#trapped neighborhood au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neoplatinum · 9 months ago

Text

do not move | nakamura kazuha

summary: when you both each meet other for the first time, you think: strength in numbers, she thinks: deadweight

pairing: kazuha x reader

themes: zombie apocalypse au, blood, death, murder, gore, graphic violence (if you're squeamish, beware!), lone survivor kazuha and lone survivor reader, angst, fluff, [-------] side character

wc: 6.2k

a twig branch snaps, and you immediately duck behind a bush. heavy breathing and exhaustion burning your muscles. just outside of the city, you try and get some cover from the raiders running around the streets; they've been setting everything on fire. even the smell of fire still invading into your nose.

moving down the eerie neighborhood is tough, especially with a limping leg and a heavy backpack. you risked your life for those rations --only to get chased out by those raiders. they chased you like you were prey, and you walked out alive (mostly) with a bullet in the calf and a running trail of blood.

you press your ears into the ground, making yourself as small as possible. praying that it's simply a deer, a hopeless dream. deers have been nearly all hunted. but you hope the burn in your lungs stops soon, and you cling to yourself, willing the pain away long enough that whoever is nearby leaves.

"clear, no sign of life." you hear a low voice shout nearby. the raiders were still looking for you, going as far as to chase you even outside the city. you know what lies ahead if you get caught. so you bite down, shoving your teeth into your bottom teeth, trying to numb the pain of that bullet.

you stay crouched there for another ten minutes before you even decide it's okay to lift your head off the ground, raiders had no morals, their signals could be a trap and you wanted to take the extra precaution.

and then you army crawled away to a fence, thanking the heavens that you ran fast enough to get into the suburbs. the trail of blood is still worrisome. grabbing ripped rags from your bag, you try your best to tie them around the wound just enough to stop the bleeding.

"fuck fuck fuck." you bite into a stick nearby as you wince and tie a final knot. securing your leg. laying yourself up against a wall, and breathing through the pain, wincing every so often until you feel the pain subside to a low numbness.

you haul yourself up to a house, it's oddly pretty, even with it's dilapidated roof and furniture all thrown out the front lawn. you think you would've bought the house before d-day. and with a heavy grunt you drop into a couch. it's been torn apart, but as long as it does it's job you don't care.

the pain is still throbbing and it just looks bad. you cover the windows with fabric lying around and press a wooden board against the door. and with one final breath, you flip your switch blade open and dig straight into your calf, screaming into a spare shirt and digging the bullet from out of your leg. muted screams so hard that you think you might've bursted your own eardrum, and pain so bad that you shake until you drop back onto the couch.

the bullet is out, flung across the floor and blood all over. you feel like passing out, but you spit out your shirt and wrap it around the now open wound, bleeding profusely on the wooden floor. with sweat all over your forehead and pain so severe you feel your body shake until you pass out.

you knock out cold.

"up." you wake up to the noise of a woman, her lower face is covered with a bandana and she has a long blade pointed right at your throat. if you moved a centimeter closer, that blade would no doubt pierce your jugular. "i said up!" she shouts at you.

you throw your hands up as you try to get yourself up, it's so painful to even sit up half your body. but you manage to have your back leaning against the couch. she stares at you with sharp eyes, eyes that no longer gleam in the light.

you stay as still as possible, waiting for the woman to do anything really, anything that won't end with you beheaded on this rotting old couch. she stares at you, blade never moving a centimeter. she glances around you, seeing the blood all over the floor, backpack open with supplies all spilled out. the pant leg that you have scrunched over your knee, and most of all the blood soaked shirt tied around your leg.

"bite?" she says, and you can see how in a second, she could decide whether you live or die.

"no. bullet. raiders." she nods and scans around the room, that blade still very much at your throat. she looks back down at your backpack, filled with old dog food.

"split 80/20. i let you live." she demands.

"split 50/50, i give you the better half." you negotiate back.

"i don't think you understand how this works, you give me what I want, i don't slice your neck open." she continues, pointing the tip just enough that it pricks at your skin.

"split 50/50, and i give you medical supplies." you counter. she stops and thinks for a bit.

"you're bold, even with a sword at your neck...fine." she says, and drops her blade, you relax a bit but then she points it right back at you. "show your weapons."

you move to slowly bring out the small revolver and pre-made molotovs tucked in a smaller bag compartment. her blade never leaves your throat. you unload the revolver, two bullets dropping to the ground, before you sit back on the couch, "happy?"

she doesn't comment. you lean forward, letting out a grunt as you pick up the two bullets, reloading it into the revolver, tucking it into your belt.

"ah fuck." you groan as you check on your wound, it's become an ugly purple, brusing all around and sensitive to the touch. you breath heavily and wince at the touch.

"did you sterilize it?" the woman's voice is strong and clear, no sign of hesitation.

"no. passed out." she nods and digs through her own bag, pulling out a molotov. "i'm going to douse it, bite down on something." you nod and grab another shirt from your bag, watching as she pours the liquid over your wound, you scream out like a wounded dog, and nearly fall over.

"needle and stitches?" she asks you. you nod and point into the small compartment of your bag. she pulls out the small sewing kit in your backpack, grabbing old sutures and tying it around the needle.

"bite." she orders. you shove your teeth hard into the shirt, as she begins sewing up the wound, jagged from the switchblade. the pain becomes so unbearable you pass out even sooner.

waking up to the sun in your eyes, you find yourself still on that same rotting couch. your body is hot, running like a furnace. you glance around and everythings out on the floor: dried blood, your switchblade, that bullet across the floor and your revolver.

you groan as you sit up, now your leg is sore and heavy, your face is hot and burning up. but the door is ajar, you scan around and half your food is gone, along with the suture kit.

"fuck." the woman's abandoned you. taken what she needed and crept out before you could even say bye. she holds up to her bargain, 8 cans of dog food became 4, and you still have your revolver on you.

"damn her." you start getting your items back in order.

the weather's getting colder, and you only have that workman jacket around your shoulder. the wind gets harsher as the days go by, the sight of falling leaves and pine cones littered the ground. you kneel behind a tree, eyes trained on a lone buck.

he stops eating grass to look around, before dropping his neck back down for more grass, and before his next bite, he drops instantly. body falling to the floor with an arrow through his head. a clean and sharp shot.

you drag yourself up, tucking the bow into the side of your backpack, and limping towards your fresh breakfast/lunch/dinner for the next few weeks. smiling at the labor finally paying off, stripping down sticks until they become sharp points to pierce through skin.

as you walk across the meadow to retrieve your prize, you start to hear distant galloping behind you, causing you to duck and turn around; before you know it, you're grabbed by the arm and thrown onto the back of the horse. you immediately grab onto anything you can hold on, that being the waist of the rider.

"woah."

"shut it, we're being chased." the woman kicks the horse into higher gear, and you both speed off into the woods, you turn you back just in time to see a group or horseback riders with lit torches chasing you across the meadow.

you try not to think about the lone buck that should've been yours.

you get off the horse and immediately start throwing up on the ground, shaken by the sudden movements and jostling around. the woman pays you no mind though, securing her horse to a branch and staring at you.

"i don't know how you've survived this long." she starts. pulling out carrots to feed her horse, the horse happily munching on his lunch.

you're still puking, but just the insult is getting you riled up. "i survive just fine."

"those raiders would've sacrificed you by now." she says and crosses her arms.

"no, they wouldn't." you counter, and she sighs before untying the horse, and leading it away. you follow behind it. "...but thank you. for saving me. twice."

you try to not let your pride get the better of you, considering this women lent a helping hand in your darkest moments.

she doesn't say anything back and continues walking through the forest. you trail behind her for what must've been thirty minutes before she speaks up.

"it was a trap, that lone buck." she goes on. "no zombies, and a lone buck in an open meadow. you should've known better." she says to you. you're immediately enraged.

"how would i know that?" you are tired of these insults.

"you should have." she just says, and it ends there.

"since you know so much, you should teach me." you say. she laughs at that.

"no, i survive alone." the way she says it is firm.

"listen, everyone could do well with a partner, i could share knowledge that you might not, and you can share the infinite wisdom that you seem to have." you're tired of traveling alone with no one having your back, maybe you can get her to work with you.

"no. i survive alone." she continues.

"oh don't be like that, i gave you four cans of dog food." you try and make a joke, remembering how she left you weeks ago.

"no, i let you keep four cans of dog food and let you live, there's a difference." she counters.

"let's not get into the technicalities, you ever heard of the phrase of strength in numbers?" you smirk, trying to get her to understand reason.

"strength in numbers is foolish if im surviving with deadweight." she says firmly, shaking her head at the idea.

"i am not deadweight! i cook up a mean meal of dog food and peas." you explain.

"yeah no, not happening." she says with finality.

you huff but continue walking with her.

"stop following me." it's been about an hour.

"you can't tell me what to do." you sound like a small child throwing a tantrum.

the woman sighs and continues walking with disdain. you're still sticking so close by her. both of you reach a small tucked away cabin. it's been expertly covered in moss and dirt to blend into the background. she walks away from the house a few meters away and ties her horse to a tree.

"woah, sick place." you comment, amazed by the well thought out hideout, it's truly a place you wouldn't have thought twice to really look into.

"thank you." she walks in, and taps her foot on the right side, and suddenly there's another opening, underneath the floor.

"woah, wait, the house isn't even the actual hideout, its underground?" she says nothing, you follow her down the stairs to the basement.

"you are seriously too trusting, walking right after me into a basement. i could've lured you into a trap." she says to you as she begins restocking her items. rows and rows of weapons, rations and even a hydroponics system in the room.

"nah, you wouldn't kill me. you would've done it when you found me on that couch." you say, admiring the amount of work he has put to make this place work. it's quite cozy, small camping lanterns in all different shapes laid around the dark room. the room's also filled with carpets.

"carpets?" you mention, it's odd that there's so many carpets overlapping each other.

"muffles noise. sometimes people walk through upstairs, but i make it so that even if they stay for long, i can move freely down here without them hearing."

she's clearly thought this place through, she has everything that she needs down here to survive. it's wonderful really, then a question pops into your mind. "why do you go outside then?"

"what?"

"why do you leave this place if it's so safe?" you ask. she seems more than equipped to survive here in this base. you glance around, looking at the plants that she's growing, amazed at how they're all turning out so well. so much for saying you could cook up a mean meal of dog food and peas.

she doesn't bother answering. instead pulling together jerky and greens from her hydroponics. handing you some, you decline and open your can of dog food, as much as you would like to eat it, her evasiveness is making you weary.

"so, do i get to know your name?" you ask as you shovel the can into your mouth.

"you can call me z."

"okay, z. that's a cool nickname." you chuckle, "what is it short for? zebra, zack?" you joke to yourself, she shakes her head no and continues eating her jerky.

you don't bother her anymore that night.

"morning z! what are we doing today?" you haven't felt so safe sleeping in years, feeling well rested and ready to take on the world with your trusty partner. z's busy cleaning her weapons when you wake up.

"nothing. i let you stay the night, you need to leave." she says calmly, wiping her dirty rag into a bucket of water. you frown at that, confused with her hot and coldness.

"dont be like that! strength in numbers remember?" you say, sitting near her, she groans at that.

"stop saying that."

"why? strength in numbers. strength in numbers. strength in numbers." you joke.

"stop it! you aren't chaewon!" she shouts at you, shoving an arrow near your neck. it's oddly familiar, the aggression from when you first met her is there.

"who's chaewon?" you ask.

z just leaves the room, leaving her half cleaned arrows on the workbench. you hear a door open and close, and now you're contemplating following after her. you choose rather to let her calm down, when she calms down maybe you can apologize.

you sigh and look around, feeling bad for being invasive, but you really didn't know. looking around you explore her place more, seeing a locker filled with clothes, and a giant map on a corkboard. pins all over the states, with detailed notes of specific locations. a lot of them were lookout points for raiders.

tucked under the map is a white square, you pull it off the corkboard, and see a very faded photo of two girls. one that you can recognize as z and another girl smiling with a bob. tagged below the image is kz & cw.

you begin to examine more of the notes, a lot highlighting names and times. it seems that z has been trying to find patterns of when raiders are patrolling.

with a sudden door opening, you grab a knife immediately from your waist as you see z rush back inside, finger to her lips as she grabs you away from the corkboard.

"silent." she whispers directly into your ear. you two crouch on the ground and nod. after waiting a couple minutes you hear it. the sound of footsteps getting closer, rustling leaves outside. z nods and uncovers a small machine under the carpet.

she takes one of the ends of the machine and puts it close to her ear. you stay as still as possible as she starts jotting down notes. she grips her pen harder as time goes on. and you stay still, watching her.

you find out much later there were raiders out visiting the house while you dozed off. both of you were sitting against the wall waiting for the people upstairs. z has been formulating a plan the whole time. meanwhile, those raiders treated upstairs like their temporary hideout for a couple hours.

after you wake up, and z gives you the all clear to talk, the first thing she asks is, "how good are you at taking out people?"

"the best." you smirk. it was always your speciality, being able to slip in and out of places before anyone could notice, and by the time they did notice, you already had twisted their necks.

"strength in numbers?" she asks wearily.

"strength in numbers." you confirm.

"then i need your help, i need to rescue someone." she goes on. you nod, and she grabs the map off the corkboard. and unfolds a smaller map, one with the layout of a building. "but i don't know if i can trust you."

you gasp, "how could you say that?" you dramatically ask her.

she rolls her eyes at that, "i need a guarantee from you."

"like what?"

"something to ensure you won't ditch me when things get rough." she says, thinking of things to trade.

you take off your pendant necklace, gently placing it in her hands. "this was from my late mother, i'd rather be chased by runners for the rest of my life than to lose this." you state seriously, she nods at the vulnerability and slips it onto her neck.

then z takes off the bandana that's been covering the lower half of her face the whole time. "this is a gift, from the person we're rescuing. i also would rather be chased by runners for the rest of my life than to lose this." she hands you the black bandana, and you tie is around your face, just like she has.

when you look back up, you're shocked at just how beautiful the woman is, even with her lean muscular build you knew she was pretty, but seeing the rest of her face uncovered, she's drop dead gorgeous. face sculpted from the gods.

"what?"

"nothing." you comment, "fill me in on this plan."

"okay, we go in like this..." z starts laying out the steps.

you haven't visited the city since that one grueling day, leaving your leg with a bullet. now that you're back you're shivering in anticipation, this city has definitely left its horrifying memories in your mind. with z by your side, you feel a little safer, though.

the outskirts of the city are deadly quiet, filled with car crashes and littering barrels of trash. walking closer into main street, you start to feel your hair stand up on your skin. it's terrifying, being back when you tried so desperately to leave this horrifying place.

"where's the patrol?"

"we have exactly 5 minute 25 second window before patrol comes back." you hear it loud and clear, 5 minute and 26 seconds, you are dead meat.

she then starts picking up the pace, running between alleyways with her head ducked low, always pausing between corners and big obstructions in between the streets.

with the cold wind, you hear howling through open buildings with their glass windows broken through, the sound of fire crackling in barrels and most of all you hear raiders in the distant, cheering and screaming.

"2 minutes left." she says. you follow behind her, quick on her trail. she soon ducks completely behind a building. digging through her backpack for trap mines.

"listen to me, trap mines: detonate with proximity. we need distractions. raiders are extreme in not letting things getting through their grasp, you know this well enough." she says and hands you trap mines. z gives you the signal and you both split. she heads straight for the back entrance of the building while you go around the side entrance.

raiders are shuffling around, trading posts. you crouch close to the ground and place a trap mine close to the door, waiting for a raider to walk close. you crawl backward into safety, reciting the plan to yourself.

a loud boom blows up at the entrance, and you can hear the horrifying scream of a man being blown to pieces, and other voices running after him.

"we're under attack!" the sound of the raider's feet is closer, all rushing towards the entrance with the trapped mine. in the distance, you hear another mine go off, z's mine based on the direction of the sound.

"another?" a raider shouts. then you hear some footsteps fall away. you sneak around the front of the building, examining the situation, most men have spread to the side and back entrance, disregarding the front.

you slip through the front with the open window, you try and step over the broken glass to minimize sound. and soon you creep towards the stairs. a man stands before you, handgun in hand and peaking around for intruders. you dig a shiv right into his neck before he even gets a clue.

dragging the body away, you put on his jacket and hat, grabbing his gun and checking for bullets, a full magazine. you feel lucky, feeling a knife in the jacket you stole. you tuck that into your shoe. you need all you've got to save whoever chaewon is.

the raiders are now patrolling through the entrances, you find yourself able to slip into different levels of the building until you reach the fifth floor, where supposedly chaewon was supposed to be.

when z filled you in on the situation, you piece together that chaewon is z's older sister. she and z used to survive together, going from groups to traveling alone. never sticking by a group for too long. z had explained that chaewon wanted to leave the raiders after she found out that they sacrificed people that they caught just for fun.

it was horrifying; they joined the raiders in hopes of getting protection by being in a large group, but she couldn't stand by and watch innocent survivors being taken out just for the fun of it.

z wanted to leave too, until they both got caught, the raiders let z get away if they let chaewon get sacrificed. so z's been figuring out a plan to break her free, and it seems tonight was supposed to be chaewon's sacrifical night.

you shivered just hearing it, you knew nothing about chaewon but you knew you would never want her to be sacrificed. you can see it, the line of tortured souls, all being watched by the raiders, it seems that their idea of sacrifice is making them fall from stories high into an enclosed space of zombies, all ready to bite these people to shreds.

you line up close, thinking of a way to get them riled up and away from chaewon. you grab a molotov from your bag, along with a gun. with a careful aim, you toss the molotov on the floor, startling the raiders. they're all trying to examine the disturbance, with quickness, you throw another molotov. setting some raiders on fire. with their screams piercing your ears, you grab your gun and start shooting them. the confusion and commotion of the fifth floor is also startling the tortured survivors, they start running towards the stairs.

you're busy trying to find whoever chaewon is while also shooting the raiders. you hear the signature sound of z's long bow, taking out raiders, some even falling straight into the zombie pit. you can't see her but you know that she's here now.

"chaewon!" you shout, and a shorter girl stops, her eyes go wide. you spot her, the girl that looks so familiar to that polaroid back in z's base. her hair is longer, face bruised up. she's sporting a black eye and she's got a weird limp. you grab her hand and drag her away from the commotion, z continues to aim at the raiders.

by the time you are able to get her out of the building, more raiders are showing up. rushing up the building, you grab chaewon's hand and turn to her. "we run now." you tell her.

she nods and like how the raiders chased you out those weeks ago, you run as fast as you can, pulling chaewon along. with the limp, it's harder for her to run but you know even trailing behind for a second could be instant death.

z's plan was this: she wanted revenge, wanted to kill all those raiders for what they did to chaewon. for making her become their sacrificial pawn, so she told you to take chaewon to a safe place. and then she would let hell rain on those fuckers.

you finally spot the theatre, the rendezvous point where you were supposed to keep chaewon safe. the girl is startled, you're wearing her sister's bandana, but you aren't z. and when you finally are able to lock the door, chaewon collapses on the floor, breathing so heavy, and loud. you calm yourself down too, leaning against the door sinking to ground.

