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saintbarou · 6 months

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tags: 18+ minors dni / fem reader / fingering / reader is mexican / spanish / religious imagery / aftercare / hinted virginity loss / penetration /2.6k/ pwp - let me know if i miss something.

synopsis: javier escuella feels an all encompassing desire to have you. you feel it too, maybe even more.

Javier laughs into your lips, you are kissing him with the reverence of the faithful. You kiss sweetly, gently with the undercut of hunger he is all too happy to sate. Your form is soft beneath his hands, flesh pillabe like the strings on his guitar and the trigger of his revolver - the hollow of his palms filled with the curve of your hips. Javier nips at your lip until he can hear you hiss from the sting among your sighs from the pleasure of having him suck on your tongue.

“I can’t believe you - all I did was kiss you,” he stops to puff a breathe against your lips snickering at the dazed look on your face and the glistening spit on your lips, “and now you’re letting me fuck you.”

You whine, high and embarrassed but so unbearably needy and pressing yourself up against him like a cat in heat. There’s a little gold necklace threaded along the slopes of your collar - it glints against your untouched and unblemished skin like a comet, looping along your form in a circle until completion where it stays in perpetual orbit. Javier doesn’t know if he should be jealous of the thin necklace or not.

Your nightgown is off, spread out on the ground and Javier’s eyes are caught on the pendant that holds the face of La Virgen that glints in the lowlight of his tent - his eyes meet hers and he feels a shiver against his spine. Of course she would be there, looped above your too-good heart and appearing before him. It almost pains him to touch you, the holiness of your skin burning his palms that are too greedy to stay away.

You gasp his name and it brings him back to you - it brings his lips to your chest and you sigh as your hands twist on the fabric of his shirt clad shoulders like you are scared to touch him. You still have your bloomers, the white cotton stark against his tan hands and he presses another kiss right above your heart as it stutters tucked away in your ribs.

“Esta bien hermosa - you can touch me.” The pet name makes you tremble, whining when the word graces your flushed ears. Hermosa, meaning beautiful or gorgeous in the language your mother would sing you to when you were a girl. Your nostalgia brings desperation and it only serves to make you needier, wanting for more of the man above you like how priests desire the light of God. You think of that ill-stricken Reverend that wanders this camp and something aches in your chest as you let your hands go over the curve of his shoulders and anchor yourself there. Teeth aching with each suck on your tongue you don’t notice it when your bloomers are off until the brisk cool night breeze dances on your bare thighs. The skin there is hot and growing more so when he lets his hands settle on the smooth skin.

It’s almost comical how perfectly you fit in his roughed hands, his callouses from his knife so seamlessly accepted by the plush of your thighs. Like the velvet cushions rich men sit in their gilded train cars and golden stagecoaches. You go from velvet to wet silk with simple touches and you moan something sweetly into his ear as his face goes to your chest and his hands in between your thighs. The backs of his knuckles tease the wetness of your slick that leaks like honey and Javier lets his lips kiss the bud of your nipple softly but not without letting his teeth have their own kiss at the edge to make you whine.

“You are so wet, leaking for me - you’ll make a mess on my pants mi amor.” His teasing is endless and you can hear that smile you see whenever you blink. You jumble out a half-assed apology and it makes Javier laugh at you again. He must have you in quite the state if it’s making your perfectly trained manners fall off like wool when faced with sheep shears. His fingers have made their way to where you are the most needy - letting them pet along the slit and cup at your mound. You moan his name, oh so, softly when he squeezes gently, cradling your most delicate part the same way he cradles the neck of his guitar.

“Javi - please, please.” The shortened version of his name makes him grin, shivering pleasantly at how affection given only to him melts into his ears like syrup.

“Ya se, ya se. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you tonight.” Dark eyes are wicked at how they glint in the low orange light of his tent as he lets one finger slip in. He reclines himself back so he can watch how you take him.

Javier does not profess how he would take care of you every night for the rest of the nights you have in your life.

