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angelguk · 3 years

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so much happens in this it’s such a huge mess omg. the return of the angst plot line of jock!jk (aka pretty boy universe please check ml for the other parts). this time featuring: Angst (with a capital A), miscommunication that makes you want to scream, chayoung’s true nature, namjoon catching stray bullets (figuratively), and lucas being a gem. also jungkook is somewhat semi-violent in this one (in terms of thoughts and some actions but no one gets hurt) so please don’t read this if that makes you uncomfortable. in general just an angry heartbroken boy. also oc is finally doing something good. listen to mess it up by gracie abrams + if we were made of water by banks + i will by mitksi + save room for us by tinashe. roughly 4.2k

titled — old friends, new foes

The spring scavenger hunt is an enormous success, all thanks to your careful planning and Bina’s much needed support. While you excelled at organising, you heavily lacked in the social aspect, something Bina fulfilled with smart marketing and a bright personality that drew in a larger crowd than you thought would appear. It's partially expected–she was head of the Events Committee for a reason–but it felt a little strange to lean onto her instead of Jeongguk. He was the one who usually spearheaded that side of your event plans, more than anyone else, and while planning this one you felt his absence tenfold. Like a gigantic gaping hole excavating through your chest and leaving behind a lonely hollow.

That hollowness surges when you spot him meandering towards the third location at the university courtyard, his fingers tangled with Hyeri’s. You slowly turn away from them, heart aching with each thud against your ribs, hoping they haven’t seen you. Maybe Bina sees the fall on your features because she’s gently tapping your arm, leaning in with a graceful brush of her amber locks over her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is soft, feathering through the late afternoon breeze to reach your ear.

You’re about to say it, the pained ‘I’m fine' that had become a part of your routine. But then you hear him, loud effervescent laugh hitting the air, the sound striking your false demeanour down. Your vision blurs before you could choke the word out and suddenly Bina’s arm is firmly around you, guiding your heavy feet far away from the presence evoking your pain.

“I’m fine,” you finally manage to choke up, folding into yourself in the middle of a bench. She stares at you for a moment, before taking a deep breath and sharply clicking her tongue.

“You’re not.” Her eyes are gentle despite the harshness of her words. “I know this isn’t my place, but I do know why you stopped coming to committee meetings.”

The scoff you let out is instinctive. The jarring sound is a stark contrast to the action of your hand hurriedly wiping away the stray tears staining your cheeks. Of course, you’d avoided committee meetings – why the hell would you go when the president was your ex?

“And,” Bina continues, pointedly ignoring your reaction. Her hand reaches out moving to intertwine your fingers. You focus on the image of her sharp stiletto shaped nails that glitter under the glow of the sun settling on your lap instead of the thumping of your heart as she speaks. “Judging from what I’ve seen, it hasn’t been easy for him either. I know you’re probably thinking that you were the only one who cared about him–about your relationship, but I’m pretty sure he did too. So it’s perfectly okay for you to feel like this, no matter how long it’s been.”

Two months and three weeks, you mentally add. A lifetime and a single blink simultaneously.

“I didn’t need to know that,” you say, hoping to kill the hope fluttering in your heart. Bina squeezes your hand instead and gives it wings.

“You did. Also, Jeongguk’s kind of an asshole. Sorry if it’s too soon.”

It’s not, and you can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes from your throat. You glance up at her then, suddenly glad for the dazzling glossed coated smile that greets you.

“But,” she continues. “You’re doing the wrong thing too. I know you’re dating Lucas and it’s not fair to him when you’re still hung up on Jeongguk.”

“I know,” you admit. “And I’m going to fix that.”

She beams. “I hope you do. Don’t let him make you pick the wrong choices. You deserve better than that.”

Perhaps it was her words of reassurance that aided in getting you out of the house tonight. (Or it was Bina gingerly whacking your arm and insisting you needed to reward yourself for working hard). But a minuscule part of you is glad you heeded her advice. The music is louder than the words bouncing around your head, sound shoving your sorrow down as Chayoung hands you another drink. Everything is fast, bodies shifting wildly around you and the faint sound of a beer pong game capturing everyone’s attention. For a moment, you begin to forget. But then Lucas’s looming head materializes before you and guilt swarms your heart.

“Hey,” he offers, deep timbre sinking into your bones. You might just throw up.

You haven’t told him about Namjoon. You can’t bear to. But there’s something else more urgent that you need to say to him first.

Chayoung watches through narrow eyes when he leans forward to brush a light kiss on your cheek. He’s so sweet it makes your mouth turn sour.

“Haven’t seen you around,” Lucas continues, slipping beside you. A steady hand settles at the base of your back. You almost jolt away.

Chayoung’s face is hard, expression carved out of marble as she stares you down. You know she’s mad at you, rightfully so. Even Sieun hadn’t said anything for a few days after you’d told them about Namjoon. You were mad at yourself too. For what you did–for what you need to do to fix it.

“Been busy. Planning the scavenger hunt and all,” you say, gaze glued to a random lamp at the opposite side of the room. It’s easier than staring at Lucas, who’s still so warm and bright. Practically glowing like he’s got the Sun living in his chest.

You hope you don’t leave him cloudy.

He weaves his hand into yours, a pleasant noise escaping past his lips. “I know. Great job, by the way. You should be proud.”

Chayoung slinks away at that, the glower on her features burning your blood. You haven’t told anybody yet because you don’t want their advice on this. But you do need to end things with Lucas. It wasn’t fair to him. Yet, it feels nearly impossible when you tear your eyes off the fading figure of your friend and glance up to find him staring at you with the softest smile.

All you do is hurt good people.

It’s a terrible realisation but it forces you to croak out the words, a rip forming inside of you when that soft smile slips off his face at the sound of them.

“We need to talk.”

But the second they are out you feel something in the world click into place like you’re finally making the right steps toward the correct path even though you need to step on the hearts of others to get there.

Lucas lets you lead him in silence, the weight of it sinking onto your shoulders when he closes the door behind him, the music giving way to the noise in your head. When he turns to face you, watching apprehensively as you perch yourself at the edge of the bed in the room, it all begins to feel like deja vu. Except you’re on the other side.

“So,” you start, eyes on the wall. The feeling of the mattress dipping as Lucas descends beside you pulls your gaze back to him, heartstrings thrumming when the moonlight leaking through the opened curtains pools into his eyes.

How could Jeongguk have done this?

“We need to end this,” you say, realising as the air leaves your lungs that he did it like this. Like he needed to breath. It feels like cutting an anchor off your ankle, head breaking through furious waters to finally find air.

Lucas pauses, blinking slow. You don’t fill the emptiness with more words, afraid you’ll pour salt into an open wound. He lets what you said ruminate, eyes shifting to the scene around you. A random room, bathed by the glow of the room, and two hearts opposing each other–one already poised to leave. One that was never really there.

“Why?” It’s said lowly. You know why. You owe him this admission, after dragging him around on a sinking ship. But the words refuse to part from your throat.

“I’m not right for you,” you say instead, hoping he understands. By the flicker across his eyes, he doesn’t. “Like,” you try, your eyes dropping to where his heart lies. “You’ve got a lot of good in you and I don’t. We don’t match.”

Lucas cocks his head, staring at the ceiling. And this his gaze careens to you.

“You don’t think you’re a good person?”

“Well–” you splutter. But Lucas isn’t having it.

“You’re a lovely person, Y/N. With a lot of good in you too. You are kind of shitty for this though but every good person does shitty things.” It’s said factually like he needs you to understand this.

“I know that–”

“You don’t. You put yourself down too much. Why do you think Jeongguk loved you?”

Oh. That seizes that air from your chest, Lucas’s gaze slamming into your own with a surety that stings.

“Why do you think I like you?” He adds. You don’t know what to do, nervous system spazzing at this information assault. “And I know why you want to end this. You could have said it. I understand, though. The two of you did fight together so well.” He gets up then, towering like a God dictating judgment. “I didn’t expect you to stop loving him immediately, you know.” He’s near the door now, not fleeing but parting a new path. There’s a weird smile on his lips, like the forging of his steps hurts as much yours does. It’s like it’s been hung there, not pulled from his heart like you’d grown used to seeing.

“What did you expect?” You can’t help but ask.

He pauses, the door half-open. You could tell him to shut it, you could tell him to stay.

You don’t want to.

“That maybe one day you would love me more than you loved him,” Lucas whispers. He sees the fall on your features, knows the answer on your lips instantly. “But it’s okay that you never could.”

And then he’s gone, honey blonde hair swallowed by the crowd even with his impossible height. He leaves the door ajar, the music seeping into the room. But this time your head is louder, surer. Because Lucas just let you know something you weren’t even aware of yourself. There was no room for anybody else except Jeongguk. And it truly wasn’t fair to offer him your heart when it was half a world away.

—

Half a world away is apparently glaring at the shrubs flanking the back garden. Jeongguk doesn’t know who’s house this is. He doesn’t care either because at the moment he’s considering burning it down. He’d just seen you amble into a room, Lucas trailing behind like a stupid dog and his heart clenching hard in his chest. It took two seconds after the door shut for him to shove Hyeri off his lap and mumble something about needing air.

(What he needed was you).

The coolness of the night ebbed at his boiling blood, but nothing could ease the ache.

“You look like you need a drink,” Chayoung’s voice feels alien, creeping up his back. He turns to look at her, a polite comment on how he’d like to be left alone hanging on his lips. She interrupts it by handing him a cup, a tender smile gracing her lips. Jeongguk accepts it with a shrug, hoping the burn in his throat will be a distraction. It isn’t. But he forces another sip down as Chayoung slithers outside too, the room behind her glowing as if the building was on fire.

What store sells matches and lighter fluid in the middle of the night? And won’t ask incriminating questions?

“Why the long face?” She asks, peering at him from the corner of her eye.

Jeongguk shrugs, the words in his head refusing to form into understandable sounds.

“Hyeri not cutting it?” Chayoung murmurs. His eyes snap to her, but she’s not staring at him, her gaze fixed on the dark sky.

“What do you mean?” Jeongguk is baffled say the least. He thought his act with Hyeri was a little bit more solid proof. He liked her–somewhat.

Chayoung turns slow, almost sinisterly, a glint in her brown eyes that unsettles him. “I just don’t think she’s in your league.”

The scoff that leaves Jeongguk’s throat burns. He hated that stupid idea of leagues. You should like a person for who they are, not where they stand in foolish social hierarchies. But Chayoung reads his response wrong, suddenly impossibly close, a stray finger trailing along his shoulder. Her nails are talons. He shudders, trying to hide it by leaning away. Chayoung just leans closer, alcohol tainted breath grazing his own. For a moment, Jeongguk considers fleeing back inside to come ask you to collect your drunk friend (a perfect excuse to finally say something to you after months of radio silence) but then he remembers that might potentially end with him walking into the room and finding you with Lucas’s tongue down your throat.

And that would suck. A lot.

But before he can think of another solution Chayoung’s fingernails are scrapping his neck, leaving his skin prickled.

“But then again, do you seem to always pick the wrong ones.” That bristles him and his eyes are suddenly hard and narrow.

“What do you mean by that?” He spits it out, a spark igniting in his chest when Chayoung shrugs. The smile on her face disgusts him.

“You know what I mean.” Her finger is sliding down his shirt and Jeongguk feels branded even through the material. “When you look like this, running around girls like that is honestly a little sad.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s hoping he’s hearing this all wrong. That she’s just drunk and acting stupid. But when her eyes lift to him he knows she means it. Every word of it.

“You could do better, Jeongguk. So much better.”

“Chayoung you need to shut the fuc–”

Her lips taste like vodka and cherry lip balm, which is sickening because that’s what you taste like–sans the vodka. Cherry lip balm was your brand. It always was, you’ve got like five of them scattered around your room and a couple more hidden in Jeongguk’s. He recoils instantly, acid climbing up his throat as his hands find something–anything to push away. What he finds are Chayoung’s shoulders and when he pushes he pushes hard. They break apart and the floor beneath Jeongguk cracks wide open, his head spinning violently.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He doesn’t know what else to say, the circuits in his brain frying. Chayoung’s tongue skips over her lips, now wet and a little plush from the force she used to slam her mouth into his.

“Showing you that you can do better.”

He blinks, taken a large step back when Chayoung moves forward, a little sway in her feet.

“You’re drunk and acting crazy. I think I should call Y/N to com–”

“Oh fuck Y/N. Such a whiny bitch. Do you really think she deserves you? After all the shit she’s put you through?” Chayoung’s eyes feel like knives, sharp and striking deep with every word.

“Aren't you her friend? What the hell is wrong with you?” Jeongguk needs this to de-escalate. Chayoung wants to throw gasoline on an open flame instead.

“No–what’s wrong with you, Jeongguk? Moping around for a girl who never realised what she had when it was right in front of her? C’mon now.”

“You seriously need to shut the fuck up. You’re not gonna talk about her like that in front of me.”

“Why not? Cause you still love her? Even when she’s fucking Lucas?”

That stings, his heart bursting in his chest because Jeongguk didn’t know you were sleeping with him. He thought it would just be kisses or something. Not that–not Lucas touching you like he used to. But then Hyeri’s face flashes in before his eyes and he wilts. He can’t blame you for anything, not when he’s been doing the same horrible shit to you. And that makes him pause, the sudden realisation that he’s been hurting you smashing into his head. He didn’t want to hurt you–never. Not even if you were hurting him. He just needed a distraction, something to ease you off his mind. And maybe you did too, but all left you both with was gaping wounds that would never heal. And with other people hurt too.

God, this was a mess. And it dawns on Jeongguk that’s he’s made the worst mistake he’s ever made in his life.

“You should hate her,” Chayoung continues, venomous.

“I don’t,” Jeongguk returns, voice levelled. All he hates right now is himself. And Lucas (which is fair). Chayoung blanches, shaken by his firmness. “I really don’t, in fact, I need to talk to her. Right now.”

He moves fast, foot already past the threshold when Chayoung speaks again, her words aimed with intent to kill.

“She kissed Namjoon.”

He feels the nerves in his legs still instantly, before they nearly give way entirely, his grip on the door frame the only thing holding him up as his heart tears out of his chest.

“I thought you should know,” Chayoung adds. And he hears it then, that vile smugness in her voice. She’s lying. She has to be. You wouldn’t do that to him. And he says that, storming back to Chayoung with his chest ripped open, his body thrumming with barely concealed rage. And fear. Jeongguk feels so scared right now because if you did that means everything he felt–everything he feared–could be true.

“She did.” Chayoung is immovable, standing tall and staring him down. “I’m not lying to you. Go ask Namjoon if you don’t believe me.”

Which, Jeongguk realises as his eyes fall shut that is going to absolutely do. And possibly break a nose in the process. He turns, trying to blink away the blurriness in his eyes, before Chayoung stops him with a single sentence again, this one said a little softer.

“Jeongguk,” she starts, eyeing him down, her brown eyes aflame under the moonlight. “I mean it when I say she doesn’t deserve you.”

—

Someone is attempting to break down Namjoon’s door. Which is bizarre considering it’s almost three in the morning. He has to drag himself out of the comfort of his warm sheets to figure out which maniac is attempting to smash through solid wood with only their fists because it seems like they’re almost succeeding.

The maniac in question is Jeon Jeongguk, standing rigid when Namjoon swings the door open, moonlight bleeding over his features. He’s mad, staring at Namjoon like he wished his head was rolling on the ground instead of stationed square on his shoulders. But there’s something else there, doe eyes glossy.

“Jeongguk? What the hell are–”

“You kissed her.”

Everything stills, the two men fixated on each other. Jeongguk is so still he could have been mistaken for a statue. Almost as if he was waiting for the words that would break this moment, ease the tension seizing his muscles, tell him what he wants to hear. Namjoon can’t do any of that. Instead, he sighs, a muted, “Oh”, floating from his lips.

Jeongguk snaps the second he realises it’s true.

“Oh? You kissed her and all you have to say is oh?” Hands are digging into the soft cotton of his nightshirt and Namjoon’s feet are no longer on the ground. He’s apparently levitating, lifted solely by this hurt angry boy invading his apartment. His back hits the nearest wall with a thud that vibrates through his bones. When the hell did Jeongguk get this strong?”

“Whoa–relax,” Namjoon wheezes, his strong fingers guiding Jeongguk off him. But heartbreak tends to be enough fuel because Jeongguk pushes back with an ease that unnerves him. “Jeongguk, you seriously need to relax. Let go of me and we can talk about this.”

“Why did you do it?” That is what he gets in return. Jeongguk’s voice wavers, coloured a violent red in the velvet of the night.

“I didn’t do anything,” Namjoon returns, the words delivered gingerly.

“No–no you did. You kissed her. You–”

“She kissed me, Jeongguk. And I can seriously explain all of it if you just relaxed and we talked about it–”

“No, she didn’t. She wouldn’t do that to me–she wouldn’t.” And Oh God No, Namjoon thinks he just heard the sound of a heart breaking. It sounds like a weird mangled bird collapsing from the sky and its wing hitting the ground with a funny wet smash, fragile bones snapping like twigs.

Jeongguk’s fingers peel from his shirt and bury themselves in his hair, yanking at the cropped strands as his face twists.

This is far too much emotion for a single person to deal with in the middle of the bloody night.

“Hey–hey, calm down. It was a mistake, I promise you. She was just feeling a little all over the place and made a bad choice–”

“No–that’s the fucking point! She made a choice. She chose you.” Jeongguk’s staring at him in a way that hurts, like he’s attempting to transfer all the pain that’s writhing through his body into Namjoon’s from sight alone.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Jeongguk is frantic, almost like he’s trying to stop himself from pouring out onto the floor. A flood barely contained. “She chose you first. I was there–I was always there. But then you waltzed in and she saw something in you that she didn’t find in me and she chose you.”

Namjoon cocks his head, staring hard at Jeongguk’s round wide eyes, slowly coming to realisations that he was surrounded by idiotic people.

“I still have no idea what you are talking about, but I have to ask, don’t you remember a single thing I told you the last time we spoke about Y/N? You’re the reason we broke up.” That halts him and Namjoon takes that as a moment to press onward, somewhat tired of being dragged into this awkward mess. “And I’ll say this in the nicest way possible but you’re an idiot if you think Y/N wouldn’t pick you over me any day–over anyone really. I could be drowning and you could have a scrapped knee and she’d check on you first. We broke up because I realised I was just a placeholder until she felt brave enough to tell you she liked you. You were rather intimidating for her to approach. Or have you forgotten your track record of girls? It wasn’t easy for her–especially when she was risking losing her best friend.”

The silence that follows aches, Jeongguk’s eyes flashing like he never considered that in the first place.

“But why the other guys then? Why not just tell me after you?”

Namjoon’s going to bang his head into the wall. “You’re her best friend–what about that are you not getting? What if you didn’t like her back and it ruined the most important relationship in her life?”

“But I did–I always liked her.”

“No,” Namjoon nearly groans out loud. “You didn’t. If you liked her you wouldn’t have fucked Chaerin in the back of your car and then gone to report it to Y/N with a grin on your face.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon returns. “Oh. That’s the exact day we broke up too. Such a stupid fight because she was crying and that’s when I put two and two together and realised I was never going to take precedence over you.”

“I didn’t know I was hurting her,” Jeongguk murmurs, almost distraught.

A strangled noise erupts from Namjoon’s throat. “You’ve hurt her a lot more than you’ll realise.” But the second he says that and Jeongguk’s face twists into something unrecognisable he wants to take them back.

“She’s too good for me. Maybe we are better off apart.”

“No, no. You’re so wrong actually. This break-up thing has been miserable to watch and I’m not even in the centre of it. I’ve just caught a bunch of stray bullets.”

“You’re not getting me,” Jeongguk’s eyes swing to him. “She came to you at the end of it all. Maybe we are better with other people. Maybe you’re better for her.”

“She came to me because she missed you. She just needed someone to lean on during your absence. I wouldn’t have to do that if you were there. You know, you should just talk about this with Y/N.”

“I can’t, she’s happy with Lucas. I think.”

Namjoon wants to bang both your heads together so bad. Maybe finally the fact that you love each other would get through your thick skulls then.

“She doesn’t,” he says, instead. “And I know that for a fact. You should really go talk to her. Figure this whole mess out. And also finally get out of my apartment.” Jeongguk’s gaze withers. Namjoon shrugs in return. “It’s the middle of the night and I have a meeting in the morning. I really need to sleep.”

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.” He’s so meek like this, nursing a shattered heart and a confused head. It’s slightly jarring to the image he usually presents, so self-assured and unfazed by whatever gets thrown at him. Never exposed like this, every emotion he holds inside displayed across his face.

“It’s alright. Just think about what I said and talk to her. Honestly. Not skirting over shit like the two of you tend to do. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, trailing towards the open door. Namjoon had registered a breeze billowing in, but he’d completely missed the fact that the door of his apartment was swung wide open. Jeongguk abruptly stops just as Namjoon’s sense of bearing returns, turning to face him with his face pulled down by shame. “I’m really sorry. For this whole thing. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that I was just–”

“I get it. You love her and it feels like she’s slipping from your fingers. Just don’t do that shit again and stop trying to push her away. I’ll say it again–you were always her first choice.” He sees it then, a slight flutter through Jeongguk’s chest. A broken bird mending.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk breathes. “Thanks.”

Namjoon sighs, offering a tight smile and shutting the door firmly when Jeongguk finally drifts out. He needs a drink before he hits the sheets again. A strong one.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts x reader #jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook scenarios #i hope this redeems jj!jk in your eyes #i might rewrite this who knows

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womenstan · 3 years

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One More Night - P.4

Let Me Forget You

Summary "Now, Sander held the power of breaking this thing off whenever and leaving Robbe a mess again. But, Robbe had decided he wasn’t going to let that happen. He wasn’t just going to sit still and look pretty until Sander decided he’d had enough of him. Besides, it was nothing more than sex between them. He could live without it, or find it elsewhere.

He was going to stop this thing and he was going to move on.

How difficult could it be, right?"

Part four of one more night

Robbe had always been one to overthink things, to let them stew and simmer in his mind for hours on end, until they either stopped making sense or managed to completely freak him out.

This time, it was the latter. He hadn’t meant to keep thinking about Sander, or, rather, the feelings the simple mention of that name evoked in him. Yet, here he was, two days later, unable to focus on anything else.

He’d known since the beginning that they were walking a very thin and dangerous line and that this was never going to end well, but now he was starting to realize he might have a lot more to lose here than Sander did.

He’d tried to ignore it, push it to the farthest corners of his mind, but to no avail. He knew that once he would enter Sander’s vicinity, his brain would lose all sense of logic and he’d just end up repeating the same mistake again and again and again… until Sander got bored and ditched him again, probably.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to resist, but simply ignoring Sander didn’t seem to be an option, as they constantly ended up in each other’s way. So, he couldn’t ignore him, but there was no way he was going to let Sander win this either.

The angry, fiery sex was great. No, it was beyond amazing and by far the best Robbe had ever had. He was like an addict who needed his fix and that gave Sander the upper hand over him, which Robbe really, really hated. He’d walked right into it too, promising himself he’d never have anything to do with that guy again, before jumping into his bed, both figuratively and literally.

Now, Sander held the power of breaking this thing off whenever and leaving Robbe a mess again. But, Robbe had decided he wasn’t going to let that happen. He wasn’t just going to sit still and look pretty until Sander decided he’d had enough of him. Besides, it was nothing more than sex between them. He could live without it, or find it elsewhere.

He was going to stop this thing and he was going to move on.

How difficult could it be, right?

----

Turns out the answer was: very fucking difficult.

Not only did they attend the same university, but they also both followed classes in the same wing and hung out at the same parties.

Robbe managed to avoid Sander at school by only showing up to his classes and never hanging out at the library afterwards, but this solution could only last so long. So, he needed a plan.

“Milan, what? I’m not going to fuck some guy just to get over this thing with Sander!” Robbe exclaimed, incredulous.

Milan sighed, sitting down next to him on the bed while throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “Fine, Robbe, be boring, then!”

Robbe huffed at that, already regretting coming to Milan for advice. Milan crossed his arms, pouting, before turning his back to Robbe. They stayed in silence for a bit, as Robbe was starting to consider having to switch universities to get out of this.

Suddenly, Milan spun back towards Robbe, grabbing him by the arms in excitement. Robbe arched one his eyebrows in question, prompting Milan to inhale dramatically.

“Ok, I have a solution,” Milan said, which only made Robbe scrunch his face in doubt. “And before you ask, no , it doesn’t involve sex or illegal activities.”

Now, Robbe’s curiosity was piqued. “Go ahead, but I swear if you suggest your cousin aga-“

“No, no, I swear! How was I supposed to know he was married, Robbe, seriously!” Milan interrupted, waving Robbe off. “ Anyways , no, I’m talking about Theo .”

Robbe felt his hopes get crushed all at once. “Milan, no. I can’t.”

Milan tutted him, but Robbe just kept shaking his head in disbelief. “No, Milan, that guy has, like, genuine feelings. I can’t just use him for this!”

Theo was a barista at the university’s small student café. At first, Robbe had thought he was simply extremely nice, but his kindness had escalated into flirting quickly enough. He was very obviously interested in Robbe and he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. And the thing was that he was far from ugly. Theo was a little taller than Robbe and objectively handsome with his side-swept brown hair and his deep blue eyes that seemed to read into your soul when he looked at you. He was also really nice, which might actually be part of the problem. He was so, so, nice that he ended up being quite… boring. Every time Robbe stopped to grab a coffee, he prayed to every single God he could remember that Theo wouldn’t get the guts to ask him out. So far, he’d been safe.

See, Robbe wasn’t good at saying no to people. He hated seeing the hurt on their faces and he felt guilty every time he’d see them again. So, he was pretty sure he’d end up saying yes if Theo proposed a date and he really didn’t think he could survive going out with Theo without falling asleep on him.

So, he couldn’t just use him to get over Sander. He wasn’t that kind of person.

Milan got up and walked towards the door without saying a word, which only aggravated Robbe even more.

