out of touch about what you liked in a guy, dating, whatever it was.

"I didn't say you had to date him, Y/n," Ella laughed, "But we're all friends. You at least have to get to know all of us more."

Once again, she was right. If you were going to hang out with her, it was no doubt you'd run into the rest of them at times.

Sighing, you gathered up the trash on the table and stood up, "Maybe," was all you said as you threw everything away and turned back to smile at her, "Stop convincing me to do stuff," you teased.

She laughed, getting up to throw her food away as well while you waited, "I'm your best friend now. Get used to it."

Think maybe next chapter I'll have reader and Simon actually talk to each other lol!!

Taglist: @simp-4-masked-men @dayrin085 @jessicab1991 @kylies-love-letter @kalypsoox @brownlee-22 @firefoxkairan

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otomehonyaku · 3 days

Text

DIABOLIK LOVERS More, More Blood Vol. 12 Ruki ☽ Animate Tokuten CD ☽ Living A Normal School Life For Once!

Original title: たまにはまともに学園生活！ Voiced by Sakurai Takahiro English translation by @otomehonyaku Click here for the audio (kindly provided by @karleksmumskladdkaka!)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One very unhinged tokuten... I appreciate Ruki's persistence when it comes to defending us/Yui, but he's definitely taking it too far dkfjdkfd ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ Have fun listening and reading along!

Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[The scene starts at the academy. Ruki finds you after class.]

00:00 Hey. What are you doing?

[He startles you and you accidentally drop the papers you were holding.]

You turned around so frantically that you dropped your things.

[Ruki bends down to gather the papers you dropped.]

‘Off-campus learning guidebook’? I see. These are the prints that’ll be bound into the actual guidebooks. I suppose I don’t even have to ask you why you’re carrying them. You’re letting the teachers order you around again. Have you forgotten how to say ‘no’? Those kinds of people will never make you see the end of it if you don’t. Anyway, let’s bring these to the teacher’s office. Then your job will be over, right? Oh? What’s the matter?

[You tell him that you still have to bind the books.]

Why did you let it come that far? You’re going to do the bookbinding? If you have to make them for all the students, it’ll take an absurd amount of time. Those fucking tyrannical teachers, setting students to work like slaves for their own benefit… You’re my possession more than anything. I don’t like anyone else doing as they please with you. It seems that I’ll have to teach them a lesson.

[You get a little nervous and try to talk him out of it.]

Heh. It shouldn’t be anything beyond your comprehension. You’re so used to doing their dirty work that you’re still trying to cover for them, and I don’t like it. Hey. We’re going to finish this within the hour.

[You tilt your head to the side.]

I’m telling you that I’ll help you. This isn’t something you should be wasting your time on. If any other requests come in after this, I’ll be right behind you to crush their hopes before they even get to talk to you. This is what we’re going to do, so let’s get to work quickly. At this hour, there should be plenty of empty classrooms available. We’ll bind these guidebooks in the blink of an eye.

[The scene shifts to an empty classroom.]

02:30 Alright. Let’s take care of this as quickly as we can. Each book has 16 pages… Let’s fold the papers and staple them. That should be easy enough. When doing it for all students, though, it’s pretty hard work. Efficiency is key when binding books. Let’s try it out on a small scale first. We don’t have time to redo everything if we mess it up. Start with the front cover and line up the prints in order.

[You get to work.]

Off-campus learning is a waste of time, though. It’s foolish to think there are things to learn outside of the classroom. Unless you’re actively trying to gain something, there’s no way you can learn anything. For example, let’s say we’re taking a field trip to a museum. Museums have many precious artefacts on display. However, whether it be ancient Greek sculptures, coffins of saints—to a fool, they’re all weight stones (1). Yeah. They have no value just standing there. You’re going through all that trouble to bring all the students there only to look at a room full of weight stones. Don’t you think that’s funny?

04:01 Or, wait—weight stones do have value. You can press vegetables with them to make pickles, so they’re actually quite helpful. Going to an exhibition on weight stones might be a meaningful way to spend time after all.

[You doubt that.]

What’s with that expression? The flavour of the end product varies depending on the weight of the stone. That’s not something to make light of. If we actually were to go on an exhibition on weight stones for our off-campus learning, I’d appreciate it.

[You wonder if an exhibition like that even exists.]

You have a good point. We might as well go to a hardware store. That’s just a shopping trip. If we’re going shopping, I’d rather it be just you and me. I refuse to go around in such large groups.

[You’ve both made some progress with the bookbinding at this point.]

Where are we going, anyway? There should be information about the destination somewhere on one of these pages… Is this it? So we’re going to a nearby mountain. To think the school wll go to such lengths to get the students off campus… Hiking, learning about the beauty of nature… You’ve got to be kidding me. Besides, the true beauty of nature can’t be found at the foot of a mountain like this. Lend me your pen. I’ll change the route.

[You stare at Ruki for a moment.]

Didn’t you hear me? Give me your pen. I’ll shatter the hopes of whoever thinks they can challenge a mountain when they’re only in the mood for a stroll.

[Ruki starts drawing on the map.]

Let’s make them climb the steep slope on the other side of the mountain. The landscape varies a lot around this area. People will start falling behind because they lose motivation. This should do the trick. Surely, the harshness of mountain climbing will sink deeply into their minds. Don’t you think it’s a good route?

[You tell him that sounds dangerous.]

06:01 Of course it’s dangerous. It’s mountain climbing. There’s no way you can reach a summit without putting your life on the line.

[You’re at a loss for words.]

Does that surprise you? Did you think it would suffice to go on a trip to a mountain without admiring the scenery from the summit? If this off-campus learning is intended to teach students about the beauty of nature, there’s no better way to do it than to climb a mountain to its very top. Which means you also need the appropriate gear.

[Ruki leafs through the booklet until he finds the list of supplies that’s already there.]

A lunch box, a water bottle, a towel… You can’t be serious. Don’t ever think you can survive on a mountain with these things.

[Ruki grabs his pen and gets to work again.]

I crossed out all the things you don’t need. I’ll make a list of the things you do need for mountain climbing. Even in case of a disaster, this should heighten your chances of survival.

[You still don’t really know what to say.]

What are you acting so surprised for? There’s always a chance of a disaster happening. Listen. If you value your life, don’t take mountain climbing lightly. Bear in mind that we’re talking about off-campus learning. Ah, right. I’ll also write down some important points to take into account in case of an emergency.

[Ruki looks at the points that were already listed in the booklet.]

Hm? ‘Watch out for the snakes’? What’s with this warning paragraph? ‘Snakes are aggressive creatures, so they attack easily’? This is nonsense. Listen up. You should get this through your head as well. First of all, there are many different kinds of snakes, of course. I’m not saying it’s true one hundred percent of the time, but snakes tend to be timid, docile creatures. They will not attack humans unprovoked. If you see one between the grass, it’s best to quietly avoid it. Of course, venomous and aggressive snakes do exist. It goes without saying that you should never let your guard down. Got it?

[You tell him you understand.]

08:11 That’s the answer I was looking for. Good, even for you. Still, this off-campus learning is intended to deepen the students’ knowledge, but this booklet doesn’t give me much hope… Planting misinformation is evil in itself, don’t you think? Well, alright. I won’t be holding back anymore. I’ll thoroughly rewrite this page as well. A bit on the ecology of snakes and the varieties that may live on the mountain… Ah, I’ll also include some fun facts about snakes. You’ve heard much about the snake in the Garden of Eden, right? Wait, but if I were to write about that, I’d have to touch upon the story of Adam and Eve and the forbidden apple as well… And while we’re on the subject of apples, anyway, I might as well add some simple and delicious recipes. It’s witty and it makes for worthwhile reading, right? I’ll stick to recipes for two servings.

[You think Ruki is taking it too far. You try to stop him.]

Hey, don’t grab my arm! You’ll mess up my writing.

[You tell him you’ll never finish it in time.]

Heh. That’s all? That’s no problem. I planned on finishing binding the booklets well within the hour, with time to spare. But look at how awful the content is! That certainly changes things. I will revise this entire off-campus learning guidebook and confront the teacher with it. Like, “This is what true learning is!”

[You yell at him to stop.]

Don’t yell! Setting up plans like these is my forte. Come to think of it, the destination wasn’t appropriate to begin with. There’s nothing interesting about a mountain a few train stops away. Maybe at least one train transfer and a few hours away by car… Somewhere off the beaten path. Although I’d rather pick a woodland area for fostering one’s survival instincts… That means it should definitely take place somewhere around here… Yes. I’ll also add a recipe using the local specialties of this area.

[Ruki puts down his pen.]

10:36 Alright! Perfect. I think I did pretty well. I chose a place of which the chances of survival are at least ten percent. If you approach it like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, you can probably make it out alive if you’re lucky. There are no drawbacks to such experiences. Or rather, someone must teach today’s carefree youth what it’s like to walk the line between life and death. To spend your days in the mud. Well, then! Let’s go to the teachers’ office. We’re going to present this. This is revenge for the work they’ve made you do on these prints.

[Ruki starts gathering the booklets.]

Let’s teach those foolish humans the true meaning of off-campus learning!

[You’ve had enough of his antics. You grab onto him and try to keep him from leaving.]

Hey! Don’t hold me back. Come on, don’t pull at me like that! If you don’t watch out, I’ll drop all the—Ah!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

漬物（つけもの）の石（いし）: A weight stone used to press the moisture out of pickles (tsukemono) in Japan. I was going to go with a paperweight analogy instead, as this made a bit more sense for non-Japanese audiences while still making sense for Ruki’s character, but it was a bit difficult to line that up with his explanation...

#im definitely procrastinating aaaaaaa #i have to give a presentation at work tomorrow and my colleague canceled so now i have to do it by myself and i'm a bit nervous dkfjdkf #the fucking ceo is coming as well. i do know Stuff and Things but i get imposter syndrome more and more often lately bc i'm baby uwu?#jokes aside gdi i've been so busy help #diabolik lovers #dialovers #diabolik lovers translation #diahell #diabolik lovers translations #otomehonyaku #my translations #mukami ruki #ruki mukami #diabolik lovers drama cd #diabolik lovers drama cds #more more blood #diabolik lovers more blood

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jjonglemons · 1 day

Text

Mr. CEO

Jongho / NSFW

You’ve been working at a new company as a Marketing Manager for nearly a year. It’s clear that Choi Jongho, the CEO, has taken a liking to you throughout your time there, and vice versa. Finally, your subtle flirtations with each other reach a boiling point.