You whine thinly into the air, and it makes him hiss at how tight you are around his one finger.

“Relax, chiquita - I can’t take care of you when you’re all tense like this. Shh, shh,” he murmurs to you and in return you whine with a nod; pliable and sweet for him as you let your legs shuffle more open, working on letting him in and letting him deeper. One finger turns to two, and they curl into you cruelly without respite for how you weep and sniffle at the pleasure he tugs from you like music from his guitar strings. Your mouth is hanging open, drool shining on your lips as you let out thin little sounds.

You feel full, and pleasure dances along your spine as his thumb plays with the glimmering pearl of your clit. You whine - no sing his name like gospel and it makes something inside his stomach preen like a peacock.

Javier is dedicated, giving you an even pace and deep curls of his fingers to make you soft and loose for him. Dark brown eyes watch you with the precision of a predator - eagerly taking in how sweat drips down the middle of your breasts and how your jaw drops to make out little pants of his name just for him to hear. His fingers do just enough to bring you to the edge, and you stutter over your words as you push at his wrist with the desperation that is unbecoming of you. Etiquette and education are long gone from your mind as you beg him with an addled mind.

“Please, please not - not like that,” you stutter and let out soft little moans in between each word as Javier remains unmoved; letting his fingers stay inside you at their same pace, dark brown eyes taking in how even this almost makes you weep in pleasure. His cock stirs in his jeans at how it will be when he’s inside of you, filling you well beyond anything you’ve ever had.

“No, like this - it will hurt if you don’t cum now.” He mutters, voice thick with lust as he watches your hips twitch and jump when you have begun to hit the highest peak of your pleasure. Your body is eager for his fingers, tightening and fluttering around them as you leak down to his palm. Javier goes to shush you but you’re a good girl he realizes, watching you with a grin at how your hands shoot up to your mouth to muffle your long winded whines when you crash and cum for him. His voice is soft, reassuring you as you ride out your pleasure with the trembling of your hips and the quickened rising falls of your chest.

“Just like that - like that. There you go, there you go. Cum for me, give me this one and I’ll give you another.” He promises you, his accent thick as he watches your eyes go dark and unfocused as you burn with hot desire for him until he hears your broken voice mumble; “There’s more?”

He laughs. Teasingly, adoringly, lovingly and so many other words he can’t quite say.

“Si mi vida, there is always more with me. That I can promise you.”

Again, he laughs at the way he feels you twitch around his fingers that have stilled inside at the prospect of what more entails. He won’t admit to how his cock twitches in time with you tucked away in his pants.

You whine at the idea, hot at the image of being filled with all of him and whine again when his fingers slip out of you. Gossamer strands of your cum follow them, only to break and splatter along the inside of your flushed thighs. Javier smiles the same charming smile as when he sings and soothes you by rubbing your thigh with one hand while the other goes to undo his belt buckle.

You don’t see the length of him, only feel the heat of him against the petals of your cunt and it’s enough for you to yelp like some poor animal caught in a trap. Javier is bent over you, the build of his slim body covering you with his elbow supporting him above your head, eyes attuned to the half lit scene before him. You, sweating enough to make strands of your hair stick your flushed face with your eyes half lidded and mouth parted. His hips move without him thinking, coating his length in your glimmering release and rubbing against your still sensitive clit that it makes you flinch - mewling his name in a wet and defeated tone that makes him huff in half fondness-half teasing.

“Javi-” you whine, hotter than you have ever been and voice cracking when the head of his cock brushes past your entrance and makes its way in. You gasp into his mouth, one hand coming to cover your eyes and the other gripping at the fabric of his shoulder. Javier sighs against your lips and kisses you to muffle his own noises - higher pitched than he’d like to admit they are lost in between your two mouths as you take another inch of him. He is long, he knows this and you are tight ; tighter than anyone else he’s ever been with due to your lack of experience so he is slow with you despite how he wants to devour you entirely with one stroke.

