auyouni

[auyouni]

my hands are shaking from holding back from you // vercatee

The fashion show goes over very well.

Not that Nick is trying to win her good favor, or anything like that. She's his friend, and this is something they'd both enjoy. Wanting her to enjoy herself, versus wanting her awe and excitement to be his cause… Dangerous difference. If it were any other girl, he'd be pulling out the moves. He'll, if this were any other girl, he'd already have gotten her in bed by now. Instead, he ignores the tension charged space between them and keeps his eyes straight, because it's not fair to Lud. His best friend.

It's only at the after party, a few hours and more than a few drinks (for everyone else) in, that he feels the crackling of energy spark once more between them. Nick swallows around the lump in his throat, refusing to let his eyes settle on Kristen.

She looks particularly striking tonight. One time she'd worn the color midnight blue for a date with Ludwig and asked him if she looked okay. Okay? She'd literally taken his breath away when she walked into the room, a hitch in his throat that he couldn't rid himself of. Something about it emphasized her eyes, her lips, the glow of her skin, like a siren song to dive into that dark blue sea. "Oh yeah, that color looks good on you," is what he managed in the moment, falling back on his practiced nonchalance.

Kristen's dress tonight is that same color, almost as if taunting him. The color also rests upon her lids, and he's found himself quite incapable of tearing his eyes from hers all night. She's transformed, through this simple color. She couldn't possibly know the effect the deepening tone has, as if she could ever predict it.

"Do you know where the coat room is?" Kristen asks, calling for his attention like she always seems to. He can't ever seem to stay stuck in his head, her questions always tripping him up and pulling more from him than most are capable of. His eyes flick back to her, and her gaze holds him in a way that makes his gut flip. Kristen wets her lips before smiling at him, a flash of teeth under ballroom lights. “I wanna go for a smoke."

Nick is stunned into silence for a moment, eyebrows raising past the crack in his facade. "I thought you didn't smoke," he replies, managing to not sound choked. There's a heat in her eyes, but with their clarity, he wonders if he misjudged the amount of champagne she's had. He knew they had sparkling cider options…

"I don't." Kristen stands, holding her clutch, and Nick clutches at the table. How is he supposed to turn her down if she's sober? How is he going to handle being just a rebound to her?

"Yeah," he replies slowly, "it's just around the corner from–"

"Could you show me?” she interjects, eyes striking him through his core as her eyelashes flutter. Before he’s even thought about it a second longer, he’s standing, offering her his arm. He’d expect his heart to be racing, and though it’s thudding on every beat, he remains steady. There’s a clarity of mind with it now, in the certainty of what’s about to happen.

His self control is reduced to nothing when she looks at him like that. Suddenly, with a flash of eyes, his knees are weak and he’s doing everything she asks. Her slight hand presses into his arm with a surety that feels final, like a death sentence. And this is his march to the gallows.

Ludwig is far from his mind when he pushes open the door to the coat closet for her, and she just walks in, tugging him along with her. He’s shutting the door behind them with a certainty in his gut. An anticipation. Despite the betrayal he's about to commit, he feels the heat wavering in his gut, a clenching that's already got him half hard. A man could drown in this heady enticement, in the way he had felt her hip brush against his own. In the dress hugging her frame, in the hope that she chose it for him. And him alone. 

Kristen releases his arm and takes a moment to look through the coats, like she’s actually planning on finding hers. He’s completely mesmerized by her, entirely at her mercy, in her midnight gown. Did Lud even realize how ethereal she was, glowing in the dim closet and the sparks catching on the dark sky outlining her waist, her hips, her….? His mouth goes dry.

 “I’ve been enjoying this party a lot. Shame I only had one glass of that champagne… it tasted really good.”

The certainty in her soberness reminds him, for a moment, of his last visit. Some party on a rooftop, where he'd actually been coaxed onto the dance floor. There was something so light and vibrant about her, more than a few drinks in. Free, loose. Unburdened. Her hips swayed under where she pulled his hands, and God, but he wanted her. In that moment, lights casting vibrant blue across her skin, his desire was almost overwhelming. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Which is why when she tugged him away to the empty patio and pressed into him, when she leaned up, the skin of her cheek brushing his, when she asked… Dear God, she did ask. She wanted him, if only for a moment, if only for a lapse in judgment, in the circle of his arms…

He could only say, "Kristen…. I'm not hooking up with you. Not when I’m the only sober one."

At the time, he'd seen the sting of rejection in her eyes. He had hoped she was too far gone to work out the double meaning, that it wasn't a never, that he doesn't want to turn her down. God no. It was incredibly hard then, when her eyes were filled with the stars of New York city lights, unfocused and bright. The flash of wanting, desire. Her body pressing into him, face flushed and just the faintest scent of sweat…

She'd pulled back, mouth forming a small 'o' before pursing. Her eyes, despite the shine, were intent on his for the longest moment of his life (so far). She pulled away, but he caught her hand and brought her back out to the floor.

That was months ago, now, practically a year, and they hadn't spoken a word of it since. He'd refused to hope, or consider it, but then she'd opened her door wearing that dress… Deep blue, with glitter that catches his eye at every turn. New, she said. Bought just for this occasion.

Now, in the present, he can feel his pulse in his fingertips. His hands shake as he stares at her, keeping his demeanor calm. Almost disinterested. Almost, but not quite. “I’d thought you had more,” he comments. “I make a good sober companion.”

“Oh, I know that. But…” she slides closer to him, and he almost sways forward. Gravity is tilting all wrong in this closet, like it depends on her, where she stands. But this is fine. He could make this moment last a lifetime, could have one good night with her to flush it all out of his system, to remember fondly. To remember in the dark of his bedroom, with his secretly betrayed roommate down the hall, hand unbuckling his jeans…

“There are some things I want more than a good drink, tonight,” she says, and he’s so entranced by this sly seductress version of her. A side he never expected her to have. It feels shiny and new, even to her, and he’s cast under her spell. “I’m not a big champagne fan anymore, anyway…”

It feels heady, this thing between them, and he steps closer to her, within arms reach now. “Anything I can help with?” he asks, voice lower, a little raspier.

Her eyes are big and dark as she looks up at him, the slightest tilt to her lips. Before reason can find him, his hands slide over her waist, each hip nothing more than a handful, and steps into her, breathing her in. Just once. Just one time. He would commit his sin and never regret it, carry it with him through this lifetime. Thou shalt not covet thy best friend's ex, and yet he's sliding their noses together. Kristen hasn't said another word, hasn't needed to, and her hands slide up his chest. Desire in the skin of a woman, radiating a heat that spikes his own.

"Kristen," Nick murmurs against her lips, his last and only expression of reverie. He is no fool, he knows she couldn't want more than this from him. He'd watched Ludwig chase her, and watched her fawn after Shayne, too often to not know the difference. Reverie and longing have no place here. Not tonight. Not even in his sweetest dreams could she love him back. When her breath hitches, he bids those feelings adieu for the night. Let it go to mourn later.

His lips crash into hers, claiming what he so badly wishes he could call his own. He presses her against the door, kissing her with a fire he's never felt before. One of her hands slides into his hair, tightening with every lap of his tongue, every nibble. She opens up to him with such ease, and with the way she wraps one leg around his waist, he wonders if their desire - even if only that - might be matched. She mewls into his mouth as one hand grips her rear, holding her closer to him.

The skin of her shoulders are already bare, and when he tugs on the dress, the strapless gown pulls dangerously low, the edges of two dark circles making their appearance. He dives to kiss from her jaw, all the way down to that tantalizing brink. Long and hot kisses that she sighs through before dragging him to her lips again. He kisses her through the fantasy in his head that makes her out to be queen and goddess, worthy of worship and all she demands. In the quiet of his own mind, that may work; the story he's built up. But this, where he unzips her dress just enough to pull it down over the swell of her chest… This is flesh, blood, and sweat. This is real.

He'd take this reality over fantasy any day.

He grinds his hips into hers, and he is forever grateful that in slacks, it only takes one solid tug to remove the first clothing boundary.

She flips herself around in his arms, and the detachment will probably help him keep his head. This isn't romantic. This is dirty. This is a dark closet, his fingers slipping under her dress to drag it up. He'll be disgusted with himself later, for chasing these urges, but fuck. Fuck. She wants him. How could he ever say no?

His own pants are already halfway down his thighs, and he pushes them down further, as if it will make this encounter feel anything more than desperate. She's wearing lacy black panties, thin and easy to tug down. His skin tingles with the knowledge of just how prepared she came. She wore her sexy underwear, she didn't drink. Kristen.

"Kristen," he can't help from murmuring again, bending over her to press his chest to her back.

"Nick," she half whines out, grinding her hips back into him. His knees almost buckle from pure sensation, and his briefs-clad boner bucks to meet her instantaneously. A sense of urgency rises in him, a realization that he needs to go faster. Despite how much he wants to cherish every second, he simply wouldn't last. Well. At least he'll still last longer than Ludwig.

His underwear joins his pants down his calves. At the point of no return, his hands are shaking. Heat clenches his gut as his fingers brush over her wet folds. Her whole body jolts, the lightest touch as much of an earthquake for her as it is for him. He can barely hold himself back, but once-in-a-lifetime opportunities need to be cherished. Even if just for a moment. He takes in the sight of her, finger sliding inside her slick heat. Kristen, here either him… around him. She gasps and automatically clenches around him, and if she could see him, he'd sure he'd be putting on a smirk and a show, like this means little to him. Like it's just a hook-up, just chemistry, a simple solution that, when shaken, will bubble up and explode. He can only hope to save the fallout for when he gets home.

As it is, though, he's just staring at her figure in awe. Reverence. She wiggles her hips and he feels almost dizzy, giving a few pumps before he's pulling his hand back. His whole body is shaking with restraint, now, as he lines himself up, one hand gripping her hips like his life depends on it. He almost tries to savor it, but Kristen pushes back against him, and his hips buck in reaction, the head popping in. He groans, an almost guttural sound, and she has no right to sound as pretty as she does. He can't hold back, his mind entirely blank now. All that matters is her.

Kristen can't keep still under him, and he slides his other hand up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades. Their desperation is almost matched; here, where her hips meet his every thrust, where she’s gasping and audibly swallowing her moans.

He fucks her like he’s pictured a million times over, a relentless pace that has her mewling and shuddering. Nick gets lost in the slickness, the heat building up in this small room, the claustrophobia that pinpoints every bit of his focus on just them. Sweat builds in the worst places, but god, she feels fucking perfect.

“You’re perfect,” he gasps out almost blindly. He’s not even sure if she hears him, or understands the weight of his words. How deeply he means it. She clenches around him and keens though, and he knows she’s getting close. He slams into her harder, no holds barred, and her hand covers his wear it holds her hip.

Nick's other hand finds her clit, and it takes barely a few strokes before she's bursting, coming alive and apart around him. His other hand races to clamp over her mouth, driven to pounding into her further by the sound of her.

He wonders if Ludwig has ever made her sound like that. 

The desperation he'd been fighting to keep down bursts out, and he pulls her up to press their bodies together, even if he can't see her face. He fucks her like a man possessed, a man in desperate love who only has one chance. He can feel his name begged into his hand, and his face presses into the crook of her neck, inhaling her. He's so close he can barely stand it, but he can't bear to let go yet. His fingers renew their efforts, stroking and rubbing and playing, wishing they had the privacy so he could hear her. So he could have her every way he wants her. Kristen’s hands grip at him, his hair, his wrist, his arm, clinging to him as her body climbs to its second release. 

“C’mon Kristen, you can do it,” he murmurs into her ear, the edge of desperation making his voice almost gravelly. “Cum for me again, one more time, please.” If his voice is close to breaking on the last word, then that’s between him and the Devil. Maybe it’s the final push she needed, though - she seizes around him, crying out into his palm, drenching him as he buries himself to the hilt and joins her at that peak. For all the sins he’s just committed, he’s never felt closer to heaven in his life, spots sparking behind his eyes in tones of midnight blue, glimmering sapphires. He feels unspooled, ripped open, and all he has the strength to do is hold her, hold them both up.

The headrush slowly fades, the sensations of the rest of the room filtering in. There’s actually a slight breeze under the door, and as his trembles subside, it cools the sweat of his exposed skin. He loosens his arms, catching his breath, savoring her scent. He’s never gotten this close to the root of her scent, and he finds himself adjusting his head to press into the top of her head instead. Inhaling slowly. His knees want to buckle, but now he has to be stronger than he’s ever been. Now he has to let go.

The girl he loves, who he’ll spend the rest of his days thinking of, will only entirely be his for as long as she’s pressed against his chest. Time is running out. He presses a long kiss to the crown of her head, knowing he’ll smell her everywhere he goes.

Kristen pulls away slowly. And he lets her go.

#kristen #nick #gen pop characters #new york au #fic #nsfw #vercatee #main youni #smut time

[auyouni]

some kind of madness has started to evolve // septiplier

"Why didn't you tell me??" Mark demands, and it would surprise Jack how readily he accepts Jack's reality if they hadn't already had this conversation in a million different ways.