WC: 2.8k

Warnings: smut, female reader, boss!employee, dirty talk, praise, bdsm, some fluff

Enjoy :)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Finally,” you exhaled, reaching the office building with three minutes to spare. Not that your boss, Choi Jongho, was very strict to begin with, but nonetheless, you always valued being punctual when it came to your job. Unbeknownst to you, the trains were operating on an alternative schedule due to maintenance, so naturally when you reached the station at 8 AM sharp as you always do, you began stressing when you saw the timetable. Thankfully, there weren’t any delays for once and you made it to work by the time it said you would. Today, you had a very important presentation that would be disastrous to miss.

“Good morning, Miss!” The secretary greeted you cheerfully.

“Good morning,” you nodded back, smiling kindly before making your way into your office.

For the first time, you were in a position where you weren’t stuck in a cubicle, tightly snuggled in an overcrowded space of a fire hazard quantity of colleagues. You inhaled, letting out a deep sigh and closing your eyes for a moment to ground yourself for the day. Suddenly, you heard a light shuffling of footsteps that stopped in your doorway.

“Good morning, Y/N.” You opened your eyes to see a smirking Jongho leaning against the doorframe, “how was your weekend?”

“Not too bad. I spent most of it wining and dining by myself.” You winked playfully, leaning forward to rest your chin onto your intertwined fingers. “What about you?”

“You want the honest answer or a lie?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I was babysitting my brother’s kids,” he sighed, “I love them and all, but trying to get work done while a three and five year old are screaming at you to play with them isn’t ideal, to say the least.”

You chuckled at his annoyance. That’s something you’ve dealt with yourself, being an aunt to three little ones. “I get it. Well,” you continued, “I hope you can find some time to let loose this week. I’m sure it was stressful, and only more so that we have this huge meeting today.” You knew that wasn’t going to help him feel any better, but the blunt side of you spoke up before you even realised.

“Ugh,” Jongho groaned, extra dramatically for effect, “don’t remind me. I still have some last minute tasks I need to finish.”

“Then you better get to it,” you commanded, clapping your hands and shooing him away jokingly.

He shot one final smile in your direction before taking his leave. “Catch you later, Y/N.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“All those who vote no, raise your hand.” Jongho, said as the discussions from your presentation concluded.

You felt your throat drop into the pit of your stomach upon seeing eighty percent of the room raise their hands. You expected this. This new campaign idea of yours was a risk, but nonetheless, seeing it actually fail in front of you, despite all of the hard work you put into it, punched you in the gut. Hard.

“I think she had a lot of wonderful points,” Jongho added, “would some of you care to reconsider?”

The room stayed silent, no one seeming to change their minds. Your cheeks grew hotter as your embarrassment increased, unsure whether you wanted to scream at everyone for insulting your work or cry about being a failure. You gulped, sneaking a glance at Jongho beside you. His face was stoic. Of course being the CEO, he had to save face, but you couldn’t help but notice the concern in his eyes. You could tell he genuinely liked your idea and felt empathetic to this ordeal. But unfortunately, in order to keep democracy in the company, he couldn’t just ignore everyone else's opinions on the matter.

“Seriously?” He murmured, noticeably aggravated. No one seemed to hear or notice, though, other than you. He cleared his throat. “Okay,” he sighed, “then this idea is scratched. Todd, you will be presenting on Wednesday, okay? Everyone’s dismissed, thank you for your time.”

You stayed behind as everyone filed out, needing a minute to process your humiliation. You knew it wasn’t out of hostility, but it was hard not to take it personally, especially since this idea was one of the few you were really proud of. You truly hoped it would have been a game changer.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t realised Jongho was still in the room with you. “I’m sorry,” he expressed, continuing to clean the whiteboard, “I know you put a lot of thought into this from the little bits you’ve shared with me throughout the month. I wish I could have done more.”

You smiled, some of your unpleasant feelings fading into a sense of affection towards your boss. He may be your authority, but he’s always treated you as an equal. As a friend, not just a colleague. You’d admitted to yourself already that you had a crush on him, but it would likely pose an issue if you were to attempt to pursue anything. Though, you weren’t stupid; you could tell the feelings were mutual.

“It’s okay,” you sighed, “Honestly, I’m pissed. I wanted to tell everyone how much they sucked,” you laughed, “but obviously that wouldn't have helped anything. I really loved this idea.”

“I’m mad, too,” Jongho said, gritting his teeth slightly, “you’re the best marketer in this fucking company and I’m tired of people not noticing that. Or ignoring it, I don’t know. Whatever it is, you deserve so much better.” He was inches away from your face now, “If I wasn’t trying to be a good boss, I’d say “fuck it” to the votes and have your idea plastered everywhere immediately.”

Thankfully the meeting room was windowless- even the door was lacking a peephole- because if someone were to walk by at this very moment, the way you two were standing would raise suspicion.

“That’s sweet of you,” you said softly, lightly biting your lip.

Jongho stared at you for a moment, watching your movements. He had a million thoughts running through his head. He was angry on your behalf, at how much the colleagues seemed to undervalue you. He was angry at himself for not doing more to help, but realistically, he knew he couldn’t do that without turning into an inconsiderate boss, and he never wanted to be one that didn’t listen to nor care about his employees. He kept thinking about how beautiful you are; how kind and attentive you’ve been towards him, and everyone, since you started working there. He couldn’t forget the fact that you always stood by his side when rumours about him would spread around the office, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Despite only knowing each other for just short of a year, you truly saw him. All of the times you’d peak into his office when you’d stay late, noticing the art doodles that decorated his notebook as you quietly said goodbye to him. Or the times he’d fallen asleep at his desk, so you’d carefully organize his folders into a nice pile just so he’d have less to think about when he’d wake up to go home. All of the little things that made him Choi Jongho as a person, not just a CEO.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter that he was your boss. All he wanted was to show you that he cared and was proud of you, even if no one else did.

And that’s when he lost all sense of reason and forgot you were anyone but Y/N, his friend and the person he was surely falling in love with.

“Can I kiss you?” Jongho asked, his voice coming out as a gentle whisper.

You blinked a few times in shock, unsure whether you had misheard him or not.

“Sorry, that was uncalled for,” he added, scratching his head shyly as he stepped away from you. He blushed, darting his eyes towards the wall.

“Yes,” you said, interrupting the train of self-deprecating thoughts that were beginning to form in his mind. “Please kiss me,” you finished, adding more confidence to your tone.

Jongho inhaled sharply with nervousness and excitement for a moment before his lips found yours. He cupped your chin to bring you deeper into the kiss, but he suddenly stopped and pulled back, leaving you confused.

“The door,” is all he said before rushing over to quickly lock it and return back to you.

You gripped at the lapels of his suit, pulling him closer so that your bodies closed the gap between the two of you. Your tongue found its way into his mouth rather quickly, earning a muffled moan from him.

“Shhh,” you giggled between kisses, “you have to be quiet.”

“I know, I know,” he assured, gripping your hips so he could push up against your core, “will you be, though?” he teased. He trailed his fingers along your hips to reach the button of your trousers, tugging at it lightly.

“Is that a challenge?” You baited, biting down on his lower lip. He whimpered, causing you to erupt into a giggle again, “damn, seems like you’ve already lost.”

Jongho’s eyes became clouded with a lustful glare, your taunting pressing him in all of the best ways. He flipped you over, pushing you against the meeting table. He gripped your hair and pulled your head up so it was flesh with his chest, his head dropping beside your ear. You could feel the heat of his breath trickling down the side of your neck. “I don’t think so, love,” he smirked.

He used his free hand to unbutton your trousers, moving his fingers closer to your sex painfully slow. You hissed, wriggling beneath his grip. “Don’t tease me, Jongho,” you scoffed, “I’m already mad, so don’t make it worse.”

While this fact was true, you both knew you were just using those words as an excuse to rowel each other up even more. He chuckled as he reached your dripping core, fingers sliding between your folds as he began to make circles on your clit with a slow, yet urgent pace.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jongho breathed, “I knew you liked me, but I didn’t know it was this much.”

“Who said I liked you?” You hummed, fluttering your eyes shut.

“Ha,” he scoffed, pushing one finger into you, “you couldn’t lie about that even if you tried.”

Your moans began to grow in volume as Jongho pressed the tip of his fingers against your g-spot, sending shivers through your entire body. He slowly entered with a second finger, being careful not to hurt you. He began to curl his fingers, feeling your arousal increase with each movement. “You’re doing so well for me, baby,” he hummed, watching the way you twitched beneath him. He used the weight of him and the resistance of the table to keep you steady, moving the hand that was gripping your hair to now cover your mouth. “As much as I want to hear those pretty little moans of yours, I don’t need either of us getting fired.”

“Aren’t you the one who fires people?” You managed to get out through the shifts of his hand from the movement of your bodies.

Jongho didn’t respond. He was too engrossed in the feeling of your wet pussy around his fingers. He pushed a finger into your mouth, earning a slight gag from you. You began to bite down and suck on it, causing him to hiss. He started to pump his fingers faster, placing his thumb on your clit for more stimulation.

“Fuck, Jongho,” you whined as quietly as you could, “I’m going to come too soon if you keep this up.”

“I want to see you unravel,” he paused briefly to turn you once again so you were facing him. He picked you up to sit you on top of the table, quickly pulling your trousers down to your ankles so he had full access. He kept his hands steady on your thighs, deciding to take a seat in one of the meeting chairs so his lips could meet your sex. He sucked on your clit, making sure to add a bit of teasing by playing with pressure and taking small breaks to tug at your lips. "You deserve this, baby," he moaned as he continued to taste you.

You could feel your orgasm building up more and more by the second, but you didn’t want to cum without feeling him inside of you first. “Baby,” you moaned, “please fuck me. I want to cum with you in me.”

Jongho didn’t waste any time as he quickly stood up, pushed the chair away, and unbuckled his belt as he placed kisses on your nose and lips. You pushed his hands away from his throbbing member so you could give him some foreplay, too. You slowly moved your hands up and down his shaft, feathering the touch when it reached his tip.

“Shit,” he inhaled sharply, losing his balancing ever so slightly he had to grip the edges of table to keep him steady, “that feels so fucking good, love.”

You kept going as you slowly inched yourself towards him so your core was now hovering over his hard cock. He placed his hands onto your hips, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Can I?” He asked through heavy breaths.

You nodded, guiding him inside of you. You both let out a hum of release simultaneously, taking a moment to just savour how it felt to be connected in such an intimate way.

“I never thought our first time together would be in a meeting room,” you joked, tugging on his arm so as to tell him he could start moving. He began thrusting into you steadily, sighs of pleasure dripping from his lips. “It’s fun, though,” you added, with a near ungodly tone as he reached the right spot at that same moment. Your mouth hung agape in pure bliss, your eyes alternating between absorbing his fucked out face and watching how he fucked you.

