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nutteu · 8 months

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put your trembling fingers on my fever dream

[AO3]

Toast visited Sykkuno. Brodin sent the nurse outfit. Leslie finally did something about Edison’s crush. Sykkuno had fallen in love with Corpse (not really, but not entirely wrong either). Ryan ate his takeout miserably alone now, and it was all too many separate things that amounted to one conclusion: Toast really needed to buy his own mug. [Toast/Sykkuno; porn with too many plots and petnames; published 2021-02-27; word count: 29,473]

Ryan had seen it first, in its entirety. Before Rae, before Lily, before everyone else. Except maybe he wasn’t the first one to be aware about it.

Sykkuno was a delightful housemate, and he did like the jokes about Sykkuno living in the basement. Mostly because the guy never really came out of his room unless it was Ryan that extended the invitation first. Breakfast, lunch, dinners; all eaten at the wrong time, and possibly the wrong amount and wrong intake of calories. But Sykkuno had been strangely blessed in his physique and Ryan wasn’t afraid to admit that he was just a little bit jealous of how Sykkuno could inhale a greasy meal ordered from the nearest fast food joint, and was still shaped like he was a fae lost in the concrete jungle.

He had heard the stories of Sykkuno essentially waddling his way around the OTV house, standing in front of people’s doors because he wanted to talk, to connect, but was too afraid to actually ask. Maybe he had grown up since then, because Ryan didn’t get the same treatment. It was quite disappointing because he had seen videos, and they were embarrassingly, awkwardly endearing.

Still—he was one of the few people who discovered Sykkuno’s change in his sweet demeanor and he took that as a balm to his wounds.

Sykkuno didn’t stutter as much now, in conversations and in streams. He was still adorably soft and sweet, and everything out of a good dream in the middle of a spring. But there was a certain edge to him now, like something was coiled within and at times it made Ryan wait in trepidation and excitement all at once to hear something outrageous poured out of Sykkuno’s mouth with the calmest, airy tone of voice. It was quite a highlight of his day.

He replied with more ease and confidence now in conversations, but there were also instances where he stayed silent and mulled over his words in his mouth. Toast had said this, over and over again: Sykkuno was smart, and he knew what he was doing. He had been adamant that Sykkuno was a little tease that knew how to play people so well on his palm, dancing and flitting around the truth without outrightly lying; looking so innocent and oblivious to the point that it made people question themselves. Ryan thought that it was something terribly interesting, and something that couldn’t be let out in the open air simply because he wasn’t sure if the world could handle it.

People who had seen Sykkuno like that were far and few in between, but they all had spoken like it was something cryptic. They released a drop, and let it dangle for everyone to thirst after. People had been adamantly invested in seeing something different in Sykkuno, something they could talk about with poison dripping from every word. Sykkuno was everything from their wildest wet dreams, and more.

Toast visited one day, completely out of the blue. It was the first day of Ryan’s experience in figuring out just how far Sykkuno could twist someone’s head from all the conflicting sides he represented with such awkward graces that suit the genuine smile on his face, the indecipherable look in his eyes.

When he opened the door to the man, he wondered if Sykkuno knew. But Ryan took a look at him, and found out that he was already looking at Toast like he was furious, but also like he had won something that only the two of them knew what the prize was.

Toast had greeted him with easy smiles and familiar cadence in his low voice. He had always talked like that, dragging his words and talking with the smallest of tones that forced people to strain their ears, silent in their effort to hear him better. Oddly enough, for someone who had too many chinks on his armor, Toast could command people with the slightest flick of his finger and the simplest of words. It reminded him greatly of the way Sykkuno roped and pulled people in his own games, albeit gentler; a soft fall right into the abyss. In this matter, Ryan honestly didn’t know where Toast ended and where Sykkuno began.

He didn’t need people to tell him about Sykkuno’s admiration for Toast, or the way he seemed to chase after him wherever, whenever. It was painfully obvious in his words, in the way he acted with the man, in his whole body. Sykkuno was unabashed in his affection and longing of approval from Toast, and Ryan had almost thought that it would reach a breaking point where Sykkuno was left hanging and Toast slamming the doors on his face.

Toast had always been the person who took care of the people around him, hiding the encompassing affection with his cutthroat words and dark sense of humor. But Sykkuno could be clingy and incessant in his pursue of connection, and Toast seemed to be the person who liked his own space, even more than Sykkuno. Not to mention the indifference in Toast’s voice and the way he had mercilessly, almost cruelly, pushed at Sykkuno’s buttons and pitching him against the things he was most uncomfortable about.

But maybe Sykkuno was a masochist, and Toast was simply a gentle sadist.

Because instead of turning away, Toast had let Sykkuno crowd into him close, and closer still. He knew about Sykkuno’s fascination and worrying hero worship towards him. But as if feeding woods into a blazing fire, Toast took it and pushed and pulled at Sykkuno’s muted, insistent affection and turned it into something that was borderline on inappropriate upon closer inspection. It was almost like seeing a mating dance of two lethal, highly questionable individuals. Ryan cared a great deal about his friends and colleagues, but he also liked his entertainment. What else was more interesting than seeing two people who clearly were aware what they were capable of, dancing around each other like they knew where exactly they were heading to, yet still so stubborn on sabotaging each other in the process?

Maybe tonight they were having their last dance off, and they were too strung up and tired of this game. Because Sykkuno and Toast sat on the opposite of each other in the kitchen table, and Ryan felt very much like a referee who was bordering more on an inappropriately interested spectator.

It was something novel, seeing the hardness in Sykkuno’s soft eyes, the coldness wafting off of him like whispers of wind before the storm. Sitting in front of him, Toast was suspiciously calm, handling himself so carefully casual and relaxed. He was looking at Sykkuno like he was waiting for him to explode, and enjoying every last second of it. Whatever was going on between them—and Ryan wasn’t sure whether he actually wanted to know—it was something that neither was willing to back down from.

“Ryan,” Sykkuno said, and it was dripping with sweet honey and so, so pretty that it was hard not to just nod at whatever he was going to say. Maybe that was the point; maybe Sykkuno had learned to wield it so well that the transition of his genuine kindness blended in seamlessly with this manipulative, saccharine sweet poison that people unquestioningly ate up. “Would you mind leaving us for a few minutes?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said easily, standing up from his seat.

“He can stay,” Toast drawled, finger tracing a dried mark from a coffee on the table. His smile was almost lazy, almost like he was intentionally goading Sykkuno. “You’re loud, Sykkuno. He will find out by the end of the night.”

He didn’t choke on his saliva, but it was close. This- thing going on between them seemed to have happened for too long, and too far. Knowing Toast, he had knowingly used taunting, deliberately chosen words that could be interpreted in too many different contexts. Toast had always known what he was doing, what kind of consequences he derived from his words. That was the reason why the majority of people looked up to him, because he wasn’t afraid of putting his foot on dangerous situations in order to push his limit. His ambitions had never stopped at the finish line, and it was the kind of manic, ruthless relentlessness that couldn’t be stopped.

Sykkuno smiled at him, and there was a certain kind of hatred and affection in his eyes that looked oddly beautiful. This man was heartbreakingly handsome in his enigmatic persona, and Ryan felt like he was eavesdropping in a very intimate conversation even if he was standing under the same harsh kitchen lights like the two of them.

“Assuming is always a fatal trait, Toast,” he said lightly, nervous laughter so ridiculously genuine that it wouldn’t be so out of place if it weren’t for his words and the way his shoulders were coiled. Like he was about to lunge across the table; either to punch or fuck him right then and there, Ryan couldn’t tell. “You taught me better than that.”

“Certainly,” Toast nodded. “I’ve taught you a lot, didn’t I? Is that why you’re so agitated, Sykkuno? Because I’ve taught you how to get what you wanted, and still denying you the very thing you’re after?”

Ryan sighed and pushed his chair back, slotting it on the space. Sykkuno’s name had dripped like a mockery on Toast’s tongue, and Ryan might not know exactly what in the hell was happening between them, but he sure as hell didn’t want to stay any longer in this wretched version of a foreplay. A masochist and a sadist, indeed.

“Right,” he said, and wasn’t surprised when neither of them looked away from each other. “Whatever you’re gonna do, don’t break the house too much. Sykkuno, we still have a lease, keep that in mind.”

It was such a marvelous thing that he was editing videos instead of streaming tonight. But maybe they both had known that, too. It wasn’t something out of the realm of possibility. As he left, he heard them talking with venomous words that strangely sounded sensual in the ears. He had known that something wasn’t quite right with either of them; he just didn’t know that it was to this extent.

And, to the physical extent too, as it seemed. Because not half an hour since he locked his door, he heard a loud crack and some harsh rustling; a growl that sounded suspiciously out of Toast’s mouth and a high-pitched, mocking laughter that sounded like Sykkuno and unlike him at once. Not long after, the sound of another door closing was heard, and Ryan turned up his volume the moment Sykkuno started screaming out Toast’s name shamelessly.

It was well into midnight before the sounds ceased down, and the silence settled in house. Ryan kept the newly discovered secret—intentionally flaunted facts?—in his mind, and tried to entertain himself with speculation of how people would react if only he was streaming. Ryan truly hoped that they didn’t actually break something in the house in their haste to fuck the frustration and rivalry out of each other. He decided, whatever was going on, he didn’t want to know. It was better that way, made him sleep faster after they were done with their outrageously shameless sexual romps.

A bunch of animals, those two.

Toast had always known that Sykkuno was going to be his Achilles heel. This sweet, sweet boy with a knack for manipulation in his calm inflection. Sykkuno had been through a lot in his life, and maybe that was why he was so enduring, expertly using his words to placate people. He had seen the worst of what a human could be, and had experienced a lot of pain that it made him revert further into himself. But while it made him so unbalanced and untethered at the start, it also gave him a penchant for pain later on—only when it came to people who knew how to measure the strength, and how to soothe the sting after.

Sykkuno would unfailingly look at people for attention and connections; emotionally, physically. After spending some time watching him, silently picking him apart piece by piece, subjecting him under intense scrutiny and multiple attempts of pushing him into uncomfortable situations, Toast could say that Sykkuno wanted someone who could hold him tight until he was suffocated, who could give him the right kind of pain that he could handle. He wanted to be seen, wanted to be acknowledged in his effort of taming the void and wounds inside of him.

For one reason or another, Sykkuno had decided that that person was Toast.

Toast had never considered himself a sadist. Sure, he was cutthroat and wasn’t afraid to be a ruthless asshole to those who deserved it, but he hadn’t thought of himself that way from previous sexual relationships. And, sure, he was adventurous and wasn’t ashamed in admitting so. But something about this pretty boy with his down-casted eyes and fidgeting fingers made something in him snap, and all he could think about was pushing, and pushing Sykkuno past his breaking limit, and cradle the remaining pieces afterwards. It was exactly what Sykkuno was looking for, and for the longest of time, Toast wondered if he had fallen into his trap all this time.

Everyone liked Sykkuno, to the point of mindless babying and treating him like a fragile flower petals. But Toast had seen what Sykkuno was capable of, and that mouth was nothing if not sinful. He weaved words and pleads into something of an art, and Toast watched with amazement at how willingly everyone succumbed to him, thinking that they would protect this fragile ball of cotton and stuttering without knowing that they were standing right in front of the maw of a beast. It excited him so, and Toast had never felt this exhilaration before.

Not even when he had found comfort in his relationships, not even when found out that his ambitions surpassed even his own desire to find someone he could confide in, someone he could love and love every part of him in return. Sykkuno was someone who could understand that kind of thirst for something more, and someone he could trust even with the worst part of him, he would love nearly everything about Toast and that distinction was what mattered all along. But Toast wasn’t sure if they were fit for a loving, wholesome relationship. Not when they were so caught up in the sharp parts of each other, and took a fancy to the harsh touches and unfiltered words out of soft, plush lips. Toast thought that if Sykkuno would love someone like Corpse just a little bit more, instead of someone like Toast, they could have a chance of something normal. Something as simple as a relationship that they could have in comfort and silence, maybe tell the world once they were sure they weren’t going anywhere but each other’s side.

But why would he, when Sykkuno’s eyes held something so dangerous and fragile all at once. Why would he want something as mundane as normal, when Sykkuno could take what Toast could give, and still ask for more?

This was something Toast had never thought he wanted in his life, but still something he craved and got anyway. The thought of never going to be able to have Sykkuno in his soft, wholesome side that he presented to people, didn’t bring much misery to his mind. Because instead of wallowing in uncertainty, the confidence that they would have this chase, this dangerous dance for a long time, was something that set Toast’s blood boiling like a desire fighting to be set free in its vicious, horrendous galore.

It was a beautiful thing to see, Sykkuno understanding his cues and what Toast was trying to get at. To see him respond so readily, to have something of his own as a counter, it was enough to keep Toast on his toes around this man. But they had been circling each other with fangs not fully bared, and knives out in the open for the others to see. They were bound to snap and lunge to maul each other at one point.

Funnily enough, the breaking point didn’t come from either of them. It came from Edison.

Edison and Leslie were so painfully, wholeheartedly in love with each other that it left no doubt in anyone’s mind. But Edison had this insistent, laid back fascination towards Sykkuno. It wasn’t even affection, no more than mere friendship at least. It should’ve been something that would make Leslie grit her teeth, and it did at first, but she gradually got used to it over time. Apparently, they thought that the way to stop Edison’s constant innuendos and suggestive invitations was to literally fuck it out of their system.

Sykkuno had gone home with hickeys all over his neck, and sitting gingerly as if he was in pain. But the look on his face was content, and daring. As if he was taunting Toast with every touch he pushed to his numerous marks, and the small smile he kept whenever he talked to either Edison or Leslie. It was Sykkuno’s first, on all senses; his first kiss, his first time touching and fucking a woman, his first time having a cock inside his mouth and his ass. His first time experiencing a pleasure so apparent that he almost floated from the overwhelming sensation.

Toast gritted his teeth and gave in to the taunts. It might say something about his resolve as a proud man, but exactly because he was proud, he couldn’t just smile and sit on his thumb when Sykkuno had made a spectacularly flashy move.

He sent Sykkuno an address to a fancy hotel that he didn’t care the price for, and waited with confidence and certainty that Sykkuno would be there on time, and stall so he could arrive just fashionably late into the room. Lily and Michael fucked in the house just fine, but Toast knew that Scarra would definitely bring this matter up if Toast were to fuck Sykkuno there. Because he wasn’t sure that he would want to keep himself in control, and he knew that Sykkuno would give as good as he got.

He didn’t bother with foreplay. He fingered Sykkuno with clever touches, and forced him to keep talking under the onslaught of pleasure-pain. He had him talked about how it felt like fuck someone, how it felt like to be fucked within an inch of his life. Apparently, Edison and Leslie didn’t hold off their horses; they went full throttle even on Sykkuno’s first time. Maybe because they had seen glimpses of who Sykkuno was, what he could become. Leslie had pegged him, and Edison had joined her as they fucked Sykkuno in synchronized movements that left him gasping and crying.

“What can you do to- ah- to exceed that, Jeremy?” Sykkuno had viciously, mercilessly taunted even when his legs were quivering. He said those with such a sweet, sweet voice, but he knew Toast as much as Toast knew him at this point. If anything, Toast was always the one who would strive to exceed every expectation people put on him, and gave it a twist for his own satisfaction. He would succumb to no one, and he would fulfill no one’s expectation but his own.

Toast might not be as muscular as other guys out there, but he was strong enough to lift Sykkuno’s legs and fucked him against the wall with harsh thrusts and cruel words that edged too close to affection. It was dangerous, and exhilarating, and the feeling of Sykkuno’s tight heat around him nearly made him go mad from how good it was, how satisfying it was to see Sykkuno getting what he wanted in the same breath that he surrendered to Toast.

Toast dragged him to bed, and made him kneel between his knees on the edge of the frame. “Show me how you sucked Edison’s cock, little darling,” he purred, gripping Sykkuno’s hair tight between his finger and almost laughed at how it made spurts of pre-come came out of his cock. “Better, even. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Sykkuno did, and Toast unabashedly groaned and moaned when he sucked him into the wet heat of his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and was unashamed of how he looked like as he let Toast pushed further into his throat. There was a choking sound as Sykkuno struggled to take all of him in, but he was tenacious and Toast almost felt endeared by how much he was willing to give his everything for Toast. Pretty, manipulative little darling. He would keep him by his side forever if it wasn’t so fun to have Sykkuno standing against him.

“Did they see you like this, Sykkuno?” he asked, the name rolling out of his tongue like an insult and endearment in one breath. “So pretty on your knees, trying so hard to please people with everything you got—Oh, fuck- you little minx—I bet they had seen plenty of you. But is it enough for you? Did they see enough?”

Sykkuno squeezed on his balls tightly, cruelly in his delicate fingers, and pulled off his cock with a lewd sound that made Toast shiver and grip his hair tighter. “More than you’re willing to, Toast,” he said, voice hoarse and still so, so defiant.

Sykkuno was a glutton for pain and punishment, in all the right places, given by the right person. And Toast took that expectation, and exceeded it further than they both were ready for that night.

He took ahold of both of Sykkuno’s hands in his, and told him to ride him—no touching. Sykkuno’s soft brown eyes were hooded and his breath was a stuttering mess. He looked absolutely stunning moving on Toast’s cock like that, torturing them both with the slow rise and fall of his body. And Sykkuno had always been so soft, so delicate in so many aspects of his life. But Toast had taught him well, how to plant his feet on the ground and go after what he wanted without backing down. Even in the delicate lines of his body, he was a beautiful in his viciousness of breaking Toast apart.

It was intoxicating, to see Sykkuno in his confidence, and to have the entirety of it directed at Toast without reservation. He was immensely glad that he brought them to a hotel instead of fucking their frustration out in the house. He could imagine the stunned silence and ensuing chaos the morning after if they ever heard Sykkuno moaning so shamelessly; so loud in chasing his own pleasure.

“Come on, pretty baby,” Toast growled out, voice gravelly low and harsh. “Is that all you’ve got?”

He snapped his hips up the moment Sykkuno’s eyes narrowed, and pushed down as hard as he could. His moan was deafening in its carnal, animalistic beauty and how could Toast ever wanted something normal, something so soft with this man? He longed to have Sykkuno like this all the time, gloriously free of all burden and feral in his single-minded focus of beating Toast in the game they never wanted to end.

At one point, Toast finally let his hands go, and Sykkuno immediately surged up to kiss him harshly, fingers slipping into Toast’s hair and pulling until he was forced to grab onto Sykkuno’s hip and dig his nails into skin. Sykkuno stuttered out a broken moan at the feeling of blunt nails piercing his flesh, and bit hard on Toast’s lips; cries of his name poured out of his lips like a litany of curses and prayers. Sykkuno could have anyone he wanted, could snuggle up and be sweet and fuck anyone, but it would always be Toast who was able to bring this side of him in its entirety of pure, primal instinct.

He didn’t give Sykkuno any reprieve. As soon as he came with a loud, high pitched whine—untouched and nearly making Toast go crazy from heat and desires bunching up inside his gut—he rolled them over and bent Sykkuno on his knees and lapped over the tender, reddened hole. Sykkuno, sensitive and still raring to go, bit on his own lips until he drew blood and gripped the sheets so tight that his knuckles turned white from the force. Toast pulled out to breath and was struck by how enthralling he was like this; debauched and filthy, succumbing and defiant with his own brand of gentle, persistent harshness. They could stay forever like this, in this fancy hotel room, guarding what they had so fiercely between fervent pleads and dirty secrets shared like poisons they fed into each other’s mouth.

He rimmed him until they both were gasping, his own cock filling up and he reached out for the rapidly declining string of condoms. They were both men in their late twenties, they were supposed to take a breath and let the refractory period take its course. But Toast was a man with a healthy sex appetite, and Sykkuno was a wild card in his tender, affectionate willingness to go wherever Toast wanted to be.

“Don’t,” Sykkuno gasped out, still trying to control his breaths.

Toast slowly, gently moved up to him, and kissed him with something like fervor and inappropriate prayers in every slide of their lips, the tangle of their tongues; trading vindictiveness and jealousy and affection in their saliva. He felt like he could own Sykkuno like this, with him so willingly submitting despite his sharp fangs and jagged edged of his bones cradling his fragile heart. But he wouldn’t. He wanted Sykkuno to fully grow into himself, to own himself so completely that he wouldn’t leave any doubt in his own mind. And only then, would Toast finally admitted that he would fall to his knees for Sykkuno.

Even now, with him pushing inside the heat, loose from rounds of their carnal desires, Toast felt like he was conquered already in his own scheme. There was something absolutely freeing in giving in to Sykkuno’s mercy, even if he didn’t let his fingers loosen their grip on Sykkuno’s neck, pushing on his carotids as he felt the entirety of Sykkuno—connected so intimately without any barrier between them. It felt different; it felt so excruciatingly pleasurable and heartbreaking.

“Say my name, dirty darling,” he whispered into his mouth, pleased when Sykkuno wasn’t afraid to call him out with his name.

“Jeremy—please, please—“ Sykkuno closed his eyes, fingers finding their home on Toast’s hair, raking nails on his back. He would wear the mark with pride and a mellow sense of defeat.

He wouldn’t ask what he was pleading for. In this moment, nothing could touch them but their possessive desires. Toast sneaked a hand to jerk him off with rough tugs, cum making the slide easier against his calloused palm. He rubbed his fingers on Sykkuno’s lips, and he opened his mouth obediently, sucking on them the way he sucked on Toast’s cock, coming with a weak spurt and his name muffled beneath too many wishes.

Toast fucked him until he couldn’t stop crying from oversensitivity, until Toast himself was sluggish and dead tired on his feet. Until he couldn’t stop the gentleness from seeping into his words.

“I’ll never make you mine, Sykkuno,” he whispered, so honest, so soft despite the harsh thrusts of his hips.

Sykkuno’s eyes snapped open, and he looked like he understood, like he was in pain, like he relished in the truth of it. “You will,” he said, with a smile that looked so serene on his pretty face.

Toast came inside him with a small laugh that he hid on Sykkuno’s neck, feeling so deeply satisfied by the conviction of his answer. His little darling was crying out softly from the feeling of being fucked full of cum, Toast’s mark evident even in the deepest part of him. He felt slender legs encircle his waist, so Toast stayed there, holding Sykkuno through the full body shiver and kissing his forehead with tender kisses that was at odd end with their harsh coupling.

“Good?” he asked, treading his fingers through hair damp from sweat.

Sykkuno nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. His legs finally loosened, allowing Toast to pull out, and cursed when he looked down and saw his cum trailing out of Sykkuno. His Achilles heel, the sun to his Icarus, the sea he plunged into when his wings were burnt off. Even when they were both spent and halfway out of their minds, Toast still had to smile and admit his numerous defeats tonight.

He took his time, laying there holding Sykkuno close despite the sweat between their bodies. He caressed his jaw, his back, feeling Sykkuno’s answering touch on the delicate fingers tracing patterns on his chest. His nails were filled with dried blood, and Toast knew that his weren’t that much better. He coaxed Sykkuno for a quick shower, before they hit the bed, exhausted and content with satisfaction deep in their marrows.

They would go home together because they weren’t afraid and they relished in the speculations. Toast had always said that Sykkuno knew what he was doing; he could pull off an impossible feat of being an impostor alone in a lobby of seven. He would enjoy the questions in their friends’ eyes, the hesitation in voicing out their thoughts. Maybe they would; Michael definitely would. But Sykkuno was too good at his game that the only thing Michael would get was even more headaches than before.

Toast had taught him a lot, and he had taught him well. Sykkuno hadn’t bloomed into his full potentials just yet, but soon. Enough that Toast could finally give them what they wanted in the first place. Not so easy, though. Sykkuno would probably be disappointed and retreat into his smiley, soft spoken front if Toast ever made it easy for them. There would be no challenge, and Sykkuno wouldn’t be able to expose his everything if he had thought that all Toast wanted was a domestic life where they both were completely normal people with normal love story.

This wasn’t a love story, however; it was an insult to call it that. This was much, much more than that, and Toast smiled into Sykkuno’s hair as he waited with bated breath what this dirty little darling would bring to the table next.

Toast was already awake by the time Ryan ambled to the kitchen. He was in his undershirt, and his pants from the night before. He was drinking coffee out of Sykkuno’s mug. Ryan didn’t ask how he knew it was Sykkuno’s. He could just choose at random, but he didn’t think that it was the case with either of them. Speaking of it—

“Wild night?” he teased good-naturedly.

Toast’s answering smile was simple and sincere. He didn’t look up from his matching stare with the table. He looked almost soft like that, domestic. Ryan almost wanted to look away and maybe find another housemate. So the both of them could continue whatever they were going at, and would have this gentle times where neither of them were so wrapped up in the competition; just enjoying each other’s company. It might be the first time he had actually seen this side of Toast and Sykkuno, but he was pretty sure neither of them wanted it. They didn’t seem to mind an audience, maybe it added to the excitement. All the intricate half-truths they would have to spin out of thin air were probably one of their freaky foreplay.

“You don’t want to know,” Toast said, and it meant more than one thing.

Ryan nodded, taking out the cereal box and the milk out of the fridge. They had never stocked up milk that much since Sykkuno only ever ate his cereal as treats that he nibbled on while he was trying to restore some semblance of consciousness out of his sleep-deprived state.

“No,” he said. “I don’t. I don’t mind watching the banter though. It was fun to see.”

Toast nodded, the smile still on his face. This close, Ryan could see the bruises and purpling hickeys on his skin. My God, Sykkuno must have been really interesting in bed. He thought that the juxtaposition would be something incredible to witness. Maybe this was what people were truly thirsting after. They would jeer and mock, and keep the knowledge that Sykkuno wasn’t a little, wide-eyed innocent lamb on bed close to their heart, staying for a long time in their mind.

“Even more breathtaking in the process,” he said, and it was a truth that he bared in the early morning when the city was barely bustling. It was safe enough to let out something so fragile like that when everyone’s first and foremost concern was having enough will to go through the day.

“I don’t want to know, remember?” he reminded, didn’t mean it. “Though the information is much appreciated. You love him?”

Toast looked up this time. He looked contemplative, and Sykkuno might be his housemate for only a while now, but Ryan was someone who had learned to care and love sincerely. He would give Toast a formal punch to the eye just for the sake of it. Sykkuno didn’t need anyone to defend his honor, but he could appreciate the show of loyalty.

“More than he thought I was capable of,” he said finally. There was a vulnerability to it that Ryan didn’t think he deserve to see.

He nodded, scooping his cereal. “Why don’t you stay, then?”

“I thought you don’t want to know?” Toast teased back, then laughed as he shook his head. As if he was mocking, as if he was in wonder. “Sykkuno wouldn’t want to have something so easily laid upon his feet—not from me. It would be insulting to all of his efforts.”

“I see,” he said through a mouthful of milk and soggy cereal, and didn’t actually know at all. “Alright, as long as I don’t have to get an eyeful of Sykkuno’s ass, I’m okay with whatever satanic ritual you two are performing.”

Toast laughed again, in genuine humor this time. “If only it’s that simple.”

Ryan ate his cereal, and Toast sipped on his rapidly cooling coffee. Sykkuno went into the kitchen with bleary eyes and Toast’s shirt, thankfully with a pair of shorts. But since they were shorts, Ryan kept his smile intact as he noticed the bruises of handprints and bite marks on the back of his knees and thighs. Smile and wave, boys, just smile and wave.

“That’s my mug,” Sykkuno pointed out without heat. But he was grumpy and just a tad too adorable in the morning, even without his thin makeup and impeccable anime protagonist hairstyle in place.

“Excellent observation,” Toast said with a half-smile.

He reached out for Sykkuno, and he obediently followed. Again, Ryan felt like he was intruding in his own house. Shared house. Sykkuno settled nicely between Toast’s legs, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Toast, get out of here and give me back my mug,” he whined, even as Toast rubbed his back gently.

“Alright,” he said, standing up and kissed Sykkuno on his lips. “Don’t drink too much coffee.”

Sykkuno nodded and let Toast manipulated his limbs so he was seated on the chair Toast had just vacated. He nodded at Ryan, and left the room to retrieve his belongings. He was out of the door before Sykkuno was awake enough to drink the now cold coffee. Toast didn’t ask for the shirt back.

“You’re not gonna ask?” Sykkuno asked, voice rough from something that wasn’t just sleep.

Ryan gave him a bright smile. “I don’t want to know.”

Sykkuno smiled back, understanding what he meant. They truly could stand toe to toe against each other, Ryan thought with something like laughter in his chest.

“You’re a good man, Ryan,” Sykkuno said, and tugged the slightly loose shirt closer around his body, as if keeping the last of Toast’s touch close to his skin.

Toast was snoring on the couch when Lily shook him roughly. He gasped out a strangled groan, and looked at her small face with unfocused eyes. He was exhausted from driving for four hours to Sykkuno’s shared house, fucking him for hours, and then driving back for four more hours. He felt every single year of his life in his bones. Wild sex was only nice while it lasted.

“You have a stream in an hour,” she said by way of explanation.

Toast yawned and nodded. He stretched out like an overgrown cat, and Lily looked at his hickeys without batting her lashes.

“Where were you last night?” she asked, despite knowing the answer already. They had been at this dance for too long that the whole house just kept it as a public secret; knowing, but not quite understanding. Lily was different, however. Maybe because she had known Sykkuno since the start, and had lived for a long time with Toast. She also had this knack of knowing something undetected, without letting anyone knew that she had all the cards grasped within her small palm. Maybe that was the reason why Michael had never let go of the leash she kept unlocked around his neck, despite his deranged, unhinged wildness in full rampage.

“Las Vegas,” he answered dutifully.

She nodded. “Alright,” she said, already leaving. “Don’t forget to cover those up.”

He and Sykkuno had a stream together that day, and he smiled in tranquility when Sykkuno fumbled and reassured his chats that it was just a light cough, nothing serious. Of course they’d believe him. To think that Sykkuno’s voice was hoarse because he spent hours screaming and having Toast’s cock in his mouth was something unthinkable in their realm of possibilities.

He watched the banter and the glaringly obvious flirting Corpse and Sykkuno had shamelessly inflicted upon the lobby, thinking that the both of them were almost like fumbling college students with their crushes on the second semester. Adorable, but also laughably impossible. They would need time to actually mature into the actual relationship they had hoped and expected from each other. Maybe later, just a little longer, Corpse could do it—grasp Sykkuno’s hand right in front of Toast’s eyes and he’d let them. Why would he worry about something so inevitable like that? Even if what he had with Sykkuno lasted for a long time still, Sykkuno was still endearingly fascinated by Corpse. One way or another, they would fall in love, and Toast could just lean back and enjoy their awkward touches and declarations of spending eternity in each other’s arms.

He would pity Corpse, but he pitied Sykkuno more with his inability to let go of his vice grip on Toast’s heart.

“Heard you finally visited Sykkuno,” Brodin said. He didn’t hear it from anyone, of course. They just correctly assumed that it would always be Sykkuno waiting on the other side of the lane for Toast.

“What’s with the sudden interest?” he asked, clicking the remote and trying to find something remotely interesting on the TV. If Rae still lived here, the room would be livelier with her nasty commentaries of any show they watched. He missed her dearly, but she had given up on Toast and Sykkuno when she realized that they weren’t going anywhere but their current vicious stalemate. She still gave him shits about it once in a while, it kept things interesting.

Brodin then lifted a package on his hands that was only now Toast noticed. “The other nurse outfit, I bought it for him a long time ago. But Scarra decided that it was too much for the viewers. Would’ve been pretty wild, but I didn’t think either you or Sykkuno would let anyone see it.”

Brodin was a wise man, and Toast smiled at him as he took the package. “That was a good call.”

“Say hi from me,” he said. “Ryan too. He knew?”

“Witnessed it firsthand,” he replied. “Guy’s got too much experience with weird shits, he didn’t even break his smile when he saw us.”

The tall man nodded. “Good guy.”

He agreed. It really was the right decision to let Sykkuno room with him. He handled the situation pretty well, was adamant in getting out of their hair despite clearly looking at them with calculations in his eyes the morning after, and Toast was pretty sure that he had his own speculations of Toast and Sykkuno; separately, and together. He had been around for a long time in their line of work, and Toast respected that consistency. He wasn’t some blind eyed sheep that would follow every honey slathered word out of Sykkuno’s mouth, and that was already saying something considering the majority of people who did.

He had finally decided to visit alone, with his own agenda, when Toast realized that Sykkuno was well into the process of realizing that he had fallen in love with Corpse. All of them had had thought of this developments since miles away, but it was still something sweet to see. It was almost funny because Sykkuno was the one who followed his every command, but in reality, it was Toast who was always being pushed around from his unstoppable force. First Edison and Leslie, and now Corpse. Sykkuno really had too many people at his disposal with their hearts ready as offering.

He hadn’t wanted a relationship, not for a while anyway. Since the start, all Sykkuno wanted was Toast—every single part of him that he could have. He was possessive and relentless like that. His little dirty darling, he thought with a smile. A defining relationship where Toast formally claimed Sykkuno was an afterthought. What he wanted was the visceral, utterly pure sense of claiming. In the endgame, though, Sykkuno would want Toast to admit that he wanted them to be so wrapped up around each other that Toast couldn’t even bear to go five steps without missing him like a stolen heartbeat.

He had told and taught Sykkuno to aim high. This was his highest aim in this regard, and Toast was proud of him.

In a roundabout way, Sykkuno was everything Toast desired of a muted evening spent with each other, but he had given even more of himself that Toast couldn’t help getting roped in the brutal, vengeful game they were playing right now. He knew that Sykkuno was aware of all of his soft spots for him, all the gentleness and wishes of keeping him close in bed as they ignored the rise and fall of the sun; too enraptured and enthralled with each other to even bother with the world. It wasn’t exactly something as exhilarating as what they were- ah, performing right now, as Ryan had said. But it wasn’t something normal either. He didn’t think they would settle for something less than the bare feelings without the edges of their ribs to hurt each other.

This was the peak of him completely loving someone; in the way that he was so easily wrapped around Sykkuno’s fingers just like how he was kneeling under Toast so beautifully, in the way he let and trust Sykkuno to find his way to him despite numerous obstacles they created for each other, in the way that he let Sykkuno loved so freely and unabashedly. Be it Corpse, or whoever he wanted to impart his affection with, Toast was content in his knowledge that none of them would ever come close to him. Sykkuno could end up marrying someone else the next day, and still Toast knew that his throne would be immovable. Sykkuno loved him too much to ever erase Toast from his heart.

Someone on the TV laughed way too hard, way too forced. Toast wanted to laugh at them, at himself, too. It really was a wonder how he could let himself be so tangled in something as complicatedly simple as this. His life was much, much easier when the only thing he had to worry about was the future of his job, his father, his relationship with someone so effortlessly easy to love like Janet. But he was confident enough in securing his future, had maniacally made too many backups in case things went south; his father was more or less alright, and Toast had taken a long time to accept the inevitable end of his sickness, hard as it was; he and Janet had decided that they weren’t compatible in their goal in the long run. Sure, life was a little bit harder without her by his side. He had loved her, and she was someone he respected in her own regards. But Toast didn’t strive and survive this long just to let himself fall like that.

Sykkuno was just someone different. He couldn’t compare him with anyone Toast had ever loved in his life. The feelings they shared between them was just purely unhinged in the viciousness of their tendrils, spreading like wildfire in his veins and refusing to let go even when he had let Sykkuno go. It was the time when Corpse went in and swept Sykkuno in his veiny arms. Oh, he had seen those pictures alright, and he knew that Sykkuno had blushed so prettily when he saw them.

It was pretty hilarious, the way that Sykkuno realized that he might be swayed by this gentle person with a thousand of baggage and too many skeletons in his closet; the way that Toast realized that he wasn’t done yet with Sykkuno, that the tendrils were still strongly wrapped around their hearts and minds. The game had become a death match from then on.

“Again?!” Rae had screamed when she found out about Toast and Sykkuno starting their lethal dance around each other all over again. “Seriously, Toast. If this ever going to be unhealthy, I’m revoking yours and Sykkuno’s license to this mad mating calls.”

He had laughed pretty hard at that. Yeah, mating call was right. Maybe because they had been so unrestrainedly wild in their wide-eyed wonder of discovering each other for the umpteenth time, and there was a lot of mating involved in the process. But Toast had known unhealthy, and he thought that Sykkuno was too painfully familiar with that concept that he already knew his limits. Even before he was as enchanted to this headache-inducing enigma, they were the closest of friends first and foremost still. No matter how many times they wrecked each other in the sheets, Toast had always exercised precaution of never hurting Sykkuno that way, and he knew that Sykkuno also did the same. Maybe even more, since he had been hurt too much, and was trying his best not to let them dissolve into the abyss without befriending the darkness first.