“I won’t do this to him, Milan!”

-----

And he really, really wasn’t going to. But then, as he was walking to his last class the next day, he caught sight of a sliver of white hair out of the corner of his eyes and his brain kind of just stopped working.

He couldn’t even think about escaping before Sander’s gaze had met his.

“Robin. Long time no see.” Sander said. He didn’t even bother smirking to smooth his tone over, all coldness and anger that sent chills up Robbe’s spine.

Robbe laughed dryly, his otherwise good mood crushed in an instant. “Yeah, too bad you decided to ruin it, hm?”

Sander stepped closer to Robbe, making him take some tentative steps back towards the wall. The corridors were mostly empty now, most students having already reached their classes. Robbe should definitely follow suit if he doesn’t want to be late, which he definitely doesn’t, considering how strict this teacher is and how behind he is in the course. But it’s as if his body stopped obeying his mind, his feet rooted in place as if cemented into the floor.

“How long are we gonna keep playing cat and mouse for?” Sander said, voice low and hoarse, letting Robbe know he was actually pissed off by Robbe’s avoidance.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

If Robbe had thought Sander was mad before, it was nothing compared to now. His eyes had gone dim and narrow and if the way his breathing became more labored was any indication, Robbe was in trouble.

He looked to his left, then to his right, but Sander’s body was pretty much crowding him, making it impossible for Robbe to simply walk away without a confrontation.

“Oh, really? ‘Cause that’s not what you were saying last week when you couldn’t get your hands off me at that party and I had to drag your drunk ass home.”

Robbe’s head snapped back to Sander’s, now angry as well. “Fuck off, I was drunk. Of course I’d try to go for someone like you.”

Sander’s hands slammed the wall on each side of Robbe’s head, making him flinch slightly. They were so close by now that Robbe could feel Sander’s hot breath on his face, which was only slightly distracting him from the hurt that flared in Sander’s gaze.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Sander asked, practically growling with anger.

If it was anyone else, Robbe might have felt bad about what he’d insinuated. But this was Sander and making Sander angry only resulted in making Robbe even angrier.

Raising his chin to match Sander’s height, Robbe locked his eyes with his, trying to appear as unbothered as he could. “Someone who’d fuck anything with a heartbeat,” he spat out, smirking at the way Sander’s face fell.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sander said, eyes closed and sounding out of breath.

Robbe’s brain was no longer thinking logically, completely wrapped up in the tension electrifying the air between them.

“Make me then.”

And for once, Sander didn’t respond with some snarky remark to one-up Robbe. He just dived right in.

Fumbling behind Robbe, Sander pushed open a nearby door, gripping Robbe’s shirt and pulling them in. He shut the door close with his right foot, shoving Robbe against a shelf roughly.

Robbe winced a little as he was sent backwards, preparing himself for the landing, but Sander managed to slip his hand behind his head just in time to avoid a collision. Robbe sighed in relief, but the end of his sigh was caught by Sander’s mouth on his, harsh and demanding.

Instinctively, Robbe’s hands went up to Sander’s hair, twisting his fingers in the strands and pulling in desire. Sander’s moan was barely audible, swallowed somewhere in their kiss. As Sander’s tongue found its way to Robbe’s mouth, his fingers slipped to Robbe’s waist, holding him tightly against the shelf.

The room was entirely silent, apart from the wet sound of their mouths gliding together and the occasional whimper from either of them. Robbe had closed his eyes as soon as he’d felt Sander push him back into the room, but as Sander’s mouth navigated to his neck, he took the time to look at their surroundings.

Sander had ushered them into a closet, buckets and mops laying all around as the air smelled distinctly of cleaning products. It was dark, the only light coming from the small crack under the closed door and Robbe could barely make out where he ended and where Sander started.

His train of thoughts was quickly interrupted by Sander’s teeth sinking into the delicate skin of his neck, pulling and sucking. His head fell back against the self as his eyes rolled back a little, overwhelmed with the sensations. He was really glad for Sander’s hands on his waist keeping him upright, because he was pretty sure they were about to give out.

As Sander kept sucking his way along Robbe’s neck, Robbe brought his hands down to the hem of Sander’s shirt, pulling a little. Sander seemed so absorbed in his task that he didn’t react to Robbe’s touch, forcing him to physically get Sander’s head away from his neck.

“Sander,” Robbe said, as Sander just grunted, clearly annoyed he’d been interrupted. “Sander. Shirt off.”

That seemed to wake Sander up from his daze, as he quickly got rid of his shirt, before removing Robbe’s in one swift move. The second Robbe’s shirt hit the floor, Sander’s mouth was already back on him, making its way down his chest.

Robbe had to stifle a moan with his hand when Sander got to the edge of his pants, sucking yet another bruise there. Sander was taking his time, clearly enjoying the way he could make Robbe squirm with his mouth.

Robbe’s hands had found a home in Sander’s hair, pulling especially hard to make Sander go faster. It had the reverse effect, as Sander slowed his sucking down to come soothe the mark with his tongue, licking slowly over Robbe’s skin.

Robbe whined a little, annoyed at how slow this was going. Sander chuckled, clearly amused at how eager Robbe was to move this along and decided he’d made Robbe suffer enough.

In an instant, his hands were on Robbe’s belt, struggling with the buckle for a few seconds before harshly pulling it out of its hoops and throwing it behind him carelessly. Sander hooked his fingers in both Robbe’s jeans and underwear, tugging them down in one swift move as he dropped to his knees.

Sander’s hands gripped Robbe’s waist hard, making sure he wasn’t going to move. As Robbe brought one of his hands to Sander’s neck, the other still twisted in his hair, he felt Sander breath heavy on his skin. He barely had a moment to register the heat before Sander’s mouth wrapped around him, all warm and wet. All Robbe could feel was pure bliss, closing his eyes shut as Sander moved his head back and forth.

He’d had sex with other guys before Sander, but right now, he couldn’t remember a single one of them. It was like Sander’s mouth had wiped his slate clean at the first flick of his tongue.

Robbe’s muscles ached from how hard he was clenching them, and he could feel his toe curling in his shoes. It was so unbelievably good that it had made Robbe forget all about the promise he’d made to himself.

That’s what Sander did to him, he made him throw all caution out the window and indulge himself in this bad, bad, mistake.

Because that’s what this was: a mistake.

As Sander moved his head a little faster, Robbe’s brain started screaming danger at him, making panic rise up in his chest.

“Sander. Sander! Wait, wait, wait, stop,” Robbe stuttered out, pushing at Sander’s shoulders.

Sander immediately pulled back, his eyes wide and worried. Robbe hurried to pull his pants back up, refusing to even look Sander’s way.

“Robbe?” Sander asked, voice low and careful.

He took a tentative step towards Robbe who immediately threw his hands up to stop him. “Don’t.” Robbe bent down to pick his shirt up, throwing it on carelessly. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I just have to… go.”

With that, he practically ran for the door, knocking over one of the mops on the way. Sander just stared at him, confusion, but mostly concern, written all over his face.

As he opened the door and stepped out, Robbe had to fight the urge to look back at Sander, instead choosing to swallow his shame and hurry out of the room, out of the corridor and out of the school.

----

After the complete humiliation that had been, Robbe swore to Milan he was never going to show his face again to uni. He was just going to have to change university, or even country, to make sure he’d never have to cross paths with Sander again. There was no other choice.

But there actually was another choice, which Milan kindly reminded him of.

Theo.

So, here Robbe was, nervously fiddling with his headphones as he queued at the small café where he knew Theo was working today. He knew that because he’d usually try to avoid coming in at this time, just so he’d be sure he wouldn’t be subjected to Theo’s flirting. Today, though, he was hoping for the exact opposite.

“Welcome to Café Het Hoekje, how may I—” Theo began, raising his head at the same time and coming to an abrupt stop as his gaze fell upon Robbe. “Oh! Robbe!”

He straightened up a bit, his bored expression transforming into a radiant smile. “Hey, how are you?”

Robbe ran a hand through his hair, a habit he couldn’t seem to shake, and smiled back at Theo. “Hey! Yeah, I’m good, you?”

Theo nodded enthusiastically, seeming overjoyed that Robbe cared enough to ask him how he’d been. That made Robbe’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Yeah, I mean, it was fine. I’m better now that you’re here.” Theo added, punctuating his sentence with a wink.

Robbe chuckled slightly, already wondering if he should just order coffee as usual, leave and forget all about his plan.

Theo leaned slightly on his forearms, shortening the safe distance the counter between the two of them provided.

“I missed you,” He said, whispering so only Robbe would hear.

Theo had always been very forward in his flirting and Robbe was more than expecting it, but he still blushed a little. It was now or never, so Robbe inhaled deeply, before putting on his most charming smile.

“Me too. Say, how about we grab some coffee after your shift?” Robbe asked, trying his hardest to stop his voice from shaking as he spoke. His mind was begging for him to stop, but Robbe simply ignored it, smiling a little more and shoving his hands inside his pockets so he’d stop playing with the hem of his jacket.

Theo’s face was almost comical, as his eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped open. He stayed frozen in place for a few seconds, as if he was expecting Robbe to laugh and say it was just a joke. Theo shook himself out of it, coughing awkwardly before immediately letting out a quick series of ‘yes.’

Robbe took pity on him, asking him when he was off and promising he’d be back for him then. Theo answered each question a beat too late, as if in a daze.

When Robbe made to leave the café, he heard Theo shout after him, half-walking, half-jogging up to him, a piece of paper in his hand.

“Robbe! Here, my number. Just in case,” he said, his tone assured, having clearly regained his confidence on his way over.

Robbe smiled, grabbing the paper and sliding it inside his pocket. He thanked Theo, who just winked at him again, before walking back towards the counter. Robbe watched him go, smiling a little to himself, proud that his plan had so easily worked. As he pushed through the door and breathed the soft outside air, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t going to regret this.

Sadly, that feeling didn’t last long. As soon as he sat down facing Theo, a steaming cup of cappuccino in his hands, the worries came back to him like a slap in the face. He was worried about hurting Theo, about getting over Sander, about not getting over Sander. The more he tried to forget about it, the more he ended up relating everything to him. It was like Sander had lodged itself in a corner of his mind and now refused to leave. He had a Sander shaped squatter in his brain and he was really getting fed up with it.

“Robbe?” Theo said, slowly, bringing Robbe out of his thoughts so abruptly he almost felt whiplash.

Robbe sent him a sorry smile, before asking him to, please , repeat what he’d said. Theo shook his head while laughing, as if Robbe had just told him something unbelievably funny. From the look in Theo’s eyes, Robbe wouldn’t doubt he thought Robbe was too absorbed by him and stopped listening to look. God, he felt like such a fucking asshole.

“I just asked how your classes were going,” Theo finally said, still wearing a proud smirk, not unlike the ones Sander sent him time after time. On Theo, however, it simply looked wrong. While it suited Sander, as if his face was molded to accomodate a smirk, Theo’s looked uncomfortably twisted.

“Yeah, I’m really busy, but other than that, it’s going fine,” Robbe answered, barely managing to lift the corner of his lips high enough to qualify for a smile. “I mean I have this really stressful exam thursday in the hall…”

Theo nodded solemnly at that. “Ah, semi-finals, right?” Robbe nodded, sighing a small ‘yeah.’ “When’s yours, in the morning?”

“Nah, thank God. I’m from one to four pm,” Robbe said, feeling his eyes drift to the side despite himself. They weren’t alone, but the café was empty enough that he probably wouldn’t be meeting anyone he knew. He was glad for that sense of intimacy, because he wasn’t sure he’d know how to explain what he was doing with ‘won’t-stop-flirting-with-me-please-help-jens-I’ll-literally-pay-you’ Theo to one of his friends.

Theo nodded again, sipping his own drink carefully. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to hesitate before any word could leave his mouth. He breathed deeply, as if to steel himself, and now Robbe was starting to get properly nervous.

“Look, Robbe, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be one hundred percent honest, alright?” Robbe gulped hard, nodding his head nonchalantly, despite his heart rising up to his throat. Theo knew. Somehow, he knew that Robbe was using him and this whole thing would fail.

“So… Do you, like, have a boyfriend?” Theo asked finally, refusing to meet Robbe’s eyes.

Robbe frowned, taking a few seconds to process what Theo had just asked him, before starting to laugh.

“A boyfriend? What? No way!” Robbe answered, stifling his laugh awkwardly with a slight cough.

Theo’s face lit up instantly, as he straightened his back and brought his eyes back to Robbe. Green eyes, just like Sander. Well, not nearly as beautiful.

“Oh? Great, that’s great! I just saw you with this guy at a few parties, so I thought…” Theo trailed off, scratching his neck.

Robbe furrowed his eyebrows, unsure he understood what Theo was talking about.

“Guy? What guy?”

Theo half-shrugged, giving Robbe a lopsided smile. “The blonde guy? From Arts?” Sander.

“Sander?” Robbe asked, prompting Theo to nod hesitantly. “God, no, Sander isn’t my boyfriend. I mean, we… you know, a couple of times, but there were zero feelings there.”

Theo laid his right hand over his heart, dramatically exhaling. “Good. That’d be too bad.”

Robbe smiled, giving him a small nod. Yeah… too bad .

----------

“No, Jens, you don’t understand. I had to order three cups just to make sure I wouldn’t fall asleep on him!” Robbe said, laughing along with the other boys.

Jens laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, giving him a serious look. “What about the plan then?”

Robbe sighed, shaking himself out of Jens’s grip. “Man, fuck the plan.”

That got him another round of laughs and a clap on the back from Moyo, whose approval didn’t actually feel good at all.

“It was a shit plan from the start, anyway,” Jens added. Robbe nodded vehemently, before plopping himself down next to him at the table.

Moyo clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “So, guys, time for serious matters now,” he paused, turning to look at each of their clueless faces, before he sighed and continued, “Tomorrow’s party, jongens!”

The three other boys cheered him on, Robbe included. A party was exactly what he needed to forget the Theo Fiasco. He’d get really, really drunk, so he could, one, not think about Theo and, two, not sleep with Sander in inadvertance. It was essentially a fool-proof plan.

“God I can’t wait to get laid!” Aaron said in a whiny voice, which only made everyone erupt in laughter again.

“Aaron, you’re as likely to get laid as Jens is to graduate in time,” Moyo said, laughing at his own joke as Aaron just looked away, defeated. Jens mocked him, saying Moyo wasn’t anywhere near any of those two things, which only resulted in Moyo’s protesting.

“Man, for someone who loves teasing so much, you really can’t take a joke,” Jens said, shaking his head with a smile.

Moyo smiled as well, shrugging. “A man’s gotta defend his honour, Jens.”

They all went back to their phone, scrolling aimlessly. Robbe was jumping from profile to profile on Instagram, trying to find anything that would capture his attention. When he fell upon a picture of Theo smiling with the caption ‘To new beginnings!’, he closed the app, shut his phone off and slid it in his pocket, sighing.

“Guys, who’s keeping the stash this time? I don’t want to have to run from the police again like last time because you’re a bunch of cowards,” Robbe said. At their last party, Moyo had gotten too scared and chucked the weed at him. A cop had seen the interaction and started approaching Robbe who, naturally, ran out of the back of the house. He heard shouts following him, but he just ran until he couldn’t feel his lungs, satisfied when he realized he’d lost the cop somewhere along the way.

Moyo groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Can’t we just decide that at the party?” Robbe opened his mouth to retort, but he was immediately interrupted.

“Party? What party?”

Robbe’s head whipped to the side, only to find Theo, fucking Theo , standing right next to their table, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was clearly interrupting something.

Robbe turned towards Jens, sending him a panicked look, silently trying to convey that he shouldn’t mention the party. To his demise, Jens just smiled back at him, clearly intending to have some fun at Robbe’s expense.

“Hey Theo! Good to see you, man!” Jens said, exchanging a handshake with him. “We’re going to a party friday night, I’m sure Robbe told you all about it, right?”

If looks could kill, then Jens would be dead and buried, from the way Robbe was trying to drill holes into his skull with his stare.

Theo shifted uncomfortably on his feet, turning to Robbe in question. “Uh, no, he hadn’t?”

Fucking Jens. He was so going to pay for this.

Robbe tried to swallow back his anger as best as he could, before turning towards Theo and offering him a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, I was just about to text you, actually. D’you wanna come with?” Robbe asked, silently praying Theo would be otherwise occupied.

However, he could feel his hope shrivel up and die inside of him as Theo smiled brightly and nodded. “Yeah! Of course. I’ll pick you up around seven and we can pregame together?”

Robbe coughed, trying to hide his eagerness to end this conversation as he racked his brain for an excuse.

“Eh, I’m actually already pregaming with my friends, but I’ll meet you there?” Robbe said, hoping Theo wouldn’t try to get himself invited to the pre-party too.

Thankfully, he didn’t, smiling again, always , before agreeing to meet him there around nine.

As soon as Theo was out of earshot, Robbe turned to Jens furiously.

“Seriously Jens! You’re a fucking asshole!”

Jens just laughed, sending Robbe a look that suggested Robbe might have been an asshole too. Sighing, Robbe let his head drop in his arms, facing the table and closed his eyes.

“Fuck my life.”

-----------

Robbe hadn’t managed to get drunk at the pre-party like he’d planned to. The boys had hogged the beers at first, relenting a grand total of two beers to Robbe, claiming he had to be sober to meet Theo.

Robbe really needed to find new friends.

So, here he was, sitting on a couch with his third beer in, like, four hours, and bored out of his mind. He watched the people come and go, dancing in the middle of the room or making out in darkened corners. The walls were illuminated by a soft glow, emanating from tiny colourful led lights stuck all around. The stereo was playing some rap song Robbe didn’t know the name of, but he didn’t mind. He wasn’t even paying attention to the music.

Ever since they’d entered the party about half an hour earlier, Robbe had been on the lookout for a familiar strike of white. He hadn’t realized he’d been searching for him at first, but once he did, he chucked it off to habits and went to sit down where he was still currently sipping his drink.

He leaned his head backwards on the couch, closing his eyes slowly. Theo had texted him a few minutes ago that he was almost there, so Robbe’s peace was sure to be short-lived. He could try and escape, but he already felt like the biggest asshole on Earth, so he wasn’t going to also stand him up.

He’d meet Theo, have a few drinks with him and then excuse himself by making up some bullshit excuse and he’d go home to wallow in his own misery alone.

Feeling a light tap on his left shoulder, Robbe opened one of his eyes to peek at the person who’d decided to interrupt his small repose.

Theo , of course. At least now he could get this over with and get back to his bed.

“Hey! Sorry for the wait,” Theo greeted him, with his ever-lasting smile. Robbe wondered if he’d keep smiling if he told him why Robbe had even asked him out to begin with.

“No problem. I just…” Robbe gestured around him, unsure himself what exactly he was trying to say.

Theo sat next to him, their entire sides completely plastered to each other and Robbe felt a little like he was choking on air, and not in a good way.

They talked for a bit and in the time it took Robbe to even finish his beer, Theo had gone through more than a few unidentified sugary drinks, becoming more and more self-assured and talkative.

“Come dance!” Theo exclaimed, pulling on Robbe’s arm. Robbe shook his head, firmly sinking himself down further onto the sofa.

“No, no, I don’t dance”

Theo tutted him, unrelenting in his tugging. “Everyone dances! Come on, alsjeblieft…” Theo pouted, probably aiming to convince Robbe with his puppy eyes. The truth was, Robbe had invented that trick and he wasn’t about to be swayed by an amateur. However, he was tired and he had an inkling that Theo wouldn’t stop until he got Robbe up on that dancefloor.

So, up he went.

The song had moved on to something more upbeat and clubby, but Robbe couldn’t make his limbs move in any way that resembled dancing unless he was properly hammered, which, again, he wasn’t.

Theo really didn’t seem to mind though, as he was dancing closer and closer to Robbe. As Theo’s hands came in contact with Robbe’s skin, his own hands instinctively rose up to the other’s hair.

He tried to push his thoughts away, but he couldn’t help comparing it to what he knew best: Sander. Theo’s hair was shorter and while it was well kept, it lacked the distinctive softness Sander’s had. It didn’t please Robbe’s fingers the way Sander’s did and when he tugged on the strands a little, the sound that escaped Theo’s mouth filled Robbe with disappointment. It didn’t make him hot all over, it didn’t make him want to burrow his fingers even deeper, no, instead Robbe had to fight the urge to pull his hands back entirely.

When Theo brought one of his hands to Robbe’s neck, guiding his head towards him and leaning in, it took everything in Robbe not to push him away. Their lips met harshly, but it didn’t feel like it should. Like he knew it would with a certain someone else.

As their lips glided together, the kiss felt sloppy and where Robbe couldn’t get enough of Sander’s hands on him, Theo’s felt scorching and bruising. Theo pushed a little forward, trying to deepen their kiss, but Robbe leaned his head back and away a little to prevent access.

This didn’t seem to dether Theo, however, who just slowly slid his mouth on Robbe’s jaw, all the way to his neck. Robbe felt a little dazed, as if he was having an out of body experience. He could feel Theo pull onto a small bit of skin on his neck with his teeth, but he didn’t get the wave of pleasure that usually came with it. It wasn’t painful, it just… wasn’t very much. When Sander would get a hold of his neck, however… Robbe was pretty sure he could come simply from Sander sucking hickeys onto him.

Theo bit a little harder, probably trying to get some kind of reaction from Robbe. Robbe brought his hands up, intending to detach Theo from where he was sucking like a leech at his neck, but before he could reach Theo, he felt him back away quickly.

Confused, Robbe blinked a few times to make the room clearer. That’s when he saw that Theo hadn’t backed away, he’d been quite literally rippedaway from Robbe.

By none other than the blonde who’d been occupying Robbe’s brain himself.

“What the fuck, man!?” Theo shouted at Sander, panting as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

Sander wasn’t paying him any attention, though, all of his focus being on Robbe. He looked a little disheveled, his hair in disarray and his pupils blown. Robbe had seen him in a similar state before, but it was usually while they were right about to have sex, pleasure and anticipation written all over his features. Now, all he could see on Sander’s face was a heart-wrenching mixture of anger and betrayal.

“Sander? What… Why...?” Robbe started, unable to find the right words to voice his thoughts.

Sander’s gaze bore into Robbe’s and it was painful to maintain, but Robbe was unable to tear his eyes away, in a trance-like state.

Theo’s voice shook him out of it, cutting through the tension like a sharp knife.

“So you’re Sander, I thought that was you too, with the whole…” Theo looked Sander up and down with a slight scrunch of his nose. “Moody thing going on.”

Sander finally turned his head towards him, his jaw clenching as soon as his eyes landed on Theo.

“Stay away from this.” He turned back to Robbe, clearly unbothered by Theo’s presence. “I knew you were an ass—”

Theo cut him off, now sounding angry as well. “Just because Robbe doesn’t have feelings for you doesn’t mean you get to insult him like this.”

Robbe knew he should intervene, prevent the situation from escalating, but he felt frozen in place. His brain was in overdrive and he just felt like running away, but his legs refused to obey. So, he stared, helpless, as they bickered on.

“Ok, who the fuck are you exactly?” Sander growled at Theo, rising the volume of his voice even more. By now, they were practically screaming and Robbe was thankful for the loud music covering the exchange from prying ears.

Theo puffed his chest out a little, a gesture which would have made Robbe laugh under any other circumstance, staring right at Sander as he said, “His date. Who are you ?”

Sander’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline at the bold answer, but the surprise on his traits was soon replaced by conceit. He smirked, quirking his mouth in just the right way to seem insolent and charming at the same time.

To anyone else, Sander might have looked like he was going to make a silly joke, but Robbe knew him better than that.

“I’m the guy who had him screaming under me more times than I can count, but I guess Robbe failed to mention that, hm?” Sander answered, turning to Robbe, wearing his most innocent smile. “Right, Robbe?”

Robbe looked away, unwilling to play into Sander’s game, but also unable to deny what he’d said.

Sander turned back to Theo, whose face had turned completely red, both from embarrassment and anger, Robbe guessed.

“No, really, was it not a problem for you? I got worried my neighbours would send a formal complaint,” Sander laughed, dryly, his tone void of humour. At the sight of Theo’s reddened face and Robbe’s avoiding eyes, something lit up in Sander’s eyes, as if he’d just made the link he needed to deliver the last blow.

“Oh, have you not…? Oh, well that’s awkward, isn’t it?” Sander smiled, as Theo took a step towards him. Instead of backing away, Sander gave him a little pout, before letting out a small ‘Oops?’ that suggested he was anything, but sorry.

Robbe felt like he was boiling inside with shame, but, more than anything, he wanted this whole thing to be over. As he raised his foot to take a step between the two boys, he was cut off by Theo’s fist flying towards Sander.

Robbe let out a small scream, but Theo missed Sander by a good few inches. Robbe was about to sigh in relief, thankful Theo wasn’t sober, when he saw Sander reel his own arm back.

It happened like in slow motion. Robbe, standing there, dumbfounded, as Sander punched Theo square in the jaw, making him stumble a few steps to the side. Some blood fell into Theo’s hand and the mere sight of it sprung Robbe into action.

“Enough!” He screamed, making both boys turn to him. “You’re acting like two fucking macho idiots! You guys keep fighting it out, I don’t care, I’m going the fuck home.”

With that, Robbe turned on his heels, pushing through the swarms of bodies and heading straight for the door. He stomped his way down the alley, angry at Theo, at Sander, but mostly at himself.

As he reached the street, he could hear his name being called from behind, but he didn’t stop. He kept going, satisfied when the screaming stopped following him. He slowed down, feeling so overwhelmed he thought he might start to cry. As he came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, a familiar hand wrapped around his wrist, gently, but firmly turning him around.

It was Sander, of course it was. The only thing that kept Robbe from wretching his arm away from Sander’s hold was the creases of worry that were etched into his forehead. The anger from earlier was gone and the emotions whirling in Sander’s eyes gripped and pulled at Robbe’s heart.

“Robbe…” Sander started. His tone was low and calm, almost tender in the way it’d been last time when Robbe had freaked out in the closet. It pained Robbe, probably a lot more than anger would have.

