#like not to agree with wilford but there should absolutely be someone who understands science and the train in a leadership role

[tempestaurora]

the one big thing i don’t understand about the new eden plan (other than the fact that layton was a terrible leader throughout, lied to his people, made asha lie to his people) is the fact that they kept using the word “colony”, which implied to me that only a small subset of the train would be getting off anyway. 

like. 

even if the science was fucking foolproof that there was 100% without a doubt a safe place outside that they could live, it’s a terrible leadership move to take the entire train there and make everyone risk their lives in the process!!! 

a small subset going to make a colony, that if it succeeds more people can move into years later is literally the way it SHOULD work!!! 

this was actually really really bad planning!!!!!!

melanie was right to take the train!!!!!! the ending agreement is literally what it SHOULD’VE been from day one!!!!!!

[threeminutesoflife]

Manipulation Station

Pairings: Snowpiercer Dark!Curtis x Dark!Reader

Warnings: 18+, Snowpiercer movie (movie line*) spoilers, unprotected sex, poisoning.

Summary: Curtis accepts Wilford's offer to lead the train and selects the Reader, the resident executioner for the first class criminals, as he wife.

Written for @jtargaryen18​ Dark Curtis Holiday Challenge. The way she writes is an absolute favorite. Read and enjoy her pieces- she's a gifted lady!

Prompt: “I don’t owe you patience or trust.”

Word Count: 10.5k

“Do you think you’ll be safe when I’m gone, dear girl?”

“I can take care of myself, Wilford. I have most of my life.”

“Yes, but you’ll need to sleep sometime.”

Wilford rose from the chair and made his way to the rolling drink cart along the office wall, “You’re great at what you do. You’re an investment to order.” He smiled proudly at you before turning his back to mix a dirty martini. “But when I’m gone, there may be family members looking for revenge. That worries and saddens me deeply. To think I can no longer protect you. Especially after everything you’ve done and all those times you’ve kept order on our sacred engine.”

One.

Two.

Three olives plopped into the glass.

You bit the inside of your cheek at his words, remembering how many past punishments and executions you carried out in Wilford’s name. The many times you were requested to maintain control for him and administer repercussions on the first and second-class passengers.

You were good at it. Maybe too good. Without Wilford’s protection, you’d have to be on constant watch until someone relieved you from your executing position permanently.

“This may not even come to pass, but if it does- I need to know you’ll agree. I need you. He’ll need you. Between you and me, Gilliam reassures me you’re a shoo-in. And I don’t doubt you for a moment, dear,” Wilford raised his glass to toast you before sipping the drink. “Curtis’ll want you on the spot. You’re an extremely important tool. Trust me. You’re more his type than even he realizes.”

“I do trust you,” you replied automatically. “I always have. You’ve protected me and allowed me the pleasure of administering your final word to those ungrateful, sir.”

“Exactly, dear girl. You understand my picture,” Wilford patted your shoulder as he passed by to take a seat. “Our picture. I need you to keep being that important tool. Keep the train on the right track, so to speak.”

He winked at you before biting into an olive.

Lifting a silver dome cover off the platter, Wilford offered you a warm chocolate chip cookie.

“You, my girl,” he said while waggling his selected cookie in air, “know the right kind of structure. And that kind of structure is our right kind of order. Things must remain as they are, the order must remain as it is. But most importantly, you respect it. You’ll teach Curtis to do the same. I need you at his side. Connected in all ways.”

“But marriage? I don’t understand the purpose, Wilford. It seems unnecessary, we’re forever on this train-”

“He’ll have too much power if he makes to the front. I need you to harness your husband, show him how good things are up here. Let him see what he’s been missing, let him feel like you and him are a united front. You two will be the face of what structure must be, an example and reminder of what was and should be. To keep the structure, you must be structured.”

You coughed slightly around the cookie locked between your lips. Working with someone upon Wilford’s request was one thing, but annexing yourself to another person… What was the purpose of that? But there was a small voice growing louder in your head, reminding you that you needed to be on Curtis’ side if you wanted to survive longer than Wilford’s burial rites. Still, having to give up your freedom completely…

“Why marriage when I can simply work for him- like I do for you, sir?”

“Call me old fashion or an engineer of the future,” Wilford explained further, chucking regally at his choice of words. “Either way, I want you both devoted to each other and the train. Standards and images must be upheld, dear girl. You two will be married and form a united front- for generations to come. We need a little more Norman Rockwell than Kathe Kollwitz.”

Only receiving your silence to his humor, Wilford could tell you were not entirely on board with the marriage role. Why would useless established legalities of marriage be necessary in the confines of a wayward world? It wouldn’t.

Yes, he could easily weave the loom to have you aligned with Curtis as a business partner, but Wilford always liked a bit of extra flair. One extra churn from the pepper grinder for his food. You giving in and agreeing to an unnecessary marriage to Curtis, especially forgoing all reluctance to do so, would reassure Wilford of your loyalty to the train even when he’d no longer be in charge.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He was determined to present the marriage to you in a way you wouldn’t be able to refuse for long. And fear was always a great motivator.

Classics were classic for a reason.

Wilford needed you linked with Curtis. He needed you alive. You were the key; one easy twist in a locked situation that would open resolution. Wilford needed to reward Curtis’ efforts for his revolt and still ensure his ideal vision of the train remained steadfast. You would be the soothing balm to both their burns.

Making sure you were taken care of when Wilford retired was not an act of deep affection or fatherly love, but rather an earned promotion.

A reward for your years of service and delivery of results. Your safety and success would be ensured if you remained in a powerful position. With you safe, you would continue to reap and sow order throughout the train. Your results exponential.

Wilford knew everyone’s history aboard his train. It was his way to keep all things in place, all order- organized and properly named.

Before Wilford gave you passage on the train, you were a gifted student winning science awards and scholarships; catching Wilford’s attention with your potential by winning one of his sponsored grants. Years later when he reviewed your file, the idea of an executioner position bloomed in his brain. He knew you would do perfectly, a vixen face with a delight for mixing chemicals.

Wilford knew human nature had its moments of people falling back to their more animalistic tendencies. But he thought the front end-ers still deserved a more humane and posh way of dealing with crime. Executions did not have to be so graphically unappealing.

Imagine is everything, and who better to administer those punishments than a charming lady? Afterall, the first-class passengers did pay an absorbent amount of money for the privileged to ride his train. Fine taste should be given and enjoyed- even until the final stop.

“Dear girl, this inconvenient uprising may not even become too successful. More than likely, it will end shortly after it’s begun, or when the tallies add up to the necessary sum. However, if there’s a hail mary of achievement, I need to know you agree. When you do, I’ll tell him to allow you to keep your position as executioner. That your role is needed as a giver of dignified death. Besides, I know you, dear girl. I know how much you need that outlet. How that power sings to you and helps ease your cabin fever. That hobby allows you to slip away for a moment- I don’t want you to be denied that peace in the future. Besides, a gift like yours? A gift like you? It would hard for Curtis to deny you much.”

“Is that all though?” Frowning at your cookie and picking away at a chip, smearing and streaking the soft chocolate across the pristine plate. “To keep-”

“You’ve known about the train’s unique replacement parts and protein bars. The careful balance needed to keep the wheels running on this godforsaken frozen track. The balance needed to be kept order between the tail and front ends. You see how kronole is supplied to keep residents distracted. You’re the someone who knows what really goes on, and most importantly, you’ve always reacted positively to my orders and vision. Don’t let me lose you, I want to keep you safe. I need you to do this for me, my dear girl. Agree and marry Curtis. If he makes it- you are my backup plan, my little piece of salvation. Protect him, so I can in turn protect you when I’ve retired. Humor an old man with his old ways.”

“Why not Claude?”

“She’s not the right choice for this. He won’t choose her, especially since she’s the one who measures the parts. You’re my ace in the hole, dear girl. Gilliam and I both agree. Curtis is going to favor you out of the others.”

You took a moment to think of Wilford’s proposition. Keep the order, help steer the new conductor- do what you’re always enjoyed. After all, Wilford just wants you to remain safe. There was a part of you still unsure about the arranged marriage. The idea of it being legal or not, it was unnecessary but you knew Wilford liked to make a show of things. You were tempted to ask more questions, but then you looked Wilford in the eyes.

