#janti

fsdfsddasdasdas im luv u too!! sorry it took me a while! and i hope u don't mind me using ur boys,, i love them,,,,,,

Seán wakes up with a quiet groan. The room is still dark, but since it's December, that doesn't tell him much. He hears a loud clatter from downstairs, making him jump out of his skin, and he reaches for the other side of the bed without thinking. A frown pulls at his lips as his hand only meets cold sheets, but it does help to slow down the racing thoughts of "holy fuck someone broke in" and replace them with a much calmer "holy fuck Abél's up before me".

With a soft sigh, he sits up and stretches. He winces slightly at the cold of the floor on his bare feet as he gets up, and he hunts around for a pair of socks before heading downstairs. More clatters come from what sounds like the kitchen, and as he gets closer, he can hear quiet muttering. He smiles softly, instantly recognising his boyfriend's voice, stepping carefully closer and poking his head around the doorframe.

The kitchen is a mess. It looks like a flour bomb has exploded all over the floor and the counters, and somehow over the cupboards too. Seán quickly puts a hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle as he spots Abél standing in the middle of it, looking back and forth between his phone and a mixing bowl, his hair sticking up in all directions and flour covering him from head to toe. Seán stands in the doorway to watch the spectacle with an amused smirk, and he can't help but feel his heart swell with affection.

Abél finally notices him after a while, eyes flickering over to him for a second before doing a double take. He jumps, the wooden spoon in his hand clattering to the floor, and the two stand in silence for what feels like eons. Abél's wild expression only serves to make it harder for Seán to keep from laughing. Eventually, a snort escapes him, breaking the silence, and Abél narrows his eyes in a half-hearted glare as his shoulders slump.

"Don't look at me like that. I was... I wanted to surprise you," he mutters, sighing as he bends over to pick up the spoon. Seán smiles as he walks closer, and he wraps his arm around Abél's waist from behind as the man cleans it under the tap.

"I appreciate it, trust me," he murmurs, stretching up to press a kiss to the nape of the man's neck before walking over to the counter.

"You were trying to make cookies?" he asks as he reads the recipe on Abél's phone.

"'Trying' being the operative word." Seán snorts again, glancing into the bowl and looking up at Abél as he comes back over. He reaches out and takes the man's hands to pull him just a little closer.

“Oh my God, this is too good.” The vile thing snickered as eyes roved the screen before him. The sole source of light that barely illuminated the dark depths of the room. “They haven’t got a clue. Not a fucking clue.” His head knocked back at the release of a guttural laugh. It swam in the other’s ears, slithered through and slammed at the walls of his already broken mind.

The creature resumed scrolling. Swiping and swiping with his index finger, scanning each word and picture that glared back at him to which he responded with a deranged smile. So unlike the one they saw. Well, when he wasn’t pretending.

It grew as he devoured the sentences, engulfed the screenshots that had markings which would highlight the significant things his fans thought were of interest. It was still a miracle that he hadn’t been found.

Didn’t his precious fans care about his pitiful existence? About their precious Jack?

Obviously not.

Anti scoffed as he read one post. He tapped his chin as he donned a look of incredulity. It earned a raised brow and that was saying something. “Seems like some aren’t as stupid as they look.” Lips curled up, pulling back until the glint of his canines pierced the shadows. “This should be fun.”

“Stop.”

Instantly he cocked his head to the side, letting out a resounding crack in the process. Eyes shot like daggers at the figure in the dimness. “Well look who finally decided to wake up.”

In the blink of an eye, a scatter of pixels and a harsh grating sound brought the being into his field of view. In the next, his head was forced up by a steel grip and he swore he could feel talons sinking into the thin fabric that kept his physical self together. The groan only brought forth a glimmer of amusement that danced in neon irises, aflame with pure, unadulterated excitement. One by one, digits curled around the YouTuber’s throat, latching on like the parasite he was.

“Now… what was that?” His grasp tightened and Jack knew in a matter of seconds he’d be constricted by the sick fuck. Anti could feel him begin to gulp. Could feel how his Adam’s apple began to bob. An indicator of fear.

He clutched firmer, lodging the Irishman’s throat and grinned widely when he heard the sound of a choke emerge. “Go on. Tell me.” He was squeezing, squeezing the life out of the poor sap, strangling him until hands would leap up to prise his forearm off. A sign that the lack of oxygen had led to his breaking point.

Originally he had lasted for minutes, but Anti could hold his ground, could crush his neck for hours on end. But now? Jack lasted for mere seconds before he’d collapse. Hung limply in his wretched hands. It was so satisfying yet so disappointing.

A jangle of shackles shattered the air.

Oh how the rattle of chains was like music to his ears. His carved smile spread across, tainted with malice. Eyes fixed themselves on the poor trials, watching closely, carefully, studying each and every action from his captive. The desperation was only enhanced more by the feeling of malnourished fingers pawing weakly at his hand, not even bearing enough strength to pry away a single damned claw. How cute.

And just as the last wisp of breath began to escape his chapped lips, Anti chucked the hoisted body, cackling wildly as the ragdoll was tossed aside. He’d forgotten about lifting up the weakling in the first place, managing to do it from mere instinct, or perhaps simply by habit. This had become more or less of a daily occurrence. Recently, that was.

No one would’ve suspected the bastard to actually keep track of the time that dwindled between the two. But ever since his renowned appearance, Anti had ensured to keep a specific tab on the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds that had passed.

When Anti generates spirals on Jack’s screen, he keeps them up for quite a bit, sometimes switching their direction or size. By the time he glitchily materializes in front of his host, he’s laying back in his chair as directed, eyes droopy and sporting small green swirls around the pupils. “What a pretty picture…all for your puppet master, isn’t that right Jackaboy?”…Jack drowsily nods, a smile on his face.