"you aren't zuha." she says between breaths.

"who's zuha?" you ask, confused by what she means.

she points at your bandana. "that is kazuha's bandana, i gave it to her." she says, confused written on her face.

"oh. z?" you ask. chaewon is confused but nods. "z is probably a codename she gave me then."

"you met her then!" chaewon sits up and moves closer to you, tears sprouting in her eyes. "is she alive?"

"yes." you reply back, chaewon probably has no idea if kazuha is alive or not. that must be terrifying, letting your sister have freedom, not even knowing if she actually survived outside.

"she uh, made this plan, for us to rescue you." you explain, going into depth about how you two met. also how she is letting you help save chaewon.

"kazuha's a hard person to convince, you must've gotten under her skin." chaewon responds, listening intently about the whereabouts of her sister.

you agree, fishing out food and water for chaewon. she must be starving, you think. chaewon nearly cries at the sight, downing water like she was in a scorching desert. you let her have at it while checking your timer. kazuha told you that if she doesn't return in thirty minutes, that you should take chaewon to the base, and that she probably has died.

you're not going to let that happen; forget that stupid plan to get revenge alone. you're going to go back for her. with a stretch, and drinking your own water bottle, you get ready to set back out. chaewon looks at you in bewilderment.

"where are you going?" she asks while biting on jerky.

"back, i'm not letting her fight those raiders alone." you say, checking your handgun for bullets. chaewon looks at you and nods.

"strength in numbers." she says to herself.

"yeah, strength in numbers." you smile, hearing the familiar phrase. you hand chaewon a handgun and some molotovs. "three knocks, that'll be the signal that we're coming to the theatre, any other knock, that's not us." chaewon nods and checks her gun.

"good luck back there, please bring my baby sister back safely. i'm counting on you." even though this is the first conversation you've had with chaewon, you feel inclined to listen to her words.

"swear on my soul." and with that you exit the theatre.

with blood on your face, and the jacket that you stole, you rush into the building. most of the raiders are circling around the ground floor, grabbing an auto rifle, you open fire like you never have before, using the cars around as coverage. with a rage you never felt before you go batshit crazy, slicing down raiders left and right. you don't even feel anything anymore, just with the goal of finding kazuha.

the raiders are all falling by your hands. you rapidly fire at whoever dares to separate you and kazuha. you pick up guns that's been left by now dead raiders. you can hear a distant scream of a woman's voice, sounding like kazuha's voice. your blood runs cold, you rush upstairs, taking out the raider's best you can. at some point you get tired of waiting and just grenade them.

the quicker you can reach her, the quicker you can save her. you rush up to the fifth floor where all the commotion went down. you hear the sounds of raiders all shouting. and with a quick glance, you can see them cornering kazuha.

"you never should've come back kazuha, chaewon let you free, by being a sacrifice to them." the man talks as he points below. he smirks, "you want to trade places with your sister? fine by me."

the man and the rest of the raiders start walking kazuha to the edge. you rush behind two raiders. shiving them each and approaching the rest of the raiders. grabbing a metal sheet you use it as coverage as you rush the rest of them. letting out all your strength, you push the rest of the raiders off the edge, falling to their demise. the man that was speaking to kazuha dodges the attack. you find yourself nearly falling off the edge, but kazuha grabs you in time to pull you back.

so now you two face him, kazuha's gotten pretty beaten up, her arm's messed up and her feet's dragging. so you put yourself in front of her.

"let me handle it." you tell her. she's too tired to protest, after just nearly falling to her demise. you keep her behind you pressed against the wall as you approach the man with a switchblade, he's smirking like he has the upperhand. until you smash a bottle over his head and run at him to tackle him down.

he's pushed his knife back against your blade, and you're fighting with every ounce of strength in your body. pushing the blade closer and closer towards him. he makes a quick movement to toss you off over him. you roll over and he jumps to shove the knife at you, to which you dodge. pushing with all your might to push him off you. you launch yourself forward, stabbing the blade into his neck, blood gushing out all over you. he screams and gasps at the impaling. he makes a final attack against you, slicing your face. you let out a scream but don't let go of the knife in his neck.

soon he falls over to the side, his body going limp when kazuha shoots him in the head. a loud ringing noise running through your ears, you latch onto your face. the gash long and running deep over your face.

kazuha's quick to rush to your side, trying to hold your face with her one good arm. she rips off fabric from her shirt to wrap around your face, as you cry out loud. sobbing at the excruciating pain. the man is dead, and you're thankful you saved kazuha.

you gave yourself twenty minutes before getting up. kazuha's been trying to set her arm by herself. you lightly tap her and hold onto the loose arm. you hand her your loose switchblade for her to bite it as you set it back into her socket. she screams into the metal blade. and you're quick to make a makeshift sling for her arm. working with one good eye and pain searing through your body.

she cries at the sight of your face and the blood staining her shirt. this battle wasn't an easy one, but you're grateful that both you and kazuha survived. she keeps crying even as you tell her it's okay. you wrap her good arm around your shoulder as you both slowly make your way out of the building.

after a good while of sobbing to herself, she turns to look at you again. "chaewon?"

"she's safe, put her in the theatre like we talked about." you try as move your face as little as possible. kazuha nods. her limping as she puts her body weight on you like a crutch. even though you're so deep in pain, and the adrenaline is finally wearing off, you're glad you went back for her. you know you would never be able to live with the guilt that she died.

the rest of the walk is silent other than wincing here and there and ragged breaths.

you tap three quick knocks at the theatre door, and you hear the sound of a board being moved behind the theatre. when it opens you see chaewon pointing a gun straight at you. as soon as she recognizes you, she puts it down, ushering you two inside.

"chaewon!" kazuha throws herself at her sister, crying into her. letting out relieved tears at the sight of her sister after so long. chaewon's trying to examine kazuha's injuries, but the girl won't even separate herself.

the two girls hug each other for a long while, just crying into each other. you board up the entrance to the theatre. feeling the exhaustion hit your body completely as you sit down by a chair. as much as it hurts, you smile at the two girls.

finally, you knock out cold.

you awake to the two girls speaking to each other in hushed tones. it seems that they're talking about the raiders, how chaewon was kept captive until tonight for her sacrificial night. chaewon cries as she thinks about how she hasn't seen sunlight in weeks, being fed slop and kazuha cries but listens intently.

you try and move yourself up, sitting in the chair. chaewon looks at you, and smiles.

"hi, glad you're awake." chaewon says to you. kazuha also turns to look at you, sobbing when she thinks about the deep gash on your face. you smile back at the two, still feeling the pain of the attack.

"i stitched your face while you were asleep." chaewon says, and she stands up to remove the shirt covering your face. trading it for a clean and new cloth. "he slashed over your eye, i think you won't be able to see out of your left eye anymore." chaewon comments quietly. she gently wraps the new cloth around your face. you nod, the truth of the matter settling in.

"i'm sorry!" kazuha cries out, the guilt of being the reason you lost your eye is hitting her hard. you shake your head no, you would never blame kazuha for what he did. "it's not your fault kazuha, i wouldn't blame you. i had to save you. no matter what."

kazuha cries harder, and you walk yourself over to hug her. calming her down and telling her everything is okay. as long as you still had each other you don't care how many limbs you lose.

you three get ready to finally be away from this cursed city.

"thank you for coming back for me."

"strength in numbers kazuha, i wouldn't ever think of leaving you behind."

it's been a couple months since saving chaewon; you've gotten closer to the two sisters. you find that behind the coldness, kazuha is actually a lovely woman. a woman hardened by the loss of her sister by her side. every day, you spend time with the two girls happily. and now you wear an eyepatch, claiming that it makes you look cooler. kazuha rolled her eyes when you made that comment.

meeting kazuha changed the trajectory of your life forever, you're happy to find a semblance of a family with these two girls. especially when kazuha makes your heart race as you get to know her.

sometimes when chaewon isn't looking you sneak a kiss for kazuha, the woman always goes rigid like a plank whenever you do this. you giggle everytime, while chaewon is always confused what happened.

kazuha also had a hard time with expressing affection, so she would always say that you should ride with her on her horse. you know it's because she likes keeping you against her at all times.

sometimes you think chaewon knows what is going on between you two (she most definitely does) but just plays dumbs. like she's waiting for you two to come clean. you don't give her that satisfaction until much later when chaewon catches you kissing kazuha before she sets off for a supply run.

chaewon simply smiles when you see you've been caught. and you smile because it feels like you have gained a family through meeting kazuha.

a/n: ive been wanting to write a tlou (the last of us) piece for sooo long. i am not a med student, so if there's any medical inaccuracies...let's just move past that. i made this piece less zombie centric, and more plot driven. anyways, stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

#kazuha #nakamura kazuha #le sserafim #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim x you #kazuha x reader #nakamura kazuha x reader #kpop imagines #le sserafim kazuha #kim chaewon #neoplatinum

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kithtaehyung · 1 year ago

Text

busted (3tan) (m) | myg

title: busted pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) , jungkook x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: when things go a bit south at your house party, decisions between you and yoongi have to be made. note: well. here we are, y’all. it’s been quite a long time, but we are back to regularly scheduled programming :’)) thank you to everyone that has supported and encouraged me throughout this whole process – and series, for that matter. i couldn’t have done this without y’all and the next part is already in the works. also i cried a lot writing this lol have fun! note 2: happy birthday, hedgehog! and to colourless and nicki and whoever else had birthdays recently, consider this my gift to y’all! warnings: language, the amount of content itself fck i’m so sorry, parties, alcohol consumption, tense situations, shoving, abandonment mentions (parental), obligatory yoongi on the phone, ch*king, head/hair pulling, reader has a pain kink and it shows oops, angst, overthinking :((, penetrative s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, did i say angst?, bro😵‍💫, but also bro😭, jungkook gets a warning too, yoongi’s jeans are as ripped as he is heyo, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all i–😭, the ending🧍 drop date: june 9th, 2023, 7:17pm est word count: 18.8k gdi

Here goes nothing and everything.

It was fifteen years ago when you first met Jungkook. When the sidewalks in your neighborhood were fewer and the occupancy in your house was higher.

A tiny boy, he was immediately ready to stay by your side, despite the limited amount of time he got to hang around before his parents corralled his energy back inside their car.

Later on, he would tell you that had something to do with them not wanting him influenced by your brother and his group. But you didn’t know that at the time.

Ever since the two of you met, you became the best of friends. And as you grew older, it was only natural that feelings bloomed with everything else.

In the midst of an ever changing garden, you found something that never wavered, vibrant in color and immovable at its root.

Which was strange. You’d never compared people to flora before him.

But, because of Jungkook, you couldn’t help but see everyone as such—lilies, buttercups, the ones that trap to survive.

And he was the prettiest, strongest flower of them all.

There was rain. There were storms. But with them came hope, and a pair of cheap rings that the two of you bought nestled nicely in boxes, waiting to be unearthed when you were ready.

However.

What also came was a lesson. One that you would learn again when two of every seat remained unused in your household.

A lesson that people are more like seasons than flowers.

They change with or without you.

And they pass by.

“We can go somewhere quieter if you want,” Jungkook offers. And you know he’s going to suggest your room before he even utters the words.

But of course he adds a small, “If I’m allowed in there anymore.”

When he laughs, your smile is as slow as your head shake, a few memories of old tasting bittersweet on your tongue. “We can.”

“Okay.”

When you make your way to your room, you hear the thumps of music and rhythms of conversation—both casual and loud—echoing throughout the house. Some people are sharing laughs, others are scooting just a bit closer, and a lucky one is cackling before demanding that everyone hand over their money.

All of them oblivious to the fact that you’re about to rip off a piece of your heart.

Well. That may not be the case. But based on the conversation that you had with Jungkook before your interview, this wasn’t going to be an easy one in the slightest—not for him, nor for you.

But if he’s gonna keep pushing forward, this is a stop you need to put up regardless.

During a party isn’t what you had in mind, though. Much less one in your own house.

You don’t know if anyone sees you open your door for Jungkook to pass through, or if they notice the slump of your mood, but you figure no one will care anyways.

Until you see someone out of the corner of your peripheral.

And the skip of your heart tells you who it is.

Occupying one of the hallways a ways away, you can tell he’s very aware of you despite being in the middle of a chatty group.

But what’s on his mind? Is he worried? Is he gonna ask what this is about?

Damn it. You’re just gonna have to tell him later. You can’t exactly do anything now.

A voice peeps from behind your tense shoulders,

“You okay?”

Fuck.

Turning, you nod to the boy in your room before shutting your door, giving one more look to the man whose last text you couldn’t read.

And the way he stares makes you wanna bolt from everyone entirely.

When your door clicks shut, you slowly swivel, only the bass of your brother’s music pushing the walls in closer.

Jungkook’s doing exactly what you knew he’d do, wandering around your room and either leaning in to observe, or lightly touching things that he remembers.

The soft puff of a laugh snaps you into focus. “I can’t believe you still have all his medals up.”

Ah. He even remembers the way you have all your brother’s trophies and achievements displayed—all because you liked seeing them shine, and he didn’t want them in his room.

Sweeping your gaze along two of your walls, you let out a tiny sound of amusement while agreeing, “I can. Too lazy to take them down.”

“I can do it,” he immediately responds. “If you need me to.”

If it had been five years ago, you would’ve been enamored that he even offered.

But five years ago is when he shattered any hopes you had for the two of you, so you turn him down yet again. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“We’re here to talk, not decorate, Jungkook.”

He stares before nodding in dejection, eyes finding something other than you. “It’s still weird to hear you say my name.”

It’s weird to say it.

But you can’t let him know you agree, so the sound you make is half-cautious and weakly lighthearted. “You think so?”

“Ah, yeah.” He flashes a smile that still squeezes air from your lungs. “I’d gotten too used to all the names you had for me.”

“Oh, god.”

“But I guess someone else gets to hear them now.”

Goddamn it. He’s not gonna give up, just like he said right before your interview.

“Who are you seeing?”

“Kook…”

“I wanna know.”

“Why?”

He walks over to your nightstand, picking up a picture of you and your friends from years back.

And your heart pangs at how big his back has become.

Without turning, Jungkook lifts his head to stare at your ceiling. And if he’s wondering whether the glow stars he stuck all over it are still there or not, you don’t know if you’d admit that you never took them down.

“So that I’d know if I still have a chance.”

“You already had yours,” you whisper. “Remember?”

And when you look up, he’s already staring at you with regret.

Memories start to come back, but you shove them away with force, trying to empty your sinking boat with a teaspoon.

Every time he had walked back from school with you, every time he would make you laugh when you felt alone, every time he stayed at your place when your brother had to be out—all of them competed with each other to punch you in the gut and push you to your knees.

“I do,” is all he says before softly placing the frame on your bed. “I fucked that up, didn’t I.”

The times he said he’d be there when you needed him, the times he said it was gonna be okay when you struggled with your seemingly deepest darkest secrets.

All the times you knew you’d have a long future with him.

“You did.”

Everything leading up to the time he said you should break up before you left for university.

Right before you were going to tell him you loved him.

Your heart hasn’t beat in awhile, but you don’t notice until Jungkook starts walking towards your planted feet. Was he really so far away? How did he cover the distance between so fast?

With a sigh occupying your chest, you muse that he looks so different, but also not different at all.

And just like the time you saw him downtown, your brain doesn’t know how to separate the Jungkook you knew from the one you see in front of you.

Because they are still the same.

You don’t budge as he stands resolute, inches away but encasing you in his familiar presence. When his hand comes up to your face, he almost touches—but the slight hesitation has you holding your breath before he surrenders his hand at his side.

“I was an idiot,” he admits, throat seemingly small and making yours the same size. “I never should’ve… I can’t believe I…”

You watch as he flips his head up, and you hate how you know exactly what he’s trying to hide.

But your soul still remembers the wound it was dealt. So while you don’t want him feeling this way, you’re perfectly okay to fight back.

He doesn’t get to cry when he’s the reason for all those tears.

“And yet you did,” you remind him, proud of how stable your voice leaves lips that used to seek his. “And you left me so fucking confused.”

“I know.”

“Do you really?”

He flickers regretful eyes your way, giving you all the room to talk.

And you’re going to.

“Do you actually know, Kook? How fucked up that made me feel right before going where I knew nobody. No one.”

His nostrils flare while eyebrows flinch.

You expel a tough breath, everything that happened before bubbling up to the surface. The nights you spent wondering what happened, the days you spent feeling unwanted, the times you felt so fucking alone.

“Is it true that you even loved me?”

“Yes,” he finally shatters, face contorting and eyes welling at their rims. “Of course I did.”

Did.

“I still do.”

Liar.

“I thought I was the only one.” You search his eyes, hating how you would comfort him in an instant if this were any other circumstance. Hating, hating, loathing that this is how you find out your love wasn’t unrequited. “Why did you push me away?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to…” He turns, unable to handle the loud silence streaming from your bones. Voice shaken, he flounders, “I don’t know. I’ve—”

When he pauses, it’s to keep his lips from shaking. You just know it.

“I’ve regretted it every day since.”

“Bullshit.”

“I have!”

“Really. So all those texts you never sent were full of regret, too, huh?”

“No, I—”

“All those calls you never made.”

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

He digs palms into the soaking divots of his face, tense at all angles and making you so, so angry that this is what the both of you have come to.

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

You thought it would feel better seeing him cry.

But it’s not, it’s not, it’s not. You hate this.

Because Jungkook made sure your tears were short-lived. Made sure to chase them away every single time—

There’s a rapid twist of your locked doorknob before you hear a shout,

“What the hell’s going on in there!”

Shit, your brother. Were you both yelling?

…Were you both that loud?

“We’re fine!” you shout back, embarrassed that your fight somehow managed to outperform the aux. “It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!” You look toward the shouts. “We’re okay.”

“…Okay.”

And then it’s completely silent.

But you know he hasn’t left.

Fuck, he can’t hear the rest of this. He shouldn’t have heard any of it in the first place, and you can feel the heat of his questions coming later tonight.

Which, you are fine answering when it’s just the two of you. But you cannot have anyone hovering right now so you go to open the door and tell him off,

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck.

Yoongi’s right there with him.

And your heart fucking lurches.

Fuck fuck fuck they both see your tears and you’re getting moved aside before you know it now there’s—

“The fuck are you doing making them cry?”

“Wait, it’s not like th—”

“You come into our house after years—”

“Stop!”

“And pull some shit like this?”

Alarmed, you squeeze yourself between him and a very wide-eyed Jungkook, having to wrestle an angry wrist off a captured bicep. “Seriously, relax!”

You and your brother have a thousand differences.

But one thing you two have in common?

He’s just as stubborn as you are.

A strong swipe moves you back so fast that your feet can’t keep up, and you find yourself stumbling until firm hands and familiar cologne keep you upright, voices springing up all at once.

“I’m not—”

“Hey—!”

“The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?” you question, commanding attention and snagging both your brother’s and Jungkook’s stares.

Barely even caring if they see where you are and who’s holding you.

Because this is all stupid. It’s not fucking high school and you aren’t some kid that needs their useless, shitty, good-for-nothing parents to stand up for them.

