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grimmsbride · 2 months ago

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SHE ft. SATORU & SUGURU / Reader but check your window.. he’s at your window 𓈒ིུ𖥨᩠ׄ݁˖

on one of your few off days you decided to fill the night with a true blood marathon and shitty snacks. unfortunately for you, a bump in the night suddenly stills all your plans

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ NOTES ╲ i posted this on wattpad & ao3 & completely forgot to post this here. if you know my old account “selfishdoll” i made a similar fic before that a lot of people loved. this is a rewrite / rework. i was supposed to make a continuation but 🤷🏾‍♀️. also this is a way to ease from mouthwashing back into jjk. don’t worry i’m not done with mw i just would like to get back writing jjk again. as always please excuse any typos & or grammar mistakes <3

"C'mon baby.." You crooned softly, blinking and squinting in an attempt to spot your beloved dog. It was dark outside, the sky painted in a pretty black with specks of white lazily dotted across the canvas. And while your backyard light helped your sight, it did little when your black dog seemed to mix in with the background. Regardless after a still moment the pretty little thing came bundling from the darkness, tail wagging and rushing into your home. You smiled, sliding the glass door closed and flicking the lock— listening for that signature click to assure it was locked.

You turned in time to see the puppy waltz over to his bed, scratching at the perfectly folded blanket for a moment before being satisfied with the bundle he created. You had no idea why you continued to fold the blanket at all. Maybe you enjoyed watching the furry beast mess with it, or maybe you were just a control freak that needed order in every way; even when it came to old, dingy rags that belonged to a canine.

Anyway, tonight wasn't the night to delve into that. You had planned to lay across the couch, watching True Blood while devouring just about every snack in your house.

Whoever created the system known as "Paid Time Off" deserved a huge smooch.

You walked over to your kitchen, opening the fridge and snatching a cold soda and water bottle. Setting them off to the side, you then moved onto a small box of assorted chocolates all ranging from caramel and other delicious nougats. Finished with your cold items you shut the fridge, moving over to your pantry and snatching the door open. Your eyes moved about the cans, noodles, and other dried goods before settling on the little corner dedicated to your chips and cookies.

You came closer, outstretching your arm towards the corner and grabbing the first bag. Dragging it forward, you quickly realize your laziness would be the death of you; given the moment your hand moved the bag brushed against a box of elbow macaroni, knocking it to the ground. The force caused the contents to spill right there infront of you, a loud groan escaping you as you looked at the mess. What's more, your dog rushed from his bed, bounding over in hopes of lapping up the hard food, clearly reacting on greed rather than knowing what it even was.

"Nuh uh— go, back to your bed!" You huffed in an authoritative tone, watching the greedy thing rush back to his bed with a little gruff. You rolled your eyes, placing your chips off to the side and grabbing your broom from the closet beside you. Slowly you began to sweep up your mess, assuring to get every single noodle as not to attract bugs or greedy dogs that act like they haven't been fed in years.

Once swept all into a pile, you kneeled down to hold your dustpan flat— balancing and using your other hand to sweep the trash into it. A minute passed and you were finished, rising to your full height and walking over to the trash bin; emptying the dustpan. With that little hiccup solved you moved on; putting the cleaning supplies away, washing your hands, and grabbing your snacks on the way to the couch.

You walked around the plush furniture, flopping on the makeshift palette of blankets you created. Sinking into the comfort, you reached over for the remote and started the episode; a blissful smile crossing your features. You opened your chips, pressing the bag up against your arm whilst using your other hand to grab one, chomping without a care.

Your eyes focused on the tv screen for a while before they shifted over to a sudden light on your coffee table. Your phone. You reached over, grabbing the device and bringing it closer. There, after using facial ID, you noticed a missed call. The contact?

Unknown.

Your eyebrows drew close, swiping up and clicking your call logs. Pressing the one labeled unknown you watched it ring for a moment, pressing speaker as you were too lazy to bring it to your ear. It rung for what seemed like minutes, your hand slowly going slack from how long you were waiting. And just when you thought of putting your phone down the familiar sound of the call being accepted echoed throughout your living room.

"Hello?" You called softly, bringing the receiver closer to your mouth. When you heard nothing, for the first few seconds you pulled back; wondering if they ended it. But no, the seconds counted by, both phones clearly still on call. So you gave a much louder greeting, hoping for a response.

And, you were given one. You just.. didn't quite enjoy it.

Heavy breathing came from the other line, fanning against the receiver in a rather unnerving rhythm. A prank caller? The possibility ran through your mind as you listened, bringing the phone close to your ear. You sat there, unmoving— attempting to listen harder than what physically possible.

In doing so, you didn't notice your beloved dog hop up from his rest until his barks caused you to nearly jump out of your skin. You spun around, spotting his attention to the glass door separating the outside from your home. Your stomach quickly became a pit of fear, rising from your couch and waltzing over to the kitchen.

Flicking the overhead light on, you soon reached the patio light. As nervous as ever you flicked the light on, anticipating the worst. But, as your eyes scanned what you could see, nothing popped out. Nothing alarming, nothing worth barking over surely.

You sighed, shoulders falling from its previous stiff position, glancing over at your phone. To your surprise the call had ended in the midst of you inspecting the backyard. Curiosity grew slowly, but you decided against acting on it.

Hearing someone breathe in the phone for another ten mins just wasn't as exciting as it seemed.

You turned the light off, turning to your pet that was currently standing behind you, watching the backyard just as intently. You shook your head, leaning down and collecting him into your arms.

"Time to go to bed honey."

You murmured. You walked towards a door connected to your dining room, opening it and placing the dog onto his feet. Like clockwork he was walking over to his crate tucked to the side, curling up in another bed placed within it. You kneeled down, locking the crate's door before standing.

"Night baby." You spoke as if he could understand, turning on your heel and closing the door behind you. Just in time for your phone to go off.

The ringer was loud, an annoying mistake that caused you to quickly press your finger against the sound button, lowering its volume. You brought your phone to your face, contorting your expression the moment you read the contact.

Unknown.

Okay, this is getting annoying.. You thought to yourself, accepting the call as you moved back to your couch. With your annoyance slightly clear you greeted the caller, bottom making contact with the cushions and sinking in.

For moment all was silent, causing your annoyance to deepen. Again, it seemed you have fallen for another prank or scam— regardless of what it was, it was ruining your True Blood all nighter. You opened your mouth to speak again, only to be rudely interrupted by another's voice.

"Hello."

The voice was gravely, scratchy, and deep.. slightly unnerving as well. You waited for the person to speak again, but was met with nothing. Just.. more heavy breathing.

"Uhm.." You dragged, attempting to remain polite despite your frustration. "—You've called twice already.. is this like a wrong number situation or?.."

For a moment the voice didn't speak, as if fully processing what you said. Then, they muttered in that same voice;

"Oh, really? I'm sorry, I must have called the wrong number."

Your shoulders relaxed, leaning back against your couch. "Hey, it's okay. It happens to me sometimes too." You decided to laugh it off, a little surprised when you heard the stranger do the same. "Well, goodbye—"

"Wait.. we don't have to cut the call so soon."

Your eyebrows twitched, the amusement from before slowly trickling away. "Uhm.. what?"

"C'mon, you don't seem to be busy. How about we chat for a while?"

You looked around, as if searching for an imaginary camera to capture your reaction; which was a look of disbelief that slowly formed into a scowl.

"Er— I am. I'm trying to watch True Blood."

"True Blood? That one southern vampire show?" The stranger questioned, listening out for your little hum of acknowledgement. He chuckled softly, a breathy thing that fanned into your phone. "So, you like scary media?"

Your eyes rolled, "True Blood isn't scary by any means but— yes, I guess I do like most scary things."

"Yeah? What's your favorite?"

"And why on Earth would I tell you?"

You heard rustling on the other side of the line, causing your interest to pique. You wanted to ask what he was doing, but something told you not to. Regardless, you weren't sure he would give much of an answer anyway. You two didn't even know each other's names after all.

"For fun. Don't you like to have fun?"

"With complete strangers? No." You huffed, biting the inside of your cheek the moment the other laughed. As he talked more, you couldn't help but think how attractive his voice was. Perfectly deep, yet playful enough— as if you could practically hear his smile. Your fingers wrapped around the t-shirt you wore, cringing internally.

A voice? Really? Was it that easy to get you going?

"I.. uh, I guess my favorite would have to be Hellraiser."

"Oh wow..I was expecting something like Halloween or IT. You're a bigger horror nerd than I took you for."

For some reason that caused a sense of pride to enter your body, lips curling into a little smile. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"If that's the case, you wouldn't mind a little pop quiz would you? Since you're.. such a huge fan."

Your eyes trailed over to the television, realizing your little sexy vampire marathon just didn't seem as appealing anymore. Your lips pressed together, lying across the couch and humming softly.

"What do I get when I get all of them right?"

"We'll see.." The other hummed automatically, more shuffling being heard from his end. "But of course, wrong answers will be punished."

"But of course." You chuckled, eyes rolling a bit.

"First question, who was the main antagonist in Hellraiser?"

You scoffed, an are you serious? expression crossing your face. "Pinhead. Duh. If it's gonna be this easy, I should get back to my show."

The stranger laughed softly, "Just warming up. Have some patience." The call went silent for a moment, you assuming he was thinking of another question. This gave you the opportunity to scroll through the many horror flicks you've watched, picking out facts and guessing questions he may ask. A moment passed before he interrupted your concentration;

"What 2016 South Korean zombie film takes place on a train?"

Another, easy one. Truly if it continued like this you might just have to hang up. "Train to Busan."

"Right again! That's two in a row."

"I told you I was good."

"Mm.." The stranger hummed, "How about this.. what movie follows a deaf girl in a world infected by creatures that only react to sound?"

"A quiet place! C'mon stranger y—"

"I'm sorry but that's— incorrect!"

You blinked quickly, eyebrows coming close. "You're lying! It is a quiet p—"

"While you are right, the movie I had in mind was The Silence."

