sneakersschuhe-blog1

[todayisafridaynight]

To be fair RGGO Arakawa's son is confirmed either dead or unborn so it's A LITTLE less funny than him raising a normal son looking like that... still funny though I'm obsessed with him...

Speaking of Arakawa, I'm still going nuts about whatever's going on with him in IW. His voice line in the trailer in the trailer was so sweet but he uhhh Isn't Looking Too Sweet in the screenshots...

With Akane being in the game, I really wanna know whose perspective we're remembering him from too, since prior to that it seemed pretty certain it'd be either Jo or Ichiban. It's young Arakawa specifically, so it has to be between Jo and Akane as far as we know. I'm certain Jo has seen him go apeshit, but if Akane has and she fell for him anyway? Way of the Househusband-core... that'd say SO much about her... sooooo true though queen...

You’ll have to sue me because I Forgor the only thing i remembered was that his son Was Not Deranged. Which yeah i guess you cant be deranged if youre dead （＾∇＾）

I DIDNT EVEN HEAR HIS VOICE LINE THO WHAT if it was in the Official story trailer then oops.. lol.. i’ll take your word for it until im fucked enough to actually watch it LOL

Akane’s already a confirmed bamf if her not only booking it out of the hospital right after giving birth and escaping At The Time one of japan’s (or at least kamurocho’s don’t shoot me) most notorious clans to hawaii and then STILL having people after her. ACTUALLY had to get her out of the scene because she would’ve been too powerful otherwise

[postmail]

consider: trans wilson has hirsutism and thats why he can grow a beard

[gumify]

20/20 feat. toji fushiguro ❝ BOYFRIEND!TOJI NEEDS GLASSES ?! ❞

now playing… blind by role model.

summary. after months of denying his deteriorating eyesight, your boyfriend finally lets you drag him to an optometrist appointment.

tags. boyfriend!toji x fem!reader, fluff, some suggestive parts, established relationship, toddler!megumi being the cutiepie that he is, boyfriend!toji being everything a man should be (hot, blind, and utterly whipped).

wc. 2.6k

note. I ❤️ NERDS

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤyou heard that right.

boyfriend!toji, who very clearly needs reading glasses, but would rather take his blurry ass eyesight to the grave before ever accepting it.

boyfriend!toji, who always — always — asks you to read the labels on his food for him to make sure he’s getting the right amount of protein in or whatever. (he claims the tiny letters make his head hurt, but you like to tease and blame it on his age. he never laughs.)

boyfriend!toji, who is never not squinting. it’s pretty easy to see why people think your partner’s so intimidating, considering the fact that his already daunting eyes are narrowed into slits 24/7. most people you encounter on a daily basis probably think he’s internally cursing them… not that he minds. even if he had 20/20 vision, he’d probably be glaring at them anyways.

you first notice it on a night you’re cuddled up and watching a movie with him. boyfriend!toji’s leaned into the corner of your L-shaped couch as you nestle your head against his broad, firm chest — lifting it momentarily to gawk at the devastatingly hot specimen of man currently tracing patterns down your spine with his calloused fingertips. his face is pretty much devoid of any emotion, as it usually is whenever he’s fully relaxed; but you notice his gaze deviate every once in a while from the television, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling at the corners as his jade irises go in and out of focus.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“turn the sound up, dove.” toji murmurs, too comfortable in his current position to even think about reaching for the remote. spotting the way your lips twist into a stubborn (but no less pretty, mind you) pout, he huffs. “... please.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“but ‘m too lazyyy.” you whine.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“so am iii.” he replies, kicking up the pitch of his normally husky voice to playfully match that of your protest.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“hmpf. aren’t you the man, anyways?” you counter, poking him in his pecs to emphasise your point. “all the labourful work’s on you, babe. ‘m literally just a girl.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“thought y’said we should abolish gender roles.” he drawls.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“… not this one.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“that doesn’t sound very fair.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“tojiii!” you roll your eyes, “we don’t even need to turn the volume up — jus’ read the subtitles!”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ya’ mean the size five ass writing at the bottom of the screen?” he scoffs, “i don’t have x-ray vision, dove.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“x-ray vision wouldn’t even—” you stop yourself short, choosing to save yourself the middle school science lesson and shaking your head at your boyfriend’s antics instead. “the subtitles are perfectly visible. you just need glasses.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“wha—” he sits straight up, sounding almost offended at the accusation. “no i don’t.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“yes you do.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“no i don’t.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“yes you do.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“no i d—”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“it’s past midnight, toj’!” you tut, “last time we turned the volume up this late, we got a noise complaint, remem—”

toji cuts you off by squishing your cheeks together with his thumb and forefinger, forcing your lips into an exaggerated pucker and planting an equally dramatic mwaaah against them with his own.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“do you remember why we had to turn it up in the first place, hm?” he teases, giving you another softer peck before releasing you from his grip. “don’t think it was the movie they were complainin’ about, dove.”

ugh. he always knows how to shut you up.

you make it your life’s mission for the next week to make boyfriend!toji realise just how blind he really is. and you don’t have to do much, seeing as he only further proves your point himself.

for example, boyfriend!toji asks you how many boxes of strawberries you’d like him to pick up at the grocery store one day. too immersed in your morning reading to give him a proper reply, you hold up three fingers from across the room. he comes home with five.

boyfriend!toji misreads a sign on the highway later that weekend — which leads to him taking a wrong exit, and the two of you showing up to your fancy dinner reservation half an hour late. you end up spending date night eating mcdonald’s in the backseat of his volkswagen instead. (greeeat.)

boyfriend!toji damn near kills one of megumi’s friends who’s over for a playdate the following week. the little boy’s mother had talked his ear off at the front door about her son’s plethora of life-threatening allergies — even given him a list she’d taken upon herself to print out beforehand — and he still managed to miss the ‘MAY CONTAIN NUTS’ warning plastered on the chocolate bar in bold red lettering. if you hadn’t come to the rescue, practically diving headfirst into the living room and snatching the confectionary from the child’s grip, you imagine his mother would most definitely have the both of your heads on a platter by now. (phew.)

so boyfriend!toji finally gives in, letting you drag him along to one of your optometrist appointments for a check-up.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“this is dumb.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“just read as many letters as you can from the screen, mr. fushiguro.”

“… what is this, pre-school?”

“toji.”

the man slumps back against the optometrist’s padded chair at the sound of your voice, folding his arms across his chest and giving you a silent little hmpf before doing as he’s told.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“a, f, g, k… e, t, o, d, z… p, m, j, f, l — this is so stupid — n, r, s.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“good. now onto the next level.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“uhhh…” you watch your boyfriend’s everpresent confidence begin to falter at this stage, brows furrowing as he squints against the darkness of the small room. “m… f… c? uhhh, no — that’s an o. wait! actually — a d.”

you stifle a giggle at the scene unfolding before you, and he shoots you a warning glare.

“keep going, mr. fushiguro.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“that’s a… k… then a z…” you swear he’s just making up letters at this point, “and— the fuck, is that a hexagon?!”

with the click of a button, your optometrist fishes out a sheet of paper and slaps it down on the table next to him.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“your prescription will be ready soon.”

boyfriend!toji, who picks up his new glasses the following week — a standard rectangular pair with black frames that you helped him choose.

boyfriend!toji, who quite literally tells you to wait outside as he tries them on for the first time in your shared bedroom, locking the door behind him as if he were going into some sort of top secret mission.

boyfriend!toji, who refuses to come out for the next ten minutes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“toji, this is ridiculous.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“i look like a fuckin’ incel!”

you give the doorknob another jiggle; yet, still, he doesn’t budge.

“unlock the damn door, fushiguro!” you huff, “i need to get ready for bed!”

a short pause.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“… fine.” you hear your boyfriend murmur. followed by the sound of his footsteps treading closer to the door, the knob turning slowly before he adds, “promise y’er not gonna laugh.”

you roll your eyes, “sure.”

and then the door peels open to reveal… well, what might just be your newest obsession.

the stark black frames do nothing to mask the stubborn blush tinting toji’s cheeks but goddamn, do they compliment the rest of his features well.

they’re not too chunky, nor too thin; just the perfect amount of thickness to emphasise the angles of that strong jawline, those prominent cheekbones, and the pair of brows almost always raised in sinister jest. his eyes also look darker, sharper — if that’s even possible — flecks of emerald in his irises brought to life by the viridescent sheen of the lens.

fuck, your boyfriend’s so hot.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ya’ think so?”

you blink a couple times, too distracted by the man’s new look to realise you had voiced that last thought fact aloud. but if the way his subtle frown morphs into a shit-eating smirk is anything to go by, he’s most definitely caught on to the effect it has on you.

and oh, does he love it.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“cat got your tongue, dove?” toji hums, the hellish glint in his eyes magnified by the lenses. “c’mooon, say something. y’er lookin’ at me like i’m a piece of damn meat.”

it’s true.

you should be ashamed of the way you’re blatantly staring at him as if you’re a hormonal middle schooler catching a glimpse of the opposite gender for the first time — but you can’t find it in yourself to care. not when your man looks this fine. and certainly not when it’s already taking everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping onto the ground and drooling all over the place.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“still nothin’?” toji pouts mockingly. “aw, y’er breakin’ my heart here. don’t tell me my girl doesn’t want me anymore?”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“shut up, toj’.”

he pushes the glasses further up the bridge of his nose. a statement.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“or you must reaaally like ‘em, huh? got ya’ all speechless and i didn’t even do anything. but i bet you’d just looove to—”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“toji.”

he raises a brow. a challenge.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“bed. now.” you blurt out, much to the protest — or could it be encouragement? — of your own deafening pulse. you bite your lip before adding, “… n’ keep the glasses on.”

again, toji smirks. that goddamn smirk.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“yes, ma’am.”

truth be told, neither you nor boyfriend!toji could have anticipated the effects of a pair of measly glasses. (five rounds, then another two in the shower, actually.) but one thing’s for certain — now, he wears them around with a newfound pride.

the first time boyfriend!toji comes home from a particularly challenging job not only battered and bruised, but battered and bruised in his equally damaged glasses, your eyeballs almost pop out of their fuckin’ sockets. he stands in the doorway with his chest heaving; one of the lenses of his glasses cracked; slashes of crimson adorning his brow, cheek, and even that signature scar decorating his now-bloody lips. you have no idea whether to feel concerned, or truly deplorable amounts of turned on — probably a little bit of both. and that you most definitely are.

when boyfriend!toji lets you pick out his outfit for dinner at your parents’ house, you’re practically bouncing off the walls in excitement. you land on a safe option — a creamy knit sweater that hugs his muscular build oh-so deliciously, paired with some black slacks and, of course, his glasses. he looks so… sophisticated like this, you think. so handsome. you can barely keep your eyes off him for more than two seconds as he helps your father clear the table and converses with your mother over a glass of merlot.

and don’t even get you started on megumi’s recently developed habit of climbing atop boyfriend!toji’s lap to toy with the frames in his lil’ hands. the sight alone is enough to make you melt — every. single. time. and even more so when the kid decides to steal the glasses off of his father to wonkily place them on himself, giving you a gap-toothed grin across the room as you feel your heart swell at the uncanny resemblance.

see, these are only some of the very many reasons you happen to love boyfriend!toji’s new at-home look… though for him, it all comes down to one thing.

boyfriend!toji comes to this epiphany a couple of weeks after his first trip to the optometrist. megumi’s sleeping over at a friend’s place, so you and him decided to make the most out of the free night. namely, by hitting a swanky new speakeasy in town and letting loose for once in a blue moon.

alas, boyfriend!toji’s not the drinker he used to be — which means you’re nursing the man back home after no more than three and a half whiskey highballs at the ripe ol' time of 10pm.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“fuuuck, my head’s spinnin’.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ya’ big baby.” you tease, earning a distasted scowl from your boyfriend. “okay, okay - where are your glasses? ‘s not helping that you can’t see straight enough sober.”

toji barely manages an “mph.” in reply, murmuring something that vaguely sounds like “— bedroom… top drawer…” before slumping against the couch like a giant ragdoll.

by the time you return with his glasses in hand, he’s still letting out tipsy grumbles into the empty air. drama queen, you think, walking up ‘til you’re right in front of him and bending down to meet him at eye-level from his position on the couch to slide them into place yourself.

your heart does the usual thing it does whenever you see toji in his glasses — or toji at all, for that matter — and the way he’s looking at you through his thick lashes and heavy-lidded gaze isn’t helping.

immediately, something clicks.

toji’s eyes widen enough behind the lenses for you to see his pupils dilate, and before you know it, he’s got your face cradled in his hands.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“toj’—”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“my god, woman…”

he’s nothing short of mystified. your brows knit in confusion at his sudden change in demeanour, but he’s too lost in his own mind — in you — to offer any sort of explanation.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“have you always been this pretty?”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“w— what?”

you’re unable to suppress the giggle forming in your chest at toji’s words, but he’s being dead serious. you cock your head to the side ever so slightly and he gifts you with a light peck on the corner of your lips.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“i mean it.” he says so sincerely it almost makes you wonder what the fuck has gotten into him. (most probably the highballs, but you digress.)

he doesn’t even look tipsy anymore. well, not on the alcohol, at least. he pushes his glasses to the bridge of his nose, the stare framed oh-so prettily behind them now beyond blown out. his hands are so big yet so gentle; able to ghost the slopes of your facial features with his thumbs whilst still keeping your face still and focussed on him at the same time.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“y’make me feel so lucky, dove…”

you start to shy away under the intensity of it all, but toji doesn’t let up. his eyes are everywhere — it’s as if he’s searching for something; or, better yet, memorising it.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen…”

it’s been too long since he’s gotten a chance to look at you; really look at you — the subtle beauty marks that sprinkle your skin, the lines decorating the outer corners of your pretty eyes and lips that serve as a testament of all the times he’s made you smile, and all the other tiny details that make you… well, you — in all of your 20/20 glory.

it always feels like the first time.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“i love you s’much, my beautiful girl.” he kisses the words into your skin, each one as reverent as the last. “never forget it.”

boyfriend!toji, who makes sure to get his eyes checked at least twice a year now — because there’s no chance in hell he’s letting himself miss out on any of this again. ㅤ

© GUMIFY 2024 do not steal, replicate, or modify my work.

[ohbueckers]

EXTRA POINTS. blurb!

pairing, paige bueckers x fem!reader. notes, glasses p fic per request of a few queens… MAMA WORKED AS FAST AS SHE COULD! @thaatdigitaldiary @absolutelydreadful & credits to @justliketoreadsowhat ‘s anon for the detail. warnings, none just fluff? sexual jokes as well because who am i without them, like…

the night air is still pretty warm, the scent of freshly cut grass still tingling your nostrils after the soccer game you attended with paige and her teammates. it had been a long night—filled with cheering, concessions, and paige’s arm constantly draped around your shoulder as she proudly showed you off. she somehow convinced you to tag along, but watching her light up during the game made it worth it.

now, you’re walking back to the dorms, the sound of sneakers and laughter being the only thing heard off the empty sidewalks as the team stalks a few yards in front of the two of you. paige has her hair slicked back into a messy low bun, a few strands falling loose, and her purple glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of her nose. the lenses catch a subtle blue tint from the streetlights, a little detail you can’t stop staring at—honestly, she looks so good, it’s borderline unfair. you never thought purple glasses could be your weakness, but here you are.

“you enjoying the ice cream, or are you too busy staring at me?” paige teases, glancing over with that signature smirk. she knows exactly what she’s doing, making it impossible to look away from her.

“shut up, paige,” you reply with a scoff, although there’s no ruthless intent as you nudge her with your elbow. “i’m just enjoying the quiet now that your fan club’s calmed down.”

“oh, you love it!” she laughs out, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer. “don’t act like you don’t love watching me be all famous and stuff. plus, you looked cute taking all those pics with me. so i ain’t complainin.’”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile creeping up on your face. paige had been asked for a picture more times than you could count on your hands, and obviously the tiktoks came with that. she’d dragged you into most of it, keeping you close the whole time, making sure everyone knew you were hers. it was chaotic and you were used to it at this point, and you could admit there was something fun about watching her be in her element.

“alright, maybe it was kinda fun,” you say, taking a bite of the spoonful of ice cream she’d held out for you so casually. the cold hits your tongue, and you savor the flavor for a second before narrowing your eyes at her. “but you still owe me.”

paige jerks her head back, grinning and clearly enjoying herself. “owe you? i’m literally spoon-feeding you right now. how do i still owe you?”

you quirk an eyebrow up at her, leaning in a little as you held her gaze, and it was the kind of look that said enough.

she chuckles, leaning back slightly, still holding the spoon in front of you like she’s ready for round two. “aight, fine, i’ll give you that. but let me get you back at home, baby—i got some ideas.” her voice drops a little lower, clearly playing but also half-serious. she may be all jokes, but she definitely knows how to back them up.

before you can even respond, she takes her own spoonful of your ice cream, the nerve, flashing a cheeky grin before planting a wet, playful kiss right on your lips. the cold of the treat and the warmth of her mouth clash, leaving you squealing and half-laughing, trying to push her away. “paige!” you protest, wiping the ice cream from your lips, but there’s no hiding the wide smile breaking out across your face. she’s such a menace sometimes.

as if one cue, everyone seemed to have glanced back at the right time, catching sight of something straight out of a rom-com.

“yo! they really can’t keep their hands off each other.” kk’s voice cuts through.

“really can’t take them nowhere…” aubrey quips.

sarah laughs, chiming in. “oh, we see you, paige! real smooth,” and morgan practically doubles over in laughter beside her.

paige smirks, and you swore she would’ve thrown up those rizz hands if her hands weren’t full. “what can i say?” you smile yourself, shaking your head at her and leaning into the blonde’s side as the banter from behind fades into the background. as much as paige plays around, the way she’s been with you tonight—keeping you close, showing you off, feeding you ice cream like it’s the most natural thing in the world—it’s those little moments that make it so easy to fall for her. every laugh, every teasing smile, even the way she annoys you, it’s like she knows exactly how to keep your guard down. and honestly, you don’t mind one bit.

“you know, you didn’t have to buy me ice cream,” you say softly, looking up at her.

“nah, i did,” paige replies, her voice gentle. “had to make sure my girl knows i take care of her. plus,” she smirks again, looking away like she’s cooking up some mischievous ass reply. “i’m tryna’ score some extra points for later.”

you laugh, shoving her off of you yet she barely flinches. “yeah, okay, keep dreaming.”

paige pulls you even closer, kissing the side of your head as your arms fall to your sides. she murmurs, “dreaming? nah, i’m ms. make it happen.”

[erwinsvow]

𝐫𝐜 - 𝟏:𝟒𝟓𝐩𝐦

“i told ya to stay at home,” rafe says, fingers gripping the steering wheel of his truck tightly, knuckles turning white before your eyes. you don’t look up at him—your moody gaze focusing out of the window instead, staring at the trees and the pavement instead of your boyfriend.

maybe you shouldn’t have complained so much. you know he’s right, because after all, you had begged to tag along with him for the day. normally rafe can hold his own—can refuse and let you down easy with a promise to come back later and spend the rest of the day doing whatever you want, which is more often than not just crashing at tannyhill and watching a movie. you inevitably fall asleep and stay the night, just like what had happened last night. 

and then this morning, clad just in rafe’s button-up and some socks, you pad up to him and look at him sweetly.

“no, no, you’re jus’ gonna start complainin’ the second you get bored-” 

“i won’t! no complaints here, none,” you had insisted, giving him your best pout and puppy eyes. 

“i have real shit to get done today, kid, important business-”

“i won’t say anything! you won’t even know i’m there, rafe-”

rafe had given in eventually—squeezing your cheeks together with his hand before you got in the passenger seat of his car, after opening the door for you.

“when you start complainin’, i’m gonna make you regret it. hm?” you had squeaked out an agreeing noise, quickly following up with a promise to stay quiet before climbing into your seat.

that had been hours ago. in that time, rafe had stopped at several houses, gone inside and spent time talking to other people—some you recognized, others not so much—and ended up here, with you waiting, your feet on his dash while he was inside with barry. the minutes were dragging into hours at this point, your entire body feeling tired and achy from the position. the air in the car felt a little suffocating and paired with the heat of the sun pouring through the windows, nothing you could do would make you feel comfortable.

rafe’s one rule had been not to get out of the car while he was inside. in your attempt to follow his instructions, you felt yourself getting more and more frustrated, a certain crankiness bubbling up inside you, making one of its rare appearances. 

you tried to scroll through your phone and play music—which failed immediately since there was no service out here. you tried to eat the candy you kept in his glovebox, but it was melted beyond the point of remaining edible. you tried, you really did, but just like rafe had predicted, you started complaining the second he got back in the truck.

“you think, what? that i say that shit for me? no, kid, i’m saying it for you, ‘cause i know you get fed up in the car when i’m fuckin’ busy tryna make some money, being fuckin’ proactive for us-”

“but i-”

“no excuses. i told you to stay home. you gonna get an attitude with me? huh?” 

“you’re not even-”

“shoulda tied your ass to the bed. that’s what i’ll do next time.”

it doesn’t take much longer for the tears to come to the surface, your face falling into that sad look that makes him mad at himself for even ever yelling at you. you cry silently like that until he parks at tannyhill, and when he looks at you, regret washes over him. your pretty makeup all messed up, body heaving with sobs, staring down at your feet because you felt too ashamed to look him in the eyes.

“hey, hey,” he starts, a hand resting on your shoulder to get your attention. it moves deftly to your chin, titling your pretty, teary face up at him. “c’mon, don’t cry. it’s nothin’.” 

“you got mad,” you say, voice broken up with a sob, blubbering on. “i’m sorry, i am. i just hate being all alone here without you, it’s the worst-” 

“come on, kid.”

“jus’ wanted to hang out with you,” you sniffle. he runs a hand through his hair. he needs to get better at not getting frustrated with you just because he’s not used to your affection.

“i know, baby. we’re home now so get inside, hm?” you comply with his instructions, walking into tannyhill and heading towards the couch in the living room, like you always do when the two of you curl up to watch a movie.

“where you goin'?” he calls after you. you stop in your track, turning around to face rafe.

“i thought we’re hanging out? the living room?”

“and i said this morning that i would make you regret complainin’. so get your ass upstairs first, now.”

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Sinstagram | L. Morningstar

Warnings: Lucifer being a slight menace to society, Reader is also a fallen angel, fem reader, bestie Angel Dust, mother reader, older sister Charlie, kinda wholesome, Lucifer being a good dad and an amazing husband, semi suggestive(?)

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N — sorry if it's kinda all over the place, I've been stuck in a horrendous bout of writers block and just barely had the motivation to sit down and write for Lucifer, my love 😭

"No fuckin way!" Angel Dust cackled from two rooms over and immediately you heard his footsteps coming towards you. It could be one of two things — Val posted something weird as fuck or he uncovered pictures of the two of you absolutely plastered from three months ago.

"What's up?" You asked, looking away from the paperwork Charlie had you doing for the hotel, while she took her younger siblings out. Some of the stuff she didn't understand, even with the help of Vaggie or Alastor, so you stepped in to help as you were a manager at a hotel when you were sent to earth for work — it was a way to blend in that unironically gave you experience.