It left such an awful bitter taste in his mouth. He tried to maintain normalcy for so long, but he's played every video game in the world by now, and all of his friends feel like damn NPCs, and he's so tired of this cycle. His only solace is his dreams.

He gives a clipped laugh, hands clenching at his sides. "Why would I? Y're barely even the real Mark anymore, t' me. The real Mark gets to leave this fucking school, gets to go on and marry Rosanna and disappear into his fairytale." They're only halfway through this loop, but eventually, everything spills out. It often does. "Or, hell, maybe he stays, I don't even fucking know. But you… There's nothing you could ever do to surprise me anymore." And he still loves him. Mark is an extremely well trodden forest path, but Jack never wants to take another one.

Mark looks stunned. "What the hell, Sean? I'm still a person! I-I have free will! If you're so sick of me, why are you still here?"

Jack goes quiet, eyes stinging with the force of his pain, so distraught and visible and bone-tired. He always cuts honey bunches off early, these past cycles, unable to handle the proximity with their doomed fate. But he can't ever resist starting it in the first place. He shakes his head, eyes never leaving Mark's. "Where else would I go?" he says, voice a little hoarse. "Where else in the world would I ever rather be? You're the best home I've ever known. I couldn't give you up, not for a single cycle." There's no desperation in it anymore, too wrung out to want Mark more than anything - and yet, he'd never give Mark up to get out of the endless plague of restarts.

Mark looks like he's been struck physically by the words, staring at Jack like he's finally understanding him for the first time. Jack's shoulders slump, wondering why he'd bothered. Mark is incapable of making new decisions, has been one of the few constants in this strained existence. He doesn't know what he expected, why this almost felt different for a moment. He shuts his eyes, reaching up to rub his temple, "I'm sorry, we can just ignore–"

There's only a half-second's warning of feeling the other man in his space - the most familiar sensation in the world - before Mark's lips are pressing into his, shockingly.

Jack feels like gravity has shifted beneath him, a tremor in the earth. Nothing has come close to scraping him, let alone rocking him, for decades now. He is shaken to his core, because this is the one thing he'd given up on being possible. It still feels impossible, but he feels an echo in his mind somewhere saying, When thinking in infinities, 'unlikely' is just certainty waiting for its turn.

Mark pulls back before Jack can get a grip on any of it, and his hands fling out to grip his best friend's arms. Honestly, he feels a little sick. It's fucked up, for Mark to swing so low just to through a wrench into this run, prove him wrong, whatever it is he thinks he's doing. "Was that surprising enough? I don't think a version of me has done that, before…" Mark's voice comes low and happy, and Jack's eyes spring open.

"That's cruel t' do, just ta surprise me," he says, voice thick with repressed emotions that have lasted millennia. 

Mark frowns abruptly, taken off-guard by his words, or tone, or maybe the defeated look in his eye. Like he's lost this fight over and over and he's ready to lay down and accept his end. "I thought you'd want me to…"

Jack tries to pull away, and maybe his friend - because even with this fresh ache, he could never erase Mark from his side - feels a little tug on his arms, but that's all he can manage. He's tired of pretending he doesn't want it, that he hasn't spent countless attempts just trying to make this, them, happen. "Not just because it's something I haven't gotten before. I want–" he chokes himself off, already sounding strangled, and he's almost disgusted with himself that these feelings can arise after all this time. Will it always be like this? How is he ever supposed to break the cycle? "I wanted you to want me because you want to. I have spent over a hundred years wanting you, Mark, an' I can't… ya can't just kiss me unless you mean it." And if there's anything he's learned, it's that Mark never means it. He's been kissed by Mark, and Dark, plenty of times at this point - never as much as he wants to and always too much - and it's started to just feel cruel.

Mark watches him with molasses eyes, head tilted, and Jack can practically feel the ache in both of their chests. Always for different reasons. Mark looks at him like a wounded bird, but without pity, and it makes Jack's chest shake. "So you do want me to kiss you," he says softly, like approaching a spooked horse, and Jack wishes he could decipher that tone. Mark steps back into his space again, slowly, and let's his hand gently slide up Jack's chest. The shaking slows, eased, but he's been unraveling for lifetimes now and it feels like his bones will never be put to rest.

"Only if you want it the way I do," he replies, voice weak, the fight going out of him. He knows, in his soul, that Mark is going to kiss him again. He doesn't know why. He can only pray that Mark takes it seriously, knows how close Jack is to that edge.

That's always been the problem, though - Mark alone has always known how to pull him back with ease.

Mark's lips fit over his like a whisper, like a promise, like tender hands picking up a wounded dove. Jack's entire body shudders, and he's so tired suddenly. The world has been crashing down around him for so long now, the prison of this campus and time itself, and why does he keep fighting this when it's all he wants? If he can ignore every failed attempt, every early elopement of Ro and Mark, every breakup that led him to the arms of another girl, every kiss meant to keep Jack from leaving him… He can let it go, just once. For his own sanity. For an antidote to the soul, even if all he tastes is poison again in the morning.

Jack's hand shakes as he reaches up to brush his knuckles over his best friend's cheekbone, and he's kissing back tentatively, afraid. So very afraid. Mark remains steady, slowly moving their lips together, like a reassurance, and Jack feels the stirrings of his long dead - or, apparently, comatose - heart, one he'd put to sleep to avoid more damage. Maybe in that time it's actually healed some, but for now, he just relishes in it feeling alive again. Mark's hand is pressed over it, like his own reassurance, and Jack wants to break and crumble in the face of it. He almost wants to run away. Instead he sighs gently, pressing a little more into Mark, a quiet trust in place. Time and time and time and time and time again, this is the only man he fully trusts with his heart.

Mark has never taken that lightly, even if he knows how to break his heart better than anyone else.

His best friend's hand rests on his shoulder, a solid weight like a tether. Grounding. Safe. Any desperation left inside of him seeps out, the rattling in his chest quieting, and he kisses Mark like everything will be okay.

Maybe this time, it will.

Mark pulls back just a hair, only a whisper left between their lips, and Jack can feel his smile without even opening his eyes. "I do want you, Sean." Jack's breath catches, a lump in his throat. "No buts. I want you too." The last sentence carries the intensity of a man of months-long yearning, and it's like some of the life is breathed back into him. Mark punctuated it with a harder kiss, as if he needs to prove it. Like he's a ghost story that Jack can only roll his eyes at, and maybe that's a bit too accurate.

He'd gone into this repeating prison stay with the idea in his head that the only way to break out of it was to finally end up with Mark. Why else would he be here? He'd healed well enough after his very first youni experience, in his mind. And so many attempts were spent trying a million different combinations to get there.

Now… it's been a while since he gave that up. Or, at least, consciously. It was all still there, and now it's pressing him closer to Mark, breathing him in. Deep inhales instead of gulping breaths, they melt into each other.

Best friends till the end.

That's all there ever was, in the end - the two of them.

"What matters to you most right now? In all of this," he murmurs softly against his lips, caressing the skin under his jawline. There's no hiding how much he's craving more of that contact, how much he still desperately wants to be held by him.

It takes longer than Jack cares to admit for him to find his voice, and when he does it sounds rough, but somehow still so clear and sure. "This." There's such a weight behind that single word. It has to be true. This isn't about the universe, and it definitely isn't about Jack finding peace within himself. Mark can make him believe again, has always felt like the key to finding his peace. His best friend, the boy he loves. He swallows hard, and whispers the next part, even if it pains him to say, even if it might shatter him. "Us."

There's a moment's pause before Mark answers, but it seems to stretch on for ages to Jack. They're both silent for so long that Jack thinks Mark might not answer, but finally he hears him mumble something unintelligible. His name. Mark is saying his name. When he opens his eyes Mark is staring at him like he's never seen him before. "Then let's try. Can we try?" He feels more than sees Mark swallow hard, and Jack shakes. Actually, maybe he just hasn't stopped shaking.

"I want nothing more, Marky," he says breathlessly, and his best friend grins, and kisses him again.

#birthday fic #fic #mark #sean #time loop au #septiplier

[auyouni]

go ahead and cry little girl // schlinx

The fourth party that Schlatt and Minx attend together (well, not together-together, they just so happened to end up at the same party regularly) is a complete and utter disaster. There’d been one hell of a drinking match, screamed insults hurled at each other, people having to pry them apart, and a few lines of cocaine to top it all off (at least, on her end). As the party draws to a close, now, she's more belligerent and more sober, not that she'd let anyone know the latter. She's practically looking for a fight when she meets his eyes across the room.

Schlatt's eyes had always been easy for her to read - which is part of why she always seems drawn to him. She knew when he was joking and when he was serious, when he was actually on the verge of losing his shit or if it's all for show. She likes to toe the line, especially for the fire that ignites in his eyes when she does. It's translated into a few other areas… like now. His eyes burn into hers with a distinct need (she's not even sure he knows that it reads as need), with a demand of now, and gets up to leave through the kitchen. Her legs lead the way before her brain even recovers from the daze caused by those searing eyes.

She slips through the kitchen to the hall, fingers twitching in anticipation. The door to his room is already cracked open, a faded light leading to a dim blow beyond it. Minx only hesitates for a moment in that hall, working herself up over his hurled insults earlier in the evening. Anger. Frustration. There's an overwhelming churn and mix of emotions filling her from her gut outward, until she finally pushes the door open and levels the taller man with a glare.

"You're so full of shit, Schlatt," she starts, the only light in the room being the one filtering in from the hallway. She wonders how he sees her now: with the halo of light making her glow? Or maybe just a sad little girl, one that no angelic light can save. She jabs her finger into his chest, opening her mouth to continue, but is cut off as he grabs her wrist. Tight, but not so tight it hurts.

"Do you ever shut the fuck up, woman?" he shoots back harshly, but there's that fire in his eyes. He knocks the door closed with his foot, looming over her. It would be intimidating if she didn't know him, know who he is under everything. She just tilts her chin up defiantly, eyes locking on his, and he licks his lips. She’s the first to break, her passion overwhelming her, always her downfall. Impulse always leads her back to him. Her hands reach up to grip his collar and pull him down, desperate for it, feeling for all the world like she’s bringing a cigarette to her lips. One more drag, one more slip-up, and isn’t she made of them anyways?

Schlatt kisses her back like he’s inhaling her, and she’s so ready to get lost in it before he’s pulling away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “So fucking desperate for it, aren't you?” he sneers. “Disgusting.” The words are a slap in the face, but not a deep cut. Honestly, she doesn’t know what she would do if she was beautiful in his eyes.

Minx forces tears to well up in her eyes, drawing her expression in - easier than usual, with the comedown she'sriding. The tears spill over, as they are destined to. Schlatt looks altogether unimpressed. There's a spark of something in his eyes, however, as the tears roll, certainly smudging her eyeliner. You could probably identify the days that she feels more explosive or dramatic just by whether or not her eyeliner smudges. It means she came to the party looking for a fight, and Schlatt is always ready to step up to bat. She thinks that maybe he does pay attention to her, even if he’s quick to shit on or dismiss her at any given moment. Maybe that’s wishful thinking. It makes her feel desperate, either way - to be worth his attention, to keep it.

She surges forward, violence stirring in her gut at his blank, bored expression. Her lips find his with ease, and though he doesn’t change his stance, he feels more open. Their teeth clack together and she gasps him in, hungry as they crash into each other, hot and heavy and just as full of as everything they do.

Schlatt inhales deeply as he pulls away, keeping their face inches apart. “Lil crybaby, huh?” he asks, voice rougher as he squeezes her cheeks with one hand. “Baby Becky gonna cry?” The intensity of his presence burns like fire and she wants to tear him apart.

“I told you, don’t fuckin’ call me Be–”

“Shut the fuck up, Rebecca,” he cuts her off, and it feels like a deep cut. He’s the only person that uses her name like that. He’s the only one that uses her name at all. It’s sharp but it spikes her arousal, and maybe they’re just matching flames. They’re certainly easy to ignite. "Your voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Besides, you didn't come here to talk, you came here for the only thing you're good for." A shiver runs down her spine and fuck, she's so intoxicated by him. She draws from her well, eyes easily pricking with tears that rapidly spill over, and she gives.

"Fuck you, J–"

There's a noise in the back of his throat like a growl as he shoves her against the wall, diving in to kiss her punishingly. It makes her dizzy, and why does she even need drugs when she can have this?? She moans into his mouth, pressing herself against him like palms in prayer. Because she can, because she wants to, she sucks his lower lip between her teeth, and he groans into it before forcing himself to pull away.

“Get on your fucking knees,” he snarls, and she bites at his throat, teeth grazing its target before his hand grabs her chin and pushes her back. He forces her to meet his gaze, lips curled in disappointment. “Did I stutter? I’ll give you something to really cry about.” He starts pulling her down, which is honestly perfect, because her knees are buckling anyways.

She doesn’t even notice as her knees hit the floor, just gets to work on his belt buckle. Minx's hands are a little clumsy, causing Schlatt to snort derisively. Still, the belt comes off and his pants are being tugged down as fast as possible. Heat licks at her core as the waistband of his boxers are pulled down to reveal his length, heavy and hot as she squeezes it, a loud groan sounding from above her.