“Sander. I’m tired, ok, I just… Can we just not fight for one night?” Robbe pleaded, truly feeling like his bones suddenly weighed more than they should. He was tired, tired of this, tired of not knowing, tired of the push-and-pull, just so tired.

Sander stared at him for a beat, staying silent. Robbe sighed, starting to pull his arm away, but Sander held on.

“I don’t want to fight,” Sander said quickly, as if he was worried Robbe would run away if he took one second too long to answer. Robbe wasn’t even sure he had the energy left to walk, let alone run.

“Then what, Sander?” Robbe asked, trying to sound annoyed, but ending up somewhere between fatigue and worry.

This time it was Sander’s turn to sigh, running his free hand through his strands of hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally, making sure he held Robbe’s gaze as he spoke. “For what I said, in there. I’m not sorry I punched that asshole,” Robbe gave him a warning look, but Sander just winked and kept going.

“I’m not. He deserved it. But I am sorry for what I said about you. I was angry and I had no right to say that. I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore.”As soon as he was done talking, Sander averted his eyes , refusing to see Robbe’s reaction to his words.

Robbe wasn’t sure what he was meant to think, but he knew one thing: he was exhausted of thinking.

So, he did the first thing that went through his mind, stepping closer to Sander and latching onto his lips.

Sander immediately responded, pressing back against Robbe’s lips. Their usual kisses were heated and filled with urgency, but this one was anything but. Their lips met softly and they kissed leisurely, savoring every second of it. As Sander’s hands came to their spot on Robbe’s waist, their creases almost imprinted there, Robbe broke the kiss off slowly. He quickly pecked Sander’s lips one more time, making the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

“Come over?” Robbe asked, whispering. He felt like a single loud noise could shatter the bubble they made in the alley.

Sander rubbed his nose with Robbe’s softly, breathing out a ‘yes’ in the air between them.

The walk over to Robbe’s apartment was slow. They walked side by side, stopping from time to time to steal a kiss or two. Their smile was permanent and the air between them felt playful and void of its usual tension. Yet, it didn’t feel like anything was missing, on the contrary. Robbe felt full and light, as he raced Sander for the last mile to his front door.

Robbe won, obviously, but his words lacked their usual bite when he called Sander ‘slow as fuck’. They made their way upstairs, Robbe constantly having to shush Sander who was tripping over the stairs from trying to get up first.

“Sander!” Robbe screamed in a hushed voice, “I have roommates, be quiet!”

Sander only turned around briefly to offer him a toothy grin, before he’d go right back to his antics. Robbe laughed along, following him inside the apartment and all the way to his bedroom.

They took their shoes and jackets off, throwing them carelessly on the floor. Sander walked towards Robbe, making him take steps backwards until his knees hit the bed. He smirked up at Sander as he let himself fall ungraciously on the bed. Sander laughed, maneuvering him around a bit to comfortably climb over.

Sander’s face appeared right above Robbe’s, both smiling at each other like idiots. Sander raised his hand, slowly bringing it to Robbe’s face. He caressed the side of his face slowly, settling his palm over his jaw, right where the disappearing bruise of their distant fight remained.

Sander bent down, wetting his lips with his tongue right before he met Robbe’s mouth. That kiss was just like the one they’d shared outside of the party, slower and softer than their usuals, but just as passionate. Robbe brought his hand to Sander’s hair, tucking a strand behind his ear before brushing his fingers through it.

The familiar feeling made him smile into their kiss, which in turn made Sander lean his head back, one eyebrow raised in question.

“I missed your hair,” Robbe half-whined, tucking on a few strands to demonstrate his point. Sander snorted, resting his forehead on Robbe’s.

“Only my hair? I’m hurt,” Sander teased, but Robbe winced, hearing the honesty behind the banter.

Robbe held Sander’s entire face between his two palms, locking it in place. “No. I missed you too.” Robbe said, hoping that Sander could hear the honesty in his voice too.

Robbe saw something twitch in Sander’s eyes, like a crack in the wall he’d carefully built around himself. Sander nodded, serious, before his lips curved into yet another smirk.

“Oh, yeah? Any parts of me in particular?”

Robbe smiled, pretending to think it over. Sander took advantage of Robbe’s distraction to slide his free hand under his shirt, stroking his skin softly. Robbe’s muscles shifted under Sander’s palm and Robbe let out an involuntary gasp, making Sander look at him proudly.

“Yeah, your hands,” Robbe said quietly.

Sander smiled even more. “What else?” He asked, now bringing both hands under Robbe’s shirt, lifting it up slightly. Robbe curved his back a little to help Sander pull the shirt off. Robbe tucked at Sander’s shirt, removing it swiftly so he could have Sander’s hands on him again.

Without breaking eye contact, Sander lowered himself until his head was over Robbe’s chest, pressing his lips right above his stomach as he trailed his way down with open-mouthed kisses. Robbe sighed with satisfaction, sinking further in the mattress.

Suddenly, as Sander started sucking a bruise on his hip, Robbe remembered the singular hickey Theo had been trying to etch into his skin earlier. Tugging on Sander arms’, Robbe brought him back up to face him. Sander’s eyebrows were furrowed, probably wondering why Robbe was interrupting him.

“On my neck,” Robbe said, pointing the general direction of where Theo had been attached to his neck.

A look of recognition passed through Sander’s eyes as he looked at Robbe’s neck. Still, he asked, “Are you sure?”

Robbe nodded, giving a small smile as he admitted quietly, “I like yours better”.

Sander smiled brightly at Robbe, before diving back in. The second Sander started sucking on Robbe’s skin, Robbe knew it was right. His whole body lit up, a fire burning in his stomach, flames licking all the way up his body as Sander licked his way down.

Once Sander’s hands made it to Robbe’s jeans, it was a quick affair. Both of their pants were discarded in a matter of seconds, underwears quick to follow. Sander began to lower himself, stopping short of Robbe’s skin.

“This is ok, right?” Robbe nodded rapidly, whispering a small “Yeah, more than ok,” with a smile.

Sander grinned back, licking his lips before wrapping them around Robbe.

Robbe let out a small whimper as Sander started working his way up and down in precise motions. As he clenched his hands in Sander’s hair, Robbe felt a thick mist envelop his thoughts.

Hands sliding over skin, rough and needy.

Lips envelopping, soft and comforting.

Hair being tugged, harsh yet soothing.

And love being made, bruising yet tender.

Once they were both lying next to each other, blissed out and still trying to catch their breath, Robbe turned on his side, facing Sander.

“Your mouth,” Robbe said, hushed.Sander just hummed in question, unmoving.“You asked what else I’d missed. Your mouth, I’d missed your mouth.” Robbe admitted, smiling softly to himself.

That made Sander turn his head towards Robbe. He smiled too, idly caressing Robbe’s face.

“I missed your dick, mostly,” Sander said.Robbe chuckled and playfully pushed at his shoulder. Sander simply brought his arm over Robbe’s waist, bringing him even closer to his body. Robbe raised his head, laying it on Sander’s chest, right over his heart. The sound of his heartbeat, still a little too fast, was soothing and Robbe felt himself slowly slip into unconsciousness.

Just as he was about to fall asleep, Sander’s voice brought him back to the surface.

“Robbe?”

Robbe hummed, physically unable to move a single muscle.

“This, tonight… This means something right? Something more?” Sander asked, his voice laced with insecurities in a way that broke Robbe’s heart a little.

So, he snuggled closer, laying a small kiss over Sander’s heart before settling back down. “Yes,” he breathed, “It does.”

Robbe felt Sander shift a little under him, just as a kiss was laid atop his head.

And there, as they laid cuddled up together in Robbe’s bed, there was no doubt in Robbe’s mind that what he felt for Sander was so very far from hatred.

So, so very far.

#one more night fic #wtfock #sobbe #drijzermans

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saeransboy · 3 years

Text

Hope

Pairing: Saeran Choi / Male CMC (Rowan)

Word Count: 4177

Warnings: Spoilers for the Secret Endings, hospitals

Notes: this is my piece for the @nostringsdetached zine!! i'm so happy that i got to participate, and that it got so much support. you can get the full zine bundle for free, as well as see my partner @mm12578's accompanying art for this piece, at this link.

you can also read this here on ao3!! i hope you enjoy!!

Saeran was unhappy.

Though not an uncommon feeling for the other man after all he'd been through, being in the hospital evoked the feeling strongly. He was constantly feeling judged, being watched, and it felt suffocating. His lack of choice was all too obvious now. If having most of the control he had over his own body being taken away wasn't enough, being forced to see people he didn't want to deal with was the final nail in his coffin.

It was overwhelming, upsetting, and made him want to disappear more than ever before. Trying to shut out the rest of the world wasn't an option, as it only forced its way in. Unless he had to answer whoever stopped by, Saeran ignored their questions and small talk, and eventually they gave up. Everyone had, except for that boy.

Rowan had been easy enough to lure to the apartment. He obviously hadn't trusted Saeran, and was just as uneasy around the RFA at first. However, he stayed to work as their party coordinator simply because he "had nothing better to do". Of course, with the tense situation that developed, he became far from bored. "Terrified" was a better descriptor.

The guilt Saeran felt over that was overwhelming. He'd been the one to choose Rowan, to lure him in, to try to kidnap him. He killed a man right in front of him. Had it not been for him, the party coordinator wouldn't have ever been dragged into this. Which made it all the more confusing when he came to visit alongside his brother.

The ex-hacker had been so shocked at his appearance, he remained silent only because he wasn't sure what to say. His guest left defeated, but he returned alone the next day, and the next. In fact, despite Saeran's silence, Rowan kept showing up, coming by to ramble at him about his day-to-day life and eventually to sit quietly and read. The silence was a lot more comfortable.

He let the silence remain til the other man came to his defense from a rude nurse. After that, he hesitantly reached out, reigniting his guest's desire to speak to him. The ex-hacker barely replied, and his guest enthusiastically continued on like it was normal. It started off shakily, and he would cut short any inquiries on his wellbeing and brushed off Rowan's attempts at comfort on bad days, but it went well.

They had made a lot of progress since then.

The last time Rowan was here, he held his hand. The other man had sensed his upset and reached to comfort him. Despite his first instinct to push him away, he accepted it without argument, not returning the favor or rejecting it. It felt so warm. When was the last time he got to feel another’s touch without being hurt or manipulated in the process? A brief image of his brother’s arms wrapping around him flashes in his mind, and he scowls.

Saeyoung. Saeran still wasn’t alright with him, not fully, but he was trying. As much as he hated it, he was jealous of his twin. Not just for his carefree lifestyle all these years or the friends that supported him so steadfastly, but for his relationship with Rowan. When he saw them, they were laughing and falling over each other or comforting one another. There was always some physical contact, and so much trust.

Rowan had confirmed that no, they weren’t together like he had assumed, but the bond they shared was perfectly sweet. He felt starved watching them. It was then, when he deciphered what that tension he felt when he saw them together was, that he faced his feelings for the brunette.

He was smitten. Completely, utterly, sickeningly smitten; when he realized his feelings, he had grown so nauseated it made his head spin. He wasn’t entirely sure he was in that deep, but only such a dramatic word could describe the heaviness with which it weighed on him. Someone like him wasn't meant for feelings like this.

The next time Rowan visited, Saeran blamed his suddenly more reserved behavior on the medicine he was being given. He wasn’t questioned, but the guilt of lying stung.

Saeran couldn't let himself feel this. It was inevitable that he would prove himself yet again to be a monster. He would hurt Rowan and it was eating him alive, but he'd rather let the feeling fester inside of him than cause the man any more pain or stress. It was easier said than done.

Nothing had filled that deep, all-encompassing void of guilt inside of him but the other man's visits. Hiis quips and words of comfort provided some relief. It was barely making a change, but the air still felt lighter around him. There was no tension, no distrust, and he never felt cornered.

He could just exist, never feeling pressured to do any more than that.

These awful feelings threw a wrench into that, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Just like every other thought and feeling, he wanted to push it down in the hopes of suffocating it until it was quiet or died. Or until it explodes and destroys everyone around you, a small voice in the back of his mind whispers. That was just as likely, and the thought terrified him. His hands clench in the thin sheets of the bed, trying to ground himself the best he can.

Downstairs, Rowan worries his bottom lip between his teeth, tapping his boot nervously against the ground as he waits for his security escort. He knows his anxiety comes off as impatience to the staff, giving him more room than everyone else as he leans against the wall, and he lets it stay that way. With the feelings swarming in his mind, he was sure that any invasion of his space might set him off.

After countless visits, coming to see Saeran during his recovery became a routine he enjoyed greatly. It wasn't always this nice; the first few times, he came with Saeyoung, but after being met with silence, he persuaded the hacker to let him come on his own. Nothing changed at first, the room being filled with an awkward silence as Rowan attempted one-sided conversations. The man refused to respond, rarely even offering him a glance. It frustrated him to no end; even after dropping his own guard, he hadn't gotten anywhere.

Eventually he gave up on trying to communicate, simply coming to sit in the corner and read. It had to be lonely, being stuck there, so he figured having another heartbeat in the room that wasn't poking or prodding him or interrogating him on his mental state might help. The tension in the air had quickly faded into something more peaceful, and some of Saeran's guard visibly slipped away. That was good enough for Rowan; as long as he wasn't actively being shut out, it was still progress.

Surprisingly, Saeran was the one to break the silence, though not without good reason. Much to their annoyance, a nurse interrupted their visitation, disturbing the peaceful co-existence they had with each other. She was everything Rowan hated to see: pushy, unsympathetic, and completely uncaring about his mental wellbeing.

It made his heart hurt, seeing the other man flinch when she slammed her clipboard down on his bedside table. Every word out of her mouth was ridicule, and though he knew the ex-hacker was used to such talk, that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

When she left with one last comment on how scrawny he still was, Rowan didn't hesitate to jump up from his seat. Following behind, he proceeded to chew her out. For her complete lack of experience, for her apathy, for taking out whatever the hell was wrong with her on Saeran. It wasn't long before his voice raised, but he was careful not to start screaming. The last thing he wanted was to upset the already stressed man more.

It didn't surprise Rowan that his friendly feelings grew into something stronger, but that didn't make the realization any less terrifying. For the first few days, he struggled to reel himself back in, trying to shove his feelings to the back of his mind so he could be there for the other man without guilt eating away at him. Being so friendly to him only felt like he was taking advantage of the man's barely earned trust.

It didn't last, as he noticed Saeran growing increasingly tense at his less emotional, more closed-off responses. With a quick explanation, claiming he'd not been feeling like himself -- not a complete lie, as such a deep feeling had knocked him off his feet -- and that he was sorry, he mended the situation and forced himself to swallow his guilt.

He could tell Saeran didn't fully believe him, but the man was obviously relieved to have things back to normal the next visit, when Rowan came in grinning. It earned him a small smile in return, the first he'd seen from the man.

Rowan is torn from his reminiscing by a security guard clearing her throat. She nods towards an open elevator. "Come on, tough guy. I'll drop you off." Though he bristles at the obviously mocking title, he doesn't argue, not wanting to get kicked out. Instead, he trails after her and steps in, trying to calm the fluttering that starts up in his chest at the thought of seeing the other man.

The ride up is tense, the brunette almost lunging forward when the doors slide open. "Thanks," he calls over his shoulder with a scowl. Though he always looked forward to the visits, he hated dealing with the staff. Setting his eyes on Saeran's door, he picks up the pace, hurrying down the hall as fast as he can despite his slight nervousness.

Before Saeran's thoughts can spiral anymore out of control, the all-too-familiar sound of chains clinking together sounds down the hall, the thoughts slipping from his mind to let him focus. It was definitely him; despite the noisiness of his entrance, the steps sounded hesitant, stumbling over themselves. The awkwardness always manages to make his heart feel a bit lighter, some of the dread that had been bubbling up inside of him slipping away.

As expected, the footsteps come towards his room, stopping just outside for a moment. There's a pause, his guest taking a moment for a deep breath, before the door is cautiously pushed open. Rowan jumps a bit upon seeing him, obviously not expecting Saeran to be sat up waiting for him. The surprised look on his face quickly fades into a soft smile, some of the tension he entered with easing from his shoulders.

The man always put up a tough exterior, Saeran knew, but he trusted him enough to let that down. Whether that was because he wanted mutual trust or because he was just plain stupid, the ex-hacker wasn't quite sure, but it never bothered him, and he never bought up the subject.

The brunette shuffles his way over to him without a word, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed. Everything about him is a contradiction: the gentle look on his face combined with his dark and intentionally rough exterior, the way he avoided eye contact despite his obvious distaste at being seen as a pushover, how he still wandered to his side like a clueless puppy despite all Saeran had done, as if he wasn't dangerous.

That frustrated him most of all. He was trying so hard to protect everyone for once after he had planned to destroy their lives. It was like the male could see right through him, but never saw what Saeran wanted him to.

As usual, Rowan slouches forward, giving him that stupid grin that made his stomach flutter and twist up all at the same time. "Sorry I'm late, but I'm sure you're used to it now. Have you eaten yet? I kinda had to skip lunch, didn't have time." He trips over his words mid-sentence, distracted by the way that his heavy jacket slips off his shoulder.

Every visit started the same, his visitor pitifully trying to disguise his fretting as small talk and him offering up muttered responses. It was still progress from how they started, but Saeran always felt some guilt seeing how much effort the other man put into trying to talk to him. Wanting to change that the best he could, he tries speaking up some, clearing his throat. ''No. I don't like the food."

Contradictory to the pout he usually gives at that response, Rowan's eyes light up. "Great! Um. Not that you haven't eaten because the food sucks. Just... gimme a second." With that, he hops up from his seat, scurrying back to the door, nearly forgetting to put up his facade before motioning for a nurse.

Saeran can't decipher much from his position, only picking up on the word "privacy" and the dirty look the man shoots the nurse when she shakes her head. Only a few more words are exchanged before his expression brightens, and he whirls back around.

To his surprise, the unusually peppy man closes the door. That had never been allowed before, both for Saeran's safety and his visitor's. But Rowan was always rather convincing, not to mention stubborn, so it wasn't too shocking that he was the one earning him that right.

The act now fully slipped away again, Rowan practically trips over his feet moving back, rummaging through the pockets of his oversized jacket for something. Had it been anyone else, he might've been paranoid or distrusting, but he knew the man in front of him wasn't a threat in the slightest.

Once again stunning Saeran, the man pulls out ice cream -- an entire tub of it. Mint chocolate, he noted, feeling his heart skip a beat at the realization that he had remembered his favorite flavor. Outside food was also previously off-limits, and guessing from the way he had asked for privacy, it still was.

Once again, the man isn't making sense. Not only has he gone out of his way to visit daily, staying even on Saeran's worst days until he's either asked to leave or is forced out by the staff, now he's breaking rules and risking trouble for himself all for his sake. Why? He was a monster and a murderer, and he's being smuggled in gifts?

All of the kindness he was offered was foreign to him, and perhaps that was for the best. He didn't deserve any of it. All he deserves is to rot in this awful place, his nose constantly stinging from the scent of medicine and his eyes burning under the blindingly bright fluorescent light.

"...Saeran?" Broken out of his trance, he shakes his head, feeling a tinge of annoyance seeing the red that reflects off the bedpost in his peripheral. His natural color hadn't grown back much, but it was enough to put a scowl on his face. Not once did he want to let the white fade, wanting to have some semblance of separation from his brother, but he didn't have a choice. Not here, not anywhere.

Only Rowan ever offered him control, and even he himself was limited in what he could allow. It wasn't fair. That, too, made him grateful for his stubborn visitor. It was rare for him to give up when he had his mind set on something, and that gave Saeran a lot more freedom than he would have without him.

"I'm fine," he reassures. Rowan doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't pry, instead placing the tub on the sheets between them before digging in his pocket for a packet of utensils, unmistakably snagged from the hospital's cafeteria. Placing it in his resting hand, the man gives a paranoid glance back towards the door before grinning widely.

"I don't think they're onto me, so go ahead and eat up." Though he hesitates a moment, Saeran reaches out to pull the ice cream into his lap, popping the lid and taking a scoop. It's slightly melted as expected; it couldn't have made the trip by motorcycle all the way over here and through the wait downstairs totally unscathed. It's tasty nonetheless, a huge relief from the blandness of the food he had to eat here. Before long, he's digging in, feeling starved despite having the three meals a day rule enforced on him.

After a couple of minutes, he glances up at his guest, perplexed to find him entertaining himself by winding a loose thread of the sheets around his finger. It was rare that Rowan was this quiet for so long, and even stranger that he wasn't busying himself the same way that Saeran was. Sinking his spoon into the cold mint, he hums to get the other man's attention. Immediately his eyes are on him, deep blue piercing into him and making him melt and tense up all at the same time.

"What are you doing?" He asks, eyes flitting between his face and the string half-wound around his finger. The other man glances away sheepishly, though he doesn't flinch at his blunt tone; yet another thing they were making progress on. Rowan pauses, searching for a good answer and sighing in defeat when he can't find one.

"...sitting here?" He answers quietly, giving Saeran an uncertain look. "I don't really have anything to do. I was already running late, so when I swung by the store, I just grabbed the ice cream and left."

"Didn't you say you didn't eat lunch?" The redhead questions with a raised brow. The silence lingering in the room tells him all he needs to know. Huffing, he shoves the tub towards him without a second thought, surprising the both of them. It was unusual for him to share anything, especially this, but he wasn't about to pull his foot back when he was already taking a step forward. "Go on. You'll make yourself sick if you don't."

Though he wouldn't admit it out loud -- he wasn't sure he could even if he really wanted to -- Saeran cared for the other man deeply. It wasn't just the budding feelings of affection. His worry for his wellbeing, though underlying, had lingered ever since the party coordinator had set foot in that apartment.

If he didn't care, he wouldn't have stopped him from stepping on the glass from the window. Of course he would've, the idiot, and back then he told himself it was because it'd be easier to transport him if he went uninjured. Now, the truth was obvious.

Reassured by his adamance, Rowan reaches out to take the tub. While keeping a close eye on Saeran's face to check for any signs that he might change his mind, he fails to notice how close their hands get, accidentally brushing their fingers together as he grabs it. The touch is minimal, lasting under a second, but it still startles them both. The brunette gasps, nearly dropping the ice cream as Saeran pulls back.

For a moment they're both silent, staring at each other with flushed cheeks and unreadable expressions. Saeran knows why he reacted that way, but… what about the other man? Was he afraid of him? He didn't look frightened, only embarrassed and a bit flustered. Though there was no reason for him to be flustered, right? Maybe he was just touch-repulsed. They had a lot in common, after all. It was obvious the party coordinator's mind was spiraling just as much as his, the panic in his eyes blindingly obvious.

Trying his best not to overthink and to diffuse the situation, Saeran grumbles and snatches up the spoon, getting another scoop and nudging it against the boy's lips. It smudges against his nose, making him blink in surprise. His fingers coming up to up to wipe away the small bit, he laughs, some of his nerves obviously soothed. Good, Saeran thinks; he can barely handle his own emotions, let alone someone else's.

Holding the spoon out like a threat, he stares blankly at him. "Take it. I'm not feeding you. And sit over here so you don't drop it; that's the last thing we need." He curls his legs in, giving the taller man more room.

The brunette sits on the edge of the bed and takes the spoon happily, fixing his attention on the ice cream as he… purposefully seeks out the chocolate chips, to the point where his spoonful is more chocolate than ice cream. Weird, but Saeran doesn't argue.

Some part of him finds it cute, and he shakes his head, desperately trying to swat the thought away. He had hoped that the feelings would fade, but they were blossoming into something far more dreadful with every visit. That wasn't Rowan's fault; it was his own for not keeping himself under control.

These feelings would have to die with him, he concludes, blinking rapidly to bring himself back. When those blue eyes turn upwards to glance at him, he knows he's been caught getting lost in his mind. Bracing himself for the obvious question, he accepts the tub pushed back to him, tensing when the other man speaks up just as he gets a mouthful.

"What's buggin' you?" Rowan asks, his brows furrowed with concern. Taking his time to let the ice cream melt in his mouth, Saeran answers with a shrug. Remembering his earlier attempt to be more open, he sighs, nudging around a chocolate chip as he tries to think of a good way to put his thoughts into words without exposing his feelings.

"...Is it okay for me to feel things?" It's a clumsy question, and he mentally kicks himself for a multitude of reasons: for how stupid he sounds, for burdening the other man when he'd already been through so much because of him, for the way he's just now noticed his hands shaking. But none of this seems to bother Rowan, who smiles gently and nods.

"It is. I promise." Saeran jumps when Rowan's hand seeks out his, giving it a light, comforting squeeze. He seems oblivious to his own actions, getting lost in thoughts of his own. "It feels… wrong, right? Like anything that isn't terrible isn't for you, and that you're meant to be miserable in silence. It's lonely."

The hand resting on his presses down slightly, and despite the conflicting feelings whirling in his mind, Saeran moves his hand, entwining their pinkies together. He isn't sure what feelings the other man is hiding, but it makes some part of his heart hurt knowing that he's suffering too.

"I've felt lonely a lot," He continues, staring out the window with a solemn expression. It's quiet for a while, Rowan staring at the clouds and Saeran staring at him. Finally, a soft smile tugs at the brunette's lips, and he turns his attention back to him. "I won't let you be lonely too. Not anymore. Okay?"

Saeran's face feels warmer, but he doesn't let himself turn away, fixing his eyes on one of the freckles dotting the other man's cheeks as he hums an acknowledgement and squeezes his hand. Only now does Rowan notice the way their pinkies are curled around each other, but before he can pull back, Saeran tightens his grip. Not enough to trap him, but enough to get across his message. He can't bring himself to say it out loud, but all he wants is for the other man to stay.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rowan's eyes are swimming with something he doesn't know how to define. It's sweet, warm, making him feel melted on the inside despite his uncertain exterior. As much as he hates being stared at, he isn't sure he wants the other man to look away. The ice cream was next to them, slowly melting in its container; at any point Rowan could remember and turn his attention away.

