#not tagging the last van lol

[fanblurb88]

Okay who let the guy who ALWAYS gets lost drive??

there is this post that i Think came from reddit (here) about getting in a van with these groups of people. nami’s van is the right answer btw

[dreamofbecoming]

here we are at last! there have been a bunch of posts lately about how neither eddie nor robin have any gaydar to speak of, but steve canonically does, and also vickie definitely left fast times paused on purpose as a flag, and frankly all of you are just so objectively True and Correct that i had no choice but to write about it. parts 1 and 2 not strictly necessary for context but definitely set in the same universe

part 1 part 2 ao3

platonic stobin, rockie, steddie

rating: t

wc: 8.4k (holy fuck it got away from me)

---

Robbie isn't drunk yet, but she's getting there.

Honestly, Steve should probably slow her down, but what the hell. They're celebrating, after all. He'll cut her off in a bit, but she deserves to have some fun. They all do.

It's been three weeks since Eddie got out of the hospital, one since he was finally let off bedrest. Or, not exactly bedrest, but enough restrictions that he was basically confined to the trailer (brand new, courtesy of Owens and his goons), and from the way he complained the whole time you'd think they had him chained to the bedposts.

Hm. Maybe thinking of Eddie chained to bedposts isn't the best use of Steve's time. Not here, anyway. That's a Later activity.

It's the first house party any of them have been invited to since Spring Break, thrown by one of Robin's band friends. None of them planned on going, except that two days ago a frantic call came over the All Hands channel on the walkie that El had finally broken through, Max was awake, and the doctors thought her arms and legs would eventually, almost, make a full recovery, granted with lots of physical therapy.

Apparently the only useful thing Vecna ever did was break her bones at right angles so they could set them cleanly. Her vision will probably never fully return, but she's alive. She's alive, and she's awake, and she's apparently being a complete menace to the nurses, which is more comforting to Steve than any of the rest of it, so how could they ask for anything else?

Steve still feels like he's taking his first real breath after drowning every time he inhales. He's not sure he'll ever stop feeling this relief. It's so sharp it's almost painful.

So they're at this party, and they're celebrating. There's a real celebration planned, of course, with the whole Party and assorted extras, Murray (ugh) and Jonathan's California friend (who seems nice), Joyce and Hopper (and isn't that a trip) and Eddie and Wayne (Eddie read him in immediately, to no one's surprise) and everyone else. They've got plans to descend on Steve's house as soon as Max is allowed out of the hospital, where they'll presumably trash his mother's nice white carpets and eat through his snacks like locusts and enrage his neighbors with their shrieking in the pool. Hopper and Wayne will fight over who gets to work the grill until Joyce gets fed up and takes over and Eddie will commandeer the sound system and Robin will laugh at Steve for frantically switching between Host Mode and Lifeguard Mode until she finds someone big enough to sit on him and make him eat something. He can't wait.

But for now, they're at this party, and they're celebrating. With someone else's alcohol, which is a nice treat for Steve.

He's leaning against the wall by the kitchen doorway, sipping something Robin made him that tastes like paint thinner and looks like undiluted red food dye. He's surprised it hasn't eaten through the bottom of the cup like that green gunk from the elevator. He doesn't quite feel like joining the crush of people in the living room. He's felt a little off since Spring Break, a little lost inside his head. He knows Robin can tell, but she hasn't pushed him, other than dragging him here tonight. He's so grateful for her he thinks he could cry.

He doesn't, though, he just watches her from the kitchen doorway, squished on a couch between Vickie and who he thinks might be one of Eddie's bandmates. He recognizes him from those nights he would pick the kids up from Hellfire at the school, and also from Eddie's hospital room. He's got fluffy hair and a flannel shirt around his waist. Gary, maybe? Garth? Steve's not sure. He'd introduce himself and find out for sure, but apparently, carrying Eddie's bleeding not-quite-corpse on his back into the hospital and throwing around his father's name until someone agreed to treat him before collapsing in the lobby from his own injuries wasn't quite enough to erase the contempt for King Steve, so Steve's been mostly avoiding those guys. Eddie swears he's working on it. Steve...should maybe care more than it feels like he does. He thinks maybe a lot of things should feel more...more, than they do. But that's a problem for Later Steve. It's fine. He's fine. He's handling it.

He watches Robin, and she's laughing, and she's not quite drunk yet, and he's glad for her. This is what he wanted. This is what he wished for, on that flipped over bucket, in that field. That they'd all get through it. That they'd all get to keep smiling and doing stupid teenager shit. He maybe wishes he felt a little more like someone who wanted to do stupid teenager shit and a little less like someone watching his friends have fun from behind a plate-glass window, but he'll take it. Whatever he can get, he'll take it.

He looks back at Robin, and, huh. She's still laughing, but now she's between Eddie and Maybe-Gary-Maybe-Garth. He follows Robin's less-than-subtle (crimeny, this girl, he's gotta teach her a goddamn poker face) longing gaze and sees a flash of red heading for the back door.

This feels like a chance to do something useful. Robin will be ok, Eddie will keep an eye on her.

He follows Vickie out the back door. He finds her leaned against the back of the house, her eyes closed, her head tilted back. She's smiling. She really is pretty, Steve can see why Robin likes her. God, he hopes he's right about her. Either way, he's determined to find out. It's what Robin deserves.

"Hey, Vickie. Come out for some fresh air?"

Her smile gets bigger when she turns to him. He really hopes he's right about her, she's a fucking sweetheart. He hopes he isn't about to do something hugely stupid. Knowing him, he probably is, but also knowing him, he's gonna do it anyway.

"Hey Steve! Yeah, I was just getting a little warm in there. How about you? Smoke break?"

"Nah, I'm trying to quit. Robin hates them, she keeps stealing them out of my mouth, so it's somehow more expensive and I don't even get to smoke them. Easier to just stop. Which is probably her goal," he laughs.

"You and Robin are pretty close, huh?"

"Oh yeah, platonic soulmates. With a capital P!" He makes an incredibly dorky gesture with his hands, and has to stop himself from facepalming. Great going, dingus.

Still, Vickie's smile gets a little wider, which he thinks is probably a win.

"That's why I came out here, actually. I wanted a chance to talk to you." Her eyebrows go up. Always with the goddamn eyebrows around here. "Not, like, in a creepy way! Or, well, I guess that's what a creep would say, but I swear I'm not! I just meant, because Robin really likes you," shit, too much, "I mean, she likes hanging out with you, and she's my best friend and all, so I wanted to. Um. Get to know you better. You know. For Robin."

"...For Robin."

He groans. "I swear I didn't used to be like this. I used to be able to talk like a normal person. I didn't know that was a skill you could lose! I would have worked harder at it!" She's laughing at him now, but at least she's polite enough to hide her giggles behind her hand. That's something.

He sighs, and throws his head back to take a deep breath and try and come back to his body, like Robin showed him. Having therapist parents sounds like a nightmare to Steve, but it has its uses, he guesses.

He looks back at Vickie, who is watching him with what seems like more amusement than concern, so he's taking that as a win. If she's laughing, she's not running away. He sticks his hand out.

"Hi, I'm Steve. You're really important to the most important person in my life, so I'd really like to be your friend." He tries to give her his most winning smile, but honestly he's a little worried his teeth are still red from that godawful drink.

She grins at him, still definitely laughing at him a little but more genuine than before, and shakes his hand. "I'm Vickie, and you're really important to someone I hope will become really important to me, so I'd love to be your friend."

He doesn't breathe a sigh of relief, but it's a close thing. King Steve decided to stay in tonight, apparently, so he's on his own, and boy oh boy is he worse than he remembered.

"So, new friend, what do you want to get to know about me?"

Thank fuck Vickie's carrying so much of the weight here, honestly.

"We could, uh, talk about movies?" Jesus Christ, where did all the goddamn Harrington Charm go, anyway? Did Vecna eat it?!

There go the eyebrows again. He's cursed, he really is. "Movies?"

"Yeah, you know, I work at a movie store. Or I did, anyway. With Robbie. Pretty sure it went under in the quake though. That or Keith just fired us and didn't bother calling to let us know." He laughs awkwardly. He's doing fucking everything awkwardly, honestly. He hasn't even asked the question yet and he's already sweating bullets. No wonder Bobbie was so scared to confront this head-on. "Anyway, it can tell you a lot about a person, you know. Their favorite movie."

Come on, take the bait. Take it.

She nods seriously at him. "Oh I get that for sure, you can learn a lot about someone by their favorite book. I used to volunteer at the library and there was always gossip about who checked out what romance novel and whether that meant their marriage was on the rocks, you know?" She giggles, hiding behind her hand for a second. "I guess it was kind of mean, but we never said anything to anyone outside the library, and never to their face, you know? It was just something to keep us entertained on slow days."

Fantastic, he can work with this.

"Oh totally, I completely get it. Robs and I did the same thing at Family Video, making up stories about what we imagined people's lives were like that they were renting Casablanca and Gremlins on the same night, you know? Like, what does that evening look like? Which one do they watch first?"

She laughs. Perfect. She took the bait, now he's just gotta reel her in. Or something. He's never been fishing.

"You know, I usually rent my movies from Family Video. Did you guys ever look up my rental history?"

Aaaand, got her!

"You know, I think we did, actually, not that I'm helping the creep allegations," he winks at her. She slaps him on the shoulder. There we go, there's the Harrington Charm. Jesus fuck, where has it been all night? Sleeping?

Moment of truth, here we go.

"Fast Times At Ridgemont High, right?" He keeps his eyes on her face while he says it. He needs to see how she reacts.

She's been watching a raccoon rummaging through the neighbor's trash, but as soon as he mentions the movie, she whips her head around and looks at him sharply.

She studies his face intently in the glow from the floodlights above the garage. Whatever she finds, the fear in her eyes fades just slightly to caution. All good signs.

Fuck, this is harder than he remembers. Talking in code and reading all the subtle little shifts in body language involved in this conversation is stretching muscles in his brain he's forgotten he had. His friends these days all just sort of...say whatever they mean, straight out. He thought it was weird and off-putting at first, but now that he's doing this dance again, he's realizing he hasn't missed it.

The things he does for Robin, honestly.

He can see the moment she decides to trust him, even though she's still tense. She takes a deep breath, like she's gearing up for something. "That's a good one, for sure. You know, I think I maybe forgot to rewind it the last time I returned it? I paused it at my favorite part, but I think I got distracted and never finished it. I hope that doesn't cause too much trouble for you guys at your job. I'd hate to be one of those customers."

Jesus, this chick is brave. She's basically just coming right out and saying it! Holy shit, he's about to get Robbie a girlfriend! Ok, ok be cool. Bring it home, nice and easy.

"Nah, not a problem at all. Besides, I think I remember that tape, and we have the same favorite part, I think. All three of us." Fuck he hopes this isn't a mistake. If he just fucked up and outed Robin for no reason he'll- fuck, he doesn't know what he'll do. Ask El to open the gate back up so he can throw himself into it, probably.

Vickie's eyes go wide. "Robin too?" There's something like hope in her voice. He thinks. He hopes, anyway. Maybe he's just projecting, but he really thinks he's been right on the money from the start. He just needs to prove it to Rob and give them both a push.

"Yeah, Robin too. Now me, I like Fast Times a lot, but I also really like The Outsiders, you know?" A truth for a truth. Nothing is free, he remembers this dance. Trust is always earned.

He didn't realize her eyes could get any bigger, but somehow they do. Slowly, a grin spreads across her face. "Really? Uh, me too! Those are...both...really good movies, you know?"

"Totally!" He's grinning now too, he can't help it. He's so excited for Robbie he might explode. This is the most alive he's felt in weeks!

"Not Rob, though, she loves Fast Times, but not so much The Outsiders. She can be, uh. Pretty nervous, you know? To talk about her taste in movies. I think she might be worried you don't like Fast Times as much as she does, but I know she really wants to, uh, watch it with you. So you might have to be the one to, you know, tell her how much you like it, and maybe ask her to watch it together?"

He's getting lost in the metaphor here. That's clear enough, right? Robbie isn't going to believe him about Vickie liking boobies unless she walks up to her and tells her "I like women, go out with me," in very small words, so he really hopes he got the message across. He needs Vickie to take the wheel on this.

Luckily Vickie is nodding enthusiastically. "For sure! I can do that!" She's halfway back to the house, almost tripping over her feet, before she looks back at him sheepishly.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, that was so rude of me, I just got so excited and I wanted to-"

"Hey, no worries, that was the goal, right? This is what I was hoping for when I came out here to talk to you. She, uh..." He shouldn't. He should stick to the code, just in case, he should be careful, it's Robbie's life on the line here.

But it's also her happiness.

"She didn't believe me. About the Fast Times thing. And then we ran into you at The War Zone, and she was totally convinced I was wrong, but I knew I had to ask. Just in case. I just really want her to be happy, you know?" There. He hasn't actually said the words. If it goes sideways, they still have plausible deniability.

And then, well. There's always Plan B. He doesn't exactly want to burn Vickie's house down, but he will. For Robin, he'll do anything.

Vickie is smiling softly at him. She really is sweet, she and Bobbie are gonna be so cute together. He can't wait to tease them into oblivion.

"I'm glad she has a friend like you, Steve."

He scrubs a hand across the back of his neck, feeling weirdly self-conscious. "Yeah, well, you know. You've got a friend like me, now, too, right?"

There's that bright smile again. "Right!"

"Alright, go on. Go get your girl."

Good lord, redheads sure can blush, huh?

He waits a couple of minutes before heading back in himself, enjoying the night air. It's not quite the height of summer yet, so the evenings aren't as muggy as they'll be in a month or so. For the first time since he crawled out of that gate with Eddie lashed to his back with the remains of the rope ladder he cut to protect Dustin, he's feeling the breeze on his skin without feeling like he's wrapped in plastic, like there's a wall around him, keeping from being part of the world. He wants to savor it, in case it goes away again.

When he does make his way back in, he almost trips over Robin, who's grabbing what should probably be her last drink. At least it's just a beer this time, if it was more of that awful concoction from earlier he'd probably take it away from her, pouting be damned. They could have flambéed Vecna with that shit, nobody should be putting it in their bodies.

Her face lights up when she notices him, and she flings herself into his arms.

"Oof, shit, Buckley, doing ok there? You having fun?"

"Sooooo much fun, Stevie!" She nuzzles her face into the crook of his shoulder. Yeah, if she's this cuddly in public, this should definitely be her last drink, especially if Vickie wants to make any kind of move tonight. She's not usually this touchy outside of the really bad nightmare nights. "Missed you though. Where'd you go? My bubba disappeared."

"Aw, Bobs, I was just outside getting some air, I promise. I didn't go anywhere."

She shakes her head stubbornly, her nose dragging along his collarbone. "Noooo, you left. Not now, before. After. In the hospital. We all came back but you left. You went inside your big stupid fluffy head and you don't come out anymore. I miss you."

It's a good thing Robin's face is still hidden in his shoulder, because he can't quite keep his expression from crumpling. He hasn't meant to hurt her, he hasn't meant to hurt anyone, he swears. He's trying, he wants to come back, wants to be normal again, he just...he feels like part of him is still stuck at the bottom of Lover's Lake, watching everyone above him on the surface moving on and living life, but not able to reach them.

He holds her tighter to his chest, petting her hair. It's a mess, like when she first wakes up in the morning. Maybe she fell off the couch or something while he was outside.

"I'm sorry, Bobbin-bird. I didn't mean to go away. I'm working on it, ok? I promise," he murmurs reassurances into her hair, trying to erase the sadness he can hear in her slurred words. He's shit at talking about feelings, especially his own, but not with Robin. Never with Robin. Saying true things to Robin isn't any harder than thinking them to himself, and honestly that's basically the same thing. They pretty much only have the one brain between them.

She pulls back, studying his face closely with bleary eyes, squeezing his cheeks between her hands. "Promise?"

"I promise, Bobbie." He tries to project as much sincerity as he can muster. She's edging past tipsy, but not actually drunk yet, so she should remember this moment just fine tomorrow, and he won't have to do it again.

Who he is kidding? They're definitely having this conversation again tomorrow. Maybe he can distract her with teasing about Vickie. Where did she go, anyway?

Robin grins, apparently satisfied for now. "Good!" She smacks a kiss to his forehead and finally lets go of his face. Thank god. He loves her, more than anything in the world, but she's a goddamned sweaty drunk.

Before she can say anything else, a redheaded streak comes stumbling into the kitchen.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Vickie leans on the kitchen counter, trying to catch her breath.

Steve looks to Robin to see how she'll respond, and, oh. Well, shit. Robin is...frozen, apparently. She's very obviously focused on Vickie, which is good, because otherwise Steve would be having trouble with flashing back to Nancy's thousand-yard stare in the Upside Down, or the whites of Max's eyes, but the part of her brain that lets her, you know, say and do things, appears to have shut down.

Looks like it's Steve's turn with the communal brain, lucky him. Time to step in and save this, if he can.

"Vickie! Hi, you know, I was just wondering where you ran off to? I was about to tell Robin to track you down, to talk about that movie we talked about earlier, but it looks like you found us instead!" He jams an elbow into Robin's side as subtly as he can, but she still doesn't move.

Vickie is looking between them, still breathing a little heavy. "Yeah, I went looking for you as soon as I came back in, but Gareth said-" Gareth! That was it! "-you went to the bathroom, and did you know there are six bathrooms in this house? Who needs that many bathrooms? I think Angela only has one sibling, why would anyone need six bathrooms for four people? That's so crazy! Anyway, I'm glad I found you, Robin. I'm, uh, getting a little overwhelmed with all the people out here, so I was hoping you might want to find a room that's maybe a little quieter, so we can talk a bit? Just the two of us?" Damn, this girl's got guts. Steve likes her.

Robin continues to stand in front of the fridge like the world's prettiest scarecrow. Come on, babygirl, you can do this! He elbows her again.

"Vickie! Hi! Steve, Vickie's here! Hi!" Steve and Vickie both startle a little because, wow, ok, volume, Buckley, damn. Still. Progress.

"Sure is, babe. Tell you what, why don't I take this-" he plucks the unopened beer out of her slack hand, "-and you and Vickie can go sit down somewhere quiet and talk about movies, huh?"

Robin blinks at him owlishly. "Movies?"

He's about to make another veiled reference to the boobies conversation when Vickie blows all of her air out of her nose and stomps one foot like that one girl in the Chocolate Factory movie who reminds him of his cousin Shauna.

"I'm sorry, I can't take it! I just spent ten minutes outside talking to Steve in ridiculous codes and another ten minutes running up and down the stairs in this insane house and I'm exhausted. I can't take the metaphors anymore. Sorry, Steve, no offense."

"Hey, none taken. It's pretty exhausting, you're not wrong. I just had to be safe."

She shakes her head. "No, totally, I completely understand. I appreciate it. I'm just secret coded-out tonight, you know? Robin, do you want to go upstairs with me and talk? I have something to ask you and I'd really rather do it in private, I don't really want any of these people listening, you know?" She waves her hand at the open doorway to the living room, which is still packed with people.

Robbie's head has been bouncing back and forth between them like she's watching a tennis match, eyes wide.

"Huh? Me? What?"

Oh geez. She's shorting out.

"Bobbie, look at me." She meets his eye, and he can see the nerves threatening to overwhelm her. "Trust me?"

She nods. "Uh huh. 'Course, bubba."

Well that warms him right up, but it's not about him right now. "Good. Go with Vickie, babe. It'll be good, I promise." He hopes he can promise that, at least. He's pretty sure he can. And if it goes bad, they always have Plan B.

Vickie holds out a hand, and Robin stares at her like it might bite her, before taking it gingerly. Both girls immediately burst into bright red blushes, and under any other circumstance he would laugh at them, but this is a delicate moment. They need him to be cool. He can be cool. He can be so goddamn cool.

Vickie leads Robin out of the room and towards the stairs, both of them still blushing like crazy and refusing to meet each other's eyes, and Steve can finally let out the breath he's been holding in a whoosh and slump back against the counter. He snags a bottle opener off the fridge- neat, it's got a magnet on it!- and pops the top on the beer he stole off Robbie.

“Well I hate to break this to you, King Steve, but she’s definitely about to steal your girl.”

Steve freezes with the bottle at his lips.

He sets the beer down on the counter and very carefully turns around. Munson is alone, thank fuck. This is fixable. He can deal with a single person. If it had been a crowd, or fuck, god forbid, someone like Gareth, who hates him, and might try and use this? Hurt Robbie to hurt him? Well, he's got his nailbat in the trunk, and he isn't afraid to use it, but he doesn't think Hopper would be thrilled to have to bail him out of jail.

"Whatever you think you heard, Munson, if Robbie gets hurt, it won't matter that you're one of us now. I'll finish what those bats started. I won't be happy about it, because you're a pretty cool dude and I like hanging out with you, but I'll do it for her if you make me." He makes sure his voice is low and even, and he meets Eddie's eyes head on. He wants to be very clear, this is not a joke. He will defend her if he has to.

He doesn't think he'll have to, not from Munson, but he isn't 100% sure, and he's taken enough risks with Robbie's safety tonight. He doesn't trust his luck enough to count on it working out a second time in less than an hour.

Munson's eyes go wide with shock- he clearly wasn't expecting Steve to meet him with quite that much aggression. He puts his hands up in surrender and leans back away from Steve.

Steve fights not to be distracted by the way his torso curves, graceful in a way he has no right to be with his wounds still scabbing over. Not the moment, Steve. Get it together, for fuck's sake.

"Hey, whoa, easy big guy. We're cool, man. Stand down."

There's a tense moment where they just...stand there, sizing each other up, unsure where to go from here.

Eddie tugs a lock of hair in front of his face, nibbling on it nervously. It's cuter than it has any right to be, honestly.

"I didn’t- uh. Fuck, man. Please tell me I didn’t just tip you off to flirting you didn’t notice. I shouldn’t have said shit, I’m just kinda crossfaded and my filter is shot and I swear I’m usually better than that, dude. It would suck so, so bad if I exposed Birdie without her knowing.”

Steve takes a moment to consider this, frankly absurd, situation. He holds up a finger for Eddie to wait a minute, and checks both ways down the hallway outside before closing the kitchen door and leaning back against it to keep it shut. At least now it'll definitely just be the two of them, which is one more than should be having this conversation, but he doesn't see a way out of it, so this will have to do.

When he turns back to Eddie, he looks even more nervous than before.

"I'm perfectly aware of the flirting, considering I'm the one who went out of my way to set them up tonight. You didn't out anyone, and I should have been the one to make sure the door was closed before I got them in a room together, so it's not your fault for finding out. You understand you can't say anything to anyone, ever, though, right?"

Because he's apparently doomed to be accosted with eyebrow raises from everyone around him anytime he says anything at all until he dies, Eddie's are lost somewhere under his bangs. He looks...impressed. Huh, that's kind of nice. Steve resists the urge to preen.

"'Course, man, I'm well-versed in the code of silence." Something in his face softens, and Steve can feel the sincerity in his next words. "Birdie's a friend, and Finnegan seems like a real sweetie, I wouldn't ever want to hurt them like that. Cross my heart." He does, in fact, draw a cross on his chest with one long, ringed finger. What a dork, holy shit. Steve wants to put that finger in his mouth.

"I have to admit, I didn't expect you to be so cool with something like that. In general, but also especially since you and Buckley are, y'know." He waves his hand expansively around his head, the kitchen lights glinting off his rings, and Steve has to fight the urge to bat at it like a cat with a laser pointer. Jesus Christ, Harrington, focus. The man just called you a homophobe, get your shit together.

He decides, very magnanimously, he thinks, to ignore the homophobe bit, honing in on the rest. "Me and her are...what, exactly?"

"I mean, aren't you guys like, a thing?" Oh Jesus fuck. Not again.

"Ugh, no, where the hell do people keep getting that? Robin and I are just friends, ok? Platonic soulmates. Capital P!" He throws his hands in the air in frustration.

"-capital P," Eddie choruses with him, "I know, I know, I just, shit, man, I dunno, I figured you were..."

"Were what?"

"...Lying? Shit, that sounds worse out loud, sorry! I just mean, because, you know, Henderson keeps saying-"

"Oh, well if Henderson says it, it must be true," Steve rolls his eyes.

"Well fuck me for trusting the kid who calls you his best friend, I guess!"

They glare at each other across the room for a minute, before the ridiculousness of this moment catches up to Steve and he drops his chin to his chest, huffing a laugh.

Eddie looks confused, and still nervous, and a little incredulous. Also a lot adorable, but that doesn't feel relevant. "Ok, I'm so lost, man. I just came in here for a beer, and this has been an emotional rollercoaster I was unprepared for."

Yeah, that about sums it up.

He hasn't spent much time with Eddie since he woke up, spending those weeks juggling babysitting duties and his own injuries and helping with the relief effort and sitting vigil at Max's side. He popped in on Eddie when he was in the building for Max, but the Munson room always had someone in it- Wayne, or Dustin, or Mike, or one of the Corroded Coffin guys- and Steve always felt a bit like an intruder. So he hasn't had a chance to feel out the suspicions he formed during that surreal week when everything was still in the process of exploding, and honestly he's been feeling a little too distant to work up the energy to bother. Robin's bugged him about it once or twice since March, but he shrugged her off each time and she hasn't brought it up in a while.

Ah, what the hell. It's already been such a weird night, and Steve is honestly feeling better than he has in weeks, and he wants to ride this high wherever it'll take him.

Emotional rollercoaster, huh? Well, Steve can make that worse.

At least Eddie hasn't seemed homophobic, kind of the opposite, actually. That's a good sign if Steve's ever seen one.

He pushes off the door, stalking toward Eddie with intent and digging deep inside himself for whatever remains of the person he used to be, who could drop panties with a single look. Eddie's eyes go very round, and he stumbles back a little into the counter.

"You know, Munson, I've had a question I've been meaning to ask you for a while now. Haven't found a good moment."

"Oh yeah?" Eddie's voice comes out in what can only be called a squeak, and Steve feels powerful. That rush of confidence he hasn't felt since BN (Before Nancy) fills his chest, and he can feel his grin turn sharp. "Ho- uh." Eddie clears his throat. "How long's a while?"

Steve purses his lips, relishing the way Eddie's eyes drop down like he can't help it and his cheeks flush, and pretends to consider the question. "Oh, since Skull Rock, probably."

"O-oh? That's. Um. That is a long time." He's still staring at Steve's lips. Good. "Well, shoot, Stevie-boy. Ask away."

Steve lets his smile spread across his face slowly, keeping Eddie's eyes where he wants them. Yeah, he's still got it. Like riding a bike.

"Do you wear this bandana on purpose, or is it just a fashion statement?"

Eddie's eyes snap up to meet his own, shocked.

"Wh-what? Bandana? I. Um. What?"

"Are you flagging, Eddie?" Steve doesn't back up, toe to toe with Eddie as he reaches out and tugs lightly on the hanky trailing out of his back pocket, as always.

He may not have had the energy to talk to Eddie about it yet, but his curiosity did get the better of him after the "earthquakes," and he did dig out that zine where he originally learned about the code. He knows what a black hanky in the back left pocket means now. It's...a little daunting, but not a turn-off. Not at all. Kind of the other thing.

God he hopes Eddie knows what it means.

Eddie seems floored by this line of questioning. He's bright red and sputtering, his mouth opening and closing without saying anything. Steve lets himself stare. This'll go however it goes, but he's not ashamed. He's no more embarrassed to want Eddie than he would be to want a girl, which is to say, not at all.

"I- you- what? What? You- you know what flagging is?" He hisses the end of the sentence in a harsh whisper, so much like Robin did when he first told her about his crush that he can't stop himself from giggling.

Wrong move, since Eddie clearly takes this personally, and his expression shutters closed. Whoops.

"Hey, hey, no no no, none of that, hey. I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at you, I swear."

"Right, sure, I believe that, considering there's nothing goddamn else to laugh at in this kitchen, Harrington." Eddie is glaring at the floor, arms crossed defensively across his chest.

Alright, maybe he gets what Vickie was saying earlier. Fuck the codes, fuck the metaphors. He can take Eddie in a fight if he has to. He's a simple guy, ok? He just wants to use his goddamn words.

Robin would be so proud.

He goes slowly, telegraphing every move so Eddie can stop him if he wants. He reaches for his hands where they're tucked into his elbows, gently easing them out until they're clasped between them.

He takes the opportunity to finally feel those rings he's fantasized about, seeing if they're as cool as they look. They aren't, they're warm from Eddie's skin. He spins one of them around Eddie's finger with his thumb, transfixed.

Eddie still looks tense, but now instead of hurt and distrust on his face, he looks like Steve hit in him in the head with something heavy. His pretty eyes are so big, blown completely black as he stares at their joined hands.

"I'm sorry I laughed. I was remembering the first time I told Robin I had a crush on you," Eddie's head snaps up again, "and she sounded exactly like you did just now, with that angry whisper voice. It made me laugh, that you guys are so alike. It makes sense, I guess. She's my favorite person, so of course I'd like you, when you're like. Not the same, I guess, but kinda a similar flavor of weird. She says I have a thing for nerds, y'know?"

Eddie blinks at him for a minute, apparently speechless. Some nerves start to creep back in, since the brief miscommunication scare burned out most of that white hot King Steve confidence in his chest. They must show on his face, because Eddie visibly shakes himself and finally opens his mouth.

"You have a crush on me?"

"Yeah, man, since the Upside Down, pretty much. The first time."

"Don't call me man when you're telling me you have a crush on me!"

Steve has to laugh at the comically offended look on Eddie's face. "Sorry. Do you prefer Eds? Baby? Big Boy?"

Eddie is so red Steve is surprised his face isn't steaming. He yanks one hand out of Steve's grip to smack him in the chest. Steve laughs and lets him, dropping their still-joined hands down between them and tangling their fingers.

"You're a fucking dick, Stevie. Can't believe I like you."

Steve grins at him, big and hopeful. "Yeah? You like me, Munson?"

Eddie shoves at him with a groan, but doesn't let go of his hand. "Pretty sure everyone in this town likes you, King Steve. It's like a rite of passage, or something."

Steve feels like he could walk on air, he isn't even going to get fussy about the King Steve thing. They can talk about that later. Eddie likes him! Eddie has a crush on him! He could fight a demogorgon with his bare hands right now, that's how powerful he feels.

Eddie gets quiet after a second, tugging a curl in front of his mouth again. Seems like a nervous tick, maybe. Steve notes that for later. He may not be much of a reader, but he's going to learn to read Eddie Munson like a book if it's the last thing he does.

"I thought, um. I kinda...hn. Ugh."

"Gonna need more than that, baby, I'm not fluent in Munson yet." That glow in his chest picks up a little again at the way Eddie flushes so pink and pretty at the petname.

"I thought you were straight." It comes out all in a rush, the words mumbled and slurred together through his hair.

Finally, it's Steve's turn to raise an eyebrow. Take that, universe! "You meet a lot of straight guys who know what the Hanky Code is?"

Eddie shakes his head in wonderment. "Still can't believe The Steve Harrington knows what flagging is."

He's about to reply when the kitchen door flies open with a bang that sends the boys leaping backwards away from each other. Steve finds himself braced between Eddie and the door, brandishing the bottle opener from the fridge in front of him like a knife. He doesn't even remember grabbing it.

Robin is standing in the doorway, eyes wild and hair frizzing out around her head in a way she would despise if she was sober and not obviously preoccupied with something else.

"Jesus, Robs, you about gave me a heart attack, what the hell?"

"Sorry bubba, not important right now!"

He rolls his eyes. Of course not. Just his trauma that could have made him stab her if he hadn't caught himself, nothing major. This girl, he swears.

"Dingus! Focus!"

"Focus on what, Bobs?"

"She wants to kiss me, Steve!"

His eyes go wide. Thank fuck the door bounced off the wall and swung back shut behind her. That's not something to shout to a party full of gossipy strangers.

Still. This is a big moment! "Bobbie! What'd I tell you, huh?" He picks her up around the middle, swinging her around while she cackles wildly and bats at his shoulders.

"Put me down, you lunatic! Steven Elizabeth, you put me down right now, or I swear I'll never speak to you again!" She's laughing too hard for him to take her seriously, though.

He does take pity on her and set her back on her feet, stealing one more tight hug. He's so happy for her he could scream. This night has turned out better than he could have imagined.

"Tell me everything! What happened! What did she say? What did you say? How was the kiss?"

"Well we didn't actually kiss yet, exactly."

"Wait, then how do you know she wants to kiss you?"

"She told me! She said she thinks I'm really pretty and funny and smart and she's like you! She likes both, and she says her and Dan are done, like for real for real all the way done, and she held my hand, Steve! And she wants to go on a date! And she said she wanted to kiss me!"

"That's awesome! I'm so happy for you, Bobs. What did you say when she said she wanted to kiss you?"

"I came down to tell you about it, obviously."

Oh, Bobbie, what the fuck. "Robin James Buckley. Do not tell me that a pretty girl tried to kiss you and you ran away and left her upstairs!"

The situation finally seems to register, and Robbie's hands go flailing around her face the way they do when she's overwhelmed.

"Oh no! Steve! Oh no!"

"Go, you insane person! Go back upstairs right now and kiss her this minute! Go!"

He physically herds her to the door, at which point she finally notices Eddie, who has been standing in the corner where Steve shoved him behind him when the door crashed open, watching them like he's wishing he had popcorn.

Fuck. Steve was so excited for Robbie he totally forgot he was here.

Robin's body goes rigid and all the color drains out of her face all at once.

Steve grabs her by the shoulders. "Hey, Bobbin, eyes on me, ok? Eyes on me." She finally drags her eyes away from where she's been staring at Eddie in horror, and Steve's heart breaks at the fear on her face. "It's ok, Bobbie, I swear to god it's ok. I was right, alright? I was right about him, we were talking before you came in. He's safe, I swear. We're safe, Bobbie, I promise I'll keep you safe."

"I promise I won't say a word, Birdie. Friends of Dorothy gotta stick together, right?" Eddie pipes up from the corner, stepping forward slowly and carefully, hands out front like he's approaching a skittish animal.

"You're- you're like u- me?" Oh, he loves her so much. Still protecting him, just in case.

"It's ok Bobs, I told him about me. I was about to get a kiss of my own before you came in, I think, actually."

Eddie jumps on the opportunity to cut the tension, ever the showman. Steve likes him so goddamn much. He grins impishly at Steve, that wide pretty mouth stretching out until those dimples Steve can't wait to kiss appear on his cheeks.

"Oh, you were, were you? Pretty presumptuous, Stevie-boy. Who says I kiss on the first date? Maybe I'm not that kind of boy."