Oh, he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love, alright. So different than the first time they played this game, when he had snapped and finally bared his fangs in their sharp, poisonous gleam. It had taken a long time to take a shine to Sykkuno’s softer side, even longer still to be able to want it enough for his own vulnerable side to twine into the desire. Back then, he had trusted Sykkuno unfailingly in his ability and willingness to catch and accept Toast in his entirety—the way that he would unquestioningly do the same. But this was something even more dangerous because the prize was their hearts with blood dripping still.

He was getting dramatic, but it certainly felt like they were going to reach their endgame soon.

But not yet, pretty darling, he thought with an indulging smile on his lips. Exhaust your entire arsenal, so we can each take what we need, and rebuild everything from the ashes of the bones we set on fire.

Sykkuno had taken one look at the fishnet, and looked at Toast like he wanted to set him on fire.

“Are you trying to marry me off to Corpse?” he asked, voice soft but his tone just fell flat. “You wanted to get rid of me that badly, Jeremy?”

Ryan had laughed his ass off when Toast came again two weeks afterwards with a package of outrageously sensual nurse outfit in hand. Aside from this physical interaction that just screamed off their sexual tension in the air, Toast and Sykkuno had been admirably normal in their streams. Nothing out of ordinary, not even the smallest of words or slip of tone. It was even more amazing to watch now that Ryan had a direct comparison to ponder with.

“Think of it as an early wedding gift,” Toast had replied, so effortlessly easy in managing their confusing open-ended relationship.

Ryan had seen the genuine affection in Sykkuno’s eyes when he talked about Corpse. When they ate their takeouts at two in the morning, and Sykkuno told him about the messages he received when he wasn’t feeling good. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend how it worked on Toast’s end.

“Did Brodin buy it, or did you buy it because you heard the suggestion from him?” Sykkuno asked, tracing his hand on the second rate materials.

Sykkuno had never stuttered when they were together like this. It was like breathing in the same air as Toast did had emboldened him to the point of erecting his confidence. Ryan liked Sykkuno with his painfully guarded body languages, and his stutters and stammers as he tried to put his words into a proper sentence. But this version of Sykkuno was also nice to see. It was like he filled out the shadows that Toast left, and stood stronger still in them with his own shine.

It was also nice to understand the implication that they were so comfortable and trusting in each other, that they allowed him to stay and witness it.

“It’s from Brodin,” Toast said. “But I thought, why not bring it over and fuck you in that skimpy dress?”

If Ryan wasn’t so experienced in dealing with various shits in his life, he might have choked into his celery. But it was something so ordinary nowadays that he didn’t have the time to spare the proper decency for this kind of situation.

Sykkuno smiled at the suggestion, and took his mug out of Toast’s hand with practiced ease. “So it’s really not for my wedding with Corpse? Shame.”

“I was thinking about sending pictures,” Toast nodded along, pretending to ponder on it. “But we can send the sex tape too, if that’s what you wanted.”

At least Sykkuno didn’t completely lose his ability to blush with Toast around. “Jesus, Toast!”

Toast shrugged and let Sykkuno kept the mug filled with tea close to his chest like a shield. “What? He’s twenty-four Sykkuno. If he’s old enough to make songs about fucking someone, then he’s old enough to see a recording of you fucking someone else.”

Sykkuno sighed into his tea, and winced at the excessive sugar. He quickly pushed it back to Toast’s direction. “Yeah, well, when you worded it like that…”

“It’s not like he doesn’t know about us,” Toast sighed too.

Ryan perked up at that. “Oh?” he said around a mouthful of carrot sticks. “Corpse knew?”

“He has more than an inkling, so to speak,” Sykkuno smiled at him, dismayed and endeared at the same time. “Corpse wants an actual, functioning relationship. He doesn’t think that he can give me what I need right now. So he said that he will wait until Toast and I are done with- uh, our thing.”

“Wait,” Toast said, looking as surprised as Ryan felt. That was a first. “You never really told me about what he said. He’s actually going to wait?”

Sykkuno sighed again, and folded the nurse outfit haphazardly. “Toast, he loves me,” he said, as if it explained enough. Maybe it did. “Of course he will.”

“What if you’re not going to be done with Toast for a long time?” Ryan asked. It wasn’t like he was backing off his words of staying out of their business. But this was another party involved about something as serious as a long term relationship.

“Then he will still love me, and maybe let someone else in if he ever wanted to.” Sykkuno shoved the bundle of costume into the bag, and he looked like they were talking about something as mundane as the weather and traffic outside instead of someone’s feelings.

Toast’s smile was laced with sincerity and something dangerous all at once. “You’re so cruel, Sykkuno.”

“Aside from the fact that Corpse and I are completely open about this,” he said around a mouthful of velvety, poisonous smile, “thanks. I learned from the best.”

When the air around them was suddenly charged with the electricity of tension between the two males, Ryan took that as his cue to leave the room. Even if the nurse outfit had been folded so disastrously and was safely zipped in the bag, it didn’t mean that they wouldn’t go at each other right then and there. He felt almost sad that he was going to be kicked out often from the rooms inside this house.

“Alright,” he said, taking his container of salad. “Don’t forget to clean the stains afterwards. I eat here too, you know.”

“You’re too nice, Ryan,” Sykkuno said, looking at him with something that was almost a remorse. Almost.

“Yeah,” he sighed miserably. “I am.”

He wasn’t even out of the kitchen yet before Sykkuno had climbed onto Toast’s lap. “The table, or the sink?” he heard Toast asked.

“Table,” Sykkuno decided. “But get your filthy hands off my mug first, Toast.”

Ryan hightailed it out of the war zone, and felt almost relieved when he reached his room in time for a loud bang of a chair falling to the ground. Poor mug, poor kitchen chair, poor kitchen appliances that had to witness the two of them fucking each other like they weren’t so helplessly in love. He wondered if Corpse knew, that he didn’t stand a chance in the first place beyond the slow affection and soft caresses that Sykkuno could offer for him. Ryan had seen the way Toast and Sykkuno looked and moved around each other, and had understood immediately that they were too far gone to even come up for air.

But maybe Corpse understood, too, and was still enthralled by Sykkuno all the same. Love worked in the strangest way, after all. As long as they understood the risks they were taking, as long as all parties involved understood completely the gravity of the situation, then Ryan saw no need for him to intervene. If he had any right to intervene in the first place. It was just—people acted weird around Sykkuno, and he charmed people left and right in a completely different way as Toast, but it was still familiar enough to see traces of him in it. Ryan thought that the only intervention that could wake them up was heartbreak.

After some time, he texted Sykkuno. ‘Hey, is it safe yet to come out of my basement?’

‘This is Toast.’ The first text said. ‘He’s asleep. We’re just watching TV in the living room.’

When he came out, Toast was scrolling through Sykkuno’s chat history with a slow smile on his face. Like he was finding the texts hilarious. Maybe he was laughing at people, a lot of them. He wouldn’t cross it off the board yet; he had just found out recently that both Toast and Sykkuno had a mean streak a mile wide when it concerned each other. Maybe the act could be seen as an intrusion of privacy, but Toast hadn’t even known about what Corpse had said regarding the unconventional relationship that they had. He wouldn’t do that without express permission from Sykkuno—heck, it was even more possible that Sykkuno was the one who wanted to show him in the first place.

“Was he trying to flaunt by showing you the texts?” he asked, just to confirm.

“Right on my face,” Toast answered, fingers running through Sykkuno’s hair, pressing side by side with Sykkuno’s head pillowed comfortably on the crook of his neck.

“Cool,” he said, and joined them on the couch.

Toast was someone nice to talk to. He had his own fair share of experience in work and everything else, and he had a great sense of humor—if a little unhinged. But then again, Ryan thought with a hidden smile on his lips as Sykkuno snuffled and Toast obligingly shifted their position so he was comfortable again, every single one of them were. It was a little bit of a needed requirement in their work. Handling so many people, so many attention, so many risks could do that to someone. They were unhinged in their own little ways, and he was comfortable in the fact that these two were the most sincere, mental friends he had had the pleasure of knowing.

It was definitely not something they wanted to share with anyone who wouldn’t understand even the outer part of it, let alone the inner part where all of those insanity and devotion ran rampage. But at the very least, in this house with only two people to liven it up, they could have a place to let go. He was a sentimental bloke, but aside from that, he could appreciate and respect their decisions and honesty, even if he didn’t completely understand the whole story. It wasn’t his to know, wasn’t anyone’s to discover for that matter; it was theirs and theirs alone to share in the simple closeness of sharing a mug, and the fury in Sykkuno’s eyes even as he kissed Toast like his life depended on it.

Ryan changed the channel into another one. Toast and he had had too many laughs from the telenovela about some suburban drama, where the wife of the contractor from block E was going to cheat with the plumber and Toast remarked how the wife was so dull in her beauty. He had spouted off some exaggeratingly dramatic tirade about how, just maybe, she was finding something that could make her heart beat in exhilaration, in something so exciting out of her dull routine of being a housewife and waiting for her husband to come home. Maybe she felt the fleeting happiness of being tangled in a forbidden fornication with a man she wasn’t wedded with. Maybe she tasted the bravery in his tongue, how something so wrong could feel so right.

Ryan had followed along, and they soon were arguing whether the husband should find another mistress to even up the footing, of just straight up having his own affair with the same plumber. That certainly would make the boring storyline livelier.

Sykkuno was awake in the middle of it, but he was still sleepy and had taken to play with the buttons of Toast’s shirt as they talked. He looked fragile like that; small and curled up against Toast’s larger build. Oh, Sykkuno could definitely punch someone in the face until he left a marvelous bruise, alright. Even if he would soften the blow with too many apologies and a complete hospital bill paid afterwards. But in this moment, he had decided to be comfortable in his vulnerability. Maybe because Toast was there and Sykkuno truly had no inhibitions whatsoever whenever they were within close proximity; maybe because Toast was terrifyingly protective of this side of Sykkuno that didn’t involve anger and desires simmering low under his skin.

Ryan was just a guy who happened to live here and witness this sickeningly sweet display of trust. Smile and wave, boys.

“Do you really have to go?” Sykkuno mumbled into Toast’s shirt. They were standing by the door, Toast’s car key gripped loosely in his palm that wasn’t rubbing gently on Sykkuno’s back.

“I have work, if you remembered,” he said.

Sykkuno sighed and kissed him softly on the cheek. “I feel like a mistress.”

“Are you suggesting I marry someone to make it more authentic?” Toast asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You can try,” Sykkuno said, and there went the soft, muted, affectionate time they had.

“I certainly can,” Toast said, and leaned in to kiss him again, firmer this time. “We both know it’s an exercise in futile.”

“Good to know,” Sykkuno said, and pulled off from the embrace as Toast turned to the door. “But seriously, Toast. Stop using my mug.”

“I like seeing you irritated,” Toast called out, before the sound of engines were heard and he sped out to start the drive to L.A.

“I have to say,” Ryan started. “I’m glad you took a nap and spare me from the imagery of you in skimpy nurse outfit.”

Sykkuno laughed, back already to his gentle cadences and fidgety fingers. “Would I look really bad in it?”

Ryan thought about it. He shook his head. “No, but I won’t put it above Toast to terrorize me by wearing it just because I’ve seen you with too much bare skin.”

Sykkuno hid his smile beneath his fingers, and gave him a warm look afterwards. “He would.”

They had seen each other in various states of minimal clothing, but Toast was simultaneously laid back and possessive. There was no telling with the guy, honestly. One minute he was letting Sykkuno gallivanting around with a young man, the next he would be poking hot irons into people’s eyes for looking at Sykkuno’s hips the wrong way. Maybe it was the matter of which person he would allow to share Sykkuno with—or maybe it was him understanding enough to let Sykkuno choose which person he would allow himself to fall for. Corpse, apparently, had passed the tests with flying colors.

He didn’t know what actually would happen if Sykkuno did stay with Toast for too long, long enough for Corpse to step away from Sykkuno’s inevitable charm. He didn’t even know if the two of them would end up together. They could be tearing at each other in the morning, and pressed so close in the warmth of their gentle affection in the afternoon. It wasn’t his problem to worry about, however. He had said it before: he didn’t want to know. Didn’t mean that he didn’t care, regardless.

“We’re eating something healthy for tonight,” he said decisively.

“W-what, what? Why?” Sykkuno asked immediately, eyes wide and panicking.

“Sykkuno,” he sighed. “A guy can only endure so much of being a third wheel before he cracks. This is my revenge.”

Sykkuno’s laughter was bright and hidden behind his palm as it usually was whenever Toast wasn’t in the same room. Ryan gave him an easy smile and ordered their takeout with too many vegetable dish as the sides. Yeah, he thought, it wasn’t so bad to be a third wheel in a relationship that they had been so open and honest about with him. After all, it gave him further insights about his friends slash colleagues, and it certainly hardened his endurance under the onslaught of their shameless, intricate desires for each other.

Smile and wave, indeed.

Toast laughed out loud when the picture was fully loaded.

Scarra looked at him like he had just spontaneously sprouted a second head. It would be more believable than the actual reason why he was nearly breathless with laughter, however. Lily was completely unbothered, and was currently chiding Michael as he tried to taser her with a spoon this time. God knew what this twelve-year-old child did to be able to do that. Maybe this was the actual reason why everyone was leaving the house—they had had enough of being his lab rats.

Toast kept his smile intact as he looked at Sykkuno’s long legs in the fishnet. He looked incredibly good in the nurse outfit. It stretched across his shoulders, went straight at his tapered waist, and showed off the curve of his hips and thighs. Toast absolutely loved and hated it at the same time. Gods, he wanted to take a plane there just to rip it apart and fuck him in the mangled carcass of the fabrics. He’d keep the tiny nurse hat and the fishnet, as tokens of some sort. It was such a shame that Sykkuno didn’t own a pair of high heels to complete the look. Maybe he should buy him some of those later.

Dirty little darling, he thought fondly, visceral in his lust and nearly mindless worship of Sykkuno’s body. Yvonne was looking at him weird, but Brodin took a peek on the screen and nodded along. “Nice,” he said, and didn’t provide context for everyone else in the room.

‘Send it to Corpse,’ he typed rapidly. ‘Come on, pretty baby, I dare you.’

Sykkuno sent a screenshot of his chat with Corpse, with barrages of replies that were cut off from the screen. ‘Already did,’ he said. ‘Long before I sent it to you.’

He laughed again, nearly hysterical this time. This little shit truly had no end to his chaotic surprises. It was pleasantly entertaining to watch him fight with all his fangs bared and delicate fingers laced with poisons touching directly on Toast’s veins.

“Call the mental ward,” Michael had suggested gleefully.

“Michael,” Lily sighed, only because she knew that Michael would tag along for some meager taste of trouble.

‘You dirty, dirty child,’ he sent, feigning his chiding. ‘Whatever am I going to do with you?’

Sykkuno sent another picture, this one he was pretty sure he didn’t send along to Corpse. Maybe. It was a picture of Sykkuno with his legs spread wide, a hand holding one of his thighs up so Toast could see the gleam of his vibrator nestled between his asscheeks. He had bought that one in the spur of the moment. Happy Chinese New Year, he had written on the package. Rae had laughed and laughed, and then accused him of being a filthy pervert when she found out. What an outrageous claim.

With the picture, Sykkuno had written, ‘Come here and touch me yourself, and maybe I’ll start listening to you.’

He stood up and excused himself from the room. Sykkuno was a persistent problem in his life, and he had created bigger problems than what was necessary in the process, too. Their complicated relationship and his current boner were the prime examples. ‘Tempting,’ he replied with shaking hands. ‘But I’m going to pass this one. Already got you wrapped around my words since a long time ago, after all.’

That would piss Sykkuno off. Ever since he discovered that Sykkuno looked absolutely glorious in his wrath, it had been a continual motivation for him to anger him even more. In return, Sykkuno allow himself the perpetual lack of control over his emotions and just went full throttle with all of his fury. Toast would accept that, completely, without reservation. He would always catch Sykkuno, even with his wings burning and the wax falling off of each feather.

What he got was a call. He smiled and settled himself comfortably on his bed, before swiping on the reject button.

‘I’ll wait exactly two hours,’ it said on the text. Sykkuno could be demanding like this too, and Toast supposed he had no one to blame but himself. He didn’t even need to attach any threat, because the words were a menacing promise on their own. He opened the ticketing app, and ordered some expensive, on the go flight to Las Vegas. It was leaving in fifteen minutes, and Toast thought that he couldn’t have made it in time. He would try regardless.

‘Start the timer.’

•••

He arrived at the familiar house with barely five minutes left on the allotted time Sykkuno had given to him. He pushed incessantly at the door bell, and went straight past Ryan’s smiling face. “Ryan,” he greeted quickly.

Ryan gave him a quick once over. He was haphazardly dressed; he barely even remembered to bring his wallet and phone. He was flushed from running, and there was a certain glint in his eyes that he knew was bared so clearly for everyone to see.

Ryan nodded decidedly and said, “I need a suggestion. Do I crank up the music, or do I just hang out somewhere, alone, like a loser kicked out of his own house because his roommate is about to bang, loudly mind you, for the fifth time this month alone?”

“Ryan,” he said with a hysteric laughter, “we only need one masochist in this house. Go hang out and relax; I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Right,” he nodded again, and turned to grab his belongings he would need in the hours Toast would spend fucking Sykkuno into the mattress, his desk, his wall, the fucking bathroom if he had to. He vaguely heard the man whispering something about ‘smile and wave, boys’, and would probably laugh at it if he weren’t hunted down by time. He knocked loudly on Sykkuno’s door, before realizing that it was unlocked. He nearly seethed, and barely had his temper in check as he barged into the room, locking it behind his back. There was only one person in this house aside from Sykkuno, and he knew perfectly that Ryan wasn’t someone he should worry about. But the thought of this pretty, filthy darling being so vulnerable, and not locking his door made something tick and snap inside of him.

He sucked in a harsh breath when he turned and Sykkuno was looking at him with desperation and something sharp and threatening in his eyes. He was going to be mauled into unrecognizable pieces, and Toast reveled in the certainty of Sykkuno’s promises.

Sykkuno was panting, the sheets ruined already between his fingers. The vibrator was buzzing faintly and the man was sweating from keeping his orgasm at bay for more than two hours. His little nurse dress was nearly see through by this point; his nipples hardening and apparent through the flimsy fabric.

“You-“ Sykkuno started, and cut himself off with a moan that he muffled behind his palm. His lips were bitten red and swollen. He must have been biting on them to keep himself from moaning out loud and scarring Ryan for life. “You’re l-late.”

Toast checked his phone, before dropping it along the heap of his pants and his shirt. In his haste, he didn’t even think about bringing a jacket. In this moment, he was glad he didn’t. Would have been more hassle to go through when he was trying as fast as he could to get rid of any garments covering his body, to press their skin flush together.

“By two minutes,” he deflected, and stalked to the bed with hunger and desires dripping from the lines of his face.

“Toast—“ Sykkuno moaned out, “just- just shut up and fuck me already, please.”

How could he resist when Sykkuno was already shivering from pleasure that bordered so close to pain from his hypersensitivity, to the point that he was willing to let a curse word out of his pretty lips? How could he ever resist him anything, really?

He spread the long, toned legs covered in fishnet, and noticed that the middle part was already torn. He pulled out the vibrator none to gently, and set it aside on the bed. Sykkuno arched his back, a hand shot out to reach for him, and Toast clasped it in his. He was almost frantical in his haste to soothe the pain, to give him what he needed. “Sykkuno,” he said, urgency in his voice. “Condoms.”

At that, Sykkuno lunged and kissed him with teeth and clawing touches to the sides of his neck. He really wasn’t going to get out of this with any part of him intact; he intended to do the same to Sykkuno.

“What is the difference, Toast?” he growled out, and Sykkuno, even in his entirety of him, was seldom so completely lost in control like this. It made Toast’s blood sing in his veins. This man really was going to be the death of him, Jesus fucking Christ. “Just get your dick in me alre—“

As hot as he sounded like with his feral growl out in the open air, Toast was also on the verge of insanity. He grabbed Sykkuno’s hips, and pushed inside unceremoniously; unforgivingly aiming for places Sykkuno favored the most, and setting a ruthless pace since the get go. His anger melted away in favor of beautiful, melodious screams that echoed off the wall and, really, it wouldn’t matter how high Ryan set the volume. Sykkuno knew that he was loud, and filthy when he was in bed, and since he chose not to hide anything from Toast, he had never held back either. He didn’t think it would be too pleasant in the ears of their mutual friend if he were still here.

Sykkuno had been strung too tight from the long wait that it really didn’t come as a surprise when he came so soon. His moans and pleads trailed off into a sob as Toast fucked him through the orgasm, so close after the tease since the start. He grabbed a fistful of Sykkuno’s hair, and pulled tight, tighter still as he continued to fuck into him, thrust after brutal thrust like he was trying to make up for all the time they were apart, separated by the distance of different cities. He had snapped at the taxi driver to get him to the house as fast as possible and apologized afterwards, saying that he was in a hurry. He had given the driver too many extra tips for his consideration.

Long, delicate fingers framed his face gently as he was pulled in for a soft kiss; just slides of lips that bellied the harshness of his movements. When he was so close, too close, Sykkuno whispered against his lips. “Just let go, Jeremy.”

He came with a guttural moan that felt like it had been ripped straight through his lungs; coming in waves inside the warm, willing body under him. Sykkuno continued to kiss him as he rode the high, coming down to soft words and whispered promises voiced out in his gentle, hoarse voice. There was still too much that he wanted to do, but for now, he held Sykkuno close, letting him bear his weight as Toast leaned into him completely.

“You- you actually came,” Sykkuno laughed, disbelief coloring his words. “Jesus, Toast, you’re crazy.”

He panted and laughed next to his ears, smiling when he felt the man shuddered. “I have approximately half a brain cell left, which one are you talking about?”

“The flight, you bumbling idiot,” Sykkuno said fondly. “And I wonder why it takes you so long to admit defeat.”

He sighed and propped himself up on his arms. “Sykkuno, we’re horny, not high. Cease the illusion right now.”

“What’s the difference?” Sykkuno repeated his words from a moment ago, with less heat, less vicious. “You’re heavy.”

“Shut up,” he barked out without too much bite. “I snapped at taxi drivers and ran like a madman to the plane. I ran a lot more afterwards too. I deserve some rest, you little, teasing bastard.”

Sykkuno hummed and carded his fingers through his sweaty bangs. “Toast, you’re literally shorter than me by a few inches.”

There really was no stopping when it came to this guy. Toast dropped his head back to where it belonged on Sykkuno’s shoulder and grumbled. “Good thing my cock is not, because that seems to be the only thing that can shut you up.”

The answering laughter was familiar, easy; the hiccupping, unrestrained laughter he usually heard through his headphones. “Jesus, Toast.”

Het let Sykkuno take a breath, and kissed the side of his neck, sucking and leaving faint marks along the way. He’d give him something that’d last for days later, something he would need to cover up every single day. Something that would make him remember that Toast had come at his beck and call just because the cut of his cheekbones were enough to reduce him into an idiot with too much devotion.

“What did Corpse say about it?” he asked as he made his way down.

Sykkuno reached over to the nightstand and tapped away a few times before shoving the phone to Toast’s hand, closing his eyes already on the fingers ghosting over his chest, thumbing his nipple with swift flicks. Toast took it and saw gibberish, a lot of genuine praises, and a question: ‘Wait, is this some sort of weird foreplay between you and Toast?’

He smirked as he put the phone back; maybe Corpse still had his chance yet. He leaned down to kiss Sykkuno slowly, tongues in a lazy tangle as his hands touched and caressed every single inch of his skin. Sykkuno’s hand went to the back of his thigh, squeezing the muscle and flesh under strong fingers that looked so delicate in the broad daylight.

“On your knees, Sykkuno,” he said lowly, heat already gathering at the bottom of his stomach.

Toast reached over to the third drawer where he knew Sykkuno kept his lubes, condoms, and a box of his toys. He had bought more than the half of them, and was fairly familiar with the rest. He didn’t think he was in the mood for something more intricate tonight, however. No matter how tempting it was to land the paddle on his ass, his thighs, Toast didn’t think he could handle the intensity and the inevitable crash afterwards. Sykkuno felt a little too much with his sensitivity and emotional feelings at play; Toast didn’t want to give him a half-hearted aftercare because he wasn’t in the right physical and emotional mindset. It took Toast a long time to properly learn it. Where to strike, with how much force, which part to avoid, how to use and take care of the tools, and how to proceed with the aftercare. He was familiar with some of the faces in a little BDSM club three streets away from the house in L.A., where he learned that he had a knack for it as well as the fact that despite his words, Toast was so obviously weak to everything Sykkuno wanted.

So he took the lube, and closed the drawer, keeping in mind to find the right time for later. He turned back to Sykkuno, and heaved in a deep, shuddering breath. It wasn’t like they were new at this. Fuck, they had been doing this for more than a year now, and still the sight of Sykkuno, so intimately physical like this, made Toast breathless with want and wonder. He thought it might just become impossible to actually stop the feeling of being punched in the gut every time he looked at the strong set of Sykkuno’s shoulders, the curving line of his spine, the swell of his ass, the back of his thighs, when he was on his knees. Or when they were doing anything, anywhere, really.

Sykkuno was right; why did it take him so long to just admit defeat? This wasn’t even the matter of beating each other anymore as they were burning out the last line of their sanity. With how much Sykkuno let himself to be seen, how completely he succumbed to Toast; with how much Toast had relented and couldn’t keep his mind, his hands away from him, keep coming back to a house four-hour drive away from where he lived just to see this man with his soft smiles and softer heart. It really was a question neither of them was willing to answer, that they enjoyed the thrill a little too much despite knowing the certain end. Oh, it would end in heartbreak, alright—even now completely his, right in his arms, Sykkuno still broke Toast’s heart just by the sheer existence of him and the way his lashes was wet and heavy from tears, so pretty against his skin.

He poured the lube between his fingers, warming it up before slathering the quivering hole with it, teasing the opening with soft, probing touches. He poured more, and started slow with a finger. His tone was conversational, and Toast was experienced enough in this to keep the inflection of his voice calm and soft. “Never thought you’d send me that in the broad daylight,” he said.

There was a smile in Sykkuno’s voice when he answered. “Me neither.”

He hummed, finger curving and pressing on various spots that made Sykkuno hung his head lower. They knew each other’s bodies completely by now; every erogenous zone, places they didn’t really handle well to the touch, every way to turn their minds into a complete mess. “Did you really want my attention that much, Sykkuno?”

He teased the second finger on the opening; once, twice inserting the tip before pulling out and continuing his leisure pace with the sole finger. He knew Sykkuno was biting out his moans. He was loose and tender already from hours of taking up the vibrator. Toast did this just to be cruel, honestly.

“You- you know I do, Toast,” Sykkuno answered, gritting his teeth and gripping the sheets as he pushed back involuntarily.

Toast stilled his finger completely, caressing the sweat-damp skin on his thigh from where the skirt had ridden so high it was barely there at all. Sykkuno whined in frustration, but kept his hips in place. Toast rewarded him with a particularly vicious twist of his finger, and enjoyed the arch of his back as he gasped out his breaths and moans.

“From Corpse, too?” he asked. It was a formality, and they both knew it. It was still fun to hear what kind of answer Sykkuno would come up with, however. He was extremely good at riling Toast up with his words.

“Maybe even more so,” Sykkuno breathed out.

He didn’t look over to where Toast was, but he could feel the shit-eating smile from his voice. Toast shook his head even as a wide grin overcame his face. Yeah, he thought so. He added another finger to reward the entertainment, and Sykkuno quivered from the sensation after the slow, torturous touch of one finger only.

“That so?” he asked, rhetoric that he was sure Sykkuno could find an answer to. “Is that why you didn’t lock the door, pretty baby? You wanted him to walk into the sight of you—a desperate, filthy mess on the bed? He lives nearby, doesn’t he? Did you give me two hours because you wanted more time to fuck him, and let me get the sloppy second?”

Sykkuno whined high on his throat, head completely down to lean against the mattress. His muscles were strained in his efforts of holding his hips from thrusting back again. Toast was ruthless enough to stop and start the process all over again, for hours on end. He knew; they had done this before.

“Come on, darling, answer me,” he said, thumbing gently on the jut of Sykkuno’s hip. “Would you let him do that?”

In this moment, Sykkuno could answer however he wanted, and it would still be the right one. Toast would let him because he was helplessly in love like that, but he would fuck Sykkuno until he was a begging, mindless mess on the sheets because he was vicious in that regards too. Either way, it all boiled down to Sykkuno getting what he wanted. Again, and again.

He was pleasantly surprised when Sykkuno turned to look at him; his previous promises gleaming like a sharp blade in his eyes, words setting Toast’s desire on inescapable inferno. “No,” he said; sure, measured. “Just you, Toast.”

He gave Sykkuno a wicked grin, and felt exhilaration when he got an answering grin back. He added the third finger because this filthy darling was still so unbelievably, hilariously persistent in his ambitions. Toast would set the world on fire for him, and then let them burn to nothing but a husk in the aftermath.

“You’re an exceptionally cruel, little fae,” he said, still so slow, still so languid in thrusting his fingers. “If only they knew. It would save them a whole lot of heartbreaks.”

“If only,” Sykkuno agreed.

Toast fucked him with his fingers like that, minutes ticking longer as Sykkuno whimpered and bit the sheets from the pleasure that he couldn’t do anything about. He didn’t say that he couldn’t touch himself, but they truly only needed one masochist in this house, and he knew that Toast would appreciate the sentiment.

Sykkuno didn’t need to beg, didn’t need to moan out his pleads. He knew that he just had to endure until Toast was satisfied. What a smart little shit, Toast thought fondly. He understood exactly from experience of what Toast wanted and needed. He leaned down to kiss the dip of his spine, alternating between gentle kisses and harsh bites that made Sykkuno scream a little more, a little louder each time. When he reached Sykkuno’s ears, he kissed the shell so gently, so soft in his mockery, in his sincerity.

“Do you love me, Sykkuno?” he asked, knowing the answer and still so helplessly hopeful.

Sykkuno’s hand reached up to tangle into Toast’s hair, kissing him sideway with soft lips and too much honesty. “I do.”

Toast pulled out his fingers so he could coax Sykkuno to turn onto his back, kissing him slow and sure; trusting his words and feeling like he could trample the world with this man’s love burning on his back. Like the sun melting away Icarus’ wings despite the attraction and simplistic magnetism they held for each other. He let himself believe that it was alright to be burned, that it was alright to sink into the bottom of the ocean because Sykkuno would never leave unless Toast truly desired so.

He never wanted to let go.

“Just a little bit more,” he whispered against lips wet from saliva and tears. “Let’s dance a little bit longer, sweetheart.”

The fabric of the flimsy dress tore so easily under his grip. Sykkuno gasped and laughed and kissed Toast with fervor and wonder in his eyes. “What am I going to wear this Halloween, Jeremy? You ruined my only costume.”

He caressed and pinched the pebbled nipples between his fingers, swallowing Sykkuno’s moan into his lungs. “I’ll buy you something else.”

“Something outrageous,” Sykkuno guessed correctly.

“Indeed,” Toast said, and gave him one last peck on the lips, kissing the defined line of his jaw, down to his throat, to his chest. He licked on the hardened nub, letting Sykkuno gripped his hair to his roots. He sucked and bit at each one until he knew Sykkuno was properly sensitive there too, continuing his path down to his navel, his unshaven pubic hair, to his dripping cock.

Toast swallowed him whole, feeling Sykkuno’s legs curling around his shoulders and gently rubbed the underside of his thigh as an encouragement to rut into his mouth. Sykkuno’s hand on his head prevented him from moving, taking the shallow thrusts that slowly gained speed until he was thrusting with abandon. He slipped a hand to grip and squeeze on his own cock, in tandem with Sykkuno.

When Sykkuno was getting more frantic, Toast slipped three fingers inside of him and kept the harsh pace until he was coming down his throat; bitter and musky and something so familiar. When he was sure that the last spurt had come out, he pulled off slowly and kissed Sykkuno, licking his own taste into his mouth. Sykkuno hated the taste of semen, though he was used to the smell. But he was so used in his adamancy to please Toast that he didn’t think about it anymore whenever he swallowed cum from either of them.

“Hang onto something,” Toast said in a low voice, husky and wrecked. “And, do scream, Sykkuno.”

Sykkuno held the headboard tight between his fingers as Toast fucked him like he was trying to fuck all of his frustration, affection, love, promises and every single part of him that he wanted Sykkuno to know, to see, to own. He did what he was told, screaming so beautifully as Toast wrecked him with controlled recklessness—a predator with blood on his fangs, and feeling terribly, genuinely gratified that Sykkuno was not a prey. Had never been one in Toast’s arms.

“Jeremy—“ he called out between gasps. It must have been too much, but he could endure, he would endure this for Toast. “Jeremy, please, fu—harder.”

Toast laughed, guttural and visceral as he bit and sucked on Sykkuno’s neck, his shoulders, his chest. He fucked into him with everything he had; relishing in the cries it earned him with each thrust. The bed was creaking loudly and Toast thought that it, compared to everything else, was the dirtiest sound they could make in this room. His chest was burning, he gasped for air, straight into the kiss that Sykkuno surged up to give.

He was aching, everywhere; his thighs, his back, his arms, his hips, his heart. But Sykkuno was still unfailingly enduring beneath him, still so unfairly beautiful in his arms, still so unbelievably his—through and through.

Soon, Toast promised. We can still dance, can’t we? Even with bleeding feet and broken bones, let’s dance away until this madness envelope us completely. Won’t we look so beautiful in this chaos?

Toast came with a harsh bite to Sykkuno’s arm, sinking his teeth until Sykkuno cried out and growled at him, gripping the back of Toast’s neck and keeping him there throughout the orgasm. He felt weak, he felt empowered and so, so heartbroken by this beautiful boy with his love and glorious insanity in taking what he wanted just because Toast had taught him to the finer points of it. Oh, but how gratifying it was to be broken by him.

He felt the soft pats on his head, fluttering kisses on his temple as he regained his breath. Just as he was about to say something, it delved into a surprised groan when Sykkuno bit on his shoulder, unexpectedly hard and insistent on breaking skin.

“Ow!” he cried out. “What—what the fuck, Sykkuno?!”

Sykkuno pulled away, a little bit of blood on his teeth. He scrunched his face unhappily. “Blood tastes icky.”

Toast laughed; free, endeared. “Who the fuck says icky nowadays? You’re almost thirty, for fuck’s sake.”

“We’re Asian,” Sykkuno said. “We’re cursed with good genetics.”

“I’m Canadian,” Toast said, just because he liked messing with him. “That’s not the point, baby. You have a potty mouth hidden down there, stop saying disgusting things like ‘icky’. You’re not a toddler.”

“You literally just called me baby!” Sykkuno accused, face scandalized and trying very hard not to laugh.

Toast pulled out suddenly as retaliation, and watched in vengeful glee as Sykkuno’s complaint was cut short in a silent moan. Though he also had to sigh and hold himself back from persuading Sykkuno into another round. He might want to, but they were sticky and Toast did have his refractory period. Sykkuno was dripping wet down there, and Toast’s dick gave a weak jump at the sight. He kissed him softly and got up to get some wipes instead.

They got rid of the tattered costume, along with the fishnet. Sykkuno kept the hat, however. “As a token, or something, you know?” and Toast didn’t explain why he laughed suddenly at that. He deposited a boneless Sykkuno on his chair, and changed the sheets with a new one. The smell of sex and semen was still in the air, but it was better to sleep on dry, clean sheets. The last one was completely ruined.

Toast felt that the exhaustion finally caught up to him, and drew Sykkuno close in his arms. “Text Ryan,” he said, before settling against Sykkuno’s chest and breathing in the familiar scent of his detergent, the softness of his shirt. He peeked from the bottom of the screen. ‘The basement is safe now,’ Sykkuno had typed in. That joke was going strong in this house, it seemed.

“Toast,” Sykkuno called out a moment later. “Can you stay the night?”

“And where will I stream later?” he asked, even if he had already made some excuses to feed to the audience in his head.

“You can use my computer,” was the expected answer. “I’m not streaming tonight, anyway. I can postpone the grinding for some other day.”

Toast pulled back a little to properly look at him. “That’s quite a bold move, Sykkuno,” he said, drawling out the name like an affectionate mockery.

Sykkuno looked pretty, looked tired and determined all at once; he looked in control. “This is the right time to be bold, isn’t it right, Toast?”

