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lomlhwa · 10 months ago

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twin bitches (j.yh + c.jh)

pairing: roommate!yunho x roommate!reader x roommate!jongho

preview: your roommates are so sick and tired of hearing about your lack of sexual activity. so, they fix it for you.

tags/warnings: fem reader, threesome, oral (f+m.receiving), monster cocks for both of them, use of the color system, two cocks in one hole can i get a wahoo, praise, degrading, mean dom jongho + sweet dom yunho, mating press, so much dirty talk, slapping, some voyeurism, hand kink, fingering, breath play, pet names (slut, good girl, whore, our girl, baby, pretty girl), yunho likes to be called yuyu thank you, spanking, vibrator torture, edging, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), a couple creampies

trigger warnings: n/a

wc: 2.6k

song recs for this fic: topia twins by travis scott, soaked by shy smith

a/n: hnnngrggnn

It's late at night when you finally press your key into your front door. you can hear your roommates yelling at each other. you automatically assume that they're gaming. and you’re right. you find them sitting on opposite sides of the couch, screaming about their game and pounding on the buttons of their controllers. you can’t help but find it at least a little cute.

jongho looks up from the game for a split second to acknowledge you before nudging yunho. “oh y/n! you’re home!” yunho throws his headset off and runs over to you. your big golden retriever roommate loves to hug you when you get home. it’s endearing. you wrap your arms around his waist as he crashes your face into his chest. you can hear jongho press the power button on their console and get up from the couch.

“how did your date go?” jongho asks with a stoic look on his face. it’s your 3rd date this week. you sigh, your shoulders dropping. you hate admitting that it’s yet another date that’s gone south. “he said he didn't see me as anything more than a friend.” jongho rolls his eyes, scoffing at your response. “that’s such bullshit,” he says, his tone highly unimpressed by your response. “i don’t understand how all of these men are treating you like this.”

you shrug, walking over to the couch where the two of them had originally been sitting. you throw your head back and cross your arms over your chest. your roommates plop themselves down on either side of you, watching to see what your next move will be. “yanno, i’m not even upset about not having a boyfriend,” you admit, turning your head to the left to look at jongho. “then what are you upset about?” yunho asks from the right side of you. the tone of his voice gives you an inkling that he knows what you’re gonna say. you grow a mischievous look on your face before turning to look at him. “i’m upset that i’m not getting fucked. like at all.”

as soon as those words leave your mouth, both your roommates collectively sigh. “what?! it’s a valid complaint!” you exclaim, looking at the both of them in disbelief. you watch as they share a secretive look. confusion spreads across your face. “what the fuck was that?” you ask, wondering what they could be planning. before you can ask anymore questions, jongho throws you over his shoulder.

“genuinely what is happening right now?” you exclaim, kicking your legs, almost making jongho falter. yunho grabs your ankles tightly, forcing you to stop kicking. “stop being a fucking brat,” yunho demands. you halt every movement so quickly you could’ve sworn your heart stopped too. you can feel heat pooling between your legs at the tone of yunho’s voice. finally, jongho throws you down onto your bed. they both stand above you, arms crossed. they look at each other and then back down at you.

“alright, this is what’s gonna happen since you’re such a whore,” yunho starts. you open your mouth to protest the vulgar name and jongho slaps you straight across the face. “you don’t speak unless spoken to.” you can’t even deny how wet this is making you. yunho gives jongho a smile before continuing. “we’re gonna use you however we see fit and you’re gonna fucking like it.” you squeeze your legs together, your core begging for attention. jongho takes notice of this and forces your knees apart.

“color?” yunho asks. “very green,” you respond. you almost smile before they both move closer to you and then your face drops. yunho collapses to his knees between your legs and jongho moves towards your upper half. yunho removes your pants so gently, you can barely even tell he’s between your legs. the way he looks up at you, almost desperately, could make you cum on the spot. jongho on the other hand, rips your shirt in half with ease before throwing it somewhere. he grips your jaw, squeezing your face with one hand to force your mouth open. “you’re gonna look so pretty with a face full of cock, baby,” jongho says as he opens his belt with his other free hand.

you’re so focused on jongho’s words and movements that you had forgotten about where yunho was. that is until you feel his tongue lick a stripe up your thigh. you shoot your eyes in his direction, watching as his mouth inches closer to where you need him most. “she’s so wet, jongho. she’s into this,” yunho says, pulling your underwear off. “i think she really wants us to use her.” you can hear the smirk in his voice. jongho shoves his pants and boxers mid-way down his thighs as he laughs. “of course she is. she’s our little slut,” he says as he shoves his cock down your throat. you gag around him almost immediately, despite only being able to take just under half into your mouth. simultaneously, yunho shoves his face into your core, lapping up the slick that had been leaking out of you.

the mix of the sensation of your throat being abused and your cunt being cared for so gently sends your brain into a frenzy. you buck your hips up against yunho’s mouth, searching for more intense pleasure. jongho holds your face tightly, making sure you’re watching him while he fucks your mouth. he looks at you with dark, focused eyes, keeping a steady pace in your throat. you feel a loss of heat as yunho pulls away from your core, leaving your throbbing. you wonder where he’s going but you physically can’t look away from jongho. you don’t have to wonder for long when you hear the familiar buzzing of your vibrator. panic sets into your chest, knowing you have no escape. “dirty girl keeping her vibrator in the most obvious place,” yunho says. you can hear him click through the different vibration settings before settling on the basic one.

jongho pulls out from your mouth before removing his pants and boxers completely. he settles behind you, resting his legs on either side of your waist. yunho gets back down between your legs, running the vibrator up your thigh. “this is gonna feel so fucking good, baby,” he mumbles before pressing it directly to your clit. your hips jolt at the high vibration setting he has on, sending electricty through your veins. you dig your nails into jongho’s thighs, throwing your head back against his shoulder. yunho presses the vibrator into your clit harder, making you borderline stop breathing. your vision becomes fuzzy as your orgasm comes racing towards you like a train. “gonna-” is all you can get out before cumming harder than you probably ever have in your life. yunho never lets the vibrator falter, keeping it pressed on your most sensitive spot.

jongho wraps a strong hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to have you gasping for air. yunho digs his teeth into the soft skin of your inner thigh, watching as you clench around nothing, searching for some distraction from the immense pleasure. “plea-ah-se” you stutter, trying to get words out through jongho’s grip on your airway. “please what, whore?” jongho says against your ear, demanding more words out of you. “need your fingers yuyu,” you plead, your voice cracking. you’re desperate for anything to fill your hole, and yunho knows how much you love his hands. he smiles, obliging to your request. he shoves two fingers knuckles-deep into your sopping cunt. he drills them in an out of you at an unfathomable pace, sending another orgasm crashing into you. your legs tremble at the sensation of everything continuing despite your obvious orgasm.

in fact, yunho adds a third finger and sets the vibrator to the next highest setting. you let out a strangled scream, your nerves lighting themselves on fire. your knees slam together painfully, trapping yunho between your legs. you hear a sinister laugh behind you before your legs are pried apart by a pair of strong hands. you gasp at the sudden rush of air to your lungs and also being splayed open perfectly for your roommates. “please, i can’t do it anymore. it’s too much,” you plead, another orgasm creeping up on you already. “oh, you don’t wanna cum again? okay, baby,” yunho says as he takes his fingers and the vibrator away right before you can cum. you whine, your failed orgasm leaving behind a painful sting. jongho leans forward slightly to kiss your jawline; the sweetest gesture he’s shown so far. while your focus on him, yunho presses the vibrator against you again. your eyes roll into your skull, your previously failure orgasm rushing towards you again. “i’m gonna-” you’re cut off once again by yunho halting all movement. “yuyuuu~,” you whine, your legs begging to close.

“color?” yunho asks once more, placing the now off and very wet vibrator on the floor. through heaving breaths you reply; “yellow.” yunho coos at you, kissing your thighs. “okay, baby. we’ll give you the main event now,” he says as pulls his shirt over his head. jongho slips out from behind you to follow suit. you can’t help but get lost in the sudden lack of body heat. it doesn’t last for long when jongho slots himself between your legs. “i’m gonna get you started, slut. yunho will be all nice, treat your pussy with respect and let you cum, but i won’t. i can’t even be bothered to wear a condom while fucking you.” you open your mouth to protest but he cuts you off by shoving his cock completely inside your hole. his length is impressive as it is but the girth is what has your eyes crossing. the stretch stings and it takes over your senses for at least 10 seconds before you come to.

jongho starts thrusting into you at an almost inhuman pace, loud skin-slapping sounds filling the room. you can’t help but wonder where yunho has run off to. your eyes search the room before finding him sitting on your computer chair, pumping himself while he watches jongho fuck you. your eyes trail down to his cock and you can almost swear your eyes fall out of your head. is it even humanly possible for it to be that long? you can’t wonder for long when you feel another sharp slap come across your face. “look at me, you whore. i know you’re our girl but i’m the one balls deep inside you right now.” your eyes dart back to him, making fierce eye contact. his black hair is sticking to his forehead as he looks down between you. he watches as his cock appears and disappears inside you. “ah fuck, g-gonna cum jongho,” you grip his forearm and wrap your legs around his waist. “i don’t fucking think so,” he says as he pulls out of you, ripping yet another orgasm away from you.

yunho tuts as jongho pulls away from you. “you’re treating her so unfairly. we’ve taken 2 orgasms from her already.” yunho looks at you with such pity that you could almost cry. jongho looks at you like you’re nothing more than a talkative sex doll. “she’s so tight, yunho. i don’t know if she can take both of us at once.” your eyes dart between them, hearing them talk about you taking both at once. “both? what are you talking about? in one hole?” you ramble. they both collectively laugh at your visible panic. “of course. you wanna cum, it has to be on our cocks. that’s your only option, pretty girl,” yunho says to you, followed by the sweetest golden retriever smile. you clench around nothing at the stark contrast between his words and his smile.

“i can do it!” you cry out, crawling towards them. you grab their arms and look at them with eyes full of desperation. “at least let me try.” yunho caresses the top of your head, making kissy faces at you. “of course you can try. you’re such a good girl, i’m sure you can do it,” he encourages you. jongho scoffs, rolling his eyes. “yeah she can try, but i don’t think it’ll work.” before you can reply with a snarky comment, jongho lifts you bridal style. “your precious yuyu is gonna lay under you, okay?” he explains as yunho lays down on your bed. jongho spins you around and places you chest to chest with yunho. “hi, pretty girl. are you ready?” you nod, still feeling unsure. you feel him reach down between the two of you to align his throbbing cock up with your cunt. he slides in with ease, his tip just barely kissing your cervix. he’s much longer than jongho but jongho’s girth stretched you out enough for yunho to slide in comfortably.

you shiver as you feel a pair of hands run up your ass. “you’re gonna look so fucking slutty with both our cocks inside you, baby.” a sharp smack lands on your ass cheek and you’re almost 100% sure it left a handprint. you feel the tip of jongho’s cock brush your already full hole. as he starts to push into you, yunho brings his lips to yours. he kisses you with soft passion, trying to keep you distracted. the stretch is unbearable, to say the least. you let out strangled moans against yunho’s mouth, scraping your nails into his shoulders. once they’re both bottomed out, they freeze. your walls pulse as you try to adjust. “mmf please move,” you mutter, hoping they could hear you.

they both pull out simultaneously, emptiness flooding you. they both slam back into you so hard that your whole body jolts forward. your senses are on overdrive, trying to understand the pain and pleasure that fill your abdomen. you’re scared that if you dig your nails into yunho’s shoulders any harder you’ll draw blood. “color?” yunho says, his voice sounding strained. “green, green, oh my god,” you respond. finally, they move in sync with each other, emptying you and refilling you at the same time. “i can’t, i can’t, too much,” you babble, your legs trembling. “yes you can. you were made for this,” jongho replies, slamming into you extra hard. yunho strokes your hair as he thrusts up into you. “i’m so close, please let me cum, i need it, please,” you beg, your eyes watering. yunho and jongho look at each other, as if trying to decide your fate. you know jongho wants to deny you, but yunho just wants your pleasure. “you can cum, you’ve been such a good girl,” yunho encourages. they keep up their unrelenting pace, even as you’re thrown over the edge. “gonna cum inside you, baby. you deserve it,” yunho says, throwing his head back. both him and jongho are close and you can feel it.

jongho digs his fingers into your hips as his thrusts stutter to a halt, being the first one to blow his load inside you. it coats your abused walls and yunho’s still moving cock. yunho’s orgasm follows soon after, high pitched whines coming from his throat. you feel so full, both loads slowly seeping out of you. they stay inside you for a moment before emptying you. “i’ll go get a towel,” jongho says before rushing into the bathroom across the hall. you stay laying on yunho’s chest as he whispers sweet nothings to you. you feel the rough texture of the towel on your sensitive core, making you flinch. “sorry,” jongho apologizes.

eventually, you’re falling asleep. you’re still unmoving from yunho’s hold, feeling the most safe there. you can hear your roommates talking to each other but your brain has gone numb. everything buzzes around you as you fall asleep, your body finally giving out.

��sleep well, pretty girl.”

#lomlhwa #ateez #atz #yunho #jeong yunho #jongho #choi jongho #ateez smut #atz smut #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #jongho smut #choi jongho smut #2ho smut

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red-hemlock · 8 months ago

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"Oh splendid, you'll get your heart's worth of that tonight! Now go grab your sharpest little blade and meet me near the precinct; and we'll give them something to really cry about."

"Ooo~ I love vandalism!!"

#tootyfuckingfruity #(LOL girl's night wahoo. xDD)

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ghost-proofbaby · 8 months ago

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"THE FIRST DATE"

EXTRA CONTENT - "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 7k+ → a/n: the very long awaited first date. this was requested by several people. wahoo! also, fair warning for second-hand embarrassment. i think eddie munson is the only person who drag me dancing around a bowling alley and i wouldn't smite them on the spot.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

EDDIE: What about a fancy dinner date?

YOU: boring.

YOU: and too traditional. when were you even born, Munson? the 60s???

EDDIE: Ha. Ha. I don’t see you making any worthwhile suggestions, sweetheart.

YOU: i don’t have to make any suggestions, old man. YOU’RE supposed to be wooing ME

God forbid anyone walked in on you at this moment.

You were like a high schooler, lying on your stomach with your feet kicking up into the air as you stared at the screen, happily bantering with Eddie over text. All the butterflies, all the blissful jitters, all that dopamine rush that comes with school girl crushes – every single cliche was present and was in full force as you discussed the details of your first date with him. You used to scoff (albeit with hidden longing) at all the romance movies that you truly believed had overplayed all the giddiness, but now you got it. It was disgusting, the way he had you wrapped around his finger so easily, the way he had turned you into a heart-eyed shell of the woman you once were in the matter of a week.

EDDIE: So you have a thing for older men is what you’re telling me.

YOU: i NEVER said that.

EDDIE: Didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can read between the lines.

Over the last week, since the two of you had won the bet and you had won over with insistence on him properly asking you out, Eddie had been tossing around date ideas as he tried to plan this very first occasion. The only time you had even seen him was when your entire group met up, the latest outing having been for brunch on Saturday under the guise celebrating the one week anniversary of you and Eddie surviving twenty four hours together without killing each other.

Didn’t stop him from calling and texting you. And it clearly hadn’t deterred him from losing his mind over doing right by you with this entire first date ordeal.

YOU: i don’t even have the energy to explain to you how many times you have proven to not do that in the past.

EDDIE: I’ve read between the lines in the past!

YOU: you most certainly have NOT

EDDIE: I was able to read when you wanted to kiss me that night. That’s reading between the lines.

And so the giddiness rears its head, full fledged as heat swarms your body and your cheeks ache from your smile.

YOU: i hate you

EDDIE: No, you don’t

YOU: i do. i really do.

EDDIE: You’re such a shit liar

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock on your dorm’s door, annoying and persistent as it taps out some random rhythm that must be a song of some sort. But whatever song it is, you can’t recognize it as you stand, walking over to answer.

“Did you forget your key aga-” you begin, assuming it was just your roommate. You’re shocked to see Robin and Steve standing there, “What are you guys doing here?”

“We had a study date, in case you had forgotten and not seen our hundreds of texts,” Steve huffs, quickly crossing his arms.

You hadn’t seen their texts. Most of your screen time had been a bit preoccupied with a certain metalhead.

“Oh, shit,” your face falls as you open the door wider, side-stepping and motioning for them to come in.

“Yeah,” Steve snarks as he comes right in, Robin hot on his trails and seeming in a far more pleasant mood as the boy mocks you, “Oh, shit.”

Robin stops beside you as Steve helps himself to a seat in your desk chair, “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he has to get A’s on all his mid-terms to keep his 3.0.”

“I am not cranky-”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

“You so are,” Robin continues to egg him on, choosing your bed as her resting place.

Your phone bounces a bit from the way she throws herself down on the sorry excuse for a mattress, and you recall how you had yet to reply to Eddie. Fuck.

“When did we even make these plans?” you ask, genuinely confused as you shut the door. You already miss the peace and quiet of being alone, free to preen at your phone and giggle to your heart’s content at the world’s worst flirt over text.

“Saturday,” Steve groans, throwing his head back.

“It was after brunch,” Robin clarifies, lifting herself up from how she was lounging amongst your blankets, “I mean, you seemed a bit distracted when you agreed, but… We did text you about it.”

You had been distracted. Eddie had managed to quietly ask the waitress to include your tab with his so he could pay for it without your knowledge, and you’d spent the entire time torn between being upset with the boy and absolutely fawning. It was a bit pathetic, looking back at it – the fact that those were the only two options your mind had presented you with. You’d scorned him over the phone later that night, and he had only laughed. You swear you can still hear it now, having heard it several times since – a low chuckle that rattled into the caverns of your chest, that bounced amongst vines of affection and willed open blooms of adoration just a little bit wider.

Part of you was still waiting for the wilting. For the other shoe to drop, for all of what had been exposed and had been planted to vanish from your grasps. That first Monday morning, you’d even woken up worried it had all been a dream.

“I’ve been busy,” you lamely try to excuse your radio silence.

“Busier than normal?” Steve’s brows quirk up, leaning back in your chair that emits a squeak of protest, “Or have you just been busy with new friends?”

Your lips twist and your nose twitches in confusion, “New friends? What the Hell are you going on about, Harrington?”

Robin fully sits up now, watching with piqued interest.

“Eddie,” Steve gets straight to the point, his previous sour mood finally melting slightly, “You can’t honestly tell me that nothing changed after that night.”

It was something neither of you had really discussed. Steve had seen you two, knew that a lot had truly changed based off of the way you’d tossed him right into the middle of the mess there at the end, but you and Eddie had never said anything about being together. Not to your friends, and not even to each other.