This was your protector.

His benevolence and care saved you. His vision kept you alive.

Wiping your hand across the linen napkin, you agreed, “I’ll do it. I owe you my life and safety. You’ve allowed me to test my poisons and feed my creativity, sir. The train will remain balanced. First-class shall remain proper, even in their deaths as you’ve always said.”

Wilford winked at you before biting into the soft treat, “Excellent. We shouldn’t be savages to our own, dear girl.”

~~~

When rumors of the impending revolt drew closer, Wilford reminded you of your role in the contingency plan.

When the revolt birthed as fact, Claude collected you with a bit of blood still on her face as she told you Wilford needed to discuss what was happening immediately.

There were no warm chocolate chip cookies offered this time as you asked what spurred the revolt on quicker than what was anticipated, “Why now?”

Claude scoffed behind you, “Idiot. As if animals need a reason.”

The two of you always were odd acquaintances; a mutual honor among thieves that was heavily seasoned with mutual dislike. Stiffening in your seat and gathering your tolerance in with a deep breath, you waited for Wilford’s answer.

“It escalated when Claude went to measure and retrieve a new part.”

“So, he claims ownership of the part?” You quickly inquired. You didn’t think to ask Wilford earlier if Curtis had family of his own before you agreed to all this.

Wilford’s smile stretched broadly at your phrasing, claiming ownership. Yes, he was very pleased you had the right mentality.

Claude’s eyes darted between you and Wilford, hating how he viewed you a blue ribbon breeding bitch for his soon-to-be prized stud.

Trying to regain ground and favor, Claude chimed in confidently, “They are nothing, they own nothing. Wilford is the sole owner.”

Intrigued to see where this potential debate may lead, Wilford picked up his spoon and returned to enjoying the decadent chocolate mousse he started before your arrival.

Dinner theatre, he mused to himself. How he missed attending those outings.

Not bothering to correct or address Claude to her face, you stared straight ahead in Wilford’s direction, “They are not nothing, Claude. They have a role and a purpose. Perhaps, they have even more importance than a glorified bed warmer? Or even a polite poisoner? Without them fucking like animals, as you said, we wouldn’t have replacement pieces. Without their role and purpose, the sacred engine would fail and we would perish.”

Her silence gave you a small satisfaction.

Turning in your seat, you looked at her now, “Tell me Claude. If the sacred engine ever stops due to lack of replacement parts and you’re frozen, when your vagina’s as cold as your heart, who’s bed could you possibly warm then?”

Claude shot out of her seat, fully intending to warm the surface of table by smashing the side of your face down onto it as she stalked over towards your direction.

“Sit down, Claude!” Wilford pulled the silver spoon of his mouth and pointed it at her.

“But she-“

Wilford steamrolled over Claude’s protest, “Better yet, make better use of yourself. Get me and my guest another serving of dessert. Wait in the kitchen until I phone for you.”

Silence hung in the air as you felt Claude’s stare burn into the back of your head.

Finishing off the last bit of dessert, Wilford gave her another pointed look as the spoon knocked against the glass bowl, “Kitchen, Claude.”

With every stomp echoing out the boxcar, you knew she was plotting your demise.

“I’m almost looking forward to retirement. Refereeing you two is a task in itself.”

“Sorry, Wilford.”

“Nevermind about that, just remember our deal.”

“Always, sir.”

“You never did ask what he looks like,” Wilford stated.

You quirked an eyebrow, “Who?”

“Curtis, Mrs. Everett.” Wilford supplied with a wink.

“Loyalty’s blind. It doesn’t matter, I’ll do what you asked.”

“Hmm, love is also blind, dear girl,” Wilford pulled a piece of paper out from his coat pocket and slid it across the table. “Had this sketched for you, but details aren’t the best with it being done over the broadcast screen. Meet your husband.”

Unfolding the paper, you held no expectations. Hope was a stranger in a make-believe land at this point. But your hands stilled at attempting to flatten the page’s creases as you looked down at a pair of fierce, cutting eyes.

So this was Curtis Everett. The artist drew him in several different poses. Some standing and talking, while in other sketches he was sitting and silently watching. Each piece displayed an attractive man with an air of determination and raw intensity. Albeit a bit broken.

Nodding a thank you to Wilford, you refolded the sketches and placed them in your lap.

~~~

As Curtis began his venture to the head of the train, you and six uniquely different women were gathered in a designated boxcar to wait and see if the Curtis Revolution proved to be successful.

“You’ll remain here until further notice,” Claude informed the women in her care. “Don’t think about leaving. If something happens to you, you’re on your own.” Claude held her gaze on you specifically with that last part. “Wilford had the seamstress supply fancier dresses, pick one from the racks to wear later if things progress. Here are your numbers, pin them on yourself when the time comes. We’ll need to differentiate you somehow.”

“Because names wouldn’t help with that?” you asked dryly.

“Be quiet,” Claude hissed back.

Number Six squeezed her paper namesake with excitement, “Oh, new clothes. Magnifique! Look at how luxurious those evening gowns are. Oh, so dreamy! It’ll be like we’re on the red carpet for an awards show.”

You looked at Six in disbelief, how were you supposed to survive being cramped in this small room with people like her?

Hurry up, Curtis. Win or lose- make it quick.

“Red carpet?” asked number Three, the only train baby of the group.

“Be quiet, I don’t have time for stupid questions and even dumber people,” said Claude.

“Always so pleasant to be around you, Claude.”

“Shut up,” she sneered back at you as the other ladies silently slipped away.

You weren’t sure if the other women ignored your exchange with Claude because everyone was familiar to the open hostility between you two, or if they simply weren’t interested in anything that didn’t concern them directly. With the upper class mentality, you assumed it was the latter.

Blowing a kiss at Claude, you picked up one of the books that were put out beside the drinks and cheese tray.

Everything you’ve known for the last seventeen years hung in the balance, and the six other ladies didn’t have a single fret line across their foreheads. Here you were, waiting to see what the train’s fate might be and the others couldn’t tear themselves away from the servings of special occasion Gouda. Perhaps you weren’t much better, you thought as you ran your hand along the book’s embossed hardcover.

Boiling at the air kiss you threw, Claude cut through the racks of delivered dresses. Kicking an extra box of high heels out of her way, she ripped the book out of your hand.

“My, my, Claude. I see you’ve been working out. Manhandling baby-sized parts really improved your strength,” you antagonized while sitting down and crossing your legs.

Openly laughing at Claude’s temper only set her anger off more as she spat out her next words, “You’re a fucking bitch. I can’t wait to see him fail. When he doesn’t make it, you’ll be left behind right where you are. A discarded napkin on top a dirty pile of dinner plates. Stuck to remain a polite poisoner until you’re ended.”

Mocking your earlier words to her, she smirked at you for what she deemed a clever line. With your nose in the air, you blatantly eyed her from head to toe without responding. You slowly uncrossed your legs and gracefully leaned forward, a look of predatory smugness to your features when you saw her tense up. Suddenly, you snatched the book back out of her hands. Keeping your eyes locked on her, you opened the book and cracked the book spine into submission. Slowly, steadily you raised the book from your lap until it fully covered your chin, then your nose, and then your eyes from her view.

Behind the book’s binding you called out, “Claude, why do you continue to test me when you’re fully aware of how potent my poisons can be- and how well I can mix them into your meals? Don’t make me poison you at your next tea party.”

Claude was about to deliver a counter-threat when the phone hidden behind the wall seal rang. You both knew Wilford was watching, he always was.

“Ah, that ringing bell would be for you, dear Claude. Try not to slip on your saliva when you run to answer your master’s call, little dog,” you teased behind a copy of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

As Claude left, you listened to the other women gossip around the snack table. Wilford enjoyed keeping certain cards to his chest and your competition was a hand he didn’t want to show entirely. He said you’d be Curtis’ pick, so why give away unimportant details?

But you liked to be more practical. Knowing details, even little ones, helped you aim for the artery when plotting.