Javier is tactical when he wants to be and is more than practical when he has to be so he controls himself, letting you have him inch by torturous inch. You are panting, throwing your head back in a way that lets him catch the tears that make it down your cheek and are uncovered by your hand. With one hand he bats away yours until your face - glistening and flushed is revealed to him as your mouth shines with drool from pleasure. His thumb goes to wipe away a tear and you move to feel the warmth of him more closely.

“Why are you crying hermosa, hm?” He asks you, sighing at how you take more of him so sweetly. You don’t respond only squealing and squeezing around him as you lose more of yourself on his cock. Half of him is seated inside you, enough for you to moan his name brokenly as you beg for more despite you wincing when he moves. Javier grunts and stops, letting the half of him that’s inside you stay still to let you breathe

“You can,” you pant, “you can put the whole thing in - please, please put it in.” You beg, and a thrill goes up his spine at the idea of seeing you weep from his cock being too much runs across his mind before he pushes it to the side. You are far too sweet, too delicate to be treated so roughly by him. You aren’t a working girl he can forget about come morning but the woman he wants to wake up to, which is why it’s easy for him to do what he thinks to be best.

He denies you.

“No, this is -” he sighs deeply at the way you feel around him - slick and wet and wanting for him to give you more until it aches. “This is enough. You’ll take the rest next time.” You whine at the thought and whine again when he pulls his slim hips back to fuck you like that. He gives you slow, careful thrusts with the hand that cradles your face sneaking down to rub at your pulsing clit with gentle precision. It’s almost too much for you, he notes and he feels bad that the sight of you weeping on half his cock, losing your mind with your eyes glassy from tears is doing it more for him than anything else.

You’ve always been a proper girl, ever since he saw you on your horse in the snow of Colter looking at him with the sweetest eyes framed by snowflakes. There’s a sick pleasure tugging at his stomach at how he has you now, manners gone and all you are now is debauched and drunk on him. It’s almost enough to make him finish and clearly it’s enough to get you there too by the way you weep out the little nickname you gave him.

“Javi, Javi, ’m going to -” He cuts you off with a punched out exhale, grinding his molders to keep from cumming inside by how you keep tightening around him like a vice.

“Go let go for me, mi amor - you’ve been so good.” With that you break, voice so ruined it cracks when you whine out babbles of precious thank yous in his ear as you come to completion a second and last time for the night. It’s painful, the last drag he gets of your cunt before he tugs at his sticky and slick cock to shoot his spend against the mound of your cunt. The sight of him dripping down to your twitching lower half more than makes up for it and he is more than willing to bend back over you to press gentle kiss after kiss on your panting lips. Your eyes had fluttered close and you babbled mindlessly under his gentle touches as you slowly came back down to look up at him with blearily eyes. Javier smiles at you with all the tenderness of the world when you wrap your arms around his neck - he manages to settle on his side with you in his arms and you tuck your face into his neck. You nuzzle the skin and sight softly, eyes red and half lidded tired from all he has pulled for you. Javier is soft with you, spoiling you by letting his nails scratch your scalp the way you like.

“Rest mi vida, I’ll clean you up.” he murmurs into your hair, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. You hum, murmur his name and a soft little confession of love before your eyes slip shut. You shiver when the soft fabric of a pocket square wipes at the mess of your swollen cunt and whine when you are moved to have your nightgown pulled over your head. Through your fussing Javier remains gentle, whispering praise as he settles you to his chest to sleep. When you awake you’ll be faced with teasing you thought you were quiet enough to avoid but that can wait. Now your eyes are heavy and Javier’s heartbeat is soothing - anything else can wait as for now you want for nothing else.

#lamb.writes #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella smut #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption x reader #rdr2 smut

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toomanythoughts2 · 2 months

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Theory on Toki's Photos and How They Represent Family and Identity

I got inspired by @liqu0ricepizza Post about wanting to know more about Toki's photographs in his room. I also love all of the photos in his room and love looking at them. So, I compiled a little theory on what the meaning behind those photos represent.

