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[blank-potato]

Affections Like Ivy

Pairing(s): Dr. Henry Jekyll x Gabriel John Utterson, Edward Hyde x Gabriel John Utterson

Summary:

“I have not come here to speak of Hyde. Although the matters I speak of are rather personal.”

“Oh?”

“Between you and I.”

Utterson's soothing pats ceased as his eyes shot down to the ground in an instant. Anxiety bubbling to the surface, thoughts of Jekyll cutting him off from his life overrunning him. His dear Henry would be left alone against the terrors that be.

“I am afraid that my affections run deeper than that of a friend.”

-

Jekyll visits Utterson late in the evening to confront some unspoken feelings that have laid dormant for far too long but Mr Hyde refuses to let it go smoothly.

Warning(s): 18+ Explicit content and non-con

☂︎☂︎☂︎

It is late at night when he comes to him. The streets were all but empty, and desolate unlike that of the daytime; teeming with life and lively conversation. The lawyer had been awake, too immersed in his work to return to slumber and fearful for what images he might see that night. Utterson invites Jekyll into the warm hearth of his home from the harsh, cold of the winter’s night. He appeared to have a cloudy disposition, his handsome features marred by worry and apparent distress like a heavy burden had laid its toll upon his dear friend. Utterson knows this look all too well, the creases of his furrowed eyebrows, his lips pulled taught and firm. Since all of this horrid business with the damned Mr Hyde, it had felt like the only look Jekyll knew.

A look he had memorised and studied for days on end, haunting him in his nightmares of him and this elusive creature. Rough and forbidden touches, sharp and visceral screams. His thoughts form a twist in his stomach so he forces himself to push them aside. Jekyll sits across from the fireplace, his eyes glossed over and his mind void of thought. Utterson attempts to clear the mess of letters and papers on his desk; not expecting company at such an hour.

“There is nothing that can be said that would strain our friendship, Jekyll. Please relieve yourself of your unease and tell me what pains you.”

Utterson rounds the table to sit with his friend in front of the fire, his knees almost touching him from how close they’re sitting to one another.

"Even if it is regarding Mr Hyde," he pauses for a moment, "in fact especially so."

The lawyer reaches out and rests his hand on Jekyll’s knee, rubbing soothing circles with the base of his thumb against the tweed fabric of his trousers. Jekyll flinches at the sudden contact but when he looks up into the eyes of his friend, he sees nothing but the love and care he had become so accustomed. The markings of the truest companionship, one that he had cherished for years. Cherished so deeply that it had formed a sort of love, one he had concealed for years in the fears of something unholy.

“I have not come here to speak of Hyde. Although the matters I speak of are rather personal.”

“Oh?”

“Between you and I.”

Utterson's soothing pats ceased as his eyes shot down to the ground in an instant. Anxiety bubbling to the surface, thoughts of Jekyll cutting him off from his life overrunning him. His dear Henry would be left alone against the terrors that be.

“I am afraid that my affections run deeper than that of a friend.”

Silence rings through the air as the fire crackles against the wood, and the air grows stagnant. Utterson's worries and fears transform before him into feelings of confusion and... hope.

“I apologise. I fear that in saying this I am putting our friendship in jeopardy, a friendship that I hold so dear to my heart. But I do not have much longer left and would regret keeping silent any longer than I already have.”

“Much longer left? Whatever do you-”

“I have not the time to explain and in all honesty, I do not wish to. I only wished to unburden myself of this truth as selfish as that may be. I should-”

Jekyll stood up and left his sentence unfinished. His movements are hurried and flustered but Utterson reaches out for his hand from his seated position, eyes set upon the fire.

“John?”

Utterson gently caressed his friend's knuckles, the tender and intimate gesture nurturing a blossoming garden of love within Jekyll's heart.

"Had you not known how I have desired you all these years? How I longed to say damn to faith and convention, to utter the words I know should not be spoken between you and me? It has haunted me, caused me sickness and strife...but loving you has brought me joy despite my afflictions. It has brought colour to a world that was pallid and obscure."