Angel stopped before you, a smirk falling upon his face filled with glee and suggestive glances. "You check your phone in the last few minutes?"

Confused, you shook your head 'no' and set down the small stack of papers that had been stapled together so you could view them with ease. "I've been working for the last few hours to make up for being gone with Lucifer all weekend, so it's on silent. . . Angel, what's going on?"

He leaned across the counter and turned his phones screen to face you. It was Lucifer's most recent Sinstagram post. For a moment, you were confused until your eyes scanned the caption.

'She calls me apple the way I be in cider 😏🍎'

Immediately, you blushed and covered your blazing cheeks with your hands. "Oh my." You breathed out. That blush immediately became a flush of mortification when Angel clicked on the picture and it showed that he had tagged you. Your Sinstagram username stared back at you.

"So, you and the short king got down and dirty on your weekend retreat, huh?" Angel Dust smirked, turning his phone back to himself to scroll through the comments that were rolling in by the second.

"Well," you began, unsure of where your words were going to go. "I am his wife. . . It's a natural thing that married and apparently unmarried people do. . . Yes, it's only natural."

Angel snorted. "You ain't gonna hear any complainin' from me, [Y/N/N]. . . So long as there ain't anymore little Lucifer's running around anytime soon."

"About that. . ." You trailed off.

Angel Dust opened his mouth to reply.

As if on cue, the front doors of the hotel opened, Charlie and Vaggie entered, each holding one of your children — the former exorcist angel holding your sleeping daughter. She had your hair but Lucifer's eyes and rosy cheeks.

Your son was wide awake, bearing a striking resemblance to his father and older sister, but with your eyes.

It was clear just by the way he was buzzing that they had gone to LuLu World. He was always energetic coming home from such an exciting trip, whereas your daughter was out cold halfway through the ride back home every time without fail. It was likely a sugar crash.

"Looks like someone had fun." You removed your hands from your face and stood from your seat, rounding the desk.

"We all did. . . Thanks for letting us take them out, [Y/N]. I wish you and dad could've come with us and made it a family day." Charlie smiled brightly at you.

"We will soon, I promise. . . Thank you for taking them while I got some work in."

"It's no problem! I love them — they're just the cutest."

Your son practically jumped out of his sister's arms when you got close enough for him to wrap his arms around your neck. He went on and on about all the fun stuff the four of them had while you finished up working, until he fell asleep mid sentence.

You chuckled lightly and asked Angel to bring your daughter out to the limousine that was waiting out front of the hotel. He arrived a few minutes later and your daughter acted as if she was beginning to wake up, until she was strapped into her car seat and the driver started the vehicle.

"One more Morningstar, huh?" Angel questioned before you could close the door behind you.

You smiled, chuckling slightly. "Just one more. He convinced me this time."

A couple minutes later you were on your way, watching the buildings fly past your window. You decided to check your phone finally. The post had over a million likes and had just over six thousand comments. You liked the post, the blush creeping up once again. At some point you had to stop caring — you were in Hell and there were people doing worse things than being romantically involved with their partners.

It wasn't long before three of you arrived home and Lucifer threw the front door open before the vehicle could even stop. When the driver opened the door, Lucifer was there to see his children after a long day.

"Look at my babies!" He gushed quietly, tears springing to his eyes as he watched them sleep so peacefully.

You snickered and he turned to you.

"And my beautiful wife! Hi! I love you so much!" He kissed all over your face while placing one of his hands on your belly — you weren't showing yet, but would be in the next few weeks.

"I love you too, Luci. . . Let's get them inside. I want them to be in bed before you and I have a talk about what we do and don't say on Sinstagram when we'll be apart for hours." You whispered the last sentence, caressing his cheek.

His eyes widened and he gulped before chuckling nervously.  "You saw that, did you?"

"I sure did. . . Apple." You could've sworn he was gonna pass out from the tone of your voice, but he instead cleared his throat and unbuckled one child while you handled the other.

The two of you got inside and put the kids to bed, silently thanking Charlie for making sure they ate something other than sugar before they came home.

Then there was a lot of talking. Definitely just talking. . . Yeah. . . Talking. 👀

A few hours later, the two of you laid together, Lucifer laying his head on your lower abdomen. "I know I said one more. . . But what if we had more?"

You laughed lightly, raking your fingers through his hair. "How many more are we talking, Luci? I'd consider one more after this, but then we wouldn't have an even number. . . Charlie adores her siblings, but I think another after our littlest Morningstar would be pushing it."

"She always wanted a big family. . . Lots of brothers and sisters she could spend time with. She used to beg Lilith and I all the time for siblings, but I won't push you. I understand your concerns. I'll be happy regardless of what you decide." Lucifer declared, looking up at you with his pretty eyes.

"We'll see. . . I love you, Lucifer. You know that, right?"

"I know. I love you so so so so so so much." He replied. 

The post in question and the image that gave me the idea for this in the first place (the first pic expands more, fyi 🙂):

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  LINES OF YOUR HANDS

SUMMARY : dean tries being seductive in a Santa suit… and it works, surprisingly. 

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, on the kitchen table, Santa suit kink, nude photography, breeding kink, jerking off, cum play

WORD COUNT : 2.3k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — (Santa) suit kink and nude photography. this was cute to me, idk ‘bout y’all, like yeah, the sex, but Dean’s so cute in my imagination (and in the show). had clara oswald and danny pink in mind for this one, lmao XXX

“Merry Christmas, my love!” Dean exclaimed from the doorway of the kitchen. His girlfriend turned around, distractedly biting off the arm of a gingerbread man. 

“You could’ve at least picked something sexy,” she snorted, turning away from him to bite the other arm of her gingerbread man. Dean pouted and made his way to her unenthusiastically. 

“Well, guess what I’m wearing underneath,” he proposed excitedly with his hands on his hips. She didn’t turn around to look at him this time. 

“Uh… your Scooby-Doo boxers?” She asked, grinning at the space in front of her before taking a bite of a gingerbread cookie’s leg. She knew that would make Dean whine more. “One of the hundred of black t-shirts you own, and uh… those ‘send noods’ socks, my fave,” she continued with a dreamy laugh. Dean sputtered. 

“No,” he pouted adorably. She shrugged, mouth full, drinking warm coconut milk to help the cookie go down. Defeated, Dean’s frown deepened. “Nothing,” he whined, then stomped over to her, hoping she’d look at him. “Come on, admit it’s sexy,” he smiled cheekily, sitting on the table next to the small plate with crumbs and a gingerbread man that no longer had arms and legs. 

She sighed playfully and then leaned back, eyes trailing from the top of his cute head to the bottom of his hot legs. She checked him out once more, contemplating his appearance: she stared at his thighs, the tent in the red, fluffy trousers, the tightness of the suit on him, the little bit of skin showing at his neck, the floppy red and white hat on top of his head.

She tried to give him what he wanted, to see the sexiness in his costume. But… she couldn’t help it, she smiled brightly at him. He was too damn adorable. 

“Oh, come on!” He whined, then hastily undid the black belt around his waist, letting the coat fall open. She held her breath as she watched him, her eyes glued to his taut, hot body, and his warm, freckled skin. He bit his lip, and pulled his pants down to release his cock, and slowly started to jerk himself off. 

That did it for her. Her stomach flipped and her pussy clenched, warmth spread over her face, her stomach, her cunt. She released a shaky breath as a wave of dampness ruined her underwear almost instantly. 

Squeezing her thighs, she fumbled and checked her pockets for her phone to take a picture. Maybe a lot more than one. This was so hot and definitely worth being kept in the hidden photo album of explicit photos and videos of her and Dean. 

When he saw it in her hands, he stopped touching himself and reached for the phone, but she snatched it away before he could snatch it away.

“Hey!” He complained. He thought she was going to ignore him and scroll through her phone instead.

“Shut up,” she grunted, which made his mouth shut instantly, “I’m trying to eat my gingerbread man and you want to seduce me… now deal with the fact that it worked.”

“You’re torturing the little man,” he stared down at the gingerbread man with an exaggerated frown. “But, hey, I ain’t complainin’ if you wanna take a few videos of me right now,” he grinned, going right back at it. “Did ya name him?” He asked, running his thumb over the tip of his leaking cock. 

“Patrick,” she laughed softly, then stood up to find the perfect angle. It didn’t matter though, he looked good from all angles. She snapped a photo, kept tapping and tapping the red button to get as many as she could. Data storage be damned. 

“Want some more frosting on Patrick?” He jested, but she was actually contemplating his offer. He cursed softly and watched her with hooded eyes. 

She leaned down to collect the beads of precum at his tip with her tongue which made his body tense up, a loud moan erupting from his throat. She reached over and took a bite of her cookie, mixing the sweet and tangy flavour of her two favourite things. “Yummy,” she snickered, staring straight at Dean. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, licking his lips. 

“Maybe when you’ve got another load, you’re cumming inside me first.” She pushed her cup and the headless cookie to the far end of the table, close to the wall. “Fuck, actually… should I take a picture of you cumming on your hand first?” She stopped in the middle of lifting her shirt up, staring at him as he slowed the pace of his movements to stop his orgasm. 

“No, later,” he decided for her, “please, get up here and ride me.” He begged, then shifted on the table to lie on his back, aware of the plate and cup she pushed against the wall when he placed the Santa hat with them. She snickered and lifted the top over her head. She wore no bra this morning and the sight of her  breasts made him moan softly. 

“Comfortable?” She asked, kicking her slippers off and then slid her leggings and underwear down in one swift pull. 

“Just get up here,” he told her impatiently, reaching down to tug at his balls instead of jerking himself off. She laughed again and did as he asked. She climbed up the chair, made her way onto the table, and then sat on his lap, taking his hard cock in her hand. 

“How are you making this work?” She teased, biting her lip, slowly stroking from base to tip. He instantly grabbed her hips, his red lips parted to release quick breaths as he brought her forward over his erect cock.

He shrugged, biting his lip and smiling cutely. “Please,” he begged again, urging her to take him. She playfully, teased her entrance with the tip of his cock, and stared down at him mischievously.

“Sam’s gonna get mad that we fucked on the table.” He knew she was stalling on purpose, getting him riled up. Her intentions were clearer when she reached for her phone again, and took a couple photos of his cock in her hand. 

She stopped stroking his cock to focus on taking more photos. It frustrated him and he groaned, reaching between her legs. While she treated him like a sex model, leaning back in his lap to capture him at the best angle with her phone, he separated her folds and brushed his thumb against her clit. 

His cock twitched when he brought two of his fingers to her entrance and an insane amount of slick met his fingertips. “Wow, it’s really workin’,” he chuckled, smiling up at her smugly. She rolled her eyes, lips parting when he pushed two fingers into her, meeting no resistance. “Please tell me you’re done, I wanna be inside you and feel all of this… wrapped around my dick,” he mumbled, pushing a third finger into her, then spread them apart inside her. 

“Oh… fuck, Dean!” She moaned in surprise. Her phone tumbled out of her hand and rattled on the floor, but it didn’t break. She slammed both hands on his chest as her thighs shook on either side of his body as his fingers curled against the front of her walls. 

“It’s Santa now,” he teased, pulling his soaked fingers out of her fluttering pussy to wrap it around his cock. She barely composed herself when he bucked his hips upwards, thrusting his cock into her swiftly. 

She cried out again and buried her face into his neck, making a tight fist with both hands clenching around the red and white Santa jacket he wore. She moaned softly when he rolled his hips gently, soothing the amazing stretch of her cunt around him. 

“Shit.. that was way too easy, babe,” he gasped, giving her ass a gentle swat. “You okay?” He murmured, kissing her temple. She nodded, her pussy fluttering needily around his cock. “Well…” he paused for a moment, reaching up to move her hair to one side, then lifted her mouth up to his. “What do you want for Christmas, sweetheart?” He mumbled against her lips, giving her a few loving pecks. 

She kissed him lewdly, licking across his sugary lips and into his minty mouth with a hum. With a smirk, she replied, “a baby.” 

His grip on her hair tightened and his cock twitched inside her. He pulled her off him with a sharp tug of her hair and stared at her face, stunned and aroused. “Don’t ask for something if you’re not serious about it…” he murmured, planting his black-leather-boot clad feet on the table.

“Who said I wasn’t serious?” She asked, placing her arm beside his head and laying her palm flat over his toned stomach. 

“That shit-eating grin on your fuckable face.” Before she could get out a reply, Dean began to piston his hips up into her, clasping both hands on her hips roughly to keep her from moving. 

With a surprised moan she pressed her forehead into her arm and wrapped her hand around one of Dean’s wrists, above his watch. 

She panted heavily into his ear, occasionally moaning encouragements that made him fuck her harder. Her clit slapped delightfully against his pelvis with each thrust and upward grind. He focused on chasing her pleasure more than his own, angling her hips so he could press his cock into the front of her pussy, brushing repeatedly over her sweet spots. 

“You want a baby?” He asked breathlessly, cock throbbing inside her velvety walls. He could feel her getting as close to her orgasm as he was, and continued to grind up against her after every thrust to stimulate her clit. “I’ll give you a baby,” he growled, latching his lips to her pulse. 

With a sharp thrust and a hard bite, he came inside her with a grunt of her name against her neck. Hot cum pooled inside her and triggered her own orgasm. With a shuddering moan of Dean’s name, she took Dean's face lovingly into her hands and kissed him as he helped her ride out her orgasm. 

Her kiss-swollen lips moved across his jaw, down his flushed neck and chest as they attempted to catch their breaths. Dean pulled her closer, his warm hands squeezing his favourite parts of her body that he could reach. Barely having caught their breaths, he mumbled, “I believe you need to let me eat your cookie now that I’ve delivered your gift. Santa’s gotta get a reward,” against her flushed cheek.

She moved away from his mouth and lifted a brow at the playful grin he gave her. “Do not call my vagina a cookie ever again,” she giggled, pushing up off his chest. Except he pulled her back down with his fingers around the back of her neck to peck her lips, once, then twice.

“Babe, please, I’m trying to be in the Christmas spirit,” he reasoned playfully with a nod, dimples on display with his puckered lips. He slid his hands down the curve of her back and stopped just shy of her ass, calloused hands caressing her soft skin.

She eyed him suspiciously and then dropped a lingering kiss on his forehead for cuteness. “Okay, I’ll let it slide… this time,” she smiled, then dropped doting kisses over his cheeks and nose. 

“Right, but you have no problem with me referring to myself as Santa, hmm?” He muttered, feigning disappointment. Mischievously, she stopped her kisses before she could get to his mouth, hovering over his lips after kissing the corner of his mouth. 

She pulled away as he waited for her kiss with a very subtle pucker of his lips and then, he had the audacity to pout again. “Be happy that I fucked you in this ridiculous costume at all,” she frowned, but her bright and amused eyes betrayed her serious face. 

“This costume is not ridiculous, okay? You’re ridiculous…” he scoffed, moving his hands away from her hips to cross them over his chest defensively.

She bit back a smile and slid off his soft dick, which made him reach out for her to return with his lips parted to ask her to come back. Instead, she took his hands to balance herself as she climbed off the table and took her phone off the floor, his cum already starting to dribble out of her pussy.

She squeezed her legs together as she unlocked her cellphone to study the photos she took of Dean. “I’m gonna get these framed… or.. I’m making my own porn magazine with photos of you naked.. yeah, that’s a great idea,” she spoke to herself thoughtfully. 

Dean blindly grabbed for the Santa hat, lifted his pants up, and slid off the table to wrap his arms around his naked girlfriend. He put the hat back on and dropped his chin on her shoulder to gaze at her phone.  

“Only if you do the same for me,” he proposed bashfully, then slowly started moving his hands down between her legs. She smiled and parted her legs for him, but she didn’t expect him to send a slap over her sensitive clit.

He must have expected her reaction because he released her immediately and backed away when she jumped with a shout and turned to face him swiftly. She glared at him and walked towards him until the metal counter hit his back. 

He licked his lip, trying to lean casually against the counter with his green eyes shining bright like shiny ornaments on a Christmas tree. He swallowed excitedly and smiled at her flirtatiously—that stupid smile he gave women when he tried picking them up or to get information out of them. 

“I’m tying you up with the Christmas lights for that,” she threatened seductively, pressing herself up against his taut body. He bit his lip and carefully moved his hands to her ass to keep her close, then squeezed. 

“Really?” 

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© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO DEANBRAINROTWRITINGS 

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[roseghoul26]

Part 1

Javier Escuella x femVirgin!Reader

Synopsis: You and Javier are to attend a party in Saint Denis, hoping to rob the owner of the establishment. Your role is to distract the man while Javier sneaks up to his room, stealing bonds rumored to be worth a good bit. The only problem is, the two of you are pretending to be husband and wife, which would be fine if you weren’t completely in love with the man. Will you be able to muster up the courage to finally confess to him, or will your personal anxieties hold you back from getting what you want?

Tags: fluff, smut, friends to lovers, fem!Reader, reader is described to have longer hair but that’s about it, reader is afraid of intimacy, but like still wants it, unwanted touch (not from javier), unwanted sexual advances (not from javier), non consensual touching (not from javier), basically any noncon stuff is not done by javier, degrading language towards women, first kiss, love confessions, virgin reader, not beta read, angst, unsafe sex

Author’s Note: i know english and german, not spanish. sorry. also i totally wasn’t projecting while writing this ahaha :D

also this was supposed to not have multiple parts but i broke it down into two just for reader digestibility

part 1 ❉ part 2

You were certain that Miss Grimshaw was trying to kill you.

If she pulled any harder at the corset currently strangling you, you’re sure your lungs would collapse. A startled cry left your lips when she tugged again, causing you to nearly topple into her. Miss Grimshaw rescinded with a disapproving nose, roughly adjusting you back upright. 

The two of you were in someone's tent, Miss Grimshaw practically pulling you in a few minutes ago with a garment in her hands. You had been on guard duty, and you had seen Charles give you an almost apologetic look as she took over for you. 

“You’re actin’ like this is your first time wearin’ a corset,” She reprimanded, pulling yet again at the strings.

You were no stranger to corsets, that was true, but you’ve never had to wear one this tight. Usually they were tight enough to accentuate your figure, but it still was breathable enough that you could move with ease, which was necessary in this lifestyle. This time it was pressed so snug against your body that you feared a sudden movement would pop a rib.

“Not like this!” You snapped, your discomfort causing your fuse to become short. 

“Don’t take it out on me, girl. You can thank Dutch for this.”

You scoffed. “Of course. How does he expect me to move like this?”

“That’s the point. You’re not supposed to.” She emphasized her point with another tug, restricting your airflow even further.

“What?” 

“He wants you to be the distraction, and the only way you’re doin’ that is if we get this corset on.”

You rolled your eyes. “You know that ain’t true. You know damn well I can distract someone without having to kill my lungs.”

“Not this time. You’re goin’ to a party, accompanying one of the men as their newlywed wife. Your story is that you used to be a working girl, but you’ve now settled down with your rich ‘husband’. You’re gonna distract the man of the house with your assets, and by implying that your new husband ain’t takin’ good care of you, if you know what I mean. Rumor has it that he’s a frequent customer of the local brothels, so it’ll be easy to get his attention.” Miss Grimshaw chuckled lightly. “While he’s taken in by you, your ‘husband’ is gonna sneak up to his rooms, looking for bonds or somethin’. You’re gonna have to ask Dutch or someone for the details. He just told me to make you look… irresistible, which is what I’m tryin’ to do, but you keep complainin’!”

“Sorry…” you grumbled. You weren’t too fond of the plan that was just presented to you. As a master conwoman, you were no stranger to using your body as a tool, using your assets to get what you wanted. But if this corset was telling you anything, it was that you were going to be quite out on display, your breasts barely contained in the garment. You knew you would probably be safe with whoever your “husband” was, but you didn’t trust the other men at the party. You were already mentally preparing yourself for the words you were going to be hearing tonight, and for the possible gropes and touches of disgusting men. 

And because you had such little movement, you wouldn’t be able to protect yourself as well as you could. The thought of being so defenseless had you shuddering, which didn’t go unnoticed by Miss Grimshaw. “You’re gonna be alright. Besides, Arthur’ll be taggin’ along with the two of you as extra muscle. Lord knows he’d never let anythin’ happen to you.”

“Arthur ain’t my ‘husband’?” You were expecting the cowboy to be your other half for the night, as the two of you had played that role several times as Mr. and Mrs. Callahan. The two of you worked well together, a natural comradery making it a very convincing act. So much so that some of the gang members had even questioned yours and Arthur’s friendship, but the two of you quickly shut those thoughts down. The two of you were practically siblings, and besides, you had your eyes on someone else in camp. 

“Not tonight. He said he’ll probably be recognized and wouldn’t be able to be someone else, so he asked for someone else to play the role tonight.”

“Please don’t be Micah,” you groaned.

“Dutch ain’t a fool. He knows the two of you would never be a convincing couple.” You could tell she was imagining you and Micah pretending to be sweet on each other, and she laughed boisterously. “The two of you’d kill each other before you even got to the party! That would be a sight to see, though.”

“So who’s gonna be playing my ‘husband’, then?”

Because your back was turned, you missed the mischievous look that flicked across her face. “That will be Mr. Escuella.”

“Javier?!” The remaining air in your lungs came out in a wheeze, and you started coughing. Trying to suck in as much air back in proved to be a difficult task, and you found yourself growing lightheaded for more reasons than one.

“That’s who I said, right? I recommended him myself; I know it won’t be hard for you to pretend that you’re married.”

“What do you-”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, girl. I know you’re sweet on him.”

“Sure, say it louder so the whole goddamn camp knows!” You huffed, and you prayed that it wasn’t evident that you were blushing. Were you really that obvious?

“I apologize,” she laughed, not sounding sorry at all. “I think the ‘whole goddamn camp’ already knows, girl. Everyone but Javier, that is.” You felt her tug one final time, before tying the strings into a tight knot. Sucking in a deep breath, you tried to calm your racing heart. You were never nervous like this before jobs, but with the new knowledge of who your “husband” was, along with some more personal worries, it was hard to stay calm. Of course you got paired up with the man you’d had your eye on since the moment you joined the gang.

But it wasn’t just being paired up as Javier’s wife that worried you. You had people you could confide in for that, with or without damage to your pride. No, your other anxiety was something that you wouldn’t admit to another soul. The whole backstory that you were going to have, being a working girl, was something that was going to be hard to fabricate because you didn’t have a lot of knowledge in that area. You knew what you had to say and what to do; you were inexperienced, not innocent. You were just concerned that you weren’t going to be able to pull a convincing act, putting you and Javier into danger. 

And you were partially afraid that you would have to do some things that you’d never done before, but instead of it being with someone you trusted, it would be with random gross men at a random gross party. You’d never touched someone in an intimate manner before, and the thought of doing it tonight worried you deeply. You knew that Dutch wouldn’t make you use your body in that way, but things happen, and you were always determined to get what you wanted.

You just hoped that it wouldn’t go that far.

You felt Miss Grimshaw pause a moment, smoothing down the back of your dress with her hands. “You know, he’s sweet on you too.”