“Just because I don’t want to tear his head off his shoulders anymore doesn’t mean we’re spending every waking moment together,” you force your best scowl, as if that wasn’t exactly what you had yearned for all week.

Eventually, it had to wear off. That’s what you told yourself – at some point the initial rose tones would fade less vibrant, and Eddie’s intense occupation of your mind would lessen with the hues.

“I can’t believe it, but I am siding with Stevie on this one,” Robin finally contributes, “I mean, you guys won’t even tell us what happened that night.”

“Nothing exciting,” you’re quick to lie, “Just… I don’t know. Boring stuff. Getting on each other’s nerves, sitting around on his couch,” that gets a bitter scoff from Steve that almost makes you freeze up. Damn Eddie for teasing him with the truth about the couch, “Nothing worth making a big deal over. Like I said, we just learned to… to… tolerate each other.”

Tolerate was an interesting way to put spending hours on the phone together each night, sometimes falling asleep while still on the line.

Steve still looks as though he’s recalling all of Eddie’s annoying taunts from that night while Robin only grins salaciously.

“Tolerate each other?” she mimics you, leaning forward and pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress beside her knees, “Babe, have you two even said a single mean thing to each other since that night? I think he even smiled at you on Saturday. You’re practically married with two and a half kids already.”

He had smiled at you – multiple times. And each one had struck the most delicate of daggers right into your chest, lighting you aflame under his attempted clandestine attention. Every time those big, brown eyes had met yours from across the table, the ache you’d started to hold for him had only doubled in size. By the end of that morning, when the day had technically started to bleed out into the afternoon, you were nothing more than a vessel of pining for the boy that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to brush against amongst your friends.

“Whatever,” you murmur as you reach out to snatch up your phone, “I never even understood the whole half kid thing. Like, how the fuck do you have two and a half kids?”

“I’m sure Eddie would be more than happy to show you,” Steve teases despite his still half-traumatized look.

You’re quick to reach out a hand to whack the back of his head, “Shut up. Are we gonna keep sitting here while you two try to pry something that doesn’t exist out of me, or are we going to go study?”

Steve’s grumpy mood returns as he rubs the back of his head, him and Robin standing in sync to exit the room.

But before the three of you exit the dorm, you check your phone one last time, having to bite down on that girlish grin when you see two new text message notifications.

EDDIE: It’s official. I’m a genius.

EDDIE: Say, are you free tomorrow night?

—

Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. A shift at your job, one too many hours spent sitting through lectures, ensuring a night of studying with Steve and Robin — all petty distractions, roadblocks on your path to the most highly anticipated first date of your life. Eddie wouldn’t even entertain you with details, only telling you to dress fairly comfortably and to put on your best game face.

And you did. To some extent, you really did.

But you’d finished getting ready hours in advance, something you blamed on nerves, and having that much time to kill with such nerves was dangerous.

Simple makeup turned a bit more extravagant, you had tried on nearly every outfit in your possession, you’d even eyed your hair curler on more than one occasion.

Comfortable. What the Hell was that even supposed to mean?

Your only solution had been to text the man of the hour himself, something to busy your thumbs instead of twiddling them or involving them in taking your date night look several steps over just comfortable.

YOU: okay, so. can you define ‘dressing comfortably’?

EDDIE: According to Google, “dressing in a way that makes you feel at ease in your body” :)

YOU: fuck off. you know that’s not what i meant.

Still no clues. He wasn’t caving so easily to your pestering. You should have known better, considering he’d been professionally dodging any questions or inquiries you had regarding the date for the last twenty four hours.

EDDIE: Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.

That certainly didn’t help. Not even in the slightest.

You don’t even reply to his text, already back to pacing your dorm before you finally cave to an impulsive decision you’d been grappling with for hours now.

There was a newish, sporty skirt in the bottom of your drawers. It was comfortable, it had built-in shorts, and it looked damn good on you. The hem fell right around mid-thigh and always flared in an overly satisfying fashion when you’d spin while wearing it. The material of the pleats was nearly impossible to wrinkle. It wasn’t overly soft against your palms as you still nervously smoothed it down once you’d shimmied it on, but you still repeated the motion in hopes of soothing some of your nerves.

You’re sure it’s the wrong option until Eddie sees you in it.

He texts when he’s on his way and you find yourself bounding outside to wait for him far too early to be reasonable. He hadn’t even arrived until after your back had nearly become one with the brick exterior of the dorm building's front wall, leaning into the scratch of the clay on your shoulder blade a welcome distraction until you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine.

You nearly grow dizzy from the sudden rush of nerves.

This is really happening. You’re about to go on a date with Eddie, the first time of what you hope will be many to come.

“Took you long enough, Munson,” you snark loud enough for him to hear as he clicks the Yamaha’s kickstand into place right by the vibrant red curb. There’s a sign not even a full foot away from where he’s standing that clearly spells out NO PARKING.

Oh.

If you hadn’t already been riddled with nerves, your knees would have gone weak at the sight of him.

Since when is that dressing casual and comfortable?

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” he shoots right back as he lifts the helmet off his head, and something inside of you clenched tightly at the sight with no plans to unwind any time soon.

Dark wash jeans plaster his legs, heavy combat boots smacking against the pavement as he walks to meet you halfway. The black shirt he’s donning isn’t extravagant, but something in the way that t-shirt material stretches across his chest has you burning from the inside out. He’s even gone so far as to tuck the shirt into the jeans, his black leather belt on show as he hugs the helmet below his bicep. And his normal leather jacket — you don’t believe you’ve ever seen it look better, ever seen it fit his shoulders so snugly. He’s dressed to perfectly match the all black bike, the image of a bad boy straight out of every cheesy movie you’d ever seen.

The only thing that breaks the illusion is the boyish grin pulling the arrival of his dimples along with it as he watches you push off the wall. His eyes are sparkling as you approach him, a constellation of hope and new beginnings twinkling right before you.

He’s not sorry that you waited on him. Not in the slightest. Especially when those starry eyes travel over your appearance.

You have to force yourself to tsk, because otherwise you might end up just another pile of ash for the poor landscapers to sweep up, “Haven't you heard it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?”

You stop in your steps just far enough to catch the way his eyes take you in. Drinking slowly. Following the trace of the just fancy enough tank top that you’d chosen to balance the skirt. Lingering on the plush of your inner thighs, barely peeking out the bottom of your chosen outfit for the night.

You almost start to feel self conscious until he lets out a little sigh, nearly a whimper as his eyes trail back up to find yours.

“I’m sure I have,” he chokes out, composure momentarily vanished as you distract him so easily, “But aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“I could say the same about you.”

You’re like a shark. If you stop swimming in the upstream flirtations, you’ll drown instantaneously in his big brown eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you swear you see a hint of a blush across the highs of his cheek bones and sides of his neck as he holds out the helmet for you, “At least with me, it will.”

“Even the top secret location of this date?” you ask as you take the helmet, considering putting up a fight. You still hated him not wearing one for your expense, and you weren’t exactly eager for any sort of helmet hair, “Do I have to wear-“

He knows the end of your sentence before you even finish, “Yes. No exceptions; you have to wear it every time you ride.”

“Every time?”

“It’s for safety.”

“Isn’t it sort of unsafe for you to go without one?”

“You’re wearing the helmet,” he sighs, nose twitching with indignation as he holds staunchly onto the position, “And to answer your other question, no. I guess flattery will get you almost everywhere, but it’s a surprise.”

You fiddle with the chin straps, looking down as you feel his gaze burning the top of your head from this angle, “Fine. But we really should just get me my own helmet. You need to wear one, too. And…” you look back up, pausing before you properly put on the piece of safety equipment, “It’s a little oversized. You know, considering it was meant to fit your big head first.”

He narrows his eyes, still lit up with a sort of playfulness you haven’t grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of.

You like him quite a bit more than you bargained for. A lot more than five hundred dollars, or twenty four hours, ever would have summarized.

“We can go helmet shopping another day.”

We. Not just him, not just you. But you and him. A unit. A couple.

“It’s a date,” you whisper just before you slide on the helmet. You completely miss the wildfire that the ghost of a blush has finally become. You completely miss the way that your talk of you two together, you two as a couple with a future, affects him just as his has an effect on you.

Helmet hair is worth it, you decide, once you’ve saddled onto the bike behind him and he revs up the engine once more. You’re not as shy as you had been on that fateful night the week before, quick to wrap your arms around his middle and let your chest press hard against his back. The leather crinkles against the contact, the heat of him radiating, and you think you could spend forever like that.

You’re almost upset that you can’t smell his cologne through the helmet. That once terrible scent of boy.

Every curve and every slow stop is another excuse to cling to him tighter, every red light a reason for him to turn his head and catch a glimpse of you with a small grin that never once falters. You swear at one of the lights, when he revs his engine in a particularly rowdy fashion right as the light turns green and takes off particularly fast, you can hear his laughter over the loud wind mingling with the roaring engine. You know you can feel it, vibrating in his chest right along with your own that gets lost in the chaos of the unusually busy Tuesday night street.

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the older building, you catch sight of the neon sign out front and find yourself laughing again.

“Bowling?” you question, yanking the helmet off less than gracefully as he stands off the bike you’d just swung yourself off of, “You’re taking me bowling?”

He takes the helmet from you, suddenly looking a bit shy as he averts his gaze, “Not just any bowling. It’s… It’s the coolest bowling alley you will ever go on a first date at.”

“You say that to every girl you bring here?”

You’re just teasing him, trying to poke fun rather than succumb to all the fluttering that bruises your inner chest and stomach. But then he has to ruin your fun, strike a match and set you aflame so adroitly.

“Only the prettiest ones.”

You should continue the banter, challenge him on just who else fell into that category, but you can’t. It’s in that glimmer of his eyes and the indent of his dimples, the way he looks at you as he slowly rises and somehow softens his gaze all while keeping a threat of a bite beneath the tone. His eyes tell you that you are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s referring to. That in this moment, you begin and you end his world, and not even the commotion of traffic or nip in the air that creeps up as the summer sun sets can deter his attention being set solely on you.

But his tone suggests something far more dangerous. He says it like you’re a prey, an unattainable catch that he’ll be chasing for the entire night. A wicked growl to that voice you’ve been falling asleep to over the phone far more than you care to admit in just a short week.

He says it like he’s going to ruin you. As if he hasn’t already injected himself into your veins, as if he isn’t the gasoline drowning and raging the burn within you.

But he keeps up the gentleman persona in the short walk up to the door of the establishment. Holds out his hand for yours to fit perfectly into, guides you to the inner sidewalk as cars fly past and the only thing between you and them is him.

The hunt is on from the moment he opens that door for you.

“Ever the gentleman,” you muse, voice hardly above a whisper as you brush past him and finally catch that smell of boy.

You think you’d drown in his cologne now if he gave you the chance. Bury your face in his chest, wrap your arms around him and press any inch of your own bare skin to his.

“Always,” it would have been a weak response if he’d only said it and nodded his head, but he takes it a step further. Right as you pass him, entering the brisk AC, his hand ghosts over the expanse of your lower back. Fingertips nimbly brushing right above the band of that skirt, grazing your tank top just hard enough for you to feel it and shiver.

It doesn’t stop there. The back and forth, the chase, the hunt.

The way he makes sure your knuckles brush his as he hands you your shoes, even more brushes of his palm flat against your lower back repetitively, the way he insists on a heavier ball that makes his arms strain and muscles display. Over the chatter from the bowling alley’s fairly nice bar and the music trickling out of the overhead speakers, you’re sure that your heartbeat has joined the ranks of audible noises to echo the nice haunt. You’re positive he can hear every thump, can pinpoint the exact moments that poor aching muscle inside your chest begins to race.

You go for a smaller weighted ball. You don’t think you could handle anything heavier with your current case of weak knees.

“Only an eight pounder?” Eddie tuts at you as you approach your designated lane again, “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.”

No, I can’t. Your fault, really.

“I have weak arms,” you try to defend yourself as you rotate the red ball in your hands.

His favorite color. It hadn’t been intentional, but the swirling shades of stark scarlet and deep maroons is a nice touch.

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaning into you as you deposit the ball right behind his own ball on the track where it already rests.

A twelve pounder. A smoky quartz design, black base swirling with misty white and gold accents. Far prettier than yours by a landslide.

And fitting for the pretty boy you’re faced with when you turn to watch him shedding his leather jacket onto the bench a few steps away.

“Not all of us are some big, strong macho man,” you scowl insincerely, moving to sit beside him and follow his lead in switching out shoes, “I’m betting now that by halfway through the game, you’ll be caving and begging to use my ball, Munson.”

You’re looking down as you casually say it, one shoe already half off and unaware of just how close he had gotten until his hand reaches over. Not even a second later, he has your chin pinched between his fingers, gentle as it guides you and forces you to look at him, “Careful. Bets seem to be awfully dangerous when it comes to the two of us.”

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him.

The graze of those fingers against your jaw leaves a trail of ash, burning that lingers and thrums beneath your skin, heart officially skipping beats rather than merely speeding up. You’re coming to realize that when it comes to keeping up with Eddie Munson in his element, in all his charm and flirtatious banter, you’re a bit hopeless.

He has you trapped under his thumb — metaphorically and literally.

“Are you always this flirtatious with all your dates?” you spit out against your better judgment.

Why do I keep bringing up his previous flames? Do I really care? Do I really want to put myself through the torture of hearing about all of the girls, or guys, he’s wooed before me?

The same glittering eyes, the same hidden smirk from earlier. “Only the prettiest ones.”

“You keep saying that,” you mumble, chin pressing into his fingertips against their hold, “Just how many pretty dates have you had?”

The pride softens in an instant. His gaze is less sharp, grin less predatory as he raises his eyebrows.

“Does it really matter?”

You can’t help it. Your mind races ahead of you before you can stop it; you’re plagued in an instant with images of how many dates, how many other people he had indulged in over the year you two had wasted hating each other. You try to recall overhearing him describe any of those dates, try to remember if Nancy ever mentioned Eddie passing up one of the hangouts for a romantic endeavor.

You come up empty handed, but it doesn’t stop the overthinking.

“I guess not,” you feebly answer, unable to tear your eyes from him.

I guess not is really code for it matters so much more than I care to admit. An impossible riddle you can’t even expect him to pick up on.

His hand falls from your chin and finds home on your bare knee, warm palm swallowing it up. He gives it a squeeze, and you wonder for a moment if maybe he can read your secretive language. Maybe he’s seeing right through your overconfident front, maybe he has felt every racing of your pulse.

Maybe, he’s as nervous as you are.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t think you can bear another moment of this new intimacy. It had been easier when the two of you were on a ticking clock, confined to his apartment and parameters of a bet that never really mattered. Vulnerability had less of an edge when you could yearn and pine to see it flourish in the real world — but now, here it was, twisting away within you both a week later and pricking away as the stakes at hand come to light.

“Are you ready for me to absolutely demolish your ass at this game?” you joke.

“Demolish me? That’s some big talk for someone using an eight pound ball, babe.”

“It’s not about how much you’re packing, pretty boy,” you scoff, “Just that you know how to use it.”

He smiles slowly, but the quick squeeze of his hand tells you the vulnerability is here to stay. He feels that cutting edge too, and he’s not shying away.

He leans right into it, just as he does your personal space, “Bring it on.”

—

“You’re cheating!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! Who the fuck gets three strikes in a row?”

Eddie strolls back towards you, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips and his hips swaying with arrogance as you continue to pout at his sudden show of sportsmanship, “I believe the answer is me, sweetheart. Wanna see me make it four?”

“I hope you just jinxed yourself,” you scowl as you hop up off the couch and Eddie swaggers right past you, hardly affected by the palm you smack into the center of his chest for good measure, “I hope you roll nothing but gutter balls the rest of the game, you prick.”

“Like you have been?”

“Burn in Hell.”

Eddie’s cackle echoes through the fairly busy alley. It wasn’t overwhelming, the lanes of either side of yours staying empty, the only other groups several ways down. So far, the date has been good. Even if Eddie was wiping the floor with your severe lack of skill.

Both of you had opted for Cokes rather than alcohol, Eddie had ordered some sort of platter with onion rings and mozzarella sticks that the two of you had easily been devouring between turns. Playful banter had been kept up easier than breathing, barking words without bite being snapped back and forth loud enough for the entire establishment to hear the two of you being exceptionally childish.

At some point, your nerves had melted. And you didn’t even need a lick of alcohol in your system for it to happen.

“Try to aim for the pins this time,” Eddie continues to taunt you from where he’s spread out on the brown faux leather bench you’d been taking turns warming the seat of.

Your fingers slide into the holes of your ball with ease, courtesy of the grease from all your snacking, “Try shutting the fuck up.”

More of his laughter sounds off, and you nearly trip on your walk up to the markings on the linoleum wood flooring. It’s a nice sound; a beautiful response to words that could easily read identical to how the two of you used to fight. But these aren’t fighting words, they’re words passed between two… two… friends?

Is that how you should continue to classify this? Were you and Eddie really still just friends?

The sound of your ball stuttering in hops across the beginnings of the lane replaces his laughter

No. Easy question – there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the two of you were definitely not friends. Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken. And for the remainder of this date, you could live with that.

Eddie sucks in an audible breath, letting the air whistle between his teeth as your ball veers at the last second and misses the pins entirely. Again.

“Th-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, spinning on your heel and holding up a warning finger. It’s harder to hold in your own grin when Eddie’s already smiling into his fist, leaning his elbows onto his thighs as his big eyes peer at you, clearly amused, “Don’t say a word.”

His knuckles dig further into his mouth.

“I meant to do that.”

His eyebrows shoot up, still not speaking.

“It takes real talent to avoid pins like that.”

He leans over a bit further, and you swear you hear him emit a snort from behind that damn fist.

You open your mouth to continue with the bit when the clattering of your ball returning to the ball rack comes from behind you. Eddie only shrugs cheekily as he finally drops his fist to grab for a mozzarella stick, his smile contained but those damn dimples still flashing you brilliantly.

Without taking your eyes off him, you hold up a warning finger for emphasis once more, trying to bite down any signs of your own amusement as you take a few steps back in the direction of the rack and repeat yourself, “I meant to do that.”

“Sure you did,” he muses before taking a bite of the mozzarella stick smothered in marinara sauce.

“I did.”

“I believe you.”

“I-”

It seems the Universe is in the business of interrupting you two. As if it seems all that hope and potential flourishing in the space between you two and decides that simply won’t do. As if it’s too much.

Maybe it is. But maybe, just maybe, you’re enjoying too much.