"Oh, wow, ok, this is gonna be a lot to deal with, huh? Alright, I'm glad I'm not getting hate-crimed, and I'm glad you're finally doing something about your big gay crush, Dingus, but if you'll excuse me, I have a girl to kiss, and also I want to be far away from," she waves a hand between them, "whatever this is. Good luck boys, don't kiss in unlocked rooms! Vickie says she can give me a ride home, so I'll call you in the morning, bubba. Love you bye!"

She's out of the room like a shot, hopefully back up to Vickie, who he hopes is prepared to get used to this kind of thing. There are so many things to love about Robin Buckley, and honestly, this is one of them, but he can see why she might be an acquired taste. He thinks anyone who doesn't acquire that taste is a moron and not worth knowing, but he can see how those people might exist.

"Love you too, Robs!" he calls down the hallway, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it. It's not a lock, but as long as he doesn't move, it'll do. And given that Eddie appears to have found his confidence and is leaning over him, bracing his arms on either side of Steve's head, he doesn't think he'll have to move any time soon.

Unless someone needs the kitchen, but they've been doing just fine so far, so they can burn that bridge when they come to it, or whatever people say.

He reaches down to toy with Eddie's belt loops, tugging him close and grinning up at him through his eyelashes, privately thrilled at the novelty of being shorter than his partner for once. Granted, he's slumped down the door a little, but still. It's nice. He can see why girls like it.

Eddie comes closer easily, resting their foreheads together. He reaches down to fiddle with a lock of Steve's hair and Steve feels like leaning into it like a cat getting its ears rubbed.

Lot of cat feelings tonight. He's not sure what to do with that.

"So.”

“So.”

“Steven Elizabeth, huh?"

Steve can't help but laugh, the tension broken once more. "Yeah, Rob's idea. We switched. Steven Elizabeth and Robin James. So we always have a piece of each other."

"Jesus H Christ, you guys are fucking adorable. This shit is why everyone thinks you're dating, though, you know that, right?"

"Ugh, yeah, I know. I don't actually mind, I mean, I should be so lucky, you know? And she's like. My person. My most important person. And we're probably gonna get married someday just so we can be each other's next of kin, and because it's not like she could marry whoever she ends up with anyway, or me if I end up with a guy, so it's like, why not, you know? I'd be building my life around her anyway, might as well make it legal.

"It's mostly just annoying when our friends don't believe us, because like, we're honest with you guys. Maybe not all of it, like Robbie isn't ready to be out and that's fine and she shouldn't have to be, but it kinda sucks that, like, Dustin thinks I would lie to him, you know? Because I wouldn't. Not about something real. Not when it matters. But he doesn't believe me, and that just. I dunno, man."

"It hurts."

"Yeah."

"I get that. You've been through a lot for these kids, you've put yourself on the line for them, you've given up a lot for them, and when they don't believe you about something like this, it feels like they're saying they don't trust you. Of course that hurts."

Steve swallows down the tears that want to fall. Now isn't the time for vulnerability like that, not in a stranger's crowded house. Still.

"How'd you do that?"

"Do what, sweetheart?" Oh, sweetheart does something to him. If this is how Eddie felt when he called him baby earlier, the blush makes more sense.

"Figure out exactly what I'm trying to say, and make it make sense. Usually only Robbie can do that."

"I dunno, maybe Birdie and me share a brain. Or maybe you and I just make sense to each other."

Steve flattens a palm against Eddie's chest, feeling the soothing thump beneath his hand. He did that. He put his hands on Eddie's chest and his mouth on Eddie's mouth and broke Eddie's ribs and didn't stop until that rhythm started up again. And now Eddie's here, and Eddie's heart is still beating, and Eddie hears him when he talks, and Eddie is looking at his lips again, and Steve suddenly can't go another second without kissing him.

He trails his hand up Eddie's chest, over his neck, savoring the way his breath hitches and the pulse under his palm speeds up. He keeps going, pushing his fingers into that thick riot of curls, already making mental notes of the products he's going to buy for Eddie because Jesus Christ, they're dry.

He tugs, and again, Eddie comes easy. It's not an earth-shattering kiss. There's no tongue, and their noses are a little smushed, and the angle is a little off, and he's kissed enough people that he can tell Eddie probably hasn't, but none of that matters.

He told Robin, back in that field, that he was holding off feelings he knew he would have for Eddie when all was said and done. He knows now he was right, and he's done holding them off. Has been done for a while, maybe.

He doesn't know where this is going, or what Eddie wants, or how they'll manage being two guys in a town like Hawkins, or what their friends will think. If they'll even tell their friends. What he does know is that he wants to find out the answers to all of those, and he wants to find them out with Eddie, and he wants to keep kissing Eddie, and also that he can't keep kissing Eddie here.

He pulls back, pecking that dimple finally, partly to reassure Eddie that he isn't running away and partly because he's wanted to for weeks, and pulls the kitchen door open, checking that the coast is clear before grabbing Eddie's hand and dragging him towards the front door.

"Where we going, Stevie?"

"You drove here, right?"

"Sure did. You want a ride somewhere? I thought you drove Birdie."

"I did, but you've got your van, don't you? Your van with doors that lock and a big open back seat?"

Eddie's eyes go wide, and he flails a little, just like Robin. It makes Steve smile.

"Yep! Yes, yeah, hell yeah, I do have my van, my van with those things, let's go! Chop chop, time's a-wasting! Your chariot awaits!" And he's off, doing that dorky little run for the driveway.

Steve grins, and puts his hands in his pockets, and follows his boy out into the night.

[daipeanutsaiban]

A Victorian couple. (Leyendecker redraw)

[allieisacrybaby]

me everytime I hear Rocky Mountain High: omg this is so June 2023 coming out Josh coded 😭

OH MY GOSH THANK GOD SOMEONE UNDERSTANDS!!!!

so personally I associate that song with Colorado because its a staple to play when my family visits in the Winter, but my ultimate Josh song that if it comes on I’m in full blown tears is Sunshine On My Shoulder. That song never ceases to have me bawling my eyeballs out.

[heksen-sabbat]

I hope you enjoy Robocop if you actually watch it! It’s in my top ten stupid action movies for sure

Hi I just finished it!!! Very good very silly very violent. Especially loved the robot who ate shit because he was too big to use the stairs lol

So far my second-favourite Paul Verhoeven movie out of the three I've seen. I've really liked all of them so far but sometimes I just think he doesn't address the impact of things that happened in the film enough yknow. idk they're all good I just love thinking about potential all the time lol

[bluetenderness]

name tag: search your name in Pinterest, add "core" to it and search.

thank you so much @rosesloveletters for tagging me! 🥺 I don't know if pinterest read my brain or not but I can totally see myself in this moodboard 😂 all the results were pretty much subjects similar to these ones, definitely all things that I love! 🥺 Your results are lovely, btw 🌹🩷

I tag: @daincrediblegg, @ruhlare and anyone who wants to do it. No pressure if you don't want to of course 💙

[fear-is-truth]

𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐆 … rodrick heffley — loser!bf headcanons

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw﹒headcanons

loser bf!rodrick, who makes a huge show of pda whenever his brother is around. he’ll sling his arm around your shoulder and be like, “yeah, greg. my girlfriend. isn’t she hot?” greg is still fully convinced rodrick’s paying you to be his fake girlfriend, though he has no idea where he’s got the money.

loser bf!rodrick, who lets you sit in on band practice and tries so hard to keep it together, but the second his bandmates start flirting with you, he completely falls apart. his drumming gets so off-tempo that they have to stop and start over.

loser bf!rodrick, who lent you his algebra textbook and completely forgot he’d been doodling your name with his last name all over the margins. when you handed it back, smirking, he looked like he wanted to die.

loser bf!rodrick, whose idea of a date is a night drive to the gas station, where you both load up on slushies and hot dogs. you sit in the parking lot and steal bites off each other’s food (even though you have the same toppings)

loser bf!rodrick, who awkwardly asked his mom to use the “nice-smelling” laundry detergent on his shirts because he knows you like to steal them after having sex and he doesn’t want you thinking he’s gross.

loser bf!rodrick, whose mom acts like you’re already part of the family, offering you snacks and calling you “sweetie” every time you visit. she loves to (unintentionally) embarrassing her eldest son by showing you all of his baby pictures. all the while rodrick hides in the basement.

loser bf!rodrick, whose dad corners you during family dinners and awkwardly tries to sell you on how “rodrick is really a fine young man, despite, uh… some quirks.” you just nod politely while rodrick sits there, sinking into his chair with a beet-red face.

loser bf!rodrick, whose bandmates are constantly making moves on you, asking if you “need anything” during practice or offering to carry your stuff. rodrick will get so pissed that he threatens to kick them out of the band. you think it’s hilarious how defensive he gets.

loser bf!rodrick, who always gives you the front seat in his van, no questions asked. greg has to squish in the back with the instruments, too bad lol.

loser bf!rodrick, who pretends to be terrible at eyeliner just so you’ll do it for him. in return, he paints your nails—or you can also paint his (in exclusively black).

loser bf!rodrick, who acts reluctant whenever you drag him into photobooths at the mall. the two of you end up making the dumbest faces before you lean in and kiss him right on the mouth… with tongue.

loser bf!rodrick, who lets you doodle on his arm with a sharpie, and he refuses to wash them off. they stay there until they fade completely.

loser bf!rodrick, who finally starts wearing deodorant consistently because of you. it’s not even something you asked him to do—he just noticed you sniffing his shirts a little more critically and panicked. now, he’s always freshly applied before seeing you.

loser bf!rodrick, who gets hard every time you kiss him.

loser bf!rodrick, who tries his best to keep his room somewhat presentable whenever you come over. he knows it’s still a fucking disaster by normal standards, but for rodrick, clearing a path to the bed is a grand romantic gesture.

loser bf!rodrick, who’s obsessed so with seeing your hickeys on him. he never bothers to hide them—in fact, he wears them like badges lol.

loser bf!rodrick, who almost accidentally used the wrong side of the condom when you had sex for the first time.

loser bf!rodrick, who absolutely melts when you tug on his hair during sex. he didn’t even realise he had a thing for it until the first time you did it. now, he practically begs for it without using words, tilting his head back and grinning like a total idiot whenever your fingers get close.

loser bf!rodrick, who keeps every random thing you’ve ever given him — notes you’ve passed to him in class, concert tickets, even candy wrappers.

loser bf!rodrick, who hates being bossed around but will do anything you ask, especially if it involves you kissing his cheek or ruffling his hair in thanks. he’s so whipped and everyone knows it.

loser bf!rodrick, who brags to greg about how sexy and smart and pretty you are, just to rub it in, but secretly feels like he doesn’t deserve you. he gets this dumb, soft look on his face whenever you’re around, like he still can’t believe you chose him.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[zae-heeyyy]

Piquancy- I

Summary: You and Arthur spend time at the saloon. Pairing: Arthur Morgan X Female Reader Word Count: 3,093 Tags: High honor Arthur, developing relationship, alcohol and intoxication, fluff, before the Blackwater Massacre

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a/n: I took a break from writing, and when I started again, this came out lol. Got carried away, so I divided it into several parts. Part 1 is very tame; I can't say the same for the next ones. I'm feeling a little rusty, but I hope you still enjoy!

piquancy: a sharp or stimulating quality that provokes a strong, often intriguing reaction.

A thunderstorm reigned over West Elizabeth, and several associates of the Van Der Linde gang had holed up in the Blackwater saloon, seeking refuge from the downpour. A handful of them sat at the poker table: Sean, Karen, Davey, Javier, Jenny, Arthur, and you. The gang had taken advantage of an unlimited supply of beer––provided they had the cash–– and were a few drinks deep. You were the only one hanging onto your sobriety and the only one sober enough to keep your head in the game.

You felt particularly lucky tonight, partly because you’d played a few good hands and partly because Arthur, whom you’d long admired from afar, had taken to being stuck to you all night. You'd convinced him to dance with you earlier in the night when Uncle hounded the pianist to "play something good." Afterward, the broad-shouldered outlaw paid for your pot in the poker game “for the dance,” he'd said.

His generous donation turned into quite an investment for you as you dealt the last card of the round, a king of hearts, giving you a full house.

“Dammit!” Davey yelled, slamming his cards down and busting out of the game. He pointed an accusatory finger at you, “You’re a cheat; I know it!”

Karen glowered at him and rolled her eyes as she added her cards back into the deck.

“She ain’t cheating; maybe you just suck,” she mocked, smiling mischievously.

Arthur leaned back in his seat next to you, keeping his temper even but putting a protective arm around the back of your chair. “Tonight just ain’t your night partner; go have another drink, walk it off, and shut up.” He and Davey held each other’s gaze, both impassive and unreadable. Finally, Davey averted his eyes and mumbled under his breath.

Arthur leaned over, and the heat of his breath tickled your ear. A rumble of laughter built up in him as he whispered to you, “he ain’t used to dealing with beautiful women with brains— you're making him feel emasculated. “

You peeked over at Davey, who had safely directed his gaze to the deck of cards and stifled the giggle that bubbled inside you. Arthur had straightened back up but kept his arm resting on the back of your chair. Warmth radiated off of him like sunlight in the spring. You wanted nothing more than to be basked in it, but a move like that wasn’t in the cards, so you focused on your winnings, boasting as you scooped the chips to your pile.

Your gloating session only lasted for a short second before one of the saloon’s working girls added the poker table to her list of stops. As she spoke, one of her gloved hands perched a little too comfortably on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Any of you boys looking for a good time?”

Leaning forward slightly, the cowboy shifted his chair closer to yours—not enough to draw attention, but enough to angle the girl’s gaze toward Davey. You were sitting closer to him now than anybody else at the table, and neither of you minded.

“Maybe another time,” Arthur told her, his tone kind but dismissive. His eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly. Then, with a knowing glance toward Davey, he added, “But my friend over there is more charismatic than he looks."

Davey’s demeanor did a complete flip, the look of aggravation on his face now replaced by a closed-mouth grin. By the time the woman was at his side of the table, he’d already stood to whisk her away.

“Men.” You mocked, and Arthur chortled low to himself.

“Amen, sister,” Jenny said, shaking her head in more mirth than annoyance as she watched the pair climb the stairs. A thick Irish accent joined the conversation.

“Don’t ya' go lumpin’ me in with the likes o' Davey. It’s not just about me when I’m with my lady. I make sure she’s properly looked after, too.”

Sean threw a lax arm around Karen's shoulders as he finished his declaration. She shrugged him off, faking irritation, though a coy smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Yes, the whole camp hears just how satisfied your woman is.” Javier chimed in, smirking at Karen over his glass of whiskey.

Karen shot him a sharp glare and stood abruptly. “You’re an asshole,” she snapped, pointing a finger at him. “And you—” she shoved Sean—“keep your hands to yourself.”

Karen stalked off away from the table, Sean close on her heels. “Ah, come now, darlin’! Don’t be like that!” He chased her clumsily, bumping into chairs, making Javier and Arthur laugh. You swatted Arthur’s arm and shot daggers at Javier.

“Men are like roosters,” you said, disapproving. “Proud and obnoxious, but not a single egg to show for it.”

Jenny giggled to herself but looked dreamily across the bar to Lenny, who was engrossed in conversation with Hosea.

“I’d agree with you, but every time I’m with—” she cut herself off, averting her eyes and ignoring everybody else’s knowing gaze.

Javier whistled under his breath, and Arthur cackled, loud and toothy, as he waved an arm across the bar towards Lenny. "Atta boy, Lenny!" he yelled over the noise of the saloon. The young boy's furrowed brow made the whole table throw a fit, even Jenny, trying her best to look nonchalant.

Despite the merriment surrounding you, a twinge of something unpleasant scratched at your insides, something envious and wistful. You were happy for Jenny; she deserved someone like Lenny. He was a good kid, one of the finest you’d known, given his circumstances. And you wanted what they had, even if they were still figuring it out themselves. Though the laughter had died down, and the game continued, you couldn’t help but notice Lenny across the room, a smile on his lips as he kept his eyes trained on Jenny, studying her as if he’d never see her again. You were distracted by the thought. Arthur took notice and nudged you with his elbow.

“What’s that look?” he asked, and all eyes turned back to you. You were in the hot seat now, Javier having raised a brow and Jenny looking concerned. You turned your attention back to the previous conversation.

“I just never––” you trail on, trying to find the words, “well, no man I’ve ever been with made me––” you stopped, feeling like you were starting to make a fool of yourself. Arthur’s eyes turned timidly back to his cards, and Javier leaned back, smug.

“Ah, that’s why you always have a stick up your ass.”

Jenny and Arthur jumped in with a course of objections to Javier’s crassness, but you didn’t miss a beat. “You would be the authority on all things asses,” you hit back, “matter of fact, how’d that late-night job with Bill go the other day?”

You were rewarded with ripples of laughter from your allies at the table, Javier, clearly trying to hold in his own, frowned and clutched his chest in dramatic fashion.

“Ouch,” he voiced, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Alright, sorry. Take whatever I have left, but leave my pride, please,” he scooted his chips to the middle of the table and tipped his hat in departure.

The poker game died down with the last bits of laughter. Jenny had turned, placing her hand atop yours, her expression pensive.

“So you’ve never...” she trailed off, lowering her voice, “a man’s never made you...” she didn’t say the words as if realizing how taboo the conversation was, especially in front of a man. You cringed, the awkwardness crashing over you like a tidal wave.

“Forget I said anything,” you said, rising hastily. Before he could even think, Arthur’s hand shot out to grab your wrist. He let go just as fast as he’d caught it, but the rough touch of his fingers lingered on your skin like embers in a smoldering fire.

“Hey now, where you running off to?”

You smoothed your skirts and gazed down at him, “far away to not make a further fool of myself.”

Arthur chuckled, organized his chips with one hand, and stroked his beard with the other.

“Sounds like the fellers you’ve been friendly with ain’t worth their salt. They should be the ones embarrassed."

Neither of you tore your eyes from the other for a long while. Finally, you let out a breath and a doubtful sigh. “Maybe,” you murmured, then pointed over your shoulder at the bar. “How about another drink?”

Arthur joined you for your first and only drink of the night, then had himself another and another. Over time, you’d learned that Arthur was day or night when he was drunk. Tonight, he was all sunshine, laughing louder than usual and leaning too close when he spoke. In all his attention, you’d let yourself forget about your previous self-reproach.

Completely inebriated now, he tugged on your hand, pulling you away from the bar and back towards the piano, his chipped-toothed smile lighting up his whole face. You let him haul you towards the lively music, shocked by his sudden excitement to dance with you. This dance was different from the first; you were acutely aware of how his heavy hand settled firmly on your hip and the way he looked through you with yearning eyes.

“What happened to ‘I’m not much of a dancer’?” you asked as he twirled you to the music.

He didn’t respond, only dipped you and laughed when you yelped at the sudden pull of gravity. You clutched his forearms, trying to keep yourself from toppling over; you both fumbled a bit, him in his drunkness, trying to keep you both steady. With a quick yank, he pulled you back up against him, your bosom flush against his chest. You joined his laughter and decided chairs were much safer than the makeshift dance floor.

Jenny’s voice broke through your laughter as she and Lenny passed by on their way out. “Never seen you dance like that, Arthur,” she teased.

As the night grew older, the energy in the saloon dwindled, as did the number of people inside. The remaining caravan of outlaws rode back to camp, leaving just you and Arthur behind. Your conversations with the cowboy had moved past reminiscing about the good ole days and lighthearted banter to something more quiet and intimate. Listening to him talk, even drunk off his ass, was like floating downstream on a lazy river, easy and impossible to resist.  

Sleepiness crept up on you, a yawn escaping mid-conversation; Arthur caught the contagious inhale like a passing train, his own yawn following close behind. Heading back to camp was the smart idea, but it was clear that Arthur was too drunk to even consider mounting a horse. He didn’t argue when you convinced him to get a room for the night.

“You’re lucky. Last key left,” the barkeep informed him, sliding the key across the counter. You started to step away, but Arthur’s hand found your wrist again, just like it had earlier in the night. He didn’t move this time, though, his grip steadfast and purposeful. Then he brought you in close, close enough to smell the leather of his hat, the cigarette smoke in his coat, and the whiskey on his breath. Great lakes glimmered down at you, full of longing and quiet intensity.

“Come with me.” His voice rumbled like distant thunder as he slid his hands into yours. Though his forwardness and touch weakened your legs, you tangled your arm in his to ensure he was steady. Chuckling to himself at the sudden role reversal, he dipped his head, his face close to yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, close to your ear. Goosebumps formed on your arms, like raindrops rippling across a stream. Then, you shivered when his head fell into the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply, breathing you in with closed eyes. “And you smell so nice.”

Every fiber of your being fought to keep your composure; you didn't want him to move. You wanted to feel his lips on your skin and his hands in your hair. But you couldn’t be sure of his feelings—not with the whiskey clouding his thoughts and his words slurred from the bottle.

“Thank you, Mister Morgan.” You laughed to ease your nerves as you pulled him along to the stairs.

“No—” he said, shaking his head defiantly, “not Mister. Morgan, just Arthur,” he insisted, “unless you want to be Missus Morgan.”

A self-assured smile unfolded on his face as his boot made contact with the first step. “You’d be a fine Missus Morgan,” he slurred, one hand still in yours, the other clutching the railing for support.

You tried to trudge on, but Arthur wouldn’t, standing stiff as if the wood had turned to concrete. When you turned to face him, you expected that same smile you’d heard in his voice a second ago, but this time, his mouth was set in a deep line, and his eyes were not on yours but fixated on your mouth. He folded his lips inward, afraid he’d lose the ounce of control he had left if he stared at yours too long.  

His chest rose in a deep sigh, and his voice came out quiet, a passing shadow in the night, “I mean it.”

Your pounding heart tried desperately to burst out of your chest. It pounded against your rib cage hard, as if escaping would relieve the unbearable pressure his words built within you. Tentatively, you tore your gaze away, patting his hand with your free one.

“C’mon, Arthur,” you said gently. Ignoring him felt safest, so you did, focusing on getting him to the room despite your heart hammering at his words.

When you finally reached the door, he reluctantly ripped his hand away from yours like a magnet being pulled from metal. The gunslinger drunkenly fumbled with the key for a moment and paused before twisting the knob.

“I’d treat you right,” he said, his back turned to you. “Treat you better than any of those fools–– Treat you how you deserve.” He looked back at you as the last of his words fell from his lips.

“Arthur, you’re drunk,” you said with a half-smile, pushing you both through the door. He disassembled himself like a tornado blowing through the room. His gun belt went first, hitting the floor with a clank, then it was his bandoleer, satchel, coat, boots, and socks right after that. When he was free of all his equipment, he flopped down on the bed with shut eyes.

“Might be drunk, but I ain’t a liar,” he mumbled, then chuckled, “not to you, anyway.”

Reaching for his hat, you took it off for him and set it aside on the nightstand.

“If you still feel that way when you’re not swimming in whisky, let me know, Mister. Morgan."

He grunted assuredly, then turned to face you, opening his heavy lids.

“I said just call me Arthur,” he insisted. You didn’t say anything–– just stared back at him. He spoke after another second, “always felt that way 'bout you,” he admitted, a look of quiet vulnerability washing over his features. Your legs wobbled like a newborn foal, but you stood firm.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” you said, shifting to leave.

“Wait." His voice came out fast and unsure. You froze and turned back to him, “would you stay with me if I asked?” And those sad, sad eyes made your chest ache. If he wasn't drunk off his ass, your silence would've unnerved him, but he was too far gone to notice.

He'd lost the fight against his eyes, and they were closed again. His hand fell limply over the edge of the bed, calloused fingers opening up to you.

“Shouldn't be on the trail by yerself in the middle of the night.”

And he was right; it was dangerous and stupid for anybody to be on the road so late at night, especially a lone woman.

“Can get my own room,” you stammered.  

Arthur sighed deeply and desperate, running out of ways to convince you.

"No," he swallowed, "no, you can't."

And you’d remember the barkeep telling Arthur he was lucky to have secured the last room key as everybody sought shelter from the storm. “Just stay 'til I'm asleep,” he cut into your thoughts, "to make sure I don’t do anything stupid. Can’t have the camp golden boy out of commission now, can we? Who’s do all the heavy liftin', robbin', and killin' if I'm laid up with a broken arm?”

You didn’t argue anymore. The truth was you’d wanted to spend every moment with him. You wanted his arm back around you, and you wanted to relish in his laughter. He had that effect on you, both drunk and sober.

“Fine," you tried to hide your smile, "but only til you fall asleep.”

Bliss transformed his face from shadow to light as you strolled to the bed. Arthur shimmied over, giving you space. He laid flat on his back, and you followed suit, hands folded on your stomach, your body mirroring his. Silence fell over the room like fog, and you thought he’d finally gone to sleep. Then he let out another breath of amusement but didn’t open his eyes.

“Yep,” he bellowed, “I tried, you know. Tried to keep away from you. Not because I don't like you, but because I like you too much,” he continued, not giving you a chance to respond. “And I’d–” he paused, what little filter he had left trying to stop him, but it wasn't enough. “I’d bed you right too. Damn those bastards that had you and didn’t do it right. I’d do it right."

You froze for a long while, trying to build the courage to face him. Words were lost to you, but you rolled over to face him anyway. Mouth agape, his chest rose and fell with the cadence of sleep. Disappointment fell heavy on your chest as you adjusted your eyes to look at him, to really look at him like you'd never been able to. He was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen; the sentiment would've made him laugh if he could've heard it. You returned to your back, willing your feet to move, but they didn't. Before you knew it, you were fast asleep beside him, lulled by the crackle of the fireplace and his deep breaths. It was the first time in years that you'd slept through the night.

next

[myfictionaldreams]

Don’t Distract Me // Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie had promised he would meet you after DnD to study for the upcoming exams but when he leaves you waiting in the rain, what will he do to make it up to you?

A/N: I just had to write for Eddie again, ok? My obsession will never die.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, oral (f receiving), sexual distractions, rough sex, teasing, creampie, pet names, praise kink, multiple orgasms, multiple sex positions, edging, Eddie likes to play games (yes this is a warning lol)

Words: 4.1k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link 

Eddie had promised that the two of you could study, with emphasis on the study and not trying to spend his time distracting you with his skilful fingers. This particular example was how most of the study sessions had ended, with neither of you wearing clothes and textbooks forgotten about in your bag. Today, however, you had made him promise that it was strictly studying you’d both be doing and nothing more, especially with the stress of exams over the next couple of weeks.

He thankfully agreed without any teasing or suggestive comments. “It’s DnD tonight but I could always meet you at my place at 8? I should be back by then and you can tell me all about Janet Austen or whoever it is”.

“It’s Jane Austen and you know it”, you replied whilst rolling your eyes as he grinned before kissing your cheek.

So here you were, bag bouncing from your shoulder as you trekked through the woods surrounding the trailer park where Eddie lived. Glancing to the sky, you were weary of the darkening clouds and thunder rumbling in the distance, hoping that you could get to his before the impending storm arrived.

You were not in luck though as not even 5 minutes had passed before the heavens opened and rain soaked you to the bone. Even worse was that ignorance had meant that you’d not worn a coat so by the time you could see Eddie’s trailer, your teeth were chattering as you shivered uncontrollably.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. SHIT! Please be home, please be home”, you chanted to yourself, noticing that Eddie’s van wasn’t there and neither was his Uncles. Racing across the last few steps to the trailer's front porch, you banged loudly against the metal door. “Eddie? Mr Munson, are you there?”

Droplets of rain were continuing to pour over your body as the direction of wind was blowing in your direction so even under the safety of the porch, you were still being drenched. You shouted in anger, slamming the door one more time as no one answered, dropping your school bag onto the floor and wrapping your arms around yourself to try and keep somewhat warm.

“Hurry up Eddie”, you whispered to yourself, glancing to the other trailers, specifically Max’s and see if there was anyone home but all lights were off. You thought about going home but that meant walking another 15 minutes in the rain and you’d hope that Eddie would have been back by then, especially as it was now definitely past 8 o’clock. Turning back towards Eddie’s home, you began to wander around the trailer, praying that there was an open window as the thunder continued to crash in the sky and the pattering of rain against the outside of the trailer.

You gasped in relief as you walked around the back of the home, seeing Eddie’s bedroom window was open, something you always told him not to do in case of thieves but for once, you were glad he didn’t listen. Due to the window being high than anticipated and Eddie’s music memorabilia on the inside of the window, it was awkward to try and climb in. You were silently thankful that there was no one around to see you try and break into the home as well, not needing to deal with the police right now.

Once inside, you sighed in relief, rushing to the bathroom and finding a clean towel and drying your face before returning to Eddie’s bedroom. There you began to strip off your soaked clothing, discarding it on the floor to clean up in a second but needing to be dry, continuing to rub the towel across your now nude body.

Eddie’s foot was pressing firmly against the drive pedal of his van, eyes widely glancing at his watch whilst sucking desperately on his smoke to try and calm his nerves. He was late. More than late and as the rain continued to pour, he knew you were probably drenched and cold and he’d been panicking the entire drive home. As his home was finally in view, his instant relief quickly turned to worry once more as he couldn’t see you. Parking the car and jumping out, he noticed that your bag was lying on the floor by the porch door.

Assuming you had used that door to get in, he unlocked the front door and entered the living room, noticing the light in his bedroom was on. “Sweetheart?”, he shouted out, dropping your wet bag onto the floor and walking towards his room.

You’d been drying your legs when you could suddenly hear Eddie’s metal music blaring from his van as he pulled up. Freezing on the spot, you looked down at your completely naked body and panicked. For some reason unbeknown to you, you decided rather than quickly shout that you were getting changed, you jumped into his bed, pulling his sheet up to your chin just as he walked through the front door.

“Sweetheart? Sorry, I’m late, I had to drop Henderson home”, he trailed off as he swung on the door frame into the room, expecting you anywhere but in his bed.

“Um, I can explain”, your face warmed as you held the sheet tightly against your chin, eyes wide at being caught.

Eddie fully stepped into the room, his mouth opening and closing as his brown puppy-dog eyes flicked over your sheet-covered body. “I know I should care about the reason why you’re naked in my bed, but I think I will just enjoy it for a moment”, his tone sounded like he was in awe, even though he couldn’t see your naked body and had seen it many times before.

Rolling your eyes at him, you held the sheet tighter to try and keep the chill-out, deciding to replace your embarrassment by turning the attention back onto him. “You’re late Eddie! You were supposed to be here half an hour ago but instead, you left me waiting in the rain for you!”.

You tried to keep your voice stern but it didn’t seem like Eddie was listening as he shrugged off his leather jacket, revealing his hellfire shirt from DnD night and kicked off his sneakers. Your heart began to pound as he slowly stepped forward, his eyes never leaving yours for a second as he began to crawl up the bed, over your body until his face hovered over yours. Eddie’s soft hair shadowed his face and tickled your cheeks as you could just make out the perfect smirk that revealed his cheek dimples.

“You aren’t listening to me”, you say accusingly, still not moving from your defensive stance with the sheet. “Eddie you’re lucky I didn’t kick your precious guitar climbing through your window!”

This seemed to finally snap him out of his lustful gaze as his eyebrows furrowed. “Window? Didn’t you use the key?”

“What key?”

Eddie’s confusion continued as he explained, “The key that I told you about last week that’s under the seat on the porch.

Your mouth dropped open in shock, “you didn’t tell me about that!”

Once again, it seemed that Eddie had returned to not listening to you, already distracted by the exposed skin of your neck as he bent his elbows slightly, dropping down to nuzzle his entire face into it. He began by rubbing his nose against it, smelling your natural body scent that he loved so much but then decided he needed to taste it. His lips gently pecked against the sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder before his sharp teeth teased the area with little nips before licking the stinging area. “Didn’t I?” Eddie asked against your throat, sounding the least bit interested in the conversation as he continued to distract you from your annoyance.

Your eyes had closed as soon as you’d felt his lips but feeling the vibrations of his voice against your body, you tried to snap out of it. Releasing the sheet and letting it settle over your shoulders, you pushed on both of his shoulders. “Eddie, you left me outside, freezing to death, even my underwear were soaked-”. You were cut off from your rant by his lips crashing into yours.

Your eyes closed instantly on instinct, your body melting into the touch, all tension easing from your muscles. A moan formed at the back of your throat as his mouth moved against yours, his hair tickling your forehead and cheeks as you kissed him back just as desperately.

As Eddie’s tongue stroked across your lips, teasing for access, your hands moved from his shoulders into his hair, pulling so he moved closer, nose squishing into your cheek. It was always this easy to distract you and Eddie damn well knew it. Almost as if you were addicted to him, the way his body felt against yours, the smell of cheap aftershave and cigarette, the taste from his tongue as it danced with yours.

Your conscious whispered that you were weak for falling for him so quickly, he’d left you outside in the rain and you both really should study.

So, with great difficulty, you tugged back his hair, forcing his face away from yours, the two of you desperately breathing heavily as he looked at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Eddie, we really need to study-”. You were trying to talk some sense into the both of you but he was quick to lower his head to your neck, sucking on your pulse point that instantly had your back arching, your chest rubbing against his with the sheet just about managing to cover you.

As thunder continued to rumble outside, you once again attempted to put some space between you both as you grabbed his face, squishing his cheeks between your index finger and thumb and forcing him to look at you again. You were both continuing to catch your breath. “We need to study Munson”. For a split second, your eyes dropped from his beautiful orbs to his full lips, seeing them form into a smirk as he saw what caught your attention.

“Do we?” he asked, his voice low and mocking. His eyes were gleaming in the low bedroom light as he once again grinned so broadly that his dimples deepened. Even though he was so incredibly handsome at that moment, it also put you on edge knowing he was up to something. “Better get to it then”, he announced as he began to crawl backwards off of the bed.

To be truthful, you were disappointed that he’d given up so easily to study. Already you missed the warmth that had caged you into the bed, feeling his head through the sheet. But then Eddie did something you weren’t expecting as he lifted the bottom of the sheet that was by your feet and slide underneath it.

Sitting up quickly on your elbows, you explained, “Eddie! What are you doing?”

“What?”, Eddie responded in an innocent tone as his entire body disappeared beneath the sheet. You could feel him crawling up your legs, his clothing brushing against your bare skin and your core tightened and clenched as his big, rough hands gripped onto your thighs. Easily, he pushed them back, until your knees were nearing your chest and you did absolutely nothing to stop him. Seeing the outline of him drop in height as he settled on his stomach, his warm breath fanning across your already-soaked cunt. As Eddie’s hands squeezed on your legs, keeping them in position, he casually remarked, “I’m studying your anatomy”.

Eddie placed a single kiss on your pussy lips, and you could feel him smile against them as he could feel your juices already dripping there. You gasped at the sensation, tempted to lift up the barrier stopping you from watching but not being able to see him added to the tension.

Your arms weren’t able to support your weight anymore, collapsing back onto the mattress as Eddie’s tongue licked a single strip the length of your core, tasting you properly before pushing more firmly until he was teasing your clit. “Eddie!” you gasp, hand automatically reaching down and holding onto the lump in the sheet that was his head. Your hips moved in time with his tongue, back arching, toes curling and a steady stream of moans escaping your mouth as he pushed his tongue into your hole, twisting and turning.