Temporarily forgetting your personal worries, you stiffened under her touch. “Alright, now you’re just tryin’ to make me feel better. And you’re startin’ to sound like Mary-Beth.”

“I’m serious! You don’t see the way he stares after you, or hear the way he’s constantly askin’ me about you. Trust me when I say he’s sweet on you too.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded.

She muttered something under her breath before she was turning you around, forcing you to face her. “I’m just sayin’, tonight would be a good night to test the waters.”

How were you supposed to tell her that you were scared to get close to him?

“Now you’re really startin’ to sound like Mary-Beth.” You felt her fiddle with the neckline of your dress, pulling it down even lower. You let out an indignant squawk, slapping her hands away. “Any further down and I’m gonna get arrested!”

Holding her hands up, she scoffed and rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. “Now, you sit right here and put these on,” she gestured to the stool behind you, and handed you a delicate pair of deep red heels. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Complying, you tried your best to sit down, but found it quite hard to do so. The corset dug even further into your skin, so you ended up having to do a weird crouch on the stool. It was uncomfortable, but it worked, and you were able to slip off your old boots to put on the new shoes. The leather was stiff, practically brand new, and you knew that your feet would be blistering by the end of the night. 

True to her word, she was back momentarily, her arms full of products that she dumped on to the nearby bed. You realized now that you were Arthur’s tent, the canvas pulled down to give you space to change. You’d have to thank him later. 

Miss Grimshaw got to work, dusting your cheeks with pink blush and painting your lips with a deep red rouge, which matched the color of your dress. A thin line of black kohl was applied to your upper eye, and you tried your best to not blink as she worked. When she was satisfied with your makeup, she got to work on your hair, pinning it up into a fashionable yet simple updo. Without having your hair to hide behind, your chest felt even more exposed. 

The whole process took about thirty minutes, the evening sun beginning to set when you stood. Your mind was racing the entire time, and you were grateful that Miss Grimshaw didn’t try to distract you with small talk. You needed time to prepare yourself, and she gave it to you. 

She presented you with a small handheld mirror, and you were finally able to see yourself since the ordeal first began. You had to admit that Miss Grimshaw did a fantastic job at getting you dolled up, a newfound confidence calming your racing heart. The blush was placed in just the right way to emphasize your face shape, and the rouge made your lips look full and plush. Even the updo worked well with your features, drawing attention instead of hiding them. 

Taking a step back until you were able to see more of your body in the mirror, and you had to stifle a gasp. Everything about you screamed lust, from the way the corset hugged your hips, to the way it pushed up your breasts, causing them to nearly spill over. The deep red of the dress, like you saw, matched perfectly with your lips, the velvety material pleasant to the touch. Thin black lace lined the sweetheart neckline, the material surprisingly soft against your skin. The black lace pattern continued down the bodice, continuing in places down the skirt, which halted right at your ankles. There weren’t any sleeves on the dress, and you felt Miss Grimshaw place something into your hands: two elbow length gloves the same color of the dress.

Quickly sliding them on, you felt her clip some ruby earring to your ears. She stepped back, a pleased smile on her face that mirrored your own. “I told Javier that it would fit!” She exclaimed, and you gave her a confused look.

“He picked it out. Although, I don't believe he thought it would be this… revealing.”

“He… He bought this for me?” Your cheeks were as dark as the dress.

“He picked out every part of that dress, had it handcrafted just for you.” 

You pushed down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. All of this had to cost so much! Instead of facing your heart, however, you put on an air of annoyance, placing your hands on your hips. “So he knew ‘bout this job, but I didn’t?”

She didn’t respond, but the smirk on her lips told you everything you needed to know. “You found out in time, didn’t you? Now,” he clapped her hands together, and grabbed the final item off the bed. It was a small black clutch, and you watched her place the rouge in there before handing it to you. Inside, alongside the rouge you saw a small tooth comb, one you recognized to be a knife in disguise, along with a small handkerchief.

You gratefully took it, tucking it under your arm. You went to try and leave the tent, but you felt her stop you with a hand on your wrist. Before you could register what she was doing, she had sprayed a few spurts of perfume on you, the floral scent ticking your nose, nearly causing you to sneeze. She let go of you then, practically shoving you out of Arthur’s tent, your new shoes catching on the mud. 

Blinking away the setting sunlight that blinded you, you were startled when a loud wolf-whistle cut through the camp, causing you to nearly drop your clutch. Sean stood a few feet away, unabashedly staring at you as you walked out of the tent. “Nice fuckin’ tits, lass!” He said it so loud, and if people hadn’t turned their heads at the whistle, they sure were looking now. 

You flipped him off, a scowl crossing your features as you marched away. He didn’t get the hint, and you knew that he was trailing after you. “Hey, don’t be like that now!” He was very clearly drunk, stumbling over his steps, nearly falling face first a few times.

Standing at the center of camp, you crossed your arms, trying your best to cover your chest. “Fuck off, Sean.” You glanced around, and you found a few pairs of eyes on you. Some of the looks were kind, like from Arthur and Hosea, who regarded you without any lecherous intent behind their eyes. You heard Hosea comment on how you cleaned up nice, and Arthur, who sat next to him, nodded in agreement. Smiling warmly at them in response, you felt a tad bit less exposed. 

“Well that ain’t no talk for a lady. Where's your manners?”

Fighting the urge to shove him away from you, you smiled with malice. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you put on your best posh voice, resting your hand over your heart. “Please fuck off, Sean.” Not giving him time to respond, you stalked over to the other side of camp, where you saw Tilly, Karen, Mary-Beth, and Abigail gathered around one of the fires. Clemens Points had its advantages, the multiple fireplaces away from the men in the center of camp being one of them. You did a quick detour, stopping by your belongings and grabbing a silver ring, tucking it into the clutch, before heading over to the girls.

Wolf-whistles and cheers left the girls' lips, and you put on a little show as you made our way over. Instead of feeling degraded like you did with Sean, you felt confident. You halted in front of them, doing a little spin with an almost proud smile on your face. 

“Goddamn, girl! Where’ve you been hidin’ all that?” Karen teased, and you waved her away. “You look incredible!”

“I feel incredible,” you beamed. 

“Where did you get that dress? It looks so expensive!” Tilly commented, and you moved close enough so they could feel the material, letting out unanimous content noises when they felt how soft it was. 

“Well…” you almost didn’t want to tell them, knowing their reactions were going to be extreme. They knew you had feelings for Javier, and this was just going to add fuel to their conspiracy that he felt the same. “Javier got it for me.”

Stunned silence was all there was, until they all erupted at the same time, questions and comments spilling from them so quickly that you couldn’t even hope to process them. Rolling your eyes, you pulled away from them, your skirts falling back around you.

”Javier bought it?” Mary-Beth was eating this whole situation up. “Does that mean… are you two…?”

“No. He was just being nice.”

The girls gave each other knowing looks, and you watched as Karen rolled her eyes, and Mary-Beth gave you a disbelieving look. “Now, I know you ain’t dumb, but you’re makin’ it really hard to say that,” Karen muttered, and you scoffed. 

“I’m serious! He was just being nice, nothin’ else!”

“Sure,” Tilly laughed. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

You glanced over at Abigail, the one person who had yet to say anything yet. “Abi, please, tell them.”

She sighed, setting the embroidery that she was working on in her lap. “Well, it’s not a simple friendly gesture to buy someone a dress like that…”

You groaned. “You were supposed to be on my side.” 

Abigail just shrugged, barely able to hide a laugh. “Did he just buy the dress, or…” she gestured to your earrings. 

Whatever expression that was on your face was a sufficient enough answer for the girls, who in turn began to laugh. “So, not only did he buy you a beautiful dress, but he also bought you earrings? He’s in love.” Mary-Beth said in almost a sing-song manner. 

“He is. Don’t you dare try to argue otherwise,” Karen threatened. 

“I…” you trailed off, defeated. “Even if he is, nothin’ is gonna come from it! Don’t get those ideas in my head!”

“We are doing nothin’ of the sort. We’re just stating the facts.” Tilly’s eyes flicked to something behind you, and you watched her playfully smile. “But if you don’t believe us, why don’t you go ask him?” She pointed behind you, and you turned your head. Javier was indeed there, but luckily his back was turned to your group, in the middle of a conversation with Dutch and Hosea. 

Even from the glimpse you got, you knew he was dressed up well, a black blazer fitting tightly to his form, accentuating his shoulders and tapering down nicely to his waist. His pants matched color wise, and were just as tight as the jacket, doing little to hide the thick swell of his thighs, and his ass-

Someone clearing their throat had you turning your head back around, finding a group of amused girls waiting for you. Karen produced a handkerchief, practically throwing it at you. “For your drool,” she smirked, and you felt your ears burn. You hadn’t meant to be that obvious with your ogling. 

“Shuddup,” you threw the cloth back at her, and she laughed uproariously, the other girls joining in as well. 

“Why don’t you tell him?” Abigail asked, a sincere curiosity in her question. “You’re obviously both taken with each other, and even if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Rather you get your heart broken and know then spend the rest of your life wonderin’.”

“I-I’m not quite sure. I’ve never had a relationship before, and I guess I’m just scared of them, I guess. I don’t wanna do somethin’ wrong. And besides, he’s a ladies man, suave, a charmer. And I’m just… me. I’m rather boring compared to him, and I don’t wanna make him feel, I dunno, trapped with me.” You weren’t quite sure how to explain to the girls that you feared he might find your lack of experience unappealing, how he would want someone that could keep up with him. Additionally, you felt ashamed to admit your fear of intimacy after hearing your entire life that it was something you should want. And you do want it, but you couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.

“Just do somethin’ before you can’t, alright?”

You watched again as Tilly looked behind you, nudging Mary-Beth who sat beside her, and the two of them shared a look. “What?”

“Oh, nothin’,” they smiled, yet they kept their eyes locked behind you. 

“Please don’t tell me he’s comin’ over here.” Their responding giggles told you that, yes, Javier was indeed making his way toward your group.

“Do not say anythin’. Especially you,” you pointed at Karen, and she held up her hands in defense. 

“Hey, I’m just sick of seein’ the two of you dance around each other.”

“We are not-” you pinched the bridge of your nose, annoyed. “Why does everything keep thinkin’ that?”

“Because we’re not blind. Now,” Karen did a spinning motion with her finger, “go greet your ‘husband’.” 

Looking over your shoulder, you saw that he was only a few feet away, a warm smile gracing his features when you made eye contact. You reciprocated, trying your best to not look as nervous as you felt. 

As you did a quick scan over his body, you felt your heart rate pick up. He looked good, which he always did, but even more so now. Wearing a simple white button up under the black jacket, you saw ruby cufflinks peek out, and you noticed some more details now that he was closer. The inside of the jacket was a deep red, similar to your dress, and was made of a very fine looking silk, and his usual red necktie was around his neck. A gold pocket watch hung from his vest, and you were shocked when you noticed that it looked exactly like the bodice of your own dress. Upon closer examination, you realized that it was indeed made out of the same fabric of your dress.

By this point he had reached your side, standing close enough next to you that could feel his heat, the scent of his cologne filling your senses. You were glad for the dimming light, as it made it harder to see the darkening of your cheeks. If this is what your reaction was to him simply standing next to you, then you had no idea how you were going to react when he was pretending you were his wife.

“Hello, Javier.” Was your voice shaking? You’re certain it was.

“Hello, ‘wife’,” he winked, laughing when you scoffed. Thankfully he didn’t seem to catch the way you blushed even deeper. “Good evening, ladies,” he nodded to the other girls by the campfire. They responded in unison, but you noticed that Javier didn’t pay them much mind, his eyes only on you. “You ready to go?” 

When you nodded, he held a palm up for you, which you grasped gently in your gloved hand. And because of course he had to, you watched as he bowed slightly, kissing the back of your hand with soft reverence. He kept his eyes on yours the entire time, making the act feel more intimate than it was. He’s just playing the part, calm yourself. Forcing down the panic, you watched the edges of his eyes crinkle when you giggled lightly, a smile on his lips when he stood upright. You felt him keep his grip on your hand, tugging you away from the girls, who called on you to have a good night between giggles.

As Javier led you away, your hands interlocked, you felt him lean close to you. “Do you like the dress?”

You secured the clutch under your arm. “I love the dress! Thank you, Javier. For everything,”

He shrugged with an uncharacteristically bashful smile, but it was quickly replaced with his usual confident one as he leaned closer to you again. “You look beautiful, mi amor.”

You’d heard him use that last phrase with you before, its frequency increasing over the last couple of months. You had no idea what it meant, and every time you asked he would change the subject. Even when you asked the others around camp, they refused to tell you, a look on their faces that you couldn’t quite recognize. 

“So do you. I mean, you always do…”

“Do I, now?” You could hear the smugness dripping from his voice.

“Oh, hush,” you shoved him with your shoulder, finding yourself barely able to move the man as you slowly walked, still getting used to your new shoes. You hadn’t meant to say that much.

“No, no, tell me more,” he laughed, and you shook your head, laughing as well. 

“I ain’t inflatin’ your ego any more, Mr. Escuella. I’m sure someone else will do that for you.”

“Sure. But I want to hear it from you.”

“Nope.” You emphasized the p sound with a pop of your lips. “My lips are sealed.”

With his free hand, you watched as he placed it over his heart, feigning hurt. “You wound me. I thought you loved me.”

His comment had you panicking, but you hid it behind a laugh. Did he know? Did someone tell him? Oh God, please don’t let him know. 

He continued, unaware of your current inner turmoil. “My ‘wife’, refusing to compliment me. It’s outrageous!” 

Right. He was just playing into the role again. With an inaudible sigh of relief, you were able to calm your thoughts. “Well, if our backstory is to be believed, then there ain’t much to compliment you on.”

Javier barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s the story we’re running with, aren’t we. Rich husband and dissatisfied wife.” The mirth in his eyes dissolved into something more serious, something more… amorous. “It’ll be a hard role for me to play, because I could never leave you unsatisfied.”

“What do… oh.” You were at a loss for words, and the intensity of his gaze had you melting. It wasn’t the first time that Javier had flirted with you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time he’d ever teased the idea of the two of you being intimate. It’s not that you were fully opposed to the idea, but it scared you. Actually, it terrified you. Throat suddenly dry, you cleared it, no doubt looking quite taken aback. “Well, I-”

“Oh, so he gets treated kindly, but I get told to ‘fuck off’’,” Seans loud complaining had you snapping your head to the side, the moment between the two of you shattered. You hadn’t even realized you were back in the main camp, too engrossed in your conversation with Javier. 

Glaring at the red haired man, you flipped him off again, and you heard the man beside you chuckle. “And I’ll say it again. Fuck. Off.”

“Y’know what, lass, I’ve tried bein’ nice-” “Complimentin’ a woman’s tits ain’t nice, Sean.”

Anger flashed across his features, and he started making his way toward the two of you, still as drunk as he was moments ago. Stiffening your shoulders, you braced yourself for confrontation, balling your free hand into a fist. Sean’s attention was momentarily taken off you, his eyes going behind you. Whatever he saw must’ve frightened him, his normally pale face going even paler. “I- Well… have a good night then.” He quickly scurried away, leaving you very confused. Glancing back at Javier, you failed to notice him tucking his knife away, hidden under the layers of clothing.

“What was that all about?” You asked him, falling back into a casual stance. He shrugged, and you grinned. “Guess I’m just that scary, then.” 

“Oh, yes. You’re terrifying,” he jested, sarcasm evident in his voice. 

“Hey!” You slapped him on the shoulder, and he snickered. “I’m plenty scary. Have you seen me with a knife?”

“Honestly, I’m more scared of seeing what you’ll do to yourself than anyone else.”

You scoffed, but you were still smiling. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to teach me.” You definitely weren’t coming up with an excuse to be with him more, and you definitely weren’t coming up with an excuse to watch his dexterous fingers work their magic with a blade. 

Javier had a soft look on his face. “I guess I will, then.”

The rest of your short walk to the edge of camp near the entrance was done in easy silence, and you were about to ask how exactly you were getting to the party, but it was answered when you saw a two-horse carriage pull into the camp, with a very discontent looking Bill atop it. He stopped a few feet from the two of you, annoyance evident in his body language.

“What kind of party are we goin’ to that we need a carriage? And how the hell did we get one?”

“An expensive one. And you’re asking a group of thieves how they got their hands on a carriage?”

“Fair point,” you laughed, laughing even harder when you saw how absolutely ridiculous Bill looked. He was dressed in a suit as well, but it was very clearly a size too small, the pants riding up far enough to expose what felt like half of his lower leg. A large top hat sat on his head, with a single, meager looking feather sticking out of it, bent in all the wrong directions. A scowl crossed his face when he saw you laughing, and you tried to hide it behind your hand. 

“Whatcha laughin’ at?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” you gestured to his whole getup.

“Ain’t my fault the old driver was short. And don’t go laughin’ just yet, I’m the one gettin’ you to the damn party.”

“You’re right. My apologies,” you sighed. “How ‘bout this. To make it up to you, I’ll see if I can’t steal some whiskey. The expensive stuff.”

You saw that he pretty much immediately made up his mind, but he still took the time to think, just for the sake of it. “Fine. But I don’t wanna hear another laugh from you.”

You nodded as Javier brought you to the side of the carriage, opening the door for you. Helping you into the carriage with the hand that held yours, you quickly sat down, adjusting the skirt to rest comfortably around you. There wasn’t much you could do for the bodice, the frame of it digging into your skin, but you refrained from grimacing. You expected Javier to follow in after you, but he didn’t, simply stepping back and slowly closing the door. 

“You ain’t gettin’ in?”

He shook his head. “Not just yet. I gotta go talk to Arthur before we set off.”

In all honesty, you had completely forgotten that your friend was accompanying the two of you. “Is he riding in here with us or…?” The carriage was big enough for two, and you’re sure you could squeeze a third person in if you tried hard enough. 

He shook his head again. “He’ll be riding behind us on horseback. He’s security, after all.”

Nodding, you settled back into your seat, at least as best you could. “All right. Well,” you shooed him, “I won’t hold you up any longer.”

Smiling gently, he closed the door, lacking shut with a soft click. It was eerily silent within the carriage, and you were sure that you could scream, and no one outside the carriage would be able to hear you. All the sounds from outside, from the chirping of crickets to the water lapping at the shore were silenced, leaving only your labored breathing and your thudding heart. 

Glancing out the window, you were able to see the receding figure of Javier, most of his form indistinguishable in the dimming light. Like every other time you interacted with Javier, you were going back over the conversation in your head, overanalyzing everything that you said and did, pinpointing moments where you should’ve said something different, or just kept your mouth shut all together. 

But now you found yourself thinking over what he said. You were replaying the moment where he called you beautiful, following it up with that one phrase that, whenever he said it, had a look in his eye that almost seemed like… longing? You weren’t quite sure. 

The sincerity behind his words had you temporarily questioning everything that you knew about your relationship with the man, but you quickly pushed those thoughts away. You were scared, to be honest, to imagine the two of you as anything more than friends. Because what if you were better off as friends, a romantic relationship ruining whatever connection you had. What if he found you boring, or he grew to disdain you? 

Why couldn’t things be simple? Why were you so scared of getting close to him, so scared of him touching you? Why couldn’t you be more confident and straightforward with your advances? Why couldn’t you just tell him how you felt and hope it all works out? 

Groaning, your head rolled back, hitting the wall of the vehicle. You still watched him, a black silhouette that had his back turned to you, deep in conversation with Arthur, who was standing next to his horse. 

The click of the door had you snapping out of your thoughts, straightening up immediately. Javier greeted you with a small smile as he climbed in, stopping mid-way when he heard Arthur shout something at him, which you weren’t able to make out. Javier rolled his eyes, and you thought he was blushing for a moment, but you played it off as a trick of the light. 

“What did Arthur say?” You laughed as Javier settled into his seat across from you. The carriage was large enough to fit two people, sure, but you still felt his knees brush against yours. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, nearly causing you to jump. 

“He was just being a fool. It doesn't matter.” He clearly didn’t want to continue talking about it, so you let it drop, ignoring the curiosity nagging at you. “Are you ready?”

As I’ll ever be. “Yes.”

In response, you heard him knock loudly on the window, signaling for Bill to start moving. The carriage suddenly moving caught you off guard, causing you to fall forward. You caught yourself, your hands on his knees. You didn’t hear the light gasp that came from Javier, smiling sheepishly as you righted yourself, placing your hands back on your lap, securing your clutch there. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was breathless, and you figured that he was nervous as well. 

“So, tell me about this party.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

It was about a twenty minute ride to Saint Denis, where the party was being held. It was one similar to the one Arthur, Dutch, and some of the others went to a few weeks prior, happening in one of the extravagant houses that lay on the edge of the town. The owner of the house, one Lee Edward Reginald III, was known to have bonds that he constantly bragged about to anyone who asked, apparently worth a fortune. 

The two of you formulated your story during the drive. Your names were William and Anna Howard, and the two of you had been married for two years. Hailing from a small town east of New Austin called Fairington, the two of you had stuck it rich when you found a vast supply of oil under your homestead. The two of you had traveled all this way to hopefully establish business partners in the west, and to begin creating a name for yourselves in the more “civilized” Saint Denis. 

You saw a wooden sign that marked you were close to Saint Denis, and you felt your anxiety begin to return. Trying to calm yourself, you repeated in your head that this was no different than any other con job you’ve done, and you weren’t nervous before those. This should be no exception.

“So, how did we meet?” Javier’s question halted your spiraling.

“Hm?” 

“How did we meet? Someone’s bound to ask.”

“I think the story Miss Grimshaw told me is that I used to be a working girl, and we met at the bar when I tried to offer my services.”

“Not too different from how we actually met, no?”

You laughed. “The only similarities between our stories is that we met at a bar. From what I remember, you tried to rob me as I drank alone.”

“I thought you were an easy target. I was mistaken,” he rubbed the side of his face where you had punched him all that time ago. “And I didn’t realize you had robbed me until way after.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever returned that ring back to you. How many months ago was that? Seven? Eight?”

“Something like that,” he smiled, reminiscing over your less than pleasant meeting. You’d joined the gang not long after, Javier having recommended you to Dutch himself. If anyone could rob a member of the Van Der Linde gang and get away with it, they deserved a place with them. 

“That reminds me…” you reached for your clasp, pulling out the ring you grabbed earlier. You almost wanted to slide the ring on his finger yourself, but instead you held it out to him in your palm. “A married man’s gotta have a ring, right?”

Gingerly taking it from your hand, you watched him examine it in the low light, shock causing him to laugh lightly. “You still had it? I would’ve thought you sold it already.”

You shrugged. “I just kept forgettin’ to sell it.” The truth was that you couldn’t bring yourself to sell it, always tucking it away whenever you’d bring your haul to the fence. Eventually, you just kept it with your small pile of belongings in the small lean-to tent you shared with some of the girls, a small token to remember him by. You’re not sure why it meant so much to you, but it brought a smile to your lips every time you saw it. “You can keep it, after we’re done.”

“No, you earned it. I’ll make sure you get it back.”

You held back a sigh of relief, having grown surprisingly sentimental toward the piece of jewelry. “So, how long did it take you to notice it was gone?”