Resisting Yoongi’s grip until he lets go, you stalk up to rip your brother’s hand off your ex’s arm, voice darkened and sharp, “Get out.”

Breath hard, the reply you get is directed more at Jungkook than your own pinched brows,

“Why should I.”

“Cus it’s fine,” you shoot out, sparing a glance at Yoongi and regretting it immediately.

Because he’s not looking at you. He probably wasn’t ever looking at you.

No. Based on that look alone, he’s been eyeing Jungkook with an energy that sends chills straight through your veins.

It’s so unmoving, so infernal that your throat dries, forcing you to swallow before laying more reassurance on three pairs of tense shoulders. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

“…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook immediately replies to your sibling with a monotone, “Of course it is.”

To which he moves forward again before you stop him with a hand and a shout,

“The fuck it isn’t—”

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...”

You force an exhale, hating how your room is overflowing while you’re still drowning in the conversation prior.

Because now one talk is gonna sprout into three, and you already dread what each one is going to look like when it develops.

You hope Jungkook understands that you’re done.

You hope your brother understands that you’re tired.

And, above all the others, you hope to any high power out there that Yoongi understands that you are anything but finished.

When the tension doesn’t budge, you sigh and shift your weight.

“Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” You breathe with finality, eyeing your sibling and his ride or die—hating and loving how ready they are to do whatever they need to, together.

But they don’t have to do anything.

Except let you do this yourself.

“Please.”

After a moment, they both look over your shoulder before your brother watches your face again.

But Yoongi seems to have finally caught Jungkook’s attention, because his eyes haven’t broken their lock until you say something,

“Trust me.”

Two weighty seconds pass before both men nod. And they leave without a word, emotions toppling on each other as soon as your door shuts.

When you walk up to lock it shut, you stare at the knob in silence.

While that was massively uncalled for, it could’ve gone much worse. You can already think of over a hundred outcomes, because that’s a look you’ve seen on your brother many times.

However. That’s not what has you lost in thought.

What keeps you frozen is the fact that you have never seen Yoongi like that.

It almost scared you, but somehow comforts you all the same. You can still feel the way he subtly squeezed you in assurance, pressing you into him when you really didn’t fall that far. There’s a jittering in your chest that hasn’t simmered, and it makes you feel like you’re halfway floating back to where Jungkook stands.

But you’re promptly grounded when you rejoin him, voice soft when you ask if he’s okay.

“He hasn’t changed,” is all he whispers.

And you look at the door with a sigh of disappointment. “He has a little. Still uptight as ever, but. At least I can leave the house.”

“Yoongi was a surprise.”

Oxygen abandons your lungs before you quickly catch yourself. “They’re best friends.”

Jungkook glares at the floor in thought before exhaling, and his silence seems charged. Almost off.

“Right.”

…Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?

Is it because he saw when Yoongi caught you? Or the fact that he showed up at all?

“Hey,” you whisper, hoping to rope him away from whatever scary things he could be pondering. When he flicks his attention to you, it takes a lot to not flinch at his watery eyes. “Ignore them. We aren’t finished here.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and your conversation jumps right back to where it was. “For everything.”

“I know.” You close your eyes before sadness lowers your gaze. “But it’s gonna hurt for awhile.”

Even if you get this closure, it can’t cover all the years he made you doubt yourself. Made you feel like everything you went through was a lie and that love was something you just didn’t deserve. Confidence vaporized as a result, leaving nothing but issues and manufactured intimacy for years.

Maybe that’s why everyone said you were a bad lay before. Because you actually were.

Through your thick haze, you hear a faint, broken,

“You loved me?”

“I…” Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. “I still do.”

“What?”

Fuck.

It’s true. While he broke your heart first, he still cared for it more than anyone else after him had—until recently. The only grief he gave you was the breakup, which was why it threw you for an absolute loop.

As you grew up, though, you started to rationalize that the split was a good decision. He was moving, and you were leaving for college. How would you both have fared with the long distance? It probably would have ended one way or the other anyways.

So while the resentment burned your heart, it didn’t quite rid you of affection. What you feel as a result is similar to before, but so very, very different. Subdued. Faded. Like jeans you wore constantly but haven’t touched in years.

In all honesty, what broke you the hardest was losing a dear friend.

“I do,” you finally admit, not looking at him because of your next words, “But not the way you want me to.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, letting the outside world bleed into the room like a bitter interlude.

When he still makes no sound, you lift weary eyes to check on him.

And your chest constricts at the way he looks utterly and totally lost.

When you call his name, his gaze doesn’t leave the floor. When you whisper it again, the tear that falls makes you weak. “Kook, what’s wrong?”

He finally looks up, and you feel your eyes quickly reflect his. “I was so stupid,” he sniffles, wiping his nose. “I really didn’t know. Honestly, I knew that was impossible.”

For some reason, this makes you chuckle, and a new mood starts to paint the walls. “Why?”

“Because you were so cool.” His smile hasn’t changed. And that’s what cuts the deepest. “And I was just there because I always was.”

“What?” You start to join him in bittersweet recollection, albeit from a different perspective. When you reach forward to point at his necklace—because you will not touch the ring—you softly laugh. “Then what were these for, silly?”

When he sighs, you can feel the cracks in his curve. “I’ve been told that I’m clueless.”

“You are,” you say with a sagging grin. “Extremely.”

He laughs again. So do you.

And the both of you break all at once.

He’s crushing you in a hug and you’re crying into his clothes, hands gripping at his jacket and shoulder feeling the weight of his world.

While he repeats that he’s sorry, you choke out that you are, too. When he says it was never your fault, you cry even harder.

You fucking hate this. Now that you know the truth, it hurts that much worse. You hate, hate, hate that this is what everything came to. Everything that you both went through, destroyed by one mistake at the bitter end.

But you need to move on. You need to sacrifice the past for the future.

“I still love you,” he whispers, and you tense when he tightens his arms. “And I’m still sorry.”

“You idiot,” you cry into his chest, and you hear him hold back a sob before burying his head again.

And the two of you stay like that. One last embrace that you both needed.

Reminiscing over everything that doesn’t matter anymore.

When you both calm, you feel like it’s been hours.

But you move to step away first, confused at the way he doesn’t let you leave.

What’s he doing? Why is his mouth hovering over yours? You need to move. You need to move away.

But all you can do is plead, “I can’t.”

Still, Jungkook moves in.

Leaning to kiss just next to your lips instead.

What once would have lit your soul on fire now feels like a tempered flame, the smallest light of a candle before it burns out. And you’re grateful that he respects you enough to not push in a time of weakness.

You move away again, and he lets you go this time. But not without last words, “Promise me this person is alright.”

“I promise.”

“Only alright? I have a chance then.”

“Kook.” When you give him an empty glare, dying stars still linger in his eyes. “Friends?”

His lips give away his breaking heart before he nods. “I’m not leaving you again.”

Swallowing, you spread a thankful smile. “You better not,” you sniffle. “I need to decorate.”

He huffs, giving you one more teary stare. “If they ever hurt you, let me know.”

“I’ll be okay.”

After a noncommittal nod, he stands until you politely tell him you need a minute. When he leaves, you wait until the door shuts before wiping nothing from your cheek.

Wondering why this closure doesn’t make you feel better in the slightest.

You don’t know how long it’s been. Time doesn’t exactly flow when you’re caught between the past and the present.

But when you open your door, Dom is watching you with pure, unadulterated focus.

And your face scrunches in pain before she ushers you back inside.

She doesn’t say anything as you sit on your bed, offering her shoulder even though she doesn’t prefer physical contact.

While you’re grateful—so, so thankful for her presence—intermittent sniffles are the only sound you’re capable of.

Until you stabilize and come up for air, fishing words from your river of grief, “Remember what I told you. When he broke up with me.”

Anger simmers in her reply as her shoulder moves under your chin. You assume by the movements that she’s typing something on her phone—or prepping for revenge, either one of the two. “I do.”

“He said he still loves me.”

Your first thought is proven correct as a device plops onto your comforter. “Bullshit.”

“Dom…”

“What? Like he loved you then, too?” She scoffs. “You were the one that loved him and he cut you out. He needs to get over that.”

“He said it was a mistake.”

“It sure as fuck was.”

“I dunno. Something just doesn’t sit right.” You swipe at your nose. “He looked so.. I just…”

“Uh uh. It’s too fresh.” She gently lifts your heavy cloud off her person, firm fingers squeezing out rain. “You gotta get out of your own damn head right now.”

“I know.”

“Now.”

You break into another sob, hiccuping before nodding. “It just sucks, Dom. I d—”

“Look, I get that. But everything you’re thinking about already happened. It’s done.” A glance is thrown behind her back before she swivels around. “Focus on what you have now.”

In your moments of weakness, you ask the dumbest things,

“What do I have now.”

As always, Dominique is quick and to the point. “A man that’s waiting outside your door.”

Huh?

Your eyes flash up to hers as she stands. “Wait, what?”

What did she say? What does she mean? How does she know that what’s going on—

“One minute,” she warns, far away and not to you. “Then you’re on your own.”

“K.”

Wait, what.

You don’t even realize you’re vacating your bed as you see him walk in, nodding back at Dom closing the door before regarding your wreck of a face.

His name is molasses on your tongue.

What is he doing? Isn’t the party still on? Why is he walking closer?

He’s not supposed to be in here he can’t be here and you’re telling him that but he pulls you in so tight that the rest of your tears rain down in sheets.

“Fuck,” is all you can manage now, and he crushes you in even harder, as if he wants you pressed against all of him forever like a keepsake leaf on a journal page.

Your voice writes words into his clothes, silence his only reply but the only one you need.

Even if you only get a minute, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

When he holds you at arm’s length, his question comes out a bit fast-paced, “What happened?”

Damn it. As much as you should probably tell him, you use precious seconds to pause, not really knowing if you want to or not.

“Don’t sweat it,” he quickly understands, kissing your forehead just as chaste. When he moves again, you catch the tension in his shoulders, notice the ruffles in his hair. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yes. No.” Fuck, he kinda looks as rattled as you feel. What is happening right now? “I just, umm. I need a minute.”

“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”

“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.”

Finally, Yoongi stops, and his whole upper body relaxes at once. A beautiful sound to your ears, amusement huffs out his nose before he mutters, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.”

“But it’s true.”

His chuckle is light, and mischievous eyes find the ground before they lift to yours,

“Makes me wanna take you home.”

Well. You swiftly realize why he doesn’t want you to keep saying certain things. The zing of emotion through your body was definitely uncalled for.

Any other day, you would want this type of conversation to keep going. And maybe you’d be a little coy about it.

But right now, all you are is tired, and your barriers are crumbled enough for a truth to escape.

Resigned, you step closer to wrap his waist in your arms, not caring if he can feel the rapid beats of your heart. “I want you to do that,” you admit, breath warming your face on his already warmer shirt. “All the time.”

“Take you home?”

“Mmhmm.”

Yoongi runs fingers along your arm. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.”

If you were someone else. If you didn’t have to hide.

If you didn’t have to wait.

At least you don’t have to wait for much longer. Definitely can’t say anything to your brother tonight, but you and Yoongi agreed on after this party. So things will be better from here on out.

But why does he seem so—

You’re spooked by a warning knock on your door, and you flicker eyes to see his filled with something you don’t like.

And the air suddenly shifts to something alarming.

“Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

Oh. You shake your head, already on the same page and liking how in sync you are. “There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”

Huh.

What does he mean by—

“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”

You freeze.

So does time.

A minute is no longer enough.

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, banging and banging and screaming that what he’s asking is not possible.

Because he isn’t asking what you want to do. He isn’t even asking how long you can wait.

There’s a reason why he’s risking all sorts of shit to say this in person. Why he seems so restless.

And you’re already missing him so hard it hurts.

Truthfully? You can’t do this. Not now. Not when your heart is bleeding out on your own bedroom floor. There isn’t even enough time to process Jungkook’s talk and now you need to deal with this?

“Babe?”

But despite what you feel, even if your throat is seizing and your chest is caving in, your answer will be what he needs.

Because seeing Yoongi look like this—torn and frayed at the edges—renders you powerless and protective all at once. For fuck’s sake, he looks slightly panicked and this is the second new side of him you’ve seen tonight.

And yet he found a way to be with you one last time.

Sacrificing seconds just to say goodbye.

So you give up something, too. Your wants and needs because you don’t think you can do this, but it seems way too important to him to not try.

You get it. That whole confrontation probably snapped all sense back into him. He doesn’t want to hurt his best friend. Or disrupt his work environment. Or both. Whatever whatever whatever. You should’ve seen this coming.

If distance is what he wants, you’ll give it. Instant karma because you just told someone else to give you some, too.

Of course you lose someone as soon as you gain back another.

“Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you rush out, and yearning taints your voice on the descent. “I’ll do it.”

He pans from one eye to the other, and you weakly reveal a crack in your resolve,

“Anything for you.”

That answer was a lot more than what you meant to say. And the next look he gives rips you into shreds. Shreds of the bigger truth you just told him with moments left of his time.

“For us,” he corrects, swooping in to give you one more soul-shattering kiss.

And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel.

You don’t know when you’ll get to be alone with him again. It could be a day. Or months. Or even longer.

But watching him go, you know you can get through this. You know you can do it.

Because this is nothing new. Just another person leaving. You’ve gone through it before and you’ll go through it again and this time will be different, right? Right? He’ll come back. Of course he will.

And yet there’s still a part of you that questions.

If people are like seasons…

Which one will Yoongi be?

Fuck.

Your body is moving before the rest of you does, and you propel forward to tug him in, flooding his lips with saltwater and longing and a deluge of reluctant trust.

And he responds in an instant, swallowing you in an embrace you’ll cherish forever and willingly giving in to your desperate tugs on his jacket.

“Yoongi, I—”

You hear another insistent knock before he slings you into the nearest wall, and he grips the back of your head so hard you sob into his mouth.

“I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.”

You wanna believe him.

“Okay?”

But you only nod, eyes filled with oceans but gaze unwavering. Because you need to see him. Because you need to see him.

“Fuck.”

He smashes his lips on yours once more, capturing every soft plea for him to stay and holding you so tightly that your heart splinters. And while you know this is his way of telling you everything will be okay, you have a sinking suspicion that he is fighting to believe it himself.

It’s not fair.

None of this is fucking fair.

If he was anyone else, if you were anyone else, if your brother wasn’t the way he was, if Jungkook wasn’t in the position he’s in now.

It was just nights ago that you cradled all his moonlight in your palms.

And now you’ll be farther apart than stars.

Yoongi finally pulls away right as Dom opens the door, and a myriad of emotions slosh into your brain when his eyes never leave you.

“I got us,” he vows, finger on your chin the sole thing keeping you afloat, and you suspend in disbelief that someone you know is witnessing his lips press your forehead in real time and no explosions or helicopters are crashing onto the scene.

Just a panicked “Hurry up, for god’s sake!” to indicate your friend is not amused or phased.

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly backing up before slipping out, and the door closes with only you inside—hand clawing deep into your chest.

Because you know him well enough.

He was committing your every feature to memory.

And the desperation in his reddened eyes hunches you forward in pain.

The rest of the party goes on. Music booms, people laugh, conversations sparkle.

And you hear them all through your door.

Unmoved from the spot everyone left you in.

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: Hey

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: You up or nah?

You [1:40am]: yeah

Idiot🙄 [1:40am]: Help me clean up

You scoff at your phone, letting it fall from your hand before resting tired eyes between your knees.

When it buzzes again, you reluctantly read it with vision unreflecting.

Idiot🙄 [1:42am]: Left food for you, too

That you will leave your room for. You may have just cried out your weight in tears alone.

You🙄 [1:46am]: ok

Idiot🙄 [1:46am]: 👍

Cleaning is a quiet event, with you both doing the chores you’ve defaulted to over the years. While he clears the floors and deals with the trash, you steadily get through the dishes, scrubbing them as well as you can before placing them in the washer to dry.

A plate. A bowl after that.

Two whisky glasses even though there were plenty of solo cups to use.

You needed this. Needed a way of going through the motions and letting your brain fly on autopilot. If you sniffle, the water drowns it out, and only the dishes get to see any lingering tears.

And unluckily for you, there are plenty of both.

“Hey.”

You hum.

“Do I need to beat his ass?”

Well, that didn’t take long.

Frustration tears its way up your throat on all fours, “I should kick yours for what you did back there.”

“And I’d deserve it.”

You pause.

“But I still wanna know.”

Sighing, you shake your head, knowing that neither of you are angry enough to fight anyways. “No, okay? I was serious. We talked.”

“I know you talked but he still hurt you.”

Your lip stings under your teeth.

“And I can’t just let that go.”

When he stops, you place another dish on its rack. “Let’s just finish and I’ll tell you everything in a sec.”

He sets down the last of his trash before retiring in the living room, the thump of weary weight squeezing a sigh out of the couch.

And you eventually join him, water cutting off with a squeak before you shuck off your gloves.

As you walk through the cleaned-enough rooms, you keep hearing afterimages of conversations, wondering how many revolved around your shouting match with Jungkook, or how many speculated who Yoongi is or isn’t seeing.

All these pretend scenarios mock you from all sides.

But the conversation you’re about to have with your brother is gonna be real. And a long time coming, quite frankly.

You take a breath before crossing into a space that’s seen and heard many things. While you take residence in your regular spot on the sofa, your brother doesn’t deter his gaze from a television that’s not on.

But as soon as you blurt out your confession, he slowly closes his eyes.

“He broke up with me. Before I left for school.”

“...Why didn’t you tell me.”

Brows scrunched, you waste no time in pinning him with your response, “Did you see yourself back there? Imagine if you found out back then.”

Silence.

“Besides,” you continue, deflating back into the cushions, “He was moving, remember? And you had enough going on. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I always worry.”

“It’s whatever at this point. I didn’t even know he was back until Yoo—you told me.”

Shit, that was close.

“I shouldn’t have made it a surprise.”

“Not your fault. What’s done is done.” When you observe the blank screen, you can see your brother aim a look your way. “Just made the whole uni thing miserable at first.”

And the years after, too, but he doesn’t need the same details that Yoongi got.

He sighs, hand scratching the side of his head before free-falling. When it’s quiet, you think he’s preparing for war. Prepping a vow to go after Jungkook and dealing with a problem that’s not yours anymore.

But he doesn’t do that. What he says catches you completely off guard.

An apology.

“I’m sorry I’m always gone. Or not really here when I’m back.”

Where did that come from? Are you already done with a talk you dreaded for years?

This can’t be it.

Blinking, your mouth slowly opens before you respond as level as possible. “It’s okay. I can pretty much fend for myself at this point.”

“I know. But I’ll try to be better.”

He’s gonna what? “Why?”

“Cus I feel… Uhh.” He moves his lips around in thought, as if the next sentence takes strategy to arrange. “I feel like we don’t really talk anymore.”

“…Oh.”

You’re thoroughly thrown. Because who the hell is this person you’re talking to right now? What’s up with him? He doesn’t need to try anything better except calm the fuck down sometimes. And let you be an adult.

And frankly, you feel like you talk a normal amount anyway. At least, you didn’t think anything was off about it.

What the hell happened after he left your room?