It was one of the many things that Eddie prided himself in eating you out. You always joked that it was because he liked to talk so much that he was good at it but either way, you both could spend all day in this position if given the chance.

Eddie released your legs, but only so he could spread you open, giving his mouth better access to your clit. He pointed his tongue, flicking it across the sensitive nub before sucking it into his mouth and shaking his head. The stimulation had your moans increasing in volume, your cunt clenching around nothing, and your body incredibly warm with pleasure.

He moved between teasing your clit and filling your hole with his tongue, on occasions his hand would reach further up your body to tweak a nipple. It took almost no time at all before your tone turned into a more desperate one. “Eddie, baby, please don’t stop”.

Sometimes he liked to tease you, edging your orgasm until you were near to tears with need but thankfully today he didn’t stop and you came with a gush of juices for him to greedily drink down.

Your cunt was humming and throbbing from orgasming as Eddie sat up, pulling the sheet from off of both of you and away to the side. He grinned down from you, sweat coating his forehead causing his hair to stick to it but it didn’t seem to both him as he took in the beautiful sight before him.

Before you could reach for him, he was already standing off of the bed, “so what were you saying? Studying?” he casually continued the conversation from earlier.

“Huh?” you asked, hardly listening as you continued to come down from the high, eyes following him move around his bedroom as he looked for something.

Dropping to his knees, Eddie reached under the bed, rooting around for something until shouting, “Ah ha! Found it!” Triumphantly, he held up your literature textbook, showing you what he’d found before he stood, flicking through the pages before finding the chapter you were both supposed to be on. “Read it to me”, he instructed.

“What?” you ask, finally snapping out of the haze you were in, sitting up further onto your elbows to look at him better.

Eddie was grinning mischievously, effortlessly pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the tats on his arms and chest and the guitar pick necklace. “I said”, he continued, “read it to me”. Without waiting for a response, Eddie gripped one of your legs, tugging it over the other, turning your body until you were on your hands and knees. Then, he placed the textbook on the bed in front of you, still open on the relevant chapter.

You gaped at the textbook with a frown, “Do you really think I’m going to be able to read right now?”. Glancing over your shoulder, you watched as Eddie hastily kicked off his shoes, pants and boxers until he was completely nude, his cock throbbing in the air.

“You want to study, so let’s study”, he explains nonchalantly as he kneels on the bed, hands resting on your hips as he nods towards the textbook expectantly. “Continue on Sweetheart, I’m not touching you any further until you tell me about good ol’ Jane Austen.”

Your mouth dropped open to argue that you were going to do no such thing but he quickly cut off any forming words by thrusting his hips against yours. Even though he didn’t penetrate, feeling the slap of his body against yours,you gasped, attempting to roll your hips back against his but the grip on your hips tightened so that you couldn’t move.

“Eugh Fine!” you exclaim, pointing a finger towards the first sentence and began reading from the page. “The conflict between emotions and social imperatives in Austen’s novels- FUCK!” Your head dropped onto the book as Eddie’s cock breached your eagerly awaiting hole, stretching and filling, your cunt pulsing at the welcomed intrusion. However, you cursed again as he abruptly stopped, squeezing your hips in a warning.

“Continue on”, he instructed.

“Eddie, this feels somewhat disrespectful to the authors I’m talking about whilst we do this”, you say unsteadily, only half full of cock and already feeling desperate.

“Well… let’s just hope they aren’t listening in at the moment from wherever they’re resting. Now, please continue on Sweetheart”.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you lifted your head again, finger remaining on the line you were about to read and continued on. “Are symptomatic of a time when people were be-com-ing-”. It was difficult to continue as Eddie pushed his cock further into your cunt. You almost had to force your eyes to remain open to continue reading, your tongue feeling as heavy as lead with Eddie’s distracting movements.

As he fully inserted, you continued to read even though it took more concentration than you cared to admit. Especially as Eddie stroked a hand idly down your naked spine, causing you to shiver and pussy to clench harder around him, body heating further with need. Beginning to rock his hips, a few inches retracting out before being pushed in, you could feel every nerve in your cunt being stroked by his cock.

Eddie leaned further over your back so that he was kissing your bare shoulder. “Austen and other writers of her time were sometimes aware of the rather brittle state of their society”.

“Mmm. Well, nothing has changed there, has it?” he whispered against the shell of your ear, nibbling gently on the lobe. You pause at his words, actually surprised that he was actually listening to you.

For some reason, this made your cunt clench hard around him in arousal; the sensation caused him to deeply groan and drop his forehead against your shoulder. “Please keep going, Princess”, he pleaded, kneeling back to his full height, hands still on your hips, helping to keep you still so he had full control of the thrusts.

You needed him just as much as he needed you so instantly began to continue reading the literature textbook out loud for the two of you. As soon as you finished the first word, his hips were snapping against yours with firmer strokes. If he wasn’t holding onto your hips, you were sure to have landed face-first onto the bed.

Even though it was difficult to both talk and moan at the same time, you continued with a slight stutter to every other word, or simply missing the word completely to groan in pleasure. Trying to concentrate on talking and having Eddie fucking you was so confusing for your brain to process that it only meant that it was turning you on more as the overwhelming sensation to orgasm barrelled into your core.

Eddie sensed this and slowed down to a near standstill with his thrusts. You could almost hear his smirk as he teased, “Slowly baby, I’m not going anywhere. There’s still plenty of the chapter left before either of us is cumming”.

This seemed to set off alarm bells in your head, no way were you waiting until the end of the chapter to orgasm, there were still pages left. “Fuck this!” you shouted whilst slamming close the textbook and pushing it away from you across the bed.

“Hey Sweetheart, we weren’t done. I thought you wanted to study?” Eddie continues to mock, and you quickly realised that this was his plan. To get you as riled up as possible that you snapped and you were definitely at snapping point.

Crawling forward, Eddie’s cock slipped out of you as you turned to look at him, eyes full of lust and want. “Shut up ok? You fucking win Eddie”.

You half tackled him, planning to have just pushed him down onto the bed but you were so desperate for him that you both ended up tumbling onto the floor. This didn’t stop either of you, even though he was now laying on top of the cold, wet clothes you’d discarded earlier, as you straddled his hips, hands pushing down on his chest to keep him in place. You were only satisfied and released a happy sigh as you sat down on his cock, feeling that full sensation once more.

Eddie’s eyes looked almost black with how heated with lust he felt, his tongue swiping out to lick his bottom lip, hands hovering over your hips, watching the beautiful sight of you taking control for a moment.

Your ache and desperation to fuck him was one of his favourite sights and it was only on the rare occasion that he’d actually been able to rile you up this much. With rigorous actions, you began to ride his cock, hard and fast, hips slamming down onto his, feeling his tip colliding with your cervix with each movement. Eventually, you needed to feel more of him and leaned down, cupping his cheeks and kissing him passionately. Both of you moan into the messy kiss, tongue and teeth mixing together to assert dominance that he quickly won, his hands resting on the back of your head as his hips fucked in time with yours, meeting halfway.

Tugging your bottom lip away from your face with his teeth and then letting it snap back again, gave Eddie the opportunity to shout, “fuck, that feels so fucking good Princess”. You absolutely loved hearing Eddie praising you loudly, not caring who heard from the open window. Sitting back up, you stared down at him for a second before tipping your head back, arching your back and angling your hips slightly forward so his cock was thrusting into your g-spot repeatedly. Also in this position, it exposed your breasts further to him so without any hesitation, he sat up with an arm around your waist and sucked each of your nipples in turn, his tongue flat against the nubs before he teased with his teeth.

Your fingers stroked through his hair and then gripped a handful, holding him close to your chest, enjoying the little sparks of pain from his teeth mixed with the almost blinding pleasure in your cunt.

Eddie could hear your tone change, your grip tightening in both his hair and around his cock and he knew you were close but this time he wanted you to cum, he needed it in fact as he was close himself.

Releasing your nipple with a pop, he pleaded, “That’s it Sweetheart, cum for me, I know you’re close, I want you to cum, You’ve been so good for me”.

The praises were always said at the exact moment that you needed to hear them, your pussy clenching in response which only encouraged Eddie to fuck you harder.

“Fu-Fuck, Eddie feels so good!” Your head was still tipped back but your grip in his hair didn’t loosen as you came hard. Your walls clenched repeatedly around his hard length and it only took two more thrusts as he found his own orgasm, his cum coating your cunt, seeping out of the edges and dripping into his lap.

The two of you held onto one another, grips finally loosening as you both tried to catch your breaths, enjoying the after-sex glow.

Eddie moves first but it’s only to lay sweet kisses across your collarbones, moving further up, across your neck, jaw, cheek and then lips, mumbling against them, “Sorry for being late”.

You huff a laugh, stroking a finger against his cheek, moving a few strands of hair away so that you could see him more. “That’s ok, you’ve more than made it up to me”.

He smiled softly, kissing you gently once more before shivering as a gust of wind blew through the open window. “So, back to studying?” he joked as you rolled your eyes.

“Absolutely not, I’m starving”, you responded as your stomach made a rumbling sound that rivalled the thunder outside. 

“As my girl wishes”, he jokes whilst helping you both to untangle and stand, it takes an extra minute for you to get your bearings with your wobbly knees but then quickly rushed to the bathroom as cum dripped down your thighs. Eddie smirked at the sight, moving to his chest of draws to find some clothes for you both to wear and then clearing up the mess that had been made in his room, placing the wet clothes into his laundry basket and then finally placed the textbook back under his bed for another time.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | winter special

You’re in labor and live outside of the city, and it just happens to be Christmas time, there’s a lot of snow. Will you and Yoongi be able to make it to the hospital before your baby arrives?

OR– The one where Yoongi fucks you into labor and crashes the car 🙃 (It’s set about 2 years after friendcation ended) 🙂

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Other characters: Jimin 😇 + the rest of the gang makes an appearance at the end too 💜 → AUs: roadtrip!au, non idol!au, pregnancy!au, established relationship, married!au, mechanic!Yoongi, holiday!au. → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (This is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 → Word Count: 10.3K → Warnings (general) + triggers: sex while pregnant, minor car accident, a lot of crack and humor too, because otherwise it wouldn’t be friendcation. Slight angst. Possessive Yoongi. Jimin deserves a warning too 👀 (it’s always Jimin)! Giving birth in a car in a somewhat detailed description (without medical help). Breastfeeding a baby. A lot of kissing. → Warnings (explicit): smut in the form of unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, breast play, nipple play (with a little bit of lactation), flashing/exposure of vagina and boobs, comfort sex (Yoongi making sure OC is comfortable the whole time 🥺), strong orgasms, blood (because of childbirth, but barely mentioned). → Author’s note: this couple just wouldn’t leave me alone 😂 So here we are, with a winter special. I really hope you like it. It was so fun to write, I just love their relationship and then also with their friends, especially Jimin 🤭 I might do more specials through time, I don’t know. Don’t know if people are interested (but I’d probably write it anyway, lol). Like, we still don’t know how Yoongi proposed, their wedding, their honeymoon 👀 This has different povs, mainly Yoongi's, then Jimin's and reader's (I hope it isn't too confusing). Thank you so much – and thanks to all that likes, comments, reblogs, yeah, anything. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, it makes me so happy and a damn smiling fool 💜 → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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He is used to it.

But ever since you became pregnant, it’s been getting worse.

Your sleep moaning, that is.

And it’s always turning him on.

His frustration simmers beneath the surface, fueled by the magnetic allure you effortlessly wield. Yet, with a single glance from you, his resolve melts away like butter on a warm summer day. This magnetic power you wield over him isn't a recent revelation; it's been your enchanting spell, cast long before that memorable camping trip more than a year ago.

Memories surge like a tidal wave, setting his irises ablaze with vivid snapshots of you both, entwined amidst the intimate cocoon of his van, sheets tangled in the echoes of passion.

Countless adventures and camping escapades have unfolded since that fateful journey with your friends, yet it's the kaleidoscope of memories created with you that he holds as precious treasures, each moment a vibrant gem in the tapestry of your relationship.

At last, his gaze shifts towards you, and he beholds the tranquility that graces your sleeping form, nestled beside him. There you lie, on your back nonetheless, which really mustn't be nice considering your big belly.

You’re almost nine months pregnant and the baby can come any minute, he knows.

You’d been trying to conceive for some time, a delightful excuse to have sex all the damn time–although, truth be told, he never needed one.

He feels his dick strain against the confines of his boxers and he wonders  whether to rouse you from slumber, it's not merely the urgency of his arousal but the genuine concern for your well-being—your supine position hindering blood flow and oxygen to the precious life within your belly. 

Thus, with a tender touch, he delicately stirs you from your peaceful slumber.

Initially met with silence, your slumbering form stirs slightly, emitting a soft murmur of both moans and snores.

A soft chuckle escapes him as he observes your endearing response, yet undeterred, he persists in gently prodding you.

In a hushed and tender tone, he attempts to reach out to you with a gentle “Babe,” his voice a delicate whisper, carrying the weight of affection.

As your head gracefully pivots towards him, your eyes, like delicate butterflies, flutter open in response to the gentle call. A soft smile graces his lips, a silent serenade to the gradual awakening of your consciousness.

As consciousness fully embraces you, your eyes roam the dimly lit room before finding solace in his gaze.”Why did you wake me? It’s the middle of the night…” you inquire, the bedroom's shadows bearing witness to the query that hangs in the air.

With a gentle yawn, you pivot your body, settling into the comforting curve of your side. In the quiet accomplishment of this subtle shift, one of his cherished missions finds completion.

In a tender tone infused with love, he begins, “You were sleeping on your back. It’s not good for the baby,” his words a gentle caress carrying the weight of concern for the precious life cradled within your belly.

A warmth infuses your smile as you meet his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of gratitude for the depth of his concern and the wellspring of love that envelops you both.

And with a playful chuckle lacing his words, he adds, “And you were moaning too.” Your laughter joins his, and you both know what this means.

“You’re always horny, Yoon.” you tease, your hands exploring the contours of his body with purpose. Swiftly finding the elastic of his boxers, you trace the outline of his dick with a deliberate touch, a dance of desire that unfolds seamlessly between you.

Your hand glides sensually over him, a teasing caress through the fabric of his boxers, and a guttural groan of pleasure escapes his lips.

He seizes your hand, bringing a pause to the tantalizing dance between you. “Do you want to, babe?” he inquires, his gaze a reflection of both restraint and anticipation, hanging on the unspoken words between you.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, your body and mind fully alive, the air already charged with the unmistakable electricity that Yoongi seems to effortlessly ignite within you. You’re already soaked in your panties, and with a whispered moan, you confess, “Yes, I need you Yoongi.”

Gently guiding your hand away from his cock, he inches closer, turning you to lay on your side facing away from him.

Swiftly seizing his pillow, he artfully tucks it beneath the gentle curve of your belly, sculpting a cocoon of support and comfort.

Nestling his head into the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, savoring the heady and intoxicating essence that is uniquely yours. It's more than a fragrance; it's a potent elixir that courses through him, a sensory drug that elicits an involuntary response—a subtle, primal twitch in the fabric of boxers.

A low, guttural moan escapes his lips, intimately shared in the cocoon of your embrace, as he senses your shiver echo through his touch.His skilled hand embarks on a journey, tenderly caressing your breasts, lingering over the soft expanse of your tummy where the fluttering life within makes its presence known. As his exploration ventures lower, he cups your pussy outside your panties.

Your hips undulate into his dick, a rhythmic dance that draws an involuntary duet of pleasure-laden moans from both of you. His awareness sharpens, attuned to the undeniable evidence of your arousal. With a deliberate touch, he tugs your panties aside, revealing your drenched pussy.

Initiating a delicate exploration, he trails his fingertips along the contours of your folds, gathering the essence of your arousal before skillfully guiding a single digit into the velvety warmth of your desire.

With a rhythmic precision, he starts a sensual dance, his digit sliding in and out of your eager core. Each movement draws forth an increasing symphony of heavy pants, and he can already hear that you’re not gonna last long.

Adding another skilled finger, he intensifies the intimate pleasure, a seamless union of sensation as your bodies synchronize in a provocative dance. Your backside grinds into the rigid length of his desire, fueling his fervor to push the limits further. With an escalating pace, his fingers move within you, a crescendo of pleasure building with every adept stroke.

Breathless and on the precipice of ecstasy, you urgently plead, “I'm so close, Yoongi. Touch my clit instead,” your voice a desperate plea. He complies with a deft move, withdrawing his slickened fingers from the depths of your core to redirect their attention, skillfully navigating the peaks of your pussy with an intoxicating dance against your throbbing clit.

Yoongi has become attuned to the cadence of your breath, a masterful symphony that he has memorized like the back of his hand. In the harmonious rhythm, he discerns the telltale signs that you are on the precipice of ecstasy—so close that the intoxicating anticipation hangs in the air like an electric charge.

His fingers move in a tantalizing dance, tracing circles around your clit with an intimate familiarity. As he senses you teetering on the brink, your breaths hang heavy in the charged air, and the ethereal moans escape your lips like a whispered melody. In a bold move, he pinches your clit. Your body responds in an electric surge, tension radiating through every inch of your being, held in the exquisite grip of his deliberate touch.

Returning to the rhythmic circles on your clit, he guides you through the waves of your orgasm, a seismic tremor that reverberates through your being. Each stroke of his touch acts as a steady anchor, grounding you in the aftermath of what feels like an earth-shattering climax.

You gasp for air, your breaths coming in furious bursts, and in a voice drawn out with need, you moan his name—a melody of pleasure that lingers in the charged air between you.

“'Fuck!” escapes you in a guttural moan, your hands clenching into fists under the watchful gaze of his darkened, appreciative eyes. 

Withdrawing his hand from the depths of your core, he endeavors to temper the tempestuous movements coursing through you, a steadying touch anchoring your fervent reactions with a gentle grip on your hips. 

“'Damn. It's like the orgasm is lingering,” you confess in a strained voice, leaving Yoongi uncertain whether to interpret it as a blissful prolongation or a potential intensity that might overwhelm you. 

“What do you mean?” he inquires, his voice a warm breath against your neck.

“It's just... I can feel it all the way around my stomach,” you pant, the lingering sensations creating a unique symphony within you. “Ah, it's probably Braxton Hicks contractions, because of the orgasm,” you assert with a newfound certainty. In response, Yoongi hums in acknowledgment, his hand delicately finding its place on your belly, where he can feel the subtle tightness.

“Are you sure it’s just that?” he questions, his concern etched in the furrow of his brow. Yet, as your assurance unfolds, a palpable relaxation courses through the muscles of your belly. “Yeah, they're fading now,” you confirm.

“Yoongi, I need you inside me now,” you declare, your words a sultry plea as you sensually grind your ass into the rigid bulge within his boxers. 

With a sharp intake of breath, he hisses, seizing your hips in a possessive grip, molding you against the heat of his pelvis.

Effortlessly, he peels your panties down your thighs, and you willingly lift your legs to aid in their complete removal. As he holds the damp evidence of your arousal in his hand, a wicked glint in his eyes betrays the realization, damn they are soaked. Without a second thought, he discards them to the floor.

“'Is this position comfortable for you?” he tenderly inquires, a gentle concern threading through his words as he sheds his boxers. Adjusting his position, he moves slightly, aligning himself with the contours of your core from behind.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Lying down and approaching from behind, the fit feels unusually snug. Yoongi, with deliberate intent, spreads your ass cheeks, his hand tracing a teasing path before he strokes his arousal, the anticipation building. As he aligns with the entrance to your core, a slow and deliberate entrance ensues, eliciting a moan from you.

An almost primal growl escapes your lips as he sinks in, each agonizingly slow inch a delicious torment. It's not just amazing; it's an exquisite tightness that makes you acutely aware of his presence, as if you can feel him reverberating through every fiber of your being, from the deepest reaches of your pussy to the intimate confines of your uterus.

Yoongi indulges in a series of deliberate thrusts, each movement a slow dance that unveils the exquisite tightness enveloping him. With each rhythmic advance into your core, he keenly senses the escalating tension in your body.

“Yoon,” you pant, the syllables a breathless plea that lingers in the charged air. Yoongi, attuned to your every reaction, halts his movements, his hand tenderly caressing your cheek. “I can feel you everywhere inside, fuck.”

“Is it good, or should we stop?” he asks, a genuine concern etched across his features. His desire is not just for pleasure but for your comfort and satisfaction.

“No, it's good for now, but I'll let you know if it gets too intense, okay? Maybe we can change positions then?” you inquire, your voice a sultry whisper that hangs in the air. As you sensually grind your ass down into his pelvis, fucking yourself on his cock, a soft moan leaves your lips.

Yoongi releases a low, guttural moan against the sensitive skin of your neck, his reverberating pleasure mingling with lust between you. His hand journeys down the curve of your hips, gripping them with a possessive urgency. In this tactile exchange, he finds stability, a grounding force that allows him to drive into you once more, each thrust a testament to the fervor building between you.

As you surrender completely against him, a harmonious synchrony of pleasure unfolds. Sensing the shift, he accelerates his thrusts, a rhythmic dance that quickens the desire between you. 

Yoongi inhales deeply against the canvas of your neck, and in a sudden, electrifying twist, you feel the graze of his teeth. Your body shivers with anticipation, and then he descends, sinking his teeth into your neck. Not too forcefully, but with a compelling intensity that sends a jolt of electricity down your spine. Your body responds in kind, grinding against his, and a sinful moan escapes you.

Then, with a sensual grace, he traces the path where his teeth had left their mark, his tongue delicately caressing your neck before placing soft, lingering kisses. Your response is a sultry mewl, the audible manifestation of pleasure, and in the electric aftermath, you feel a surge of arousal saturate his dick.

Breathless and on the precipice of ecstasy, you gasp, “Yoongi, I'm—,” the words trailing off into a passionate pant as he skillfully drives into you, each thrust an artful symphony of pleasure that transcends language, leaving you teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Hmm?”

His grip on your hips tightens, and with each deeper thrust, the world around you seems to blur as you swear that, despite the physical limitations of the position, you can feel him everywhere. It's an overwhelming sensation, almost too much.

“I want to change positions,” you pant, and in an instant, Yoongi withdraws, his response swift and attentive. With a purposeful motion, he turns you around, orchestrating a seamless transition that repositions you to face him once again.

“What do you want to do?” he smiles, his gaze tender as he caresses your cheek with the gentle strokes of his long, slender fingers. In the delicate dance of his touch, you feel an overwhelming sense of love and appreciation.

“I want to ride you,” you confess, leaning in to capture his lips in a soft kiss. As you pull away, a playful smile dances across your face, your eyes reflecting a potent mix of love and lust.

“Fuck, yeah, babe,” he breathes in eager agreement, turning to lie on his back. As you discard the pillow he thoughtfully fetched for you, you proceed to shed your nightgown, leaving both of you completely bare.

With a graceful motion, you hike one leg over his body, settling into a commanding straddle. Your hand confidently takes hold of his dick, aligning it with the eager warmth of your pussy again. A smile plays on your lips as you gaze down at him, relishing the empowering intimacy of having him beneath you in this moment.

His smile mirrors the adoration and appreciation he feels as he takes in every incredible feature of yours. As you descend slowly onto his cock, your face flushes a subtle shade of red, your quivering lips betraying the intensity of your desire. Your nipples stand proudly, and your gracefully rounded belly hangs low, a testament to the life you’ve both created and soon to welcome into the world.

God he loves you. So fucking much. In his eyes, you’re a goddess.

As you lower yourself onto his dick, a duet of moans escapes both of you, the soft stretch heightening the sensory experience. The angle of this position enhances the feeling, and in the synchronized exchange of pleasure, you both revel in the palpable sensation that binds you together.

“Fuck, Yoon!” you pant, the breathless exclamation escaping your lips as you reach the apex of his pelvis, his cock filling you up completely. 

“'Ah! It's so much better like this,” you moan, the words dripping with satisfaction and pleasure as you take control, beginning to ride him with a rhythmic motion. 

Yoongi's hands find purchase on your hips, their firm grasp not only steadying you but becoming an integral part of the rhythmic dance as you bounce on his dick. 

It's undeniably exquisite, the sensation heightened by the captivating sight of you taking control, sending Yoongi into a feral state of desire. The raw power of your dominance, setting the pace and depth, fuels an irresistible fire within him. Your expressions—those eyes closing in lust, the whimpering pleas—seemingly unravel his restraint, threatening to push him over the edge. 

“You look so good, bouncing on my dick. Such a good girl,” he pants, the words imbued with a husky appreciation. His hands, slightly squeezing your hips, become a tactile affirmation, letting you know that every movement is not just good but exceptionally arousing. 

You keen in response to his praise, a melodious symphony of pleasure that resonates in the air. Empowered by the encouragement, you guide yourself down deeper, every movement an exquisite dance that intensifies the feeling of being incredibly full.

“Yoongi, I don't think I'm gonna last long,” you pant, the admission hanging in the air like an electrifying confession. Sensing the imminent climax, you slow your movements, the deliberate deceleration amplifying the anticipation.

“It’s fine,” he reassures you, “I’m not going to either.”

You chuckle at him, the sound a melodic blend of pleasure and fatigue as you continue to bounce on his arousal. “I'm also so damn tired. This is challenging with my belly being this big,”

“I can take over if you want—or we can try another position?” His offer is laced with genuine concern, a desire to ensure you don't strain or tire yourself unnecessarily. 

“No! I love this. I want to ride you,” you moan, the words a passionate declaration as you sink down on him once more. The anticipation of your impending orgasm begins to unfurl in the depths of your stomach.

“Yoongi—, I'm close,” you pant, the admission a breathless revelation as you continue to move at a languid pace, the enticing rhythm showcasing the delightful bounce of your tits with each motion.

He has always been captivated by the allure of your tits—a mesmerizing aspect of your physicality that leaves him in awe. A part of him remains undecided, caught in the delightful dilemma of whether he prefers your tits or your ass, a choice he'd willingly forego, harboring a fervent desire for both.

Your hands find purchase on his sculpted pectorals, seeking support as exhaustion sets in, causing your movements to slow, each languid motion bringing you closer to climax. His gaze lingers on your face, a canvas painted with the intensity of the moment—sweat glistening, mouth slightly agape, and eyebrows creased in ecstasy as you fervently ride him, lost in the rhythmic dance of pleasure.

He senses a primal twitch within as he stays deep within you, and his gaze traces a path down your neck where the evidence of his love bite remains visible. Continuing his journey, his eyes appreciate the sight of your wonderful, bouncy tits.

Withdrawing both of his hands from your hips, they now tenderly grasp both of your tits. “These are so wonderful, as is every part of you,” he murmurs in a voice laced with appreciation.

You feel the walls of your pussy contract in response to his words of praise, a cascading sensation that culminates in a soft moan, his name escaping your lips like a whispered melody. 

He caresses your tits, their softness, fullness, and weight filling his palms with a tangible desire. As his hands explore, he discovers your perked nipples, rolling them between his fingers in a delicate dance of pleasure.

“Yoongi!” A high-pitched moan escapes your lips, the fervent cry echoing in the charged atmosphere as you throw your head back, surrendering to the pleasure of sinking down on him once more. 

He luxuriates in the splendor of your beauty, every facet of your amazing body a source of enchantment. Everything about you accelerates the rhythm of his heart, the butterflies in his stomach multiplying with each passing moment. 

He gives a gentle tug on your nipple, sending a surge of sensations through your body like an electric current, a simultaneous feeling of warmth and chill enveloping you in a paradoxical embrace.

You sense a delightful tingling sensation rippling across your entire body, a prelude to an impending climax that hovers tantalizingly on the edge.

“Shit, Yoongi, I think I'm gonna come,” you moan, the admission carrying the weight of impending ecstasy.

He grunts in response, the primal sound echoing the urgency of his own impending release. “I'm close too.”

You start to sense a delightful tightness in your breasts, with Yoongi skillfully alternating between rolling your nipples, tugging, and pinching them. The exquisite play on your sensitive peaks sends shivers down your spine. Simultaneously, you become acutely aware of the wetness between your thighs, a slippery testament to the overwhelming arousal that courses through your body.

The sound of skin on skin slapping resonates through the air, a visceral percussion that punctuates the charged atmosphere. The noise sends a jolt through your body, causing your muscles to tense in response.

The tingling and prickling sensation in your breasts intensifies, creating a crescendo of arousal that surges through your body. Then, in a sudden release, you feel the pressure in them subside, a wave of pleasure ebbing away like a tide.

Yoongi watches in awe as a gush of milk shoots out of your tits, creating a mesmerizing display that soon turns into a sensuous drip. His finger skillfully rolls your nipples, the fluid covering them and your tits in a glistening sheen of your breastmilk. Fuck it’s hot. He feels his dick twitch again, as he keeps looking at your tits.

You sense a wetness on your breasts and instinctively glance down, only to be met with a wave of horror as you realize you've begun lactating. In an instant, you cover your bobs, a mix of shock and embarrassment washing over you. The sudden shift in your body leaves you feeling vulnerable and a bit grossed out.

“I'm so sorry,” you begin, breathless words escaping your lips as you continue to fuck yourself on his dick. 

“You don't have to be sorry, babe. It's natural and sexy,” he reassures you with a loving smile, a genuine attempt to dispel any insecurity. His eyes, filled with both warmth and desire, convey a message beyond words—that he not only doesn't mind but finds the situation undeniably hot. 

“Please let me touch them,” he pleads with a rare vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. 

You take a moment to contemplate, acknowledging that while you might not find it as inherently sexy as he does, the arousal sparked by his desire for you is undeniably enticing. Embracing the vulnerability, you lean in and press your tits closer to his face, your tummy meeting his, as you concede with a whispered “okay.” 

You release your breasts from your grasp, and like a magnet seeking its counterpart, his hands find them once more. With deliberate tenderness, he begins to massage your tts, each slow and deliberate stroke creating ripples of pleasure that resonate through your body. 

As you move up and down on his length, the kaleidoscope of emotions—love, lust, and adoration—mirrored in Yoongi's eyes sends a shiver down your spine. In that charged moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, you feel like you could die a happy woman. 

His fingers resume their dance, skillfully rolling your nipples and coating them with the warm fluid of your breast milk.

With a newfound determination, you pick up the pace, fervently chasing the brink of your orgasm. Yoongi, fully immersed in the moment, continues to fondle your tits with an affectionate touch.

“Ah! Yoongi, it's so good!” you moan with a symphony of pleasure as you lower yourself onto him, and in response, he tugs a little harder on your nipples.

“Fuck,” you pant, breathless, the sensation of being so thoroughly filled with desire and pleasure overwhelming your senses.

As your stomach tightens, the internal coil finally springs free, and you unleash your slick juices on his dick. A surge of ecstasy washes over you, rendering your vision blurry, a temporary blindness overcome by the intensity of pleasure. A strange ringing noise fills your ears, and your body collapses against Yoongi's in a state of blissful surrender.

With remarkable speed, he intercepts your naked form before it collides with him, his strong and firm hands seizing your hips to anchor you on top of him. 

You man fervently, the echoes of your climax still reverberating through your body. In the throes of your descent from ecstasy, a desperate plea escapes your lips, “Yoongi, please fcuk me.”

With a firm grip on your hips, he squeezes them again, initiating a rapid and relentless pace of thrusting into you. The urgency in his movements mirrors the crescendo of desire building within him as he fervently chases his own impending orgasm. 

Fuck, it was hot to witness you unravel in such ecstasy. The lingering sensation of your walls pulsating around his dick lingers, as if you're tightly embracing him, and he revels in it. Being inside you, outside you, every facet of connection with you fuels a deep and insatiable love within him. 

“Fuck, babe – you’re so tight!” he moans in pure delight. As you sit up, a newfound intensity in your movements, your hands find your tits, skillfully rolling your nipples, and a rivulet of breast milk drips out. Fuck. That will be his undoing.

“Ah, babe—,” he moans your name with a drawn-out, languid tone, his eyes unable to tear away from the sinful allure of your face and the captivating sight of your incredible tits. 

Inexplicably, your walls continue to throb around him, coaxing an unbridled release from him. A guttural moan of your name escapes his lips, a primal declaration of the intensity of the moment, synchronized with the eruption of his warm seed, cascading into the depths of your pulsating pussy. 

“Fuck!” he pants, his thrusts persisting a few times before he deftly lifts you, positioning you higher on his stomach. In the aftermath of shared ecstasy, both of you lost in the haze of pleasure, the residue of your combined orgasms coats and binds you together, a slick and intimate testament to the intensity of lust.

“Ah…” you moan, a sultry melody escaping your lips as you descend into Yoongi's embrace. Despite the undertones of desire that lace your voice, he can't help but wonder what might be amiss as he sees pain etched in your face.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he inquires, his gaze locking onto your lustful eyes as he seeks to unravel the secrets veiled behind their desire-laden depths.

“I think I’m still orgasming,” you pant, rising once more, “it’s like my body won’t stop.” A shared gaze lingers between you, uncertainty flickering in both your eyes as the lingering waves of pleasure blur the lines between ecstasy and the unknown.

“Is it good or bad though?” he probes, a furrow forming on his brow as he attempts to unravel the mystery. “It’s not bad, but my tummy feels so tight,” your hand guides his to the firmness, and indeed, it does feel tight.

“Hmmm…” he contemplates the peculiar situation, his curiosity piqued but not overly concerned. “I’ll grab some towels and clean us up. Let’s wait a moment to see if it subsides, alright?”

You nod at him, then gracefully ease down from his lap, sprawling on your side, the remnants of passion and desire lingering in the air as you continue to pant for the sweet breath of satisfaction.

Yoongi gracefully rises from the bed, navigating the darkness of the night with an innate sense of purpose. He effortlessly locates your bathroom, skillfully secures a handful of towels, and returns to your bedroom with a quiet assurance, the dim shadows highlighting his silhouette as he prepares to tend to your shared aftermath.

“Here—, I–” With a sudden urgency, he tosses the towels aside as his eyes widen at the sight of you. Your figure is curled in on itself, hands instinctively cradling your stomach, every muscle in your body taut and tense.

“Yoongi, I think I’m in labor,” you declare, the gravity of the moment reflected not just in your words but also in the silent agony etched across your face, a shared understanding mirrored in the intensity of his gaze.

And then it hits him like a tidal wave; the tightness in your tummy was contractions. A surge of realization floods over him—shit, it’s happening. You're having your baby. In the whirlwind of emotions, he battles to remain calm, to steady himself for the pivotal moments ahead.

“Okay. Let's time the contractions and then call the hospital, okay?” he says, a sense of urgency in his voice, frantically searching for his phone on the nightstand.

“Let me know the moment you sense the beginning of a contraction,” he instructs, poised to start the timer.