In short, I believe that the way the photos are arranged represent the timeline of Toki's life, his identity, and his family. The theory goes down the line of photos from left to right and I explain my reasoning for each of them. I also look at the times where the photos change!

As always, the main theory is below the Keep Reading!

The Overview

Toki is the only one in the band that seems to have photos in his room at all. But the thing that I've noticed is that these photos will change sometimes depending on how close up the shot is! These 5 pictures below is what Toki's pictures usually looks like. It always follows the same pattern;

Single shot of his mother

Group shot of his parents

Single shot of his father

Empty small frame

Single shot of Toki playing guitar

Group shot of Dethklok

Single shot of his father

My hypothesis is that this is the order in which Toki sees his life story in reference to his family and identity.

Photos

These are the stills that I believe the photos on Toki's wall come from.

From the left, we start with his mother. A mother is the start of life. Toki was born from this woman so it would make sense that this is where his life began. But it's also a long, narrow shot with an obvious missing person to her right. That place is suppose to be for Aslaug. Even in his photographs, his presence is always there, even when he's not present.

Then to the double shot. Take notice that in the double shot, Toki placed them so the opposite parent is placed next to their spouse from the other photos. The single shot of his mother is hanging next to her husband in the second photo, where as his mother in the double shot is next to his father in the single shot next to her. This speaks to me as a way of acknowledging they are a duo. They are not meant to be separated, and that Toki always witnessed them as a team. They are his parents!

The middle photo also conveys to me that this how Toki saw his parents as a toddler. Toki is still too young to be completely separated from his mother, but the labor and abuse began shortly around this timeframe. He was expected to be a working individual as a family member and his father knew that. His father is the one that put him to work.

Then to the single shot of Aslaug. Pay attention to the fact that his portrait is tall and narrow, with no free space on either side. His photograph is meant to be powerful. He is still Aslaug with or without his wife. His presence does not necessarily mean that Anya's presence has to be there as well. This could speak well to the type of dynamic that Toki witnessed as a child between his parents. His father was his own person, someone who command a room. He was a reverend. Reverends have to be able to control their congregations and lead them to their salvation, no matter the cost. His mother was just a part of that following. And Toki sees that.

I believe that this is when Toki started getting severely abused and forced to work through horrible conditions. There was no need for his mother, her job as caretaker was over. For now, his life was under his fathers rule and no one else. He is his father's son.

Next to them is the small empty picture frame. I have a few theories.

This picture frame represents the lack of acknowledgement as a child in Toki. He was not seen, just like how there is no photo present. He did not see himself as a part of the family in context to his parents. He was theirs to use and then throw away when they got angry. There are no photos of him because his parents did not see him as a family member, only a tool. So the empty frame represents the lack of identity in the family structure. That's why it's so small. It's a frame meant for a child's picture. The child should always be smaller than the parents, lower than the parents. Notice how it's below the top of their heads? It's a way of respecting them. The empty frame is Toki, both psychically as a missing childhood picture and metaphorically as an empty shell of a person without a role to play.

This represents the time where Toki was kicked out. The empty frame is there because Toki had no family except himself while he was living on the streets. He had no one to count on or be protected by. The frame represents that loss of time, loss of structure, loss of identity, loss of everything. Take note that it's in between his father's picture and then a picture of himself. It's small because it could represent the amount of time he was lost for or the way it made him feel while he was lost. Either way, it's a representation of loneliness and fear, put out into a world that doesn't care about him. Toki had no one but himself, and he has no photos of himself during that time. So he has nothing to put there.

Take note that all four of these photos hang over nothing. There is nothing under them but empty space and the floor. This could represent a fear of putting things that he loves near his parents. He had nothing but a straw doll to his name as a child. It could be fear holding him back from putting anything near them, even though they could not take them away. He had nothing.

(The closet I could find a source photo of this photo is his figurine from the mystery boxes and a few stills, but nothing cut and copy like the rest of the photos.)