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence or grab for your ball, the lights of the alley have dimmed. A few spotlights over the alleys themselves light up, erratically waving patches of light over the shining floor as the music that had been playing overhead cuts out to be replaced with some poor employee’s voice.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen-” you and Eddie share a confused glance, “-The time is officially ten o’clock, meaning nineties night has officially begun! Have fun, and enjoy yourselves as we throw you back to the decade of Nirvana and Beanie Babies for the rest of the night with these straight jams.”

Your face scrunches up in a comical cringe before the buzzing static of the speaker can even cut out and the beginning lines of Say My Name by Destiny’s Child begins to play.

You aren’t entirely sure of how it happens. Maybe it’s all the playfulness in there, in all that electric teasing at the tip of Eddie’s tongue and all that hopelessness bubbling up in your chest as it dawns on you of the fact you were finally on a proper date with Eddie. Maybe it’s simply a good night for you to continue to make a fool of yourself, and Eddie sees it as a chance he’ll always be right there with you, prepared to make a scene as he follows your lead.

He stands up to approach you where you’re still rooted beside the rack, matching your own grin that blooms genuinely at the sound of the song.

It was one of your favorite’s. A small fact about yourself you don’t think you’ve ever told Eddie – that you can remember.

It’s small, at first. Just mouthing along to the first verse as he moves towards you, recognizing that excitement lighting up in you, shimmying his shoulders ever so slightly. He looks like an idiot – he’s absolutely your idiot.

“Did you know it was nineties night?” you mumble as he gets closer, shaking your head slightly.

“Stevie might have mentioned something about you enjoying nineties nostalgia,” he drawls, still taking sure steps towards you.

“Did you ask him for advice for our first date, Eddie?”

“No,” he scoffs quickly, finally close enough to grab you gently by your hips. He’s nowhere near manhandling you, but it’s still reminding you of the game, of the hunt, at play. You’re his prey and he’s officially making his move. Carelessly, nonchalantly. “He mentioned it ages ago. When they were trying to convince me you weren’t all bad.”

Your smile widens, “Was this around the time I threw a glass at your head, by chance?”

“Maybe.”

The dulcet instrumental of the song continues on overhead, beginning to pick up in beat, making you nod your head along as Eddie finally starts to tug you closer.

You’re in public, and you both should know better than to make absolute fools of yourselves, but it doesn’t seem to matter when all you can really see is him.

Your friends had also spent ages trying to convince you that Eddie wasn’t all bad, but you’d always known that much. You’d seen glimpses of the good in him from that very first night. When he’d made you feel welcome, when he’d given you a life-preserver to cling to when you’d felt most out of your element. You knew that Eddie Munson was one of those people who had a hardwired habit of trying to make people feel welcome.

Even in a room full of people, when you’d be non-stop embarrassing yourself endlessly.

All his jests had been further proof, but when he sees your rock on your heels as you enjoy the music, he takes it a step further. He grabs one of your hands with his free one, keeping a hold of your waist, encouraging all your giddiness over the song. Every single person in the establishment could be staring at the two of you – you didn’t care.

When he starts dramatically mouth along to the chorus of the song, swinging you around slightly, it takes very little provocation for you to join in with him.

You both could’ve taken a step further, and properly sang along in the most obnoxious voices possible, but you don’t. There’s still the slightest blanket of security there as Eddie keeps the antics mostly silent, reserving his dramatic reenactments of vocal runs for your eyes only. Even yanking your hand up close to his mouth, as though it was a microphone, as he swings you around again. You quickly become a giggling disarray, hardly able to keep up your own footing, eyes squinting with joy and what must be the messiest and ugliest smile possible showing off all your teeth. The type of smile and laughter you’d normally try to hide on instinct. The kind of smile you cover up.

But you can’t, because Eddie is keeping his sturdy grip on your hands with his own, and he’s drinking in every second of your joy. He’s vibrant as he watches the way he’s entertaining you. Shamelessly staring, making his antics falter.

“Baby, say my name,” he purposefully sings along dramatically, quietly but terribly off-key.

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Eddie, you’re an idiot.”

He ignores you, and continues to give you your own private concert, switching rapidly between singing the main song and the backup vocals, which only makes your stomach further ache with laughter.

This is what you’d been yearning for the last year. This silly side of him, an absolute fool who couldn’t care less about the stares of others.

The seductive side of him was enticing. The honest version of him nice. But this side of him? Carefree, rowdy, indiscreet? It may be your favorite yet.

Only the sound of a nearby teen couple mocking you two break the moment, just as you’ve begun to jokingly whisper-sing back into Eddie’s pretend microphone made of your joined fists. They make what must be vomiting noises, and you catch the tail end of one of them jokingly poking a finger towards their outstretched tongue as you finally sigh deeply.

You should probably feel embarrassed. Later on, when you find yourself in bed later tonight and attempt to find some rest, you’ll probably ruminate and burn yourself alive with all the embarrassment. But not right now; not with your boy still in front of you, smiling just as desperately wide as you were.

His dimples would probably consume him if you let him go on any longer.

“Eddie,” you choke out through residual laughter, tugging your hands free as the song starts to fade out. You make no move to remove yourself from him, though. Your arms find home around his shoulders, hands splayed just below the nape of his neck, “People are staring.”

“Good,” he snipes back, finally dropping the act but not the glee, “Probably entranced by how pretty you look right now.”

“Pretty? I probably look like a loser. They’re probably already engraving a trophy for world’s ugliest smile-”

“Oh, don’t do that,” his forehead falls against yours, rolling his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment. I love your smile.”

There’s something unspoken there. He loves your smile, yes, but he’s also been denied of it for a very long year. It’s the first step of making it up to you, making up for lost time.

Making a fool out of himself, just to see that goddamn smile.

With your arms around his neck, his forehead pressed against yours and the tip of his nose bumping yours, the game of bowling is all but forgotten. Even the teens, still side-eyeing the two of you, can be pushed aside in your mind.

All your insecurities of the night that have crept in the shadows become insignificant. You don’t care how many dates Eddie has been on before you, you don’t care that you’ve clearly become a prey caught in his web. You don’t even care about the way you’re losing.

It’s the perfect first date. When one of his hands wander, playing with the hem of your skirt, knuckles and rings brushing against bare skin, it’s perfect.

“Hey,” you whisper, “I’ve got a question.”

“I have an answer.”

“You sound very sure there, big guy.”

“I am sure,” he pulls his face away just a bit, but his gentle touch against your thigh lings. The other hand stays warm against your lower back, keeping you pressed up against him, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken.

Hearing him say it out-loud will still be nice, though.

“Does this mean we’re official?” you breathe out, trying to cling to all your bravery and not let it slip away, “Like – God, I sound like a high schooler right now – does this mean we’re… you know…”

“Dating?” he’s grinning, unable to hide his giddiness.

“Yeah. Dating.”

The hand tracing circles on your exposed outer thigh rises up to your cheek, brushing along it as he tucks a bit of your hair back. You swear you see it shaking out of the corner of your eye.

“I sure would like to be,” it was shaking. You know it surely, because his voice is as well. Vulnerable and honest, just how you like him, “We don’t have to tell the others, we can take it slow, but-”

“But we’re dating.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement – an affirmation. You and Eddie Munson, the man you swore you hated just over a week ago, were dating.

He only nods, and you consider the way that his dimples might just swallow you whole instead of him.

Not enemies, not friends – lovers. It has quite the nice ring to it.

“Well, in that case,” you finally pull away, dropping your arms slowly and letting your fingers catch on the chain of the necklace he currently wears. A red guitar pick, something you’ll surely learn the story behind soon enough. “Better go and roll that fourth strike, boyfriend.”

His head rolls back, and a joking groan falls from his lips as his neck stretches and nearly distracts you momentarily, “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re making fun of me, you little shit.”

Another laugh falls from your lips as you step around him, quirking an eyebrow. Perfect first date, indeed.

“Get used to it, Munson.”

“I plan to, Sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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#ghost's stories #beyond the hours #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #their love language is just being mean to each other i'll be honest #i've been nervous about posting extra content about them for a while but save the leaves #i might revamp the masterlist #also side note but i also think reader's outfit would totally get a scolding solely because that is not safe attire for riding on a bike #eddie should have shoved her into his jacket and scowled about it but he's just easily distracted by how pretty he finds her

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strayrockette · 4 months ago

Text

My Sunshine Girl: She Sees Red

Summary: After a chaotic bar fight, Benny guides you home, tending to your wounds and offering reassurance with his steadfast care and comforting presence.

Warnings: violence, blood, jealous and angry reader, Benny Cross and grammar mistakes

A/N: This one is a long one, I thought about splitting it but then the format starts to feel clunky so here yah go! Enjoy ❤️ Please comment your thoughts or for a tag, like and reblog❤️😌

Masterlist

My Sunshine Girl Series: The Celebration, The End of the Night, Family Dinner

Inspiration: He’s Mine by The Platters

Benny’s hands guided yours over the cue stick, his long fingers leaving traces of heat on your skin. “Just aim at the white ball, but don’t hit it too hard or you’ll send the others flying off the table,” he instructed softly, his voice a soothing murmur against the clamor of the bar. The warmth of his touch seeped through the thin fabric of your shirt, mingling with the adrenaline surging through you. His proximity was intoxicating, a blend of warmth and solid strength that made your pulse quicken in ways you tried hard to ignore.

You leaned over the pool table, his body pressed intimately into your side. Every slight movement of his chest against your own sent a shiver down your spine. Benny was absorbed in the game, his focus locked onto the table, seemingly oblivious to the effect he had on you. You found yourself mesmerized by the way his biceps flexed with every shot he took. The simple act of him guiding you, the closeness of his body, and the gentle caress of his fingers on yours filled you with a confusing mix of desire and nervous excitement. It was as if each small touch of his hand was a spark, lighting up every nerve in your body.

You stepped away from him, adjusting the cue stick with a nervous tremble. The weight of the game pressed heavily on you. Wahoo and Corky leaned against a nearby table, their casual banter punctuated by Wahoo’s impatience. “Come on, Sunshine, you’re giving me blue balls with this game,” he teased, his tone light but edged with frustration.

Benny ignored their chattering, casting you an encouraging smile that felt like a warm embrace. “You got this, baby.”

The heat rose to your cheeks, a blush blooming under the intensity of his gaze. You shook your head, trying to hold back a smile. “You put money on this game, handsome.”

You hadn’t anticipated Benny pulling you into a pool game. You’d tried to hand the cue stick back, but he was insistent, eager to teach you. His shrug was nonchalant, his confidence unwavering. “I’ll win it back next round. Don’t worry about it.”

As you glanced at the table, you saw the game was nearing its end. Benny had a shot at the 8 ball, while Wahoo had just one red solid ball left. If you missed your shot, you’d give Wahoo the chance to turn the game in his favor. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on your shoulders. The thought of losing for Benny filled you with dread, an almost physical ache of sympathy for his potential loss. “But… it’s your money,” you protested, looking up at him with serious eyes and a worried pout.

Benny chuckled, shaking his head dismissively. “Exactly, it’s my money. I’ll take care of it.” He gently turned you back toward the pool table, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His hands, warm and guiding, made your thoughts scatter, and you struggled to focus on the game.

He stepped away, giving you space, and moved to the longer side of the table. “If you hit the white ball at a slight right angle, you’ll make it.”

The cue stick felt unfamiliar in your hands, and the act of bending over the table was awkward. You were grateful that Benny had positioned you where no one was standing behind you. His eyes darted between the table and the surroundings, vigilant for any unwanted attention. Wahoo and Corky, though they might have made jokes, were respectful enough not to make lewd comments.

You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves. As you lined up the shot, you closed your eyes briefly, trying to block out the noise and focus solely on the feel of the cue stick. You could almost sense Benny's presence behind you, his confidence a comforting anchor amidst the mounting pressure. You struck the cue ball with a firm yet careful push, feeling the vibrations travel up the stick and into your hands. The thud of the ball hitting the others seemed to echo in your chest.

Benny’s smile was radiant, and it was reserved for just you. “I told you; I knew you could do it.”

You blinked, your eyes widening as you looked at the table. With a squeal of triumph, you released the cue stick, its thin body hitting the floor with a soft thud. You leapt into Benny’s arms, relief flooding through you. “I’m so glad I didn’t lose that for you,” you exclaimed.

His arms wrapped around you, his deep chuckle resonating through his chest. “You wouldn’t have lost the game. Wahoo would have fumbled. He always does.”

You laughed, pulling away slightly, your hands resting on his chest. Benny’s hands lingered, keeping you close. “That was fun, but never make me responsible for winning again. It’s too stressful.”

You toyed with the fabric of his shirt, feeling the intensity of his gaze. He hummed softly, his voice low and intimate. “Win or lose, I’m all in. It doesn’t matter to me.”

You caught the hidden meaning in his words. His eyes, often so playful, were now serious and full of emotion. The way he looked at you made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but tease him a bit. “Well then,” you said with a playful smirk, “I guess I should just lose all your games then.”

Benny’s eyes traveled over your face; his gaze clouded with a deep, intense emotion. His voice, deep as honey, pulled you closer. “I’ll just collect a losers fee”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, kissing you softly. The kiss was sweet, tender—much like the way he held you at night. He tugged gently on your bottom lip, his touch making you shiver as you pulled him closer, fingers threading into his hair.

“Ay, get a room before Benny boy decides to bash some heads in for looking at ya, Sunny!” Corky’s voice cut through the moment. He held three beers, while Wahoo, who was laughing, clapped Corky on the back.

“Yeah, we don’t need a repeat of the other night,” Wahoo added, once he caught his breath.

You pulled away from Benny abruptly, missing the warmth and closeness of his embrace. Benny shot a glare at the two, but he knew they were right. He was protective of you, and some of the men didn’t understand the chaos they’d invite by making inappropriate comments.

He watched you walk away, your dark jeans tight around your hips and thighs. Your pale pink shirt clinging to your waist and chest.

He remembered the short skirt you had worn when he first saw you, and the cute dresses you wore on nights out. He knew you’d been opting for less revealing attire recently. and he thinks about taking you out somewhere nice where you can where your cute dresses and skirts. The thought sends shivers through his body. A fire raging in his belly.

Wahoo snapped his fingers in front of Benny’s face, pulling him from his rising want and need for you.

Wahoo unbothered and unaware of Benny’s struggle asked a question. “We betting on a new game or what?”

Benny’s eyes refocused on you, your head bent close to one of your girls. He recognized her as Kathy, and saw you animatedly recounting a story, hands moving dramatically. You looked happy, and safe, and Benny decided he could leave you for a while. He placed his bet on the next game, intending to win enough money for a special gift for you.

“GET OUT?!” Kathy’s voice rose, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Did you really say that to Didi?” You nodded; excitement was evident on your face. “And then I led him to a table and gave him a menu.”

Kathy smirked. “So what? You fell in love at first sight?”

You shrugged, a hint of uncertainty in your smile. “I guess? I knew my life would change after meeting him, but I don’t know if I can say I love him.”

Kathy gave you a side-eye. “The way you were kissing by the pool table tells me otherwise.”

You gasped, stammering. “Th-that’s just a kiss! I wasn’t declaring my undying love.”

Kathy pursed her lips, her gaze intense. “So, you gonna let another man touch you?”

You recoiled at the thought. “Ew, no.”

She nodded, satisfied. “You’re in deep, Sunny.”

You laughed; a bit self-conscious. “I guess I am, pumpkin.”

Kathy burst into laughter, slapping your thigh playfully. The conversation shifted as she told you about Cal’s persistent visits to her house. Her ex had gotten too rough, and Cal had helped her throw him out. Relief washed over you that Kathy had managed to escape that situation.

The topic of Cal’s pursuit turned into a giggle-fest as Kathy explained his unwavering interest. “I think he likes the chase. Who knows, maybe I’ll give in.”

You poked her ribs, advising her not to make him suffer too long. The way Cal looked at her was almost too much to bear; his puppy-dog eyes were heartbreaking.

At some point, you returned to the pool table, Kathy having slipped away to see if Cal would take her home. Benny had removed his jacket and handed it to you, which you draped over your shoulders with ease, enjoying the extra coverage it provided.

You leaned against a wall, watching Benny’s intense focus as he played yet another betting game. He was on a winning streak, the tension of each game palpable. As he won this one too, he pocketed the money and stashed it into his back pocket.

He approached you, towering over you as he leaned down to peck your lips. He informed you he was stepping outside for a smoke. As his fingers delved into his jacket pocket, pulling out his cigarettes and lighter, you grabbed his arm, pulling him closer. “Another one, please?”

Benny’s blue eyes locked onto yours, a storm of intensity brewing within them. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead instead of your lips, before turning away. His touch lingered in your mind, leaving you with a sense of warmth and longing as he walked away.

You shook off the lingering thoughts, letting out a sigh as you decided a quick bathroom break was necessary before tracking him down for a real kiss, you nearly let out a giggle at the thought but stifled it as you made your way to the women’s bathroom.

Stepping out of the stall, you felt a rush of relief as you made your way to the sink. The bathroom, dimly lit and compact, offered a brief escape from the bar’s cacophony. Carefully, you removed Benny’s oversized jacket, its warmth still lingering from where you’d been wearing it. You hung it on the hook by the sinks, adjusting it so it draped neatly.

As you turned on the faucet and began washing your hands, the bathroom door swung open with a loud creak, and three women barged in. Their laughter and chatter immediately filled the small space, their presence abruptly shifting the mood.

“I told you; he was a looker!” the first one exclaimed, her voice carrying an edge of jealousy as she brushed past you to the mirror. A brief glance at them through the mirror and your heart sunk. You remembered seeing them eye you from a corner of the bar they had secluded for their group.

“And that kiss!” the second added, her tone dripping with mockery. “Did you see how he couldn’t keep his hands off her?”

You tried to ignore their comments, knowing that they were talking about you and Benny. You focused on your reflection in the mirror as you washed your hands. You hoped if you stayed silent they would back off. But the women seemed to take your silence as an invitation to escalate their comments.

The third woman, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke, her gaze fixed with sharp appraisal on Benny’s jacket hanging on the hook. “Oh, look who it is. The girl who’s got Benny all wrapped around her finger.”

You rolled your eyes, As if their body language and mocking tone wasn’t enough to let me know it’s me they’re talking about.

The first woman, not deterred by your lack of response, leaned in closer, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “I guess Benny’s got a real thing for you, huh? Must be nice to have him wrapped around your little finger.”

You remained silent, forcing yourself to stay calm. Their tone and invasive presence were beginning to grate on your nerves.

The second woman stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of Benny’s jacket draped over the hook. “Yeah, it’s so cute how you think you’re special just because he gave you, his jacket. Real big shot, aren’t you?”

You let out a slow, measured breath, trying to keep your composure. “Does it matter what I think?.”