Your wetness engulfed his cock, Jongho choking on the moans he so desperately was trying to hold back. “I’m so proud of you, taking my cock like this.” He bit down on his lip, hard, hoping it would stop them from escaping. “Baby, I could do this every day,” he said, quickening his pace, “I could live inside this sweet pussy of yours.”

“It’s only yours, Jongho.”

Something about you willingly handing yourself over to him triggered the possessive, animalistic part of him, and he began to thrust into you deeper with one hand reaching up to grip your neck.

“Oh, fuck,” you screamed with a whisper, placing your hand over his on your neck to keep it right where you wanted it, “please, Jongho, more.”

“I might break this table if I do that,” he growled, squeezing your neck a little harder.

“Then just fuck me on the floor.”

Before you knew it, he had your legs thrown over his shoulders, back pressed against the carpeted floor. Who knew how many people had walked on it with their gross, outdoor shoes, but at that moment, you didn’t care. All you wanted was for Jongho to keep fucking you and make you cum for the remainder of the work day.

“Baby, I’m going to cum soon,” Jongho said, pulling at your ankles to keep you as close to him as possible so he could keep pounding into you relentlessly, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated over and over with each thrust. “Look at you, so perfectly fitting around me.”

A scream began to escape from your mouth, so you threw your forearm up to it to bite on for suppression. Your muffled whines and convulsions underneath of Jongho pushed him further to his climax, his eyes beginning to roll back as your body shook more aggressively. “Fuck, Y/N” he let out a loud grunt with one final, deep thrust, throwing his head back in pure bliss as he filled you up. This final thrust sent you over the edge, flailing beneath him. You screeched quietly, gripping his arm tightly as you spilled your juices down the sides of his cock. The two of you laid there for a moment, heavily breathing as you came down from your highs.

You looked at each other, beginning to grin as you both reentered the present. You propped yourself up onto your shoulders, leaning up to kiss his cheek gently. He blushed, pulling you up so he could fall back onto his butt and have you seated in his lap. He wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling himself into your neck, peppering kisses along your shoulder.

“So,” you said after a few moments of quiet, “how are we going to explain this when we leave the room?”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #kpop smut #smut #ateez jongho #ateez smut #ateez imagines

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thebarontheabyss · 2 days

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The new version of The Bar on the Abyss 2.0 update is coming soon!

I've finished stocking the Library of Pseudonium with stories, tales, and entries for you to devour, and now I'm moving to overhaul some of the romance scenes in the game.

In the meantime, I thought I'd share one of those entries. See you soon in the Abyss :)

Waiting for You by Albus Gauss

"Did you see the moth, my love?

It was there when we said our goodbyes. I could see you holding back your tears. You had to be strong, I understand. But I wish you hadn’t. I was so weak, and all I wanted was to hold you, to feel your warmth one last time. I longed for your tears to flow freely, to form a river that would carry me away into the unknown, into oblivion.

As you whispered your final words, I saw it in that quiet moment.

A fragile, black-winged creature. It fluttered softly between us, hovering like a silent witness to our parting. It landed on my chest, just above my heart, and in that instant, it whispered something I couldn’t quite hear, or remember.

The following moments are hard to hold onto—like trying to catch the wind. A blur of sensation and then… seagulls.

I woke to the sound of the ocean.

An endless beach stretched before me, an ancient town clinging to its shoreline like something plucked from an old memory. Remember our honeymoon in Sanremo? The way the sun seemed to melt into the sea, the scent of salt and warmth in the air? It was just like that, only quieter. Still, Timeless.

The sand beneath me was warm, and the breeze carried not just salt but something else… something eternal, like time itself was holding its breath. The sea shimmered in silver hues, a glow that made it almost alive. I stood up, feeling lighter than I had in years—lighter than I had ever felt in life. The pain that had gripped me for so long was gone, but with it, the weight of myself—of being alive.

It’s strange to explain. You never realize how heavy your existence is until it’s lifted away.

I followed the shoreline, letting my feet sink into the soft sand. And then, near me, I saw it fluttering again—the moth, gently gliding on the warm waves of the sea. And it spoke to me.

So, I’m in a place called Kaitz, an ‘ethereal realm.’ Not Heaven, just… a haven. We talked for a long time, and he told me so much. My mind struggles to comprehend the details, but apparently, this is the afterlife.

I followed him into a small house on the outskirts of the town, overlooking the ocean. It was a simple, quaint place, like something we might’ve stayed in during one of our seaside holidays. The walls were cracked but alive with vines of unfamiliar flowers, their blooms glowing faintly as dusk crept in. There was a feeling of anticipation in the air—like the house had been waiting for me. The moth told me I could stay here if I wanted to. I was so confused, I really should have asked him for how long. Did he mean forever?

I wandered onto the balcony, looking out over the ocean as the sunset bathed everything in gold. The horizon shimmered in a way that I can’t quite describe—like the light was bending, swirling into itself, but never fully disappearing. For a long time, I just stood there on that balcony. This place was beautiful, yet I felt… alone.

The moth—Mavet, it whispered its name—perched beside me on the railing, its wings reflecting the dying light. It didn’t speak again, just hovering for a while until the sun was gone, and so did he.

I couldn’t sleep that night. The stillness was too loud, so I went outside into the town.

That’s when I heard the music. There was a festival, with fireworks and sky lanterns floating in the skies above us. I’ve never seen clearer skies—whole galaxies stretching and spiraling, and I swear those sky lanterns rising above us were turning into stars as they met the heavens.

The streets were lined with people, all lost in the celebration, their laughter and voices mingling with the music that filled the air. I came here feeling lost and alone, but when I saw the happiness in their eyes and the calmness in their faces… for a brief moment, I also lost myself in that feeling. And it felt so good.

I followed the parade, blending into the river of souls and meeting a group of recently deceased souls like me. They were different from me in every way—one had skin like marble, another glowed faintly as if lit from within—but somehow, we felt acquainted with one another. There was an instant camaraderie, as if we had always known each other, as if we’d met many times before, in some other life. They told me they were from different realms. I had no idea there were other realms besides ours. And yet, here we all were, walking together under a sky that seemed to stretch forever.

We walked through the winding streets, drinking and talking like old friends. They told stories of their lives, and I told them about us. About you.

At some point during the night, as the festival flowed around me, I found myself dancing to rhythm of the celebration. And then it hit me—a wave of emotion that I couldn’t hold back. The freedom of it all. The weightlessness, the sheer absence of pain, of sickness. I cried. Tears of joy. Pure, unfiltered happiness. I hadn’t felt this alive in years, Malcolm. My new friends didn’t say a word, but their hands held mine tighter as if they understood.

I’m so sorry for being this happy without you, my love. Please forgive me.

By the time dawn arrived, we found ourselves back on the beach. The festival had faded, and the sky was painted in shades of violet and gold. We sat there, five of us, watching the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise fully.

When it did, I said goodbye and walked back to the little house on the cliff. The streets were quiet now, the remnants of the festival scattered across the cobblestone roads. It felt strange to be back in that empty house. But for the first time since I passed, I felt the weight of exhaustion settling into my bones.

I fell asleep quickly, and I dreamt of you.

I was lying next to you, in our bed at home. We had just bought that house, remember? We called it our forever home. Funny, isn’t it? How man plans, and the cosmos laughs.

In my dream, I reached over and held your hand, and as I did, I saw your face. You were crying in your sleep, your cheeks soaked with tears.

I’m glad you finally cried, Malcolm.

When I woke, I couldn’t shake the feeling of that dream. It felt so real, like I was there with you. But I woke up to an empty bed, and I can imagine you were too. I guess this is our reality from now on.

My new friends told me about a train that comes through once a day. It drives straight into the ocean, vanishing beneath the waves, and it takes you to other places, other realms.

They say you can visit all sorts of worlds and find places you never imagined–other afterlives, other paradises. I’m thinking of getting on that train soon, after spending a little more time here.

I want to explore, to see what’s out there. That dream… It gave me a purpose, something to do until we find each other again. I’m going to search for a place for us. A perfect place. A home where we can be together again, after your time has come.

I will find our forever home.

And until that day comes, Malcolm, I’ll be dreaming of you.

Here, on the endless shores of Kaitz… or somewhere else, entirely."

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wannabehockeygf · 1 day

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State of Grace | Clayton Keller

"We are alone with our changing minds, We fall in love 'til it hurts or bleeds, or fades in time, And I never, Saw you coming And I'll never, Be the same."

*** request: "☁️ (fluff) w keller inspired by the song state of grace by taylor swift" summary: same people, seven years of distance... word count: 9.2k pairing: clayton keller x fem!reader warnings: public drinking/alcohol, pda (kissing, making out), very very slight sexual innuendo notes: - tbh this isn't my best work. but I worked hard on it and didn't want to scrap it so I hope you like it ! - this is def giving slightly cocky more confident flirty clayton... but i will probably make him a lot softer and sweeter in the future. just felt like doing him this way this time. - also, I have 2 more keller requests. so if u requested him and this wasn't ur request they are coming. - I have never been to salt lake city. apologies if I completely slandered it. - red is my fav ts album, just felt like I should mention. ***

You never thought you'd see Clayton Keller again.

He was supposed to be a chapter you’d closed long ago—one you’d shoved into the back of your mental bookshelf, never to be opened again. You had plans, big ones, bigger than the swoon of your teenage heart. You had meticulously plotted your path to Boston University, intent on becoming a sharp, hard-hitting journalist. You could see it now: your name, printed in bold letters, beneath a thought-provoking headline in The New York Times.

But then he came. His blue eyes locked with yours, his stupidly perfect hair falling just right, those dimples of his flashing at you like some cruel joke. You didn’t stand a chance. The kind of falling you did for him wasn’t cute or accidental—it was more like falling flat on your face in front of a crowd. Painful, embarrassing, and lingering.

He was your first everything. And you gave him everything—not a piece of you left unshared, unexposed. It felt romantic at the time, but looking back, it was more like you emptied your entire emotional bank account and let him walk off with the cash. Seven years ago, when he told you he was moving to Phoenix and that you two should “see other people,” you didn’t buy his polite words. What he meant was that he wanted to be young and free, without the burden of a long-distance girlfriend dragging behind him.

“Wait, wha–”

You never even finished your sentence. The door had slammed behind him before the rest of your thought caught up to your lips.