Heat is all she knows at this point, the blind fire of rage and heady flames of desire, and the cocktail of that is her deepest addiction, a vice like no other. That's why she finds herself here, why she always will, why she's dragging her hand up his length, dragging her nails deliberately over the sensitive skin. Schlatt hisses and gasps, and he slaps her hand away, despite how she felt him jump beneath her fingertips.

He grabs a fistful of her hair, probably too roughly for most people but perfect for her. She whines into it, watching through lidded, still teary eyes as he grips his cock. "Open up, pig," he mocks.

Even as he says it, he can't take his eyes off of her.

She opens her mouth wide, feeling the heat behind her own eyes. Schlatt doesn't hesitate - the second he hears her inhale, he presses into her mouth with a long groan. He hits the back of her throat and keeps going until his balls press against her chin, and t's more satisfying than any meal she's had in the past month, in forever.

There's a long moment where he's snug inside of her, where she thinks she might just inhale him whole, and she swallows around his cock and makes dead eye contact with him. He makes a rough, harsh noise, then snaps his hips back and starts using her properly. It only takes a few thrusts for the waterworks to kick in, tears beginning to stream down her face, and Schlatt notices, eyes darkening as he pumps into her throat. He fills her senses, the scent of musk and the salt of his skin, the way his entire body is tense, his need is stronger than even he can fathom and that's the thing keeping his foot on the gas pedal.

"Look at those tears. What a messy… stupid… bitch you are," he grunts, each descriptor punctuated with a thrust. She's making awful, needy noises around him, and the vibrations must push him too close to the edge. He's suddenly pulling out entirely, leaving her mouth gaping open and empty.

Schlatt pulls her to her feet by her shoulders, not bothering to be gentle with it, but there's something almost tender behind it. His lips find hers the second they're within range, capturing her. Her throat burns, but it's so unnoticeable with the heat of their bodies, of his mouth on hers. His tongue slides behind her teeth, and he groans as he finds his taste tucked away there. It's a full court press, and she feels like she's winning whatever game they're playing. Winning is the way he hikes her legs up, notching them around his hips, in the way he kisses her harder as she gives a small sob, tasting her tears on her lips.

Minx's panties are pushed aside and there's a pause as he pulls away to position himself, then gives her one last sloppy but brief kiss. Then he's spearing her on his cock, making her cry out, already overwhelmed in the best way, the pleasure a stab to the gut.  Schlatt slams a hand over her mouth, expression a sneer. The effect is only lessened by the way his irises have been completely eradicated, the blacks of his pupils so fully intent on her that she feels it, his attention heavy and all-encompassing.

"One of these days I'm gonna have to tape that mouth of yours shut," he says in a rough rumble, leaning in so his breath ghosts over her skin. He pulls his hips back and slams into her again, and she lets out a muffled sob, arms wrapping  around his back, fingers slipping over skin before digging her nails in. They're sharp enough to make him hiss, and he wastes no time in setting a brutal pace, fucking every thought from her mind.

The hand not covering her mouth reaches under her dress to thumb at her clip, and she cums instantly, almost trying to writhe away from the intensity of it. Schlatt's hips keep her pinned, however, and his thumb doesn't let up as he fucks her through her orgasm.

She claws at his back like a woman possessed, properly sobbing now through her intense pleasure. The come down doesn't last long, because another orgasm rolls over her, followed by another. "Useless bitch, falling apart on my cock, a-all you're fucking good for," he grunts out, and she digs her nails in harder, eliciting a small yell.

Minx's tremulous hand shoves Schlatt's hand away, and she knows she looks like an absolute mess now. "Schla-att," she whines, and he growls and dives in to kiss her harshly, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. She moans wantonly into his mouth, and his hips stutter as he fucks into her. His thumb picks up pace, just enough to send her barreling over the edge once more. She squeezes him like a vice, and it feels like she blacks out for a second, and maybe this is the appeal of religion. The chance at experiencing pure euphoria, to earn it, to be rendered utterly useless in awe of it all.

Still, she's much happier in the dirt, getting her brains screwed out by a greedy man who craves her just as intensely as she does.

The blackness has to be brief, she knows, because a moment later she can feel his words against her mouth, murmurs that are incomprehensible, but she catches him say "--claim you, all fucking mine Rebecca, mine–" before he's spilling inside of her, folding around her. The wall is the only thing that keeps them up as their bodies melt together, her breaths occasionally coming up as hiccups while her hands come to rest on his back. The only problem with the frantic nature of this is the fact that they're not naked, laid out bare, skin pressed against skin until you can't tell where one person ends and the other begins.

It's an eternity of that, just breathing each other in with no pretenses, a quiet recovery. He slips out of her without ceremony, carefully setting her back on the ground. Minx had forgotten what it was like to have the ground beneath her, had gotten so absorbed in the gravitational pull they'd created together. Always together. Her knees begin to collapse the second he pulls away, but he catches her, a smirk rising to his stupid smug face.

"Don't think… 'can uhm, go back out… there," she says, sounding like she just returned from an out of body experience. She's tired. She's never tired.

"What, did I fuck you stupid?" Schlatt shoots back with a chuckle, and she wrinkles her nose at him, slapping his chest without restraint. It just makes him laugh harder, though he rubs at the sting. 

He doesn't say anything more as he walks her to his bed, where she falls backwards onto it immediately. He's quiet, almost cautious, as he says, "I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"

Minx looks up at him with a swell of complicated emotions, and thank God she's already cried herself out. "Yeah. I'm starving."

#nsfw #schlinx #jay s #rebecca #drabble #main

[auyouni]

tell all of your friends // rogabba

“He’s off, telling his friends that I’m the crazy one!” Gabbie practically shouts as she tosses a hoodie over her shoulder. By the sound that Rosanna makes, she can only assume that the article of clothing landed on her, but in the heat of her anger she doesn’t care. “Can you fucking believe that?? He’s the one that keeps gaslighting me! As if I was overreacting. Motherless behavior, it really shows.”

Ro gives a surprised titter, hand shooting up to cover her mouth. “Gabby, that’s…”

“Fine, yeah, I know. But still, he’s so full of shit and I’m tired of being treated like I’m the only one that has problems!” She runs a hand through her hair, scraping at her scalp. “Do you know, he told me that I act like I don’t wanna be loved? Maybe I just don’t want to be loved by someone who acts like I’m hysterical anytime I have a strong emotion!” Her hands get thrown down in frustration, so angry that she’s almost nauseous. 

“Well. He’s scum, and honestly? Fuck him.” The curse feels so out of place in the typically sweet girl that it actually soothes Gabbie. And honestly? It was kind of hot.

“God, thank you! I’m so glad you get it, you never really said anything to me before about him and I thought I was the only one.” She takes a shuddering breath, letting some of the tension out of her shoulders before resuming her search through her closet. It only takes a few more moments before she finally emerges victorious. “Hah! Here it is!” She yanks out the cardboard box, almost smiling as she turns back to Ro. The other girl is looking quizzically at the hoodie that was thrown at her before - another memento from that asshole.

“So, what are we doing with these, exactly?” Ro asks, chocolate-sweet brown eyes turning to Gabbie. Gabbie does grin now, ready for some damn good catharsis.

“We’re burning them.”

Gabbie had always taken Ro for lawful good, so her agreement comes as a complete shock. And then they’re outside, a box full of Matt’s shit on the sidewalk in front of them (Rosanna, being the reasonable one, had reminded her it wouldn’t be great to burn it on the lawn). Gabbie can already feel the ebb of her anger, but not because she’s any less pissed off at Matt. It’s just… hard to keep a grip on it with Rosanna here. Even though the typically sweet girl has a determined line to her mouth and a fire in her eyes to match the flames in Gabbie’s heart, she’s just a soothing presence overall. It adds up that the only bad she’d ever heard spoken of Ro is from Matt. Fucker.

She clutches the matchbox to her chest and takes a deep breath, staring down at the box. “For making me feel like shit when I told him I wasn’t looking for a relationship, for acting like I wronged him when I had fun at a party, for pursuing me until I finally gave in, for every single time he treated me like I was broken and needed him to be whole…” Her voice gets a little choked up at the latter, both from frustration and a tinge of sorrow. Ro’s hand presses lightly against her lower back, a silent support, and it gives her the spark she needs. She lights a match. “For being a fucking man child who refuses to understand women, and for wasting my damn time. Fuck you, Matthew Brown. If I never have to put up with your bullshit again, it’ll be too soon.” She drops it.

It’s lucky, actually, that the fire catches with no issue. It feels like fate. As the flames lick at every memory, Gabbie does feel free. She feels like herself for the first time in eons, and she gives a small laugh in relief.

“Fuck you, Matt!” she shouts, then gives another laugh, like every pent up frustration is being let go of. For once.

“FUCK YOU, MATT!” Rosanna yells with even more force, and Gabbie looks down at her with a huge grin. Ro looks up to her and matches it, laughing a little, too, and then Gabbie is leaning down to kiss her.

Oh god.

She pulls away almost immediately, cheeks burning hotter than the fire on the ground. Where the hell did that come from? Sure, she always thought Rosanna was cool, but… like a friend. Like a really pretty friend that she always wants to be close to and who she can’t seem to breathe around when she gets too close…

Ro looks a little stunned, for her part. There’s a delicate blush to her cheeks, and Gabbie feels a little like she’s losing her mind, chest shaky with emotion. “I-I’m sorry, I guess I, I got caught up in the moment,” Gabbie says, anxiety bleeding into her voice. She gives a nervous chuckle, like that’ll fix things.

“Yeah! Yeah, I get that, it’s no problem!” Ro says, though her voice sounds higher than usual. She pastes on a smile as she looks up at her. “I, um, I am dating Mark, though.” Gabbie’s eyes are a little wider as she nods quickly, embarrassed. She feels like a teenager again, going up to a crush and being absolutely destroyed. How long has she had a crush on her?

“Oh, that’s cool! I didn’t…” Gabbie clears her throat, and she has to look away. What would she have even done if Rosanna kissed her back? Why did she have to ruin everything? Again. As always. She crosses her arms over her chest, almost hugging herself as she watches the fire slow. “I think I need a glass of wine. Strike that, actually. A bottle.”

Even though Gabbie can’t see it, Ro nods slowly, still watching the taller girl. “That sounds fantastic right now.”

#drabble #rogabba #rosanna #gabbie #matt b #main

[auyouni]

just say you won’t let go // septiplier

Jack doesn’t know why he does this to himself. 

Really, who else is this self-sabotaging? Asking the straight guy he’s in love with to be his fake boyfriend for Christmas Eve is crossing a line that he never wanted to cross, but, to be fair… He never expected Mark to say yes. He knows it’s for the money, of course, that Jack had just offered up a price that he simply couldn’t refuse, but the genuine excitement on his best friend’s face at the idea of finally meeting Jack’s family had been worth that small heartbreak. He feels guilty for not doing it sooner, hiding Mark away like some dirty little secret – which is kinda accurate, but he is in no way ashamed of being friends with him, or… anything else about Mark, really. The only shame he carries is reserved specifically for himself. 

It’s just so complicated to be around Mark. All sorts of emotional turmoil and their shared concerning past, and really, it was easier to just never properly introduce them than deal with those things in the light of day, where he can be ashamed of how in love he is with him, of how much he’d do or spend just to keep him by his side for a millisecond longer. He hasn’t even really told the few friends he still has – it’s just too much, always too much. 

And, oddly, never enough. 

His fingers drum rapidly on the driving wheel as he creeps along the ice slick roads, suppressing the urge to glance over at Mark as best he can. He’d surprised him when Jack picked him up, wearing a tux that fit him perfectly, hugging his body in ways that Jack really cannot afford to be distracted by tonight. 

Still, because Jack’s eyes are always drawn to Mark, he finds himself looking over when they’re at a stoplight. 

His hands hover over the vents blasting heat, trying to warm himself up as much as possible, head slightly bouncing along to whatever song is on the radio (Roses by The Chainsmokers, he thinks?), the streetlights illuminating him beautifully, with a small smile on his lips as he gazes out at the snow fluttering down around the car… Suddenly, Mark’s head turns a little, eyes catching his, and Jack can see just how excited he is, the genuine joy in his expression at being able to do this with him… He can’t help the smile rising to his lips in response, heart so full of his best friend in that moment that he’s sure he’ll cry. 

He doesn’t. 

It’s becoming easier and easier for him to hide strong emotions from Mark, burdens that only he has to bear, and he’s utterly thankful for it. If he knew… If he knew how Jack truly felt, he’d run the other way and never look back. The idea twists his gut a little, and he feels oddly ill, but he can’t dwell on it because Mark is saying something now, tugging him back down to reality with a soft hand on his shoulder. 

“Jack,” Mark says, a barely concealed laugh in his voice, and the Irish boy is certain that his name has never sounded as good as it does coming from his lips, “the light’s green.” Jack blinks a little, surprised, and turns to see that Mark’s right. His cheeks burn as he hits the gas, wishing it wasn’t so easy for him to be distracted by his feelings for his best friend. It’s ridiculous, inconvenient, and… 

Wholly unrequited. 