“An embarrassingly long time,” he rescinded. You weren’t satisfied with that answer, and you raised a challenging brow at him. He sighed. “About ten minutes after you left.”

A loud bark of laughter left you. “I took it from you right as we started talking! And we talked for, what, half an hour? It took you that long?”

“In my defense, I was distracted.”

“How? If I remember, you weren’t even drunk.”

“All my attention was on the gorgeous woman in front of me. Someone could’ve held up the place, and I wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“Sure, I looked real pretty,” you rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “With the mud in my hair, and the scraps I was wearin’, I’m sure I was the prize woman of the town.”

“You didn’t have mud in your hair,” he laughed. “It was on your face.”

“Oh, that's much better, then.” 

He laughed, his mustache following the movement of his lips as he smiled. “Even if you were covered in dirt, or if you were dolled up like you are, I’d still think you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” It was now that you wished he was sitting next to you, rather than in front of you, just so you didn’t have to feel his eyes on you.

“Really?” It sounded less confident than you’d like, sounding more like disbelief than anything. You knew you were pretty, but to hear it from him made you believe it with full certainty.

“Would I lie to you?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. When you shook your head, you felt him gently grab your hand, holding it palm-up in his own. Instinctively, you pulled it away, and you immediately regretted it, even more so when you saw the hurt and confused look on his face.

“I…” you swallowed, shame burning your face. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “You confuse me. I can’t tell if you want me too, or if you’re disgusted by me. I honestly cannot tell.”

So he did feel the same. Swallowing, you mustered enough courage to set your hand back in his. “I do want you, Javier. I really do. It’s just… I’m scared.” Your voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet it sounded like you were shouting to your ears.

“What are you scared of?” His question wasn’t judgemental, simply wanting to know.

“It’s real stupid,” you sighed, no longer being able to look him in the eye. 

“Mi amor, look at me. Please.” When you did, he smiled reassuringly at you. “Tell me. I want to help you.”

God, why was he so sweet? And how was he able to crash down the walls you build up in your mind, to never tell another soul about your fears? You turned your hand so that you could grasp his fingers lightly. “I’m scared of this,” you shook his hand. “I’m scared of your touch. And I’m scared of changin’ what we have.” When he started pulling his hand away, you gripped his hand tighter, keeping him there. “But I want it so badly. And I want you, so, so badly. ”

He certainly looked confused now. “I’m trying to understand, I really am, but…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing.

“It’s like, whenever I feel your hands on me, my heart is elated, but my brain freaks out, and not in a good way. And I guess I’m afraid that you ain’t gonna like what you see when you get close to me.” Both physically and personality wise. When you were met with silence, you were mentally berating yourself for practically dumping your issues on the poor man. “Look, if this just changed the way you feel, I understand.”

“I never said that. It doesn’t change anything.” His words were short, but he wasn’t angry. “But I guess I’m just curious as to why?”

“Because I-”

A loud rapping on the glass cut you off, and you jumped slightly. Bill stood on the other side of the window, looking pissed off. It finally occurred to you that you had reached your destination, the carriage long since halted. With a sigh, Javier leaned back, pulling his hand away, giving you a look that says we’ll finish this conversation later.

As he got out, your mind was reeling. He felt the same way towards you, but you didn’t know if you should feel elated or terrified. You didn’t know what was worse, having feelings for someone and them not knowing, or having feelings that were reciprocated and being too afraid to do anything about it.

Sighing, you barely noticed him holding out a hand expectantly to you. You hadn’t budged from the carriage, pretty much forgetting about the party. Sucking in a breath, you took his hand, letting him help you out. 

The heels of your shoes clicked pleasantly against the cobbled street as your feet made contact with the ground. Looking around, you saw that Bill had parked the two of you a block away, giving you plenty of time to prepare yourselves.You could hear the music from the party already, a lively jig mixed with laughter and cheers. Waving goodbye to Bill, he left the two of you alone. Quickly, you took out the rouge, applying it to your lips with practiced movement, not even needing to look in a mirror. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Javier watch you, looking away when you focused your attention on him. 

Tucking the clutch in your hand, you took in a deep breath. “Arthur’s already there. Ready?” You heard the man beside you ask, and you nodded. He began to move, resting a hand on the small of your back to lead you, before almost immediately retracting it.

“Are… Is that alright?”

“It doesn’t matter right now. We’ve got a job to do.” Javier opened his mouth, ready to protest, but you cut him off. “I appreciate it, I really do, but right now we just gotta pretend that the conversation we just had didn’t happen.”

Nodding, you felt his touch return, but not where it was. Instead, you felt him link his arm through yours, and he continued to lead you toward the party. “You’re almost worse than Arthur, refusin’ to touch me anywhere else than my arm.” You joked, attempting to diffuse the tension.

“Does he know?”

You shook your head, and the two of you fell into a semi-uneasy silence. You could tell that Javier was overthinking things. “Don’t worry too much, Javier. I knew what was going to happen tonight. Do what you need to do in order to pull a convincing act.” When he didn’t respond, you glanced over at him. He smiled back at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes. You leaned in to him. “You do remember I said I did want your hands on me, right?”

He relaxed a bit. “I do.”

The two of you were growing closer to your destination, the music growing louder and louder. “I think the only reason why I’m scared is because it’s… unknown to me. You know when you’ve never done something, and it seems terrifying, and then you do it and it turns out it ain’t all that bad? That’s what it is.” You took a moment to breathe. “So, basically what I’m tryin’ to say is I’m alright with you touchin’ me tonight. Please.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “I trust you, Javier.”

Deep brown eyes peered into your eyes, looking for any uncertainty. When he found none, he relaxed even further, and you watched as the smile now reached his eyes. “Only tonight?”

There he was. There was the confident, flirtatious man you’d fallen for. 

You laughed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mr. Escuella.”

He tsked, shaking his head. “I don’t know a Mr. Escuella. Are you cheating on me, my dear wife?”

You dramatically gasped in horror. “I would never, Mr. Howard! You insult me by merely suggesting the idea!”

The two of you fell into laughter, and you felt the hand around yours move back to your back, rubbing soothingly there. For the first time, you felt yourself not immediately wanting to jump away, and you instead settled against him. 

As the two of you walked into the party, you ignored the eyes that immediately jumped to you, eyes racking over your body in a less than kind way, from both men and women. All that you could see right now was the soft way Javier regarded you, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Pressing yourself against him so that he was holding you in a side hug, you felt him brush his lips atop your head, so lightly that you would barely call it a kiss. But the gesture had you melting, nearly turning into a puddle on the floor.

You saw Arthur out of the corner of your eye, in the middle of a conversation with some rich looking folk, and you regarded him with a small smile, and it barely even noticed by the other man. The hand on your back tugged slightly, pulling you alongside Javier as he led you toward the group with Arthur in it. Javier introduced himself, and you shook hands as well, introducing yourself with the names you’d come up with. 

As Javier talked, you found yourself zoning out, too distracted by the hand on your back to join in fully on the conversation. You failed to notice the way that the other men, besides Arthur, ogled you unabashedly, and you felt his hand curl around your waist, fingers wrapping around your waist and pulling you tighter to him.

Despite what you thought, you found that you were at ease, not even a hint of feeling uncomfortable. A warm feeling settled in your chest, something that you always felt when you thought of Javier. But it was turning into an inferno, threatening to consume you, taking over every thought and feeling in your body. 

You were so in love with him.

Before you could even register what you were doing, you rested your hand on his back. Javier was clearly not expecting this, based on the way he stiffened, but you felt him relax instantly. You could hear the way his tone changed as he talked, barely able to fight a smile. 

But what shocked you the most is that you found yourself wanting more. And you wanted it now. Every nerve in your body craved his touch, and you were finding it harder and harder to detach yourself from him. And you were supposed to pretend that you didn’t want him?

It was going to be a long party.

[just-some-random-blogger]

im sorry babes but im begging you. Can we have a pedro pascal x reader fic where she's like a vlogger/lawyer and its like a fanmade video of them on yt of them being crackheads and being all lovey-dovey. like libra x aries vibes they balance each other out sm. you don't have to really but i genuinely feel like you're the only person who can pull this off.

Talk To My Lawyer

Every time Pedro gets asked something he can't answer, he always says the same thing.

Pedro Pascal x Lawyer!Reader | 600< | cw: gender neutral!reader, fluff, crack, rpf, typos, etc.

A/N: i didnt use and pronouns for yn besides you so anyone can read! ALSO this took forever, but im glad I finally did it. I hope you enjoy this nonnie! it's not exactly like the request but its pretty funny lmao

Tagging: @sloanexx @amis-love-bugs @top1bbgloak @sunfairyy @djarinsstuff @mooniesyubi @pedropascalgirly @mmmmandoz @multifandom-fangirl4

X - (Formerly Twitter) - verse

@hotnewsoutlet: Pedro Pascal announces marriage to Civil Rights Lawyer with heartfelt Instagram post. @gigigogold1: PEDRO IS MARRIED? @linmanuzel: PEDRO IS MARRIED? (2) @HOTdigitidawg: PEDRO IS MARRIED? (3) @103840582duh: ??????????????????????????????????? QUE @pedropascaldad: TO A MOTHER FUCKING LAWYER 💀💀💀✋✋✋ @pedropascaldad: OF COURSE THE LAWYER LOOKS LIKE A SUPERMODEL TOO HAHAHAHAHHAAHAHA *jumps off a plane*

@papipascalyuh: ok but if pedro was gonna get married ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ hell yeah itd be someone who looks like THAT holy fuck

@80pascal: ?????????????????????????????????????? UR TELLING ME THIS LAYWER IS NOT ONLY HOT BUT SMART AND FUNNY TOO????? [article link attached] @biwohla: 💀💀💀💀💀 NO CUZ THE LEVEL OF UNHINGED??? FROM A LAWYER???? INFUCKINGSANE @marvelwhorebb: "... I made sure to wear the Pedro Pascal T-shirt I made when we first announced our relationship. Gotta let the people know I'm one of them and simply got lucky." @atrediessucker: T-SHIRT *I MADE* SCREAMING WHATTTTTT

@djinssdjarrinn: OK IT HURTS BUT FUCK HES SO WHIPPED [video attached]

"How are you today?" asks the interviewer.

Pedro smiles and nods, "good, how are you?"

"I'm great, now that I got to see you," she says, making the man curl his head into his shoulder and grin.

Pedro waves a hand, "oh stapit"

She grins back, "I was excited when I saw you arrive with the internet's favorite lawyer."

His expression shifts, he brightens up. He places a hand on his chest, "me too! I'm so happy to have a date today. I always end up beggin' for some time, and now I got it-" fist pump "-y'know, not that I'm complainin'."

"Yeah, I was gonna sa-"

"I like begging." *Pedro smile.*

The interviewer doesn't quite catch it, "-y, the both of you are always booked and busy. How do you find time for each other?"

Pedro thinks, but is distracted when you walk up from behind him. He looks back when you place a hand on his shoulder. Immediately, he's forgotten all about the question and dotes on you. He brushes a hand on your cheek, asking you if you're okay. You whisper something but then catch the camera. You give a bashful smile, "oh, sorry to interrupt."

The interviewer immediately waves a hand, "oh, don't worry about it."

Pedro mutters something and kisses your hand. He holds it as he looks back to the interviewer. He opens his mouth then shakes his head, "sorry, what was the question?" Pedro laughs.

The woman chuckles then moves closer to you, "you know what, I'm sure people are dying to know, what's something you newlyweds like to do together?"

Pedro instantly turns to you.

You purse your lips in thought.

"I-"

"Watching movies," you say.

"I-" Pedro starts again, looking back to the interviewer, "I don't think we can say what we like to do."

*crickets*

Pedro looks at you, expression mischievous.

You stare back at him, eyes like daggers.

He holds back a laugh and leans into the mic, turning to the camera, "I can't say it. Talk to my lawyer."

The interviewer laughs and so do you, begrudingly.

"Talk to my lawyer," Pedro repeats proudly, breaking into a wide mouthed smile.

"Ok," you mutter, "pack it up, Pascal."

@alexielover: SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP BASHING MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL WHAT THE FUCK @600MILK: MF SAID TALK TO MY LAWYER 🙄✋ SOBBING @oscarisaaacsz: watch him use that for everythingggggg 😭 @pedrogrill: LORD I HAVE SEEN WHAT YOU HAVE DONE FOR OTHERS @starwazfr: *sips clorox cutely* @emeryslala: and im supposed to sha la la baby after this? FOUL @pascpedro: respectfully, id pay to be their third @probelmaskt: PACK IT UP PASCAL???????????????????

[random-thot-generator]

Don’t Leave Me Hangin’

MANDO x FEM READER

Summary: Reader gets stuck aloft in one of the Kom’rik’s cargo nets and has to call out to Mando for help. Filthy Mando smut ensues.

Warnings: explicit language, swearing, explicit sexual content, porn without plot, well, maybe a tiny little hint of plot, oral- f receiving, PiV, squirting, cum play(?), it’s messy- nuff said, Kom’rik sex, improper use of a cargo net, reader is an idiot who should think things through, Mando is an opportunist, no use of Y/N, maybe? bondage - Mando doesn’t help her out of the net like- immediately, but reader ain’t complainin’

(N/A: The brain fog has FINALLY lifted, and I wanted to write about my most recent random filthy thot. This is the result. It’s a long-ish, smutty one shot. Reader & Mando are in a situationship - friends-with-benefits type deal. I’m picturing like a live-in nanny/housekeeper kind of thing, but I don’t think I ever specified. This is post-season 3, and Mando’s living his best life on Nevarro. He and reader are in a Kom’rik, because I need room for my smut to flourish, and I didn’t want to resurrect the poor old Razor Crest from the ashes. If I missed any tags, let me know. And I hope you enjoy.)

Word Count: 4280

You really should have thought this through better.

That was your first thought after the cargo net stopped swinging, and you regained a modicum of composure. You winced at the sound of the net’s straps creaking under the strain as you tried to shift your weight and then froze. You remained completely motionless, afraid to even breathe, for several more moments.

“Shit...” you whispered in a quaking voice, peering down at the floor of the cargo hold several meters below you. You then glanced up at the winch mechanism above your head, praying it held. How in the hell were you going to get yourself out of this?

It had seemed like such a good plan at the time. You had just stepped out of the Kom’rik’s small ‘fresher, having showered and changed into your sleep shirt before bed, when you’d felt the ship drop out of hyperspace with a small lurch. You heard something clatter in the cargo hold below and blew out a tired sigh, knowing it was probably nothing but also knowing you wouldn’t be able to rest until you checked it out.

Grumbling under your breath, you had climbed down into the hold. Only the emergency lights were on, the ceiling and corners hidden in shadow, but you spotted something lying near a tier of shelves attached to the hull’s interior wall. It was one of the kid’s favorite cookies, the teal ones with the creme filling. Peering up into the gloom, you spied an opened foil sleeve of cookies perched on the edge of the highest shelf.

“How the hell did he even get up there?” you said aloud, shaking your head. Jedi training aside, the kid was far too much like his dad, a little risk-taker. You heaved a sigh, with no small amount of exasperation. 

Stars only knew what else he had left up there. Come to think of it, you had given him your datapad earlier to watch cartoons and hadn’t seen it since. Sighing in frustration, you began looking for a way to reach the top shelf. The propulsor lift was still charging, so that was a no-go, and you didn’t see a ladder of any sort that wasn’t attached to the ship already.

And then you had spied the cargo net.

It was dangling by its hooks from a mechanized winch and pulley system attached to the ceiling. It was used to keep extra containers suspended above the floor to free up space, its track running the entire circuit of the area for maneuverability and convenience. Designed to hold several hundred kilograms, you were certain it could support your own weight. You could use it to lift yourself up to the shelf, retrieve whatever was up there and then lower yourself back to the ground. Easy peasy, jogan squeezy.

Detaching the control pad for the winch from the wall, you climbed inside the net, lacing an arm through the holes for a better grip, and then planted your bare feet on the cross sections of the heavy straps. It was a bit shaky at first, but once you gained your balance, you quickly ascended until you were at eye level with the top shelf. Tucking the control pad under your chin, you reached up to feel your datapad under your fingertips and sniffed in amusement. You’d have to give Grogu a good talking-to in the morning, but for now you at least had your datapad back. Slipping it and the sleeve of cookies off the shelf, you shuffled the objects around, your grip on the net slackening.

It was then that the Kom’rik made another jump into hyperspace, making the ship jolt with the transition. You shrieked when the net began to swing wildly, feet slipping out from under you as you let go of everything in your hands to hang on for dear life. Panting for breath, heart thundering in your chest, you clung like a monkey-lizard to the straps and prayed the net didn’t break.

So, there you were, hanging above the hold like a piece over-ripe fruit, arms and legs entangled in the net with no way down, because, of course, you had dropped the winch’s control pad when you dropped everything else. You could see it lying on the floor below you, right next to the broken casing of your datapad.

“Shit!” you repeated, leaning your forehead against the straps and huffing out an angry breath. Could this situation get any worse, you wondered. You’d have to yell for Mando to come get you down, which you weren’t looking forward to, but who knew how long it would take before he even came back this way? What if decided to just sleep in the cockpit? Would you end up hanging there all night?

The thought made your awkward position in the net feel even more uncomfortable. Your feet had slipped through the holes, so your legs were now dangling under you, the straps cutting into the tender meat of your thighs. One of your arms was still threaded through the net while the other one was pinned close to your side. You could feel the cold air of the hold settling into your bones and making you shiver, the thin material of the tunic doing little to stave off the chill.

You knew that the longer you hung there, the colder you were going to get, the number your limbs were going to grow. Your feet were already stinging and your teeth chattering. There was no help for it. You had to call for Mando.

“MANDO!!!”

Your voice bounced back at you, making your flinch. Holding your breath, you waited to hear his boots thudding against the metal floor overhead, but nothing. He hadn’t heard you.

“MAANN-DDOO! HEEELP!”

You waited. Still nothing.

Oh, stars, maybe he had fallen asleep in the cockpit. after all. With the door sealed, he would never hear you. Panic began to creep in, shortening your breath as it constricted your lungs.

“MANDO! PLEASE! I’M STUCK IN THE HOLD! MAN-DOO!!!”

“What the hell are you doing?”

You heard his voice coming through the ship’s comm system and could have cried in relief. You’d forgotten the cams located throughout the ship. Stars, he’d probably been watching you this whole time. You were never in danger.

“I... I’m stuck, Mando.”

A gravelly bark echoed in the hold before turning to static. Great. He was laughing at you. “Obviously. Listen, I need to recheck the coordinates in navi and set the autopilot, then I’ll come get you down. Just, uh, hang tight,” he drawled, another garbled sound slipping out of his vocoder.

You bit your tongue to keep from saying something you might regret. You were in no position to taunt or snark back at him right now. “Fine,” you mumbled, and slumped into the net.

It was only a few minutes before the sound of his heavy boots were thudding across the metal floor above you, his footsteps music to your ears. You heard the clang of his armor hitting against the ladder before he slid down into view, feet landing with a solid thump in the hold. He approached at a leisurely pace, seemingly in no hurry, then stopped to stare up at you. His helmet tilted back, black visor glinting in the low light. Planting his hands on his hips, he tipped his head, first to one side and then to the other.

“M-Mando? What’re you doing? Can you get me down now, please?”

Mando hummed, his stance shifting. His arms dropped down to his sides, hands curling into fists. “You must be getting pretty cold, huh?”

You bunched your brows up in consternation. “Um... yeah? It’s fr-freezing down here.”

He nodded slowly, keeping his visor trained on you. “Hmm. Thought so. You’re not wearing anything but my old tunic. It’s not covering much. Is it?”

You quirked a brow at the change in his voice. His smooth baritone had dropped an octave or three, and it had a distinctive husk to it now. His tone was the one he used when the two of you were alone with the lights off and he was taking you apart, dark and sinfully seductive. It made you squirm despite your precarious position, and the net began to slowly sway back and forth. The edge of a strap slid into the crease where your thigh met your hip, and you felt your lower lips part. A low groan issued from his vocoder. Your mouth fell open.

Sweet Maker, your pussy was on full display for him. You hadn’t bothered with underwear after your shower, planning on putting on a clean pair once you got back to your sleeping quarters. Heat surged through your body, both from embarrassment and unexpected arousal.

“Mando...” Your voice sounded so small and breathy in the cavernous space.

“I can see everything, pretty girl,” he told you, taking an unconscious step closer. He was almost directly under you now, peering straight up at your exposed sex. Mortified, you felt the slow trickle of your arousal easing out of your channel. You weren’t dripping, not yet, but the thought of him standing beneath you, staring at your most vulnerable parts had your breath panting out in little puffs. “You... Are you going to... get me down, now?”

You heard the back of his gauntlet scrape the metal floor as he picked up the control pad for the winch. His breath was rasping through his vocoder, the sound of leather creaking as he moved underneath you. You felt the winch catch and then begin to whir as the net began to lower back to the floor.

“Thank the stars,” you whispered, anxious to be back on solid ground again.

You didn’t quite make it, though. You were still a few meters above the floor when the winch came to a sudden stop, leaving you to sway like the pendulum of a run-down clock. “M-Mando?”

“Look so pretty like this, sweet girl,” he murmured below you, and you felt his gloved fingers trail across the back of your thigh. You gasped at the contact. “Close your eyes,” he husked out, voice gone to gravel.

You didn’t even bother to ask why, just snapped your eyes shut and held your breath, waiting. You heard the slap of leather on the floor, guessing it must be his gloves he’d just taken off, and then you felt his bare fingers tracing the straps that dug into your thighs. His fingertips grazed along the edge where the strap met the skin, the sensation making you tense as heat spiraled in your belly, diffusing through your pelvis to spread in a hot rush of slick that trickled out to cool along the petals of your open folds.

“Oh, mesh’la,” Mando cooed, dark and low. “You’re dripping for me, pretty girl.”

A whine escaped your lips, breath catching in your throat as you felt his fingers slide through your arousal, gathering your essence on his fingertips. There was the pneumatic hiss of air as his helmet disengaged and then the ring of beskar ricocheted around the hold as he dropped it to the floor. You could hear the lewd, wet noises he made as he suckled his own fingers, moaning at the taste of you.

“Don’t move, baby girl.”

“Oh, Maker...” you whimpered in a quaking whisper.

You could feel your walls clenching in anticipation. Mando had never used his mouth on you before, said he’d never gone down on anyone before, but as the winch whirred back into motion only to grind to a stop again a moment later, you guessed you were about to find out if this would be his first time.

When you felt his hair tickle the backs of your thighs, an eruptive shudder passed through your entire body. When his nose grazed over your clit, you jolted in the confines of the straps hard enough to send the net swaying, but he caught you and brought you back to center.

“Sh-shh... Easy, baby girl. I got you...” He paused, sniffed. “Fuck, you smell so good,” he hissed out in a rush, and you heard him inhale, could feel his nose right at your parted lips. It was so filthy, so obscene, what he was doing, but it made you quiver with lust, just the same.