Next we have a picture of Toki playing guitar as a grown up! This represents individual freedom and identity within himself. He knows that he can count on himself to be his own family with his own passions. His guitar playing granted him life, a role, an identity, a passion, a skill. Playing guitar is one of Toki's greatest passions! It's also a full body shot! Toki is proud of his photo, he wants to show that he can be valuable in his own right as a guitarist!

However!

His dinosaur toy is blocking him!

This could represent his childlike tendencies blocking fans, the band, and viewers from see his true potential. The head of the dinosaur is completely blocking his guitar, preventing the viewer from seeing him play. His suppressed childhood is preventing himself from fully being recognized as an accomplished guitarist and a full fledge member of the band. This is also the only photo where is above his bookshelf of trinkets. His dinosaur, his globe, his skull, his books, his ship! These are those childhood fantasies he wished he could explored when he was an actual child. Why couldn't Toki just get a long shelf, spread everything out and that way the dinosaur wouldn't be blocking his photo? Because he can't put anything under his parents. So because of his parents abuse in his childhood, now his freedom to explore those interests take over his identity, until all you can see are his things. This could represent his looming Age Regression within the series and his child-like tendencies and naiveness.

Next to that is a photo of Dethklok. Now this is his family!

He cares and loves these people. He has an identity with the band, though sometimes it's overshadowed, it's still there. This is also the only group photo that Toki is in! He has a home and a family here, he has met the end of the road. It's close to his bed, surrounded on all sides with his things. It's not blocked by anything and in fact, it's overtop a lamp. It's in the spotlight! For all purposes, that should be the end of it all. The happy ending. He has a family, a role, an identity, the spotlight, the focus, the fans. Everyone loves him, respects him somewhat. It's as high on the wall as the decor will let it. He thinks highly of them, of himself.

But his life isn't that easy.

The last photo is a single shot of his father, close up on his face, looming over Toki's bed. The picture is sightly lower than Dethklok's photo but it's larger. It's a reminder, that despite all of it, he is still his father's son.

His past will always be there to haunt him, his father's presence will always linger over him. It's domineering, it's haunting, it's terrifying. It's meant to strike fear. It's right in front of a robot with a axe, positioned right over top Toki's head where he sleeps. It's a control tactic, a reminder that Toki's life was always in his father's hands. He held the whip that tore his back, he stands behind the axe above his sleeping head. Aslaug is not letting Toki go. The damage that he has done to Toki is immense and complex. No might how high he gets with Dethklok, his father will always be closer, more demanding. And Toki will always be his victim until he learns to stop giving him that power.

Now, when you get close up shots, the pictures change!

Changed Photos

This represents the inner feelings of the character in the shot.

In "Fertilityklok", Toki is looking at the fertility calendar Caroline has given him. The close up shot replaces the Looming Father picture above his bed and the Dethklok photo. His father's picture has been replaced with Dimneld, who Toki sees as his father-friend. He loved and cared about him dearly. I view this as maybe Toki wishing he could talk to Dimneld for advice on what to do. Or, it could be him relating the idea of becoming a father to the only father-figure he knows that was kind to him. Could he be like Dimneld? Can he be a good father? What is a father?

And then you have young Toki. This could speak about young Toki's aspirations toward a family. Is this really what you wanted? Or it could represent the idea of bringing in another Wartooth into the world. Would they turn out like him? Or maybe that Toki still views himself as a child and that he is unable to make this life long commitment. Either way, Toki's photos depict his feelings toward the calendar.

We move on to "Dethcamp" where Nathan is putting a stack of clothes in Toki's room while he's off to camp. In this episode, Nathan takes on a very parental role for Toki. He is his band-dad the most in this episode. Now, in the background, three photos change. The small frame become a close up of Aslaug, Toki's guitar playing picture become another double shot of his parents, and the photo above the lamp is the same Young Toki photo.

I think that this is Nathan's feelings about Toki and his emotions upon finding out that Toki is as camp with Magnus.