Suddenly, you see him laugh at the ground before asking it a question. “Remember when we’d go get our own food?”

Alright, he’s definitely drunk or a clone.

But you’ll take it. This switch in what you expected this conversation to be is a welcome one, and you softly entertain memories that aren’t supposed to be this funny. “Yeah. We’d get told to come back with our parents.”

“Until they realized we kept going alone.”

A memory makes you smirk. “You even tried dressing like a grown up.”

He chuckles again, elbows resting on his knees as he watches your coffee table. “I really thought I did it, too.”

“You did.” Thinking about all the shit you both went through, it’s truly a wonder how you’re both still here. Living and existing and doing big things.

A rueful chuckle leaves your lips, floating to the floor. “We’re fucked up, huh.”

“Very,” he agrees. “But who isn’t.”

True. “It could be worse, I think.”

“How?”

You play with some of the frays on your sofa, wondering when this piece of furniture started to resemble thin lines of too-soft polyester at its edges.

Did it start to give up around the same time your parents did? Or had their patience worn thin way before the threads on this cushion began to fade?

Whichever truth remains, at least it’s still here—witnessing all the struggles and triumphs, the highs and lows, and all the times the two of you had sat in puffy-eyed silence.

Together.

“They could’ve left us somewhere else.”

“Ah,” he nods, slowly shaking his head and twisting the watch on his wrist. “Nah.”

Silent, your eyes find his side profile in due time. “No?”

And his glare burns the path ahead. Just like it always has. “I wouldn’t have let them.”

“Oh, really.”

“I got them to leave us all this, didn’t I?”

Wait, he did what now?

…You didn’t know that.

“Hold on,” you breathe slow. “That’s what happened?”

“We had a deal.” He sighs before leaning all the way back, hands joined at the knuckles on his stomach. “If I graduated with full marks and, uhh. Got a starting salary high enough, they’d pay for your tuition.”

The pause he makes weighs a ton.

“And leave this to us when you came back.”

So… He…

Holy shit.

You were just fucking relieved you didn’t have to pay any loans. For once, you thought your parents really had your best interests in mind and did something out of kindness before peacing the fuck out.

But it’s all because your brother negotiated and pulled off the near impossible?

…Is he paying loans?

“I didn’t know any of that,” you whisper, finding yourself on the verge of tears again.

He simply shrugs, looking down at his cherished piece that he rarely takes off. “You didn’t need to. You were just a kid.”

“So were you.”

Your brother purses his lips, and you wonder what words he could be holding back. What thoughts he has that he won’t say out loud. If any of them are things he wants to say but can’t.

“It’s whatever.”

He had to grow up fast so that you didn’t have to.

And you don’t have the heart to tell him that university fast tracked that anyways.

So, while grateful as hell and knowing you’ll be thinking about this conversation for years, you switch the subject. You’re already overwhelmed as is.

And you suddenly understand what Yoongi might be struggling with, too.

Because if he did all this for you, what lengths has he gone for his best friend?

Shoving that thought into a far corner of your brain, you rest your head to mirror your sibling, letting your tears slide back to where they came from. “I, umm. Was wondering why they left us the house. But I figured they just didn’t wanna pay for it.”

“It was already paid off,” he explains, seemingly just as happy to talk about something else. “Don’t ask me how I know this, but it’s how I was able to negotiate in the first place. They had four other properties, and a condo on some island.”

“What.”

“That’s why they were rarely here. Work trips, my ass.” He scoffs before bouncing a leg. “And they had us in this place.”

“I like it here, though.”

“I do, too, but…” You hear a shuffle of his feet before he stops. “I just. I dunno, it’s just us here. It feels...”

“Empty?”

“Maybe. More like something’s missing? I dunno, that’s probably lame.”

You inhale before assuring him. “It’s not.”

And with that, you’re both left to stare at the same ceiling, conversation stewing and simmering around the whole room.

Usually, this is when you leave. Because you don’t wanna talk about shit like this, or you simply feel like doing anything else.

But tonight, you want to stay. You didn’t know these things about your brother and what he did, and it’s making you realize a lot of things.

And regret others.

A question rolls off your tongue before you can overthink it, “Do you ever wonder what we did wrong?”

“All the time.”

“When I think about it, I always end up thinking the same thing.”

“Hmm.”

You tilt your head his way. “We weren’t the adults. But neither were they.”

And you both huff in tandem after he grins. “Damn.”

You don’t know how the two of you got here. But it was much better than talking about anything else, and you silently thank him for not making you more miserable than you already were.

Truthfully, you feel a little better instead.

He just needs to know for sure that you really are past the whole situation. Mostly. A healthy amount, at least.

So you tell him. “I mean it, thou—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” You look over to see regret fill his side of the couch.

“For what I did. I was outta line.”

“Oh.” You swallow, surprisingly emotional that he’s even owning up to it. You know it only happened because he was being protective, but hearing this from him is huge. That had to be hard. “Thank you.”

“I just.. I love you, okay?” He turns to look at the ceiling again, and you quickly have to do the same because you know how that was even tougher to say. “You and my brothers.. You’re all I’ve got.”

Liquid emotion runs down your cheek, never having been told that more than once in a single day.

It’s a shame how foreign it sounds when you say it back.

But that doesn’t make it any less true.

“Love you, too.”

An hour later, you find yourself in bed, clutching your phone while a single question loops through your brain.

…Calling should be okay, right?

Even if you can’t see him, or really be in the same room, this should be okay. At least, in the dead of night when even birds are asleep. When no one is awake to judge you both for lying to the people you...

Your chest squeezes when you press down on your decision, the talk with your brother repeating in your ears.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

It’s ringing.

Still ringing.

…And you feel your chest cave when you hear it go to voicemail.

Fuck.

Maybe he’s sleeping already. Unforeseen circumstances like emotional turmoil tend to slow down your getting ready for bed process, so it took a lot longer than usual. Maybe he isn’t actively avoiding your calls and is just face down in a pillow you miss using.

And maybe you need to get used to this god-awful feeling as quickly as you can.

This hollow, aching, painful feeli—

Yoongi: Incoming Call

Your chest booms when you see his name, and you try your absolute hardest to answer normally even though instant tears blur the screen.

“H—”

“Sorry, I was showering, fuck.”

His breath sounds so rushed, and you immediately wonder what he looks like if he didn’t take that long to answer. Imagining him in only a towel or less, you let out a pained chuckle before whispering, “You okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

Of course that’s his answer. “I’m not. Just wondering if you were.”

“Why would I be if you aren’t? Ow.”

Body alert, you only focus on that last syllable. “Wait, are you hurt?”

You hear a low grunt before he responds.

“Just hit my fucking knee getting out.”

Ouch. How the hell did he do that? “I’m sorry. You got ice, though, right?”

“It’s not that bad. Just stings.”

“Okay.”

There’s some crunching sounds before you hear footsteps and hisses, and a thump before other noise crackles through.

“Spoke to Kook.”

Shit.

“And the guys.”

Oh. About work. “What’s up?”

“We’re gonna be busy as shit for the next month or two, so.. Guess that came at a good time.”

Ah. No finish line in sight.

But he didn’t hide that information from you, so you appreciate the honesty. Better than him leaving you in complete darkness.

“Yeah, do your thing,” you support. “I need to prep for this interview anyway. And figure shit out if I end up getting the job.”

“When you get it.”

You exhale, shy. “When I get it, yeah.”

“Where is it again? That blue building, yeah?”

“Mmhmm. But where I’ll be is like, third floor.”

“See? Claiming shit already.”

You realize right as he says it, but you meant something completely different. Your laugh is soft. “I meant for the interview.”

“Mm. Well lemme know where you post up after they hire you.”

“Yoongi.”

“Fine.”

“Did you, umm. Did you and Kook talk about anything else?”

“Just work stuff.”

“Okay.” Your eyes lower. If he’s telling you everything, you gotta reciprocate.

Even the stuff you don’t wanna mention. “He tried to kiss me.”

“What.”

Swallowing at his tone, you whisper, “I told him I couldn’t.”

“…I see.”

Fuck. He does not sound okay with that in the slightest. Disappointed with yourself, you apologize, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh? Don’t be.”

“You sound mad.”

There’s another moment of silence, and you don’t think you breathe until he responds,

“Not at you, doll.”

Well, shit. You don’t wanna cause any friction between them, especially after the energy Jungkook gave off earlier. It’s still bugging you to hell. “Nothing happened, baby. But he felt really off after y’all left, so.. I dunno. Be careful.”

“I will. But that means I can’t talk when he’s around.”

You bury your head, watching the hours that you get with Yoongi dwindle away. Knowing Jungkook, he’s gonna immerse himself in whatever keeps him distracted. So he will most likely be at the studio just as much. “At least you were there today,” you whisper.

“Mm.”

“Honestly, I didn’t expect that.”

There’s a breath on the line, and you can tell he’s hesitant just by the way he moves his phone. So when he finally speaks, your jaw goes slack.

“I was there first, doll.”

He what?

“Wait… You were?”

He was at your door first? He has to know how that looked, right? Your brother clearly saw him if he was the one to shout, and yet there was no mention of it when the two of you spoke.

Maybe that’s part of why Yoongi decided what he did. A decision to help you came with consequences he knew were coming. But he did it anyway.

Your breath is suddenly short. And your head is starting to spin with information overload.

“The plan was to only check for a sec, but he had the same idea. Showed up right behind me.”

“So… You both heard—”

“Nothing until the yelling.”

They were there the whole time. Both of them. Yoongi first? Your brother joining him?

Nope. This is too much. All of this is way too much for one night and your head is bursting at the seams.

Just another reason why this separation could be a good thing. Other than the fact that Jungkook seems weird and you can’t see Yoongi at all and him and your brother really are more than friends and you wedged yourself right in between everybody—

Information. Realizations. Guilt. You’re spiraling.

Run.

“I’m, umm. I’m gonna get off now.”

“You okay?”

Say yes. Say anything but “No. I’m… I don’t know, I really don’t know—This is a lot and—”

“Wait—”

“I get it and I’ll stay away for as long as you want—”

“Babe, talk to—”

“Bye, Yoongi.”

And you immediately hang up before your dam floods.

He doesn’t need to hear your grief over the past, your regrets of the present, your fear of the future. He doesn’t need to know how pained you really feel dealing with everything at once. How harsh his departure is because this is when you need him most.

Yoongi: Missed Call

All he needs to know is that you’ll do this for him. Because he would do the same for you.

And he’s done enough for everyone other than himself.

But goddamn if this doesn’t hurt like nothing else you’ve experienced before.

And you’ve been through hell.

Yoongi: Missed Call (2)

Why is he calling? Won’t this just make it harder?

Why does he keep trying if you need to stay away?

Yoongi: Incoming Call

With a heart so busted you don’t know where all the pieces are, you finally reach up to acknowledge his effort.

And his greeting sends a pang through your chest.

“Knew you’d answer on the first try.”

Sniffling, you say his name so, so softly.

“You didn’t let me say bye.”

When you don’t respond, he trudges on.

“So now, you get to hear the longest good night ever.”

Huh?

“And no hanging up this time.”

What the heck does he… mean…

As soon as you hear the light strums of a guitar, your heart shows signs of life. And you let everything out while he gathers the scattered shards with every chord. Every note.

Every second he doesn’t say goodbye.

A river flows into your pillow until it runs dry, and the Moon outside your blinds casts a silver blanket over your defeated shoulders.

And it’s only when you and your phone are dead to the world that the Sun steps in to peel it off with calm palms.

For the first time in a long time, you plan a sleepover at Taehyung’s.

And after getting a rundown of what happened, he completely agrees that you both need it.

It’s been a minute since you slept over there, and rolling onto his driveway makes you remember the first time it happened.

Your brother was outright flabbergasted you even asked.

But after some arguments from you and very clear energy from Tae, your brother waved you off and just demanded no funny shit better happen.

And you’ve spent so many nights over there since then that Taehyung’s one of the people he calls if he’s looking for you.

Being reminded of something else interesting, you think back to the first time you went to Yoongi’s, spending enough time there that he ended up on the list of people to call about your whereabouts.

As hot as he was picking up with a cheeky arm around you, it was surprising he was on that list in the first place.

Well, maybe not. They’re best friends. But why would he—

“You just gonna waste gas in my driveway or what?”

Snapping your head up, you see Taehyung looking bored, hands on his hips and wearing the most comfortable clothes you’ve ever seen.

Your glare in return is empty when you finally get out, circling around to grab your stuff and take-out from the passenger seat.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you joke as he goes to grab the food. Locking your car, you follow his grumbles into the house with a laugh, feeling a little okay already.

“How’s Jimin?”

“Still complicated, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”

You sigh before you poke your noodles, knowing you have quite the catch-up to get through. If only your attempt at procrastination worked.

“Eat,” Taehyung orders before taking a hearty slurp of his meal. “I don’t care if you’re sad, this wasn’t cheap.”

“Excuse you.” He’s lucky you resist the urge to fling saucy food all over his shorts. “Also, I paid for it, the hell?”

When your friend blows air through his nose, you scoff before silently doing as he says, pouting at the beginning credits onscreen.

“How long has it been?”

Ah. That’s a good start.

As you peer down at your food, emotion and appetite abandon your palate,

“A month.”

“...Damn.”

Taehyung already knows all about what happened. But even if he didn’t, you think he would’ve caught on to your increasingly depressing song choices. And the way you barely watched Yoongi during the last intramural game.

“How’s the new job, though? Good distraction?”

That you can talk about for hours. “Thank fuck it is.”

“That’s good, at least.”

As your meal progresses, you continue to catch him up on everything, including the way night calls are the only thing keeping your hopes afloat.

Because Yoongi was right. Ever since the party, weekdays have been radio silent, and you soon got accustomed to looking forward to his late texts saying he’s home.

And you’ve been okay with that. Landing the job and getting swamped with training has kept you busy, and your friends have been a wonderful salve for persisting wounds.

It just stings when you know the studio is close by. Because even though Yoongi extended invitations before, you avoid that area like the plague.

“But enough about me,” you huff. “Still complicated with him, huh.”

If Taehyung knows you’re too sad to keep talking, he doesn’t show it. His response simply comes after a few chews. “Yeah. But”—he swallows—“Not in a way I’m mad about.”

“What do you mean?”

Taehyung settles back into the sofa right as a ball of fluff hops on, and you watch the movie roll by while he gently orders him to get down. “He’s not as flaky. We just haven’t really labeled anything yet.”

That’s surprising to hear. Tae doesn’t strike you as the labeling type at all, so your question is genuine, “Do you need one?”

A huff is what you get in return, and you can hear the smile in his tone. “He seems to want one more than me. Which is why I don’t get the hesitation.”

“Mm.”

That makes more sense. Knowing what you know about Jimin, you aren’t shocked he would be conflicted about something he really wants.

Why he’s skirting around the point is the question. It’s clear to you that they would be so cute together. And sickly annoying in public.

“Maybe that’s a good sign,” you blurt, roping your friend’s gaze and attention. Spotlight on you instead of the characters bustling about his television, you smile. “It’s like he’s scared because he cares about your feelings.”

Not unlike what’s happening between another pair of friends you know.

Taehyung blinks, and you’ve always liked the way curiosity widens his eyes.

But he’s so quiet that you shift. “What?”

He keeps staring before biting an incoming smile. Before you can question him again, something brightens his expression. “You’ve changed, you know that?”

Huh. “Me? How?”

Your friend just grins before resting his head on the top of his cushion. “I’ve always known you were amazing. But now you look like you know that, too.”

All thoughts fizzle out before your jaw dips. When you try to present arguments, none materialize, and Taehyung laughs at the way you physically buffer.

“Not even denying it. I like this.”

“Shut up,” you finally pout, embarrassed and shy when he laughs again.

The rest of the film continues with nothing else but your commentary, and Taehyung clicks out of the queue screen before another one can start.

“Break? Or what do you feel like?”

You feel Yeontan’s fluff at your feet. “We can keep going.”

“Mmk.”

Both of you contemplate which one to pick when you feel your phone vibrate a ton. And when you see the notification, your heart leaps before crashing back down to the ground.

Yoongi [5:02pm]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Letting you know

Right.

You slowly let your hand drop with a sigh, and you can feel Taehyung’s pitied stare without moving.

“I know,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t be upset.”

“You can definitely be upset.”

You lift weary eyes to see that your assumption was very wrong. There’s no pity evident at all.

Only warmth. And understanding.

“Cus knowing him? He’s probably more frustrated than you are.”

There’s a pinch in your chest, a sharp one that cuts your breath for a small second in time.

Him? Being more upset than you?

You only thought about that possibility once, but you quickly dismissed it. There’s no way.

But hearing Tae say it from a guy’s perspective—and someone that knows how Yoongi can be—gives you pause.

It just didn’t make sense before because he sounds fine when you call, and he doesn’t really talk much about his own shit unless you ask. Which is strange considering he was fine doing so after your huge breakthrough at his place. Granted, it was mostly about good things.

Does he only hold back when it’s about stuff that stresses him out? That’s not ideal. You’ve told him before to tell you what’s bothering him, so if he’s still hesitant to let you in…

Taehyung’s honeyed voice brings you into the present,

“What are you gonna say?”

Blinking, you push your lips together in thought before looking at your phone again.

If Yoongi really is more upset than you are, then you should tell him something that you would wanna hear from him. Even if you aren’t feeling so hot.

You [5:07pm]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴

You [5:07pm]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time

When you send those, something strange happens to your shoulders.

They’re lighter.

How is that possible? You’re still sad.

But your mind seems to clear some junk out, instead feeling a little okay about the whole thing.

Hopefully Yoongi receives them well. If he doesn’t, you’ll figure something else out.

Yoongi [5:09pm]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

You laugh with teary eyes, soul feeling like it’ll live despite plans being pushed back again.

The lingering sadness remains, but it’s dwindled for now. An afterthought to the slight happiness you feel from lifting him up instead of dragging him down.

Another message slides into the thread before you click your phone shut, so when Tae gets more food, you catch what it says.

Yoongi [5:11pm]: Fuck I miss you

And your heart beats extra loud, mouth slightly curved and wobbly because you agree but it’s okay, okay, okay. You can both do this.

You [5:12pm]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

Of course you want to cry. Of course you want to curl up into a ball and sob.

Yoongi [5:15pm]: Thanks doll

But just like there’s strength in being strong, there’s just as much strength in being gentle.

Because as upset as you feel, it’s better if you don’t show it. While you aren’t completely resolute, you push forward in silence. Even if you can’t see the finish line.

The lingering feeling of anxiousness remains; the what-if’s batter your mind from the inside. But you choose to stay optimistic for him, and even you have to admit that’s admirable.

But the yearning still packs a fucking punch.

Your shoulders must be slumping to hell because you feel a warm presence settle against you, slinging an arm around and holding you close.

The only sound you make is a quick sniffle, but you don’t move as Taehyung reads the thread on your phone.

“You see what I see, right,” is all he whispers.

And when you slightly shrug, he leans his head against yours.

“You will.”

Nodding, you feel more tears follow the paths of their predecessors, and you don’t move to wipe them away. “You’re a good person, Tae.”