As they conferenced around the snack platter, you overheard why they agreed to participate in Wilford’s selection game and become a tail end-er’s wife. Some needed to repay their family’s debts or their own, others wanted to climb up in rank and gain as much power as possible. A shared answered was wanting a change of scenery on this limited-option train.

They were all lovely women in their own right. If Curtis ran the gauntlet successfully, he’d be rewarded with choosing one of you seven, shiny-eyed brides-to-be.

But as you looked over the options, you couldn’t help but think that your train deserved better. Especially since their only concern at the moment was to consume more Gouda.

The sounds of guards rushing down the aisle of the waiting car snapped you out of your dairy assessment. There was a part of you hoping Curtis would be successful. A small side tempted by the curiosity of what it meant to have a new conductor responsible for the sacred engine. But you were more worried on how a new conductor might not have the same vision as Wilford.

Wilford assured you Curtis would view the world as he did. Wilford believed Curtis to be his successor. So you reminded yourself: Trust in Wilford, so you can trust in Curtis.

But with your curiosity peeked, you left the room of selected women to check-in with the closest guard post. Frowning when you found the post empty, you were about to return to the waiting room when the monitor screen caught your eye. Figures on the grainy monitors showed guards wearing tactical attire as the train barreled to the bridge and into a new year. Masks covered their faces, minimizing human features so their anonymity would be more threatening.

The broadcast feed was not the best quality but you saw a tall man in the middle of the rebel pack on the other monitor. He matched Wilford’s sketch. The size of the group by him was much larger than you expected. Knowing the outcomes of the earlier revolts and rebellions, you thought this revolution would be another failure. Even with those determined, intense eyes of his. Internally scoffing at the idea you would become a widow before you were even married.

Honestly, despite Wilford’s backup plan for Curtis, you didn’t actually think it’d be possible for a tail end-er to make it this far. But there on the screen showed a massive number of rebels. How many more backend boarders were there?

Even with soil and blood-encrusted on him, the man was an attractive leader. You couldn’t help to grin slightly at the feral look plastered across Curtis’ face. Perhaps you had more in common with the third-class revolutionist than you realized.

Leaning into the screen as the attack played out, your breath fogged the monitor as you watched Curtis decide between obtaining his goal to capture Mason or save a fellow man. At the end of the slaughtering and witnessing Curtis’ choice of fatality, you were content with your agreement to Wilford’s chess game of marriage.

Turning away from the monitors, you slipped back into the waiting room to enjoy some Gouda.

Time seemed to pass slowly until Claude dropped off another tray of fruit and ordered everyone to get ready immediately, “Don’t leave this room. It’s too late to stop what’s happened, and now it’s your turn to help the train. I’ll be back shortly to lead you to the selection.”

The sound of the door closing behind her was like a gun sounding the start of a race. Six ladies frantically ran around the room crashing into one another, ripping garments off hangers and knocking items on the ground.

Rolling your eyes at the costume change commotion, you slipped out the door in hopes to eavesdrop on Wilford. After seeing Curtis on the monitor, you fantasized how or if he would accept his new role. Would he be curious and interested in the idea of being able to select a wife, or would he decline it?

---

“’…hold a woman with both arms…*’” Wilford jested.

Curtis looked so broken, nerves and bones exposed. The look of pain filling his eyes and the wordless shock of betrayal and disbelief across his face was not how you pictured this moment for him. Well, you pictured there would be shock, but not this level of absolute destruction.

Something happened to you then as you absentmindedly rubbed your breastbone, a dull ache starting to grow. This man, who was glorious and furious only a short time ago, now looked lost and lifeless. The dull pain continued along your bone and you could almost ignore the pain until he looked over at the wall you were spying behind. It felt like he knew you were there, pinning you in place with his agony as your own discomfort bloomed in your chest. The longer his eyes were in your direction, the more your chest hurt.

But that was crazy, you thought, of course he couldn’t see you. None of them knew you were there listening. Turning away from the hiding spot, you continued to rub your sternum as you made the way back to the ladies.

Reentering the room and seeing the group of potential wives was surreal; how the state of him and his clothes compared to the state of this self-indulgent mock harem. You knew Curtis’ story from Wilford’s files and the small-time you saw his takeover on screen. But to see the vast difference and pain of someone you might align yourself with while they stood before your own eyes- that was somewhat stomach-churning. Even for you.

Normally, you would capitalize on weakness. But Curtis’ pain had the opposite effect on you. Instead of the urge to squeeze, you wanted to hold.

Sitting down before the vanity, you observed the girls behind you in the mirror. Only two looked anxious about the upcoming selection. The other numbers looked like they were having an afternoon away, a short reprieve from the pressures of planning a charity fundraiser.

Number four looked high, kronole you suspected. Thank goodness she was wearing slip-ons. The state she was in you weren’t sure if she’d able to tie her own laces.

Looking at the candidates and remembering Curtis’ grief, your chest dully ached again. For a moment, you thought perhaps the two anxious girls understood the weight of the situation. But the longer everyone stayed in the waiting room, the more you overheard that their nervous whispers were only reservations in having to be in close quarters with a tail end-er.

None of these “I’ll write you a check” girls would do. They wouldn’t last against how feral and pained Curtis seemed. The train wouldn’t benefit with any of them by his side.

You clutched the lipstick case tighter in your hands as your thoughts swirled- none of these lunching ladies could steer Curtis the way the sacred engine deserved.

Despite Wilford’s promise of the selection being in your favor, seeing what Curtis could possibly select instead filled you with enormous dread for the train’s future. These women’s lack of ability and influence over Curtis would never do. They wouldn’t be able to protect him, wouldn’t be able to keep order on the train; Wilford’s vision would flatline.

You were not going to let one of these girls take your place with Curtis and squander the responsibility to keep the train stable. If Wilford believed there was something special about Curtis- that was enough for you to believe, too.

Looking over the inadequate girls, you selected Curtis for yourself.

Wilford reassured you were already Curtis’ type through Gilliam’s late-night chats and catching Curtis’ eye would easy, but you knew holding Curtis’ attention was another matter entirely. A man covered in filth day-in and day-out with limited choices and harsh conditions. You couldn’t imagine how overwhelming everything new must be to him. How everything shiny couldn’t be trusted.

Squinting at your appearance in the mirror, you pondered and planned. Reevaluating the competition, you examined yourself- clothes pressed, hair styled, makeup freshly painted- just like them.

Dropping your lipstick, you wiped your lips harshly and removed your eye makeup. Wetting a towel you wiped your neck, freeing your skin from the perfume. Fresh and clean-faced, you were slightly different than the other artistically painted ladies. Perhaps more approachable? You changed into the most modest evening gown you could find.

Claude opened the door and called for the seven of you to line up.

Taking the fifth spot in line, you waited for her next instructions. Claude surveyed over the seven offerings she was about to bring Wilford and stopped when seeing you. Running her eyes over you, she pursed her lips together.