“Right now,” you gasp, clutching your stomach tightly. The sensation grips you, an intense pressure, especially at the apex, and then, moments later, it releases. “It’s gone now.”

“Almost a minute,” he observes, his tone laden with the realization that you're edging closer to the throes of labor.

“Describe them to me. Are they intense? The pain worries me, seeing you in discomfort tears me apart,” he inquires, genuine concern etched across his face as he tries to understand what you're going through.

“Just a hint of pain, nothing unbearable. I can handle it,” you reassure with a soft chuckle, a resilient spirit shining through despite the discomfort, and he finds solace in your strength.

“Let's keep an eye on the contractions for about an hour, and then we'll give the hospital a call,” he suggests, retrieving the towels scattered on the floor earlier with a sense of urgency.

“While we wait, let me take care of you,” he proposes, coming closer with a towel. Gently lifting one of your legs, he begins to clean you, erasing the traces of our orgasms.

Your body quivers in response to his tender touch, eliciting delicate moans that dance in the air.

“Fuck. I don’t know why, but it’s turning me on, Yoon.” You moan softly, unable to explain the unexpected arousal, but your body instinctively grinds against the towel, turning a simple act into a sensual dance of lust.

A playful chuckle escapes him as he tends to your aftermath, skillfully cleaning you up. Satisfied with the tender care he has given you, he proceeds to clean himself up. Together, you reclaim your clothing, sitting down in your bed anxiously waiting for your contractions to pick up. 

As the cadence of contractions quickens, Yoongi takes decisive action, reaching out to the hospital to announce the fact that you’re in labor. With a voice poised between urgency and excitement, he navigates the conversation, detailing the progression of your contractions over the past hour. He wants to know how you should proceed.

As anticipation swirls in the air like a palpable force, Yoongi's voice resonates with a newfound sense of joy. “They've given us the green light to drive to the hospital,” he announces, his eyes reflecting the shared excitement. As you both perch on the edge of the bed, he turns to you with a practical inquiry, “Where did you stash your hospital bag?”

Your gesture guides him to the dresser, and with a graceful sweep, Yoongi retrieves your carefully prepared hospital bag. His voice, a comforting melody, invites you to join him, “Come, we can go now.”

Guiding you with a gentle hand, Yoongi accompanies you to the entryway of your home, a silent pact of shared determination. The darkness outside, coupled with the December chill, calls for the practicality of boots and a warm coat.

Assertively reaching for Yoongi's car keys, you declare, “I can drive.” The shift in Yoongi's expression is so abrupt, it's as if you've caught a fleeting glimpse of a storm cloud on a clear day, the sour twist on his face a testament to the unexpectedness of your statement.

His voice takes on a stern edge, swiftly denying your attempt to take the wheel. Yoongi snatches the keys from your grasp, his firm tone leaving no room for negotiation. “It’s not safe for you to drive in the midst of contractions,” he insists, a protective glint in his eyes amplifying the weight of his concern.

“But it’s not that bad,” you argue, why, you don’t really know.

“Look, babe. I know you can do everything by yourself, you’re strong, and I love you for it. But you’re not driving the car,” he says with a tone that brooks no argument, a gentle firmness underlining his love and concern for your well-being.

As you both prepare and the keys find their place in Yoongi's firm grip, you swing the door wide open, only to be greeted by a blanket of white—the snow-draped landscape stretching across the grass, road, and your car. To top it off, gentle snowflakes dance down from the heavens. Fuck.

“Ugh, it’s going to take forever driving into the city in this weather,” you grumble, trudging your way towards the car through the dense, snow-laden path. The flakes fall thick and heavy, making it difficult to see ahead.

Yoongi grumbles under his breath, popping the trunk to stow away your bag. With meticulous care, he ensures you've got everything essential for the journey. Satisfied, you both slide into the car, ready to face the challenges the snowy night has in store.

“It's going to be alright, babe,” he reassures you, his hand gently covering yours before tenderly moving to your belly. “Can't wait to finally meet you.” 

Yoongi is accustomed to navigating challenging weather conditions on the road, his driving skills unaffected by the snow. However, the incompetence of other drivers in snowy conditions infuriates him. Inside the cocoon of your car, he vents his frustration, unleashing a symphony of curses directed at everyone causing chaos on the wintry roads.

“Ease up on the road rage, Yoongi. I don't want our little one picking up a vocabulary lesson in expletives before they even arrive,” you chime in, settling deeper into the seat, your concern for the baby evident in your voice.

“Babe, seriously, who ventures out on the road without a clue about driving in the snow? And it's the crack of dawn—why is everyone suddenly on a snow-day adventure?” Yoongi grumbles in exasperation, his frustration bringing a smile to your face despite the situation.

“Have you forgotten it’s Christmas time?” you quip, chuckling as he gapes at you, realization dawning on him. Damn, he had indeed forgotten.

“We haven’t even reached the city yet and there’s already so many cars,” he complains some more, and you let him. His voice, a melody that always soothes, even in the midst of chaotic Christmas traffic.

“They’re going home to their families—, watch out!” you point at the car in front of you, its headlights blazing like a comet in the snowy morning, almost blinding in their intensity.

Yoongi's keen eyes caught sight of the car in the opposite lane, and it became painfully evident that the driver couldn't navigate the snowy roads to save their life. Inexplicably, this inept driver seemed to believe they owned the road, arrogantly straddling both lanes. Distinguishing one lane from another was challenging in the snowy chaos, but it wasn't rocket science either.

Yoongi skillfully swerves the car to the side, narrowly avoiding a collision with the vehicle in front. The abrupt move sends a rumble through the car as it navigates the bumpy terrain, plowing through a massive mound of snow hastily shoved to the side.

The car grinds to a halt, Yoongi unleashing a string of colorful curses directed at the absent driver. Now, you find yourselves stranded in the unforgiving grip of the snow.

His concerned gaze shifts to you, seeking reassurance. “Are you okay, babe?” he asks, and although you appear unharmed, your response carries the weight of the unexpected. “Yeah, I'm okay. Just a bit shaken.”

As he hums a soothing melody, his attempts to reassure you echo in the confined space, yet beneath the surface, he senses the gradual erosion of his own calm demeanor.

“That fucking jerk,” his frustration intensifies as he hisses about the reckless driver, but you, amidst the escalating contractions, offer soothing reassurance, masking the growing urgency within the car.

“I'll assess the damage outside, okay?” he proposes, seeking your consent. You nod, delving into your bag for a snack, a sudden wave of hunger overtaking you amid the unfolding situation.

Yoongi steps out into the freezing cold, the car's engine humming in the background. He surveys the vehicle, searching for any visible damage, but to his relief, nothing appears broken or in need of immediate repair.

The towering mound of snow engulfs the car, rendering the hood invisible. Yoongi, realizing the severity of the situation, understands that extricating the vehicle from this icy trap is no easy feat. The sheer depth of the snow suggests a challenging predicament, one that requires assistance. Knowing you're in no condition to lend a hand, he contemplates the help he'll need to navigate the car out of this wintry predicament.

He reenters the car, discovering you engrossed in a candy bar, and a hearty chuckle escapes his lips.

Between bites, you inquire, “I was hungry. How's the car?”

“It's stuck pretty bad in the snow pile. Can't get it out myself,” he begins, but you interrupt with a smile, “I can help you with that.”

“Have you forgotten that you're in labor?” he laughs, his voice raspy from the cold outside. “And you're not going out to shovel snow. We don't even have shovels,” he adds, sharing a hearty laugh with you.

“I thought you had all kinds of things in the car,” you chuckle, finishing your candy bar with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“Yeah, but not shovels,” his laughter resonates in the car, a contagious sound that brings a smile to your face.

“What are we gonna do then, just wait?” you inquire, a hint of worry coloring your voice as the realization dawns that you might not make it to the hospital in time.

“I’ll call Jimin and ask him to come help,” he declares, urgency in his tone as he swiftly pulls out his phone, dialing Jimin’s number with determination.

Even in the early morning hush, Jimin's phone vibrates, and he glances at the caller ID to find Yoongi's name flashing. It's an unusual call at this hour, sparking an immediate concern that propels him to answer without hesitation.

“Hey, Yoongi hyung, something wrong?” His voice, tinged with worry and genuine concern, breaks the silence of the room as he answers the call. He rises from the bed, instantly alert to the unusual urgency in Yoongi's early morning summons. 

“We had a car accident,” Yoongi's words hang heavy in the air, shattering the tranquility of the room. Jimin's reaction is immediate, a storm of worry and disbelief brewing within him. He erupts from the bed, shouting into the phone, “What??” The sheer concern in his voice mirrors the gravity of the situation.

Yoongi's reassurance echoes through the phone, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “It's minor, relax,” he utters, and the calmness in his voice acts as a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of panic.

“A guy forced us off the road, and we ended up plowing into a massive snowbank. Now, the damn car's wedged in tight,” Yoongi recounts, frustration coloring his words. Jimin, attentive, absorbs the details. “Think you can come lend a hand? Bring some shovels. I'll shoot you our coordinates,” Yoongi requests, the urgency evident in his tone.

Jimin readily agrees to help, his concern palpable through the phone. However, he can't shake the worry as he inquires, “Are you guys okay? And ___? How's the baby?”

“Yeah, we're all fine,” Yoongi reassures, his voice a bit raspy. Jimin strains to catch some muffled sounds on the other end, unable to discern the details.

He glances at the dropped location on his phone, “I can be there in about 30 minutes,” he assures Yoongi, swiftly rising from his bed to grab some warm clothes.

“Thank you, Jimin.”

As the promised 30 minutes Jimin assured you passed an hour ago, he couldn't help but wonder if you were growing impatient with the prolonged wait.

Jimin spots your car on the roadside, its hazard lights casting an eerie glow, and he expertly maneuvers his own vehicle to a stop right behind yours.

He steps out, ready to retrieve tools from the trunk, but his attention is abruptly stolen by piercing screams emanating from your car. His muscles tense, and without a second thought, he dashes towards the source of the cries.

Why are you screaming? What's going on, and why are the windows so foggy?

With an overpowering urgency, he wrenches open the left door to the backseats, sending it flinging wide, the metallic screech echoing the urgency pulsing through his veins.

He hadn't anticipated the shocking scene that unfolded before him; there you were, legs pressed against the headrest on both the front and back seats, completely exposed from the waist down. He can clearly see your vagina. Fuck, your vagina is big—wait, something is coming out of it!

Yoongi catches Jimin unabashedly staring at your vagina, prompting an eye roll from him. What's with Jimin? Having already witnessed your tits and now your vagina, it annoys Yoongi to no end. He's possessive; the idea of others seeing you in such a vulnerable state doesn't sit well with him. Sharing is not his forte.

He hisses sharply, capturing Jimin's attention, all while the symphony of your agonized screams continues to pierce the air.

“Stop looking at her vagina, man! You’ve seen enough of her, Jimin,” Yoongi snaps, frustration dripping from his words as your writhing form remains nestled against his supporting frame.

Jimin's eyes widen in disbelief, his mouth agape at the unexpected scene. He quickly redirects his gaze to Yoongi, his expression a mix of shock and apology as he stammers, “I—I didn't mean to, Yoongi, I'm so sorry!”

You clutch your thighs tightly, a guttural scream escaping your lips as the contraction envelops you. Once it recedes, you direct an exasperated shout at Jimin, “Close the damn door! You’re letting all the cold air in.”

Jimin snaps out of his daze, berating himself for standing there like a fool. Swiftly, he slips into the driver's seat, positioning himself to face the backseats with a determined look on his face.

“How long has she been in labor?” Jimin queries Yoongi, who glances up from your panting form for a moment before responding, “A few hours, actually.”

“You could have mentioned that when you called!” Jimin hisses in frustration. Not that the information would have made a big difference, given that the snow was the primary cause of his tardiness.

“But that’s a long time. I can see the head coming out,” he informs, prompting both you and Yoongi to exchange amused eye rolls.

“Yeah, she's crowning,” Yoongi adds with a soft stroke to your cheeks, his touch a comforting anchor as you brace yourself for another contraction.

“What can I do to help? I don't think we can get the car ready in time to make it to the hospital,” Jimin inquires, his gaze shifting between you and Yoongi with a mix of concern and determination.

“I already realized I’m having this baby in the backseat of a fucking car. Serves me right — getting fucked in a car, giving birth in a car. I’ve come full circle!” you laugh hysterically between contractions, the situation not lost on you. Jimin shifts uncomfortably in the driver's seat, but Yoongi remains a steady rock, his presence grounding you amidst the chaos.

As Yoongi directs his attention to Jimin, he suggests, “Maybe you could call the hospital and check if they can send an ambulance our way, just in case. I haven't had a moment to make that call yet.” His fingers trace soothing circles on your thighs, a stark contrast to the urgency of your sudden need to push.

Jimin's face reflects genuine concern as he admits he's never witnessed someone in labor before, only having gleaned insights from movies. However, a memory surfaces—advice from Seokjin after his girlfriend gave birth. “You can try changing positions, something where gravity can aid the baby's descent,” he shares, a eureka moment breaking through the tension.

Following Jimin's suggestion, you and Yoongi exchange a glance filled with gratitude and amazement. Acting on the advice, you shift positions, moving to sit over the seats with your upper body draped across them, your face turned towards the back. The atmosphere is tense, yet the three of you share a determined resolve in the face of the unexpected delivery.

With Yoongi's steady support, you manage to assume a half-standing, half-seated position, your body poised for the imminent arrival of your baby. Meanwhile, the car fills with the sound of Jimin's urgent voice as he communicates with the hospital over the phone.

“They are sending an ambulance now,” he informs.

Gratitude colors Yoongi's urgent request, a plea wrapped in the intensity of the moment. “Thank you, Jimin. Could you come back here and lend a hand?” he implores, a mix of worry and determination in his voice, as you cling to the rhythm of your breaths, navigating the storm of contractions.

He teases with a nonchalant shrug, “I thought you didn't want me looking.” Yet, it's clear he's here to assist you; after all, you're his ride or die, and in this crucial moment, his quip holds a trace of underlying devotion and readiness to stand by your side.

In a playful retort, he asserts, “Bold of you to assume I wanted you to look at her vagina again. There are other ways to assist, you know. I'll keep vagina watch—she's my wife,” emphasizing the relationship he shares with you, as Jimin exits the car to join you in the backseat.

Your tired yet grateful gaze meets Jimin's as you acknowledge, “You were right, Jimin. This position is a game-changer. The pressure has eased up a bit.” Despite the sweat-soaked exhaustion etched on your face, a soft smile conveys your appreciation.

For a second, Jimin doesn’t know what to do – can he touch you? Where? How can he help?

“Fuck it hurts!” Agony courses through you, each breath a struggle as you arch your back, a desperate attempt to wrestle against the relentless ache.

As the waves of pain intensify, he instinctively rests his hand on the small of your back, gently tracing soothing circles. To his relief, he witnesses the tension in your body slowly surrender to the rhythmic comfort of his touch.

Summoning all his composure, Yoongi bravely steals a glance downward, discovering a tuft of hair signaling the imminent arrival. Damn. He knows he must remain composed, steady—for you.

“How did you go into labor anyway? How did the water break, was it like in the movies?” Jimin launches into a barrage of questions, his curiosity pouring out like an unbridled stream. You shoot a glare his way, practically hurling invisible daggers in his direction at the audacity of his inquiries.

His hands continue their soothing circles on your lower back as he asks, “What?” Yoongi resurfaces, his expression a blank canvas.

And suddenly, realization flashes across Jimin's face. “You totally fucked! And then she went into labor!” he exclaims, a mix of shock and amusement in his voice.

You hiss in pain, your fingers clenching the seat with a vice-like grip, the intensity of the moment etched in the white-knuckle grasp of your hands.

Both your expressions affirm Jimin's earlier assumption, a silent confirmation that lingers in the charged air of the confined space.

“Shit, I can’t do this,” you gasp, exhaustion etched across your face, your body seemingly on the brink of surrender.

“You're almost there, babe. It's safe to keep pushing,” Yoongi reassures you with a tender kiss on your cheek, but you push him away, a fiery glare in your gaze.

“This is all your fault. You and your damn big dick!” you scream at him, and he understands, recognizing it as your pain talking and not the real you. Jimin chuckles from beside you, and you turn to give him a death glare, saying, “Don’t act so innocent, Mr. ‘I think Yoongi likes you.’”

“But I was right. And now you're about to have his baby. It's going to be okay,” Jimin reassures you, his hand gently rubbing your back.

“Just relax,” Jimin adds.

“Easy for you to say; a baby isn't shooting out of your body,” you huff, the intensity of your anger subsiding.

“I know it hurts, babe. But focus on your breathing, and when you're ready, push with all you've got,” Yoongi encourages, leaning in to kiss you on the lips.

The kiss sends electric shivers down your spine, and strangely, it acts as a calming balm, making the pain feel somewhat more bearable.

When he pulls away, he notices the lingering frown on your face, and a sense of curiosity washes over him. “It was nice, Yoongi. I think it helps alleviate the pain,” you admit, your voice a mixture of exhaustion and appreciation.

“Kiss me again,” you pant, your desperation echoing in the quiet space of the car. Yoongi obliges, capturing your lips with a hunger that elicits a moan from deep within you. In that stolen moment, the world fades away, forgotten in the intoxicating blend of passion and the rhythmic circles Jimin traces on your back.

“Don’t mind me. But I think the baby is coming, I can see more of its head just from here,” he informs, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and amusement. Yoongi's gaze follows Jimin's, confirming the imminent arrival. 

He positions his hands underneath your core, preparing to catch your baby as soon as it emerges. Yet, your screams of pain prompt a plea, “Please distract me with kisses,” you cry out, your hands clenching around the seats in a desperate search for relief. 

Yoongi glances up at you, your pain evident, and the desperate desire for relief palpable in your eyes. However, he's torn between wanting to provide comfort and being there to catch and deliver your baby. A moment of realization dawns upon him – he can't be in two places at once, something Jimin seems to realize too.

Yoongi gazes at Jimin, a silent plea for guidance evident in his eyes, but Jimin, with a mischievous grin, utters, “You've got two choices, hyung – catch the baby or let me kiss your wife. What's it gonna be?”

Yoongi gapes at him, astounded by the audacity Jimin displays in even suggesting such a choice. He's acutely aware of his own possessiveness, and Jimin knows how much he fucking wants to deliver his own child. He’s caught between a rock and a hard place.

With a sense of urgency, you turn your head and implore, “Do something! I don't care who kisses me, just someone, please!” Your plea echoes with a mixture of sternness and desperation, the pain coursing through your entire body amplifying the need for any distraction.

Yoongi moves with unwavering determination, ascending once more. “Fine. Deliver the baby. You're going to be the godfather anyway,” he grumbles to Jimin, reaching your head and pressing his lips plush against yours. Instantly, you relax, a moan escaping in the midst of the chaos.

“I am?” Jimin questions, uncertainty lacing his voice. Yet, he positions his hands beneath your vagina, mirroring Yoongi's earlier gesture.

You eagerly press your lips to Yoongi's, seeking out his tongue in a passionate exchange, panting and moaning in response to the surge of arousal coursing through you. Amid the heated kiss, you offer affirmative murmurs to Jimin, your desires spoken through the intensity of the embrace with Yoongi.

“It's working, the baby is coming out,” Jimin exclaims with a mix of excitement and focus, his hands securing the baby's head with delicate precision to ensure a safe descent into the world.

Yoongi abandons your mouth, tracing a fiery path down to your neck, his lips leaving a trail of searing kisses and tantalizing bites. Your response is an involuntary groan, a symphony of pleasure escaping your lips, as you gasp out, “Fuuuck, Yoongi.”

“The head is completely out now!” Jimin’s voice breaks through the intense moment and in response, you instinctively grab Yoongi’s head, pulling him back up into a passionate kiss.

As your lips entwine in an ardently sensual dance, the symphony of pleasure resonates, eliciting increasingly fervent moans from you.

Breaking away, you gasp, “Fuck. Why does it feel like I’m coming?” Your breath comes in pants, and you sense a relieving tightness escaping your body.

Jimin swiftly takes charge, catching the remainder of your baby as it emerges, and Yoongi lends his support, ensuring Jimin's hands remain steady in the crucial moment.

The infant rests gently between your thighs in the hands of both Yoongi and Jimin, and as you gasp for air, you steal a glance downward. There, your precious baby lies, serene and silent. A moment of quietude settles in, and a disquieting realization begins to dawn upon you—silence, in this context, isn't the reassuring sound you anticipated.

Dread courses through you as you breathe heavily, realizing the absence of that expected newborn cry. Without hesitation, you extend your trembling arms, pulling your baby up against your chest in a desperate embrace.

An air of tension hangs heavy, mirrored in the anxious expressions on Jimin and Yoongi's faces, both men holding their breath, awaiting the sound that should signify life's beginning.

In an instinctual surge of emotion, you tear your shirt to shreds with one hand, cradling your newborn against your bare chest. Shock registers on both Jimin and Yoongi's faces as they witness this raw display of maternal instinct, captivated by the power and determination radiating from you.

As you gently rub the baby's back, waves of sadness wash over you, and tears stream down your face. In a choked voice, you express your fear, “This is why I should have delivered in the hospital. What if something happened to the baby and it's...gone?” The last part of the sentence catches in your throat, too emotional to articulate fully.

In the confined space of the car, you twist around, pressing your back against the seat as tears cascade down your cheeks. The anguish in your body is palpable, each sob causing a tremor that echoes the pain you're enduring.

In an instant, a second cry intertwines with yours, and you lower your gaze to behold your baby, tiny and fragile, yet alive. A surge of relief floods through every fiber of your being, mirrored in the eyes of the two men who exchange a profound, knowing glance.

Clutching your newborn close, you haven't even taken a moment to check the gender, but in this raw and tender moment, it hardly matters. All that echoes through your soul is the reassurance that everything is alright.

Overflowing with gratitude, your voice carries a symphony of love as your eyes dance between your husband and Jimin. “Thank you, both of you” you whisper, your heart swelling with the depth of the moment.

Yoongi whispers, his voice a tender melody, “You did incredible, babe,” as he leans in to press a gentle kiss against your cheek, his words echoing with admiration for your strength and resilience.

“No problem at all. You were amazing, ___,” Jimin commends, leaning back into the seat beside you, his hands stained with blood, that he wipes off on his pants.

“Jimin, could you check the trunk for some thermal blankets?” Yoongi requests, his gaze tenderly fixed on your baby, who has quieted down and now rests peacefully against your boobs—what he believes to be the most comforting place.

Jimin returns with a bundle of blankets, and Yoongi, with a sense of urgency, joins him in carefully wrapping you and the baby. The blankets cocoon you both, shielding you from the biting cold as you patiently await the arrival of the ambulance.

“Should we find anything to cut the cord with?” In a sudden burst of practicality, Jimin scans the car, his eyes searching for anything suitable to cut the cord.

“No, no. I've read that the baby can stay attached for hours and even days. So I'm fine waiting to do it in the hospital,” you say, your voice carrying a mixture of fatigue and overwhelming love. Your eyes remain fixed on your baby, and you don't glance at Jimin as you express your decision.

Then, a sensation grips your attention, warmth and thickness enveloping you between your legs. As you cast your gaze downward, the revelation dawns upon you – it's the placenta.

“You guys might need a new car,” Jimin breaks into laughter and Yoongi looks at him perplexed, before he scans the state of the car; it’s filled with blood, anatomic fluid and God knows what else. He reckons you’ll have to burn it, if it can’t be cleaned.

Half an hour post-delivery, the ambulance team arrives like guardian angels, swooping in to cradle you in their capable hands as they whisk you away to the sanctuary of the hospital.

Jimin swiftly summons roadside assistance, ensuring a caretaker for your stranded car, while he maneuvers his own vehicle through the snowy streets to the hospital.

Nestled in the hospital room, you're navigating the nuances of new motherhood. The compassionate nurses guide you through the art of breastfeeding, and you're determined to master this intimate dance with your newborn.

Beside you, Yoongi shares in the enchantment, both of you reveling in the miracle of your beautiful baby girl, awestruck at the realization that you've crafted this extraordinary little being together.

Gazing into his eyes, a kaleidoscope of love, affection, and adoration, he whispers, “I love you, babe,” before tenderly leaning in for a heartfelt kiss.

“I love you too, Yoongi.”

Jimin sweeps into the room, a harbinger of warmth and color, bearing a bouquet of your favorite purple flowers. Your heart flutters as you press a grateful kiss to his cheek, expressing your thanks.

Deep gratitude colors Yoongi's voice as he wraps Jimin in a tight embrace. “Seriously, Jimin, thank you for everything,” he murmurs, sincerity etched in his words. Jimin, with a warm smile, responds, “It's no problem. You're welcome.”

Clutching Jimin's hand, you squeeze it tightly, your eyes reflecting sincere appreciation. “No, thank you. I would never have made it without you,” you express, the gravity of your words resonating in the room.

You express your heartfelt appreciation, looking directly at Jimin as you speak. “You are my best, best friend, Jimin. I love you and thank you,” your words carrying the weight of genuine gratitude. Jimin meets your gaze with tenderness, carefully keeping his eyes on your face, mindful of not stepping on any toes with Yoongi, not that there's anything he should be worried about.

“She’s really cute—the baby, I mean,” Jimin throws his hands up in mock defense, unable to contain his admiration. His genuine enthusiasm shines through as he revels in the adorable sight of your newborn.

Yoongi begins with a playful smirk, “Relax, Jimin. You're allowed to call my wife cute and pretty, and occasionally sneak a glance at her assets if the situation calls for it; like a birth or a bra mishap—but nothing more.” He chuckles, wrapping up his words with a friendly hug, leaving Jimin with a mix of relief and amusement.

Jimin's laughter resonates in response, and just as the sound fills the room, the door swings open, ushering in the rest of your friends.

They flood the room with warm greetings, and your eyes quickly catch Jungkook, who enters with a whimsical unicorn plushie and a vibrant bouquet in shades of purple, pink, and blue.

“These are for you,” he beams, thrusting the bouquet towards Yoongi, who delicately places them on the table beside you.

“Congratulations,” the boys chime in unison, closing in to catch a glimpse of your precious little one.

You shift your baby in your arms, delicately adjusting your gown to reveal the other breast for feeding. With each nourishing moment, you sense post-contractions coursing through your body, a gentle reminder of your uterus gradually returning to its normal size.

Jungkook, Taehyung, and Namjoon inadvertently direct their gaze toward your breasts, drawing Yoongi’s attention. However, Seokjin interjects sternly, “Enough, guys. Show some respect. Quit staring at her breasts while she's feeding. You've seen other breasts before; let's not be rude.”

Jimin lets out a chuckle from his position beside you on the bed, quietly noting that the others should consider themselves lucky that Yoongi didn't snap at them for sneaking glances at your breasts.

“Starting today, a strict no-gazing policy is in effect for anyone trying to sneak a peek at my wife's breasts or her vagina,” Yoongi declares, shooting a pointed yet appreciative smile in Jimin's direction.

Confusion flickers across the faces of all the guys as their gazes shift between Jimin, Yoongi, and then you, signaling that something intriguing might have unfolded.

As their jaws drop in surprise, you casually spill the details, “He played a crucial role in delivering the baby and got an unexpected front-row view of my vagina in the process.”

Yoongi clenches his jaw, his gaze piercing through the room as he asserts, “Yes, that happened. Eyes off—especially you two,” he warns, shooting a stern look at Jungkook and Taehyung, who quickly avert their eyes.

Jungkook hesitantly clears his throat, his curiosity overcoming his apprehension, “___, what's that on your neck?”

A rosy hue tints your cheeks as you recall the passionate love bite that Yoongi left on your neck just before the chaotic journey into labor began, and you find yourself cursing your husband under your breath for the intimate moment that now decorates your skin.

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[sorrowsofsilence]

Burning Out • I

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 4.7K

General Fanfic Warnings: 18+, explicit language, smut, alcohol, drugs, violence, mentions murder/suicide, panic attacks/anxiety, nightmares

Authors note: Chapter One: The Apparition - (EDITED 09-03-2024) This story was a request by an anon! I hope you enjoy my interpretation of the prompt (prompt is here). I am excited to see where this goes! Let me know any thoughts, and if you’d like to be tagged leave a comment :3

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY, IN REAL LIFE! IT IS SIMPLY FICTION, AND JUST FOR FUN! THINK OF THEM AS ACTORS LOL.

NOAH

The world was always in a state of grey, the life of the concrete jungle persistently sucking out the souls of its inhabitants with every passing second. Destruction. Crime. Greed. A shattering abyss of capitalism and corruption.

Yet, I don’t think I was meant to be the good guy in this lifetime.

Maybe someday, in another universe, there would be a possibility for me.

But for now, the only thing I could think about was how my heart pounded as the gun sat between my fingers, threatening the innocent ahead.

Destruction, Crime, Greed.

“Noah, let’s go,” Ruffilo desperately pulled at my wrist in an attempt to drag me away. My arm remained still, held in its position, resisting his force.

The woman’s eyes watched me in horror, tears brimming as her back hit the brick wall behind her, arms wrapping protectively around her body in defeat.

My heart raced, yet I couldn’t move.

“I won’t say anything I swear,” She pleaded, lips trembling, saliva foaming from her mouth as she was too afraid to swallow.

I don’t want to do this, but I fucked up.

“Noah,” Ruffilo said through gritted teeth, “We need to go,” he placed a hand on top of my gloved one, in another attempt to have me lower the bad decision.

I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut in contemplation as my chest heaved, the voice of rationality fighting against the voice of destruction.

You’ve never been able to kill anyone before you moron, why do you think this time will be any different?

My eyes snapped open, leathered finger dancing along the trigger as I stared at her. My teeth barred through chapped lips, a snarl of frustration crawling from my throat as the woman's eyes turned away in fear; as if watching her demise would kill her.

Seeing her in complete terror left me broken. Is this who I am?

The next thirty seconds passed as though I was walking through molasses, my thoughts battling contradictions before I audibly screamed in frustration, shoving the gun back into my pocket as Nicholas and I ran towards the van.

“Fuck!” I yelled, slamming the car door as forceful as possible. The tires squealed in place, burning out as Jolly’s foot pounded onto the gas pedal.

I ripped off my ski mask, throwing it angrily onto the floor of the vehicle.

“You should’ve just left her Noah. Now if they find us we could be charged with assault with a weapon.” The deep Swedish accent was the last thing I wanted to hear. He eyed me sternly in the rearview mirror, and I lingered on his gaze for a moment before turning my head towards the window.

“Oh Fuck off Jolly,” I sighed angrily, closing my eyes as my breathing quickened, the anxiety beginning to set in. The pounding of my heart began to vibrate along my entire chest, and my leg bounced in anticipation, waiting for the panic to subside.

I kept justifying to myself that we’re all dead anyway, so what’s the difference between a God and a loaded gun?

The van sped through the city's veins, a blur of neon and shadows. I felt Ruffilo's eyes digging into me, a mix of disappointment and concern as he watched my tapping fingers against the plastic of the car door. Another fuck up added to the list.

The silence in the vehicle was deafening, broken only by the occasional honk of a distant car or the screech of tires against wet asphalt.

"We need to lay low for a while," Jolly's voice cut through the tension. "I know a place on the outskirts we can hang out at ‘till everything cools down. It’s not pretty, but it'll do."

I nodded absent-mindedly, my thoughts still with the woman we'd left behind. Her terrified eyes haunted me, a stark reminder of the monster I was becoming. Or perhaps had always been.

As we drove further from the city center, the buildings grew more dilapidated, the streets emptier. The grey world outside mirrored the turmoil that had taken over my thoughts, reminding me of the emptiness that seemed to follow me everywhere.

+++++

Y/N

I tied the grey apron around my waist and punched in for my shift. With my hair pulled back into a low bun, I tucked away any stray strands of my bangs. Another day at work, feeling like it was all just slipping away, lost to the endless cycle of capitalism.

Overall, I enjoyed my new job working in the coffee shop. The city was busy, something I wasn’t used to, but the cafe was a comforting environment filled with tasty pastries, and an unlimited amount of caffeine to fulfill any heart's desire.

I sighed as I checked on the coffee pots, organizing them before nearly lining the glass display with more cakes and croissants. Stocking up the cups and lids, I hummed to myself, letting my mind wander into my corporate daydream distractions.

Why are you never real?

Whenever you appear

You leave me with that grace

I am trembling with fear

But I know that you will disappear

“How’s it going Y/N?” My coworker asked, smiling, pulling me out of my trance.

Annika; I have grown quite fond of her, even though I’ve only known her a week.

“Good,” I smiled, pulling a sanitized cloth out of a bucket and wiping down the counters, “yourself?”

“Oh you know, same old same old.” She said, sighing with a sad smile. I matched her as we shared a moment of familiarity, before concentrating again on wiping the surface, the cold cloth running along the faux marble. 

The seating area was bustling with activity; friends catching up, students poring over their notes, and business meetings taking place. I loved observing the vibrant energy that each person brought into the space. A smile formed on my lips as I watched the familiar elderly couple, whom I had seen every morning this week, bid farewell.

I gave a nod to Lauren and Ray as I said goodbye, then made my way to the empty tables. I began wiping them down, ignoring the sound of the door ringing as more people entered. I hummed softly to myself, lost in thought. It had only been three weeks since I left my old life behind, and this was just the start of my newfound freedom.

So let's make trouble in the dream world

Hijack heaven with another memory now

I make the most of the turning tide

It just split what's left of the burning silence

“Sleep token?”

Suddenly, a man's voice interrupted my thoughts and I snapped out of my daze. My face heated up with embarrassment as I realized that Annika must have gone to assist another customer. I quickly apologized and avoided eye contact as I tossed the cloth into the bucket and rushed back to the register.

I glanced nervously at the buttons in front of me, mentally preparing to either hit to go or to stay, as I waited for the man's response. But when my eyes met his deep brown gaze, I was instantly lost in the intensity and mystery within them. My lips parted slightly as I stared at him, feeling a rush of infatuation that warmed my cheeks. His dark chocolate eyes were framed by long, tousled brunette hair that fell just below his collarbone. His arms and neck were adorned with colourful tattoos, giving him an alluring look. And when he smiled, it was almost enough to make my knees weak; the crinkles around his eyes and the lines of his smile were captivating.

However, there was something else lurking behind those intense eyes, and my mind couldn't help but want to uncover it.

He returned my gaze, his eyes carefully taking in every detail of my face. A light blush crept along his nose, making its way across to the top of his cheekbones.

"So, is it to go or to stay?" I stuttered, breaking eye contact and quickly looking away. I could feel the heat rising to my ears and I focused all of my attention on the counter in front of me; trying to act casual but feeling a wave of shyness wash over me as I glanced up at him.

"To go, please," he replied, and his voice was like music to my ears with its slight Virginian accent.