Toast didn’t break the contact, looking at Sykkuno with the same intense scrutiny he had given him since the first time around. Sykkuno didn’t waver, didn’t so much as quiver under his sharp gaze. They were on the last few stages of this game, and Sykkuno was wrapping up the match with his finishing moves. Toast nodded, and prepared his as well.

“Yeah,” he said, low and acknowledging. “It is.”

Sykkuno’s eyes gentled and Toast took it as a cue to kiss him softly on the lips, before snoring away his exhaustion. There was no way in hell people wouldn’t speculate, both the audience and fellow streamers. Especially people closest to them. Scarra might have a clue or two about what Toast had planned, but he didn’t think that he would have the energy to deal with all the incessant questions from anyone else. He had to, however—this pretty, dirty darling was too much to let go.

Maybe he really would get around buying his own mug, as Sykkuno had been complaining about for the past few months already. He would, but he would still use his mug just because he liked seeing Sykkuno irked up and grumpy. He didn’t think he would mind terribly, in all honesty. It was just one more thing in Sykkuno’s life with traces of Toast in it. Just like his body, his conviction, his mind, his heart—the way he stood with precarious balance on the edge; the way he enchanted and gently took Toast’s hand, taking him away from the ship, and into the murky, comforting depth of the ocean.

When Ryan went back, the house was silent. Toast’s shoes were still there however, and it raised an eyebrow on his forehead. Toast would typically stay the night if he came late in the evening, and would be back to L.A. by the morning. He had come with wild eyes and tension coiling tight on his shoulders when he came this afternoon, however. Ryan thought that maybe something had shifted in the electrifying stalemate they were holding right now. Maybe it had already been shifting since the first time Toast had visited alone.

If he recalled correctly, Toast had a stream later on. Maybe he’d take a plane back, the way he evidently did when he came. He laughed to himself as he thought about how exciting these people’s lives were; to actually see someone who went on a flight just to see the person he was wrapped up with the most, without thinking about anything else in the process. As if neither Toast nor Sykkuno could wait for four more hours, or to wait for any other day, honestly.

It wasn’t his business, but Ryan was still pretty amused by it. It was like seeing a drama, in real life, with real people, and real consequences. He didn’t think that they thought they were immune to consequences, that they were infallible. There would be a lot that they have to suffer through, but there could be a lot more that they have anticipated and braced for.

He had his own schedule pretty soon. He wouldn’t have heard Toast when he went back, but that was alright. Toast still owed him some food or whatever to make up for kicking him out of the house, instead of the rooms today. He’d probably be back by the end of this week, or the next. He had come more and more frequently since the first time, and Ryan got so used to the sight of Sykkuno relaxed and astoundingly vicious in Toast’s presence. He was pretty fun that way, too.

They probably fucked, napped, talked, and Toast might just slip out of the door when Ryan was distracted by his stream for him to notice. So, really, there was no one to blame but himself when he nearly choked on his water when he opened a new tab, and saw Toast’s face streaming from somewhere that was clearly not his room, but was familiar enough that anyone could guess where he was right now.

Ryan quickly covered up the slip, and said something about getting some snacks. He muted the microphone, went out of the cam’s range, and laughed pretty hard as he crouched on the floor. Toast didn’t go back to L.A.; he was still here, streaming from Sykkuno’s computer, staying the night and he wondered what had happened today.

Right, he didn’t want to know.

He stood up and went to the kitchen, because yeah, why not actually grab something to munch. Sykkuno was already there, sitting with both feet hugged close to his chest. His mug was filled with tea, and a phone rested against it as Sykkuno watched the same stream Ryan had opened in his browser. He nodded his head as a greeting as soon as the man noticed him entering the room.

“Sorry about hogging the whole house,” Sykkuno said, smile soft and full of guilt. “Uh, I- I can buy dinner for the next week?”

Ryan smiled back at him, and took out some chips and two more water bottles. “Awesome, but don’t kick me out too often. I might just find myself a homeless man without me realizing it.”

Sykkuno laughed at that, his shoulders easing up and he leaned his head back on his knees as Toast threw out lame jokes left and right. “Yes,” Toast said, voice almost bored even if his eyes were teasing, “I’m in Sykkuno’s room, using his computer. Yes, I finally monopolize this infamous screen by myself.”

Ryan could imagine Toast’s fingers tapping away in slow rhythm as he talked. It was something that people would talk about, for one thing or another. Just the fact that Toast visited alone, and long enough for him to do his stream there, was a guarantee of hundreds, if not thousands of clips and threads on multiple platforms. He wasn’t done in surprising his audience, however.

“Hmm? Sykkuno?” Toast said, maybe he was checking his chat. “Probably in the kitchen, confiscating my phone.”

Sykkuno’s mouth was opened in a small circle, but he narrowed his eyes just a second after. A few moment, and he talked into the phone. “Wait, I’m not confiscating your phone,” he said to what appeared as a discord call. Ryan grinned, surprised and amused and maybe thinking that he was going to go insane from all of these imaginary acrobatics these two did in tearing each other down. “You- you gave it to me yourself—to pacify me, as you said.”

“How nice of you to join us, Sykkuno,” Toast calmly replied, amongst the surprised gasps and greetings in the group call. He had that mocking inflection in Sykkuno’s name again. By now Ryan was so used to it that it sounded more like a pet name or some sort. “Is it working, though? Are you pacified?”

“Maybe,” Sykkuno said, letting a drop of cold haughtiness in his voice the way he usually talked when Toast pissed him off. Ryan sighed and resigned himself with too many questions on his pm regarding his housemate, and too many recommendations in his YouTube regarding this incident. He had seen those ‘off-stream Sykkuno’ videos that people had raved about. If only they knew.

“Disappointing,” Toast answered. “Sadly I have to win this match first before I can go over there and pacify you myself. How does that sound?”

Sykkuno was laughing before he was even finished. Something familiar and soft, something that hid too many secrets and promises. The voice call was in a chaos from too many people speaking at once. Rae was screaming at them to stop flirting in the group voice call, for God’s sake! Have some decency!

Ryan had to admit that he would side with Rae this time around. Though he couldn’t deny that it was exactly as chaotic and entertaining as he thought if people were to find out about Toast and Sykkuno, one way or another. One tiny, microscopic hint and they lost their shits. Weaklings, he sighed. He remembered all the time the two of them were pressed so close, unrepentant in their search of each other’s reassuring presence; all the clatters and surfaces of this house that had probably been subjected to inappropriate use by them.

“Jesus, Toast,” Sykkuno said, laughter still ringing in the kitchen. “How long do I have to wait if you have to win it?”

There were answers of Sykkuno, you little shit, and ooh, feisty, and Ryan’s personal favorite: ‘Apply some ice for the burned area, Toast,’ because it came from Corpse’s low, raspy voice. Sykkuno laughed harder, and the noise was too much to discern who talked over whom anymore.

“Have a little faith, baby,” Toast said after the initial breakdown from Corpse’s sudden appearance had died down, setting up another one with the slip of endearment. It was intentional, Ryan could tell. “Have I ever let you down?”

Maybe Sykkuno would laugh again, treat it as a joke that they could refer to in the future. Maybe he would lie and stutter and flirt away from the situation with endearing deflections, and they would forget about this in a month or so. But Sykkuno traced the mouth of his mug with slow, gentle touch, and Ryan understood that both Toast and Sykkuno were ready for the next move in the last stage.

“No,” Sykkuno said, far too honest for something that was recorded and would be clipped and taken out of context a thousand times and over. “Good luck, then, Toast.”

The call was suspiciously silent, as if they intentionally kept their mouth shut just so Toast and Sykkuno could have pseudo-privacy in a very public conversation. Sykkuno surprisingly looked up to Ryan, who was leaning against the isle, and smiled at him. He could do nothing but return it. Maybe he was just feeling happy and relieved that they could break out of the same move in a very long time. Maybe he was filled with too much flower petals that he felt too soft and floaty because of them. Ryan didn’t know, but Sykkuno looked serene and content, and he felt like it was good enough for him.

He nodded at Sykkuno and took his snacks and bottles of water out of the kitchen. He faintly heard Sykkuno wishing the others good luck too, Rae’s teasing of ‘oh, now you remember us?’ and another bout of laughter as he bid them goodbye. Ryan’s own chat was suddenly bombarded with ‘Have you seen Toast’s stream?’, ‘Is Toast there?’, ‘RYAN WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING IN YOUR HOUSE JESUS FRUDGEJSKDJEWI’. Ryan bit back his amused grin and ate his chips like there weren’t two men who were so hopelessly enraptured by each other in the other rooms of this house.

‘How do you even withstand them in same room?’ Dream had messaged him. ‘I watched the stream. Holy fuck, it was like watching soft-core porn or something.’

A corner of his lips was pulled into a smile, halfway to laugh. ‘I don’t,’ he answered simply. ‘I told myself I don’t want to know. Smile and wave, you know?’

‘Yeah,’ Dream replied. Finally, someone who understood. ‘Just smile and wave, boys.’

He sent the gif with the whole penguin gang saying the quote, and went back to his stream. If anything, he could at least expect an interesting timeline and clips recommendation tomorrow. And free food for a week, too.

No one said anything about it. In fact, everyone was acting like nothing happened at all that Toast felt like a bomb was ticking away in the distance. Sooner or later, people would want to know. Or maybe, they already knew. Maybe they had had their suspicion and what he did a few weeks back was all the confirmation they needed. He didn’t fool himself by thinking that they wouldn’t want him to talk, however.

So when Yvonne cornered him on a beer-pong night, Toast put on his audience smile and took a small sip of his vodka. He needed to be clearheaded in navigating this landmine, and he wasn’t Scarra, who could down a whole bottle and talk steadily as if he was only drinking infused water.

“When are you going to tell us about it?” she asked, didn’t waste her time in getting to the point because Yvonne had witnessed the day when Toast and Sykkuno went home together, necks marked and tension so clear in the spaces they left between them.

“Never, probably,” he said.

Yvonne looked surprised at that, a little bit hurt and a whole lot more understanding. “You don’t trust us about this.”

He looked down at his cup, and didn’t look at her. “I do,” he said. “But this isn’t something that can be understood. Everything is too messy, Yvonne, and we intentionally leave it that way.”

Lily unabashedly looked at them from where she was perched on the arm of the chair Michael was sitting on. Like she could hear every word he didn’t say and keep it inside the tunes of her music. Toast took a deep breath and downed the rest of his drink. It burned deep in his chest, but he kept himself from coughing.

“What can you tell us, then?” she asked. She really was too kind to them.

“That I’m a fool and Sykkuno is winning,” he said. “And that I’m furniture shopping next month.”

“Shit,” Yvonne laughed. “You’re right. He’s winning, maybe since the start, Toast. Do you need help with the shopping?”

He settled back on the air of familiarity, of implicit trust he put on this little band of his chosen family. They had gone through a lot of things; enjoying the good, suffering in the mistakes. They had ridden themselves of people that could break them further apart, and pushed each other to be a better version than the one they left in the mangled carcass of the memories. It would be hard, to not wake up to Yvonne’s reassuring smile, Lily’s scream and Michael’s maniacal laughter, to bounce off his thoughts to Scarra and had them bounced back with the same frequency and reassurance, to be in the encompassing calmness that Brodin presented at all times despite his chaotic ideas.

But Toast wouldn’t go down without one last bang, and Sykkuno wouldn’t expect less from him.

His little darling was currently out in Corpse’s apartment right now. The last time Sykkuno texted him, they were in a heated discussion about Toast’s ass. He nodded in appreciation and told them that they should have a threesome sometimes. Sykkuno laughed and said that maybe they should. Toast read it and didn’t reply, knowing that it wouldn’t happen. Corpse could have a piece of Sykkuno that Toast couldn’t, and Toast would let them have their soft, pitter-patter of raindrops romance. But letting Sykkuno being by Corpse’s side, was entirely different than letting Corpse inside of the bond they had between them. In that one, Toast was selfish and entirely too cruel and brutal to whoever that tried to come between them. It was one of the few things that he kept for himself, the way that Sykkuno wanted it to be.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’ll be cool. Thanks, Yvonne.”

She smiled at him; gentle, something that Toast needed for the upcoming storm he had to go through. All the lime-light they would get after this, all the potential backlash and constant scrutiny and people hounding them for the sliver bit of secrets that they could twist and squeeze into poisonous words. His sister knew about his involvement with Sykkuno, and she didn’t approve the way they were handling this. His whole family would have something to say about it, too. He was just thankful that not all of them were constantly updated about the rumors circulating around. It was bad enough that his brother was constantly asking whether Sykkuno was in relationship with another man, whether Toast was aware that he was setting himself up for heartbreak.

He honestly didn’t know how to tell them that he was far too indulging when it came to whatever Sykkuno wanted to do; didn’t know how to say that Toast appreciated Sykkuno even more the crazier he presented his moves. He could say that he was marrying Sykkuno next week, and they wouldn’t believe a word. Why would they? When Toast had been entirely too silent about them in front of his family, when Sykkuno was surrounded by too many people who flirted with him left and right, and Toast had never been the one who told Sykkuno how pretty he looked, how nice he was, how he liked him and would like to talk late into the night with him.

What happened a few weeks ago could be seen as a milestone, and it actually was in the term of the actual move he gave in their game. But Toast would give everything for his family, and something even more dangerous, more intimate for Sykkuno. It was just that the both of them understood that Sykkuno was not the person that could be brought into his family right now. Maybe later, after they were done with this; after Sykkuno had put him in a checkmate, and they could settle into a new territory where Toast could show him how he wanted to put his fingers on Sykkuno’s lips in front of everyone, and tell him he was the prettiest, vindictive darling that Toast had ever met in his life.

He almost couldn’t believe that all he wanted from Sykkuno was this exhilarating push and pull at the start, and look at him now. Weakened and stronger than ever in his acceptance of every single side that Sykkuno had, in his affection that went beyond his wildness and fury in getting what he wanted. Something gentler, more malleable; like a muted evening spent with each other.

Toast’s sword had clattered to the ground and all of his army dead in the battlefield. He could feel the tip of Sykkuno’s blade digging into his skin, and he welcomed the freedom of his defeat—the victory of having Sykkuno close enough so he could bathe him with his blood.

‘Check the twitter.’ Rae’s text came a moment after, and he thought he knew what he would find there. Because Scarra’s eyes widened, and he looked up at Toast unconsciously. He lounged his feet on the bench, and went through his schedule in his head, finding the time for another four-hour drive to a house in Las Vegas.

His mentions were bombarded, and his timeline was filled to the brim by it. Corpse had tweeted a picture with no caption. It was Sykkuno, sleeping with his head leaning on a shoulder; Corpse’s long fingers in-between his strands of hair, large palm holding his head protectively. The room was dark, and there was a light illuminating Sykkuno’s face from something that Toast guessed was a screen. He looked pretty like that, Toast decided. Serene and calm in his sleep, none of the vicious, wild man that had forced Toast to a corner. He saved the picture to his phone and made another meme about Sykkuno leaving him to simp for Corpse, he posted it with even more dramatic caption than the last one he made out of Toy’s Story scene.

He enjoyed the rest of the evening with the others. Sykkuno sent him a text with a picture attached. It was Corpse’s turn to be in a picture where he was asleep. They were on a bed, and Sykkuno was nestled comfortably on his chest. His smile was Cheshire wicked, but still so, so pretty. He was happy, comfortable, and warm and Toast couldn’t stop the affection in his chest.

‘Send me the sex tape,’ he sent. They probably did it, they probably didn’t. Toast would start a bet with Rae, and roped Lily on it, too. Just because Michael would find out, and bet outrageously on the latter speculation.

‘Corpse is a romantic,’ Sykkuno replied, to which Toast understood that Sykkuno would fuck him within an inch of his life and Toast would kiss every part he had touch and leave a mark next to the ones Corpse had made.

‘Be safe, use condoms,’ he texted, and threw the pong ball onto a cup. Brodin sighed and drank his beer, and Toast had never felt this content, this settled in the long time since Sykkuno and he started all of this wretched warfare.

He wondered if he could persuade Corpse to put a collar on Sykkuno, and send him the pictures after. He could do it himself, of course. But Sykkuno would let him, sit so prettily, and bite his hands bloody afterwards. Toast thought that it was as well, because he’d pull the leash so hard that it would leave bruises and welts; a permanent mark that would stay long after the bruises had healed.

‘Sykkuno is fucking crazy,’ Corpse texted him at two in the morning, and Toast laughed until he couldn’t breathe. Oh, little darling.

‘That’s my boy.’

He wondered what kind of lover Corpse would be. He was so reserved about himself, couldn’t articulate his feelings well, but was so heartbreakingly genuine in his compliments and thoughts about his friends. Like Sykkuno, he had been lonely for the most of his life. Maybe he was gentle, as opposed to Toast. Maybe he submitted under Sykkuno completely because he wasn’t used to handling the insatiable force that man possessed. Maybe he did it because that was the way he loved Sykkuno—the same way Toast did the same in nearly everything but physical.

Instead of a form of a fight, it would be a gift bestowed by Sykkuno for Corpse. Instead of wildness born from vicious counter of Toast’s strikes, it was from the excitement of showing Corpse the things they could have together. He had never pitied Corpse; for he was young, he was also unbelievably strong despite the fragility in his life. He had the most mental motivation for his success, and that part was familiar for Sykkuno and his own ambitions that Toast had instilled in him. Corpse knew perfectly that he could never have what he wanted, but he didn’t back down from the risks. That in itself was also something that Sykkuno appreciated, the reason why he chose to take Corpse’s hand and try a new tune to an entirely new dance.

Still, the clock would strike, and at the end of the night Sykkuno would twirl back into Toast’s arms, knives hidden beneath flowing dress and poison so thick on his glossy lips. Corpse knew who his Cinderella was, and still had to travel far and beyond to hunt him down. Sykkuno said, Corpse would wait, and Toast trusted that he would. Not because he was foolish, but because Corpse knew that he could hold his own fight, knew that he held a part of Sykkuno that Toast couldn’t touch. They all were playing a game, they all were probably insane.

But wasn’t it fun? To play with people who knew all the rules and all the risks that they were willing to take. To push and pull at the tide, hailing storms and tsunamis to flatten the battlefield. No one could come out on top, and they put a faith in that certainty. This was an enjoyment; this was precious gems falling like raindrops from Sykkuno’s lips as he roped them into the harsh torrent of the seas. They all were going to drown and rot like all the bodies piling up from playing games like this.

Oh, but wasn’t it so fun? To die in a journey, to follow the delicate hands of the siren, and be her jolly sailor bold. To be shredded by the Gods, and rise again as the thunderstorm. The only way to go through a storm was to endure the harsh rain and dangerous tides. The thunder would strike them, and the hull was filled with salty water, but Sykkuno said, “Hail the colors,” and into the chaos they went.

Whether the ship sunk, whether they came out to the other side unharmed, they would wrap up this stage and deal with the aftermath. In that, Toast put a faith that no matter the outcome, Sykkuno would still be there. As the siren, as the captain, as another rotting body for the Gods’ sacrifices. After all, Toast had never pitied Corpse.

He pitied Sykkuno and his inability to let go of his vice grip on Toast’s heart, as he pitied himself with the way his fingers curled so gently around Sykkuno’s own heart, the strong line of his neck.

“You love him?” Ryan had asked, and Toast smiled because he loved Sykkuno like it was something inevitable, something certain like the sun and the bang of the supernova. Like he could do nothing better than this.

He traced his signature on the paper, thinking about furniture shopping and packing his belongings in boxes. Thinking about his last move before the checkmate, of admitting defeat and falling at Sykkuno’s feet. It was glorious, and there was nothing that Toast could do better than this—drenching Sykkuno in his blood from a stab to his heart, driving a hidden dagger deep into his neck and felt the warmth of the crimson on his skin. And Sykkuno would laugh, would smile so gently at him, would love him all the more because of it.

A victory in his defeat; a final claim of his sweet, filthy darling—so terribly vicious, so heartbreakingly lovely. And so, so entirely his.

Ryan had never asked this to Sykkuno before.

Toast had come and gone in increasing frequency these days. Ryan thought that he should find a new hobby, a new person before he spent all his money on treating Ryan to food and things as consolation and flight tickets so he could meet Sykkuno approximately three hours sooner. He had seen the picture of Corpse and Sykkuno all around the internet, had been texted by Sean with a simple, ‘I wish you strength and endurance, my guy,’ and Ryan was incredibly grateful that someone shared this madness aside from him and Rae. He was sure that Lily knew, that Dream had his own thoughts on it, but Ryan didn’t talk about this with them aside from remarks in conversations.

Sykkuno had gone to a lot of dates with Corpse, had come home with clothes that Ryan knew wasn’t his because they hung a little loose on his lithe frame. He had talked about hitting the gym and eating more healthily because grease and fat didn’t exactly do it for him anymore. Ryan knew fully well it was because he wore Corpse’s and Toast’s clothes intermittently and all of them hugged Sykkuno like a blanket. Sykkuno had said that Corpse was a little bit taller than him, and Toast was evidently a few inches shorter, but both of them had bigger build and Sykkuno looked painfully domestic swaddled in his—boyfriends? Partners? Fellow deranged men in their crazy game?—intimate friends’ clothes.

Aside from that one time he streamed from Sykkuno’s room, the way he slipped in some endearments and flirty words when they played together, Toast didn’t share anything publicly about their relationship. But Toast had been leaving his things all over this house, and he knew that Sykkuno had become less hostile and more open in his affection for Toast. They were becoming closer and closer still to the end of their dance.

“Do you think Toast will flaunt you all over the internet once you’re done with your satanic ritual?” he asked one afternoon.

Sykkuno looked at him with tired eyes and a smile. He had just finished his six hours stream from this morning. He pushed around the vegetable on his plate with evident disdain. “Yeah, he will,” he said. “Toast is very content oriented in front of the camera. That’s part of the reason why he’s so entertaining for his audience.”

“That’s true,” Ryan nodded. “Are you comfortable with it?”

The man finally chewed on his greens and swallowed with difficulty. Ryan couldn’t understand how was it that from everything that Sykkuno had put into his mouth—and he knew a lot because Toast and Sykkuno was horrendously shameless—he drew the line on vegetables. He was almost petulant in his reluctance to be healthy, despite his new resolutions.

“Toast will give the audience what they wanted and expected,” he answered. “But he’s also possessive, you know? He couldn’t bear the thought of other people seeing what I gave only to him all this time.”

“Would Corpse?” he then asked.

At this, Sykkuno thought a little bit longer. “Maybe. Because Corpse is unforgivingly earnest, and he will be more genuine in his way of showing me off. The thing is, I fell in love with Toast first, and have been for a long time. Corpse doesn’t have any secret that he wants to desperately guard, yet.”

Ryan sighed at the last part. “I feel like I have to endure this satanic ritual longer than I thought.”

“Good luck, Ryan,” Sykkuno said, sympathetic even if he was laughing behind his dainty hand.

They cooked a lot these days. Less takeouts because Ryan always ate his takeouts alone now since Sykkuno was far too distracted by the slant of Toast’s easy smile when he was in the house. So they cooked because Sykkuno would be there. Ryan knew he felt guilty about leaving him alone cooking their food, and would finally waddle to the kitchen and sat on the chair, talking amiably as Ryan chopped the vegetables. He liked this development, he could finally get into the ‘Sykkuno has waddled and waited in front of my doors like a newly domesticated penguin’ gang. Well, it was kitchen, but eh. Semantics.

“Are you—“ Sykkuno bit his lip, looked down, then seemed to be determined in pushing through. “Are you okay? With everything. I- I mean, it’s not easy to accept, regardless how you see it. And you’ve seen a lot.”

“I have,” Ryan nodded, injecting as much suffering into the word as he dramatically could. “And I’ve seen your naked ass, too. That should have been the deal breaker, but it’s pretty entertaining. Seeing how you act with him, I mean. Not the accidentally seeing you fucking with him on the kitchen thing.”

Sykkuno went red from the memory. “We- we didn’t know you’d be walking into the kitchen at that hour!” he defended. “You- you- you usually know when we, uh, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re very loud, Sykkuno,” he said mercilessly. This was a little revenge for everything the two of them had made him endure. “And you were quiet at that time. How was I supposed to know?”

“Toast gagged me,” he sighed, still red around the cheeks but was already back to his unbothered way of speaking when it concerned Toast.

“I know,” Ryan said. “Don’t remind me. It’s hard enough for me to forget the nightmares. Don’t torture me like this, Sykkuno.”

“You’re so nice,” Sykkuno sighed again, leaning his head on the table after he put away his plate. “The nicest.”

“Oh?” he waggled his eyebrows. “Nicer than Toast?”

Sykkuno smiled softly, finger thumping against his mug. The very same one that Toast and he fought about each time Toast visited. “Toast is not nice, though. So you’re still the nicest.”

“I’m glad to know,” he said, and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon chattering away with his housemate before he crashed to the nearest soft surface to sleep until midnight.

The other time Ryan asked something that he had never asked before to Sykkuno, Toast was in the house. He had brought his car this time, and had wasted no time in railing Sykkuno on the couch in the living room. Ryan didn’t account the possibility since he had only witnessed them fucking in the kitchen; most of the time they did whatever satanic ritual they did in Sykkuno’s room. So he walked right into the sight of Sykkuno’s lithe body bouncing on Toast’s lap. They didn’t even seem surprised or embarrassed by it. Ryan was just thankful that they were still more or less clothed this time around.

“Oh, hi Ryan,” Toast had calmly called out. “Sykkuno, say hi.” Sykkuno growled at him and gripped his hair in a tight clench as an answer; guess he didn’t want to say hi.

“Hi Toast, hi Sykkuno,” he said, hurriedly walking to his room and unlocking the door. “Bye Toast, bye Sykkuno.”

Sykkuno had apologized profusely afterwards, and Toast lounged back on his chair even if he was sporting a nasty bite mark on his neck. Ryan was desensitized enough by now that he only felt mild discomfort at the sight. It was still fun to poke at Sykkuno and pretend to be terribly offended. Sometimes, Ryan forgot that Sykkuno still had a shy, sweet side because of the times he had witnessed him with his different persona in Toast’s presence.

So in a spur of the moment, Ryan just joked, “I feel like I remember how many moles Sykkuno has on his back at this point. Have you considered having a threesome with me?”

He had expected some dirty jokes out of Toast’s mouth, and Sykkuno stuttering and hissing at Toast to shut up. But all he got was Sykkuno laughing uncontrollably, breathless and pretty. He wasn’t laughing at Ryan, however. He looked like he remembered something that he was terribly amused at.

“Do I want to know?” he asked to Toast.

Toast surreptitiously took Sykkuno’s mug while he was still busy keeping his hiccupping laughter in check. “Nope,” he said, sipping on the bitter coffee and pulling a face at it. He kept drinking, however. “You really don’t wanna know about this one.”

He trusted him on that; knowing Sykkuno, it was probably something outrageous that people would never expect from him. Even more so because Toast didn’t immediately give him the context. It was alright, Ryan was content in his ignorance about whatever it was Sykkuno was laughing hysterically about.

“What do you like about Toast the most?” he had asked another time.

Neither of them was streaming, although Sykkuno spent hours playing games in his room. They were watching something on the television that they didn’t particularly care about. Sykkuno was wearing Toast’s shirt and was texting away on his phone. By the lack of manic smile, it wasn’t Toast.

“Hmm?” he said distractedly. “Oh, um. I don’t know, there are a lot of things I like about him.”

He could see why Toast was so mercilessly cutthroat with Sykkuno. He had a tendency of answering without actually answering. They were friends, however. Sykkuno would give him the answer because they had been so used to each other’s presence and twists.

“Certainly,” he said. “But what makes you stay for a long time? A lot of people will be willing to stand by your side, and Toast wasn’t exactly this gentle with you back then.”

“True,” he said. “But he’s not exactly gentle now, either.”

Ryan ignored the way Sykkuno ignored the first part of his sentence. “Maybe. But he told me he loves you the first time he came here alone.”

Sykkuno looked surprised at that, phone forgotten and mouth opened in a little ‘o’. “Oh,” he breathed out. “That’s- that’s—um. Yeah. He- he’s just. Toast is just so unapologetically true to himself, and I think he feels so real to me compared to everyone else. Like- like I can touch him with my fingers and feel something solid waiting, you know? I like having a lot of friends now, but Toast was the first one who figured me out and accepted everything that I am.”

He nodded. Maybe he didn’t understand everything, but at the very least he could understand the honest affection in Sykkuno’s eyes, the gentle cadence of his words. “Then why the long game?”

Sykkuno’s smile was small and private. “Toast loves me only recently, while I have loved him long before he realized. He thought I was just infatuated, that’s why he likes pushing at my buttons. He thought it will go away with time. This- this is the only way I know, to convince him that I’m capable of handling him in return. Toast—he- he likes games and challenges, but he rarely can find one he’s interested in in his life. I think that’s why he was so surprised that I was the one who initiated this.”

“You two are mental, Sykkuno,” he told him with a laugh. “But that’s alright. You’re very genuine about him. I think if he doesn’t love you as much, I’ll say something about over-investing. I don’t even know if you have anything left from loving that much.”

The smile turned shy now. “Toast is not nice,” he said, “but he keeps the pieces I gave to him very carefully, you know? I will still have myself even if we didn’t work out.”

“That’s frankly amazing,” Ryan admitted. “To have that kind of absolute trust in someone.”

“It is scary,” Sykkuno said. “But Toast taught me how to give in without losing myself. He’s nice, in that way. In a lot of ways that he doesn’t want to admit, actually.”

But there was still one thing that bothered him: the endgame, and where Corpse would fit in that. Ryan shouldn’t be prying his answers like this. But once everything was out in the open, that question would be inevitable.

“What about Corpse?” he asked, feeling a little bit apprehensive and nervous.

Sykkuno didn’t seem bothered, however. “Corpse loves me, but he’s not in love with me. It’s always been him who indulges me, not the other way around.”

That stunned him, this wasn’t something he expected. “What?” he asked, then, just because he thought he heard wrong, once again. “Wait, what?”

He laughed, maybe Ryan’s face really did look that stupid in his surprise. “You know? The kind of love that doesn’t discriminate whether he will end up with me or not. The constant, certain kind of love that will always be there regardless of everything. I fell in love with him because of that.”

“O-kay… what about Toast?”

“Toast fell in love only with certain sides of me,” Sykkuno explained. “He learned slowly to love the rest with the same kind of conviction that Corpse has.”

“This is making my head spin,” he said. “What about you, then?”

“I am in love with the both of them, that’s why we’re in this predicament right now,” he said, too calm for someone who was involved in a complicated, confusing relationship with two other men. “But what I have for Toast is—it’s a lot more than I have for Corpse. It’s something that I’m willing to give myself for, everything necessary to have Toast by my side.”

It was never a question whether Toast felt the same or not; Ryan had seen the way he looked at Sykkuno. That wasn’t a commitment that he thought he could have for anyone in the long run. To be twined and tangled so close that there wasn’t any space, and yet still so freeing, so deliberate in letting Sykkuno taking his decisions and steps without chaining him.

“Now you’re making me scared of falling in love,” he sighed, leaning back on the couch because he was tired from this conversation alone.

Sykkuno’s laughter was a tinkling hiccup that Ryan was familiar with. There were too many things that he didn’t understand about his friends, individually and together. But at least, he could trust in his belief that regardless of everything, these were good people that he would want to keep in his life. Besides, he got free food and entertainment all year long, what was there not to like?

He really should keep doing what he did all this time to continue watching this fascinating game until the match was over. Keeping his smiles and waves for these crazy motherfuckers with their incredible, disastrously fulfilling kind of love.

‘Smile and wave, boys,’ he texted Sean, fully expecting him to understand the joke.

He could sense the tired sigh from somewhere in Ireland when Sean replied.

‘Just smile and wave.’

Ryan greeted him with a surprised face when he rang the doorbell. There were two suitcases, his blanket and two pillows on the backseat of his car, as well as his backpack. All he was wearing right now was short cargo pants and a button-up black shirt. And two packs of coffee for Ryan and Sykkuno since he knew how fast the latter went through the stack.

“Toast!” he said, smiling already. “Come in. Sykkuno’s not back yet, though.”

“I know,” he said, and gave the coffee packages for Ryan to take into the pantry. “He’s out on a date with his not-boyfriend.”

He laughed because both Corpse and Sykkuno had been posting about their outings more and more now, and people had started talking about their relationship. It would be all and well if Sykkuno and Toast were not so flirtatious in the streams nowadays. He had been generous in his pet names, and had streamed from Sykkuno’s room a few times since the first. To make matter worse, Sykkuno was now confident enough flitting in and out of the stream, giving plates of fruits or just sitting next to Toast and laying his head on his shoulders.

People were talking about publicity stunts, about regaining popularity with dating scandal, and remarks about Sykkuno’s involvement with two men were nasty and hilarious—because neither of them needed this kind of stunt to boost their fame. But it did give them publicity, and honestly, Toast was just enjoying the fall of the dominoes. They were aware of this risk; that was why they took it in strides and didn’t cower under the harsh glare of the spotlight. This was inevitable, this was necessary.

“You look happy today,” Ryan said, settling onto the couch. He had a dinner with his friends later on, he told Toast, but he could sit and talk with Toast before he had to go.

“I am,” Toast answered. “I’m here to knock Sykkuno off his feet before he won the game.”

“Still not finished with the satanic ritual, I see,” he nodded to himself

Toast could admit that he was almost giddy, that the happiness was clearly shown on his face and he didn’t try to stop it at all. Everything had finally settled in place, one by one, and they were waiting for the last few pieces that Sykkuno held. Pretty little darling with his cat ears and Corpse’s oversized sweater, wearing them without shame and looking too damn good at it. None of them could hold a candle to him.

Sykkuno came home just a little after forty-minutes. Toast didn’t tell him that he was coming, he never did. So seeing the surprise on his face had alerted Toast that he had done something. What a coincidence.

“Toast!” he said, biting his lip on a smile and accepted the kiss on his forehead. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Why?” he teased. “You still wanna go to Corpse’s after this? Can’t get enough even after the date?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sykkuno said brightly, and at that, Ryan actually choked on his saliva. From all of the outrageously inappropriate things he had seen, he had never heard Sykkuno outrightly swore in front of him before.

He reached out his arm, and Sykkuno pressed himself close to him. He looked comfortable in Toast’s shirt, in his arms, by his side. They would have this day in and day out very soon. Toast was finally going to fulfill his promises; so would Sykkuno, by the look of it.

“Did you have fun?” he asked conversationally, palming his key in his jeans pocket.

“I did,” Sykkuno said, softly, like he was surrounded by pastel-colored cotton candies. “We had coffees and pancakes.”

“Disgustingly bitter coffees,” Toast said, and they all laughed because Sykkuno had this allergy of putting sugar into his coffees and teas, even if he did like sweet things. Just not in his precious coffees.

Ryan’s phone pinged, and he was distracted by the chats as Sykkuno peered at Toast inquiringly. “Toast, what are you doing here?”

“Visiting you, isn’t that obvious?” he replied simply, and smiled at the increasing frustration in the line of Sykkuno’s lips.

“No, stop it,” he whined. “You have stream in an hour. Are you going to take the plane? We’re streaming together today so I can’t lend you my computer either.”

He grinned, and bypassed the obvious solution of using Ryan’s computer since he would be out with his friends. Because Sykkuno was getting antsy, and that answer would get Toast a nasty grip on his thighs. Those fingers might look dainty and delicate, but by God, Sykkuno had a mean clutch. When he was in the mood to fuck Toast for a change, his hips and asscheeks always came out aching and bruising.

“Why should I fly back?” he said, and he could almost taste the curiosity and realization that was coming fast in Sykkuno’s eyes. Gods, he wanted to bend Sykkuno on the table, or hold his hands and take him to Disneyland or something. “My house is three streets away from here, Sykkuno.”

Ryan dropped his phone, and Sykkuno looked like Toast had just stabbed him with a serrated knife, and pulled. There was an unholy glee and glory in every line of his form, he was fucking beautiful when he breathed out Toast’s name, fingers already clutching his arm like a vice.

“Jeremy,” he said, exhilarated, in love, absolutely furious for not realizing this sooner. “Jeremy, you’re not going to get out of this alive.”

“That is disconcerting,” Ryan called out. “Should I call the cops?”

“Nah,” Toast shook his head, even as his eyes never strayed from the glow on his darling’s face. “The cops will just pat him on the head and advise him on how to hide the body better.”

“True,” Ryan muttered.

“Jesus, Toast,” Sykkuno laughed, and laughed, and looked at Toast like he wasn’t real. Like everything was just a long, beloved fever dreams that they never wanted to wake up from. “You’re crazy, you- you’re crazy, Toast.”