That was then. Seven long years had passed, and you were standing in a press area in Salt Lake City, feeling like all your well-laid plans had been thrown into a blender. You weren't in New York writing world-changing pieces for a big-name paper. You were pushing through a horde of sweaty, exhausted journalists, armed with a press badge that read "Utah Hockey Club"—a new team you hadn’t even thought much about until you got the assignment. You’d taken this job because, well, rent. Plus, there’s something humiliating yet poetic about going from wanting to change the world to covering idiotic brutes who give two-word answers between mouthfuls of Gatorade.

The Delta Center hummed with the energy of a big game, the walls vibrating with the echo of shoes shuffling, cameras clicking, and reporters murmuring amongst themselves. The fluorescent lighting overhead gave the place a washed-out look, amplifying the wrinkles in everyone’s faces. Hockey’s a fast-paced game, but the post-game press scrum felt like watching paint dry. You pushed forward, determined to at least pretend you were thriving in this moment.

“Excuse me, sorry—coming through!” You elbowed your way to the front, probably earning a few disgruntled glares. But at least you’d get the scoop firsthand, even if it was on some sweaty player who would grunt a few words before retreating to the locker room.

The door on the far side swung open, and the team’s PR person stepped aside as the hero of the night walked out. You barely had time to register who it was before the sea of reporters parted slightly, and there, standing in front of you, was Clayton Keller.

No fucking way.

Of all the faces you expected to see tonight—sweaty athletes, fellow journalists, maybe a stray beer vendor—his was not one of them. And yet, there he was, stepping out like a ghost from your past. Clayton Keller, in the flesh. For a moment, the crowded press room shrunk, the shuffling reporters and camera flashes dimming into the background as your gaze locked with his. His eyes widened, a flicker of recognition crossing his face, but neither of you said a word. It was like being hit by a rogue puck, stunning you into stillness.

Clayton freakin' Keller? You blinked rapidly, trying to process the cosmic joke unfolding before you. How did you not know he was playing for this team? You’d been on autopilot since you accepted this job, barely caring who laced up their skates for Utah as long as you got a paycheck at the end of the week. And now, standing mere feet away from you, was the boy—no, the man—you’d once mapped out a future with in your mind. The same guy who had practically evaporated from your life with nothing more than a mumbled excuse and a slammed door.

Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, racing like they were being chased down the ice. Part of you wanted to turn around and melt into the crowd, become invisible like you had all those years ago. But the other part, the journalist, the professional, forced you to stay rooted in place. You had a job to do. You had moved on. You were fine.

Except you weren't.

The lights in the room seemed harsher now, bouncing off his ridiculous helmet hair—seriously, how did it still look that good after a game? He looked annoyingly fit in his compression shirt, like a real-life action figure, and it felt unfair. You, on the other hand, were wearing the same tired blazer from two seasons ago, still trying to convince yourself it was "timeless."

The pit in your stomach deepened as Clayton’s eyes bore into yours, his mouth tugging into a half-smile that sent a wave of heat rushing to your face. That stupid smile. You’d seen it a thousand times when you were together—playful, slightly cocky, but never without charm. You hated that your body still reacted to it like this, even after all these years.

Don’t smile back. For the love of God, don’t smile back.

Too late. Your lips betrayed you, quirking up before you could stop them.

Suddenly, the PR person began talking, but you didn’t catch a word. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe. The room seemed to shift back into focus, the noise returning as questions were fired off at him—none of which you could hear through the roaring in your head. Your fingers clenched around your press badge as you watched Clayton respond to the reporters, his voice low and steady. You didn’t need to hear what he was saying. His presence alone was enough to throw you into a tailspin.

What does he think? Your mind raced with a hundred possibilities. Was he surprised? Regretful? Did he even remember how you left things? Of course, he does. You’ve never quite forgiven yourself for the way you let him walk out without a fight. And now, here he was, larger than life, as if fate had decided to throw you together just for kicks.

The press scrum started to disband, the tension loosening as the cameras lowered and the reporters shifted toward the exit. You should’ve done the same—should’ve grabbed your recorder and escaped with what little dignity you had left. But your feet refused to move. And then, suddenly, neither did his. Clayton looked right at you. The air around you crackled, thick with unspoken words, neither of you daring to break the silence.

Before you could decide whether to run or speak, he was walking toward you. Your breath hitched, every nerve in your body buzzing. The gap between you felt like miles and inches all at once. Each step he took seemed to echo in your chest, like the beat of a drum getting louder, faster.

He stopped just in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint hint of sweat and Gatorade. The grin had faded from his face, replaced by something unreadable—soft, curious, maybe even a little sheepish.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure how to start.

Hey? That was it? After all these years, after everything, and all he had was a “hey”?

Your mind screamed a million things at once, none of them appropriate for public spaces. But what came out of your mouth was... “Hi.”

Nailed it.

The awkward silence stretched between you, both of you clearly unsure of how to navigate this weird, tension-filled reunion. It was like standing at the edge of a frozen lake, knowing one wrong move could send you crashing through the ice.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. “So... you play for Utah now?” Wow, groundbreaking journalism. Really killing it.

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of a smile creeping back onto his face. “I do. Yotes are no more. Guess I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same.” Your voice wobbled, betraying the chaos in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were more mad at him or yourself. For not seeing this coming. For caring. For still feeling something after all these years.

His eyes softened, as if he could read your thoughts. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Seven years. Seven long, winding, confusing years, filled with everything you thought would erase him but never quite could.

“Yeah,” you whispered, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “It has.”

Another pause, thicker this time. You weren’t sure where to go from here. He didn’t either. But here you were, both stranded in this moment, waiting for something to break the ice—or for the floor to swallow you whole.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit you’d forgotten about but instantly recognized. “Maybe we could... catch up sometime? After all this?”

Your heart skipped. There it was—the opening, the question that could send you spiraling back into something you weren’t sure you could handle. You should say no. You should walk away, hold your head high, and leave him standing in the echo of his own question. But, of course, that’s not what happened.

“Yeah,” you found yourself saying. “I’d like that.”

What was wrong with you? This was the exact opposite of moving on. But standing there, with Clayton looking at you like no time had passed, like maybe you were both still the same people you’d been before everything fell apart... how could you resist?

*** It had been a few days since the interview, and you were still trying to wrap your head around the surreal fact that Clayton Keller, that Clayton Keller, was back in your life. You'd both exchanged numbers after that painfully awkward conversation, the kind where every word felt like walking on eggshells and every pause seemed to echo louder than it should. A part of you hoped he’d never use it—let the number sit in his phone, untouched, like some relic of a past better left buried. Another part of you, though… well, that part was curious.

So when your phone lit up late one night, your stomach did a little flip when you saw his name. FaceTime. Of course, it was FaceTime. He’d always preferred that over a regular call—something about needing to see your face when he talked, like the words didn’t count unless he could watch them land.

You hesitated for a split second, staring at the screen. What could he possibly want? At this hour? A thousand scenarios played out in your mind, but you knew you’d overthink yourself into oblivion if you didn’t answer. So, with a quick swipe of your thumb, you connected the call.

And there he was.

Clayton, shirtless, lying in what looked like a messy bed with white sheets, his hair damp and tousled, the way it always looked after a shower. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he’d just finished a long day of skating and was too tired to care that he looked half-dead. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his face, making his eyes look even bluer than you remembered. He looked exhausted, but somehow still infuriatingly good.

“Hey,” he breathed, his voice a little hoarse.

You blinked, trying to process the sight of him. "Hey," you managed to say back, though it came out softer than you intended, like your voice wasn’t quite ready to handle the weight of this unexpected late-night call.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. He just stared at the screen, blinking slowly, his lips quirking into a lazy smile like this was totally normal, like you weren’t both swimming in a sea of unresolved feelings and unspoken words. His half-smirk sent an unwelcome rush of heat to your face, and you cursed your body for still reacting to him like this.

“I, uh… didn’t wake you, did I?” Clayton asked, his tone casual, but there was something in his expression that felt… tentative. Like he wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line by calling, but had decided to do it anyway.

You shook your head, the corner of your mouth lifting in a small smile. “No, I was just… working on something.” Which was technically true, if by ‘working on something’ you meant binge-watching Netflix in your sweats and trying not to think about him.

“Good,” he said, sighing like he was relieved. He stretched his arm behind his head, his bicep flexing a little, and you tried—tried—not to stare. But come on, the guy was practically a walking thirst trap, even when he wasn’t trying. “I figured it was late, but…” His voice trailed off, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that tugged at something deep inside you. “I don’t know, I wanted to talk to you.”

That admission hung in the air for a second, and you weren’t sure how to respond. He wanted to talk to you? After all these years? After everything? Part of you wanted to ask why. What did he think he’d get out of this conversation? Closure? Redemption? Or was he just bored in his bedroom, flicking through his contacts until he landed on a name that felt familiar?

Instead, you settled for a simple, “What’s up?” You hoped your voice sounded more casual than your heart felt, which was currently doing cartwheels in your chest.

Clayton shifted on the bed, the sheets rustling softly under him. “I’ve been thinking about… you know… us.” His eyes flickered away from the screen for a moment, like he wasn’t ready to face the weight of that statement. “I mean, it’s been a long time, right? Since we’ve, like, actually talked.”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah, it has.” The understatement of the century. Seven years wasn’t just a long time—it was practically another lifetime. And yet, here you were, talking to him like no time had passed, like the years between you had folded in on themselves.

He let out a soft laugh, one that sounded more self-deprecating than amused. “So, uh… what have you been up to? I mean, other than, you know, writing and all that.”

You let out a short breath, trying to figure out how to distill the chaos of your life into something that didn’t sound pathetic. “Well, I’m not exactly where I thought I’d be,” you admitted, leaning back into your pillows. “Thought I’d be in New York by now, writing Pulitzer-worthy exposés. But, surprise—here I am, covering hockey in Salt Lake City.”

You watched as Clayton processed your words, his expression softening, a faint smile playing on his lips. His gaze never left yours, even through the screen, and for a moment, you felt that old, familiar connection stirring inside you, the one you thought you’d buried beneath years of moving on—or at least pretending to. He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, his movements slow and languid like he wasn’t in any rush to end this conversation.

“I noticed,” he mused, his voice low and scratchy, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Never would’ve pegged you for a Utah girl.”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on you through the screen. His words floated in the air like an awkward icebreaker at a high school reunion—too familiar, too uncomfortable, and yet, impossible to avoid. Covering hockey in Salt Lake City. How had that become your life?

"Salt Lake's... different, you know?" you finally added, giving a small shrug like it wasn't a big deal, even though you felt that weird tightness in your chest whenever you thought about how your career hadn't exactly gone according to plan. "I mean, I didn’t expect to be here either, but hey, life happens, right?”