You don’t want to entertain their mocking and taunting. Tonight was meant to be a nice relief from working a double shift at the diner.

The third woman scoffed, clearly not satisfied with your response. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so stuck-up. We’re just curious. How does it feel to be the center of attention all the time? Benny must really like you.”

You glanced at them through the mirror, your patience wearing thin. You turn the faucet off and flick your hands into the sink, “I’m not looking for attention. I’m just trying to enjoy my night.”

Before you could reach for a napkin to dry your hands, the first woman reached for the jacket, grabbing it with a possessive grip. “Well, if you’re not interested in talking, maybe we’ll just take this as a little souvenir.”

Your heart dropped as you stepped forward, pulling the jacket back. “Let go”

The second woman laughed mockingly; her eyes gleaming with malice. “Oh, is little miss perfect going to have a tantrum now?”

Ignoring their taunts, you tightened your grip on the jacket, trying to hold your ground. “Seriously, just leave me alone.”

But they weren’t finished. The third woman, who had been quieter but no less antagonistic, added with a smirk, “What’s the matter? Afraid we’ll mess up your perfect little night?”

As you struggled to maintain your calm, the first woman yanked on the jacket with a sudden force. You stumbled, unable to hold on as she managed to snatch it from your grasp. She slipped it on with a triumphant grin, the oversized jacket swallowing her smaller frame. Your breath hitched, a heavy feeling rising in your chest.

The sight of her parading around in Benny’s jacket, with a smirk of victory on her face, filled you with an intense pang of jealousy. It was as if the jacket, a symbol of Benny’s affection, was being flaunted in front of you, mocking your connection. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, and the rush of emotion left you feeling lightheaded.

“Hey!” you snapped, unable to keep your frustration in check. “Give that back!”

The first woman tossed her head back in a laugh, her tone dripping with contempt. “Oh, what’s the matter? Can’t handle a little competition?”

The second woman stepped closer, her gaze sharp and challenging. “Yeah, maybe you should have thought about sharing some of that attention if you didn’t want us to take it.”

You felt cornered, the oppressive weight of their taunts and the loss of Benny’s jacket making it hard to think clearly. The third woman’s smirk widened as she watched the scene unfold. “Let’s see how long you can hold onto that ‘special’ feeling now.”

The first woman adjusted the jacket with exaggerated movements, clearly relishing the impact of her actions. You could feel the jealousy burning in your chest, an almost physical ache as the unfairness of the situation hit home. Your voice trembled as you tried to regain your composure. “This isn’t funny. Just give it back.”

The women exchanged glances, clearly enjoying your distress. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the scene before you were taking its toll. The heavy feeling in your chest made it hard to think of anything else but retrieving what felt like a piece of your own happiness.

One of the women, a sneer on her lips, leaned in closer and poked your chest with a condescending finger. “Oh, what’s wrong? Did you think you’d get to keep Benny’s jacket forever? How cute.” Her tone dripped with mockery, adding to the sting of your frustration.

Before you could respond, the second woman shoved you roughly, causing you to stumble back and collide with the sink. The cold, hard surface pressed into your back, jarring and unpleasant. You winced, trying to regain your balance as the women continued their cruel game, she shoves you again, this time you slip against the tile floor. Barely managing to grip the sink, you catch yourself from a nasty fall.

"She's turnin' red," one exclaims with a mocking grin. She pokes your shoulder insistently, "What? you gonna break now, Sunshine."

Your nickname rolls off her tongue like a curse. Her finger presses into your shoulder with force.

The one wearing Benny's jacket is caressing the patches with a smirk, "Maybe, I'll ask him to get me my own jacket. With his name on it."

Her comment sends you over the edge, the consistent violation of your personal space was just a bonus. You don't remember much of what happened. Your body moves on autopilot, shoving the second woman who was so insistent on violating your personal space. She stumbles back with a shocked cry. The other two have seconds to process what happens before you're lunging at the first woman, she isn't prepared for the onslaught of your frenzied fist to meet her face. Her friends try to rip you off, but it only motivates you to keep going. Somehow your fight spills out of the bathroom and into the bar. It takes a minute for everyone to process what is happening.

One of the women is screaming for help. Another is screaming that you bit her. But the first one, the one wearing your jacket, flaunting and taunting you is trying to get away from you. But you are relentless.

Benny gave you the jacket. He trusts you with his jacket, he invited you and made you a part of his small world. No one would take that from you, and you wouldn't stand for anyone thinking they could replace you or take him away from you.

Benny is leaning up against the brick wall outside the bar, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the stuffy, noisy interior. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up into the darkness as he enjoyed a rare moment of peace. The clamor of the bar was a distant hum, barely noticeable from his spot by the alley.

The warmth from the cigarette provided a brief solace as Benny savored the few minutes of solitude. He was lost in thought, reflecting on the night’s games and the wins he’d managed to rack up. The bar had been lively, the atmosphere charged with a mix of competitiveness and camaraderie. Benny was on a high, but that tranquility was abruptly shattered.

A voice called out from the bar’s entrance, breaking through his thoughts. “Hey, Benny! Your girl’s in trouble!”

Benny’s head snapped up, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. “What?” he barked, his heart skipping a beat. The urgency in the other man’s voice made his pulse quicken. He tossed the cigarette to the ground, his eyes narrowing with concern.

"She's fighten' three women, it's gettin intense" the guy continued, his face etched with worry, "She's bleed-"

Benny doesn't wait for him to finish his sentence. He hadn't expected the night to turn out this way. He had given you the jacket as a passing thought. A hidden layer of a claim. His claim. No one with a brain should have even considered getting into it with you.

He's pushing through the crowd; people are trying to leave some muttering about the crazy societal oddballs. Some are excited to see the bloodbath of women fighting. He locks eyes with Johnny, he waves him through, barking at everyone to back up and demanding that people exit the bar.

Two women are gripping your hair and locking their limbs around you. You twist in their grip, your nails and teeth reaching for available skin. Your nose is bleeding and there's a visible bruise on your cheek. The fight gets intense with each passing second. No one knows how to stop it, fear of getting caught in the crosswind of flying fists and snappy teeth.

One of the women steps away and is preparing to grab a beer bottle to smash over your head but with a chorus of "No's" some women from the bar are throwing themselves into the mix. Things only get messier and uglier as the three women's other friends step in to help. Benny isn't sure what's worse, a bunch of drunk blacked out men fighting, or a bunch of catty drunk and sober women with no qualms of using everything as a weapon.

Benny shrugs his shoulders and tracks your figure through the mass of women fighting. Once he sees an opening, he rushes in trying to avoid shoving and hurting other women. He's reached your side, you're relentlessly hitting one woman, the same one you keep goin' back to whenever you escape someone's grasp. He's pulled you off her with a swift grip. You thrash in his arms. Elbowing him and head-butting him in the process but he refuses to let go. He's pulling you away from the fight, dodging falling bodies and high-pitched yells.

He sets himself down at the back of the bar, near the pool tables, and roughly shoves you onto one of them. He stands directly in front of you, blocking your view of your target. Your hair is a tangled mess, your breath comes in ragged bursts, and a nasty sneer twists your face. Your eyes are wide and unfocused, and you’re swatting at him in a futile attempt to break free. He’s pinned your legs between his body and his hands grip your arms, keeping them from hitting him.

You hiss, “Let go of me.”

His voice is deep and firm, offering no room for negotiation. “No.”

You huff and relax into his hold, seething with frustration. You still haven’t gotten his jacket back, and it bothers you. Without it draped over your shoulders, you feel exposed and incomplete.

In the chaos of the club, his calm presence is oddly soothing. Johnny is shouting for everyone to leave and take their women with them. You close your eyes as Benny gently cradles your face in his hands. He tells you to take deep breaths and reassures you that he’s here and not going anywhere.

Gradually, your heartbeat slows and the adrenaline fades. After a few deep breaths, embarrassment washes over you. Your head drops, thudding softly against his chest.

You’re reluctant to face the aftermath of your reckless behavior. Your uncle will hear about the fight; he has connections at the precinct. You groan, annoyed by yet another thing he’ll use to needle you.

The sounds of the scuffle die down. Women are being dragged out of the bar, the ruckus finally subsiding.

“You calm now?” Benny’s hands smooth over your hair as he holds you against his chest. His gaze shifts to the bar, watching as women are escorted out. He notices one still holding onto his jacket, with only one shoulder slipped out of the sleeve.

He gives Betty, who stands nearby with a concerned look, a nod. She spots the jacket and, after a brief, understanding glance at Benny, moves forward to retrieve it for you.

You hum in response, your frustration clear. “I wanna go home,” you murmur.

A teasing smile plays on Benny’s lips as he lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “Too much excitement?”

His blue eyes hold a mixture of teasing and concern. Despite the ongoing chaos around you, he’s focused on grounding you in the present with his attention. You puff your cheeks and nod, giving him a slightly contrite, yet endearing look.

Benny’s gaze softens. He watches as Betty returns with the jacket and places it beside you before slipping away quietly. Benny picks up the jacket and drapes it over your shoulders with a gentle, comforting gesture.

Just then, Johnny pushes through the remaining crowd, his expression grim. He strides over to Benny and leans in close, speaking in a low, urgent tone. “The cops have been called. You need to get her out of here before they show up.”

Benny’s face tightens into a determined frown. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring.

He leads you through the thinning crowd and out of the club, moving quickly but carefully towards his bike. The cool night air greets you as you step outside, offering a refreshing contrast to the club’s stifling atmosphere.

Benny walks you over to his motorcycle, parked a short distance away. He adjusts the jacket around you for warmth before settling into place. He climbs onto the bike first and then extends a strong hand to help you up. “Come on,” he says, his voice firm but gentle.

You take his hand, feeling the steady grip as he helps you onto the bike behind him. With a reassuring nod, he starts the engine. The low rumble vibrates through you, creating a soothing backdrop against the night’s chaos.

The ride is quick but steady, the city lights blurring past as you make your way home. When you arrive, Benny parks the motorcycle and helps you off, his hand steadying you as you dismount. He walks you to your front door, his concern evident in every gesture.

Inside, the warmth of your home wraps around you, a stark contrast to the night’s earlier chaos. As you step into the familiar space, you notice how much more welcoming it feels now. The house, which had seemed so cold and uninviting during the first month of your move back into your mother’s childhood home, now feels surprisingly warm and comforting.

Benny has been more than just a ride home. He’s helped you tackle the cluttered boxes that had piled up in the living room since you moved in. His hands were steady and capable as he helped you sort through the remnants of your past life. He even took the time to fix the built-in bookcase that your mother used to fawn over on winter nights. The bookcase, once a broken relic, now stood proud and sturdy, its shelves ready to hold the memories and stories of your family once more.

Benny heads into your kitchen with a familiarity that seems almost natural. He quickly gets the kettle ready for hot tea, moving around your kitchen with an ease that belies the night’s earlier chaos. He opens your favorite tea tin—spicy chamomile and cinnamon—and carefully measures out the fragrant leaves. The comforting aroma starts to fill the room, blending with the soothing warmth of the space.

As he waits for the water to boil, Benny returns to you. He sits down next to you on the couch, his large, comforting hands finding yours. His touch is warm and steady, a tangible reassurance amid the lingering tension of the night. He tilts his head slightly to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with genuine concern.

“You’re safe now,” he says gently, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. “Don’t worry about the cops or the aftermath of tonight.”

His eyes, though tired, hold a depth of understanding and care. They offer a silent promise that, despite the chaos of the evening, you are not alone. His presence, practical and grounded, serves as a reminder that things will be taken care of.

The warmth from the kitchen, combined with Benny’s reassuring presence, makes the house feel like a sanctuary—a stark contrast to the cold, unwelcoming atmosphere you first encountered. The night’s upheaval fades into the background, replaced by a sense of calm and security, anchored by Benny’s steadfast support.

A few moments later, Benny leads you to the dining table. The comforting aroma of spicy chamomile and cinnamon mingles with the warmth of the space, offering a soothing respite from the night’s chaos. He sets the cup in front of you with a gentle touch and a reassuring nod before heading toward the bathroom down the hall and across the kitchen.

You hear the faint rustling of drawers and the clinking of the first aid kit as Benny retrieves it from where you keep it on hand. When he returns, he moves with a quiet purpose, his demeanor a blend of practical efficiency and deep concern.

He kneels down before you, his large hands working with a steady, careful precision as he begins to tend to your cuts and welts. His touch is gentle yet confident, each movement calculated to minimize discomfort and maximize healing. As he cleans and bandages each wound, his eyes remain fixed on you, filled with a depth of understanding and care that speaks volumes without a word.

His gaze, though weary from the night’s events, is soft and compassionate. There is a silent promise in his eyes—an assurance that, despite the chaos and the bruises, you are not alone. His presence is both practical and grounding, a calming anchor amidst the turmoil. The care he provides is more than just physical; it’s a reminder that everything will be alright, that he’s here to handle the aftermath and ensure you’re taken care of.

The steady rhythm of his movements, the gentle pressure of his hands, and the occasional reassuring glance all contribute to a sense of calm. In this quiet moment, as he tends to your injuries, Benny’s presence offers a comforting certainty. You feel the weight of the night’s chaos begin to lift, replaced by a profound sense of security and gratitude. His actions reassure you that, no matter how tumultuous things get, you have someone by your side who truly cares and will help you navigate through it all.

Taglist: @storiesfromafan @aleemendoza2425-blog , @preciouslilmonster , @iamaslytherin0

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #benny cross x reader #fanfic #benny cross #benny the bikeriders #benny x reader #benny cross imagine #benny cross bikeriders #benny cross x you #benny cross x y/n #benny cross x fem reader #the bikeriders imagine #the bikeriders x reader #the bikeriders fic #the bikeriders

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girlsnighteverynight · 5 months ago

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#GIRLS NIGHT WAHOO #GET READY FOR GIRLS NIGHT #GIRLS NIGHT

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zablife · 4 months ago

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Property of Johnny

Johnny Davis x you

Johnny Davis Masterlist

A/N: A short fic based on this ask from @potter-solomons. Also, I wrote this with a raging fever so if it doesn't make sense, pls be kind. I'll fix any mistakes later.

"Goin' out for a smoke," you told Johnny, placing a kiss to his cheek as you leaned across the table to borrow his lighter.

"Take your jacket, babydoll," he reminded you gently, pulling the garment off the chair beside him and holding it out for you. He insinuated the thick leather was protection against the chilly autumn air, but you knew better. The glimmer in his eye as he caught sight of the "Property of Johnny" patch on your left arm was an unmistakable tell that he loved marking you as his.

As you walked away, Wahoo's new girl cast a covetous eye in your direction, surveying your Vandals jacket carefully before asking, “How do I get one of those?"

Everyone seated at the table could tell her air of entitlement didn't sit well with Johnny who shifted in his seat with a low grumble. He looked to the younger man to tell her how things were, how you had to prove yourself to get a jacket and why only a few lucky ladies had special insignia from their men. But it was clear Wahoo wouldn't be the one to deflate her ego. Not with her hand resting on his upper thigh, moments away from whispering it was time to get out of here.

Pulling away suddenly, she snapped her gum in a show of childish impatience. "Well? Anybody gonna answer me?" she persisted.

"How long you been with this guy?," Johnny asked, indicating toward Wahoo with his beer bottle. Before she could speak up, he answered his own question. "A month... at best?" he mumbled to himself as though he were counting up the days in his head.

"So?" she shrugged.

"You work mighty quick if he's ready to call you his old lady," he hummed, taking a long swig of his beer.

Turning to Wahoo and running a manicured hand through his glossy black hair, she cooed, "I am...Ain't I, baby?"

Wahoo gulped as he looked back at Johnny. "Sure, sure," he hushed her, pulling her hand away gently. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she suddenly pulled his jacket from his chair, donning his colors and giving a little twirl for show.

"See how good I look?" she asked the group. "Now when do I get mine, huh?" she pouted.

Johnny rolled his eyes before looking out the window at you, thinking of all the sleepless nights you'd spent waiting for him and the countless times you bandaged his wounds. The arguments about the club that nearly ripped you apart, only for you to work things out and try all over again because you knew how important it was to him. It was that kind of love and patience a man needed to survive. One look at the simpering child across from him playing dress up told him she wasn't the type to stick around when things got hard.

"I don't think you understand, sweetheart," Johnny began in the even controlled tone he used when laying down the rules to a newcomer. "That's earned," he said, pointing to you for emphasis. "She's the most loyal person I know. Woman's stuck by me through thick and thin," he explained with an earnest nod.

As you returned from outside, you couldn't help but notice the sour look on the young girl's face as she fell back into her chair, arms folded over her chest as she whined to Wahoo, "I'm a good person too, you know. What does he want me to do, recite a pledge or somethin'?"

Johnny stood to excuse himself, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as he placed a hand at the small of your back to indicate he was saying his final words on the subject. "Maybe if you stick around long enough you'll figure it out for yourself," he tossed over his shoulder with a wink.

--------------------

"What was all that about?" you asked Johnny when you were undressing for bed.

"What?"

"Don't give me that. What did you say to Wahoo's girl tonight?" you pressed.

"Why does it matter? She ain't gonna be here long," he grunted as he pulled the belt from his trousers.

"You know that from one conversation?" you asked, eyebrows raised at him playfully. "Poor kid just wants a jacket," you reminded him.

"Well she ain't gettin' one," he muttered. "We don't give out jackets for fucking our members."

"Oh, you don't?" you asked playfully, watching him carefully as he wound the belt around his fist, leather cracking angrily before he shoved it into a dresser drawer. The meaning behind your jacket had always been a bit of mystery to you, but you assumed it was to keep other men away from Johnny Davis' girl.

In an attempt to find out you poked the bear with a single statement. “You're a damn liar if you think I don't know the reason you gave me this jacket," you snickered as you hung it in your closet with the “Property of Johnny” patch facing you. “Want everybody to know...," you mused, tracing the stitching with your fingertips.

Johnny's brow twitched at the accusation, crossing the room to capture you in his arms. “What? That I'm proud you're mine?" he prompted, holding your face in his large palm.

"To keep their distance," you corrected, holding his gaze.

"Can't it be both?" he grinned at you mischievously before ducking his head to place kisses along your collarbone.

Full lips brushing against the column of your throat, you soon felt his hot breath ghost over the shell of your ear as he whispered, "I think you know me better than that. I protect what’s important to me and that's the love you give me. Wouldn't be nothin' without you, darlin."

Your heart swelled at his praise, fingers curling tightly over his biceps as his hand began stroking languidly up your spine.

He paused momentarily to rest his chin against your head. “I know the things you gave up for me and this is the only way I can repay you, keeping you safe."