He raised a brow even as he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading on his lips. “Thought that’s why you’re head over heels for me?”

“Jesus,” Sykkuno breathed out, and laughed again, and he looked so unbelievably pretty like this—happy, victorious.

“So…” he drawled. “Sy-kkuno, wanna christen every surface of my new house with me?”

Ryan groaned and looked terribly like a child who saw his parents making out in front of him. Although, on that regards, Ryan had gotten more than tongue actions for his share. The guy needed a medal of valor for his bravery in witnessing Sykkuno’s and Toast’s shameless behavior. But Toast honestly couldn’t focus on anything but his tall, broad-shouldered lover because his eyes were terribly bright with promises and something so sharp that Toast held his breath in fear of being cut in half.

“I have big windows,” he added unnecessarily, “and sturdy walls.”

Sykkuno laughed, unrestrained, unfailing in his crushing grip on Toast’s heart. “How many times do you think you can fuck me before we’re late for the stream?”

“Oh my God,” Ryan laughed, almost hysterics. “You fucking animals.”

Toast gave him a lazy smile and pulled Sykkuno up to his feet. “Only one way to find out, darling.”

They barely even stumbled from the front door before Sykkuno was turning around and pressed him against it. Toast fumbled with the locks as delicate fingers framed his face, lips sliding and tongue sneaking into his mouth in insistent touch even as Sykkuno kept it gentle and mild. Toast sled a hand under each thigh before he heaved the body up, straining his neck to continue the kiss while he walked blindly to where a big window with a direct view of the backyard was. Thank God it wasn’t far because Toast might be able to fuck Sykkuno for hours on end, but Sykkuno had gained more muscles, it seemed. Maybe living with Ryan had finally kickstarted his resolution of living healthily—or maybe it was just Ryan threatening Sykkuno with vegetables and exercise regimes, it was believable.

He put Sykkuno on the window sill, grappling with his sweater and pulling it off his head, ruining his perfect hair. But it looked better mussed and messy from being gripped too harshly, Toast liked that look on him. Honestly, he liked any kind of look as long as Sykkuno was comfortably his. He laughed a little as several buttons from his shirt flew in courtesy of Sykkuno’s impatient fingers.

“What’s the hurry, pretty baby?” he teased, kissing the line of pale neck and unforgivingly biting hard on some parts. Sykkuno’s answering moan was something he tasted on his tongue.

“One hour,” he breathed out, “please tell me you have lube and condoms.”

“Why condoms? You don’t wanna be fucked full of my cum today?”

He pulled off Sykkuno’s jeans with practiced ease and went back to littering bites on exposed collarbones. He really did have the prettiest of everything, didn’t he? It could be his insect mind talking, but how could Toast not when Sykkuno was already flushed and writhing from simple touches of his lips, his hands?

“My gods, Toast,” he groaned, reaching into Toast’s wallet and pulling out two foil packets. “I don’t want to sit on my chair with your cum trickling out. It’s nasty.”

Toast pulled back to pretend ponder. “Should we use the plug?”

At that, Sykkuno smiled shyly and pecked his forehead. “Maybe next time.”

Jesus fuck, this guy. Toast took the lube and ripped the corner off to squirt some on his fingers. When he reached down to prod on the hole, he looked up with surprise, a sly smile forming on his lips. “Did you fuck Corpse beforehand?”

The answer was even worse than he expected, sending heats through his lungs and let it settle in the pit of his stomach, coiling tighter and tighter the harder Sykkuno bit his lip.

“Might have touched myself this morning,” he whispered, eyelashes fluttering as Toast thrust inside with a finger, then two in quick succession. He could take it, and more. “Thinking of you.”

“I’m here now,” he said, gentler than he intended, more vulnerable than he was aiming for. But Sykkuno took it with open mouthed kisses and brown eyes so soft, so warm despite the way his body was sinfully responding to Toast’s fingers.

“I know,” he said, and reached down to palm Toast’s cock in tandem with his thrusts.

It didn’t take long before Sykkuno was gripping his hair, little cries falling from his red-bitten lips. Toast helped him down from the window sill, and turned him around. “Palms up.”

He thrust in slow and just on the edge of cruel, watching in satisfaction as Sykkuno pressed his palms harder on the thick glass. “A good thing that the only person who will see you like this is me, isn’t that right, Thomas? Imagine if the walls aren’t there, if instead of a backyard, you’re in full view of passerby. Would you like that?”

Sykkuno let out a long, low moan that made Toast tightened his grip on either side of his hips, pushing himself inside until he was flushed from pelvis to the soft swell of his ass; until he was close enough to whisper into his reddened ears, “Would you want them to see you like this? So prettily fucked out, my shameless little darling, always asking for more. Should we call Corpse? Edison and Leslie? Let them watch and fuck you until you’re breathless? You can take two, right baby? You’ve done it before.”

“Toast,” Sykkuno’s voice was strained, shoulders trembling and cock achingly hard in Toast’s fingers when he finally allowed himself to pull out until the tip, and slammed back inside ruthlessly. “Stop- stop talking, my God, you’re killing me.”

“I’m doing it right, then,” he replied easily, and hid his face on the curve of his back as he started to thrust in earnest.

His lover was loud as always, unabashedly letting out cries and groans of pleasure as Toast kissed a fond smile on his sweaty skin. He tasted salt on his tongue as he licked his way up to his shoulder, sucking and biting and soothing the sting with soft kisses and filthy words. It really wasn’t a surprise that Sykkuno liked the dirty talk; even before they started fucking regularly, Toast had watched the way he squirmed and struggling to keep himself calm and collected whenever Toast threw him some inappropriate jokes and followed them with teasings of doing exactly what he had jested about.

“Wanna—come,” Sykkuno stuttered out.

“That’s fast,” Toast remarked, and lost his balance when Sykkuno suddenly turned around and pushed him until he was sprawling on the floor.

“No,” he smiled sweetly, poison dripping like honey in his taunts. “That’s an offer for you.”

Oh, little bitch, he thought and grinned as Sykkuno rode him like he truly was trying to kill Toast. There was no pause, no reprieve, and he felt the inevitable build of release from the constant friction and tight heat. When he tried to push up, however, Sykkuno locked his thighs on his sides and slowed down abruptly. He groaned, retaliating by planting his nails into skin and leaving marks.

“Sykkuno,” he growled out in warning, but the man seemed unfazed.

“What’s the hurry, pretty baby?” Sykkuno threw back, laughing like a maniac as Toast joined him because he couldn’t believe he decided to play with someone as vicious as Sykkuno, couldn’t believe he fell right into the trap and loving every second of it. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Jeremy. I’m going to touch myself, and you’re going to watch, and if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you come.”

“Fuck, you’re a cruel little bitch,” he said, but it was softened by the way he was smiling, eyes bright with affection and exhilaration.

Sykkuno chuckled a little. “I’m doing the right thing, then.”

So he let Sykkuno pull off, took his hard cock in delicate fingers and small palm as he jerked himself off torturously slow; the other hand reaching back to finger himself, brushing against Toast’s cock with every thrust. And Toast lay there with hands light on Sykkuno’s thigh, unable to do anything but watch because Sykkuno had given him the worst of blue balls before and he didn’t doubt the punishments that would come if he were to disregard his words. Maybe he was the masochist, and Sykkuno had been fuelling it with his manipulative side and sadistic tendencies.

“Should’ve known you’ll pull this off,” Sykkuno said, voice shaky as his fingers moved faster. “How does it feel to be beaten in your own game, Toast?”

“Absolutely glorious,” he answered, enjoying the view because there was little else to do. He was quite literally under Sykkuno’s mercy right now. “You’re so pretty when you’re not nice.”

“And still pretty when I’m nice, right?” he teased, a small smile on his lip as his breath stuttered.

“The prettiest I’ve seen in my life,” he said, truthful.

“The only one you’ll ever see in your life,” Sykkuno corrected, because he was possessive like that despite him sharing his affections to a lot of people. That was alright, because affections could be shared, his body could be touched by another, but Toast owned his heart and his mind right after he was sure that Sykkuno had owned them completely.

“The only one,” he agreed, and let out a moan when Sykkuno’s breath hitched and his fingers stuttered out to a stop as he came, sperm wet and thick on Toast’s chest. “My only one.”

“Cute,” Sykkuno said, smile loopy and body lax after his release.

“Can I pretty please with a cock on top come now?” he asked. He was nearing his limit by the show Sykkuno had given, and he would cry if he couldn’t get anything to touch his aching hardness right this second.

“Maybe,” the younger said, but he scooted back to take Toast’s cock in his grip and guided it to his hole. “Take what you need, Jeremy.”

So Toast did, surging up to finally touch Sykkuno, kissing him gently even as his fingers pinched and twisted the pebbled nipples; swallowing his cries and moans as he relentlessly thrust through the sensitivity he must’ve been feeling. He didn’t let up with the hard pace, whispering sweet nothings and gripped Sykkuno’s hair tight when he bit and sucked aggressively on his skin. Toast left some souvenirs on his neck as well, reddened bruises on top of what he had given early on, biting hard and didn’t let go when his pace finally became erratic nearing his orgasm.

“Come, Jeremy,” Sykkuno commanded with the gravity of a king left standing on the board, while Toast was left bleeding on the black and white tiles. And he would stay there, at peace even as his heart was out of his ribs, beating softly on the cradle of Sykkuno’s palm, enjoying his defeat as long as it was Sykkuno’s victory.

He came into the condom and loud cries that sounded like the mangled version of Sykkuno’s name, rolling out of his tongue like pleads of a sinner. He didn’t even have time to catch his breath before he was pulled up to his feet. “Wha—t?”

“Twenty minutes left,” Sykkuno said simply, waving his phone on Toast’s face. “Eat me out on your new bed?” he asked, sweetly, innocence wafting off his pores without shame.

Toast closed his eyes and sighed out a smile. “I’ve just put on the sheets, you know?”

“Even better,” Sykkuno said, laughing high and pretty as Toast pulled him to one of the rooms.

There was something disturbingly hilarious about their habit of talking their hearts out while they were having sex. Coupling. Mating. Whichever was more suited. Because as soon as Toast lapped up his tongue on the mess down there, tasting lube and musk, Sykkuno decided to engage him in a conversation like they were simply enjoying a tea on Ryan’s and Sykkuno’s shared house, a stolen mug on Toast’s hand.

“I broke up with Corpse today,” he said, even as he was controlling his breath when Toast delved his tongue inside. “He just nodded and kissed me. I think you might be seeing pictures on the net pretty soon.”

It wasn’t the scandalous pictures that concerned Toast. He pulled off and looked up, blinking as he processed the information. “You broke up,” he repeated. “How the fuck—“

Sykkuno laughed. “We’ve been dating for a few months now,” he said, and gently pushed Toast’s head back down again. “Remember that night I sent you pictures of me visiting him? You know I fucked him, Toast. Corpse showed me the chat between you and him. We agreed to date a few days after that.”

Toast had to pull out again at that, ignoring Sykkuno’s little whines. “He actually agreed to date you when he clearly knows you’re going after me?”

“You make it sounds like I’m trying to kill you,” the younger pouted. Oh, yeah, he forgot how adorable he looked that way even if Toast wanted to wretch at the overly sweet behavior. “More like fuck buddies with a lot of dates, honestly. I won’t hurt him like that, Toast, you know that. Corpse knows that. So we dated.”

“Okay,” Toast said slowly, eyes still wide and in disbelief even if he knew this was something that Sykkuno would and could pull off. “What changed, then? You weren’t aware of me moving here because I’m a besotted little fuck with a gigantic crush.”

“Awh,” he cooed, and pushed at Toast more insistently this time. He went down and worked his tongue in, enjoying the breathed out whispers of his name and words of pleasure that Sykkuno voiced out. “I- ah, deeper, Jeremy—I got the call from your sister. I’m expected there this Christmas, your mother wants to see me too.”

Sykkuno’s hand kept him in place when he made to move again. Because, what the fuck? Where did this come from? This was the farthest thing he could expect from Sykkuno, and his mind was whirring as he tried to figure out the complete piece of the puzzle. It was harder than he thought because Sykkuno kept mucking up the picture into an unrecognizable, messy abstract.

“I’ve been in- in c-contacts—stop nipping, damn you—with your sister. Got an earful from her and your brother too. The cutthroat really does run in the family,” he said with a fond sigh. “She made me cry, your brother made me cry, they’re satisfied by that and continued tormenting me for a few months before they let off the torture.”

There was no way Jenny and Jimmy would let Sykkuno off the hook that easily, especially with the way things were going around the internet regarding them. As if reading his thoughts, Sykkuno laughed, caressing his head softly.

“She told me you’re happy, Toast,” he said, and he sounded solemn when he talked. “Told me you love me. I told her I’ve been in love with you for a long time, you’re just a stubborn fucker, and that this game was entirely voluntary from all participants involved.”

When he pulled back, Sykkuno let him. His lips were a mess of saliva and lube, deliciously numb and he noticed with smatters of pride just how fucked out Sykkuno looked even if he sounded like they were having a walk in the park. He continued his work with his fingers, twisting and pressing mercilessly on his favored spots as he wiped his mouth clean. “What did she say?”

“That we’re a bunch of sick fuckers, and that she’s given up on making sense on this,” Sykkuno said, laughing in genuine humor as his eyes crinkled ever so prettily. “She just wants me to be done with this as soon as possible. I told her it’s really up to you. I’ve been wrapping this game up for some time now, Jeremy.”

Toast breathed out, grin wide like a madman as he finally understood that he was just under the illusion of stalemate all this time, when Sykkuno had pulled this fucking move right beneath his nose. Was that why he was so confident in winning? Because he already got Toast’s cards long before the end of the game? Cheating motherfucker. Gods did Toast love him dearly, viciously, wholeheartedly.

“This is my final move, Jeremy,” he said, as he got up and cradled his jaw, face serene and honest. There was no mockery, no hardened glints of a player, no hidden schemes—just Sykkuno, simple and honest and warm in his love. “Will you admit defeat?”

Toast thought back to the time spent dancing back and forth, of clever minds and cleverer fingers trying their hardest to rip each other’s hearts out, of enjoying the exhilaration and finding the peace in the eye of the storm. He thought back to how, back then, Toast had never even given the possibility to be this in love with someone else. And then he thought about the way Sykkuno put his foot into the game willingly, relentlessly realizing his goals and crumbling Toast’s defense bit by bit. He thought of all the different sides of Sykkuno that he kept save in his lungs; the coldness, the viciousness, the wrath, the teasing and feral side of him, the cruel and animalistic, the pure, earnest affection.

“Yes,” he breathed into Sykkuno’s lips, and finally, finally gave in to what they both wanted since the start.

They were going to be late, he thought absentmindedly as he kissed Sykkuno soft and slow. He mapped out the taste of his mouth like he was discovering a familiar land all over again. With how things had turned out in the end, this truly was the first time Toast touched him without the ticking time bomb of their endgame hanging above his head. Both of them took their time, touching and tasting, remembering and re-finding places that would make them breathless, that would make their heart ache, that would make heat spread like wildfire in their veins.

“I love you,” Toast whispered into the hollow of Sykkuno’s throat. It was his first admission of honesty in this new canvas they were going to paint together on. All this time, it was always Sykkuno who bared his heart out in the open; this time, Toast would take his hand and grasped it in his, and never let go.

“I love you,” he said as he kissed each eyelid, the high cheekbones that made Toast go stupid and fuzzy around the edges, the tips of his nose, the red of his lips. “Been wanting to love you like this for so long now.”

“I know,” Sykkuno said, steady and reassuring, holding him tight and kissing the top of his head. “I’ve been telling you this since the first time, but I love you, and I’m glad you know that you’re loved all this time.”

“This is so fucking soft and disgusting,” he said, even as he kissed the skin above Sykkuno’s heart.

“I kind of like it,” Sykkuno said, slowly spreading his legs as Toast settled between them like a click of the last piece of the puzzle. “Don’t you?”

I do, Toast answered into the mark on his neck. He touched every inch of Sykkuno, re-discovering the way to touch and press, when to lay his hands softly and when to push a little harder. Shivers broke out on his skin as Sykkuno’s fingers followed the dip of his spine, rubbing gently over his hole. The nip of teeth on the fragile skin of his collarbone, the heat that simmered steadily when Sykkuno caressed the skin above his pubic hair with his soft palm. He moisturized, Toast thought with a laugh, as he had been telling the chats. They just didn’t believe that Sykkuno had a hundred hand creams courtesy of Lily and Michael. Apparently, they had a thing about Sykkuno’s delicate, dainty fingers and liked the feel of softness when they grasped his hands. He was thankful for the effort, as he was reaping the benefit for most of the time.

“Touch me,” Sykkuno said, confident in the certainty that Toast would always follow where his gentle chaos would go. “And then fuck me like you mean it.”

He would, but he scooted up to sit on Sykkuno’s chest, smearing precum on his lips as Sykkuno obediently opened up his mouth. He was plush and warm inside, unafraid of swallowing Toast to his throat from numerous practices. He heard the rustle as Sykkuno squeezed out the lube from a tube Toast had thrown at him before the settled on the bed. He felt the cold lube on his puckered hole, rubbing there until the gel warmed up. When the first finger entered him, Toast gently tucked a piece of hair out of Sykkuno’s eyes, pushing deeper until he had to pause to take a breath from his nose.

Sykkuno sucked him with expertise that came from familiarity, slow and sure as he hollowed out his cheeks and using his tongue where Toast liked it. One finger became two, and then three as he started thrusting in and out of the warm mouth in the same tandem as the fingers. When he was close, he gripped the soft tuft of hair and Sykkuno pulled out his fingers, drawing out a weak moan of him as he let go of Toast’s cock.

“Guess you really have to stream with my cum making a mess of your pants and chair,” he said with a soft grin.

“It really is a good thing I’m nasty, huh, Toast?” Sykkuno teased back goodnaturedly.

Toast started his way back with kisses and fingers rubbing on Sykkuno’s lips, going down to squeeze and pinch on his chest, lips ghosting over his navel as he beautifully writhed and moan. In this, Sykkuno was honest and open; no more going around circles, no deflection and covering things up. Just straight up expression of pleasure and mutual comfort of each other.

He slathered himself with generous amount of lube, despite Sykkuno being loose enough to take him immediately. Still, he didn’t want the friction to become too much and hindering a complete pleasure. Besides, he was right. Sykkuno was a nasty fucker who enjoyed the mess, and being messed up good by Toast.

When he pushed inside, it was like fucking Sykkuno for the first time all over again. All the tight heat and unbelievable pleasure; the surprise of how lewd, how sinuously sensual this soft, gentle man could be. The greatest part? Every single inch of skin, every melodious sound, every beat of his heart was completely, unforgivingly his.

“Feel so good around me, pretty darling,” he whispered in a strain voice, refraining himself from immediately thrusting with abandon. He wanted to savor this, he wanted to do this right—claim him in all the right ways.

Sykkuno let out a shaky breath and tugged his arm to bring him down. So he laid his weight completely on the willing, pliant body under him, feeling every plane of muscles and soft skin. He gave in to the silent plea for kiss, licking into his mouth like he was trying to breathe in everything that Sykkuno was willing to surrender for him. He moved in slow, steady; reassured in the firmness of the fingers on his shoulders, and the legs encircling his waist, crisscrossing on his back.

“Will love you like this for as long as you want me to,” he said, pushing into places that made Sykkuno stuttered out broken cries of pleasure, of his name. He had been going and called by a name he had made himself famous with in the industry, but hearing every which way Sykkuno butchered his name whenever they were together like this made him love it even more. The intimacy, the familiarity, the knowledge that Sykkuno knew his way around Toast’s mind, enough to be comfortable with calling him Jeremy without hesitation.

“Keep me close,” Sykkuno said. “Don’t let go. You’ll only break your heart if you do.”

Toast laughed, bright and happy, because Sykkuno was right—of course he was. This confident darling with his encompassing love, who knew Toast’s heart more than he did himself. “Gods, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sykkuno smiled. “Glad to be finally on the same page.”

Cheeky little bastard. He gradually picked up the pace, worshipping Sykkuno’s body the way he did to Toast’s as they tangled their bodies, their minds and their hearts on his newly changed sheets. It really did feel freeing, to be accepted and loved to this extent. Honestly, Toast didn’t know why it had to be him, out of everyone Sykkuno could have. But he knew, that he was helpless as he let Toast charm his way into his life. He knew his worth, as he had taught Sykkuno to recognize his.

“Jeremy, more,” his filthy, little darling said, nearly inaudible as Toast pushed inside him as deep as he could.

He obliged, thrusting harder, harsher as he held Sykkuno by his shoulders, peppering kisses on his face. Sykkuno tightened impossibly sweet around him, losing his mind bit by bit as he succumbed to the pleasure. He watched as his jaw went slack, litanies of desperate cries out of the lips he would love to kiss every morning and night, and all the time in between.

Toast came first, spilling into him when he couldn’t bear the heat and the affection in his chest any longer. Sykkuno sobbed into his mouth when he felt the warmth of Toast inside of him. He rutted his softened cock inside as Sykkuno jerked himself off. Toast kissed him soft and sweet and replaced his lips with his fingers, shivering when clever tongue licked and sucked on the digits.

“Close?” he asked, and Sykkuno nodded as he whined high on his throat. His breath ghosted on the skin of Sykkuno’s shoulders, and Toast smiled as he said, “Then come for me, filthy darling,” and sunk his teeth deep to tear flesh until he could taste copper across his tongue.

Sykkuno came with a silent scream, wetness between their bodies as Toast kept him close by his arms, his teeth; a traditional, physically crude claim that he laid upon the person he was willing to be lost in for eternity. Toast felt more like they had been engaged in a fight that exhausted their bodies and mind, but never their heart. He was boneless in Sykkuno’s arms, sighing into the new wound on his shoulder.

“Fucking animals,” Sykkuno suddenly said in the silence of the room that was only filled by their uneven breaths.

“Ryan is a genius,” he replied, and felt his heart beat fondly as they laughed.

“We’re late for our streams,” he said again, and Toast kissed him so he could shut up.

“Stop ruining the afterglow.”

Toast let them lie like that for some time, catching their breaths and trading sickly sweet words between the kisses. He felt like a teenager instead of a man about to head into his thirties. Meh, it would be okay. Sykkuno looked young enough to look the part. Fucking blessed Asian genetics. Eventually, however, the stickiness got too much so Toast led them to the bathroom for a quick shower. He let Sykkuno use his bathtub as he rinsed himself and changed his clothes. He put a change for Sykkuno on the sink counter, and left to finally start his stream.

“You’re late!” Rae’s shrill voice greeted him and Toast grinned at the screen. He was positively glowing and smug, and he didn’t try to cover any inch of it. Let them see and speculate, he was in for future entertainments from the consequent explosion of talks once they realized that Toast wasn’t alone in the room anyway.

“Sorry,” he said without remorse. “Had to do a lot of moving stuffs—“ his grin went a millimeter wider. Yeah, right, moving. “—almost forgot I got a stream.”

“You didn’t forget,” Peter chastised him. “You deliberately made us wait as the revenge for that one time we spoiled your schemes on Hafu’s lobby, didn’t you, huh? Huh?”

“As great of an idea it is,” he said, and chuckled when the others started screaming at Peter, “I did have something else to do. Terribly sorry, again.”

“What exactly is that thing?” came Corpse’s suspiciously casual reply.

“Wait, Toast, you’re moving somewhere?” Wendy interjected.

Toast ignored them in favor of smiling at Sykkuno as he finally emerged from the bathroom. He looked so fucking soft and comfortable and Toast contemplated ditching the stream altogether just to take him back to the bed, change the sheets, and spend the rest of the evening just talking about nothings. They could have that later though. They have a lot of time to spend being disgustingly in love, and he would make sure of that.

He reached out a hand, seeing the chat going on a fast speed as they questioned what was going on, asking questions of him apparently moving out of OTV house without previous notice. Sykkuno took it, and settled comfortably on his side, squinting at the screen and laughing a little.

“Wait—“ Peter said. “I know that laugh. Sykkuno? You’re there?”

“Hi,” the man said, and Toast wrapped a hand around his middle as he hunched over the table. He had ordered an Uber for Sykkuno while he bathed. “Um, sorry, I’ll be a little bit later for the stream. I gotta get home. It won’t take too long though! I promise, just around fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes?!” Rae exclaimed, and then there were barrages of messages on his phone. “Toast, check your dm. I just wanna talk.”

That got another bout of laughter out of Sykkuno. Peter was busy screaming into the call, interjected by Corpse’s wheezed out laughter in-between.

“Is this what you were doing, Toast?” he said, thick with accusation. “What the fuck is going on?!”

“No, no, Peter,” Sykkuno replied, still laughing in that chicken-sounded laughter that Toast had mocked him for on one or two different occasions. Alright, maybe more than that. Not his fault, it really did sound like a chicken. “I was just—I was helping Toast with the- with the moving. Yeah, exactly that.”

Atta boy, getting in the jokes Toast had previously thought without batting an eyelash. Truly they were a match made in a faraway land of storms and mazes somewhere in this vast world. Corpse’s laughter got louder, sounding like he was dying and on the verge of losing his breath. Out of everyone, he knew what must have transpired beforehand, even more than Rae.

“The moving, huh,” Rae said, voice flat and they could hear the eyebrows rise from behind the screen. “Huh, Sykkuno.”

“Yep,” he nodded solemnly. “Just a normal help of moving. New house and all, you know.”

“I don’t trust a word out of that pretty mouth,” Corpse said, finally composed enough and not gasping for air.

“What- wow,” Sykkuno said, a hint of teasing as Toast let the shenanigan happen without adding his input. “Wow, Corpse. I’m- I’m hurt. And after everything we’ve had, too.”

“I thought you broke up with me?” Corpse teased right back.

Toast rolled his eyes. College students on their second semester, indeed. “It’s not a break up if you’re still flirting like a bunch of hormonal teenagers.”

He muted the mic as the lobby exploded into questions and disbelief laughter. Dream was there too, as it seemed, and he finally let out the kettle laughter after keeping it in for so long. It seemed that a few more people had known of their little game. Ryan had commiserated with Dream and Sean in his misery of rooming with Sykkuno and witnessing events that might scar him for life. Sykkuno wouldn’t leave the house until they were completely settled, but that was alright. He’d be waking up to his dumb, snoring face in no time.

“Alright,” he said, standing up himself. He ushered Sykkuno out of the range of the camera, and planted a kiss on his neck. “Your car is here. Get home safe, I’ll pick you up tomorrow for a date.”

“Wait,” Sykkuno said, halting his steps. “Really?”

“You want me to take it back?” he raised an eyebrow, smiling when Sykkuno immediately stuttered out his responses. “Be ready for the news. They’ll call you all sorts of things. That’s what you get from your little game, baby.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’ve thought about it beforehand. They don’t have the exact informations, after all. The speculations will stay for a few months, and sure, the subreddit would always be there and continue. But they don’t know shits, right, Toast?”

“Have I ever told you that you look especially pretty when you say bad words?” he said. “But, yeah. I’m just saying that it won’t be easy.”

“I don’t regret it,” Sykkuno replied, sure, determined. “If I didn’t, we won’t be here, and I won’t have you. You taught me this, Toast. You told me the consequences and I accept them. Honestly, enduring this crazy game and all the consequences afterwards is only the little thing I would do. I’d do more for you. You- you know that, Toast.”

He sighed, fond and exasperated. He prepared himself for the onslaught of slanders and mockeries, decrease of supporters and sponsors, constant articles and talks about them in every platform. Still, this was the path they had taken, and honestly, he was used to those anyways. Why not have some fun while at it? Besides, he got to have this man, right here in his arms, and the journey of discovering and measuring themselves up for the long, arduous path ahead of them wasn’t something that he could regret either.

“Stop with the dramatics,” he said instead, secure in the reassurance that Sykkuno could read what he didn’t say out loud. “I’ll send you something to eat later. Be good, don’t tease the poor saps too much. They’re already headless chickens right now.”

Sykkuno smiled and nodded. “Wouldn’t it be fun, though?”

Oh, it would, alright. It absolutely would. But they had all the time in the world for mind games with the rest of their friends before they found out how disgustingly domestic Sykkuno and Toast had become. He kissed Sykkuno one last time before he had to come home, soft and just a little bit too vulnerable. But he was alright; he would be caught in safe arms if he were to break someday.

“Hey,” Sykkuno whispered, breath warm and still mingling with Toast. They were stalling the game and he knew he would get an earful from a lot of people later, he couldn’t be bothered. Not when Sykkuno was warm and real in his embrace. “Does this mean you’re finally going to buy your own mug?”

His smile was wicked and nasty when he whispered right back, “No.”

Sykkuno’s laughter was a bright, pretty thing, and Toast reveled in the knowledge that it was for him. He opened the front door for him, walked him to the gate, caught Sykkuno as he whirled around, loud and happy in his contentment.

“Hey, Toast?” he said, lips stretched in a pretty smile that he never hid when he was with Toast. “This is going to sound terribly cheesy, but I love you.”

He grinned and kissed him again, just because he could. He could do it all the time, for a long time now. “I love you too, pretty baby. Don’t gloat on me too much, spare my soul.”

“Can’t promise anything,” he hummed. “I do enjoy your torment, after all.”

“Sadistic bastard,” he grumbled without heat, too fond and too affectionate to truly bite.

“I learned from the best,” Sykkuno said smoothly, and went inside the car, waving at him from the opened window.

He waved back a little, watched the car getting away before finally going inside and facing the melodious music of his friends’ confusion and chaotic shouting. He could bend Sykkuno over his new kitchen table, and then take him to the Disneyland, for real this time. Adore him and give him all he wanted, snark and tease him within an inch of his life, love like him like there was nothing else he could do better than this.

Sykkuno really was his Achilles heel, the sun that would burn his wings and plunge him into the ocean, where his delicate fingers would embrace Toast tight and drag him down to a land where they could rule and be together for millennia to come. His pretty baby, his dirty darling, his beloved fever dream—his.

#video blogging rpf #shiki writes #from ao3 #toastkkuno #disguisedtoast #sykkuno

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jupitermelichios · 3 years

Text

So I’ve been playing a lot of skyrim lately, because it’s video game comfort food, and I decided it was time for my Redguard Dovahkiin to settle down. (Actually I specifically just wanted to be able to adopt some of the random orphans you meet because I felt guilty about them, but you need to be married before you can do that so that there’s someone at home to take care of the kids while you’re off galivanting).

So I travelled around a bit, chatting up likely looking npcs until I found one I both liked and didn’t feel guilty about marrying (I feel bad if I marry one of the warrior adventurer types, making them be a stay at home mum) and settled on an obnoxiously cheerful argonian called Shavee because her life was frankly shit, and I thought she’d probably be good with kids.

So off I go to Riften to the Temple of Mara to arrange the wedding. I book it in for the next day, realise I didn’t bring anything nice to wear, and spend the night before the wedding robbing every house in the city in the search for something to wear. Eventually decide everyone in Riften has terrible fashion sense and break down everything I stole into raw materials and use them to craft myself an outfit and some jewellery that i’m pretty happy with. I even carefully pick out my fanciest looking sword to wear.

(don’t know why I bothered, frankly, shavee turned up wearing a shirt covered in suspicious stains and weilding a pickaxe, it’s like she doesn’t even care about this marriage)

(also for comedy purposes, bear in mind I play with survival mods that mean my character needs to eat and sleep to live, and I literally spent the entire ingame night on this and forgot to eat and drink anything either and then just downed four bowls of wolf stew right before entering the temple so I didn’t starve during the ceremony. also I discovered during the wedding that I am dying of rockjoint, which I contracted from sleeping in a pile of hay on the floor of a skeever infested cave, so even being six foot tall and jacked can’t make up for the fact that I am exhausted, running a fever, and probably covered in wolf which I spilled because my joints are slowly atrophying, and even the fanciest clothes in the world aren’t going to cover that up)

so I enter the temple, and my finance is there, and Lydia my housecarl, and some random NPCs the game thinks are my friends because I did fetch quests for them

One of the random NPCs is Lisbet. Atfter I did her fetch quest, I then did another quest in which I discovered Lisbet is secretly a cannibal and part of a demonic cult that worships the daedric prince of decay by kidnapping priests, sacrificing them, and then eating their corpses. Raw. I think the raw meat is the sticking point for me here honestly.

I ultimately decided not to sacrifice the random priest to a daedric prince in exchange for one magic ring and all the raw human I could eat, because frankly, that doesn’t sound like much of a deal to me. I was expecting there to be some kind of dialogue choice where I could nope out at the last minute, but it turns out there isn’t one, so after they drugged the priest and tied him to the altar, I just got out my sword and started swinging.

I killed most of the cult (including the town butcher, because I had brought meat from him before and was extremely pissed off that he might have been secretly feeding me humans) but a couple of them got away, which I figured was fine because they weren’t trying to kill me.

Except it turns out, if any of them escape, then every time you see them in the future there’s a random chance that they’ll fly into a violent rage and try and murder you.

Lisbet is at my wedding. Lisbet decides that clearly me marrying this random argonian woman with two lines of dialogue is the happiest day of my life, and she cannot allow me that happiness, when I’ve taken so much from her.

So she tries to kill me. Only she can’t, because I’m stuck in a pre-rendered wedding animation, and also she’s sitting next to Lydia, my faithful retainer and owner of a really big axe.

It also turns out that Lisbet is essential, meaning she can be knocked unconcious but not actually killed because she’s needed for some quest or other. And the minute she wakes up from unconciousness, she tries to kill me again, so Lydia knocks her unconcious again, and I’m stuck, I can’t move, because I’m supposed to be in the wedding animation.

Except Shavee has, not unreasonably, see all this and decided that she doesn’t like me enough to risk getting murdered, and has done a runner, leaving me at the altar, but more importantly, leaving me trapped in a broken pre-rendered animation, so all I can do is stand there at the altar, staring at the space where my fiance was supposed to be, listening to the sounds of Lydia trying and failing to beat a cannibal to death behind me.

Okay, I think, clearly this wedding isn’t going to happen, I’m going to go for the registry office option and complete the wedding using the dev commands. I do this. The priest gives me a wedding ring, and I can finally move again. I chase after Shavee, who has an impressive turn of speed on her, and eventually catch up right by the city gates. I try to talk to her.

Apparently using the console has completed the wedding for me, but not for her, because she still only has the same 2 lines of dialogue she usually has.

Clearly this is working, I can’t leave my kids with someone who can only say 2 things and doesn’t even know she’s their mum, that’s irresponsible.

I try loading from inside the temple. I get the same problem.

Eventually I figure out that I need to use the dev controls to disable Lisbet’s entire existence in the universe.

Shavee and me get married. As the priest reads the vows, I stare at Shavee and wonder why she couldn’t even be bothered to put on a clean shirt. I wonder what kind of mother she’ll be.

Once the ceremony is over, and I’m happily married to the dirty green lizard of my dreams, and we’ve agreed that until I can make her recognise my extremely nice modded house exists I will share her single bed in the unheated flophouse in Windhelm she calls home, I re-enable Lisbet, because I’m worried I’ll forget if I leave it too long.

Fun fact about skyrim, it loads in quite a lot of npcs and objects by dropping them from the sky. I have no idea why this is the case, but it’s objectively the funniest way to load in objects.

I re-enable Lisbet. She falls from the sky, clips through the roof of the temple, and lands in the pew beside Lydia, stands up, draws a knife, and is immedately beaten unconcious.

I no longer care, because Shavee now has all the exciting new spouse-only romantic dialogue options like “Could you cook something for me” and “have you made any money lately”, and I know she’ll be a great mother.

I limp to the door of the temple, while around me the guests not involved in the Lydia-Lisbet murder cycle scream and duck for cover.

I open the door to the temple, immediately collapse and ragdoll down the steps, which is how I discover I am dying of rockjoint.

I limp to the orphanage down the street, adopt two kids, and then finally remember that I’m carrying garlic bread, which as we all know, cures all known illnesses.

When I emerge back into the street, full of the joys of motherhood and garlic bread, I find the town in disaray. Lydia is chasing Lisbet through the streets with an axe and a dragon is circling overhead, burning npcs to death. People are running for shelter, screaming, while the guards try to take down an entire dragon using only the worst bows and arrows in the game.

I decide that as a parent, I have to think of my own safety first and leave them to it.

I head out of the city, intent on returning home and figuring out why Shavee refuses to move in with me. A man hanging around the stables challenges me to a boxing match. For want of anything better to do, I agree.

Halfway through the fight he dodges at the wrong moment and I punch one of his horses in the head.