Clayton’s blue eyes narrowed, his lips twitching in amusement, though there was something behind that look—something like understanding. He was watching you carefully, and it felt like he was seeing more than what you were saying, like he could tell just how much you'd needed that reminder to yourself, more than him. That quiet acknowledgment hung between you both, the years of growing up, of failed dreams, pushing at the edges of the conversation.

“You always made it look easy, though," he said suddenly, like he'd just remembered something. “Everything, I mean. You had this way of… handling stuff. I used to think it was kinda badass.”

Your eyebrows shot up, his words catching you off-guard. Badass? Was he serious? You could barely handle anything these days without second-guessing every decision. Yet here he was, casually throwing compliments like it was nothing.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure badass isn’t exactly what people are thinking when they see me asking sweaty hockey players questions about their game-winning strategy.” You tried to sound light, but there was a hint of something vulnerable under the joke.

Clayton let out a low chuckle, the sound sending an unexpected flutter through your stomach. “I don’t know. You’ve always been good at getting people to talk. Especially me.”

Your breath caught for a second. There it was—that little jab at the past, not sharp enough to hurt, but just enough to remind you of all the conversations that had gone unfinished between the two of you. His compliment, while soft, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things.

You rolled your eyes a little, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t give me too much credit. I wasn’t exactly a therapist back then.”

His face softened, a different kind of look crossing his features now. “Nah, but you listened. You always did. Even when I was being an idiot.”

The admission hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let your emotions show on your face. What was he doing here? Dredging up memories that had long since been buried under years of moving on, of pretending you hadn’t spent too many nights wondering if he’d ever think about you again.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t always know what to say," you admitted, your voice a little quieter now. "But I tried."

There was a moment of silence, the kind that stretched out too long, where every second felt loaded with thoughts neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Clayton shifted on the bed again, running a hand through his damp hair, and you caught yourself staring at the flex of his arm before quickly looking away. Damn him for still looking this good. Even better, actually, because since the last time you saw him, he’d grown into his body and had gained the ability to grow a moustache.

“Look,” he began, his voice dropping a little, “I know I wasn’t… the best back then. To you, I mean.” His words came out slowly, like he was testing them, gauging your reaction. But instead of following through with what felt like the start of an apology, he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the screen.

You waited, expecting more, but it didn’t come. Instead, Clayton leaned back on his pillows, a faint smirk curling his lips. “But you still looked cute when you were pissed off at me. I always liked that.”

You blinked, the sudden shift from what might’ve been an emotional breakthrough to yet another casual compliment leaving you disoriented. “Are you… serious right now?” You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that escaped you. Only Clayton would steer an almost-apology into flirting territory.

He shrugged, a lazy smile still playing on his lips. “Just saying. You had this look. Like, when you were mad, but you were trying not to be. Your nose would scrunch up a little, and your eyes—”

“Okay, stop,” you cut him off, raising a hand to your face to hide the fact that yes, you were blushing. Damn it. “You can’t just… I don’t know, throw that out there after all this time. You’re still deflecting.”

“Deflecting?” His eyebrows rose, a mock-innocent expression spreading across his face. “I’m just being honest.”

“Honest?” You scoffed, leaning back against your headboard. “What, by bringing up random stuff from eight years ago?”

Clayton’s smirk widened. “Seven. Not random. I remember a lot, actually.”

Of course he did. The way he said it, too—like he was deliberately nudging you, reminding you of all the things you hadn’t forgotten either. But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Oh yeah? What else do you remember?” you asked, your tone playful but with an edge, daring him to see just how far he’d take this little game of his even though you felt like you were about to throw up.

His eyes sparkled, that familiar mischievous look you’d known so well flashing across his face. “Like the time you sent me that–”

Your stomach did a full somersault, heat flooding your face instantly. Oh no. He was not going there. “Nope. No, we are not talking about that,” you cut him off quickly, your voice coming out a little too high-pitched as you desperately tried to keep the conversation from veering into dangerous territory. “That was a one-time thing, and we agreed never to bring it up again.”

Clayton leaned back into his pillows, that damn smirk still glued to his face. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop it—for now,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, sending a ripple of something through your chest. You could almost feel his presence through the screen, that mix of nostalgia and charm making you momentarily forget all the reasons you’d been trying to stay away from this exact moment.

You let out a small breath of relief, glad to have dodged whatever embarrassing memory he’d been about to dredge up. But the silence that followed wasn’t exactly comfortable—it was thick with things left unsaid. You couldn’t tell if the tightness in your chest was from anticipation or dread. Maybe both.

“Anyway,” Clayton said, stretching his arms overhead in a lazy move that only drew more attention to his already distracting physique. His voice had that familiar playful tone, the one you used to hear all the time when he was up to something. “I was thinking… we should actually catch up. Properly.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting in your seat. “Properly?” The word hung in the air, vague but full of possibility. “What exactly do you mean by ‘properly’?”

Clayton tilted his head to the side, his lips twitching with amusement like he was letting you in on some kind of secret. “Well, what are you doing tonight?”

You glanced at the clock on your phone screen. “Uh, it’s already like, midnight, Clay. What could I possibly be doing?”

His grin widened. “Exactly! You’ve got no plans. So let’s fix that.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether he was serious. “And how do you suggest we ‘fix that’ at midnight in Salt Lake City?” You emphasized the city name, because let’s be real—Salt Lake City wasn’t exactly known for its wild nightlife. You were pretty sure the most exciting thing happening outside right now was… nothing. “There’s not exactly a lot of options here. The city basically shuts down after dark.”

Clayton gave you a look that was equal parts amused and mischievous, like he knew something you didn’t. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t discovered the real Salt Lake yet.”

You squinted at him through the screen. “The ‘real’ Salt Lake? What, you’re gonna tell me there’s some secret underground club scene I’ve missed out on all this time?”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, like it could melt away the awkwardness that had been sitting between you. “Maybe not exactly an underground club, but I could show you a thing or two. You free? I’ve got nothing going on tomorrow, so… why not?”

You stared at him, your brain struggling to catch up with what he was suggesting. Was he serious? A late-night tour of Salt Lake City with Clayton Keller? The guy who’d ghosted you years ago, now offering to play tour guide like it was no big deal?

“You want to go out,” you clarified slowly, feeling like you needed to repeat it just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “In Salt Lake City. At midnight.”

Clayton shrugged, completely unfazed. “Why not? If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all these away games, it’s that every city has something going on. Even the Mormon capital of America.”

You narrowed your eyes, still half-convinced he was joking. “Are you really trying to convince me there’s a hidden nightlife here?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not as boring as you think,” he said with a wink, clearly enjoying how skeptical you were. Then his voice dropped a little, a teasing lilt sneaking in as he added, “You still like your wine, right, sunshine?”

Your heart stopped.

Sunshine.

The old pet name hit you like a sucker punch to the gut, the way it slipped out so casually as if no time had passed at all. He hadn’t called you that in years, but hearing it again now sent a shiver down your spine. It brought back a flood of memories you thought you’d buried—a thousand late-night phone calls, stolen moments when you were younger, when he would look at you with that same mischievous grin and call you his Sunshine.

You blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. The screen in front of you, Clayton’s blue eyes twinkling with the kind of trouble he used to drag you into without a second thought. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

His face softened for a moment, the playfulness easing into something more sincere. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, almost like he hadn’t meant to let it slip, but now that it was out there, he wasn’t going to backtrack. “But it still suits you. Always did.”

You felt your stomach do another flip, that knot of unresolved feelings tightening all over again. Damn it. How was he still doing this to you? You had no reason to trust this—no reason to believe this wasn’t just some spur-of-the-moment thing he’d forget about by morning. And yet, something in the way he was looking at you made it hard to resist. The old pull between you, still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

You let out a slow breath, leaning back into your pillows, your mind racing. Was this a terrible idea? Probably. Was it also incredibly tempting? Absolutely.

“So… where exactly are you planning on taking me at midnight, Keller?” you asked, adding a bit of edge to your tone, trying to regain some control over this conversation.

Clayton’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming like he’d just won something. “Guess you’ll have to come find out.” He paused, then added, “I’ll pick you up in fifteen?”

You stared at the screen, still trying to process the fact that this was actually happening. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Yep.” He was already sitting up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, ready to go. “Better get moving, Sunshine.”

Before you could argue or talk yourself out of it, he flashed you that damn grin, and then the screen went dark. The call ended.

You sat there for a second, staring at your phone, a thousand thoughts swirling through your head. What were you doing? Going out with Clayton at midnight? Had you lost your mind?

But despite the logical part of your brain screaming at you to stay home, your body was already moving, throwing off the blankets and scrambling to find something halfway decent to wear. You might’ve been completely out of your depth here, but there was no way you were backing out now.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to figure out why in the world you had just agreed to go on a midnight adventure with your ex-boyfriend. You were practically sprinting around your apartment, rifling through drawers and closets as if your life depended on finding the perfect outfit. The truth? You had no idea what "perfect" even meant in this situation. Was this a date? Was it just two old friends catching up? Was he seriously about to show you some secret Salt Lake City nightlife, or was he just messing with you like old times?

Your hands shook as you grabbed a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. Casual, but not too casual. It was chilly outside, and something about layering up made you feel a little more in control, like the extra fabric might protect you from all the feelings currently fighting their way to the surface.

What am I doing? you thought, your heart racing faster than it had any right to at this hour. The rational part of your brain was screaming for you to stay home, to crawl back under the blankets and pretend this whole thing never happened. But your body—the traitorous thing—had other ideas. It moved on autopilot, pulling on sneakers, brushing your hair, applying just a hint of makeup, because apparently even at midnight you still cared what he thought.

You caught your reflection in the mirror and sighed. "You’re insane," you muttered to yourself, but the slight tug at the corner of your lips betrayed you. There was no denying it—you were excited. The nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of excited that you hadn’t felt in a long time. And for better or worse, Clayton Keller was at the center of it.

By the time you heard a knock at your door, your hands were still trembling, but you pushed aside the anxiety and opened it.

There he was.

Clayton leaned against the doorframe, his hands shoved in the pockets of a jacket that fit him way too well. His hair was tousled, like he hadn’t bothered with it before heading out, and his grin—God, that grin—was the same cocky, boyish one you remembered from years ago. Except now, it carried a weight that hadn’t been there before, like he knew exactly the effect he had on you and wasn’t about to let you forget it.

"Ready?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made your skin tingle.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "You really think there’s something to do here at this hour?"

He chuckled, that low, familiar sound. "Guess you’ll have to trust me."

Trust. That was a loaded word.