His chuckle sounds like a hearth, and you welcome Yeontan’s sniffs on your legs.

“Jimin’s lucky you’re even giving him a chance.”

“Ah.” After squeezing your bicep, your friend reaches down to pick up his baby. “He’s lucky I gave him more than one.”

“Oh? The luckiest then.”

“You can do this,” he murmurs. “He’ll be ready before you know it.”

With heavy eyes, you glance down at your still unfinished food.

“Maybe you’re right.”

One week turns into three.

Then two more pass.

And Taehyung might be less correct than you thought.

“Fuck,” you groan, clutching under your stomach. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”

“It’s okay.”

“At least you don’t have to see me this gross.”

“So?”

“You better stop.” Another eruption of pain shoots through your lower body, and you exhale into your pillow. “This is only making it worse.”

“You got a heating pad?”

A what? How does he know about—

Oh. Right.

…You probably shouldn’t tread waters you don’t know the depths of.

“Yeah. But it’s too far and I’m lazy.”

He laughs in pity but doesn’t show any in his words,

“Go get it, doll.”

Because being reminded of his last relationship also makes you wonder why it ended. And wonder if that also has anything to do with his decision.

Now hurt in multiple ways, you childishly retort, “You get it.”

“I would if I was there. But I’m not, so you’re gonna.”

“Fine.” You huff into your pillowcase, knowing you’re gonna get up because his perfect mix of support and command is annoyingly attractive. “How much longer?”

Yoongi’s too quiet for your tastes.

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Eyes closed, you’re silent for eons.

“Okay.”

To your confusion, you get a food delivery at your office the next day.

Inspecting the contents of the bag, you’re cautious until you notice a takeout box of mandu under some sweets and a few all too familiar fruits.

And at the note inside, you promptly proceed to the least used bathroom to compose yourself.

Soon.

Soon and Almost are somewhat similar.

Both can give people a bit of hope.

But they can also be the most dangerous words to play with.

Because soon is hilariously arbitrary, and you almost believed it meant something good.

“Going to Yoongi’s.”

“K.”

“You wanna go? He’s having a few people over.”

You bite down so hard your jaw hurts. “Nah, I already have plans tonight.”

“K. Have fun!”

When the door closes, you keep your eyes on the television.

Arms falling at your side because you know you aren’t going anywhere.

On a random Tuesday, you finally get a package you’ve been waiting on for what seems like months, and you rush to your room to check if it’s exactly what you wanted.

When it looks so beautiful, and feels smooth to the touch, you clutch the material in sorrow.

It’s perfect.

And completely useless for the time being.

Calls have been the one thing getting you by.

But over time, even those have virtually stopped.

It can’t be helped. He’s working far too late into the night for you to stay awake, and is passed out by the time you need to wake up.

Spending time with friends helps distract from the drift, especially when one of them keeps snapping you into the present, but they’re getting busy, too.

However. Despite all the obstacles, you keep waiting. A season has passed, yet you stay grounded.

Hoping, wishing, choosing to believe that Yoongi’s not gonna do the same.

You accidentally spill your drink.

And you sob.

One chilly night, you take more of Taehyung’s advice, going to Jimin’s determined to have a good time.

But despite the manufactured confidence you had while getting dressed up and the way you were totally fine walking in and conversing with people and the admittedly perfect vibes of the party…

There’s a hole in your chest that won’t decrease in size.

No matter what you feed it—food, drinks, the compliments of others—it refuses to budge, and this emptiness holds weight. Heavy. Melancholic.

Painful.

As you suddenly find yourself on Jimin’s windy balcony, one with a slightly different view than the one you’ll remain on forever, dull eyes lower to your solo.

If you forget this one on the railing, too…

Will he finally show up to hand it back?

A sharp ache spreads as the hole expands, new tears too powerful to ignore. You know your vision swims, but you don’t move to stay afloat at all.

Three months.

Ninety days.

Eight million seconds.

It only took sixty for you to miss him. And it only took sixty-one for you to feel something else.

How many more will you end up counting? How long until you get to count down instead of up?

You keep asking yourself that. When you know for damn sure that you don’t want to know the answer.

A breeze wraps around your limbs as you sip, the chill cutting through your dress and making you teeter in your heels.

Because it seems like Yoongi doesn’t know, either.

To the point where it’s starting to scare you.

Has he been perfect otherwise? Sickeningly.

But something in you keeps wondering why the wait keeps extending, anxious that he could be flat out stalling.

Prematurely saddened by the possibility that he’s reconsidering entirely.

It makes sense. At least, more sense than him actually wanting something with you. Maybe this time apart has given him the clarity to realize how rose-tinted this whole situation has been. How unrealistic and laughable.

But that night in his kitchen…

It’s getting harder and harder to stay positive.

On the verge of defeat, you hold out your phone, clicking around until your finger hovers over a certain Call button.

You can’t.

He’s working. Someone could see your name, if he has it saved as normal as you have his.

Your finger moves a bit closer.

What the fuck are you doing? Stop. Don’t screw up everything you’ve had to endure with one impulsive decision.

But your mind is fucking bad tonight and you have no clue why.

When the screen lights up with the call screen anyway, ice water rushes through because you totally didn’t mean to call and you need to end it now.

Hold on, it’s an incoming call?

Oh fuck, it’s an incoming call.

Your throat sears as your eyes shut tight.

How the fuck did he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Tears burning, you try your hardest to calm the hell down before you answer, wondering why he dubs you his good luck charm when he puts guardian angels to shame.

You can’t even say hello.

“Hey.”

Fuck. Get it together. Gentle, silent, strong.

“Hello?”

But you can’t. Not this time. Just hearing his voice for the first time in weeks has you crumbling, and that damn hole in your chest is unquenchable.

As soon as your greeting is nothing but a weak sniffle, his change in tone seizes your soul and squeezes.

Because it plummets.

“Where are you.”

There’s quick shuffling and a door opening.

“What’s wrong.”

Damn it there’s keys jangling and you can’t help but sob even harder knowing exactly what he’s doing.

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. He doesn’t have to go home just because you’re what, sad? Pathetic.

You feel way too many things for this man and it fucking sucks that eight million seconds have gone by after you finally acknowledged them.

However many you get with him now, whenever that may be, you’re not taking a single one for granted.

“Babe, tell me. Now.”

“Jimin’s. Outside,” you choke out, sniffling and wiping both cheeks. “But nothing happened, Yoongi, I just—It just—”

“Gimme twenty. Can you do that?”

Lowering your head and expectations, you huff in sad amusement.

Of course you can. Twenty minutes is nothing to you now. You can wait until he’s free. “Guess so.”

“K. Go back inside and grab a bag.”

Huh? Knitted brows get aimed at your cup as you question him.

“Chips, doll. Jimin has some in the pantry.”

That doesn’t answer anything, so you remain thoroughly confused. “I’ll be okay,” you respond after a moment, simply assuming he wants you to replenish sodium. “I’m not hungry.”

“I am.”

You freeze.

So does time.

And the next three seconds are enough.

“But you better bring the good shit or I’m not letting you in the car.”

After camping in the only unoccupied bathroom, you finally get a text that he’s somewhere around the corner.

And your chest has never felt lighter.

Texting Tae, you let him know that you’re leaving and that you don’t apologize to Jimin for raiding his kitchen. When he responds, that’s when you slip out, your departure a mess of crinkling and racing heartbeats.

If anyone sees you walking out with chips, you pay them no mind. Because you only care what one person thinks.

And seven minutes later, when you see him doubling over at the bazillion noisy bags in your arms, you laugh along at the absurdity of it all.

It’s almost enough to distract you from what he’s wearing.

But to your credit, you don’t exactly see the damn rips in his jeans until he opens a back door for you to throw your haul in.

As if the black top wasn’t already disrespectful enough. His hair has even gotten longer, and you really, really like the new length.

“Fucking hustler.”

No second is wasted as you grab his shirt, positively melting at the way he doesn’t resist or shy away at all.

In fact, he does the exact opposite, crushing you against his warm car so fast he has to brace himself. You welcome the way air leaves your lungs, because you’re giving it all to him with each pass of his lips over yours.

Both of you know you’re outside, in public, somewhere you can be seen. But, mirroring the last time you kissed under a starry sky, neither of you act like you give a shit.

Just like that, everything that has haunted you fades. The worries, the fears, the doubts. It doesn’t matter how many days have passed, because it feels like he never left.

And you suddenly know Yoongi is summer.

Endless.

“Get in,” he rasps through a smirk. “Thief.”

With a grin spread so wide your cheeks hurt, you respond right as your foreheads meet,

“Anything for you.”

With nothing but the road ahead and him beside you, everything is right with the world.

“You still have to gimme chips.”

Maybe not quite everything.

Smile ruining your attempted pout, you reach behind your seat to pick a random bag, settling on the easiest one to grab. “You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

Well. That first sentence will never, ever, ever be unpacked.

As you shakily open the bag, you hope his music hides your shiver, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh, tugging down your dress because he has his car pretty cold tonight. “I know you are.”

When Yoongi reaches to grab some crisps, his blatant stare on your thighs makes you squirm. “Why?”

“I just… You read.”

To your chagrin, he laughs in surprise, forcing you to look out the window.

Which makes you miss the way he turns down the fans. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table,” you answer without doubt as he digs for more chips. “And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

He cocks a brow before focusing on the road, licking his fingers and giving you grief. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

He can barely contain his spreading curve. “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.”

Your heartbeat skips as you gawk, and the current song is overshadowed by your playful shouts and tickle attempts. “Oh, bullshit!”

“You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Yoongi glances at you then, head tilted up in cockiness and wide smirk slicing through your every thought.

And you glitch when you realize why.

Settling back into your seat with arms guarding your shyness, you sniff upward. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.”

He chuckles a bit before making a turn, and the scenery starts getting familiar.

Way too familiar.

Wait, he’s taking you back to your house?

No no no. Why is he taking you there?

You got into his car fully prepared to go back to his place, consequences and shit be damned. Everything else be damned. One night is all you want right now, and there’s no way you aren’t going without a fight.

All sense of the current mood dissipates when you grip his forearm. “Not there.”

He flicks his gaze, rolling to a stop at an intersection that’s frighteningly close. And his expression falls when he shifts into park with a sigh. “Babe… We can’t.”

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?”

He freezes.

Which gives you a chance.

Eyes glossy, you use all the seconds you have to say everything you’ve kept to yourself.

Almost everything.

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t”—you inhale, hating how it shakes—“I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.”

Yoongi is completely silent. But that’s okay because you aren’t done.

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” You can’t look at him when his hand slips from the wheel. “I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

He doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Time ticks as you hold your breath, oxygen depleting and lungs nearing collapse as you watch his eyes close.

You laid everything out on the table. Your words, your thoughts, your pain.

Whatever he decides, though? You’ll respect it. You said what you wanted to say and you won’t take any of it back. If he wants to prolong this, you won’t stop him. If he doesn’t want this anymore… the home in your heart will need repairs, but you’ll live. Somewhat. You don’t know how but somehow. People are like seasons. You’re used to it.

Yoongi’s still way too quiet.

So, giving up and getting the point, you reach up to open your door.

“Stop.”

You do.

And the way he flexes his jaw shoots magma through your veins before he wrenches the car into drive.

The universe spins as you burst into Yoongi’s apartment, running, bumping, slamming into furniture until you get thrown against his bedroom door.

Welcoming the pain, you devour his scorching lips, fingers digging into his hair with a desperation that frightens you. All you feel is him him him, barely recalling the manic drive over and the way he all but busted into his own place.

If there were any lingering doubts to your question, they’re left out in the chill, not allowed to witness the way he hitches your leg up before pinning you firm with his pelvis.

“Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—”

You moan at the way his jeans feel on your skin, shivers running rampant when you more than feel his hardness poke through. “Please,” you pant, sticking to your word and ready to tell him what you want.

“Please what.”

Everything you want.

Tugging his head back, your admissions rub right against his mouth, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

A breath whooshes out when he yanks you forward with a growl, and you cannot seem to stop, “Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

All the other times, you’ve seen Yoongi break in different ways.

But this is the first time you’ve felt him legitimately snap.

“The fuck.”

Lightning strikes the dark as he slams you backward, teeth clinking against yours when he smothers you with saliva and lust. When he shoves his door open, you stumble back, more unholy plans in mind than he imagines.

You don’t know what’s coming over you.

Even as you force him sideways to shove into his rolling chair, the piercing look he gives is no match for your inner storm.

“Babe—”

Impatient, you drop to your knees, the pain nothing to you as your fingers twitch over his zipper. As you tug his pants down with force, Yoongi’s outright shock is another first for you.

“Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward, and you feel highly motivated when he doesn’t do a thing except let out a low, gritty hum.

Grabbing at his cock, you already moan at the way it feels in your palm…

Softly, oh so softly, a large hand closes over yours, and you hear your name in a whisper, haze temporarily receding.

What’s wrong? Does he want you to stop?

When you ask without a word, Yoongi leans forward to capture your lips, and this gives you a warm sort of deja vu. “You drank tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah…?” Oh. He totally tasted alcohol. And your frantic behavior. He thinks—Oh.

Understanding what he’s getting at, you reach up and caress his cheek. “I’m not drunk, baby,” you chuckle. “I just missed you.”

Again, he looks at your eyes, one after the other. When you say it once more for good measure, he kisses you in acceptance.

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

He falls back with a groan, raking his hair and legs spread wide. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.”

Without prompt, you dive head first, leaning forward to take his tip and swirl your tongue all around. Commanding his every drop of attention, you don’t let up as you tug your dress downward, breasts spilling out before you stand just enough to claim his lips.

He takes full advantage with a devilish curve, smacking your tits before ordering, “Get the fuck back down there.”

And you obey with a proud smirk of your own, hoping he’s liking this new side of you, too.

Back between his knees, you worship his length in earnest, swallowing him again and again and lathering him in saliva so your hands slide easily on him, too. When you feel his veins rub both your palms, you hear a symphony of lustful baritones.

“Holy fuck.”

You quickly discover you can’t get enough. Lapping, sucking, sheathing your head on his cock so far your brain smushes upward. He feels so familiar at this point that you realize you missed him even here, knocking the back of your throat and burdening your tongue with heavenly, sinful weight.

And you feel more familiar palms grip your head, eyes opening to see him staring down with reverence and something you can’t quite decipher.

“So fucking filthy...”

You chuckle, the rumble making him hiss and throw his head back against his chair.

“Don’t do that.”

You gladly disobey, laughing even harder around him before releasing with an expert pop to suck on his balls.

“Fuck!”

There’s a slight squeak before he grips you again, and you can tell he’s slipping by the way his moans devolve into breathy, short hisses.

Breaking, he pushes your head into his sack before slapping your cheek with his cock, and you hum as it slips back inside your grin.

Yes yes yes. You want him to enjoy this just as much as you do, steal this time together and run with it, need him to hang on the brink of mania where you currently reside. Because even though he’s saying things, you can’t hear them over the wholly impure sounds slopping out of your esophagus.

“Fucking hell, baby,” he praises, thrusting up slow as you keep him slathered. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You finally come up for air, gulping in air and letting him see you in all your panting glory. When you lock eyes, his lidded gaze is loaded, aimed only at your taunting stare.

Drool coats you in globs. Your chest, the floor, hanging from your lips as you stroke him with wet fingers before swallowing another time.

And you think you can do this until your jaw falls off.

But suddenly you’re hoisted upward before being thrown onto soft sheets, legs roughly shifted to one side as you paint the dark with your hoarse giggles. Before you know it, his lips attack your chest, and he’s setting butterflies wild as you arch in record time.

“Take this off,” he growls, tugging at your dress with sweaty fingers that you want lodged in multiple places. “No more hiding.”

You mewl, undressing as fast as you’re able, tearing the garment off and flinging it away. But your heels are still on, and whether he’s just as deft at removing those, too, you’ll need to hit pause. “What about my—”

“Don’t,” he grits with brows pinched, and his next vow is absolute, pure sin,

“I’m fucking you with them on.”

“Oh, fuck.” Your whine is high as you throw your head back, the next groan guttural as you feel a hand smack the side of your ass with force. Your jaw comes loose, soreness shooting through its curve as your legs are erotically parted to give Yoongi a view of everything.

You know your panties are soaked.

You know he’s gonna wreck your shit.

But seeing him eye the whole mess on display before lifting his hungry gaze your way? You’re damn sure you aren’t gonna survive the night.

Perfect.

“Please fuck me, baby,” you let out with a tone so soft that you think he doesn’t hear you.

He does. “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.”

You tilt your head, confused and wondering what he means.

But he ignores your wordless question, sliding fingers along your ankle before holding your leg to kiss that same spot.

The action alone is enough to rewire your brain, but it’s the way he looks so confident, so unbothered, so determined that has your insides churning with want.

He plants lips there again before shifting his hand down to your calf, yanking your leg back wide and pulling a tiny help out of your throat. When he shifts to grip your other leg, he growls under his breath,

“So fucking perfect.”

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and flinch what the fuck his slap to your cunt felt good. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.”

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, inevitably shy under his commanding presence. Your cheeks sizzle before your teeth grip your lip, temporarily brought back to normalcy at his confession,

“Almost made me come.”

“Be for real.”

“Damn serious.”

The cheshire cat would be jealous of your grin. “Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” He cups your whole cunt, and the possessive nature it exudes pushes a whine against your teeth. “Tell me.”

“Fuck me like you missed me.”

A groan rips through his room before he swoops down, lips bruising yours on the landing before he shoves his mouth against your neck.

Tingles erupt over your skin as he laps at your throat, so hard that your entire upper body slides across his rumpled sheets. When you feel his cock rub across your thong and his jeans grazing your skin, his name flies out of your chest. Moans, sighs, everything in between.

“Careful,” he warns low before another toe-curling lick. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you grit in return, reaching to sink claws in his hair and tug. “Wanna stay.”

Strong arms wrap around you before you feel him spread liquid fire up your shoulder, and he reaches to nip at your ear before deft fingers flick a nipple.

His voice rasps against your cheek, but the words sound reluctant to even leave. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

Fuck. You know that’s true but your heart is rattling like a monster starved.

“Just tonight,” you plead your case. Because you don’t want to be shooed away before it’s over, but if this is all you get, he needs to do something now. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” After greedily tweaking your other nipple, he rolls his body against yours, making you fiend for the weighty cock wedged against you with only thin material between. “Fuck all of that.”

He rushes upward before nudging your leg over with a strong hand, and you fixate on the way his chains hit his chest. Just like always. “Don’t move.”

You don’t even get to breathe twice as he drops from sight, and you yelp to his roof as soon as you feel teeth nick your inner thigh. At your flinch, you feel him grip your leg with force, ordering you even harsher,

“I said. Don’t move.”

“But—Yoongi!”

You don’t notice him yank your underwear sideways before flattening a hot tongue against your folds, sucking so good you have to back away from the stimulation. Immediately, both your legs are seized before he tugs you back to him.

“Uh uh.”

And he keeps your legs apart before diving deep, and you’ve never devolved into a quivering mess so fast in your goddamn life. The way he licks, sucks, kisses just where you need—everything sends thunder through your chest, lightning across your cunt, rain into your eyes.