As if reading his mind, he doesn't. Instead he curls his knees up to his chest, gazing at him with all the affection in the world. It makes Saeran's mind wander, but for once, the thoughts are welcome. Being cared about like this… it makes him feel like maybe he isn't destined to die alone and unloved as he feared.

"Thank you," his visitor says, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll stay right here with you, as long as you'll have me."

"I will," Saeran manages. "You'll come around regardless."

"But do you mind?"

"...No." The corners of his lips twitch up into a weak smile. It's obvious he's unused to the expression, but he isn't thinking about how he might look strange. Around Rowan, his heart feels lighter.

Falling into a comfortable silence, the redhead watches the clouds through the slightly foggy hospital window, feeling the other man's eyes on him, admiring him. He isn't quite sure what it means, but allowing his feelings to linger, Saeran lets himself hope.

#mystic messenger #mysme #nsdzine #saeran choi #se saeran #rowan carmody #cmc #and nowww my personal sorting links #my writing #saefluff #saehurtcomfort

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kareofbears · 3 years

Text

plainly in truth, chapter 1/5

“Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

The sweat on the back of Ryuji’s neck is thick as he climbs the stairs to his apartment after a lengthy run.

It’s hot for spring, mild for summer, and now that it’s late June, it’s finally starting to teeter into real heat. He escalated slowly, gripping the guard rail like an old man to make sure his legs don’t give out, in no rush to head back to an empty apartment. His mom’s been doing back to back shifts, businesses booming like it does during this time of the year.

Normally, that would make him miserable. Nothing worse than hopping back from a day of fun shit only to come back to an empty living space with laundry piled to the nines and the TV left running. He doesn’t blame his mom because he’s not an asshole, but he never dealt well with being alone. But nowadays, he’s actually starting to like it. Crave it. Maybe a little too much.

It’s easier to deal with being alone than getting that sinking feeling he gets whenever he talks to his friends.

Shoving his hand in his basketball shorts, he pulls out his keys when something makes him pause. The plastic plant beside the entrance had been moved. Ryuji squints. Quietly, he grabs the knob and turns. It’s unlocked.

“Hey.”

Ryuji lets out a frustrated sigh, tension leaving his shoulders as he kicks the door closed. “Fucking hell. How’d you get in here?”

Seeing Ann sit primly with her legs crossed in a dining table that’s barely big enough to put two plates down evokes a feeling of nostalgia in him. She holds a key between her fingers idly. “Spare key hasn’t changed since we were thirteen.”

He walks to the fridge, pulls out a carton of milk and drinks it straight, ignoring her grimace. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he offers it to her.

“Hard pass.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, putting it back in the fridge. “I’m gonna shower. I think we might have some chips in the cupboards if you want some. Might be stale though.”

When Ann speaks again, her tone is flat. “You haven’t been hanging out with us. Or even talking to us.”

He tries not to let the annoyance show in his face too much. “Yeah, well, what part of ‘I need some alone time’ was confusing to you?”

Wood creaks, and he can feel her presence right behind him. “Cut the crap, Sakamoto. Something happened, I know it did. It’s not like you for your big mouth to be shut like this.”

Shaking his head, he strides to his room, praying that Ann will take the hint.

She doesn’t. “Okay, so I’ll just keep talking until something happens.” She leans against his door frame as he rummages for a change of clothes, listing off with her fingers. “It’s summer vacation, so it’s not a school thing. Phantom Thief stuff has been done for a while, so it’s not that either. I saw your mom last week, and she’s doing great. Congratulate her on the promotion for me, by the way. And the only other thing in your life that’s important is—” he hears her pause suddenly. “Are you and Akira doing okay?”

The sudden sharpness in her voice is enough to make his irritation ebb away for a second. “We’re fine,” he answers, pulling a probably clean shirt from the bottom of his drawer. He knows just how much she’s invested in their relationship. She’s pretty much a third member given how desperate she is to make them work. “I would’ve told you if we weren’t.”

“Thank god,” she breathes. “So what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he rolls his eyes. “A big fat load of nothing with nothing sprinkled on top. You want me to say it again?”

“If it’s nothing, then why aren’t you over the moon that Akira’s finally visiting tomorrow?”

His stomach does a weird flop inside of him. He can’t tell if it’s a good flop or a bad one. “I’m over the moon,” he defends. “I’m crazy excited.”

“Then show it!”

“Okay! Damn, sorry I wasn’t happy enough for you.” Giving up on finding clean shorts, he picks one up from the floor and hopes it isn’t too gross. “I’m headed to the shower.” He rounds on her, giving her a glare. “And do not tell Akira that anything’s going on with me, ‘cause there isn’t anything going on. You’re just gonna make him worry for no reason and he’s gonna be all—” he frowns, overexaggerated. “—About this, so cool it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. He won’t hear about it from me.” Ann gives him a long stare, and he refuses to look away. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks, softer this time.

“Never been better. Now scram.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, and don’t be late!” she calls as she marches through his apartment, foot out the door. “Noon! Leblanc!”

“I got it!” he yells back.

When the lock clicks back into place, Ryuji leans his back against the wall, letting his eyes slide shut. Is he that obvious that Ann would notice? He rubs his eyes with palms, frustrated. If Ann noticed, Akira’s definitely going to notice, and that isn’t allowed. He’ll just have to do better.

Going into the bathroom, flicking on the shower, he realizes he forgot his towel in his bedroom. Stupid Ann, distracting him.

Padding back to his room, he nabs it from the side of his bed, refusing to look at the letter collecting dust on his desk as he flicks the light off once more.

—

Akira came home to a face-full of streamers, two pots of curry, and six arms tackling him. Smiles and hugs were passed like a bottle of wine after a war has been won, and Akira shrugs it all off like he isn’t soaking up each and every exclamation of how much they miss him for a rainy day. Morgana gets his fair amount of head scratches, Akira gets enough noogies to warrant a concussion, and even Ryuji somehow manages to forget his problems for approximately three minutes.

It’s evening now, and while everyone had already left (not after slamming down two plates each and Yusuke brazenly asking for tupperware after the fact), Ryuji decided to linger.

“So,” he starts, sleeves rolled up as he washes the dishes while Akira dries. It might not look like it, but he doesn’t mind doing his chores; especially not with the way they both purposefully knock their knuckles against each other whenever they pass a plate between themselves.

“So,” Akira repeats. “I’m home. That’s cool, huh?” Even with eighteen layers of nonchalance layered on top of each other, there’s no hiding the lilt in his voice.

“Pretty damn cool,” he rinses a mug and hands it to him. Ryuji pauses as he watches Akira dry, lip quirked up. “I like seeing you like this.”

“Cleaning?”

“No, you bastard.” He reaches forward, unable to help himself as he pinches his cheek. “Smiley.”

Akira slaps his hand away. “I’m always happy,” he says, voice fond.

“I didn’t say happy, now did I? I said—” Ryuji wipes both hands on his jeans before pinching his cheek with both hands. “Smiley!”

He doesn’t fight back this time; instead, he lets Ryuji knead his face. “Your hands are wet,” he complains, slightly slurred.

“Suck it up.” His skin is mesmerizingly soft. Probably softer than even a girl’s. He would hold him like this all night if he’d let him. “This saves you from washing your face tonight, so you’re welcome.”

With one last tug, he reluctantly sets him free. Akira’s face is red and blotchy from the assault, but somehow he pulls it off because of course he does. “Thanks,” he deadpans.

“Don’t sweat it, dude. You know I got you,” he laughs, and for a second, he feels good. Light. Being with Akira does that to him, a pendant that wards off all evil. The pendant must’ve had some fine print in the contract though, because his stomach drops again when he remembers again. Ryuji turns around and starts scrubbing the pan harder than he needs to. Chill out, chill out, chill out.

Arms encircle his waist. “Sojiro’s gonna smite us if we don’t finish these before he opens tomorrow,” Ryuji says.

“I know.” A chin hooks around his shoulder blade, sliding in place. A perfect fit. “We’ll get to it.”

Ryuji leans back, far enough to smell the shampoo in his hair. He breathes in deep. It’s not what he’s used to, probably different brands in his hometown, but it still smells nice.

With the water still running, a group of businessmen’s laughter booming from just outside the cafe, Ryuji nearly says it. To take that weight off of his weakened knees and share some of the burden with someone who’s never complained about carrying some of his baggage. It would be embarrassing, humiliating, fucking mortifying, but it would be better than this, right?

He opens his mouth. “Missed you,” is what comes out instead.

“Missed you more, I think.” A beat passes, and then Akira continues, quietly: “You don’t know how good it feels to be back.”

That was all it took. The final piece, the last lock. The words he needed to convince him that this was the right thing to do. If he was on the fence of whether or not to tell Akira, this was the tug that took him over the edge. Because Akira came here for one reason: to have fun. To feel good again. To feel like Akira again. Is Ryuji really going to be the one to shit all over that? To fuck up his summer vacation with his problems again?

Yeah. Fuck that.

He wishes he can pull Akira impossibly closer. “Welcome home.”

It can wait until he leaves. After that, the world will just have to explode, taking him with it.

—

Ryuji’s in bed that night, tossing and turning, blanket tangled in his legs and head underneath his pillow, when he finally caves.

Smacking around for his phone, he pulls it to his face, squinting against the bright light.

SR: futaba

The response was immediate.

SF: what SR: that was fast. whatre you doing up SF: im always up. why are YOU up SR: just wanted to talk SF: ok

He waits a few moments to see if she’d continue the conversation. She doesn’t.

SR: hows school? SF: ?????? who cares, its three am SR: i care SF: ugh, go to sleep. we’re meeting tomorrow anyway SR: yeah but you dont talk about school during group meetings much SF: alright weirdo SF: schools cool. people mostly leave me alone, and i think akira must’ve tipped off kawakami cause she is wayyyy too nice to me even after bullying her in front of the class SR: what did you do lmfao SF: she said that whoever could recite pi to ten decimal points can get a bonus ten percent in the final SF: and i kept going until the bell rang SR: damn! SF: its mostly okay though. better than i thought it’d be for sure SR: and how about actual school stuff SR: like classes. Math, science, english, all that shit. SF: sheesh, easiest part no doubt. could do all that stuff in my sleep SR: really? even though youre a year behind? SF: uh yeah? i could be eight years behind and still dunk on these clowns with one hand tied behind my back and watching a live stream

Ah, right. Futaba’s a literal genius. As in ‘Make A Documentary Of Her In Twenty Years In A Movie He’d Never Watch But Makoto Would Love’ kind of genius. He forgot.

SR: nice SR: thanks, im gonna sleep now SF: kk see you SF: (¯﹃¯)

—

“Okay, this is getting a little ridiculous,” Ryuji says when he opens the door to his apartment.

Ann is sitting in his dining chair once again, this time donned in hot pink shades and a comically big sun hat. He tries not to let annoyance and panic flare inside him. He loves her, because of course he does, but he was banking on stocking up some energy and alone time before they hit the road. Maybe even shed a couple of frustrated tears, who knows? As long as he’s alone, it’s fair game.

“Hey, don’t give me any of that,” Ann says. “You and packing your luggage is like mayonnaise and my flawless complexion—it’s not good, buster. Remember Hawaii?”

He feels his skin heat up, and slams the door harder than he should. “How the hell was I supposed to know I’d get randomly checked? ‘Sides, I didn’t do anything illegal.”

“A backpack filled with condoms and a toothbrush might as well have been illegal.” Ann reaches into her pocket, whipping out a wrinkled piece of paper. “You can’t pull that kinda crap now, and if I know him as well as I do, I’m sure Akira’s already packing for that.” She laughs at her own joke and raises her hand enthusiastically. He can’t help but grin as he high fives her. Hey, even if his life is falling apart, at least he’s still getting some, right?

“So I’m here to help,” she continues, shaking the sting from her palms. “I finished packing a day early and everything, so I better get some thanks after this.” Before he can complain, she holds up a finger, expression stern. “I know you don’t need help. Yes, I’m still worried about you. Yes, I’m doing this because I’m worried about you. Let me do this stupid little thing, okay? It’ll make me feel better.”

His stomach churns, more intense than usual. “You’re still worried about me?” he asks, breath hitching. What? No. Did he fail at that too? Does she know? That must mean Akira knows, right? And if Akira knows, then—

“Whoa, hold on!” A hand grips his shoulders. “Deep breaths, Sakamoto. Don’t spiral on me now.” Gently, he’s led to a chair. He sits gratefully and waits for his heart rate to drop. The entire time, Ann stays quiet.

Eventually, when the room stops closing in on him, he sighs and leans back against his chair. “Sorry,” he says, feeling really stupid. Damn, what happened to him keeping this on the down low?

She slaps his knee. “Shut up, don’t apologize for that,” she scolds, and he almost smiles. It’s easy to forget how good Ann is at this sort of thing. For better or for worse, she’s had plenty of practice while talking to Shiho. The grip on his knee tightens. “Ryuji…”

He shakes his head. “No.”

And, for better or for worse, she absolutely does not let things go.

“Look, buddy.” The grip is starting to hurt, and it means business if her red acrylics are anything to go by. “I just saw you have a teensy little panic attack two damn minutes ago, and you’re expecting me to just leave you to it? Are you a clown? Are you a clown in a circus, Sakamoto? Is that what you are?”

“I just don’t want to fucking talk about it.” He shoves her hand off his knee, and before he knows it, his voice is raised. “Christ, can’t you just leave me alone? All you do is get up in my business when I clearly didn’t ask you to. Just cause we did this whole Phantom Thief crap together doesn’t mean it gives you the right to everything going on in my life.”

He loathes the ringing in his ears from his own voice. He hates it when he yells in the apartment, but hates the silence that follows more. Too much like his dad, too much like his exhausted mom.

Ann is staring up at him, hard and unwavering. “You’re such a piece of shit sometimes.”

“Huh?”

“If you want me off your tail, you’re gonna have to work harder than that.” She gets on her feet, glaring at him. “‘Piss me off and make me leave in tears’ was your tactic, right? Boring. Overdone. Try again.”

The way she’s standing, shoulders pushed back and chin jutted out like she’s ready for a shoot in some kind of army magazine, means she’s dead serious.

“Ann, just get the fuck out of my house. You’re really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Ooo, classic 'angry and make me storm off’, right? Better, but not good enough.”

“What the hell are you even saying?”

“I’m saying that you could say whatever pops into your bleached head—” she flicks his forehead, viciously sharp nails digging into his skin. “And I wouldn’t go anywhere. You could call me names, or threaten me, or try to hurt me, but I am not going anywhere.”

Her eyes are bright blue, but he can still feel the heat of it like Carmen was inches in front of him. His throat quivers when he swallows. She’s really not going to give in.

“My knee’s been real bad lately,” he relents, making a fist and lightly knocking it against his thigh. “Normally it acts up during bad weather, but the sun hasn’t left in weeks and it still sucks. I didn’t wanna tell anyone, ‘cause I hate talking about…” he trails off, but she doesn’t need him to continue. They both know damn well who he’s referencing.

Ann’s face crumbles. “That’s horrible,” she says, absently rubbing the red mark on his forehead. “I’m sorry I was mean.”

He waves it off, the same way he does whenever his mom asks him if he’s getting enough sleep. “Don’t sweat it. I know how crazy you get.”

It’s a real testament to how worried she must’ve been when she didn't take the olive branch. “I know you probably don’t want to worry the group, but you should tell Akira.”

“Ann—” he starts wearily.

“You know I’m right about this. Now that the Metaverse is back and we’re going to be running around more, he can’t not know about this. Your boyfriend aside, he’s our leader. Something really nasty can happen if we’re not thinking straight.”

“...Sure.”

Ann gives him a weird look. “That was surprisingly easy. I thought you’d complain more.”

She’s getting way too sharp. “What, you wanted me to be a dick about it?”

“I guess not.” Leaning against his kitchen counter, she chews her lip like it’s bubble gum. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Yeah.” Ryuji stands to stretch, ready for this conversation to be over. “You can keep this between us—”

“—Except for Akira,” they say in unison, Ryuji exasperated and Ann insistent.

“Fine. I’ll back off if you think you have it under control.”

“Hallelujah, she’s finally giving me space.”

“But,” her gaze is harder than steel. “Never, ever keep secrets from me again, got it?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “Gotcha. Can we get started now? I’m over talking about my horrible past so that we can finally have a straight-out-of-an-anime summer vacation.”

Her eyes brighten up. “Yes! Okay, I made this huge list and I know for a fact we’re gonna have to go for a quick shopping trip—”

“Quick? So, like, three hours going by your standards?”

“Don’t interrupt me. We need to pack some swim trunks, toiletries, and I know you’re worried about your mom so we’ll go grocery shopping for her before we leave in the morning.” Feet tapping excitedly, “This is gonna be so fun. You start packing, I’ll go shopping. Rendezvous in an hour.”

Before he even gets a chance to put a word in, she’s already out the door.

—

Later that night, when everything is messily thrown into one oversized backpack and a rucksack and the fridge is chock full of groceries for his overworked mother, he gets a text.

TA: i know you said not to bring it up but i dont care TA: i searched it up and apparently cold and hot compresses can help with the pain on your knee TA: also getting shoes with really good support would help too. i modeled for some shoe brands, i can def get you some discounts!!! TA: like, i know this is all base level stuff and you know this already, but i bet you we can ask sophia for more help. maybe she can access top secret doctor stuff for knee injuries?? :O

Ryuji stares at his phone for a long moment, before shoving it under his pillow.

Great. Add ‘guilt’ and ‘keeping up with a lie’ to the list of shit he has to worry about.

—

“A lake!” Yusuke cries, kneeling in front of the body of water like a man discovering a desert oasis. Gently, he cups the clean water and cradles it against his cheek. “You are nothing like the garbage-infested sewers in Tokyo. You are crystal clear. You are divine. You are salvation. You are—”

“Akira, Inari’s being a weirdo again,” Futaba points an accusing finger at Yusuke, who’s shirt is slowly absorbing more and more of the water. “At this rate, he’s gonna have to change.”

Makoto grunts as she lugs out the grill singlehandedly, a loud clang ringing out when she nonchalantly sets down a family-sized piece of machinery. “Alright, here it is.” She catches the look of awe that Ryuji’s giving her. “Does it still shock you that I can probably bench press you twice over?”

“I’m just trying to figure out where you’re hiding all that muscle, prez,” he snorts, and it’s the truth. Her and Akira must be the same breed, considering they’re both way too lithe to be this strong. He’s seen the way they throw a punch in the Metaverse—they could probably disintegrate a dude in real life if they really wanted to. Like yeah they workout, but not that much. Maybe they’re dieting too? He’s tried dieting, but ramen is just way too good, even at the expense of muscles.

“Ryuji, when you’re done spacing out, can you grab the ingredients?” Akira calls out.

“Ugh, cut the mind reading dude, it scares the hell out of me.”

He shoots him a signature Kurusu Akira smile; small yet disarming all the same, and it never fails to get Ryuji’s heart to do weird flips. “It’s not mind reading once you realize that I’m just obsessed with you.”

Instead of answering, Ryuji grumbles as he stalks off into the RV. Damn him and his genuine words and compliments.

He pulls out their luggage from underneath the table. Akira doesn’t need to say what ingredients he needs to grab—he’s helped out enough times during Leblanc’s afterhours to know the curry spices by heart. Ryuji might be a failure, but hey, he can do this no problem.

Grabbing bottles and shakers and balancing them on top of his arms like an overworked waiter, he glances left and feels his heart dropped. The envelope from his room—dust-free from rubbing against the rest of his luggage—is sticking out of his backpack. After a quick adjustment, he uses his free hand to shove it deep in his bag, hearing the paper crinkle in on itself.

It was a spur of the moment decision to bring it along with him, one that he’s still half-regretting. Why’d he do it? Maybe he was worried that he might enjoy this trip a little too much? Maybe he was some kind of masochist that likes having his problems and anxiety follow him literally everywhere he goes? Maybe he was scared to hell and back that his mom would find it before he had a chance to tell her himself? Fuck if he knows.

Poking his head out of the door, he yells, “Heads up!”

Throwing a bottle of black pepper, Akira catches it without looking. “Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“Too late, I already sweat a little bit.”

Ryuji squints. “It’s sweated. Right, Ann?”

“Don’t look at me. I went to America for modelling, not a spelling bee.”

“I won all my spelling bees in middle school,” Makoto says, chest puffed out in pride.

“Were you the only one who joined?”

“That’s not important.”

Akira’s phone beeps enthusiastically, and Sophia’s voice rings out. “Got it! According to the internet, ‘sweat’ and ‘sweated’ are both grammatically valid. Technically, both Ryuji and Ann are correct.”

“Can we all just shut up for a second about sweating, for the love of god,” Futaba fans her face weakly. “It’s already sooooo hot. I feel like my skin is melting. Yusuke, is my skin melting?”

He looks at her for a moment, peering closely. “Yes.”

“How about we go in for a quick dip in the lake?” Haru offers, and Ryuji suspects that she can feel the same energy that he’s feeling when the group gets like this. “We were all talking about how beautiful it was, and it would cool down Futaba-chan no problem.”

She leans down, swirling her hand in the water. “It’s a little chilly, but it’ll definitely take care of the heat.”

“Good idea!” Futaba jumps up and throws off her shoes, ready to march in. “This is gonna feel so good.”

“Socks!” Akira reminds her.

“I know that!”

Haru and Yusuke follow suit, eager to get away from the heat, Makoto going in to change to shorts. Ryuji guesses it’s probably not an easy feat to roll up leather pants. Probably makes it either to ride motorcycles, or whatever people with leather pants do.

He feels a poke in his side. “You hopping in with them?” Akira asks.

No. The answer is already at the tip of his tongue, ready to roll out. Given how cramped the RV is, keeping up the trademark Sakamoto energy while lugging more baggage than an airport employee is brutal. It’s barely been a day since they started the trip, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up. Already his chest feels heavy with something, and whenever all the windows are rolled up, it gets weirdly hard to breathe. But if he says no, Akira would definitely know something was up.

“Uh—”

“Actually, I think we’ll take over the curry for you,” Ann cuts in.

Ryuji turns to her, startled and wide eyed.

“Why?” Akira asks, just as confused as he is. They both know how much Ann loves being in the middle of things, especially in group hangouts.

“Because you look like you could use a break. I know for a fact that you had to pack Yusuke’s stuff for him, or else the van would’ve had fifteen canvases and an easel, and you had to grocery shop for everyone, and talk Haru out of a guilty spiral because she wasn’t confident enough in her driving. And all this before—” Ann looks down at her wrist to peer at a non-existent watch. “Five o’clock.

He frowns. “Sure, but I’ve done twice as much during our prime. This,” he gestures at the pot. “Is a walk in the park. Thank you, though.”

Ann sighs, heavy and contemplative. “I didn’t want to say it out right, but since you’re being difficult…” She places a hand on his shoulder. “You should hang out with Futaba more. Being gone from her for that long has been rough, and yes, we took care of her while you weren’t there, but you’re different.” Her hand tightens. “You know, Wild Card and all that.”

“That’s not what that means, but I appreciate the effort,” Akira says. Despite his words, it’s clear that what she said bothered him. Eyes flickering to Futaba, enthusiastically kicking the water to see how far the droplets would go, he directs his gaze to Ryuji. “Is it okay if…?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes, pretending like relief isn’t crashing through his body. “Go.”

Akira kisses his cheek. “Thank you.” When he pulls away, he gives Ann a hesitant look.

She grimaces. “Thanks, but no. Go hangout with the gremlin.”

He gives her a salute and saunters off, rolling up his jeans to wade through the water, making sure to splash Futaba on the way there.

After a moment of silence, he sighs. “Fine, I’ll say it. Your acting classes are actually doing you some good.”

“Ha!” she points at him triumphantly. “And you said it’d be a waste of time!”

“I didn’t say that.” Ryuji slouches into a nearby camping chair, the one that Sojiro forced them to lug along, hoping that some of his fatigue would seep away. “We both know that Futaba’s never been better, so what’s up? Why’d you throw out Akira like that?”

“It’s not for me, stupid,” she scoffs, but he can’t help but feel the weight in his chest get even heavier. He sinks even deeper into his chair. “The water was cold, right? That would make your knee even worse.”

“Yeah,” he blinks, having already forgotten the whole fucked-up knee story. “Thanks.”

“I won’t chew you out for not telling Akira, even though I should. But like I said,” she ruffles his hair. “I got your back. I know it must be hard, but you’re still acting all normal. We’re lucky that it’s only affecting you in the real world, too.” She had come up with that one herself, and thank god she did, cause he wouldn’t have known what to say if she had confronted him on how he could easily do flips and sprints in the Metaverse. “That just takes a lot of guts, and even though I know for a fact this would make you feel so much better once you tell him, I trust that you know what you need better than me.”

“Quit trying to look all cool,” he says, and prays to fucking god that the red on his face comes off as embarrassed gratitude rather than earth-shattering guilt. “And aren’t you supposed to be cooking, curry master?”

“Hey, he asked you to do it, not me. I’ll help you get the ingredients, but no way I’m doing the whole cooking shebang.”

“Ugh, fine,” he says, as if he doesn’t secretly love the idea of getting to cook for Akira this time instead of the other way around. Pushing himself up, Ann reaches out to help him. “You don’t gotta baby me, Takamaki.”

“I’ll baby you for as long as I need to, and then eventually Akira will be the one babying you. We come in shifts.”

“I hope you’re unionized.”

Makoto pokes her head out of the RV, wearing a showercap. “Did someone say unionized?”

“What the hell?” Ryuji staggers back in shock. Crap. “How long have you been there?”

“And why are you wearing that?” Ann gasps.

“Not long, and I don’t want my hair getting wet in case I fall in. We have no idea what’s been in here.”

“Were you going to fall in a bathtub?”

“Did you want me to push you in?”

“No, ma’am.”

—

There wasn’t a problem initially. Well, not one in Palaces, anyway. Wait, they’re called Jails now, which is really confusing. Ryuji’s just gonna have to avoid using those words so he doesn’t make himself look like an idiot.