“Sorry, got a bit distracted,” he says, a tad sheepish. Mark’s eyes don’t leave his face, and Jack wishes he could see his expression. Does he know? He has to by now. It’s not like you’re subtle… 

“Thinking about how hard you’re gonna fuck me tonight?” Mark asks, voice teasing and just a little bit lower – he knows how to get Jack riled up with ease. Jack splutters, blushing, and now that the words are out there, he can’t think of anything besides Mark moaning and wanton beneath him, begging for— 

“W-who says I’m fuckin’ you t’night?” he asks in lieu of answering, jumping onto the new topic. It may not be safe, but at least it’s far, far away from his real feelings toward Mark. 

“Oh come on, Sean,” Mark says in a sultry voice, leaning forward, and Jack can’t help a small shiver, “I know you by now. You were giving me serious bedroom eyes when I walked out of my house.” Oh, like he could’ve helped that - the beautiful boy had dressed up for him, suit and tie and just… damn.

“I paid for a weekend o’ bein’ my fake boyfriend, Mark – I don’t have enough money f’r sex,” he manages to get out, feeling guilty and disappointed in himself for not being able to afford it. 

It’s quiet for a few moments, the radio the only thing breaking the silence. Here we go again / I kinda wanna be more than friends / so take it easy on me / I’m afraid you’re never satisfied… Jack changes the channel quickly, hoping Mark doesn’t notice. 

“Well… doesn’t being a boyfriend usually involve that?” Mark asks, and Jack’s a little taken off-guard. His head whips to face him, eyes wide, but the other boy is staring straight ahead, looking deep in thought, teeth catching at his lower lip. Jack gulps, forcing himself to look back to the road before he drives them into a sign or something. 

“I-I… I guess, yeah,” he manages, voice coming out a little weak, waiting a little desperately for Mark to continue, though he’s certain that he wouldn’t actually be offering— 

“Well then, you… I mean, you paid quite a bit for the full boyfriend experience…” There’s something a little off about Mark’s voice, something almost kind of… worried? But then Mark’s lips are suddenly inches from Jack’s ear, murmuring, “So I want you to fuck me tonight, sweetheart. Feel your cock deep inside of me, while your parents sleep in the other room… Want you so, so badly, Sean...” Jack’s muscles are tight with the effort of keeping himself from jumping Mark then and there, car crash be damned, and it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do to keep his eyes trained on the road. It’s a familiar game, after all, but one that he’s probably never going to get used to. “My boyfriend.” Jack moans at that, turning a little too harshly into an empty parking lot and hurriedly putting the car in park. It’s all a dirty lie, he knows this – but he also knows that he’s never once stood a chance at resisting Mark when he does shit like this, especially with that one single word that resonates so deeply within Jack. His seatbelt hits something as he tosses it aside – like he cares – and then he’s on Mark, pressing him against the passenger door and kissing him. The boy beneath him wraps his arms around him easily as he kisses back just as eagerly. 

He always knew how to put on a good show, make it so believable that Jack’s certain that Mark wants him just as much as the Irishman always has. When his lips press against his, devouring him whole, Jack can forget that this isn’t real, that he’s not actually allowed to want this. 

But for one whole weekend, he is. For one weekend it’ll be real, Jack will be able to hold his hand, fix his hair, compliment him, tell everyone and anyone who will listen just how much he adores this boy with the beautiful brown eyes and the ridiculous levels of charm, who throws marshmallows at him whenever he wins at a game and tickles him in the worst possible settings and sits with him in his car and has long, deep chats with in the middle of the night, leans against him as he drifts off to sleep… 

It’s all allowed. 

Mark is, for the weekend, only his, and the idea alone is enough to make Jack want to cry. Instead, he just kisses him harder, holds him closer, and tries to let himself believe it. 

“J-Jack, we’re gonna be late,” Mark says a few hickeys later, top few buttons of his shirt undone and hair a mess, still squirming under him as Jack’s teeth scrape along the sensitive skin of his neck. He’s not an idiot – none of these will actually be visible, except for maybe the edge of one, but it’s enough for him. 

“Mhmm?” he hums as a reply, nipping softly at a sensitive spot just below Mark’s jaw. Nothing in the world matters as much to him in that moment as the beautiful sounds spilling from his lips. 

“We n-need to go,” he tries again. “Don’t wanna g-get there after everyone e-else…” 

Jack doesn’t respond for a few seconds, lips meeting his in a deep kiss, taking the moment to just taste him. When he finally pulls away, a string of saliva connecting their lips, he smirks down at him, eyes hooded. “Even if I, say… sucked y’r dick?” Mark bites back a moan, squirming more (he couldn’t help loving the Irish boy’s blowjobs, often trying to figure out casual ways to ask for one – though Jack always seems to offer, anyway), and Jack’s smirk grows, hand sliding down Mark’s side. 

“Fuck.” Mark shuts his eyes briefly, seemingly at war with himself, and then he's peering back out at Jack, pupils blown too wide. “We can't. I wanna make a good first impression on your parents.”

Jack sighs, trying to be upset, but really, he's biting back a smile. “Fine, I guess. But I'm definitely suckin’ you off later t’night, first chance I get.” It looks like Mark blushes at that, but it can't be, right? It's just the lighting, he's sure.

Mark leans in, pressing a short kiss to his lips - and despite its brevity, it's still enough to leave Jack breathless.

“You may also wanna fix y’rself up a bit… ya look a bit sexed up,” Jack tacks on teasingly, winking at Mark, and the other boy rolls his eyes, grinning back at him.

“Hmm, I wonder whose fault that was?” he replies, pushing at Jack's shoulder with a small laugh.

“Um, fuckin’ yours!”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

“Was not!”

“Really? And who was th’ one whispering in my ear like a damn temptress??? Can't fault me f'r givin’ in, I'm just a man.”

Mark snorts softly, eyes flickering with amusement, and god, but Jack just wants to spend the rest of the night in this car with him, joking and chatting and letting the rest of the world pass them by beyond the fogged up windows.

Let everyone else take the world, Jack just wants Mark.

#fic #septiplier #twenty dollar au #sean #mark #not main

[auyouni]

Day 1: Holiday lights // AU

Charlie couldn’t care less about the holiday season.

Really, he never has - it just means awkwardly trying to pretend there’s no absence of his family in his life, or that he doesn’t really have anyone to spend it with anyways. Sure, he’s got PJ and Suzy, but he really doesn’t want to burden them. He’d much rather pretend Christmas wasn’t happening at all - buy his friends their presents, donate to charity, and otherwise ignore the damn ordeal. He’s not even planning on decorating, really.

Nothing ever seems to go according to plan though, does it?

Coming home from class, he didn’t expect to see the guy standing on the porch of Gamma, looking like he’s having a serious internal debate. His breath catches, heartbeat picking up without his consent. If there’s one person he didn’t expect to see this season, except for over Skype… it’s him.

His bag drops to the ground without him noticing, or even caring, and then he’s running. All of that apathy dropped in an instant, for one person and one person only. His bright eyes meet Charlie’s just as the shorter man dives into his arms, clinging to him almost desperately.

He doesn’t cry. And if you think he did, good luck proving it, asshole.

When he finally manages to calm himself down, he tugs himself away from the familiar safe place between the valley of his ribs, eyes taking in every little feature of his. “You’re really here??” he asks, deep voice ringing with joy and hope.

“It sure seems like it, huh?” he replies, teasing him, though he looks just as happy, gazing at him just as desperately. “You? Excited to see someone??? I never thought I’d live to see the day…”

Charlie rolls his eyes, unable to help grinning. “I’m sorry, did you want me to say something more like ‘Well butter my nipsticks, I thought I finally got rid of your - admittedly fine - ass’?” he tries, doing his best to monotone it, but there’s still something overly warm in his voice.

He laughs, body shaking with it, and Charlie almost feels like he could cry. But not really, because he’s a manly man who doesn’t cry over finally hearing and feeling the sound of his boyfriends beautiful laughter up close and personal after months and months of them being so far apart. “Nipsticks?”

“Biscuits either made of nipples or adorned with them, get with the program Jase,” he replies easily, and the pure sunshine of his answering smile knocks the breath out of it.

Instead of responding, Jason just pulls him in for a long, long, long overdue kiss, and Charlie presses into him completely. He still maintains that he’s only 1% gay, but he’s never been happier than he was with his childhood-best-friend-turned-boyfriend. The love of his life since fucking middle school. It’s terrifying and overwhelming if he lets himself think about it for too long. So he just… doesn’t. He kisses him instead, letting it slowly erase that ache in him that’s been eating at him ever since he left home for the Youniversity.

Jason pulls away all too soon, though, laughing a little shakily. “Babe, we got stuff to do.” Charlie just leans in again, kissing him soundly, tongue swiping over his lower lip. Jason groans, kissing him back for a few beats, fingers tangling in his hair… And then there’s space between them again, and Charlie just presses his face into the crook of his neck.

“All I wanna do is kiss you for a few hours. Or days,” he grumbles softly. “What the fuck are you making me do?” The words are all bark no bite, and Jason just laughs softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

As it turns out, Jason brought Christmas decorations. Charlie bitched and moaned as his boyfriend directs him in setting them up, Christmas lights and tinsel everywhere. Baubles and fun ornaments hang from every surface, and Charlie doesn’t hesitate to tell him that it looks like Christmas vomited all over his room. But the grin on Jason’s face makes it all worth it, and he can’t help kissing this ridiculous, sweet boy again.

“You’re still my best friend, you know that?” he asks, smiling against his lips, eyes shut as they trade soft kisses.

“I’d sure hope so - if I’d lost that title after 10 whole years, I’d be really concerned.” Charlie chuckles softly, and Jason kisses him.

It’s a few hours later, laying together in the bliss of post-coitus, when he considers just how lucky he truly is. His fingers drift, as they always seem to, over the deep scars over his wrists. He always kept them covered up, at least, around everyone but Charlie. Jason shifts slightly under him, face pressing into his hair. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jasie,” he murmurs softly, always at his sappiest in these quiet moments, isolated from the world.

“Would it be bad if I started singing Christmas songs?” Charlie snorts, eyes squeezing shut as he just holds him closer.

“It would completely ruin the moment, asshole, don’t you dare.”

“…Baby, then you’ll see you’re the only present I need…” He groans dramatically, but Jason is unbothered, still serenading him offkey. “I can gladly say… There’s no place that I’d rather be… I know you are my everything…..”

“You missed a whole chunk, you know.” Jason presses a feather light kiss over his pulse, and Charlie smiles softly.

“You loved it.”

“…Yeah. Yeah, I guess did. You’re lucky I love you.”

“The luckiest.”

The Christmas lights twinkle over them as they smile at each other, and Charlie thinks that this might just the happiest he’s ever been.

#charleson #jason #charl1e #youni advent #drabble

[auyouni]

Day 9: Pretend boyfriends // Cr1TiKaL Bang AU

Charlie’s not into boys. At all. He’d already tried and failed in that regard, and at this point he’s pretty certain that only tits and clits for him.

Still, though, if he were into boys… he thinks he’d be into Danny.

Which isn’t at all why he asked him to be his fake boyfriend - there’s no correlation, really. It’s just that, when his sister asked him to take a boy with him to visit her at her college (apparently she’d been under the assumption that he was mostly gay, and had boasted it to all her friends), he didn’t wanna let her and her friends down. He barely gets to see her as is.

So, naturally, he picked Danny.

[text sent: sexman] hey, i know we have only barely talked, really, but can i ask you a weird favor? my sister’s friends all think i’m gay and dating a guy and she wants me to bring him with but. i’m actually really straight. so i need a guy to fake date, and i think i could stomach fake dating you more than most guys. you in or out? i’ll pay for your shit or whatever.

[text received: sexman] Why not, honestly. I’d probably even get hitched if it meant I got free food. Is weed also involved in this?

[text sent: sexman] i don’t see why not. it’s been a while since i #blazed. the nights’ll be ours anyways.

They exchange a few more texts with plans, and when the dreadful date comes up, they end up in a taxi together. His sister had decided to stay close to him, thank god, so it won’t take too long.

“Rule #1 - you’re not allowed to fall in love with me. Practically impossible, I know, but it’s for the best,” Charlie says, mostly joking. “Rule #2 - kissing is fine, and pretty much all forms of affection, as long as we’re in front of other people. Rule #3 - I’m the top.”

“See, I definitely do not agree with that last one. The tall guy is always the top.”

“Not always, Danny Zuko. My ass is not ripe for the pounding.”

“You have a better ass than I do!”

“While true, does not mean I’m boutta get bent over.”

Danny’s the first to break, giving a laugh that sounds familiar and comforting despite him having only barely heard it before. Charlie laughs along with him, and the rest of the taxi ride goes just as well.

The actual plan goes off without a hitch - apparently, they make the perfect gay couple. The first night they end up on the couch bed together, passing a blunt between each other.

“God, I’ve fucking missed this,” Charlie mutters eventually, utterly relaxed. Sure, he’s not supposed to do drugs with his meds, but… who cares? Not him.