His hands came up to grip your ankles, holding you in place. “That’s better,” he murmured, hot breath gusting over your damp folds, eliciting another shiver from you. “Let me hear you, pretty girl. Want to know how good I’m making you feel. Okay?”

You nodded your head furiously, swallowing in an attempt to bring a bit of moisture back into your parched mouth. “Y-Yeah. Okay, Mando.” You didn’t even care that it came out as a whine.

The first touch of his tongue had you choking on air, hips stuttering, not sure whether to rock forward or away from the lapping muscle, but his strong hands held you fast, not letting your squirm away. He dragged his tongue in a slow, hot line from your entrance to your clit, and you moaned like a porn star. You could feel his cheeks bunch up as he grinned at your reaction, and then he flicked his tongue over your pulsing clit again, pulling a sputtering,” Ha-aaa-aaah!” from your gaping mouth.

“You like it when I do that?” he purred lowly into your folds. “What about when I do this?” He enveloped the sensitive bud with his lips, tongue flickering over it with feather-light touches, making you writhe and grind against his mouth. He groaned, then suctioned his lips around it and sucked, pressing his tongue firmly against it. Your plaintive wail echoed throughout the ship.

“Fuck me...” he moaned, panting for breath, his voice shaking. He was completely wrecked. With a desperate snarl, he dove back in with a vengeance, tongue laving your inner folds, twirling around your entrance, lapping at your juices before kissing and sucking at your puffy, parted lips. He was devouring you whole, winding the coil in your core into a taut vibrating spring of tension. Your thighs were shaking uncontrollably, your breaths wheezing out of your lungs in desperate pants.

“Mando! Mando, I...” 

You couldn’t even voice a coherent thought, couldn’t tell him what was about to happen, but he seemed to understand, nevertheless. His fingers slid along your pulsing folds to catch at the rim of your entrance, circling it once before slipping inside. Your walls immediately clamped onto the digits, muscles undulating to pull them deeper. He growled at the feeling and latched onto your clit again crooking his fingers in a come-hither motion, the strokes sharp and quick as they tapped out a devastating tattoo against the spongy membrane of your G-spot.

The world went white behind your pinched eyelids, and you weren’t even aware of the choked scream that tore out of your throat as you were blindsided by your orgasm. The spring in your core gave way with a snap and warmth flooded from your center to gush out around his fingers and over his arm, splattering his lower face, cowl and chest plate.

“Ha!” he crowed. “That’s it! Fuck yes!”

You were barely hanging on, your very bones liquefied as you twitched and groaned with each consecutive pulse of your climax. If you had oozed out through the holes in the net to pool at his feet, you wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.

“So fuckin’ good, for me. Look at that. Fuck, I need — nngh!”

You heard the motor of the winch whir back into life, then felt the cold sensation of the floor touch the bottom of your feet. You couldn’t have held up your own weight if your life depended on it, however, and so folded up with the netting as it came to rest on the floor. Strong hands lifted you out the mess of straps, hands moving over you, manipulating you as he whispered feverish words in Mando’a  like some fervent benediction.

You felt your back come to rest on top of the netting, the worn fabric of his cape spread out beneath you to serve as a barrier against the rough material. You had yet to open your eyes, jaw slack as you floated somewhere high above your physical body in a state of pure bliss.

Mando placed his calloused hand over your eyes, unwilling to test fate more than he already had. He felt crazed, rabid with lust, his only desire to be buried balls-deep in your cunt.

“Need to feel you, sweet girl,” he gasped at your ear, his breath stuttering against your neck. “Please, I need — “

“Yes! Stars, please, Mando. Want to feel you inside me. Do it...”

He whimpered as he lifted himself away long enough to scrabble at the closure of his pants, shoving them down with his underwear to the top of his thigh plates, a frustrating exercise to complete one-handed. When his cock sprang free of its confines, he moaned in relief, pumping it roughly a couple of times as he spread his leaking precrum over the head with his thumb. With a grunt, he fell between your thighs, notching himself at your entrance, inhaling a deep breath before he sank into your greedy, grasping cunt with an audible squelch.

“Fuuuckin’ hellll...” he moaned out as he slid inside your fluttering walls, grunting again when he felt them collapse around his cock and seize it in a vice grip. It was a struggle to draw himself back, the sensation making his balls draw up tight against his body. “Too good... too tight... Gonna make me cum...” he mumbled under his breath, fighting off his orgasm. When he had withdrawn a about halfway, he couldn’t stand it anymore and plunged back in, thrusting hard enough to shift the netting beneath you.

You sobbed, the feeling of being so full overwhelming, your shaking legs coming up to wrap around his hips, ankles locking over the flexing muscles of his ass. He was driving into you with abandon, the toes of his boots squeaking on the floor to find purchase, bracing his body against yours. His other arm he shoved under your back, fingers hooking over your shoulder to pull you down on his cock to meet each hard thrust. He was growling, muttering curses in multiple languages, hissing as you clenched and pulsed around him.

“Ah, fuck, sweet girl, I’m gonna — Shit! Fuck, baby, where do you want — “

“Inside... Want to feel you cum in me...” you moaned out, another orgasm rising like a massive wave in your core. “Ah, fuck!” you whined.

Your words snapped that last thread of control he had, and he surged forward, thrusting in wild, arhythmic strokes that sent you careening over the edge. Your climax washed over you like a euphoric wave, slow and liquid, a golden warmth that engulfed your lower half before spreading like molten honey.

Mando could feel your walls clamp down and spasm, milking his cock, drawing him in deeper. He threw his head back and came with a bellow, a primal, jagged roar of triumph. His chest lifted as his back arched, his cock exploding inside your walls, pumping ribbons of his thick seed deep into your hungry cunt.

He barely managed to throw an arm out to catch himself before falling forward. He was trembling above you. and when his elbow buckled, his head fell to your chest. His nose was smooshed into the side of your breast, his panting breaths teasing the sensitive bud of your nipple into a hard little nub beneath the thin material of his tunic. He gave a dazed grin at the sight, wishing he had the energy to take it in his mouth, but he wasn’t sure he could even lift his head yet.

“Stars, pretty girl. I think you’ve killed me.”

A breathless wheeze of laughter burst out of your chest, and you reached up to pull down the hand now splayed limp over your face to your lips. You left a lingering kiss in the palm as you crooked your other arm over your eyes, just so the temptation to peek wouldn’t get the best of you. You felt him lift his head with reluctance, his weight shifting, before his lips pressed to yours in a sweet, chaste kiss.

“You alright? I know I went pretty hard this time. I didn’t mean to lose it like that, but — “

Your hand came up to touch his face, landing on his neck instead. You slid it upward to cup his jaw, the feel of his patchy beard against your palm endearing. “Don’t you dare apologize,” you told him and drew him down for another kiss. “It was perfect. The best I’ve ever had,” you whispered against his lips.

He sighed, smiling against your mouth in relief and pleasure. When he shifted again, he saw you grimace. “Did I hurt you, sweet girl?” he rushed to ask, lifting his weight off you.

You giggled and shook your head. “No, it’s not that. There’s something cold and sticky all over your chest plate. It feels... icky.”

He glanced down to see your release from earlier smeared over his beskar, and he chuckled, low and dirty. “That’s your fault,” he teased. “You drowned me when you came the first time.”

Your mouth dropped open and, if not for his hand coming down to hold your arm in place, you would have jerked it away from your eyes to stare at him in shock. “I did not!” you gasped. mortified.

“Oh, you did, pretty girl,” he crooned. “I want to make you do it again.”

“What? N-Now?!”

A full-on laugh rumbled out of his chest this time. “No, sweet girl. As much as I’d love to, I don’t either one of us is going to be able to go another round after that last one.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” you blurted out, and then winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean —”

He sniffed in amusement and pecked you on the lips. “I know what you meant, mesh’la.” Sitting back on his knees, he rubbed at his face, grinning at the sticky feel of your spend drying in his mustache. He was positively covered in your cum, and he fucking loved it. His poor cock gave a valiant twitch before he tucked it back into his pants and stood. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get in the shower.” He retrieved his helmet, slipping it back on before bending to take you by the hand.

You groaned. “Just lemme sleep here. Can’t move right now.”

“You’ll freeze down here,” he chided you. “Now come on. I’ll help you.”

You whined as he hauled you onto your feet, and you staggered on your shaking legs. He shook his head and turned his back to you, bending his knees slightly. “Hop on. I’ll carry you up the ladder. Otherwise, we will be down here all night.”

You made a face at him, but wrapped your arms around his neck anyway, making a weak hop to get onto his back. Grasping your thighs, he hitched you up a little higher and stood, then trudged towards the ladder at the opposite end of the hold.

“Oh, stars,” you moaned out behind him, dropping your forehead to his back. “Do you think we woke Grogu? We were, uh... ahem... We were, you know, a little loud,” you whispered.

“Well, the ship’s still flying, and I didn’t hear anything break while we were down here, so I’m going to say no.”

You giggled. “He’s gonna get it tomorrow morning,” you vowed. “He was the reason I got caught up in that stupid net in the first place. He somehow managed to get on that top shelf with a whole sleeve of cookies and my datapad.” You paused, moaned again. “Shit. My datapad. It broke when I dropped it.”

“Don’t worry, mesh’la. We’ll get you another one, and I’ll talk to Grogu myself tomorrow morning, right after breakfast. Okay?”

You sighed, a little grin tugging at your lips. “Okay.” You heaved a sigh, tightening your grip when Mando started to climb up the ladder. “I know one thing. I’m burning that stupid net when we get back to Nevarro.”

Mando huffed and shook his head. “Like hell you are. We’re bringing that home with us. It’s going up in the bedroom, right above the bed.”

You gasped in shock, rearing your head back. “Mando!”

His rumbling chuckle bounced off the metal walls of the ship, and a warmth like the sun bloomed in your chest as a smile as big as the Dune Sea spread across your face.

“Okay, fine. We’ll discuss the cargo net later. But right now, I want a shower.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mando purred, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Taking your hand, he led you into the ‘fresher.

Despite Mando’s earlier doubts, you found out that you both did indeed have another round left in you.

(End notes: Just wanted to mention @saradika because she created the dividers and banners I’m using. She makes them for free. You can check out her masterlist on her blog. Her fics are *chef’s kiss* too.) 

[runningfrom2am]

one day (w.h.b)

summary: you and billy talk about what happens when you die.

pairing: william h. bonney (billy the kid) x fem!reader

wc: 3k

tags/warnings: non-descript and brief mention of implied suicide (nothing graphic i swear), other than that its pretty chill honestly, kinda sad but also happy at the end but mostly fluff and honestly pretty cute.

requests (currently closed- feel free to send whatever but it will be a while before I get to them! i do love to answer little things and hc's about my fics tho so if you want to talk ab this pls also drop it in the box!)

nav / billy the kid masterlist

a/n: credit to @goosita for getting my mind reeling on the concept of ghost!billy! this has been living in my mind and in my drafts for months omg

The hoofbeats of your horse underneath you set the pace for the steady rock of your hips as you make your way across the countryside on an unmarked trail Billy had memorized. One town to the next, just like always. On the run from something new that didn't really matter much to you as long as he was still by your side.

"Your name is pickin' up a lot of attention these days." You comment mindlessly, disrupting the peace of the night.

Billy makes a small sound of acknowledgment, clearly not pleased by that fact but unwilling to deny its truth.

"You know, I don't know what I'd do without ya." You add after a moments quiet, filled only by the crickets and steady slow hoofbeats beneath you. "If they got what they wanted, I mean."

"I dunno." Billy shrugs, voice slightly grim. He didn't even want to think about it; not for the sake of his own death, but god, whatever would end up happening to you.

"I'd follow you, I think." You say quietly, looking up at the stars.

He quickly shakes his head, expression tightening further. "Don't say that."

"You may not like it but it's true." You argue gently. "I ain't got much else to do here. What would I do, wander the west like now but all alone, sad and mopin' and waiting on the day death comes for me so I can see you again? I think I'll pass."

"Well there's not much use in you wandering around mopin', you gotta... I don't know, go out for trail rides, find some good friends. Hell, maybe settle down and get married." He suggests with a slight laugh.

You look over at him, raising an eyebrow with a slightly smug smile. "We both know that ain't ever gonna happen. So you see what I mean, then. I just decided to... skip the mopin' part."

Billy gives you a deadpan look, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "Oh, so you're just takin' the efficiency route, is that it?" he quips, his tone laced with annoyance. "No more mopin', straight to the grave with ya."

"Yes." You nod, and after a moment a small smile pulls at your lips. He was upset, of course he would be, but you know he won't stay mad at you for long. "You know, it would be real romantic, I think. Sharin' a grave. We could just be cuddled up forever; I can't think of anything better. Of a better way to go. Can you?"

"I can think of somethin' better," Billy mutters in response, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not havin' to share a grave until we're both old and grey, and dyin' peacefully in our sleep. That'd be a hell of a lot better, darlin'."

"It would." You agree, smiling over at him. "And when the time comes I'll rest easy. But, ah... the life we live..." You shake your head slightly, looking down at the worn leather of the saddle under your thighs that has served you well for most of your life.

"You're somethin' else, you know that?" he says, his tone affectionately exasperated. "You had this whole... plan all figured out, and you were just gonna go with it without even complainin'? Not a care in the world, just ready to join me in a premature grave."

"Yeah." You answer softly, smiling as you look over at him in the dim light your eyes have well adjusted to. "I love you, Billy. I'd do anything for you."

Billy's expression softens further, and he gives you a weary smile. "I know you would, darlin'," he says quietly. "And I love you too. More than words can say. I just..." He sighs, shaking his head slightly. "I just don't want you givin' up on your whole life if somethin' happens to me. I ain't worth you sacrificing everything, love."

"If I had anything left to sacrifice, you would absolutely be worth it." You tell him, shaking your head. "But it doesn't matter, because I don't. I've got nothin' except the very thinly veiled hope that maybe one day I might be happy again without you. And that... I don't feel good about those odds."

Billy's heart clenches in his chest, a pang of pain and sympathy filling his chest and his heart in a way that makes him feel stiff all over. "Darlin'... you gotta know that ain't true," he protests, his tone earnest. "You're smart and beautiful and kind. You could have a good life, with or without me. You just gotta-" But he falters, realizing he's not convincing you. His expression falls with a sigh.

"Those are all real nice things to say, and I appreciate it." You tell him genuinely, smiling sadly at him. "But think of it this way, it doesn't matter much now, does it? We got you out of the jailhouse for now, so we hopefully got a long time before death comes for us. And god forbid it does come early, I'll still be a young and pretty ghost, that would be nice, wouldn't it? I dunno what I'm gonna look like when I'm old, but I've had older ladies tell me I'm gonna wish I looked like this forever. If I was a ghost, I could." You say cheerily, trying to make him feel a little better about it.

Billy can't help but chuckle at your response, shaking his head at the audacity. "Only you would look at bein' a ghost as a positive thing, darlin'," he teases, his tone affectionate. "Most folks would find that pretty darn scary, you know. But then again, most folks ain't you."

"Well, I picture that we would look just about the same. Maybe a little pale, like that time we both had the flu last year." You giggle, looking over at him again and ignoring his secondary comment. "But everything else would be pretty much the same. We could read ghost books and dance to ghost music and just be together without fear of losin' each other ever. I think it would be kinda sweet."

"You make bein' dead sound like a walk in the park," he teases. "Like it ain't nothin'. Just floatin' around as spirits, listenin' to ghost music and readin' ghost books. Maybe playin' some ghost cards, even."

"Ghost cards!" You grin, pleased that he was going along with it. "You think the ghost cards are transparent like we would be? Would make it kinda hard to play poker."

Billy can't help but smirk at your enthusiasm, amused by your excitement. "I don't know, darlin'," he says, playing along. "Maybe ghost cards are made of some special ghost material that ain't see-through, but still lets us float right through 'em. Or maybe we just play ghost poker blindfolded, make things a bit more interesting."

You laugh at that, shaking your head. "Billy, if the cards are ghost cards we wouldn't go through 'em. We would only go through things on this side. Walls, living people, that kinda thing. I think ghost stuff we'd still be able to touch like normal."

"Right, right," he says, playfully rolling his eyes. "I keep forgettin' you're the expert on ghost things, darlin'. I'm just a livin' person, what do I know? But hey, if we can touch ghost stuff, that means we could probably hold hands. And I gotta say, bein' able to hold your hand as a ghost sounds mighty nice."

"Of course we could hold hands," You say, smiling as you glance his way again. "Just like now, I'd hardly ever stop."

Billy grins, reaching out to take your hand in his across the gap between your horses, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'd be holdin' your hand all the damn time, darlin'," he says, his tone playful. "Ain't no way I could go more than five minutes without holdin' onto you. You'd have to pull me off of ya."

"Maybe, but I never would." You shrug, feeling fuzzy inside from the feeling of his warm hand around yours. You had to slightly lean his way to reach him while you rode side by side, but you didn't mind. Just like always.

"That's good, darlin'," he says, his tone soft and affectionate. "Cause I'd never want you to let go. We'll hold hands for eternity, you and me. Ain't nothin' better than bein' close to you, love."

"Forever." You agree with a small smile. "And in a hundred years, people will come to our grave talkin' about the infamous Billy the Kid and his girl whose name was lost to time- and if you go behind the old saloon at night you'll see 'em still holdin' hands, hear 'em laugh. On a good day, maybe they'll even kiss." You giggle through a whisper, lightly swinging your joined hands.

Billy chuckles, a broad smile spreading across his face at your description.

"Oh, I like the sound of that, darlin'," he says, his tone light and almost excited. "People comin' to visit our grave and talkin' about us in hushed whispers. Seein' our ghost hands holdin' each other, hearin' our faint laughter. Maybe some young lovers will come to the grave and kiss, thinkin' it brings them good luck. Ain't that romantic?"

You let out another soft sigh, nodding in agreement. "And we can watch with ghost popcorn and place bets on whether or not they'll last."

Billy laughs at your suggestion, his eyes lighting up with amusement.

"Ghost popcorn and bettin' on lovers' fates? Darlin', you've got all the best ideas," he says, grinning. "That sounds like a pretty good way to spend eternity if you ask me. Cheerin' on the young 'uns and seein' if they make it or not. And I'll be bettin' on them to make it, every time. I'm a bit of a romantic at heart, after all."

Your smile shifts into a small happy pout. "That's sweet, baby." You say softly. "But I'll be lookin' out for red flags on 'em. And if he gives me any kind of strange feelin', I'm gonna whisper in her ear to run. And then, that'll be part of it. "Billy's unknown girl sure knows how to pick 'em right," they'd say."

"Well, we'll make an excellent ghost power couple, then," he teases. "You pickin' out the bad ones and me rootin' for the good ones. We'll be like matchmakers from beyond the grave. And I gotta say, the thought of people talkin' about 'Billy's unknown girl' and her ability to pick 'em right is definitely somethin' I can live - or rather, die - with."

You nod happily. "May take a while for people to trust me, but kids'll catch on quick." You say with a shrug. "Some young girl will be talkin' to her friend about her new boyfriend who she's not just sure about, and her friend will tell her to bring him to our grave. Because her cousin came to us for a kiss of good luck, and she swears up and down that she heard a girl whisper in her ear tellin' her to run from him and she didn't. Then she found out he'd been cheatin' with the preacher's daughter the whole time. I can see it now."

"You've got it all figured out, baby," he says. "Word'll spread soon enough, that our grave is the place to come for relationship advice. And once people hear about you whisperin' in girls' ears, they'll be beggin' to come visit us. Maybe they'll even start leavin' offerings for us, like we're the ghost gods of love and romance."

"Yeah. Flowers for me and bullets for you." You grin, very pleased with this story you've spun up for yourselves.

Billy grins back at you, amused by your suggestion. He looks ahead again, feeling the weight of the reins in his free hand as he looks at the long and endless path ahead. It feels almost lighter than what he's used to.

"Sounds perfect to me, darlin'," he says, chuckling. "I'm sure our grave will be the prettiest in the cemetery. You'll have flowers galore, and I'll have bullets stacked up like a fortress around me. A fitting tribute for the outlaw and his love, don't you think?"

"I think so." You smile, giggling as you think about him sitting on some kind of ghost throne made of bullet boxes. The idea of him having some kind of legacy left in a way people would want to honour instead of condemn makes you happier than just about anything else could. He was a good man, and no one these days knew that.

"I doubt anyone will know much about me, but... I'm not sure I mind." You say after a moment.

Billy shakes his head, his expression fond. "Darlin', trust me, people will know all about you," he says firmly. "They'll know you were the gal who loved the infamous Billy the Kid, who wasn't afraid to risk herself by sneakin' into a jail at night for him. They'll know you were the gal with fire in your eyes and a sharp wit. The gal who saw the world through different eyes, and wasn't afraid to speak her mind. People ain't ever gonna forget you, love."

You smile a little bit, nodding as you look back at the trail ahead. "I hope they bring my sunflowers." You say softly, rocking steadily with the movement of my horse. "Or drawings of horses. I wanna see these girls' horses in exchange for savin' them the trouble of a cheating man." You giggle. "And I hope they think I was pretty. I think that'd be pretty sweet."

Billy's smile grows and he slightly shakes his head. If anything of your memory could last, to him, it would be your beauty. Your absolutely enchanting gaze, the way your hair seemed to shine in the sun, and that smile that could brighten even the darkest of nights. No one knew him quite like you, but any man would be a fool to not see how lovely you were.

"Oh, darlin', I've no doubt they'll bring sunflowers and pictures of horses," he says. "And they'll think you were the prettiest girl who ever walked the earth. They won't even need to have seen a picture of you to know it, they'll just know from the love and loyalty you had for me. You're gonna be the stuff of legends, honey. The mystery girl who brought the infamous outlaw to his knees."

You look over at him again, a soft smile on your face. "I sure hope they don't see that literally." I giggle.

Billy chuckles, his expression amused at the subtle implication. "Oh darlin', I could think of worse things to be remembered for," he says playfully. "Maybe they'll even start a tradition of young girls bringin' their boyfriends to our grave and havin' them kneel down in front of you. Like they'll be thinkin' you're the goddess of love and loyalty, blessin' their relationships."

"Sure, but then I'd have to turn to ask you if they were doin' it right." You giggle. "If I should give them my blessings or not."

"Well, I reckon I'll have to take on the role of your faithful advisor then," he says with a bright laugh. "I'll be sittin' right by your side, watchin' as they kneel down in front of you. And if any of them don't look serious enough about their girl or if their form is off, I'll be whisperin' in your ear. Tellin' you to make 'em kneel a little longer."

"Nah, you gotta tell that to her- not to me. I can't make 'em do anything, but if he's good for her, she'll be able to make 'im listen." You shrug. "If he's good, if he's anything like you, he'd rather listen to her than to a ghost."

"You make a fair point, darlin'," he says with an amused grin. "I suppose I could whisper into her ear instead. Encouragin' her to stand up for herself and make sure her man's treatin' her right. And if he's anything like me, he'll listen to her and only her. But I still think I'll get a kick out of watchin' those boys kneel at your feet, darlin'. Just seein' a little bit of my influence in the world."

"I dunno if I need other boys kneelin' for me." You say, scrunching up your nose a bit at the thought. "I think I'd rather it be you."