You can do nothing but squirm, squeals and whines and high moans leaving arrowheads in his ceiling.

Holy fuck, did you sound this loud when you worshipped him? Even now, spread wide and willing to give Yoongi the world, you find a moment to be embarrassed in the best way.

If the neighbors hear, you don’t care. They’re gonna know how well he’s feasting on you, how gorgeously corrupt you feel. How you’re his and his alone and ready to scream it to the rooftops.

When you feel a finger alongside his tongue, the sound you make borders on inhuman. You think it’s his name, but even you aren’t quite sure.

All you know is that you’re close. Your thighs are burning and your fingers swipe at his locks but he refuses to let you go. “Yoongi—I’m—”

Suddenly.

He stops.

And every nice thing you have to say to him falls to the wayside. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

The light tap to your cunt makes you quiver, and your chest heaves when he chuckles without pity,

“What’d you say?”

“Plea—Baby!”

“Huh?”

Every fucking time you speak, he taps again. And every time he gets you close, he edges with aggravating control. Again. And again.

And again.

You exist between reality and fiction, somehow seeing yourself unwinding, winding, spiraling out of control. Words start to form abstract blobs of syllables, your mouth hanging open as he peppers lazy, unbothered kisses on your thighs.

In your foggy vision, you think you see him stand. And you’re pretty sure he grabs his cock before he’s rubbing his thick head between your folds oh fuck—

“This is what you wanted, huh.”

Your breath hitches with a whine as you nod.

“You gonna be a good little slut?”

Oh, you’re gonna be whatever he fucking wants. So you nod again, not without a smile lopsided.

“Then fucking beg.”

He smacks his cockhead against your cunt, springing your back in an arch and tugging strings of incoherent speech from your depths. You make hard lines of his sheets as you grip them in both palms, and you don’t wanna know what you’re saying because the way Yoongi’s staring with a smirk has you blacking the fuck out.

To the point where you’re nothing but a quivering, shaking, restless mess on his bed.

You somehow closed your eyes at some point, because they fly open when you feel his lips on yours, and you tug at his stupidly attractive shirt that he didn’t bother to pull off. “Please,” you whisper, brain floating oceans away. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.”

He breaks away to grab a condom, and this is when you realize how intertwined you feel because even this distance is too much to bear. You’re spilling nonsense and breathing harsh and you attribute that to the sole fact that you crave release. It’s aching. Consuming.

Yoongi’s already naked and prepped by the time he positions himself between your sore legs, and you give in without resistance again when he descends on your lips.

When you whisper his name, he kisses it away, and you briefly wonder why his hands shake running up your sides.

Finally, finally, finally, he gives exactly what you want, the initial connection stretching you sore because it’s been way too long. And you feel emotional when you don’t even doubt it’s been too long for him, too.

Because his eyes speak volumes.

They hold onto your every move, watch your every reaction, hesitate when you blow out air accommodating his size.

But you lock yours with him when you relax, weakly grasping his jewelry before sliding fingers up his shoulders. When you nod, he pushes in further, both of you sighing in tandem.

And as soon as you whisper you’re ready, all niceties fly out the window.

You’re thrusted up his bed with a determined stroke before he sets a pace, and your head kicks back as soon as a hand captures your neck.

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and you already sprint to the edge feeling the weight of your heels and the strength of his body. “Fuck!”

You get pat again—rougher this time—before Yoongi goes to choke you a second time. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, tearing the first thought from your throat when he grits it again. “Thank—”

Fuck, his dick is hitting every spot you need it to. It takes you a second to repeat your garbled guess in full, knowing it’s something you would’ve said anyway. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.”

As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is your undoing. The skies open to welcome you as your body locks, thighs squeezing his taut sides as he moans through your release. Waves tug you unbelievably far, and you almost lose yourself in the swell before you crash onto shore again.

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, kicking you back to the very first night and making you melt. When you peel eyelids open, you notice his smile matches yours, and the shared, cherished memory smoothens your gravelly laugh.

“Love when you do that,” you admit, shaking your head at your own strange preferences. “Don’t know why.”

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.”

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe.

“I’m ready,” you pant, and he gives you a brief look of affection—which you shatter with force. “Fuck the shit out of me.”

Yoongi twitches madly inside your core as he expels a pained, breathy laugh. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He doesn’t waste a second gathering your calves while you ponder what he says. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.”

When you find the easiest way to do so, you marvel at how shaky and slippery your thighs are, wondering if the rest of you is faring any better.

It’s not.

But you can’t dwell on that now because Yoongi is holding on like he’ll lose you, resuming a delicious pace and smacking your hips into his with the most indecent sounds.

Your whines soon join in, and his hums of satisfaction fuel your ever going flame. Heaven and earth could move and you would remain here, suspended in time as he fills you perfectly with every fast stroke.

“Feel so good—”

When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.”

What is he—

You’re hoisted upward so quickly that you see starlight, not even registering the clanks and shifts of items before he’s spinning to pin you down on a solid surface. Your heels find purchase on the floor but your knees prove unbelievably weak.

What’s—

Oh fuck, are you on his desk?

Your hands retreat until they find an edge to grab, and you moan outright when you feel his fingers slide up your cunt, shoving your thong farther over one side of your ass.

“Yoongi—”

You feel full in an instant, jaw going slack as he shoves you backwards on his cock, praises washing down your back as he pushes down any arches you instinctively make.

“Uh uh. Stay like that.”

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with a whine as you feel a sting on your ass. “Fuck!”

“There you go.”

The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and making you briefly worry if anything will fall.

But this is the most turned on you’ve ever, ever felt, and you have no fucking clue why.

You wonder if he feels the same right before his dark laugh consumes you.

“Goddamn.”

Your hands are grabbed before he shoves you forward, letting more of your body lie on the surface so that he can pin sweaty arms at your back.

Oh, fuck!

Your moans glide across wood as he doesn’t let up, and you don’t even want to know how much drool will exist on his desk when you’re done. Maybe you’ll never be done. Maybe he really will keep you here forever, and you’ll soak his whole—

“Come here.”

He gathers your wrists in one large palm before reaching to grip your chest, hauling you up and securing you against his body by the throat.

And you think your soul just left your earthly vessel.

Pressing you further into him, he grits in your ear,

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His tight stroke launches you across space. “Don’t even think about saying that again.”

When did you— You said— Why don’t you remember—

You go limp when he shoves into you again, but your heels wobble and you focus damn hard on staying upright.

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.”

“Yes!”

“Good.”

He drops all talk, pistoning in from behind while you take it and take it and love it. Mercifully, he lets your sore arms go to pin you down again, gritted words and curses dancing with your high-pitched sighs.

Fuck, his strokes are so deep that you see into the next universe, and you don’t think your mouth has been shut ever since you made contact with his desk.

Maybe he was more frustrated than you were. He’s using you as stress relief like you intended, and his roughness is a fantastic surprise.

It’s just what you need. Which kicks you into a whole other level of want and the beast inside you transforms yet again.

When Yoongi yanks himself out, you’re quick to spin and shove him backward. As he flops onto the bed, he laughs like sin incarnate when you pounce, his hot hands grabbing at your hips and encouraging your behavior in the nastiest way.

“Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.”

When you sink onto him, Yoongi’s already groaning. But when you start to swivel at a pace that will render you sore, he begins to lose it.

“Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes shut and brows pinched to hell. After holding your waist, he has to slap his sheets to squeeze even tighter, chest marred with red under pretty silver.

You make sure every rotation is full, slowly rocking with each circle you make and gritting teeth at how fucking big he is.

Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips so hard you welcome the pain.

“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep.

“It missed you, too.”

Coming back up, you dig one of your hands in his mattress while bracing on him with the other, and you close your eyes in bliss as you arch your tits toward his hungry lips.

Just like you want, he chuckles in satisfaction as he suckles, lolling his tongue all around before giving your nipple a hard suck. His noises remind you of lollipops, and you briefly think of a few fun things you could do with those for next time.

But a hand juts up to seize the back of your neck, forcing you to arch in place as he starts thrusting hard.

“Yoongi!”

“Uh huh.”

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you just enough, and you find yourself teetering on a precipice. Holy fuck, holy fuck, you’re close again.

“You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.”

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him incredibly hard. The waves prove tsunamis, and you dangle from their crests before plummeting and tumbling below. Your moan extends as he thrusts erratically through your quivers, encouraging you and digging rough fingers into your hips.

“Again.”

Somehow, that’s enough to make your body obey, and you cry out as you flutter around his trembling cock, hearing him talk you through it but not quite understanding what he’s saying.

Maybe you also choose not to listen because of what you think you hear, and you don’t want to be haunted if you realize later on what you thought you heard wasn’t true.

The world rotates up as Yoongi sits up, and you sling arms around him as he leans back on his hands. Your breath hitches at the new angle he’s filling you at, and your eyes swirl when he coolly, confidently commands,

“Again.”

You can’t you can’t you can’t but you can. Holy fuck apparently you can, and this time, it consumes you so hard your eyes roll back enough to see the past. Past you, insecure and meek and scared to say what they want.

Oh, if they could witness you now.

You shudder impossibly hard around him, coated with his deep chuckles and dashing, ego-ridden grin. It’s all you see before you slump against his chest, heartbeat pounding against yours when you can’t feel any bone in your body.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Two hearts.

One night is enough.

“So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out, lost in galaxies. “Only you.”

He can only kiss the side of your head in response, gently lowering you both onto spent cotton and helping you straighten out your muscle-locked legs. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection.

Both of you take time to calm down, breaths heavy from what felt like a marathon. But a much better marathon than the one you’ve had to endure over the last three months.

When you lie against his chest, you silently thank him for giving you tonight. It’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done with him, but you won’t worry about it. Not right now. Not when you feel more at home here than your own house.

Your brother is right. Something is definitely missing over there.

It’s when your pants have relaxed into soft breaths that you nudge your head against Yoongi’s chest, eyes shut in peace as he lazily draws circles on your back.

And the first words he says in minutes inject sparkles into your eyes,

“I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.”

Oh, shit!

Your outright squeal is surely coming out too loud but you don’t care. Don’t care don’t care don’t care not when Yoongi just gave away so many different things.

This man leaned right into the whole thing.

“I knew it!” You proclaim in triumph, smacking his thigh while hearing a very elongated ‘shut up’ at your side. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

God. If only you both could go on one of those late night shopping trips he talked about before. Maybe you could’ve gotten plenty of things. Like some little cat toys, or extra storage cabinets for your clothes.

Yeah. Stuff like that.

“I’m her favorite.”

Your scoff is immediate as you hoist yourself up, leaning on your hand and regretting the burn in your arm. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.”

Yoongi looks so at peace when you stare, and your voice calms to match as it floats down, “You took care of her.”

When he only smiles, you decide that this is how you want him to be all the time. Content and outright glowing, fireflies dancing in his eyes.

Does he feel at home, too?

“She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Heart and tear ducts full, you lower yourself to tenderly press lips to his. And, since it seems to work for you, his forehead is what you decide to kiss next.

Then you pull away.

Wondering why he’s not smiling anymore.

“Come here.”

You blink, lying back down to snuggle against his side. When his arm wraps around your shoulder, it's only then that you’re aware you still have shoes on. A clean person, you hope Yoongi doesn’t mind them touching his sheets.

But maybe it’s a tad too late for that concern.

“How are you gonna get home?”

Oh, right. You use his chest to scratch an itch in your nose before responding, “I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.”

“K.”

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. “Kinda late for that, huh.”

“True,” you sigh, berating yourself for thinking a lot of things too late. “Sorry.”

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.”

“Okay… Did I scare you?” You lift your eyes then, because you need to know for sure.

When he levels a look, you curse at his quiet confirmation. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“S’ok.”

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Emotion washes over your face before you bury it. “Really hurt.”

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently rolls you over, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, and your heart stops. “How about now.”

Feeling the deepest pain you’ve ever felt in your life, you cradle his head with a whisper,

“Maybe try that one more time.”

And he does, not looking at your tears as he sits up to peer down the bed.

When he scoots down to the edge, your breath catches as he holds a heel in sure hands, his back beautiful even with the scars. While he works through leather straps, he starts to speak,

“I always do, babe.”

Blinking, you ask what he means as he slips your shoe off with ease.

“Miss you.”

As he tenderly holds the other, you gulp in oxygen to quell the sear around your eyes. “I just… Wasn’t sure,” you admit, voice wavering.

His hair falls forward when he sighs, and his palms feel way too relaxing to just be taking your heels off. Even now, it feels like he’s revering you. And you truly don’t know how you deserve any of this.

“That’s my fault.”

Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.”

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, and you don’t know how to deal with someone giving you this level of care.

“Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, and you admire his profile when he turns. “I’m sorry.”

“You gave me tonight.”

When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give,

“A little longer is nothing.”

A moment passes by before he finally moves, and you catch a hint of a smile right before he faces his disheveled to hell desk again.

Deciding that conversation has concluded, you crack the atmosphere with a joke, “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He leans forward. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.”

Us.

Thoroughly giddy and full of life again, you egg him on. “Oh? Like what?”

Finally, he looks over his shoulder with a grin, and you scoff in frustration at his answer,

“What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

While you’re getting ready to shower, he leans against the doorframe of his bathroom.

“We have a game next week.”

As you fetch a towel from his cabinet, you clarify, “The championship, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’ll be there,” you confirm, walking away to slip the thick cloth over its rack. “I can’t believe it’s still going.”

“Same. But there’ve been a lot of delays, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Your hand feels out the water, satisfied with its temperature. “I meant your win streak but whatever.”

And you squeal when he rushes forward, shutting the glass with a wobbly thud before he can get to you. When you stick out a childish tongue, you laugh under the spray, curve slowly, curiously, softly fading when he simply keeps staring.

What’s he doing?

You don’t move as he slowly slides the entrance open again, and you don’t dare breathe as he leans inside to kiss your wet lips.

When you tenderly take one of his wrists and pull, he obliges without hesitation, and you take another shower with the man that sets fireworks off in your soul.

An hour later, filled with food and laughter—and slight disappointment when you couldn’t find your surprise near his door—you occupy his bed with full bellies and fresh minds.

As he lies on your chest, you think this is better, because it gives you time to think about things. And tell him about others.

You finally tell him what all happened with Jungkook, to which he listens without a single word. When you can’t seem to shut up about your job, he doesn’t stop you, and you adore the way he cuddles you under faint moonlight cutting through his window.

“Oh, wait,” you stop, feeling like you’ve talked his head off by now. “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” Yoongi rumbles against the shirt he let you borrow. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

Whoa, what the fuck? “Me?”

He chuckles soft, and you wonder if he can guess how shocked you look. “Yes, you. All of y’all.”

At least it’s everyone. But at the same time, you still hesitate. “That won’t be weird?”

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.”

“Ah, I see.”

You didn’t mean to sound disappointed. You truly aren’t. But Yoongi pushes up to comfort you anyway, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and finally your lips.

“It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.”

Yoongi regards you before laying his weight back on your chest. And you find it strange how familiar his body already feels. How you’re already attuned to every way his legs fit against your own, or how you would know it’s him solely based on how his chest molds with yours.

You start mindlessly caressing his hair, fingers weaving through a dark sea of strands before smoothing over its surface.

And you start to hum.

It’s not really any song, just notes you start stringing together at random. You build up before you dip back down, staying in a comfortable middle range and dancing between similar tones.

You stop from time to time, trying to figure out what would sound best next and changing up the cadence. Always coming back to a central theme because it’s what you deem best.

And you’re so comfortable that you completely forgot he’s lying right under your chin.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

He just shakes his head, arm pressing a bit more into your side.

“Not at all.”

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, softly giggling when Yoongi huffs at the way you drum on his head.

And that’s how the night goes on, with you at peace and him in your embrace.

Never noticing how the shirt you're wearing collects rain.

When dawn breaks, you part with one final, heavenly kiss.

Yoongi watches until you get in the ride he politely called for you, and you spend the whole drive with eyes filled with light.

You can do this. Just a little longer, he said.

For him, you can do anything.

But when you get home, your brother occupies the foyer as soon as you open the front door.

And you feel the world shatter and crash at your feet.

“I think,” he states, “There’s something you wanna tell me.”

—

tbc. :)

—

a ha ha... what do we think/like! | wanna support with a 🍊?

A/N: i’m so swirly-eyed that i don’t even know what to say here other than i’m sorry for throwing that ending at y’all! busted pt. 2 is gonna be its own huge part at this point so i had no choice but to end it here (originally it was gonna end before they went back to yoongi’s but i love y’all too much dlkfjdsklf) A/N 2: gonna say this again: enormous thank you to everyone supporting this whole journey, whether that’s liking/commenting/reblogging/messaging, recommending this series to people, telling me how it makes you feel or what it means to you, or even wanting a physical copy of the series like😭 that’s surreal to me and makes me wanna keep working harder. A/N 3: as far as feedback, i would absolutely love any type y’all wanna give. this chapter took all of my brainpower and the next one is gonna take just as much haahahahdksfks so any encouragement would be wonderful! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ three tangerines masterlist ⇥ masterlist

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vaultdwellerbarbie · 3 months ago

Text

guilty as sin?

cooper adams/f!reader (5.9k wc)

summary upon coming home from your senior year of college, you find out that cooper has volunteered to help watch your sister while your parents are on holiday. just what you need - being home alone with the hot dad from down the street for a week.

content warnings smut, unsafe sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), age difference, dark/canon-typical subject material (ie. takes place post trap and it's not cheating because rachel died and he got away au), the ending i guess can kind of be interpreted as dark but it's also like... not that dark

cooper gets a fic named after my favorite taylor swift song. cooper is just that special! i love him. this actually was not the cooper fic i was halfway done writing last night but i had this idea while i was at the cinema seeing trap again and just kind went with it. more cooper soon.

Coming home from college was hard enough - sure, you had a reprieve from your classes for the summer, but you were also moving around and not being in direct contact with your new friends for a few months. It became worse when you realized what questions you were going to be met with by just about everyone in your life for the next three months. “Oh, you just graduated? What next? Grad school, why? What about internships? Any jobs lined up? What was college like? Meet any cute boys?” It was sickening even thinking about it.

With that in mind, you wanted to do your best to do a low-profile. Avoid the neighbors who you were certain were going to ask questions, attend as few little parties in the neighborhood as possible, and definitely don’t interact with the man at the end of the street.

Cooper Adams had always been a problem for you. When you were younger, you were too nervous to be around him and typically hid in the corner whenever he was in the same place as you. It was unfortunate that he was good friends with your father, since that meant that you were around him a lot more than you wanted to be. Having met him when you were freshly eighteen, you figured that the way that your stomach filled with a disturbing fluttery feeling and your body miraculously always broke out in a sweat when he was near was simply something to do with being a legal adult for the first time. It was surely just exciting to be around an attractive older man now that he wasn’t (legally) off limits for you.

But Cooper was off limits. He was married with two children. He was friends with your father, and his daughter was best friends with your younger sister - by the time you came back from your freshman year of college, your mother was seemingly best friends with his wife. You’d hoped, by then, those feelings would have gone away since you were surrounded by people who were viable partners, but those feelings never quite went away.