“Me too. I mean, I get high all the time, but… I always miss it.” Charlie laughs, a little surprised by it, leaning into Danny a little, face burying into his neck. “Hey, y-you’re breaking your own rule. 2, I think? No one’s hear to see all this physical contact,” Danny jokes, arm wrapping around him all the same. It’s loose, and relaxed, and neither really care.

“Pffffff - rules were made to be broken.”

“Shit, you right.” Charlie snorts, pressing further into him. Because, well, why not? “If they’re made to be broken, does that mean we’re gonna make out? Aaand I’m the top??”

“It also means you’re desperately in love with me - all or nothing when it comes to breaking the rules. Break one law, you gotta break ‘em all.”

“Pokemon!” Charlie laughs, open-mouthed, and Danny squirms a little.

“Hey, hey, if your mouth’s gonna be… be pressed against my neck like that, ya gotta give me some action.” So Charlie does. He gives a small nip, catching Danny by surprise, especially when he starts sucking a small mark into existence. “Fuck, Ch-Charlie….”

And then the smaller boy is climbing into his lap, pushing him against the back of the couch. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he shouldn’t be doing this, that he’s only doing it because he’s high, that he needs to stop… In response, he brings his lips to meet Danny’s, who, surprisingly, kisses him right back.

It’s eager and hot and all kinds of messy, but laying there 30 minutes later with a slightly sore ass and another blunt between his fingers, Charlie can’t bring himself to regret it.

“I was kidding about the falling in love part, y-y’know. That’s still not allowed.”

“Too late Charlie, your exceptional ass got me all fucked up on love. Gonna want a piece of dat ass for the rest of time now.” Charlie laughs - giggles, really - and just moves closer to him.

#cr1tbang #danny #cr1tikal #youni advent #drabble

[auyouni]

Day 8: Blizzard Warning // Chase Brody AU (McMurphy)

Jack stands at his window, watching the soft flurry of snow passing by. They dance with the wind, chaotic and frenzied, but graceful and mesmerizing all the same. It’s easy now to think that the rest of the world doesn’t really exist, that this is some Disney movie where everyone gets a happily ever after. The guy gets to keep the girl, and the fairytale, and every dream that comes with it.

This isn’t a Disney movie, he reminds himself, a pang in his heart.

He shifts back onto his bed, feeling a little nauseous.

Ell– Melanie had left a week and a half ago to spend time with her family before Christmas. That time seemed to stretch on for too long, but… she supposed to have returned a few days ago.

“I’m staying a’ my sister’s this weekend.” Her voice had been terrifyingly subdued as she said this to him a few nights ago over the phone, quiet and pained. His stomach had dropped without really knowing why.

“She invited ya over?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light. “Awfully sweet o’ her…” Still, there was that pit of dread building in his gut. He knows her sister’s opinion of him had started poorly, and only worsened over time.

“Sean… please don’t make m’ say it.”

“Say what? You don’t have t’ say anything, everything’s great, why would anything need ta be said?” he said, voice rushed, as if that will fix this.

“My sister said–”

“Well, I don’t care what y’r sister said!”

“Fuck you, Sean! I… I’m trying ta keep this amicable, you can’t start this up right now!” Jack stayed silent for a moment, lips pressed together tightly. The arguments had only grown in number since they started, but maybe he could prevent… this if he could prove he could play nice. “I-I want a divorce.” He felt like he’d been punched. “So I’m… leaving, an-and I’m takin’ th’ kids with me.” His eyes squeezed shut, and he wished that he didn’t have to hear this, that this wasn’t the final stab of the knife. He’d prefer anything else. Just… anything but this.

“No, baby, n-no, we can… things were fine! W-why are you……” His breathing was coming out too short and fast, and he felt sick.

“They haven’t been for so, so long, W– Sean.” He sucked in through his teeth, pained. His lifelong best friend, the only person that had always been there for him, and… and he was losing her.

“Just… just don’t take the kids, Mel, please, I….” There was a lump in his throat, eyes squeezing shut. She didn’t answer for a long time.

“I’m so sorry.” The phone had been hung up before he could reply, and it didn’t take long until there was whiskey in his hand and tears in his eyes…

Well. It was just a bad night all around.

Now, though, he’s shut in with all those thoughts that he’d held at bay with work and forced socialization. There’d been a blizzard warning and everything, and he honestly isn’t sure he’s ever hated himself more than he does in this moment.

Drowning himself in alcohol is way too appealing right now, really. It’d be so easy, too…… No one even knows he’s been lapsing. No one even knew Melanie was leaving him. It’d be so easy not to have to think about it right now, or anything…

The door opens, and he gazes over numbly to see Mark with an odd expression and a cup of hot cocoa. “W-what ever happened to kn-nocking, asshole?” he mumbles, eyes narrowing at him. He can’t do this right now, can’t be around other people. He wipes at his eyes, shocked when his sleeve comes back extremely wet. God. He gives a broken sob.

“Are… are you okay, Sean?” Jack flinches with his entire body at the name, Melanie’s voice ringing in his ears. Mark seems panicked at this, staring at him with increasing concern.

“J-Jack,” he corrects, staring back out the window. “I-I’m fine, go away.”

“You’re not, Jack.”

“Wh-why’d you fuckin’ ask, then?” Mark ignores the question, shutting the door behind him and walking over to Jack’s bed, setting the mugs down on his bedside table. He climbs into bed next to him, forcing Jack to scooch over a little. “What the fu–”

“Drink,” Mark replies, holding the mug up to Jack’s lips. He tries to glare at him, force him to leave, but… instead he just complies, sipping at the hot liquid. It does… kinda help to sooth him, but that ache in his chest refuses to be calmed that easily. Mark sets the mug back down, and if he knows anything, Jack’s not sure. It’s kinda fucking obvious though, considering the missing wife and kids from the room. “When was the last time you got some sleep?” What the fuck kinda question……

Jack suddenly realizes he doesn’t know the answer.

As if it took Mark mentioning this to him for his body to catch up, his very bones fill themselves to the brim with exhaustion.

“While ago,” he answers quietly, ashamed. Mark just pulls him under his arm, cradling him against his body, and Jack rests his head over his best friend’s heart. The instruction is clear: sleep, rest up, take care of yourself for-fucking-once - but Jack can’t bring himself to. He just sobs, clinging to him like a child. “I-I ruined… e-e-everythin’……”

Mark just holds him through it. He doesn’t say that it’ll be okay, or that it doesn’t matter, or some other bullshit meant to calm people in the moment even when, ultimately, they aren’t okay.

Nothing will ever be okay again, he’s sure.

But eventually, all that crying draining him just too damn much, he finds himself falling asleep, tears still streaming down. He’s stuttering out apologies, and with each one Mark just squeezes him a little tighter.

“Go to sleep, Jacky. I’ll be here when you wake up.” This time, it’s a lot easier for Jack to follow his order.

Even though really, he never wants to wake up again.

#chase brody au #sean #mark #mcmurphy #not main #drabble #youni advent

[auyouni]

Day 11: Christmas Wish Come True // Septiplier AU

Jack didn’t mean to wish it. Samantha is a baby, though, and despite how much he loves her, how devoted he is to looking after her, a part of him still pangs with loneliness. He misses Charlie. He always misses Charlie. But he already knows the end to that story, and he’s getting over it. He’s sure he can. In the entirety of his life, there’s only one person he’ll never be able to get over. At least, not for longer than a few months.

Keep reading

#septiplier #youni advent #main youni #sean #mark #fic #samantha #colin

[auyouni]

Day 9: Pretend boyfriends // KickTheSanders AU

Thomas had been…. admittedly nervous when this all started. It’s so weird, and really really stupid - but gosh, he just cannot survive another year of his family asking if he’s dating anyone, anyone since her. His life is put under a microscope when he comes home for Christmas, and he always comes back feeling raw.

He hoped this would help some.

Keep reading

#kickthesanders #thomas #pj #main youni #drabble #youni advent

[auyouni]

when i’m messed up, that’s the real me // septiplier

Jack's not entirely sure how he got here.

The universe seems to swirl slowly around him as he lays in the grass, the expanse of the sky laid out before him. The air smells new, and sweet, like the start of something wonderful, but Jack's not sure he could handle that something, whatever it is. He can't really handle much.

His heavy hand lifts his phone up above him, squinting at the screen. His eyes shift over it, continuously moving, watching the way the screen multiplies and moves. He feels dizzy.

Taking a shuddering breath, he focuses hard on tapping the screen, pulling up the dial tab. Shakily, he hits number 1 on speed dial and brings it down to his ear, listening to it ring.

Approximately a few millennia pass, but that's fine. Jack would wait for forever, if there was a chance he’d pick up.

“Well hey there, Mr. I-Have-No-Concept-Of-Time,” comes Mark's slightly husky voice, and Jack has no clue if he's trying to be sexy or if it's just from sleep. He's never really sure, when it's this late. “What'll it be tonight, hmm?”

Jack swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Mark,” he manages to say, voice soft and slurred. “I… I'll pay ya more i...if you come to me,” he says, trying to sound sober, but god, he's really too far gone for this.

There's a beat of silence. Then: “Are you drunk?”

“Please?” he tries, squeezing his eyes closed at the swirling stars. “Wanna see you.”

There's an odd intake of breath on the other end, and another silence, uncertainty lying in the lack of words. Then a sigh, a soft grumble, and Jack can hear faint rustling. “Fine, fine, I'm on my way over. Are you--”

“‘m in the… the park. Big one, by y’r h-house,” he says, not even sure if that's what Mark was asking.

“What… are you okay?”

Jack considers that for a quiet moment, eventually making a noncommittal noise. He hasn't been okay for a while now.

“Why are you at the park? Did you just decide to walk there, for no reason?”

“Drove.”

“...You fucking better have drove before you got yourself wasted.”

“From a party, I… I was a-already drunk.”

“Goddammit, Sean, you absolute idiot.”

“Yeah.”

There's a lengthy sigh on the other end. “I'm gonna hit you.” Jack doesn't doubt that he would, but he probably won't. “On my way - don't move, and don't die.”

Jack nods, but the call ends before he even realizes that Mark can't see him.

Everything becomes a bit blurry when Mark finds him. He gets a vague, flurried feeling of safety and love and warmth and a healthy dose of anxiety, and he's pretty sure he lets Mark drive his car. Next thing he knows, he’s sitting on his bed, watching as Mark unties his shoes for him. Jack tears up a little as he stares at him, taking in all his features and the concern/frustration mixture in his expression.

“Money's in my drawer… th-thanks f’r gettin’ me,” he says softly, instead of something much more idiotic, more damning.

“I'm not taking your money for helping you get your drunk ass home. That's just being a good friend, I don't need payment for that.” Mark sounds a little exasperated, and maybe a little hurt, but Jack can't make heads or tails of why.

“What if I kiss you?” The words just tumble from his lips, the next logical step in his brain.

“You don't have to kiss me. I'm not taking your money, you're too drunk to be making deals, or finding excuses to give me money.” Mark finally looks up at him, expression tired and a little resigned.

“What if I just want to kiss you?”

“I'll hit you.”

Jack considers that. Mark doesn't sound threatening, just tired. “Will you?”

“...No, but I'm not taking your money.”

“What… if I kiss you… an’ ask you ta stay th’ night?”

Mark watches him, a million different emotions flickering over his expression. “I'm not having sex with you. Tonight or tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Jack replies, hope rising in a small way. He might stay. Just for the night, but he'll take what he can get. “Just want a kiss, an’... an’ very manly cuddlin’.”

Mark considers this for a long moment, before finally giving a small nod. “Okay.” Jack smiles, big and bright, and something in the American's expression softens. “I'm still not taking your money.”

“E...even when I'm sober?” Jack asks, tilting his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It's a good deal. He doesn't have to have sex with a guy, but still gets paid the same as if he did.

“Yeah, but I'm sure you'll argue about it more when you are. Counting on the hangover to keep you at bay.” Jack rolls his eyes, which makes him kinda dizzy, so he gives a small laugh. Almost a giggle. He's tired enough, and drunk enough, and lovesick enough to be giggling by now.

“Y… you’d be dumb ta not take it, Marky,” he says quietly, after a moment, and Mark sighs. “Even if… if we didn't do anythin’, I’d still want ya t’ have it. You need it more than me, you… deserve th’ whole world, Mark. I’d trade you the universe f’r a single kiss, that's… that's all I want.” He tries to focus on the other boy's expression, because even through the fog of his mind, he realizes he's just said some pretty damning stuff. Mark, for his part, seems a little speechless, some unnamable emotion flicking through his eyes.

Jack's about to speak, maybe to take it all back - or make it worse, keep on that horrible ramble until he spills all his emotions, cutting into those deep wounds in his heart and just bleeding love for this amazing boy (which is much more likely) - lips already parting, but Mark kisses him instead.

Jack definitely doesn't complain.

He just kisses him back, clumsy hands gripping at his shirt, pulling him closer, so Mark ends up in his lap. Still, he kisses him, letting the feelings wash over everything. Mark's hands end up in his hair and cupping his jaw, lips softly moving against his. It feels different from a lot of the times that Mark kisses him. More… real, maybe. Jack absolutely melts into it, wishing it could fill up all those cracks in his dumb heart.