Back in Shibuya, it had been...fine. Attacks landed, punches were dodged, Batons passed like his life depended on it (and it did). Like clockwork, instinct came to him and the weird nostalgic normalcy of fighting Shadows made it bearable.

Ryuji was off his game, and he could tell.

But he was barely off his game. If anything, he still had a foot on his game. Maybe even an entire leg on the game if he was being generous. He was still enough on the game that even Akira doesn’t notice.

But the weird part was, he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s off his game. In an even weirder way, he’s never been more on his game in his entire life.

“There!” Futaba’s voice crackles through the comms. “Uncle is open wide!”

“Her name is Ante, Oracle,” Makoto responds, brass knuckles jammed into the throat of some poor Shadow. “It’s open, but it’s vicious.”

Ryuji calls for Kidd just as she pulls away, wiping out the rest of the weaker ones with ease. “This thing’s like a goddamn mousetrap.” Ante’s serpent body slithering on the cool tiles so fluidly that it gives him the creeps. Her tail has tiny spikes etched into it, like mini knives hot glued onto a tetherball. The minute any of them even come close, she strikes outwards. “How vicious is vicious?”

“Depends on how fast you are.”

Akira’s head jerks up, and when their eyes meet, cracks a smile. “Fast, you say?”

Ryuji grins wider than he has in days. Joker relying on him? How can someone not feel a little giddy at that? “Say no more, leader.”

He stretches quickly, and feels eyes piercing the back of his head. Ann, probably. Shrugging it off, he sprints low towards Ante. As long as Ann doesn’t say a word, there won’t be a problem.

She’s taken hits from where Akira’s been concentrating on her. A mixture of bullet holes in its scales mixed in with cross slashes from where his bless attacks hit had left her delirious and pissed off. When he’s close, she bares her fangs and strikes, only for him to skid on the smooth tiles, rugged hands touching his mask.

“Come on out, Captain!”

His blond hair ruffled from Kidd’s attack, a crack of lightning came down from his Persona’s mangled hand, and a split second later her tail had been sliced clean through. And another crack comes, her neck landing on the tiles with a muffled thud. An attack that should’ve just been enough to incapacitate Ante had instead completely decapitated her.

A beat of silence passed as everyone processed what had happened. Ryuji’s mouth drops open, but he can’t muster any surprise.

He doesn’t know how, or why, but for some reason his attacks have been at least five times as strong as they had been back before the Metaverse was still intact. Moves that he didn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue, as if he had practiced them all his life. Normally this would only happen after rigorous training for months, adding up in tiny increments.

Now it happens every day.

“Well, looks like someone woke up on the right side of the gym today,” Futaba laughs awkwardly.

“What on earth was that, Skull?” Haru asks, eyes wide. “I had never seen you do something like that.”

Morgana’s tail swished. “She makes a good point. When’d you learn that one?”

“I don’t know.” He calls back Captain Kidd, eyeing the drop that Ante had left behind, but doesn’t move forward to snatch it up. “But whatever the reason is, it’s awesome as hell. I mean, did you see that? Sliced that thing open like a stuffed bear.”

“Let’s not bring stuffed animals into this, please,” Makoto frowns.

Akira’s giving him a look again, and it leaves Ryuji unsettled. “What is it, dude? I got something on my face?”

“No,” he steps closer, and his voice drops. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright? I’ve never been better, man.” He flashes him a grin, hoping that it’s bright enough to distract Akira’s ever-searching eyes. “Come on, let’s get moving. Natsume’s heart isn’t gonna change itself.”

After one last glance, he nods, and Ryuji can see the minute Calculating Joker comes back. “You heard him. Let’s get moving, everyone.”

They all follow him up the stairs, eager to get moving past the eternally bleary and uncreatively written setting of Natsume’s Jail.

“Psst!” Ryuji hisses at Ann, who turns to him with a question in her eyes. “Panther! Get your ass over here!”

“What?” she whispers back.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I fucked up my knee when I rushed her, and I still haven’t told Joker, so do you mind…?”

An expected look of disapproval emerges from her expression, and Ryuji hurries to beat her to the punch. “I know, I know! But I can’t tell him in the middle of all this, now can I?”

“Fine,” she grumbles before calling Carmen. “I’ll cover you for now, but only ‘cause I’m a good friend and I’m super cute.”

“Yeah, the cutest, prettiest, whatever.” He glances over to Akira, swooping down to grab Ante’s drops before heading up. “Quick, before he looks back.”

Diarama washes over him, and even though relief floods through his body, he can feel a bead of sweat running down his temple. He’s not sure if it’s from her inherent heat or from the stress of lying to her again.

“Better?” Ann asks.

“Way better. Thanks.” He catches Sophia looking at them curiously. “The kid’s watching us. You better move ahead before she starts analyzing our personality types or something.”

Her eyes light up. “You think she’d do it if I asked? I really wanna know.”

“Just go!”

Ann hurries to catch up to Sophia, and while she’s distracted, Ryuji gently rolls up sleeves—he had gotten nicked by Ante as he slid. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem; he had gotten thrown through walls, been hit by mini hurricanes, been blown up by a boat, and walked away from all that still swinging.

Yet lately, any tiny, fractional, miniscule injury is enough to shoot unbearable pain throughout his entire body. It’s as if he was back in Kamoshida’s Palace, where every punch thrown at him had been life or death.

Glancing down at his forearm, he sighs. The cut was gone, but he can’t keep asking Ann to heal him in secret every time.

“Skull?”

Hurriedly pulling down his sleeve, he glances up to see Akira standing in front of him.

“Everyone’s waiting for you,” he says casually, as if those words don’t mean the entire goddamn world to Ryuji. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “My bad. Let’s go.”

They clambered up the staircase, and Ryuji decides that all of that stuff—getting injured and having it hurt like hell—just isn’t too important.

That just means that he’ll be fine as long as he doesn't get hit, and he’s had plenty of experience dodging punches that were thrown at him before.

—

“Cheers!”

All of them raise their red plastic cups, clinking it against each other in a way that they see adults do all the time on TV. Apple juice and iced tea slosh as they gulp it down eagerly, excitement so prevalent that they can hardly taste the cheap, convenience store-esque quality of their drink.

“This isn’t too bad,” Makoto muses, leaning against the faux-leather seats of the RV. “Though it would probably taste better if it wasn’t room temperature.”

“Does it look like this place has a mini fridge?” Futaba says, legs swinging down from her top bunk. “That’s a good idea though. I should’ve bought mine from home. Can you imagine we’re halfway through a six hour road trip and you want iced coffee and boom! Two feet behind you is Futaba’s Ice Cold Cafe, one hundred yen per use.”

“I hope you’d be ready to sleep on it, because this place is cramped enough as is,” Akira slaps the wall a few times, the way a rancher would a sturdy horse. “We’re lucky with what we have.”

“I know that! Without this thing we never would have been able to conquer Natsume’s Jail.” She reaches down to muss Yusuke’s hair. “I’m sure Inari feels good about that.”

He smiles, hair sticking up in all directions. “Of course I feel satisfied. Though I understand his struggle, being able to stop a fellow artist into becoming a true monster is always something that will bring me joy. Justice will never stop feeling good.”

“Cheers to that!” Ann raises her drink. “And you know what? This wouldn’t have been possible had Ryuji not kicked some major ass in that Jail.”

The group whoops and hoots loudly, and Ryuji can’t help but scoff when Ann winks at him. “Aw guys, you’re making me blush. I’m fucking awesome, sure, but we’re all pretty amazing.”

Haru shakes her head. “She’s right, Ryuji-kun. WIthout you, defeating dragon Natsume would’ve been much more difficult.”

“Even I can admit that you’ve gotten much stronger, Skull.” Morgana leaps onto the table, licking up the bowl of apple juice that Haru had left him. It feels wrong to let an animal drink that, but he’d never say anything about it. “Have you been training?”

Ryuji shrugs. “Yeah, a little.”

“Ooo, look at Mr. Humble all of a sudden,” Futaba jeers.

“I’m always humble!”

Ann grimaces. “I don’t think so. Remember when you finally got Akira to go on a date with you—”

“How dare you. He was begging me to go on a date with him—”

“And you wouldn’t stop telling us about how you had nabbed the coolest guy in Tokyo—”

Ryuji nearly jumps over the booth to put a hand on her mouth. “Quit yammering, Takamaki, I’m begging you.” He feels something slimy on his hand, and pulls back quickly. “Ew, did you lick me?! That’s so effing gross.”

“You’re gross.”

He feels a hand on the small of his back, warm and familiar. “I don’t think you’re gross, Ryuji,” Akira says. “I think you’re very clean.”

A harmonic beep rings through the air. “Sorry to interrupt,” Sophia’s clear voice cuts in. “But Akira, you got an email.”

“Thanks Sophie.” He points to where his phone is perched on the windowsill, propped up so she can see them celebrate their victory. “Can you…?”

Ryuji wordlessly passes it to him as everyone breaks off into smaller conversations, chatter blending into each other until it sounds like the kind of white noise he would queue up when he’s desperate to get some studying done. Immediately, Akira begins scanning through his phone, gray eyes focused.

He props his head against his shoulder to read alongside him and makes a noise of interest. “You signed up for cram school?” he asks, surprised.

“I did,” he replies, thumbing through the details of his admission.

Ryuji stares at him. “But you’re so fucking smart. Why are you paying who knows what to learn shit you already know?”

“Because Tokyo U barely cracks a 30% admission rate, and chemistry is hell incarnate.” With one last few clicks, he sets his phone down with a wince. “Sure is expensive though. We might have to reform the heart of someone in the education committee.” When he continues to stare at him wordlessly, Akira turns to him. “Don’t worry, I’m still leeching off of the Thieves' money from last year, so it’s not too bad when you take into account my part-time back home.”

“No, that’s not—I’m just—” he shakes his head and forces himself to start over. “Since when did you decide on Tokyo University?”

It’s Akira's turn to look taken aback. “What do you mean? You’d never leave Tokyo, especially if it meant leaving your mom.”

“That’s not the point. The point is I’m making you choose between me and your hometown!” he exclaims, but he already knows in his heart what Akira’s choice is going to be. It’s stupidly obvious. For some reason, the longer this conversation goes on, the tighter his chest feels.

The feeling doubles when Akira’s eyes, always focused and always sharp, subdued at his words. “Are you really comparing yourself to that place? You know I’d choose you over anything.” He reaches forward and combs through Ryuji’s hair, hushed and gentle in a way that only Akira can manage. “I’m so excited to live life with you again.”

The white noise, so comfortable before, abruptly turns overwhelmingly loud—grating and unbearable and painful to be around. Ryuji stands abruptly, barely reacting to Futaba’s yelp when he backs into her.

“Hey! What gives?”

“I…” his eyes dart around, flinching when he accidentally makes eye contact with Akira, and again when he locks eyes with Ann.

The sudden silence from the group is somehow worse than the noise from before, and if the tightness in his chest gets any more painful, his lungs are gonna burst into a million pieces and he’s not gonna be able to pick it all up from the ground if everyone’s watching.

“Trash,” he blurts out.

“What?” Makoto blinks, glancing up from her map.

“This place is disgusting and it’s way too cluttered and it’s bad to leave such a big mess so I’m gonna—” Ryuji grabs the plastic bag filled with garbage, haphazardly tossing empty cans and plastic cups into it. “I’ll be back. Don’t wait up.”

Before they can question him, he’s already out of the RV, towing trash and leaving his friends behind him.

—

“What the fuck was that?!” Ryuji screams into the sky.

He was far enough from the trailer that he knew they couldn’t hear him even if they had strained their ears, and it was late enough into the night that even the tourists weren’t poking around to look at the shrines or the Great Masamune himself.

“Keep it a secret’, my ass! That was the second dumbest thing—no, the third dumbest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. Do you know how high that threshold is, Sakamoto? High! Higher than you can see with your own two eyes! Higher than Yaldabaoth’s goddamn crane-sized spine!”

Swooping down, he grabs a fistful of pebbles and throws it as hard as he can. “You are so selfish! What happened to keeping ‘Kira happy, you effing asshole?” Relishing in how far it went, he takes another two more. “You are so annoying. You are—” he throws, the rocks landing with a little plink. “Insufferable. Stupid. Selfish. A fucking—” this time, he doesn’t even know where it lands. “Gah!”

Turning on his heel, he glares up at the statue and grits his teeth when he sees Masamune’s stoic expression. “Don’t give me that look—you’re dead. You ain’t got nothing to complain about. Everyone’s remembering you as the guy who saved Japan, or whatever. But guess what? You’re probably a loser. A dumb, stupid loser who convinced everyone that you’re good for something when you’re worth jack shit!”

Before he can stop himself, he takes the garbage bag full of cans, glass bottles, and crumpled chip bags and hurls it at Masamune. It hits the base of the statue, far below damaging the One-Eyed Dragon himself, but the glass cracks under the force of being thrown, tearing through the plastic and causing trash and shards to explode all over the steps. Ryuji’s chest is heaving as he stares down at what he’s done.

“Impressive.”

He whirls around at the voice behind him, stomach lurching straight to the ground when he sees who it was. “In his years of war, I doubt that anyone’s ever tried throwing waste in his direction in order to defeat him.”

“Yusuke,” he breathes, feeling his frustration draining away to make room for even more guilt, if that was even possible. Ryuji cannot possibly look any more of an asshole than he does right now—tearing his throat raw in a public space, surrounded by the garbage he had thrown at a national monument in front of a guy who clearly worships and respects art that’s old as hell. “Sorry, I’ll clean it up, I promise. I was just…” he hesitates. “Talking to myself.”

Yusuke hums, unconvinced, and carefully approaches the mess in front of him. Ryuji waves him off. “No, don’t. Broken glass is a bitch, especially the little pieces. If that gets in your skin, it’s game over. You’d have to go into the hospital for sure.” He grimaces. “Trust me. My dad used to throw beer bottles at our place like he was in a ball game, and that ain’t fun, I promise you that.”

“I see.” Turning around, Ryuji hoped that he was magically going to head back to the group and not mention this to anyone there, but instead Yusuke stopped in front of a water fountain. “You’re right. If you’re not careful, it could be very easy to hurt yourself when dealing with broken glass.” Pulling out a handkerchief from his breast pocket in a way that only Yusuke can, he soaks it in water before crouching down at the shards glimmering under moonlight. “But if you use wet fabric to dab it on the shards itself—” he pats the concrete and flips the fabric over, revealing the moist and glistening pieces stuck on its side. “You can clean up the pieces with little to no danger.”

“Huh.” After a moment, he realizes that he’s making Yusuke do the dirty work for him. “Pass me that. Thanks for the tip, but I can take it from here. I mean,” he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s totally my fault that the glass is here anyway.”

He doesn’t look up from his task, eyes focused and movement meticulous. “No need. If you’d like to help, you can start picking up the non-dangerous litter around us.”

Ryuji does as he’s told, wincing as he has to pick up sticky, pop-soaked wrappers with his bare hands but he doesn’t complain. Karmic retribution has never held back against him. “The glass thing,” he starts, squatting down and picking up empty cans and plastic utensils with curry remnants still stuck to them. “They teach you that in Kosei?”

“No, from one of Madarame’s past pupils actually.” Yusuke shifts over to dab at another glass-covered section, concrete looking clearer with every pat. “Sensei had a rather violent habit of hurling canvases at the wall if they do not meet his standards, and his actions had led to many of our more fragile belongings being shattered when he did.” His tone doesn’t change, but Ryuji can see his shoulders tighten. “At least it allowed me to move away from that house very quickly, considering I had very little to pack away.”

Ryuji opens his mouth to comfort him. Instead, he finds himself speaking in a low tone. “Glad that bastard is rotting in jail,” he resists the urge to spit on the ground. “Then afterwards, I hope he rots in hell, just to really cover all of our bases.”

That pulls a chuckle out of Yusuke. “Thank you,” he smiles, and all Ryuji can do is nod. There isn’t much you can say after that without making it weird. But how weirder can it possibly get when the two of you are off towing around someone’s perception of the world on a daily basis?

They continue to work in silence; the wind is gentle, but it’s enough to rustle the leaves and allow Ryuji to feel some relief from the summer heat. He’s picking up wet paper tissues, and it’s gross, but it’s nice to be doing something with his hands.

He’s just about done his part of the clean-up when he can’t take it anymore. “Aren’t you gonna ask?”

“No,” Yusuke answers without looking up. That’s another thing that Ryuji really appreciates about him—playing dumb has never been something that he’s done to get out of an awkward situation. To be fair though, Yusuke himself is an awkward situation.

“Why not?”

“Did you want me to?”

That question makes him pause, and Yusuke doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve always been the most vocal in the group, and while many a time it has been our downfall in terms of secrecy, I have always considered it one of your strong points. And if you, Sakamoto Ryuji, are indeed struggling with using your words,” Yusuke’s eyes turn to him. “Then it must be very difficult to talk about.”

A beat passes. “No,” Ryuji mutters. “I don’t want you to ask.”

“Then I won’t,” he says easily. “But I do have a question.”

“Lay it on me.”

Yusuke shuffles to crouch down next to him, and it’s kinda weird seeing someone as elegant as him pose like some kind of hoodlum. “Does Akira know about your struggle?”

His mind flashes back to the confused look back in the RV and he scratches his neck roughly. “I bet he does now.”

Yusuke leans back, shocked. “He doesn’t know?”

“I’m getting there! Don’t pressure me, man. You said it yourself, I’m fucking struggling.”

“Well, yes, I did say that, but it’s Akira,” he says the name almost reverently. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t sense that something is askew.”

“I just said that, didn’t I? Goddamn, you and Ann are just two of the same peas in the same freaking pond, aren’t you?”

“It’s ‘pod’, Ryuji,” he corrects. “Ann is aware?”

“She—” Ugh, how does he explain that she thinks she knows, but really he had lied about what he told her? “She basically knows.” And because his fat mouth just keeps getting fatter, “She’s sort of part of the problem.”

Yusuke’s eyes widen and Ryuji hurries to cover up for his mistake. “She’s not a problem, it’s just that I didn’t explain…It’s really my fault, and how I deal with internal shit, you know what I’m saying? And Ann’s just kind of in the crossfire, so what ended up happening is when I talk to her about what I’m feeling, I end up just feeling worse.” He winces. First he lies to her and now he’s shit-talking her? “I did not say that. What I really mean is that, uh, feelings...and actions...are complicated,” he finishes weakly.

“I see,” he says finally.

It seems that even Yusuke has a threshold for uncomfortable moments, because he rises to his feet. “Thank you for sharing all of that with me.”

“Uh, yeah, for sure. Thanks for the glass trick.”

“No need to mention it. It’s much easier to clean up a mess when you have someone helping you.” He points vaguely behind himself, “Would you like to head back together? I’m sure by now the festivities are winding down, and the trash you were so keen on disposing of has definitely been thrown away.”

Ryuji blanches. It grossed him out that he forgot he was holding an armful of garbage in his hand. “You go ahead. I just need to,” he rocks his arms, almost cradling the wet garbage. “Throw this out.”

“Very well. I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

He waves at him, and Ryuji wiggles in response (unless he wants it all hitting the ground and restarting that whole process again, which, no thanks.) After dumping it all into a nearby trash can, the process of which lasts several minutes since he still had to sort out the recycling, he feels a buzz in his pocket.

KA: come back when you can KA: i miss you

He takes a shaky breath.

SR: on my way

#p5 #p5s #ryuji sakamoto #akiryu #mine #fic tag #plainly in truth #akira kurusu #pegoryu #happy birthday ryuji this ones for you

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sourbat · 3 years

Note

(Metalrat) Forgive me for I must ask for the forbidden OT3: Magnus, Toki, and Pickles first kiss or other affectionate touch. XD If all three is too much hassle, then any paired combination of these jerks is good too. XD

Now this was a blast to write.

Summary: Pickles ruminates about the two guitarists he’s known.

Rating: T for swearing and suggestive lines

Contains implied hammertooth

The images on screen, combined with the smug grin of the television host, half a bottle of cheap brandy and several years of unspoken regret, brings forth the unorganized and alcohol-induced clusterfuck of memories that now haunts Pickles. Silently, he sips his bottle, swashing booze with his tongue across rows of chattering teeth, ignoring the sting that plagues the corners of his eye as he witnesses the images turn into recordings, clips of two guitarists he had known and loved during some point in his miserable life.

He swallows the sweetly acidic tang, shuts his eyes and he forces down a nauseas belch, and when Pickles opens his eyes, sees Toki nervously sitting by his side, back at the old apartment.

Toki reached for him with the same hesitance expected of an unsure virgin, fingertips wavering out in search of deeper affection, but fearful over what they might find. And yet, when Pickles tries to recall anything further, only summons glimpses of those same hands happily fondling him, delving between nooks and bends, exploring Pickles with an almost childish fervor, and giggling each time he wakened a tickle, a warning, a stifled moan. With some concentration, there are moments where it’s just him and Toki, drunk and alone in the living room, passion unresolved. The same hand is there, still cast outwards, and about to stumble over Pickles’ leg right when he mentions he wouldn’t mind sharing his bed if it meant the poor kid could avoid another spine-twisting night on the couch.

Somewhere, between his words and the manhandling, Pickles finds the recording of their first contact. Right before Toki pushed him down, crushed Pickles into the sofa with his unforeseen strength, he remembers the trembling hand, the perturbed, almost hurt look of a child who’d never been offered such affection.

Another gulp of brandy unveils a similar memory, equally distrusting picture that evokes a panged throb as Pickles’ eyes remain glued to the screen.

Compared to Toki, Magnus is a mere whisper, a phantom of stills that conjures a chill across Pickles’ slouched form. Pickles has an easier time picking out details of the band’s first performance better than he can trying to remember the exact moment Magnus ceases viewing him as a partner, a bandmate or fellow musician, and begins treating him as his new object of obsession. Though he cannot remember the touch and sensation, does know Magnus was a control freak, and likely had him against a wall, corner, or pinned on the very same bed he and Toki would end up acquainting themselves in.

Even with the booze, Pickles doesn’t shirk the notion that, deep down, whatever affection Magnus offered him was temporary. If Magnus cared he’d have tried harder, retrained from letting his compulsive behavior seep into the band’s interworking’s, and would’ve never allowed that outburst to happen, the tabbing. Pickles blows warm air into the neck of his bottle, listens to the hollow melody of a nearly empty container, and tries finding the instant where Magnus made Pickles feel desirable, a man in his own right, and through the mere act of a touch.

He finishes the bottle, gulping down Magnus growling his name, holding him down and–using those terribly long fingers of his–pulls the seam of Pickle’s jeans down his thighs and to his knees. Magnus was an impulsive bastard, demanding validation with every rough grip, yank or tug of the hair. Was he rough with Toki–? Did their contrasting desires… Toki’s curious, stubby fingers, and Magnus,’ in search for power and control, ever clash? Did Toki hesitate to let Magnus know he was interested, or was Magnus the first to initiate? Who held the other down? Who pinned whom?

Were they as happy as the pictures suggest?

“…that concludes this week’s Dethklok Minute! For more, download our app on–”

Pickles’ heel slams on the pedal, concluding the night with the TV going dark and mute. The bottle of brandy slips from his weakening grip, down the sofa, and tumbles to the floor with the crushed cans and other leavenings. Pickles listens to the glass roll, and his drunken haze, hears their laughter and moans get swallowed under the increasing bile. Astringent sweat, incurred through a night of drinking, now suffocates him. There’s not one drop of blood that isn’t infused with the unnatural heat, the longing and desire for a simpler time, whether it was to be worshipped or abused by a madman, or for him to play the role of teacher to another.

Pickles reaches for his left, hoping to grab on to the neck of his next serving of poison, but finds no one…nothing. In the dark, Pickles stares, shocked and aghast at the impending, frigid loneliness now threatening to envelop him, and despite the heat seeping through his every pore, holds himself to cover a shiver.

Through the coughing, he sees their hands extending outward, searching for a droplet of intimacy, but when Pickles tries answering the call, realizes their attention is focused elsewhere, towards one another.

But he shuts down, Pickles tries one more time.

He shuts his teary eyes and focuses on their forms, confident that, if he tries really hard, can pass out and dream of a scenario where he isn’t old news, where he’s the center of attention again and both men are vying for his attention.

“Ams so much fun, Pickle.”

“How about another go, Pickles?”

Harder. Harder.

“Loves you, Pickle.”

“You’re too good to me, Pickles.”

Harder, until the shiver ends, and the warmth numbing and luring him deeper into the unconsciousness tricks Pickles into believing it’s not the booze, but the men reaching for him for the first time again, touching him, loving him…

He passes out before he even gets close.

#toki wartooth #pickles the drummer #magnus hammersmith #magpickles #tickles #magtok #thejollybeardcollection #thank you

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onthepageoftears · 4 years

Text

Kill Your Darlings Ch. 20 (Jaskier x Assassin!Reader) || Witcher

A/N: Ahhhh!!! This is the last chapter of the first installment to the Kill Your Darlings series! There’s another note at the end of the chapter, but thank you all for reading and following along this journey!

Your comments and feedback are always encouraged and mean a lot to me!

Summary: The end of one journey just leads to the beginning of another.

Warnings: mentions of death/blood/killing, language, hurt/comfort, fluff

Words: 4,076

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

Days. It had been days since that night, but to you, it felt like an eternity. You barely got any sleep. Barely ate. But today, you forced each foot ahead, one step at a time. You couldn’t afford to wallow any longer. You had to do this.

You mindlessly followed the guards further towards his office, your expression stone cold like the walls around you.

They gestured you into the office not dissimilar to Rauf’s. It nearly made you shudder.

“Hello again,” he said, smiling as he stood up to greet you. “It has been too long.”

“Arnet. It’s good to see you.” You forced a smile for the man. It made every muscle in your body want to react, to attack the guild and lash out on anyone who stood in your way. But you knew if you did that, you’d be good as dead. And right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

The man in front of you smiled, “I last saw you when you were very young. Look at you now.” Arnet’s old eyes crinkled more at the edges, despite the wrinkles that had already formed there.