As if fearful of breaking him, Jekyll takes his waist in his hands with the most delicate of touches. Utterson turns his head to the side, eyes unfocused and hazy, as if lost in a dream or boundless ecstasy. A tentative kiss is placed on his cheek, as if to test the waters, another to his forehead, lingering. Utterson’s eyes flutter open and are met with Jekyll’s. A warm feeling spreads through him.

“You, John, are the subject of my deepest desires and fantasies. Day and night I would think of giving in to such impossibilities, holding you in my arms, of great love, of an intangible attraction. I want all of you… if you’ll have me.”

“Allow me to explore every part of you as I have wished to for many years.”

Jekyll moved down his body, licking at the base of Utterson’s areola, causing him to let out an unexpected whine.

“Your moans,” Jekyll pauses amid sentences to breathe, “are the sweetest nectar. Indulge me more, my love.”

Pulling off his clothes, he took in the blank canvas before him—ready to be painted with kisses and tender touches. He pulled off his own shirt, feeling the cool air against his skin, the moment charged with anticipation.

Utterson’s heart raced, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooding through him. To be in this his company, in such a state of undress, filled him with an trepidation unlike anything he had experienced in all his years. The warmth in the air flushed his cheeks, heightening every sensation as he met the other’s gaze, the unspoken connection igniting a spark between them.

Twisting at Utterson's dark curls, playing on his skin with gentle, deliberate fingers, as if his body was a harp, evoking melodies of longing and surrender with every touch.

Drawing himself away from his lover’s side, Jekyll reached for a pitcher of oil from the bedside drawer, his movements precise yet trembling with anticipation, a silent promise lingering in the air.

“Are you certain?” Jekyll’s voice was as light as a whisper, smooth in cadence but trembling with fear in delivery.

Jekyll’s member breaches Utterson’s entrance, and the rush of euphoria overcomes him, surging through his veins and smothering him in its embrace. This breathless ecstasy clouds his senses for but a moment, leaving him weightless and untethered. Lowering his eyes from the ceiling to land on Jekyll, he takes in the sight before him: soft, flushed skin glistening in the low light, hands, free from work and toil, gripping the curve of his hips firmly. And parted lips drawing in short, shallow puffs of air as he fights to maintain some semblance of a resolve.

Utterson beheld a work of art. The rawness of Henry Jekyll, in all his beautiful and flawed beauty, lay bare before him—a masterpiece of contradictions. His heart thudded between his ribs and soared like a tamed horse released into the wild, relying on only its base instincts to survive.

Jekyll pulls his hips back and thrusts forward again with purpose, the sharp snap of movement echoing through the stillness of the room. The guttural sound he made was not of this earth nor of this time. A primitivity that only grew with intensity as his pace quickened with a certain desperation.

As he moved with fevered determination, finding solace in the rhythm they had fallen into, Jekyll reaches down and threaded his fingers through Utterson's hair, carding through the strands and pulling him close. Sharing each other's air, a fervent kiss takes over them and they are once again brought to that familiar euphoria. They find themselves in a .. predicament, their lives as gentleman hanging in the balance as they kneel at the altar of pleasure and love rather than duty.

They break apart in a breathy gasp, trembling with unspoken fervor, as Jekyll repeats, “My love, my love.”

Such sweetness had never reached Utterson’s ears as he holds him closer in fear that he may lose him if he ever lets him go. His eyes fall shut as if to seal the moment, the chorus of “My love,” falling from Jekyll’s lips like a hymn, filling the spaces between their heartbeats.

His eyes snapped open in a flash, and he biting pain on his neck, pulled back to see that crimson streaks had bloomed where sharp teeth had grazed. Darker eyes stared back at him, Jekyll was there in body but his soul had departed. His body fell still, resting his forehead against Utterson’s as he breathed heavily, his body rising and falling with each breath.

Snarls then erupt from his mouth like a feral beast. The beautiful symphony of his voice turned into an ugly dissonance of guttural growls. A monstrous had begun the transformation to overtake him. Utterson takes in the sight, a cold, gnawing dread coiling in his stomach, an uncomfortable feeling that refuses to fade. He shivers violently, his skin crawling as the grotesque scene unfolds before him. It had begun to distend, the appendage inside him swelling, growing in size, twice as large as before, and with it, his heart seemed to sink further into an abyss.

“H-henry?”