To Nathan, what he knows about Toki is that his parents rule over him. The scars of their abuse are etched on every part of Toki's body and mind. Nathan has stated that Toki's father is a "piece of garbage" and does not push Toki into talking about him. He does not like Toki's parents at all. But he knows that they are a huge part of his character.

The photos behind him represent how he thinks about Toki. He thinks of his past, of the pain he has gone through, the fact that his parents will not leave him alone. It's overbearing and apparent. Even the empty frame is full, something Nathan views as Aslaug's fault (Toki's missing identity as a child and the loss time in which he was kicked out.) He recognizes Toki's shit childhood and his homelessness before Dethklok was Aslaug's fault directly!

The photo of Toki playing guitar as also changed. Toki's child-like presence is tainted and caused by his parents. All of his interests are a way for Toki to take back control of a lost childhood, something Nathan blames on Toki's parents.

Then you come across young Toki in the Dethklok photo frame. It's above the lamp, in the spot light. This is how Nathan views Toki, a child. Above everything, Toki is still that lost, small, innocent child that somehow found his way into his band and into his life. Toki is canonically seen as the little brother of the band, but this is "proof" of how Nathan really sees him. To him, Toki's identity is a child.

This shot depicts Nathan inner emotions as he sees the pamphlet. He is remembering all of the things Magnus has done to him and the band and how that relates to Toki's parents. They are bad people, hell bent on hurting one person, the child, Toki. Immediately after this scene, Nathan high tails it to Pickles room to get him to get Toki.

In "Diversityklok", we're introduced to a new photo and a remix of an original photo. We all know the group photo from this episode. So first, I want to point out that the group photo is on a completely opposite wall to the rest of the photos. It's directly over the body of his bed in a personalized photo frame, in a spot that has not had a photo before. This a completely new photo.

This represents the amount of care and thought that went into this photo frame, but also the amount of care and thought that goes into how Toki views his family and band. He loves them a lot, but they don't seem to love Toki (at least metaphorically in the photo.) He is in the background, obviously not told about this photoshoot or even with an ice cream. The episode is about Toki's role in the band, thus in the family, being ignored and pushed out. He's losing his identity and family. Despite all of Toki's work toward building a perfect family, he is still not enough for them.

Then we get to the photo above Toki's bed. It's the same photo but instead of Aslaug's normal dead stare, he is looking directly at the photo in Toki's hand with an angry expression. It's his looming presence once more taking over Toki's life. How it's all coming full circle and that no matter what, he will always that little boy in his father's clutches, unable to find a family that cares about him.

This also could be his father's anger influencing Toki's own anger toward his family. Toki is his son, a very angry and controlling man. He's taking lessons from that anger, smashing the photograph on the floor after this. The point of this episode is Toki creating his own club, the Special Persons Invites Club. Toki is the leader of said club. You know who else was a leader of a "club"? Aslaug. The reverend. His father.

In Season 4, this is the beginning of Toki seriously questioning his position in the band, looking for outside community (Camp, Magnus, Rockso), his feud with Skwisgaar as lead guitarist heightens, try's to shape himself into whatever another band member (Murderface) needs him as so they don't throw him away (Dethsiduals, Breakupklok), and him physically separating himself from the band at the funeral. All of that then follows Doomstar Requiem, which proves to Toki that his family and identity is the band!

Conclusion

The photos in his room, the ones that stay and the ones that change, are clever ways for the viewer to interpret Toki's life and the mindset of the people in his room. Obviously, there's a thousand reasons why those photos could be on his wall, but I think this makes the most sense to me.

Ok bye :)

#metalocalypse #toki wartooth #dethklok #nathan explosion #metalocalypse headcanons #Toki's Photos #metalocalypse theory

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piratefishmama · 2 years

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Crashed the Wedding, Part1-3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Steve found himself tuning back into his forced nuptials at the sound of… what sounded like a gunshot, but then… surely not, right? Maybe he was imagining things, hoping for some kind of miracle to pop up and get him out of it, at least if something out of his control stepped in then maybe…

Maybe he’d be able to stall, maybe he’d be able to figure out a way to get around his father’s threats, but— no. Even he knew that was nothing but a pipe dream. His parents would get their way, regardless of random gunshots in Hawkins. He wouldn’t be able to run from it, wouldn’t be able to stall, they’d likely just reschedule for the next day, throw money at whoever had it booked up for the day to get them to move.