He was much older than Rauf was, but just from meeting him as a child, you could see why they were friends. They had similar humor, similar charm — though now, Arnet was much more of a humble grandfather type.

Looking at him again after all this time, the blood in your veins heated once more. How could these people you had known for so long be just as bad as the monsters you trained yourself to hate?

Arnet smiled again, “Please, have a seat.”

Your body pushed itself down into the chair across from Arnet’s. Though his office reminded you of Rauf’s, it was definitely bigger, more welcoming. At least, as welcoming as an assassin leader’s guild office could be.

After another moment, Arnet spoke, “You have suffered a great loss, child.”

“As did you.”

He nodded, watching you with careful eyes. “But I cannot imagine the pain you must be going through. You must know your uncle was strong, but he was not invincible.”

“He taught me from a young age that death was not something to agonize over. It happens to everyone.”

“Yes, but not always so brutally.” He shifted in his seat, “We evoke death for a living, but when it is one of our own, it is very, very different.”

You nodded your head, but inside, you were screaming. Just because you don’t know someone does not mean their life is not meaningful. Just because Rauf was my uncle doesn’t mean he was a good person.

Arnet probably took your silence as grief. He probably saw you as a poor innocent child who had lost a loved one. But really, all you could feel was anger.

He continued, “As you know, I sent some of my guild to take care of everything at the fellowship. I’m afraid no one made it out of there alive.”

You nearly sighed in relief. No chance of being outed. No loose ends.

Arnet rose from his seat and walked to his desk, picking up a leather satchel. He turned to you, holding out the bag with a nod.

“Rauf’s papers, contacts…they are all here. I thought you might want them.”

You dropped your facade for a moment, allowing yourself to frown, “Why?”

“Your uncle was murdered in cold blood. I…can imagine the thirst for revenge you must be feeling. To find who did this.”

Who did this. The memory of Rauf’s blood over your hands, his flesh beneath your blade, flashed before your eyes.

You swallowed the truth and took the satchel from his hands. “Right. Thank you.”

As you stood up from the seat, Arnet placed a hand on your shoulder, “You are welcome to this guild, Y/N. Whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you, truly, but…” you gestured to the bag, though your intentions were very different from what Arnet assumed. “I think I’ll go on my own for a while.”

Arnet’s smile made your stomach churn. “Your uncle would be proud.”

You swallowed your scoff and nodded.

—

As soon as you walked through the door, Geralt’s figure emerged from the back room. “You’re back.”

You nodded, trying to hide the way you wanted to rush past him, “I am.”

“What did he say?”

Geralt’s eagerness wasn’t surprising. He knew you were going to meet Arnet, to make sure he wasn’t suspicious of anything that happened that night at the guild — in fact, he encouraged it, and was nearly pushing you out the door mere hours ago.

You opened your mouth to answer him, but as soon as you did, the woman appeared out of the same back room.

Yennefer, you had learned, was a mage — a powerful one, at that. She was the one Geralt took you and Jaskier to that night, the one who let you stay in this very building. It was a home on the quiet side of Novigrad; a friend’s place, she had said. You weren’t sure what that meant, but you didn’t care. You also didn’t care how Geralt knew exactly where she was, because the witcher’s personal business was definitely not something you wanted to dwell on. The looks she and Geralt shared were also not something you paid much attention to, though they were very hard to miss. Geralt seemed to trust her, wholeheartedly, and that was enough for you to keep your mouth shut.

But that didn’t mean you trusted her.

So, at the knowledge of her presence, you shrugged. “I dealt with it.”

“Hm.” Geralt only nodded, his face as unreadable as usual.

Turning towards the sorceress, you cleared your throat, “How is he?”

She lifted her chin, “He’s recovering very well, actually. Considering.” She nodded in thought, “You’re definitely lucky that I happened to be in town.”

She gestured towards the back room with a specific tone, “You can go in now.”

The suggestion in her voice was enough to make heat rise on your skin, but you ignored it as best you could as you slipped past the two and into the room.

There, just as he was before, was Jaskier. Every time you came in the room you fooled yourself into thinking he looked better, but this time, you were sure it was true. His skin had gained some color back, but not much. You walked to the side of his bed, where the chair you had practically lived in for the past few days waited for you.

As you sat down, you couldn’t help but place a hand over his, as if doing so would wake him up sooner. But you knew that was a long shot.

Instead, you unhooked your cloak from your neck and settled back into the seat, keeping your eyes on the unconscious man before you.

—

You were in the forest.

Dirt was all over your hands, under your nails, almost painted to your skin. Something about this place was so generic, but so familiar.

It was when you turned around that you realized you were at Joneta’s grave. Only, the grave was open, with no body inside. You stepped forward, making sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you. But as you did, a hand grabbed your shoulder and turned you around.

“Joneta?” You spoke, but her smile practically made your teeth clatter. You reached out to her, but she grabbed your wrist and pushed you back, making you fall into the grave that was meant for her. But instead of feeling your back hit the ground below, you just fell deeper and deeper into the earth, dirt slowly covering your body and weighing over you, suffocating you.

And then you opened your eyes to a large field. A man stood in front of you, and after a moment you recognized him just from the back of his head.

It was Rauf. At first, you felt relieved, almost walked forward. But then you saw the knife in his hand. Your knife.

He turned around slowly, agonizingly slowly, until he was facing you. His charming smiled filled his face, but his eyes were wide, glazed over — dead. Your knife was dripping with what you thought was his blood, but there was no wound on his body. Rauf smile wider and stepped aside, revealing Jaskier, whose blood seeped out underneath him around his already dead body.

—

You bolted up in your spot, eyes shooting open in fear. You hadn’t been sleeping much, but when you did, it was always the same dream.

You sighed, immediately darting your eyes to the man in front of you. He was in the same position, his eyes still closed, his breath still shallow.

As you looked down at him, you thought back to that night.

You thought of the bodies scattered around the guild as you followed Geralt. The weapons that were scattered on the ground, covered in blood. You thought of Rauf’s eyes. Cold. Dead.

You shook away the memories, grabbing the knives from your sheaths and sharpening them. You hoped busying your hands would keep your mind occupied as well.

It didn’t.

Your mind immediately drifted to the lies you had been told. Who knew how many innocent people you had killed, how many people that begged for their life, how many people that your knives had been thrust into, over and over, until they choked on their own blood?

And your mother. All your life you thought she was dead. You thought she was murdered by your father, but really…she was out there somewhere, alive. Unless she died afterward. Unless she was swallowed by her own grief of losing you and your father. Or she could have been killed by a beast, or a bandit, or another assassin. Just because Rauf left her alive didn’t mean that she was now.

Rauf. He did this. He ruined your mother’s life — your life. Who knew where you could have been if not for his selfishness?

You slammed the knife on the bedside table and snatched your cloak from the back of your chair, immediately finding the place where your fellowship patch was sewed into the fabric. Now that everything was cleared up with Arnet, and the fellowship was killed off, you didn’t need it anymore. You didn’t need to feel that weight anymore, to have that stain, that reminder, any longer. With no more hesitation, you ripped the patch from your cloak, dropping it to the floor as soon as it was detached.

But it didn’t make you feel better. You sat back in your chair, breathing heavily from your distress. In this moment of uncertainty, you let your eyes fall back to Jaskier, who still lay peacefully in the bed.

You just wanted him to wake up. To make sure he was okay. Maybe then, all of this would be worth it.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You jumped at the woman beside you, cursing yourself for not noticing her enter the room. The lack of sleep must have really been affecting you.

You grumbled your response as you shoved the cloak back over your chair, “I’m fine.”

She nodded, even though she knew you weren’t. You moved to get up, but she held up a hand.

“No need. I just came to see if he woke up.”

With a sigh, you turned back to Jaskier. In the small amount of time you hadn’t been looking at him, it still disappointed you that he wasn’t awake yet. Fear spiked in you at the thought of him never waking up, never recovering.

But then Yennefer spoke, “He’ll wake up soon. I was never much of a healer, but I know some tricks.” She sighed,“They don’t call me a sorceress for nothing.”

The smile on her face made you relax slightly, nodding your head with a deep breath. Seemingly satisfied, she made her way back towards the door, but your voice stopped her, “Thank you.”

She didn’t respond before she left.

—

You were nearly asleep when you heard a groan.

Your head shot up from the side of the bed where it had been resting, eyes focusing on the man beside you.

Jaskier’s lips barely moved, “Fuck.”

You immediately sat up, reaching your hand towards his. But you stopped yourself, instead blinking to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

Your voice was quiet, “Jaskier? Are you awake?”

You held your breath in the silence.

“Unfortunately.”

“Holy shit.” You couldn’t help but laugh, a smile falling naturally to your lips as Jaskier opened his eyes one at a time. He was frowning, but once he saw you, his features softened.

“What happened? Where…where are we?”

You couldn’t help how your words were practically spilling out of you, “We’re in Novigrad. You were stabbed. Yennefer helped heal you—“

Jaskier blinked, “Woah, woah, wait. Yennefer is here? I—I was sta—” He moved to sit up, but immediately cringed in pain.

You instinctively reached forward, your eyes nearly wild, “I should get Yennefer—“

“No.” He grabbed your hand, holding you in your spot. “I’m okay. You can get her in a bit.”

You nodded; your heart was bursting against your chest. You almost couldn’t believe he was awake, in front of you. You lowered yourself back into the seat, suddenly feeling self conscious. You had been waiting there for so long, beside him, but now that he was awake, you felt…awkward.

“Are you…feeling okay?” You said, immediately feeling lame. If Jaskier noticed, he didn’t say anything. He only shrugged.

“I don’t know. I was…stabbed, right? By who?”

“You tell me.”

At this point, you still didn’t know. Your best guess was that one of the guards stabbed him before you brutally ended their life. If you knew which one it was, you would have reacted way crueler.

Jaskier only blinked, a frown settling on his face, “I don’t…remember much.”

You felt your stomach drop. You should’ve known he would have some memory blockage, especially after such a traumatic event. But if he didn’t remember who stabbed him, did he not remember…

Licking your lips and taking a deep breath, you shook the thought away, “Well, what matters is that you’re not dead.”

Despite the clear traces of fatigue in his features, your blunt words made him smirk, “I didn’t know you cared that much about my life. Seems like not long ago you had your knife to my throat.”

You scoffed, “Then you must’ve forgotten all the time I spent making sure you continued to breathe.”

“Or the days you helplessly crumbled beneath my unearthly charm."

You couldn’t hide the heat rising to your face, but still, you narrowed your eyes, “Watch it, bard.”

“Oh, we’re back to bard now?” Jaskier smirked, the playful glint in his eye making your heart flutter from the familiarity.

You couldn’t escape the urge to smile. Even though he hadn’t been unconscious for that long, you missed him so much. For a moment, the two of you grinned at each other like nothing in the past had happened, like you hadn’t endured all of the struggles and heartbreak and anguish. But as quickly as the moment was there, it was fading.

Jaskier’s eyes were drooping.

“You should rest,” you said, placing your hand over his as his eyes closed from the inescapable exhaustion. He hummed in agreement, and, before he fell into a slumber, he flipped his hand over so he was taking hold of your hand in his own.

—

The next few hours were a bit crazy.

Jaskier was waking up more and more frequently. As soon as he did, Yennefer would force him to drink what she claimed would ‘help speed up the healing’ — whatever that meant. Every time, Jaskier would moan and groan, but he would drink it, and then fall asleep soon after. The whole time, you didn’t even think about leaving his side.

He was asleep again, the cup on the bedside table abandoned once his eyes began falling upon themselves. You watched his face as he slept, biting your lip as you watched his eyes flick underneath his lids.

You couldn’t help but think about that night again. The pain in Jaskier’s eyes, the sadness. The way he looked at you and expected you to kill him like your uncle wanted you to. His acceptance of his fate, his unquestioning loyalty to what he thought you needed.

And then his blood.

“Y/N.” You blinked away the thoughts, pushing yourself forward in your chair as Jaskier woke up once again. You hadn't even realized how long you had been sitting there thinking, but it must have been a while. Jaskier looked at you, searching your face with a look close to realization, “I had the strangest dream.”

You patted his arm, “I’ll go get Yennefer.”

“No. Stay.”

Taking a shaky breath, you looked back at him carefully. His voice was laced with nothing short of…neediness.

Noticing your worried expression, he scoffed. “I can’t have her bring me another one of those awful drinks. Not yet.”

You snorted as you sat back down, “Those drinks are helping you heal.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” His pout slowly disappeared as he squinted at you, “How are you?”

“How am I? You got stabbed.”

He waved you off, “Just another feat of adventure.” He tilted his head, “I must’ve looked pretty brave with a knife in my stomach.”

“Not really.” You laughed off his glare, “It wasn’t even in your stomach. You must have pulled it out right after.”

Jaskier pursed his lips, “That’s no fun.”

“Tell me about it.” You turned away when you caught Jaskier’s eyes. It was a look you had been dreading, a look that meant he wanted to ask you about it.

And he did.

“So…what did happen?”

You took a sharp breath in, “You got caught by the guild.”

He scoffed, “I’m surprised it took them that long. I wasn’t exactly sneaking.”

“You remember— wait.” You shook your head, irritation already lacing your voice, “You were trying to get them to catch you?”

Jaskier sighed, “I couldn’t let you go in there alone. Not that I don’t think you’re capable, but…I needed to see for myself.” He ignored the surprise on your face, “Besides, I knew Geralt would come running once he noticed I was gone.”

You would’ve hit him if he wasn’t already injured.

Instead, you look at him in disbelief, “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“Almost did.” He gestured to the bandage around his stomach, “And it was worth it.”

For a moment, you thought your eyes were deceiving you. Because right after he said that, he let his eyes trail downward, settling on your lips. Your smile dropped instantly, but you couldn’t bring the words out to question what he meant. Or if you were imagining it.

The memory of his lips on yours was interrupted by the creak of the door.

Yennefer’s smirk was not hidden, “Sorry to break this lovely chat up, but Jaskier needs his daily dose of—what did you call it?”

“Atrocious torture juice.” Yennefer quirked a brow at him. He smiled with false sweetness as she placed it on the bedside table. “Thank you, sorceress.”

“You’re welcome, human.”

Jaskier took the smallest sip he possibly could while Yennefer was still in the room. As soon as she left, he put the cup back down.

You gave him a warning glance, “Jaskier—“

“I know. I’ll drink it later.” You rolled your eyes, but he continued, “So, your guild leader…he’s dead?”

Your gaze fell from his face and down to your hands, “Yeah. I…killed him.” You bit your lip, trying to find the right words, “It wasn’t easy. But I would do it again.” For you. But you didn’t say that.

When Jaskier only studied your face, you felt like you had to explain more. In all honesty, you were kind of glad. You had been bottling all of this up for the past few days, and though that had worked for you before, it didn’t now. Now, you wanted to tell Jaskier. You wanted to tell him everything.

So you did.

“I keep dreaming about him. Seeing his face. His smile. But his eyes are what really haunt me.” You paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “Rauf…he had been disappointed in me before. He had been furious. I can’t count how many times he screamed in my face. But never, ever, had he looked at me with such…disgust.

“My uncle betrayed me first. I should be angrier with him. I should feel the disgust he felt for me. But I can’t get his look of betrayal out of my mind.”

“Wait.” Jaskier’s face was scrunched into a frown, “Your uncle was the guild leader?”

Despite the circumstances, you smiled softly, “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

Jaskier shook his head, “Must be all the rank potions Yennefer has been forcing me to endure.”

“Hm.” You looked away, feeling your heart clench. If he really didn’t remember anything…well, maybe it was for the better.

“I do remember some stuff.” You shifted your gaze back to him, taking in a sharp breath at the way his eyes pierced your own. “I remember you calling my name. You never really said it before.”

You frowned, “I—what? I must have.”

Jaskier shook his head, “Not like that.”

“Like what?”

He took a moment, trying to find the right word, “Desperate.”

Your mouth was dry as he looked at you, a mix of curiosity and amusement in his eyes. Something tugged in your chest just then — hope. Hope that he remembered the thing you could barely keep your mind off of.

Your voice was nearly a whisper, “What else do you remember?”

In the most unfortunate timing, the door to the room swung open.

“Geralt.” Jaskier addressed the witcher as he stepped in the room, “Did I ever tell you what wonderful timing you have?”

“Hm.” Geralt looked between you two, finally settling on the bard. “How are you feeling.”

“Just fantastic.” Jaskier’s sarcastic tone was drowned by the sip of the ‘atrocious torture juice’ he forced himself to drink. After a moment of disgusted expressions, he spoke, “So, Geralt. Where to next?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Geralt beat you to it, “We should stay in Novigrad a while, until you heal.”

“Bollocks. Novigrad is boring, full of people who are too conceited to see past their own eye lids.” You couldn’t help but snort at his words, making him look over to you. “Well, where do you think we should go?”

You looked to Geralt, then back to Jaskier, “Me?”

“Um, precisely you, yes.”

You blinked, unable to respond. To be honest, you didn’t think you were apart of that ‘we’. In reality, you had only met the two quite recently. But now, practically everything had fallen out underneath you. Your guild, your uncle — if not with them, where else would you go?

Jaskier interrupted your thoughts with a groan, “Please don’t say you know two other handsome men looking for a third travel companion.” Before you could respond, he jutted his chin towards the witcher, “Look, Geralt is capable and all, but even he slacks sometimes.”

You raised your eyebrows at Geralt, who responded with a grunt.

“Convincing.” You rolled your eyes and turned back to the bard, whose eyes were twinkling with excitement.

“Come on. Consider this your…formal invitation to journey with us. What do you say?”

You took a deep breath through your nose, letting the smile play on your lips, “I don’t think you two will make it very much longer on your own.”

Jaskier grinned, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

———————————————————————————————————

AHHHHHHH That’s the end of Kill Your Darlings! It has been such a ride and I thank anyone and everyone who read this, and especially those who reblogged/commented! I am planning a second series with the same reader character/background, but it will take a bit for me to really figure out the story etc so keep an eye out! I’ll post an update closer to when I will start posting that series, so don’t worry about missing it hehe Thank you again everyone and I hope you enjoyed this series as much as I did!

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kiarcheo · 3 years

Text

StepBother - Part 2

@tally-braven asked for more stepbother teasing and I said I’d try to put some snippets together… 2800 words later…here we are. Not sure how it compares to the the first part (don’t think it will make much sense if you haven’t read it) but I tried.

Some episodes are inspired by real life events…feel free to try to guess which ones.

As usual you can read it on ao3 too.

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

Kat and Cathy stand at the entrance of the house they share, still holding hands, as they have been for the entirety of their walk home after dinner.

‘Hate to leave you like this, but I have something to take care of.’ Kat raises Cathy’s hand to her lips, kissing it briefly.

Then she opens the door and gone is the soft voice. ‘You better start running!’

‘Wow,’ Anna is almost bowled over by Mary running up the stairs. Few second later it’s Katherine who narrowly manages to avoid crashing into her.

‘What's happening?’ she cautiously steps into the living room, wary of another possible collision, as she hears a door slamming.

‘No idea. Kat came back with Cathy, told Mary to run and...that happened.’ Jane waves her hand towards upstairs.

‘Mary! Open the door!’ Kat bangs on it. ‘I know how to pick locks and you know it.’

‘She does??’

Cathy is not sure why they are looking at her, but she is saved from having to reply. She did not know about it, just for the record.

‘Is Mae sleeping yet?’ Kat pokes her head out from up the stairs, a grimace on her face.

Jane looks at time. ‘She was playing with Anne and Elizabeth so probably not, but-’ she gives another pointed look to the clock hanging on the wall.

‘Got it. I’ll try to murder her quietly.’

**********

‘I have some news.’ Kat announces entering the room.

‘You finally leaving?’

Kat glares at Mary. ‘As if I’d ever give you the satisfaction.’ She turns around to leave the room.

‘Wait!’ Jane stops her. ‘What was the news?’

‘The moment is gone.’ Kat shrugs. ‘But I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.’

Sometime later Cathy knocks on the doorpost of Kat’s room. ‘Can I?’

‘You know you don’t have to ask.’ Kat smiles at her. ‘What can I do for you?’

Cathy steps in. She glances between her girlfriend and the hallway. She closes the door.

‘Oh.’ Kat wriggles her eyebrows. ‘That kind of thing?’

‘Shut up.’ Cathy huffs, rolling her eyes. ‘It’s not like that.’ She says while sitting down in her lap.

‘Mixed messages, darling.’

Cathy tries to stand up, but Kat wraps her arms around her, stopping her. ‘No take backs!’

‘Not that I mind this. At all.’ Kat speaks up after they have been snuggling in silence for a while. ‘But did you come for a reason? Not that cuddling is not a good enough reason.’

‘Right.’ Cathy had almost forgot why she went looking for Kat in the first place. ‘Jane said you had news, but you didn’t actually tell them?’ She doesn’t think it’s anything big, trusting Kat would tell her in that case, but she is curious. ‘Because Mary ruined the moment?’

‘When does she not? And it’s not news for you.’

‘Uh?’

‘At least I hope.’ She adds cheekily.

‘You think you’re funny, don’t you?’

‘Well, you are smiling...’

‘Spit it out.’ Cathy can’t deny the evidence, can she?

‘I was just going to tell them we are dating, but alas…’

Cathy nods. They had agreed at first to keep it under wraps to see how the transition from friends to girlfriends would go, but now they feel secure enough in their new relationship to let the others know. ‘So, what now?’

‘I’m sure it will come up...out soon.’ Kat gets a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. ‘You can’t keep your hands off me after all.’

‘Me.’ Cathy gives her teasing girlfriend a deadpan stare, before looking down at the hand on her thigh. Kat’s other hand is currently under her shirt, resting on her lower back. Cathy’s arms are innocently looped around Kat’s neck. ‘Sure.’

**********

‘I think green is definitely your colour.’

‘As if I would ever be jealous of you.’ Mary scoffs.

‘Interesting that’s where your mind went to...I was thinking more Wicked Witch of the West. Or Shrek.’ Kat adds after a beat.

‘First of all, I’d be Fiona – at the very least – since I’m a lady. Second, who would you be? Donkey?’

‘There is literally Puss in Boots, a literal character who is a cat in boots,’ Kat gestures to the ones she is wearing, ‘and you went with freaking Donkey?’

‘Shut up.’

**********

‘How is coming along, girls?’ Catalina asks, entering the kitchen to check how the preparations are going since they are on cooking duties and Mary is not exactly known for her culinary skills. Indeed, Kat has different piles of ingredients already washed, chopped, prepared and ready to go and Mary has...a bowl full of green leaves in front of her and some mangled carrots on the chopping board. ‘Kat, you work fast.’

‘I’m very good with my hands.’ Kat winks at her.

‘Are you serious? Right in front of my salad?’

‘I wouldn’t call that poor excuse of something a salad... Perhaps just...sad.’

Mary stares at her. Looks at her mother who is chuckling. Then she leaves the room.

‘Where are you going?!’

‘Want me to make her come back?’ Mary might be a young adult, but Catalina is still her mother and she will listen to her if she knows what is good for her.

‘Nah. Not like she was that helpful, anyway, wasn’t she?’ She jokes, gesturing towards Mary’s workstation.

‘Are you talking behind my back?’ Mary comes back. She has a strong sense of duty – her mother doing – and it is her turn to cook, after all.

‘Nothing I don’t say to your face, don’t worry.’

**********

‘What’s this?’ Mary picks up a small object wrapped in colourful paper.

‘A gift, if I have to guess.’ Anne gets a glare from Mary, but she shrugs it off.

‘Oh, that’s nice.’ Jane comments, watching curiously as she opens it. It’s a...peeler?

‘I would say that’s all you are good for, but that’s not even true.’ Kat shows up as if evoked. ‘Hence the need for that.’

Anna barely suppresses a snicker. She loves her friend, but Mary’s incapacity to peel vegetables with a knife without cutting off half of the good part is hilarious almost as much as her blaming the quality of the knives. Is it true that they don’t make knives like they used to? Maybe. But as if as a princess and then queen she ever had to handle one to peel a vegetable....

‘Or not.’ Jane mutters, the way Kat and Mary manage to turn even the sweetest gesture into something...not sweet baffling her as usual.

‘I’m going to poison your food.’

‘That would imply you cooking...so I think I’m safe.’

**********

‘Kat, are you gonna marry mama and be my new mom?’

Kat chokes on her tea, nonetheless she motions Mae to get closer. ‘Why are you asking?’

Mae shrugs, before leaning against Kat’s leg.

Kat wraps an arm around her and holds her closer, before looking at her thoughtfully. ‘Did someone say something?’

The toddler nods. ‘Mary told me to ask you.’ She admits guilelessly. Oh, the blissful innocence of children.

‘Of course, she did.’ Kat mutters.

Thankfully Cathy comes in distracting Mae from her task. ‘Ehi baby, have you shown Kat your drawing yet?’

As Mae runs off to get her latest artwork, Kat turns to Cathy. ‘What do you think of starting to call her Mary?’

‘It’s still going to be as confusing as it was when we decided for the nicknames?’ She looks at her perplexed. Kat should know better than anyone since they had the same “problem”. ‘With two of them around and all?’

‘Oh, don’t worry.’ Cathy’s usually sweet girlfriend gives her a shark smile. ‘The other one won’t be around for much longer.’

**********

Cathy and Kat are out together, Mae in tow, when they stop in front of a stationery shop.

‘She still has plenty of colouring books.’

‘I was actually looking at that,’ Kat points to a set of coloured pencils heavily discounted, ‘but now that you mention it...’

‘I didn't know you liked to draw too.’ Kat has a penchant for spoiling Mae (and Elizabeth and Edward), but pencils that expensive and fancy for a toddler are too much even for her. Hopefully.

‘For Mary.’ Kat replies absent-mindedly as she enters the shop.

‘That's nice.’

Kat swirls around. ‘Never say anything like that again.’ She gives her a level stare. ‘If you want this to work out. There is nothing worse you could do to me.’