Spinning on her heels, she called out while leaving the room, “Follow me, hurry up.”

~~~

When you floated in single file into the boxcar and lined up before Wilford, Curtis noticed you immediately. Weak from the fight, or from seeing you- a reminder of a life before the snow and ice, he stumbled slightly when stepping forward. You embodied the type of woman he fantasized about before CW-7 wiped out the world. And he began to feel an attraction he didn’t think he’d feel again.

As he walked closer to the numbered selection, Curtis stopped in front and looked each woman in the eye to see how they’d react to a lowly, dirty, tail end-er. A tail end-er who was now demanding respect. Counting the beats, he stared them down and waited to see if their movements gave way to any hints of judgment.

Option One seemed to be uncomfortable in her own skin, nervously rubbing the long sleeves of her dress. Was she nervous about the situation or him? Regardless, she wouldn’t do.

Number two was not his type, although she did hold her head high and make eye contact with him for the full time. Perhaps she’d be a civil option.

Three’s nostrils flared as soon as Curtis leaned into her view. Eliminated.

Four, well, he wasn’t sure if Four even knew what day it was, let alone where or why she was here. Discounted.

Five, Curtis tried to remind himself not to show how he already favored you from across the boxcar. Because up close, he wasn’t sure he could remain stoic in front of you for long. An odd feeling of being lost and found was stirring around his gut at the moment.

This foreign, mixed feeling made Curtis frown slightly before he was able to school his features. Seeing Curtis’ frowned reaction to you, Wilford made a small step forward towards the lineup. His own worry slightly showing before he was able to place back his mask for benevolent indifference. Claude gripped the gun in her pocket tighter, gleeful that you might fail Wilford and not gain a higher position.

Curtis never had any use for poetry but here you were right in front of him, something so incredibly unattainable that was now so easily in his grasp. The accessibility to having you made him unsure of himself. He was drawn to you when you entered the room, but having you so close, he knew he’d choose you. Fresh-faced and different from the others, you quirked an eyebrow and tilted your head slightly at him as if you ask, “yes?”

Curtis bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ground himself and not give away his interest. As he did with the earlier numbers, he crowded into your personal space and stared, hard.

His mistake, because that was the instant a voice whispered in his head, mine.

That forgotten feeling of sexual possessiveness slowly started infecting Curtis. At least that was how he related this estranged desire, an infection. A limb waking after being denied blood flow for too long, pins and needles racing across his skin. A drop in the middle of a pond, causing ripples to fold out to opposite sides of the banks. Seeing you from afar and now smelling your light, teasing scent sent a sensation of twists and turns to his stomach making him light-headed and his cock twitch.

He became lost in the thought of you laying next to him. Your lips bruised from kissing and your scent on his clothes as he’d tell you to dip your hands inside your panties for him. He’d praise you as you’d moan next him, watching you pleasure yourself.

You were drawing Curtis in deeper into the web of the sacred, eternal engine. And Wilford looked on you both like a proud matchmaker and smug creator.

Stepping away from you reluctantly, Curtis moved to number Six and looked her in the eyes as well. From the corner of his vision, he watched your reaction as he brought his hand up to fix the strap of Six’s dress. Uninterested in Six’s hitch in breath, he concentrated on how you kept yourself facing straight ahead but narrowing your eyes in annoyance. Satisfied on seeing a reaction from you when he touched another, he moved to number Seven and repeated his action by fixing her shawl.

Turning away from Seven, Curtis never looked back at you or the other candidates. Instead, he made his way to the chair he sat in before you entered.

After Claude escorted your group back into the waiting car, Wilford sat down across from Curtis and pulled out seven numbered files, “I’ll let you review.”

“Five,” Curtis stated without touching any of the folders.

Nodding at Curtis’ choice, Wilford fixed the lapels of his robe and leaned forward to rest his clasped hands on top of the desk. “Excellent choice, dear boy. But in the sense of honor and one passing the so-called baton, you’ll need to know your soon-to-be wife’s job aboard our, well, your sacred engine.”

Wilford watched Curtis’ reactions closely as he explained how you helped maintain order and delivered a well-mannered serving of absolute punishment to any upper class rule breakers.

Wilford spoke poetically; Curtis listened intensely.

“I’ll give you a moment to think it over. But remember what I said, it is a marriage. The contract between you both will be followed because we need structure, social form. There’s an image to uphold. Once you select who you want, that’s it. They’ve all agreed to this.”

“So why did she?” Curtis asked before he could think better not to.

Wilford knew this question had been bouncing around in Curt’s busy little head for a while, “She enjoys her job and she enjoys your train. She knows how people are.”

“She likes to murder and punish.”

Wilford tsked and rolled his eyes, “Stop being dramatic, Curtis. She enjoys order and knows responsibilities. She is a good person to have on your side, especially in our high position of power.”

“So you want me to use her as protection?”

“She is structure. Besides, you can’t deny she’s more than easy on the eyes. More importantly, dear boy, she’s someone you can trust. And it’s sad to see you without anyone to trust nowadays.”

Curtis cut a sharp glare at Wilford, “And who the hell played me the whole way?!”

Sighing noisily, Wilford rose from the table and came around to Curtis’ chair.

“I understand you’re upset about Gilliam. But she didn’t have anything to do with his choices. If anything, choose something in the opposite direction of what I’m offering then. Number Four seems like an easy girl to mold,” Wilford patted Curtis’ shoulder ready to leave and allow him some time to think alone. “Is number Four the type you want to be saddled with? Do you have enough kronole?”

Curtis ignored Wilford’s baiting question as he read your file history and achievements. “Why is she the executioner?”

“'It’s easier for someone to survive on this train, if they have some level of insanity,*’” Wilford shrugged casually.

Curtis frowned slightly at that understandable line, absentmindedly rubbing the scar on his arm.

“Think it over, Curtis. You two would be amazing together. You went with your gut and made it to the front end. You went with your gut and picked the best girl out of the seven. Make the best choice for yourself and your sacred engine. Would you like some water while you decide?”

Curtis ignored Wilford’s question. He looked at your old photo from when you boarded and a more recent sketch of you now. Running a dirty finger across your detailed sketch, his cock twitched in his pants again as he traced your painted lips.

Wilford set the tall glass of water down in front of Curtis, and with a flare that only Wilford possessed, dropped a single ice cube in the drink.

“Are you fucking serious?” Curtis growled after seeing a bullet frozen in the cube.

“Take your time to think it over. Read the note. The choice is yours, my dear boy. I’ll be back after it melts.”

The door closed behind Wilford and Curtis’ breath hitched in his chest.

Alone, quiet.

Curtis tried to compose himself in the eerie solitude. When locked in the tail section, he prayed for solitary confinement. A moment of silence. Now alone, he wasn’t sure what was worse.

Curtis raised the water glass up to the light and watched the prism paint the walls, choking out an uncomfortable laugh deep within. Gulping down the water, he spat the ice cube into his palm. Dirt began to run and channel along the lines of his palm.

Having enough of Wilford’s games, Curtis threw the ice cube on the floor and stomped on it.

He twisted the bullet casing apart and stilled his hands for a moment before unrolling the note to read the message.

Blank.

Asshole.

Curtis looked over at Wilford as he came back into the room. He didn’t say anything about the blank message, determined not to give him any more entertainment.

“Number Five,” Curtis stated, pushing the closed folder back across the table. Your pictures safely tucked inside his pocket.

“Excellent! Wise choice. Wait here and I’ll call Claude to show you to your new living quarters, there’s a private bath and a large bed for the soon-to-be-married couple. You’ll find out soon enough, but your soon-to-be misses and Claude aren’t the best-,” Wilford chuckled at the memories. “-Well, you’ll find out that detail out for yourself. What’s the fun in hearing everything secondhand?”

Curtis ran his hands over his face, not sure what to make of all that’s happened within these last days aboard the eternal engine.

Wilford snapped his fingers, making a show as if he forgot something and patting the pockets of his robe, “A piece of marital advice, dear boy. Your soon-to-be wife is more clever at making you feel welcomed than you know.”

Wilford pulled a tube of lipstick out of his pocket and rolled it across the desk. Curtis eyed the cylinder, trying to understand what Wilford was hinting at.

And then he knew.

Your sketch burning a hole in his pocket with your painted lips. Tapping the end of the lipstick on the table, it was that small detail he favored about you over the others. You were the only fresh-faced lady in the bunch.