His parents were nothing if not resourceful.

Nobody else seemed too bothered by the sound, eyes on the reverend at the head of it all, currently blathering on about Corinthian’s 13 as if it had any right being part of the mockery of love that was that wedding, he almost laughed at the segment he’d tuned into.

“Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”

Sure enough, it never ended, but… he let his eyes glance to his side, to the woman he didn’t know, or care for. Was its end relevant, if it’d never begun in the first place? How could love never ending be relevant to a loveless marriage? He had a love already, had let it slip through his fingers through some stupid self-appointed duty that was never his to carry.

Someone had to stay behind though. Who better than the one with no other path to take? The kids were all going somewhere all brilliant in their own fields, Nancy wanted Emerson, she wanted out of Hawkins, a life of journalism, seeking the truth of the world, Robin had followed her seeking her own love, promising to write, to call, she always fulfilled that promise.

He’d never been left completely alone, even if sometimes he felt like it.

And Eddie. God… Eddie. Where was he now? Probably writing some song in a tour bus or playing Dungeons and Dragons with the band in a hotel room during a rare moment of quiet, or hell, maybe he was just passed out in a bed somewhere, holding someone who wasn’t Steve. At least he’d be safe. His life, his career, everything Eddie had built for himself since leaving the hell hole that was Hawkins, would be safe.

If that meant he had to marry a woman he neither knew, nor loved, if that meant he had to live a life without love for himself, well… he’d take that sacrifice too. He just wished he could see him one more time, in person. Not on a TV screen, or in some magazine, although he’d collected each magazine Eddie had appeared in after leaving Hawkins for fame and fortune, nothing beat the real thing.

Nothing could beat that teasing smile in person, those chocolate Bambi eyes, the smell of leather, calloused, guitar string worn fingers skimming up and down his arm as he drifted off to sleep. Nothing on Earth or any other whacky dimension, could beat those simple things that only one person could give him.

“I now ask the Bride and Groom to stand facing one another with their hands intertwined.” He hadn’t bothered to write vows, he knew she hadn’t either, they’d gone with the simple, pre-written ones built into the ceremony. Facing her, seeing how much makeup she was wearing, her features manicured, not a hair out of place, sharp stormy eyes full of judgement and… boredom, she offered her hands; it took every ounce of his will power to take them. Too small, too dainty. He didn’t bother disguising the distain from his face. She paid no mind to it. “Steven Anthony Harrington, do you promise to love, honour, cherish, and respect Harriet Reid above all others, from this day forward until your very last day on Earth?”

“I—”

The doors swung open at the far end of the church, all eyes automatically turning toward the sound as it was followed by an amplified “I object” in a deep, familiar drawl that took Steve’s breath away close, but not nearly as much as the figure in that doorway. “Sorry m’late, sweetheart, traffic was a nightmare.”

Part 8

#Steddie #Crashed the Wedding #PirateWrites #:D

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zhimaqiu · 2 months

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“This God damned wind”

Word count: 900-1000

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57341785

Paring: You & Javier Escuella, no established feelings - could be read however your heart desires

Reader info: Gender neutral reader, 2nd person, past tense

Summary: Reverse comfort, but with a dosage of restraint.

You notice Javier passing time at the edge of the camp and he doesn't seem entirely okay to you.

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It was that song again. The sad song one could only heard late at night if a certain someone couldn't sleep.

"Angel de amor, tu pasion no la comprendo..."

You raised your head from a book you tried to read at the camp table when Javier's quiet voice reached your ears.