Any boy your age you tried to sleep with was a let down, nothing they did could make you orgasm. So, you tried girls, and that didn’t work either. You branched out to older men, and that worked a little - but the entire time you just wished that you were with Cooper, that was what ultimately brought you over the edge. So, with four (failed) total partners and one total orgasm - courtesy mainly of your imagination - you decided that you were just going to quit sex and romance all together since you could never, ever, sleep with Cooper Adams.

He’d talk to you, sure. He made friendly conversation and offered you some wine when he knew that you were twenty-one, he even invited you to a concert with him and his daughter since your little sister was going with them. He was always kind to you, but that just made you more irritated because you liked talking to him. It was infuriating, and you wanted to spend as little time down the street as possible if you could help it this summer. Your mind would linger on Cooper, you’d think about him late at night when you were in bed, and you’d wonder if he could see you when you were tasked with walking the family dog from time to time, but that was it. You could not be anywhere near him, because you knew he’d talk to you, and you knew you’d like it, and you knew that he was just going to continue to be a massive (emphasis on massive, since he’s so tall and broad that you’re pretty sure he could throw a person with little effort) issue for you.

Things typically don’t work out for you when it comes to Cooper, though.

Try as you may to convince your parents that you were just fine with watching your sister for a week while they traveled Europe together, they were certain that would be placing too much of a burden on you since it was only two weeks after you got back from a strenuous semester. Nay nay, they insisted, Cooper volunteered since Rachel is out of town with her parents - he really only needs to be there at night, they said. He can come over after work, they said, it’s just fine, they said! You love Cooper and your sister can spend plenty of time with Riley! It’s a win-win, they insisted.

What they didn’t quite consider was that you quite literally had nothing to do. Making friends in Philadelphia wasn’t particularly hard - plenty of people around, a nice night life, but mainly you knew that most of your friends had moved away. At some point, you were going to start a summer job, but the job market was absolutely horrendous and it was taking longer than you thought it would to get one. So, with little gas money and no where in particular to go, you really weren’t burdened by watching your sister who wasn’t even there during the day; there was no reason, you figured, for Cooper to need to be in your home at five sharp every afternoon, but he was.

The first day was fine, overall. Your sister spend the day out with one of her friends from school and came home around four in the afternoon. She begged you to play video games with her, and you were only slightly embarrassed to answer the door for Cooper while fully invested in playing Roblox.

Cooper, who stood in front of you with a big smile on his face that told you that he was about to either stab you or hug you - sometimes you just couldn’t tell with him, he smiled almost too much.

“I heard you graduated, congratulations!” Hug it was, then.

You accepted the embrace, but you were sure that he could feel how warm you were against him. Naturally, nobody was that warm, but he really did always make you spontaneously break out in a sweat. “From undergrad, yeah, I’m going to grad school in the fall though.”

“For anything in particular?” He asked, pulling back. Cooper kept a respectable distance, he always did, but you let him close it slightly when you actually let him inside of the house.

“Still figuring that out.” You responded, leading him to where the kitchen was located in the house. “I’m assuming my parents wanted you to cook, but that kinda… mean. I can cook with you.”

“Oh, I offered, don’t worry about it.” His voice was reassuring, and if you were being smart, you would just tell him that was fine and go about your business. But you wanted to be accommodating, and the smart part of you that knew it was wise to keep your distance from Cooper just seemed to shut off whenever he was around. Somehow, you always tried to spend even more time with him knowing that you’d just regret it later. Like drinking a coffee late at night or something.

“You’re still getting used to this kitchen, though. It’s really no problem for me to help you.”

“I suppose I could always use an extra set of hands.” He responded, setting the grocery bags he had come with down. “But, you have to promise to follow my instructions. I’m very particular about recipes.”

“You can trust me, I think.”

“Just try your best, I’m sure you’ll get it.”

Cooper, despite only having been inside of your home a few times, really had no issue getting acclimated to cooking in your kitchen. He had no issue taking charge, and certainly no issue when making sure that you were doing the right thing. He was incredibly meticulous and organized, but you already knew that from having experienced his behavior and having been in his house before.

The issue wasn’t so much cooking with him, because you were both pretty into what you were doing. He was methodical, and you were just trying to please him and make sure that you didn’t mess up the food that you were about to eat. The issue was that you were into what you were doing, because you were so distracted that you only realized when the food was in the oven that his hair had started hanging partially in his face. That his hand sometimes grazed your own, and that he was standing about as close as he did when you were at barbeque’s with him and he knew that you weren’t going to be able to hear him otherwise; so close that you were always worried that his wife was going to get mad at you if you moved just a centimeter closer to him. But she wasn’t here right now, and your movement was so imperceptible that you were certain he didn’t even notice it while he cleaned up your cupboards - something that, truly, you probably should have offered to do but you were just so… fascinated by watching him. Plus, he probably wanted that done a particular way, too.

“Your parents told me you put up quite an argument against me helping out this week.” He finally turned to you, your proximity much more noticeable. But he didn’t move away, he simply folded the towel that he was using at set it down on the cupboard.

“I just didn’t want you to be inconvenienced… my parents seem to think I have places to be but I don’t.”

“It’s really no trouble at all,” He was too close, and you were certain that he had moved even closer. You felt like you were so warm you could implode, your needed to take your cardigan off, something to get some relief. “Do you need to air conditioner turned up? You’re a little clammy.”

His hand on your forehead was the next thing you felt, your eyes not leaving his face for an second, but it was in that instant that you knew that he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“You’re burning up, honey. Do you want to sit down?”

“Just dehydrated.” Your voice probably helped sell it, since you could barely get the words out of your throat. Cooper’s hand fell from your forehead, but not without grazing your cheek. Whatever lack of arousal you had felt around other people who you had actively tried to be aroused with was a thing of the past with Cooper, you were pretty sure that you had never been so aroused in your life as you were now, and all he had done was touched your face for less than a minute - how did he have such a hold over you?

“Let me get you some water.” He turned to the fridge, grabbing a bottle that he was certain belonged to you from the stickers adorning the side. “This you?”

“Mhm.” Holding your hand out, you expected him to just give it to you, but his new goal in life seemed to be tormenting you. He popped the lid open and held it out to you, but he didn’t let you take it from his hand. “Cooper-”

“I’m just taking care of you, we wouldn’t want you to pass out.” He was too close, suffocatingly close, and he was pressing the bottle’s plastic nub to your lips - it was overwhelming. “Drink, please.”

The sexual nature of what he was doing wasn’t lost on you as you wrapped your lips around the plastic, taking a sip of your water. His eyes were locked on yours, his lips slightly parted as he watched you. He seemed fascinated, but he also definitely knew that everything he was doing had one simple effect on you. Once you were finished with the water. He closed it and reached past you to set it down.

“You seem so pent up, have the boys at school not been treating you well?” Cooper brought a hand to your forehead, brushing some hair out of your face. You weren’t even sure that this was actually happening, but you went along with it regardless because it was definitely happening.

“I gave up on that like two years ago.”

“And why’s that?”

“Cooper-” You weren’t sure what exactly to say, but just based upon the way he was looking at you, you were almost convinced that he knew the exact reason.

“I just want to hear you say it, who did you wish was touching you?”

“I-Is this happening? Am I hallucinating?”

“You’re not hallucinating,” He stepped a bit closer, and any worries that you had about someone walking in were off of your mind - your sister was probably still entranced with her game anyway. “I think it would be rude to pinch a young lady, so I’ll just have to show you another way.”

The feeling of Cooper’s mouth on yours was immediate, and your response was quicker than you would ever admit to anyone. Your hand grabbed onto his forearm, grounding you while you kissed him back. But his kiss was tantalizingly slow, he knew that he was taunting you and leaving you on edge. For whatever reason, he seemed to be getting enjoyment out of that, but you couldn’t claim that you weren’t enjoying this more than even you believed that you ever would.

He pulled away after a moment, though. “Can you answer my question now?”

“I was… they couldn’t please me.”

“Why not?”

“Because they weren’t you.”

“You’re so sweet.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, but pulled away and checked on the food the moment that the timer went off as though nothing had happened. “Why don’t you set the table.”

Wordlessly, you set the dinner table for three - you had been expecting Riley and her little brother to be over, but your sister had explained earlier that Riley and her brother were going to be over for the rest of the week, but not tonight. some sort of obligation that they couldn’t get out of with another family member even though it meant that Cooper needed to drive them there, pick them up, and still deal with babysitting your younger sister and cooking dinner; even though he had volunteered and your complaints had been relatively selfish, you still felt like you were putting too much on his plate.

Still, your mind was lingering elsewhere. Namely, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his lips on yours, of the way that he looked at you and touched you, how badly you wanted him to do much more than that. How this had even happened was something that you just couldn’t put your finger on. Never had you gotten the impression that Cooper would ever do anything to pursue you. Your families were so close, it was such a risk - but what had happened was real, it did happen, you definitely hadn’t made it up.

There was a sense of guilt in your mind. In the past, your thoughts were just thoughts. You had never acted on them, and so you couldn’t feel bad for pining over a married man who you knew you could never, and would never, have anything with. But kissing him was already bad enough, hoping that more would happen by the time your sister went to bed made it much worse. It was true that your thoughts were only natural, but you had a responsibility not to act on them - to keep them as pure fantasy. And yet, all you wanted was to forget about that and find out what he looked like underneath his shirt.

Shaking that thought from your mind as you called for your sister, you joined the two of them for dinner. She carried most of the conversation, but when it shifted to you, you did your best to not show how dazed you had been as you contemplated that anything that was going on meant. Nor did you know how to react when she expressed that a friend down the street had invited her to spend the night, when you were given the authority to decide whether that was okay or not. Normally, it was a yes. Your parents would have said yes, your sister had no school since she had just been let on summer vacation a few days ago, and you had no reason to say no. It shouldn’t have taken as much contemplation as it did, but the expectant way that Cooper looked at you told you simply that your not-so-innocent thoughts had the capacity to become a reality if she wasn’t there for the night.

Against your better judgment, you said yes.

With that looming in your mind for the rest of dinner, you were reluctant to walk her down the street to see her friend. It was almost a shame how close-knit this community was, because without that you probably wouldn’t even be as close with Cooper as you were to begin with and she certainly wouldn’t be spending the night with someone on a whim. But, here you were. Even the cool night air couldn’t do much to calm you as you recognized that Cooper was still going to be in your home by the time that you got back, and you were going to have to face whatever decision you had made earlier when you let him kiss you.

Walking back through the doors of your home, you tried your best to act normal under the circumstances. Cooper was just finishing up packing the leftover food into the fridge, and you almost wanted to go straight to your room - but that wasn’t going to solve anything. You were an adult, with adult feelings toward another adult, and you needed to do the responsible thing and face them head-on. It just so happened that the responsible thing, truly, would be telling him that what was happening was wrong, that he was married and at least twenty years older than you… and it also just so happened that you knew that you weren’t going to do that.

“Cooper?”

“What’s up?”

What was up? What was your plan in approaching him? ‘Hey Cooper, wanna have sex?’ didn’t really seem like the right move. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m just finishing up, thank you though.” He replied, cleaning off the cupboard one last time before approaching you. “Did you need anything else before I go?”

“You know, you don’t have to go back home. It’s getting late, it could be dangerous.”

“I’m sure I’ll be okay.” He replied, but he didn’t move. Once again, it seemed like he was waiting on you to make the move - but he was letting you, he wanted you to, he seemed to be getting off on making you ask him for it.

“And you’ll be all alone, you could get bored.”

“I’m pretty tired, I bet I’ll pass right out.”

“I’m scared of being in the house alone, I might need company.”

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” He stepped a bit closer to you, his large hand covering your cheek. “Do you want me to stay? To protect you?”

“Please stay.”

“Do you want me to… sleep on the couch?”

“I imagine a bed would be more comfortable.”

Cooper hummed, but shrugged his shoulders. “Last time I checked, you don’t have a spare bedroom.”

“Cooper-”

“Tell me what you want, or I can’t do anything for you.”

It was wrong, and you knew that, and he did too. You both knew that what you were doing was wrong. Yet, for whatever reason, he wasn’t stopping it - maybe he was just lonely since his wife was out of town for an undisclosed period of time, some family emergency that you didn’t even know about until your parents told you. Maybe he had been waiting to finally get you alone, maybe he had noticed those longing glances that you were sending him when you figured that he wouldn’t catch you.

“How long have you known?” You asked, your voice shaking a bit.

“Remember that pool party Cindy threw down the street last summer?”

“Yeah…”

“I distinctly remember you, quiet as ever, piping up to complain tirelessly about me refusing to swim.”

“I mean, they were the first family on the block to get a pool. You were really missing out.”

“Right… but that wasn’t why you complained, was it?”

“No, not really.”

“And why did you complain?”

“Because I wanted you to take your shirt off.” You replied, not really knowing what to say other than the truth. Cooper was intelligent, you knew that. He had you figured out even though you were certain that you had kept your distance enough that he wouldn’t have. But, you took solace in the fact that it had taken three years of quiet pining for him to figure it out. “But what made you want… assuming you want to… you know-”

“I’m not sure, exactly.” Not really the best answer, but you knew that he was going to elaborate. “A good answer would be seeing you in your little shorts, or in that bathing suit at the pool party. But I think the first time I thought about it was when you were over around Thanksgiving, fully covered in one of those cute sweaters you like so much.”

“Do you still want me to ask you to have sex with me?”

“I think you just did.”

Cooper’s lips were pressed against yours again before you could even really contemplate the consequences of it. Whatever issues you were going to have with yourself in the morning for doing this with him were just going to have to be issues for a future version of yourself. For now, the only thing that mattered was how delicately he pushed you against the wall. How he let your fingers roam under his shirt, playing with the hem of it until he disconnected his lips from yours, given you a moment to breathe.

“Would you mind leading me to your bedroom? If your past partners have been unsatisfactory, you at least deserve to do this on a bed.”

Quickly, you nodded and took his hand. Cooper followed you as you brought him into your room, looking around at the items that you had collected. Your room was rather clean, sparing the suitcase that you hadn’t fully unpacked since returning home that sat half-open in the corner of the room. He seemed interested in the posters and albums that filled your room, interested in knowing what each of them actually was since you hardly let him speak to you to begin with. But, he was mainly interested in getting your shirt off and tossing it into your clothing basket - it being in the basket was of particular importance to him.

He let you remove his shirt as well, your eyes finally taking in the sight of him without it on. You weren’t particularly surprised that he looked good underneath his shirt, you expected nothing less of him. Yet, you couldn’t help the way that your fingers grazed over his skin before finally meeting his eyes. Cooper had his fingers underneath the hem of your leggings rather quickly, watching to see if you were resistant of that for a moment - when he saw no disagreement in your face, he quickly removed the article of clothing from your body before urging you to get onto the bed.

Admittedly, you wished that you had a larger bed than what you did simply for this purpose - not that you had sex very often, but simply because you felt like you were cramping Cooper. If he minded, he didn’t let on.

“What was it that those people at school didn’t do for you?” He asked, situating himself in between your legs once you were both on the bed. “Did they not pay enough attention to you? Not worry more about your pleasure than theirs?”

“I don’t even think it was an equal amount.”

“Well, let’s fix that.” Cooper’s lips were delicate against yours, but they were also fleeting. It wasn’t long before he was kissing down your chest, his hands moving to your back to undo your bra. While you shrugged it off of your body, he took it from your hands to make sure that it ended up in the basket of your dirty clothes. Some part of your mind contemplated the fact that his shirt was in there too, that his scent could linger on your clothing until you washed it, but did you really need to be concerned about that when there was an even better chance that his scent was going to linger in your bed? On your skin?

His lips distracted you from your thoughts, wrapping gingerly around one of your nipples while his hand descended lower on your body. You could feel his fingers pushing underneath the fabric of your panties, roaming slower and collecting the wetness that you knew had started pooling the moment that you saw him in the doorway.

“Have any of them ever made you this wet before?”

“Only when I started thinking about you.” It was the truth, you had gotten this wet before during another sexual encounter - it just so happened that it was because you were fantasizing about Cooper during it.

“That’s a no, then.”

His fingers were much thicker than yours, that was what you noticed the moment that he pushed them inside of you. He could reach deeper than you could, and it didn’t even seem to be something that he was purposefully trying to do when the heel of his hand ground against your clit as his fingers moved within your cunt. His lips continued to kiss along your skin, your quiet moans spurring him on as he brought another hand to the hem of the fabric of your panties. It almost felt unfair that he still had his pants on throughout this, but you couldn’t bring yourself to really think about that once he had your panties off of your body and his lips pressed gently against your hipbone.

“Have you ever let anyone put their mouth here?” He inquired, venturing lower and glancing up at you as his teeth sunk into the skin of your thigh.

“Once.”

“And did you finish?”

“I pretended to.”

“Poor thing, you’re not going to have to pretend with me.” His voice was gentle and reassuring, but it was clear that there were undertones to it that you’ve never heard from him before.

There really was no time to linger on that, though, as his mouth finally connected with your cunt. His fingers still moved within you, seemingly he had figured out just how to move them to make you moan just a little bit louder. There was some part of you that felt like you needed to try to be quiet, like there was some risk that you were going to get caught even though you knew that wasn’t going to happen. If your sister had to come back, she’d call you. If something came up in any other capacity, you were certain that you would know. There was no way that someone was going to catch you, and no nosy neighbor was going to discuss Cooper having been here until late into the night since everyone knew that he was going to be here. If anything, you weren’t particularly lying when you said that you were nervous to be in the house alone! You’d been spending months in a dorm with people, and when you got back you had been with family. Being alone did make you kind of nervous, so you weren’t actually being dishonest and it wouldn’t be very hard to tell people that if anyone did question if anything happened.

Regardless, you knew that what you were doing with Cooper was wrong. That alone was enough to make you on edge, but that edginess continually slipped away as his lips latched onto your clit and his fingers curled at just the right angle inside of you to make you feel like you were going to lose your mind.

Cooper was right, you were incredibly pent up from having spent so long not having any conquests - and, when you had conquests, it just never brought you to the finish line. You needed this, and you specifically needed it with him.

Your fingers tangled in his hair without you really thinking about what you were doing, and that just made Cooper continue what he was doing with a bit more vigor. He liked the feeling of you touching him, the feeling of you this close. He really had been thinking about it for quite some time, and it only helped a little bit that your little worry about him being married wasn’t that much of a worry for him.

When he did feel you pulsating around his fingers, he knew that you were close. He continued to work you to the edge, your fingers tightening around his hair as his name escaped your lips more times than you probably even noticed. Finally, you felt the relief of an orgasm flow through you as you came on his fingers, his movements only stalling when he knew that you were coming down from that high.

Your eyes were a bit dazed as you looked at him, as he moved up your body and laughed at how eager you were to pull his lips back to yours. Cooper helped you as you moved to undo his pants, tossing them into the hamper as well before removing the boxers that kept him separated from you.

“Sure you can take it?”

“Please, Cooper, I’m sure.”