---

The soft, classical music became a white noise as you looked out the dining car window and allowed yourself to relax. White noise, whiter scenery.

Dabbing the crisp linen napkin to the corner of your soft mouth, you arched a sleek eyebrow in anticipation.

Across the table, the slumped body finally lost to gravity and fell hard against the lace tablecloth as the train jostled and creaked itself out of a turn. The heavy weight of the fresh corpse shook the table causing a melody to play out on the fine China, vibrating a song of disturbance.

Huffing softly at your former dinner companion’s poor manners for falling face-first into his plate, you placed your hands on the table to settle the dinnerware’s rattling tantrum. Taking in the accomplished sight of your fresh kill, you gracefully held the teacup and saucer and brought the warm liquid up to the cold smirk on your lips.

Before settling back into the plush chair, you grabbed a cookie and closed your eyes to enjoy a moment of unsupervised silence.

“What did I tell you the last time you asked to do this?”

Shit.

Opening your eyes, you saw Curtis slide the dining car door close behind him, locking both doors on the keypad. His boots echoing loudly with each step as his eyes pinned you in place. His barely concealed anger immediately caused irritation to run down your spine.

“I don’t recall, please be more specific,” you couldn’t help but douse your words in annoyance before taking another sip of tea.

Why did he have to visit the dining car so soon? He was supposed to be having meetings with the security and maintenance departments. Swirling the remnants of tea, you couldn’t help but feel cheated that Curtis walked in and stole a bit of your alone time away.

The more you thought about the peace and quiet now lost, you rolled your eyes in the direction of the slowly chilling body across from you. Why did he always have to ask questions to obvious answers? Anyone would have known what you were doing here, the dead body gave it away for christ's sake. There was not much to deduce. He had always known what your tastes were like when he selected you- that was part of the deal. So for him to keep stifling your gifts over the last several weeks had become unacceptable. Looking over at the dead man’s ruffled hair you couldn’t help but snicker how things finally came to a head, so to speak.

Curtis narrowed his eyes at the sound of your soft laughter, “Watch yourself.”

Keeping in a sigh of vexation, you placed down your teacup and crossed your arms over your chest. Maybe if you restrained yourself, you could keep the displeasure you felt with Curtis about his lack of action concerning the poisoned body in front of you.

And then the thought dawned on you, “Seems your meetings ended earlier than I anticipated.”

Curtis shook his head at your blasé attitude of being caught doing something he specifically told you not to do.

“So sorry to interrupt your time with such a wonderful conversationalist,” he mocked, waving a disinterested hand at the body, “Things worked out better than you anticipated?”

“No, not as well as I anticipated,” you added back, giving him a pointed look. “Obviously didn’t have enough time to move the body before you found me.”

“I’ll always find you what you’re doing, you’re mine. My responsibility,” Curtis stated seriously.

Before you had time to enjoy the way his claim warmed you, he moved on and mentioned how Claude was currently overseeing the maintenance meeting.

You realized then Claude must have known what you had planned for your dead dinner guest, Vardo, and squealed to Curtis.

Seizing a bread roll from the basket, you roughly tore off a chunk between your sharp teeth. The longer you pictured Claude’s face, the harder you chewed. Your resentment for the woman mixed itself in with the taste of butter and sesame.

Claude liked to be an accessory to anyone with power. She only remained loyal to a person with sturdy purse strings, climbing the social ladder within the front end until she was able to get close enough to catch Wilford’s eye. You remembered how Wilford’s open position for a parts measurer was between her and another woman, Livia. Claude received the promotion and Livia avoided everyone for the next two weeks.

Shy and quiet, Livia didn’t speak a lot. Which seemed like a winning trait for someone who would measure humans to fill the role of replacement parts to the grand machine. But the reality of how the train was able to still run after these long 17 years was too much for Livia.

Upon finding out, she suffered hysterics and refuse to eat; crying for hours and mumbling incoherently about locks and gears, tumblers and bolts, little bodies and broken bones. Wilford was becoming increasingly agitated that her outbursts might happen in public and upset others. He said something needed to be done to ensure the grand secret of the sacred engine would not be revealed. During all this, Claude was increasingly delighted how Livia’s breakdown worsened each day.

Before the end of the second week and with Wilford’s concerns in mind, you convinced Livia to visit the club car and have a girls night with you. In between dancing, she told you how Claude was leaving notes with measurements and little tools on the food trays she brought to Livia’s room. Becoming so upset, she wouldn’t be able to eat. Even high on kronole, she didn’t give away details of what she saw or had to do during the job interview.

But her fate was all too late.

She mumbled once too much wine, “Never sanitize soul, not clean.”

Frowning at her jumbled words, you poured her more wine, “You’ll find peace soon, dear girl.”

The poison took her mercifully quick.

The bread roll circled and wobbled around your plate after you tossed it aside. You would never allow Claude to get too close to Curtis. You did care for Curtis, probably more than you were comfortable to admit. Besides, there was limited space for suggestions in Curtis’ head. Your voice held residency along with Wilford’s, and even Gilliam’s, words. You weren’t about to give any elbow room for Claude to whisper ideas to Curtis also.

When the train first started its maiden voyage, you tried to remain civil to Claude but she always gave off an air of unearned self-righteousness. And after what Livia told you, civility was barely hanging on.

Growling at your stubbornness, Curtis came closer to your side of the table. “I told you to give me time. Trust me like you trusted in Wilford. I would have given you what wanted soon enough.”

The memory of Livia still fresh in your mind, you snapped back at him, “Loyalty is what you were promised, but I don’t owe you patience or trust.”

Curtis narrowed his eyes at your attitude. He knew he overindulged your unique desires, but disrespect was something he would not allow. “Knock it off, dear wife. Act like a loving spouse and not a mediocre black widow.”

“Mediocre,” you scoffed at his comparison, “I could knock you off, you know. But what good would that do me, Curtis? I’m not sure I have enough poison for everyone on this train. At the moment.”

“You’re acting like a damn brat,” he muttered, annoyed and bitter at the thought you were still only with him for protection.

“I’m not the one continually breaking promises and then asking for the other spouse to keep believing in them,” you countered back, stomping your feet under the table and crossing your arms over your chest again.

“What, did Claude scurry over to you and rat me out?” You slapped your hands on the table and pitched your voice nasally high to mock, “'Oh, I’ll help you great and powerful ruler. I’ll run the meetings for you.‘”

Sneering at what you imagined Claude’s words might have been to him.

“I took out the garbage for you, Curtis. Vardo’s rumors would have hurt you. You could thank me instead of reprimanding me on how you didn’t sign off on this.”

You truly were a murderous brat.

Most passengers didn’t bother to recognize or question that the shiny new conductor next to you was also the dirty blood-covered rebel monster, who smashed through their glasshouse.

Truthfully, most didn’t care as long as their food was warm and their shit was flushed. Some believed so much in Wilford’s vision, they’d never question Wilford’s prophetic news that Curtis was their new conductor.

But some others did want to question. However, they knew better than to ask; except one, your dead dinner companion, Vardo.

Most believed the revolution was squashed and the rebels snuffed out. That the rebellious end-ers were tagged and placed back in their cages.

So when your freshly deceased guest started making inappropriate advances and asking too many questions at too many tables, you invited him to sup at yours.

Because if there was something you knew how to do, it was to tie up loose ends with a soft smile and a kind offer of something to drink. Every time you asked Curtis if you could take Vardo out for dinner, he would only reply- 'Soon.’

You finally got tired of waiting for Curtis’ permission and listening to Vardo’s rumors about the lack of skills the new conductor possessed.

And Curtis’ current lack of thankfulness towards you was pissing you off, “If you want out of the marriage, let me know.”

Curtis frowned at your obscene words, “What are you fucking talking about?”

“I’m not ignorant or daydreamy, Curtis. I know everyone on this train has a purpose and when that purpose or if room runs out, so will my usefulness. Besides, I’m already a shit listener if that dead weight across the table counts for anything. Maybe what I offer isn’t purposeful enough? Maybe we run out of room on the train again and I don’t make it past the cutoff number? Sure I could be safe if the number was 73% like last time. But there’s so many hypothetical questions. Wait, what was that deduction percent again?”

“74.” Curtis answered without a thought but then immediately looked harder at you.