"How the hell was I supposed to know that? Who the hell watched that movie anyway?!" You spoke, sucking your teeth. Your annoyance simmered, nearly boiling over as you heard the other cackle over the line.

"What a sore loser. Since it's only one, you won't get a punishment this time."

You huffed, sinking deeper into the cushions and grumbling something intelligible. "Continue."

He chuckled, enjoying your annoyance far too much. "What are the three rules when taking care of a Mogwai in the film, gremlins?"

You hopped up, grinning ear to ear; confident you had this one in the bag. Your hand stretched out, a finger curling to rest into your palm; "Don't feed it after midnight," another lowered, "no bright lights, and—" the third finger staggered, your eyes widening the moment you realized a ridiculously timed brain fart was interrupting.

"Don't uh.." You dragged, hoping the filler word would somehow cause your brain to work. Of course it didn't, causing you to sit there, mouth gaping like an idiot. A cold sweat brushed over you the moment the other started talking again.. realizing what his words were—

A countdown.

"5...4...3.." The stranger stretched the three; voice masked with amusement, enjoying your struggle. You stumbled, searching urgently for the words that just weren't there.

"Don't—"

"Times up!" The stranger interrupted, laughter hinging onto his words. "Two in a row! Losing your spark so quickly?" He taunted you.

You sighed heavily, leaning back over the couch with your eyes pinched closed in annoyance. You really shouldn't be this frustrated, it was just an odd game between strangers— nothing more. It's not like you were getting money for it. Whatever. You tried to convince yourself, eyes blinking open slowly, widening the moment your vision focused.

There in your backyard, you could have sworn, maybe you were just being paranoid— but.. you swore you saw a figure simply standing there; separated by the glass. But as quickly as you saw it, it was gone, as if nothing more than your mind playing tricks.

You swallowed heavily, turning to lay on your stomach and squint. Hard. Somehow trying to make your eyesight better than what it truly was. But as you continued such strain, you didn't see a thing. Nothing. No explanation, at all.

"You still there, little miss horror fanatic?"

His words caused you to jump, nearly forgetting the cold device pressed to your ear. You pulled the phone back, lips pursing together silently, trying to relax your frantic heart. Talking to a stranger and a horror quiz just wasn't the greatest mix, was it? No wonder you were acting so paranoid.

Slowly you turned to face your television, sinking into the cushions.

"I'm here."

"Good, good— we have to figure out your punishment after all."

You rolled your eyes, the fear that was once placated you, disappearing. "And what exactly is my punishment? You hanging up?" You joked, grinning a bit the moment you heard his soft chuckle.

"No, nothing like that. Maybe taking your power will suffice?"

"Wha—"

All at once, every fan, light, and even your television seemed to shut off. You jumped up from the couch, eyes struggling against the darkness of your house as you frantically searched for the remote. You finally found it, slamming your fingers into the power button— but to no avail; it refused to turn on. This caused your anxiety to spike, shallow breaths escaping you.

"Getting scared?"

Without thinking you pulled your phone back from your ear, slamming the end call button. What.. just happened? How did— how did he turn off your power? You desperately searched for an answer, trying to rationalize this madness playing before you.

There was no way he turned off your power purposely.. right? There was just..

You decided to stop thinking, bringing your phone up and pressing the flashlight button. Your hand moved, lighting up your living room— a small act of comfort for your rapidly beating heart. You walked towards the wall, flicking at the switch only to sigh the moment it refused to turn on.

You debated your options. If he had truly been able to shut off your power, how did he do it? Manually? If so, going outside just seemed like the worst choice. Maybe he did it remotely; maybe some kind of phone emp that.. killed everything but your phone?

"That makes.. total sense." You spoke, ridiculing yourself just a little. You leaned against your wall for a moment, the cool structure consoling you. Only, for a moment.

You jumped as your phone rang again, completely shutting off your flashlight, rendering you back to darkness. With a shaky hand you brought the phone close, sucking in a breath as you spotted the name.

You accepted the call, "What did you do?! Why.. why can't I turn on anything?"

Through sputters the other replied, "I did say you would receive a punishment, why are you so surprised?"

"I don't want to play this game anymore, just—" You slowly breathed, trying to calm down. "..please, fix my power."

Your request received silence for a still moment, the only sound being your heart begging to escape your chest. You stood, against that same wall that once comforted you— now doing the exact opposite.

Finally, he spoke.

"If you get this answer correctly, I just might."

You pulled the phone from your ear to release a shaky breath, eyes squinting closed. You had no faith in yourself for answer nor the stranger to not give you a trick question. But, it seemed the only way to get what you wanted was to play by his rules.

"Fine." You muttered, bringing the phone back to your ear.

"Good. So I shouldn't expect whining if you get it wrong and I punish you — right?" The smile was clear in his speech, a potent dare that he was just begging you to accept. And against your better judgment, you did; muttering out a simple yes squeezing the fabric of your clothes between your fingers.

"Excellent! And to make this even more fun, how about a speed round? Ready? Let's go; what is the name of the fictional town in which the events of Halloween take place?"

"Haddonfield."

"Correct!— Which horror movie features a family being terrorized by doppelgängers?—"

"Us!"

"Right again! Two more sweetheart, and you'll get your beloved power back!"

You breathed heavily, tightening the hold on your phone. Calm down.. you can't think when you're so frantic.

"In 'The Grudge' what is the name of the spirit that curses the house?"

"Ka—kayako Saeki—!"

The other laughed heartily, "You are on a roll! Last one, it's for alllllll the marbles.. where am I?"

In that moment it felt like someone was squeezing your throat, rendering you breathless; clawing at an imaginary hand to fight for breath. Your eyes danced around your dark house, chest tight as little tears pricked at your eyes.

"What?.." Your tone was breathy, fear clearly running through your veins.

"You heard me." The way he spoke, all amusement, all laughter ceasing to exist. This.. wasn't a game anymore, was it?

"Where.. am.. I?"

Tears were streaming at this point, head whipping back and forth between your backyard door and the front. You struggled to pick, knowing the wrong answer meant your demise. You couldn't.. you had to guess right, y—you just.. had to!

"The front door! You're on my porch!"

"Go check."

You swallowed heavily, glancing at the door. Slowly, toy pulled yourself off the wall, shaky footsteps leading you forward. You couldn't hear a thing from the other line, making you wonder if he muted himself. Either way, you didn't care; the thought of hearing him at this moment was just too much to bear. You continued your snail like pace, shaky, gasping as you approached the door. A barrier between you and what you assumed was standing behind it, waiting for you.

You panted softly, watching your own hand reach for the knob as if an out of body experience. Expertly, routinely; your fingers flicked the lock, listening to the usual mechanism. Then, your palm enveloped the golden knob, twisting.. carefully.

Twist.. twist.. pull. Slowly, you opened the door, listening to the hinges for a soft moment before deciding to rip the bandage off— swinging it open the rest of the way, nearly hitting the wall behind if it wasn't for your hand.

And just like that.. all color drained from your face, as you glanced at your porch, your doorstep.

Your completely, empty, doorstep.

Laughter suddenly echoed from your phone, your blood running cold. You sputtered,

"Please! Please just give me another ch—"

Your speech was interrupted as heavy footsteps bounded from your stairs. You whipped around in time to spot a large figure cloaked in black, face covered rushing towards you. You screeched, scrambling to make it out of the door, only for his arms to suddenly wrap around your waist, stilling your movement.

"You lost.." The tone in your ear was sing-songy, arms tightening the more you struggled. You felt the plastic of his mask dig into your neck as he leaned into, fingers digging into your flesh almost perversely. "Poor, poor [Name]."

Before you could whine out, you were met with the sound of your power being restored. You gaped like a fish, confused completely. If he was here now, how the hell did it turn back on?

An answer quickly presented itself. One, you didn't quite like.

Footsteps carried from your porch, and through glossy eyes you spotted another figure approaching your home. The one holding you backed up a bit, carrying you with him— and allowing his partner-in-crime to enter your home. Once he did so, he shut the door behind him, locking it and snickering softly.

"I was gonna lose anyway.. wasn't I?"

"So smart.." The stranger, the mask you immediately recognized as Ghostface mumbled, approaching you. You whimpered the moment his fingers went for your face, caressing it slowly as his other hand reached for his mask, slowly lifting it halfway to reveal his simmering smirk.

Ghostface leaned close, lips pressing against the side of your eye, removing the tears. "I think we scared her too much.. Look at those tears."

The Ghostface behind you chuckled, pressing himself closer to effectively squish you between the two of them.

"I don't think so. She enjoyed this more than she let on, obviously." A hand released your waist to grasp your cheek, turning your face just a tad. "You got turned on by this.. didn't you? The thought of losing, the thought of us coming in here— claiming our reward and dealing out your punishment?"

You whined, unable to speak from their touches and the pressure. They took your lack of words as an answer, the Ghostface infront of you chuckling as his lips treaded down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin just to feel you shudder. While the other slowly backed the three of you to your couch.

Soon enough your bottom hit the plush cushions, unable to fully register what was happening as your lips were suddenly taken in a full kiss. You couldn't keep up at this point, feeling hands reach for your clothes; top gone, bottoms next. The cool air brushed against your skin, quickly warmed by their touch. You felt a hand ghost down the curve of your plush stomach, pushing past the elastic of your panties— gloved fingers brushing against your warm cunt.

"Soaking my fucking glove.." One spoke, clearly not the one kissing you as his lips continued to bite marks along your skin, sinking in deeply when you attempted to close your legs. "Don't be so shy.. let me in, sweetheart."

His words were soft, nearly comforting as you felt fingers spread you, another coming to circle your swollen bud. You finally pulled away from the kiss, a whisper of a moan escaping your swollen lips. You squirmed, not fighting, but unable to control yourself due to the pleasure.

The Ghostface that had just kissed you chuckled, leaning close to press his lips against the side of your face. "Feels that good.. huh?" His hand dragged your body, reaching your thighs, a soft huff escaping the moment he realized you still had your panties on.

"You're so lazy." His words were directed to his partner, tone ranging between annoyed and amused.