In all my years working in retail and serving, I had never been so captivated by a customer before. There was something about this stranger that intrigued me; a mystery waiting to be discovered. "Just a black coffee, please," he said slowly, almost as if he was unsure.

I let out a shy laugh, “Did you want cream or sugar? Or we have a variety of syrups-” I watched as he smiled, before shaking his head, eyes remaining fixated.

“No, black is fine,” he replied. Something about his gaze, like the colour of October leaves, drew me in and held my attention as time seemed to stand still. As if invisible strings were connecting us, pulling me towards his magnetic presence that I couldn't seem to resist.

“Alright then,” I nodded, feeling a bit flustered as I avoided his stare, “is that all for you?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, digging through his wallet before handing me a bill.

“Can I have your name?” I asked shyly, looking back at him and trying to read his face for any clues about who he really was. Sometimes a name can reveal more than words ever could.

“Noah,“ he said, giving a slight nod and tight smile.

“Noah,” I echoed.

I pivoted on my heel and made my way over to the coffee maker, picking up a cup and filling it with the warm liquid.

Annika slinked up beside me, lightly bumping into my arm. "That's Noah," she whispered, nodding towards him, "He used to come here all the time, but he hasn't been around lately. He's always in a gloomy mood."

I glanced at her, unsure of how to respond.

"And he usually takes his coffee with cream and sugar, so it's interesting to see him trying something new." Annika turned her head slightly, observing the boy for a moment before leaning in closer to me. "Maybe it's because he's so distracted by you that he forgot his usual order."

A tinge of warmth spread across my face as I dismissed the idea with a scoff, "Yeah, right." But out of curiosity, I couldn’t help but glance over at the brunette behind the counter. Just as I suspected, he was discreetly watching us but quickly looked away when our eyes met.

"You should give him your number," Annika whispered mischievously before walking away to assist another customer.

I chuckled softly as I closed the lid and slid a sleeve onto the cup. My hand hovered over the sharpie, wondering if I should do it.

I shook my head gently, shaking away the thought before scribbling his name across the top of the plastic.

"Noah," I said, his name escaping my lips like a delicate sigh. It felt so natural as if he had been the one to breathe it into me.

His inked fingers wrapped around the cup, “You were singing the apparition earlier,” He said, and I watched him curiously, “fascinating, the line about the past.”

Every word felt like it was being taken from my body as we watched each other. Both of us seemed to hesitate, waiting for the other to say something.

The brunette spoke first, eyes gazing upon me for a moment as he turned towards the door, “I’ve never seen you before, you must be new around here.”

Though I wanted to reply, I found myself unable to move or speak. Instead, I fixated on each of his movements as he approached the door, the image of his black hoodie imprinted in my mind.

"Welcome to the neighbourhood," he said with a nod before exiting through the door, the bell chiming behind him.

I stood there, frozen, watching the door long after it had closed behind him. My heart raced, and I could feel a flush creeping up my neck. What was it about this stranger that had me so flustered?

"Earth to Y/N," Annika's voice snapped me back to reality. "You okay there? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I blinked rapidly, trying to regain my composure. "I'm fine," I mumbled, though I wasn't entirely sure that was true. "It's just... did you see him? The way he looked at me?"

Annika grinned knowingly, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Oh, I saw alright. And I told you to give him your number, didn't I?"

I groaned, leaning against the counter. "I know, I know. I just... froze. God, why am I such an idiot?”

Annika smiled at me, kneading her fingers into my skin sympathetically. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Besides, he seemed pretty interested in you too. He’ll be back, he always comes here."

I sighed, straightening up and trying to shake off the lingering effects of the encounter. "Maybe. I just... I don't know what came over me. It was like time stopped for a moment there."

"That's called chemistry, sweetie," Annika winked. "And from where I was standing, there was plenty of it."

I busied myself with wiping down the counter, trying to distract myself from the memory of Noah's intense gaze.

But as the day wore on, I found my mind drifting back to those few moments. The way he mentioned the apparition as if he'd been paying attention to me long before I noticed him. As if he was the one to plant the lyrics into my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Noah than met the eye.

As closing time approached, I found myself glancing at the door more frequently, half-hoping he might return. But the bell remained silent, and soon enough, Annika and I were wiping down tables and stacking chairs.

"Why don't you head out early, I can finish up,” She said, wiping her hands on the apron tied to her waist.

I gave her a small smile, appreciating the gesture, “I’d love that. Especially since I have to be at the bar tonight.”

“Go,” she waved me off, and I gave her a nod, gathering my bag.

As I stepped out into the cool evening air, I couldn't shake the way his eyes had locked with mine, the subtle rasp in his voice - it all replayed in my mind like a broken record. Was I going crazy? What was wrong with me?

I shoved my hands in my pockets and started the short walk to my condo, my footsteps echoing on the quiet street. The sky was a canvas of deep pinks and oranges, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon at its 5 pm descent.

It was beautiful, but I barely noticed it, too lost in my thoughts.

Suddenly, a familiar figure caught my eye across the street. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the black hoodie and inked fingers. Noah. He was walking in the opposite direction, his head down, seemingly lost in thought.

I hesitated, my feet rooted to the spot. Should I call out to him? Cross the street? The moment stretched out, feeling like an eternity as I debated what to do. Before I could make a decision, Noah looked up and our eyes met once again.

Time seemed to slow as we stood there, frozen on opposite sides of the street, and a car passed between us, momentarily breaking our connection. When it cleared, I saw the brunette take a hesitant step towards the crosswalk.

My heart pounded in my chest as he made his way across the street. I remained rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak as he approached.

"We meet again," Noah said softly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hi," I managed to squeak out, inwardly cringing at how breathless I sounded.

"I, uh, I wanted to thank you for the coffee earlier," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was really good. Although I forgot to ask for cream and sugar.”

I felt a flutter in my chest at his words. "Oh, I'm sorry about that," I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I usually remember to ask."

Noah shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine. "No, no. It's not your fault. I was... distracted."

The way he said it, with a hint of shyness in his voice, made my heart race even faster. We stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between us, filled with nervous energy.

"I'm Y/N, by the way," I finally said, extending my hand.

He took it, his touch sending a jolt through my body as his fingers wrapped around my own. "Noah. But you already knew that."

Well, I believe,

Somewhere in the past,

Something was between,

You and I, My dear

Noah’s gaze met mine, our eyes searching for any unspoken words. But he broke the silence with a blunt question: "Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

His unexpected inquiry caught me off guard, and I couldn't help but give him a dumbfounded look, my eyebrows furrowing in shock. Slowly, a smile of disbelief spread across my lips and I tilted my head to look at him. A laugh escaped me and he joined in, his own laughter shy and reserved.

"I...I think you should walk by again," I managed to say between giggles, mustering a quick retort. "But only so I can get another glimpse of what you would look like walking towards me on a date." As soon as the words left my mouth, I cringed at how cheesy they sounded, but Noah's smile widened at our playful banter.

“So, I’ve gathered that we are both really terrible at flirting,” He said, licking his lips.

I hummed in agreement, “I think that can be a safe deduction from this one-minute conversation,” my eyes following his fingers that now ran through his long chestnut hair, eyes trailing over the flower on the back of his hand, “maybe, you’d like to see how bad a longer conversation could be?” 

I held out my phone, ready to exchange numbers and Noah's eyes lit up at my suggestion, a hint of mischief dancing in them as another smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'd like that," he said softly, passing me his phone as we shared each other’s informatoin. "Very much."

We stood there for a moment, both of us grinning like idiots before I remembered my shift at the bar. "Oh, shoot," I muttered, glancing at my phone. "I have to get to my other job soon."

Noah's face fell slightly, but he quickly recovered. "Right, of course. I wouldn't want to keep you."

I bit my lip, not wanting our encounter to end just yet, “But we could take a walk before I have to go?”

Noah's face brightened at my suggestion. "I'd love that," he said, falling into step beside me as we started walking down the sidewalk.

The setting sun cast long shadows across the pavement, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead. We walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, stealing glances at each other when we thought the other wasn't looking.

"So," Noah began, breaking the silence, "you work at a coffee shop and another place? Busy schedule."

I nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Yeah, it can be hectic sometimes, but gotta do whatcha gotta do…You mentioned earlier that you've never seen me before. Are you a regular at the café?"

Noah nodded, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. "Yeah, I usually stop by every morning…a little bit of stability and sameness in my life.”

“You don’t find that sameness boring?”

Noah shook his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Not at all. There's comfort in routine, you know? But..." he paused, glancing at me with a soft smile, nudging towards me, "I'm not opposed to a little excitement now and then."

I felt my cheeks warm at his words, and I couldn't help but smile back. "Well, I'm glad to hear that."

We strolled on, our shoulders grazing occasionally. The slight touch sent shivers through my body every time.

"I was just listening to this song by Deftones you might enjoy," he said as we walked aimlessly down the street without a plan, “Considering you like sleep token.”

"Can I try to guess?" I looked up at Noah, who stood tall above me. Despite his lanky frame, I felt small next to him and my heart raced at our closeness. With each of his strides, it felt like I had to take three steps, his Dior cologne filling my senses.

Why are you never real?

The shifting states you follow me through

Unrevealed

Just let me go or take me with you

"Is it sex tape?" I asked and Noah gave me a big grin, clearly impressed.

"I have no idea how you guessed the exact song," he chuckled, looking at me curiously.

"What can I say," I shrugged, "I'm good at reading pretty boys' minds. And it's a great song, similar vibe."

He playfully raised an eyebrow at me as we reached the crosswalk. "So you think I'm pretty?"

I watched the other side of the street and smiled as I hummed, "Well, I don't think I'd spontaneously go out with just anyone….For the record, 100 percent my type,” I said, looking at him through my lashes.

Noah's cheeks flushed with colour once again. "And what exactly is your type? I'll keep an eye out for them, just for you."

I thought about it for a moment, biting my lip. "Well, they tend to be hot brunettes with long hair and brown eyes," I trailed my gaze down his body, taking in his hands before looking back up to see the snake tattoo peeking above his hoodie collar, "and they must have tattoos...in variousplaces."

A deeper shade of red coloured Noah's cheeks. "Well, I do have tattoos in various places, if you ever feel curious."

I laughed, watching him. We stared at each other for a moment longer, my heart pounding, as his eyes devoured me before the beeping of the sidewalk timer pulled my attention away from him.

“I have to admit, this is probably the strangest thing I’ve ever done,” I confessed, shaking my head in disbelief as we walked along the park path.

“What do you mean?” Noah asked, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets as he looked between me and the path ahead.

"Going on a ‘date’ with someone I know nothing about," I started, trying to keep things light. "For all I know, you could be a serial killer."

Noah chuckled. "Valid point. This wasn't exactly how I expected to spend my Tuesday evening either, but I do find a dash of danger titillating.” 

I grinned at him. "So you're not a serial killer then?"

"Not that I know of. Pretty sure that's not something I would get enjoyment from," Noah laughed, but I noticed he looked away, eyes becoming distant.

“So who are you then?” I asked as Noah and I followed each other down the park path towards the neighbourhood. The wind was picking up slightly, causing me to shiver and pull my sleeves over my hands, fingers intertwining together in my hoodie pouch. We were walking along a path by the inner city river, the leaves of the birch trees swaying as they danced along to nature’s beat.

As I strolled next to Noah I felt an odd sense of comfort, despite knowing absolutely nothing about the man beside me. I eyed him, his hair flying behind him, eyes squinting through the wind.

Noah seemed to ponder my question for a moment, his eyes scanning the water beside us. "I'm just a guy trying to figure out his place in the world, I guess," he said, “I don’t know who I am.”

As the river rushed by, his words hung in the air, washing away memories of the city and carrying them through the earth in a predetermined path.

"Sometimes I feel like a lost soul," He said softly, his eyes distant as if lost in thought.

I nodded, understanding his sentiment. "I think we all do at times."

Noah let out a low chuckle, pulling himself back to reality. "There's much more to your story though," he prodded.

I shrugged nonchalantly, trying to deflect his question. "I suppose everyone has a past."

He looked at me intently, pulling his hoodie over his head to shield himself from the wind. "What's yours? You're not from around here."

I arched an eyebrow, curious about how he had determined this information. "How did you know?" I inquired.

"Your accent," he replied with confidence. "And I haven't seen you around before. I'm pretty familiar with the area."

"Ah, makes sense." I nodded, amused by his observation. "I just moved here from Canada."

"You left the Great White North for this dump of a city?" Noah scoffed, surprised. "You could have gone anywhere in the world, and you chose LA?"

"They call it the City of Dreams," I defended with a shrug. "Plus, I needed to get as far away as possible."

Noah fell silent for a moment, deep in thought. We continued our walk in silence towards the houses.

"Running away from something?" He finally asked, barely above a whisper. Noah's eyes met mine as he tried to read me for an answer.

I let out a sigh, giving him a small smile. "Always."

"Who or what?" Noah prodded further, leaning in with interest.

"Ghosts, demons," I joked, trying to lighten the mood. "And people too."

We shared a laugh, our voices blending into a beautiful melody that I never wanted to end.

"I left everything behind - everything I've ever known," I began, but turned my head away to avoid his gaze.

I took a deep breath before admitting, "My parents were killed when I was thirteen."

Usually, people would immediately apologize and offer their condolences, but Noah remained silent, letting me continue.

"After that, I bounced around different foster homes because no one wants to take in a teenager."

Noah hummed, encouraging me to keep talking. We strolled down the sidewalk, passing houses as we neared my own. I couldn't help but stare at it as we passed by, but I quickly focused on the path ahead.

"Unfortunately, I fell in with the wrong crowd and ended up involved with some really bad people who only wanted me for what I could give them," I said with a hint of bitterness. "But I worked my ass off to get out, and now I have my own place in an entirely new part of this earth."

I smiled at the brunette, feeling grateful for his willingness to listen. He returned the smile and gave me a knowing look, almost as if he understood.

Noah's attention turned toward the houses we passed. His gaze was intense as he scanned each one carefully.

"Sorry for dumping all that on you," I said with an uncomfortable laugh. "I don't know why I just told all that to a stranger."

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "We're not strangers anymore," he said. "More like acquaintances."

I felt reassured by his words and couldn't help but ask about him. "So what about you? You seem pretty mysterious."

Noah fell into silence, his brows furrowed in thought once again. His gaze scanned the grass intently as if searching through memories. Eventually, he turned back to me with a small grin.

“I’m…just Noah,” He said; but as I stared into his eyes, devouring his soul, I saw that he was much more than that. His eyes held a depth of emotion that hinted at hidden truths and untold tales. But I didn't push. After all, we had only just met.

"Well, 'just Noah,'" I said with a playful smile, "I'm glad our paths crossed today."

He returned my smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Me too. More than you know."

chapter two

+++++

Tags: @crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @sammyjoeee @shilohrosechicken

@princessmarshmallowx @laurpartyprogram @cookiesupplier @nojoyontheburn @lacktoesandtoddlerant

@veronicaphoenix @er3nslovergirl @cncohshit @scrumptiousfestivalpost @melcchs

@flowery-mess @mentallynot-here @judging-from-afar @darkmxgician @badomensls

@hoe-for-daddywise @philomenie @xxkittenkissesxx @venturethroughtheveil @thefallennightmare

@blend-in-with-the-madness @reyadawn @deathblacksmoke @Anameunmusical @sitkowski

@anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @rumoured-whispers @artificialbreezy

[vodika-vibes]

Just because I know how much you love, Jango.

Can I request a Jango and whatever you wish. Write away... love oo

Let Her Be Mine

Summary: When Jango Fett was 14 years old, his people were slaughtered and he was sold into slavery. His cell mate on the slave ship was a small girl, younger than him, though she had been a slave for much longer. Jango’s biggest regret is not acting before she was sold. And then he runs into her again...and this time he’s not letting go.

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 4134

Warnings: Slavery

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: Okay, this is a labor of love that took me days to write. A big thanks to @daimyosprincess for helping me with a sentence that was far too wordy. And thank you for giving me such an open ended ask, lol. I kind of just ran with it.

Jango remembers the first time he met her with surprising clarity. He remembers the feel of chains around his wrists, the heavy slave collar wrapped around his neck, and the scent of unwashed people and fear all around him.

And he remembers her.

She was younger than him by a couple of years, though she looked much younger. The rags that she was wearing, designed for men much larger than her, hung on her small frame like a dress. And razor thin scars crisscrossed her body like some kind of twisted tattoo.

She didn’t have a name, she told him with a small smile. A peaceful smile, as though she had accepted her lot in life and was okay with it.

Jango named her Sen’ika.

A little bird in a little cage.

The slavers shoved him into the same cage as her, claiming that they were both so small that they could share. In truth, he didn’t mind. She deserved to be protected, and surely even he couldn’t kark that up.

His Sen’ika became his reason for surviving. He learned to bite his tongue when the slavers came through, learned to take the beatings from men who beat down on people smaller than them just to make themselves feel important. He learned the importance of listening, rather than just reacting.

And when things were so bad that he couldn’t handle it, his Sen’ika would take his hand and curl against his side, and tell him that tomorrow will be better because it couldn’t possibly be worse.

She was always right.

And on nights when the darkness of despair blotted out all the light, when even his Sen’ika struggled to cradle that fragile flower of hope, Jango would tell her what freedom tasted like.

He’d weave the most amazing stories of the planets that they’d visit and the people that they’d meet and the places that they’d see—

It helped. It gave him something to cling to, and it bolstered her waning spirits. And she would flash him the tiniest of smiles, and Jango would feel ten feet tall.

He couldn’t be that terrible of a person if someone as kind as his Sen’ika smiled at him like that.

And then the auction happened.

And then his Sen’ika was sold. Ripped from from his arms and clapped with heavy chains that weighed her down, as though she was a threat.

They clipped her wings so that she might never fly free.

And the last time he saw his Sen’ika, was when she was being forced into the back of a van with the other children that her new owner purchased.

Jango remained a slave for ten years. Ten long, dragging, years.

Ten years where he never stopped hoping that he might see his Sen’ika again.

Ten years where he clung to life just on the off chance that his Sen’ika might still be out there.

And when Jango escaped, he did so in the bloodiest way possible, slaughtering anyone who might have tried to stop him. And a part of him was glad that his Sen’ika wasn’t on board, because she deserved more than this.

It’s been several years since then, and Jango is now pushing thirty.

He’s a rather prolific Bounty Hunter, having elected to stay away from Mandalore in the hopes of finally tracking down his Sen’ika. If nothing else, all evidence points to her still being alive...even if he can’t find her.

And that’s when he’s approached by the Jedi.

Now, Jango Fett has no love for the Jedi, with very good reasons. Jedi and Mandalorians mix about as well as oil and water on a good day, and the last time Jango saw a Jedi he was leading the slaughter of the True Mandalorians.

So Jango is less than thrilled at the arrival of the Jedi.

Somehow he’s even less thrilled when the Jedi inform him that they are reaching out to him on behalf of the Senate. But his ship needs some work and credits are credits, so he agrees to listen to them while mentally tacking several additional zeros to the end of the number that he usually charges for a job.

“I am sure that you are aware of the uprising in the outer rim.” The Jedi begins, “The Senate has been trying to reach out to the person who is currently leading the Pirates, to come to an agreement.”

“And?” Jango asks, bored out of his mind.

“And the Jedi they sent to negotiate were told to leave and not come back.”

Jango chokes back a laugh with great difficulty, “I fail to see how this is my problem.”

“We would like you to go and speak with them on our behalf.” The Jedi replies, “We think that they might be more receptive to someone more like me.”

“You mean you think I might be able to make contact because I’m closer to pirate than I am to cop.” Jango says with a sharp smile.

“I...didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” He’s quiet for a moment, “Yeah, alright. I’ll take the job. I want half my fee up front.” In truth, he was going to reach out to these pirates anyway, they’re known for freeing slaves, and he’s hoping that they’ll have a good clue as to finding his Sen’ika.

The Jedi inhales sharply, and Jango arches a brow. “Problem?”

“This is...quite a lot.” The Jedi replies calmly.

“I’m very good at what I do. But, if you’re not interested-”

“No! No! The fee is fine,” The long haired Jedi hastens to reassure, “And you’re quite sure that you’ll be able to get them to talk?”

“I’m sure I can get them to hear me out. Anything else is on them.”

“That will have to be good enough, I suppose.” The Jedi muses thoughtfully, “Oh. Where are my manners. My name is Qui-Gon Jinn. It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

Jango blinks once. Twice. A third time.

“I beg your kriffing pardon?”

“Oh yes, did I not mention? I will be joining you on this.”

“You did not.” Jango says through clenched teeth, “You did say that the Pirates kicked the last Jedi out.”

“Well, yes. They did.” He smiles politely and Jango wants to punch him in the face. “But you can’t speak for the Republic. So I need to be there.”

Jango grinds his teeth in annoyance, “Do you have a ship, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“I do, in fact.” The other man says brightly. “I wouldn’t dream of trespassing on your ship, Mister Fett.”

Well, that’s something, at least.

“Fine. We’ll be leaving as soon as the credits are transferred to my account.” Jango says as he stands, “Pleasure doing business with the Republic.” And then he sweeps out of the dingy little bar to head back to his ship.

So much for him plans to search for his Sen’ika.

Whatever, the Jedi won’t be with him the whole time. Odds are he won’t even be allowed to land on Tatooine, which means he’ll be able to talk to them without being interrupted.

At least. He hopes so. If this Jedi ruins his one chance of getting usable data on where his Sen’ika is...Jango might actually kill him.

He makes the long trek back to his ship, he wasn’t kidding about leaving as soon as he got his payment. Though he fully expects the payment to take a few days. Since this is the government that he’s working with.

So, when he gets the initial credit transfer less than an hour later, Jango is genuinely surprised. Though, as he thinks more about it, he really shouldn’t be. The Republic is so eager to get ahead of this, that they’re willing to hire him, of all people, to help them deal with it.

“So,” He murmurs to the empty ship, “This is what a desperate Republic looks like.”

Three weeks later, Jango lands his ship in his assigned landing bay on Tatooine. He’s aware, vaguely, of the Jedi landing his ship only a few landing pads away, and he sighs.

He was kind of hoping that the Jedi would be barred from landing at all.

Jango pays the fee needed to keep his ship secured on this pad, and heads out of the spaceport, though he’s very quickly joined by the older man.

“Ah, Tatooine,” Qui-Gon says as he looks around at the city. “Have you ever been here before?”

“More than you, probably.” Jango replies, his eyes narrowing as people glance at them and whispers start spreading through the market. They’re not whispering about him, he’s been here many times and he’s never gotten this reaction before.

He glances at the man standing next to him.

The man clad in, obvious, Jedi robes.

And he sighs. So much for the more stealthy approach he was hoping for.

“Are you the representative from the Republic?” A woman, shorter than him and carrying an infant on her back, asks as she approaches the pair of men. She looks older than she actually is, if Jango had to guess.

“I am,” Qui-Gon said, “My name is Qui-Gon Ji-”

“I don’t care.” The woman interrupts, “You are a Jedi, yes? Your kind was told never to return to Tatooine.”

“This is true,” Qui-Gon flounders, “But my companion here is not authorized to speak for the Republic-”

“Then perhaps one of the Senators should have gotten out of their plush offices and come here themselves,” She interrupts again, and then she frowns, “Were it up to me, you’d be back on your ship and off my planet. But it isn’t.”

“You are to be our guide then?”

“I will guide you to the taxi stand and no further.” The woman says, “I have my own business I must attend to.”

The Jedi next to you, seeming unable to keep his mouth shut, just has to speak again. “Forgive me, but are you a slave for the new leader of Tatooine?”

The woman stiffens in offense, and Jango presses his hand against his helmet and shakes his head.

“Were you anyone else, and not a guest of our new Imperator-” She takes a deep breath and stalks away, “Follow, and stay close.”

The woman leads the men through the winding street of Mos Espa, until she stops by a taxi droid. She speaks to the droid and then stalks away, back to the market.

“Hm…” Jango sighs as Qui-Gon gazes after the woman thoughtfully, “Her child is very force sensitive.”

“If you think you can convince her to give him to you-” Jango says, sounding bored out of his mind.

“Ah...no. I think she might shoot me if I try.”

“Pity.”

“That she’d shoot me? Yes, I agree-”

“-that you won’t ask.” Jango interrupts, “Seeing you get shot would make this a slightly more interesting trip.”

Qui-Gon actually looks surprised at his words, hopefully it’ll keep him from talking overly much on the trip to the palace. Thought, Jango wouldn’t put money on it. The Jedi seems to like the sound of his own voice overly much.

And, true to his prediction, the older man started chatting with the Droid as soon as the speeder started moving. Not that the Droid was the chattiest of drivers. He’s a driver, not a tour guide after all.

Jabba the Hutt’s palace, ah no, it’s the Imperator’s palace now, looks just as it had the last time he was here. Worn down from age, with antenna sitting on the roof. The windows are open, though the heavy metal shutters are drawn low, to keep the twin suns from heating the building over much.

There are some difference too, though.

Jango’s fairly certain that those are solar panels attached on the sun facing side of the building. And it almost looks as though someone is trying to cultivate a cacti garden off to the side of the path.

That or the Imperator thinks that death by cacti is an appropriate punishment for interlopers.

Much to Jango’s surprise, they’re invited inside immediately, by a young twi’lek boy dressed much nicer than any twi’lek would have ever been allowed to dress while Jabba was in charge.

“You wait here.” The boy orders imperiously, before he turns and runs down the hall.

If the outside of the palace looks the same, the inside couldn’t be more different if they replaced the entire building. The formerly dimmed halls are well lit, and the walls, formerly covered in blood and other...unsavory...things, are now covered in tasteful tapestries.

Probably items that Jabba received as tribute over the years, Jango thinks with an amused smile as he steps away from the door and onto the new looking plush carpet that covers the hallway.

“I admit,” Qui-Gon murmurs, “This is not what I was expecting from someone called Imperator.”

“What, were you expecting slaves lining the halls or something?”

“...in a manner of speaking, yes.”

Jango takes a moment to remove his helmet, now that the twin suns aren’t beating down on him, “Are you karking stupid? These people free slaves. There aren’t any slaves on Tatooine anymore.”

“That...the reports the Jedi were given-” He’s cut off as a different child, this one a little Chiss girl, runs up. “Oh, hello.”

“The Imperator will see you in the throne room. He expects you both to keep your weapons sheathed while you are guests in our home.”

“Of course,” Jango agrees, “We wouldn’t dream of threatening the Lord of this place.”

The little girl nods, and focuses her attention on Qui-Gon, “This message is for you, Master Jedi.”

“I’m listening.”

“The Imperator is not happy that the Republic have ignored his wishes for no Jedi to trespass on his home, however, in the spirit of cooperation, he is willing to hear out what you have to say.”

“That is very magnanimous of the Imperator.”

“Yes,” The child agrees, “It is. Follow me please.”

The little girl leads them through the winding halls of the palace, and Jango takes the time to take in all of the changes. New coats of paint, flowers growing in pots, little mouse droids designed to travel the halls trailing perfume after them-

Jango much prefers this version, over the Jabba’s version of the same palace, which always smelled like blood and bile, even through his helmet.

The child stops in front of the throne room and pushes open the door, “Imperator, the Mando and the Jedi are here.” And then she moves to the side to let the two men into the room.

The Imperator is a Tholothian male, dressed in pirates armor. And, if Jango had to guess, he would easily be the same height as him, if not a little taller, though even with the armor, he’s much less broad and much more wiry.

Jango wouldn’t want to have to fight him hand to hand, that’s for sure. Which he knows that he’d win, it’d be a hard fought fight.

“Jango Fett,” The Imperator speaks with a crisp Coruscanti accent, which is rather jarring when compared to his more roguish appearance, “It’s always a pleasure to host a man of your caliber.”

Jango nods, once. Accepting the compliment for what it is.

“Master Jinn,” The Imperator’s voice goes cold, “Your presence is much less welcome in my home.”

“Yes, the Jedi apologizes for being unable to adhere to your request-”

“It was not a request, Master Jinn.” The Imperator interrupts, and the room descends into a, slightly awkward, silence before their host claps his hands together, “Now, I am willing to hear you out, however, not today.”

“Is there a reason that we can’t start negotiations today?” Qui-Gon asks.

“Yes. I don’t want to.”

And, well, that’s that.

“I have taken the liberty of preparing rooms for the both of you in my palace. Though, you will not be staying in the same part of the palace, I’m afraid.” The Imperator says, and he genuinely sounds grieved. Or he would if it wasn’t for the gleam in his eyes.

“You honor us,” Qui-Gon says politely.

“Indeed, I do. Master Jinn, you will be staying in the lower levels, it’s a bit cooler but also noisier. Jango, I have a room set up for you upstairs.”

“Thank you,” Jango replies.

The Imperator nods once, and there’s a look of mirth on his face before he waves his hand and the two children from earlier run into the room, “Please show our guests to their rooms.”

Jango falls into step behind the little twi’lek boy, who keeps glancing at him and giggling like he knows a secret. He’s not bothered, he remembers being a child, after all.

He’s also in a much better mood since he doesn’t have to spend anymore time with Qui-Gon Jinn.

“Have you heard a good joke, ad’ika?” Jango asks as the little boy glances at him and giggles again.

The child clamps his hands over his mouth and shakes his head, “We gotta surprise.” He whispers.

“A surprise? For me?”

“Uh-huh. But,” He leans in and lowers his voice, “It’s a secret! So-so...come on!”

The boy almost sprints up the stairs, though Jango follows at a more sedate pace, and he trails behind the boy until they stop in front of a door. There are plants sitting in planters on each side of the door.

“Here!” The boy presses a scrap of flimsy into his hand, “Here’s the door code!” And then he sprints off, giggling as he does so.

Well, Jango thinks to himself as he glances at the numbers on the scrap and starts keying them in, this is either the most obvious trap I’ve ever walked into, or it’s actually a surprise.

The door slides open and Jango steps into the room. And the first thing he notices is all of the green.

There are plants on every open surface. All sorts of plants from all over the galaxy.

The second thing he notices is that the vanity in the corner is covered in woman’s hair care products, and slowly his eyebrows raise. Surely the Imperator wouldn’t have given him a room that already belongs to someone, right.

Finally, he notices her. Dressed in loose, comfortable clothes, and kneeling next to a small table covered in succulents. And, at first he’s slightly bemused that he was shoved into another person’s room, and then he looks again.

And he realizes that he recognizes her.

He clears his throat, and she turns her head slightly, before she favors him with the warmest smile. “Jango.”

His helmet falls from his fingers, “Sen’ika.”

She stands, and she’s still so small and still so thin, and her skin is still covered in razor thin scars, “You remember me!”

“Of course. I never stopped looking for you.” Jango steps closer to her and reaches out, though he stops shy of actually touching her. Sen’ika doesn’t have any such qualms, as she takes his hand in both of hers and presses it against her cheek.

“I knew you wouldn’t.” She replies as she rubs her cheek against his gloved hand, “I knew that you’d find me eventually.”

Jango releases a shuddering breath and steps even closer into her space, before ripping his glove off and pressing his bare hand against her cheek, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“That’s okay. I forgive you.”

Jango takes a moment to tug off his other glove and presses his hand back against her cheek, “Just look at you,” He breathes out, “You’ve grown up.”

She presses her hands over his, and there are tears in her eyes, “So have you. You’re not that scrawny kid anymore.”

“Scrawny?” Jango asks with a laugh.

“Scrawny.” She agrees. Her smile doesn’t waver when she releases his hands and reaches out to cup his cheek, “How have you been?”

“Lonely.” Jango admits, “It’s been...a very lonely galaxy without you with me.” This is the first time he’s admitted it, though he could never lie to his Sen’ika. “How about you?”

She leans her head into his touch, “Lonely. The Imperator he’s...great. But he’s not really a friend. And his people don’t like me much.”

“How could they not like you?”

She shrugs, “They say I have stars in my eyes. That I’m not meant for…” She gestures vaguely to the room, “This.”

He laughs softly, “And what are you meant for, then?”

“Well,” She averts her gaze for a moment, “You once promised me that you’d show me the galaxy.”

Jango stares at her, surprised.

“If that offer is still open-” She adds, hesitantly.

“You’d leave this? To wander through the stars with me?”

“It sounds...romantic, when you put it like that.” She says softly, wistfully.

“You think so?”

Her smile is small, “Wandering through the stars with the man I’ve loved since he was a boy? Sounds like a fairy tale.”

“Love, huh?”

Her smile doesn’t waver, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. After all, I fell in love with a little girl who kept hope alive when I had none left.”

She looks surprised, “Oh. Really?”

“Really.” Slowly he leans in and presses his forehead against hers, “We don’t have to rush, we can take things slow. Especially since we’re going to be together from here on out.”

“Together, I like that.”

“Me too.” Jango closes his eyes and tries to draw her in closer, “As soon as I’m done with my job here, we can get you settled on my ship and then we can go wherever we want.”

“What’s your job here?” His Sen’ika asks as she lightly traces his face with gentle fingers.

“I was hired by the Republic to help open a Dialogue between them and the Imperator.” Jango replies.

“It won’t work.” Her answer is immediate.

“Yeah, I don’t think it will either. But credits are credits.”

She shakes her head, “The Imperator has a thing about the Republic and their weak stance on slavery.”

“I don’t blame him.”

She’s quiet for a very long moment, and then she sighs, “Jango. As soon as his army is large enough he intends to go to war with the Republic. You shouldn’t get involved.”

Jango pulls back and stares at her, “I see.” He scans her face for a moment, and then sighs, “Well, I did get half of the money up front, and there’s no love lost between me and the Republic.”

“Jango?”

“Pack what you need, Sen’ika. We’re leaving before we get any more involved in this.”

Her smile is almost blinding, “Give me a few minutes.”

He watches her dart around the room, shoving clothes and other items into her bag, and then she’s back by his side, “Okay, I’m ready. I’ll leave the plants to the kids.”

“Do we need to tell the Imperator that you’re leaving?”

“He knew that I would be going with you the moment you arrived on planet, Jango.” She says breathlessly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “No one is going to stop us.”

True to her words, not a single soul stopped them as they head through the palace and back to the taxi stand. And no one stopped them as they headed back to the spaceport. And no one stopped them when he started up his ship and flew through the pre-flight checks.

And no one stopped them as they left Tatooine’s atmosphere for greener pastures.

As they sit high in orbit over the desert planet, Jango watches his Sen’ika watch the stars around them, and a small smile crosses his lips. “So,” He starts, turning in his chair to allow her to sit on his lap, “Where do you want to go?”

“Um...someplace new.” Sen’ika replies as she lightly sits on his lap, her gaze locked on the open space outside his ship.

Jango chuckles, “Someplace new it is.” He lightly taps her chin, pulling her attention off of the openness of space and onto him. He flashes a small, mischievous, little smile and tugs her in to press his lips against hers in a quick, and very chaste kiss.