You shook your head against his shoulder, tears forming in the corner of your eye. "I'm here cause I wanna be."

He hugged you tighter, arms lacing around your waist until you could hardly breathe. "I know, baby. I never said it, but I should have. Thank you," he mumbled into your hair, biting back emotion.

"Don't have to thank me," you assured him, stroking his hair. "I love you and I always will," you whispered with a lump in your throat.

Walking you gently toward the edge of the bed, Johnny pushed you onto the mattress with a smile you hadn't seen in months, the stress of work and the club consuming every waking hour. "I love you so much," he huffed as he tumbled over with you. "Gonna show you," he promised, rolling his hips over you with pent up desire.

#the bikeriders #the bikeriders fanfiction #Johnny Davis fanfiction #Johnny Davis x reader #Johnny Davis x you #Johnny Davis #Tom Hardy

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semperamans · 5 months ago

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I read your writing for Johnny I’m FERAL i saw that your on a trip hope your having the best time I understand if this isn’t written asap🫶🏽 but I had an idea for ( jealous) johnny

So you’ve always been around the outlaws not major close but there, then your friend kathy starts dating benny and you slot in with them permanently it’s no secret to anyone that your stunning like the girl on the block that everyone wants type of thing but a sweet heart

Johnny always admired from afar ( maybe you have a secret soft spot for him as well, you both steal glances etc like you know that one person you naturally gravitate toward when in a group of people) but he never made any moves

But then word on the street you’ve finally said yes to a date with someone maybe not a biker but a mechanical (idk) and Johnny overhears the boys speaking about it and he’s like wtf

And v stupid on your part you thought after your date you’d bring him to the bar with everyone and it would be good vibes lol definitely not the only vibes are rude unhappy and jealous Johnny ( everyone’s just sat watching the tension like it’s a movie 😭) maybe he makes your date leave idk

I hope this isn’t too much 🫶🏽

kinda ran with this!

(reader is younger than johnny! slightly nsfw! violence!)

johnny's momma made him go to church on sundays when he was a youngin' and boy he hated it. jus' didn't make any sense to him - believin' in something he couldn't see (and wearin' those ridiculous clothes) - so the minute he turned old enough to make his own decisions he was outta there. i mean, he hasn't seen the inside of a church since he n'betty got hitched years ago - but the strangest damn thing happened to him the other night. he saw a goddamn angel in the flesh and it changed his entire life.

september 1965

johnny always hated the soaps betty watched. fuckin' unrealistic, y'know? s'much as he missed betty, he was glad when she up and left and took the fuckin' antennas with her. time didn't stop whenever ya saw someone attractive. i mean, there was no dreamy music or fuckin' swirlin' sparkles. but then you stumbled into the clubhouse with your sweet smile and long painted nails and swishy dress and johnny was spellbound because what the fuck? he'd never seen you before - that much he knew. if he had seen you 'round prior to this night he woulda called his momma and apologized for not believin' her all these years. a fuckin' angel amongst all these sinners - who woulda thought? you were just so young n'precious; smilin' brightly next to a laughin' kathy. johnny couldn't help but stare n'he tried not to make it obvious, y'know, but who could blame 'em? then you spoke to him. turned your head just so and gave him a little wave and a "hello" that made his heart squeeze and his cock twitch and he knew he was destined to be fucked for the rest of his miserable life.

your big ole eyes lit up when he introduced himself. he gave you the spiel: his name, that he's the president of this rag-tag group of fuckin' bozos, n'like with kathy he made the promise that he wouldn't let nothin' happen to ya. he said it to kathy outta due diligence, y'know? i mean, she looked mortified when she stumbled in through the doors lookin' for dingy - but you? you weren't at all off-put by cockroach's stories or wahoo's slurred speech. you just giggled n'shook your head, wrapping your pink lips around a bottle of pop. maybe you were just too young and naive to realize the relative danger of bein' there, johnny thought. i mean, you were just this sweet girl who fluttered her lashes and saw the good in everyone an' so johnny told himself to let it go. to knock it off. that you were too young. too pure. too angelic. but, well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, right?

october 1965

"well, look at you," each word that dripped from johnny's mouth had been submerged in lust and coated with longing and he wanted to kick his own fucking ass but you beamed at 'em. you had spearheaded the idea to have a costume party on halloween n'of course all the guys voted yes at the meetin'. it was fuckin' cold that night, but it hadn't stopped wahoo and corky from rippin' their shirts n'jeans an' stealin' cal's earrings to look like pirates. cockroach's wife had affixed long, cloth-wrapped wires to his back so he could resemble his namesake n'sonny'd even found a rubber clown mask that zipco fuckin' hated. then there was you. you - of course - were an angel. it felt like a cruel fuckin' joke when johnny saw ya stumblin' through the door in heels that were a bit too tall of ya. you were a vision of white and wings and feathers and he was so unbelievably in love with you it made him sick. "g'head n'gimmie a twirl, peach. lemme look at ya."

so you did and you always did exactly what johnny said which was something he both hated and adored. you were always so good to 'em. whenever you'd come in with kathy you'd slide a chair right next to him and he'd fuckin' burn whenever your leg kissed his. he felt like a goddamn 16-year-old gettin' hard at the attention you bestowed upon 'em, but he couldn't help it. couldn't help that it made his heart soar when you propped your elbows on the table n'leaned in closer to hear over the crooning music. and it would be so easy to use that power for evil, y'know? to tell ya that he had a hard day n'just needed some lovin' and he knows you'd give it to 'em. such an affectionate girl you were, always huggin' on everyone n'stumblin' into his arms when you had a bit too much to drink. he'd felt your lips against his ear as you whispered drunken secrets to 'em but he'd never felt them on his own and he wanted to. he really fuckin' wanted to kiss you.

"well, what do ya think?"

you didn't seem phased that he had been staring. y'just stood there with a little smile n'your hands slightly outstretched like ya might actually use those wings to fly off. how was johnny to not eat you alive?

"think you look perfect. jus' like the real thing."

because you were.

after knowin' you for a month johnny was certain his initial reaction toward ya hadn't been an exaggeration. you were a goddamn angel - costume or not. at his high praises, you smiled even bigger. he loved your smile. then you were fluttering off to find benny n'kathy to show 'em your pretty wings and all johnny could think about as you high-fived and waved to everyone was how you'd so quickly grown to be an integral part of the group. a room felt empty without your robust laughter n'when you weren't around johnny was wishin' you were. you prettied up the place - prettied up johnny's life - n'maybe god had forgiven him for all the bad shit he'd done in life. i mean, why else would he have given johnny a gift? given johnny you.

but you weren't his.

you were never gonna be his.

and johnny accepts that.

kind of.

january 1966

he doesn't.

johnny doesn't know her name - doesn't care - because she wears the same perfume you do an' with his eyes closed he can almost imagine that it's you under him n'not some random from down the street. you're the one takin' him so well n'tellin' him how good it feels, not her. not this girl who means nothing to him. johnny even moans your name, rookie fuckin' mistake, n'the woman smacks him, which is deserved n'the second she tugs up her dress and leaves johnny is like a wild animal; fuckin' his fist, n'shoving his face into the pillow to chase the fleeting scent of you you you.

februrary 1966

he's ruined.

his thoughts are of you - only you - and they've grown progressively worse. he wants to marry you, to wake up to your sweet smile, to make you a momma, but fuck he can't. you're still so sweet n'young and you have no idea what the real world is like and he wants to ruin your life but he can't. he promised nothin' would happen to you n'he doesn't break promises even if it breaks his fucking heart.

the next time he sees you is at the family picnic. you've got a scarf in your hair n'you're so happy to see him - he knows by the way your face lights up n'you come skippin' over - but then he's shrugging off your hug and goddamn your sorrowful little pout almost breaks him, but he stays on course. when you come to stand by him at the fire, he moves. he doesn't let you sit on his lap when you all settle in and refuses when you ask him to toast your marshmallow and you're so confused. you don't know what you did; how you made him angry n'why he wants nothin' to do with you anymore.

he won't even acknowledge you when you paw at his arm and whisper his name. he stays locked in conversation with wahoo and corky who seem just as confused as you are, but they say nothing.

nothing.

maybe that's all this was after all.

march 1966

johnny doesn't pick up when you call.

he swore he always would, but he doesn't.

april 1966

"oh yeah! she's gotta man now!" kathy says nonchalantly like she didn't just ruin johnny's life. the room feels too hot. what did dingy say? he didn't hear over the ringin' in his fuckin' ears.

"it's that, uh, robbie fella. y'know, the one who works in sharky's garage? yeah, apparently they hit it off n'ya know, now they're goin' steady." kathy's words lodge deep in johnny's brain the way a fuckin' bullet would n'his heart is falin' out of his ass and okay, maybe he wasn't so good at hiding his feelings because benny n'brucie turn to look at him, but he's fine. yeah. no. he's totally fine. he knew this would happen, knew that you would go on about your life. it's what you deserve. nice guy, close in age. yeah. that's fine.

he definitely doesn't punch a hole in the wall picturin' robbie's face.

july 1966

"well, look at you."

johnny's got his back turned, so he isn't sure who sonny is talkin' about til he peers over his shoulder n'almost falls outta his seat. he's too drunk for this, so drunk he's seeing angels because there you are and oh, you look so pretty. how long has it been since he's seen ya? couple of months? my god, you've gotten prettier, somehow. hair is longer now and your eyes actually look happy. you give hugs, avoid johnny, n'then gesture over toward the door where that no good, low down robbie stands.

in truth, robbie's a good kid. all the guys know 'em. i mean, he can't ride - johnny isn't even sure he could hold up a goddamn bike with those scrawny legs - but he knows his way inside and out 'round a bike. the man's brain is like a fuckin' robot n'so of course he gets along with cal and johnny doesn't know why he feels so betrayed when all the guys go stumblin' over to greet the fuckin' traitor. you stay right where you are, though. lookin' over at johnny with unspoken words lodged in your throat. there is so much you wanna say to him, but all you manage is a choked

"hi,"

"get 'em outta here."

your eyebrows furrow, frown etching onto your mouth as you shift your weight from one foot to the next.

"why?"

"because this is my bar n'i wan' 'em gone."

"he hasn't done nothin' to you!"

oh but he has because what's that glintin' on your finger? johnny rises from his seat so quickly he damn near loses his balance, but he regains it quick enough to snatch your hand n'sure enough...

johnny has no right to be upset. i mean, you were never his to begin with, right? but his fucking heart is in pieces all over the floor just like the beer bottle he busts over robbie's head n'there is fuckin' chaos. it takes benny, brucie, and whaoo to pull johnny off robbie. the poor guy hasn't done nothin' wrong; just gave you the life johnny always wanted. like, now, as johnny pants n'winces as kathy cleans up his knuckles, robbie's got your face cradled in his palm. he's kissin' your cheeks and rubbin' his hand down your arm and... pressin' it to your stomach.

johnny never believed much in religion, but he prays that there is some kind of god because he's going to need some forgiveness before the night is through.

#this is the first thing ive written in days pls be nice 2 me <3 #clo answers #tom hardy #my johnny :'(#johnny davis x reader #johnny davis #the bikeriders #the bikeriders x reader #✍🏼

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mara-and-its-the-same · 5 months ago

Note

hello there! I would love to read any of your thoughts/fics about Cal and/or Danny!

OR?! I could never pick between them, but for the sake of introductions let's start with thoughts because the fics are coming don't you worry. They just need a little fine tuning

Teeny thoughts/HCs for both below the cut (it's yap central up in here)🥰

Cal

I'm so obsessed with the way he talks, like absolutely entranced by his cadence and I love every scene of him telling some story. and I know that he'd know that, maybe not right away but eventually he'd recognize the look you give him around the bonfire while he's talking to the group is the same one you give him late in the evening close to the final page of your date nights. OH MY GOD!

when you find out he speaks french! i'm woozy just thinking about it, (i don't even care that i can't understand quebecois for the life of me) you'd ask him to say something to you just so you could hear the sound of it. even if he's gotten a little rusty since he hasn't has anyone to speak it with, and even if all he can recite are the few stories he remembers from his childhood, or motorcycle parts he's learned from the translations on the back of manuals. like a late night and you cant sleep and you just want the sound of his voice to relax to...he might not totally understand the attraction, but he's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth and if you're into it who is he to deny you such a simple wish?

and I don't think he'd be the type to be one of those "my old ball and chain" guys, like he's undoubtedly in love with you and in love with being around you as often as possible. so if you're home while he's working in the garage he's setting up a lawn chair for you to relax in, just to keep him company, if the weather's nice he's putting it out in the sun for you and if it's a little too hot he sets you up in the shade with a little cooler with whatever the two of you are into that week. and he's certainly not letting you lift a finger. not because he thinks you'll break something (which like you might, but who am i to judge) but because he doesn't want you getting grease all over your outfit or roughing up those soft, pretty hands of yours. he just wants your company

Danny

for right now in this moment, i'm all over the idea of being his "girl back home" like he's out in chicago with all these bikers getting into god knows what kind of trouble, while you're safe at home just thinking about him every hour of every day. of course he calls whenever he gets the chance, but it's never a sure thing with the amount of time he spends out on the longer runs. and long distance calls are expensive, but every time he does it's so precious. the few times you hear some new midwestern phrase or pronunciation slip in and get a few extra seconds on the call just to poke a little more fun at him.

the guys get ahold of his wallet one day and can't believe he's kept you a secret this long. 3 different pictures of you sit in the accordion folded holder between the fold of his wallet and he thanks god for the feeling he got that morning he should change the ones he had in before (much more,,,invigorating if you will), for these three that he brought with him too, just to be sure he can see all your different expressions every time he reaches into his back pocket.

AND WHEN YOU COME TO VISIT!! at first he's not so sure it's the best idea, worrying you won't like the guys or something might happen once you're there, but all that is secondary the moment he thinks about how long it's been since he's last seen you, and before he knows it he's calling you back and taking you up on that offer to get a week off of work and coming to see him. Once you're there he's not leaving your side for a minute, firstly because he feels the need to let everyone else know you're his (and that you are real, as much as Zipco and Wahoo tried to get him to admit to the pictures in his wallet being magazine clippings because what's a girl like you doing with a pinko "college-boy" like him) and second because he's missed you so much for so long and he doesn't know the next time you'll be back so he's getting every second he can with you

and oh goodness are you impressed with this new look he's adopted. so different from what he used to wear to class or out walking around the city together, but still it fits him so well. your knees almost give out the 3rd day of your visit when he comes out from his bedroom in a black tank top and his denim vest...and maybe you do feign heat exhaustion just so he'll take you home early on the back of the bike he's spent so many phone calls telling you about...just because the heat was a more internal kind doesn't mean it's any less real. or maybe the exhaustion was just that you were getting tired of seeing him look that hot without doing anything about it. either way he hasn't seen you pull him up his apartment stairs that fast since you first started dating

and not maybe, but certainly, your trip goes from one week to two to a month until the tragic reality of responsibility sinks in and you realize you really are running out of clothes...

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clubdionysus · 8 months ago

Text

[BAD DECISION #7] Sex With An Ex

warnings: sad girl hours!! backstory!! wahoo!! reader gets a nickname (byeol (means star in korean)). enter stage left: KIM SEOKJIN. no smut but references back to things said mid-shag. first mention of jk’s lip ring flipping (i think (first of MANY)). very emotionally hurt reader :(

soundtrack:don’t know how to keep loving you - julia jacklin; 3:00 am - finding hope; blender - 5sos

wc: 6k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist

A frigid early morning breeze dances around Jeongguk's bare legs. The hairs stand on end, in protest of the fact he's elected to wait downstairs by the entrance of his apartment.

He knows you're in a taxi - had sent you his address, and had been sent a message back a few moments later saying 'omw', but he isn't sure if you remember which floor he's on, nor which apartment is his. It's almost as if he didn't put a decal sticker that resembles Iron Man's Arc Reactor on their doorbell.

Jimin is yet to notice it.

You had giggled, still tipsy, when you'd spotted it on the night that Jimin had taken you back to their place, but can barely remember it, now.

And so, Jeongguk waits for you in the cold, hands bunched into the pockets of his shorts, a white shirt hanging off his broad shoulders, which are slightly hunched over. He's trying to preserve heat. Wishes he was wearing socks. Will blame you if he gets sick.

Yet when your taxi rolls up - and he's squinting from the headlights, eyes a little puffy from his lack of sleep - he knows that you're not in the mood to be blamed for anything. There seems like there's a weight on your shoulders as you thank your driver, making sure the door is shut before turning to face Jeongguk.

Posture sloped, you don't carry yourself like you usually do. Normally spritely, you seem quite the opposite now.

Your lips are thin as you smile.

He reciprocates a similar countenance, his lip ring flipping up ever so gently as he does it. There's something sweet about it, and it always makes you feel a little warm, normally, but you can't bring yourself to be endeared by it right now.

He walks to meet you - just a few steps across the ground floor parking lot - and wraps his arms around your shoulders. Doesn't let the hug linger for too long. Isn't entirely certain it won't make you cry.

"You're missing your disco, Byeol," Jeongguk says tenderly as he looks down at you, taking note of the fact you're without your signature makeup. He's so close he can count your lashes, and not a single one has a trace of glitter. You ignore the connotations of how he replaces ball with byeol. You're not sure how deliberate it is.

A familiar heat tickles at your lash line. With a sigh, you shrug. Look down at Jeongguk's hands, which are picking loose hairs from your shirt.

They're so acquainted with you now that you notice a graze on his finger that wasn't there the last time you'd hung out. Wonder how he got it. Hope he's okay, and that it didn't hurt. It's just a scrape from an awkward bottle cap. Nothing to worry about.

When your eyes finally meet his, you're surprised by how brutal his stare is. Eyes dark, there's no stars in them. His sharp jaw seems particularly tense, nose pointed and dewy beneath the moonlight. Behind him, the lobby light cuts out.

He swallows, dropping his hands from your shirt as his body turns to set the motion detector off again.

"Can we go inside?" you ask, quiet as a mouse.

Jeongguk doesn't understand why you're being so timid with him. He's not a fucking cat. You aren't his prey.

He just nods, though. "Of course."

The shrill beep of his entryway door code being punched in makes you feel like heaving. Everything is a little too much - which is why, when Jeongguk presses the button for the elevator, you ask if you can take the stairs instead.

"Sure," he says, a little taken aback. He normally takes the stairs himself, but thought you wouldn't want to walk up twelve flights of stairs. "We're pretty high up."

"S'fine," you say as you head towards the staircase. It's dimly lit, motion sensor lights flickering alight as you approach them. "Need the walk."