Still, you stepped out, closing the door behind you, and followed him to his car. The night air was crisp, biting at your skin just enough to remind you it was almost fall. Clayton opened the passenger door for you—something that shouldn’t have surprised you, but did—and you slid in, trying not to think too hard about how close he was when he leaned over to shut it behind you. The scent of his cologne lingered, a warm mix of something woodsy and clean, the same one from all those years ago, and it was enough to make your mind go blank for a second.

As he got in on the driver’s side, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. His jawline was sharper than you remembered, more defined, and he had this maturity that wasn’t there before–some stubble, barely-there fine lines. It was a face you knew well, but now it felt foreign, like you were seeing him in a new light.

"So," you said, trying to distract yourself from the knot forming in your chest, "What’s the plan? Are we sneaking into a speakeasy, or are you going to take me to one of those places with $12 coffee?"

Clayton laughed, and the sound was like a balm to your nerves. "Oh, come on. Give me a little credit. I’m not about to drag you out at midnight for overpriced coffee." He shifted the car into drive and shot you a sideways glance. "Unless that’s what you’re into now, Sunshine?"

There it was again. The nickname.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but your heart did a little flip at the sound of it. "You really need to stop calling me that," you said, but your voice was softer than you intended.

He didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, the air in the car felt thick, like the space between you was shrinking by the second. He drove in silence, the streets quiet and still, as if the whole city had gone to sleep while the two of you were still wide awake, caught in some strange limbo between the past and whatever this was turning into.

"You gonna tell me where we’re going, or is this part of the whole ‘mysterious night tour’ you’re so committed to?" you asked, breaking the silence with a quirk of your eyebrow. Your voice was light, but the tension was still there, hanging between you both like a thread stretched too tight.

Clayton smirked, not taking his eyes off the road. "Be patient. You’ll see soon enough." His voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something more, like he was just as aware of the weight between you as you were.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. "You still haven’t outgrown that whole ‘man of mystery’ thing, have you?" you teased, your tone playful, though your heart was pounding a little harder than you wanted to admit.

"Wouldn’t be any fun if I did, would it?" he shot back with a grin, glancing at you briefly. And that’s when you noticed it—the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, as if he was memorizing the details of your face, taking in the little things you hadn’t even realized he’d noticed before.

You felt the energy between you shift again, and it was suddenly harder to breathe. There was a tension simmering beneath the surface, bubbling up in the things you both were dancing around, the memories neither of you had acknowledged yet. You glanced down at your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, the silence growing louder the longer you stayed in it.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you felt Clayton’s hand brush against yours, his fingers grazing your knuckles absentmindedly. It wasn’t intentional—at least, you didn’t think it was—but the warmth of his skin sent a ripple of awareness through your entire body.

You glanced up at him, startled, but he was still focused on the road, like he hadn’t even noticed the accidental touch. Except… you knew he had. The way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, the way his one-handed grip on the steering wheel shifted, knuckles going white for a second before he relaxed again—it was all there, in the small, nearly imperceptible gestures that spoke louder than words ever could.

Your heart thudded in your chest, a familiar ache starting to form. Damn him for being able to do this to you without even trying.

"So," you said, desperate to break the silence before you could lose yourself completely in the warmth of his touch. "You’ve been in town a lot recently, huh? Since the team got moved?" It was a lame attempt at conversation, but anything was better than the whirlwind of thoughts currently swirling in your head.

"Yeah," Clayton replied, his voice casual, but there was a slight tension behind it. "Trying to get used to it. A lot of home games lately. But I don’t mind it. It’s kind of nice getting to see places like this again."

You raised an eyebrow. "You mean you enjoy being stuck in this city at midnight?"

He chuckled, and the sound sent a warm shiver down your spine. "When you put it that way, it sounds awful. But, you know, every city’s got its charm. And besides"—his voice dropped lower, a little more serious—"it’s not the place that makes it worth it. It’s the company."

You froze for a second, the weight of his words settling in like a stone in your chest. The way he said it—so effortlessly, like it wasn’t loaded with a thousand layers of meaning—made your stomach flip. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you did what you always did when you were caught off guard.

You deflected.

"Is that your way of saying I’m good company?" you teased, trying to keep your voice light even though your pulse was racing.

Clayton shot you a sideways glance, that damn smirk returning to his face. "You always were," he said, and the sincerity in his voice knocked the wind out of you for a second.

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling like you were eighteen again, sitting next to him in the car, wondering if he was going to reach for your hand like he used to. And just like back then, the possibility hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension.

You turned to look at him, studying the way the dim light caught on the sharp edges of his jawline, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheekbones. His face had matured, sure, but the boyish charm was still there—the same Clayton you’d fallen for once upon a time.

"You really haven’t changed much," you found yourself saying before you could stop the words from slipping out. "I mean, you’re still… you."

He glanced over at you, his expression softening as he caught the hidden meaning in your words. "Neither have you, Sunshine," he murmured, his voice almost too quiet for the small space of the car. "You’re still… you."

The way he said it—like he hadn’t forgotten a single thing about you—made something inside you ache. You wanted to say something back, to tell him how much you’d missed him, how much you hated that he still had this power over you after all these years. But the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in your throat, tangled up with all the things you hadn’t been able to say back then, and now.

Instead, you reached for his hand—just a simple, fleeting touch, your fingers brushing his in a way that felt almost accidental. But it wasn’t. Not really.

His fingers curled around yours, just for a moment, just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin and the way it made your whole body hum with something familiar, something you hadn’t felt in far too long.

And then, just like that, he let go.

You blinked, pulling your hand back and staring out the window, the city lights reflecting off the glass in a blur of color and motion. Your chest felt tight, too many emotions crashing into you at once. But you couldn’t deny it—no matter how hard you tried to keep your walls up, they were crumbling. And Clayton? He was still the one person who could knock them down without even trying.

"So," you said, your voice a little breathless, "Are we almost there?"

Clayton glanced over at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled softly. "Yeah, we’re close."

The rest of the drive was silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was the kind of silence that was full of possibility, of things left unsaid but not unwelcome. You didn’t know where this night was headed, but you knew one thing for sure—whatever happened, it wouldn’t be something you’d forget anytime soon.

***

The city streets blurred as the car slowed to a stop in some tucked-away corner you barely recognized. The soft glow of the streetlights overhead cast a warm hue on the pavement, but you barely noticed. Your mind was still spinning from the weight of Clayton’s words, from the way his hand had felt when it lingered on yours for just that fleeting second.

“We’re here,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure this was the right place, or the right time, or maybe the right anything.

But you didn’t care. The night felt charged, like the two of you were moving in slow motion while the rest of the world was speeding by. It didn’t matter where “here” was, not really.

You both stumbled out of the car, the cool night air rushing at you as you wrapped your sweater tighter around yourself. But it wasn’t enough—not with the way Clayton’s presence seemed to radiate heat just inches away. You were on edge, your senses heightened, and every part of you was hyper-aware of how close he was, of the way his breath lingered in the crisp air, of the way he watched you with a look that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips as he grabbed a bottle of something from the back seat. “We’re not done yet.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Is this still part of the mysterious tour?”

“Maybe,” he teased, already uncorking the bottle and handing it to you. His fingers brushed yours again, and it was ridiculous how that tiny touch sent another shiver down your spine.

You took a swig, the liquid burning as it slid down your throat, but you welcomed it—the warmth, the distraction from the pounding in your chest. Clayton took the bottle back, and soon you were both drinking far too much, far too fast, but neither of you seemed to care. You walked aimlessly, shoulders bumping, laughing at nothing and everything, the weight of the past slipping further away with each step.

It didn’t take long before you found yourselves outside some random corner store, the neon sign buzzing faintly in the distance. You leaned against the brick wall, head tipped back as you took another swig, giggling at something Clayton had just said—something about how ridiculous it was that he had to move here, that his dogs liked it better in Arizona.

But then, suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore. Not when you felt his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze burning into your skin. You turned to face him, your breath catching in your throat as the space between you disappeared in an instant.

He was close. So close.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your hand finding the front of his jacket, tugging him closer until there was no more room left between you. And then his lips were on yours, soft but insistent, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The first kiss was electric. You could taste the alcohol on his lips, sweet and sharp, but that wasn’t what had your heart racing. It was the way he kissed you—hungry, like he was trying to make up for all the time you’d lost, all the time you hadn’t spent together. His hands were on your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly, the entire world faded away, leaving only the two of you under the dim streetlights.

You didn’t care that you were making out in public, that anyone could see. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you kissed him harder, more desperately, as if you were afraid this would all disappear if you stopped for even a second.

You broke apart, gasping for air, but Clayton didn’t let go. His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as you both stood there, hearts pounding, the night spinning around you. “God, Sunshine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, “What are you doing to me?”

You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you kissed him again. This time, it was slower, deeper, and the warmth of it seeped into your bones. His hands roamed your back, pulling you against him in a way that felt reckless, like neither of you cared about anything except the feel of each other.

Somehow, in your drunken haze, you ended up wandering through the streets, arms wrapped around each other, stumbling over your own feet as you laughed and kissed and touched like you were teenagers again. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair—and you couldn’t get enough of him.

At one point, you found yourselves pressed up against the side of a building, your back hitting the cold brick as Clayton’s body pressed against yours, his mouth hot against your neck. You were both breathless, both lost in the moment, and you couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped your lips as his teeth grazed your skin.

“God, Clayton,” you gasped as he kissed a trail down your jawline, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin. “We’re in the middle of the street.”

He grinned against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “So? It’s not like anyone’s around to stop us.”

You laughed, a giddy, breathless sound, and shoved him playfully, though your hands were still clutching the front of his shirt. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet,” he murmured, pulling you back in for another kiss, his hands sliding to rest on your hips, “you’re still here.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Your body pressed against his again, and suddenly all your protests faded away as he kissed you like he had something to prove. You could feel the way his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, and your whole body felt like it was buzzing with energy. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, the way he touched you, kissed you, like he was trying to make up for all the lost time in one night.

The two of you were a tangle of limbs and breathless kisses, stumbling down the sidewalk toward what you assumed was his apartment. Neither of you seemed to know—or care—where you were headed, as long as you were together. The past, the complications, the years of distance—they all melted away, lost in the heat of the moment.

And you? You were drowning in it. Drowning in him. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to come up for air.

*** You woke up to the sound of an obnoxious alarm blaring from somewhere across the room, the kind that felt like it was drilling straight into your skull. Your eyes fluttered open, your brain struggling to catch up with the sudden onslaught of noise, and you groaned, pulling the covers over your head in a desperate attempt to block it out.

That’s when it hit you.

This wasn’t your bed.

The sheets were soft, unfamiliar against your skin, and the room smelled like him—clean, woodsy, with that faint hint of his cologne that you’d been way too aware of last night. Last night. Oh, God.