Two guards attack me while I desperately try to surrender. My kids will miss me, but I’m prepared to go to jail for my horse crimes, I’m an honest citizen. Also my horse crimes seem somewhat less important than the dragon.

The guards refuse to accept my surrender. I am stabbed to death. As I collapse in front of the indifferent horse, Lisbet exits the city, followed by Lydia. The last thing I see before I die is Lydia swinging her axe at Lisbet’s face.

#skyrim #spoilers #technically #although this game is a decade old and we all own at least two versions of it at this point #so i'm not sure it counts #long post

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persephones-wren · 3 years

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heyy! Could I request a Kaz brekker and reader fic where shes really sensitive and kind and the opposite of him and they're dating but he seems to be spending more time with inej planning a heist and reader gets jealous and during the heist she saved inej from a bullet, getting hurt in the process and tells Kaz,in a delirious state, that shes happy she saved inej for him and everyone helps him plan a picnic for her while shes healing and suprises her? Its quite a long request but it would be wonderful if you wrote it!! thanks💕

Ends of the Earth (Kaz Brekker x Reader)

Hope you enjoy reading! I had a lot of fun writing it :)

Warnings: reader gets shot, that's about it?

Genre: Angst to (minimal) Fluff

Word Count: 2126

You’re not sure how you could have ever expected him to return what you felt for him.

You and Kaz were essentially opposites- he was a hardened criminal, you were more of a person who just ran with the wrong people. He was mean and commanding, you were sweet and endearing. Where he’d kill people with no hesitation, you’d probably be torn over it for the rest of your life.

Though the Barrel seemed to have no room for someone as kind as you, you had found yourself to fit fine along with rest as someone to watch over the rest. Your skill of memorization was appreciated when Kaz needed to reflect back on a certain part of the plan, and besides, having someone counteract his cruelty was appreciated by the others.

Sometimes, like now, it was hard to be a part of the Crows. Watching Inej stand by his side, watching them work together like well-oiled parts of the same machine, it was bittersweet. You couldn’t help the jealousy that overtook you, but kindness was ingrained in you. You couldn’t hate him. You couldn’t hate Inej.

“So we’ll take them out there. Inej, I’m going to need your backup here.” His voice snaps you back into the moment.

“Got it.” She nods.

“Before then, though, You’ll be stationed here. Y/N, I’m going to want you to stick close to her. She can fight for the both of you in case anything goes wrong.”

You’re useless, you berate yourself. You’re going to need Inej to save you. Maybe if you could defend yourself the way she could, he’d like you more.

“Understood.”

“That should wrap everything up. We’ll meet at the usual spot tonight. We’ll take transport there and sneak in. From there, everything should go according to plan.”

…

Night quickly falls, and you’re all gathered.

“To reiterate, I’m going to go grab the paintings. Inej and Y/N, stick together and communicate when it’s safe. Jesper, you’re going to shoot out the lights when signaled, and make sure that carriages are ready when it’s time. Wylan, wait it out here with him. If all goes to shit, blow this place. Clear?”

Echoes of agreement echo from around you, and you nod. This should be an easy heist.

“Y/N, c’mon. Let’s head over this way.”

Inej takes your wrist and leads you to the edge of the building. Her stare is intimidating as she surveys the building, before turning back to you.

“I’ll scale the walls, and then I’ll use the rope to pull you up. We can wait on the top of the building for a bit, before slipping in through a window. That okay?”

Damn her for even being considerate to you. And you still have the nerve to be jealous over her. Her and Kaz are so similar- they’d be perfect for each other.

You still can’t find it in your heart to be completely happy about that.

“Y/N? You alright?”

“Huh?” you snap out of your reverie, and give a bashful smile. “Yeah, that’s good. I’ll spot you. Hopefully I’ll be able to get up there…”

Inej throws you a reassuring smile back. “You’ll be okay.”

You watch with awe as she scales the building with no issue, truly living up to the nickname she had been given. She’s nearly invisible as she reaches the top, you note. She’s incredible.

You wait on the ground patiently as Inej lowers the rope, before you hear voices.

You stare up at her, wide-eyed, before running and diving behind a tree.

“The wine good tonight?”

It’s a guard. Your heart rate quickens, and bring a hand over your mouth. Quiet your breathing. If they catch you, you’re dead, and you’ll be the dead weight of this mission.

“I don’t know, haven’t had a drink yet. Maybe once everyone’s gone. Ha! The Stadwatch won't penalize me if there’s no guests to guard!”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit! All we have to make sure is no scum tries to steal the painting.”

“Like anybody would dare show their face here.”

The other guard laughs, and you wait with baited breath as they finally round the corner.

You check both directions, before you quietly slip out.

“Inej?” you’re quiet and slightly shaken. Death and capture was always palpable on these missions, but it had come swinging at you quicker than you had expected. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” her voice comes from above. “I’m here. You’re fast on your feet. Good thinking.”

“Thank you, and thank you for waiting.”

The rope drops down for the second time, and you take a hold of it, pulling yourself up with a bit of her help. Your hands finally grasp the ledge of the building, and Inej extends one of her hands to help pull you up. You’re hauled onto the rooftop, and though it’s a bit ungraceful, you’re okay.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

“No problem.”

Your eyes are both directed on the walkways below.

“You scout out for guards down there, and I’ll check for guards in the windows? We should signal to Kaz soon.”

“Sure.”

You keep a careful eye down below, hearing Inej scurry to different window points. You watch as she slips to one of them, peering through.

“Just our luck,” she mutters cheerfully. “This window’s fine. Let’s open it. I’ll go first, but send a flare for Kaz. I’m going to need that window open as soon as that flare goes up.”

“Alright.” You take a deep breath, before shooting the flare off. Inej thrusts open the window and pulls you in behind her.

You watch a figure walk past the doorway. That should be Kaz, and now, he should be slipping past you to go to the next doorway to take the painting-

“To the roof again, now-” Inej says, and starts to step out behind the boxes, and the figure turns back.

That’s not Kaz.

A click.

She’s going to be shot.

You’re acting on pure impulse and nerves when you shove her aside, and the bullet pierces through your shoulder. You crumble, and Inej tries to keep you from completely collapsing.

You grit your teeth. You’re trying not to let tears stream down your face, but everything hurts and Inej is over you and she’s saying something but you can’t hear her-

You try to force yourself to sit up, and you see a cane poised to hit the guard over the head. You turn away, and thank your murky hearing that you can’t hear the scream that emits from the guard.

Kaz.

“What happened?” His voice is losing it’s cool quickly.

“She was shot by the guard, I don’t think she’s quite registering it-” Inej’s voice is more panicked, but she forces herself to be analytical. “She’s going to need treatment, and quickly.”

“Okay,” he breathes in sharply. “Okay. Go down the hall, grab the paintings, and meet Jesper by the transportation. I’ll get her out.”

“Okay.”

Inej dashes down the hall, and he takes in your state. Your pupils are blown wide, and you’re trying not to cry, but it hurts.

“Kaz,” you breathe out. “Thank the Saints. Is Inej okay?”

He frowns at that. What about Inej? Inej was fine, you’d been shot. Did you have no self-preservation instincts?

“Inej is fine,” he mutters.

“That’s good,” you sigh out. “That’s good. I don’t quite think I’m going to make it out here alive, so just in case I don’t, I love you. Though I’m glad she’s okay, for your sake.”

His frown deepens. “I’m sorry? For my sake?”

“You’re in love with her. She with you. You guys can live your happy ending. As happy as the Barrel can get, anyway.” Your smile is slightly delirious, and he knows you’re not thinking rationally.

“Stop talking.”

“I’m sorry, are you mad at me? Please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t-” you cough, “think I’d die, but if it’s for you and Inej, then I think it’s worth it.”

“Nobody is worth your life,” he nearly yells. “You’re not going to die, Y/N. I won’t allow it.”

“Please, just let me stay here. They’re going to find you if you don’t.” “I don’t care.”

He’s pulling off his jacket and carefully using it as a tourniquet for your shoulder.

“Can you walk?”

“Kaz, please-”

“Can you walk.” It’s a statement, maybe a threat.

“Maybe- maybe with a bit of support,” your words are weak. You’re running out of time. “The world looks sideways, though- face it, Kaz, I’m not going to make it. I don’t want to be dead weight, your touch aver-”

“I’m not going to combust into fucking flames if you lean on me! Goddamnit, let me help you!”

His anger startles you. You hold back more tears as he pulls you up. At least he took the care to pull you up by the other arm. “Okay.”

The world is spinning and his face isn’t clear, and time seems to speed up as both of you go through the hallways, finally meeting Jesper and Inej in the courtyard.

“Bloody hell,” Jesper mutters.

“Go. To the White Rose. Nina should be able to do something.” Kaz leaves no room for argument. You’re passed out now, and he’s almost thankful you can’t feel anything as the carriage rushes through harsh weather and bumpy roads.

I don’t quite think I’m going to make it out here alive, so just in case I don’t, I love you.

Were you that oblivious? Did you think he was in love with Inej? How could you be so blind?

How could you sacrifice yourself so he could live what you thought to be a “happy ending”?

You didn’t plan it, did you?

He carefully takes off one of his gloves, hovering his hand over your forehead.

You’re still warm.

He doesn’t believe in Saints, but now, he’s almost praying to them that you’ll be okay.

Please be okay.

...

Inej glances at Kaz, standing over her in the White Rose.

She’s been out for days at this point. Nina could only do so much, with whatever corpse-like power she’d gained. The rest had to be natural healing.

Inej clears her throat. “She’d go to the ends of the world for you. For your happiness.” Kaz remains still.

“Don’t make her do so again.”

Your eyes flutter open, the brightness of the room nearly rendering you blind.

Your shoulder hurts like a bitch, but besides that, you’re alive.

Happiness and heaviness fill your heart at once. You’re alive, you’re okay. What had you said to Kaz in your state?

Hopefully nothing stupid.

“You’re awake. I’m glad.”

Kaz’s voice comes from the edge of the room. He’s leaning on the wall, cane in hand. When was Kaz upfront with his emotions?

“Yeah. How long was I out for?”

“A couple of days.”

“Days?” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

That’s a lie. You thought you were dead, for sure. He doesn’t have to know that.

“...Right.” He’s skeptical, but pushes himself off the wall and makes his way over to you. “This may be a bit early, but would you want to go for a walk?”

“Sure.” Is he kicking you out of the Crows? Why would he want to go on a walk just after you’ve woken up? You’re screwed.

He waits for you to stand, and then you’re both walking side by side, into the gardens of the courtyard. He doesn’t say anything, just leads you to a small place under an apple tree. A picnic blanket is spread out, with a small basket laying on top of it.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and a brief smile flashes across his face. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“Kaz- what is all of this?”

“You said you loved me.”

Horror paints across your face, and you lower your head in shame. “I’m sorry, I didn’t, I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, I know you love Inej, that- was a bit unprompted of me, I’m sorry-”

He blinks at your rushed words. “Y/N. I’m not in love with Inej. She’s part of the Crows, as are you. Though- if you mean it,” he clears his throat, “that you love me- then take this as a surprise first date.”

Your expression morphs into a shy smile. He’s probably not ready to say it back. It doesn’t matter. He feels the same way.

“Happy first date, then.”

You’re both talking and eating, small smiles on both of your faces, a stark contrast to the harsh atmosphere of Ketterdam. It doesn’t matter to him. You’re alive, you’re safe, and you’re with him. You’d go to the end of the world for him. He’d do the same for you.

He loves you.

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #six of crows #six of crows x reader #soc kaz #soc x reader #kaz x reader #kaz brekker x reader #kaz rietveld #kaz brekker imagine #thank you for the request!#request

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

Jon's Trapped in Temporal Time-Out: A TMA Time Travelling Tale

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him.

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary.

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

I kept on bitching about how much I dislike the beginning scenes of TMA time travelling AUs so my friend @lazuliquetzal (who wrote the best TMA time travelling fic in the fandom) told me to put my money where my mouth is. It’s nowhere near her level, but in my defense it’s probably even stupider than Reflection. 10K of stupid under the cut.

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him.

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary.

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

****

There was, indeed, a corpse in the Archives.

More specifically, in the stacks. The worst place to die, or least be dumped. Sasha had to admit the logic of it: it was the darkest depths of the library that Martin had informed her was ‘somewhat creepy’ and ‘kind of ominous’ so ‘please stop sleeping there you’re going to give me a heart attack’. After Martin flipped on a few lights that were never flipped on (apparently Elias was a cheapskate, which explained the breakroom) they could all gawk at the corpse to their heart’s content.

Very kindly and thoughtfully, Tim asked Martin if he wanted to stay out of the library and maybe to ‘tell someone’ or something. Both Sasha and Tim had mutually and silently agreed that Martin seemed the type to have a delicate constitution. Granted, he hadn’t seemed the type to win Magnus Anarchist every month by breaking into abandoned buildings with absolutely no shame, so maybe he was the kind that surprised you.

But Martin had just looked a little unimpressed. “Do you seriously think this is my first corpse? I went to university.”

That somewhat intimidated Sasha, who abruptly worried that she had missed out on an essential university experience again. “Is that a typical university experience?”

Martin paused a beat.

“Uh,” he said, “yeah, sure, of course. Hazing, you know.”

“Is that what hazing…?”

“Fraternities.”

Tim, from where he had been standing at the entrance to the stacks snapping on the sterile gloves he had liberated from the cleaning supply closet, looked delighted. “You were in a frat too, Martin? What kind of hardcore frat had corpse hazings? Was it the Sigma Gammas? My frat always thought they were way too crazy, but we were a business one -”

“You know what,” Martin said, “let’s just worry about the corpse.”

After Sasha tied her hair in a ponytail and Martin snapped on his own gloves, they awkwardly approached the aisle where Tim had been trying to find a reference book for Jon. Sasha was worried that they would have to hunt for it a little, or that there would be a bad jump scare, but when they found it she saw that it wasn’t subtle at all.

It was sprawled on the ground, face mashed into the cheap and somewhat gross carpet. Sasha approached it with absolutely no hesitation, which Tim and Martin gladly let her do, and squatted down to get a better look at the figure.

She definitely needed to make a coroner’s report. She was the objective expert in coroner’s reports.

“Tim, can you run back and get one of Jon’s silly little tape recorders for my coroner’s report?”

“Did you just see that on the telly?” Tim asked skeptically. “Because if you did -”

“Oh, here one is. That’s really convenient!” Martin grabbed one off the shelf and pressed play, letting the tape roll. “Good idea, Sasha. We need proof to Jon that we were researching.”

Probably...not what Jon meant for them to be researching, but Sasha liked to believe that it was the intent that mattered. She pulled a pencil out of her pencil skirt pocket, poking the figure thoughtfully. “Report by Sasha James, Archival Assistant.” There, now it was work. “At 1:30pm today, Tim Stoker discovered a corpse in the Archives, thereby referred to as John Doe -”

“Do we have to call it John Doe?” Tim complained, standing next ot her and crossing his arms. “Then we have too many Johns, it’ll get confusing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sasha said dismissively. “Ours is Jon, this guy’s John. Completely different.”

“Sasha, I’m not sure that’s how words work.”

“What are you, an English major?”

“Yes! I was an editor for a living!”

“Sorry if I don’t listen to guys who were fired from book editing school -”

“Uh,” Martin said, “have we checked to see if he’s actually dead?”

Sasha and Tim fell silent. Sasha looked at Tim. Tim shook his head.

“Seriously, mate?” Sasha asked, unimpressed.

“I didn’t want to touch the corpse!” Tim cried. “So sue me! It’s not as if he’s moving!”

Pussy. Sasha gently reached out and pushed aside a little of the corpse’s very long and pretty curly hair. What was that, 3C? Jesus, that had to be work. Sasha was 3A and the amount of hair care products she owned was insane.

She waved her hand at the boys for silence and put her thumb against his pulse, concentrating hard. Martin quietly walked over and crouched down too, eyeing his chest.

“I don’t feel a pulse,” Sasha said finally.

“Also, uh, I’m not a doctor,” Martin said, “but he’s definitely not breathing.”

“I told you,” Tim said defensively. “You just look at the thing, and you go - yep, that’s a corpse!”

“Corpse appears to be an ethnically ambiguous adult man with very nice hair,” Sasha said loudly. Martin helpfully held out the recorder to catch her voice better. “Maybe 190cm. Incredibly skinny - potential cause of death. He’s dressed in...some very ratty clothing. Potentially homeless.”

“It definitely smells,” Tim said, pinching his nose. Sasha didn’t blame him - the clothing was an overlarge green hoodie, ratty and threadbare, and his jeans weren’t any better. His boots were worn and soft leather. “Maybe he’s a homeless guy who snuck in and died?”

“That’s so sad,” Martin said softly. “Also a little gross.”

“Have some respect for the dead, guys,” Sasha said, as she poked the dead guy with a pencil. “Tim, go flip him over.”

Tim held his hands up, stepping away. “I couldn’t possibly. Martin loves flipping people over.”

“This again?” Martin asked, frustrated. “This is just like when you made me handle the Rawlings case because you’re scared of the suburbs!”

“They have too many eyes, Martin!”

“I am surrounded by cowards,” Sasha noted for the recorder. Nothing for it, then. Sasha carefully straightened, wobbling on her heels, before solidly wiggling her hands underneath the corpse’s chest. He was cold - dead a while.

It was surprisingly difficult to flip over a limp adult man. Sasha was strong, but the corpse’s flesh was weak, and he was all floppy. Eventually Tim got over himself long enough to help her, making a very disgusted face the entire time, and they were able to finally get a good look at the man’s face.

Abruptly, upon seeing it, they all quieted.

There was something about seeing a man splayed out on the ground that was a little funny, if you worked for the Magnus Institute and had probably encountered a Leitener two years ago and lost all empathy. No more impediments in the search for science. But there was something very different about looking at a person, who had a nose and lips and a very ratty hoodie, and knowing that it was no longer a person. Just a lot of cloth and meat and blood and organs and nice hair that once was a person, back when things were easier and the world was a little less harsh.

But maybe Sasha was caught by sentimentality: after all, the corpse looked a little like Jon.

Judging from the stunned faces of her compatriots as they all bent around the figure, they all thought the same thing. Tim’s jaw was open, and Martin’s hand was covering his mouth in shock.

“Man,” Tim said. “This sucks. And it’s really creepy.”

“He must have been really gorgeous,” Martin said. “That’s so sad.”

Actually, Sasha tilted her head and took another look. He had sharp and severe features, elegant and striking. A large and thin, sharp nose, and equally sharp lips. His face was just as sharp and gaunt, as emancipated as the rest of him. He had strange scars trailing up his neck and curving around his jaw, but it just kind of accentuated the intense atmosphere.

It was probably a pretty stupid thing to focus on, but in her defense it wasn’t really the face of a homeless guy. Well, maybe. Hot homeless people existed.

Sasha frowned. She’s only met one other person this hot.

“Hey,” she said, “doesn’t he look like Jon?”

Both the men titled their heads.

Finally, Tim said, “Nah, he’s hotter.”

“Agreed,” Sasha said. “I think the scars really do it.”

“Uh, guys,” Martin said.

Sasha grabbed her tape recorder out of Martin’s hands, resuming her coroner’s report. “Subject appears to be in his thirties. Weirdly attractive, but that’s probably not as important as we feel it is.” She looked down at his hands, carefully using her pencil to push up the sleeve. “What looks like an aged and badly healed burn scar on his right hand. Supports homeless guy evidence.”

“Knife scar over his throat,” Tim quietly observed. “Someone tried to kill this guy.”

“Guys,” Martin said.

“Well, I guess this is the point where we worry about body disposal,” Sasha said, straightening. “I think Elias could handle this discreetly and professionally, but that might involve letting Jon know. And I don’t think any of us want that kind of stress in our lives.”

“So, are we not even pretending to want to call the cops, or…?”

“Listen to me!”

Both Tim and Sasha shut up, somewhat guiltily. Martin had straightened too, fists balled, looking firm and determined and resolute - everything that Martin wasn’t, really. Martin lived unsure of himself, never expressing his own feelings or ending every opinion with an “I don’t know, maybe, that’s just my thoughts, what do you think?”.

So Tim and Sasha paid attention, and when Sasha nodded encouragingly at him he seemed to find further courage. Solemnly, with the air of a wise man by the side of the road, Martin said, “This guy isn’t hotter than Jon.”

Christ. Sasha takes it all back.

Tim propped a hand on his hip supportively as Sasha rolled her eyes. “Look, mate,” Tim said, “I know that you think Jon’s the hottest person in existence, and maybe objectively he’s fine as hell, but once you know him for longer than three months he loses all attractiveness. It would be like being into the DMV clerk. The really pretentious cousin at all of your family reunions who tries to explain your own job to you. The dude in your English class who thinks he invented feminism.”

“That was you,” Sasha said.

“I am the objective expert in Jon,” Martin said firmly, shutting down the dissent. “He’s, like, my muse, okay? And can I say, as I have spent so many long hours memorizing the curve of his jaw - that’s the same jaw.”

If Sasha had a retort to that, or if Tim wanted to judge Martin for his taste in men further, neither of them had a chance. There wasn't an opportunity to say anything more, because the corpse opened its eyes.

Sasha’s first thought was this: wow, what green eyes.

Sasha’s second thought was: the fuck?

His eyes didn’t focus on her, or snap anywhere. They drifted a little lazily, fixed on the right, but the man was undoubtedly aware. His fingers twitched, he tilted his head from left to right, and his left hand - doubtlessly the hand that still felt texture - clenched the thin and cheap rug. The man’s jaw slackened a little, as if in surprise.

For their part, the Assistants frantically looked at each other, all conveying the exact same thought - you said he was dead!

Sasha froze to her spot, petrified. She could handle corpses, or coroner’s reports, or mysteries. Sasha was intelligent, unkind, firm, socially incompetent, and a Libra. She could handle the dead, but the living? Sasha had no idea what to do with alive people.

But Tim did. He hesitated two moments, reeling back in shock, before he abruptly composed himself. He crouched down to the guy, and modulated his voice to sound calming and firm. “Hey, don’t strain yourself. Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere?”

The man turned his head in Tim's direction, hiding his expression from Sasha, but she saw Tim’s eyes widen. Martin, standing closer to his feet, wrung his hands - clearly torn on what to do, uncertain how to help. Martin always hated being uncertain how to help the most. Which was pretty unfortunate, because Martin always wanted to help, and Martin was always uncertain.

“Can you speak?” Tim asked gently. “If you can’t speak, go ahead and knock on the floor for me, okay?”

“If we pack him into your car, we can say that we found him on the street,” Sasha piped up. As much as she distrusted NHS, and as much as the NHS refused to touch anybody who had ever stepped foot inside the Institute, they could hardly refuse somebody if they just lied their ass off about it. “They’ll have to treat him then, right?”

“We could make it so much worse if we move him,” Martin said quickly, just as strangely firm. “We need to take our chances with 999.”

“We don’t even know if he’s injured,” Sasha pointed out, somewhat optimistically. “Maybe this whole thing can just, like, not be a problem.”

Yeah, Sasha definitely preferred corpses.

The man was opening and closing his mouth, before he coughed wetly. Sasha clinically noted that it was the first time she had seen his chest move. As Tim reached forward, murmuring gently, and helped the man sit up, she saw that his chest didn’t move at all.

“Alright, let’s try to get you up.” Tim helped the man shift so he was leaning against the bookcase - uncomfortable, but a better position if he started coughing up blood. “We should fetch you some water - Martin, I don’t think he has any injury like that, he just seems out of it. His eyes aren’t focusing on me at all.”

Strangely, the man scoffed at that. The sound made him cough again, but the derision was unmistakable.

The derision was extremely familiar.

When Sasha looked at Martin his eyes were wide behind his glasses, and she knew that he had heard the same thing that she did.

Finally, with a raspy and hoarse voice, the man said, “Well, isn’t this fucking fun.”

Everybody stared at him. His voice...different, definitely, with a less posh accent and strained vocal cords scratching his tones. But when Sasha glanced at Tim, she just knew that he was remembering when Jon had insisted on coming into work with a terrible cold and Martin had to bully him home. He had sounded eerily like…

“Is this your idea of a joke?” the man said.

Tim, from where he was crouched next to the guy, turned his attention back to him. “I’m a funny guy, but last time I checked head injuries aren’t a joke.” He tracked his finger across the man’s eyes, frowning when they didn’t follow. “You definitely have a concussion, mate. If you can walk, we need to -”

“Lord, alright, I get it.” The man raised his burned hand and clumsily rubbed his eyes. “You’re mad at me, I’m sleeping on the couch, whatever. Is all of this really necessary?”

“Uh,” Tim said intelligently. “Mate, I’m not your boyfriend.”

The man waved his other hand in Tim’s direction as he pressed his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion. “I’m hardly speaking to you.” Tim’s jaw dropped in shock as the man angled his face upwards, the crown of his head jamming uncomfortably against the metal shelving. “In my defense, I was doing the best I could with the resources you gave me. It’s water under the bridge. I’ve forgotten about it already! So let’s just get back to our eldritch hellscape.”

Everybody stared at each other.

“We should move this into the break room,” Martin said. “There’s tea there.”

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Jon said, “making Martin into a caricature of himself. You like Martin, you told me so.”

“Counterpoint,” Sasha said weakly, “the bullpen has Jon. And I really don’t want to explain this to Jon.”

“I don’t even know who this one is,” the man said. “What? Not going to tell me?”

“Okay, like, fucking rude, but whatever.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” Tim said firmly, reaching out and putting a firm hand on the man’s arm. The man didn’t recoil or jerk away, just looking down in vague surprise. “But they aren’t here right now. You’re in the basement of the Magnus Institute, alright? I’m Tim Stoker, at your service, and these are my coworkers. I think you have a brain injury. If you can walk, we need to get you -”

“I can’t eat here,” the man said, but he made no effort to remove Tim’s arm. He moved his other hand, pressing it against Tim’s own, as if they were friends. “Cutting me off from my Knowledge -” it was capitalized, Sasha could hear it “ - chaining me to my desk, for - what? You’re not even answering me? Come on!” The man’s voice raised, and for the first time Sasha could hear something ragged in it. “Don’t give me the silent treatment!”

“Jon.”

It was Martin, standing at a distance from the man - from all of them. He was wringing his hands again, shoulders hunched and tense, but his expression was caught in that same mysterious firmness.

The man didn't react. Not in surprise, not in shock, not in unrecognition. He just scowled a little, ignoring all of them.

“Jon,” Martin said, louder. “This isn’t solving anything. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not the one being stubborn, Martin,” Jon - Jon?! - muttered, folding his arms. Like an infant. Like, hypothetically, something Jon would do. “I just don’t think omniscient fear gods should be petty.”

Everybody looked at each other.

“This needs tea,” Martin proclaimed finally, and everybody nodded in silent agreement.

Every nodded in agreement - even, strangely enough, Jonathan Sims himself.

****

This plan had a few complexities.

The first complexity was dealing with Jon - their Boss - himself. In an act of cunning psychological warfare, Martin had gone ahead of them and used his endless and infinite subtle acts of manipulation to guarantee that Jon wouldn’t interrupt them. This situation was already Quite A Bit, nobody wanted to babysit their boss.

Who Sasha frequently felt as if she babysat a bit. Having the youngest person in the office be the very rigid and authoritarian boss was objectively a little funny. But you know what’s not funny? Transphobia.

Eventually Martin came back and waved them forward, and Tim gently yet firmly dragged the man upwards and put a hand on his back.

“Do you mind if I touch you?” Tim asked. He sounded resigned about it - barely expecting Jon to respond. “Let me know how you want me to guide you.”

“Oh, it’s whatever. If you’re going to play it this way.” Jon easily looped his arm through Tim’s, who didn’t bother to mask his shock. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Sasha went ahead of them, watching Tim walk Jon down the aisle - hah! - with his arm looped through his elbow and a hand on his back. It was exactly the kind of care and meticulousness that Sasha always saw in him when it came to others. He literally walked grannies across the street. It was horrendous. She got second-hand embarrassed whenever she saw it.

Tim was loudly, extremely, messily kind. He was a person who adopted lost causes, like young men too grumpy to make real friends and women who only knew academia and never people. Sasha told him that once he got his teeth into something he never let go. It would get him into trouble one day. Maybe it already had.

Sure enough, when Sasha opened the library door for them and peeked her head into the hallway, she saw that Jon’s office door was very firmly shut and locked. Even more incriminatingly, she heard his cute little theater drama monologues starting. Tim had found Jon’s theater aspirations very adorable and he had tried recording them to put on his Snapchat and maybe get him discovered by an agent, but unfortunately the videos made Tim’s phone bleed. They had given Martin ten pounds to taste the blood. Man would do anything for ten pounds, but seeing as they all worked this job that probably applied to all them.

A workplace made out of people who always picked ‘dare’ in truth or dare. It was kind of a miracle they were still alive. Sasha was a little uncertain how she had survived to thirty five, actually.

Once Sasha gave the all clear, Tim was able to bring Jon (Neo-Jon? Nega-Jon? Dark Jon? Mean Jon? No, that was just Jon) into the bullpen. Softly narrating what he was doing, he pulled out a chair and lowered Jon into it.

Homeless Jon hasn’t been blind for very long, Sasha noted clinically. Long enough that he seemed more mildly irritated by it than anything else, but instead of orienting himself or testing out where he was he just kind of slumped in his chair.

“Jon - uh, the Boss is taken care of?” Tim asked Martin, who was rapidly bustling into the bullpen with four cups of tea that he seemed to be under the impression would help. Tim had sat Homeless Jon in Martin’s chair, which seemed to fluster Martin a bit.

“Uh, yeah. Gave him a normal statement to get his guard down, then five of the - you know, weird - statements and said that he has to go through all of them today. He’ll be in there for an hour at least.”

Sasha frowned. “After two he gets a headache and gets bitchy.”

“Three o’clock exactly,” Tim said solemnly.

“Oh, leave off,” Homeless Jon said, “it wasn’t that bad.”

Everybody double taked and looked at each other significantly - which was quickly becoming their predominant mode of communication in a ruthless act of ableism. But Martin just held out a cup of tea, faltering as he clearly stopped to wonder the easiest way to give it to him.

“Can you hold out your hands, Jon? I have some tea for you. It’s hot, so be careful, okay?”

“If the tea’s spiders I’m going to take it out on Annabelle,” Weird Jon said, but he held out his hands anyway and let Martin put the mug in them. He sniffed it cautiously, checking for spiders, before taking a cautious sip.

To Sasha and Tim, Martin said, “I know, he’s going to fall asleep after two. I mean, it might be because I drugged his tea a little -”

Weird Jon spat out his tea back into the mug.

“ - so we shouldn’t be interrupted,” Martin said brightly, clapping his hands. “Now! I think it’s time for explanations, don’t you?” He turned his mighty gaze upon Thankfully Blind Jon, who was occupied carefully holding the tea away from himself. “Drink your tea, Jon.”

Jon drank his tea. His expression twisted. “It tastes just like his.”

Everybody looked at each other. Tim mouthed the word ‘time traveller’ very clearly. Both Sasha and Martin nodded. It was the obvious explanation.

“An explanation now, please,” Martin said pleasantly. “If you’re a time traveller, you can tell us. This is a safe space.”

Jon-from-the-future’s expression harshened in creases. He hadn’t once relaxed, expression permanently tightened in annoyance and disgruntlement. It was ridiculously Jon.

Definitely a time traveller. You didn’t work at the Magnus Institute without secretly spending your life deeply hoping you run into a time traveller. Every researcher upstairs secretly prayed to discover the majesty. Everyone in Artifact Storage eagerly gathered around mysterious clocks and dared each other to touch them. Sasha, Queen of Truth-or-Dare, was the undisputed expert in making other people touch weird clocks and recording their reactions.

“Fine,” Super Time Traveller Jon said. “I know this is what you want. Statement of a stupid punishment by the pettiest little color in the evil crayon box. Recorded by the Archivist, in situ. Statement begins.”

Wow, Jon still had his job in the future? That’s a surprise.

Martin was mouthing the word ‘evil crayon box’ to himself, looking increasingly concerned. The forgotten tape recorder, clenched in Sasha’s fist without her even realizing it, clicked and whirred.

Then the Archivist began to speak.

***

In the hazy amber of a memory, there exists an office.

You can see it clearly in your mind’s Eye, even now. You could likely navigate all of it blindfolded - which you now see that your god has the intention to test. Every corner of it is known to you, in the most subtle and mundane of ways. There’s a dust bunny in that corner, never tidied. A mysterious stain on the far right ceiling. The faint smell of blood, just under the vents. The hot waft of tea; your hands wrapped around a mug.

Through these lonely offices, ghosts roam. They cling to desks and chairs; lingering in favorite mugs or in forgotten hair ties. A metal file cabinet holding neat rows of clothing, blood-stained jackets abandoned. A whiteboard with stubborn flakes of dried marker, forgotten handwriting clinging to life. These imprints no longer evoke terror or grief or pain. They are as familiar as the bloodstains and tea. Even death, eventually, is familiar. After long enough in a nightmare, it becomes indistinguishable from reality.

There is nothing unfamiliar in the Magnus Institute.

Nothing save these voices, emerging from nothing. Every one of your six million senses have been cut off - your hundred eyes reduced to none. You are cognizant only of two familiar voices, and one unfamiliar one. A firm hand, with calloused fingers from leafing through aged paper. A creaky desk chair - Martin’s, undoubtedly, always squeaking as he fidgeted in distraction. The air tastes the same as it used to back then, before the AC broke and no repairman would step inside to repair it. Daisy did, eventually. Three familiar voices, rendered unfamiliar by the harsh tides of wind and cruel plastic hands.

You are afraid of very little, these days. In this world that you’ve built, there is nothing that can harm you. The twisted little puppet strung up in his tower has been long since been disposed of, and the awful and terrifying future has settled into a gentle present. The apocalypse grows tedious after a while, and the buffet of fears start tasting a little samey.

But if anything could frighten you, this would. If anything would petrify you, it would be Tim’s kind smile, which died a year before Tim did. If anything could freeze you to your chair, it would be the sight of Sasha with red-rimmed eyes asking why you never even noticed that she was gone.

The sanctuary of memory corrupted. A mental place of safety infiltrated. A mind turned inside out, exposing its vulnerable flesh to the world.

There is nothing else this could be but your own personal hell.

Your loyal servant crouches on bended knee, giving this final prayer to you. He asks, humbly and with great reverence, one simple question:

Why couldn’t this have waited until after I got my milk?

***

The spell ruptured.

It was almost tangible, like a change in air pressure making your ears pop. Sasha blinked harshly, rubbing at her ears and trying to soothe strange ringing. Tim exhaled heavily and Martin screwed his eyes open and shut harshly, as if he was seeing spots.

The only person unaffected was Weirdly Christian Jon, who was slumped in Martin’s chair with his arms folded over his chest. He was still looking at the ceiling - speaking to whoever he had been addressing this entire time.

“Just one day,” Jon was saying. “Just one day! It was going to be a nice day! We had decided to take a day trip to the Flesh garden and have a picnic! My darling and beautiful husband was going to make us a cake! ‘Walk down to the Hell corner store’, my husband says. ‘Pick us up some Eldritch milk’, he says. ‘Why do I have to do it’, I says, ‘I’m in the middle of something’. ‘We need cake for bridge night with the girls and I’ll divorce you if you don’t do it’, he says. I didn’t even change out of my nightmare pyjamas! What did I ever do to you? How are you still upset about the eye thing?”

Sasha and the Assistants, still digesting the extremely disturbing monologue, let him talk. Sasha was caught up in how it felt exactly like Jon’s little drama monologues. Granted, he had obviously gotten a lot more practice - guy could go to Broadway - but the weird lilting and falling sing-songyness was just the same. And he only ever did that for the very weird ones. The ones that they were pretty certain were actually true.

So that probably meant at one point in the future, if Jon was speaking about the Archives as if they had worked there for years. Probably during the apocalypse. Which was happening. Which Jon had...built? Like, as a personal thing, or in a metaphor for capitalism and the human race? Definitely the capitalism thing - Jon was prone to flights of filing-induced passion that sometimes accidentally resulted in a stapler flying and punching a hole through the wall, but she couldn’t even imagine him even purposefully punching someone, much less being the Antichrist. Unless it was one of those things that just happened to you, like a rare genetic defect.

“Seriously. What was the alternative here? Endless horrorterrors, everybody screaming all the time? It was boring. You eat one Statement about somebody standing in line at a slaughterhouse conveyor belt and you’ve eaten them all. I didn’t do it because I didn’t like you, although for the record I don’t. But you have to admit that having Eldritch Lidls are much more practical than just having a bunch of people lying around screaming all the time. It’s not as if I don’t have other eyes, I hardly miss them. There’s no chocolate cakes in the swirling vortex of mankind’s worst nightmares!”