The other chuckled, continuing his the slow circles upon your clit, "You want them off so bad, do it yourself." And with that he devoured your mouth in a sweet kiss, tongue intruding your lips to spread along your wet caravan, reclaiming the space.

Ghostface 1 tutted softly, hand moving away from your body to instead sift through his pocket. Your eyes slowly opened, watching as he revealed a pocket knife, flipping it open in on swift motion. You whined softly as you felt the sharp tip drag across your skin, the cold silver causing you to shiver far too harshly..

"Relax.. I would hate to knick you." He spoke, though doing one more playful drag before reaching your hip, carefully catching your panty onto the sharp edge before flicking it up— ruining them. You would have complained if it wasn't for the mouth occupying you at the moment.

Ghostface 1 tossed away the knife onto your coffee table, grabbing the ruined garments and tearing it off the rest of the way. With that, his companion used his free hand to grace the inside of your thigh, pushing it open whilst the other did the same; exposing your wet cunt.

With more access, another hand reached low, gathering your dripping essence, smoothing it between his gloved fingers. And with a single push two fingers were inserting you, reaching deep and spreading against your gummy walls.

Again you pulled away from a kiss, moaning— pitch piquing as those damned digits curled. Ghostface 2 chuckled, continuing the ministrations on your pretty bud while his lips carried down your form.

"So fucking wet.. you like this? All this attention?"

Little tears of pleasure threatened to tread down your face as your legs shook, reaching over to squeeze one of their arms— which of course, was more than welcomed. You felt a free hand knead your breast, thumb flicking and pressing into your nipple gently.

"Hey, he asked a question— or are you too fucked out already?" The first Ghostface chuckled, quickening the pace of his fingers, the squelches of your pretty pussy echoing through the room. He leaned close, nipping at your skin, scissoring you and spreading you open.

"Ye—yes!" You were finally able to muster, a band forming and wounding in your stomach as they continued. Your response was enough for them, laughter carrying between them, one even softly mocking your declaration.

"Such a fucking slut, all excited over two Ghostfaces using you up."

"Ruining you for just about anyone else.."

Your head rolled back against the couch, as blissfull sounds escaped, eyes pinched close from the pleasure. Your thighs tightened with each pass of one's finger upon your clit, and the other's thrust of their fingers. They were right, you were ruined— completely. And they had just begun to play with you.

You whimpered and whined, fingers digging into their covered arms, crying out as a hot tongue spread along your areola, dragging the swollen bud into his mouth. You were close, so, so close. That end heading towards you rapidly, stomach tightening into knots as pure gibberish fell from your pretty lips.

And all too quickly you were coming undone, moaning so loudly you were sure the neighbors could hear. For a moment your vision was blurred, the only feeling being their fingers helping your ride out your high.

"What a mess, your poor couch."

"Here, be good and clean me up." Soaked, gloved fingers were dragging across your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open gently. With little issue your lips parted, allowing his digits to press against your tongue. You dragged your appendage across him, tasting your own arousal and bitter leather. You continued your show, gagging slightly the moment he pushed his fingers just a bit farther.

"Look at that.." Ghostface 2 mumbled, far too excited as his piercing gaze resting on you. Suddenly he was standing up, walking around your couch to stand behind you. Ghostface 1 seemed to catch onto his plan, given he was removing his fingers before grasping you a bit roughly, switching you onto your knees.

Your hands held the hard frame of your couch, breathing softly as a gentle hand grasped your chin. Your eyes carried up to the long figure infront of you, warming as his thumb wiped away the combined mess on your lips.

"Pretty girl.." He cooed, leaning down to your height to plant his lips to your own. Your eyes fluttered shut, moaning into the kiss as you felt the other behind you spread your legs wide, hand brushing across your back to make the perfect arch.

In unison you heard fabric moving before two pairs of belts were being fiddled with. This caused your heart to skip a beat, anticipation and want shuddering throughout you.

Soon enough you were being released from the kiss, eyes landing upon the one before you, watching as he tugged down his bottoms. Short tufts of fluffy white hairs lined his belly and his groin, carefully groomed. He was long, length a pretty pale, veins running along his shaft with a hot red tip.

"No way.. don't tell me you got this excited just from seeing his dick." Ghostface 1 chuckled behind you, dragging his knuckles across your snatch for a moment before gently slapping your messy cunt, the soft plap echoing throughout the room.

You gasped out, lunging forward just a bit from the sudden action. He didn't let you move much though, fingers dipping into your sides and pulling you against him, feeling his own heavy length gliding across you.

Your attention was once against moved as a hand grabbed your chin, thumb pressing against your lips and parting them. You moaned the moment his tip pressed against you, feeling his pre-cum smear across the brim. And slowly, he fed you each inch of his cock, his own groan causing you to shudder.

And what's more, just when you thought you could relax, you felt the other's tip glide across your slit before slowly pushing in, spreading you so perfectly.

As if made for them.

Ghostface 2 started first, pulling his hips back slowly before pushing them forward, filling your mouth easily. Your cheeks hallowed, jaw going slack as his slow pace started. His breath was heavy against the mask, hand rising to your hair and curling his fingers through it while his other hand gently caressed your face.

Ghostface 1 was next, hands digging to your hips as his own hips pulled back until only his tip remained inside of you. With little care he thrusted all the way back in, stifling a laugh as a surprised moan escaped you.

"Sorry, should I have warned you?" He questioned, refusing to give you even a moment to reply before his thrusts picked up, driving his cock into you with no mercy. With each push your breasts were pressing against the couch, the soft fabric stimulating you even more.

A struggled gasp escaped you as a tug came at your hair, fingers grabbing your cheeks rather roughly as the Ghostface infront of you picked up his own pace— reacting out of pure jealousy.

"Don't give him so much attention, sweetheart. Just focus on me." Ghostface 2 chuckled, speech stuttering as he continued. Your mouth felt far too good, sucking him so gently as your tongue dragged along his length. The man's head tilted back, muttering swears trying to keep control as he fucked your pretty face.

Meanwhile Ghostface 1 chuckled, leaning over your form to press his lips right against your ear. "Yet who's the one making you feel so good?" He spoke, slamming his hips, your ass rippling with each hit. You melted, so palpable as a string moans escaped you, smothered by the warm length occupying your mouth. You could barely focus, barely breath— relying only on feeling.

Your mouth being stuffed. Your cunt as well. The way you shook with their rhythmic thrusts, nearly toppling over if it wasn't for one's strong hold. How your arousal and much more trickled down your thighs, definitely dirtying your couch even further.

All of it.. so overwhelming yet, so, so good. You didn't need to think, breathe, nothing. Just kneeling there was enough, allowing the pleasure to consume you.

Tears trailed down chubby cheeks, wiped away by your second lover's tender thumb, gentle compared to how roughly he was using your mouth. Words of praise and encouragement fell from their lips, falling on deaf ears as you felt yourself grow more lost.

Far too quickly you felt your peak approaching, withering as the two pumped in and out of you without a care. You squeezed the couch underneath you, garbled moans escaped you as you spasmed; releasing all over your lover.

"Squeezing me so damn tightly.." The man behind you muttered, the sound of shuffling and something hitting the coffee table being heard. Once again a warm body was covering you, except the familar feeling of silky long hair tickled your exposed skin.

"Felt that good, huh? Can't believe you convinced us to do this— [Name]." Suguru chuckled right into your ear, head going slack as his ruts inside you continued you.

You would be embarrassed, mouth loose with excuses if it wasn't already full. Your eyes settled upon your other lover, moaning against his dick— tongue nice and flat the moment his hips stuttered.

And with a sharp groan he was painting your mouth, pulling you close to assure you didn't waste a single drop.

Suguru was last to let go, fingers digging into your hips, sure to leave marks. In one last thrust he was filling you up, shivering as he felt your walls tightened from the motion.

Satoru's hand rose, feeling at the mask for a moment before tugging it off; tossing it to the side to reveal his pretty face. His grin was far too apparent, pulling his hips back the moment he was satisfied. He watched carefully as you swallowed his mess, leaning down to kiss at your face and remark how good you were.

"You have fun?"

"Just a little." You spoke softly, ignoring the soft ache of your voice. You shivered as your dark-haired lover unsheathed himself within you, feeling him switch around to sit on the couch.

Soon enough his hands were reaching for you, pulling you to sit on his lap whilst his face rested in your neck.

"More than a little, you were practically screaming with glee when I grabbed you."

"Oh shut it.."

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joelsrose · 2 months ago

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Burning Desire

warnings: 18+ content !!!!! dirty talk, handjob, m! receiving oral - eeeeek I don’t write smut that often bc I’m not sure if I’m the best at it so if you enjoy pls let me know!!!

my masterlist

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It was hot—too hot in Jackson. The type of heat that clung to the air like a second skin, so heavy and unrelenting that even the faintest whisper of wind brought no relief. It was the kind of hot that seeped into the walls, turning your home into a suffocating box, the kind that made sweat gather in the crook of your neck and slide down your spine.

“Fuck this,” you muttered, wrestling with the old fan. Its blades gave a weak, uneven groan, the sound of a machine long past its prime. It sputtered for a moment before giving up entirely, leaving you alone to suffer in the still, sweltering air.

The ventilation system had been out for three days now. At first, you told yourself it was fine, no big deal. You’d lived through worse before you came to Jackson.

By the second day, you were over it. The sweat, the restless nights, the way the heat sucked the energy from your bones. You’d tried everything—propping open the windows, draping wet cloths over your forehead—but nothing seemed to help. The thought of another day like this was enough to make you want to scream.

You sighed, swiping at the bead of sweat that clung stubbornly to your forehead. The thick, humid air inside your house had grown unbearable, pushing you out the door and into the blistering sun. The heat wrapped around you like a smothering blanket, the kind that didn’t just sit on your skin but burrowed deep into your bones, pounding relentlessly on every inch of exposed flesh.

You made your way down the dirt path to Tommy’s house, your irritation building with each sluggish step. By the time you reached their porch, you were half-ready to tear the door off its hinges. Before you could knock, Maria opened it, greeting you with a sly smile.