His body ran cold, shivers racing down his spine as fear gripped his heart. Heavy, deep breaths fell from his lips, each one more laboured than the last, forming silent prayers in his mind which came out as desperate gasps and whimpers. Looking at the now hairy, muscular arms pinning down his own, he felt a surge of panic. The stature of the man behind him had almost doubled in size, towering over his now-shaking form.

“Oh, Utterson, our dear Jekyll will not be answering anytime soon.”

The voice that answered him was deeper and laced with an inherent evil that could not be denied. Utterson’s eyes raised to be met with the twisted, sneering visage of his friend’s monster, Hyde, a shadow brought to life.

“If only you knew how delicious you look. All spread out for me like a common whore. In fact…” Hyde’s words trail off before Utterson hears that wolfish laugh that brings great sickness to his stomach.

Lifting him with ease and Hyde slamming him into his dresser, Utterson, now not of sound mind, gazes upon his debauched form. The reflection in the mirror holds an image so reprehensible, so wounding to the mind that Utterson does not what to do with himself. To be stripped of his virtue by a beast such as him bringing on a fate worse than death. His own abject disgust of Hyde churned within him as he held back the tears that lay at bay. His fingers gripped the dresser; tethering himself to this plane of existence and this exact moment despite wanting to escape.

“Please Hyde… have mercy.”

A dark and sultry chuckle warmed his left ear, a slight prickling sensation reverberating through his inner core. In that very moment, his voice seemed so inviting but so inclined to an evil he could not fathom. As if the devil himself inhibited that very body of Hyde and found great pleasure in drawing him further into his fiery den, consuming all that Utterson knows to be good, all that Utterson is.

“Look at you in such a state. I tell you what my dear Utterson, you put all the whores of South London to shame with these devilish moans of yours.”

The way his legs trembled underneath him. Hyde moves to lick at the helix of Utterson's ear, delicate mewls escaping the back of his throat, his voice was thick with rotten lust. Unable to contain his moans any longer, Utterson cries out, “Have mercy!”

“I will say, I love to hear you beg, will you not indulge me more, John?”

Tears fell from his eyes as he heard this monster call him by his name with such familiarity as if there were some sort of kinship between the two. But behind this monstrous form was his friend, with whom he had such a tightly wound kinship, He had loved to hear his name from Jekyll’s lips just moments ago, what a distant memory it now seemed. What a different man he was now.

Just as Jekyll had sung for him, Utterson found himself letting out a symphony of his own, “Please” and “Have mercy” spilling from his lips in breathless notes, each plea a crescendo of desperation and desire, filling the space between them with an unspoken harmony.

He was now unable to turn away from this feeling. His now tainted euphoria.

His release forms within him, pleasure and pain going hand in hand as his sanity slips through his fingers as quickly as he can grab at it.

A few more thrusts and it is done; he spills his seed over the dresser with a stifled cry as Hyde continues to plunder his body without restraint. His body lays limp, his mind now a blank page that has ink spilt on it. Hyde pulls out of his pliant form thoughtlessly as Utterson hangs off the dresser, the phantom spasms so strong it feels as if it is still there. The ghost of his lips on his ear, the whisper of a cruel chuckle reverberating through the hollow spaces of his mind, left him trembling with something far darker than fear.

A nudge sends him to his knees and he is faced with what was inside him just moments ago, in all its intimidating glory. Utterson’s mouth begins to water and he wonders why he lets Hyde abase him so. He has now found himself wanting what he should not—turning away from all that one knows is right, good, and safe for one’s own masochistic pleasure.

"Go on John, wouldn't want to leave the job unfinished, would you?"

The lawyer faltered, on his knees, his tremorous hands gripping the cold floor as if the weight of his own submission could ground him. He looked up at him, this man whom he had thought too little of, now seen as one to be revered and worshipped. A sick devotion churned within him, like an insidious sycophant, on his knees for the favour of one he swears to have the greatest odium. A loathing so profound, and yet he is on his knees. Neither chained nor bound, but held in captivity by the all-knowing gaze of Hyde. Perhaps it is the thrill of the hunt coming to a climax. To have finally solved the mystery, to turn the final page of this great story even if it leads to one's own damnation. Why despite his supposed repugnance he couldn’t look away from him.