Okay. They had to find a way to engage with this guy. He was completely ignoring them, probably because he thought that they were mean ghosts. Sasha was only one of those things, and it was hurting her feelings. Judging from the expression on Tim’s face he was thinking the same thing.

Or - wait, Sasha knew that eyebrow. That was the ‘please please please tell the apocalypse has zombies’ eyebrow. Great.

But Martin was just looking thoughtful again. Sasha was pretty proud of him - it was probably very difficult for the poor man to remain coherent in the face of the crazy time-traveller who was definitely hotter than their already objectively unfairly hot boss.

“Jon,” Martin said, cutting Jon’s tired rant about how eggs benedict were much better these days, “Uh, I have an idea? Maybe you can’t get out of the - nightmare by bargaining with it. Do you know how to normally escape these things?”

Jon angled his head down and frowned in Martin’s direction. So far Martin seemed to be the only person who could shut Jon up, which was a hilarious turnaround from normal life. Sasha hadn’t heard anything about Martin being a sad little ghost, but it was hard to believe that Martin was a survivor in the zombie apocalypse.

“You go through the statement and you walk through it,” Jon said, in a very ‘duh’ kind of way. “Give the statement, highfive corpses, whatever.”

“Right, right.” Martin wrung his hands, biting at his lip. “So maybe it’s like that. Maybe instead of asking to be let out - you just have to walk through it. Like - like it’s a maze. Does that make sense? I’m not sure, it’s just an idea.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Right as always, Martin.” Everybody’s jaw dropped, and Martin squeaked. “Fine, fine. Let’s...interact with the evil ghosts.” Jon gestured out with his arms, in a very ‘come at me bro’ gesture. “Go ahead and shoot. Hit me with how much you hate me and how disappointed you are that I never amounted to anything and started the apocalypse.”

Finally! Interrogation time!

But before Sasha could finally find out if global warming had killed the world, Tim jumped in. “Are there zombies in the apocalypse?!” Tim cried, way too excited. “Is it like the Walking Dead? Or is it more Last of Us?”

Jon squinted in Tim’s direction. “Define zombie.”

“...hunger for human flesh, shambling, gross looking?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen any zombie movies.”

“I’m omniscient, I’ve seen every zombie movie,” Jon lied blatantly. “I just think that you’re - you know, stereotyping. Sometimes people are the undead and eat humans and they’re - they’re very normal people.”

“Yeah, Tim, be sensitive,” Sasha said gleefully. She put the tape recorder on Martin’s desk, deciding that she would definitely need a transcript of this interview later. Also maybe ask more questions about that omniscient thing, but she was sure Jon was just exaggerating. If you asked Jon today if he was the smartest person on Earth he’d probably say yes. Jon wasn’t even the smartest person in the room.

For good measure, she drew out her little notebook from her pencil skirt pocket, flipping through it looking for a clean page. “The Archives have never gotten a time traveller before. This is unprecedented in its history.” Well, she really didn’t know what Gertrude had gotten up to, but she dearly hoped it wasn’t this. “Do you have any warnings? Desperate messages from a ruined world, that kind of thing?”

“I’m not a time traveller,” Jon said flatly, “so no.”

Everybody stared at him in abject pity.

“Mate,” Tim said sympathetically, “it’s 2015. You’re a time traveller.”

“No, I’m in a pocket hell dimension in a period beyond time and space,” Jon corrected arrogantly. “Time travel doesn’t exist.”

“The apocalypse exists but time travel doesn’t exist?” Martin cried. “That’s so unfair! Like, give us something, you know?”

“Your life is very hard,” the extratemporal reject said.

Typical Jon. A classic case of time travel and here he was denying it. Sasha crossed her arms, upset that they were wasting time debating temporal physics when they could be talking about zombies. She was a historian and had priorities. “Your denial ain’t cute, mate. You’re just wasting all of our time.” Jon opened his mouth, but Sasha steamrolled over him. “You want evidence, right? Do you need to, like, touch my face? Make sure that I’m not a sexy ghost?”

“That’s a stereotype that nobody actually does,” Jon said.

“Insensitive as always, Sasha,” Martin condemned.

“How else are we going to prove it to him?” Sasha said, somewhat defensively. “It’s not as if we have any evidence that we’re not sexy ghosts.”

With utmost care and incredible gentleness, Tim reached out an open hand and gently smooshed it into Jon’s face.

Jon slumped in his seat, arms folded, unimpressed.

“No mortal who is not my darling husband has dared to touch me since I became the Antichrist,” Jon said.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, withdrawing his hand and looking at Sasha. “What’s more unbelievable: Jon as the Antichrist or Jon with a husband?”

“Jon’s gay?” Martin cried, face beet red. “Gay Jon? Gay Jon real?”

“So, like, how do you get the Antichrist gig?” Sasha asked as she silently passed Tim a fiver. Her queerdar had never been so wrong. “Is it like an adventurer quest you can do or would you call it more of a rare genetic disorder thing?”

“Definitely rare genetic disorder.”

“Then does that mean that our Jon also has the Antichrist gene?” Tim asked, alarmed. “You’d never think so just looking at him! It’s always the quiet ones.”

“No, this makes sense,” Martin said.

Tim stared at him. “So, is that, like, a negative for you, or a positive…?”

Martin’s silence was incriminating.

“It’s a positive,” Jon said helpfully, startling everyone. They had conveniently forgotten not to talk about one very horny man’s very horny crush in front of sad grumpy time travelling crush. “He’s into it.”

“Wow, Jon,” Tim said, “what would your husband say?”

In a completely pointless show of sass, Jon rolled his eyes. “My useless husband is likely much more concerned with how I managed to get trapped in a nightmare dimension on my way back from the Hell corner store.” He waved a hand absently. “So, if we can hurry this up? Get started on the whole torturing me thing? Right now you’re just on track to annoying me to death.”

“We annoy you to death now!” Tim exclaimed, as Martin’s eyes boggled. “Isn’t that more proof for the time traveller theory?”

“It wasn’t annoying,” Jon said curtly. “I secretly enjoyed it. I always felt a little bad that I wasn’t included. Or wouldn’t let myself be included.”

That, abruptly, made everyone feel a little bad. Not guilty, seeing as Jon neither wanted nor deserved their affection, but just kind of bad. Future Jon didn’t seem any happier than regular Jon. Sasha liked to imagine that if she was trapped in an indeterminate period in time and space in a post-apoc hellscape, she’d at least be having fun.

Everybody looked at each other, equally a little uncomfortable. Tim was the one who finally took control of the situation, as the self-appointed Jon & Everyone Else mediator. He had taken up the mantle years ago and worse it with pride, and occasional exhaustion.

“Look,” Tim said, as reasonably as possible. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, this was super cool and awesome time travel. Let’s also say maybe this was completely baller and you’re from a post apoc future where everyone wears leather.”

“That’s just Melanie.”

“Put it down as one person who wears leather in the future!” Tim cried, and Sasha obediently jotted it down.”But let’s just put all of this in a hypothetical situation where you aren’t...uh, in a bad dream? So would there, hypothetically, be a way to stop the apocalypse or something?”

Jesus christ. What a try-hard.

Sasha crossed her arms, glaring at Tim. From next to her, Martin looked just as peeved. “Seriously, dude? Like we can just up and stop capitalism?”

“I don’t want responsibility for stopping the apocalypse,” Martin protested. “I can barely navigate the bus system. What if the Terminator comes after my mother or something?”

“You’ll be a bit better off, frankly,” Jon said. Martin nodded, conceding the point, before looking faintly disturbed.

“But he said that he caused it,” Tim protested. “Maybe the power of friendship can fix this? I mean, the apocalypse is cool, but I feel like this is the part where we’re all badasses and we fight evil or something.” Tim’s eyes widened. “That’s what the Magnus Institute is for. To stop the apocalypse!”

“Every day I feel a slight sense of emptiness due to my internalized guilt about your death, but you are usually wrong about things,” Jon said flatly, which seemed to both perk Tim up and depress him slightly. “And no. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no one event that precipitated the apocalypse; no rules of engagement. You are puppets on strings, indulging in the fantasy of free will. Yes, Sasha, the apocalypse is capitalism.”

Everybody stood in slightly depressed silence over this. Sasha, personally, was a little relieved. She really didn’t have to deal with the whole ‘preventing the apocalypse’ thing. She’d rather spend the finals days of the world in hedonism, frankly.

Really, the unique providence of the millennial was to live your entire life half-way convinced you were in the twilight years of the world. This hedonism and apathy was second nature. Or maybe the apathy was a Leitner - Sasha had lost track of that too.

“Aw, man,” Martin said, summarizing the abstract and complex feelings deftly and succinctly. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, this blows,” Tim agreed. “So should I buy my muscle car now, or later, or what?”

Then Martin and Tim started arguing over fuel efficiency in the apocalypse, and Jon royally checked out of the conversation. Sasha imagined that he was internally having a bit of a Saving Private Ryan moment where flashbacks of bombshells exploded behind his eyelids or whatever the fuck. The important thing is that everyone was distracted, and Sasha could finally check up on their most important gambit of the day: making sure Jon wasn’t bothering them.

Sasha listened carefully for the sounds of Jon’s little theater monologues, and caught only faint hints of sound. She slipped past everyone into the hallway and approached Jon’s office door, pressing her ear against the cheap wood. But she didn’t need to worry: he was still reciting away, oblivious to the actual interesting shit that was happening outside his door. Jon was a delicate plant, you couldn’t stress him out too much or he would die. Hopefully Martin’s drugged tea would kick in soon -

But Antichrist Jon’s head jerked towards her, directly behind him, and Sasha saw his unfocused green eyes fixate directly on her. No, not on her - on the door, or something beyond it. For just a second, his eyes flared a sharp and toxic green.

“There you are,” Creepy Jon hissed.

Well, sorry for leaving rooms without telling him, but she hadn’t thought that he even noticed, much less got resentful about it. But Weird Jon was standing up with no hesitation, and effortlessly swerved around Martin’s desk and stalked into the hallway. For the first time, his expression looked a little dangerous. It was bizarre and off putting, like seeing a ragged yet murderous two meter kitten.

He reached out an arm and let it trail across the wall, stopping short when he felt it hit wood instead of plaster. Tim and Martin surged forward to stop him, yelling warnings, but Sasha quickly stepped back. She never impeded the timeless march of science and progress. Sasha had done far worse in Artifact Storage for knowledge.

Jon brushed his hand down the door until it hit the doorknob and angrily twisted it, heaving the door open with unnecessary force. Tim and Martin spilled into the hallway as Angry Jon stalked inside, and Sasha eagerly hung in the door frame for a front row seat into the drama.

“This is your fault,” Jon intoned dangerously, directly in the face of a deathly affronted Jon.

In the spirit of the First Directive, Sasha heroically stretched out an arm and prevented Tim and Martin from spilling into the office. It was the right call. Jon stalked forward into the office, hair whipping in a nonexistent wind, expression obscured but undoubtedly thunderous, advancing on the terrified Archivist, as -

He tripped over a chair left carelessly in the center of the office, rocketing forward to land flatly on his face.

Beside her, Martin went white as a sheet. “Oh no.”

Simultaneously, in complete and total unison, Jon and the Archivist yelled, “Martin!”

****

Jon and the Archivist sat across from each other, exuding waves of pure mutual hatred.

Tim had quickly helped the Archivist up, moving the chair forward and getting him situated there. The Archivist’s mood was not improved by any of this. Which was difficult enough to handle by itself, if manageable. Sasha knew how to manage grumpy time travelling blind Antichrists who had gotten lost on their way to the corner store.

She even knew how to handle their boss, who was extremely grumpy about being harassed by a random homeless person with nice hair. Jon hated statement givers at the best of times, much less seemingly homeless ex-corpses. Or, well, Sasha didn’t know if he was an ex-corpse, but he was certainly an animate one.

They were both being so annoying about it Sasha was trying to determine if she should change their nicknames to something more derogatory. Thing 1 and Thing 2? Too long.

Both of them were very grumpy about the fact that Martin had pushed aside the chair for guests in front of Jon’s desks when he deposited the drugged tea, accidentally moving it close to the center of the office. Jon had known this because he saw it happen. The Archivist had known this because he, apparently, knew Martin very well.

Today had really been a bonding experience with Sasha, Martin, and Tim. Their skill at silent communication had reached borderline telepathy. They all looked at each other significantly as the Jons were caught in their mutual dyad of hatred, silently commiserating over the fact that their one goal had been spoiled by the greatest wildcard of all. Sasha privately liked to consider herself somewhat of a wildcard, but she was depressingly aware that the entire Archive team was composed of wildcards. Maybe that’s why half of them didn’t survive the apocalypse.

It was a little unlikely that Jon was a survivor/instigator in the zombie apocalypse, actually. Dude definitely would have bit it if he wasn’t cheating with Antichrist powers. Now, if Sasha had Antichrist powers, this whole game would be looking very different -

“Boss, this is a statement giver,” Tim hinted desperately, hands clenched so hard on the back of the Archivist’s chair that his knuckles were turning white. “Remember what Elias said about statement givers? About how we can’t harass them?”

“I was in the middle of a recording and this man was unnecessarily confrontational,” Jon said crisply. Sasha caught her eye jumping frantically back and forth between the two, trying to reconcile them. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Martin’s horny surety, she wouldn’t have realized that they were the same person at all. The Archivist’s most defining attribute was his big and fluffy hair, and Jon was sadly lacking in the nice hair department. That fade and twists were the shackle around his ankle. So was the sweater vest, baggy tweed jacket, and ill-fitting.“He’s lucky I’m not throwing him out.”

Martin, who looked as if he was having his tenth gay crisis of the morning, didn’t seem to hold the same opinion, but he was king of bad taste anyway.

“Remember what Elias said about harassing confused, blind statement givers? Remember that? Boss?”

Jon looked confused. “He didn’t specify the community of people with disabilities.”

“It was implied? Jon?”

“The optics would be terrible,” Sasha said, before snickering. Martin stomped on her foot. She stomped on his back, which definitely hurt a lot more. “Look, Jon, sorry about all of this. He was just - uh - really insistent that he talk to you -”

“I think if our visitor hassles Jon then maybe, objectively, you can say that Jon brought it on himself,” Martin said, in a daring show of anti-Jon sentiment.

This act of subtle rebellion was the first thing that broke the Archivist out of his cycle of hatred. He threw out a hand, bowling over Jon’s desktop cup of pens and sending them tumbling over the desk. Sasha saw him specifically orient his hand to do so. “Thank you, Martin! Your understanding of paraphysics is always immaculate.”

“Wow, really?”

“Stop complimenting my assistants,” Jon hissed, frantically diving to save his pens. “And stop - gesticulating over my desk! You did that on purpose!”

“Harassing the blind, Jon!”

“You don’t even need to tearfully blame me for how I ruined your life,” the Archivist said flatly. “You existing in my vicinity is torment enough.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Sasha said, before pausing a beat. “I meant the first part, ha ha ha, obviously -”

“This man is a very normal statement giver who will be leaving any minute now,” Martin jumped in, “so there’s really no reason for us all to fight, when you think about it -”

“If you all don’t get out of my office, you are all fired -”

“You are listening.”

Everybody stopped talking at once, staring at the Archivist. He was still staring intently ahead, straight into his counterpart. Jon was hiding it, quite badly, but he was unsettled. He hadn’t even acknowledged that he and the man looked alike - the thought undoubtedly running through his brain and soundly dismissed - but it was clearly rattling him. But there was something else that was scaring him too - maybe the Archivist’s green eyes, so foreign from his own brown? His intense and furious expression, like cut glass? The particularly strange and heavy feeling in the air, prickling down the back of Sasha’s neck?

He hadn’t even stopped the recorder.

“You are here,” the Archivist continued calmly. “You were listening in. Why you were listening in on him, and his regurgitated aftertaste of Statements, I do not know. I felt you, and I came to you. We cannot forsake each other. Do not hide yourself from me.”

The effect was immediate.

The Archivist’s neck snapped forward, so harshly he cracked his head on Jon’s desk. Strangely enough, Jon screamed too, holding a hand to his temple as if he was suddenly pierced by a blinding headache. Tim immediately bent down to check on Archivist, making sure that he hadn’t hurt himself, as Martin bustled around the desk to check on Jon. Jon batted his hands away, scowling, so he was just fine. But the Archivist didn’t groan, or stir, or moan. He just lay there, still and limp, and when Tim shook him he didn’t even tense.

The air was heavy, a tang of metal in her mouth like the crackle before a storm, and Sasha couldn’t fight a shiver. But she couldn’t take her eyes off Jon, either: the way he stared at the Archivist, hand on his forehead, eyes wide and growing wider.

“Dad…?”

When the Archivist stirred, the spell was broken, and Jon’s mouth snapped shut so quickly it was as if he had never spoken at all. He turned his head and moaned, eyes opening uselessly. They were back to their usual toxic green, no flaring or flashing.

“Mar’in? Where…”

“I’m here,” Martin said quickly, and ducked around the desk to grab the Archivist’s hand and squeeze. For just a second, Jon looked a little jealous. Sasha had the sense that Jon had never been mothered than anyone other than Martin and Tim, and the prospect confused and frightened him so much he reacted aggressively to it. “Everything alright? You hit your head.”

“How many eyes?” the Archivist asked weakly.

“...physically, or functionally?”

But the Archivist just ran his burned hand over his smooth hand, kneading it and feeling the skin. “Still gone. Damn it.” He straightened, grimacing and spitting out a stray tendril of hair out of his mouth. “So it’s true…”

“So what’s true?” Tim asked urgently. “Do you finally believe us about the time travel thing? Because man, I have so many questions -”

He didn’t get the opportunity to say anything. The Archivist reached out a hand, fingers brushing against his shirt, and the Archivist’s hand abruptly clenched on the fabric. Tightly, roughly, the Archivist pulled him down and extended his other arm, and caught Tim in an awkward and lopsided hug.

Tim carefully straightened him and returned the hug, gracing the Archivist with the patented Perfect Stoker Hug, and the Archivist buried his face in Tim’s shoulder. His chest didn’t heave, and his breath didn’t catch, but the element of desperation was pungent and unmistakable.

“You were right,” Jon whispered. “We messed it all up.”

“Sure, yeah, totally!” Tim said, clapping the Archivist on the back in a masculine, yet sensitive way. “So, does this mean the zombie apocalypse is totally a-go, or…”

“Sasha,” the Archivist said, and Sasha chose to ignore her own personal distaste for hugs and being touched so she could step forward and hug him too.

He clutched onto her just as tightly as he had Tim, which surprised her a little. Jon and Tim had probably been best friends in the future, and Sasha couldn’t imagine her and Jon ever truly being close. He respected her as a colleague, but that was probably because Sasha purposefully left her manuscripts around the office and aggressively used as many big words in front of him as possible. Jon had always been an obstacle to her - innocently stupid at best, malicious at worst. To think that he would grip her so tightly…

With meticulous care, the Archivist separated from her. His expression was crumpled, and for the first time Sasha saw something over than aggravation or impatience in Jon’s face. Relaxed and soft, he looked like a different man. No - he was a different man, it was just apparent. The change softened his sharp lines into something a little friendlier; his striking exterior melting into something pretty instead of imposing.

Slowly, he raised his hand a little to tangle it in her hair. He frowned a little, gently tugging at it and feeling it spring back into place. “So it was curly…like mine…”

A lot of little hints snowballed into one strange and foreign realization. “Do you not remember me?”

“Dolls stole your identity,” the Archivist said apologetically.

“Like credit card fraud, or -”

“Metaphysically.” He paused guiltily. “I mourned you as an abstract concept?”

“Like I’m every woman in Hollywood?” Sasha screeched, outraged. This was not trans rights. “Alright, royally fuck that. Feel my hair, mister. Full permission to touch it. Feel that? You call that abstract?” The Archivist shook his head, eyes wide, and Sasha gently moved his hand to rest on the top of her head. “Taller than you in eight cm heels, remember? You asked me how I walked in them, and I said -”

“ - Barbie’s Princess Charm School,” the Archivist said automatically, eyes widening. “I do remember.”

Martin clearly waited around to be tenderly embraced, and was disappointed.

The Archivist stepped away from Sasha, expression creased in furious thought. “So it’s real. So far as anything’s real, I suppose. But I don’t understand how -” the Archivist’s eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers in realization. “The manhole!”

Everybody stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said pleasantly, “what is going on -”

“I was walking down the street, and I remember hearing city work!” the Archivist said brightly. “They were doing their monthly ‘clearing the gators out of the sewer pipes’ maintenance! And the Beholding told me that there was an open manhole, and I said oh it’ll be fine, I’m a demigod on Earth, I don’t fall down manholes - and then -”

The door to Jon’s office dramatically crashed open, and everybody jumped straight in the air. Jon, whose office had seen two more incredibly theatrical entrances than usual today, immediately bristled and opened his mouth to earn them all another harassment complaint, before he abruptly shut his mouth.

It was Elias, their miniature and unspeakably boring boss extraordinaire. He stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorframe, suit jacket askew and chest heaving. Had he ran down here?

“Is someone here?” the Archivist asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Tim said, stepping forward cautiously. “It’s our boss, Mr. Bouchard. Elias, we’re taking a statement, can we help - ?”

“How did that get here?” Elias asked, voice strangely tense and coiled. “How did you - not even I could -”

“That makes sense!” Martin cried, thumping a fist on his open palm. “Elias wants to time travel just as much as everyone else in the Institute!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, pathetically behind, “time travel -”

“Did the time traveller sensor alarms in the basement go off?” Sasha asked, surprised. “I thought only Artifact Storage had those.”

“Uh, Mr. Statement Giver, are you okay?” Tim asked, but it was already too late.

The Archivist had turned to face Elias, expression unreadable. Sasha felt that crackle again, weighing down the air, and she saw the Archivist’s hair puff and frizz slightly with a green crackle. His neon green pupils shone again and spun, like an infernal wheel.

“What’s wrong, Elias?” the Archivist mocked, as energy coursed through him. “Upset that Mama has a new favorite?”

And Sasha saw in that moment that the Archivist, who possessed the most inhuman green eyes she had ever seen, had eyes the same shade as Elias.

“Oh, man,” Sasha said, “is Elias a time traveller too?”

“Only in the most mundane way. Can’t even get a little bit of special attention, Elias? Sad!” It was second-hand thrilling to watch someone mock their boss, living the dreams of everyone in the room. Even if it was a little weird how much Jon seemed to hate this guy - nobody hated Elias, just like nobody liked him, and nobody had any strong feelings at all besides unpromoted women.

At the door, Elias’ expression was slack in - amazement? Was amazement the right word? He was staring at Jon as if...words didn’t even describe it. At least in any way that Sasha wanted to think about.

“Mr. Bouchard, I swear I can explain,” Sasha, who could not explain, said hurriedly. “We found this corpse and we were going to tell you, but -”

But the Archivist cut her off, as if nothing was less important than explaining himself to Elias. “Did you want to know how to stop the apocalypse, Sasha?”

Sasha froze. Martin and Tim did too. Jon, who nobody had actually bothered to brief since he was kind of the fifth most important person in the room, dropped his pen. “Uh,” Sasha said, sweating. For the first time she understood the possible upsides of not knowing something. “I mean, if I have to, but you said that it was inevitable -”

“Oh, yes. But, just once every one or two centuries, a man comes along who fancies himself fate.” The Archivist raised a hand, eyes spinning and spinning, as Elias stood frozen in the doorframe. “I’ll be honest, Jonah. This isn’t to save the world. That’s so last year. I just really fucking hate you.” Something cracked in the air. “Ceaseless watcher, smite this -”

The door slammed shut. Sasha heard Elias lock it behind him. They all stood around as footsteps quickly echoed through the Archives, and another door slammed. Which was probably being locked too.

They stood in silence, the Archivist having clearly heard the slams. He let his hand fall, but the energy didn’t cease crackling around him. He didn’t look resentful or disappointed - just thoughtful.

“Everything in due time, I suppose. I guess it is pretty unfair to get to smite that man twice,” the Archivist said thoughtfully. “I’ll give someone else a turn.” His mouth twitched wryly. “You know, Sasha, there’s one other way to prevent the apocalypse.”

“Is it work?” Sasha asked tiredly.

“You may kill the man who arranged the dominos,” the Archivist intoned, before hanging his head towards a petrified Jon. “Or you may kill the man who toppled them over.”

Sasha stared at Jon. Jon stared back, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Martin silently passed Sasha a penknife from Jon’s desk.

“I’m very qualified for this job,” Jon protested weakly.

“Queen of feminism, I very much support you,” Tim said quickly, putting himself in between Sasha and Jon in a heroic display of stupidity, “but, maybe, killing your boss to take his job, is perhaps, maybe not that much of a great idea, just a thought?”

“The job’s being the Antichrist,” the Archivist pointed out, crossing his arms.

“The direct action against sexism, xenophobia, and transphobia is very admirable,” Tim said, eyes held up as if he was placating a tiger, “but think of it this way - if you kill the Antichrist, then you become the Antichrist, like in - uh -”

“Pokemon,” Martin volunteered.

Tim snapped his fingers. “Pokemon! So you shouldn’t -” He halted, turning back to Martin. “Pokemon? Seriously? That’s becoming champion -”

“A - alright, alright! Everybody stop!” Jon shakily stood up, brushing aside the empty tea mug right next to him. “That’s enough of all of this! I may not know what’s going on, or who this man is, or why he looks like me -”

“Hm,” Martin said, eyeing the empty tea mug.

“ - why he looks like a homeless person, why he barged into my office and insulted me, why you are all defending this atrocious behavior, why you are calling it the work of time travel, which does not exist and you have no proof for it anyway -”

“Jon,” Martin said, watching Jon’s arm tremble, “maybe you should -”

“Shut up, Martin!”

“Don’t be rude to him!” the Archivist snapped.

“You’ve been rude to him twice today!”

“I’m allowed to be rude to him! He’s even ruder to me! I’m the nice one!”

“ - and you were glowing in my office, which is just frankly rude,” Jon continued viciously, steamrolling over the Archivist. “You gave me a terrible headache, you hugged my assistants very inappropriately for the workplace, you made my boss walk in before trying to smite him, you encourage violence against my own person in revenge for a job that I definitely deserve -”

Both of Jon’s arms were shaking, and Tim’s eyebrows were slowly raising. “Boss, you should sit down, I think -”

“ - I want an explanation!” Jon yelled, slamming the desk. “And I’m not going to stop until you tell me what’s going on!”

Then Jon passed out.

Everybody watched it happen. Everybody, save perhaps the Archivist, had noticed that it was about to happen: at first a tremor, then a shake, and then a final collapse. Like a marionette with his strings cut, Jon slumped over and crumpled solidly on the floor.

Everybody stood in disaffected silence. Martin carefully stepped over and prodded Jon with his foot. “Out cold.” He shot a considering gaze at the empty tea mug. “Sorry, guys. Looks like I accidentally used the delayed action sedative.”

"It’s alright,” Tim said magnanimously. “At least that problem is solved now. Maybe we can convince him this was a bad dream when he wakes up.”

“If he insists it was real, we’ll just ask him for evidence and refuse to believe him without it,” Sasha suggested.

“Isn’t that kinda gaslighting?” Martin asked. “Isn’t that, you know, a little morally dubious -”

“You did drug him,” Tim pointed out.

“I mean, hardly the first time?”

“Maybe Martin should be the Antichrist,” Sasha said thoughtfully.

The Archivist’s face was doing something extremely interesting, yet inscrutable.

“I really don’t want to be Antichrist, though,” Martin said apologetically. “Does it even pay?”

“Jon did say it was a job…” Sasha said, already considering herself in the role. “Do you guys think I’d be sexier as the Antichrist? Be honest.”

“Yes and completely,” Tim said immediately, before realizing that he said that too quickly. “I mean. I’d never objectify you. I respect women. But -”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Martin said, throwing up his hands. “When you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot it’s normal and M/F of you. But when I do it, then it’s ‘gross’ and ‘get that away from me’. Great double standards, guys.”

“It’s not the fact that it’s a guy,” Tim protested, “it’s the fact that it’s Jon -”

“Oh, when you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot then it’s normal and cis of you,” Sasha said heatedly, “but when Tim respects trans women, then it’s ‘gross’ and -”

“I respect all women,” Tim said, equally heatedly, “but I do want to acknowledge the systematic marginalization of trans women within the community, especially trans women of color like yourself -”

A hoarse wheeze echoed through the office.

Everyone froze, terrified by the haunted sound, but after a second Sasha realized it was the Archivist - Jon - who was laughing.

They had never heard him laugh before. He was practically wheezing with it, bent over with his hands on his knees, with a strained cackle that fizzed with static around the corners. He was smiling broadly, his grin splitting his cheeks, for the first time that Sasha had ever seen.

He straightened and threw his head back and laughed too, a greater belly-laugh that was so hysterical and fragile and free that it struck something strange and raw in Sasha’s heart. He rubbed his face with his hand, still laughing, and eventually broke into coughs.

“I understand now,” Jon said, when he stopped coughing. “I thought that you had deposited me here in revenge. You had sensed that I was happy - that the green skies were beautiful, that your large eye seemed kind that day - and that you found it a waste of emotion. But that wasn’t true, was it? It must have been an accident. I’ve never been happier to hear these idiots arguing, and you’ve lost me like a toy behind a bookshelf. The strange stupidity of it! I’m enchanted.” He sombered a little, expression falling from hysterical glee into a soft and resigned happiness. He held up his hand, feeling the crackle of electricity run across his palms. “But you See me now. The foolish man brought you down upon us, and I intercepted your lightning bolt. His eyes, mundane and paltry, are closed, and you feel my consciousness in replacement of him. I can feel you already - my Eyes opening, the Reality that we built together calling me back. When your infinite grace re-aligns with every one of my atoms, forming the fabric of my world, I’ll snap back.”

Just like that?

Sasha had thought that there would be an...adventure, or quest, or something. At least a research binge. Some kind of heroic group effort. But the Archivist was a stretched rubber band, held tightly and out of position, and after long enough straining against its center it had to snap back. A telly flickering in and out, blaring the song of a dead channel.

“Do we have time to group hug or something?” Tim offered weakly, undoubtedly thinking the same thing as she was. “Last goodbyes? Anything?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle moment?” Martin asked urgently. “I’ll find you in the future, right? We’re still together there, right?”

“Martin,” Jon said, strangely fond, “we were never apart.”

Martin turned a unique shade of red.

But it was Sasha who Jon turned to, face angled to the sound of her voice. His expression was still distantly fond, but there was something strange in it too - a wry recognition, a subtle knowledge, a faint recollection of a joke that only he knew.

“Sasha,” Jon said, “so long as you’re brave, and buy ten fire extinguishers and hide them around the office, things will be just fine. Buy twelve fire extinguishers, just to be safe. And don’t ever go inside Artifact Storage again. Not even for Alicia’s birthday party. If it’s a choice between worms and Artifact Storage then choose worms, the scars add a certain appeal. I cannot stress enough, not even if you lose your jacket in Artifact Storage -”

“Are you sure you don’t have anything to say to me?” Martin asked desperately, almost crying. Sasha, personally, wanted to circle back around to the worm thing. “Sad goodbyes? Waving a handkerchief? I thought you said I was alive? Don’t you have anything?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Goodness, Martin, if you insist. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. In fact, I do believe it’s about time.”

Martin’s mind clearly projected very loudly ‘I’ve been in love with you this entire time’ in blatant wish-fulfillment. Everybody held their breaths.

Jon drew himself up to his full, imposing height, and sternly looked at all of them. “I’m tired of holding my tongue about this, Martin,” Jon said finally, and Martin qualified. “For the last time, I don’t load the dishwasher wrong. I load the dishwasher correctly. It’s you who’s always insisting that the cups go on the bottom. It’s a freakish way to live your life, and I’ll never forgive you for -”

Static blared in Sasha’s ears and overwrote her mind, and she screamed. The sensation was a pickaxe driven into her ears, an unforgivable rip and tear, and she heard her screams echoed in concert.

Then the pain abated, and was gone.

Sasha, Tim, and Martin were left standing in an empty office, accompanied only by the unconscious figure of their boss. There was nothing left of the Archivist, nor any suggestion that he had ever been here - just a drained mug, some scattered pens, and a lingering sense of malaise and confusion.

Everybody looked at each other, feeling strangely and uniquely connected. It was hardly Sasha’s strangest Magnus Institute experience, but maybe it was the funnest.

“Well,” Tim said finally, “at least one day this week wasn’t boring.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even have to get drunk today.” Sasha sighed. “We definitely have to gaslight Jon about this.”

Martin was already carefully lugging Jon onto his chair, arranging him so his arms were folded on the desk with his cheek resting on his forearm. “We’ll pretend it was just a weird dream.” He propped his hands on his hips, satisfied. “Hopefully this convinces him he needs more sleep.” Martin gasped in sudden realization. “Maybe he becomes the Antichrist because he needs more sleep! Guys, I have a great twenty step plan for saving the world.”

“Oh, come on, we said that was too much work.” Tim shrugged and opened the office door, holding it open and gesturing for them all to come out. “I think if we just friendship Jon to death, all of our problems will be solved.”

Martin just shrugged, following him out. They really did have paperwork that they needed to get back to. “Both are vital components. But...hey, it’s not weird to put the mugs on the bottom rack, is it? There’s not really that much of a difference, right?”

“Mate, you’re a fucking freak.” Tim looked backwards at Sasha, who was still standing in the office, dazed. “Sash, you coming? Let’s go day-drinking.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “in a sec.”

He shrugged and left the door propped open, and Sasha heard their bickering fade slowly as they walked down the hallway.

But she couldn’t help staring at Jon sleeping at his desk, chest falling in and out, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose. His short, carefully maintained hair and meticulous fade. His baggy tweed and ill-fitting slacks. The subtle and shameful kind of earnestness, the desire mixed with fear mixed with hope mixed with genuine desire for a better future. He just wanted to be happy, to not be afraid anymore. He seemed weirdly human, when compared with his inhuman self. Or maybe it was the other way around.

The tape recorder on Jon’s desk was still running. Sasha squinted at it, taking a second to listen to the staticy hiss. It was familiar, in the strangest possible way. It felt familiar -

Sasha reached out and grabbed the tape recorder, stuffing it in her pencil skirt pocket. “Just remember,” Sasha whispered, “I’d make a great candidate for Antichrist.”

She ran to go catch up with her coworkers, shutting the door behind them and leaving Jon sleeping contentedly in his office, head pillowed on his arms, dreaming strange and comforting dreams.

#i know I say 'this is the stupidest thing i've ever written' EVERY TIME BUT #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #tma fanfic #tma time travel au #crack #jonathan sims #sasha james #tim stoker #martin blackwood #elias bouchard

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plan-d-to-i · 2 years

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Hey plan can you link or write something about how when the jiang siblings saved wei wuxian from a situation, both their acts were impulsive and not thought out. While when the wen siblings gave themselves to the jins to save wei wuxian and the other remnants, it was a thought out decision. I also acknowledge it's partially the factor of what the situation was too but i never saw the jiang sibs helping wwx in the background when they met for jiang yanli to show her dress.

Also Jiang Yanli died and we never really got what she wanted to say at her last moments, but what do you think she feels about her impulsive decision to save wei wuxian? Esp when she left a month old child behind as an orphan?

Also how do you think Mxtx wanted us to interpret their relation? Some people argue they were siblings but then we have her not even trying to do anything to help her so called brother when he was bearing the weight of the survival of the wen remnants. I always found their relationship as jyl being the mother figure and babying wwx who gave her the space to show her love without any shouts from madam yu and held her in great respect. Her death did affect wwx very thoroughly but would she have felt the same if wwx had died?

I mean I think you pretty much covered it. Both jc and YanLi's acts to protect WWX happen in the moment, without any real consideration of consequences and when they're emotionally and mentally compromised. The Wen siblings turn themselves in after careful discussion fully cognizant of what it will entail. When the Jiang siblings have time to consider their actions WWX is not prioritized. In the moment jc tries to distract the Wen soldiers and gets caught. That rare heroic act on his part however is rendered essentially meaningless, both by his unwillingness to live with the consequences of it, and by everything else he does afterwards. jc also only acts like that when he doesn't have the things he values so greatly, like privilege and power. Once he has his position again and YunmengJiang is reestablished jc doesn't want to risk even public opinion to stand by WWX. It's not really comparable to Wen Ning (and Wen Qing) who risks his comfy position in the Wen Clan to betray Wen Chao and help Wei Wuxian and jiang cheng who are at the time on the opposing side! It's also not the same as Wei Wuxian choosing to have his core cut out and given to jiang cheng to keep his promise to YZY and JFM. Also, Wei Wuxian is instrumental in defeating the Wens in the war. If Wen Ning or Wen Qing were anything like jc it wouldn't have been surprising for them to hate or blame him for their diminished circumstances, but ofc they don't.