When he pulls away, she looks flustered and has her fingers pressed against her lips, “Was that okay?” He asks.

Shyly, she meets his gaze, and then she nods. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s perfect.”

“Good,” He wraps a secure arm around her waist, and then focuses his attention on his computer, “Someplace new….hm...I know. I have just the place.”

Six months later, The Imperator declares war on the Republic, aided by a growing number of formerly Republic Planets who were jaded by the inaction of the government they supported for so long.

But that’s a different story.

As for Jango Fett and his Sen’ika, they write themselves out of the story, content to wander the galaxy, so long as they can wander together.

[jasntodds]

Penance [2]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 8,134

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, a little bit of angst, some fluff, mentions of death, mentions of injuries, some canon violence

Summary: ❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don’t care.❞

It’s been a month and a half since Crane’s reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that’s not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you’ll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right?

Right?

A/N: I hope you guys like this chapter!! It's just the beginning of what's to come!! lol You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary  and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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By the time the next day rolls around, Jason still doesn’t know Dick has asked you to help out. He thinks it’s just him which does have him wondering why Dick didn't ask you. It seems a bit odd given your whole friendship with Tim anyway but he chalks it up to maybe you being busy. Molly mentioned you were working on a case that kept you pretty busy. Maybe you've just been preoccupied with that to actually help. Jason isn’t sure and he isn’t entirely sure why it matters. It doesn’t. It shouldn't.

Jason gets ready to go find Tim. Dick sent him the time Tim should be arriving in Gotham with the specific instructions Dick gave Tim. Jason thinks about how if only Tim knew how lucky he was that Jason is going to be there. Tim has almost no training at all and Dick has basically thrown him to the wolves, or so Tim will think. And Jason can’t help but even feel a little excited over this whole thing. The last time he saw Tim, he was lying on the ground dying. Because of him. This is how he can start to repay Tim for the damage he caused him and his family. It is the least he could possibly do. Tim might not like him after, but he will be prepared and he will be a good Robin. Jason will make sure of it.

Jason heads out to find Tim, daunting his Red Hood gear and helmet. The drive isn’t too far from his safe house but it is raining tonight, on and off. Yesterday was nice, warm and no rain. It’s a bit of a depressing contrast between the two days. The street lights reflect off the wet pavement and Jason isn’t entirely sure what he’s going to do when he gets there. All he knows is Tim will probably need help and he’ll just take it from there. It’s not exactly how he wants to approach any situation but he’s not sure what Tim will even be doing.

Jason pulls up to a building across the street from an alley where some, surely, illegal deal of sorts is going down. Apparently, Tim is supposed to be here eventually so Jason parks the bike in the dark of his alley before he uses a grappling hook to get to the roof of the building just so he can see better. And then he waits.

Meanwhile, you’ve made your place on the roof overlooking the alley with the van, knowing this is where Tim will be. And you can’t help but feel excited to see him. You miss him a lot even if it is a little hard to be happy it’s under the circumstances of Robin. There’s also the bit of dread and excitement over seeing Jason, working with Jason.

Seeing him means there’s going to have to be some sort of conversation over the two of you being unable to pick up a phone and call each other. There’s going to be some sort of conversation about everything that happened. It’s going to bring back all of the pain all over again. Will you even be able to pick up where you left off? Or will you fall into an awkward dance where you both just fumble over each other until Tim leaves? Or will it be worse? But, seeing him, being around him, always felt the most like home and you really hope he’s okay and happy. You’re excited just to see how he’s doing.

You’re laying on your stomach to take cover while you watch over the ledge but your fingers tap wildly against the pavement at the thought. It’s the hope this goes okay, that he doesn’t hate you. That Tim is happy to see you both. That Tim doesn’t get killed in the first five minutes of being Robin. Excitement, dread, and anxiety flood your system. Why did you agree to this?

Commotion starts from below you and you see Tim on the top of a car while the goons are loading their van. Even in the low light, you can tell the suit is a little different than Jason’s and Dick’s. The cape definitely is with its jagged edges and it’s longer. It fits him actually. You stand on the edge of the roof, grappling hook in hand and knife in the other, ready to slide down the second things get out of hand. 

Tim handles himself okay at first but then they outnumber him and they’re faster than he is and better. You know Tim has had a few training sessions but by the looks of it, they could not have been very long or helpful. Things start looking pretty bad for him so you use the grappling hook to lower yourself down but before your feet even hit solid ground, shots ring through the alley, taking out one of the men and then the other. Just as your feet hit the ground, you nail the last one with a knife, turning to face down the alley with your arms crossed. And there he is, walking confidently with a gun in hand.

Of course, he beat you to it.

Jason’s eyes widen behind his helmet. He did not expect to see you tonight. Kind of like last night, seeing you throws him off. It’s a bit jarring somehow. Gotham might be a big city but you travel in the same circles, it was bound to happen. Just…two nights in a row seems…odd.

“I had that covered.” You state through your mask.

Jason can taste his heartbeat in his throat as he keeps closing the distance between you. Your mask always muffled your voice a little but it’s still his favorite sound. He can feel his cheeks burning and a smile desperate to cross his lips. Jason bites it back, trying to keep his composure.

“Where the fuck did you even come from?” Jason quips back.

He is eternally grateful for the helmet. You wre always best at reading him. You could read every expression that ever washed over his face no matter how subtle it was. It was as if you could read each other's minds half the time and he is so glad you can't see him. His eyes are scanning you over, noticing nothing too new in the suit. It still fits you just as it always did, perfectly fitted in the all right places. His eyes go back up to your face, the hood is pulled onto your head. He catches the yellowing around one of your eyes and he almost asks what happened before he swallows it down. It's not entirely his place to ask at the moment but he thinks you're still just as beautiful today as you were the first time he saw you and the last time he saw you.

You point to the roof. “Clearly. And you?” You question, keeping your voice flat and curious, trying to conceal your own nerves.

Jason points a thumb over his shoulder. “Clearly.” He echoes as he stands next to you.

It all clicks then, this was definitely a setup by Dick. Of all fucking people, Dick Grayson is doing this shit? Jason swears up and down this is getting ridiculous. Bruce, Molly, Gar, Dick? They are all trying to get you two to communicate and…maybe they have a point even if Jason never wants to admit it. Not when two of those people are Bruce and Dick. But, he can’t focus on that or how this is sending his head into a tailspin.

He needs to help Tim which means he can’t let his feelings for you get in the way even if ignoring them is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. He has to act normal and like being next to you doesn’t make him want to explode. He needs to keep his cool, keep the smile from ripping apart his lips because even if this is a setup and he should be mad, he misses you so fucking much it physically pains him. He can’t find himself to be mad because you’ll never abandon Tim so even if you don’t speak to Jason while you help him, at least he gets to see you as you. Like old times even if it doesn’t last and for that, Jason is happy.

Jason reaches behind his head, releasing the helmet before he takes it off and you swear you swallowed your heart. He looks so good. “Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” Jason calls, eyes locked on Tim and you think you’ve melted at the sound of his voice.

His voice is somehow better than you remember it. A little calloused, a little rough, but not too deep. It always fit him so well and you’ve never been so thankful to have a mask that covers the lower half of your mouth because your lips are curling into the most uncontrollable smile. Every piece of reservation you had about seeing him completely flies out of the window.

Jason Todd has always had his type of gravitation pull like a planet lost in the universe and you’ve just been sucked right back into it.

You miss him so fucking much.

Tim looks down to his chest, right at the R symbol before he looks back to Jason. “I’m Robin.” Tim states as if Jason should have known.

The subtle hint of a smile comes over Jason’s lips seeing someone else in the Robin suit. It’s weird because it almost feels…hurtful. It hurts a little seeing someone else in a position where he was, not in a jealous way but in a way that he is reminded that was him. He was Robin and he fucked up and now he’s not. It hurts in the way he’s reminded of it being ripped away from his bloody hands. The suit is different, Jason clocks almost every difference in the first few seconds but it is similar. Jason was beaten to death in something similar with the same mantle. There’s almost this part of him that even worries about it. Robin didn’t work for Dick. He didn’t die as Robin but it didn’t work for him. Jason was killed. Where’s that going to leave Tim?

On the other hand though, there is something about someone else taking up Robin that feels good. Jason died but Robin didn’t. Robin never had to die with Jason and he shouldn’t. The people need a Robin and he doesn’t really know Tim but you do and Gar does. He trusts you both and Tim looks thrilled to be here. It’s a mix but there is something kind of nice seeing the resurrection of Robin.

“Hey.” You chime as you walk closer to him.

Tim’s smile splits his face. “Hey, how’d you know I’d be here?”

“Molly tracked you the second a Robin showed up. Knew it was you.” You laugh softly before you pull him into a gentle hug. “You should have told me.” You say as you pull away, your hands coming to his shoulders as you look over the suit, noticing all the difference between this one and Jason’s.

“Yeah, I thought I could handle this.” Tim chuckles sheepishly, realizing he was a little in over his head tonight but not lacking in any of his confidence to do this job. 

“Clearly, you were wrong.” Jason closes the distance between you. “You’re lucky we showed up when we did.” Jason stands right beside you as you drop your hands from his shoulders, maybe you looking over the suit makes Jason want to chew his tongue out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I got that.” Tim nods his head. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The smile reaches your eyes as you beam back at Tim.

Jason’s eyes narrow at you slightly. You seem awfully happy. He knows Tim is your friend but you just seem overly happy or maybe he’s in his own head about it. He just remembers that day picking you up from Titans Tower and it was…similar. It’s like he’s getting stabbed in the chest and the base of his throat knowing you were not happy to see him tonight. The very thought of your feelings disappearing makes him feel like his rib cage might collapse on itself. So, he pushes it away as far as he possibly can and bites back his own words, trying to just be relieved you look happy instead of pissed off Dick set you up. He’s just thankful you haven’t run away. Yet.

“What’re you doing here anyways?” Jason asks with the nod of his head at Tim.

“Dick sent me.” Tim starts before explaining this whole fake plan thing Dick sent him on while you and Jason pretend to act as if you have no clue what he’s talking about.

Jason nods his head. “Well, it's getting pretty late. I got a place. Come on.” Jason jerks his head down the alley before he starts walking, not even waiting for a response.

“Wait, really?” Tim asks with hope.

“Before I change my mind.” Jason states, his back fully towards you and Tim before he puts the helmet on.

Tim’s eyes are wide with excitement. He gets to work the Red Hood?! He knows it’s Jason but he was the second Robin and he doesn’t even know much about him. Gar and you talk about him and he met him a few times but this is totally different. Red Hood is going to help him with this?

“You can ride me with. I’ve got an extra helmet. I figured you’d need a ride.” You put a hand on his shoulder before nodding towards Jason. “My bike’s not far.”

The three of you make your way to Jason’s bike that’s closer and then to yours before you and Tim follow Jason to his safe house. It’s the one you took him to when Crane kidnapped him. You stare up at the building for a few seconds, feeling something a bit bitter in the back of your throat over it. Jason can move on, you hope with everything in you that he is, but as someone who cares about him, it's your job to be bitter and pissed about everything Crane did to him forever.

Tim and you follow Jason into the building, now the three of you in your street clothes after taking a detour to change. You've almost had your eyes practically glued to Jason ever since. And it’s taking everything in Jason to focus on the task at hand and not stare at you with a million questions.

The hallway is messy. There’s stuff on the floor everywhere and even though Jason is walking ahead of you, you can’t help but narrow your eyes at him. Surely, he has time to pick up the floor instead of kicking things to the side as he walks by. Jason is always so meticulous with things he likes but he just can’t help the mess in a hallway or his room for some reason.

“Venta?” Jason asks, keeping his steady pace ahead of you and Tim.

“Yeah.” Tim starts. “He lives down on Harbor.”

“Never heard of ‘em.” Jason states, walking through the hallway where he has a laptop set up before he starts typing away at something.

“Dick says he’s got information on the Organization.” Tim explains as he stands beside Jason, resting his arm on the open counter space.

“He sent you to get intel on the Organization?” You ask.

“Yeah.” Tim says casually, but almost like he wants to be offended you'd question it but then he looks between you and Jason. “Maybe we could team on this.” Tim suggests. “The three of us.”

Jason looks to him, struggling not to glance at you before he turns around and starts walking away swiftly. “I don’t team anymore.” Jason says as the laptop makes a noise, you peaking over at it as Tim trails after Jason.

Security system, and a nice one, too. It looks at least similar to the one used at Wayne Manor and in the Batcave. There seems to be some sort of cloaking system to shield his location from anyone who might be looking for him. You've heard he’s made several big-name enemies in Gotham already which is not surprising. Gotham’s newest crime lord is going to take some heat. Of course, he's protecting himself. You're actually relieved by the system. Maybe the security system lets Jason get some sort of sleep.

“Security activated.” The computer sounds through the speakers above the three of you.

“You don’t understand.” Tim defends while you move to catch up with them. “Brother Blood put my boyfriend in a coma.” Tim watches as Jason climbs the stairs before he quickly follows suit, you right behind him.

Jason knows he has to play this off, even if Tim is going to nag him all night. If Jason immediately jumps to help him, Tim won't learn a damn thing and he'll probably figure it out. Jason has heard all about Tim's intelligence and detective skills. If Tim is going to be Robin, Jason's not going to make it easy.

“How long you been doing this Robin thing?” Jason asks.

“Um…” Tim stutters as him and you enter one of the rooms with Jason, Jason still several feet ahead of you. There’s workout equipment, monitors, a fridge. It looks like this is where he trains and keeps his eyes on Gotham. “Not long.” Tim says.

“A couple weeks?” Jason asks as he looks over his monitors on the far end of the room.

“Not quite.” Tim states, looking around the room.

“A week?” Jason asks.

“Last night was my first night.” Tim admits, almost sounding defeated.

You nearly cackle. “Sorry, what?” You spit back as Jason turns around. The two of you exchange a look of surprise and confusion. Dick did not say Tim had no training.

"Yeah..." Tim looks between you and Jason, unsure where you're going to take this conversation. He hopes it'll get you both on his side. He could use the help.

“Oh, the suit did look fresh off the rack.” Jason states. This is going to take a lot of time and effort. “If I were you, I’d get out of Gotham. Take some reps in like Tucson or some shit.” Jason states as he leans his lower back against the table with the monitors, his hands holding the edge of the table.

“Shit’s been quite a bit messy lately and the Bat’s outa town.” You explain as you cross your arms over your chest.

“Dick sent me here to find Venta.” Tim nearly cuts you both off.

“Your funeral.” Jason shakes his head. “You can crash here if you don’t have plans.” Jason gestures a hand out, offering his place for Tim. “I mean, there’s eggs, beer, cheese.” Jason gestures quickly to the fridge sitting on the wall facing Jason on the opposite side of the room.

“That is a lovely diet, Jason.” You mutter back, earning you a bit of a glare from Jason.

It's not exactly like Jason to not have some sort of variety. Generally, he eats pretty healthy in order to maintain the muscle and physical fitness to do this whole thing but eggs and cheese aren't exactly the healthiest thing, especially with the addition of beer. You know he's been busy with Red Hood, helping Barbara. But, you wonder if this is one of those things Molly and Gar are worried about. You make a mental note of it to ask later.

“Been busy.” Jason quips back, almost gauging how you’ll respond.

“I can see that.” Your eyes widen as your hands gesture around.

“Thanks.” Tim interrupts you, unsure if this will be an argument or some weird banter thing you two do. Tim sets the case with the suit against the wall and that’s when he sees a clear board with a cipher on it that looks like Jason’s been trying to crack. “You working on something?” Tim gestures towards it as he starts walking towards it.

“No. I’m paying the fucking cable bills.” Jason quips back.

“Need some help?” Tim asks, his hands in his pockets as he looks over the cipher.

“Since you’re being nosy,” Jason starts before he walks over to Tim, you joining on the opposite side. “Shimmer’s been pulling off high-end heists all over Gotham.” Jason explains. “Sending ciphers as clues.”

Tim looks over the cipher a bit more and he’s got it. He reaches over for the eraser next to the board and starts erasing some of the code Jason has cracked.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jason questions.

“You got your A right but your coding’s off.” Tim explains making you stifle a laugh.

“Fuck you.” Jason defends as he watches Tim.

“It’s a Fibonacci Sequence.” Tim states. “Each number is the sum of two numbers that precedes it.” Tim explains. Jason and you take a step back to watch Tim work. “K-L-E-I-D-S-C-O-P-E.” Tim spells it out, writing each letter. Tim takes a step back, a proud smile on his face while the three of you look over the word.

“Kaleidoscope.” Jason states. “Oh, shit.” Jason starts, rushing over to this phone sitting not the table beside the board.

“I just had fresh eyes.” Tim states, still looking at the board.

“Right, nothing to do with being a genius or anything.” You quip back.

“Hey, Babs.” Jason says with the phone now pressed to his ear. “Uh, Kaleidoscope Auction House. That’s the target for Shimmer’s next hit.” Jason explains before he pauses, looking back at Tim for just a second. “And I’ll take my usual percentage.” Jason says before he hangs up the phone. “So, you are really smart.” Jason states.

“Told you.” You mutter.

“It’s nothing, really.” Tim brushes it off.

“Right.” Jason nods his head. “So, what’s your plan anyways? Stick around Gotham until you find this guy?” Jason asks before he walks over to the fridge, you pull up a seat by the monitors.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Tim shrugs. “I asked around tonight but no one seems to know what I’m talking about.”

Jason nods his head, beer now in hand before he opens it. “Want one?” Jason asks. "Water, Gatorade?" Jason offers before his eyes go back to you. "I have other shit."

You roll your eyes, pathetically putting your hands up in defense, keeping your mouth shut this time. For once, you can't quite tell if your subtle jabs are actual jabs or if it's what you usually do. At this point, you're too afraid to ask because either answer sounds a bit too much.

“No, thanks.” Tim states.

Jason pulls a blue Gatorade from the fridge before crossing the room and offering it to you. It wasn't even a thought Jason had because you've always been someone who will not accept an offer of a drink and then drink his. It was more of a reflex to grab the Gatorade for you. A gentle smile pulls at your lips as you take it softly from him, careful not to let your hand brush his.

“Asking the wrong people probably.” Jason answers as he leans against the table in the space right beside you. “Or they don’t you seriously.” Jason uncaps his beer with the remark.

“Second one.” You state as you uncap your bottle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tim looks back at the both of you.

“You got your ass kicked tonight.” You state. “I got a feeling you aren’t very good at being intimidating.” You shrug your shoulder casually before you take a drink.

“Hey,” Tim gestures toward you. “I figured out all of you guys and got you to cave about it. I’m pretty good, I think.”

“You’re my friend and I felt bad for lying.” You chortle before you take a sip. "I was at no point ever intimated by you."

“If she didn’t want you to know, she never would have led you to believe otherwise.” Jason takes his own drink knowing damn well you could have, at the very least, hid your own identity from Tim if you really wanted to.

“Still, one of them would have told me! I’m Robin.” Tim tries to defend himself, his voice almost defensive until it finally hits enthusiastic with the mention of 'Robin'.

The way he says it makes you burst out laughing. The amount of times you've heard the words 'I'm Robin' with so much pride and enthusiasm makes it funny. It’s the innocence and confidence Robin brings. Tim isn’t as…cheerful, enthusiastic about it as Jason was. Tim has seen the horrors already but…there is something familiar about it that makes you laugh. You hope he's able to keep that.

Jason thinks he’s melted into the ground with your laugh. The hard part of this whole thing is not going to be training Tim. That’ll be easy. The hardest part is going to pretend like it isn’t killing him to act like this is all fine with him and you. It is killing him not to poke fun at you or ask about everything. This is going to be torture.

“That what I sounded like?” Jason asks quietly.

“Kind of.” You nod your head at him, a soft and beaming smile directed right at him.

“What?” Tim questions.

“Nothing.” You brush it off. “Okay, look, why don’t you stay here with Jason for tonight and I’ll come by tomorrow. We’ll go look together.”

“You do teams?” Tim quips.

“No.” You shake your head, knowing that is a bald-faced lie. “But you’re my friend and I help my friends.”

“Okay, yeah, cool.” Tim smiles widely. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” You nod softly before clearing your throat. “I’m gonna head out then. Uh…” You pause for a second before you get to your feet. “Molly is probably waiting for me so I’ll just text you what time to be ready.” You offer Jason a nervous nod and closed-mouth smile.

You make your way to Tim, giving him a quick hug before you head for the door. Jason almost lets you. But, seeing you and feeling this way? It’s not what he wants. He doesn’t want you to be here just because Dick asked you. He doesn’t want you to be here just for Tim. He can’t just pretend this is all fine.

“I’ll, uh, walk you out.” Jason pushes off the table, earning you to turn around, raising a brow at him.

“Uh...yeah, yeah, okay.” You nod slowly. “Thanks.”

“Don’t touch anything.” Jason warns Tim before catching up to you.

You and Jason walk side-by-side out of the room and your stomach is swirling, turning into a goo. You're nearly vibrating from nervousness being around him again. And he looks so good. He looks healthy. The last time you saw him, he was covered in scrapes and bruises but there aren’t any on his face. You know there have to be some under his clothes but his face looks good and his cheeks aren’t as hollowed as they were before. His hair is fluffy just as it always was. He looks good.

Jason glances at you and Jason Todd is not one to get nervous but he is so nervous right now he’s stuffing his hands in his pockets just because his hands are sweating too much. It’s you and he has no reason to be nervous but his heart is thundering in his chest and he wants to smile ear-to-ear. Everything is different but it almost doesn’t feel that way. His heart is beating for you right now just as it did from day one to day 100. It only ever beats for you.

The two of you reach the door, standing and facing each other. There should be sort of 'see you later' exchange that happens but neither of you entirely know how to do that. Not with each other. You were friends, then friends with benefits, then together, and now you're exes. A handshake still feels far too professional given the intimacy that stands between you and the horrors you've endured together. A wave feels fucking pathetic. And a hug seems a bit out of the question.

It's not even like either of you want to do this whole 'see you later' thing. You both have endless questions and if tonight ends, tomorrow will begin and it might be different again. Jason doesn't want to risk anything in this. So, instead of fumbling his way through a goodbye that would haunt him in his sleep for the next ten years, he starts conversation just to stall you a little.

“What’d you do?” Jason jerks his head, pointing towards the bruise on your eye and he almost touches it. He has to force his hands to stay in his pockets.

“Oh, uh,” You smile softly, touching the yellow with your fingertips. “Molly, actually.”

“No fucking way.” Jason chuckles.

“Yeah, uh, been training her a bit.” Your brows furrow just for a second before you lick your lips. “She asked just to be prepared walking home or some shit. Um…and uh, obviously, you taught her a thing or two. But, she actually fell and I got an elbow to the face.”

Jason lets out a booming laugh and you forget how to breathe. It sounds just as lovely as it did before. Booming and loud, thunder shaking your rib cage free of all its pain.

“It was an accident?”

“Yeah.” You nod quickly. “Fucking painful one. This shit is two weeks out. My eye was swollen shut for like two days!”

Jason keeps laughing and his nose scrunches. You swear he’s still the cutest person to ever walk the earth. How could anyone not be in love with him?

“Sorry, you alright?” Jason asks, but the smile is still ripping across his face as he licks his lips.

“I am fine, thank you.” You nod your head, a soft smile on display. “You, uh, you look good, Jay.”

The nickname sends his head into a spiral. He can’t believe after everything you’ve done to each other and the time that’s passed, you can still make him feel this way. You make him feel like everything is gonna be alright somehow. And he makes you so happy. Something so simple and it’s just joy.

“Thanks.” Jason nods his head. “So do you.” His eyes soften with the ease of his words.

“Thank you.” You pull in a breath.

There’s a silence that falls over you and something hits you both. This is a request from Dick. It wasn’t supposed to be a reunion for you. It just happened to work out that way. Jason still did all of that and you still hurt him and betrayed him. Neither one of you had the courage to call the other. It took Tim coming here needing help. Something about that really hurts. Your minds take over even as happy as you are to see each other, to feel the love blossom through your chests. But, you look at each other and wonder how you could ever ask for forgiveness, especially with each other looking so good. So, you don’t. You punish yourselves.

“Molly’s helping me, by the way.” You blurt out on purpose, knowing it’ll piss him off.

You aren't trying to hurt him, you're just pissing him off. Jason will snap and fire back and you think you'll deserve it. Jason Todd has been very good at pushing everyone away and you've been very good at running. But, you know Jason expects you to run. If he ever wanted to forgive you for some reason, he'll know exactly what to do. So, you take a page out of his book and push. It'll catch him off guard, piss him off, and it'll be what you deserve anyway. You push.

Jason shakes his head, eyes widening. “What the fuck does that mean?” He snaps, searching your face for any indication this is some sort of joke.

“She helps me as Bluejay.” You shrug your shoulders.

“Why the fuck would you let her do that?!” Jason nearly demands as he crosses his arms.

Molly is his friend, too. He knew something was going on but he didn’t think Molly was actually helping. At this point, he's pretty sure the two of you have lost your damn minds. Molly didn't even agree with Batman and Robin and now she's helping? All people do in this path is get hurt or worse. Jason isn't going to give it up and he'd never ask anyone to. But, why the fuck would you let Molly help you? If he knows you at all, he knows you shouldn't be happy about it.

“She asked.” You keep your voice nonchalant, knowing that'll irritate him even more.

“Oh, so fuck it, right? She asked and you’re just gonna let her? And what the fuck are you gonna do when someone figures it out, huh?” Jason seethes as he tosses his right arm to the side.

“Oh, but it’s fine for Tim, right?” You question back as you blink at Jason. He doesn't seem to have a single issue with Tim, just Molly which is some of the ammo you were looking to get out of this.

“He wouldn’t leave any of you guys alone!” Jason defends, his hands shooting out to his sides. Molly and Gar have said they're worried bout you and while he's getting pissed off, he's also growing worried. Starting an argument with him is very uncharacteristic. “Molly isn’t a fighter! You’re putting her in harm’s way!” Jason shakes his head before clocking the Tim remark entirely. “I don’t have a fucking say on if Tim’s Robin, by the way. He’s your fucking friend, too! The fuck are you mad at me for?”

“But you were the previous Robin!” You snap back and you aren’t even sure why you do it. You don't want Robin to be the topic of the argument because that isn't fair. You just can't help it, your mouth is moving faster than your guilt and reason. “You’re not bothered by it at all but I have Molly working on a computer and that’s not fine?” You spit back.

Ow.

If there's anything Jason knows about punishing himself, it's what pushing looks like. He's not entirely sure what is setting you off but there's something. You're hitting a low blow bringing Robin into it and while he doesn't want to fight, it hits an exposed nerve. Jason Todd has always hated feeling exposed.

Jason shakes his head with a bitter laugh. “You haven’t fucking talked to me in over a month but now you think you know how I fucking feel about a Robin?” Jason lets out a scoff. “And yeah because Molly doesn’t need to be in the fucking middle of some bullshit you won’t be able to handle. You’ll get hurt or some bullshit, go to her, and you’ll be tracked. You don’t have a security system, bet your locks are shit, what’re you gonna do, huh?”

“Yeah, well, phones work both ways, Jason.” You spit back, choosing to ignore the second half of the argument. He isn't wrong and you know it. “Molly wouldn’t leave me alone about it and ya know, in my experience, the more we let people not help when they are adamant, they do it anyway and then they die or get hurt.” You scoff back. “Seemed better this way.” Sam nearly mutters it bitterly.

Jason can feel his heart breaking again because this isn't about Molly. He knew it wasn't but it's still about him. He's thinking you're not over the fact that he died which you should not be. But, it almost feels like you're choosing to blame him for his own death and that's something he never thought you would do.

“The fuck is that supposed mean?” Jason asks, his voice rough and angered but he’s not yelling. That’s always the most hurtful form of Jason Todd.

Too far. Too far. Too far.

You never intended to hurt him. It's just...maybe there's a lot of unsaid things from both of you because you both were always so worried about fucking it up. What's left to fuck up now?

You backpedal anyway because it is not fair. It's not his fault. “Nothing.” You shake your head.

“No, tell me what you really mean.” Jason keeps his stance, his voice unwavering.

Jason sees it as you blaming him but that's not true. The way you see it, if people want to help, maybe they're better off to help. Jason and you were held captive and dropped from a Skyscraper because you wanted to help and Dick said no. Jason wanted to be Robin and help and Bruce ripped it away. Tim wanted to help but everyone said no. Anytime someone really wants to help, they do and then they get hurt or worse. Molly was going to try and help one way or another. This way, you can keep an eye on her. Though, you can't quite bring yourself to explain it all.

“You. Me. Tim. Dick. Gar. Rachel.” You explain. “All of us.”

“And we were fucking thrown into this shit. All of us.” Jason argues his side. “I sure as shit didn’t pick it--”

“But you would have!” You scream back because it all just hurts again. He's lying to himself if he doesn't think he wouldn't have picked Robin if it were a choice. “Don’t pretend like Robin was some burden thrown onto you because he wasn’t! You loved it. You still do. Bruce may have weaponized you but he offered it to you and you took it.”

He knows you're right. Of course, he would have picked it. It was the coolest and greatest thing to happen to him at the time. He was useful and he was enough. He was finally fucking good at something and he was finally good for something. It made him feel like he belonged somewhere even if it didn't last. Of course, he'd do it again. As hard as it is, as tortuous as the last few months have been, he doesn't think he'd do anything differently.

“Fine, what about you?” Jason quips back. “Dick gave you a fucking choice. I remember that.” Jason scoffs. “You’d take it all back? If you knew how this ended.”

“Of fucking course I would, Jason!” Your voice finally cracks. “Yeah, I’d never fucking ask you to help me and I never would have went after Deathstroke with you or Jerry or any of this shit. If I could go back, I’d undo it.” You pull in a shaky breath and lower your voice. “It hurts all the time. I’d undo it.” You give him a sad and defeated shrug.

It hurts to say it but a part of you, really thinks you'd undo it if given the chance. Maybe you would just tell Dick no. Maybe it wouldn't be like this today. But, there is a larger part of you thinking you wouldn't be able to undo it. A lot of good came out of you being a Titan. You found this family and maybe had you just said no, it wouldn't be like this. You've been able to save a lot of people since being back on Gotham and doesn't that make it all worth it? The greater good should win.

You're looking at Jason and you wouldn't undo that. A lot of good came out of you being a Titan. Finding a family and new friends, Molly, learning how to properly fend for yourself and knowing you don't have to. It's all good. And Jason. A lot of good came out of being a Titan and Jason is so intertwined in that, you'd never be able to undo it without undoing you two.

You would never be able to.

You don't want to and this whole argument was just so stupid.

Jason looks to the ground and he knows what you mean but so much of you is intertwined in doing this that undoing that, almost feels like undoing you two. He knows that's not what you mean and you're angry over something Jason isn't sure what. You've talked about it. It's just harder today. It doesn't stop it from hurting though.

“Why put that on Molly then?” Jason brings his voice back down.

“Because you’d do it all over again.” You say softly. “Because Dick would do it over again. And Bruce and Tim and Kory and…all of them without even thinking twice about it. I think even Gar would. Molly won’t regret it and you know that.” You strengthen your voice.

This is stupid. He’s supposed to be doing better here but he fights you anyway. The punishment to himself and you started it. But…it doesn’t feel good to be here again. He doesn’t want to be here. He has fought tooth and nail to be alone and now that he is, he doesn’t like it too much. It hurts to be here alone. It hurts to be here without you. Jason promised you he’d make it up to you one day and yeah maybe he could have called and you could have called. But, neither of you did. Jason tells the voices in his head to shut the fuck up and he bites back at them.

“Just…make sure she’s safe.” Jason swallows thickly, catching you off guard. Jason never backs down. “You’re probably right. Molly can be pretty persistent.” He backs down for himself and for you. He won't let you punish yourself this way. You never let him.

“Yeah…” You trail off, tugging the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands as guilt eats away at your bones. “I didn’t want her help.” You whisper, caving, too. It doesn’t matter what you think you deserve and don’t deserve. Jason doesn’t deserve someone to push him away if he’s trying. That’s not fair. “But…it doesn’t work telling people no so…I make sure she’s okay.” You nod your head. “She is only my eyes in the sky. No one even knows I have someone on the inside.”

“Good.” Jason nods his head. “Yeah…” Jason trails off, his stare going to the floor, the white streak hanging loosely over his forehead.

One of you has to bring it up. One of you has to bring up the time you’ve spent apart. One of you has to say something besides the unsaid words that are nearly strangling you both. It will always feel giddy with a sense of dread and awkwardness unless you do. You always apologize.

“I’m sorry for not calling.” Jason states, catching you off guard and it’s like he’s just stacked twenty more pounds of guilt onto your pile. A lump grows in your throat and not once did you ever actually blame him for not calling you. You think he shouldn’t in order to protect himself. “I just…got busy and I don’t know.” Jason shrugs his right shoulder. “Should have.”

“I-I’m sorry, too.” You nod your head. “I, uh…yeah, busy.” You nod your head, swallowing the lump in your throat and biting back tears.

He has nothing to be sorry for.

Jason’s heart sinks because there’s something wrong. There is always something in the way you stutter around him that gives it away. It got to the point where you almost never did. You almost never tugged your sleeves down. It’s more of a nervous tick than anything and now you're doing it again. You're too exposed around him again and Jason can’t help but feel it’s all his fault and it’s too late. The thing you had, that strength that ruins mountains, has just wilted away. He thinks it might be his biggest regret.

“I’m really sorry.” You say more clearly this time. "For, uh, f-for not calling and uh, arguing with you just now. I, uh...I-I don't know." You tug the collar of your hoodie down just a bit, feeling suffocated by the fabric but then Jason sees the silver of a necklace around your neck.

You still wear it?

You open your mouth to talk but Jason cuts you off.

“Is that the necklace I gave you?” He blurts out before he can even process it.

He needs to know.

You look down, seeing the chain stare back a you before you pull the pendant from your hoodie and Jason wants to combust.

“Yeah.” You state, the infinity charm staring back a you. “Uh…” A smile pulls at your lips. You never take it off even when it all feels hopeless because maybe, just maybe, it's not just the cliche of infinity of you but some sort of symbol of hope that you'll find your way back to each other one day. “I know we haven’t talked and this shit feels awkward and shit but uh, I don’t know.” You lick your lips. “Figured Molly would call if you something happened and then…you’d know.”

You're realizing how dumb this whole thing. Maybe you can’t have what you really want. Maybe that’s not how this is meant to be. But you know he checks up on you and you know he knows you do the exact same. It’s silly and ridiculous for you to tiptoe over each other as if you haven’t witnessed each other at your best and worst. You held his lifeless body in your hands. Jason saves your life. Being a part from each other…not worth it.