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as the events of the previous evening slammed back into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. Clayton. The kiss. The way he touched you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted. The way you hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t even wanted to stop him. And now, here you were, tangled in his sheets, his bare chest pressed up against your back, his arm slung lazily over your waist like it had always belonged there.

You squeezed your eyes shut again, praying this was some whiskey-induced fever dream and that in a few minutes, you’d wake up in your own bed, alone, and none of this would have actually happened. But no amount of willpower could change the fact that you were very much awake, very much in his bed, and very much aware of the fact that you’d slept with Clayton.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to break free.

Beside you, Clayton stirred, groaning as he stretched lazily, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he shifted. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, and you could hear the smile in his tone even though you couldn’t see his face.

Oh, he sounded way too casual for someone who had just turned your entire world upside down.

“Morning?” you squeaked, your voice coming out far higher than you’d intended. You shifted out from under his arm and sat up, clutching the blanket to your chest like a lifeline. “Clayton, what the hell—?”

His eyes cracked open, blinking at you with that groggy, lopsided grin that would have been charming if you weren’t currently having an internal meltdown. He looked… annoyingly good. The kind of good that made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time, and the conflict was making your brain short-circuit.

“What?” he asked, his grin widening as he stretched again, the muscles in his arms flexing. “You’re freakin’ out. I can tell. Relax, Sunshine.”

“Relax?” Your voice pitched higher. “You told me you didn’t have anything going on today!”

Clayton blinked, then frowned slightly as if he was trying to recall. And then, like a lightbulb flicking on, you saw the realization dawn on his face. “Oh. Yeah… about that.”

Your heart sank. “Clayton.”

“Okay, look, technically I don’t have anything going on until later…” he started, but you shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel.

“Then what is that?” you asked, pointing accusingly toward his still-blaring phone, the sound making your skin crawl. Clayton sighed, pushing the covers off and swinging his legs out of bed. He crossed the room in nothing but a pair of his boxers—of course he looked ridiculously good in them—and smacked the alarm off with a casualness that made you want to scream.

“I might’ve… uh, forgotten to mention that I have practice this morning,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s just a quick thing. Early session. In like… 20 minutes.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie!” he protested, his hands up in mock defense. “I just… omitted some details. For the sake of the night. I didn’t want to kill the vibe.” He had the audacity to smirk at you, that same cocky, infuriatingly charming smirk that used to make your stomach flip when you were younger—and still did, apparently, despite everything. “I figured I’d have enough time to grab a shower, kiss you goodbye, and get outta here. No big deal.”

No big deal? You gawked at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish, trying to find some coherent response to that. Was he serious? After everything that happened last night, he thought you could just… what? Kiss him goodbye and pretend like nothing had changed?

“Clay,” you said slowly, “We slept together.”

He shrugged, that damn smirk never leaving his face. “Yeah. I remember. Pretty sure you were there for that.”

Your face flushed hot, embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside you. “How can you be so—so chill about this? I’m freaking out! We haven’t seen each other in years, and then you just show up and… and this happens?” You gestured wildly, like the whole situation was somehow his fault, which, okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely fair, but still.

Clayton’s smirk softened into something gentler, his eyes searching your face as he stepped closer to the bed. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low, calming, as if he could sense that you were on the verge of spiraling. “I’m not freakin’ out because… because I wanted this to happen. And not just last night.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "I know it’s complicated," he said, his voice steady. "But I also know that I don’t want you to leave."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you finally turned to face him, your eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. But there wasn’t any. He was looking at you like he meant every word.

"What are you saying?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, clearly trying to find the right words. "I’m saying… I don’t know what last night means either. But I do know that I don’t want it to be a one-time thing. I don’t want to wake up and find you gone. I don’t want to go to practice and come back to an empty apartment. I want you to be here when I get back."

You stared at him, stunned into silence.

"I didn’t realize it until last night, but I’m not… I’m not the same without you, Sunshine," he continued, his voice soft but sure. "And I don’t think I want to be."

Your heart felt like it had taken off at a sprint, and suddenly, all the panic, all the confusion that had been swirling in your head since the alarm went off, started to melt away.

You didn’t know how to respond—hell, you didn’t even know if you had the right words to respond to something like that. But as you looked at him, sitting there with that vulnerable look in his eyes, you felt something inside you shift, something that told you that maybe—just maybe—this was worth the risk.

You still loved him. Him, and those blue eyes that practically glew, all of his awkward, uncoordinated limbs paired with the way he never failed to make you laugh.

How could you not?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I’ll be here."

Clayton let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, his shoulders relaxing as a relieved grin spread across his face. "Good," he said, his voice lighter now, teasing. "Because I was really hoping to have breakfast with you after I kick ass at practice."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that broke through. "Oh, you were, huh?"

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “And if you’re really nice, maybe I’ll even make you coffee.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the tension between you both dissolved into something warmer, something familiar. "Wow, lucky me," you teased back, tilting your head up to peck him on the lips. Your heart felt lighter now, like maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something neither of you had expected but were both willing to explore.

A love that’s worth the fight, even if it hurts, if it faded in time a long time ago, because it just feels so right.

He’s it for you, and even though he was always notoriously bad with his words, the way he’s looking at you speaks all of them for him.

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izel-scribbles · 14 hours

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FINALLY FINISHED MY RELISTEN YIPPEEEE I HAVE THOUGHTS (not including the new ep sadly)

oh my goodness. john's s1 voice. i know everyones always talking about it but omg. he sounds like a used car salesman or something i love him

THE BUTCHER BOTH INVOLVED IN ONE OF THE FIRST EPIS???? not by name obvi but "he died quite gruesomely" i completely forgot about that ghsdnflkj

im gonna be honest i skipped ahead to part 6 last relisten but hearing the first few again was so cool

"more writing in polish" wow!! it me!!!! polish!!!!

s2 was. wow. ough. fjaslkdj.

that was actually when i painted the kiy,i was just relistening to those during art class

the vibes were immaculate

godddd i forgot how painful part 18 was

and 19 for that matter

i can't even begin to coherently word my emotions about part 20

arthur's poem. the poem. but also "i am clawing my way towards a better version of myself!" aSLKJDL

john and lilly john and lilly joHn and lilly jaohnd alihdl ully

i also skipped 21 + 22 last time because i couldn't bear the yellow parts they made me too sad BUT i soldiered on this time around

yellow,,,, he sounds like john when he is curious about humanity

like all the cruelty and intimdation drain away and he just wants to know what evrything means

LARSON SLDKFJLSK I NEED TO HIT HIM WITH A SEMI TRUCK I NEED TO RIP HIS ORGANS OUT I DESPISE HIM WHY DOES HE HAVE A SOUTHERN ACCENT. HE ONLY GOES TO MASSACHUSETTS AND NEW YORK. URFLKS I HATE HIM

KAYNE TOO BUT THATS ANOTHER THING

s3 in general had me shellshocked-soldier-memeing in the hallways at school

part 24 i thinkw as when arthur said "i killed myslef for a voice in my head. do you know how mad that sounds?"

AND HOW YOU CALL IT MADNESS KEEPS RANDOMLY CROPPING UP JSLKDJ

ughhhhh part 26 i can't

i was bawling in the bathrooms (in spirit)

and 27,,,,, 28,,,,,

THEN PRELUDE <3333333

MY GORGEOUS WIFE

I HADN'T HEARD HIS VOICE IN TOO LONG JSLKJFLKSJDLKJLKJDLK

why must i be this way about the middle aged irish serial killer. cmon now brain what the hell

anyways. i need to draw lilith too

scratchhhhhhhh

oscar. hmm. might be understanding why everyone loves the sad little gay priest more and more

he has his charms i suppose

john during s4 slkfjl;jlajsdl;fjasrigofecrjaksmlfekjs

relate to him a normal amount sure mhm

NOELLLLLLLLL I LOVE NOEL hES SO EVERUTHGING

GODDDDDDD

i would do unspeakable things to be the waitress he calls doll in one of those episodes

i need him in ways that are detrimental to feminism /ref

i will never be normal about part 40. both my wives dying in the same episode

i had a whole chunk of dms where i raged about how much i loathe, abhor, and despise kayne for that

MALEVOLENT HAS SO MANY MARVELOUSLY EXECUTED CHARACTER DEATHS. THE BUTCHER WAS NOT ONE OF THEM. IT DID NOT MOVE THE PLOT FORWARDS WHATSOEVER. WHY??!?!??!?!?!?!?? HARLAN WHEN I FUCING GET YOU

why would you kill our coolest antagonist??????? literally never getting over him :(((

the part 41 divorce got me ripping my hair out on the bus

trying so hard to keep a straight face when all i want to do is scream and throw shit

john doe trans allegory my dearly beloved <333

part 45..... hrngslkjdf

so so so excited to hear 46 you guys have no idea

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent relisten #malevolent spoilers #lee speaks #john doe malevolent #arthur lester #the butcher malevolent #noel malevolent #oscar malevolent #larson malevolent

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harksness · 2 days

Text

No Going Back CH 2

A/N: ok stick with me thru this there's gonna be some delicious Agatha moments soon but I gotta set up some tension first thank u <3

WC: 2.8k

Your mother lies below your little feet. She's twisting, turning, the carpet scrunching under her body with her desperate movements as she looks up at you with wide, pained eyes.

And there he is above her. A man that's so familiar, but you don't know what he looks like. Tall and looming, just completely a shadow.

With her final breath she choked out a spell and reaches a weak hand towards you, and you feel her warm, soft magic washing over you in comforting waves.

That was the moment you realized that everyone has a piece of themselves in their magic. As the shadowed man scooped you up you screamed, slapping and scratching but too powerless to stop him.

His magic felt like a knife, a sharp, serrated edge. Like barbed wire dragging over your skin as his magic tore into you, then tore deeper and deeper, down into something that wasn't even a physical part of you. He was reaching for your magic. That untapped well of vibrant blue power inside of you, he was clawing and tearing his way through you to get to it.

But he couldn't cut deep enough. He couldn't reach.

He kept trying to force it deeper, you could feel the pull as he kept desperately trying to rip it from your chest like your beating heart, but he just couldn't reach it.

Your mind went numb as you screamed and cried until your voice was gone, just a desperate wheeze as you waited for it to end.

He didn't stop trying for a long time.

You just stared at your mother, her wide, lovely eyes that had long since gone cold. Waiting for that serrated edge to finally cut deep enough and sever that last little string tethering you to reality.

But it never did.

And he's still waiting. Still trying.

Your eyes fly open and a groggy shout bursts past your lips as you jolt forward, desperately trying to escape your nightmare. Your chest heaves, deep breaths tearing through your throat as you take in your surroundings.