He chooses not to engage in conversation. Your words feel coded, and he isn't sure he's able to decipher them. Doesn't wanna risk saying the wrong thing when you're in a mood that feels so unfamiliar to him.

He's seen grouchy. Seen you unhappy. This isn't like that.

This is something different entirely.

He doesn't speak until you're on the staircase that exits on his floor, but his tone is gentle. "This one."

You nod, as if you knew.

Truth is you didn't. In fact, you kind of wish he'd just let you walk up to the roof. It'd be impossible to see the stars this close to the heart of the city, but at least you could pretend that the planes were cosmic calamities; shooting stars to make new wishes upon.

The lead is taken by Jeongguk until you reach his apartment.

He tells you Jimin is asleep, but that his room is at the opposite end of the apartment, so you can talk in there. He takes your silence as agreement, and holds the door open for you.

Shoes off by the entrance, he rests his palm on the top of your back to guide you through the dark apartment. It's how you remember it, the only difference is that Jeongguk's wearing a shirt this time.

When you reach his bedroom door, he pauses.

"If you say one mean thing about my sculpture collection, I'm throwing you out the window," he whispers, which does admittedly make a laugh stammer in your chest.

Makes you curious, too.

Hadn't envisaged him as a fine art type of guy.

He'd look good in your cafe, you think, in the corner with the clay, dried grey specs on his honey skin. You'd give him the olive-coloured apron, if he ever visited, because you think it'd suit him. Would watch with a lazy grin from the counter as he got to work on his project. Would sit with him during his breaks and colour in his tattoos with posca pens. Would be nice, you think.

But those thoughts are washed away like heat in a summer rain when his door opens and you see what he really means.

You don't mean it to be, but the laugh you let out is so fucking obnoxious. Jeongguk's hands go to shush you, one on the back of your head, the other over your mouth - but he's giggling, too.

"I told you not to be mean!"

You can feel him grin against your hair, keeping close so that he can keep his voice down. He doubts Jimin will stir, but it's worth it to hear your happiness. Jeongguk loosens his grip on you, turning back to click his door shut, and lets you meander over to his collection of-

"These are action figures, Gguk."

"They're sculptures."

"Toys."

"Collectibles."

"Collectible toys."

He purses his lips as you turn around to look at him. His arms are folded, nose a little scrunched, desperately not wanting to admit defeat.

"Look, they're really fucking expensive!"

And then you're laughing again, at how bloody ridiculous he is.

It somehow comes as no surprise that Jeongguk would have comic book figurines in perspex boxes, neatly stacked like a museum exhibition in the corner of his bedroom - just like it makes perfect sense that there's a chess set next to a computer that looks like it's worth your monthly salary.

"Can I-?" You cut yourself off as you gesture around the room.

"Go for it," Jeongguk says as he takes a seat on his bed, letting you wonder freely, taking in all that he is. He thinks you need a distraction, and he's to provide that. Knows you'd do the same if roles were reversed. In fact, it gets him wondering what your bedroom is like. He'll consider the what-ifs later. Too busy watching you, now.

A reed diffuser sits atop a pile of unread books on his bedside table - ones he swears to Namjoon that he'll read, but never seems to get around to doing so. The scent is black cherry, but there's another on the far side of the room which is fresh cotton. Nothing is ever entirely straightforward with him, but it's kind of why you like his company.

"This one is good," you muse, tapping the spine of one of your favourites - Cho Nam-Joo's Kim Ji-Young, Born 1982. You've the same book on your shelf at home. There are a few you don't recognise, so make a note to ask him about those another time.

His bed is made, but it's just as ruffled as his dark hair, which sticks out a little on end. You meet his eyes as you scan the room, and find that there's a small smile on his lips. You reciprocate it, hoping it's enough to distract him from the fact you're not quite yourself.

"Wanna sit?" he asks, knocking his head to the space beside him.

You don't think you do. You don't want to really be close to another person, not physically.

Something about him makes it hard to refuse such an offer, though. You find yourself nodding, even when you don't mean to.

He shuffles a little further up his bed, falling down onto his back to stare at his ceiling again. His legs hang off the side of his bed, hands intertwined across his chest.

You follow suit. Legs up, knees bent, feet by your ass, you copy his hands as you stare at his ceiling, too. Above you, his origami birds flutter gently in the aircon breeze.

"You make them?"

"Mhmm."

"They're pretty."

"Pretty lame," he snorts, very much aware that it's not the coolest thing to have in your bedroom as a twenty-five year old man, almost forgetting his glorified doll collection.

His sheets are soft, but there's still a slight crinkle as he turns his head to look at you. Though you feel his gaze, you don't look back.

"No disco balls tonight?"

The question is expressed so tenderly that you can't help but swallow back the flounder in your diaphragm. Your head slowly shakes, but you're still looking up at the birds. Part of you hates that he associates you so damn closely with that fucking glitter. Part of you quite likes it, too. Makes you feel seen. Makes you feel vulnerable.

"Why not?" He asks.

"Just 'cause," you whisper, not intending on giving an answer of substance - but you're upset, and it's a topic of contention that has been eating away at you for so long now that you can't help yourself from biting a little bit. "Sometimes it's just not very mature."

Jeongguk snorts. "You're talking to the guy with a figurine collection."

And then you're smiling, because his self-awareness is not only refreshing but incredibly endearing. He doesn't take himself seriously, and it's why you like his company. One of the reasons, at least.

But then you're thinking about how nice it is to laugh with someone for the simplicity of feeling a shared happiness, and you can't help but let the truth slip out.

"I used to date a guy," your voice lingers on your words, before you sigh and continue. "And he was so cool, yanno? So smart, and mature-"

The emphasis on the word, and the fact you're repeating it, tells Jeongguk all he needs to know about exactly what's happened tonight. Not once have you ever cared for looking older than you are, content with having fun thanks to the freedom of your twenties. In the time that he's known you, the topic of maturity has only ever been mentioned when you berate each other for being stupid.

Your compulsion to seem mature now is telling. He knows where you've been. Who you've been with, even if he doesn't know exactly who he is.

"- and he was just... you know people who have shit figured out? He's like that. He's older. Wiser." You pause, but Jeongguk lets you keep talking. His eyes are on the ceiling now, too. "Anyways, glitter annoys him. Gets on his clothes and then apparently it's a bitch to get out but I'm so used to it that I never notice it-"

"It's not a bitch to get out."

"And like, he's just, mature, yanno?"

"Yeah, you said that."

"So," you shrug your shoulders into the mattress. "He doesn't like glitter."

There's silence as Jeongguk thinks about what the fuck he's supposed to say to that.

In his eyes, you are glitter. Called you Byeol earlier 'cause you remind him of fucking stars. Feels a bit stupid for it now, but he's hoping you misheard.

He has to bite on his cheeks to stop himself from saying some scathing remark. 'So he doesn't like you, then?' reverberates in his head. It's harsh, he knows, but he wants to say it because he wants you to realise how terrible it is to change yourself for someone like that. And for what? It obviously didn't go well if you've ended up here.

But you are here. And he knows he's right - things can't have gone well. You're probably already feeling like shit, and who is he to make you feel even worse?

He can't be putting you through the wringer like that, but he's perplexed at the idea of you being so invested in someone who is quite clearly unbelievably wrong for you.

He's been in your position before.

Knows that him being a prick will only cause more damage.

And so he's kind, instead.

"I think it suits you," he says. "The glitter, I mean. You look fine without it, but it does really suit you."

You lean your head to the side, trying to get a read on his face. He just keeps on looking at the birds.

There's a harshness to the shadows on his face, painting him in greys. You don't realise it, but you're just the same - shrouded in the darkness of the night. His bedroom curtains are open, but the city lights aren't that bright at this time in the morning. Without the glitter to catch in what little light there is, your spark is dulled.

"You're just not used to seeing me without it," you say with a smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

He lets his head fall to the side, mirroring you. Strands of hair fall over his forehead, obscuring his eyes, tickling at his lashes. You reach over and knock a couple out of the way, trying to disregard the weight of his gaze. Deciding it's impossible, you look back up to the ceiling.

"You saw him tonight?" Jeongguk asks.

All you do is nod, because you're pretty sure you'll cry if you try and speak. The way your lips press together, brows tight above your pitiful eyes is painful to watch. You take a second. Take a breath. Wait for the next question.

"You slept with him?"

Jeongguk feels bad for the leap in questions, but he knows he's getting nods or shakes, and he want to get to the root of why the fuck you're ending your night in his room instead of with the guy you've been hung up on for months. Doesn't know his name. Doesn't care to know it. Thinks he's a prick.

A wallowing sadness sits in his chest when you nod your head, not for himself, but for you. He's never seen you like this. Never knew someone could have so much power over you.

Headstrong is all he's ever known you to be, but he feels like one of the King's men trying to put bloody Humpty Dumpty back together again.

You swallow back the sob that's causing a commotion in your oesophagus, as if the movement doesn't remind you of his hand on your throat.

God, you wish you could just stop thinking about him.

You think it would have hurt less if he'd have taken a knife to it.

Instead, his hands had been so warm and gentle, that you thought it meant he was trying to reclaim the space that used to hold a necklace with his initial.

Jeongguk doesn't want to ask the next question, but knows that as your friend - as a duty of care - he has to.

"Did he..." Jeongguk pauses, unsure of how to phrase in a delicate way.

"No," you finally, say, because you know where it's going. "He didn't hurt me."

"You've been crying," Jeongguk objects.

"Didn't hurt me like that."

He nods, accepting your response. Still has no idea what to fucking say, but he never does around you. S'why he always takes a moment or so. Brain just doesn't work when you're around.

"You wanna talk about it?"

To talk means to cry, and you don't really wanna do that. You glance over to him, and watch the way he's nibbling on his bottom lip, toying with his ring. Eyes still on the ceiling, Jeongguk pretends not to notice. You're both good at that. Pretending.

The silver of his jewellery - his piercings, his thick bracelets, the chain around his neck - just reminds you of the earrings that you're wearing.

They're dainty. Pretty little hoops. Intricate leaves trail around the smooth shape, tiny sparkling stones catching in the light. You'd worn them deliberately. Had hoped he'd notice.

Not Jeongguk. You couldn't really care less for what he did or didn't notice about you.

You'd worn them for Seokjin.

Had been wearing them since he messaged you midweek - I'm in town at the weekend. Will you be around? - and now you kind of want to rip them out.

You'd hoped he would remember the trip you took together to Gyeongju. Your third time visiting the city together; just before autumn was about to settle into the earth, rusted leaves sinking to the ground, like the blossoms during the spring. The cyclic nature of the seasons used to make you smile.

Just like he did, in the old Hanok where a silversmith crafted twisted hoops in front of your very eyes. He told you he'd buy you the entire store when he finally became a big shot. Settled for a tiny pair of silver hoops, instead.

They're the ones you're wearing now. The ones you hoped he would notice.

But he didn't notice. Not tonight. Not once. Not even when his lips were on your lobes, nor when his hands were on your body, his voice quiet in your ear as he'd told you tall tales about how much he'd missed you.

His voice had been so soothing at the time - "still take me so well, darling" - like aloe on sunburn - "like that. Fuck, darlin', like that" - but you realise now he was just covering you in deep heat. "Uh- shit. You always been this tight? Fuck. You're gonna make me cum so fucking hard."

Only a matter of time until he was scalding your skin all over again. "Shit." Scorching. "I'm there." Tarnishing. "Take it all for me, take it- ugh. Yeah, that's it. Good girl. Good fuckin' girl." Destroying. "Fuck."

And oh, what a scar Kim Seokjin leaves on your skin.

His handprints are warped all over your body. You're red in the wake of his touch, sandpaper palms scrubbing away at the efforts you've made to heal yourself in the past few months. Your cracks are showing again, and you're not wearing any glitter to fill the gaps.

You're broken, and it shows.

You swallow a little harshly, tongue licking your dry lips before biting down on them. Lashline warming again, you simply shrug. His duvet rustles beneath you. "Not much to talk about."

"We both know you wouldn't be here if that was true."

"But it is," you say with a fragile laugh. "He came over, and then-" Your voice cracks. "And then he left."

Should have seen it coming, really. You reap what you sow.

Jeongguk knows you never stay. Learnt it pretty quickly. Didn't ask too many questions about it. Never occurred to him that maybe you'd ever want someone else to stay, instead.

"I... ," you mumble as you try and think of the right words to say. Your cheeks are a little damp, and you know that Jeongguk knows you're crying, even if he isn't looking at you, but what's the point in pretending anymore? "I really thought that it wasn't me, yanno? I thought other people were the issue."

One of the birds he's watching catches on the wings of its neighbour, awkwardly straggling before falling back into position. Jeongguk thinks he should cut them all down.

"What do you mean?"

"The whole..."

When you pause, Jeongguk looks over to you. Your face is a little scrunched up, feeling awkward about such an admission. It makes him laugh how you can appear so pitiful and yet still so classically you. You laugh too, stuttering on your breath, using the back of your palm to dust away some of your tears.

"The whole intimacy thing," you finally continue with a small smile - because if you don't laugh, you will cry. "I thought that other people were the issue; that they didn't compel me to stay. I never once thought that it was me. That I was the issue - but I can't even fucking compel the guy I thought I'd marry one day to stay. It's me. I'm the fucking problem."

You're smiling as you finish talking, but it fades quickly. Withers like the flowers Seokjin had bought you on the evening he'd broken up with you. There's still one pressed between the pages in your journal. Petals plucked. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves-

"You're not a problem," Jeongguk says, eyes hard as they look to his ceiling. His hands are still linked over his stomach, but he's resisting the urge to pace the room. He needs to wrap his head around what you're saying, but can't do it when he's sitting still. Needs to walk in a circle to try and find where the fuck it starts. Doesn't make sense to him how you're blaming yourself for your ex not staying. He chooses not to speak about him, instead trying to help you make sense of why you leave. "You don't stay at the end of your hook-ups 'cause a purpose is served. It's like how you don't stay in a restaurant after you eat your dinner."

"But you do," you say, as you cross your legs and clamber to a seated position. Jeongguk remains in place, and you notice just how perplexed he seems. "You have your dinner, maybe even dessert, and then what? You talk. Enjoy other's company."

He sits now, too. "Okay, maybe it was the wrong analogy-"

"It's not. It's entirely correct. Gguk, I-" you sigh, shoulders lifting to your ears and falling again. Exasperation pollutes your features.

You've given the topic a lot of thought, but never shared your conclusions. It's all a bit daunting.

"You...?" He encourages.

"I never stay, because I never want to give anyone the same power that he had over me. Never want anything more than casual sex, cause it can't hurt me." You voice is bereft, a small pitiful laugh punctuating your words. "How fucking sad is that?"

You're speaking so quietly that all Jeongguk can do is listen as your words slip into in ears and get all jumbled about inside his head. He needs time to reorganise them; to understand what you actually mean.

"I have so many rules and restrictions that it's barely even sex these days, more... a transaction? And yet when Jin messaged me, I fucking folded. Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir. I..." you tail off, but Jeongguk doesn't push for more.

Just waits till you're ready - and when you are, you speak at such a speed it's almost hard to understand a single thing you're saying.

"I let him fuck me like he still loves me. Do you have any idea what that does to a person? How much it can fuck with their head? I broke down all of my walls, because he used to make me feel so safe and for some reason, I told myself it would be okay - but then you messaged and - fuck."

You look down at your thumbs and shrug, a deep sigh exhaling from your very soul, as if your bones are creaking beneath your skin.

"When you messaged, I woke up and he wasn't fucking there. He'd left. Treated me like how I treat my transactional shags. And I mean, maybe it's my own fault, maybe I deserved it, but fuck. I let him kiss me. I let him... I let him fuck me like he meant it, and then he left as if I meant nothing to him."

By the time you finish venting, Jeongguk looks so bewildered that he actually seems scared. You look back down to where your thumbs are twiddling, shameful of your own emotions. A pitter-patter of tears hit his duvet, and you just let them. You're not crying. Not sobbing, at least. Just tearful. Bamboozled by your own feelings.

Jeongguk's at a loss for what the fuck he's supposed to do.

He's never been the kind to comfort his friends. Isn't really sure how the fuck he's supposed to comfort you. He's no stranger to crying girlfriends - he's had a few of those - but this isn't like that. He can't just kiss it better, not that he'd want to. Be like kissing Jimin at this point, he tells himself.

And either way, it's so unbelievably inappropriate to even think of something like that when you're literally in front of him in tears over another bloke. His mind is just wandering because he's panicking, but oh god, you're crying still and how the fuck do you have so much liquid in your face? Surely you'll wither up? He's not sure he's ever seen a pair of cheeks so wet.

But then you shrug, and sniff back the tears. Purse your lips. Press them together so tight you can't make a sound. And then you look at him and say, "I'm sorry. This is, like, so much. I didn't mean to be such a big fucking cry baby I just-"

"Hey, no," he protests, face contorted with a little disgust. He can't believe you're apologising for this.

Jeongguk's no stranger to a complex. He's got one wrapped around his pretty pink brain like a metal chain, padlocked where his desire to take chances should be. The fear of rejection outweighs any possible good that could come from going after the things he wants - and as he watches the way your smile quivers before it falls into a quiet sob, he knows exactly what his fear is trying to save himself from.

And so he just gently smiles, and says, "it really fucking sucks when the people we love don't love us back."

You nod. "Fucking sucks."

He's only known you for a couple of months. Doesn't know who you were before your ex; only the after. But he quite likes who you are now. Thinks that whatever the fuck that prick put you through is undeserved. Is actually quite angry that he'd fuck you over like that.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, as you dab your face with sweater paws, trying to get rid of the remains of your tears.

He hates that you're apologising again, but he lets you. Knows you'll just say sorry again if he tells you to stop.

"I just didn't wanna be in my room, yanno?" A sob tries to escape, but you catch it just in time. Attagirl. "Fucking smells like him. I'd forgotten about his aftershave -" This is a lie. "- and now I can't get it out of my fucking nose."

Jeongguk grins, and tries a little banter. "Probably a good thing if it masks the way you smell."

"Fuck off," you smile back at him, biting down on your lip to stop it from shaking. "Now's not the time."

And yet you're so glad he's still being normal with you. Not so glad for his next question, but glad for the perspective he's trying to give to the situation.

"Did you at least... yanno?"

Your eyes roll so far back that you can basically see your frontal lobe. Jeongguk is a little horrified by the fact your entire eyeball is bloodshot, and doesn't hide his disgust very well. He tries. Just looks a little constipated when you refocus on him. Makes you laugh.

"Pretended," you admit a little awkwardly, and when Jeongguk's jaw drops, you reach over to close it. "My god, shut up! I didn't want to make him feel bad. If I knew then what I know now-"

"That he's a cunt?"