“Well, hello there,” she said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Not now, Maria,” you muttered, brushing past her playful tone. “Where’s your husband?”

Maria chuckled knowingly, folding her arms. “Your ventilation still down? I told you, you could stay here.”

“And listen to you guys have sex every night? No, thanks.” You shot her a dry look before stepping inside and calling out, “Tommy!”

The sound of boots against wood echoed from another room, followed by a gruff, familiar voice. “Christ, what’s goin’ on here?” Tommy appeared in the doorway, brows raised, his eyes sweeping over you. “And why do you look like you just ran through a damn sprinkler?”

You glared at him, swiping at the sweat-soaked neckline of your shirt. “Because it’s a hundred degrees in my house, Tommy. And because someone”—your tone sharpened, the implication clear—“hasn’t come by to fix it.”

Tommy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression one of mild exasperation. “Alright, alright. Let me grab my tools before you melt all over Maria’s floor.”

“Baby,” Maria interjected, her voice lilting with amusement. “You got that thing?”

Tommy froze for half a second, his hand moving from his neck to scratch the edge of his jaw. “Oh… fuck,” he murmured under his breath, his posture stiffening in that telltale way that said something had slipped his mind.

Your brows shot up, arms crossing as you stared him down. “Tommy, I swear to God,” you started, your tone sharp and cracking with heat-induced frustration, “I’m not even being dramatic right now, but if this thing isn’t fixed by the end of the day, I legitimately might shoot someone.”

Tommy chuckled, low and easy, as though the idea of you snapping didn’t rattle him in the slightest. “Well, we can’t have that,” he drawled, his hands settling on his hips in that casually smug way that always made you want to throttle him. “Alright, I’ll send Joel over this afternoon. He’s free.”

He was already moving toward the front door before the words fully registered. “Wait—what?” you blurted, following after him. “Joel?”

“Yeah, Joel. You’ve met him, right?” Tommy glanced back over his shoulder, his tone as nonchalant as if he’d just told you the weather. “Big guy, mean face?”

You had, in fact, met Joel. A handful of times since he’d arrived last month. To be honest, you were still trying to figure him out. He was brusque, gruff, and always seemed to have this permanent scowl etched into his features. To this day, you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the fact that he and Tommy were brothers. They were so different—Tommy with his easy charm and constant smirk, Joel with his sharp eyes and the kind of silence that always felt a little heavy, like it might snap at any moment. Then again, you didn’t know Joel. Not the way you knew Tommy.

“Fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you turned back toward the porch. “As long as it’s fixed.”

You didn’t wait for a response, stepping back into the searing heat. Behind you, Maria’s voice rang out in mock cheer, “Nice to see you too!”

Without turning, you threw a hand in the air, flipping her off as you walked away. Her laugh followed you, light and teasing, and somehow, despite the heat, it managed to make you smile.

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You lay sprawled on the bench of your front porch, eyes closed against the bright glare of the sun, lazily fanning yourself. The heat inside your house had been unbearable, so you’d come outside, hoping for even the slightest breeze to ease your suffering. But the air was still, and the heat clung to you no matter where you went.

You’d resorted to wearing your tiniest pair of shorts and a worn-out singlet, an outfit you wouldn’t dream of being seen in beyond the safety of your porch. But right now, the mere thought of adding another layer felt like cruel and unusual punishment.

The creak of the gate and the sound of heavy boots on the porch’s wooden planks barely registered in your haze. Then came a cough—a quiet, gravelly sound that snapped your eyes open.

Standing there, broad shoulders framed by the relentless sun, was Joel. You blinked, suddenly unsure if it was the heat making you lightheaded or… something else. Had he always been this handsome? The sharp set of his jaw, the flecks of silver in his beard that caught the light, the way his shirt stretched over arms that looked like they could build or break anything in their path. You’d noticed him before, sure, but not like this—not when he was standing so close, with his presence so solid and consuming.

“Uh… Tommy sent me over,” Joel said, his low voice breaking through your trance. He stood there awkwardly, one hand resting on his hip, the other rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze swept over you briefly before landing somewhere just past your shoulder, as though he was deliberately trying not to look at you too closely.

“Oh. Right. Shit, sorry.” You scrambled to sit up, brushing at your shorts like that would somehow make this less mortifying. For some reason—maybe the heat, maybe pure instinct—you extended your hand toward him. A handshake. Really? What were you, a fucking realtor?

Joel’s brows knit together in confusion, but he took your hand anyway, his grip firm but hesitant. His rough, calloused palm dwarfed yours, his skin warm and textured in a way that made your stomach flip. You prayed he couldn’t feel how clammy your own hand was, though judging by the flicker of something on his face—amusement, maybe?—he definitely noticed.

“Uh,” you stammered, withdrawing your hand too quickly, as though it had been burned. “Thanks for coming over.”

Joel gave a slow nod, his gaze finally meeting yours. “No problem,” he said simply.

You cleared your throat, trying to swallow the warmth rising in your face—not from the sun but from the way Joel’s presence seemed to pull at something inside you. “Well… follow me,” you murmured, stepping past him to open the door, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a curt nod, his boots echoing softly against the wooden planks as he followed you inside. The air in the house was stifling, thick and oppressive, but Joel didn’t seem fazed. You led him through the narrow hallway toward the ventilation system, your fingers brushing over the walls for balance as you fought to ignore the weight of his gaze lingering on your back.

“This way,” you said, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.

When you reached the corner where the old, battered system sat, Joel was all business. He crouched down without a word, his hands moving with practiced precision as he inspected the unit. His brow furrowed in concentration, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he adjusted a panel.

You stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying not to stare too openly, but it was impossible not to notice the way the sweat on his neck glistened in the dim light, or the way his broad shoulders filled the space.

“Been runnin’ this thing into the ground, haven’t you?” Joel muttered, mostly to himself as he fiddled with the system. His tone was dry, almost amused, as though the sorry state of your ventilation wasn’t exactly surprising.

You shrugged, “I’m just a girl.”

At that, he paused, turning to look at you with a raised eyebrow, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and mild amusement.

It was distracting—how good he looked like this. The sun streaming through the window seemed to catch every rough-hewn line of his face, the sweat on his brow glinting faintly in the light. And then there was his shirt, the hem riding up as he reached for something in the toolbox, exposing a sliver of tan, muscular skin that made your stomach flip in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You swallowed hard, tearing your gaze away as you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to play it cool. “So, uh…” you started, your voice coming out too soft. Clearing your throat, you tried again. “How’d you know how to do all this?”

Joel sighed, the sound low and almost weary, as though the answer wasn’t worth much to him. “Was in construction. Worked with Tommy.”

“Really?” you said, tilting your head as you watched him. “Guess that explains the whole ‘fix anything, grumble about it later’ vibe you’ve got going on.”

Joel paused for a moment, glancing at you over his shoulder. His brows furrowed, lips tugged into the faintest frown. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about?” he said, his voice low and gravelly, laced with genuine confusion.

Your face burned. You waved a hand in the air, trying to dismiss the awkwardness. “Nothing. Uh, I’ll be back,” you muttered, spinning on your heel before he could say anything else.

You escaped to the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter as you tried to compose yourself. “Get it together, girl,” you muttered under your breath, taking a few deep, steadying breaths.

Spotting a pitcher of water on the counter, you grabbed a glass. Offer him water. Be normal. That’s not weird, you told yourself. Glass in hand, you walked back toward him, your heart thudding unreasonably loud in your chest.

“I got some water—” you started, but before you could finish your sentence, your foot caught on something—probably that damn rug you hadn’t straightened out. The glass slipped from your hand as you pitched forward, stumbling with an embarrassingly loud yelp.

The next few seconds blurred together. Joel turned just as you fell, his hands moving quickly to catch you. The glass hit the floor with a clatter, shattering everywhere.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, his strong hands steadying you, one gripping your arm and the other braced on your waist. His eyes scanned you, his voice gruff but laced with concern. “You alright?”

You blinked up at him, your face inches from his. His hand was warm and solid on your waist, and the way he looked at you—stern, steady—made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the fall. “Yeah,” you breathed, your voice a little too shaky. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… clumsy.”

Joel’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “That much’s obvious,” he said, his tone dry as he helped you straighten up. “Maybe let me get my own water next time.”

After what felt like forever, Joel finally let go, his hands dropping from your waist. You stumbled back, the heat of his touch lingering on your skin as you scrambled to the ground, muttering under your breath, “Fuck,” more to yourself than anyone else.

Your eyes darted to the shards of glass scattered across the floor. You reached out quickly, eager to clean up the mess and avoid any more embarrassment. But as your hand shot forward, Joel crouched down at the same time, his larger hand moving to grab the same piece of glass.

And that’s when it happened.

Your hand missed the glass entirely and landed firmly… on him. Right there.

Time froze, the air between you suddenly too thick to breathe, the moment stretching unbearably as you both registered what had just happened. Your heart slammed against your ribcage, panic and mortification washing over you in waves. But that wasn’t what truly hit you, what really sent your mind reeling. No, it was something else entirely.

He was hard.

Rock solid beneath your touch.

You gasped, your breath catching as your gaze snapped up to meet his. His expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched tight, and his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. The tension between you was electric, crackling with something neither of you wanted to name.

Your shock quickly morphed into something deeper, a slow, smoldering heat coiling low in your stomach. Your lips parted, but no words came, your mind too overwhelmed to form a coherent thought. Joel cleared his throat abruptly, breaking the charged silence. He stood in one swift motion, his voice gruff and uneven as he muttered, “I’m gonna… get some water.”

You stayed there for a beat, still kneeling on the floor, the cool shards of glass forgotten in your hands. The room felt stifling, the tension from moments ago lingering in the air like smoke. But then you heard the faint clink of a glass in the kitchen, and before you could second-guess yourself, you stood and followed him.