‘Really??’ Disbelief is heavy in Cathy’s voice. ‘Nothing worse??’

‘Well, on purpose, anyway.’ Kat amends herself. ‘Would you cheat on me?’

‘Of course not!’ Cathy’s reply is immediate and certain, no hesitation whatsoever. ‘Never.’

‘Are you going to hurt me...physically?’

‘What the fuck, Kat! NO!’

Everyone in the shop turns to look at them, but Kat ignores it. ‘Exactly, so yes, that’s the worst thing.’

**********

‘Give me a good reason!’

Catalina walks in what looks like yet another spat between Kat and Mary. She would make a joke about pigtails pulling and crushes or about fighting like an old married couple, but she is not sure she would survive unscathed, filial affection be damned. And the joke is not worth the headache, especially since she knows it’s not like that at all and will never be. Not to mention that she suspects something is going on between Kat and Cathy.

‘And “I was the Queen of England” does not count!’ Kat continues before Mary can reply. ‘The whole bloody house can say that, you’re not that special!’

**********

It’s late at night, pretty much the only time Cathy has to do her own stuff, after taking care of kids, house, family, work and everything else, as many mothers know.

She is working at her desk when she hears a muffled commotion. Then her door opening and a soft thud.

She turns around. For a second she wonders if it had been just a draught, before seeing Kat sprawled on the floor but already raising on her knees.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yep!’

‘Why are you on the floor then?’

‘Mary shoved me.’

Cathy has stopped questioning these kinds of things. But as Kat looks up, eyes bright, face flushed and...dopey grin? She has another question. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘Nope!’ She tries to stand, giving up not even half-way through the motion. ‘Maybe a tiny bit.’ Evidently deciding that walking is a no-go, Kat starts to crawl on all four.

‘Tiny bit my ass.’ Cathy snorts.

‘I like your ass.’

‘Wait here.’ Cathy ignores her girlfriend’s muttered words.

‘Not going anywhere.’ Kat promises in a what is probably supposed to be a serious tone.

When Cathy comes back with a glass of water, Kat had somehow managed to reach the bed and sit on it.

‘Drink this.’

‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ Kat squints at her, suspicious.

‘I don’t think you need my help for that.’ Cathy hands her the glass. ‘What happened exactly?’ she asks after Kat dutifully drinks all the water without further protests.

‘Mary got me drunk. To get me to confess my feelings to you. Joke’s on her.’ Kat sniggers. ‘She paid for all the drinks. But I don’t need to be drunk to tell you how much I like you.’

‘Lay down.’ Cathy gently pushes her as she sees her starting to waver. ‘Wait...she still doesn’t know?’

She looks at Kat, face scrunched up and eyes closed. She would not fall asleep like that, right? She leans on her elbow so that she is hovering over Kat’s face, just to check.

‘She keeps saying I’ll owe her for getting us together and I keep telling her no,’ Kat looks deep in thoughts. ‘So maybe not?’

Suddenly her eyes shoot open and she grabs Cathy by her collar, tugging her so close to their noses are almost touching. ‘Never tell her that!’

She tilts her head. Gone is the intense look in her eyes, replaced by a sappy expression. ‘You’re so cute!’

Cathy lets out a cackle. ‘Go to sleep.’

‘Here?’ She looks around as if realising for the first time she is in Cathy’s room. ‘No funny business!’ she wags her finger at Cathy but scoots over while tugging her down so that Cathy would lay down properly too.

‘You’re the only funny thing here.’ Still, Cathy settles next to her.

‘Good.’ Kat puts her head on Cathy’s shoulder, slinging an arm across her waist and a leg over hers. ‘They say you need to make a woman laugh to keep her. And I want to keep you forever.’

‘How can you go from absolutely ridiculous to absolutely charming in the space of-’ Cathy turns her head to look down at Kat. ‘And you’re gone.’ She sighs. Well. At least now she knows what type of drunk Kat is. Thankfully she isn’t a violent or aggressive one (she honestly can’t even imagine her girlfriend like that) or an angry one. She is not a sad drunk, either, which is a bit more surprising, since she has plenty of reasons to be sad (and angry, if she were to be honest) about her life even when sober.

She glances at her desk. Then at her sleeping girlfriend. She should keep an eye on her. No matter how adorable she was when drunk, she is quite sure she is gonna hate herself when she wakes up. She supposes work can wait another day. And a little bit more of sleep isn’t going to hurt her either.

‘How much did she drink, exactly?’ Cathy asks the next day.

‘Is she okay?’ She sees a flash of concern in Mary’s eyes, before she schools her expression into an indifferent one. That’s why Cathy just rolls with their antics. She can’t say she understands their relationship. She is not sure she will ever do. But she knows that they care about each other...even if they will deny it until their dying breath.

‘Depends on your definition of okay. Is she alive? Yes. But she is also deeply regretting the fact and calling for a second beheading, so make of that what you will.’

**********

‘Since it’s only a question of time, I wanted us to discuss it so we can be all on the same page.’ Anne sends Kat and Anna a pointed look. She would be proud of how Elizabeth has them wrapped around her little finger if it didn’t make her life as a mother harder. They ignore the jab, unfazed. They have a role as the cool, fun aunts to maintain. ‘Let’s talk about animals in the house.’ Elizabeth has been dropping not-so-subtle hints about wanting to get a pet.

‘What about Mary?’ Kat gets hit in the head by a rubber. Thrown by Mary, of course. ‘Let’s call pest control. I vote for extermination.’

**********

‘You two are having sex.’ Mary storms into the living room, where Anna had told her Kat was watching a movie with Cathy.

‘Catalina, why didn’t you tell me, I would have paused the movie.’

The older woman sputters, the popcorn she was eating going down the wrong pipe. Cathy reaches around Kat, who is sitting in the middle, to pat her godmother on the back.

‘Also, Mary, dear,’ Kat continues unperturbed, ‘do you spend a lot of time thinking about me and your mom together?’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’

‘Do I?’ Kat looks at Mary as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, eyes twinkling.

**********

‘I know I'm right and I’m gonna prove it.’ Mary slams her hands on the table, glaring at Kat.

‘You’re not.’

‘I am.’

‘Not.’

‘Am.’

‘Not.’

‘Am.’

‘Not.’

‘How long will you keep it up?’ Catalina asks, weary amusement in her voice.

‘I can go for hours, babe,’ Kat winks at her.

‘Right in front of...your girlfriend!?!’ Mary turns to Cathy. ‘And you are okay with that??’

‘I’m not going to get into this.’ Does she love Kat? Yes. Is she in love? If not already there, she is surely falling. But is she going to get involved into whatever you would call the thing between Kat and Mary? No, thanks. She may be in love, it doesn’t suddenly make her stupid.

‘Wait.’ Mary does a double-take. ‘Are you admitting you’re dating??’

Everyone looks at them. They would have told them, right? Kat doesn’t say anything.

The lack of denial is all Mary needs. ‘This is gaslighting!’ Mary looks and sounds absolutely outraged.

‘I never denied it.’ Kat objects. ‘Just that it’s because of you.’

‘Of course it is. I got you two together.’

‘You are not even able to get two braincells together.’

‘Are you saying I'm stupid?’

‘I’m saying you don’t have a romantic bone in your body.’

‘I set you up on that movie date!’ Mary reminds her pointedly.

‘That movie made me cry!’ Kat is kind of sorry that she will never be able to discuss the beauty of that movie, and what it meant to her, with anyone else but Cathy. But she will never give Mary the satisfaction.

‘Just admit it.’ Mary cries out in exasperation.

‘Over my dead body.’

‘We can arrange that.’

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marvelmymarvel · 4 years

Text

Serial Killer (Part 1)

Keigo Takami x Ex-Hero!Todoroki!Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Synopsis: After being held captive by the LoV for over a year, the heroes realized that they had messed you up in ways no one would expect. You used to be a hero, but now you were the villain. What was Keigo to do with you when you couldn’t even remember him anymore?

Song: Serial Killer by Moncrieff x Judge (Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0kuxeMEIcg)

Trigger Warning: Blood, stalking, almost murder, angst

A/n: Bro, writing the first part in detail made me sick, but don't worry it will get better ;). Probs gonna have more than one part, hope you like it.

You twirled the knife in your hands, stalking after the civilian running away from you. You felt like a robot, no emotion evident on your face as you hunted your prey. All you were chasing was the high of taking a life, that's what the League taught you.

That's what Dabi taught you.

The girl hid behind a wall and you could hear her holding her own breath. She seemed to forget who you were. “Come out come out wherever you are” your sing-songy voice turned sinister at the end as you ignited the fire in your hand, bright yellow flames licked the bricks as you stalked closer to her.

“WHY USE A KNIFE?!”

You chuckled darkly at the girl's brave words, but you could hear the fear laced in them. Her back was still pressed against the wall, but the silence that followed made her confused. She pushed off the wall, ready to see if you were gone. Your hand slammed her back into the sharp brick, blade pressed to her neck while your laugh reverberated in her ears.

“Because fire isn’t as fun when I can see the life drain from your eyes this way.”

Her whimpers matched her struggle, trying to push you away but only making the situation better. Your e/c eyes glistened in pure ecstasy, taking in the fear on her face as you pressed the silver deeper into her skin. Some blood flowed out and down the blade, causing her to gasp and cry.

Your soft chuckle filled the air but fell short when her eyes changed from fear to another emotion. You cocked your head at her, confused as to why she changed. Did she finally give up hope? You started to press the knife in deeper, ready to feel that high-

Your body was thrown against the wall 10 feet away, hearing a man scream for the woman to run. Your knife flew as well, causing you to scramble towards it once you realized what was happening, but before you touched it, it was kicked away.

You ignited your fist, standing swiftly to face your opponent but you were kicked away once more this time slamming your head into the concrete below. It was a hero, you knew it had to be, but why was it so hard to even throw a punch? Your head spun a bit as you stared up at the stars knowing that it would be the last time you’d see them.

A figure came into your field of sight, but you couldn’t focus on what he looked like. He sounded familiar, but that wouldn't have made sense since you were raised to be a villain. That's what Dabi said...

And Dabi wouldn’t lie.

“Tsk tsk... Your father’s going to be one unhappy man”

Your eyebrows crinkled at his words. You didn’t have a father, he had died in a fire, a fire of your creation, so what was the hero even talking about? He leaned down allowing you to see the blonde scruff along his chin and the red visor covering his golden eyes. He took you in, but it felt sweet and concerning. As if he was worried.

You knew this man.

Your eyes began to close as his arms wrapped under your body. “Don't worry doll...” his words, sweet and soft floated in your ears as you began to drift off into unconsciousness.

“I’ll help you remember me”

A beeping filled your ears as well as some hushed discussions going on around you. The world was dark and you soon realized it was because your eyes were closed, but you wanted to open them. You wanted to see the people around you and you couldn’t.

“She doesn't remember me”

“I believe they brainwashed her more than we thought...”

“Well... Are we going to hold her responsible-?”

“What a ridiculous thing to say?! She was a HERO for fuck's sake-”

“She killed people Keigo”

Keigo... That name... Why did it sound familiar? Your fingers twitched, fighting to see who these three men were. They seemed to stop and you figured they saw you moving, and that's when you noticed the tight restraints on your wrists. Panic flooded your veins, causing you to thrash a bit. Your back arched in the bed, fighting to be free and fighting to see.

A warm hand grabbed yours, drawing shapes in the palm of your hand as you groaned and moaned. “You’re safe now Y/n... Shh, my love, you’re going to be okay” the hero who you knew now was Keigo whispered in your ear. It was meant to be comforting, but it only caused you to panic more. “N-no. I need Tomu” you whimpered out, trashing your head around and yanking your hand from Keigo's. Why couldn’t you see?!

Finally, after fighting a bit and Keigo trying to calm you down, your eyes finally snapped open. Instantly, you were greeted by heartbroken golden eyes, as if you had done something to hurt this hero. You thrashed a bit more, whimpering as you pushed away from him, afraid he would hurt you-

“THAT'S ENOUGH”

Your blood ran cold, that voice. That tone. You froze in your spot but urged yourself to look at the newcomer standing in the doorway. Endeavor. The man Dabi hated so much for some reason. You gulped as the bigger man entered the room and subconsciously scooted closer to Keigo as if he would protect you from the large man.

Keigo's arm wrapped around your side, pulling you closer to him hoping it would help calm you. Your eyes traveled around to the other two men in the room, All-Might and a brown-haired man stood in the corner, watching Endeavor with stoic faces. Endeavor stopped at the end of your bed, arms crossed as flames shot out from his angry face.

Your body shook in Keigo's arms, causing the blonde to grow concerned about the whole situation. He loved Endeavor, hell, he thought he was better than All-Might. But when it came to you, it didn’t matter who it was.

“Go easy on her”

Keigo’s soft voice seemed to only make the number one hero angrier, and you could tell it did. You curled back into Keigo, feeling the heat grow before you as the fire hero grew more hostile. Keigo's eyes flicked to you, bothered at how scared you looked. This was your father... Why did he evoke so much negative emotion from you?

“Watch it Hawks. She is my daughter and I will do as I please”

“I don't have a father” your small voice squeaked, suddenly afraid that the man before you could somehow be the man you supposedly killed. Did Dabi lie? Endeavor’s chuckle was anything but happy, instead, it felt heavy with anger and disgust. His large hands grasped the end of the bed, stabilizing himself as he leaned towards you two.

“You might not remember anything, but don't you dare forget who you are”

Keigo squeezed your side, reminding you that you weren’t alone here. That Endeavor couldn’t hurt you without one of the three other men seeing. You nodded before looking at your shackled wrists, you were a villain...

Right?

“You said I was a pro-hero, but I don't remember being anything but the bad guy”

Your question caused Keigo’s breath to hitch and you could hear the gears turning in everyone's head as they tried to explain to you what exactly happened. “Is no one going to tell her or do I have to tell her everything here?” Endeavor snarled, ripping his hands from the metal frame leaving it slightly melted in the form of his hands.

Oh... He was mad mad.

“We were hoping to have more time” the brunette in the corner stated while looking at a silent All-Might who only nodded at the ground, afraid of looking up at you. Endeavor stormed towards All-Might as if his inability to look at you made the man disgusted.

“Look at her!” Endeavor snarled, gripping All-Mights bony chin and forcing him to look up from the ground. The girl you couldn’t save! Weren’t you more of a father to her than I was. And now look at you! Pull yourself together and tell her what YOU failed to do” All-Might’s eyes reluctantly met yours, pain evident in the blue orbs. You knew then, that everything was a lie. But once his mouth opened.

You wished that you would have never known the truth.

#keigo imagine #keigo takami imagine #keigo takami imagines #keigo imagines #hawks imagines #hawks imagine #hawks #mha hawks #mha imagines #mha imagine #mha x reader #mha keigo takami #enji todoroki imagine #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #todoroki imagines

152 notes · View notes

jettremy · 4 years

Note

24 for cas :p

( * seven minutes in heaven ~ PART ONE. )

➥ ( 24. ) trailing kisses from stomach to mouth.

WHEN SOMEONE DUMPS YOU & takes a big fat chunk out of your bleeding heart, you usually don’t end up making out with them on an uncomfortable, tiny as shit closet floor after four excruciatingly languid years of no contact whatsoever, or at least that’s the case 99.99% of the time. that rare, peculiar and quite miserable 0.01% consists of the world’s tallest dweebus & his besotted memey edgelord who are in the midst of producing a well composed symphony of sharp intakes of breath and light humming that might just be heard on the outside of the closet door if a curious ear happened to be in the close proximity of it. even though they’re S O L E L Y making out for the time being, the smooth glide of their mouths, the home-like familiarity cassius’ embrace delivers, and the aching NOSTALGIA for better times lure these obscene noises away from jeremy’s vocal cords, causing the faint moans to slip into cas’ oral cavity and resonate in his lungs, the vibrations transmitting the t o r t u r e d artist’s inexplicable need for the older, equally sexual & emotional. his in comparison two-centimeter-smaller hands trace every available inch of the other’s body, getting REACQUAINTED with all the dents and curves and in a way testing his memory when it comes to the data his tactile senses have previously stored. once they’ve trailed and teased the skin atop cas’ entire spine, jeremy’s salacious fingers become entangled in the soft peachy locks on the back of cas’ head, tugging briefly in order to coax a sound or two out of the one on top before slamming their lips together deeper and deeper each time. he fails to be embarrassed at the telltale whimper he emits once their burning tongues lecherously tantalize each other since this is the man who’s aware of jeremy’s tendencies to get vocal & noisy when at their most intimate, and above all because this is the man in front of whom he has no shame, the man who knows even the dustiest, most moldy corners of his being like the back of his hand. jeremy’s cautiously leaning back inch by inch, his strong abs tensing and allowing him to do so until one of his elbows reaches the floor and he’s slightly propped up. his unoccupied hand gets busy kneading the flesh of cas’ inner thigh when a B I T E to his luscious bottom lip ends their kiss in order for them to take a breather. his other arm joint accompanies the previous one on the floor and jeremy’s stuck gazing at cassius with a leer plastered on his amused face, as if the older put all the stars in the sky for him. ❛ you adorable piece of fucking shit … you’ll be the DEATH of me, y’know that ? ❜ a throaty chuckle’s added for the emphasis before he, abruptly and without a warning, drags cas up on his pelvis, where he belongs. his big browns are invitingly flirting, and vomit-inducing butterflies slam at his innards when he detects cas leaning down for another round of desperate lip-locking. except, his digits find a job for themselves on the small buttons of jeremy’s silky dress shirt. sure, they have only a few fucking minutes and they won’t manage to get very far, but who is jeremy lee to stop cas from doing what his little heart desires ?

ONE QUICK SWIPE of skeletal fingers unveils a highly contrasting dark ink etched into a pasty, fleshy torso, displaying an artistic canvas in the form of jeremy’s chest & hard-to-maintain abs. among the scattered graphics, there’s one inspired by the splendid man atop, and it torments jeremy’s thin, dilapidated HEARTSTRINGS when he dips down to join his lips with that exact spot, the reposing male’s eyes naturally falling shut as he succumbs to the older’s ministrations and the gratification they give him. he can’t say he gives a damn about what he’ll look like when he exits the closet, with a collapsed hairstyle and devastatingly crinkled dress shirt, a suspicious, k n o w i n g look on his visage whenever he so as glances at his ex-boyfriend during the rest of the night, doesn’t concern with brainstorming about all kinds of gossip that will spread like wildfire due to the two of them allowing themselves to enjoy each other’s company in the way they truly desire. he’s jaded, enervated because of all the HIDING they’re doing, as well as concealing their once existing feelings in front of the group. he delightfully wants to inform everyone about cas’ favorite dishes he used to tirelessly, blithely cook for him, their hilarious adventures and the fact that he knows the older’s body better than his own, rant about his adorable, captivating quirks & kooky habits, brag about how he could make him blush without trying much, or please his every need. perhaps not every - if he had been capable, then maybe cas would have stayed, would have made it work, or would have taken jeremy with him, who was pathetically prepared to go to the ends of the world for him and with him, still is. perhaps then it would have been harder to leave, would be more HARROWING for him to be in jeremy’s immediate vicinity, perhaps then all of jeremy’s delicate touches would incinerate his whole being, both gnaw at & heal his ruptured, defected heart. perhaps then he’d feel like jeremy does, perpetually suffer just like him, carry a chest full of separation anxiety & a constant crippling bellyache, like an abandoned child ( which, coincidentally, he was ). it’s insane, worrisome that after all this time he only has HIMSELF to blame for not being worthy, good enough for cas to stay, for him to seek him out, reach out, check whether he’s well and with a pulse, say he misses him, thinks about him, smiles or cries when their memories inevitably surface from time to time, that seeing bikes on the street reminds him of the breezy rides jeremy would take him on, that tattoos will never be the same after him, dial him even intoxicated, out of his right mind. and though jeremy always slept with his sound on and phone right next to his head, never dropped the old number, he didn’t get a single call. too fixated on feeling him right here & right now, savoring his coveted touches while he still can because no one guarantees that this will ever happen again, he doesn’t detect the burning wet trails rolling down his face, paints his battle with suffocation as himself trying not to moan due to cassius’ cushioned lips being too close to his leather belt. he’s terrified cas would vanish if he asks him if he missed him, if he loved him, if he still has a sliver of olden feelings within him, if this means more than just cas needing him physically, more than just their starving bodies being PERFECTLY COMPATIBLE. and even though he dons a convincing mask every day in order not to perturb & plague two and a half people who give a shit about him, as well as not give the likes of han yeseul any material to inhumanely gloat over, he hasn’t been fine for the longest time —— he can sense himself slipping more & more, hands itching to burn a joint or an abandoned building routinely, too often for it to be considered normal anymore. a sane person wouldn’t let themself be manipulated, tortured like this, wouldn’t be collapsing under their ex’s spell once again —— alas, he didn’t learn & has no intention of denying cassius anything, which he imprudently affirms when he ravenously, anticipatorily grips his styled pastel locks hard as he awaits the businessman’s tongue to come in contact & glide over his sharp v line, causing his stomach to hollow and dip with the gravitational force, towards his spine, his tactile receptors both enjoying the sensation and finding it too much to handle. he exhales some of the pain from his rotten, aching lungs, wistful, hopeless wails for love emitted in the form of moans, his toes curl as arresting ELECTRICITY speeds through his limbs, causing his not expecting muscles to tense & clench powerfully as cas’ immoral mouth makes its way upwards, molesting all the sweet spots he’s aware jeremy has. his plush lip is nearly mangled by his incisors as a response to his hypersensitive nipple being toyed with and he can no longer restrain himself, prevent his hands from h a r s h l y gripping his former lover’s hips and making him relieve them both by grinding on him as more of jeremy’s tears pitifully roll down his pale temples on either side of his face. it’s not long before he’s cowardly tilting his anguish-stuffed head to the side, not only to conceal the fact that he’s crying but also to expose his neck in sheer NEED for cas, a string of vile curses bouncing off the walls of the treasured closet as he gets caught off guard with light suction on his tender flesh, whispering a hoarse, growly you can, knowing cas would immediately know what it means. he wouldn’t mind being eternally branded as cassius’, he’d haughtily wear any expression of love given to him by the adorably taller, just like he, hopefully, at least once, wore the ring jeremy got from his biological mother & gifted him as a symbol of his undying love. though he’d get paralyzed at the visceral memories of cas dragging his lithe tongue over his jawline, all the way to his shell where he’d whisper to him, now he forces himself not to shut down completely as it happens, not even when he gets asked why he’s crying. a deflective just kiss me proves to be enough to avoid the otherwise exhausting interrogation he’d be trapped in if he took the bait & answered that inquiry.

A BIG, HEFTY PILE OF DOG SHIT is undoubtedly worth more to jeremy than any of han yeseul’s opinions or words and would consequently evoke more emotion within him than she’ll ever be able to. the human equivalent to an intestinal parasite with an eternal, fat, spiked stick up its rotten ass will never affect his state of mind even slightly, or cause him to doubt himself and his actions even more than a mere millisecond. her little spiel the other day came into one of his ears and immediately exited through the other, safe for a single tidbit of information with which she fucked herself over. if there were any truth to her retching-inducing interest in cassius, she brought jeremy’s attention to it and now he’ll do everything in his power to sabotage whatever she has planned, because he’d rather die than let her defile & corrupt, rob the walking talking piece of heaven called cassius hwang. on top of that, he considers his ex to be highly intelligent & skilled at recognizing soul-sucking, good-for-nothing, money-hungry, skanky snakes. again, why the fuck does kerry hang out with her ? for a moment, he’s concerned about the girl’s neural cells and healthy judgement, or lack thereof. she must be at least half brain dead to hang out with someone with zero positive qualities. furthermore, underestimating jeremy’s ELEPHANTINE ego, unvacillating confidence & cockiness is a rookie mistake no one in their right mind should make since the honey-mouthed rascal is so self-assured that he’s in result convinced that he can woo just about anyone you could point at in a crowd of people. it’s downright pathetic how she ridiculously presents herself as overly self-confident whilst her insecure, attention-hungry eyes always stray to check if HE’s watching whenever she is interacting with cas, that she feels the need to send him taunting texts as if she’s fucking desperate for jeremy’s reactions —— FUCK, maybe she’s foolishly trying to make him jealous because she’s obviously fucking obsessed with him & not his ex ?! regardless, her devious plan to demolish what he has with cassius will be nothing short of a FAILURE, which is only further proven by the way the heated pair refuses to make their bodies part even as they’re aware that the majority of their given time has surely passed. ‘ ONE MORE MINUTE ! ’ a voice echoes, disturbingly close to the thin door, as if the meddlesome person has been listening the entire time, to the duet of smooching noises & responding grunts, but jeremy has no more than an eight of a brain at the moment & cannot be bothered to figure out who the owner of it is. with his spidery, inked limbs faster than his awareness of the action being done, he flips cassius onto the ground with determination and cages him, forces him to look at his overweening, lordly face up close before kneeling between his squat-thickened legs & slowly beginning to button up his unfortunate shirt. midway, he becomes bored with the tedious, repetitive task and yanks cassius up into a sitting position to finish that mundane action, only for his shuttered eyes to unexpectedly roll, head carelessly thrown back at the sloppy neck kisses he’s willingly receiving as his rose gold shirt gets fixed into the best state possible regarding the fact that they spent almost full seven minutes messing around on the floor. ❛ you know birthdays are sacred, right ? … you should spend it with someone who loves you .. if you get what i’m saying … ahm. let’s continue this tonight, after the party ? ❜ the evocative offer hangs in the air as jeremy’s gifted, elegant digits find those of the lanky male’s in order to hold them —— instantly they detect an INTRICATE ACCESSORY around one of the fingers, mindlessly lifting his hand up to inspect it since he cannot for the life of him hold eye contact as he awaits the nerve-racking response that could have painful consequences for his exhausted heart. promptly his orbs shine with recognition, shifting hilariously between cas’ browns and the object of his interest so violently and swiftly that they threaten to turn into an endless slot machine. he’s devastatingly BAFFLED, shook to the core, heart racing & hands blatantly starting to tremble. it’s that feeling in your stomach that only appears when you’re at the highest peak of a roller coaster, cart making a terrifying pause over the edge as it prepares to lunge down, and you’re a millisecond away from screaming your poor lungs out, peeing yourself and puking all over your buddy, but in a good way, you know ? —— does this mean anything more than cassius simply appreciating the ring for its aesthetic value, and is there any hope for the emotionally mutilated tattoo artist ? he doesn’t dare open that pandora’s box considering how little time they have in the privacy of solely each other’s company, but he wants to showcase his acknowledgement & gratitude for the fact that cas hasn’t tossed the piece of jewelry in the first dumpster after their parting. he topples over the man, pinning him to the ground strongly and nearly suffocating with a flurry of emotional kisses, those which shamelessly expose just how touched he is by a seemingly small, unimportant thing to the outsider, which means the world to jeremy. what he is yet to learn is that the festive group on the other side of the door is ready to steal this piece of heaven away from them and disrupt what they have going on. ❛ dae, it’s over, open it~ ! ❜ a particularly ( unnecessarily ) loud blonde amazonian shouts from the ridiculously boujee sofa once her phone startles her by having its alarm go off when no one in particular was paying attention to the device in question. shockingly obedient, daehyun gives the closet another awfully polite knock & announces that they will be letting them outside before poking their little head through the thinly cracked door, eyes innocently peering & needing a bit of time to adjust to the darkness before they yelp at the sight of the ongoing, all but chaste scene before them. embarrassed, with pink hued cheeks, they regretfully shut it and back away a little, whispering a few words of warning to the hot & bothered pair, so that they wouldn’t be discovered by the remainder of the group. they mentally smirk like the evil little minx they are, though, because their INTUITION was right yet again. ❛ guys ! hurry up ! ❜ daehyun rushes them in now full on panic when their ears pick up on a set of dooming footsteps coming towards them chillingly, and they’re right to do so, making jeremy laughably snap out of it & pull back from cassius in a matter of seconds, as if his ex has been crafted from fucking lava itself. shit. he clears his throat & straightens up, aiding cas to his feet and brazenly winking at daehyun —— he’s convinced they’ll be taking this mutually shameful little incident to the grave anyway, partially because of their baseless & quite frankly ridiculous fear of cassius. the cogs in his overflowing brain surprisingly start turning swiftly & he masterfully begins pretending to continue a business conversation with cas, something about promoting his tattoo show on his radio station, as they step out of the closet & join the ogling bunch, not paying them the time of day since he doesn’t want to see their prying expressions and beady little eyes scanning them from head to toe as if they’re america’s most wanted criminals. he simpers victoriously when cas announces that the game should be over in order for them to get to the established birthday venue in time for their reservation, and as everyone casually packs up & moves outside towards the over the top limo, jeremy bluffs being busy looking for something in order to be the last one out with cas who needs to lock up the place, only to steal a sneaky peck & give his irresistible ass a squeeze sub rosa. he runs off to join their friends before he can hear cas potentially complain.