To me YanLi at Nightless City is similar to Jin Zixuan at the ambush. She shows up, she asks WWX to stop fighting. She doesn't seem to consider what will happen to him when he does, just as I don't think she considers what might happen to her being in an active battle field. I think in a way their privilege, and the fact that their ppl are there fighting, blinds them to how real and fatal those circumstances can be. And she is ultimately killed by a cultivator not a fierce corpse. People empowered by jgs, jgy and also jiang cheng's treatment of WWX.

As for the relationship of WWX/YanLi/jc... marital siblings, childhood friends, with jc there's the rivalry aspect. In an interview when asked about WWX and JC's relationship MXTX brought up XXC's relationship with XY. No, not the fanon one, the canon one. So....🌝 jc's relationship with WWX was meant to be broken. As Jiang Fengmian warned jc that anger is not an excuse... But ultimately I think it was something to be outgrown and left behind. Even WWX's relationship with YanLi. Which is why that tree scene where WWX jumped in her arms and then later jumps into Lan Wangji's arms, who catches him without letting him get hurt, is so moving and significant.

#mdzs #answers

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austarus · 3 years

Text

Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) x Reader Ballistic Confrontations (3/3)

*A/N: The picture/edit/gif belongs to me!

**If you understand what I’m referencing to in the end, well the Kudos to you. You win 85 Stardollars.

***Trigger Warning: Scars from mentioned self-harm

****Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

Word Count: 6397

Part 1 Part 2

Eobard said nothing. Instead, he disregarded your look as his gaze locked back onto Kara, as the Kryptonian woman threw him a hateful look. The futuristic genius did not care. His baby blue hues jumped back to where you stood before stepping away to the side tables. Now we proceed, the speedster mused to himself, picking up a scalpel and arranging his surgical tools. The stage needed to be set tonight. All the actors were in place, and he needed to complete his role. A delicate procedure, if you will. But he needed to be bought some time. Surely, Barry and the others would be back by now from Earth-X. He was, in essence, reluctant to cut up the Earth-38 Kryptonian for he held no malice towards her. She was just an unnecessary casualty in all this. And after all, if Barry Allen were to die it would be at his hands. Not on some tainted Earth at the firing range. You’re centuries late, Mr. Allen. As always.

You glared at your genius scientist for not cluing you in on whatever it is he had planned now. What was his plan? Play along until ‘Uh oh, it’s too late to turn back’ and ‘Oh, look. We’re doomed’? A grunt caught your attention, Kara was trying to break out of her restraints again. “Kara,” you whispered, now standing beside her. “Save your energy, please.” She eyed the restraints on you before taking a slow breath in. Kara wanted to throw her guts up, but she pushed back the bile caught in her throat.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Honey, you are looking anything other than fine.”

Kara pursed her lips, feeling fatigue wash over her once more. “Where… where are the others… that were here- at the labs? Are they…?” There it was, always concerned for others when she should be concerned about herself.

“No, no they’re fine. They’re in the pipeline. Iris and Felicity-” You stopped yourself, noticing Eobard’s head snap towards you. A pang of guilt echoed in your body. “They’re being held there too,” you lied, giving her hand two small squeezes for her to indicate the lie. If he held things back from you to entertain the Earth-Xer’s with legitimate reactions, then so would you. Supergirl nodded her head subtly in understanding. You were too focused with Kara; you didn’t notice Eobard move. “You’re going to be fine; the others should be back. They wouldn’t go out just like that.” Iris, Felicity, where’s that help? Just where are you guys? You couldn’t leave if you wanted to. Not with the others lurking around. Not when there was a chance you could tip them off about Iris and Felicity, then there was Eobard. Overgirl would instantly go after him for betrayal.

“I… I really hope not. Alex-” Kara trailed off; her eyes drooping shut as her shoulders sagged. Her hand went limp in your cuffed ones.

“Kara?” You looked up to see a tube in Eobard’s hand with a syringe in it. Empty as its contents have already worked its way into Kara’s system. “What are you doing?!”

“I’ve given her a mild anesthetic,” you pursed your lips as his statement. Eobard sighed, “Not to worry, that should have her out for 30 minutes. Strong enough for a Kryptonian, but not strong enough for too long even with the red sunlight on her.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I needed to talk to you without anyone listening.” You followed how Eobard’s eyes glanced at the door. Outside stood two more Nazi guards.

“You could have just pulled me to the other room,” you whisper-yelled at him.

“No, I couldn’t have.” He crossed his arms at you, replying in his own gravely hushed tones. “I needed to keep up the image of the bad guy in front of Kara.”

“Why? Why, when she could understand that you’re not really with them? Why let her also think of you as one of those heinous monsters?”

“Because her opinion of me doesn’t matter. Not hers, not the Earth-Xers, not anyone else.” Eobard punctuated his words before taking your hands in his, placing a gentle kiss on the back of one. The intensity in his eyes never broke as he spoke once more, “Only your opinion of me matters. You matter.”

You pursed your lips, your eyes unable to leave his heated gaze. Oh, if only we weren’t in this mess. If only we had more time… Kara crossed your mind once more, the ominous thrumming noise that came from the machine that generated the red sunlight. A frown found its way onto your face. “Wait, you said 30 minutes? Shouldn’t she need time to recover from the anesthesia to be given another one?”

Eobard sighed, letting go of your hands. He crossed his arms. You weren’t going to like his answer. “No, not in this case.” Dread welled up in the pit of your stomach.

“What…”

“The General herself requested, more like ordered, me to have our Kara awake during the… transplant.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You responded slowly. Your eye slightly twitched as anger started to consume your thoughts. You wanted nothing more than to rip your friend’s doppelganger apart.

Eobard very well sensed your feelings, he always hated putting a frown on your face or seeing you upset to this extent. “Look, I don’t want to do it either,” the speedster retorted hastily as he unfurled his arms, his hands gently grabbed your shoulders, “but I can’t defy their word especially with you around.”

“Why? Am I suddenly a liability?”

“Never, but they’ll figure something is up with you here with me. Conspiring against them. You already saw how easily Oliver-X caved to his Kara regarding who you are to me.”

Technically, that’s my own damn fault, but a calculated risk to get to Eobard. I can live with the repercussions. “But that’s technically what we’re doing on the downlow, Eo.” You echoed one of the lessons he taught you years ago. “One weakness is better than none, it can be essential to creating the downfall of another.” He had mainly told you that regarding Eilling, who hadn’t ceased to stick his nose into Eobard’s lab experiments and projects. The general had eyed you as a means to get to him, but in reality you were a strength to Eobard. Not a weakness. And the speedster very well knows you can handle your own; after all, the both of you trained constantly. Pushing each other’s limits. Though where you hesitated to kill, he compensated on that, especially in the right moment. “We can have the Dark Archer on the ropes. If anything, he’s made it evident that his wife is a liability to his rational thinking.”

A proud grin ran along his handsome face. “Exactly, my little bird. But they will hurt you, even if you can hold out against them you can’t take them both on.” Even I cannot, not with where I’m at with my speed. Not with the slight dampener they have on my suit. The potential self-destruction if removed from the emblem by my own hands, is a heavy weight on my chest. If I can get rid of them, I can defuse the detonator.

“I’m not worried about me; I’m worried about you! I can’t- I can’t be the one to lose you again.” Eobard shifted his gaze away from you. “Look it’s not going to come to that.” He knew what you were suggesting. “Ok? Worst comes to worst I cause a distraction.”

“No, over my rotting corpse.”

That sounds eerily familiar.

“We don’t have a choice, if it buys us time then I’ll be damned not to try!”

“That’s why we adapt to the situation and find alternate routes to keep off their radar. I know what I’m doing.”

“Precisely. Adapting. So let me do what I can if it comes down to it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!” You bit back a retort at the way he raised his voice. “Just trust me.” He wasn’t asking you to.

“Kinda hard with your track record,” You deadpanned, and Eobard just rubbed his face.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Is that a question you seriously want me to answer?” A small cheeky smile made its way to your face. You couldn’t help but tease him right now, of all times.

Eobard huffed out a chuckle, pulling out some white surgical clothes from a drawer. Have those always been there? “Just follow my lead, ok? Whatever happens stay on their side, whatever happens to me stay with Barry and the others.” Eobard gloved his hands while the guards re-entered the medical room along with Oliver-X and Kara-X. Speak of the devil. You pursed your lips and held a stoic expression even as Kara-X sauntered to her respective gurney, smirking widely before a violent coughing fit erupts from her. You didn’t miss how Oliver-X moved towards her, yet you averted your eyes to the protruding machines the other soldiers were bringing in for the ‘necessary’ operation. Two guards held you by the arms where you stood. You swallowed thickly as everything was being sterilized and prepped.

***

Harry caught the ball once more after it ricocheted back to him. He’d been letting his frustration out on it towards the cell wall. Something didn’t feel right. He cursed himself, knowing he should have been carrying some weapon or breaching device to have gotten away from the Dark Archer. Or any intruder for the matter of this invasion. Yes, he pushed the emergency labs alarm, but he still got whacked and dragged to the pipeline. He could have done more damage to these damned Nazi’s, but he was helpless. I should have carried my gun or my pulse rifle, what was I thinking? His hand gripped tightly at the ball as regret never left his side. I should have seen this as a possible attack. It’s a simple strategy. Divide and conquer. Yet they were all too fooled, too hasty to attack to even logically see this move by the Earth-Xers.

“Wait, Thawne’s here?” Cisco’s outburst broke the Earth-2 genius out of his thoughts. Harry cracked his neck and directed his attention back to Cisco’s squabbling from the cell near him. The Wells doppelganger was getting pretty tired about hearing of Thawne. A feeling of dread picked at his insides, his thoughts going to you and what Barry had discussed vehemently earlier.

“Yeah,” Caitlin responded. “I haven’t seen or heard from her. We only briefly got a visit from Iris and Felicity not too long ago. But they didn’t know where she was either.”

“Do you think maybe she… you know?” Cisco made an implication. “I mean, does she know?”

“I don’t know,” Caitlin trailed off. “But Iris had said that she left them in the Time Vault to buy them time. Whatever that could mean.”

“Well, on the one hand, they either got to her and are holding her hostage somewhere or, on the other, she rendezvoused with Thawne and now they're going all Mengele on Kara.”

Harry rubbed his face irritably at Cisco’s words, by now you would have known. There’s a high possibility. Whether it’s from seeing Thawne face-to-face or by overhearing someone. By now, Harry’s sure, you would have made a choice. Where did you go, though?

The lights flickered in the pipeline before shutting off as Caitlin finished. A dull blue tint lit up in each individual cell as the pipeline was divulged into a dim darkness. The emergency lights were the only things on. Every person was on high alert at this point.

“Ohohoho, my girl Felicity definitely pulled that one!” Cisco chirped, making a loud clap.

Dinah tried her canary call again, but to no avail. The cell would not budge. Harry narrowed his eyes; he knew she’d try again. But Cisco had crafted these cells with Thawne cautiously for metas. Practically indestructible unless you’re a Time Wraith.

“I wouldn’t try it again if I were you.” Harry finally spoke. Dinah paused, the silence daring to be her question. “These cells are reinforced to withstand any form of meta-attacks generated within. A backup generator still supplies the power dampeners with energy to preserve the cell.” Harry looked out his cell and towards the darkness. “All we can do is wait.”

***

You took a breath, smoke and blood and electricity filled the air. Your eyes didn’t miss the rush of electricity in the distance. Red and gold, the Speedforce of the only two speedsters here. Swallowing thickly, your attention was diverted to the Waverider being chased by another. Well damn, I think someone’s having a bit too much fun. Raising an eyebrow, you watched both airborne vehicles zig-zag through the air. You hooked up your earpiece and headed for the nearest skirmish to help out. A grin plastered itself on your face when you heard Cisco on the comms arguing with Harry. I guess they’re the ones taking the Waverider for a joy ride.

You pressed the button on your communication device, “Any chance I can hop on?” You sucker punched a Nazi. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to do that all day.” Cisco laughed, weaving through the air as if he’s directing a Strike Fighter.

He’s totally Luke Skywalkering his way through this.

“Girl, where you been?”

“Let’s just say,” you huffed, generating electricity in your palm and slamming it into the chest of another soldier. “I caught some unwanted attention, and they were reluctant to release me.” In actuality, Eobard had sped you away from the Labs once Ray made a dramatic entrance to save Kara. He’d sped you to where the battle would be, at least to where the Earth-X forces would arrive from. Telling you to run and appear at an opportune moment. Meaning, go hide while the battle thickens so your disappearance doesn't bring up too many questions from your friends. “Is Iris with you?”

“Yeah, she’s in the back with Felicity, we’re still trying to maneuver in the best position possible to take down their shields.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, thinking back to her stunt with Felicity to sabotage the surgery. “So, how about that help?”

“Hmm,” Harry spoke up, pushing his glasses up. “Unless you have the capability of overloading and shutting down the entire Earth-X Waverider system without passing out, be our guest.”

“… I mean I could try.”

“No.”

You pouted, punching another soldier, this time in the nose. Someone’s particularly grumpy right now. “It’s honestly not that hard, I would just be out for a couple of days and probably on life support.” The line was quiet meaning that Harry chose to ignore your comment. Rude.

You took in a breath and reduced your being to an electrical form, traveling up some buildings to gauge the situation. Kara and Kara-X were facing off at the moment. Eobard was naturally keeping Barry busy while Oliver and Oliver-X were in an intense hand-to-hand-to-bow combat. Yeah, their fight wasn’t as impressive as the other two. You took in a breath heading back down to the fight, this time getting closer to Mick and Leo Snart, who you found to be the Earth-X resistance fighter and doppelganger to your dead ex-boyfriend.

What goes around comes around.

***

“Where were you?”

Turning back from where you sat, you sent a questioning look to Barry and pointed to yourself when no one had responded. He had specifically prompted you with the question. The look in his hazel-green eyes were distant as he leaned against the front of the Cortex desks. You recognized that look from a few years ago. The silence in the Cortex was sliced amongst the team. DeVoe was still out there, scheming. Some stopped what they were doing to gauge what would happen, others (mainly Harry) kept working away but inclined an ear in case either of you were to do something rash.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, (Y/N). You’re not that dumb.”

“Excuse me.” You narrowed your eyes at the scarlet speedster.

“Barry,” Iris whispered to him, but he shook her off as he folded his arms.

“Where were you after you left Iris and Felicity?”

Ah, of course he wouldn’t miss that. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“I went to go buy them some time.”

“Buy them some time or buy yourself some time? To see Eobard.”

Your heart hammered tightly in your chest, but you made no move to indicate what you had done. In a sense, you did both. You protected Iris and Felicity while keeping Eobard company.

“Why would I want to see someone who’s allied themselves to a Nazi regime on a different Earth, Barr?”

“Why wouldn’t you do anything to see the one you once loved?”

“Are you talking about me,” you tilted your head to the side, taunting him now, “or yourself?” You referenced the events that happened last year. Barry was more than aware of what you were indicating. Flashpoint. Savitar. Iris’ predicted death, HR’s sacrifice, his time remnant’s downfall. But you’ve been wanting to add kerosene to the flames. “Are you referring to your mom,” you turned your head to Iris, “or to Iris?” If looks could kill, you would have been reduced to ashes under Barry’s gaze. Cisco put down his tools and Caitlin glanced at her friends from where she sat beside Iris. Harry capped his marker but turned his eyes towards you. “Like I said, I caught some unwanted attention, and they were reluctant to release me. How is that any different from the others getting stuck in the pipeline?”

“You left Iris to defend herself.”

“Oh my god! Barry!” You rolled your eyes at his statement, deflecting your own questions. “Iris this, Iris that. Iris is a big girl with nearly perfect marksmanship as Harry. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself. I know that. She knows that. The same goes for Felicity as well. But do you know that?” Divide them, fester the idea of unreliability between those two. After all, it’s because of Barry’s decisions for Iris that everyone gets screwed over. It’s one of the reasons for the resentment and bitterness that grows within you. Only they can be happy, no one else can.

“You left Iris and Felicity while this place was crawling with Earth-Xers just to see Thawne!”

“Fucking prove it, you dickbag,” you screamed back at him, “if you’re so certain. Prove it, because contrary to your belief, I was fighting beside you and everyone else that day in the city once I managed to escape. Ask Cisco and Harry. Ask Sara. Hell, even ask Mick and Leo.”

Barry shook his head with a cruel smile, “Do you wanna know how I know?” The speedster took out his phone and started it up, showing the screen of your location. “Careful what you wish for.” Dread gripped your heart as Barry chuckled to himself. “That’s right. I chipped you, that night I pushed you against the doorframe before leaving for the warehouse fight. I chipped you. I already had Thawne chipped earlier that night. On his suit, when I landed a few hits on him. He doesn’t know or… not until recently.” Barry did a search for any pings, but there were none except for yours. “You asked me for proof, here it is.” He slid his fingers on the screen showing a timestamp and your location pinged with Eobard’s at the labs.

“This means nothing.”

“It means everything!” Barry stepped closer to you, anger in his wake. “You left us for him.”

“Yet I still fought with you guys because it was the right thing to do regardless of how I feel for him. You don’t understand nor will you want to understand. You’d rather label us as 100% on the wrong side without acknowledging that we can dwell in a gray area. The world isn’t just black and white, Barry. Or have you forgotten about your own morally gray decisions?”

Sparks crackled in the air, whether it was from you or Barry, no one could tell. Harry took a subtle step towards you from where he stood at the glass board a few feet beside you. He was the only one that can calm you down from this, maybe Iris too, but most definitely he himself. But Harry wasn’t quick enough because the Cortex monitors went haywire while the room darkened. You and Barry were nowhere in the room.

“Barry!” Iris screamed a second after he had sped you away.

***

Eobard raked a hand through his dark locks, analyzing the future article again. He fiddled with his rightful Reverse Flash emblem in his hands, his fingers tracing over the single lightning bolt. It took the genius a full day to extract the SS emblem from his suit, but with your help he was able to detonate it a safe distance away in some open fields. While the people of Central City slept and you had assured Eobard that the Labs were vacant, the speedster had rushed into his old office and compiled all the documents he needed to keep out of Barry’s hands. He’s honestly surprised Team Flash hadn’t rifled thus far into the records he kept. The only things missing were speed theories and the equation escalation to the Speed Formula. Although, he had solved that issue for Barry two years ago when he had traveled back in time for an answer on getting faster.

Still such a naïve child, not at all like the Flash from my future. Arranging some papers together on his new office desk, without meaning to Eobard had knocked over a picture frame. The breaking of glass caught his attention, craning his neck to see the fallen frame. The frame held a picture of you and him from before the Particle Accelerator exploded around Christmas. Before you had known his secret. But now the frame was adorned with a fierce crack through you. Eobard’s mouth went dry, knowing that superstitions were just superstitions, but he couldn’t exactly place the rush of fear welling in his body.

“Gideon, pull up (Y/N)’s location.” Eobard pulled his glasses off smoothly as the AI did as told. She was at the labs. “Access the live feed cameras.” Gideon pulled up holo-images 8x8 of what seemed to be a further escalating scene between you and Barry through STAR Labs. Gritting his teeth, Eobard summoned his suit and launched himself forward into it. The Negative Speedforce fueled by his anger and hate pumped dangerously in his veins.

Barry Allen will regret the day he dared to lay a hand on you.

***

“You’re a traitor!”

“Speak for yourself.” You grunted against the wall, your electric blade dissipating in your hand. It was getting harder to breathe, to keep up with his movements. With speedsters, you preferred long-range combat, but you had to make due at times. “You’re the one who betrayed everyone first for your own selfish desires. Flashpoint, the cause of so much pain and misery. In the end, there was so much collateral damage, and you were the cause of so many lives lost.”

“Flashpoint should have wiped you away. You should have been thankful. We helped you,” Barry fumed, pressing his forearm harder against your throat. “We stood by you.”

“They stood by me.” You tried channeling your electricity, even to siphon off a lick of his in order to produce a dagger, but to no avail. Only sparks flickered from the tips of your fingers, “You couldn’t stand the sight of me when you brought me in.” You had no grievances towards anyone else other than Barry. Not Iris, not Caitlin, not Joe, not Cisco. Certainly not Ralph simply because he’s new. And not towards Harry and Jesse. Iris and Caitlin were the two people who kept you the most grounded to the world for they understood the loss of a loved one and the process of moving on.

“You’re damn right I couldn’t. I was wrong to have let you stay around after Iris and Caitlin rehabilitated you.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make, now, was it?”

“You’re a monster just like Thawne. You’re not a hero.”

You simply spit blood in Barry’s face. “I’m neither thief nor hero.” You were kind of enjoying pushing his buttons, releasing all those pent-up emotions and frustration over the years. Wiping his face clean with his sleeve, the speedster sped you out of the room, throwing punches and kicks at you. He had run you through the entirety of STAR Labs. You siphoned off passing energy from computers and lightbulbs to throw at him Palpatine-style when there was distance between you two, but there was only so much you could do in your current condition. You were getting tired; you couldn’t keep up. Every burst of electricity that burned him had drained you. Blood continued to trickle from the side of your face and sweat glistened on your skin. You healed fast, but he healed much faster.

“Barry, stop! You’re going to kill her.” Iris shouted with a gun in her hand, the others piling into the room. Cisco threw a wave blast at Barry and Frost aimed a couple of icicles his way, but the speedster had dodged them. The scarlet speedster tossed you to the ground like a bag of peanuts before turning to the others. You skidded to the side, breathing in deeply then coughed up some blood into your fist. Blood continued to trickle from the side of your face and sweat glistened on your skin. You could feel your cheek swell as well as an ache form in your chest, maybe a few cracked ribs. Could potentially puncture your lungs if this didn’t end soon.

“And why shouldn’t I? For all we know, she could be spying on us for Thawne.”

“Barry killing her won’t solve anything,” Harry shot at him with his pulse rifle to create some distance between you two before training it on you. “It’ll just make things worse.” You met his eyes, and you could see the disappointment in them. A tinge of guilt hit you, but you pushed past it as you stood on unsteady feet. Your body felt like it was made of lead, but you continued on. If this is how things are to be, then so be it.. You leaned against the wall, cradling your damaged ribcage, as Harry continued. “Regardless of her actions, she did keep Iris and Felicity safe in her own way, she still stood by us.” You were finding it extremely hard to breathe, to stay conscious. Your breathing slowed, the noise in the room between Team Flash was reduced to murmuring to your ears. Did I burst an eardrum too?

“Are you kidding me, Wells? How can you say that when-”

You blinked before collapsing onto the ground, a streak of red had filled your vision. Eobard pinned Barry to the wall, his hand squeezing at his throat while red hot anger filled his vision. “Good to see you again so soon, Flash,” the yellow speedster drawled with a rough grin in his distorted voice. “It seems like you overstepped your boundaries.” Eobard kicked Barry in the ribs and landed a few speed punches, the scarlet speedster already exhausted from his fight with you. “Isn’t this position nostalgic?” Barry was clawing at Eobard’s firm grip, suspending the young hero in the air against the wall as he had done years ago.

“I- had a feeling... you’d show up, Thawne,”

Licking your bloodied lips, you groaned as you leaned up with hoarseness in your voice, “Eo, don’t.” The man in yellow stopped, slowly turning his quaking gaze towards you. You held his gaze for as long as you could get the message through to him. “Enough.” Eobard retracted a fist that was to make contact on Barry’s face, but not before squeezing the scarlet speedsters throat tightly and throwing him towards the upper part of the speed lab. Eobard took off his cowl and generated his speed to be by your side, eyeing every cut and bruise on your broken skin. Your eyes drooped shut when he brushed the back of his gloved hand against your unwounded cheek. His eyes softened, but his insides clenched. Iris and Caitlin had run to where Barry laid while Harry and Cisco monitored Eobard with caution as he gently scooped you in his strong arms.

Standing up with your limp form, the speedster disregarded Cisco, yet glared coldly at his supposed doppelganger. The future genius then turned to them and spoke, “My love for her is what stopped me this time. Next time,” his eyes landed on Barry, “you won’t be so lucky. Lay a hand on her again and I won’t hesitate to end your miserable life, Flash.” His eyes flashed red as they met Barry’s for the last time before taking his leave in a wake of red electricity.

***

Eobard stopped his vibrational intimidation once he made it to your temporary home, Gideon had already prepared the necessary diagnostic tests that would need to be conducted to assess your health. Laying you on the gurney gently, he kissed your forehead before proceeding. The speedster had cleaned you up, replacing your burnt clothes and scrubbing the dried remnants of blood on your skin. His heart shattered. His blood turned to ice. Eobard’s baby blues scanned every part of your marred skin. Lines that tallied up right after another, scars that were too stubborn to heal correctly as if trying to serve as a reminder. Eobard’s mouth had dried as his thumb made featherlight touches before injecting the needle into the correct vein. The speedster opened his mouth and closed it, but he could not register any other emotion other than anger and guilt. His thoughts funneled fluidly, emphasizing that one certain cause that led to this escalation. His death had been the cost of your mental and physical state.

Never again. The speedster peppered kisses along your arms as all the implied images ran through his mind. A tear slipped out. It fell from his face onto the scarred tissue. My love. He needed to get back to work. With classical music dancing in the background, Eobard conducted a blood transfusion in order to replace the blood you had lost as well as administering IV fluids. He had to steal the materials from a hospital nearby in Keystone. They won’t be missing it.

“According to my current readings, copious amounts of stress have been exuded onto her heart allowing her to retain a constant distressed state.” Gideon rattled on as Eobard sat next to you with a sleeve rolled up. He glanced over at you as the AI continued. “The X-ray scans have also been completed. She’s suffering trauma in her ribcage, a few cracked ribs, however none are broken. CT results also conclude a mild concussion.”

She’s lucky her lungs hadn’t been punctured. His hate for Barry Allen grew with every second that you laid unconscious.

“How long until a full recovery?”

“Physically it could take up to 3-6 weeks regarding her ribs. The mild concussion will take approximately almost a week and a half. Her heart might take longer. Therefore, she must avoid extraneous activity.”

“Such as using her powers and so on.”

“Yes. Shall I assist you with anything else today, Professor Thawne?”

Eobard ran his fingers over his lips before taking his glasses off and throwing them onto the side of a nearby table. “Keep tabs on Barry Allen’s movements, I want to be alerted if he comes near Keystone or has any intention of it.” The AI nodded before shuttering away into the plinth. Yes, the speedster had been smart to chip him, something Eobard had easily gotten rid of. But to chip you as well, Thawne cursed himself for not seeing it coming. Too preoccupied with the timeline and it’s malleability. “Hopefully DeVoe will keep him away long enough.”

***

Your eyelids felt like they had been cemented shut, the stinging smell of antiseptic slapped you right in the face. Am I dead or in a hospital? A groan left your lips, your throat dry as a desert and craving any drips of water. I hope I’m not in a hospital, I hate those places. The nice thing was that a light wasn’t blinding you, at the very least not piercing through the darkness supplied by your shut eyelids. It was oddly soothing. Your mind finally processed the dull ache residing in your bones, the softness beneath you and the slight chill in the air. Maybe I am dead. Taking one slow breath in, your blood vessels throbbed louder with each fluid pumped through and the humming of machines finally registered to your ears. You didn’t want to open your eyes; you were content with just laying here.

“…” You frowned, the sound of mumbling coming to you. Who was that? “Gi… ru-… I-.” Death, perhaps? You twitched your fingers, a numb sensation set in both your arms. If I’m dead, how can I still feel? It took a moment for your brain to catch you up on how you’d been reduced to such a state. Barry… killed me? No, that’s- Eo was… You shakily formed a fist only to feel something cool against your skin. Felt like another hand. Not bony. Maybe Death gave the appearance of a human for us to pass.

“Mm,” you tried clearing your throat, but it hurt each time, inducing a coughing fit. Blinking wearily, you looked around, your vision blurry until it settled on the being the hand had belonged to. “Mm, I…”

“Shh,” the deep voice cooed. You could hear much more clearly now but couldn’t make out the image of the being. “I have some water for you,” you felt a straw tap your lips. “Drink up.”

Why is Death being so kind to me? I thought Death was swift. You drank a sip at a time before pulling back and shutting your eyes once more. The somatosensory neurons on your arms brushed against some coarse material. A blanket? That same cool touch caressed your cheek. You blinked your eyes open a few times, dizziness ensnaring your mind, but your eyes met icy blue ones. “Eo?”

“I’m here,” he whispered in a gentle tone, standing up from where he sat next to you.

“I’m not dead.”

“No, you’re very much alive”

“Barry, he…”

“I’ve dealt with him. He won’t ever hurt you again.” You watched as he kissed your bandaged hands, each finger receiving a kiss. Cracking your neck, your realized he had changed you into fresh clothes. The scent of faint lavender hung onto the fabric.

“How long was I out?”

“Two weeks.”

It hurt your head when your eyes bugged out. You patted your temples lightly. “Two weeks? What- I-I need to get back. They were going to confront DeVoe. Harry and-”

“No,” Eobard pressed his palm against your shoulder when you tried to sit up abruptly, “You need to rest. Screw Team Flash. For once, just let them be so you can recover.” The speedster did not ask for what had happened to you, knowing the implications in his mind were too strong to be false. Rather, he’d make sure it would not occur a second time

“It’s not that simple, Eo.”

“It really is,” the yellow speedster sighed to himself, rubbing his face. You gestured to the water, and he handed the cup to you. “You’re in no condition to go back there, not after what happened. Your powers and your fight did a number on you. I-…. Your heart stopped a couple of times.” You almost choked on your sip. “I had to jumpstart your heart and keep it going.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For worrying you.” For being a liability that Barry can use.

“Don’t. This,” he gestured with his hands between you and him, “is not something to apologize for. Ever. If anything, it was smart of him to use you for bait as I had used Iris and Eddie.” You pressed your lips into a thin line as your mind started to wander.

“So, we wait?”

Eobard nodded as you ran a hand through you knotted hair. Need to brush that out asap. “We wait until it’s time to strike.”

“Until it’s time for you to strike. I’m remaining neutral in whatever it is between you and Barry in the future. Even if he might not see it that way.” Tipping the scales, balancing good and evil natures in the forces of the world. That’s what He told me my role in the multiverse is along with...

“I know, my love.” I don’t know how to break this to her. “But until then, rest.” If I ask her to come with me, would what I orchestrate then work?

“Eobard.”

“Hm?” Eobard knew he needed to go back to sort a few things out. Chances of getting caught were roughly 30-70, but not zero.

You shifted over to make room for him, patted the spot next to you. “Stay.”

Or would she become collateral damage?

“Always.” The speedster leaned down to kiss your lips before moving in beside you. You laid your head on his chest, minding the slight tremors of pain. Eobard kissed the top of your head and you shut your eyes. You’d go to the ends of the multiverse for him, but you’d also protect your friends. Being at odds with Barry wouldn’t stop you. He just needed to learn to live with your choices as everyone else has had to live with his.

Eobard’s mind ran through every scenario, deciding it’s best to tell you what he intends to do. He’d rather you decide for yourself what to do. The negative speedster respected the position you held onto. Neutrality wasn’t always an easy feat, but he admired your devotion towards him and the ones you love. Eobard was just selfish enough to only want and care for you. He didn’t need anyone else. He certainly didn’t need camaraderie. Tomorrow, he’d tell you. Tomorrow, he’d make sure to take the first step towards ensuring the future.

Betrayal is a fickle thing, Barry Allen. A lesson you will learn again.

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deluluass · 3 years

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misericordia

It's finally here T^T Here's to reaching 100+ followers! Thank you so much everyone!!

Content Warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; somnophilia; description of dead bodies; includes some elements of cosmic horror; dystopian-ish au; biblical references/imagery; angel! Ushijima

To name is a barren tree: fruitless and, ultimately, the workings of this kind.

The earth will soon be without form, and void; and darkness shall remain the face of the deep.

The Spirit of God no longer moves in the face of the waters.

Names are for nothing.

But, for any cause done here, to name is essential. As it was in the beginning, when there was still a beginning (but it has not ended yet, so the beginning shall still stay), to name had been the first task.

So when asked for a name, the mouth was able to conjure:

“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” the body said.

And as it is the way of the Created, the body became he.

And as it is the way of the Created, proof was immediately demanded for the name.

And as it is the way of the Created, once found on the chest, Ushijima Wakatoshi was then welcomed.

You weren’t there when the world ended.

In fact, so, too, was your father's father. The sky had cracked open and the oceans had already split up the old lands for as long as anyone could remember.

Before the city became a city in truth, the people had just been strangers, seeking shelter after everything fell apart, only to be abandoned by those who’d promised protection.

That didn't mean, however, that things got better for your lot once someone swept in and established order and peace and stability and whatever it is those at the top had to say to justify them being there.

If your father were to be believed, you had been sleeping in your mother’s womb, still a tiny beating heart, when the longest winter happened ("winter"; they still called it that when there had been minute differences between hot and cold).

Supplies were short; food was scarce; so when you finally clawed your way into a world breathing its last, your mother couldn't help but bleed into the sheets until your cry outlived hers.

But your father barely recognized you during his final days. That’s why when your neighbors call you a liar for saying “I was born on a Spring,” you shrug it off and think you might as well have been born on a Spring.

There’s no way of knowing. The story had always changed every time you asked him.

Sometimes he blamed you, sometimes he told you it’s not your fault. Nothing you could do about it. Spring it is, then; you told yourself.

Spring always looked so... different, in the drawings Granny made, anyway.

No one here actually knows her age. Granny had always been Granny; as permanent to this place as the walls enclosing the city.

She rarely left her quarters, that crone, and could barely stand on her own without your help. Worse, she could no longer see. What use is a blind artist, the others would laugh.

It’s their loss, you’d retort, mocking her like that. Because then they’d miss the way her gnarled and knobby hands would glide with unwavering purpose if you asked her to, strokes bold and not a space wasted.

“You never learn,” she croaked once finished, jostling the wrinkled piece of paper to your lap. “Why throw away your rations for this piece of junk?”

Granny retched, “Incurable fool.”

At this point, she would grumble about suffering in the old pig’s (her words, not yours) kitchens for nothing, and always, without fail, you’d feel a smile break on your face. It hurt, honestly, but after an entire day of frowning over the dishes you had to wash and the floors that needed scrubbing and all the other orders yelled your way, it was worth it, anyway.

“I know you’re laughing. My ears still work, mind you.”

You felt your belly shake as you giggled, brushing the paper with worn fingers, staring open-mouthed at the piece before you.

“This is amazing, Granny,” you sighed.

“Idiot,” she repeated. “It’s the same thing as the one before. And the one before that.”

And for good measure, Granny added, “Idiot. Not like you hadn’t seen that one.”

When all you’d done was take her hand in yours and place a pack of food along with a thin roll of paper in her feeble grasp, Granny finally asked, “Why do you keep coming back here, girl? Asking for the same thing.”

There wasn’t any of that surly frown now.

And looking at her like that, without the crabbiness that sharpens her features, that oddly makes her look younger and in control of herself, you find that you don’t have an answer this time. Arrested by the realization that her shoulders slumped lower than you’d thought. And that she’s getting thinner.

“Why?” you whispered back, feeling traces of charcoal stick to your palm.

Maybe it’s because there’s no other way that she’d accept food, unless she does something in return. She kicked you out the first time you intended to give her the ration you’d earned.

(Or maybe it's because you know what they'd do, once they find out she's no longer making trades.)

Why, indeed.

Maybe it’s because you hadn’t really seen things grow before.

You might work at the Governor’s place, at the heart of the city and everything else that matters, but grunt workers like you are prohibited to get anywhere near the farm, let alone actually enter it. So, really, there's no other way of seeing what growth looks like.

Maybe it’s because you can only do that when you witness her in her craft. You really don’t have anything to compare it with, but you’re sure life from soil works the same way.

Everything must come from something. And that something must be quite the artist, if they're anything like Granny.

Birthing roots from the ground of what was once a blank piece of paper with a flick of the wrist; growing into large trunks, strong branches, then into an abundance of leaves and blossoms.

Trees drawn on both sides of the paper, always with a smattering of grass and flowers in the middle. She said they used to grow here, when she was just a girl. And if you begged hard enough, she’d add a stray butterfly fluttering around the corner.

You hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I just love seeing you, Granny,” you grinned.

“Crock of shit.”