"-Then maybe I wouldn't have."

You would have. You'd turn water into wine if Seokjin asked you to. Let him drink your blood if a drought pilfered his water supply. Would sacrifice everything to just give him a measly something.

You'll never admit to any of that, though.

Silence simmers between the pair of you. There's not much left to say.

"I'm sorry he left," Jeongguk says, because you deserve an apology and knows you'll never get one from the person who owes it.

"Me too."

He reaches over and ruffles your hair, smiling in that way he does when his dimples form and his lip ring does a little dance. It curves upwards, smiling too.

"You wanna get a shower?" He offers. He's terrible at comforting people, granted, but he's good at thinking of solutions. "Everything here smells different to your apartment. You can get rid of whatever's haunting your nose with my incredibly manly strawberry shower gel."

You laugh, and Jeongguk feels himself relax. Hadn't realised his back had been so tense as he twists his waist to click it. You let yourself fall onto your back again, and into his duvet. "God, how on earth do the girls resist you?"

"They can't. Get a shower, Byeol. I'll make up somewhere for you to sleep, alright?"

You don't question the way he calls you Byeol again. Just let him. Think it's nice, actually.

And like the girls that apparently can't resist him, you can't say no to his instructions.

He shows you to the bathroom, and when you whisper about being worried you'll wake Jimin, Jeongguk shakes his head. "Sleeps like a log after a night out."

There's something incredibly kind about how he shows you which shower gels are his (because apparently he needs three in the shower at all times), and how to change the temperature (but leaves it on his favourite setting because he thinks you'll like it, too). He tells you to wait before you get in, because he's coming back with something - and when he does, you pout.

"So, this is like, my good towel. I don't keep it in here 'cause Jimin'll use it for god knows what, but it's really fluffy," he says, and then insists that you rub it against your cheek. He's not wrong. Might just be the fluffiest towel you've ever encountered. "Unreal, right? Like an actual cloud."

And then despite how gentle he's been, he reverts back to his typical self when he throws a shirt in your face. "For afterwards."

He shuts the door before you can say anything else in response. You just kind of stand there, his shirt looped over your shoulders, laughing softly to yourself, face furrowed in confusion. Jeon Jeongguk might just be the strangest human you've ever met.

But you're also the girl who took a canvas painting of breadfish to his gym, just to get a laugh out of him, so maybe you're well-suited in that regard.

Their shower is far nicer than yours, the water pressure frankly wasted on two boys. Though you wouldn't trade your apartment with Danbi for the world, you considering making future five AM pity calls just for the luxury of a waterfall showerhead.

You use the strawberry shower gel, not because you like it any better than citrus fruits or fresh pine, but mainly because it's the one Jeongguk first mentioned. It's sweet - almost as sweet as your own vanilla one - but still fresh enough to make you feel a little brand new. There's an ache in your heart as you wash your ex's touch from you, and you find yourself sniffing again - but you don't let yourself fall into that trap.

You've cried enough.

And so wrap yourself in Jeongguk's towel, close the lid of their toilet and sit for a while. The clock reads twelve minutes past six. Guilt simmers in your chest, knowing that Jeongguk didn't need to be dealing with you at such a ridiculous time in the morning - but when you reach his bedroom, knocking before you enter to find him organising a mountain of pillows on his floor, you can't help but feel thankful he's the person you reached out to.

It's kinda his fault for texting you at five AM and waking you up, but that's neither here nor there.

"Hey," he smiles as he turns to face you, and tries his hardest to avoid staring at your legs. Your hair is bundled up into his towel, and his shirt fits you like a dress, cutting off midway down your thighs. "Sorry, I just didn't know how many pillows you like? So I just got them all?"

"One is normally fine," you laugh, as you begin to tease your hair through the towel. "Thank you for this, by the way. Incredible towel."

"I told you so," he grins. "Curtains open or closed?"

"Closed?" You question, confused at how it's not an obvious answer - but you don't know that Jeongguk sleeps with them open on Saturday nights to make it easier for him to wake for the gym in the morning.

"Sure you're gonna be comfortable on the floor?" He asks as he reaches over to close the curtains. "I really don't mind taking the floor."

"I'm sure," you nod. "Hardly looks like a floor anymore."

You've a point. He really did it overdo it - but he's not had a sleepover since he was about fourteen. Isn't really sure what the protocol is.

At least, not a sleepover like this.

Nor have you. No time for braiding each other's hair and gossiping about your favourite celebrities, though. You find yourself drifting off almost as soon as you curl up into Jeongguk's expertly crafted pile of pillows. You don't realise, 'cause he doesn't tell you, but he's given you the pillows from his bed, too. They're a little more expensive, better for a good night's sleep.

He reaches to the end of the bed for his good towel. It's a little damp, but not too wet that it would cause any issues as he rolls it up and sticks it beneath his head. Isn't the first time he's used a towel for a pillow, and likely won't be the last. He just kind of thought you needed the comfort of expensive cushions more than he did.

"Sweet dreams, Byeol," he whispers, knowing you're out like a light, but wanting to wish you well regardless. You deserve that at the very least, he thinks.

Unlocking his phone, he cancels his gym alarm, and tosses his phone back down onto his mattress. His room is dark, but he can see the outline of your body, the curve of your hip and the dip of your waist as you adjust ever so slightly.

He's sure that when the morning comes, you'll be a bit embarrassed about it all - but for now, he settles into how comfortable it feels to have you around.

There's nothing intimate about the situation between the pair of you (which is probably why you don't mind staying over) - but when he hears you squeak a little in your sleep, pillows rustling as you move, he kind of gets it. Understands why you wouldn't trust just anyone with your most vulnerable state.

He's just the same; except his fears come in the form of rejection. He never makes it to the intimacy part, because he never deals with the stuff that needs to precede it.

And as he stares up at the shadows of his origami birds, a frown framing his pretty features, he decides you're both absolutely fucked.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

#by holly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk #jungkook x reader #jeongguk fanfic #bangtan #jungkook fluff #bartender!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #jeongguk fic #bad decisions #dappleddaisies

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kalisseo · 2 months ago

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BLEACHER CREATURES

last night i finally finished the designs!! wahoo!!

(heights might not be accurate, I didn't know very well how to fit them into the template)

(also warning for long text post)

as in the show, they are a group of outcasts who torment the popular kids and enjoy causing chaos, and they only become a group until s3

in the show it's never stated how they became friends, but I have two ideas, one is that topher created the bleacher creatures as a club, and the other one is that jill and vlad are the ones who do that (or maybe just jill)

either way, topher is their self proclaimed leader and the rest have assigned roles, that doesn't mean he's a real authority to them, or that he thinks they're below him, after all they are a group of friends and they see each other as equals (except for Ivan who's an asshole and it's still not used to women)

topher is the leader and the one that usually makes the final decisions, ivan is kind of his right hand or second in command, Mary is the voice of reason and usually the one that finds a way to make their plans work, both jill and vlad are more like henchmen? I guess, they both propose ideas and are the ones who add more to the plan, and usually the ones to do "the work" because they enjoy that, but vlad is the sentimental or romantic one in the group

this is an established dynamic they're okay with, this doesn't mean it can't change, sometimes one of them can be the leader of the day, usually jill and mary are the ones to take that place when topher doesn't, and ivan tries to but no one listens to him

at first, it was a really awkward friendship, but soon they all got to know each other and bond over being outcasts, and together they all embrace being freaks and being cloned from horrible people in history

vlad, jill and mary usually bond over fashion and do their nails together, or some "girly" stuff, like sometimes doing make up or skin care, Vlad usually only likes having his nails done but makes company to the girls, Topher joins too, to me he would join to the skin care part, but it's mostly there doing company like vlad

Vlad and jill embrace their clone parents legacy in their own way, something they have in common and it's a base of their friendship, and also they both enjoy dressing like their clone parents in their own personal modern way, also they share having niche interests I think, but different ones, jill of course loves every jack the reaper piece of media she can find and horror gory movies, like I said vlad is more romantic and sentimental, and enjoys goth literature, vampires and reading/writing poems

both jill and vlad teach mary how to embrace her clone mother in her own way

but, mary also lived her whole life trying to be her own person, something topher can relate to, she fantasizes a lot with being some kind of main character, and like in the show she has this manic pixie dream girl attitude, but being in the bcreatures made her embrace her more horrible side. she and topher get along because of this, and I think they have similar experiences

ivan and vlad bond over videogames I think, they have a more brothers dynamic, ivan makes fun of him a lot for his "feminine" interests, but that doesn't mean he doesn't try to help him, especially when vlad has a crush (on joan, mind you, that's another whole posts) , he usually thinks Ivan is dumb and doesn't agree with him in a lot of stuff, but appreciates the advice

in general ivan head butts a lot with the rest of the bcreatures, especially jill who tends to talk back in an aggressive way, and he was this close )( to being kicked out if it wasn't because topher wanted to give him a second chance, after all they only have each other. this doesn't mean topher and ivan never argued, they did, and they had a lot of disgraments, but topher is the one who keeps ivan at line, and ivan is trying to have his approval so they get to have a dynamic that works for them and for the rest of the group

ivan doesn't really like the girls that much, specially mary, who jill and vlad consider as the actual second in command, they have some kind of one sided rivalry, one sided because mary doesn't really care about being a leader or being seen as the one in command

topher is closer to ivan and mary, but he still sees jill and vlad as his friends, he admires how they can embrace their clone parents as a part of their identity, and enjoys their company, and likes their spirit for their plans.

so yeah, this is them as a group, in really short words their dynamic is that topher is their dumb leader and the rest his henchmen I guess

i still have to flesh them out individually, so if anyone is interested in one of them feel free to ask!

#god now i have to tag them all separately #sigh #clone high #clone high au #clone high: re do #ch:rd character relationships #ch:rd topher #ch:rd ivan #ch:rd vlad #ch:rd jill #ch:rd mary #clone high vlad the impaler #clone high vlad #clone high ivan the terrible #clone high topher #methinks

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ghost-proofbaby · 8 months ago

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summary: the gang gets a dog, and aruna finds out that shadowheart is an excellent person to gossip with. just not when it's about aruna's own personal life.

wc: 5.8k+

warnings: some more leftover description of the blood-drinking ordeal, mentions of dead bodies, astarion is being avoidant again.

a/n: we've finally made it to scratch!!! and karlach!!! wahoo. also, i'm trying something new with the chapter dividers, so bear with me. <3

ao3 | masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

“What-” Astarion is the first to speak up between them, pupils so large that they swallow his eyes in pitch black. A drop of her blood has long trailed past his chin, marking down the side of his neck now as he takes a shaky breath, “-was that?”

Aruna feels as though she can’t move as she brings ginger and nervous fingers up to her neck, pressing into the wound left behind. A damaged neck, a damaged mind – she was certainly acquiring quite the seen and unseen wounds, wasn’t she?

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, slowly pulling up her knees, trying to dispel all her dizziness, “I- Gods, I don’t know.”

One moment, she was getting lost in it all – in Astarion’s fangs inside her, in his hands holding her so closely, in the weight of his chest pressing to hers desperately and matching each of her ragged breaths – and the next, it had simply been pain.

Were they memories? Were they wishful hopes?

They felt so real. Each image had burned into her as though she’d already experienced them. Like she knew every inch of Astarion’s skin already, like a well-loved and memorized road map to all that she could be. As though she might have spent endless nights watching him with careful consideration as he would trance, not just under the stars but within a tent with her at his side. Even now, the ghost of how he had felt curled up against her haunts her vividly, somehow warming her despite the chill she knew he would leave behind.

“What in the Hells was that?” he repeats himself a bit more aggressively this time, quickly lifting a hand to swipe away at her blood trailing down his throat. He leaves behind the scarlet trail of her across his lips and chin – a painful reminder of what she had just given him.

Of what boundaries they had just crossed, only to be burned.

“Like I said two seconds ago, I don’t know,” she snaps this time, palm still cupping where his mouth had been. The blood flow had finally slowed, clots that would turn to scabs beginning to form.

“Was it your magic?”

“No-”

“Was this all an elaborate ploy just to get me close enough to use your magic against me? Conjure images just to-” his eyes flare with mistrust as he stands quickly. Against her better judgment, she follows, “Just to trick me?”

“It wasn’t my magic,” she grits out. She wishes it was – she wishes she didn’t believe any of those images to be real. She wishes she hadn’t just been handed over something to miss, “I don’t know what it was, but I had just as much control in it as you did.”

Dark holes in her mind, slowly growing over with all those memories. Gaps being filled, questions being only half-answered. It was as though a piece of herself had just been returned to her; as though she’s one step closer to being whole again. Fragmented puzzle pieces that were finding their place in her psyche whether she wanted them to or not.

He’s quiet for a few moments, still fiery with misplaced fury. “If it wasn’t your doing, what was it?”

Memories. Glimpses into a past, glimpses into another thread of time similar to this one, just a tad bit different. Frayed in different segments and taut where this one twists.

She knows that’s what they were, even if her churning gut and tired mind want to deny it to all Hells.

“I don’t know,” she lies with slumping shoulders, accepting the weight alone, “I wish I did.”

Gods, why is it so hard to lie to him? Why is her tongue suddenly so heavy as she forces each word out?

She could tell him what she feels is certain, ask him to indulge her in the possibility that what they just saw were real moments that had slipped from their grasp. Maybe she should ask him if he felt it too; if he felt a large, gaping hole in his chest as residual damage. She could ask him if it aches for him the way it aches for her.

But she isn’t going to.

She lets the weight of what they saw wash over her just as suddenly as the creases in his face smooth over. He’s compartmentalizing; she’s drowning.

They’re going to pretend it never happened. For real, this time.

He won’t admit to being a vampire, he’ll never tell the others that he’s tasted her blood, and he won’t be entertaining any theoretical discussion of all those moments they’d just seen.

There was too much vulnerability there to be witness to. The way that version of him had preened beneath her touch so comfortable, the way his body had melted against hers as if it had always belonged at her side. She feels like a stranger in her body as she recalls that softness that lingered between her and the man before her in those snippets that had just flashed between them. None of it existed in the here and now. She’s sure if she tried to lean her weight against him as she had in that memory (or whatever the scene had been) now, he’d scoff and toss her aside without second thoughts.

Where the Astarion that had been shown was all molten softness, there only lay sharp edges before her. Jagged bits and serrated defenses.

“Very well,” his mask returns in the blink of an eye. His chest puffs out again, his posture straightening and his chin lifting as he takes a few steps around her, adamantly keeping his distance, “In that case, I should retire back to my tent for the night,” she doesn’t turn to watch him, only listening to the soft crunch of his footsteps over twigs, “Before anyone notices our absences.”

Keen. Precise. Stabbing. Not an ounce of whatever gentle notions she’d seen from the version of him who had been tugging a blanket around her to ward off the cold. No softness to spare.

She can’t blame him. Even more haunting than the contrast of that version of him compared to this one is the difference between Aruna.

Someone kind, confident, and determined. A version of her with purpose.

For every sharpened point he bares, she wields a blade just as dangerous in comparison to who she might have been. The version of her in those visions was something soft, something to hold, something that had only ever bared its teeth to smile.

It doesn’t really matter that this Astarion wouldn’t wrap her in a blanket; this Aruna wouldn’t let him if he tried.

She’s almost sure she’s been left to her smothering thoughts, mouth still agape as she takes deep breaths to stay upright, when his voice cuts through the night one final time.

“This is a gift, you know. Strange visions aside.”

One final bout of deja vu swallows them whole as she turns slowly, just in time to see the way he turns his head. He’s not fully looking at her, but the gesture lets her know he’s speaking to her and not the moon, at the very least.

“I won’t forget it.”

It’s in his cadence, in the bit of his brow she can just barely see as it furrows. He means it, sincerely.

The hand that was still cradling the side of her neck drops so slowly that it hasn’t returned back to her side until he’s long gone, returning to his tent just as he had said he would.

—

In an interesting turn of events, Astarion is the one avoiding Aruna in the following days.

Every morning, she looks to his tent. And every morning, she finds it empty.

They don’t find another one of his meals during their adventures, thankfully. Aruna finds herself filling the empty space left behind from the absence of her shadow with Gale instead, to the point in which she doesn’t even have to ask the wizard to join her most days. He’s already ready for her, waiting as she finishes fastening her own armor and gear. No one knows outright about that night, about what Astarion is and about what Aruna gave, but Gale must have noticed something having changed. He must have sensed the gap for him to fill was there to have stepped up so easily.

Aruna doesn’t particularly care if they find out at this point, in all fairness.

Astarion’s vampirism is the least of her worries from that night. She could wake up to him trying to take another taste of her blood, and she wouldn’t even attempt to stop him. No, her companion’s strange affliction wasn’t the problem. The problem was what she truly gave.

It wasn’t just blood.

She spends most of her time lost in thought as she rolls those flashes of herself and Astarion around in her mind. The tadpole connection had yet to return to them, or perhaps neither of them had really tried to mend it yet, and she’s grateful for it. She can’t decipher if her gut feeling, if her assumption that what they saw were some strange and twisted version of memories was actually correct, or if it were something else at hand.

Had it been her magic? Had it been a side effect of a vampire drinking a thinking creature’s blood?

Maybe it was a projection of what she truly wanted deep down. A manifestation of her deepest wants and desires, entirely exposed to the two of them.

That must be it, because the more Aruna considers it, the more she realizes she wouldn’t mind being in the situations she’d witnessed. It would be nice to lay with a lover at the end of the day and feel the way they sunk into her touch. It would be reassuring to have someone there, ready to share body heat beneath whatever sorry excuse for a blanket they could get their hands on. It would simply be nice to feel like someone was on her side, given their current situation.

Although she could argue Gale was at her side, both metaphorically and physically.

When she stops at the entrance to a short bridge, not far from where they’d found the boar that had disappeared after Aruna’s night with Astarion, he’s right beside her. Not right behind her as Shadowheart and Wyll were, but beside her.

“Is that… a town?” she questions, squinting into the distance.

Across the bridge, she could see a crumbling wall with the roofs of buildings peaking just over it. And even further, an arched entrance that had a clear view of a few of those said buildings.

“It’s a bad idea, is what it is,” Gale murmurs, and she follows his trail of sight to see what had him consumed with hesitation – bodies.

Just between the cobblestone of the bridge and the entrance to this apparent village, several bodies lay across a blood-soaked ground. The bodies aren’t fresh by any means, but that doesn’t mean that whatever had killed those travelers wasn’t still nearby.

Aruna’s suddenly very glad she had half the mind to be mentally present for today of all days rather than still lost in her thoughts regarding Astarion.

“Well,” Aruna sighs, counting the bodies. Four, that she could see, “That’s not ominous at all.”