When you stepped into the doorway, Joel’s back was to you, his broad shoulders pulling taut under the fabric of his shirt as he raised a glass of water to his lips. His head tilted back, exposing the thick column of his neck, and you felt that heat inside you flare, spreading through your limbs like wildfire.

He turned then, lowering the glass, his gaze meeting yours. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw and the flicker in his eyes betrayed him. He didn’t say a word—didn’t have to. The charged silence between you said enough.

Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could think it through, you stepped forward. The air shifted as you sank to your knees in front of him, your fingers trembling as they reached for his belt. His breath hitched audibly, his body stiffening as he looked down at you.

“What are you doin’?” His voice was low, strained, but there was no mistaking the way his hands hovered at his sides, unsure whether to stop you—or help you.

You didn’t answer, your hands moving instinctively, your gaze locked on his as you worked the leather strap loose.

You yanked his jeans down in one swift motion, the fabric pooling around his ankles. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling as you knelt before him.

Just as your fingers moved to the waistband of his boxers, Joel’s hand shot out, gripping a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back, forcing your gaze up to meet his. The movement was firm, commanding, his expression shadowed and intense.

“The fuck are you doin’?” he growled.

You smiled up at him, unbothered, as though this were the simplest thing in the world. “Helping you,” you said, your voice soft but sure.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw tight, his breath ragged. “Fuck,” Joel muttered under his breath, his grip loosening slightly, his eyes darkening. “You’re dirty, y’know that?”

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmured, releasing you.

You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers slipped under the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down in one smooth motion. His length sprang free, slapping against his abdomen, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet room. The sight of him made your breath hitch, heat pooling low in your stomach as your eyes traced every inch of him.

“Shit,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, your lips parting as your mouth watered at the sight.

Joel’s hand found your hair again, his grip firmer this time, guiding your gaze back to his face. “You gonna just stare, or you gonna show me what that smart mouth can do?” he drawled, his voice thick with tension.

You smiled as you began to lean into him.

“Wait,” Joel said, his voice rough and strained, stopping you just before your lips could meet his tip. You froze, looking up at him, the hunger in your eyes mirrored in his.

“Wanna taste you first,” he murmured, his words slow and deliberate, like a promise. “Before you’re all full of me.”

The heat in his voice sent a jolt straight to your core, leaving you breathless. Before you could even process what he meant, his hand tightened in your hair, pulling you to your feet with an almost desperate force.

His lips crashed against yours, feverish and unrelenting, his kiss filled with a raw, unspoken need. A muffled “mhmm” escaped your lips as your body melted against his, your hands bracing against his chest.

But your hand didn’t stay there for long. It slid back down, wrapping around his length as you began stroking him, slow and deliberate at first, before picking up the pace. The weight of him in your palm only made the ache inside you worse, and the quiet, guttural noise Joel let out against your lips sent a shiver down your spine.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice deep and reverent, his forehead pressing to yours for a brief second. “Alright,” he said, his tone commanding now, his hands moving to your shoulders. “Back down.”

You didn’t hesitate, sinking to your knees once more, the hunger in his eyes making your pulse race.

Your mouth enveloped him slowly, your tongue working along his cock, tasting the salt of his skin. Joel’s breath hitched sharply, his hand moving to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as his other hand gripped the edge of the kitchen counter for balance.

“Fuckkk, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, his head tilting back slightly as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

Then his gaze snapped back down to you, and the sight of you looking up at him—lips wrapped around him, eyes wide and full of intent—made his jaw tighten. “Shit, you’re good at that,” he groaned, his tone full of awe and desperation.

You kept your pace steady, bobbing your head as your hands worked to cover the rest of him, your fingers curling around his base.

The heat in the room felt almost unbearable now, the sweat on your skin mingling with the faint stickiness of the floor beneath your knees. It hurt—your knees digging into the hardwood—but it didn’t matter. The sound of his breathing, the way his fingers tightened in your hair, made every discomfort worth it.

Joel’s free hand reached down, his thumb brushing a bead of sweat from your forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the tension in his body. “So fuckin�� pretty,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice rough and uneven.

You hummed in response, the vibration pulling a deep groan from him, his hips bucking slightly despite his effort to stay in control.

Joel’s hand tightened in your hair, gathering it into a makeshift grip as he began to move, his hips thrusting into your mouth with a newfound urgency. The pace was hard and fast, his rhythm rough, but the desperation in his movements only fueled the heat pooling in your core.

Your fingers clutched at his thighs, trying to ground yourself against the intensity of it all. The muscles under your hands were taut, flexing with every drive of his hips, and the sheer force of him overwhelmed you, pushing you closer to the edge of control. You gagged around him, your throat tightening as he hit the back of it, but instead of pulling away, you let out a muffled moan, spurring him on further.

“So fucking good for me,” Joel groaned, his voice raw and strained as he looked down at you. His hand stayed firm in your hair, guiding you as he took what he needed, his eyes burning with a mix of hunger and awe. “On the floor, like this… Jesus Christ.”

You freed one hand from his thigh, letting it slide down to cup his balls, your fingers massaging gently as you continued your rhythm. Joel’s breathing grew heavier, a sharp inhale escaping his lips as his head tipped back slightly.

“Shit, darlin’,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained, every word drenched in desperation. “Not gonna… not gonna last much longer.”

Abruptly, Joel pulled himself out, his breathing ragged as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and hungry “Where d’you want me, baby?” Joel asked again, his voice slower this time, almost a drawl, but it didn’t lack intensity.

His free hand brushed the side of your face, rough fingers tracing over your cheek like he had all the time in the world—though the look in his eyes told you he was on the brink of losing control.

You licked your lips, the salty taste of him still on your tongue, and let the words tumble out before you could second-guess yourself. “In my mouth,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, thick with arousal. “I want you in my mouth.”

“Yeah?” Joel breathed, his jaw tightening as his hips jerked forward instinctively. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly, his dark eyes drinking you in.

You nodded eagerly, your breath hitching as the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. The hunger between you was almost unbearable now, the air charged with a raw, unspoken need.

“Fuck,” Joel grunted, his voice strained as though he was barely holding himself together. His grip on your hair tightened, and his other hand braced against the counter for support. “Okay, baby. Go ahead.”

Without giving you time to respond, he thrust back into your mouth, his movements rougher now, his pace relentless.

His head tilted back, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest as he buried himself in the warmth of you, his hand tightening in your hair to hold you steady. You let him take control, your hands gripping his thighs for support as you worked in time with him, your mouth and tongue doing everything you could to draw him closer to the edge.

Joel’s breathing turned ragged, his body trembling slightly as he braced himself against the counter. “Fuck, baby,” he growled, his voice breaking. “So damn perfect. Can’t—fuck—can’t hold it much longer.”

His grip faltered for just a moment, his movements growing erratic as he chased his release. And then he was spilling into you, a string of low curses falling from his lips as he held you against him, his cum sitting heavy and warm in your mouth.

“Open your mouth,” Joel commanded, his voice rough and steady, his hand tightening in your hair to hold you in place. His tone left no room for hesitation, and you complied instantly, parting your lips and tilting your head slightly so he could see himself on painted all over your tongue.

“Shit,” Joel murmured, his eyes darkening as he looked down at you, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

“Now swallow,” Joel commanded, his voice rough and full of authority, his grip on your hair firm as he watched you.

You swallowed instinctively, your throat working around the command as the taste of him lingered on your tongue. Your panties dampened at the sound of his deep groan and the way his chest heaved as he took in the sight of you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice gravelly, a low growl rumbling from his throat as his hand moved to your face. His thumb wiped away a bead of his cum from the corner of your lip.

Without another word, Joel reached down, pulling his pants back up with a practiced ease, as if nothing had happened. His movements were calm, deliberate, his face unreadable as he fastened his belt.

You stayed on your knees, still dazed, your mind spinning from everything that had just transpired. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the heat coursing through your body, leaving you breathless and utterly unmoored.

Joel glanced down at you, his expression softening for the briefest moment before he leaned down, his rough hands sliding beneath your arms to help you up.

Once you were on your feet, he straightened, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. “Now,” he muttered, his voice gruff, “let’s fix this damn thing.”

And just like that, he turned, moving back toward the broken ventilation system as if nothing had happened, leaving you standing in your kitchen, stunned.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, your body still trembling, still achingly hot—for an entirely different reason now.

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dominimoonbeam · 4 months ago

Text

To The Edge - 28

This work is mine and I do not give consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted without my permission. I am sharing chapters as I work on this story but it is copyrighted material that I plan to rework and publish when completed.

story tags: scifi romance, hijinks in space, rogues learning to trust, violence, blood, guns, death, explicit language, so much kidnapping, explicit sex

Works organized and easily found over on the patreon. <3

TO THE EDGE - CHAPTER 28.

Stardust woke up in his bed, under the glow of space, watching stars slide by the large window. The ship had a low hum of systems, of movement, of air, and the body pressed against theirs spread warmth into their body. His breath rolled against the back of their neck, his arm flexing around their middle as he too woke.

This was perfect, they thought. This moment. They wished they could pause everything else and stretch this out forever.

He took a deep breath and let it out, giving them another squeeze before stretching out and rolling onto his back beside them.

Stardust reached up with one arm to tap fingers against the window. “So, I can’t help but notice the differences in our accommodations on this ship…” they remarked. “I’ve got a cot and no window while you…”

He snorted. “Of course, my room has a window and a real bed.”

They turned their head away from the view to shoot him a raised eyebrow.

Cosmic grinned. “Your room is a cargo hold when I’m not transporting…well, human cargo.” He laughed. “I guess it’s still a cargo hold. That’s why all the meal bars and protein shakes are in there. Did you think I put them there just for you? That room belongs to them! You’re the guest.”

Stardust laughed despite their efforts to hold it back. “You’re such an asshole…”

He shrugged, sitting up. “Hm…” He tapped their naked hip. “Roll over again? I want to get another look at that map.”

They didn’t move just yet. “How do I know you’re not up to something?”