“What are you waiting for? ”

A hand furls through the strands of Utterson’s hair, guiding it towards his dripping member, forcing him to take it in. Utterson licks and sucks, desperate, like a man starved, his actions a reflection of the darkest urges within him. A man whose sins are of the deepest moral turpitude, and yet the lawyer finds himself at his feet, his mouth full, his screams muted by the pressure, ultimately falling on deaf ears.

A struggle ensues, his intake of air shallow, each breath a desperate grasp at life, the taste of his own degradation providing a fleeting solace. Heavy and suffocating, his hand is like a vice, gripping Utterson’s head, and forcing him further into submission.

This evil, burgeoning desire that had previously laid dormant under the weight of formalities and the stifling sense of duty, is now unshackled and running wild.

He had been possessed by pure darkness, throwing all inclinations of good to the wolves, letting them feast on his virtue and revelling in the feeling of being overrun. His control had become so far removed now laying in the hands of a monster from which he cannot escape.

Months of searching and seeking to bring him down only to be sneered down upon by him and treated as nothing more than a pawn in a game of chess. As if he were a simple man off the street forced to play against a Grand Master, feeling so terribly underprepared and outmatched and falling short at every turn. It had all become so clear but too late.

Cruelty, thy name is Hyde.

“Are you ready, my love?”

The grip interlaced in his hair suddenly tightens as he feels a pulsing between his lips. His mouth is then flooded as Hyde lets out a brutish howl, drawing Utterson in ‘til his breath stops short. The final act of this evening's twisted performance hung in the air like the fading resonance of an opera singer's last aria. Yet, this was no true performance, but the tragic end of a man now shattered by forces he cannot comprehend. Utterson feels the warmth of Hyde’s ejaculate slide down his neck, spittle escaping his mouth and falling to the hardwood floor, all while Hyde's gaze continues to hold him captive, an unyielding force that traps him in its grip.

The chapter may have ended but the story has just begun.

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i don't want to miss you (like i do)

Pairing: Ethan Landry x Chad Meeks-Martin

Summary:

"He sees him again. Just for a moment but that moment lasted a lifetime. His curly hair, a nonchalant wave to him from the other side of the train car. Hard to distinguish between what was real and the smiling ghost in front of him." ☆☆☆ Chad is haunted by the memory of Ethan and desperately asks questions to someone that can no longer answer them.

A/N:

The Chethan brainrot is reaI. I hope they aren't OOC or anything, I saw an edit and started writing and this fic isn't explicitly romantic but can be read as either romantic or platonic. The title is from I Don't Want to Miss You (Like I Do) by Austin Weber and I felt it had Chethan vibes.

He sees him again. Just for a moment but that moment lasted a lifetime. His curly hair, a nonchalant wave to him from the other side of the train car. Hard to distinguish between what was real and the smiling ghost in front of him.

After everything he still found himself plagued with the disease that is Ethan Landry. Thinking about what it would've been like to hear him laugh, to make him smile, to touch him just one last time. His heart was betraying him. A man that had hurt him so profoundly, lied to him every moment they were together and yet he couldn't stop thinking of him. The ghost of him taunts him with what he wishes was real. That the Ethan he knew was his Ethan. That him being Ghostface was all just some nightmare. As if he could just wake up and Ethan would be in his dorm room as usual talking about something completely inconsequential and asking to borrow his shirt because he forgot to do laundry.

He can see him, just over there amongst the crowd. As if he could just go over and it would be as if nothing had ever happened. But even if he could go back it wouldn't change anything, would it? If he knew who he was, and what he was doing would that change a thing? These thoughts torment him night and day. Images of what they once had, blinking in and out of existence. Taken away all in a matter of moments, with Ethan playing the role of his almost executioner. He's lucky to even be alive. Ethan almost killed him, he almost died at his hands and yet a part of him misses him.

"Chad? Where'd you go?"

He looks over at Tara, snapping from his daydream before glancing over to the now empty spot in the train car where Ethan was. "Nowhere," he replies, feigning a smile as the conversation continues but for a split second, he swears he hears Ethan laugh.