He was sitting alone, at the edge of the camp in Horseshoe Overlook, leaning on a trunk that was usually occupied by John. But scar-face was asleep, so Javier could enjoy the solitude; or maybe he simply felt like singing, wanting to distance himself enough so he doesn't wake the others. Whatever it was, that night Javier's voice... broke a couple of times. It wasn't a challenging or a new song for him – didn't make sense that Javier's angelic voice could falter.

Keeping the book in your hands, you made your way to him, not caring much about making noise. Bill, Sean and Reverend were dead asleep, either snoring or buried under covers. The cold of Heartland's nights wasn't as bad as the one in the mountains, but Miss Grimshaw kept reminding everyone this still ain't a tropical island. You had a thick coat on you arms, Javier however lacked anything on his.

"You alright, Javier?" You stopping next to him when he finished the lyrics.

"I'll be fine. No need to worry," he answered without looking at you.

His fingers still worked on the guitar's strings elongating the melody until he finally letting it die when you knelt next to him.

"You shouldn't sit on the ground." A pat on the grass let you know how chill and wet it was. "Might catch a cold from that and we don't have the greatest doctor in the camp."

"Are you sure Miss Grimshaw's spirit hasn't possessed you? Who knows, maybe it travels between us when she's asleep."

You laughed at his joke and patted his arm. "Come on, let's get back to the camp fire. No one will mind if you sing there."

"I ain't exactly concerned with that." He looked at you, his eyes reflecting the moonlight and fire. "It's the only time Marston doesn't occupy my favorite spot."

"You can always tell him to get. He doesn't own the place," you grumbled, looking back at his tent. It was time to get the rest of the tents to look like that. Wind could get into Javier's way too easily. It barely protected him from rain.

"Yea..." His voice was more raspy when he drifted away for a moment, straining his answer. "But I want to let him enjoy himself a bit more after that mountain business."

"Do that too much and he will be even more spoiled than he already is."

"Can't get much worse."

You both laughed, Javier leaning back and looking up the stars as he calmed down. The leaves, shaking on the wind, covered the most of the bear constellations, but the view to the west was free as the west itself. No wonder so many members of the gang subconsciously looked in that direction when enjoying the view. What a coincidence.

"You... might be right about that cold." Javier shivered a little standing up and offering you a hand to stand up. "The campfire doesn't sound so bad after all. Maldito viento..."

"I think Charles made some... cherry juice. Not sure what that exactly is, but he got some cinnamon in it. Expressive stuff. Real good and sweet when you warm it. Sounds good?"

"For sure," he responded with a smile.

Once you were back at the fire, he leaned on his guitar as he watched you take out the jug with the juice and warmed it on the open fire. His gaze hazy as he began drifting away from the warmth and the delicious scent. Sweet aroma of cherries mixed with faint spiciness of cinnamon melting his previous worries away.

You poured the drink from the metal cup you warmed it up in into a glass and passed it to him, warning him that you weren’t sure how hot it is. He thanked with a nod and smelled it, a cat-like smile making his face relax. It only widened further when he tasted it.

“You know, amigo," you began trying your best in his language, "you deserve some good, warm rest." You reaches for a blanket and threw it over his shoulders. “You did great on that last job.”

In fact, he simply looked sick and didn’t act nor smelled like typical drunk Javier. You didn’t have a good excuse to check his temperature, so you figured the best way is to just prevent it the best you could, without making him think you worry that much.

He swayed from side to side, melting away. Fever must have taking him over when he leaned on your shoulder, his forehead brushing against your neck. You sighed and patted his shoulder, feeling how hot it was.

“Come on, time for bed,” you encouraged him and pulled him towards his tent.

No complain left his mouth when he lied down setting the glass down. You tugged him in and took of his hat and loosened his jet black hair. Javier yawned and sniffed again reaching for your arm.

“Thanks,” he murmured and smiled when you put your hand on his, squeezing reassuringly.

“As Dutch would say," you made fun on his voice, "We. Need you strong.”

You barely heard his little chuckle before he quickly fell asleep and felt his hand slip away. He didn't need much. Just a friend to get him there without pushing it.

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