If Astarion had been with her, he probably would have laughed. Whether it was because he genuinely found her funny or not, he still would have been entertained by her sarcastic comment. A predictable pang rings out in her chest.

Gale could try to fill that space at her side all he wanted; he still could never fit the shoes of the vampire who was probably lounging back at camp at this very moment.

“Whatever killed them may very well still be nearby,” Wyll comments as he takes a few steps forward, peering at the scene, “Do you think it could have been the goblins that attacked the Grove?”

“Maybe,” Aruna shrugs.

Probably. Unlike with the boar, she doesn’t think Astarion would leave behind such a scene. Especially since she now knows.

“Gale and I could always go ahead, try to see if the culprit is still around,” Wyll offers, turning to look at the two mages, “Shadowheart and yourself could fall back and stay hidden. If it’s a trap, at least it gives us an upperhand.”

Shadowheart huffs from behind Aruna, “If it’s a trap, then they already have us right where they want us.”

It was moments like these where Aruna hated the burden of leadership. She didn’t want to make these choices. She squirms uncomfortably beneath the expectant stares of everyone, mind reeling as they force her hand. It was hard enough dealing with whatever her memory loss truly was, coping with the situation she’d gotten herself into with Astarion, nevermind trying to make tactical decisions like the one before her now.

“There’s nowhere for Shadowheart and I to even hide-” she starts, before Gale cuts her off.

“There,” he points to a broken food cart not far off, not quite halfway across the bridge, “You two could always hide there.”

Fair point. The decision, it seems, has been made for her.

“Fine,” Aruna surrenders, a hand flying to one of her daggers as she ignores the wary stare of Shadowheart, “Fine, you two go ahead. Just… just don’t enter the village. If we want to enter the village, we do it as a group. Got it?”

“Got it,” Wyll nods, grinning ever so slightly.

He takes a couple of steps forward, Gale joining his side instead, but they don’t take off to fully cross the bridge. Not yet.

They’re waiting. Waiting for Aruna’s command, her signal to go forth.

She hates it.

Regardless, she motions subtlety for Shadowheart to follow behind her as she quickly moves to stand behind that cart Gale had pointed out. And just as she slips past Gale, narrowly missing his shoulder, she nods at the two men to continue on.

The cart is an excellent hiding spot. She has a clear view of the braver half of their party as they approach the bodies, and she’s certain that if anyone lays in wait on the other side of the bridge, they wouldn’t be able to spot herself and Shadowheart.

“You know, now would be an excellent time to have a rogue with us,” Shadowheart whispers as she crouches beside Aruna.

Aruna knows exactly who the cleric is referring to. And it makes her already sour face twist up even further.

“It’s not my fault that Astarion was nowhere to be found this morning,” Aruna hushes back, careful to keep her voice low enough as to not travel with the wind.

One of her palms is wrapped around the hilt of her dagger, almost mimicking the common position of the man they were currently discussing.

Shadowheart hums softly, “Yes, how odd. First, it was you blatantly ignoring the pale one, and now it’s him avoiding you.”

“I wasn’t avoiding him-”

“When our journey first began, it wasn’t even a question. Every day, Astarion was at your side. You can’t tell me that this isn’t an avoidant situation after the two of you being so attached to one another.”

Aruna scowls as she bites her tongue. They hadn’t even been traveling together that long; all of Shadowheart’s accusations felt ridiculous. Even if she was on the nose regarding their current predicament, it’s not as though she had spent months with Astarion as her shadow. It had been a week, at most.

But had she been that obvious with her need to keep him close? She tries to recall if she ever even asked Astarion to join her previously, or if it had simply been a known choice. Each day they would be heading out on their search, and each day, Astarion was by her side before anyone else.

Just as Wyll and Gale approach the first body, Shadowheart speaks again, “I don’t mean to offend you or pry. It’s just… a curious observation.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Aruna bluntly replies, eyes locked on the two men as they investigate.

“True,” Shadowheart moves a bit closer, trying to get a clearer view at Aruna’s side, “But our group seems to have enough brushes with danger for that point to be moot.”

Aruna nearly rolls her eyes, finally tearing her gaze from Wyll as he crouches beside the second body to glance at Shadowheart, “We do not get into that much trouble. Besides, we’re all alive, are we not?”

“We are. Alive enough for two members of our party to be in a lover’s quarrel, it seems.”

Aruna’s entire body freezes, “Astarion and I are not-”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Shadowheart fights a smile, eyes deliberately locked ahead rather than looking at Aruna, “Your questionable taste in who warms your tent is none of my business.”

“I don’t even have a tent,” Aruna isn’t sure why she’s so hellbent on denying anything going on between herself and Astarion, but she is. Terribly so.

Shadowheart finally looks at her, “Perhaps you should fix that, then.”

“Of course,” Aruna says, brows creasing, “Let me just add it to my already massive to-do list,” she glances back up to the boys. So far, so good. No sign of an impending ambush, “You know, I never took you to be so keen on camp gossip.”

“And I never took you to be so sensitive regarding our camp rogue-” Shadowheart surely has more to say, but she’s cut off when Wyll stands abruptly and looks in their direction.

He waves, a bit too obviously for Aruna’s liking if an ambush is still a threat, and Aruna sighs as she pushes herself out of her crouch. “Stop worrying about where my fondness lies, Shadowheart. If you ever want to gossip about Lae’zel’s curiously large weapon collection, however, I’m all ears.”

When Aruna glances to the half-elf, she’s taken back to see the slightest of smiles on her lips. The woman had been head-strong and focused their entire journey, so lost by her need to solve the issue of their uninvited visitor in their heads, Aruna had hardly gotten any friendly vibes from her. Up until now, she’d only felt like a means to an end for her. But somewhere in that not-quite-a-smile, a warmth buries deep. Kindlings of a fire that could become friendship, if provoked enough.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shadowheart hums as she stands to her full height beside Aruna.

Aruna sort of hopes the cleric does find a new reason to join her in camp and ‘gossip’ with her. There’s much worse company to share a bottle of wine with, Aruna imagines.

Their party reunites carefully as the two women cross the bridge to join the men. Gale is still crouched beside one of the bodies, having dug a flyer of some sort out of the pockets of the departed soul��s pockets.

“Find anything good?” Aruna asks as she approaches, squinting, trying to decipher what was on the page that Gale held so closely to his face.

Gale’s entire face creases as he glances up to her, “Nothing particularly invigorating, unless you consider a wild goose chase for some sort of Nightsong worthwhile.”

Shadowheart stiffens, earning her a curious glance from Aruna.

“Sounds interesting,” Aruna says slowly, eyes taking their time to look back to Gale, “But not very useful. Just grab any supplies left behind. I know we haven’t been ambushed yet, but I’m not overly eager to use that easy entrance to the village. We should probably find another way in.”

Gale ends up pocketing the flyer regardless. Aruna doesn’t press it, leaning down to grab a discarded weapon instead. She’s actually glad he had kept the page – it had elicited a reaction out of Shadowheart, whatever the Nightsong might be, and that was enough to spark Aruna’s endless curiosity.

They collect what they can from the bloody scene – a few extra packs, some even filled with food that hadn’t gone bad quite yet, and used weapons that could surely be put to use at some point – and it’s back to a despicable game of follow-the-leader. Aruna, guiding the group down a path along the side of the village, and everyone following blindly.

If she leads them to their death, they can’t even be mad.

Shadowheart follows a bit closer this time. Gale is forced to fall into step at Wyll’s side as the cleric claims residency over the clueless sorcerer’s side. It’s not until Wyll notices even more supplies discarded beneath a net in some of the foliage along the path that Aruna realizes why Shadowheart is sticking so closely to her side.

“I hope I didn’t offend you,” she says just as Aruna has taken to inspecting a bush to occupy herself. She was perfectly content for Gale and Wyll to be the ones to gather up the supplies they were finding – Aruna would much rather be left with her comfortably light pack for now, “Earlier. When I pointed out whatever… bond you’ve formed with Astarion.”

Aruna pauses with a lead pinched between her fingers, keeping her breathing even as she remembers the heavy letter that takes up residency in that light pack of hers, “Hard to offend someone without memories. Besides, you weren’t entirely wrong. Astarion has just proven himself… useful.”

Useful is an understatement. They may have only been traveling together for a brief time, but he’s already saved Aruna’s ass more times than she can count. The scales are horribly unbalanced, even including the gift of her blood that she had offered.

“You’re referring to Nettie, aren’t you?”

Aruna finally gives up pretending to be endlessly interested in the branch of the bush as she looks up to Shadowheart, “Amongst other things, yes. I still don’t know how he got the two of us out of there.”

If it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of memories, Aruna probably would have given that more thought. She can’t imagine what sort of scene might have been caused or left behind after it was all said and done. They’d returned to the Grove since, and no one had made a fuss, which should be a good sign. But it only makes Aruna more curious as she gives it more thought now.

How had he got her out of there undetected? And had he hid Nettie’s body? Did the Grove even know what she had done?

“He didn’t exactly give the details,” Shadowheart looks just as curious, almost a little concerned, “It was quite an event, in all fairness. Nobody asked too many important questions about the how when he showed up with you, poisoned and covered in blood, in his arms.”

In his arms?

“He carried me back to camp?” Aruna chokes out, “Gods. I- I guess that makes sense, I just hadn’t considered the… logistics.”

“He more than just carried you, Aruna. I thought I might end up the next victim of his dagger if I didn’t comply with his demands to save you.”

Save Astarion. No matter the cost.

“I know he’s not always the kindest but, surely, he didn’t threaten y-”

“He did,” Shadowheart interrupts, raising a brow as she crosses her arms, “It’s the only time I haven’t seen the elf be an absolute sarcastic ass. He was deathly serious. With the way he panicked, I could only assume… I thought…” Shadowheart drifts off for just a second, leaving a beat of silence that speaks volumes, “Well, you don’t necessarily react that way towards a stranger.”

“You assumed I was his lover, based solely on his reaction to my near-death?” Aruna murmurs, eyes darting towards Wyll and Gale to ensure they weren’t eavesdropping.

“How would you react, right now, if I were to prick my finger on a poisonous bush?”

Aruna opens her mouth, the answer seeming obvious, before she stops herself.

How would she react?

She’d be worried, of course. She’d try to help, without a doubt. But how far would she go with all her worry and helpfulness? Would she go as far as to carry Shadowheart all the way back to their camp? Would she threaten her fellow companions if they didn’t do something to help?

“He wouldn’t leave your side,” Shadowheart’s voice drops to a whisper, looking right into Aruna’s eyes, as though she needed to make sure the girl was processing every single word spoken, “He wouldn’t let any near you without first knowing their business. And even then, he hovered. I don’t think he tranced once during the days you were down, showed no interest in eating either. I believe the only reason he allowed us to take you into my tent was due to the lack of his own,” she pauses and lets the words sink in as Aruna’s mind reels to keep up, “I would expect that behavior from Gale. Or even Wyll. But from the man who has seemed Hell-bent on maintaining an arm’s length distance from us all? The man who has pretended to be entirely unaffected by our entire situation and all the violence we’ve encountered? Truthfully, the fact that you two aren’t involved makes it all the more confusing.”

It was odd. It was entirely peculiar, extremely out of character for the man they had all gotten to know.

Or at least, the man that everyone else had gotten to know.

They weren’t exchanging light-hearted jokes with Astarion. There were no late night conversations under the stars with him for them to ponder on, no glimpse beneath the mask to ruminate on. No memories of a version of him that was softer than what he offered now. They saw him to be as sharp as his daggers, his words capable of digging beneath their skin far easier than his fangs even could.

Aruna had an unfair advantage, but so much of that had come after Astarion had been her knight in shining armor. She hadn’t given him a reason to care so deeply; even now, she hadn’t, in her honest opinion.

“I’d do the same for any of you,” Aruna finally says, but it’s a blatant lie. Her tongue isn’t quite as heavy as she speaks false words to Shadowheart, though. The vowels didn’t stick in her throat the same way they had when she’d denied Astarion of her full truths, “And I’m sure Astarion would, too, if it came down to it. We need each other to survive. That’s all.”

She would do the same, to some extent. She doesn’t think she’d be pointing daggers, but she would be worried. It’s not a full lie.

“All I heard is that we need each other to survive,” Wyll inserts himself with impeccable timing, the pack on his back now looking a bit bulkier. Aruna nearly snorts as she realizes Gale is seemingly taking the same approach as her with traveling lightly, “And I couldn’t agree more. Speaking of which…”

Three sets of eyes land on Aruna, and this time, she ignores the discomfort bubbling up.

They need each other to survive. This is far beyond just her and some silly mission to save Astarion now – these people, these friends, look to her for guidance. Reluctantly or not, eagerly or not, she should be mindful of the weight that carries.

She should be mindful of the trust involved.

—

“I’m an animal-lover just as much as the next-”

“It’s not up for discussion, Gale.”

“-And I also hated the idea of leaving the poor thing behind-”

“What’s done is done.”

“-I just think we should have considered how exactly we might be feeding this extra companion at camp! That’s all!” Gale finally finishes spitting out his argument to Aruna as they trek down a dusty road, a river rushing along their side, “We’re in no position to be collecting pets, Aruna.”

Aruna can certainly hand it to Gale – she wasn’t thinking about these particular repercussions when she’d encountered the poor dog who’s collar-tag read Scratch when she’d offered her scent for him to follow. But she’d made her decision, not even glancing back at her companions to include them in her choice, and there was no taking it back now. She almost wanted the dog to show up at their camp now, purely out of spite for the lecturing Gale had taken to giving her as they’d continued to follow the path.

The path which Aruna had a sinking suspicion would not be leading to a new entrance to that village. But her gut had been tugged in this direction, something whispered for her to follow the river, and she’s done enough critical thinking for the day. The worst that could come of it is that her internal compass leads them to absolutely nothing, and they have to make the far trek back to camp entirely empty-handed.

Or they could finally stumble into that ambush they’d all worried about at the main entrance to the village. That’s also a possibility, Aruna supposes.

“He wouldn’t be a pet, Gale,” she grumbles, slowing her steps as she looks around. There hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary so far.

“What would you call him, then?” Gale argues, fiddling with the straps of his own pack.

How ironic it was that he had taken to complaining so ardently about the possible furry companion when he’d happily looted the corpse of the previous owner, slipping numerous envelopes into his bag to read later. He certainly hadn’t protested then, when it served some sort of odd purpose for him.

“A…” Aruna trails off, facing Gale, back to the river. She racks her brain for a term that might justify her choice, even if only slightly, “A familiar. Yes - a familiar! You know, those trustworthy companions that those wonderful books of yours have detailed extensively? Are you truly so against me having one?”

Gale’s eyes narrow at her, “He is not your familiar.”

“He could be,” she chimes, standing strong in her decision, “He certainly won’t be yours with all your griping.”

“You two are…” Wyll glances between the two of them, sighing heavily, “Something.”

“Better she bickers with Gale than Astarion,” Shadowheart pipes up, quickly looking remorseful when Aruna shoots her a look, “Sorry, just- Gale doesn’t argue just for the sake of arguing with you. He’s actually making a point.”

Aruna opens her mouth, instinctively ready to defend Astarion despite the fact that that is exactly what he did when he’d join them in adventuring, but Gale beats her to a response, “Precisely! I only aim to ruffle the peace if it’s necessary. And a dog at camp? Well… not particularly necessary, if you ask me.”

“The dog will keep me warm at night when I’m left defenseless without a tent,” Aruna snaps, focusing back on the wizard, “There. Is that convincing enough for you?”

She certainly notices the chuckle that Wyll tries to cover up, and the slyest of quirks on Shadowheart’s lips.

“I’m…” Gale is speechless. It’s a blatantly obvious way in which he can’t fill her shadow’s shoes – Astarion would have been absolutely bursting at the seams with a snarky comeback for such a childish response from her. “I apologize. As you said, the decision’s already been made. I’m… I’m sorry for refusing to consider your side of it all.”

A nice way of saying I’m sorry I forgot you have far less than the rest of us.

They continue to walk with the current after that in silence, leaving Aruna to her own mindless thoughts. Worries for Scratch certainly linger, but she finds herself pondering her tent situation and her Astarion situation far more.

She really, truly needs to obtain supplies for her own tent. The weather may be gentle now, but if this situation drags out any longer (which she senses it will), she’ll need something to protect her from the chill of winter. Or even any rain, should it come to that. She could always bother one of her companions to allow her to bunk in that scenario, but she isn’t exactly eager with the idea.

Gale would keep her up with endless chatter. Shadowheart is still just a little too guarded to offer up her space, unless Aruna is on the edge of death, of course. Aruna has no good excuse when it comes to Wyll, but she certainly would have to sleep with one eye open should she try to bunk with Lae’zel.

There was always Astarion. If he ever decided to stop avoiding her, that is.

Aruna nearly cackles out loud as she glances up to the sky to see a few clouds gathering. Not quite threatening of a storm, but it certainly felt like a slap on her wrist from the Universe. A quiet reminder that all her theoreticals she was pondering over were very possible options.

“What’s that?” Shadowheart suddenly stops dead in her tracks, surprisingly, as Aruna continues to carry on, “Up there?”

It takes her a second, but Aruna quickly spots what Shadowheart is pointing out.

The next few events all happen too suddenly to properly react.

Aruna’s eyes widen at the ball of flames, huddled just across the river they had been following, a tree serving as a bridge between them and the fiery being. A terrible, nauseating deja vu disorients her nearly immediately as she begins to make out a figure at the center of those flames. The same sharp pains that haunted every new interaction with her fellow companions, a dizziness she’d only felt with Astarion spinning her world on its axis.

Her vision nearly goes black as that cleaved half of her soul becomes apparent, awakening at the sight. An overly eager whisper of, we’ve been here before. We know this. We know her.

The stench of sulfur is the only thing Aruna can make out as all her other senses fall victim to the deja vu.

As if below water, she can just barely make out Wyll: “Advocatus diaboli.”

She knows what’s about to happen. She can hear the venom in his voice, and she knows she has to act fast.

But Aruna’s actions are not her own. She doesn’t tell her feet to fly forward, attempting to catch up with Wyll as he barrels across the trunk-made-bridge. She doesn’t instruct her hand to shoot out, fingers narrowly missing the fabric of Wyll’s shirt and grasping at air as she gasps out, “Wyll, no!”

And she certainly doesn’t mean to lose her footing on that trunk, soles of her boots slipping, arms flailing for balance now rather than to stop Wyll from approaching the mass of fire.

Not even Gale and Shadowheart’s hands reaching for her biceps could save her from the rushing water waiting below.

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#ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the moon will sing #we start the chapter with her drowning metaphorically and end it with her drowning literally #how fitting

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