A COLOURFUL DISPLAY OF AMBROSIAL DRINKS decorates the opulent, chic black table of the private booth, the grandest & most exclusive one in the entirety of the polished & tastefully stylized venue —— at the very arrival, a frivolous discussion was held about which celebrities might have sat in whose seat, neglecting the fact that KENT, OHIO isn’t HOLLYWOOD per se. jeremy has no doubt that this, along with the posh birthday dinner they attended prior to the nightclub, has only made a small dent in cas’ account —— a street rat like jeremy ( one that cassius’ affluent parents accepted warmly regardless of the fact that he wasn’t as well-heeled as them, for which he will carry everlasting gratitude in his heart ) could never imagine having enough money to splurge on a similar event he’d forget anyways if he let himself negligently dive into his notoriously reckless alcohol consumption. with his lonesome prepregaming, the drinking games they played, wine that was served along with dinner and this being their first round of drinks here, the architect equipped with a stomach of steel is still certain on his feet & clear in his mind, enough to pick up on a set of venomous eyes burning holes in his skull as he endearingly follows the birthday boy with his own pair of obsidians. since she’s withing an earshot & the music is yet to reach brain-liquifying levels, he scoffs & addresses her without allowing the others to sense any negative vibes. ❛ give it a rest with the ogling, yeseul … you’re not my type. but it seems that doesn’t go for that dude over there, so be a p e s t elsewhere, ❜ he motions vaguely until the literal demon goddess herself, chu yumi, comes to collect her frenemy ( & hopefully drag her back to the frozen depths of hell where they both belong ), buzzing about a threesome & whatever else jeremy didn’t manage to catch her ranting about due to her insufferable, fast speaking manner, and he can’t say he’s interested. though chumi has that same irritatingly-crafted, arrogant, emotionally fucking stupid vixen personality to her, at least he can go without taking her blabbing head off her shoulders whilst they’re together in a room for longer than five minutes, and he believes he could be tolerant when it comes to the other snake too only if she dropped her pitiful attempts to annoy him by messing with someone he obviously cares about more than anyone’s ever cared for her. alas, he was’t about to duel her & disappoint cas by quarreling and ruining his day, so he played it off as if he didn’t know she was staring at him because she was continuing to see through his bullshit, or however she phrased it that one time when she tried to lecture him. a light burn of booze down the throat deletes her presence from his already cluttered brain entirely & for the rest of the night he can’t say that she crosses his mind at all. it passes majorly with daehyun’s whiny, restless tugs & yanks of his silky sleeves towards the dance floor, and he ultimately does cave without being the single grim black sheep of the group, but he frequently goes back to their booth for a calming cigarette & another taste of alcohol, because without an intoxicating sip beforehand he physically wouldn’t be able to make a fool of himself carelessly in a dance circle. currently the artist is on a mini break in order for his feet & calves to recover, two pieces of a minty fresh bubblegum popped into his mouth after his last death stick; all alone in his seat, he’s checking the appointments he has for the next week, since he cleared the schedule for cas’ birthday —— the biggest pieces he already has all sketched up and confirmed with the customer, so he’s not too stressed about taking a few days off. he reflexively raises his unfocused pupils from the multicoloured pixels when he feels someone drop beside him, the deafening music preventing him from hearing their hard breathing, but he can see the hyper rise & fall of cas’ slightly sweaty chest. he carefully lowers his phone down onto the table, meticulous about avoiding a couple of wet spots from cocktail spillage, and offers the exhausted dancer his untouched glass of water, watching him gulp it down in seconds, making it disappear like a magician. always being generous ( philanthropic, even ) with compliments when it comes to cas, he leans up to his ear & makes sure to let him know how SEXY he was up on that dance floor, his hand unabashedly landing on his muscular thigh, the shell covered with nips & torturing, languid laps of jeremy’s tongue. light strokes & squishes interchange, as if he’s kneading dough under the table, and his free hand tilts the gorgeous, glowing man’s head towards himself. no one’s looking, he whispers nostalgically —— he frequently used to be on the receiving end of those secretive words when, nine years ago, they hung out in their neighbourhood & jeremy wasn’t openly CASSEXUAL, so he worried about kissing him in public in the fear of having his ass kicked by his homophobic friends. tonight, he’s the one to reassure the other that no one but strangers would discover them, and soon lazy, tipsy smiles melt & mold together euphorically —— it’s the club atmosphere, he assumes, heightening the sexual desire, since generally he would be more than fine with solely getting kisses for days, but now it’s as if he’ll wither & die if he doesn’t get the older on his lap immediately. a pleading let’s go gets repeated a couple of times in sheer need before the ache for cas’ body becomes so unbearable that he has to speak his mind. ❛ leave the limo for them, tell the driver to pick us up in a different car. half of them have scattered already anyway, they won’t notice we’re gone. if they do, i’ll tell them i took you home because you were sick tomorrow. —— fuck’s sake, we don’t have to explain ourselves to them. ❜ it doesn’t take too much convincing since when they look around there’s none of their friends in sight, most having found entertainment in each other’s or a stranger’s company. besides, they have the driver’s number shared in their group chat, as well as junhyuk having one of his own, as well as enough money to get each of them an uber SEPARATELY, so jeremy isn’t worried about those grown ass motherfuckers at all. he cannot recall the entirety of the following events, only getting some fresh air with cas before holding hands in the backseat of the car, small nuzzles exchanged as they did their best to keep their manners & not traumatize the poor employee. but he does clearly remember how they didn’t jump each other’s bones as soon as they set foot into the house, how they were both sober enough to know they really wanted each other, how they played it cool for a couple of minutes in the kitchen, or fuck —— maybe it was their ancient feelings crawling back, preventing them from doing it unemotionally, and instead setting up a slightly more ROMANTIC scenario than they would for a pure stranger. ❛ ah, but am i really worthy of your super special, limited edition, exclusive, vintage, valued at approx. couple a’ thousands o’ dollars whiskey ? tsk, you flatter me, cassie. ❜ a purr tickles the shell of cassius’ ear as jeremy presses his lean body against the older’s back. though he’s slightly shorter, he can still peek over the other’s shoulder and see him pouring some of the amber liquor on the rocks in two pricey glasses at the kitchen counter, and jeremy knows he could make him drop & spill all that money by catching him off the guard with his touches, but he can’t help it when his starving mouth grazes the side of his ex’ exposed neck, impatient hands pulling at the slightly tucked shirt & exploring the smooth flesh below. he hyperfocuses on the spot which elicits the loudest of noises, and he can feel a gulp underneath his tongue as cassius swallows his shot. he gives him enough space to turn around, one of his inklike brows lifting curiously as he gets offered his drink —— claiming his hands are awfully busy, he parts his lips ridiculously with the tip of his tongue poking out, bratty, daring but twinkling eyes observing him until he feels the liquid hit his tasting muscle, the excess spilling down the sides of his chin, luring out a few of his signature giggles. it’s as if a sudden switch is flipped when jeremy stops with his shenanigans & you could cut the tension with a knife between them when they both notice a glint in each other’s eye, rushing to collide their desperate lips, greedily suckling at each other & tasting alcohol, becoming braver & braver with each passing second, burning hands wandering, teasing, groping, pulling at the annoying garments as their backs hit the walls and counters in this lustful battle. and it isn’t until he gently grips cassius’ throat that they manage to catch a breath. ❛ on your knees, ❜ he commands calmly, unshakable resolution clear in his gruff voice. he knows cassius won’t be able to resist it, he knows his legs will shake at the sound of it. and why not bless a couple of different rooms, when they have the luxurious abode all to themselves ?

ALL SPREAD OUT ON HIS EX’S BED, jeremy’s cozily resting on his v-shaped back with dormant cassius all curled up and preciously molded into his side. the younger’s swollen lips are abnormally, attractively crimson in color, all the hemoglobin rushing to those overworked, puffed petals which are now gingerly pressed in a nurturing, soothing pucker against a smooth, golden patch of skin on the SLEEPING BEAUTY’s no longer sweaty forehead —— he’s been awake for the past nine minutes, putting his all into convincing himself that he’s not lucid dreaming or perhaps high as all hell, painting the unreachable picture he’s been yearning to see for the past four years. he’s whispering the sweetest of nothings as loving, no longer held back pecks get delivered to the comatose features of the adored individual, yet he knows not even those would wake the snoozing giant after how badly, triumphantly jeremy has tired him out, combined with the numbing spirits they consumed during their celebrations. thanks to this unlimited ‘cassius - vital information’ bank, he dexterously sneaks out of his embrace & dreaming nest, covering himself by a pair of fitted black boxer briefs which leave nothing to your devilish imagination, and heads out of the room in order to prepare one of his unmistakably appetizing culinary creations, which raise from the dead, obtain a glass of water & painkillers for a potential headachin’ beanstalk, but his quest is derelict once he hears commotion & a cacophony of bangs, hums & steps coming from the floor below —— it dawns upon him that cas isn’t the singular inhabitant of this chateau-esque manor and that having his studious, virginal mansionmate catch him at his peaceful dwelling this early in the morning and so scantily-clad would be a grand calamity. with a low curse murmured under his perfectly face-appropriate nose, he makes a swift half ballerina twirl & returns to his ex, an endeared smile blessing & stretching his pillowy lips when he sees the drowsy, dazed man blindly investigating the crinkled, still warm yet empty spot beside him in search for something or someone. HIM ? should he allow himself to dream that cas is needing him & thinking of him right as he lifts his heavy eyelids, and that he’s not hunting for an item as simple as his phone in order to check the time ? ❛ hush, i’m here … i tried to go and make you some breakfast, but junhyuk’s causing a ruckus downstairs and i doubt you want him to know i spent the night … ❜ jeremy thoughtlessly gives himself the right to assume cassius wouldn’t be overjoyed if anyone found out that they hooked up, let alone learned about their past. though the forlorn, anarchic tattoo artist himself has no problem with it, he’s convinced that cas would be devastatingly ashamed to admit his heart once belonged to someone as woeful, wretched, toxic & eccentric as jeremy, so he’s eternally thankful that taemin hasn’t squeaked to anyone about it yet. he dives deep into the softness of the most comfortable, homely mattress in the world, unlaxing on his side this time as he pulls closer the man who’s mirroring his position, the thick white duvet covering their nude bodies, safe for jeremy’s underwear slipped on in a rush. his restless, greedy hand finds its place on cas’ narrow waist and travels lower on its own accord, stroking & soothing each and every muscle it eventually reaches. ❛ sore ? ❜ an unhesitant nod lures a complacent, yet not too wide or toothy grin onto his amused features —— jeremy really did a number on him last night, but neither of them were complaining whilst in the heat of the moment, unbothered & unaware of both physical & emotional, inexorable consequences of their indomitable arousal & sweet sin. ❛ tired ? hungover ? ❜ the additional unreluctant affirmations cause a childlike coo to strum his vocal cords, and he brigs some needed moisture to his lips with a singular swipe of his proficient tongue before connecting their rosiness with his favorite pair in the world, heart pouncing humiliatingly when he feels a hand on himself as well, encouraging him to resume the session for at least a few minutes. here, right here, is his SERENITY, his SAFETY, his HEAVEN, his HOME —— right here in cas’ arms, where everything is okay, where the one who’s holding him is the one who’s to be credited for jeremy’s pulse not flatlining yet, for his insides twisting & curling, his palms sweating & toes curling, the one who makes him nervous & blissful, the one he wants to cry with and laugh with and live with for the remainder of his days on this cursed earth, the one he’ll love until the very last breath leaves his lungs, and even longer if anything awaits after death. he knows that a lifetime with this man wouldn’t be enough, that he’d be a REBORN BELIEVER, that he’d pray on his bleeding knees that death wouldn’t do them part. as the waltz of slippery pink muscles meets its end with a timid titter, jeremy’s caring thumb comes up to hastily wipe at cas’ bite-mark adorned lower lip, pecking over it as if to heal the lightest of imprints. he harmoniously entwines their fingers on the disrupted mattress between them, tracing the meaningful ring cas is still wearing, fondly, recalling seeing it in the closet, having flashes of his cerebration from back then, remembering their breakup, and the idyllic little bubble of bliss he’s been captured in since last night BURSTS without warning. gingerly, warily he brings their joint hands up to his quivering mouth & kisses the ring before wordlessly resting them down & gazing lamentably at the man he loves, as if he’s in mourning. he has no right to still be here, or talk about making breakfast and nursing him through a hangover, or even imagine hanging out for the rest of the day, cuddling, watching movies and maybe going for round number whichever. he yet again recalls their text exchange where cassius questioned if jeremy still had feelings for him, and he made it clear last night, whispering hushed I LOVE YOUs to him while they were making love repeatedly, and all jeremy wants to ask now is if cas has them too. he wants to beg him to spare him of all the misery, of tragic hoping, to help him either come to terms of it being fully over and aid him in moving on, or give him a reason to work on them, on getting back to what they used to be to each other, an improved version of THEM. but he can’t. and he has no right to try & sabotage whoever wants to get with cas, because he’s a free man with a mind of his own. all jeremy wants for him is to be happy, and he tries to convince himself that he’s been attempting to keep him away from bad people, but if they are the source of cas’ happiness, he’ll gladly step back. ❛ have i overstayed my welcome ? should i go ? ❜ he asks directly, eyes glassy and leaking onto the pillow below his tragic head. but all he wants to know is —— do you still love me ? can i have another chance to make it right ?

#riotvcn #answered #icb this is seeing the light of day LMAO #she once again said quantity over quality

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izukult · 4 years

Text

this is the end {chapter two}

summary / things couldn’t get worse than this. but, they did. the chapter in which everything in your life goes wrong.

warnings / cult, kidnap, actual foRCED cannibalism (if that’s too much it’s under the first break and ends after the second break!), stalking, death, angst, angst, angST, not much peter this chapter, swearing. idk bad stuff man. i use the word silence a million times just call it motif. didn’t proof read.

word count / 2015

notes / wow this is hard to write. PLEASE read my disclaimer. sorry there’s not much peter. this is filler. coolio. this will be like the last chapter that only focuses on what they’re doing to u, i promise this will get momentum

disclaimer / please don’t support or romanticize the abuse in this fic! this is something i’m simply writing to help me deal with trauma and/or my mental health to try to give it a positive spin. i apologize if it is dark, i needed an outlet. :))

the white cotton stuck to your skin with the water, leaving your breath to moisturize the air as you gasped. you lifted your chained hands as far as you could, trying to brush the hair that clung to your face. you looked at the cracked porcelain of the lonely bathtub, nausea going to your throat as you saw how your blood mixed in with the ice and the water. your cough was scratchy, burning your throat further as you leaned over, gagging, water spilling up.

“son of a bitch.” you let your head fall towards your chest as tears formed in your eyes again; the sob that left your throat stung almost as bad as the cold. you knew you could get out of this. you weren’t chained to the tub, and they weren’t holding a gun to your head if you dared to move an inch. they wanted you to move, to see if you really could fight the way your personality said you could after what you’d endured. you wanted to lift yourself, heave your body up and make your fragile knees bend, but you didn’t know how to do that without making them shatter. you didn’t know how to breathe without your ribs piercing your lungs. they were killing you and every day you felt your soul disconnecting from your body.

the metal of the handcuffs on your wrists clanged against the tub as you tried to push yourself up. ice pressed against a gash on your stomach (that you didn’t know you had) through the fabric of your dress, evoking a short scream from you. your body racked with sobs that hurt you so much more and you grit your teeth as you continued to try to get up. your body sunk down, trauma holding your bones back.

“god dammit,” the words came out like a desperate prayer and you slammed your hands into the side of the vat. “god fucking dammit!” you were sobbing harder, your cuts pruning along with your skin, but your energy to fight had completely vanished. you knew you’d be in there until someone came for you, and you knew when they grabbed you out it would be a whole lot worse; so you might as well try to enjoy getting clean.

—————

your eyes widened, head shaking rapidly. you jerked your body against the hands holding you, tears welling through your disgust. “no, no, no.” your body thrashed as your eyes stayed trained on the plate in front of you. “no.” it was simple, white ceramic with a silver fork and knife on each of its sides. the white was splotched with red- blood. you gagged slightly, the smell reaching your nose. “fucking no!” you twisted yourself, almost moving out of their grasp. you desperately attempted to stumble away, not caring what kind of beating you would face, but they pushed you forward.

“you have to become accustomed to it,” one of them started as they moved to shove you into the chair. “the queen should have no limits, no weakness.” once you were sat, they were clamping your shoulders. you pressed against the wood of the chair enough to try to tip it, but they simply brought you back up.

“please,” the word was croaked- choppy and sickly and raw. “don’t make me do this, i’ll be good. i promise i’ll be good.” you didn’t typically beg them, and you felt as if any integrity you held was gone. but you’d also never had what you could only assume was a human kidney (you remember peter telling you the shapes of organs one time while you studied for biology, which caused you to tell him he sounded like a serial killer.) in front of you on a fucking plate.

there was silence around you. typically, you would’ve begged for silence. a moment without their heavy breathing or the sound of your pain, but now it was just eerie. they watched you and waited and when you refused to move for the cutlery, they did it themselves. and, for some reason beyond them, you didn’t seem to enjoy it nearly as much as you did when your mother would feed you as a baby.

—————

his fingers traced your arm, nails forming a temporary tattoo.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1

he was vile to you. they all were. your temples ached as he pierced your skin with what could only be described as his claws.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

“i missed you, pretty girl.” a scowl found its way on your face at the name they’d all become accustomed to calling you- although it was a name only peter should call you. and, quite frankly, his praises of longing for you go unnoticed at the fact you can’t remember which one he is.

you have about thirteen comebacks to each of his phrases of want, but you’d learned that silence was the biggest killer to them.

your eyes filled with tears (like they always did) when his hands slid under your top, which didn’t cover much to begin with.

“but now it’s just you and me,” the animation of his voice was scratchy to you and you wanted nothing more than to rip the voice box out of his mask.

you continued to count in your head, eyesight trained on the wall in front of you rather than the situation presented in front of you.

your eyelids started to hang heavy. you were tired. of all of this. you were tired of pretending you were okay.

maybe if you fell asleep, this would go quicker. maybe, if you slept well enough, you wouldn’t even remember he was here.

—————

you watched as they set up the camera, feet burning against the cold cement. since that day of exhaustion, the feeling had been perpetual. you wanted to care about how you looked if you knew the world was going to see you (or was that another lie?), but it was the least of your concerns.

‘how did the phrase go? if peter couldn’t handle you at your ugly state during your kidnap, he didn’t deserve you at your best. something like that,’ you thought as they moved you to the middle mark for the perfect angle.

you were certain the recording was trivial. some dumb black market snuff film type shit that honestly no one would end up watching, but more time in front of the camera meant less alone time with them. peter had sworn that you deserved stardom, so maybe this was it.

your eyes darted from the man in front of you to the one who pressed the button on the camera (a riveting job, honestly) and then forward, to the lens.

you didn’t pay much attention as they droned on about you until your loves name got mentioned. your head snapped quickly, eyes widened and gaze afraid.

“and, peter parker, this ones for you.” his head tilted towards you and you became fascinated with the way the inside of your bottom lip tasted.

you shook your head slightly hoping peter would understand you desperately meant this wasn’t about him. you didn’t speak up though. silence was key.

he continued to talk about you, about your glory, and your hands, and your lips, and the way your face felt when they’d hold onto you.

that’s when you realized the smell. you hoped it hadn’t shown on your face, but it probably had. poker had never been your strong suit. and then you were scanning the room again and they could tell and you knew that they wanted this and that they wanted you to know something was up and they wanted to record you finding out and your stomach started to fucking churn.

a sob left your throat as a light you didn’t know existed shined behind you. there had been a curtain between you and the wall that had now been moved and you saw it. the reminiscence of a series of girls who looked somewhat like you.

“oh my, god.” it was a quiet prayer for a being you couldn’t say you believed in as you stared at the heads with hair just like yours, eyes a shade so close to your own. “oh my fucking god.” you were louder this time, your knees wobbling as you struggled to keep your balance.

you couldn’t see their faces but you imagined the men around you were smiling. you didn’t recognize the tears falling until they hit the ground but you ignored it, disgust covering your features as you turned from the girls to the man who had been talking.

“what the fuck have you done?” your voice was raw. you were furious, you were sick, you were sorry. sorry for the people who’d never be able to go home.

“don’t worry, sweetheart, they didn’t come close to you.” you lifted your chained hands to your mouth, retching out a sob.

“you’re- you’re all monsters.” you felt vacant. you felt empty. you felt useless. they had died because of you. they had died because they looked like you.

“oh my god.” you repeated yourself, sobs wracking your body as you were recorded by the long forgotten camera.

“oh, sweetheart, no reason to cry.” he moved towards you, placing a hand on your head, tangling his fingers through your hair. and, you realized, this was the first time you’d truly wanted to kill someone.

you continued to cry, not following the urge to do any harm to him as you stood in your spot.

“did we go too far?” your mind screamed yes. yes you’re evil and you’re bad and i hate you all. yes you went too fucking far. but you stayed unspeaking.

“what do you want, pretty girl?” your eye twitched. you felt it. you felt the physical change in you. you turned your head, eyes meeting the eyes of his mask and you smiled faintly.

“do you really want to know?” your voice was sweet, sickly, and he moved his hand from your hair to your shoulder.

“of course.” your smiled turned to a scowl as you raised your hands to place them atop his own, fingers digging into his hands.

“i want to rip the skin from your fucking hands so you never had the fucking luxury of touching me or those girls.” you moved your hands to his throat, but none of the other men moved to his rescue.

“and then?” you simultaneously leaned into him and brought his head to you, where your nose was against the nose of his mask. “then, i want to blow my brains against the fucking wall.” even though your words came through gritted teeth, each of them were over enunciated.

you shoved him away by his neck, continuing to stand tall as you did so. “and, unfortunately for me, i plan to get what i want.”

your gaze finally found the camera lens again and you let out a small breath of realization. your hands were shaking. you knew there were the girls behind you, and the man you’d been threatening was gasping for breath now. maybe you looked like the monster.

you looked down at your hands, teeth slightly chattering, and you could only imagine how peter felt. he probably hated you. this was your fault. this was your fucking fault. all of it.

your mouth parted slightly and you gulped. “i-” nothing else came out and you bit your lip again, shutting your eyes as tight as you could.

you wanted to sob. to fall apart. to break. but, you had just made a commitment to your captors. you were going to give them hell, and then find your way there. you just hoped peter would understand.

the camera turned off and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

unbeknownst to you, peter was sat at the tv with wide, glossy eyes, praying you’d get out of there as soon as possible. just not in the way you planned.

tag list: @greenteavee @jacksnoodlez99 @sarahalkhalifaa @lilsxtan @honeymarvel @awaywithtime @5secondsofpeterparker

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman angst #peter parker angst #mcu #marvel #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #marvel cinematic universe #this is SO DARK IM SORRY #TBH I WOULDVE DROPPED THIS IF THERE WERENT REQUESTS #COPING WEIRD #THANKS

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