When they finally break away, they're both panting softly, Jack's mind completely dizzy and lips tingling, heart racing, and he's trying to find the words to describe the feelings that ignited in him with Mark's lips, but all he can think is full blown fireworks. What is this, a teen novel? Still, the description is accurate. Whenever they’d kissed before, Jack had felt those stupid sparks, the silly butterflies, the electricity under his skin, but… but, there's something different about this kiss. Despite being weighed down by the fog of the alcohol, the feelings are more intense now.

God, if only he weren't so drunk.

“You shouldn't want that,” Mark mumbles, voice breathless. “I'm not worth it.”

“You are,” Jack finds himself whispering back without a second thought, believing it wholeheartedly.

“I'm a mess.”

“So? I am too.” Mark makes a noncommittal noise, and Jack frowns a little. “Hey. L… look at me.” Mark reluctantly opens his eyes, lets them meet Jack's own. “We're both… pretty messed up. But you… Y’r mess is the best thing that I've ever gotten c-caught up in.”

“You're drunk,” Mark points out, after a moment.

“So?”

“So you don't know what you're saying.”

“Maybe, but… I mean it. I wouldn't… wouldn't trade any o’ this f’r anything.” Unless that anything included them being together truly, or Mark moving on completely and finding genuine happiness, like he deserves. Even if it leaves Jack behind, heartbroken and alone. It wouldn't matter. “You're… my fav’rite person, Marky.”

Mark just kisses him, again, like it's too much to be expressed in words. He lays him down and kisses him in that sweet, real way, and Jack wishes he could express the sheer magnitude of his adoration and love for the other boy, but. Here they are, like they always will be: Jack, hopelessly in love with Mark, and Mark, holding him close for all eternity.

#twenty dollar au #septiplier #sean #mark #not main #fic

[auyouni]

you like because, but you love despite // septiplier

“Not… not tonight, Mark,” Jack manages to whisper when the other man's hands start drifting to more inappropriate areas. Honestly, the rejection goes against his every instinct, but… he really can't drag his heart through the flames tonight.

Mark, the gentleman he is, pulls his hands back up immediately, even pulling  away from the kiss to gaze at him with concern. “Is something wrong?” he asks, voice a bit gravelly, and Jack swallows.

“No,” he lies quickly, shaking his head. “Just… not in the mood.” Technically, that's true in a way, but he's pretty much always in the mood. He desperately wants whatever Mark is willing to give him, always terrified that this will be the last time, that he'll tell him afterward that this game they're playing is too fucked up, and he wants out. It would destroy Jack, while barely leaving a dent in Mark.

His eyes squint slightly as he gazes at him, searching his expression. “You're lying,” he states finally, and Jack squirms a bit.

“I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“It's not a big deal, Mark, I just can't… handle it, tonight.”

Mark's eyebrows furrow, creasing his forehead. “What?” Jack shrugs half-heartedly, not wanting to voice or explain the pain in his heart.

Mark, however, finds his own answer in that silence.

“Do you not wanna touch me?” Mark asks, voice pained, which is a horribly incorrect assumption. It's painfully laughable, how wrong it is.

“What? No, o’ course I want to, I always--”

“I knew this was coming. You don't want me anymore, do you? You got to have me for a while, though maybe not completely--

“Have you?” Jack didn't realize that Mark considered himself even partially Jack's.

“--and you realized that everything you thought you felt was a fantasy, and that I'm just horrible, and fucking rot, and you're done doing this with me because it's not worth it, and hurts more people than it helps, and--”

“Mark!”

“--you don't want me anymore.” Mark finally seems to take a breath, his spiraling words pausing, and Jack takes the opportunity to pin him down, hand covering his mouth. It's achingly clear, now, the pain in Mark's eyes, and Jack's gut twists.

“Mark.” His voice is shaky, and he feels like he's teetering on the edge here. “Mark. Listen ta me, alright?” The American's breaths are coming in short, probably on the verge of a panic attack... if he's not already having one. “I want you.” He can almost hear the disbelief that Mark would be voicing right now, if he could speak. “Goddammit - I will always want you, Marky. I don't know how you forgot this, or could ever convince y’rself that that's not true, cos it is. I want you so bad that it hurts, and I've… I've only wanted ya more since this started.” It should've been painfully obvious - though, he supposes, he hasn't said it in so many words. Not since he confessed his love to him, after fucking Shawna decided she didn't--

That… doesn't matter, not right now.

He takes a shaky breath, shaking his head slightly. “You're the only one that I want. I don't care how much of you I'm allowed to have, as long as I have you in some way. Be it best friend, or fuck buddy, or some weird combination o’ both.” He leans his forehead against Mark's. “Nothin’ you could ever do would change that.” He lets his hand slide from Mark's mouth to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. “I want you more than anything.” The words come out softer, almost whispered, and tinted in that well-worn heartbreak that he wears like a second skin.

Mark seems to be trying to collect himself, eyes searching Jack's for any insincerity. But no, there's only pained honesty to be found. “But…” His voice cracks on the word, and Jack's heart aches with it. “I'm… I'm cheating on Thomas with you,” he manages in a whisper, and it's the first time they've actually acknowledged it out loud. His very bones seem to ache. “It's… I'm dirty, and wrong, and untrustworthy… I'm rotten, rotting both you and him.”

Jack presses his lips together for a moment, wanting to sob at the tears he sees shining in Mark's eyes. “I don't believe that ya are. Rotten, rotting, dirty, wrong. Just… that heart o’ gold is all confused, and that's… I can't say it's okay, but I'm not mad at you for it.” He takes a shaky breath. “And say you are, huh? What if I said that… that I don't care if you rot me all the way through? You could destroy me fucking entirely, and every last piece of me will still keep comin’ back. Will still want you.” Horribly self-destructive, he knows, but… he loves him.

“I don't want that for you,” Mark replies, voice a choked sob, and Jack bites his lip, shaking his head.

“You don't get to decide, here. It's my choice, lettin’ ya hurt me. Because it's worth it. A million times over. When you kiss me, or smile, or even just pull me a little closer… it's worth it.” He offers the smallest of smiles, though he's sure that the utter longing in his eyes is clear. “You're worth it.”

At that, a tear slips down Mark's cheek, and he tugs Jack down, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Y-you should hate me.” The words taper off into a small sob, and Jack's heart clenches.

“I can't ever hate you, Marky.” He squeezes his eyes shut, letting his own tears fall. “I love you.” The words are soft and horrible, but it doesn't matter how much it hurts him to say them.  They're the truth, and Mark… he needs them, right now. “No matter what, I will always love you. There's nothing you could ever do to me that I couldn't forgive.”

When Mark's mouth finds Jack's own, he doesn't even think of fighting it. He just kisses him back, pouring his desperation and longing into it, tasting the salty film of tears caught between their lips. “I love you,” he gasps between kisses, and in response Mark just kisses him harder, almost as hungry and desperate as Jack is.

#septiplier #sandbachs #sean #mark #thomas #shawna #starshine au #drabble #main youni

[auyouni]

would it really kill you if we kissed? // septiplier

Jack isn't a huge fan of the parties at the university. It's not that they aren't fun; they've just always felt kinda off every time he's gone to one. That's probably his own fault more than anything else, but that doesn't make it any less weird to be there.

It also doesn't make it any less hard to stop looking at Mark every chance he gets.

He looks so amazing under the lowlights of the party, and it makes Jack's heart thrum softly. The very few times Mark caught him, he'd just smile warmly, oblivious to how it makes Jack's heart beat faster, how it makes him feel warm all over, how it makes him feel like he's the most important person in all of existence.

He always looks away first.

Thoughts of Mark aside, he tried his best to enjoy the party. Which is how he ended up tipsy (but not drunk), and how he ended up joining the students who decided to start a game of spin the bottle. Not his best idea, but he figured, why not? It would take his mind off of Mark, at least.

What he didn't expect was Mark dropping down on the floor next to him, having to press most of his body against Jack's. It takes everything Jack has to ignore the beating of his heart, or the way he feels so completely at home, and just return his friend's easy smile.

It's that smile that causes Jack to realize that Mark doesn't know what this is, why so many people are filling in this makeshift circle. He opens his mouth to say something, but his tipsy brain distracts him with just how perfect Mark looks this close. Normally he's much more equipped to deal with it, but at this moment, it's all he can do to close his mouth so he doesn't look like the awed, gaping idiot he is when confronted by how deep his love runs for Mark. It's harder to ignore it when he's in this state of mind.

Anyway, that's why he can't warn Mark against staying in the circle, why he looks so shocked when someone places the empty beer bottle in the middle of the group, why he's forced to stay by the people who boo him as he tries to leave.

And so, the game begins.

Jack is among the first handful of people to get to spin, so he doesn't actually get kissed until it's his turn to spin the bottle. He purposely avoids looking at Mark (who he can feel tensing up beside him) as he reaches out, giving the bottle a good spin. His heart races as it spins, and as it slows down, so does time itself. It inches closer and closer to where he and Mark are sitting, and he finds himself holding his breath.

It stops just millimeters before Mark, landing on Charlie McDonnell instead. Both him and Mark simultaneously let out a breath of relief, and Jack tries his best not to feel hurt. Instead he gives Charlie a sheepish smile, which he returns. Their kiss is tentative and friendly, and when they pull back, they share matching blushes. Jack is so distracted by how odd the situation is that he doesn't notice Mark protesting his turn, doesn't notice how he's met with extremely strong resistance, doesn't notice how he finally just gives in and spins the bottle.

When Jack finally looks down again, it's to see the bottle as it stops on him.

He swears that time stops, or that he's hallucinating, or that this is all some horrible dream. It has to be, right? The world isn't that cruel. But as he turns to look at Mark to see a horror and anxiety on his expression to match his own, he realizes that this is real, and happening.

The growing panic on his face seems to snap Mark out of his slight stupor, and he turns back to the circle. "Guys, c'mon-"

His words are cut off by the group chanting for them to kiss, along with a few shouts of "party pooper" and "that's the game man!" Jack can't turn to look at any of them, eyes fixed on Mark and Mark only, taking in his desperation and panic like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. Slowly, Mark's expression turns resigned as he looks back at him, and Jack can feel a pull in his heart at it, can feel himself growing resigned too in response.

"I... I guess we have no choice," Mark murmurs, voice low enough for only Jack to hear. His voice soothes him, even as his words draw goosebumps and some unnameable feeling inside of him. He honestly cannot believe that Mark is giving in so easily, that he's actually asking this of him. He must know by now that Jack will never say no to him, no matter how much it would break his heart. "Would it... Would it really kill you if we kissed?" he asks, and Jack finds himself shaking his head, even though he's almost certain it would - or, at least, it would kill so many parts of him that it'd be impossible to fix himself. Especially if it were because of a fucking party game. Still, he doesn't move away as Mark cups his cheek softly, leaning forward a little. "It'll be okay. We'll be okay." Jack isn't sure he's too comforted by those words.

"We'll be okay," Jack repeats softly, but he doesn't quite believe it himself. Still, he doesn't stop Mark from slowly leaning in. In fact, he leans in as well, as if drawn in by a magnet. He only hesitates right before their lips touch, but Mark doesn't stop.

And suddenly they're kissing, really kissing, and Jack feels like he's drowning and being saved all at once. In one perfect and terrible moment, Jack is kissing Mark and being kissed back, and it's everything and nothing like he'd imagined it would be.

He is so lost.

More lost than he's been his entire life.

Before he finds himself so lost that he can never find his way back, he jerks back, eyes flying open (when did he close them? Was it when he was losing himself in the feeling of Mark, when his fingers had gripped his friend's shirt, when he'd forgotten the rest of the world around him and filled the aching hole in his soul that had existed from the moment his lips first left Mark's?) as he stares at his best friend. His whole being aches with the loss even as tears spring to his eyes from it happening at all. Mark's eyes are still hooded as he watches Jack get to his feet and stumble out of the room, breaking out into a run. He runs from the house, from the feelings rising under his skin and burning through him, from the terrifying knowledge of how it feels to have Mark truly kiss him back and still not mean it.

Would it really kill you if we kissed?

Yes...it would. Fuck, it did. Every single part of him feels like it's dying, and he ends up practically collapsing in the grass, breathing hard and shaking like a leaf, feeling like a tornado is ripping through him.

#septiplier #sean #mark #main youni #drabble

[auyouni]

only in dreams we see what it means // septiplier

Jack always feels a bit guilty for slipping into people’s dreams without asking. It feels like some deep violation, one that he’s certain he should’ve been called out on by now, but he hasn’t received so much as a light scolding. As far as excuses for pushing his luck go, it’s not his best one, but… but, here he still is.