He laughed again, the sound deep in his morning voice. “Why would I be tricking you? You’re already in my bed. I’ve already seen everything…”

Stardust pretended to think it over before shrugging and rolling onto their stomach, folding their arms under their cheek and watching him over their shoulder.

Cosmic rolled onto his knees and leaned over them. His warm hand slid up their back, so careful against those hidden scars. He nodded at whatever he saw there in the ink. “Hm… Yeah, the map has moved a little more. It’s getting closer to the destination. I wonder what it’ll look like when we get there. It’s moving ink, so why not give us little fireworks or something when we reach the treasure?”

They frowned back at him. “It’s not—”

“Knock it off, you know it’s treasure.” He leaned forward and kissed their shoulder. “Even if there isn’t an X and we don’t have to dig it up, it doesn’t make it not treasure. I don’t know why you refuse to call it what it is. Loot. Bounty. Booty.” He grinned against their skin, his face so close to theirs.

“Any chance it’ll go away when we get there?”

He stopped kissing their shoulder, lashes lifting to meet their gaze. “You mean, will it disappear after we find it?” They knew the answer by the way he worked the question for time. “I don’t think so, Stardust… I’ve never known any moving ink to vanish on its own. If it bothers you, we could try to find someone to get rid of it. Once the treasure is already found, you won’t have to worry about someone trying to use it to get there.”

They sighed. “A map is a map. Would you believe someone if they said there was nothing there anymore?”

Cosmic sat upright, frowning. “…No, you’re right. They wouldn’t necessarily believe us that we’d already found it.”

Stardust sighed and closed their eyes, once again in life trying to make peace with the piece on their skin.

“It’s not a bad tattoo,” he said, as though he knew. “It’s beautiful work.”

“Is it?” they asked, eyes still shut and body relaxing. Was it really beautiful? They’d only ever seen it as something unwanted—something dangerous.

“Stardust…” he called softly, his voice low and shaped by a smile. “Are you falling asleep?”

They hummed in reply before realizing they might need to use words. “Can I stay?” they mumbled.

“Yeah. You can sleep here if you want. I mean…tonight. Not like, every night. Don’t try to steal my room,” he said, settling back down at their side. His fingers touched the back of their head, combing through their hair in slow motions.

The ship hummed, his heart beat, and they both just breathed.

“You know this doesn’t change anything, right?” Cosmic whispered, no more smile cutting his words. He was using that serious voice of his—not the fun angry one, but the sad one.

“You’re still telling yourself that?” Stardust smiled against their arm, his hand still stroking their hair and his legs tangled with theirs. “So, we’re just partners then?”

“No. And we were not partners before we slept together. We’re not partners.”

They wondered if he believed it more or less every time he had to say it to himself.

“We’re just… working together for the time being.”

“You like me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Nope.” There was the smile again, they could hear it pressed tightly into the corner of his mouth. “I meant what I said.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You say a bunch of dumb things. You don’t mean it.”

“I—” he started and then groaned, his hand going still in their hair. “Stop it! How do you turn everything into a petty argument?”

They cracked a lid to sneak a peek at him when they said, “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you—” he cut himself off and shot them a glare. “You’re evil.”

Stardust shrugged, watching his gaze drift over them.

His mouth twitched. “And how do you still have paint in your hair? I thought we got it all out…”

“We got distracted a few times,” they reminded. “How did you end up being a mercenary?”

His gaze found theirs in a flash of surprise. “Hm? Why do you want to know that?”

“I’m sleepy. Humor me?”

He beamed, using one arm to prop up his head. “Are you trying to say that my life story is sure to be so boring that it’ll knock you out?”

They shrugged. “Were your parents mercenaries?”

His smile softened, not completely vanishing but losing the vivid details. “No. They weren’t. The only time my parents were ever on a spaceship was when they were being shipped out to the edge to colonize a new mining settlement. They used to say that I was born looking up…” he said softly, his gaze flicking past them to the window for a second before coming back. “I think they just said that because they’d realized I’d have to go eventually. So, they told me I’d always wanted to be an adventurer and eventually I believed it.”

Stardust wasn’t falling asleep anymore. They watched him, barely breathing, to get those details. A mining planet. They struggled to imagine Cosmic as a boy in a colony.

“The mines dried up sooner than the corporations expected. They stopped prioritizing the settlement. We’re far out, you know? It was close to the edge and that costs to maintain. When they finally decided it wasn’t worth it, they just stopped coming—stopped paying the mercenaries to guard the colony.” His teeth dragged over his lip before he shrugged, like it had all been inevitable—a story told a hundred times. “Pirates and worse started to set up shop real quick after that. It’s still there, the last planetary settlement before the deep.”

“So, your family had to leave?”

“Hm?” he seemed surprised by the idea, his thoughts having to return to the question. “Oh, no, it was just me by then. I got on the first ship that would take me. Scariest ride of my life. That ship was a wreck, barely holding together, and we were packed standing inside it for hours. I can still remember the way it creaked and shook, like it was going to come apart and we’d all just be flushed out into space.” He smiled, his words whispered like he was telling them a bedtime story.

“We made it to the nearest station. The captain we’d all paid, tried to double-cross us by selling us to a skin ship. I was lucky that some of the others were armed and would rather go down shooting then get on that other vessel. It turned into a firefight right there in the station and we scattered. I stowed away on a big cargo ship and got out of there.”

They wanted to ask about his family—about how he was the only one to get off the planet—but they pressed those questions aside. Another time, maybe. “The cargo ship didn’t catch on that you were there?”

The stars outside the window flickered in his eyes. “Oh, I definitely got caught, but by then we were away from the station and those cargo ships can’t waste time turning back. I guess they could have jettisoned my ass but the captain felt bad for me. I was barely more than a kid. He said he was short-handed so I could work for my food and board.”

They nodded, wondering how old he had been but asking, “Where were you going?”

“I was trying to get to the prime.” He huffed a small laugh. “I’m probably lucky I never made it. What would I have done there? They probably would have put my ass back on a ship running cargo out here.”

He was right, only they would have managed to tack on a ton of debt while they set him up and sent him out again. They smiled up at him. “Well, lucky for me you didn’t become a cargo runner.”

“…Yeah.” He smiled. “You’re right. If I’d gotten myself one of those legit long-haul jobs, who would have been out here to save you from those pirates?”

“I mean, I would have managed eventually. I might have even thrown in with a crew of mercs. You know, I was really close to talking me way out of that trunk you found me in…”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“They had more guns… and a faster ship…”

He laughed, ruffling their hair. “Shut up and fall asleep already.”

#to the edge #sci fi romance #ride or die in space #audio script to novel #own work #own world #adventures of stardust and cosmic #<3 #dominimoonbeam #clover down #romance

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tophat-69 · 18 days ago

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Bonus Chapter: it's the good, defining itself

So, it turns out that even after spending 22 days churning out a chapter a day, I wasn't entirely done with this world. I don't know if I'll keep posting periodic chapters to this AU, but I did want to share something with Tumblr in honor of my joining you all here during this story!

So here's a bonus chapter of "it's the good, defining itself" as Viktor begins to outlive himself in their previous timeline.

The air of Viktor’s office smells of ocean and ozone, blown in ahead of an evening storm that will lash these upper floors of the College of Techmaturgy but will disperse by the time it reaches the sumps of Zaun. Previously it would have ended up in runoff ditches, catching in the mud of the Promenade and eroding the natural fissures, but moving little further. In the city above it would have become runoff, picking up the pollution of Piltover’s factories and following their own elaborate drainage to spill into the feeders for the river far below.

He’s been working on that--a water capture system that will help to bring fresh, untainted water to their citizens, and that will then trickle down from their gray water to Claggor’s garden and struggling orchard. Instituting city-wide changes in infrastructure is a slow process though, no matter how quickly he can redesign it in his mind.

Still, he can do all of this because the people who care entirely too much for him have given him this perch in the sky, an eagle’s nest above the city he loves. He can barely see the city, though--instead, his windows face the risen tower of the Academy and the glistening spires of Piltover across the river.

He should have insisted on being down among his own people instead. He always thinks that in the rare times that he uses his office. Usually for meetings, or to do paperwork while his children commandeer his workshops and labs on the floors just below him, or when they’re too rambunctious in the unofficial teacher’s lounge that makes up the floor beneath, where the haze of the Entresol begins to grey the sky before it disappears entirely the further down the tower one gets.

He doesn’t like the elevated position they’ve given him. An irony, since he gravitated towards heights in his past life, teetering on the edge and looking down from Piltover. That was when he was still apart from them, though. Before he became ‘of Zaun’ again, somehow emblematic of a people he left behind for a life on the topside.

From here, he can stare at the council building as well. But he’s not at the exact right angle to face the window that his death came crashing through.

This week, and a lifetime ago.

The fact that it’s Powder who finds him shouldn’t really surprise him.

The universe does enjoy its ironies.

A locked door means absolutely nothing to fissure folk, but she doesn’t try the knob first anyway. No, she comes in before the rain can slick the roof or the leaded glass, as the line of clouds approaches from the west. Her boots make a truly grating squeal as they slide down the glass, before landing with a thump on the iron ledge that circles the entire upper floor. She grabs the opened shutter and uses it to slip herself inside before closing it behind her so that the rain doesn’t find him.

Viktor sighs and presses the palms of his hands over his eyes, gathering himself so that he can try to be ‘on.’

“You are aware that there is in fact a door.”

Powder bounces up and makes herself comfortable on Viktor’s desk, perched above him there in a way that completely disregards the piles of paper he’s let build up, legs folding beneath her as she blows an errant strand of her bangs out of her eyes, looking a little windswept from her escapades outside. “Uh-huh. But somehow that door is locked, the lights are off, and you’re sitting on the floor behind your desk. Weird, isn’t it?”

“One might be led to believe that I was avoiding company.”

“Wow, don’t be too subtle, there, Prof. I might miss the hint.” Powder, of course, has even worse ideas of boundaries than any of the rest of his intrusive little family in Zaun. Because she can see a boundary and still slips right past it because they don’t apply to her, her voice cheerful and completely irreverent. He’s blaming Vander for this behavior. Or Silco. Or Violet. He obviously would never have raised such a disrespectful child, and Jayce has proper manners so he’s clearly not responsible. Though Viktor did hire her on for his College as soon as she graduated despite basically everything about her being an invitation to bring chaos into their lives, so he supposes that he has himself to blame for that much.