A smile pulls at his lips before it turns into a smirk. “Someone’s gotta be prepared with your habit of being kidnapped.” Maybe it gives him hope, too.

“Shut the fuck up.” You groan. “It’s been months.” You can't help the smile that crosses your lips.

“You’re due.” Jason quips back.

You let out a laugh, sending a chill down Jason's spine. “I am good on that thanks.”

Jason tilts his back, feeling the same as you. This whole thing is fucking stupid. He needs to swallow his pride and he just doesn’t want you to leave. Despite his habit of spiraling into self-deprecating thoughts, he knows there has to be something left between you. Since the very first day, there has been something there. So, maybe you try this friend thing again. Maybe it'll work out.

“This is fucking stupid, right?” Jason laughs. “Not talking and shit.” He clarifies.

“Yeah.” You nod with a laugh. “Molly and Gar and Tim and Dick have been telling me that.”

“Molly, Gar, and Dick.” Jason groans. “Fuck, even Bruce.”

You let out a laugh. “Okay, you know it’s bad when Bruce is over here giving you advice on this shit.”

“Right?” Jason lets out a scoff. “We good?” Jason asks with hopeful eyes.

“Always were, Jay.” You smile softly at him and in that moment, you make a silent promise to yourself that you don’t care about your heart but you will guard his with every knife you have. “Friends who actually talk and act like it this time?” You question.

“Yeah, need someone to nag me.” Jason sticks his hand out.

“Oh, well, if you insist. Clean this fucking place, it’s a mess!” You take his hand in yours, shaking it softly.

“Since we’re friends, you could help.” Jason quips back, looking at the hallway that resembles the aftermath of a tornado.

You take your hand back. “You could go fuck yourself.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jason grins back at you with furrowed brows.

Your brows raise with a splitting smile. “Ask your hand.”

Jason let out a chortle. “Fair.”

“Okay, seriously, I gotta get back. Molly will have too many questions if I stay any longer.” You nod your head, already mentally preparing for the amount of questions Molly will have and knowing none of them will actually pertain to Tim. “I’ll be back tomorrow, you gonna come?”

“Nah.” Jason shakes his head, figuring he'll let the two of you catch up by you showing him the ropes alone for a bit. “You guys go. Dick call you?”

“Mhm, you?” You pretend like you don’t know, mostly to keep the peace between the batboys.

“Yep.” Jason nods his head. “Setup?”

“Absolutely.” You laugh. "Dude still hasn't told Kory but he's setting us up."

"We have to repay the favor then, I guess." Jason offers you a wild and menacing grin.

"Oh, definitely." You nod quickly.

Jason shakes his head with a laugh. "Just gotta get Tim into shape first."

“We’ll get him ready in no time.” You beam back at him with the scrunch of your nose.

“We’ll start training when you guys get back tomorrow but follow my lead.” Jason offers, already ten steps ahead with a plan.

“Because Tim can’t know.” You finish.

“I got an idea.” Jason nods.

“You always have a plan.”

“Always.” The word babe almost slips from his lips.

“Okay, Jay.” Your cheeks burn, sensing it, too. “I will see you tomorrow.” You nod once before you turn on your heels and exit the building.

Jason watches you and his thinks he’s breathless. There’s something reminiscent of the first day he met you. Not entirely knowing much about you. He knows about you today but there’s a gap of time he’s missing. There are two actually because he doesn't know all of the details in the time he died. There are voids he’s missing and what’s changed about you because of them? It almost feels like that first day because his bones are vibrating with excitement and he can’t wait to see you again. It feels like it did then and he would love to keep chasing that feeling.

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[the-kr8tor]

Speed Drive

🎉500 celebration fic🎉

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 6.2k

Synopsis: You come along with Hobie on a road trip to Glasgow. Aka the fic where I squeezed in multiple dream dates of mine lol

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mention, reader is a history nerd (definitely not projecting), the reader can't drive, sunshine! Reader. Suggestive content, lovestruck Hobie, Established relationship. FLUFF.

A/n: I did some research on the places they went to, if there are any inaccuracies on the geography/ information, please note that I've never been to any of these places, I'm only basing my knowledge on what I've researched and what I've studied in uni.

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms and copy and pasted on any ai software*

Navigation

Masterlist

You grunt as you lift the heavy amp, back straightened so you don't accidentally sprain yourself. Waddling towards Hobie's van, amp sitting heavily near your waist. The sun is just about rising on the horizon, painting the pavement deep blue. The water laps at the house boat's side, the sound familiar, adding to the relaxed atmosphere where you and Hobie are the only ones awake in the entire city. The early morning air nips at your skin, leaving goosebumps on the back of your neck.

Suddenly, strong familiar arms wrap around the amp. "What are you doin'? Told you I've got them" Hobie clicks his tongue, taking the amp from you.

He's annoyed but not at you, he's irritated that he got the short end of the stick, ending up waking up early (too early) to load the instruments. You don't take it to heart, knowing his annoyance isn't because of you. It would've been better if he just helped his band mates load them in, but lady luck wasn't on his side. Unfortunately he also got driving duties, now he has to drive seven hours to get to Glasgow for the band's very first big gig. Leaving the rest of the band to take (a very comfortable) train ride at a later hour. Hobie's a bit jealous on that end, he would've liked for you to see the sights on a train instead of sitting on his old van that creaks when he steers a little too far to the left.

The only silver lining about the impromptu road trip is you. Seven hours on the road with just you is pure bliss, if only he didn't have to wake up in this ungodly hour, he would've been in a better mood.

"Sorry, you were busy loading in the drums. Thought I would help" you look up at him through equally tired eyes. A cloud of breath escaping when you talk. Hobie zips your jacket further up, keeping you warm.

He heaves the amp on one arm, effortlessly carrying it. "Don't be, you're just trying to help." Hobie feels guilty for clicking his tongue at you. He holds your cold hand, sharing his warmth.

"You're definitely not a morning person" you squeeze his hand. "grumpy" bringing his hand to your lips, you leave a chaste kiss over his knuckles. "Is that the last one?"

"Think so," he looks around the area, finding nothing else to load inside the van. "Don't forget to bring in the thermos, you're turning into an icicle"

"Okay, I made us sandwiches" you smile at him, swinging your intertwined hands.

"What kind?" He stomps down his grumpy demeanor at the sound of breakfast.

"Lots!" You grin excitedly at him, Hobie wonders where you got your sudden burst of energy.

"Fuckin' hell, no wonder why you were up so late. You made every conceivable sandwich in the world" he jokes, your happy energy spreading to him.

You chuckle, "not every single one. You have the first pick for waking up so early"

"Yeah? Even though you threatened to splash me with water?" He raises a pierced brow, a smile curling on his lips.

You wince, "yeah, sorry. It finally got you to wake up though!"

"Yeah, yeah, and here I thought you would wake me up with a kiss"

"I did! Like five fucking times. You wouldn't even stir, I got desperate, okay!" You laugh, it echoes around the silent neighborhood.

"I believe you, can you get our bags from inside? I'll warm up the van" Hobie reluctantly lets go of your hand. You feel cold already.

"Get it nice and toasty for me?"

"What are you? Banana bread?"

"Funny" you point at him playfully, walking backwards.

"Don't forget the bloody Thermos!" He yells after you, following you with his gaze, making sure you don't trip because you decided to walk backwards.

You wink at him, "okay, dad!"

"Lil shit" he says with a smile.

—

Munching on your sandwich, Hobie cranked up the heating, you're now warm and toasty in your seat. The leather squeaks when you move to feed Hobie a bite of your sandwich. He *insists that he prefers yours even though you made an identical one. Hobie's free hand is glued to your thigh, squeezing it from time to time, making sure you don't fall asleep on him.

Hobie keeps his eyes on the road, trying to take a bite of the sandwich that you've teasingly moved a few inches away from his waiting mouth.

He bites at air, "Oi, what the fuck" you snicker, biting your lip. Hobie immediately figures out what you're doing, "don't make me swerve this fucking car into that ditch"

"Jeez, okay!" You laugh, leaning closer (as much as the seat belt would allow you to) Hobie takes a generous bite, "you're still grumpy? Do you need more coffee?" You rub at the corner of his mouth with your thumb, cleaning the bread crumbs. He hums appreciatively.

"I don't think that coffee's workin' too well" he says while chewing. "We're not even out of the city yet" Hobie huffs.

"Do you want me to drive for a bit?" You wait for his reaction with a tiny smirk.

"You haven't got a license," He says matter-of-fact, "you don't even know how to drive" he doesn't sound condescending or making fun of you, his voice laced with endearment. He makes a mental note to teach you once you two get back home. His fingers pinches you through your pants.

"I'm a fast learner" you joke, Hobie cracks a sleep deprived smile, oh he's definitely not a morning person. "Give it time, you basically drank the entire thermos. Maybe some music could help?"

"If it's your music, I'm gonna fall asleep on the wheel" He squeezes your thigh, just in case you didn't get his joke.

"If it's your music, It's going to burst my eardrums this early in the morning" you quip back.

"Nice. Sandwich me, love" he opens his mouth, darting his eyes from the road to you before his gaze goes back to watching the road.

You lean again, holding up the almost finished sandwich. "Do you know who invented the sandwich?" Hobie eats the entire thing in one bite, almost taking your fingers off. You glare playfully at him.

He chuckles, mouth full. "No, who?"

"Lord Sandwich, the fourth earl of Sandwich in the eighteenth century"

"You're fucking with me" Hobie takes a left turn, the van creaks, instruments in the back sliding a bit. You watch his hand turn the steering wheel, mesmerized by how his large hand grips the wheel. His rings don't help, you tilt your head, watching intently.

He pinches your thigh, getting your attention. "Hey, where'd you go?"

"Sorry, I was trying to recall the rest of the fact" you blink back to reality.

"Will you be like this the entire trip? Watching my bloody hands, you perv" He read you like an open book.

"What– I wasn't, okay! I was–" you fumble with your words.

He has a playful smirk on his lips. "You were what? Fantasizing my hands wrapped around your–"

"Stop!" You hold his hand that's on your thigh, so he could stop his teasing.

"What? I was gonna say 'wrapped around your hand', honestly what did you think I was gonna say?" He asks you playfully, shoving your shoulder lightly.

"it's too early for this shit" you mumble with a playful pout, intertwining your fingers with his.

He laughs, eyes crinkling into a smile. Hobie brings your hand to his lips, placing a quick peck on your warm hand. "Ah, too early for it? Maybe later then?"

You groan but your smile and the twinkle in your eyes says otherwise.

"What were you talking about? 'Bout the sandwich bloke?"

"John Montagu, he invented the sandwich because he didn't have time to eat a proper meal while he was playing cards and working."

"Bloody rich lord" he grumbles with malice.

"Hey, if not for him you wouldn't be eating one of my Sandwiches"

"I love eating your sandwich" he raises a teasing brow, proud of his innuendo.

"What is up with you this morning?" You laugh, playing with one of his rings, twirling the metal around his index finger. "Seriously, did I accidentally make you coffee with something in it? Is that why it says 'special' in the packaging?"

Hobie laughs loudly, echoing around the van. "You think they'd put an aphrodisiac in coffee?" He lets go of your hand for a bit while he steers the wheel with both hands. "Like ginkgo biloba or somethin'?"

You reach for his free hand immediately after he lets go of the wheel to lay it back on your thigh. "No like pistachio nuts or–" you try to think of another example, "— crab" you giggle when the word escapes your lips.

"Crab?!" He rides with your bit. "Must be some expensive bloody coffee, lovey" Hobie rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. "No wonder I tasted something fishy in that coffee"

You gasp, feigning offense. "You did not!" contributing to the bit.

"Now who's crabby this morning, huh?" He chuckles.

You roll your eyes at his pun, "argh, can't believe I have to endure seven more hours of this" teasing him, your sentence has no ounce of truth in it whatsoever. More than happy to accompany him on the trip.

"It'll be the best seven hours of your life, sweets" He looks at you through the rearview mirror with a smirk.

You can read him like a book too. Narrowing your eyes, you can just tell he has something planned, but you can't quite put your finger on it.

"You've got something up your sleeves? Spill it, Hobart"

He sideways glances at you, hiding his knowing smile. "Don't know what you're on about" Hobie clears his throat, playing it cool.

"Nope, I know you, babe. That fucking smirk of yours, I know it!" You lightly poke at his cheek.

"Lovey, I haven't got a scooby doo. I'm just here drivin' trying to get us to Glasgow"

"You get very detailed when you're lying. I know your tells!"

"That so?" He makes a mental note of what you've said, which might be handy the next time he has a surprise. Hobie opens the radio, cd already inside, it plays a loud tune, drowning out your questions.

"Hey!" You yell through the loud music. Hobie almost gives himself away with a laugh, he bites his lip to stifle it. "Whatever– wherever you're planning to stop at some backroad tourist attraction, we better not be too late for the show!"

Hobie cranks the volume up, "What? Can't hear you through the music" he gestures towards his ear.

You press the 'volume down' button, covering your ears. Now you're definitely both wide awake. "You're an ass, you can't have any more of my sandwiches" huffing, you grab a ziplock of sandwich just to tease him more.

Banter fills the van, laughs and flirty words entertain you until sleep comes back to haunt you. Unexpectedly falling asleep, Hobie lets you snooze away in his passenger seat. Avoiding potholes, slowing down when passing a speed bump. He even uses his arm to act as your second seat belt whenever he turns sharply, hand cradling your head so you don't fall off the headrest.

Hobie has the urge to wake you though, but he needs you at full energy for what he's planning on taking you. Eyes drifting to the van's console, he gazes at your camera, taking a mental note to remember to give you the extra roll of films he bought for you.

—

Hobie shuts off the engine, eyes bleary, he clicks the seatbelt off of him. He has the urge to close his eyes and join you in slumberland. One look at your sleeping face almost pushes him off the edge.

He leans closer to you, hand cupping your jaw, he taps your face with his thumb. "Love" you don't stir, eyes still closed. Hobie's so attuned to you that he knows you're not faking it.

He kisses you chastely, warm lips puckering to wake you up. Hobie calls your name this time, poking your cheek. You still sleep, lips slightly parted. He's absolutely jealous of you right now. Peppering your face with kisses, he fully intends to wake you up. Defeated, you still lay asleep.

A bright idea pops up in his mind. Pulling away, Hobie grips the steering wheel with both hands, arms length away from him. He screams bloody murder like he's about to hit a wall.

You jump away, yelling for a second before seeing the parking lot bare, van parked safely. You clutch your chest, eyes now wide awake. Slapping his arm, you glare at him. Hobie has a shit-eating grin on his face, arm raised to shield himself. His laugh echoes.

"You fucker!" Slap "I could've" slap "gotten a heart attack!" You huff with a pout.

"I'm sorry, c'mere" he tries to hug you, standing your ground, you cross your arms on your chest. "You wouldn't wake up! I'm sorry, please?" Hobie flexes his fingers, face apologetic.

"Are we here? Did I sleep the entire time?"

"No, lovey. We're at a stopover" he points outside with his head. "'m really sorry. If there's any consolation I think you'll like this place"

Your eyes zero in on the sign, reading it loudly, "Stratford Upon-Avon?!" Screeching excitedly. You click off your seat belt with urgency, with the intention of leaving Hobie hanging as revenge. You'll kiss him thank you later anyway.

Opening the door, you step off, stretching your legs and breathing in fresh air. Warmer air greets you, a much kinder one from a few hours ago. Trainers bouncing off in excitement. Greenery and old timey Houses fill your vision, adding to your eagerness.

Hobie joins your side, your sling bag over his broad shoulder. Hiding his disappointment from your lack of hug, he only blames himself for scaring the crap out of you.

"Y/n." The lack of the term of endearment alerts you, whirling around, you see his shoulders slumped, face clearly hiding his true feelings behind a straight face. You know he'll feel worse if you don't try to reassure him. So you do, hand signaling him to hold yours.

He blames the early morning for making him all lovesick, if it was the later hours, Hobie would've stuck to teasing you about your reaction. With a sigh and a weak roll of his eyes, he steps in your arms instead of just holding your hand, head resting on your shoulder, yawning as you knead his aching back; you indulge him.

Good thing it's still too early for tourists to flock the area, save for a few scattered ones looking for a place to have breakfast at.

"Apology accepted," leaning back, you straighten the knots on his forehead. "You need better coffee" you scrunch your nose at his closed eyes.

"Or sleep" he grumbles.

"Do you want to sleep for a bit inside the van?" You feel bad for sleeping the entire time. "I'll stay with you don't worry. I won't fall asleep this time."

He shakes his head, slapping his own face to wake himself up. Jumping up and down with you still in his arms. You don't question it, jumping along with him. Metal accessories clinking together, boots thumping hard on the pavement.

Spluttering, he shakes his head vigorously. You giggle at his face.

"Alright, 'm good. Let's go get coffee"

—

You lead a very sleep deprived Hobie by the sleeve of his hoodie, too warm for his leather one yet too cold for just a t-shirt. He lets you drag him along, not because he's disinterested, sleepiness just got the best of him.

Gasping, you point at a unique streetlight. Little statues of a donkey and a man sitting on the metal sides, a curious owl placed on top, looking down on the street.

"Look at that donkey with a guitar!"

Hobie squints through the haziness, "think that's a lute. Kinda looks like you." He still finds the time to tease you even with heavy eyes. A smirk playing on his lips, watching you closely.

"You're the owl then" you let go of his sleeve, taking the camera from your bag, positioning and angling it for the best lighting. He watches your face full of concentration with a faint endearing smile.

Click.

"Got it" you smile, spotting a stand full of maps and information about the place. "Oohh" skipping over the display, you take one. "Hobie, look! Babe?" You look up from the pamphlet when Hobie doesn't reply back.

He walks towards you at a snail's pace. Grunting back in acknowledgement.

You wince, practically feeling his tiredness ooze out of him. "Let's get that coffee. There's a café near here."

"Overpriced coffee" he could only mumble out a protest. While you guide him towards the shop for some much needed refuel. It's not like he has any other choices, all the coffee shops near the area are unnecessarily expensive, save for gas station coffee– which is too far to get to right now, he might fall asleep while driving to it.

Hobie can't let himself drive through the fog of sleep, especially that you're with him. So he surrenders with the promise of getting his pep back so he can drive you safely to the next destination.

—

After gulping down two cups of coffee that made Hobie seethe after hearing the price, he leaves you on the table to go to the loo, your eyes glued on the leaflet, absorbing every word and information on it.

Hobie makes his way back, now wide awake, he watches you put too much milk on your cup, too distracted with reading– it overflows, spilling the hot liquid on the table. He has never loved you more when you jump in your seat, quietly yelping, clumsily wiping at the table with a napkin. He shakes his head with a fond smile and soft eyes.

Hobie asks for more napkins from the cashier, promptly heading towards your table. He helps you wordlessly, wiping, avoiding spilling any more expensive tea.

"Sorry" you expect Hobie to chastise you for spilling your drink, instead, he looks at you with concern and fondness.

"You alright? Didn't spill any on you?"

You smile softly, thankful eyes staring back at him. "I'm okay, it's not that hot anyway"

"Sure?" He takes his tea stained finger on the tip of your nose, leaving a wet patch over it. Green tea wafts your nostrils. "There's some on you"

"Ack!" Wiping it with a clean tissue, you roll your eyes; faint smile telling him otherwise.

"That's how it is then?" He chuckles, satisfied with your reaction. He sits down next to you, drying his hands on a napkin. Arm instinctively flying around your shoulder, holding you close. "Where to go next?"

"Hmm?" You hum, drinking what's left of your tea, "I thought you had it planned?"

"I planned on stopping here, thought you got the next part since you've always wanted to go here, y'know planned the entire trip in your head before"

For a second he thinks that you're disappointed in him for not planning ahead. The thought stops the second you beam at him, hands on his shoulder to anchor yourself on him. lips puckering to kiss him on the cheek quickly since you're in public. Hobie doesn't protest, leaning towards the kiss, angling his face so that your lips just about graze the corner of his lip. You know exactly what he's doing, you let him, moving slyly closer to his lips.

"Oh, you know me so well!" You say excitedly, pulling away, shaking his shoulder for emphasis. "First stop! The river Avon!"

—

"The ferry's closed" you come back to his side with a frown. Gusts of cool air rushes past, rustling your jacket, the leaves on the trees whisper and rustle in the wind, big fluffy clouds providing shade. The river laps at the dock, adding to your downturned lips. "The employee also said Shakespeare's house and the other houses are closed since it's too early"

"We'll just have to come back on our way home then" your frown turns back into a smile, poking his sides teasingly.

"You'll take me back here?" You say with a smirk, playful eyes smile back at him, finger poking his waist. "Ohhh, you're so smitten"

He takes your poking finger with a roll of his eyes, hiding the growing smile on his lips with a scoff. "Yeah, yeah. Where to now, tour guide?"

"The butterfly farm is open early. Is that okay?"

"Why not?"

"We have to walk there, it's a bit of a trek" you shrug, "it's okay if we don't have time for it"

He calculates in his head, if you only stay an hour more, you two can be right back on schedule; just on time to get to Glasgow without being late for the show.

"We've got time to spare"

"You sure? I don't want us to be late" toe to toe with Hobie, finger still encased in his hand, you ask him anyway even though you know what his answer will be.

"Yes, let's go before people flock this place"

Hand in hand, you take in the sights, stopping from time to time to shoot pictures of the historical houses and buildings. Hobie becomes your model, posing like a natural in front of the lens. He wrangles the camera from you to take your picture right in front of Shakespeare's home and school. Shyness slowly edging away for a while as Hobie hypes you up. Instructing you to pose here and there.

You ran out of film before reaching the butterfly garden, stopping right in front of the royal Shakespeare theatre. The red bricks and dome like structure looms overhead.

"Aww, I think we used it all"

"'ve got more" he takes an extra roll of film from his pocket. You stare at him like he just did magic right in front of your eyes.

"Where'd you get this?" You say, bewildered.

"Brought it with me" he says nonchalantly like he didn't do the sweetest thing just for you.

"Have I told you lately that you're really amazing?" You load film inside the camera, quickly snapping a picture of his smug face.

"No, maybe you should say it often"

So enamored, chest filled with love, you agree. "Mm-hmm, maybe I should. Now, can you stand right there while I take a picture of your amazing face"

—

You finally make it to the butterfly garden. An arch with a large colourful butterfly display greets you. Inside is a beautiful glass greenhouse with a dome ceiling, it shines brightly in the early morning sun, adding to your excitement.

Once paid for the tickets, you and Hobie head inside, you're practically jumping off the glass walls. Hobie's hand leads you inside, preventing you from sliding on the gravel and breaking your ankle on the rough ground.

You're in complete awe of the place, it looked beautiful outside but nothing compares to it once inside. The sun glows brilliantly, bouncing its rays on the glass ceiling and walls. Flora and greenery as far as your eyes could see, strategically placed around the massive greenhouse. The flowery and sweet smells entranced you to explore the entire place, not to mention the colorful butterflies in all shapes and sizes fluttering all around you. Birds make their morning sing-song adding to the fantastical atmosphere.

The look on your face makes waking up a few hours earlier than scheduled makes it all worth it for Hobie. He softly smiles at you, hands clasped comfortably over yours. Eyes sparkling, mirroring yours, he guides you further inside. You let him, neck craned up, watching as butterflies swirl overhead.

Gravel crunches under your footsteps, Hobie stops walking. You almost bumped into him, he tugs at your hand, pointing down on the shrubbery.

"What is that?" You squint, jumping when something green slithers further away from you two and into the thick greenery. "Woah!"

He chuckles at your reaction. You fumble for your camera to capture a photo of the iguana lounging in the warmth, scales as green as the leaves around it.

Click.

"Look, it's you!" You point at its sharp spikes, looking at Hobie with a teasing smile.

"Careful, he bites" he taunts back, making you retract your finger back.

Strolling around more, you take so many pictures, the film Hobie gave you is almost full. You've even snuck in candid pictures of Hobie, and by god, he looked great in all of them. While all your pictures looked like you were at a field trip with your parents, posing with a goofy smile on your face as a butterfly lands on your shoulder.

It's been almost an hour of exploring, so you hold his hand again to tug him towards the exit with a promise of going back, without a time constraint next time.

Crisp air greets you two, hand in hand, you walk by the river, watching as ducks and swans swim on the surface. Their quacking and honking gets louder and louder as they notice you, asking for food.

"Maybe we should've brought rice with us" You mumble, looking at the birds with an apologetic look as if they can understand you.

"Do you think if you fall in they'll eat you?" Hobie asks with a serious look on his face, a small smirk curling on his lips, the only indication that he's fully joking.

"I don't think they'll like me very much, I'm full of bread, which isn't nutritious for 'em" you playfully quipped back, squeezing his hand. He chuckles at your comment.

Hobie slyly moves you away from the river, just in case you actually fall in. He guides you to his right, so that he's the one nearest to the water instead of you. Hand holding your left one, you lean to his side, full of affection in your chest, you softly kiss his shoulder. Whispering softly a 'thank you'

—

You've been quiet for an hour, Hobie side eyes you from time to time. The sudden silence makes him concerned, moreso when your face has contorted into a grimace, eyebrows furrowed, you bite your lips with a sharp inhale.

He's worried since you've been extremely chatty an hour ago, voice filling the van, you help him stay awake. Well until he hit a speed bump that made you squeak out.

"You alright, lovey?" Hobie asks with a squeeze of your thigh.

You sit with a fluffy blanket over your lap, a neck pillow under your head. You look comfortable enough, so why do you look like you're in pain?

You exhale, looking at him through the corners of your eyes without moving your neck. "Mm-hmm"

"Mm-hmm? What's wrong? Is the seat not warm enough?" Hobie looks at you through the rearview mirror, seeing your knitted eyebrows.

You ball the blanket under your knuckles. "I'm okay"

He nods, unconvinced.

After a few moments of smooth driving on the highway, cars drive past, you squeeze your thighs together. Controlling your breathing, you try not to think of water.

"Love" he calls for you, "did you see that car with the flame decals on it?" Chuckling softly, he places his hand over your thigh again. Hobie feels the tight muscles under your pants, eyebrow raising in question.

"Y/n" he snickers under his breath. Hands kneading softly at your thigh. Hobie translates the squeezing of your thighs together and your elevated breathing, "I swear if you're hot and bothered, I can't park right here–"

"I need to pee" you say embarrassed, avoiding his eyes. Only finally admitting it so he doesn't actually think you're aroused for some reason.

Hobie laughs loudly, hand slapping the steering wheel. "I told you to go before we left"

"Hobie," you whine. "Not funny, I've been holding it for so long"

"Alright," he clams up, still smiling at your predicament. "There's no gas station near here, love. We're too far away to turn around but we're thirty minutes away from Manchester. We can stop there"

"Thirty?!" You're in agony, hands tucked in between your legs in an attempt to tamp down the need to go.

Hobie moves his hand from your thigh to the back of your neck, kneading softly. He presses the gas, if he hurries you can make it in twenty five without breaking any traffic laws. He makes a joke about you peeing in a bottle which you only glared in return.

Twenty minutes later, you're folded in half on your seat, head layed on your lap, trying to distract yourself by counting the threads in your blanket.

"Almost there, love. Hold on" Hobie pats your head in reassurance. You groan out a reply.

—

You jumped from your seat after a second of Hobie parking the car in front of a gas station. Hand tightening around your travel sized toilet paper.

Hobie patiently waits for you outside the door. Fingers fiddling with his web shooters tucked under his sleeve.

The door creaks open. His neck cranes up to meet your relieved face. "Success?"

"Remind me to not drink anything until we make it to Glasgow."

"You still need to drink some water y'know" he walks back to the car with your pinkies linked together.

"Are we still far?"

"A bit, let's stop by Liverpool to eat lunch" he opens the passenger door for you. You smile sweetly at the gesture.

"Thank you, sorry for being annoying" You hug his waist with one arm briefly just before you hop to your seat.

"Not annoying, tell me next time, yeah?"

"Okay" you lean down to press a kiss on his lips, savoring the moment. He hums into it, his hand right over your shoulder so that you don't fall off.

—

As the van passes through Manchester, you spot the canals, houseboats parked on the side, you get reminded of your shared home.

"Look! That one looks like ours, same color too"

"Missing home already?"

"Kind of. Wish we could stop here, they've got the oldest library in Britain" You lay your head over the window, watching as landmarks pass by in a blur.

"They also have a serial killer too"

You scoff, "in this day and age?" Looking at Hobie's face, you don't see any lie to his comment. Your face falls, "wait, you serious?"

He shrugs, side eyeing you. You have absolutely no idea if he's joking or not, Hobie's good at acting like that, especially if he's teasing you.

"Hobie, you're joking right?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there actually a killer on the loose here?" You instinctively check the door locks.

He doesn't respond, adding to your fear. You completely miss the mischievous look on his face though.

"I don't want to stop here anymore" you mumble.

"We could always take a detour right now–"

"Nope, no thank you" you answer lightning quick.

He hides his smile behind his hand. Maybe he'll tell you all about it on the return trip.

—

An hour later you're sitting down outside a local restaurant in Chinatown, waiting for your food to arrive. The air blows softly, fluttering your lashes. You close your eyes, head resting on your hand, elbow over the table. You can see the faint outline of the Liverpool cathedral underneath the fog. It's gotten a few degrees colder since you've arrived, the streets shine from the earlier rain, petrichor wafts your senses.

Two bowls of warm noodles are placed in front of you. Side dishes, dimsum and xiaolongbao makes your stomach rumble at the sight and savory smell.

"Thank you," you smile at the waiter.

Wondering where Hobie went, lo and behold, he emerges, walking towards you with a paper cup of convenience store coffee. "Food is here, you still need coffee?"

He sits down across from you. "Yeah, needed another boost" Hobie scrunches his nose before standing up again, moving his chair right next to you, avoiding it from scraping the concrete. He sits back down, arm thrown over the back of your chair.

You look at him with a fond smile, heart eyes staring back at Hobie.

"What?" He challenges you with a raised eyebrow and faint smirk.

"Nothin'" you shove him lightly with your shoulder.

"Hm" he hums, you translate it to an 'obviously'

You eat with content, letting him steal some of your broth from your bowl, in exchange, he gives you a dimsum from his share.

—

You do your best at reading the booklet about Liverpool that you've bought before leaving the city while the vehicle moves.

"The guy who designed the cathedral is the same person who designed the red telephone box"

Hobie listens intently with coffee coursing through his veins, stomach full of food, he's properly fueled to drive for more than four hours to Glasgow. His band mates better be there already when you two arrive or he'll wring their necks.

There won't be any more stops until you get to the destination since there'll only be the highway to drive on. It stretches far, cars whirring past. With Sprawling green hills, and mountains curved around the highway makes the drive much more serene. Powerlines on the sides ground you, making it all seem familiar. The weather is foggy, blanketing the England to Scotland border.

The van rattles as Hobie swerves the car to the right. He plants his hand back in your knee, palm circling the curve of it affectionately.

"Ohh, they've got a beach" you stare at the picture of the nature reserve with its sandy windswept dunes, and grassy knolls.

"Add that to the list"

"Okay" you take out a pen from the glovebox, biting the cap off with your teeth, you scribble it on the back of the booklet where there's an empty space. Using your thighs as a table, you add the destination on your little list right under 'old thatch tavern'

"There," you hum happily.

"Is there anything on there 'bout Glasgow?" He kneads your knee with his knuckle.

"A tiny bit" you flip to the back, "they've got a mural trail, we might pass through it on the way. Ooh they also have a glasshouse."

You two pass the time by giving him facts about the places you've passed. Hobie listens in, adding his own knowledge to the mix. An hour later, you're both jamming to his music cassette. You try to make him laugh by banging your head to the song. Whipping your head too hard, you end up banging it on the dashboard.

With wide eyes and laughter threatening to spill out, Hobie comforts you with his palm over your forehead.

You two chat about with you feeding him crisps in between, exchanging stories and playing 'I spy' Hobie ends up winning with his enhanced vision, you challenge him again with a huff. He still wins the second and third round. His prize? Hobie tells you he's gonna hold onto it until you reach Glasgow.

At hour three, the car makes a metal groaning sound in the middle of the highway, you and Hobie looked at each other in fear for a second, silent and waiting for the van to keel over. You both sigh in relief after a few good minutes of silence with the car still running smoothly. Good thing it did because you have no idea how you'll make it to Glasgow if it did decide to just die in the middle of the road.

Before you know it, Hobie parks the van near the venue. Clicking off his seatbelt while you stretch in your seat. Hobie leans towards you, elbow right over the center console, he helps you with your seatbelt before promptly moving his hand to your cheek to face him.

"Can I help you?" You giggle, pecking the tip of his nose. "Are you claiming your prize?"

"This isn't my prize, lovey." He softly says against your lips. "That'll wait for later"

"Okay," you feel like your cheeks are on fire.

"This is my thanks" He meets your waiting lips, moving with yours. Cupping his jaw, thumb rubbing his cheeks, you breathe through your nose so the kiss would last longer yet it still leaves you breathless. You feel his hand around your nape, deepening the kiss further.

Hobie pulls away, seeing your pupils completely dilated, chest heaving for air.

"Thanks for what?" You ask breathlessly.

"Comin' with me" with his finger, he wipes the sheen off your lips, it stays there for a second, savoring, longing. For everything.

"You could've asked me to go anywhere and I still would've gone. As long as it's with you."

He answers with another kiss, laced with so much love and thankfulness, you feel it all through it.

A sudden knock has you pulling away, Hobie clicks his tongue at the intrusion. Turning around, he spots his bandmates whistling and wiggling their eyebrows. One was making a gesture that made you hide your face.

"You fuckin' wankers!" Hobie opens the door, slamming it on his friends' faces, they scatter, hooting and hollering, taunting him.

You watch as Hobie play fights with them, arm choking his bass player. With a lopsided smile on your face, excitement bubbles in your chest, the return trip and his promise makes you excited more than anything.