His “fingers” brush over the door in front of him, the warmth and familiarity calling to him like a siren call. He would know this mind anywhere, even without the name printed clearly on the door: MARK E. FISCHBACH. He still has time to leave, to avoid this door at all costs. The first time had broken his heart, seeing Mark react to his death, and the second time was better, but still heartbreaking in a different way. A picture perfect afternoon for just them. It was like a shared fantasy, a sweet day, one that is never truly within their grasp. They barely get enough time to hang out just in their rooms. And seeing Mark in that environment, the sunlight practically making him glow, his eyes only focused whenever they’d land on Jack...

Still, his fingers close around the doorknob. He’s not known for his self-control, after all.

The moment he starts to open the door, everything changes. Mark’s mind seems to immediately accept his presence, as if he belongs there, as if he’s a missing piece falling back into place. He almost shudders with it, feeling so utterly at peace that he practically aches with it.

It takes him a moment to take in his surroundings, and when he does, he almost laughs. It looks like a fancy ballroom, or maybe a ‘20s speakeasy? The details are fuzzy, seeming to stitch the two different settings into one, like it’s trying to fit both stereotypes at once. Everyone is dancing - most people are blurry, almost like they have no face, which is disconcerting to say the least. He can pick out a few of their friends, and some faces that seem slightly more defined, but it takes him a moment to find Mark.

When he does, it’s almost comedic how he missed him at all. The man - or, representation of his mind? - is genuinely glowing, though it’s faint. In the almost desaturated colors of the room, he seems to be the only thing in full color, almost exaggeratedly so. Jack’s breath would catch, if it could. As it is, however, he just pushes forward through the crowd, takes the seat next to his best friend.

“Nice party,” Jack says after a moment, unsure if Mark will be able to see him this time around.

“Is it?” the other guy replies quietly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye before his eyes flick back to whatever he was watching before.

“Is it not? I wouldn’t actually be able to tell either way. Everyone seems to be dancing, though, so I’d say it’s a success.” It’s actually eery, the dancing - everyone is perfectly in sync, every movement choreographed. Only one person seems to be moving on their own - though, really, they’re just off-beat with everyone else. Same moves, same flourishes, just… a little before. Almost as if they were leading the dance. Jack can’t figure out who the person is supposed to be, but they have a touch of color to them as well - not nearly as strong as Mark - and Mark’s eyes seem to be following them as they go.

“I guess. I never really cared enough to notice.”

“Fair enough.”

They lapse into silence, and though there’s a pang of something in the air, the overall atmosphere is a comfort to Jack. The details are weird, and a little murky, but it’s a dream. He wasn’t expecting it to be vivid, especially with so much going on. Especially with Mark’s focus on one specific person…

The music shifts from a lively jazz to something smoother, more waltz-esque than not, and the crowd seems to part, a spotlight shining down from seemingly nowhere, catching on that one person, who has yet to change their tune. Everyone else seems to almost literally melt away into the background, leaving… leaving… Rosanna. Of course it’s Rosanna. Jack’s gaze immediately falls to the ground, and he tries to ignore the hollow ache ringing through him.

“Why don’t you dance with her?” he finds himself asking, though he’d rather not acknowledge her. Nothing against Rosanna, but he’s suddenly so tired, and he would much rather leave right now, thank you very much. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mark’s head turn to face him completely for the first time since Jack came in, and he finds himself meeting his gaze without even thinking about it. His expression is sad, longing, confused.

“I can’t. She has someone else to dance with.”

Jack furrows his brows slightly, glancing back out to the dancing Rose, and… sure enough, someone (who looks like a confusing blend of Matt and Cyr) is sliding into her spotlight, their hands finding each other’s, melting into a perfectly synced waltz. It’s surreal, like a scene from a movie, like the happily ever after right before the end credits. He looks away, back to Mark, and finds that he has lost the other man’s attention once more.

“Then why are you here?”

“I… hoped. It doesn’t make sense, but I hoped she’d still dance with me, even though she already has someone.”

And there’s that ache again, as familiar as an old friend but as incapacitating as an old fear. Jack nods softly, sure his expression is open in its pain and sympathy. “It makes sense, bud. I… I really get it.” Mark nods slightly, sighing.

“I missed my shot, you know. I was so close to her, but… she slipped right through my fingers.” 

“Well, why don’t we dance then?” Jack’s not sure where the suggestion comes from, but he refuses to retract it, when it’s all he wants to do. Mark doesn’t know it’s really him, anyway.

“...Us?” And there it is, Mark is finally looking at him again, apparently thoroughly distracted. “I don’t even know the steps.”

“The steps don’t matter, Marky. We can just make up our own dance as we go.”

Mark looks vexxed, but not upset, not like he wants to refuse, and Jack is relieved beyond words when he offers up his hand. He takes it without hesitation (something deep inside of him resonating when he does), and then tugs Mark to his feet, out into the spotlight. There’s a perceptible shift in the air as they do, and there’s a pause, like the entire universe is waiting for their next move. He gives a faint chuckle, and Mark smiles a bit more, and then they’re stepping into each other. Jack lets Mark take the lead, and they fit together like something meant to be.

Or maybe that’s just bias.

Still, they step into the song, into the dance, with ease. It’s not the same one that Rosanna is doing, though the two couples seem to be circling each other within the light. Mark doesn’t even look their way, just gazing at Jack with an odd expression, one that catches in his chest.

“See? Not so shabby, for someone who doesn’t know the steps,” Jack finds himself murmuring, the intensity of the moment making him ache, making him almost nervous. Nervous doesn’t seem like the right word, though.

“Maybe it depends more on who I’m dancing with, then. I’m sure if I was with anyone else right now, I’d be falling over myself.” Mark gives a faint chuckle, a dazzling smile, and Jack feels a little dizzy with it all.

“Yeah? Even…” He can’t bring himself to say her name, but Mark seems to understand. He only spares Rosanna and the Matt/Cyr hybrid a momentary glance before his eyes return to Jack’s, and he nods.

“Yeah. Even Ro. You just… you make this so easy, you know? Everything with you is easy. All I need is you by my side, and…” Jack can’t take his eyes off of Mark, a smile creeping onto his face, and then Mark is pulling him in closer, chest to chest, and his thoughts stutter. He’s never felt so genuinely connected to Mark, and it’s almost like he can read his mind. All of it is fondness, affection, even… even love, just for him.

“Good thing you have me forever, huh?” Jack replies, voice almost murmured, and Mark tilts his head slightly. Out of the corner of Jack’s eye, he can see Rosanna and Matt/Cyr fading into the background, slipping completely out of the spotlight, and his heart skips a beat.

“Yeah. It really is.”

It’s surreal, like a scene from a movie, like the happily ever after right before the end credits. He can’t look away, doesn’t want to, just wants to live in this moment forever. Here, where Mark’s hand meets his; here, where the color thrums through the both of them; here, where they aren’t in perfect sync, but are, in fact, a perfect match.

#septiplier #rosaplier #dreamwalker sean #sean #mark #rosanna #matt #cyr #fic #main youni #halloween event

[auyouni]

too big of a loss // septiplier

Jack refuses to accept it. As many times as he’d been sure that Mark was dying in his arms, he’d never actually let himself imagine a life without him.

But, as the erratic heartbeat under his fingertips stills, there is one thing he’s certain of: if Mark is gone, then Jack needs to go too.

Jack slumps over his body, forgetting the rest of the world around them– him, actually, just him now. He gives a sob, squeezing him as if that’ll bring life back into the limp body in his arms, as if that’ll bring back that huge smile and those crinkly eyes, the goofy and sweet laughter, the playfulness and the memories they were supposed to make together. Grief takes over for a moment, burning through him with the knowledge that if he’d called the ambulance when he first collapsed in his arms, if he’d made him eat more, if he’d taken care of him, then….then Mark would be able to hold him back. It’s all his fault, he did everything wrong, Mark was never the rot, he was - Jack had rotted him without either of them noticing, made Mark too reliant on someone who ultimately doesn’t matter. Not as much as Mark. Jack was just supposed to be an afterthought, and that he’d made himself important enough to break Mark's heart was his biggest sin.

Mark was never his, but Jack…. Jack was always all Mark’s. And he’d failed him. He'd failed both of them, all three of them, time and time again.

He hates himself for it, for how recent the time before this was. It was never supposed to happen again - though part of him aches and burns for not being able to do it again, a million times over. Still, he knows, he never would’ve touched Mark if it would’ve saved him.

Through the murky, painful haze in his mind, he hears the phone drop from Ro’s hand as she’s suddenly made aware of the fate of her boyfriend, her future husband, her heart and strength and everything. Everything Jack once wanted (still wants? he doesn’t know, it doesn’t matter, mark was only his in stolen moments and a friendship that he never deserved), she had had.

Their pain, he knows, is the same in that moment.

She collapses next to him and then they’re both cradling Mark's lifeless body, lost in their own, yet shared, grief.

He’s sure, though, that Ro isn’t making the same plans as him.

Jack’s mind races as he tries to remember how much alcohol is left in his room, if it’d be enough to kill him. He realizes, though, that it wouldn’t be fast enough to get him to Mark. He's not sure if he believes in an afterlife, but as long as he ends up wherever Mark is - whether it’s only in the grave beside him or in heaven with him forever - it’ll be okay.

He has promised Mark time and time again that he will never leave him, and that is truly the only thing that matters in that moment. If there’s even a chance of Mark being alone without him for too long in such a significant way, Jack…. Jack would never, ever forgive himself.

This deliberation is only broken when suddenly, someone is gently placing their hand on his shoulder, and his entire body jolts, clinging to Mark tighter. “Sir, ma’am, please let go of the body,” comes a kind voice, but Jack just shakes his head, breathing coming in even shorter as he panics. No, no, no, he can’t take him, he’s all he has, nothing else in his entire world matters to him as much as Mark does. As long as Mark is in his arms he’s not gone yet, all he has to do is hold on. Ro is next to him, unable to let go either, and if he had enough in him to think about anything but Mark Mark Mark, he’d be thankful for her.

It doesn’t take long for them to be pried off his body, security guards holding them back. Jack is sure he’s kicking and yelling and putting up one hell of a fight, but his mind is far beyond his body now. Nothing matters, his only real light gone, that one broken corner of his heart overshadowing the rest of him. When Mark is removed completely, they are finally let go, Rosanna collapses to the floor, body shaking with sobs. Jack is crying too, body shaking - but he doesn’t fall, just walks carefully to where they keep their cleaning supplies. No one notices him - the only people gathering around are tending to the heartbroken Rosanna.

He’s sure it won’t take long, though. Or even much. He’s pouring himself a tall glass, mixing a surely toxic amount of chemicals together. Before he can drink, however, he’s suddenly tackled by a smaller body. He gasps as he hits the ground, entire heart, body, mind and soul screaming in protest, begging for the drink, for the ability to end it all, to get to Mark. He must be so scared right now, so alone, Jack can’t just leave him, he can’t he can’t he can’t. “Jack, stop!” comes a small voice, and it’s vaguely familiar, but Jack doesn’t care, can’t focus on anything but getting back to his drink, to dying. He squirms and tries to shove at the person on top of him, but they won’t budge.

“Get th’ f-fuck offa me!!!” he shouts, but they just wrap their arms around him tight. His emotions make him so very weak, too weak to fight back properly. “I need to be with him, he’s all alone, get off, get off, get off!!!” He’s sobbing now, voice cracking and breaking as he tries his damnedest to get away from the one person standing between him and fixing everything. 

“Jack, please, he’s gone, you can’t do anything,” they say, and Ethan's face swims before his eyes. “Please don’t leave us too.” Jack just cries harder, rolling to try and shake him off, finding no logic or reason in his friend’s words.

Doesn’t he see? Doesn’t he understand??? There is no Jack without Mark - ever since he met him there never really has been. A few months apart from each other had broken him completely a year ago, so what the fuck would he do with himself in a lifetime? He’d most likely drink himself to death before a year had passed, and really, this was just faster. “Please, h-he’s all I h-have, Marky, I c-can’t…. I n-n-need him, he doesn’t kn-know, he…. h-he ca-an’t be gone!!” He’s so tired now, the fight almost entirely drained out of him. He’s just a broken man now, no piece left unshattered. “I-I love him, I love him s-s-so much, he’s it, Eth-Ethan please, l-let me go, let me go…. I c-can’t leave him al-alone, p-promised I wouldn’t…. h-he made me promise, I can’t f-fail him, he-he’s alone h-he needs me……”

“This isn't what he would want,” Ethan whispers, but Jack can’t even hear him anymore, apologies and begging spilling from his lips. None of it matters. The second he can, he’ll find a way to join mark.

#character death au #suicide tw #mark #sean #rosanna #ethan #drabble #main youni #septiplier #rosaplier

[auyouni]

waiting for love to come around // septiplier

If someone were to keep a tracker of how Jack’s been spending his time, it’d probably reveal an alarming amount spent with his best friend. It's just very, very easy to find excuses to be around him, and harder to think of reasons to keep to himself. He came to this school solely to be closer to and spend more time with Mark, after all, didn't he?

And there's that whole “being hopelessly and unrequitedly in love with my best friend” bit, but he tries his best not to dwell on it. Easier said than done.

Mark, for his part, seems to welcome the company, always excited to have the Irishman take up his time, or even just sit on his bed as Mark edits, randomly telling him jokes or showing him pictures of cute animals. Just because he can.