➽────────────────────❥

Yet another sleepless night as flashes of past events play on his mind on an endless loop. Chad rises from his bed and goes to the bathroom with heavy footsteps in hopes of clearing his head.

He sees him again. The sight of him jolted him awake.

The Ethan he sees is wearing his Halloween costume. Memories of that night come flashing back to him in a flood. He remembers how Ethan looked, the way his cardboard helmet rested on his head, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at his jokes, and how he nervously looked down when he saw a girl he liked. It brought a familiar warmth to his heart like the feelings of that night started to bubble to the surface. But it all faded away and brought him back to that moment. The moment his knife was driven into his body repeatedly. The thought brought a grimace to his face as he raised his head to meet Ethan's eyes in the mirror.

"You don't look happy to see me. I'm happy to see you."

"Happy to see you? You killed people, Ethan. You put me and our friends," he pauses before correcting himself, "my friends in danger but-"

"You don't hate me as much as you should. We were friends after all before…well you know," he says with a sheepish smile. As if playing coy like he had been before he knew who he was. He chuckled to himself and splashed water on his face. As if it will provide him any sense of clarity and rid him of this torment. The concept of them being friends sends his mind spiralling.

"Chad…"

"I never got to ask if any of it was real. If I was actually talking to the real you."

"What did you think? That's all that matters now, considering I'm dead," Ethan says with a dry laugh.

"I cared about you and trusted you and I… you know how I felt about you," Chad swallowed hard, the words fighting their way out of his throat.

"Maybe a part of me did like you, but we'll never know the truth."

"Stop, I just- I need to know, Ethan. I deserve to know. I was so scared for you, thinking that you could get hurt and for you to just turn around and do this and not even blink an eye. It was twisted and sickening and I... I can't not know if it was all a lie. "

Ethan sighs and turns away, a sad smile lingering on his features. "I think you and I both know I can't answer that," he says, his voice fading into the silence of the bathroom, sounding a bit more distant. Chad bites back the tears, looking down at his hands gripping the sink, his knuckles white with tension. The pain in his chest feels like a physical weight, pressing down on him. When he looks back up at the mirror, he only sees himself. The reflection stares back at him, eyes red and tired, a hollow ache etched into his expression.

"I liked you, Ethan. I really did," he whispers, the words hanging in the air like a confession. He stays there a moment longer, waiting for a response that will never come. The silence is deafening, punctuated only by the sound of his own breathing. It's as if the ghost of Ethan has finally vanished, leaving him alone with the painful memories.

With a heavy heart, Chad turns off the bathroom light and makes his way back to his bed. He knows that sleep will elude him once more, but he lies down anyway, staring at the ceiling as the night's events replay in his mind. He can't escape the past, but maybe, just maybe, he can learn to live with it. And as the first light of dawn filters through the window, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, hoping that tomorrow will be the day he won't see him.

[blank-potato]

I Would Follow Him Anywhere

Pairing: Sejanus Plinth x Coriolanus Snow

Summary:

"No matter how mad life here in the Capitol drove me, he would always be there. My Coryo." - A drabble about Sejanus being in love with his Coryo~

I thought he was pretty, no, beautiful, perfect even. He was a reminder that no matter where I went, no matter how mad life here in the Capitol drove me, he would always be there, my Coryo. Being district, being different in this world of privilege and excess is unbearable, but when I’m with him it’s like I can breathe, like there’s some semblance of peace. Like I could feel normal again or at least close to it. We’ve kissed. We’ve kissed quite a lot. It always starts innocently, studying in his room or a rendezvous between classes, his lips like the softest silk, a tender promise of love amidst the chaos. He’s truly beautiful, hauntingly so. My heart aches with a desire, telling me to just reach out and touch him. To reach out and hold him. The first time being so tentative, so delicate, I feared that he might shatter under my touch.

“Let me see you, Sejanus,” he whispered, and I melted at his words.

I would follow him anywhere.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ✧ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

All that he has and yet he spits in the face of it. He’s like some lovesick puppy. I knew from the moment I saw him, from the way he looked at me, that he was different. I give him everything, my attention, my “love”, my loyalty. We’ve kissed once or twice. He kissed me like a man starved, like a man without water, and I was his oasis. To him, I was Coryo, his Coryo.

He would follow me anywhere.