A/N: this fic is long overdue that we're at 700 already! Thank you all so much for reading and interacting with my little stories! Love all 700 of you ❤️

[sludge-saturday]

crossing the line we walk

pairing: arthur morgan x charles smith (charthur)

summary: arthur morgan is a simple man with simple needs. he doesn't see himself fit for doing much else than the dirty work of others - and he likes it that way. though used to working alone, he will accept working with other gang members when dutch deems it fitting. this includes the help of the group's newest addition, charles, who has caught arthur's eye since the day he joined. but why? was this admiration? respect? ...attraction?

whatever it was, arthur is confident he can take care of it on his own. we'll see how long that lasts.

tags: nsfw, +18 (MDNI), flirting, yearning, secret hard-on, confessions, fervent kissing, heavy petting, frotting/dry humping, spit as lube, mutual handjob, mutual orgasm, cum eating, slight angst

warnings: brief mentioning of murder/robbery, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, arthur's typical self-hatred, bar fight ensues, brief mention of homophobia, internalized homophobia, possible ooc

word count: ~7k

a/n: hoooowheee this is a long one! first time writing for them AND my first time writing a fic this long, i hope you enjoy! i tried to make it seem more official and professional by actually using capitalization so if it seems out of place from my usual stuff that's why! i also know some parts could have been elaborated upon more and seem a little rushed but this thing is so long already i didn't want to be boring lol. i love my gay cowboys so much these two are so special to me, as always feedback is encouraged!! hope you enjoy love you <3

A “plan.” That’s what Dutch van der Linde always had. No elaboration, no questions asked. And he expected his disciples to follow along. So, for the past week, Arthur and Charles have been tirelessly working towards carrying out his orders as they were always sent to do. They performed stake-outs, planned hits, and executed their take-downs—whatever it took to adhere to their leader's will—all while staying hidden and keeping a low profile. Far away from the rest of the gang and from their home, they couldn’t screw this one up. And come the day of the big hit, they had everything scheduled to a tee. Where they needed to be, who they needed to meet, how it all had to happen was rehearsed and memorized by the two of them on the days leading up to it. The stakes couldn't have been higher, but they trusted each other. They knew each other's capabilities and were confident they would succeed.

With a few distractions, stealth kills (much to Charles’s disapproval), and a bit of thievery and shootouts here and there, Arthur and Charles would walk away from this mission with bruised bodies and bundles of cash. Dutch would be pleased, which is all that really mattered. He gets what he wants, and today was no exception. The ride back to their camp was quiet, a comfortable silence as they both decompressed after the dust had settled. Arthur rolls his shoulder and winces, a reminder of how close they were to defeat today. The sunset was nothing short of beautiful as it cast long shadows across their path, the hoofbeats of Boadicea and Taima being the only sound breaking the quiet. Arriving at their camp which was carefully tucked away beneath the thick boughs of forest, they made sure that they left no trace behind. The smell of pine and dirt clung to their noses as they packed up, saying goodbye to the small sense of safety this area had to offer. Charles turns to Arthur with a quirked corner of his mouth as he stows his belongings on Taima.

"Want to celebrate over a drink or two?" he pulls out a map from a satchel, studying their whereabouts. "The town nearby is sure to have a bar, only about ten minutes from here."

Arthur smiles softly. "You read my mind. C'mon, now. Let's get going so we can get the goods back to camp soon as we can." 

The two mount their horses as he finishes speaking, taking one last look at where they stayed to make sure nothing looks suspicious. Satisfied with their clean-up job, Arthur nods and the two of them take off. The shimmer of the fireflies around them become ambiguous specks in the evening dim as the men leave the forest edge. They traveled along the roadside packed dirt that crunched under the hooves of the horses, who occasionally would spook at the barking and howling of coyotes.

The repetitive nature of watching their surroundings passing by prompts Arthur to become lost in thought. The donations in the van der Linde gang’s collection box were slim to none, and time was running out to do something about it. Skipped dinners and under-equipped operations could only last so long before things took a turn for the worse. And he wondered just what Dutch was going to do about it. He always spoke highly about their future as a group, but Arthur—and the rest of the gang—still has yet to see those claims come to fruition. He would never, ever question Dutch or falter in his loyalty, though, so he lets this thought float away in the wind blowing past him. Instead, he watches Charles’s form as he steers Taima from right to left on this winding path they tread. With eyes glued to his broad shoulders, his thick black hair hanging freely, and his hips moving smoothly with the horse, Arthur's heart flutters the same way it did when the pair first met. 

But if Charles ever knew about his secret infatuation… it would be over for them. Images of his betrayed face and a future of nothing but distance between the two flashed through his mind. He knew he could never bring it up, so he needed to be careful. Careful about his lingering gaze in camp, careful about the confessions in his journal, and careful about the heaving sighs and quiet gasps coming from his tent when everyone else is asleep and Arthur can't stop thinking about him. He struggled to fight off a feeling of hopelessness that settled into his chest and tightened his grip on the reins. Could he really keep this a secret forever? 

Shaken from his thoughts, Arthur could see the small town come into view, alight with the glow of oil lamps and the bustle of nightlife. The moonlight casts white highlights on the picturesque scene of orange, yellow, brown, and black. They slowed their pace as they approached the town, scanning the buildings for any sign of a bar. Their eyes landed on one in the middle of town with "SALOON" painted in a giant white font across the front. Hitching their horses at the designated spot in front and feeding them in appreciation for their hard work, the two make their way to the front doors and swing them open.

The first second of entering the saloon is a blur of light and noise. The pianist in the corner’s lively tune struggles to compete with the dozens of overlapping conversations. Angry fists bang on tables as they face an unlucky round of poker and drunken bursts of laughter popcorn throughout the room, which was near-full. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the yeasty tang of spilled beer. The floors creaked probably a little more than they were supposed to as Arthur’s gaze brushes past a few wanted posters. Luckily, no one he recognizes has their face plastered on the frayed yellow paper. He hears snippets of different conversations, some chatter about rival gangs here and rumors of undercover Pinkerton agents there. Walking up to the bar Arthur slaps two coins onto the counter, worn with dried rings of ale and knife gouges. Stories from past patrons. 

“Two mugs,” he says lowly. 

Charles shoots him a look and goes to replace one of the coins with one of his own when his hand is shooed away. "Easy. 's on me tonight."

Before Charles can respond, the barkeep has already taken the two coins and is beginning to pour them both a pint of beer. He slides the mugs towards the men and they grab their respective handles. Arthur raises his glass. 

"To a job well done. Ya did good work out there t'day." Arthur gestures with it, tilting the mug towards Charles slightly. 

Charles smiles and it's genuine. Warm and thankful. "You did too, Arthur."

The two smack their glasses on the bar before tilting their heads back and taking a large gulp. Arthur sucks his teeth and exhales on the swallow. "Strong stuff!" 

Charles hums in acknowledgement and chuckles. "The taste is good, though. Malty and dark."

Arthur watches Charles's eyes close as he savors the flavor and thinks that he has never looked more handsome than in this moment. His pulse quickens when he studies Charles’s face. The warm lamplight of the saloon casts beautiful shadows across his nose, cheeks, and lips. He looks content, relaxed. It’s a refreshing deviance from his usual weathered and stoic appearance. The two sip from their mugs again.

Scanning the crowd Arthur wonders how many of these people are regulars. “These folks, blowin’ their coin on drinks and cards… how d'ya think they do it?”

Charles sighs. “Out of desperation. They’re tryin’ to forget.”

“Forget about what?”

“That they’re not goin’ anywhere.”

Arthur pauses for a second. “Reckon you’re probably right.”

Charles has now joined Arthur in watching the sea of people. “See that woman at the poker table?” He covertly points in her direction. 

“Yeah.”

“She’s better than the whole lot of ‘em.”

“Really? Wasn’t payin’ attention.”

“You should have been. She’s sharper than most men.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Arthur raises his glass once more. “Reckon the world would be a whole lot better if we quit underestimatin’ folks.”

Looking down at his now empty mug, Arthur palms another two coins to the barkeep as a silent request for a refill. He’s buzzing, sure, but he’s looking for just a little more. “Make two whiskeys,” he notifies the man behind the counter with the wave of his hand. Within seconds, two glasses are pushed their way and Arthur wastes no time in letting his curiosity get the best of him. But not before their fingers brush each other as they reach for their glasses. Arthur hesitates for a brief moment and, unbeknownst to him, Charles notices. They sip from their glasses quietly and refuse to acknowledge it.

Arthur tries to break the ice. “Y’know, you’re good at this—blendin’ in. Not everyone can do that without landin’ themselves in some kinda trouble.”

“You’re makin’ it sound like a compliment.”

“Maybe it is,” Arthur says quietly. He turns to face behind the bar and takes another swig. He notices that Charles smiles more when he’s drunk. It's a refreshing deviance from his usual weathered and stoic demeanor.

His thoughts are paused when the screeching of chair legs and abrupt shouting clamors behind the two. By the time they turned around, two of the men who were sitting at the poker table were now throwing punches at one another and spitting obscenities in each other’s faces. Within seconds, the saloon becomes a flurry of pandemonium. People either joined in on the fight, stood and watched, or hurried out the door. Tables crashed and chairs were thrown as Arthur and Charles exchanged a shared look that read: we need to get out of here. The only problem was that in order to get out of the trouble they needed to go through it. 

They decided their best bet would be to stay on the outskirts of the calamity. If they didn’t initiate they wouldn’t get involved, right? That was the assumption as they quickly walked along one of the saloon walls. Charles led the way and the procedure was going smoothly until one of the inebriated brawlers lunged towards him. Without thinking, Arthur moves to shield Charles from his assailant and pushes the man away with brute force. “Don’t even think about it, partner!” He growls. The man falls into a table that managed to stay upright, shouting at the two who are now jogging out of the completely upturned saloon. The doors fly open as Arthur and Charles mount their disgruntled horses as fast as they can. 

“Hyah!” Arthur urgently knicks Boadicea with his stirrups. He can’t help but think about what they would have done to Charles had they gotten their hands on him. His stomach coiled at the thought. The bluster from the saloon fades into the background as Charles follows Arthur to the nearby post office, which was a safe enough distance from the town. Adrenaline is still surging through Arthur’s body when he hops off his horse, still panting. Charles does the same. 

“You’re damn lucky that didn’t go worse. Try explainin’ that one to Dutch.”

One of Charles’s eyebrows raises in amusement. “You worried about me?”

Arthur mutters under his breath as he looks back in the town's direction. “Someone’s gotta keep you in one piece.”

He paws at his pockets in search of his cigarettes. He needed to distract himself and singe the hell out of these hidden feelings until they finally left him alone. Finally, his fingers settled on the box of cigarettes he kept inside his jacket and he pulled it out, selecting one from the bunch. 

"Want one?"

"No, thank you," Charles waves a hand toward Arthur and he nods in understanding. 

Reaching into the pocket where he usually keeps his matches, Arthur's hand comes up empty and he sighs. 

"Dammit..."

"What's wrong?" he hears from beside him.

Turning towards the other man with just a hint of bashfulness, Arthur's eyebrows raise when he sees that Charles’s hand is already holding a match. 

"Need a light?"

He exhales in relief. "I owe ya." 

Arthur goes to reach for the match but Charles moves his hand away, almost teasingly. 

"Let me." 

The smile playing on his lips is something Arthur can't make sense of. It seemed playful, frisky, maybe even seductive. Like he knew what he was doing. But surely it had to be the drink talking. Surely Arthur was reading way too far into things, like he always did. Surely there was no way Charles was trying to do what Arthur thinks he’s doing. 

He strikes the match against the bottom of his boot and the flame flickers to life. Stepping toward Arthur, Charles holds the open flame up to the cigarette hanging off of his lips. He cups the side of the flame to shield it from the wind and Arthur cannot take his eyes off of him. The flame in between their faces, their proximity to each other, the subtle display of dominance, it was almost too much for him to bear. He has never been this intimate with another man before, let alone with Charles . For a split second, he was frozen in place and all he could do was stare. Luckily Charles was looking at the end of the cigarette—making sure his aim was right—briefly oblivious of Arthur's awe-stricken face. That is, until Charles's eyes met his.

Arthur's heart was in his throat as he sucks in, aiding the lighting of the cigarette. 

“There you go.” Charles shakes out the match.

Taking the cigarette between his thumb and pointer finger and pulling it from his mouth, Arthur exhales the smoke with the slightest shake in his breath. He wipes his brow with the back of his hand and Charles chuckles.

“What’s the matter, Arthur? Can’t handle a little closeness?”

He shakes his head. "We better get a move-on. We'll ride 'til we can't then find a place to sleep for the night." 

Charles nods, already mounting his horse. "Let's go, then."

As they ride along the pathways leading them back to the rest of the gang at camp, Arthur cannot shake the image of Charles lighting his cigarette from his mind. His half lidded eyes, his drunken smile, strands of hair falling in his face… he looked so, so handsome. Not only that, but he looked like he was doing it intentionally . And Arthur had absolutely no idea what to do with that information. Was this a subtle hint at something more than what they currently had? No, no. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t get his hopes up like that.

Arthur knew how people felt about men like him. He’d seen the way they were treated and heard the words that were spat at them: weak, dirty, shameful. And who was he to disagree? For all he knew they were probably right. How could someone like him feel something like this? It’s not right—it's not safe. For either of them. But when Arthur looks at him, laughs with him, it’s as if he finally understands what makes his being here worthwhile. What being alive means. It’s unlike anything Arthur has ever felt before. But if Charles ever found out, Arthur would be risking the loss of the most important person in his life right now. He didn't want to have to hide this forever, but he was preparing for that reality. Remaining hopeful could be the death of him, but so would denial. So hopeful he would remain. Hopeful that Charles felt it too. Whatever it was.

It was easy for Arthur to get inside his own head while traveling on horseback. The sound of the hooves on the ground and the wind in his ears served as white noise, making it way too easy for him to zone out. And when they rode like this for hours on end with little conversation, the circumstances couldn't be more perfect to start ruminating. To start wallowing.

The hours came and went as the pair continued their trek until the moon was high in the sky, the only thing illuminating their path. It almost felt oppressive, urging Arthur to spill everything. The weather was comfortable, late July offering the occasional breeze amidst the humid air. It hung heavy, almost as much as the tension between them when Charles slowed his horse. 

“We should stop for the night. We’re close, but we need to stay sharp when we’re riding with all this loot."

Drowsiness settles into Arthur’s bones. He couldn't tell if the drink was starting to make him sleepy or if the day's events were finally catching up to him. Either way, Charles was right.

"Yeah," he mumbles, scanning a nearby wood. "Let's find somewhere to set up." 

He leads the way through the brush and the forest is alive with sounds of the night. Crickets chirped and leaves rustled, overlaid with the muffled clopping of their horses as they trod over the occasional patch of moss. Arthur thinks of Dutch again. Even when the two of them are this far away from the eyes that pry, he can’t get rid of the feeling that nowhere will ever be truly safe for people like him. Like the chances he and Charles have to be with one another grow slimmer and slimmer as Dutch’s plans grow riskier and riskier. He wonders if the freedoms that come with being in this gang are costing him his own. His thoughts tangled like the canopy above them.

"Good here?" he calls back to Charles.

Charles’s feet land to the ground with a gentle thud . “Perfect.”

The two of them hitch their horses and begin unloading their belongings: their bedrolls, their tents, and their earnings today which they kept hidden. The forest was dense here—its twisting branches and impenetrable lines of shrubbery making it the perfect location to occupy. Charles, ever the pragmatist, pulls out a knife and begins stripping a tree of some of its bark. While he does this Arthur looks for twigs and low-hanging branches to pull off. The jagged wood is no match for his calloused hands, hardened from years upon years of dirty work. Together the two of them build a cone-shaped construction of everything they’ve gathered and Charles takes out his set of matches. Arthur sharply inhaled a microscopic breath as everything about that moment at the post office comes back in an overwhelm of warmth. In his face, his neck, his chest, and, most unfortunately, his groin.

He panics. He cannot let Charles see this, can't let Charles know how much he is getting to him. The fabric around his crotch feels tighter and tighter as he sits down on his bedroll and takes off his hat. Maybe the change of position will act in his favor. Charles doesn't seem to notice as he lights the match with a spare piece of bark, striking it on the bottom of his boot just as he did before. If Arthur couldn't feel any more flustered, this is what pushed him over the edge. God, he was so enchanting. Charles doesn't seem to notice Arthur’s lingering gaze and with some maneuvering of the bark and a little bit of hope, the fire eventually becomes well lit.

“Should last through the night.” Charles takes a seat next to Arthur on his own bedroll and the two stare into the fire in silence. Arthur doesn't know what to say. He can't move, obviously, but Charles is the first to speak. 

"I've been thinking about what you said, Arthur. “About how you're proud of me 'n everything." O h god . Here it comes . He prepared for the worst. For Charles to question his sudden displays of affection, for him to see right through his façade, for him to understand Arthur for who he really was, disgusted and revolted. Charles turns toward Arthur, eyes cast down towards the ground. 

"I'm proud of you, too." He lifts his head and meets Arthur's gaze. 

As soon as he does Arthur looks away and involuntarily shakes his head, not conditioned to receive this kind of compliment. Or any compliment, for that matter. 

"You don't gotta say that, Charles. Ain't nothing’ I've done’s worth bein’ proud of."

"I disagree." 

Charles is leaning back on one of his hands, his whole body oriented to face Arthur. Now he has the man's attention. Arthur looks at him, unable to tear his eyes away from how tantalizing Charles looks in front of him right now. His normally buttoned-up-to-the-collar shirt is unbuttoned halfway, exposing just enough chest to get Arthur feeling even hotter under the collar. The moonlight reflects in his eyes and they shine brighter than anything this universe could offer. His face is sincere, with a twinge of admiration. 

"You've got a lot to be proud of, anyway."

Arthur sighs. How is he supposed to respond? All his life he has done nothing but steal, lie, cheat, and kill. And where has it gotten him? Sure, he had a place to sleep, food to eat, and a bit of money to spend, but at what cost? 

"I'm not a good man, Charles. There's plenty of things I wish I hadn't done."

"But you're not a bad one either." 

Charles scooches closer to him, closing even more distance between the two. Arthur stares at the fire, afraid that he won't be able to stop himself from confessing if Charles comes any closer.

"No one is perfect. No one is immune to making mistakes and realizing that it's okay to make them is part of being human. I know what you've done. I've seen what you're capable of." 

Arthur shrugs as if trying to shake off Charles's words. Getting this personal makes him more uncomfortable than he'd like to admit. It was like an involuntary aversion to expressing emotions. When it came to Charles, though, he craved it. He needed it like he needed air.

"But what you're capable of isn't all of who you are." Charles's voice is gentle, the soft crackle of the fire accentuating his speech. An owl hoots in the distance and Arthur can do nothing more than keep staring into the fire. 

"You take care of those you care about, even if you know it or not. You're loyal. Your wit is quick. You're as protective as they get and you're a hell of a shot." Charles lifts a hand in emphasis and Arthur turns to look at him. “You’ve got this grit, this air of determination that makes it hard not to watch you at work. With endurance as impressive as yours, it’s no wonder you’re this tough.” 

Arthur decided enough was enough. He needed to know Charles's intentions, if there were even any to begin with. 

"Why’re you telling me this?"

Charles sighs and, for the first time tonight, seems hesitant to speak. 

"Because..." 

Arthur waits with bated breath.

"Because you're different. I've met a lot of people in my life, good and bad, and I've never met one like you. At all. I don't feel that way about just anyone." Charles shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this. must be the drink talkin'." He turns his body back to face toward the fire and yawns. "I can’t stay awake for much longer anyway.." 

Charles moves to lay down on his bedroll and Arthur contemplates. It's now or never . This really could make or break them, but he just couldn't wait anymore. Months and months of this longing and no action meant he needed to grab the bull by the horns and accept whatever consequence may come of it. The knot in his stomach felt like dead weight as he prepared to speak.

"Charles-" his voice wavers.

He is attentive, ready to listen.. 

"I... thank you. I can't remember the last time someone talked to me like that. Feels different." Arthur gives him a half smile. 

"Don't worry 'bout it." Charles is the first to break the silence and leans on his palm, this time towards Arthur. 

"You mean a lot to me, Arthur. Whatever happens in the future, 'm never gonna forget you."

Arthur feels like he could cry. "Me neither." 

He says it quietly, scared that if he said it louder it could mean more than it already does. Heart in his throat, his gaze retreats back to the fireplace. 

"C'mere," Charles reaches out an arm to pull Arthur into an embrace. Arthur accepts the invitation and hugs back with a single arm, patting him on the back.

The pair stay like that for a second before pulling away, but Charles doesn’t release Arthur fully so that their heads are but inches from each other. They lock eyes and scan each other's faces for any hint of this being territory best left uncharted. Neither of them retreat. Arthur is frozen solid, sure that he already fell asleep and was dreaming at this point. He blinks in disbelief. Charles brings the hand that was on Arthur's back up to the side of his neck. His touch is gentle, unsure. His eyes flutter shut and he quickly leans in, pressing his lips against Arthur's.

Arthur's brain short-circuits. This wasn't happening. No, it couldn't be happening. What should he do? How should he react? He can't let Charles know how much he wanted this. How willing he was to accept this. Almost instinctively, he grabs a fistful of Charles's shirt and pushes him away before the kiss lasts too long. His eyes are wide and confused. Charles pulls back with a concerned expression, looking worried that he stepped too far.

"I'm sorry-"

Arthur is practically panting at this point. He feels wild and alive, unable to resist this temptation. but he still contemplates. What will come of this? Will this change the way they see each other for good? How are they going to keep this under wraps at camp, if things don't fall apart first? His thoughts are moving a mile a minute but he can't find it in himself to focus on anything except how Charles's lips felt against his. He needs another taste.

Arthur surges forward, overtaken by something stronger than he'll ever be. He pulls Charles towards him by the shirt his fist is still clenching and locks lips with him again. He was set on a mission of a new kind now. He needed this. He needed Charles . Arthur's other hand pulls him even closer by the waist, clutching the man like he was afraid he would wake up from this dream if he let go.

Charles does not hesitate to return Arthur's kiss and touch, one hand still resting on the side of his neck while the other grips his shoulder just as tightly. Their lips move together quickly and urgently as if every parting of them could have been the last. Taking initiative, Arthur moves on top of Charles and straddles him with his legs. Charles moves to lean back onto his elbows and the feverish kissing never ceases even with all of the movement. One of his legs is still propped up, though, and during the maneuver his knee brushes against Arthur's crotch.

It's at this point that Arthur does something that he is almost certain he has never done in front of another man before. Through parted lips, he moans into Charles's mouth. Sounding more adjacent to a groan mixed with a sigh, his knuckles tighten and he grinds onto Charles's thigh experimentally, just a little bit. Charles pulls away and grabs Arthur by the waist, pausing their interaction. Arthur feels another anxious pang in his stomach. Was he being too much? Was he taking things too fast? Is this not where Charles wanted this to go?

His nerves are soothed when he feels Charles lay down with one leg propped up and begins to move his hips for him up and down his thigh. "There you go, Arthur. 'S okay." He mumbles. Arthur's hair hangs in front of his face and he huffs in pleasure as he rubs his aching hard-on against Charles's leg. Any remnants of disbelief that this was what they both wanted have dissipated. This is real .

Arthur leans down to kiss Charles once more and he's so far gone that he doesn't give second thought to swiping his lips with the tip of his tongue. Now, it's the other man's turn to moan. It's low and rumbly, a grunt of pleasure. He brings his hands up to thread his fingers through the hair at Arthur's nape and he tugs slightly. Arthur moans, fully moans this time and shuts his eyes at the sensation. He rubs his cock against Charles's leg with more purpose now, desperate for something other than this fabric-covered friction. Hearing the other man’s noises was only fuel for the fire.

Charles takes note of this, sitting back up and lightly pushing Arthur back so that he's sitting on his ankles. He smooths a hand from Arthur's pectoral to his shoulder and rubs in that motion for a second while his eyes are directed elsewhere. Specifically, at Arthur's crotch. The print of his hardened cock stood out against his pants and Arthur swore he could have seen Charles's tongue wet his lower lip as he studied his lower half. The hand rubbing Arthur's chest moves down to the side of his waist and slides onto the top of his thigh to rub in circles again.

Arthur sighs and peers shyly at Charles, afraid to make another move. He never expected it to go this far, but he wasn't complaining. Just painfully hesitant. Charles looks back at him and flicks his eyes downward to Arthur's erection. 

"You're really somethin’, you know that?" a smile threatens to play on his lips. 

Arthur moves to close his legs. “Ah, I’m sorry Charles, I didn’t mean to-"

“Shh, let me help. It’s okay.” 

Butterflies swarm in Arthur’s stomach and a wave of heat pools into his cock. They really were about to do this. He slowly spreads his legs again. There was no backing down now. His breath shudders silently as he unclasps his belt buckle, unloops it, and unbuttons his pants. He reaches his hand beneath the fabric and palms himself, groaning at the feeling of his cock finally being touched. Charles hums in approval when Arthur unbuttons the bottom buttons of his union suit and finally frees his length. It springs up and presses against Arthur’s abdomen. 

“May I?” Charles asks, ever the gentleman. “...please?”

Arthur feels as though he could cum on the spot. Here before him was the man whose touch he has longed for for months on end, begging to put his hands on his cock. How could he refuse?

“Yes, yes. Please.” Arthur’s tone is teetering on one of pure desperation. He couldn’t wait any longer. 

Gingerly, gently, Charles takes Arthur’s cock into his calloused hand. He strokes it with his thumb to start and Arthur lets out a puff of breath he didn’t know he was holding. Charles moves his whole hand and pumps the shaft slowly. Arthur guessed that he wasn’t a fan of the friction, because he removed his hand not long after and spit into his palm, returning it to keep rubbing. He moves his confident grip down to the base of Arthur’s cock all the way up to the tip, thumbing the head in order to evenly spread the makeshift lubrication. 

Charles repeats this motion a few more times and Arthur is noisier than he thought he would be. Every movement of Charles’s hand, every time his fingers just grazed near his balls, every time he used his thumb to swipe the top of the head had Arthur squirming. His legs twitched and his abdomen was taut, knees occasionally folding and unfolding as he quietly moaned. 

“Charles, fuck- you’re really good at this. Haah- ah AH!” Arthur keened when Charles hit a particularly sensitive spot, the slit on his cock’s head, white pearls of precome beading at the tip. He was dangerously close to orgasming and didn’t want this to end so soonーnot when they were just getting started. He pries Charles’s hand away from his cock and moves to kiss him instead. Arthur leans into Charles and he is invited in, Charles spreading his legs for Arthur to come even closer. And when Arthur moves to his knees, cock bouncing freely, it’s his turn to accidentally brush his leg against Charles’s crotch. And the poor man is rock hard. 

Another swarm of butterflies flutter in Arthur’s stomach. Not only was Charles pleasuring him, but he was getting pleasure out of it too. He can’t help but smile and look down to the bulge in Charles’s pants.

“Looks like you need some help yourself there.” 

Charles’s face flusters and he looks at the ground for a second. “Maybe I do.” He peers up at Arthur through his lashes, subtly taking his bottom lip between his teeth. 

As if agreeing without words, both sets of hands fumble to undo the buttons and clasps on Charles pants. This time there is more tenacity in their motions, both eager to bring this moment to the next level. Within a few seconds Charles’s cock springs free from his pants and Arthur cannot believe what he is seeing. He lets out a low whistle as he eyes up and down the absolute monster that is the man’s cock. 

“Look at you…” he breathes. 

Arthur doesn’t want to waste anymore time on timidness. He spits into his hand just as Charles had done earlier and goes to grab the shaft. To say that he is amazed by Charles’s girth is an understatement when he feels the sheer weight of his erection. And it’s so long . 

“Ohmy- Arthur!” Charles is breathing heavily now and throws his head back as he moans. 

Arthur’s cock is leaking from the sound and state of Charles right now. Disheveled and drunk with pleasure, his chest heaving and his mouth hung open, Arthur wonders what else he could do to draw out a reaction like this. He never knew that Charles had this side to him, kept well-hidden underneath an inclination for silence and isolation ever since he met him. He never would have thought in a million years that he and Charles would be where they are right now. Whatever higher power is out there that allowed them to come together like this, Arthur thanks it silently. 

As aroused and excited as Arthur is, he is still just as nervous. He’s never held a cock in his hands that wasn’t his own. He gives a slow hesitant stroke from the base to just underneath the head, just like how he would do in his tent when he was sure there was no one left awake. Charles hisses through his teeth and Arthur shoots him a worried glance, his grip on his cock easing. Does he not like it? Does it hurt? Is he doing it wrong? Anxiously, he waits for Charles to say something.

“Please-” he breathes. “You’re teasing… just- just go a little faster. You won’t hurt me.” He makes intense eye contact with Arthur, eyebrows upturned as he pleads. 

Arthur leans in to kiss Charles and it’s reassuring for the both of them. A means to continue. With a more sure grip this time, Arthur strokes up and down Charles’s cock with a slightly quicker pace. Not too fast, but not too slow either. He knows it’s just the right pace with the reactions he’s pulling out of Charles, too. He bucks his hips, runs his hand through his hair and tries to cover his mouth with the back of it. Almost as if he wants to hide his face. And Arthur can’t let that slide. 

“Lemme see ya. Ain’t nothin’ to be hidin’ yourself for.” He pulls Charles’s hand away. 

Unbridled and unable to control himself following Arthur’s sweet words, Charles takes the hand that was covering his face and wraps it around the back of Arthur’s neck as his cock continues to be stroked. Arthur’s hand moves up and down, back and forth, and Charles squirms while trying not to touch himself too. Instead, he decides to release this energy by reaching for Arthur’s cock, which was red and drooling. Arthur doesn’t expect this at all, he was so focused on pleasuring Charles that he almost whimpers when he feels the contact. 

He laughs quietly at Arthur’s reaction. “‘M sorry, just couldn’t help myself.” 

Sound of slick skin and hushed moans harmonized with the night ambience surrounding them. Their lips were wet with spit as they kissed unabashedly now with open mouths. Arthur’s free hand paws at Charles’s chest, slipping beneath his shirt and squeezing his pectoral. Charles’s grip on Arthur’s waist is firm and shows no sign of loosening as his shirt hangs off of his left shoulder from Arthur’s incessant palming. His eyes squeeze shut. He’s close. 

“That feel good, big guy?” Charles smooths back some of the hair that fell into Arthur’s face. 

He whines in response and moves his hand to clasp behind Charles’s head, pulling their faces together until their foreheads touch. The way Charles was touching him had him dizzy and aching for release. And he could tell the feeling was mutual. Their strokes were faster now, both ready to push each other over the edge as they looked straight into each other’s eyes. The deep brown of Charles's irises as they reflected the moonlight was alluring, pulling Arthur further under his spell. 

“Charles, I-...’M gonna…”

“It’s okay,” he huffs. “Me too.”

With upturned eyebrows and mouths hanging open, the two reached their climax. Arthur threw his head back and looked down with Charles at the sight of their hands on each other’s cocks, spurting silky white ropes.

“Holy shit, Charles- ah AH! Fuck!” Arthur is groaning with each rise and fall of his chest.

Charles chokes out a moan, quieter than Arthur when he comes.

Their cocks twitch as the come lands on their stomachs and rolls down their hands. Milking each other for every last drop, their fingers are coated with a hot sheen of each other’s seed. Charles moves in to kiss Arthur as they come down from their high. They’re gentler now, as if to say: it’s alright, I’m here . He pets Arthur’s head and pushes back his hair to plant a kiss on his forehead. 

Arthur’s head is spinning, still in disbelief of what happened. Charles lifts his hand to lick the cum off his fingers and Arthur swears if he didn’t just orgasm he would have gotten hard all over again. He figures he should do the same, wanting to prove something he wasn’t sure of to Charles. His tongue makes contact with his sticky hand and it slides from the base of his fingers to their tips, and across the back of his hand. He makes a point to keep eye contact with Charles as he does this and he swears he can see Charles smirk. The taste is bitter but he doesn’t recoil, savoring the feeling of him—the very essence of him—in his mouth. He swallows every last drop and secretly wishes there were more. Maybe there would be, in due time. 

Charles’s voice breaks through his wishful thinking, wiping his hand on his pants. “We’ll change into fresh clothes in the morning.”

A yawn moves through Arthur’s chest and throat, his jaw dropping and his eyes drooping. He hasn’t come that hard in a while, if ever and it left him exhausted. But he couldn’t ignore this rising feeling in his chest, the kind of feeling he would get when Dutch was disappointed in him. Like he had done something wrong. The reality of what they had done set in quickly for Arthur and he scowls at the ground. All his life he’s been taught that encounters like this were reserved for between men and women. Any deviation from that and you were defective, in need of fixing. He felt broken . 

“Hey, you alright?” Charles reaches toward Arthur but his hand is pushed away. 

“Don’t you realize what we’ve done?” Arthur frowns. “We can’t tell anyone what happened here.”

Charles looks at him for a moment, taken aback by the sudden shift in mood. “And what exactly did we do, Arthur?”

“You know, Charles. You know damn well.” 

“No… tell me. What are you so afraid of?”

Arthur’s eyes welled up with tears, the lump in his throat threatening to spill them.

“I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

Silence.

“I can’t stop feelin’ like this and it's drivin’ me mad.”

“Arthur-”

“I can’t lose you, Charles.” A single tear falls down his cheek.

He tries reaching for Arthur again, slower this time as not to spook him.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. I promise.” 

Arthur lets him in this time. He lets Charles hold him in his arms as he weeps and he lays them down on their bed rolls, sheltered by their shared tent and warmed by the fire beside them.

“Don’t know if I can keep goin’ like this,” he sniffles. 

“But now you know that you don’t have to do it alone.”

The two of them are facing each other as they lay, surrounded by the sounds of the night. It was comforting, tranquil and quiet. The fire crackled and popped and fabric rustled as Charles rubs Arthur’s arm, hand coming up to rest on his cheek. He thumbs his tears away and kisses it softly. “Lately I’ve been thinkin’ about what matters to me.”

Physically and emotionally exhausted, all Arthur can do is listen.

“It used to be family. Then it was survival. But now I’m certain of it, and it ain’t Dutch or the money or the goddamn plan.”

Arthur’s eyes threaten to close. 

“It’s you.”

The stars shone brightly above them as Arthur fell asleep in Charles’s embrace. He sifts through the speckling of white on the night sky to find the brightest one and he pulls Arthur closer, fingers threading through his hair. He isn’t one for making wishes, but as he stares he hopes that this is only beginning for them. The thin line they walked had now been crossed, and they were going to weather whatever storm may come—together. 

[ww2yaoi]

last line tag game!

got tagged by @ackackh thank you so much <3

Joe doesn’t know what Web’s favourite flower is — if he, a fully grown man, even has one — so at the florist’s, he decided on a handful of sunflowers. Something naturalistic that’ll suit Web, nothing too frilly or mawkish. There are seven of them in total, one for each year they’ve been together, and they sit in the milk jug in a bundle, their brown, seedy florets facing every which direction like the sunflowers in those van Gogh paintings Web once showed him at the library. Their petals are bright yellow-orange and tapered at the ends like the first licks of a candle flame. The colour is a happy contrast to the serrated leaves that sprout from the flowers’ thick stems, almost the same shade of green their olive drab used to be. Joe adjusts them in the jug. He stands back to take a good look at the arrangement, then adjusts them again. If this goes over badly, Chuck is going to get an earful.

joe pissed web off and now he's trying to apologize without actually saying the words what else is new... the rom com of it all...

I tag @babe-heffron and @youcalledmebabe but no pressure lol I know I tag you guys in everything