Smirking slightly you carried on, “Ah yes, that’s correct. 74%. See, there wouldn’t be enough room for me. And the inevitable would happen again for Wilford’s wish of order to remain.”

Curtis’ jaw shifted at your words, he knew you were damn well aware the number was 74%. You were always off to prove a fucking point, but he wasn’t about to entertain the idea of you not being by his side. The notion that you could be separated from him brought a jab to his stomach he wouldn’t ignore.

He was owed this companionship, he was owed you.

He owned you.

He knew there was more to you that day during the selection. No hesitation or disdain when he leaned into your proximity. The silent challenge you gave him. There was something behind your expression, something he was still curious about exploring.

When Wilford revealed to him what your role was on the train, Curtis knew he found the connection, a shared portion of darkness. You offered a safe harbor to him for what he had done in the past and an understanding of what he’d have to do in the future.

He swore he wouldn’t lose you to any conflict- mathematical, mechanical, or man.

Curtis called your name as he calmly stacked the dishes in front of you and moved them aside.

He looked too calm to you, especially after walking in on you with a dead body. His features were cool as he nodded for you to give him the teacup sitting out of his reach.

As he continued to pile the dishes down the table towards Vardo’s body, you remembered how well acquainted Curtis was with death. Surviving all those years in the end section and massacring his way up to the front, one mere non-bloodied body wouldn’t give him much pause. It was you not waiting for his permission concerning the execution that soured his mood.

“I want an answer. Why did you do this, when I denied you my approval?”

“There was nothing to approve, I didn’t ask for your consent… this time,” you grumbled softly with admission.

“Oh, I know that dear wife,” he clicked his tongue at your retort. “You’ve been a goddamn worm in my ear about him for weeks but suddenly go radio silent about him? I knew you were up to something.”

“How did you even know I was here working?”

“A few things. The first, Claude mentioned you were having an intimate dinner with someone who wasn’t your husband.”

“Busy-bodied bitch,” you mumbled. “Hardly intimate. As you can see, it was work.”

Leaning forward and removing a sugar cube from the bowl, you tossed it at your dead dinner guest.

Watching it land down the back of his collar, you continued, “It’s been riveting conversation, too. What were the other few things?”

“She isn’t the only busy body here. Don’t waste food,” Curtis picked the sugar cube out of the man’s collar and tossed it in the air, catching it in his mouth.

“It looks like it was plenty intimate to him,” Curtis kicked Vardo’s chair leg with his heavy boot. “Asshole’s sporting a fucking death erection.”

“What?” Sliding your gaze under the table, you saw Vardo’s pants tented. “Pft. That’s just the poison, not the conversation.”

“I still don’t fucking like it, y/n.” Curtis stated darkly.

You shifted in the chair suddenly uncomfortable on where this conversation may lead, especially with the tone he just used. Recalling what he said shortly ago, you tried to move on, “What did you mean about Claude not being the only busy body?”

“I find it surprising you have to ask that, especially when you’re so busy keeping such thorough records of everyone’s conduct.”

Surprised by his discovery, you tried to figure out when he may have found your notebooks. You knew you never mentioned the records you kept concerning the passengers to him, the scorecards on who should receive punishment when they tallied up too many transgressions.

“Wilford told me. Relax, I can hear the gears moving in your head so loudly, they’re drowning out the sound of the train’s.”

“...Why did he?”

“You already know how Wilford explained what your job was to me before I was allowed to pick you. But he told me other things I didn’t mention to you. He said you’d record events, a little homicide journaling. He described it as a dear death diary on why you wanted someone removed. But more fucking importantly, dear wife- he said you always ran punishments by him before carrying them out. But this one, you didn’t run by me.”

Not yet ready for Curtis to know how sincerely you cared for him, you opted for a vague reply, “This was because of personal reasons.”

“Yes, murders usually happen due to those.”

Huffing at his dry reply, you couldn’t help but feel exposed after hearing Curtis read your records. “When did you find them?”

“Two months ago, after Wilford’s death,” he smirked down at you. “I can keep secretes, too. Glad you finally did Vardo in. Took you long enough though.”

“What?” Your head snapped up from shock.

“I read about the inappropriate comments he made to the men and women in the working section. How he made similar comments to you. How they were increasing, making others more uncomfortable. I was pissed to read the fucking things he said to you, but even more when you didn’t come to your husband and say what was happening.”

“Nothing happened, this was work. Trash removal.”

“Oh, I know that dear wife,” Curtis ran his finger down the column of your neck and over your shoulder.

You could feel yourself respond to his touch, goosebumps and tingles.

Curtis leaned into the shell of your ear as he confessed against your skin, “I made sure to encourage him.”

Breaking out of the soft lull his touch put you in, you slapped his hand away and stood. “What are talking about, encouraging? What did you do?”

“I encouraged Vardo to pursue you. Told him to spread the rumors and concerns about me. Told him if he was able to get my wife to cheat on me and expose your lack of loyalty, I’d reward him for exposing the snake in the garden,” Curtis stepped in closer to you, moving his hand back to your neck and tracing the length of your soft throat with this thumb, “He was the snake. Not you, never you.”

You couldn’t believe what Curtis was admitting. “Why would you do that? I haven’t given you any reason to think I’d break my marital agreement to you, Curtis.”

“Not for that reason.”

“Then what reason?!”

“A wedding present.”

“What.”

“You enjoy doing what you do, so I let you, dear wife. Everything you do, I let you do. I read how little you could stand him. Anyone could tell how much you disliked Vardo, except Vardo.” Curtis watched your shock take over as you tried to process everything. “Vardo was stupid. Stupid enough to think he’d gain anything by going after us. After you. I told him to spread the rumors, prove to me how my dear wife wasn’t faithful. He objected, in the beginning, believed it was a trap. But when I offered him the chance to sleep with you- he agreed greedily.”

“…You set him up to see if he would sleep with me?”

“No, sweetheart. I set you up... to see how loyal you’d be to me.”

Snarling at his words, you smacked his hold on you, “Aren’t you just fucking splitting hairs, husband?”

Moving his hand tighter around your neck, you felt his thumb press into your windpipe. “Mind that bratty attitude. Vardo was fucking stupid, not knowing how tail end-ers are possessive. No one gets to covet my wife.”

As he pushed his thumb harder in your skin, you dipped your head back to gain a breath to speak, “You orchestrated all this?”

“You’re welcome,” Curtis lifted his thumb, relieving the pressure on your windpipe as he dropped his lips to your clavicle.

His touch and confession slammed into your core. Gasping at the feel of his lips, your hands wrapped around his wrists, squeezing them to encourage him to keep the pressure on your throat. Lowly moaning when he did.

Curtis knocked his knee between your legs and grazed your center with his thigh. Moving his thigh back and forth against your clothed clit, you bit your lip when you heard him say, “Rub.”

Rolling your hips against him, Curtis chuckled at your pleasure.

“Good girl.”

He dipped you back against the table as he sucked your neck harder between little sharp bites and kisses, “How wet are you, sweetheart? Grinding that pretty pussy against my thigh. I want to see how desperate you are.”

Your hips jolted up, lost in the smooth and steady twisting of his words.

“Fuck,” you gasped out.

Freeing a hand from your neck, Curtis ran his touch down along your body. Sliding his hand under your skirt, he bunched the material up your hips and licked his lips when he saw the large wet spot on your panties. Moving the damp material aside, he grazed his finger along your slick folds.

Your breath hitched at the contact and the darkness in his eyes.

Curtis teasingly twirled his fingers around your inner thighs, lightly circling your clit. “Can you purr?”

Not waiting for an answer, Curtis kissed you and dipped a finger into your pussy.

He bit your lip and hungrily moved to swirl his tongue over yours. Everything was vibrating in you, a fight of dominance and battle for acceptance.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let some of that tension go,” he encouraged, sliding a second finger into you.

Your resistance weakening, the grazing of his thumb circling your clit- you wanted to melt for him.

Bringing a leg up off the table, you hooked it around his waist and mewled at the sensations he was creating in you by the furious rate his fingers worked you.

Curtis began to slowly scissor you, only pausing his kisses to see your reaction better, “Fuck. You’re so beautiful. That’s it, sweetheart, squeeze my fucking fingers.”

“Please,” you whimpered, extending your other leg out as you tried to gain more friction.

He held your hips down against the table, “Look at you, so beautiful and wet. All fucking mine. My fucking reward.”

“I’m going to cum,” you squeezed the words out past your lips as your walls tightened around Curtis’ fingers.