Billy laughs, his eyes gleaming with affection. "Well, darlin', I think I'd prefer you have me on my knees anyway, and only me," he admits, his tone playful. "But the thought that young fellas comin' to our grave and kneelin' in front of you to ask for your blessing, it just makes me feel a little... proud. Like my love for you will keep on goin' even after we're gone. People ain't gonna forget about us, darlin'. They're not gonna forget about you."

You let the quiet sounds of the night overtake you after that, riding along the outskirts of an unfamiliar town by now. You can see the buildings in the distance, squinting a little at the abundance of bright lanterns. You wonder if they're celebrating something, but you're not quite close enough to hear.

"Hey, look at that." You say, gently tugging on his hand before letting go and pointing over toward the lights in the distance. "You ever seen somethin' like that before?"

"No, baby. I haven't." Billy answers, squinting a little as well and leaning forward to see past your shadowed silhouette. "They've sure got some bright lanterns over there. Maybe they're celebratin' somethin'."

"Maybe." You agree quietly, shrugging it off and continuing on.

It's too dark to see well enough, though, and you're both too distracted by the lights of the town as you pass by the Old Fort Sumner cemetery on your other side, careless and ignorant of the grave sight fifty or so feet away. Caged up, covered in bullets and flowers and coins- offerings for the Bandit King and his girl, who died as they lived.

Occasionally, on dark and clear nights like this, the local kids would claim to hear laughter or see the young couple on their horses riding through the country, just outside of town. No one was lucky enough to see the echo of them tonight.

follow my library for notifications when i post something new! @runningfrom2am-library

but i will tag a couple of my favs bc you guys write SO well for billy and i love it and reading all your stuff inspired me to finish this up and actually post it so thank you :')

@milliesfishes @francixoxoxo ily xx

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Chapter 9

Summary: The trio have arrived in Russia, it's the last bit of quiet they'll get before they strike out to find Hadir and the gas. AKA a little aside chapter that's mostly there for me to play with the characters like they are barbies. Warnings/Tags: drinking, smoking, swearing, gambling, sexual tension.

A/N: Author is terrible at playing poker and had to borrow from famous movie poker scenes to understand the rules in play, also used google translate for the Russian that appears in this chapter

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 4.2 K

[AO3]

October 30, 2019 16:35 - Undisclosed airstrip, Russia

One five and a half hour flight later, arriving to a relatively “balmy” six degree celsius afternoon, gray clouds streaked across the sky in long, loose fluffy tendrils. Not entirely abandoned, the old Soviet era hangars worn with weather and age circled the dying, brown grass and cracked cement where the small private plane had landed. As the door swung open, a staircase was brought over for the passengers to exit. The trio of Brits, no longer dressed in tac gear and camouflage, but rather civilian wear in drab grays, black, and navy – anything not to stand out in a crowd, blending in with the masses – descended, their feet hitting ‘The Motherland's’ earth.

Rory's long coat flapped in the breeze behind her as she adjusted her turtleneck. The appearance of a jetsetter was one that seemed to work for her, a small hint at her life beyond that of the military, one that consisted of wealth and refinement, glamor and grace wielded the same way she carried a rifle. 

“Have to say, I was not expecting Kate to charter us a flight,” she said over her shoulder. “CIA travel expenditure budget must have gotten quite the boost this last quarter.” 

Price chuckled low. “Might've been all she could get on short notice. Either way, I'm not complainin’,” he rumbled, wetting his lips before slipping the cigar between them. “Nice to ride in something more akin to a limo rather than the bloody boot of a Volkswagen.” 

Flicking the lighter on, the flame a dancing blue ghost against the cherry as it began to burn, Price’s gaze traveled over the flat expanse of the tarmac, noting the movement inside the traffic control tower overhead – always alert, always at the ready.

“A touch of the good life before we're about to be knee deep in shit again. I'll take it.” Her hands slipped into the deep pockets of her coat, boots clunking against the asphalt as she strode forward with purpose. 

As they made their way from the plane, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time she had arrived undercover in Russia. That mission with Price – the first they had worked together – had taken place two years ago now. Rubbing absentmindedly at the scar hidden in her hairline as she combed her fingers through fluttering strands caught in the breeze. A passing reminder of how close she came to never coming back home, a fateful moment that brought her and Price to where they were together.

Glancing over at Garrick, she called over her shoulder to him. “I trust you enjoyed the flight, Sergeant?” She asked, brow lifting, her curiosity genuine. “First time in Russia?”

He nodded, fixing the baseball cap on his head, adjusting the brim of it. “Never been in a private plane before. Hell, never even flown first class,” he said with a little shrug. “Well, I would say ‘welcome to the Special Forces’, but quite frankly, we don’t usually get that sort of treatment either,” Rory joked, a cheeky grin spreading across her face as she laughed. A large cloud of smoke coiled past Price’s lips as he exhaled, leading the other two members of his team towards a waiting vehicle, the exhaust pumping out of the tailpipe with the same fervor as the chimney-like stream from the captain. “Heads up, our ride’s waiting.” He nodded towards the driver with a lift of his chin. 

Drawing closer, the smirk on Price’s face grew more evident at the sight of one of his ‘old comrades’. A tall Russian with slicked-back, dark hair – Nikolai – had a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, resting nonchalantly against the hood of his SUV.

“Nik,” Price called out, “Always a pleasure.”

With a quick shake of hands, the dark eyes of Nikolai darted to meet Rory. “Sinclair,” he boomed, becoming slightly more animated upon seeing her, “Good to see you again.”

“You as well, Nik,” she said, holding out a hand to shake before being pulled into a much friendlier greeting. With his hands resting on her shoulders, the smoke of the cigarette held between his fingers coiling around her head, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to each cheek, making her laugh. “Bloody hell. You weren’t lying, were you?” she teased, her giggle bright and warm on the cool autumn wind.

“Never,” Nik said with a smirk. Looking past her, he noticed the other member of the crew. “Picking up more strays, Captain?”

Price puffed on his cigar. “You know me, got an eye for picking out the talented ones worth keepin’ about,” he said before nodding his head in Garrick’s direction. “Sgt. Garrick, meet Nikolai. An old acquaintance of mine.”

More like an accomplice.

“Sgt. Garrick.” Nikolai stuck out his hand towards the younger man. “Welcome to Russia.”

The sergeant was quick to stick out his hand, taking part in the formalities. “Good to meet you.”

“Well with the introductions over, let’s say we get the hell out of dodge, eh?” Price pushed, ready to focus on the next part of the operation. 

The safehouse was a different experience this time around. No longer in the heart of Moscow, instead in the urban sprawl of St. Petersburg. One that included a few more of the comforts of home while still maintaining that derelict-chic look Rory had come to acquaint with places of this nature. Flying under the radar in a place that would barely be considered a two star accommodation – but it was more than a couple of beds and a bathroom, so an upgrade nonetheless. She was delighted to also find that the awkward tension from the last stay no longer plagued the group, despite having little to do and too many bodies in a confined space, their heads were all firmly focused on the job. Consummate professionals.

Under the yellowed light of an incandescent bulb hanging above them, they sat in mismatched chairs around the circular scope of a laminate kitchen table made to look like wood. Any talk of plans had been held off, Nikolai refusing to talk shop and preferring to act as host on the eve of the operation. A pack of cards and containers of pirozhki and chebureki from a nearby street food vendor were pulled out to keep the group entertained and well fed. 

A half-burned cigarette hung from the corner of Rory's mouth as she looked over the five cards in her hand, changing the order of them, as if that would improve the luck of her current draw. Tapping the end of her fag into the empty styrofoam box on the table beside her to rid it of the ash, she slipped it back between her lips. 

“Call and raise,” she said, placing five cigarettes down onto the table before her and sliding them into the pot at the center, joining the collection that had already begun to amass there.

She had to admit, playing poker with a Russian with criminal, intelligence, and military ties was an interesting experience. If anyone had a poker face that could hold up against her scrutiny it was likely him. There would actually be a challenge when it came to the bluff, especially since Price had decided to sit this round out, relaxing back in his seat with a cigar clenched between his teeth. 

The smoke coalesced in a foggy haze around them, obscuring faces and the small tics that could give a person away. The perfect habitat for card sharks. 

Her warm eyes glanced over to Garrick who placed his cards down on the table. “Fold. Anyone want another beer?” he said, standing up and heading towards the kitchenette.

“Not for me, thanks.” Rory combed her fingers through her hair, folding her arms on the tabletop, sitting forward in her seat as the cigarette maintained its precarious position dangling from her full bottom lip. 

Drumming his fingers on the table, Price leaned back into his seat and watched the game unfold, his mouth curled into a half grin. There was a sparkle in his eyes that usually didn’t appear while in the field, deciding to allow himself to loosen up just a tad for the night. Nikolai smirked at her from the other side of the table, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke through his nostrils. “Captain’s rubbing off on you, Принцесса.”

“Is that so?” 

Sitting there, still as a statue, except for the lift of her brow. Waiting, watching, for his next move. This was no high stakes game of poker, only harmless fun amongst allies and yet she made sure to give nothing away. An unreadable mask to match the one of the man sitting beside her. 

“Certainly. Make for a good student.” His gaze dropped to the cards in his hand, while his other started tapping one of the cigarettes in the pile beside him. “A student?” A smile finally broke through the barrier she had erected to maintain her poker face. “Is that all I am still?” 

Her ears began to burn, the instinct that told her she was being observed kicking in. Glancing over to the side, she noticed Price ogling her, the impish grin remaining on his face as he twisted the cigar between his fingers. She rolled her eyes, watching him stiffen and his stare fall away from her as Garrick returned to his seat with a fresh drink. Kyle, sipping his beer, glanced over at the Russian and then his pile of cigarettes, a mix of brands. “You gonna smoke all those or place a bet?”

Pouring himself another glass of vodka, Price’s lip curled into a barely perceptible half grin, filling Rory’s empty one while he was at it and sliding it back towards her with a nod as their gazes briefly met and their fingers brushed against each other. 

“He has a point, Nik. This isn’t Casino Royale, darling.” Her smile grew wider, her laugh bubbling out of her and carving dimples into her cheeks as she nodded her head to his pile. “We’re playing with fags like we’re in bloody prison.” 

Nik lifted his brow, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he threw down five cigarettes into the pile. “Call,” he said before tossing another ten in, “And raise.”

“Oh, we’ve got a real round goin’ now, haven’t we?” Garrick said, sitting forward, placing his beer bottle down on the table. 

She put out the burned down butt of her cigarette in the container, singeing a small hole into the bottom of it with a squeak of melting plastic. Her hazel eyes, ones that she had trained to be ever-perceptive both as a sniper and an interrogator burned, scouring the man before her, reading him like he was another target. “Now, Nik, you wouldn’t be bluffing, would you?” 

“What makes you say that, Sinclair?”

“Spent an awful long time debating putting down that bet to begin with. And then to double my amount?” She asked skeptically, her brow arching. “It’s a tad fishy.”

His mouth drew into a straight line, placing his cards down on the table in front of him, and resting his hands folded on top. “Could be. Suppose you’ll find out soon enough, Принцесса.”

“Princess? Ты же знаешь, что я подтягиваю свой русский, да?” She replied with a smirk. (Russian: You do know I’ve been brushing up on my Russian, yes?)

He hummed. “See? Captain’s taught you well. Good student.”

Rory’s cheeks warmed and the mask dropped as a rosy blush bloomed on her apples causing her to lower her head and glance over the top of her cards, shooting daggers towards the Russian sitting across from her. 

“I’m going to get you back for that, mark my words,” she muttered under her breath.

The low chuckles of Nik and Price met in sync with one another and drifted over to her, making her all the more aware of the flush on her face. Rolling her eyes, she kicked out at Price’s foot under the table, offering him a scathing look as well.  

“Cards?” Garrick asked, grabbing the deck, breaking the stream of the obvious inside joke he was being kept apart from. 

“Two.” 

“One,” Nik taunted, his brown eyes glancing up at her. 

“Someone’s confident.” Kyle passed the two players their cards so the round could continue. 

“Call and raise.” Sliding twenty-five cigarettes towards the pile, Rory sat back in her seat and crossed her legs, returning to her perfectly still position.

Nikolai slid an entire pack of cigarettes into the pot.

Rory’s brow lifted. “I’ll call.”

“Four nines,” he said, laying them out flat on the table for all to see. 

Her eyes dropped, raking over the cards set down on the table, clenching her jaw and running her tongue along her teeth, then sucking them. “Good hand,” she said with a little bob of her head before her eyes narrowed into the sharp stare of the combat ready veteran she was. “Not good enough, however.” 

Placing down her hand of a straight flush: the 7, 8, 9, 10, and Jack of hearts. 

With a smile, Rory stood up, coiling her arms around the hoard of cigarettes in the pot and dragged them towards herself. “Spasiba,” she said before leaning back and checking the clock on the wall in the kitchen, feeling the heady buzz of the vodka taking effect on her. “Right, it’s nearly one in the morning. Perhaps we should all think about turning in for the night? Let’s hope the springs in the couch aren’t too worn down for me, eh?”

When it came to sleep, Rory was at best a light sleeper. That only became more apparent when on a mission, practically sleeping with one eye open. Her subconscious mind was stuck half clinging to the lucidity of consciousness. Roused by the sound of quiet footsteps moving around her, disturbing her dreams, she was pulled into a state of wakefulness. Rubbing at her eyes, she pushed her hand back through her mussed up hair with a yawn, and sat up with a jerk from her spot on the sunken couch. 

Across from her, sat on the old, worn recliner, a form resided in the shadows. Not moving, not breathing. Still. A stalker in the night. 

Her hand slipped under her pillow, reaching for the gun stashed there on first impulse. Narrowing her eyes, not entirely sure what she was seeing was real, or the half-awake remnant of a dream. “John?” Rory’s voice was a rough whisper, still thick with sleep.

The curtains by the window fluttered softly in the night breeze, carrying the smell of cigar smoke and the musk of spicy cologne over to her, suffusing the room – scents she knew all too well – causing her finger to ease off the trigger.

“Yeah, love,” he husked in the dark, “Couldn't sleep.”

She chuckled quietly, shaking her head in mild disbelief. “So you decided to come out here and watch me do so instead?”

The dark mass across from her shifted slightly, broad shoulders twisting against the back of the chair as he stretched out his lower back. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

“You've watched me sleep?” Her brows furrowed, confusion settling in the lines there.

Sitting forward, he was washed in the dim light from outside cutting through the room. His steely eyes never steering away, locked onto her with the stare of a trained killer. “Is that so hard to believe?”

She shrugged, angling her head. “Just not what I expected to hear, is all. You're not exactly a romantic, my darling.” A little smirk curled at the corners of her mouth. “It is a good way of getting yourself shot though.”

“I might not read you bloody poetry, but I remember the important stuff.” He sat back, arms crossed over his chest. “Actions speak louder than words, after all. Isn't that right, my girl?” His gaze roamed over her tangled hair and rumpled clothes before a half smile curled at the corner of his mouth, turning downright Cheshire. “Do you have any idea how much effort it takes when you're with me to not find some secluded hallway to pull you down?”

Rory laughed. “Christ, you must be desperate if that's your first thought when I'm in this state.” Her cheeks turned rosy, an alluringly bashful grin on her face. “But you're far too professional for that, yeah? It has to wait until the mission's over.”

“Especially when there's someone else in the other room.” Price nodded his head toward the bedroom door where Garrick was fast asleep. “Could walk in on us at any moment. Can't have that, can we?”

“Never,” she whispered.

Price lifted out of his seat, circling the coffee table to sit down on it, the furniture creaking slightly under the weight. Leaning forward, he cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing over the soft flesh below it. 

In the dark of the room she could just make out the flicker of his gimlet eyes, shifting from the depths of her hazel gaze to the pout of her lips.

“Careful, John,” she cautioned.

He drew back, looking her right in the eyes. “Always.” His hoarse whisper was a quiet murmur in the room. 

Watching one another in the dark, the tension of having to pretend to be nothing more than soldiers carrying out their duty together held them like a tether, a magnetic pull neither could retreat from. The ache to touch too hard to ignore at times, hiding away in the shadows to feel anything. Unseen. Their love had to be left unspoken.

The way he looked at her was near reverent, as if he were committing every detail of her to memory. “Christ, you are so fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” he rumbled. 

“Certainly hope I’m more than just my looks.” A warning disguised as a jest. “‘Course. You’re the whole goddamn package, Ror,” he said, his tone sharp, if anyone ever tried to suggest the opposite it would result in him breaking their legs. 

The distance between them closed once more, an attraction too impossible to ignore. Warm breath mingled and fanned over one another, their lips nearly touching, his whiskers prickled against her, tickling her skin and making her smile. 

“Care to join me for a break?”

“Indulging me in my vices?” she asked with a lift of her brows.

“Won't deny, there is something incredibly sexy about watching you smoke, love.”

Rory hummed. “I think that's the oral fixation talking, you dirty bugger.”

Price chuckled darkly. “Could be. That mouth of yours is somethin’ special though, darlin’.”

“Well, perhaps I need to give you something to tide you over until we're in the clear, yeah?” 

Tilting her head to just the right angle, she curled a finger under his chin and brushed her lips against his, grazing against them before wrapping her lips around his lower one, sucking softly.

Parting from her, he growled quietly. “Fucking hell, woman. You're gonna be the death of me.”

“Not before the lung cancer or a bullet,” she said with a smirk, patting his shoulder as she grabbed her cigarettes and lighter from the coffee table beside him and rising to stand, making her way over to the open window.

Slipping one of the cigarettes from her pack, she placed it to her lips and before she could reach her lighter, the flame was swiftly lifted to the end for her, the golden light producing shadows and highlights on her and Price's features. 

“Cheers,” she murmured around the cigarette, muffling her thanks. 

Responding in a low grunt before he flicked the lid of the zippo closed with the quiet chiming clink of metal.

She took a long drag, glancing sideways at him before exhaling the smoke in a stream out the window, blowing little smoke rings – one of the few party tricks she had up her sleeve – and passed the cigarette to him. 

"Bloody hell," he drawled, a hand reaching out to brush a stray chestnut strand from her forehead. "I'll say this for you, darlin’. When you're not busy bein’ a lethal soldier, you've got a talent for showing off." Price placed the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and sighed quietly. “Still prefer my cigars though.”

“Yes, I'm well aware. But I think you've had quite enough of those for one day, yeah?”

He growled quietly and passed the cigarette back to her before releasing the coil of smoke from past his lips. “So, whatcha gonna get me with all those winnings of yours, darlin’?”

Rory giggled and nuzzled up against him teasingly. “For you, love,” she said, caressing the underside of his jaw, the stubble there grazing against her fingertips. “The world.”

He did his best to suppress his chuckle, resulting in a quietly huffed snort. “Bloody trouble you are.” 

“Trouble you chose not to live without.”

He hummed, “Trouble I can't live without, sweetheart.” 

“Semantics.”

His hand lifted, gripping the back of her neck in that possessive hold of his, thumb softly stroking the tender flesh of her nape. “The truth.”

She smiled softly, contentment clear on her face. “So,” Rory said, changing the subject, “We get Hadir, find the gas, prevent all out war between the West and Russia, and then what? Go for pints?” Sighing, she looked out the window, her gaze far off but not looking at anything in particular, taking a drag of the shared cigarette. “Whether he uses that gas again or not, Russia’s going to want him. And our allies will readily hand him over.” Her gaze returned to him, her brow furrowed. “You know that, yeah? Despite knowing full well what they’ll do to him.” 

“Far as they’re concerned, he’s a criminal.”

“Who will be put in the hands of a nation with a terrible record for human rights violations especially for political prisoners.” Rory rubbed her hand down her face and inhaled sharply before releasing a heavy breath. “I fucking hate this part. All the backdoor bureaucracy and political bullshit. Shaking hands and making dirty deals. There’s never any bloody nuance. It’s all well and good when someone at the top decides to bandy their missiles about, but one person decides they’re done being bullied and, well, suddenly the ULF is a terrorist organization.”

“I sometimes forget you’re not quite as cynical as I am.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Still got that soft part of you that thinks the world’ll ever change.”

“I’m not so naive that I don’t already know I’m a cog in the machine, but if I don’t believe that things can change it makes all the sacrifices I've made sort of useless, love.” She sighed and raked her hand through her hair before passing Price the cigarette. “A man’s life hangs in the balance, and I’m sure some would say its for the greater good, but Christ… it’s such a fucking clinical way of looking at it.”

“Same could be said about what we have to do,” he said with a shrug. “The greater good. It’s not pretty though, is it? Never is.” Taking a drag from the cigarette, his eyes scanned her. “But we manage to sleep at night, don’t we?”

“You say to the woman who wakes up screaming with night terrors,” Rory scoffed, “Speak for yourself, my darling.”

“You know this is how things work, Rory.”

“Yes, yes, I know. The world is a terrible place and according to one Captain John Price there’s only one way to fix that, yeah?”

He huffed out a stubborn laugh and shook his head. “As gentle as a bloody lamb, you are. You know that?”

“Oh, shut up,” she said with a little sneer, scrunching up her nose as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, stroking her fingers along his spine as she rested her head against him.

Price’s arms coiled around her, holding her firmly against him, fingers carding through her hair, wrapping sections of it around his calloused digits. “That’s why I won’t let anything ever hurt you, my girl.” His voice low and hoarse as he rested his chin on top of her head. “I like you that way, all soft and sweet for me, darlin’.” His thumb brushed over the soft skin of her cheek, the smell of tobacco smoke clinging to them both. “Don’t know if I deserve ya sometimes, but you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Her head lifted and she gazed up at him, the lights of the street lamps outside glowing on her skin. “You know I am,” she whispered softly. Her warm doe eyes twinkled with fondness, loyalty, devotion. 

His chest puffed out, a sense of accomplishment and ownership that overtook him each time he claimed her. A fierce protectiveness that was never far, but particularly sharp in the quiet, intimate moments they shared. Nuzzling into her hair, he gave a low chuckle. "Well, you're stuck with me then, love. There's naught I'd change about that. You're mine, Rory. And I'll take care of you, no matter the cost." It wasn't just a line, not with Price, she already knew he would do anything for her. 

Trailing kisses down her neck, a soft growl rumbled in his chest. "And I'll be damned before I let you go, Rory. Can't bear the thought of it, not ever."

“Well, there’s no need to worry about that,” she said softly, her fingers combing through the short, cropped hair at his nape. “I’m your girl, remember? That’s never going to change. Not ever.”

[lu-dao-writes]

𝙸𝚗𝚌𝚞𝚋𝚞𝚜!𝙽𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒 𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈 ♡ ˊˎ- Nanami as an incubus and his relationship with you! With Gojo on the side. (Idek what this summary is😭)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔(𝓈) / 𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓈 ♡ ˊˎ-  Incubus Nanami & Gojo, Gojo being Nanami’s wingman fr, gender neutral reader, black coded reader, Nanami being stubborn, themes of sex, mentions of Nanami touching himself, & switches of povs.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝒜/𝒩 ♡ ˊˎ- I’m a slut for this man, what can I say y’all✋🏼😔? But spooky season is upon us and I’m thinking about supernatural shit and dark themes✨ But idk what happened to the form of this? Listen, I’m at the airport waiting for my flight and I’m bored and want this out lmao🤪. I’m hoping to do a part 2 where it’s more smutty based, but smut is hard y’all😩. I appreciate all the likes on my last post btw!🙏🏼🥺💕. Minors/ ageless blogs DNI please and lemme know any mistakes or missed tags.