It kinda surprises him one day when Mark is the one to enter his room without knocking instead of it being the other way around. The American just lays back on Jack's bed, looking… a little more dressed up than usual, actually. He's so used to Mark in pajamas or the most casual clothes he can manage that the change is a little jarring. Not bad, though…. definitely not bad.

“Oh how the turntables?” he asks with a small laugh, turning away from his computer to look at Mark properly. Mark chuckles warmly, head rolling a little to the side to look back up at him. God, he's gorgeous, his brain unhelpfully notes, bittersweet warmth running through him. He just smiles bigger though, tucking away those cracks. He wants Mark to be happy, something much more important than these feelings he's been harboring for much, much too long. 5 years now, he thinks. Jesus.

“I suppose so, huh? Does that mean that now I have to pull up shitty memes for you to put up with while you work, forever hoping that this time, please, it'll be a cute doggo?” Jack scoffs a little, offended.

“You love my memes!”

“That's what you think.”

“You laugh!!”

“Pity laughter, Jackaboy. Or do they not have that in the ass-end of Ireland?” Jack splutters, half laughing at the words, and Mark's eyes seem to shine a little.

“I'll have you know, the Irish are fuckin’ fantastic at memes. Not as fantastic as we are at pub brawls, but close.”

“You wish.”

“And, as an honorary leprechaun, all my wishes can and do come true.”

Mark gives a soft laugh, sitting up a little and grinning big, and the smile blankets over Jack like a perfect summer's day. “Shit, you got me there. Can't believe I've been bested by a man that always sounds like he's got potatoes in his mouth.” Jack snorts.

“Irish accents are sexy according to literally everyone else in the world, Marky, fight me.”

“Maybe I will!”

“I'd love to see you try.” Mark narrows his eyes a little at him, but Jack just responds with a smirk, one eyebrow raised. A few seconds pass, neither of them moving, and Jack laughs to himself, shaking his head as he turns back to his computer. “See, ya got nothin’--”

A solid wall of flesh slams into him, pinning him to the ground. It doesn't hurt, just knocks the breath out of him, and he finds himself staring up at Mark's grinning, smug face, so damn proud of himself.

What follows is a short but energetic wrestling match, both trying to get the upper hand. Mark is all experience and muscle, and Jack's got muscle too, but more importantly, he's fast. They're decently matched, but Jack ends up pinned uncomfortably in the corner of the room between wall and floor with no way out. Mark’s thighs grip him tightly as he straddles him, strong hands holding him in place, looming over him. Honestly, Jack could probably get out of this if he tried harder, but even with the way his back is protesting the position, he really doesn't want to move. It's not every day you get a lapful of your best friend, after all.

Mark's grin almost looks a little predatory as he seems to lean a little closer, and Jack's kinda thankful they're both still panting from the play fight. It hides the way his breath hitches.

“I won! What's my prize???” Mark asks, pressing a little harder into him, which is wholly unfair and a bit too distracting.

“Didn't know we were fightin’ f'r a prize here,” Jack manages, trying his best to glare up at him, but there's no real force behind it.

“Um, of course we were. What's the point if there's no prize???”

Jack grumbles, as if he wouldn't do absolutely anything for the man pinning him down. He’d steal the stars to light up his room at night with real constellations if he asked. “Wha’ d’ya want then, Marky?” he asks with an exaggeratedly exasperated sigh.

Mark's grin falters a little, that confidence wavering, which catches at something inside of him. He's actually kinda concerned for him now. Mark bits his lip, seeming to debate something heavily in his mind. Jack can only watch as Mark slowly comes to a resolution, brown eyes fixing back on his own blue.

“Go out with me?” Mark asks, faux-confidence ringing in every word.

“Ya don't have ta beat me in a wrestling match ta get me to hang out with ya, Mark - we spend most ‘f our weekends together, anyway.”

“No, Sean…” Mark looks a little frustrated at himself, and almost… nervous? Jack's not sure why - friend hangouts are pretty regular for them, something they both enjoy immensely, and-- “On a date. Go out with me… on a romantic date.” 

At first, Jack gives a breathless laugh, sure he's joking (and hoping desperately he hasn't caught on to Jack's feelings yet), but the sincerity on his best friend's expression causes it to die out pretty fast. Does… he actually want to go on a date with him? He can't breathe for a moment, mind suddenly racing, trying to figure out what exactly he's supposed to make of this.

“You wanna… take me out… on a date? Real date?” Jack asks slowly, and Mark's gaze falls from his, landing on the wall beside him.

“Sorry, it's stupid, just… a thought. I don't know.” The pain and disappointment behind the words are so clear that Jack kinda aches for him.

“No!!! I-I mean… yes? Yes to the date, no to you trying to take it back, because don't you dare,” he says all in a rush, and Mark's eyes return cautiously to Jack's, confused, and a little… hopeful? How… long had he wanted this? “Marky, I'd… love to go on a date with you. 1000% yes. Like, it's not even funny how much I want that. Just to… try it, I mean. I…” He's not sure how casual this request is, doesn't want to be too  eager - though his stomach is basically made of butterflies at this point - and yet doesn't want to appear too uninterested, because he is anything but disinterested.

Mark smiles slowly, something sweeter than the kind of smile he’d worn when he beat him, something fond and lovely and all for Jack, and he feels kinda like the breath’s been knocked out of him.

“Good, good!!! I… I wasn't sure you’d say yes.”

“I never thought you’d ask, so kinda the same boat,” Jack replies with a breathless chuckle. “I… I can't wait.”

#septiplier #sean #mark #drabble #main youni

[auyouni]

tonight, you belong to me // septiplier

Jack hates this.

He hates the running around, the hiding, having to carry this secret like a burden in his soul, knowing how close he is to having the only thing he’s ever wanted, but it’s all just barely out of his reach. He gets to have Mark, but… not really. Not completely. He gets to have Mark in stolen moments, in secret kisses, gets sweet words and gentle touches - but Rosanna still has him where everyone can see, still gets him without the guilt and pain, is allowed to love him openly. It’s like his own personal hell, being utterly in love with this boy, having him so close yet so far, but still spend most nights wondering if Mark ever thinks of Rosanna while they’re together, or if he thinks of Jack when they aren’t. He can’t talk about it with anyone, can’t move on, can’t leave... But does he really want to?

He shifts slightly in bed, gazing down at the sleeping boy. His hair falls over his forehead in a messy, sweet way, a faint smile on his lips, the glow of his string lights making him look angelic in a way that makes him wonder if she’s seen it too. He has the heart of an angel, the lips of one, and maybe it’s his own personal bias, but maybe it’s something more. He reaches up slightly, fingers brushing over his cheek. So lovely, so sweet, so... So Mark.

He hates this, he swears, but he loves it too.

Mark stirs under his fingers, eyes fluttering open, sleepy eyes finding his, and Jack can’t breathe for a moment. “Hey,” the angel says, smile spreading, and the Irishman can’t help smiling back.

“Hey,” he replies, voice just a little mocking of the simple greeting, and the response comes in a deep rumble of a chuckle. And then one hand is reaching for Jack, fingers tightening in his shirt as he drags him closer, pressing their lips together.

It’s agony. It’s bliss.

Jack knows he’s being dramatic, but he and Mark have been doing this for months now, closer to a year than not, long enough for it to become near impossible to distinguish the ache from the joy. Still, never in a million years would he give this up. His heart is broken again and again, day after day, and yet he still keeps coming back, keeps holding him, and kissing him, and loving him.

He’s smiling into the kiss, hand cupping Mark’s face more firmly now, taking while he still can. It’s become obvious lately that this is all nearing its end, Mark slowly spending more and more time with her, and… it’s terrifying. Every time Mark leaves Jack’s bed for hers, he breaks more, and as time crawls on without his return, he’s always certain that it’s over, that Mark finally chose her, that… he’s lost him. His biggest fear has always been losing Mark, after all.

Is this it? Will this be the last time? His heart aches, and he just kisses him harder, needing it, this, him more than anything. He doesn’t deserve it, never did and never will, and time is finally catching up to him, and… all he can do is kiss him.

“Jack?” Mark asks, voice warm with laughter and affection, pulling away a little to look at him. “I… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Jack’s eyes open slowly to peer out at him, heart seizing a little in panic. Is this it? “Yeah?” he asks, hand stroking down his arm slowly, scooting just a bit closer.

“I… I know that you don’t like… sharing me…” Jack swallows a little, and it takes all his willpower to keep looking at Mark.

“Understatement o’ the year,” he mutters a little, and a flash of guilt crosses over Mark’s expression. He wants to promise that it’s okay, that he doesn’t mind, but… god, none of this is okay. “I’m just happy that I have you at all, Marky. Even if it’s only a little.”

Mark smiles a little at that, giving him a chaste kiss. “What if I told you that you could have me all the time?” he asks, eyes watching him closely, and the weight of those words almost don’t hit Jack. He makes a soft sound, gripping him tighter.

“W-what?” he asks, voice confused but there’s a tint of hope to it. Mark gives a soft, nervous chuckle, hand cupping his cheek gently, and Jack’s heart is beating out of his chest. He doesn’t mean… He’s not... is he??

“I’m telling Ro-” Jack winces just a little at the name, “her, tomorrow, that… I’m breaking up with her. That’s why I’ve been spending so much time with her - which I’m… so sorry about, but I wanted to soften the blow.” Jack stares at him, awe slowly seeping into his expression, and he’s fighting down the strong urge to cry.

“You’re picking me?” he asks, voice quiet and warm as he grips him tighter, eyes searching his for any hint of insincerity.

“I am, Sean. You’re the one I want to be with,” he says, and Jack could weep, he truly could. As it is, a few tears slip down his cheeks and he throws his arms around Mark, kissing him, passion and love and hope and joy burning through him, overloading his senses with Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark.

He… He gets to keep him. Never once in his life had he had real hope for his future like this, for their future, finally devoid of pain and letting only love take its place. And all at once, he can see the path before them: slow rebuilding of their relationship, mending trust and soothing fears, intense love and constant support; gaming late into the night and giggling as they lean into each other, falling asleep when they can’t keep their eyes open a moment longer, curling into each other; someday getting down on one knee with tears streaming down his face, or maybe being surprised by Mark pulling out a ring at the “wrong time” (but there’s never a wrong time for him, for them, for this) and them burying themselves in each other; staring at each other with tears and love in their eyes as they stand at the altar together, remembering everything that led them there, imagining everything they’ll have in their shared future: all the goofy messing around and stupid jokes and domestic sweetness and yes, arguments, but overwhelmingly… love.

Two nights later, Jack’s buzzing with energy, waiting in his room for him. The person he loves more than anything, the man he wants to be with for the rest of his life… his soon-to-be boyfriend. Boyfriend. It’s been a long time since he’s been this happy. No crushing despair, or terrible fear of loss, just… joy.

Mark slips in without a knock, like this is a second home to him. Something seems… off, which draws some concern, especially when this is supposed to be a happy moment - then again, Mark really did care about Rosanna, and he’s probably taking breaking up with her hard. It makes sense. Jack’s heart aches for him, and he gets up off his bed, steps up to Mark, wraps his arms around him. Mark doesn’t hold him back, and confusion tugs at Jack’s expression as he pulls back a little, looking into the other man’s eyes with concern.

“Mark? Are you… what’s wrong?” Mark looks distraught, and suddenly he’s pulling Jack in harshly, gripping him like his life depends on it, and he can only squeeze him back. “Mark…” he whispers, and the American makes an injured sort of sound.

“Sean…” His voice comes out so strange, as if it wants to be happy, but part of him is broken, and some fear is stirred inside him with it. “She… she’s pregnant.”

The words take a few seconds too long to sink in, and suddenly Jack is gasping like he’d been punched, everything inside of him shattering. And all at once, he can see the new path before them: Mark leaving him, or maybe sticking around for a little while longer, guilt heavy in his heart for both of these people he loves, until eventually he stops coming; both of them having to get used to just being friends again, best friends forever; Jack drunkenly slipping up too many times to just be coincidence and kissing him, and Mark letting him the first few times, but eventually having to push him away, beg him to stop; Jack spending the rest of his drunken nights alone in his room or aching in the corner of the party, watching their fairytale from the sidelines; being the best man at his wedding no matter how much it burned when Mark confessed his proposal; getting drunk at the reception and leaving early when he sees Mark’s happiness as he dances with his wife; Mark stopping him right before he leaves and half-heartedly asking him to stay, because they’re going through the motions, what’s expected of them, putting on this big act for everyone else; Jack smiling despite the pain in his eyes and the oddly matching pain in Mark’s, say he needs to get to sleep because he has an early flight back to Ireland in the morning (intentional, so intentional), telling him to go back to his pregnant wife (only a few months in now, not showing enough for anyone else to know), and Mark would squeeze his shoulder and let him go; he would never really move on, always staying by their side, supporting his best friend every way he can, the pain a constant companion as well as the ever-burning love he’ll carry until the end of time.

#septiplier #fic #sean #mark #main youni #cheating au