“No, you’re not. Not yet.” Pulling his fingers away from your pussy, Curtis chuckled deeply at your forlorn expression. “I want to be inside you when you do.”

Bringing his wet fingers up to his mouth, he groaned in pleasure from the taste of you before pulling you off the table.

Kissing you possessively, Curtis’ tongue willed for access to your mouth again. You could taste yourself as you feverishly returned his kiss.

Without warning, he turned you around and bent you over the table. Your stomach seizing from the cold surface while your ass was fully on display in the air.

Yelping in surprise you felt Curtis kick your legs farther apart. Stepping between your soft thighs, Curtis grabbed your legs off the floor as your torso warmed the table underneath your skin. You heard him free himself from his pants and groan deeply.

He ran his hands up and down your legs unable to touch enough of you as he moved your knees back. Praising and kneading your ass cheeks, your heels hovered over your bottom as Curtis locked your folded legs underneath each of his arms. You felt his tip run along your slit, the head of his cock parting your wet lips. Grabbing your hips and with one strong thrust without warning, Curtis buried himself into you.

The table shook with every claiming thrust as Vardo’s body rocked against the fine china on the other side of the table. Curtis pinned his eyes on the corpse before dropping his gaze on your back.

Curtis railed into you harder, “Say you’re mine.”

Moaning at his command and losing yourself in him, you only whimpered in reply. You never felt like this before. You moved your hand behind yourself, trying to feel his hips, his hands, anything.

“No.” Curtis grabbed your blindly-reaching hand and covered his over yours, bring them down on the table. Locking you in place again, his stomach brushed against your back. The sounds of his balls slapping against you echoed throughout the dining car. Perched over you with more leverage, Curtis moved faster in and out of your tight cunt.

“Say it,” another snap of his hips, another long hard drag of his cock along your pussy. “Fucking say you’re mine!”

“Yours,” you finally panted out, your face flattened against the tablecloth that was crumpled in your fists. “Always.”

Curtis almost lost himself when he felt you squeeze your walls around his cock, throwing his hard thrusting off.

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum right that fuck now. Fucking milk my cock.” His soft-toned, harsh words made you close your eyes as you screamed his name out in release.

Feeling your pussy tighten and flutter around his cock made Curtis bit his lip and drop your legs. Smacking his hands down on either side of your head, he encased your body with his grunts. All you could focus on when you opened your eyes were the muscles of his forearms flexing in your view as he rutted into you.

The sounds of Curtis fucking and using you to chase his release caused your body to tighten up again. Dropping his weight on top of your back, he snapped and slammed his hips into you. His primal moans set a ripple through you, your eyes rolling back as another orgasm took over causing your tight count to flutter around him again.

Growling out your name, he coated your walls, “Mine. You’re mine.”

Opening your eyes with sigh, you laughed softly at the window you and Curtis managed to fog up next to the table.

After catching his breath, Curtis propped his weight onto his forearms and kept himself within you. He wasn’t ready to pull out and let you go just yet.

The cool air hit your skin when slightly move off your back. Bowing down gently, Curtis kissed your sweaty shoulders making you shudder when he rocked against your sensitive core.

Basking in the aftermath of Curtis slowly softening within you, you realized how much you were willing to do to protect your husband. It was no longer just about the train.

“No more secrets between us. Understood, dear wife?”

“Understood, dear husband.”

“Good. It might be time to invite Claude for dinner,” Curtis said before kissing the back of your neck.

[pink-ink-goblin]

Darkmark or darkstache: "um... What did two lines mean again?"

((Double sorry mysterious being. One for taking so long to get to this. And two, for making you wait forever for me to essentially tell you no. I don’t do male pregnancy fics. At least, not with the ending you’re probably thinking of. No judgement from me on your proclivities, it’s just not something I like writing. That said, how about a disorganized, light series of probably completely unfunny events instead?))  

It had been a quiet day for the most part. No one was fighting, no one had died, and Dark hadn’t found a single squirrel darting around. It was a strange but very welcome sort of peace, so the demon took advantage of it by making himself scarce so he could not only enjoy it, but concentrate on the various more corporate aspects of maintaining a building full of unpredictable, and infinitely frustrating, beings as well. It was more than just watching over them after all. They did not reside there for free and silence was not a cheap item to buy, regardless of how much smooth talking there had been.

But that was honestly the easy part. The rest of the neatly stacked papers, however, were written requests from the more active egos submitted via form because Dark was done dealing with their whining face to face. The one in front of him currently was from their resident game show host, and Bim was requesting permission to expand the studio. He must be at odds with Wilford again if he was beseeching Dark about it.

However, despite enjoying the silence, he couldn’t ignore the strange fact that his main interruption had been absent all day, making the silence take on a more suspicious air, but Dark wasn’t concerned enough to go look for him and ruin his potentially quiet afternoon. Nothing was broken, nothing was flickering in and out of existence, and no one was screaming, so if it didn’t warrant world ending interventions, then he was happy to step back and let be.

True to form, however, his blissful solitude wasn’t meant to last long, and, with the sound of a bubblegum pop, Wilford was in front of his desk, fingers already reaching out to fiddle with his pen stand as he often did when he needed to ask something. It was less a nervous habit and more a plain annoying one, but one that Dark had grown used to so long ago.

“Yes, Wilford?” Dark droned, not even bothering to look up. What were the legal repercussions of letting Host run his own Podcast? As long as it couldn’t be traced, then he could have at it. Approved.

“Um…” Wilford hesitated, seeming to be trying to find the proper words for his question oddly enough, before settling, as he usually did, upon being blunt. “What did two lines mean again?”

Dark’s pen paused in his writing, considering the confusing nature of the words presented to him. He was more than certain Wilford was looking at him expectantly, the sentence of course making sense to the being but not quite registering that they may be puzzlingly vague to someone else. In the small stretch of silence, the pastel-themed being’s deft fingers had left the pen stand and were already reaching for his magnetic container of paperclips, but Dark reached over and snatched it away, still without looking up.

“That’s a very broad question,” The demon finally replied patiently, flipping a paper over and placing it neatly into another pile. “Why not ask Google? He’d be happy to list every single instance of significance that two lines can have in this dimension.”

“Because,” Wilford retorted somewhat petulantly, mostly at being denied optimum stimming material, before tossing something skinny and cream colored onto Dark’s desk that bounced to a stop right on top of his paperwork. “I’m asking you.”

It took longer than the demon would care to admit to recognize not just the stick, but the minimal information Wilford had provided with it, and when it clicked, it made him finally sit up in confusion.

“I can’t remember what the box said,” Wilford admitted, oblivious to Dark’s reaction. The pink ego had a habit of doing the same thing when he cooked, but instead of fishing the box out of the garbage with an air of defeat like a sane being, he would continue on stubbornly and then grumpily whine to Dark when everything went wrong. “Something about one line or two meaning something or other.”

“Wilford,” Dark said slowly, refusing to touch the offending thing with an air of disgust. “This is a pregnancy test.”

“So?” Wilford cocked an eyebrow at him, but Dark could see the man didn’t understand what Dark was implying. He couldn’t possibly actually be this oblivious.

“So you’re a male. Males don’t get pregnant. And, considering you are not a sea horse, I doubt you have anything to worry about. Once again, I implore you to ask Google for clarification. And also get this off my desk.”

“But what do the two lines mean?”

“Two lines usually means-” Positive… Wait, what? “Wilford, did you use this?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“A week ago. I forgot about it.” It took an incredible amount of willpower to keep Dark seated after that statement. Had Wilford just been sitting on that information for a week, or had he only just checked it now and thought to ask? Dark supposed it didn’t matter at this point, but it didn’t necessarily stop him from being not only irate, but also deeply concerned.

“And there’s no chance anyone else could have gotten a hold of it?”

“No, it was in my pen cup,” And with that, Dark made note to never touch anything on Wilford’s desk ever again. “Dark, what does it mean?”

Dark sighed heavily, fingers pressing into his temples as he prayed for patience. “… It means we need to have a chat with our good doctor.”

——