He’s not fond of his nature, but he has learned to live with it. I mean he has to lmao.

He’s stubborn with his feeding schedule, and his a little picky. As usual Kento is more worried about getting that bread.

Gojo gets on his head about not taking care of himself (of course in a more playful/blasé manner, but he cares his Nanamin).

Gojo also knows when he hasn’t fed because it shows in Nanami’s appearance first before it show in his attitude.

His eyes gets a bit sunken in, the dark circles get darker, his hair looks dull, then he gets more uncanny from there if prolonged (which hasn’t happened, Nanami’s not that careless)

Then comes the attitude! Nanami’s patience grows very thin and he’s a mixture of tired, weak, & hungry. His already sharp and witty quips at Gojo become more sharper and a bit meaner, but nothing that goes over the line.

He’s not down for Gojo’s games essentially. Even more so now😗.

When he meets you, you were his server at this cute little cat cafe that Gojo dragged him to (he didn’t give the man a chance to say no).

Nanami doesn’t mind cats, he’s just not looking forward to getting their fur out from his clothes.

But you were a sight for sore eyes. Every inch of you being taken in by Nanami’s shade covered eyes and that familiar hunger in his belly rose its ugly head slightly.

He had to swallow hard and remind himself to actually answer you and remember his order.

He ignores Gojo’s knowing smirk and childish little prods at his ankles, instead focusing on his beverage of choice and listening to your voice as you take Gojo’s order. Once you’re gone is when he gripes at him.

Your voice, no matter how it sounds, is soothing and appealing to his ears, and your scent…

It’s what keeps him coming back.

All the cat hair on his clothes is worth it if he gets to keep seeing you.

You can say he’s a bit addicted to ya.

Eventually he manages to get your number and he noticed how every time he came, you were always his server, not that he’s complainin.

Dates with him are fun and romantic, first going to a restaurant, then stroll in the park and getting showered in sakura blossoms, going shopping (him buying whatever you want), more meal related dates, etc. He adores seeing you happy and pampered.

But you truly haunt his nearly sleepless nights and he can’t help but touch himself to the very thought of you. But it’s never truly enough.

Then…

Nanami starts to spiral. You are a human and he is a creature of lust.

His safety and or your safety could be compromised and with that in mind, he begins to back off.

And just as things were going so well too…

Nanami didn’t ghost you, thankfully, but he disclosed that things weren’t working out and that he’s sorry for wasting your time. But he did it on text. He just didn’t want to face you, unfortunately and he regrets it to this day

But on your side, to forget your anger and sorrows, you go to a nightclub to party and slightly drink the pain away.

But unfortunately you also saw Nanami and his friend from before there as well🤪😜.

It was tough but you ignore him just like he ignored your multitude of text messages.

…

Okay maybe you didn’t completely ignore him-.

You can’t help but look at him every so often and from the few glances you got to do, he looked kinda miserable, definitely agitated, and a bit ill looking..

Nanami was very much disinterested in anyone flocking his way and he immediately would send them to Gojo’s way instead, thankfully they took the bite, finding Gojo even more attractive.

But his mood sours even more when he catches wind of you.

You look gorgeous as always, especially in your fit (it’s something he bought you) and he wanted nothing more than to go over to you and sweep you up off your feet (and other things~).

But he doesn’t. All he does is keep his watchful gaze on you, making sure you’re okay and because well… He wants you!

Anyone that comes near you with obvious intentions to woo you his jaw and fists would clench slightly. But again, he doesn’t get up from his seat.

Nanami was… Content to stay in his place. But that was until Gojo thought it’d be a funny idea to make his way to you, pushing pass his little harem.

Although you have your heart set on Nanami, you can’t deny that his friend isn’t gorgeous.

You bet those eyes of his gets him all that he wants with some trouble on the side.

You didn’t move away when his arm came around you, and you let him guide you to a more less crowded area, soon swaying with you as 2 On by Tinashe and SchoolBoy Q booms in the background.

If you hadn’t been pursued by Nanami you definitely would’ve let yourself be caught up with Mr. Troublemaker.

“Heyy~! So, I know you were caught up with Nanamin and all that, but if you’re free…” He puts his lips near your ear, hands sliding towards your hips and gripping them slightly. “I’d love to get to know you better~.”

Your throat bob and just as you’re about to sink into temptation-.

“That’s quite enough, Satoru.”

“Kento…,” you breathed out.

- Gojo didn’t even put up a fight, just took his hands off you with a knowing smile and let Nanami take you away from him.

- Nanami was pissed. Fuming.

- He didn’t appreciate Gojo approaching you like that. The nerve of him!

- His grip is a little tight on you, but you’re okay with it. Until you remember that you’re supposed to be mad at him.

“Now, hold on a second! Who the hell do you think you are?? I was about to get some good dick and you ruined it!” you spat.

Nanami scoffs lightly, letting your hand go. “Oh, please, you can do so much better,” he replies, defeat coating his words.

“Oh god, are you gonna be corny and say that you’re better? ‘Cause clearly you weren’t.”

Despite the hurt, he knew you had a point. He failed as a partner.

“As much as I want to, I know that I failed in that regard. I’m sorry, (y/n).”

You hate how much of a kicked puppy he looks. You sigh. “Ken… What even happened? I think I deserve to know the truth.”

Nanami swallows and as much as he wants to tell you the truth, he can’t. Too much is at risk.

“It’s because he’s an incubus, Sweetheart~.”

“Huh!?” “Satoru!?”

Both of you were flabbergasted and Nanami was three seconds away from throttling Gojo.

“Nanami, I’m tired of watching you brood and nearly kill yourself because of your fears,” Gojo explains, his playfulness gone with the wind.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just possibly done??”

Gojo goes back to looking carefree. “Call it a gut feeling~! Now why don’t you two get outta here? Oh! And use protection~!”

Nanami fumbles through his thoughts on what to say, feeling as though he’s going to either short circuit or burst from rage. But in the end he sighs a contained breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, slightly cursing Gojo under his breath, but also feeling a tickle of guilt. He was being selfish with not taking care of himself..

He comes back to his senses when he feels you touch his arm.

“Alright… Is this true or are we really actin like clowns at the circus? If so I’ll need some more alcohol.”

“It’s true, as cliche as that sounds. I didn’t want to tell you in fear that you could maybe get in danger or I could be.”

“… Holy shit. Well I’m glad it’s nothing ridiculous or painful! But hey! I can live one of my child/teenhood fantasies by being in a relationship with a supernatural person!”

Nanami blinks at you for a good second, face perplexed before it eventually softens and he starts laughing lightly with disbelief, taking your hand into his.

When you squeeze his back eagerly he knows he has to thank Gojo for his part in all this.

[eventinelysplayground]

One Thing

Kinktober Day 22: Mutual Masturbation | Hate/Angry Sex

Pairing: Jude x Female Reader

I'm going to start this off by saying I do not know that much about Jude other than the few event stories in English so far and the fanfics I've read on here so I could be completely off on his character. That said his personality is pretty up front so I think I'm at least in the ballpark for him but if not I apologize in advance. You and Jude get into an argument that has a more pleasing outcome then usual. CW ⚠️: some light choking and roughness, possibly some consent issues (sudden/surprise kisses and touching) but is made clear it becomes consentual. This fic is NSFW so minors do not interact. WC approx 1757.

Jude was in an even fouler mood than usual today. It had been three weeks of having to put up with you tagging along with him and Ellis and he was fed up with it.

What the hell was a bird like you doing waltzing into a house late at night anyways? Not a bit of common sense in that bird brain of yours and today was no exception.

“Get in there.”

“Ow, you're still hurting me!”

You had come to the docks with him while he was doing his day job and your day dreaming almost got you smacked in the head with a heavy wooden crate as it was being moved. If he had been even a second slower in reacting he would have had a hell of a time explaining to Victor about what the hell happened.

“Stop your complainin’!”

Jude opened the door to his office with a bang as he shoved you inside. He released his grip on your arm and slammed the door shut behind the two of you. He looked at you as you rubbed your arm where he had grabbed you.

Freaking fantastic, now I'm gonna have to explain those to Roger! What the hell’d I ever do to get stuck babysitting her?

“What the hell's wrong with you!?”

Jude stared at you waiting for an answer meanwhile you just stood there continuing to rub your arm while glaring daggers at him.

I don't got the patience for this.

“If you're too dumb to-”

“I'm sorry it won't happen-”

The two of you had spoken over each other. Jude let out a frustrated sigh and motioned to you.

“Go ahead and finish Princess.”

Jude couldn't help but smirk at the furious look on your face.

“I was going to say it won't happen again and thank you for saving me but now never-.”

“You should be saying more than a simple thank you to me for not only saving you but having to put up with you.”

“Put up with me!?”

“Ya, do you have any idea how much of a nuisance yo-”

“Hahaha!”

“The hell are you laughing at?”

“You're complaining about having to deal with me? That's rich, I'm the one that's had to put up with your horrible attitude and violent threats the last three weeks!”

“Why you-”

“You know I think I should have chosen to just have Crown kill me that night, at least then I would be in heaven instead of whatever type of hell this is!”

You little bitch.

Jude didn't even think, he was too pissed off as he walked towards you and wrapped a hand around your throat then backed you up against the wall.

“What did you say?”

“I said I'd rather be dead than living in the hell that is having to follow you around.”

The hell is with this bird? Why the hell is she always getting under my skin like this?

Jude tightened his grip around your throat and he felt you swallow.

“I can make that happen, the lectures and dirty looks would be a lot easier to put up with then you.”

“Then go ahead and do it.”

Jude tightened his hold around your throat even more. He was making sure to keep the pressure just below where it could seriously harm you but he heard the way your breathing changed anyway. It was more ragged and shallow now and he looked into your eyes expecting to see fear but instead they were full of a fiery defiance.

Damn it this ain't working.

“What are y-”

“Shut up already.”

Jude brought his face to yours and kissed you. Your lips were just as soft as he’d thought they'd be as he forcefully claimed them. The way you squirmed under him trying to fight against him made him smile and he felt weeks worth of anger and frustration start to melt away. He loosened his grip around your throat as he pulled away and smirked seeing the blush on your cheeks and ears.

“What…what the hell do you think you're doing!?”

“I figured I'd try this release first, if it doesn't work I can always still kill ya.”

Jude took advantage of your brain trying to process what he said and kissed you again. It was more forceful this time and he nipped at your lower lip wanting to taste you more. You just squirmed more under him while trying to tilt or twist your head away from him.

“Open your mouth.”

Jude growled when he went to kiss you again and felt that your lips were still closed followed by you shaking your head.

“I wasn't asking Princess, now open your mouth.”

When he kissed you this time he found your lips parted for him and he smirked. He slipped his tongue into your mouth claiming every inch of it as he took your breath from you. He swirled his tongue even deeper in your mouth trying to catch your tongue. You fought him on it but only at first, soon he felt your movements slowing and he was able to catch it twining it with his own.

Soon he was out of breath himself and when he'd pulled away from you he saw a mix of lust and furey in your eyes.

“That's a hell of a look, looks like you can't decide if you want to fuck me or kill me.”

“I definitely don't want to fuck you!”

“You sure about that?”

Jude reached his free hand under your skirt and up between your legs. Just as he thought as soon as he pressed on your underwear he felt the wetness start seeping through.

“With how wet you are you still gonna try and say you don't want me?”

“That's…that's not because of you!”

Jude couldn't help himself and he laughed at your stubbornness.

“Then it's from what I did to ya. I never thought you were such a nasty lil bird.”

“It's not from that either!”

“Gotta be one or the other Princess, and while you're thinking on which one it is...”

Jude moved his hand out from under your skirt and heard the whine you tried to hold back.

“I'm gonna take these off.”

I ain't able to hold back much longer, how the hell do you keep driving me so mad? I should of just let the damn crate hit her…

Jude kissed you as his skilled fingers undid your skirt. He let gravity do the work for him as he ran his hand along your hip and top of your thigh before slipping off your underwear then bringing his fingers back between your legs. He let them glide over your clit and your wet folds and he smirked when you moaned into the kiss.

“Which one is it Princess?”

Jude stopped his fingers waiting and you glared at him.

“You're such an ass.”

“That ain't an answer and I'm not moving till I get one.”

“You're serious?”

Jude didn't respond to you with words, instead he caressed your throat with his thumb.

Hahaha if looks could kill.

“Fine, it's from both okay! Now can you please finish what you started.”

“Anything for a Princess.”

Jude crashed his lips into yours again and this time you kissed him back as he felt your arms snake around his neck and pull him closer. He quickly undid his pants, taking out his cock before he finally released his hold on your neck. He pushed you harder into the wall then lifted your legs up and wrapped them around his waist before guiding his hard cock into you.

“Ahhh!”

Judes hands dug into your thighs and lower ass leaving behind shallow gashes as he held you up. He felt your hands slide over his shoulders and dig into them through his clothes as he kissed down your neck before biting it and you moaned.

“That's it, sing more for me.”

Jude thrusted deeper now hitting a spot he hadn't before. He wanted to go even faster but despite how wet you were you were still so tight and he was afraid of hurting you, not that he'd admit it out loud. He kept going deep and slow while biting at the soft skin on your neck and drawing out more moans.

“Jude...go faster.”

Jude raised an eyebrow before he looked at you.

You got any idea what you're saying, any idea how much I'm holding back so I don't hurt ya too badly?

As if you heard his thoughts one of your hands slipped from his shoulder and began undoing the top buttons of your shirt exposing the tops of your breasts.

“It's already embarrassing enough to be fucking you don't-”

“Hey!”

Jude shouted at you and you stopped talking then he kissed you roughly. No longer caring if he hurt you or not he began thrusting as fast and deep as he could and you cried out into the kiss. He moved his lips down the marred flesh of your neck to the newly exposed skin on your chest. He bit and sucked at the skin turning it shades of red and purple as your hand wrapped around the back of his head.

“Oh God Jude!”

Jude felt your walls tighten even more around him and he winced.

It's like a vice down there, who knew you were hiding something like that.

Jude barely had time to finish that thought before he felt your walls tighten even more and he felt you arch into him.

“Yes! Ahhh!”

Jude moved one of his hands from supporting you up your side to lightly wrap around your throat again and it made you moan even louder. He felt your grip on him loosening as he pulled out leaving just his tip in you and then he slammed back into you and you yelped. He kept pulling almost fully out and slamming back into you until he felt his cock twist and he pushed as far into you as he could, filling you up with his cum and kissing you as he did so.He took his hand off your throat again moving it back to support your bottom as you collapsed into him with a contented sigh.

You really are a strange bird.

“Hehe, looks like I found one thing about you that's likable.”

Jude couldn't see your face but he knew from the huff you let out that you were glaring at him again.

“Keep letting me fuck you like that Princess and I may eventually stop hating you.”

Tag List: @nightghoul381, @queengiuliettafirstlady, @nani-nani-nani, @floydsteeth

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS LOST EDEN WonderGOO Tokuten Drama CD ”Coffin Decoration ~ Out of the Counsel of Three comes the Greatest Fashion Sense”

Original title: 棺桶★デコレーション～三人寄れば最強のセンス!?～

Source: Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN WonderGOO Tokuten Drama CD

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Midorikawa Hikaru, Takashi Kondou & Tatsuhisa Suzuki

Translator’s note: This CD added three days to my lifespan with how absolutely ADORABLE Subaru is. ;w; I love it when he gets super excited about coffins and such, haha. That being said, Ayato and Yuma were hilarious in this CD as well. I loved how they all work together in the end to make what is probably the strangest coffin in all of human and Vampire history. xD 

Ayato: …Goddamnit, Reiji. Can he just stop complainin’ ‘bout every single damn thing? I’m not the only one whose room is a mess! It’s my room so it can be as messy as I want it to be, right? …Huh?

Ayato suddenly comes to a halt.

Ayato: Is that…?

Subaru: …

Ayato approaches Subaru. 

Ayato: Oi, Subaru! Whatcha doin’ over here? …It doesn’t happen every day that Mr. Shut-In leaves his room. 

*Rustle*

Subaru: Shut up!! It’s none of your fuckin’ business, is it!? I’m busy right now so leave me alone!

Ayato: Busy? All you’re doin’ is lookin’ inside some store. …Ah? 

*Rustle* 

Ayato: What’s this? 

Subaru: Can’t you tell? It’s a customizable coffin. 

Ayato: Oh. Now that you mention it, it does have these weird decorations on it. …Oh! Are those different kinds of sweets and candy on top? Interestin’! 

Subaru: You like that overly cutesy one? The one on the far right is obviously the coolest!

Ayato: Hah? The one with the black wings? …Also could they have fit on any more skulls? It’s way too much.

Yuma approaches them.

Yuma: …Aah? If it isn’t the Loudmouth and the Shut-In. What brings ya two here? 

Ayato: Subaru wants to decorate his coffin, apparently. 

Yuma: Decorate? Is that the sorta thing you’re into mate? 

Subaru: I’m not…!! I never said I’d actually do it, did I!?

Ayato: But you’ve been lookin’ at this even way before I came here, right? I bet you actually want to give it a try.

Subaru: …!! W-Well…

Yuma: Heeh…Well, check it out! It says that right now, ya can put on as many ornaments as ya can fit on there!

Subaru: …

Ayato: If you’re too scared to go inside by yourself, I can come with you? I’ll even help you pick out some stuff! I’ll sniff out the real cool stuff!

Subaru: …I can only see this endin’ badly. 

Yuma: In that case, I’ll tag along too! Let’s make a coffin that would turn anyone into a shut-in. (1)

Subaru: You guys are makin’ fun of me, aren’t you? Besides, aren’t you outside for a reason as well!? 

Yuma: Yeah. I’m on my way to buy stuff for tonight’s dinner. But I still have plenty time, so it should be fine. 

Ayato: I only left the house to escape from Reiji’s ramblin’. …Come on, let’s go inside already. 

*Rustle* 

Subaru: …Hey!

Ayato: You grab his other arm, Yuma. 

Yuma: Gotcha. 

*Rustle* 

Subaru: …! Ugh…!

Ayato: Don’t worry. You’ll be cryin’ tears of joy by the end.

Yuma: Exactly. Leave it to us!

They drag Subaru inside the store. 

Subaru: As if…!! Why do I have to do this with you two fuckers anyway…!? I can already tell you’re goin’ to turn it into some kind of weird shit…!! …So stop pulling me…!!

*TIMESKIP*

Ayato: Oh…They’ve got so many decorations to choose from. Wow.

Subaru: Aren’t their coffins a lil’ too big as well? This is pretty much twice the size of my current one. 

Yuma: You’ve got a point. This doesn’t look like it’s meant for one person. 

Ayato: What are you sayin’? Not only does it give you more space to work with, but it’ll obviously be more comfortable to sleep in as well!

Yuma: Is that how it works? 

Subaru: Che…I can’t keep up with you idiots any longer. I’m goin’ home. 

Ayato: That kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it? …Let me see…Oh! What do you think ‘bout this one? 

*Rustle* 

Yuma: Ah! Why a huge cross out of all things!? Ya really think this guy will like that?

Ayato: Ah…? I guess you’re right, it’s kinda creepy. Oi, Subaru. Let’s go for somethin’ else after aーー

Subaru: Not bad…

Ayato & Yuma: Haah…!? 

Subaru: I should probably put this one on the lid. Also…It’d look even better by adding a pair of bat wings. …Wait, no! The dragon wings are kind of temptin’ too…

Yuma: No way…That’s the sort of thing he likes? What’s wrong with your lil’ brother’s taste!?

Ayato: Don’t ask me!!

*Rustle* 

Subaru: Oi, you guys should bring me some decorations too. If they’re good, I’ll even use them. 

Ayato: That arrogant tone pisses me off, but seems like he finally got in the mood. …Let’s do this. I’ll put on some weird shit and turn it into the lamest coffin ever seen. Hehe…

Yuma: I mean, I guess this is a decent way to kill some time, so count me in.

Subaru: What are you two whisperin’ ‘bout? 

Ayato: Nothin’! I’ll go fetch somethin’ that’ll blow you out of your socks, so just you wait!

Yuma: You just stick to bein’ your usually loner self and have fun decoratin’ ‘kay? 

*TIMESKIP*

Subaru: …Okay. This should do for the lid. 

Ayato: Oi, Subaru! Check this one out…!!

*Rustle*

Subaru: Ah? What? Also, what took you so damn long!? I’m pretty much done except for the sidーー …Wait, that’s…

*Dun dun*

Ayato: It’s a mini-sized takoyaki grill! If you put this on your coffin, you’ll be able to enjoy takoyaki all while livin’ the loner life! Isn’t that amazing!? 

Subaru: Hard pass! Besides, if I start grillin’ takoyaki inside my coffin, I won’t be able to sleep from the stench afterwards, will I? 

Ayato: Haah? But it’s the best smell in the world…? You really don’t get it. 

Subaru: I’m pretty sure you’re the only person in this world who feels that way. 

Ayato: Fine then. Guess I’ll have to make do with this one instead…

*Rustle rustle* 

Subaru: …Please don’t tell me that round thing is a takoyaki. 

Ayato: Huh? Are you really that stupid? What else does it look like to you? Well, it’s only a decoration and not the real thing though. 

Subaru: But why!? You’re the only person who’d be happy havin’ that thing on their coffin!

Ayato: You already rejected the takoyaki grill so at least let me have this? You’re really provin’ the point that the youngest child is always the most selfish one. 

Yuma walks up to them. 

Yuma: Are ya’ll havin’ an argument again? Ya never grow tired of that, do ya?

Subaru: We’re not! It’s just Ayato’s who’s tryin’ to put stupid shit on my coffin!

Ayato: Ah…? Maybe you should stop shootin’ down all of my suggestions!

Yuma: Oh come on, lay it off. You’re causin’ issues for the store. …Anyway, I brought some stuff with me. 

*Rustle* 

Ayato: Let me see…

*Rustle rustle*

Ayato: Carrots, peppers, eggplant and cabbage…These are all vegetables, aren’t they?

Yuma: Gotta get those greens in. Works wonders for yer health. 

Subaru: No but…Those are not somethin’ you’d put on a coffin, right?

Yuma: Nah, don’t worry. They’re all just incredibly well-made replicas. 

Ayato: Heeh, these as well? After seeing the takoyaki from earlier as well, I have to say that they really upped their replica game. 

Subaru: That’s not the issue…!! What I’m tryin’ to say is that these don’t fit the aesthetic at all!

Yuma: Hah…? You are in no position to judge, are you!? The fuck did you do to this coffin? 

Ayato: Geh…! Now that you mention it, Subaru’s creation is…on a whole different level. 

Yuma: Skulls and crows…Ah? And are those thorny vines and snakes running across? 