The light shining through the window blinds you for a moment and intensifes the pain pounding against your skull. Your rapidly thrumming heart starts to slow at the realization that you're safe.

You take calculated, deep breaths to calm yourself down. With each one you feel it eating away at the fear and anxiety, swallowing hard as you do your best to shrug off the nightmare.

This is a normal part of your morning routine.

That shadowed man comes to you in your dreams every night. Even on the rare occasions where he's not the main focus, you see him and feel his presence. Standing in the background, lingering in a doorway, always watching you, always waiting to finish what he started all of those years ago when he left you for dead in your own home next to your mother's body.

That man haunts your dreams and ensures you never forget what happened. He makes sure you know that he hasn't forgotten about you.

That he's still waiting.

The door opens and you turn your head to the source of the noise, eyes fluttering desperately at the pain crushing around your skull and throbbing against your shoulder. Your stepmother enters the room, and you feel as if you can breathe a bit easier at the sight of her.

Her eyes widen when she sees you sitting awake and staring at her.

"Oh thank goodness, you're awake!"

She rushes to your side, fussing over you and your injuries.

"How do you feel?"

You groan out in pain, cradling your damaged arm to your chest.

"Not good.. Why does everything hurt.."

You wheeze out and she's moving to the nightstand as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to get rid of the pain in your skull and the spinning all around you.

"You have a concussion.. And a sprained shoulder, sweetheart.. Here, take these."

You open your eyes just a crack to look at her and you notice her holding out two little pills in her palm and a glass of water. You suddenly realize how thirsty you are as you take the medicine from her, downing them and the full glass of water in a few greedy gulps. She takes the glass from you when you're done.

That's when you feel stable enough to really be able to take in your surroundings, having adjusted a bit to the pain suffocating you in dull throbs. You're in the guest bedroom of your childhood home, but it feels more like a hospital with the blank white walls, white bed frame, and white sheets and blankets. The only bit of color is in the wooden floor, dresser and door, but that's about it. It makes you a bit uneasy as you clear your throat.

"What happened?"

Your voice is scratchy as you speak but she doesn't look at you, eyes set firmly on the sheets covering your lap and features heavy with upset.

"Your father will explain that."

She grumbles, disappointment lacing her voice as she goes to stand.

"Please.."

You beg, mustering up the most desperate look you can. She finally looks at you, guilt heavy on her features as she sighs out your name softly, smoothing down her skirt as she goes to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry. Please know that I wasn't happy about how your father decided to go about this. I tried to talk him out of it, but, well.. You know how he gets."

You nod your head in understanding. The two of you have never been exceptionally close, she has four of her own biological children to worry about, but she's always looked out for you and been kind. She's even stood up to your father for you when it was needed. You've always been grateful for her.

"I understand.. I know him and I know you.. Please, tell me."

Reluctantly, she starts, analyzing your features carefully with every word that slips past her lips.

"Look.. I think this would be best coming from your father. But I know how bad he is about handling these sorts of things, so I'm going to give you a precursor..."

She twists her hands nervously while you hold your breath, waiting for her to speak, your mind running a mile a minute over every possible thing she could be about to say.

"Someone has been targeting the firstborns of the elder families.."

Your heart drops into your stomach.

"We think-"

"It's him?"

You can't help but interrupt her, panic freezing your insides as fear numbs your mind. Carefully, she nods her head.

"It could be.."

She says softly, speaking to you like she's handling the worlds most breakable glass as you seize up.

"We don't know for sure yet.."

You don't hesitate a second longer, that fear flinging your mind into panic mode as you push the blankets off of your lap and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You hiss out in pain, your shoulder heavy and aching and your skull throbbing, but you push through it. Your stepmother is trying to stop you, but not knowing how to physically do so without hurting you more.

A wave of dizziness washes over you once your bare feet are planted on the cool wooden floor, the room spinning as she keeps you steady. You balance yourself on the nightstand, cluttered with water and the contents of a first aid kit as you heave out breaths, desperately trying to keep your head from spinning as you sway on your feet.

"Please! Sit back down!"

You squeeze your eyes shut, ignoring her words. She yells out as the table collapses under your weight, tipping over and dumping all of its contents onto the ground with a prolonged crash. By some miracle you stay standing, and she's rushing to clean up the mess once she has you balancing against the bed.

The second she's turned away from you, you're clumsily dashing for the door.

It bursts open, and you immediately find the wall opposite the door to keep you steady as you venture down the hallway. Pressing your palm into the smooth wall over and over with each clumsy step, you do your best to support yourself as your stepmother calls from behind.

You know where you'll find your father. He never leaves his damn office. He's always either there, or away on some sort of business trip for his stupid coven.

Anger seeps through your body with every heavy breath, or maybe it's just the nausea.

That's where he was when your mother died. When you were attatcked. On a trip.

You freeze when you hear your fathers voice on the other side of the door. Your features twist in anger as you raise your good hand and aggressively pound your fist against the door, rattling it on its hinges with every rough slam.

The door flings open a moment later and there he is.

"What are you doing!?"

He gasps, shock evident in his voice when he sees you swaying on your feet, eyes flickering over your body as he takes in just how battered you are.

"Tell me what the fuck is going on!"

Your voice booms off the walls. It would've startled you if you were able to think coherently, but your mind still feels clouded and fuzzy. You've never sounded like this before, so much rage and fear seeping into every syllable that bursts past your lips.

Your chest heaves, and your face feels hot as you wait for him to reply, the only sound you hear is the pounding on your head.

"Is he back?"

This time, you sound weaker as your voice cracks and breaks into a soft sob, your features twisting with fear. You can tell he's barely suppressing a look of annoyance as he sighs, stepping out into the hallway.

"We don't know. I promise I would tell you if we knew for certain."

His voice is soft as he speaks, folding his hands in front of him. He regards you with soft eyes, ones you rarely get to see. In this moment, you're seeing a version of your father you wish you knew. You let out a shaky breath.

"Okay, so, what was last night about, then? Wanna dump more trauma onto my plate? Give me more reasons why I can't sleep at night?"

You feel one of your knees trembling beneath you as your body struggles to hold your weight, voice soft and shaky with the effort to hold back your impending sobs. He sets his lips into a firm line, and you hear your stepmother rushing down the hall to join you.

You close your eyes for a moment, breathing deeply as you do your best to steady yourself. You need to be coherent to discuss this. So you clench your shaking fists, and breathe.

"What does this have to do with what happened last night?"

Your voice is more firm and steady. Your stepmother and father cast their gazes to each other at your words.

"Just tell her."

Your stepmother demands, glaring at your father. He let's out a deep sigh.

"Well.. I can't personally keep you safe. The Elder Coven and I are going to figure out what to do about this man. So.. You need someone powerful who can dedicate around the clock service to protecting you."

It feels as if he's racing to get the words out, no emotion behind his monotonous tone. Your features scrunch up in confusion, not understanding anything but catching on to what he's trying to say.

"Okay.. You make that sound like it's Agatha Harkness but it's obviously not. She's a power hungry maniac too, you know.. That's kinda her whole thing. That's why she attacked me last night."

You scoff the words out, deadpan. Silence weighs heavy around the house, only being cut through by the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway until your father speaks up, voice soft.

"Not if we force her into a pact bound by magic."

He looks just a bit too smug and proud of himself, while for you it feels like your entire world is being flipped on its head. You gape at the man, unbelieving of what you just heard.

"No. No way... Are you fucking kidding me!?"

You should have known better. Being away for so long has distanced you from just how manipulative this man really is. Of course he would do something like this "to protect you", but you can see through all of his layers of bullshit. You don't trust him or Agatha for a second.

"You can come out, Agatha."

You freeze at his words. There's some shuffling, then there she is, pulling the door to your fathers office open as she goes to lean against the doorframe. She's wearing normal clothes now, a purple sweater and her hair tied up in a bun that's plopped on top of her head. She raises her hand and gives you a small wave by wiggling a few of her fingers.

"Hiya hun."

That's when you go absolutely fucking ballistic.

"Oh fuck no!"

You shout, shaking your head. Immediately, your father and stepmother start rushing out words to try and calm you down, but you're having none of it.

"You seriously expect me to be able to trust her with my life!? The woman who just gave me a concussion and sprained my shoulder?!"

Your voice strains as you yell, gesturing towards the brown haired woman. Her eyes widen and she makes an awkward face, blue eyes shifting around the hallway as she avoids your gaze.

"What were you going to do if she tried to kill me? What if she got away with the necklace that keeps me alive! Hm!?"

You hook your thumb against the chain around your neck, pulling the pendant upwards to draw attention towards it.

"That wasn't going to happen. I was monitoring the situation very closely, we just needed to wait long enough to ensure that she was trapped and fully distracted-"

Groaning loudly in frustration, a wave of nausea washes over you as you begin to sway on your feet. You open your mouth to keep ranting and raving, unaware of just how lightheaded you're getting as you blink rapidly. Your father steps towards you, reaching out a nervous hand.

"You know what? Never mind. This is bullshit. There's no use arguing with a narcissistic prick like you."

You point to your father aggressively, stumbling over your own two feet and your stepmother gasps, rushing to your side. The carpet is scratchy against your skin, the dull, white walls blurring and smudging together with the little bit of color surrounding you.

"You need to go lay down-"

"Don't pretend like you care about me now! After leaving me alone when mom died, after putting my life in danger, stop pretending like you care about me other than what I offer you as the firstborn of this stupid fucking family!"

You shout, the words tearing through your throat and spit flying wildly as you gesture your good hand around to accent your words. You're out of breath, heaving deeply as you desperately try to look more composed than you actually are. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as your father and Agatha's features start to blur with the walls.

"I feel like I shouldn't be hearing any of this-"

Agatha speaks awkwardly, but you're quick to cut her off.

"Shut up!"

Your voice is unrecognizable, anger twisting the words as they tear out of your throat. You point an angry finger at her to accent your shout, and she quirks a shocked eyebrow curiously at your harsh tone, pressing her lips together and raising her hands to signal her surrender. Your stepmother goes to guide you away from them, muttering soft reassurances to try and calm you down. You're stumbling on your feet as she guides you back down the hall.

Turning your head to peek over your shoulder, you spit one last vitriolic line at your father.

"If I end up dead, it's all your fault."

Your nightmares are coming back to life, and your biggest fears are being turned into a reality. That shadowed man really has been watching you all this time. And he's coming back to finish what he started all those years ago.

And all you can do is watch and wait helplessly.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness/reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness reader insert #kathryn hahn #harksness #wlw fanfiction

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