“Your Piltie has been wandering all around campus looking like a kicked puppy all day between classes. I think he’s the only person in Zaun that the ‘no one’s home’ act worked on even though his office is literally next door. Everything okay between you two?” Since she was eleven, Powder’s been torn between teasing Jayce incessantly for being irredeemably Piltovan, and being invested in their relationship as if there was any chance that their arguments might push them apart and leave Viktor hurt and alone. But insultingly enough, for all that her loyalties are inevitably with Viktor, she sides with Jayce in the majority of their disputes.

Because like Jayce, she centers ‘her’ people over any reason or any cause. And for all that Viktor works to keep all of the children out of their arguments, it’s as if Powder lives in the walls. She is an eternally meddlesome teenaged menace who—like literally everyone else in his adoptive family—has decided that she knows better what he needs than he does.

That part is definitely Vander’s influence.

“We’re fine. It’s nothing like that.” Viktor sighs and straightens slowly, trying to ease the perpetual ache of his spine by forcing his shoulders square against the drawers of his desk even as it strains his back against the brace. Rainy days hurt the worst. It’s fitting, that today should be among them. “The fact that he would be held back by locks on the door of a Dean’s office is slightly insulting, though. I broke into Heimerdinger’s office to rob it for him within a day of meeting him.”

“Hah! I guess you can take the nerd out of the trenches, but not the trencher out of the nerd. That’s some top tier sump rat flirting there, Prof. Who knew you had it in you.” Powder’s voice is merry, teasing, and she reaches down to poke Viktor in the back of the head repeatedly to harass him into movement, getting her hand swatted away before he grabs for his crutch and uses it to leverage himself up reluctantly. If he stays on the floor, she’s going to try and braid his hair again. “Can’t believe that was too subtle for him to catch on to, since it took you guys coming down here to make it all official.”

“Seven years I flirted with that man and he missed it each time. Do not ever let my husband convince you that he is a genius.”

Right now, in another life, he would have been running along a pier as the storm rolled in. Running. For the first time in his life running without pain, the pigeon-toed twist of his leg straightened out into perfect mechanical symmetry. Now it’s the brace that keeps his leg from buckling beneath him given the stiffness of the position and the barometric pressure of the storm, forcing him to put more of his weight on the crutch as he finds his balance. An hour from now and a lifetime ago, he would have been carving runes into his skin in the shifting glow of the Hexcore. Two hours from now and a lifetime ago, he would have watched in horror as Sky Young’s human form dissolved into ash as she clung to him, trying in vain to pull him away from a danger that he created himself. He wonders what Sky’s life has been like without an obsessive madman to try and wrangle into obeying deadlines, stuck organizing his messes and deciphering his notes.

It should be a better life, he hopes.

In this new timeline, her closest counterpart in his life is the traumatized teenager who murdered him, but in this life is a dearly obnoxious gremlin smirking at him as she sits on his desk with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. She waits as he settles into his chair without trying to interfere because for all of her invasiveness, she’s still a trencher and understands that a person should be allowed a little pride to do things for themselves. But only to an extent.

“Yeah, so speaking of stupid geniuses.” Reaching into the pouch on her hip, Powder pulls out a vial and dangles it between her fingertips, waving the glass back and forth in front of Viktor’s face so that the serum inside of it sloshes, just viscous enough to cling to the sides. “You skipped your treatment. You don’t get to skip your treatment.”

And there’s this routine.

“Someday, I am going to find where the two of you keep your calendar, and I am going to take great pleasure in shredding it into very small pieces, then setting fire to them.”

“Uh-huh. Laser claw, burner in the lab, right into the forge. Heard it all. You’re a very scary crazy criminal mastermind, now drink your disgusting sludge already.”

Viktor sighs and takes the vial from her, popping the top and letting out a deep breath before he downs the entire thing in one shot as if to do so will make it less horrendous. He hates it. It glows poisonously green and tastes like he imagines licking the interior an active power core would—metallic and electric, burning as it coats his throat. The acidic crawl through his veins will stay for a few hours, now, spreading all the way through him. He's still dying. These are treatments for a disease, not a cure for the gift that is mortality. But even as the acid sinks into his blood and leaves him pained and exhausted and nauseous for the rest of the night, he knows that his family has clawed him just that little bit further away from death's door.

He resentfully offers the empty vial back to Powder, trying not to pull a face even though he knows he’s long since lost any semblance of the “coolness” he had in her eyes when she was young. Oh, Powder and the others still are entirely too fond of him, but apparently the mystique of being a mysteriously appearing unknown mad scientist who stole everything that topside could teach him and started a revolution wears off once he actually becomes family. For Vander’s children, he’s the man their fathers have bullied relentlessly for the past seven years, and now they feel empowered to do so as well behind closed doors.

And none of them moreso than the girl who was one of his first two students and has now since spent more time in Viktor’s company than anyone but his husband.

Thunder rumbles in the distance and the rain begins. A patter for now, gentle against the glass. It won’t remain that way for long.

Dropping the vial back into her pouch, Powder leans back and kicks her feet up onto the arm of his chair, ankles crossed so she can prod him in the shoulder with the toe of one of her boots. “Now, what are you two being weird about? Because you’re both being weird this week.”

A lifetime ago and hours ago, Jayce came up with the mad idea to go raid a factory in the undercity, enraged by the very girl who sits here in the office with him. Viktor never found out if it was this former factory of Renni’s, specifically. He doubts if Jayce even knows because the undercity was completely unfamiliar to him at the time. Jayce killed a child this week, and yet the boy is one of many that shows up to the library to learn from Viktor in the mornings. Jayce has as much difficulty looking at the child as Viktor does at Vander, but he recognizes that the boy being a part of Viktor’s youngest pupils is something of a balance in the universe: Viktor has helped to improve the life of Renni’s son, and Renni has kept children--including her own--out of her factories.

Viktor murdering Chross and his men for keeping Isha and the others in the mines probably had something to do with that too, though. That is a thought he has to lock down on most days. Today should be one of the days he’s allowed to feel it. If this week is not one for reflection, when is?

“This will be a… difficult week for Jayce and I.” Viktor looks out for a moment as water ripples down the window, flowing down the waves of the surface of the glass that reflect the Zaunite advanced technology and yet how they do not search for perfection in their creations. Architecture is as much an art as a science, and it was one that Viktor left to others. Viktor can feel the different textures and depths of the glass with his fingertips, and in some ways the imperfections are a comfort. Imperfection is human. And in a life where he’s struggled for that, he embraces it when he can.

“Yeah, no shit mister cryptic. I caught that much. I asked why.”

Turning his eyes away from the storm, Viktor lets himself look at Powder in the half-light of the dusk sky, the flashing that illuminates storm clouds. He can almost see her in the crack of lightning--the girl who found him in the commune, never knowing that he was one of her victims. He never wanted her to know. It was irrelevant at that point, either way. It’s irrelevant now, too.

But he does owe her answers that aren’t just… fortune cookie. He can’t tell her the full truth, but he can tell her a semblance of it.

“This is the week I was supposed to die.�� Powder sucks in a breath, eyes widening, and Viktor tips his head slightly with a faint smile. “Perhaps this is why you shouldn’t ask impertinent questions to your elders that you don’t really want the answer to.”

Seven years, Viktor always says. He and Jayce both do--focusing on the time they spent side by side, as if it was their entire life after they met. But there were eight years. And this week begins the start of that cursed final year, where he died and rose as something no longer human. The year when time and reality fell out from beneath Jayce’s feet, and then Viktor…

This will be a difficult year. And it begins tonight. They both have their demons for this week, but they only really intersect at two points: the ledge where he planned to kill himself and the council room where he actually died. They’d already drifted so far apart by this time, driven from each other by secrets and ambition and grief and pride.

Now they’re tied inextricably together, mind and soul, but that comes with its own challenges. They’re in a feedback loop again, as happens sometimes on their worst days when Viktor’s turbulent emotions trigger Jayce’s own, building and building, until one of them overloads.

The reasonable answer, Viktor knows, would be for the two of them to simply pass the time together--to dampen the way their souls scream at each other by just curling up in bed and weathering out the storm. But some pains need to be felt. And Viktor deserves to feel the pain of tonight.

“Pretty sure doctors don’t go week by week with predictions like that but are you… okay?” Are you going to die, she doesn’t ask. But she’s thinking it. He can see it in her, that fear of losing another loved one. Viktor pats her on the ankle, reassuring.

“I’m not going to die on you this week, Powder. I’m not…” there yet. He’s still got time, both he and Jayce can feel it. Viktor just hasn’t wanted to admit it because in some ways everything after this is uncharted territory. He can’t prepare for it, can’t brace for it. There’s no definite timeline any longer, he has to just… live in uncertainty. Like every other human, he supposes. “But when you asked me, when you were small, this was the week I was thinking of. And I was right, you’re old enough to…”

“‘Torment the next generation of Zaun scientists.’” Powder finishes from memory, and she’s watching him in so much concern, with an edge of genuine fear and preemptive grief, and oh. The poor girl. He shouldn’t have teased her. Sometimes his ‘not funny’ quips genuinely aren’t, and he knew that she is among the only four people to know for certain that he is dying. It’s why she’s worked alongside Jayce despite her interests in science being aligned elsewhere, like Jayce’s own. For him, they both moonlight as alchemists now. “I didn’t think you were putting me with the little kids because you were trying to fulfil some sort of… of… prophecy you made me about you dying. I’m not that ‘grown’ yet!”