Ayato: And can we also mention the really creepy face in the middle? Is that a monster of some sort?

Subaru: Take a proper look! It’s a devil! Can’t you see its horns? 

Ayato: Do devils have horns?

Yuma: Beats me. …Or rather, why would a Vampire put that on their coffin? 

Subaru: I just thought the design looked cool, that’s all. 

Ayato: Then these spider web-like patterns were done on purpose too? 

Subaru: Obviously. 

Yuma: I don’t get it. 

Ayato: I don’t even want to understand. 

Yuma: Guess I have no other choice but to fix it up for ya a lil’...

*Rustle rustle* 

Subaru: Oi! Don’t be changin’ the composition without my permission!

Yuma: Oh come on, just watch. 

*Rustle rustle* 

Yuma: First you put this here…and then…

*Rustle rustle*

Yuma: …There we go! The carrots add a nice touch, don’t ya think?

Ayato: Heeh…You had the crows hold carrots with their feet, huh? 

Subaru: I mean…I guess it doesn’t look half bad…

Ayato: …Oh!

*Ping* 

Ayato: I just had a genius idea as well…! If I put the takoyaki inside this lizard’s mouth…

*Rustle rustle* 

Yuma: Ah! I kind of like it!

Subaru: Say, don’t you think the eggplant would fit well with the color palette as well? 

Ayato: It’s purple after all! Why don’t you try wrapping one of those chains around it?

*Cling cling* 

Subaru: …Not bad. 

Ayato: Let’s add a basketball while we’re at it as well. See? It looks good with a crown of thorns placed on top of it.

Yuma: In that case…The cabbage should go inside the skull, right?

Subaru: No, wait. Tomatoes would work way better. 

Yuma: I’d say we go for cherry tomatoes then. It’d look way better if we stuff a bunch of them inside. 

Subaru: Yuma, you…You’re a genius!

Ayato: Oi, Subaru. We need somethin’ big which really stands out. 

Subaru: Ah, now that you mention it…I saw a spider ornament with really long legs earlier. It didn’t click with me earlier, but it might actually improve the overall design! I’ll go get it!

Ayato: Yeah! We’ll decorate some of the other empty spaces while you’re gone. 

Yuma: Hurry up, ‘kay?

Subaru: Kuh…Don’t mess it up!

Subaru runs off.

*TIMESKIP*

*Rustle*

Subaru: …It’s perfect!

Ayato: Yeah! We created a true masterpiece!

Yuma: We didn’t skimp on the details after all. 

Subaru: I was kind of worried for a sec…But I never thought the end result would be this good!

Ayato: That’s all thanks to my help. 

Yuma: What are ya sayin’? I’m the one who did such a great job with the composition. 

Subaru: Hah…? We were able to achieve this result because I did the lid first.

Ayato: Excuse me!? 

Subaru: Got a problem, huh!? 

Yuma: For the millionth time, don’t start fightin’ inside the store! …Anyway, don’t we need to square up now?

Subaru: Ah, right…

Ayato: I hope you’re not gonna tell us you don’t have any money.

Subaru: Hah? Of course I do!

Subaru walks to the counter. 

Yuma: Anyway, how much does one of these cost? 

Ayato: Hah? Didn’t you say that there’s an all-you-can-fit deal? You must have seen the price then, no? 

Yuma: Nah, I didn’t pay attention to that.

Subaru: (muffled) ーー Haah!? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me!? 

Ayato: …!? What’s that guy’s problem? Why is he shoutin’ out of nowhere? 

Yuma: Should we go take a look? 

Ayato and Yuma walk up to him.

Ayato: Oi, what’s up?

Yuma: Did ya forget yer wallet? 

Subaru: I didn’t! But look at the damn total!

Yuma: The price? …Ahー It’s surprisingly…expensive, huh? 

Subaru: I don’t have nearly enough money on me. 

Yuma: I’ve only got some small change as well. …I mean, there’s the money Ruki gave me to buy food butーー If I use that, my head will be on the choppin’ block…

Ayato: Oh geez, guess I have no other choice. I can easily pay this mu…

*Rustle* 

Ayato: Hm…?

Subaru: Ayato…

Ayato: Now that you mention it, I didn’t bring my wallet with me. 

Yuma: First ya talk all big and now this!? 

Subaru: Or rather…If my pocket money isn’t nearly enough, I doubt addin’ yours to it will make much of a different. 

Ayato: Ahーah. We put so much time and effort into it as well. 

Yuma: We should have probably checked the price tag first.

Subaru: Haah…My coffin…I’ve decided! I’ll start a part-time job at this store and one day that coffin shall be mine!

Yuma: Haah!? What are ya sayin’...!? 

Ayato: It’s not worth goin’ that for, is it? 

Subaru: Right! You two should come work here with me as well. I’ll go have a word with the manager, so stay right here, ‘kay!?

Subaru runs off.

Ayato & Yuma: Haahーー!?

 ーー THE END ーー

[punemy-spotted]

Sixteen Tons - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Muscle and Blood

Pairing: Miner!Curtis Everett x Witch!Reader

Warnings: THIS IS A HORROR FIC, Discussion of death, graphic depiction of someone bleeding out, 1890s coal mining town aesthetic in the modern day, strong pro-union opinions, Pentecostal Christianity, Appalachian Gothic Horror, Cosmic Horror, See future chapter warnings for additional tags, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: The world melts away, rots into dirt and decay, and as a garden grows untended, you find your gifts crowding out the rest of your life.

We all know that the only light in the deep dark is a paycheck. So hush. Count your blessings, boy. Roof over your head, food on the table, diesel and grease, work boots on the porch, crippled back, crumbling joints, and silence. Company and even union, tuck you in, shut you up, and leave you to rot. And God damn it, you’d better be grateful. - Old Gods of Appalachia Episode 3: The Covenant

Notes: This fic also serves as a sort of direct sequel to Glory, Amen, in that the reader is technically the daughter of Pastor and Ma Rogers, but uses a pseudonym outside of the home she grew up in. The song referenced in this chapter is No Glory, by The Eagle Rock Gospel Singers. They're wonderful, so check them out!

At the time of publishing this chapter, the Family Sleepover, Down in the Valley is still ongoing! Please come by and check it out as we celebrate spooky season all year ‘round!

Also, in this house we support Unions.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

‘Course, everything dies, eventually. Much as you loathed sittin’ through your daddy’s sermons, you knew the truth in ‘em — death is a prize every livin’ being, regardless of sapience or the desire to be, ought to aspire for.

Death is the gift of all gifts, your daddy would proclaim from his bone-and-antler pulpit, the final gesture of our loving Lord and Savior — an’ of course, you, your sisters, your momma, your daddy and a few others your daddy claimed were kinfolk on his side were just… all the guides meant to introduce all manner of worldly beings too blind t’understand just how precious that kind of oblivion was to the glory of that final, permanent end.

Still.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Curtis Everett is going to die in your kitchen, his own pickaxe embedded in his chest, the final desperate pumps of his pierced heart pouring blood all over that pretty linoleum you didn’t actually like keepin’ in your kitchen an’ probably would tear up after you came to terms with never feelin’ like you could scrub away the remnants of him.

You watch it play out before you like you’ve done plenty of times before, the course of Curtis Everett’s life written in scars yet t’be earned, bruises waitin’ to bloom on flesh that has known little more than the danger an’ dread of coal dust for as long as you have known him.

You also watch him sittin’ in your clinic, for once not complainin’ as you finish cleaning and re-wrappin’ the thankfully not festering burn he’d been dutifully lettin’ you treat — per your own professional orders — for the past week-and-a-half, Looks like it’s healin’ nicely, but it’ll probably scar.

It’s not the first scar he’s earned in Snowpiercer, but it’s certainly not goin’ to be the last. You’ve been countin’ down the months — and injuries — to that particular worry for a while. The ones you can help him avoid — the ones he listens to you about — you warn against, and the ones he can’t escape, you patch up. The same as you would anyone in Snowpiercer, bein’ the company’s own doctor as you are.

Your momma’d scold you up, down an’ sideways if she knew what you were doin’, interferin’ with the predestined path of men as you watched ‘em struggle, suffer, an’ eventually succumb. But your momma wasn’t here to know, an’ ever if she was, your momma’d never be able to understand just what sorta poison of a gift it was she’d saddled you with.

Death is a Rogers daughter’s birthright, even if they themselves were more often than not denied the majesty of its truest gift. You were not born into this life to die, but to be a guardian of it, to guide the walkin’ dead makin’ their way beyond the borders of that ol’Holler you’d been born in through the trials of judgment an’ that precious, ultimate verdict.

You were not, your momma woulda reminded, voice sharp as the trowel she always kept at her side, garden bloomin’ by her stern hand, meant to shield ‘em from the pains of life — an’ the lessons to be gleaned from ‘em!

Anythin’ you want me to do with it? Curtis Everett’s question breaks you out of your bitterness, reminds you of the more pressin’ responsibilities you chose. You turn to watch him, lookin’ at him as if you might just need a moment to remember the exact instructions you ought to give for his wound care.

Except that’s not what you give, is it?

‘Stead, you look over Curtis Everett’s work-weary expression, the quest dread in his eyes at the prospect of needin’ to manage yet one more thing, one more purchase at the Company Store, one more burden to bear, Just come by every evenin’. I’ll keep the coal dust outta them wrappin’s for you.

You know full well you’ll need to work late t’take care of it — an’ t’clean the coal dust outta your clinic — but it’s better you than him.

Least, that’s what you tell yourself, as Curtis Everett’s shoulder relax, relief floodin’ those work-weathered features you’ve almost started memorizing by this time, makin’ the sleep you will almost certainly lose tomorrow and the remainder of this week worth it.

It must always be worth it.

By the time you leave your clinic, barrin’ the doors for  the night, even the moon’s started its settin’, leaving the town in near-pitch darkness. You might’ve — if you were young an’ naïve enough — equated the darkness around you to a mineshaft, if mineshafts still had the privilege of fresh air to reward you for breathin’.

Not on Company Time.

Wiser folk than you might’ve considered stayin’ indoors ‘til sunup. Maybe even considered the merits of puttin’ a cot in your office to avoid havin’ to brave the deep woods durin’ the Witchin’ Hour, everyone more than aware of what sorta shadows lurked beyond the borders of a sad little minin’ town — an’ what sorta shadows would encroach upon those borders the moment they got the chance.

You… ain’t got much time t’think about that now though, not when you catch sight of the figure lurkin’ by the road, the only path there is t’ween your two worlds — the Clinic and the House. Everett?

There he is, hands jammed into the pockets of his overcoat, lurkin’ by the lone streetlamp Pierce an’ Rumlow’d finally seen fit to install in this part of town, after you’d spent about four years complainin’. Too late to be walkin’ back alone, Doctor, he tells you, almost sheepishly, expression invisible in the darkness — and yet you know exactly how his lips have curved into a half-smile you might’ve been quick to return had you seen it in the daytime, Figured I’d walk you back up as thanks for stayin’  late for me.

You can’t help yourself, really — you smile at him right back, the corners of your mouth tickin’ up despite the cruelty playin’ out before your eyes, at least until you remember yourself an’ blink away the vision, If I kept the same hours as you pit boys, nobody’d be gettin’ patched up. Now you best not be tellin’ me you were lurkin’ out here in the pitch dark an’ cold waitin’ for me t’finish my notes and close up, Curtis Everett.

Maybe you ought not have put words in his mouth — or taken ‘em out, as the case may be — as he shrugs at you and flashes you a grin you cannot see but are certain of, Then I won’t, Doctor.

An’ with that, he starts off back down the road, towards the lights still spillin’ from the windows of your boarding house, hummin’ some ol’ work song you only halfway knew the words too. An’ you watch him go on for longer than you should, takin’ in the sight of his silhouette slowly becomin’ part of the gloom.

You catch up soon enough, keepin’ up with his long, languid strides as if by some miracle, your own steps quick and harried. There are moments you wonder how a man like Curtis Everett — always managin’ to tower over everyone in the room, includin’ Superintendent Wilford an’ that lady Minister Mason he’d installed over at  the Tabernacle of the Iron Gospel — ever really managed to fit in the mines this whole sad sack of a town was built around.

Shouldn’t have stayed out waitin’ for me, you scold with a good-natured ribbin’, not really meaning to chastise… but worry instead, You’ll’ve missed dinner call, Everett.

So’ve you, Doctor, he counters, the burr of laughter in his voice makin’ you roll your eyes an’ put on a scowl you barely mean — mostly cuz you hate feelin’ so outwitted, but no one dare make you admit it.

I’m allowed to be late, I own the place, you argue right back, a rebuttal that earns you another low chuckle, a sound you’re only used to hearin’ from Curtis on rare occasion — earnin’ you a burn of pride in your chest at hearing it now.

You really ought not do this, you know. But here you are, comfortable in the cold silence of the deep night, hands jammed into your coat pockets, walkin’ alongside Curtis Everett with all the calm an’ ease of dear friends.

Glancing at him. Looking without lookin’, pretendin’ you don’t know what you’ll see when you—

You know better, is the bottom line. You know you ought to know better — hell, you know your momma taught you better.

In the corner of your vision, Curtis Everett bleeds his last on your linoleum floor.

In front of you? Curtis Everett hums a work song an’ walks with you through the gloom, right up to the gold-light gleam of your doorstep an’ into your kitchen, the ghosts of the future fadin’ into an approaching dawn.

An’ maybe that’s enough.

Company House — its true name barely in use by you or your boarders, halfway for your own protection an’ halfways cuz it’s just easier — is a handsome-enough structure, nothin’ like that ramblin’ greenhouse you’d sprouted in, a bloom in your momma’s garden.

No. Company House — name lost an’ purpose found — on the other hand, is yours. All yours.

A loomin’ thing, the house cuts through the nighttime gloom like a lighthouse, every window on its main story burstin’ with light. Built on a hill overlookin’ the town proper, it served as home an’ hearth for any miner ineligible for the pretty pre-built housin’ developments south of the mine, where Pierce & Rumlow… rewarded those willin’ to produce more bodies to throw into that gapin’ wound the combine’d carved into the mountainside with such luxuries as driveways, fences, mortgages, an’ obligations.

It was just the way you liked it. Home for the lonely an’ the friendless — least that’s how it sounded in town, if someone dared ask Minister Mason about the mountain fortress an’ the ‘Godless Heathens’ inhabitin’ it. The Iron Gospel she preached ran on the blood an’ bones of its congregation, on family an’ obligation, on ties that bind whole generations to the mine.

A Gospel that had no room for the wholly different kinda worship that comes from strangers sittin’ round a table breakin’ bread an’ formin’ bonds. On brotherhood an’ union, on wantin’ somethin’ better that the paltry concessions afforded by minders with plenty of money t’provide more. You knew it then from your daddy’s own congregation an’ those Sunday suppers your momma arranged each week. You know it now from the warm surety of Curtis Everett’s hand on your arm, keepin’ you from losin’ your footing on that trick step you ain’t had time to fix — I can get Ed to take care of that tomorrow — and the sound of hurried conversation bubbling outta your front parlor, house still buzzin’ with life.

Shit, Curtis’s swearing nearly startles you outta your skin all over again as you both stand on the front porch, stompin’ the day’s coal dust off your shoes, forgot there was meeting tonight. Foreman’s gonna have words for me, no doubt.

You’re allowed t’be late, for walkin’ me home, you tell him, letting the light of the house illuminate your smile as you open the front door.

Meeting is a cute word for it — s’the way things go, get the lonely and the friendless to start airin’ grievances an’ suddenly they ain’t so lonely nor so friendless anymore. A man with a wife and children might think twice about givin’ the company a reason to tear away the roof over his family’s head, divin’ into his future tomb day after day, respirator an’ headlamp in hand, but a man with nothin’ to lose is a man with a bone to pick with the only industry in town capable of puttin’ food in his belly on a daily basis — so long as he survived to see his next meal. Unions, you got used to hearin’ back in your own holler, are the Lord’s way of puttin’ His protection back into a man’s own hands.

Too bad them folks at P&R’d forgotten that sorta conventional wisdom.

Tonight’s union meeting is just about comin’ to a close when you and Curtis walk in, a cracked joke derailing whatever Gilliam’s supposed agenda had left to cover. You’re late, the old man half-scolds, room hushed by his disappointment as all eyes turn to you and the union leader you know you’re already being accused of distracting.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Ignoring the raised voices that begin in your wake — and unwilling to get between two men in the middle of a union dispute — you make yourself proper scarce, disappearing into the kitchen. Between running the clinic and  the house, you’re run halfway ragged, but you do cheer quietly upon seeing two foil-covered plates sitting in the fridge — Yona keeps true to her eternal word, making sure nobody goes hungry if she’s got the time and the ingredients.

The sound of someone entering the kitchen while you’re putting plates in the warmer don’t surprise you much — someone was bound to follow you into this place eventually — but you don’t turn around, not immediately.

Not ‘til Curtis Everett clears his throat, Thought I smelled food.

You sure  you ain’t part bloodhound, smellin’ it all the way out there?

There. Another burr of laughter, low in his throat, and another burn of pride.

They calm down out there? You wave your hand toward the general direction of the parlor, noting the distinct lack of raised voices now that the warmer’s stopped beepin’ at you.

It’s my fault — should’ve told ‘em I’d be late.

They worried?

He’s quiet at that, the silence sittin’ heavy on both your shoulders while you move around the kitchen some more, collectin’ utensils and glancin’ back at him occasionally, waiting.

Finally — Gilliam’s steppin’ down. Nobody wants the job — company’s made sure of that.

You set the platter in front of him, to quiet thanks, He still want you to take over?

He don’t need to answer. You see it again, written all over his face — someone’s gotta do it.

The rest of the meal is… quiet. Heavy. Uncomfortable. A silence neither of you are willin’ to break, coupled with glances neither of you are willin’ to admit to, brows furrowed and thoughts elsewhere. Barely tasting the food, just glad to have something to busy your mouths with, ‘stead of trying to hold a conversation neither party wants t’have or worse — trying to change the fuckin’ subject, with both your minds trapped on the things you’d rather not think about.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Everything dies, eventually. You rationalize it between bites, teeth on tongue to keep the scream of it all held in your chest. Everything dies, including Curtis Everett. Including Gilliam — whose death you’ve pre-emptively forgiven certain parties for. Including Yona — whose hands will evidence endless adventures before she lays down for that final rest, satisfied an’ satisfying. Everything dies. Includin’ Curtis Everett.

Curtis Everett, who will take on the work. Who, in three weeks’ time, will be back in your clinic, bullet in his shoulder an’ strike unbroken. Company infuriated.

One injury closer.

You open your mouth, about to do the unthinkable, disappointment and poisoned bloom — everythin’ dies, but Curtis Everett deserves to choose — when the music finally registers with you both.

Music. And singing. And laughter.

The kitchen door slams open hard enough to rattle the plates in the cupboard, Yona’s wild presence in the doorway, Come on!

No explanation. No answers. You’ll have t’see it to know it.

Curtis glances back at you, brow raised an’ hackles too. Better make sure they’re behavin’ out there, is all you give in response to it, on your feet in a flash, empty dishes in hand.

He lingers, eyes on you. Imposes his will with his presence, You need help with the dishes?

Let him stay.

You don’t.

S’two plates an’ a couple mugs. I’ll be fine — you go, keep an eye on ‘em for me.

He’s so fast — behind you in a flash. How does a man so tall an’ so full of presence move so fast?

Got no time  for answering that, not when his hand’s on your shoulder and you’re glancin’ back at him without thinkin’, waiting. Come out there when you’re done or Yona’ll never let either of us hear the end of it.

An’ neither will I, is what he doesn’t say. Not aloud, at least, stepping back only when you nod.

It don’t stop you from hearin’ it though, playin’ on loop in your mind all the way through dishes, through cleanin’ up your kitchen, through makin’ good on your word an’ takin’ that cautious walk to your parlor, where the sound of stompin’ boots joins in with the chorus of voices pouring outta your record player, blessedly drownin’ out all manner of conscious thought.

Take me down to that red dirt road Where all them white tails, white tails roam

The parlor is abuzz with life, a hive of movement as you take in rearranged furniture an’ the slowly climbin’ beat of stomping boots coupled with clapping hands, ring of bodies circlin’ the room, all watching Tanya — up from the General Store like always, on behalf of the widows this town left behind — in her valiant attempt to tutor Edgar in the complexities an’ social conventions of a good ol’ fashioned barn dance.

I don’t belong in a big coal town Can’t hear my Lord in all that sound

You almost manage t’become part of that ring of onlookers, slippin’ past the disapproval ruining Gilliam’s face, but turns out no one escapes Curtis Everet, work-hardened fingers winding around your wrist an’ pulling you back, Thought I was gonna have t’come rescue you from the sink, and now there’s no getting away, nor are you feelin’ quite so keen on it anymore.

Not when he looks at you like that.

Wanna show ‘em how it’s done, Doctor?

You dance, Everett? Since when? And since when did Curtis Everett become capable of smiling so sweet he just might fool you into saying yes?

Hell — what gave him the right?

Well I’ve had my fill, of concrete floor Where all them highways, them highways grow

You don’t get a chance to ask too many questions of him, not when he’s pullin’ your fool self right into the center of that cleared floor, sayin’ somethin’ about secrets you barely catch before he’s turnin’ you about an’ you gotta start paying some fucking attention.

There ain’t no glory None that I see None to compare Your love for me

‘Course, you’ve danced before — your daddy might’ve been a fire an’ brimstone preacher up at that bone an’ antler pulpit but he wasn’t a fool — but barn dances an’ church revivals don’t do shit t’prepare you for the rush, for the easy pressure of Curtis Everett’s hands on you, for the peal of laughter that pours outta your throat before you get a chance to think about it the moment he spins you out an’ catches you back with entirely too much ease.

He surprises you and doesn’t at the same time, sure hands and steady feet, both of you catching on to the rhythm quickly as the rest of the room drums the beat, a cacophony of work boots strikin’ the floor in a steady pattern, You gonna answer my question properly, Everett, you accuse him and he pulls you closer, smile on your face betrayin’ any anger you might be feigning.

I’m full of surprises, Doctor.

My days are few, my time is near But I know God will take my fear

He keeps his hands respectful, holdin’ one of your high and keepin’ the other at the small of your back, but there’s nothin’ either of you can — or want to, you’re startin’ to realize — do about the closeness, about the way you can’t stop looking up at him and the stormclouds in his eyes, like you’re seeing them for the first time. Really seeing them, that is.

It’s somethin’. Hypnotic.

The chorus turns into a loop, a rising swell of voices joinin’ your thudding heartbeat, lips parting to ask another question, make another joke, feel that burr of laughter against your chest, feel hands fallin’ from the glory of God to meet a different kinda worship, feel fingers curl into his coat like a lifeline.

He holds your cheek. He draws you in.

His mouth slides over yours like an invitation, your lips parting like an acceptance, like forgetting, like surrender. The music does not slow, but you do, fallin’ into the languid ease of hungry breathlessness, like you could find answers in the sweep of a tongue against yours, in the tightening of his grip on your back, in the wall of him around you.

Your love for me Your love for me Your love for me Your love for me