It was only natural that their resident doctor’s immediate reaction was to laugh. It was a short bark because the man valued his life, but it was still enough to have Dark only just resisting the urge to throttle him. The demon supposed that if their roles had been reversed, maybe he might have found humor in it as well, but as it stood, he was much too irate to consider it from any side other than his own, and he didn’t even want that perspective either.

They stood now near the door, Dark with his hands behind his back, trying to pretend nothing was wrong with anything he had just said, while the doctor stood across from him, hiding his smile rather poorly as he leaned a hip against the nearest hospital bed with his arms crossed. Wilford, naturally, had become quickly disinterested and wandered off in the moderate space allowed because he was no longer being directly referred to.

“Okay, disregarding Wilford,” The doctor started quietly, the last of the humor finally working its way out of his system. At least for now. “Surely at least you know how this is all physically impossible?”

Dark gave him a flat look. “Why do you think I came to you?”

“Wait, so you don’t know?” Dr. Iplier’s face fell at the prospect of having to give ‘the talk’ to the last two beings he would ever have expected to give it to.  

“Of course I know how it all works,” Dark hissed dangerously, something bleeding out into his voice to distort it in his sudden offence, before he took a calming breath and composed himself once more. “That’s the problem. It’s a logical fallacy with a single point of truth.”

Despite the outburst, Dr. Iplier took a rather relieved breath. Thank God. “Well, yeah, it is, but there are too many issues with the theory of ectopic male pregnancy for me to even begin to take that single truth with any modicum of seriousness. It’s just not possible.”

“I understand that,” Dark humored. “Believe me I do, but why then was the test positive?”

The doctor shrugged. “Faulty maybe? They aren’t really an exact science, especially in a commercial setting. Or, you know, there have been cases where males have jokingly used them only to receive a true positive due to having prostate cancer. But I can almost guarantee you that Wilford doesn’t fall under the standard definition of human male even remotely enough for that to be a possibility.” Dr. Iplier paused to sigh before relenting, “Honestly, maybe he is actually pregnant. Who knows what the hell Wilford actually could be.”

“I’ve known him long enough that I can assure you that Wilford is more or less designed like a male human, proclivities included,” Dark vouched, turning to watch distastefully as Wilford raided the doctor’s lolli cup. Dr. Iplier made a subtle face through his own side glance but otherwise let him go at it. This had come to be expected every time the being came in anyway. “That should mean he has no organs to accompany such a thing.”

Dr. Iplier wisely chose to ignore the idea of how Dark could even begin to know that. “And I would be inclined to absolutely agree with you, but with you extra-dimensionals, I’ve seen a lot of weird crap that throws normal right out the window. Have you tried making him take one again?”

“No,” Dark admitted, mood growing more sour by the second. “Because I know for a fact that he’s incapable… Maybe.” Dark rubbed at his face wearily. “Don’t you have a test of your own you could use? Perhaps take some blood?”

“I’ve plenty of cups he can pee in, but not a single machine or any chemical strips to test it with. That’s not my field.”

“You have lab equipment in the back room,” Dark stated, gesturing to the lone door next to the doctor’s corner desk. He even remembered helping Dr. Iplier acquire most of what was in there even if he wasn’t sure what half of it did.

“Yes, for trauma. I treat anything from superficial injuries to life threatening wounds, not deliver babies and happy news.” The doctor replied with equal flatness. “With maybe a minor degree in pathology. Go find an OB-GYN if you’re that insistent.”

Dark was tempted to remind the doctor of his revoked license purely out of spite. “Very well. Could you at least look at the brand and tell me if it’s trustworthy?”

Dr. Iplier shrugged again, looking like he wanted to reiterate what he had just said, but instead settled on a simple, “I can do my best.”

“Wilford, come here,” Dark commanded. Wilford looked up from the mess he had made on Dr. Iplier’s desk - some kind of paper fort built of pens and paperclips that had no business being able to maintain structural integrity given the current physical plane they were on - and wandered over obediently, two suckers in his mouth, three in his shirt pocket, and, when he got close enough, one held out to Dark jovially. Dark plucked it from his fingers and placed it in his own breast pocket to later add to his collection of stolen lollipops in his desk drawer. “Give the Doctor the stick.”

Wilford fished it out of God knew where and handed it over, mouth too preoccupied with the sugary treats to speak. Dr. Iplier took it without the air of disgust Dark had given and, after a good moment of scrutinizing, an inappropriately humorous smile began to spread across his face.

“What?” Dark asked suspiciously.

“This brand’s pretty trustworthy.”

Dark’s eyes went wide with sudden concern, voice almost cracking from the sudden tightness in his throat. “Jesus Christ, you’re joking.”

“Not a bit,” The doctor responded cheerily as he was want to do when delivering bad news. “But, see this?”

“Yes, that’s the second line.” Dark confirmed, unsure what he was getting at. The whole thing was a little faded, given Wilford had left it alone, but… Wait. “Why isn’t it the same color as the first one?”

“Exactly. The color’s off because… it was originally negative. This is what happens when you let them sit out too long after using them. They give a false positive. Also why you should probably follow the directions on the box.” Dr. Iplier quipped in quick tones, turning to toss the stick into a nearby trashcan. “Tough luck. Looks like you’re both doomed to a childless future.”

Dark could feel it on his tongue, the expletive that wanted to explode out of him and eviscerate Wilford where he merrily stood, but he reigned it in with a slow deep breath, swallowing a good portion of his irritation in the process. He should honestly feel relieved, so that’s what he decided to cling to. After all, this was probably the most harmless thing Wilford’s carelessness had ever done, emotional wear aside, and considering past exploits, Dark should be counting his lucky stars that Wilford hadn’t had to have come into the clinic with anyone else.

Maybe the man was sterile. Dark could really only hope. A quiet cough brought Dark back to earth and face to face with the rather mischievous smile of the doctor with something else on his mind.

“What?” Dark humored tonelessly.

“At the risk of being eviscerated,” Dr. Iplier said slowly, taking a few steps back to ensure he was outside of Dark’s immediate reach. “You two make a horrifying and cute couple.”

“… Run. Now,” Dark watched the doctor flee from his clinic, coat flapping behind him while the threat did nothing to remove that smug grin from his face. He’d be back later when he was sure both of them were gone from his clinic. Dark also knew he wouldn’t have to worry about the doctor sharing this either, for if there was one thing the man wasn’t was a gossip, but all the same it still wore on him greatly that someone else knew of this draining experience. What an afternoon.

A hand fell on his shoulder, warm and heavy despite his aura and he looked over his shoulder to see the source of many of his daily irritations smiling at him, having finished the two suckers, but not yet spitting out the sticks. Dark sighed, about ready to ask why Wilford had even thought to buy one of those damn pregnancy tests in the first place, when, mid-turn, his elbow bumped something that made him freeze. Something very round and yellow.

And distinctly attached to Wilford’s abdomen.

Dark jumped back like a scared cat, thrusting himself out of Wilford’s grip and stumbling back in absolute shock and horror. He was about ready to freeze up or bolt when Wilford started laughing. The sudden flip to confusion was enough to ground the demon and make him pause to take a closer look, now realizing he could see something white and cloth-like poking out from between Wilford’s shirt buttons.

“Gotcha,” Wilford chuckled, patting the top of his faux-stomach hard enough to elicit dull, rustling cloth sounding thumps.

“Get that out of your shirt,” Dark demanded sourly, giving Wilford the harshest of looks while the being pulled the bed sheet out and unceremoniously threw the rumpled ball onto the nearest bed. He turned away and started walking out, Wilford trotting to catch up unprompted as Dark always expected him to. “What possessed you to buy one of those damn things anyway? Was this some kind of test?”

“I dunno, did I pass?” Wilford answered cryptically, and when Dark went to give him another beseeching look, he was met with Wilford grinning at him, lolli sticks stuck in his upper lip to look like tusks. Whether the effect was intentional or not, Dark suddenly found his mouth unwittingly pulling at the corners despite it all. A laugh, small and quiet as it was, even managed to sneak its way past his lips.

It was official. The ridiculousness of everything had finally hit him. He couldn’t even be mad anymore, so he just accepted that he would probably never know. Wilford was an enigma, even to himself, so it was always better to just let it go.

Dark reached out and looped his arm into Wilford’s as they made their way to the elevator, the pink ego’s grin turning smug with victory as they locked elbows.

“You know what?” Dark said, pressing the button for the top floor. He looked at the being, tilting his head as his own smile turned amused. “Why not?”