Viktor’s hefting himself to his feet, clutching the edge of his desk as he pushes a stack of papers aside so he can haul himself up to perch on the edge of it with her. His back is going to hate him for this, but he’s never been able to turn away a crying child. She falls into his side as she did that night seven years ago when she was just confronted with the idea of his mortality. This time he’s far more comfortable wrapping an arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

“Hush. I’m not dying yet. You and Jayce and your truly vile serums have seen to that.” He lets his disgust for their medicines color his words, playing into the ongoing tease about how much he hates them, but it just gets him lightly jabbed in the side. So gently, compared to how he knows she could hit him. Her eyes are angry when he looks over to her.

“Have you been trying to die on deadline? We have to hunt you down to get you to take the stuff, and you knew that it was…”

With a sigh, Viktor tugs at her shoulder again and reels her back in, resting his head on top of hers when she slumps back into him. She and Isha are absolutely going to contribute to him going prematurely gray this time around. Daughters, he is finding, are even more troublesome than husbands. He can at least read and understand and soothe Jayce’s emotions. Powder’s are all over the place, and he can merely guess at them.

“Ridiculous girl. You try drinking battery acid and tell me if you enjoy it, I am obligated to inconvenience you both for that experience. But do I ever actually miss it?” He doesn’t. And he won’t. Not just because Jayce and Powder force it on him every week, but because he does have so much more he can still do with his life. He still finds it… difficult. To stay in the present and to try and look towards the future. But for them, he grabs hold of his tattered sanity tightly as he’s able in his wavering grip. For them, he tries.

He expected to be buried in the past right now. It’s why he isolated himself, why he hid himself in the office to let himself just feel it. To let himself drown in it. But instead he’s here, present, trying to be what Powder needs from him because that is the man that he should be in this timeline.

So he presses a kiss against the top of his daughter’s head, just as he would against Isha’s despite how much Powder has grown, and he squeezes her shoulder. “I told you then and I tell you now, I do what I must to be around for you as long as possible. …And I put you with the children because you are good with them. You have been ever since Isha joined us, and you know that. ‘Prophecy.’ Tch.”

Powder laughs a bit wetly, and that’s good. He can sit here and watch the rain for a while and then let her cajole him into taking better care of himself.

Then he’ll go find his husband, and try to be present for him, as well.

He has three choices: to look at this extra time as a curse, as a fluke, or as a gift. If it is a gift, it is from his family. And it should be for his family, too.

****

Now that she’s not a student herself and has a small dedicated staff apartment above the dorms, Powder sneaks Isha in with her half of the time and has a bunk bed set up for the two of them. She lives where she can look over all of the students and make sure they don’t get into any of the trouble that she would have when she was one of them, but that doesn’t mean she feels that the rules apply to her any more than they ever did.

Isha will come find her when the bar really starts to pick up, sneaking out in the crowd even though everyone involved knows that Vander is not only aware he allows it to happen and enables it, and that Viktor will just pretend like Isha’s an early riser when she inevitably tackles him in a hug as soon as he walks out of his house just after dawn.

So Powder stays just long enough for Viktor to turn her mood around into nagging him and bullying him, as teenaged daughters seem to do, and then he sends her off to take care of her little sister. He sneaks her a bit of money for her to grab them something special to eat, knowing that the conversation had a toll on her too and that a night of fun with her little sister will do her good.

Sometimes that companionship is what’s needed. It’s not… always what Viktor wants. It’s rarely what Viktor wants. He prefers to push himself on his own through rough nights.

So while Powder might be his daughter when it comes to science and genius and creativity and the brush of insanity that comes with all of it, she got her sentimentality from a different role model.

And Vander isn’t the only one who carries that sort of attachment to people.

It’s not hard to find Jayce when he goes looking. Taking the descender all the way down requires him to put his mask back on halfway, clasped on as the drop takes him back into the Entresol and then below the street level, to the depths of the factory that helped contribute to his own eventual death. Jayce has filters and ducts that run through these levels, dispersing the Gray before it can pool on the floors here as it used to in his basement, but that’s not what makes him need the mask any longer.

It’s the heat haze that gets to Viktor down here and makes it hard to breathe. It’s the smoke of the fire, and scorch of molten metal.

Hammer on anvil, Jayce is working his stress out in the way he has through two lifetimes now. Viktor lingers near the descender, watching his husband from behind where he’s outlined by the blaze of fire, how with every swing the light licks across bare shoulders glossed with sweat.

He’s been at it for a while now, if it’s starting to show. Even if the long line of tools he’s forged for his engineering classrooms spread across the workbench to the side wasn’t sign enough of that.

Jayce is lost enough in his head that he doesn’t hear Viktor coming, doesn’t know that he’s there until Viktor rests his crutch against the workbench and slips his arms around Jayce, one around his waist and his human hand pressed against Jayce’s chest over the heavy beat of his heart. The cool metal of his mask and brush of unruly hair coming to rest against Jayce’s back combined with the sudden soothing of the emotions he’s doubtless been dumping on Jayce all evening make his partner slump immediately, hammer coming to a rest between his feet as he presses his arms over Viktor’s own, holding him there so he can’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor offers, the mask making his voice echo mechanically, though he’s barely loud enough to be heard over the heaving of Jayce’s breath anyway. Jayce understands regardless.

“You needed your space.” Ah, his poor sweet Jayce. He sounds wrecked, as if Viktor shredding his sanity has torn into Jayce’s own. They both have their demons, but Jayce ripped his soul in two and shoved half of it right into the worst of his own. Now he deals with the consequences of that selflessness every day.

“And you needed your husband. So we find a compromise position. Requests?” Heat and smoke be damned, he wants to kiss Jayce’s shoulder. As if he can hear Viktor’s thoughts even like this, Jayce links both of their hands together and refuses to let him reach for the mask. Meddlesome man. They’re going to struggle with Viktor’s self-sufficiency and Jayce’s need to coddle him for the rest of their lives. However long that may be, now.

“Can we take tomorrow off? Stay in. Put our kids on figuring out who will TA each of our classes.” If Viktor weren’t reliant on the work to keep him moving some days, he would have thought of it already. In this life, their college is his dream, and while Jayce shares it he doesn’t have the single minded obsession that consumes Viktor in every life. But for Jayce…

“That is… not unreasonable. I can go in tomorrow morning for the children’s class, and see Powder there and ask her?” A compromise. He cannot let down the youngest children, who come to him before the day begins for the university itself. From the ones small enough to literally climb Powder for her dramatically presented storytimes, to the preteens who want to learn so much that they come to Viktor to absorb every bit of mathematics and introductory sciences and then take home the books he recommends to them based on their interests, to the teenagers who show up for food and an assignment before heading to the mines or the factories or the refineries to support their families… they need that consistency from him.

And Viktor needs the proof that his College doesn’t only benefit those who push “progress” for Zaun. That he doesn’t leave others behind for not being a born scientist. It makes his days exhaustingly long, but Zaun needs so much more from her people than just scientists. If as a teacher he can help their people feel empowered to bring their own dreams into the city… isn’t that what he should do?

He wouldn’t be able to sit through a day off from that any more than he allows himself an “off” day for the children. Jayce understands that. With a squeeze to his hands before releasing them, Jayce turns in Viktor’s arms and coils around him in turn, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Yeah. I’ll come with you and I’ll take the teens.” Jayce doesn’t normally interfere in the mornings, but tomorrow morning a lifetime ago he found Viktor just as he was going to step off of the ledge and let himself fall, and then by tomorrow night he was left with Viktor’s broken body and a terrible, desperate decision. So. Compromise. “Then we stay in for the weekend, except for…”

Viktor sighs regretfully as Jayce tugs his shirt back on, both at the unfortunate (but thankfully quite temporary) shrouding of such a masterpiece, and because there really is no escaping his weekend obligations. Not anymore.

“Except for Sunday when I am contractually obligated to socialize with the undercity gang who call themselves my family, or I will be dragged unceremoniously from our bed by whichever one of you brutes wins a coin toss.” Jayce is not-so-subtly stealing Viktor’s crutch from him and positioning himself to take its place, but he’s been so good for Viktor all day even when Viktor was literally driving him mad. So he can have that just this once. It’s also pouring rain, so even the short trek from the college to their home is going to be miserable. “Vander and Silco are going to be insufferable. Powder pressed me on our behavior until I admitted that this is the week I’m meant to die.”

“Don’t… don’t say it like that.” Jayce visibly flinches, and Viktor sighs and links his arm through Jayce’s, leaning most of his weight into his husband’s side as he takes the first limping steps towards the descender.

“You may not have the right, but I am allowed to call them a gang, just as I am allowed to refer to us as sump rats and…”

“Viktor.”

It wasn’t his best piece of redirection, granted, but he really has no other defense against the relentless sincerity and pleading stares Jayce fixes on him. Viktor sighs again and turns to face Jayce as they step inside the car for the hydraulic lift, resting a hand against Jayce’s chest for balance. He��d be tipping his chin up and demanding a kiss if the damned mask weren’t a sticking point. So instead he lets his fingers scratch gently into the soft thatch of Jayce's beard, petting him as he might the kicked puppy that Powder compared him to. “Compromise. Let me be miserable tonight while you decide how I’m allowed to phrase that. And then tomorrow we have incredibly life-affirming sex essentially all afternoon and evening.”

Jayce still flushes at the mention of sex and glances at the descender doors as they open onto the street level like someone is going to be waiting there to judge them. Truly, this man is too sweet for him.

“We’re doing to duke it out on the ‘miserable’ thing.” Of course they are. But Viktor knows that if he keeps Jayce close, his husband will be spared the worst of the second-hand madness. So he’ll crowd into the shower with him when they get back and will curl into the couch with him, aware that Jayce will know why he’s doing it but is incapable of pushing Viktor away. In return Jayce will do his level best to distract Viktor out of the melancholy that’s trying to consume him.

Compromises are the basis of any healthy marriage. Particularly, it seems, between a bullheaded dreamer and a fanatical madman.

They’ll make it through the week.

Then through the year.

And then determine what happens from then on.

#jayce x viktor #jayvik #jayvik fanfic #viktor arcane #it's the good defining itself #viktor and powder as Zaun's resident mad scientists #with a side of Viktor as one of many zaunite girl-dads just as a treat

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