“Really!” You grabbed your knapsack as you stood from your seat, folding the paper with care. “Hey, Granny, guess what? Don’t give me that face— I’ve already saved just enough and you know what that means?”

She snorted.

“Listen,” you pouted. “I’ll finally be able to get those pigments! I heard they don't cost that much and if I trade next-”

“Don’t.”

She tilted her head and faced your way, misty eyes pinning you. "How much does paper cost you?"

You gulped.

Then, with a swiftness that surprised you, she grabbed you by your tattered sleeve and gritted, “I may be the blind one here, but I think I see a lot more clearly than you do. You can sweat and bleed for those pigments, but I will never paint.”

You felt a sting in your eyes as she continued, “I know what you’re doing. And I’d be the greater fool if I let you work yourself to the bone for some pipe dream."

"Content yourself with coal, girl. That’s all you’re gonna get from this place. Dirt and rust and smoke. Go sneak into that damned farm. Go steal some of those fuckers’ riches. In fact, while you’re at it,” she laughed dryly. “Steal them all and run away from here. If you really want to live.”

“Only,” she said, too soft that you had to sit back down to hear her, “Only, stop hoping, my child.”

Her chest wheezed as she breathed, like air passing through the holes of a rundown machine.

You kissed the back of her hand before you left.

The wind howled and threatened to topple you as you walked back to your building, hard rain slapping you across the face when you picked up into a run. They didn’t descend in small drops anymore. As you get older, thunderstorms are to be expected once evening falls, lingering for weeks only to suddenly bring about an irritatingly humid day.

But tonight, the large cavern above that parts the dark, heavy clouds into opposite streams seem to yawn wider, closing itself lower and lower into the earth that you swore someday it’ll devour the city whole.

Mud water in your boots, you grabbed onto your soaked coat and climbed the steps of the decaying piece of slab you call home, mindful that you won’t slip and break your skull against the thick beams, twisted metal jutting out of the corners.

A solitary lamp flickered through the window of the room next to yours. Little Soo-jin must be having nightmares again, you thought with a frown.

You were about to knock on their door when the sirens blared, echoing louder across the city than the boom of lightning, followed by a grating squeal that could only be an opening gate.

Your knuckle froze over the chipped wood.

The last time the alarm rang, the people were greeted by the body of a young council member, brought by a small and wounded troop who’d accompanied him outside the city.

Soo-jin’s mom peered through the murky window, meeting your eyes after both of you stared into the direction of the gate closest to your zone, as if seeking you for an explanation. You only gave her a shrug.

“Someone must have died,” you said.

“No, he’s not dead. That’s why you’re bringing food to his room, aren’t you?”

You stared at the girl stubbornly shaking her head.

“I- I know, but! Didn’t you hear? They said they found him full of bullet holes and I—”

“Even if you’re serving a rotting corpse, as long as Cook orders it, you follow.”

It was admirable that she’s refused for this long. If it were you, you’d have been sacked the moment you opened your mouth to say no. You wiped your hand with the towel next to the sink, having finished the work assigned to you, and watched the ongoing bout in the kitchen.

“Why can’t you just ask the others? Marga’s not doing anything!”

“Marga,” the older woman hissed, “is with the others. Almost everyone is in the meeting room. So if you don’t take your butt up there, I’m gonna have no other choice but to tell Cook.”

You winced. This can’t be good.

You cleared your throat. “I can do it,” you said.

The tray was shoved to you faster than you can drop your raised hand. You would have found it amusing, considering that you’re sure they couldn’t even recognize you, but the idea of being in the same room with a half-alive man does make you feel uneasy.

Not that it’s anything new for you; you nursed your father until the fever took him, after all. You just haven’t lived long enough to get used to it yet. But you steeled yourself and did your job, because it’s not as if you had any choice.

You prepared yourself for anything as you entered one of the many guest chambers. Bullet holes, rotting corpse, entrails held together by stitches.

And when you announced your presence and gripped the tray tighter so as to not spill the soup on the sprawling carpet, it’s not really surprise that caused you to stumble upon your words when you saw the man sitting on the bed.

It’s more of an embarrassment, of sorts.

You must’ve entered the wrong room, you thought. You immediately checked around to make sure no one saw you talk and almost grovel to an actual sculpture.

Because that’s what he was.

The Governor’s estate houses floors and floors of rooms that you hadn't explored yet. But there was one that, if no one would bother to keep track of the workers, you had the habit of sneaking into.

Thinking about what it took for this family to have all those sculptures there hurt your head, so you stopped a long time ago. You chose, instead, to just admire the marble wonders in all their beauty, always looking back down at you with majesty and pride.

Just as he's doing right now.

Chiseled torso wrapped in bandages; sharp jaw that could cut; eyes the color of olives, gazing deep.

"That is for me."

You snapped your head down.

"Huh- uh, yes? Yes!"

His deep voice still rumbled through you.

"Yes, I'm sorry," you muttered, heat rushing to your face as you placed the tray on the table next to him, inflaming when you realized he didn't mean it as a question.

That is for me.

Not a question. A question means you can answer. His words brooked no other response but obedience, reminding you of your place.

Much like those sculptures, every time you'd spent too much time inside the room and you'd get the feeling that you're not supposed to be there, too filthy to be anywhere near what you think is the closest thing to perfection.

And the truth would settle on you like a heavy weight: that no amount of beauty can ever breathe warmth if it cannot live and grow.

The same way that despite the sunshine filtering through the floor to ceiling windows, surrounding him in blinding light as he sat on the bed, you can't shake the impression that this is the coldest this room has ever been, with him here.

So you anticipated his orders; a single word or maybe a glance that would tell you he wants you gone. Just either one of those and you'd run out of this room in a heartbeat.

But neither came. The man (you still didn't know his name) remained silent, staring at the food like they've insulted him specifically, and now he's questioning the collective audacity of the soup, bread, and bowl of fruits laid before him.

Maybe they don't serve those where he came from. He's from the North, after all, made evident by the small eagle etched on his chest, just above a pectoral. The last visiting Northerner you served who also bore that mark threw a rag at you (she missed) for "mixing the bathing oils incorrectly."

You stayed in your position and asked, "Is the food not to your liking?"

He didn't say anything, but he did shift his attention to you.

And what a mistake that was. How does this man go about life with such a severe presence?

"Er..is something..wrong?" you sweated, suddenly fascinated by the vases behind him.

Glaring back at the food, he answered with a deep "no" and breathed out. His large arms rose and fell along with it, straining the bandages around the muscles.

Oh, right. Right.

You perked up. "Do you need help?"

Stepping closer to the table, you gave him a tightlipped smile and a sheepish "excuse me" before taking the spoon in your hand.

You scooped a thick serving of soup, your palm hanging under it, and waited.

And waited.

The man looked at you the same way he looked at the bowl of fruits earlier.

"What are you doing?" he said, gravel-voiced.

You're gonna lose this job.

Why did you think you could feed him like he's an ailing, decrepit old man? Or a literal child? He's built like he commands an army (and he probably does).

You are definitely gonna lose this job.

"I- I'm sorry!"

You jerked away, your hip hitting the table, the impact shaking it and causing the plates and silverware to clatter against each other.

"O-oh no, I'm-" The spoon in your hand fell as you attempted to set things properly, soup spilling to the carpet along with the utensils.

You're gonna lose this job and you're gonna starve to death.

"I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry!"

Dropping to your knee like your life depended on it, you picked up the myriad of similar looking spoons and forks and placed them back on the tray.

You kept your head downwards, bowing as you'd been repeatedly taught, and shut your eyes tightly.

"I thought that you hadn't healed yet and needed help and- and-" you huffed.

"And I thought that I should feed you but- no-no!" You looked at him and flailed your hands in front of you. "No! I didn't mean feed- I meant- I meant no disrespect please forgive me!"

Not a word was spoken in that second that spanned an entire year. But just as you'd accepted that the worst has come, he said:

"Then, feed me."

Wait.

Wait, what?

"I don't.. understand..?"

"Then, feed me," was what he told you. And so matter-of-factly, at that.

So you did, desperate to keep the only thing keeping you alive.

Though your hand trembled and you wished to be anywhere but here— even the wasteland waiting outside the gates, with all its unimaginable threats, seemed like paradise —you took a loaf of bread from the basket and brought it closer to his mouth.

Lines marred his forehead as he chewed. You were about to ask, self-destructive that you are, whether you should get the sweetened roll instead, thinking he found the one in your hand too bland. But you don't have the luxury to risk digging your grave any deeper.

You kept quiet and pointedly removed him from your line of sight, choosing to count the tassels hanging off the canopy instead.

Once he's eaten all that's left of the pastries, you dipped your hand into the bowl of fruits and took a grape in-between your fingers and, as much as you can, you steadied your hand to avoid touching his lips.

It didn't work.

You shuddered at the contact, curling your toes in your boots to avoid squirming.

This has got to be the weirdest day of your entire life.

Not a hint of unease was shown. He continued to close his plump lips around the tip of your fingers and crushed the fruits with pointed canines, making the hair on your body stand on end. What if he bites you? Would you bleed?

The man seemed to like them more than bread. A sense of urgency rose within you as he went through the berries and sliced mangoes like this is the first time he's had them.

Can't say you blame him. The last time you ate something that resembled a fruit, a real fruit, was when Granny persuaded (coerced) a young boy in her complex to steal one from his employer. That boy has a child of his own now.

You felt your mouth water, your stomach growl and command that you take the bowl from him and shovel its contents to your mouth, as you watched him devour the sweet and tangy meat, the smell of it sickening as it is strangely compelling.

He raised his head and met your eyes.

Shit.

The apples, you thought as you looked back down to the tray. They're the only ones left soaking in the bowl, those apples. After this you'd be out of this stuffy room and you'd laugh about this later with Soo-jin and her mom and Granny too if she's not cranky.

You could still feel him staring at you as you fed him a slice, the apple crisp when he took a bite.

Juice trickled down your hand, the sticky extract tickling your arm as it slid to the crook of your elbow, and you were about to wipe it with your other hand, when you felt a wet tongue probe the gap between your fingers.

You gasped. "Sir..!"

You stepped away. Tried to, anyway, but with a firm hand, a hand that's not injured, after all, he gripped your wrist and continued to suck a digit.

"This is- sir!" struggling out of his hold, you pleaded with him to let go, please sir let me go, even as he only looked at you, his eyes dimming when he grabbed your waist to bring you closer.

He licked your hand, lapping at the trail the juice left behind, and when you thought he would release you, he took your hand to pluck another slice from the bowl.

Your legs gave up beneath you, forcing you to sit on his stretched lap, his hard body scorching you through the sheets, as he ate the apple from your palm, slurping the leftovers dripping from it.

"Don't cry," Granny told you once.

"Especially when you feel like crying," she said. "Don't cry."

You'd never really been good at listening, but now, you decided to suck in your breath and keep those tears at bay. You can cry and laugh about all this later.

Because you might be jobless after this, but you will certainly have a damn good story to tell over the fire once you finished kneeing him in the nuts.

So: one.

Breathe.

His teeth scraped your soaked hand.

Two.

You rested your hand on his shoulder.

Three.

You braced your leg, moving it between his thick thighs, and then, as you clutched his bandages, you—

"Ushijima-sama."

The door swung open.

"Pardon the intrusion, but the Council members requested-”

It was Secretary Hara.

“Oh."

Secretary Hara: a lanky, dark haired man with glasses who's always at the Governor's beck and call. He was here, carrying a small stack of papers, and gaping at the scene before him.

You and the esteemed guest. Who's still suckling at your skin. On the bed.

He grinned, full of humor and disgusting. “Well,” he said.

At least you weren't crying.

A question, shared only by the Heavens, began when the Lord fashioned the flesh out of the dust of the ground and said,"You are made in My image and likeness."

It was not their way, before that: to question. (One of them did, once, but that is a different story).

They have no need for questions.

They hold the highest seat, below only to the Creator, unencumbered by the trappings of the earth.

They have no need for questions.

So it remained unasked, lingering in fragments in the House of the Lord.

The question comes to him now.

For the flesh is a cage. It is ephemeral and prone to decay.

It is fitting for this kind to have it, with all their qualities bound to the material world.

You are the very epitome of these.

Graceless. Stumbling like a newborn foal. Too many apologies. Too many questions.

God is not here, he thinks as you insist on asking what does not matter.

“Is the food not to your liking?” and “Is something wrong?” and “Do you need help?”

Indecisive, too. Reneging on your promises. You said you’d feed him and then you said you wouldn’t.

Ushijima Wakatoshi is a mere flesh, locking inside divinity your kind would never understand. Yet he felt its tedious demands gnaw at him when he saw you. Something so impermanent should have no right for constant sustenance.

But he knows, just for this time, that he needs it. That’s why he tells you to feed him, as you said you would. After all, it is your way to serve. And, for all your many inadequacies, God has granted you bread and water and fruit to sate your appetites.

Thus, for as long as he is flesh, he will do as it tells him to.

When it urged for the taste of fruit, for the cloying sweetness of its juice, it is only right that he heeded its call and had his fill.

How dare you object. His light is brighter than yours; God has granted it so (and yet you were given the will that they never had). And even in flesh you are beneath him. You are easily held and defeated.

The ache in his belly did not cease, each gulp he took heightening his senses, shouting for more, more, more as he took you with his tongue. And he realizes that this is what the first of your kind may have felt like when they disobeyed. The first act of betrayal.

(For what is the wrath of God to the cries of the flesh?)

And with that, Ushijima Wakatoshi finds, since donning this useless flesh, that it is not at all easy to gratify.

Not in the least.

There are so many rules in this mansion that even Cook’s effort to batter them on your head could sometimes be futile, given that their number is just as big as this place. But, there is one, among all the convoluted and at times nonsensical decrees, that you are not allowed to forget:

Unless you’re among the core staff, you can never enter the East Wing.

The East Wing is where all the important things happen, see. It goes without saying that someone as lowly as you cannot pollute that hallowed ground.

Today seems to be an exception.

When Cook barked that Secretary Hara wanted you in the East Wing first thing in the morning, you had a feeling that you just might not live to see the next day.

You didn't speak unless spoken to. You didn't look unless told to. The things you should've done much earlier.

"How are you liking the work here so far?"

Secretary Hara pushed the pen to the side and leaned back against the leather swivel chair.

"It's a job," you mumbled, to which he only replied with a breathless chuckle. You didn't see the point in bootlicking any further. Besides, Granny hated that the most; so you avoided doing it as much as you can.

There's only one conclusion for you here, anyway. No matter how severe the punishment. And it's back in your room, with a uniform that needs sewing for a job that you no longer have.

He tapped his fingers against the lacquered table. "You're right," he said. "Work is work. Despite your place in this society."

You wanted to roll your eyes. Secretary Hara has never been any of the workers' favorites (not that any of you had your "favorites," but if you could, you avoided this guy). He had this astonishing effect, too, in which he can actually bring people together. All because everyone hated him.

He's a slimeball, is what he is. If one needed lessons in kissing ass, he was your man.

"Do you know why you're here?"

You're getting fired. End of story. Now can I please just go? is what you want to say. But losing your job doesn't usually take this much time and attention. Normally, it was Cook who'd grunt "You're out" and that was it.

So you shake your head.

"I'm promoting you," he said. "Congratulations."

Somewhere, beneath that condescending smile of his, is a punchline that you're sure he's deliberately keeping from you. Just so he can be the only one who gets to laugh.

"I-" You balled your hand to a fist. "Why?"

He scoffed. "What are they teaching you in that rathole? Honestly."

They taught me not to be rude to people I don't know, you little bitch.

"Drop the coy act, it's okay," he sneered. "It's cheap and it won't work on me."

Oh, now you really want to get fired. If only to kick his teeth in. "That man," Secretary Hara continued. "Ushijima Wakatoshi. You were all over him and you seriously don't know who he is?"

You gritted. "Secretary Hara, what happened- it wasn't- I didn't want it."

But he only gave you that look. As if to say, "Sure. Let's go with that." When it'd pass and the need to pummel him became stronger, he stood up and stepped towards the tapestry draped against the wall.

It was a map, the city a pinprick on the corner. Secretary Hara faced it, dusting the spotless surface, his back to you.

"Ever wonder what keeps us here?" he started, hand still on the map. "This city of ours?"

"The," you licked your lips. Where was he going with this? "The river..?"

Secretary Hara clapped his hands, his voice lilting like he's talking to a toddler as he said, "That's right. That's good. Excellent."

"So you do know some things, after all." His fingers crawled towards the long line of blue stitched beside the city. "And do you wonder what would happen if, say, that river begins to dry?"

You felt your eyes widen. You covered your mouth with a palm.

You're not supposed to know this. Why is he telling you this?

He scratched the thick clump of blue thread and continued, "These great cities. They have their energy; their military."

Your eyes followed his hand, moving farther and farther away from the pallid brown surrounding your city, towards the bright yellow West, stopping at the bright green East. "Some of them are blessed enough to not be surrounded by a literal desert."

Then, with a careful hand, he moved to the very top and said, "And the North…the North has it all."

The North was a sprawling, intricate web of threads, eating away the entire tapestry.

"The Ushijima clan rules the North. Much longer than this city has existed. And they’re so engrossed in their wars that they’d never glance our way if we don't give them at least half of what we make,” he spat. “These great people haven’t had contact with us in years."

Secretary Hara finally turned around, grin still in place. "But now one of them owes his life to us." He walked back to his desk, sitting on its edge. "Perhaps the heavens sent him here."

When you remained silent and looked at him with eyes that you wished had the ability to kill, because you know now what they wanted from you, Secretary Hara only shrugged.

"He asked for your name, actually," he said, tilting his head. "Lucky you. He didn't bother to learn ours."

You stood your ground. "No, sir," you said. "I won't."

He pulled a thin piece of paper from a pile sitting next to him. "You're not gonna do much," he said as he began to read. "Just show him around the city. Be his friend."

Friend.

"But I- No. I can't." You stepped forward. "Please."

He looked away from the paper. "Zone 42. Room 0312."

"What.."

"Granny," he said. "That's what you call her, isn't it?"

No.

"They say that for a blind old lady she's still somehow miraculously trading to keep a roof over her head."

Phantom touches crept to your arm, slick and nauseating like cold sweat.

"You must take it from her. Though you're not related," he said. "Apparently, you're so hardworking, you even work the night shift. When you don't have to."

You released a shaky breath. "I'll..I'll start," you croaked. "I'll start right away, sir."

Secretary Hara folded his arms, victory plastered all over his gaunt face.

"Thank you," he chimed. "I'm glad you understand. It's for your own good too, y'know."

The uniform they gave you chafed against your skin. Tugging at the sleeves did not help, the pristine fabric too coarse and stiff to budge. Your only comfort was the folded paper hidden in your pocket, fading at the edges every time you touched it.

You have to admit, however, that you did look...well, you did look clean. Not as much as him, though. And not just in the sense that he's out of the bandages now. Last you checked, and that had been a few minutes ago, he was still sporting a couple of scars on his forehead.

Despite that, you don't have to look behind you to know what's captured the people's attention as you strolled the capital. Or, who, to be exact.

Some were outright ogling; some happened to glance once and then immediately looked away with a blush; some made the laudable effort to not look.

A mirror of what you're doing right now.

They gilded him with gold, which is a redundancy if you ever see one. He was wearing the most expensive pigment, something that only the Governor's family could own: a deep violet tunic emblazoned with golden vines, swirling from the middle to the collar; paired with dress pants that you could probably trade for a whole month's worth of food.

You kept your distance as you walked in front of him. "Just show him around the city," was what Secretary Hara told you. That didn't mean you had to talk.

And it's not as if he had any complaints, either. He followed you through the rows of glass houses that adorned Governor's lane, not a word spoken about the sights.

Even when you'd attempted to speed through the dizzying streets, he kept his pace, long legs allowing him to stride close to you. By time you'd reached the plaza, you were already out of breath and in need of rest.

But you didn’t.

You remained standing a few feet away from him, the paper in your hand opened to reveal those great trees and thriving field, as he sat under the gazebo overlooking the square; a place reserved only for council members.

The smell of the sweetmeats and oranges in front of him reached your nose (Secretary Hara has a cruel sense of humor, you belatedly realized, when you were handed a bag of food that had a note saying “treat him well”). You fought the itch to cast out what little you’ve had for breakfast.

Children were playing around the sandbox, the staff of whatever family they belonged to guarding them. In a way, their job wasn’t that different from what you have now.

Except, it’s not a child you were threatened to accompany. With the feeling of his gaze burning your nape, it seems like you’re not the one doing the guarding as well.

And you didn’t feel every bit like the adult you are when he called your name.

You felt frighteningly small, as you yielded with a pathetic, “Ushijima-sama.”

He only looked at you. Those green eyes telling you exactly what he wanted.

People are watching. You can’t mess this up.

“Sir,” you said, hand still in your pocket, that frayed paper your anchor. “It is improper.”

Irritation swept through him, his sharp features harsher when dissatisfied. But you can’t give up, even though it’s sending a chill down your spine and he seems like he’s about to throttle in broad daylight. (And he doesn’t have to do much, you know. He can crush you with one hand.)

“Why- why are you here?” you hissed. “R-really?”

You don’t shut your trap when you have to, girl. That’s your problem.

“Because- because I’m not gonna be your..thing.” The paper was dampening in your grip. “While you do whatever it is you do, Ushijima,” you huffed. “...sama”

Ushijima did not blink, his stare unwavering as he turned towards the small crowd strolling below. There’s a part of you that wishes to put yourself in his place, like a king on his throne. What does the view look like from up there? Are the people beneath just multicolored ants moving from afar?

“A few of my kind have suddenly sided with yours,” he said. Then, briefly returning his gaze to you, “I had to see what draws them here.”

He linked his fingers together. “Before I do what must be done.”

You stifled a chortle. “Do what must be done” your ass. Does that include harassing people, too? “God only knows,” you whispered.

“You believe in God.”

You were the subject of his relentless attention again. You groaned, averting your eyes to a small girl, probably around Soo-jin’s age, who plopped down to create a heap of sand, much to the consternation of her nanny.

“No,” you replied in a thin voice.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Where is this question coming from? “Always seemed like a lot of work,” you said.

The little girl was making a castle. It’s apparent to you now that she has little pail by her side, shovel in her grubby hand. The frill of her dress caught most of the sand as she stacked them atop each other.

“And I’m pretty sure God has more fun things to do than worry about me,” you added, just because.

The castle reached her knees when the girl stood up.

"God has left," Ushijima said. "A long time ago."

And then she kicked it. The thing crumbled to a mound, the breeze scattering it back to the sand.

You did chuckle this time. The Northerners sure are strange. "Really? Where’d God go?" you hummed, looking up to the sky.

The sun was blanketed by waves of clouds, as usual. "Somewhere nicer, I hope," you sighed.

You closed your eyes and thought of that nicer place. It would have to be far, far away from here. Maybe it would even have those trees that Granny loved.

"Cherry trees."

You opened your eyes and gawked at him.

He was still gazing at you.

"You are attached to it," he told you, like it's nothing; like your heart's not wreaking havoc against your ribs with each word he utters. "On that paper."

Pulling it out of your pocket, you stumbled to him and unfolded it for him to see. "You- you know what this is? A 'cherry tree.' That’s what you call it?"

"Yes." Ushijima's eyes did not leave yours. "That is the name you people have bestowed upon them."

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"

You didn't let him answer that because, just like the fool that Granny accused you to be, you took his hand in your trembling one and laughed, somehow managing to drag him out of the gazebo.

It took a while before you finally let go.

Much has changed along the way, he felt this as the air grew hotter; the sound of bustling people louder and less constrained with inutile mortal etiquette. You seemed less wary of him here.

The hand that held his tightly was still brushing against him, as you talked incessantly about the pieces of paper plastered across the wall. They all looked the same, yellowed and infested with mold at the edges, but you insisted otherwise.

“See here?” You pointed to the one on the bottom. “Granny drew the leaves differently. They look like flowers don’t they? They are, aren’t they? I knew it! So they are flowers.”

There was a cot in the corner of the room. He sees you there in slumber, surrounded by rocks and scraps of metal and bits of gemstones held together by strings, each strand hanging on the crevices of the roof, gleaming every time they move.

You tapped his arm repeatedly. “Oh, oh. I put these two beside each other. Notice that the shades are different? This one is lighter while this one has more shadows to it.”

"Do you get it now?" you asked him, expectant.

Humans are baffling creatures, Wakatoshi thought. Because when he said nothing, you only laughed (you seem to like doing that) and told him to “follow me; hurry.” You didn’t hold his hand this time (you should’ve, he preferred it when you did).

“My bad. I hadn’t shown you yet,” you huffed as you grabbed a rag and set aside buckets of rainwater that obstructed his path.

Behind a curtain of sackcloth and ashes, draped at the furthest side of the wall, was a crack big enough to let a person through, corroding steel bars protruding along the broken concrete.

Wakatoshi ducked to enter the room next to yours. It was hollow, save for bits of gravel and a window obscured by dust. You paced to it then wiped the thick glass with the rag you brought with you.

“That hill is always there in Granny’s drawings,” you said, taking the paper in your pocket and setting it parallel to the scene revealed by the window.

Your smile was wide, as if you were admiring a land lush with vegetation, or wildflowers at least. When it was far from that. It was a vast desolation, beyond the gates and the brown earth fractured. But, just as you said, there is a solitary hill sitting along the horizon.

“Those trees- cherry trees,” you started, face radiating with mirth. “It’s the same but.. different each time.” Your breathless laugh makes him feel just as winded. “How is that even possible?”

“I know they can’t be just...green.” A finger traced the outline of the leaves. “Because these are real and they actually grow and- and they change.” And, as if it’s a secret, “Unlike the ones at the capital.”.

“If only Granny would paint them for me,” you whispered, the smile on those lips waning.

Wakatoshi couldn’t stand it. So, he grunted, “You are wrong. This one is green.”

He took the paper from your hand. “They only change colors once they bloom. White, first. Then, pink.”

This knowledge is trivial; if it can be considered knowledge at all. It is a speck in the infinite matters that simply exist— have existed, in this world. Yet such a thing has put that look in your eyes.

Perhaps it is not inconsequential at all.

“Pink?” you breathed, grinning incredulously at him.

You turned away and closed your eyes, your voice cracking as you murmured, “I see.”

There's a blood pumping organ within his chest. A vital piece that keeps you humans alive. It beats constantly, never ceasing. If it does then it means you are dead. He is flesh, for now; it follows that if it halts, then he is fodder for the earth.

How is it, then, that he is still here? He’s sure he felt it stop, the air knocked out of his lungs, as you looked back at him, eyes welling with tears when you said, “Thank you.”

Thank you, you told him, smiling.

Ah.

Wakatoshi gets it now.

This is what God must have seen, when your kind looked up and sang, “I love you, my God; I love you; I love you.” And when you knelt and dared to turn those eyes for others that are not God, he suddenly understands why they were ordered to rain fire and brimstone upon your great kingdoms.

Because he, too, would smite anything, burn it to the ground and salt what is left, if it would so much as receive a whit of your sweet, soft words.

“They used to grow here,” you sniveled. “Granny said so.”

“And I thought, maybe if Granny added a bit more color- maybe they'd feel more…I don't know..real..?” Laughter rings in his ears once again, pealing like bells. “Yeah..They'd feel more real...Though, she did get mad at me,” you winced.

“I just thought,” you sighed, your shoulders touching him. “Wouldn't it be nice if I can wake up one day and find them growing again? Right here.”

God created a garden for your kind once. It is gone now, but Wakatoshi wonders what you’d say, how you’d look at him, if he shows it to you. Your head against the grass, fingers laced with the lilies of the field, the taste of fruit on your lips, your thighs dripping with honey and dew—

Wakatoshi felt his loins stir, but he didn't say anything, except, “The soil here is poisoned.”

You snapped towards him, brows drawn together. “I know,” you said.

“A sapling cannot grow on this wasteland.”

“Yes, I’m not stupid.”

“That could have been any hill.”

“I know.”

His throat is parched; his hands a pair of useless things. He can hold galaxies in them, sink ships and level seas by the order of God had this body not trapped him. (He can free himself, but then you’d die). Now he doesn’t even know what to do with them as he rushes out a hoarse, “I have upset you.”

He refused to let you take the paper from him. You didn’t seem to mind.

“No,” you sighed. “No, of course not. Forgive me, Ushijima-sama.”

You bowed again. An act of servitude.

“Please, let me escort you back to the capital.”

He does not understand. He only told you the truth.

But you turned your back to him and the light in your eyes has gone and he wants to chase it back the same way he wanted to run after God when the parting happened, leaving the Heavens mourning until their wails split the firmament open.

Wakatoshi yearns to have you closer. He yearns for that smile and laughter back on your face.

Wakatoshi yearns.

But, that cannot be.

After all, that is just much too human, is it not?

The rain drenched Wakatoshi to the bone, droplets falling from his lashes to his cheeks, when he walked through the nighttime storm.

He didn't bother to dry himself.

After he'd reached your room and shoved the door open, the clap of thunder covering the noise, Wakatoshi decided to undress himself, shedding all articles of clothing until he was naked as the day God created your kind.

Wakatoshi felt the chill bite his skin. But that had nothing on the way you easily dismissed him earlier, by the time you'd reached the abode of this city's leader.

You left him and he could no longer see your face and yet that fierce longing in his chest stayed, creeping to every part of him, making a home in his belly.

Until he recognized the feeling for what it was.

Hunger.

Hunger, he could fathom. And when one feels it gnaw at one's flesh, what does one do, but eat?

You were sleeping on the cot, just as he'd imagined you to be. It's enough to keep him warm: the sight of you, at peace under the glimmer of the trinkets dancing above as a lamp burned lowly.

The mattress sank under his weight when he sat next to you. His much larger hand took yours, locking your fingers together to rest his cheek against it, bringing it beneath his nose, and feeling his heart race as he breathed in your scent.

He remembers the first time he did this so vividly. You tasted like apples and sin; and though there's none of that now, his mouth still waters as he savors your skin, his tongue traveling to your arm, just as he did then, leaving bites along the way.

You barely stirred when he lifted your shirt to reveal your tits, the sheen of sweat along the valley forcing a growl out of him.

Do you feel it, too? When you drag him further down to earth, debasing him and bringing him so low that now he is nothing but a hungry flesh and a mouth made of obscenities.

"Fuck," he grunts, as he took his cock, heavy and hard to touch, and rubbed the head with his fingers.

Perhaps he is lower than human now. Perhaps it does not matter. What is God to this hunger, anyway?

(This hunger is bigger than God.)

The cot was pitifully small as he straddled over your chest, breathing still shallow, and spat on his hand before wrapping it around the thick shaft. The tip of his cock touched your nipple as he fondled with the other one, thumb and forefinger pinching and pulling until you let out a tiny mewl.

Hearing it had him falling to his knees.

Wakatoshi moved off the cot to kneel on the floor, the better to suckle on your tits, to lick and nibble on the skin below it, on your stomach, until he's seeing red and ripping your loose pants down to your thighs.

He pumped his cock harder as he caressed the folds of your cunt. You groaned, arching your back and offering yourself to his mouth, when he started to lap on your clit, sticky liquid coating the swollen bud as he swirled his tongue to spread the juices dripping from your hole.

Your entire body was singing for him, even when all you'd managed were squirms and muted whimpers. He felt your skin twitch beneath his lips, as he cupped his balls and drove his hand faster around his throbbing cock, gripping his fist tighter.

Oh, he sees you on that garden, clinging onto him as he drives himself into you, pounding your cunt as you beg please, just as you did before, please, please, fuck me harder I am yours I am all yours.

But, for now, he settles himself with the violent shudders of your body, flooding his mouth with cream, as he releases his seed on his palm.

Wakatoshi rubbed it against your leaking cunt, quivering still in his hand.

There is something that must be finished, first, before he takes you, in truth. He cannot have you conscious (for now.)

He covered you back in your clothes, after. Then, Wakatoshi lingered on your face.

"Fearfully and wonderfully made," he whispered, a mere guttural sound amidst the rain pouring outside.

Here lies salvation, he thought, as his fingers brushed your closed eyes.

And here, Wakatoshi thought as he brought his lips down to kiss you, here lies damnation.

He wiped his blood on the doorposts and lintel before he left.

You woke up to silence.

Your nether regions ached and, really, the temptation to not go to work today was insanely strong. But the sun was already bleeding through the window and there's a heavy feeling on your chest.

And like wearing a shirt on backwards, you immediately knew that something was not right.

The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the building as you ran outside.

There was nothing.

Not the sound of people going about their day nor of children risking the wrath of their mothers with their games. The only thing you could hear was the buzzing noise of a fly circling around your ear.

You didn't bother knocking on your neighbor's room, rushing inside to shout for Soo-jin and her mom, stopping only when you found them sitting around a small table.

They didn't turn around to greet you.

"There you are," you panted, putting your hands on your knees. "I'm so sorry for barging in like this."

Even little Soo-jin, who never failed to jump into your arms given the opportunity, kept her back to you.

You stepped towards her. "Soo-jin," you whispered, placing a hand on her thin shoulder.

"Soo-jin, hey," you chuckled, your trembling fingers shaking her bit. "H-hey, what's wrong?"

Her head nodded down, like a doll grabbed all too suddenly, then it lolled to the side, rolling until she bared her neck, until you saw her face.

Her mouth hung open.

Inside the cavern were tiny black lumps that took you a second to realize were flies feasting on her molars. And when you lurched and sank to the floor, it was only then that you saw her staring back at you.

Bleached eyes, wide and whitened to the core and pupils like spoiled milk.

"N-no." Your vision was cloudy, freezing dread settling at the pit of your stomach when you saw that the same happened to her mother. "Who- who did this?"

Your voice strained out as you stood, mind moving faster than your legs.

Granny. Go to Granny.

Though you already know, don't you? You don't have to see her to know her fate. Because as you sprinted out of the room, leaping down across the steps, out of the building and into sand and concrete, the smell of sulfur followed you, choking you along with the sight of bodies sprawled on the ground.

Insects creeping out of nostrils and every other orifice, faces that you'll never have the chance of knowing and faces that you'd grown up with, hands reaching to the heaven as if at prayer.

You are alone. You are alone in a city filled with rotting corpses.

There was an uncontrolled animal inside your body, fighting out of its cage in a fit of rage as you craned to look up, further up.

The sky was on fire, the fissure in the middle gaping wider and wider and sucking in a mass of swirling clouds dipped with blood and orange.

And there. There, look. Standing atop the towering walls.

Beyond the heat wave was a figure, burning bright that you had to squint and you wanted to look away, you had to look away, but you can't go out like this, not without a scream and a curse at your lips.

What did you do, you were shouting, Who are you, you were screeching, feeling the veins in your neck stretch and pop as you walked closer and closer.

Wings as far as the eye could see stood atop the fallen city.

Spread out to span the horizon and folded at the middle to conceal whatever it is pointing a flaming sword towards the sun.

You tasted iron at the back of your mouth, but you did not stop. The earth beneath you swallowed your feet as it turned to mud with each step you took.

And with the flap of its wings, the sound of metal banging against each other reverberated louder.

There were children howling in pain, somewhere, behind you, in front of you, beside you. You staggered forward and for the life of you, you do not understand why you keep trying, because the ground below wasn't even soil anymore.

It took another step before you fell.

And it was like one of those dreams.

But this time you don't wake up.

You bawled out and thrashed your legs as water rose above you, slamming against your chest and filling up your mouth and burning your nose until it's all you could see, until you're floating in darkness and water is rushing to your lungs and you were flailing upwards, catching that spot of sunlight, but the more you kicked your feet and swung your arms, the more it tugged at your heavy legs and the less you could breathe and the further it got—

You were sinking, the clanging of a giant bell everywhere still, as the water pulled you down, and in the deep, below the nothingness, was a massive cleft illuminated by the barest of light, slowly opening to reveal an eye, and no sound came out though you know, though you felt your throat release a shriek, horrifyingly small, so, so small compared to that glass green pupil that illuminated the darkness, rapidly contracting and dilating and then blinking as salt and fire streamed deep in your skin, but they were looking at you from all sides, a thousand eyes flanking you and judging the weight of your soul with their unforgiving gaze as you tossed and turned in the waters.

I am going to die here, you thought. I will die here, you cried.

But something was pulling at your waist and despite clawing and jabbing at it, desperate to keep it away from you as you wailed get off me get off me, it gripped you tight, hauling you upwards until you were gulping and breathing in cold air.

Through tears and the piercing cry that ripped out your throat, you felt strong, warm arms cradle you close.

Along with a deep voice, familiar and conjuring a long lost memory.

It lulled you into hiccups and dry sobs, gentle as it whispered.

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid.”

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x female reader #dark content haikyuu

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