Cooper moved one of his hands to take yours, “Squeeze if you need to.” Being the only thing leaving his mouth. His concern was based in reality - you hadn’t had anyone inside of you in years, and even then, he was bigger than anyone that you had been with before, both in stature and in what he was packing beneath his pants. Of course, you expected this from him. He was tall, he had large hands, you knew the signs.

Your hand did squeeze his a bit, but the moment he knew you were comfortable was the moment that he started moving. He really didn’t waste any time, his hips snapping into yours and leaving you a whimpering mess underneath him - but that was, ultimately, what Cooper wanted from you.

“You’re doing so well, being such a good girl; I knew you’d be good for me.” His praise brought that familiar (sickening) fluttering back to your stomach, but you did your best to mask it with another kiss. It was sloppier than it was before, his teeth digging slightly into your lower lip and his tongue pressing against yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and that alone was enough to make you yearn for more. More of this, more encounters like this. You’d wanted him for so long, and now the idea of this only happening once was absolutely devastating to you.

“It feels so good, Cooper - so much better than anyone else.”

“I know, baby, you just needed me to take care of you.” He kept a hand planted on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. His eyes were so warm, but there was a bit of a darkness behind them - a darkness that you were assuming was lust, though it could always be something more.

His other hand moved lower, his finger coming in contact with your clit again. Everything he did felt so good, you were certain that nobody had ever made you feel this good before - and you were also certain that nobody else ever would. But, was it not just how badly that you wanted him in particular that had made everyone else pale in comparison? Truly, they probably just never had a fair chance.

Cooper was experienced, but he also seemed to be figuring out exactly what you wanted moment by moment. He seemed focused on making sure that he was pleasing you, but, in the process, his grunts and groans didn’t go unnoticed. To the contrary, each one of them went straight to your core. Truthfully, Cooper had been pent up for a while as well - longer than you actually knew.

That was probably why neither of you stood a chance at lasting longer than you did, and probably why neither of you even considered the ramifications of him not pulling out of you. But the feeling of him finishing inside of you, of feeling somehow even more full of him than you did before, did something to you. The sight of him above you as you both came to terms with what had happened, as his soft hair hung over his forehead and his eyes - glazed with lust - found yours, you knew that he had ruined any chance of you ever wanting anyone other than him.

“Cooper,” You started, not really sure where to go from there… but you’d had sex with him, hadn’t you? What qualms could you really have about speaking your mind anymore? “You should spend the night.”

“We’re going to shower first, okay?”

“Alright, okay.”

So, you took showers (separately, to your chagrin, but he had to use your father’s shower products), and he ultimately did join you in your small, relatively cramped bed. Even as you fell asleep on his chest that night, you were worried that it wouldn’t happen again - that he just wasn’t as interested as you. After all, you were a fun idea, a younger woman who wanted him so badly that you’d do anything he asked of you, not someone to bring home to his children who are only about ten years younger than you. Besides that, Cooper was still married, right?

But you really didn’t have the full picture.

Cooper, legally, was still married. But you’d saved yourself a lot of trouble refusing to go to that concert with him, that concert that had been a setup from Rachel. It was an odd coincidence that she had a family emergency right after, especially for Riley who was on top of the world before her mother was gone without much word. It was going to be a problem when it became clear that she was actually gone, but for now, that guilt that you felt about potentially being a mistress was… probably not the worry that you should have. But Cooper was happy to keep that from you, at least for now, for as long as he needed to.

After all, maybe you’d be happier with him than you would have been at grad school? Maybe you wouldn’t turn him into the police if you ever grew suspicious of what exactly he did in his free time. All he knew was that you’d tried - even if you hadn’t realized you were trying - to get him wrapped around your finger, and it had worked. Now, he had you wrapped around his, and he just didn’t really feel like letting that go any time soon. Of course, you wouldn’t protest being with him for longer - he knew that, you wanted to keep him in your life, and he always enjoyed giving you what you wanted.

#cooper adams x reader #cooper adams smut #cooper adams fanfiction #trap fanfiction #trap 2024 fanfiction #josh hartnett x reader #josh hartnett fanfiction

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daydreamdraws · 6 months ago

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Bella in the Trapped neighborhood au design! might work more in the future also some silliness...

Some doodles of Merge and Bella shenanigans bc im really normal about him

Merge and The trapped neighborhood belongs to @cloudysunflowr

#welcome home #welcome home fanart #welcome home puppet show #wally darling #clown illustrations #welcome home wally darling #wally darling fanart #welcomehome #oc #welcome home oc #au #welcome home au #oc x canon

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cloudysunflowr · 1 year ago

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Trapped Neighborhood Refs

Finally finished them! Changed their designs and heights a bit but they’re done~!

I’m also releasing the story on my discord and will be making vids every now and then~ But the fleshed out story will be there. Reminder I intend it to be a rather a short story ^^

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bruciemilf · 1 year ago

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Re-watching Spiderverse. My curiosity wills me to make an AU where Jason gets thrown in an intricate mess of multiverses where he's adopted by almost all Bruce variants.

"So let me get this straight,"

of course, he's god's most hated freak, and the ONE person who can guide him through this mess is a small, annoying, cartoon version of Dick.

"This is a network of intricate, interdimensional realities stitched to a 'canon' tapestry. And Batman has to lose me in every single one to hold it up."

"Sure! There's a less idiotic way of putting it, but I like your enthusiasm. "

Jason's urge to squeeze this funko pop motherfucker until the life slowly bleeds away grows. It can wait, thought.

Currently, he's trying to help with neutralizing a version of Bizarro. Poor guy must've gotten lost again. Very strange that only one Bruce accompanied him, thought.

"So how many Batmen are there, exactly? Seems like one's enough." He mutters, refusing to let the familiar warmth infest his body when thinking of how they look at Jason.

Like the universe ends and starts with him.

"Oh there's a whole bunch! We have 80s Batman, cowboy Batman, Batman who cries, Batman who sings opera, Looney Toones Batman, -- a personal favorite, -- really the numbers are unlimited!"

Jason watches with strange sense of unease as this one variant handles Bizzaro. "And that's who? Biker gang leader Batman?"

Nightmite gets quiet for a second. Jason pauses, because THAT’S strange.

This eery nervousness only springs when this Bruce, -- not as old as everyone, hell, not even as old as JASON, -- glues a green device on Bizzaro's chest and leaps away.

"That's, uh...Batman who kills."

Jason doesn't have time to react as a booming explosion overwhelmes his senses. His knees are weak. And not just because the ugly stench of burning flesh invades his senses.

But because this Bruce, this Batman, is aiming for him and quick. That mask sends him right on edge. He hates the way it only covers Bruce's mouth, forcing Jason to gaze into sharp, brutal blue eyes.

"Jason?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you," Jason snarls before anything else. "He was detained! He wasn't a threat anymore!"

"He got roofed with red kryptonite and destroyed half a neighborhood. What did you want me to do?"

"Come up with another plan! Trap him, knock him out! Blowing him to pieces doesn't solve anything!" Jason yells, Nightmite looking incredibly worried and hiding behind his shoulder. "Try TALKING to him. Show him some fucking mercy."

"We tried that before. It's not working." He says, "Mercy doesn't get results."

"It gets you HUMANITY."

"If your Batman thought you that, he already failed."

#this is a teenage bruce variant so EXTRA chaotic. basically hes gonna start a manhunt for jason since he needs to keep the canon going #Even thought he doesnt HAVE a jason. nightmite quietly explaining to jason that the one thing worse than bruce losing robins #is not having robins at all. and this bruce really kinda uses ' its canon. cope' to ensure all batman dont have weaknesses #bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #jason todd #nightmite #batdad #text #text post #dick grayson #teenage bruce wayne #im not even gonna defend myself but this bruce's design FUCKS. imagine the winter soldier only cyberpunk

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melancholypancakes · 6 months ago

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Another Brienne x Julie fanart but in the trapped neighborhood au @cloudysunflowr the romance still going strong with these girls.

And the aftermath of how Brienne lost her fairy wings and Julie still there to comfort her girlfriend ❤️

#welcome home #wally darling #welcome home au #brienne velvet #welcome home oc #my oc stuff #my oc story #my oc #oc x canon #julie joyful #welcome home fanart #dark au #trapped neighborhood

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exocynraku · 1 year ago

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hhmmerr warrior cats au where before tearing up the old forest territories to make more neighborhood the twolegs realized there were cat colonies here and trapped the majority of them, the only ones escaping were those who managed to run away those who were taken who were calmer/could be trained (kits apprentices elders maybe just more chill warriors in general) were spayed/neutered and sent away to be housecats while those with larger tempers and who potentially couldn't be trained were sent away to different places to become new, monitored feral cat colonies and the ones who managed to run away made the journey to the lake, creating new clans & recruiting other loner/rogue/kittypets who wanted to join (honestly i just think there needs to be at least 1 (one) mass death/capture event in warriors theres TOO MANY CATS!!!!!!!!!! sobs)

#i think i made an au similar to this before but they left to skyclan and became skyclan #but whatever new clans is kind of more fun to me at least #skyclan can join this group later #wc #warrior cats #wc au #au #ray talk

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ask-dbd-wh-au · 1 year ago

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DBD AU Welcome Home Reference Sheets + Facts

Wally and Y/N are the only two currently trapped in the Entity's realm!

The Neighborhood! Currently Unaware of Wally's whereabouts and is assumed missing/dead, they have no idea about the entity at all nor know who Y/N is.

Fun Facts About DBD (Dead by Daylight) AU Wally:

He was captured by the entity and is one of the many made to kill to feed the entity unwillingly

He obeys the entity in hopes of one day returning home/to his friends

The further the match goes on the more his hair starts to fall down out of his pompadour

Whenever he's seen crying black ink its majority of the time him mourning what he's lost and/or missing his friends/Home

Sometimes when he's alone he mutters to himself either about his friends, echoing convos he used to have w/ them, or is talkin to 'them' despite no one bein there

He hums Beautiful Dreamer to himself, almost like a comfort to distract himself from the reality of things

His hums work a lot like the Huntress

His eyes are always wide open, rarely lidded/relaxed

The entity absorbed itself partially into Wally's body and only bursts out in the back to make the claws to travel

The claws Wally can mostly control, the tendrils/tentacles is entirely the entity and he has absolute no control over them

The claws are entirely inspired by the same ones that covers gens and forms on hooks so think of them as relatively the same

Whenever Wally resists the Entity he feels intense pain throughout his whole body bc of the entity

Wally has only most control in the claws bc if he stays still/refuse to chase the Entity will take control and force Wally to go after survivors again; In a way the Entity is like a puppeteer if Wally disobeys, it takes control of his movements until he does what it wants again

Wally isn't willingly killing anyone, he does so because of the entity and the empty promise that obeying means he'll return home one day

Wally disassociates often bc of having to kill and sometimes hallucinates audio and visually

There's no true way for Wally to see/reunite with his friends unless he finally escapes the entity or the entity kidnaps them to become a survivor

The others don't know where Wally has gone, Home is the most distressed about this with Barnaby being a close second

The AU works with the theory/concept that WH exists in like a pocket universe where all the puppets are actually alive however Wally is the only one with a puppet in the real world/human world that he can actually control and such + is the only one aware of the real world outside of Home who only knows because Wally confided to him about it

DBD! Wally's Mori:

FAQ About the DBD AU

Q: What is DBD? A: Its an abbreviation for dead by daylight, what's dead by daylight? Its a game, google can go more in depth about it more than I can!

Q: Will any of your aus be made into ai chat bots? A: No. My boundaries have been breached a million times over on this so anyone mentioning anything about ai bots will get blocked.

Q: Is DBD Wally a spider? A: No, he had no bug like influence. Wally was inspired by the Entity claws from the actual game and Doc Oc from Spiderman/Spiderverse.I have a huge bug/arachnophobia so no, he is not a spider

#welcome home dbd au #wally darling dbd au #wally darling #welcome home #welcome home puppet show #dbd au #dead by daylight WH au #barnaby b beagle #howdy pillar #poppy partridge #sally starlet #frank frankly #eddie dear #julie joyful #welcome home home #Demi's art

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ohbo-ohno · 11 months ago

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happy new year's eve @luminousbeings-crudematter, here's another version of the purge au (4k) that i forgot i finished in the process of trying to get the first one done lol

(also when i said "it's essentially the same thing but with different smut" i meant... no smut. i didn't post this one bc i couldn't figure out what to do with the smut. but this has some kidnapping and overall rough creepiness!)

cw: noncon touching, kidnapping, graphic murder, blood & violence, unedited bc im lazy

The soles of your feet burn against the hot asphalt, even though the sun’s been set for hours. The flames roaring from the burning high school alongside you are enough to heat the ground, enough to leave you wincing with every step and trying your best to walk on your toes.

You’re not sure if the wetness on your cheeks is tears or blood, or some sick combination of both. You’d wipe it off to see, but your hands are covered in red, and you don’t want to smear it across your face.

It’s impossible not to flinch at the sudden sound of cackling laughter, some indeterminate distance away but clear as a bell. The laugh cuts off abruptly, followed by a high-pitched scream that makes you wince. You speed up as much as you can, breath shuddering in your chest. You feel a few tears slip down your cheeks, just adding to the tacky mixture already covering your face.

The street is crowded with Purgers, people wearing all sorts of different gear to make themselves seem as terrifying as possible. You’d feel lacking in your black pants and shirt, if you wanted any attention like them. Instead you pray that whoever’s looking for fun won’t focus on you, that you’ll disappear with so many other distractions out tonight.

The sound of a chainsaw revving makes you shudder, and you tuck your arms close to your chest.

You can’t believe you were stupid enough to come out on Purge night, but there’s no use dwelling on that now, not when you’re still blocks away from home with absolutely no way to defend yourself.

You should’ve known your friend - your now very dead friend - didn’t have good intentions. She’d invited you out with her to vandalize your most recent ex’s house, and like an idiot you’d agreed and walked yourself right into a trap. Your only defense is that you’d had a few drinks before leaving your perfectly safe apartment, in hopes of forgetting all the screams you’d hear outside. It’s the only reason you can think that you were so quick to agree when you’ve got absolutely no way of defending yourself.

Her blood is still wet on your hands. You don’t feel bad about her death, and that makes you feel sick. You’d never thought you’d be the kind of person to actually partake in the Purge, let alone kill during it, but here you are - stumbling home covered in blood with two deaths on your hands. The fact that it was self-defense isn’t nearly as much of a comfort as you need to make your heart beat less erratically, to make the blood stop burning against your skin.

The quick flashes of their deaths won’t stop playing on repeat in your mind - you would’ve died if you’d been any less lucky, and you doubt your piece of shit ex would have made it quick.

If you hadn’t caught them together - your friend fucking him in the bed you used to sleep in, that fucking bitch - you might not have had the anger necessary to kill them. Might not have had the rage, the energy, to stab them both until they stopped screaming.

Your arms already ache from the force you’d used. You can’t stop seeing your friend’s face, torn to shreds beneath you, blood splattering up onto your own face and neck while your ex’s corpse cooled beside you. You’re not sure if you’re hearing her screams still, or if someone nearby is suffering just like she had.

The only thing you can bring yourself to regret is leaving behind the knife. It would come in handy now, as you walk alone down one of the poorest neighborhoods in your city.

It would come in especially handy as a hand grabs your shoulder, yanking you to the side and into an alleyway, shoving you against rough bricks and ignoring your yelp.

“Well, well, look’it you…” the man drawls, his face hidden by a bright red skull and a black hood covering the rest of his head. “Wha’s a bonnie lass like you doin’ out tonight, all alone?”

You can’t speak, heart thudding painfully at your ribcage as you blink up at him. He’s all you can see, just a bright red skull floating in place.

“Please,” you manage to gasp, hands shakily raised in front of your chest.

“Please? Please what?” His words are sharp, almost bitten off, and he leans closer. “Haven’t even threatened ye yet, pretty thing. What’re you beggin’ for?”

You whimper as he leans closer, hardly inches away from your face, and a loud boom from somewhere nearby shakes the wall at your back. You still can’t tell if it’s blood or tears dripping down your face. You jump at the sound, and your chest hits his. Before you can move back, his hands are on your shoulders, keeping you pressed to him.

“Oh, did that scare you?” He coos, patronizing and mean. “You a little scaredy cat, all alone and afraid?”

You sob, hands pushing at his chest, and he makes a sound somewhere between a hum and a laugh, pushes you against the wall without pulling even an inch away.

“No, no, you’re not goin’ anywhere. ‘S not safe out there for you, kitty. It was so easy to grab you, you want someone else to get a hold of you? They won’t be as nice as me, I can tell you that.”

“Get- get off!”

He laughs, loud and rough, right in your face. “Oh, I’ll be gettin’ off, kitty. Might take some teamwork, huh? A good way to get to know my new friend-”

He cuts himself off with a sharp Oh! as your knee jerks up into his crotch, the man doubling over in pain and groaning as his head comes to rest against the wall by your face. You barely have enough sense left in you to duck out of his way before his body goes limp against the wall, hand cupping your target.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” you hear him hiss, right before you stumble away, legs weak as you put all your energy into not tripping over your own feet. Your only thought is getting out of the alley, even though being more exposed is probably riskier than just taking your chances with the man in the red skull. Still, there’s some instinct at the back of your mind telling you go, run, and you’re not stupid enough to ignore it.

You hardly make it five steps away before you hit a wall - no, not a wall, a person.

It’s almost comical, the way you bounce off of him and stumble backwards, losing your balance on weak knees and sending yourself straight to the ground. He’s a monolith above you, a massive figure clothed in all black, the light from the flames behind him almost making him glow. He’s all black cloth and white mask, a skull hovering well past six feet in the air.

The sight of him makes your heart stutter, brings everything into acute focus around you, slowing the world down to a near stop. That same instinct at the back of your mind tells you this man is worse than the last, that you should’ve taken your chances with the red skull.

You’re jerked back and to the side, shoved roughly against the brick wall. Your face scrunches up at the rough texture against your cheek, your torso flush against the wall and the first man flush against your back. You manage to open one eye and track the new man, your other forced shut from the way your head is angled.

The white skull tilts, and its wearer steps closer. You can’t help the small cry you let out, the way you flinch back into the first man like he’ll do anything but expose you more. His hands are rough on you, one hand locked around the back of your neck and the other harsh on your hip.

The body behind you laughs, push further into the wall regardless of the stinging pain as the white skull steps closer. He stops hardly a foot away, when your vision is eclipsed by only him. You try to struggle against the hands holding you, whimpering when they dig in more harshly.

“You got her?” A voice asks, and it takes a minute for you to realize it’s the new man in front of you.

“Yeah,” the first man pants, holding you close and alleviating some of the pressure against your cheek. “Woulda caught her without you, y’know. She just caught me off guard.”

The white skull rumbles low in his chest, a rejection. You’re not sure if he’s got faith in your ability to escape, or doesn’t trust his partner’s ability to chase. He’s close enough that you can only see the black of his chest, close enough that you can watch him breathe.

“I’m sure. You got a good hold on her?”

The hands squeeze, you can’t help but make a sound disturbingly close to a squeal, and- “Yeah, course, got her tight to me, Ghost. She’s not goin’ anywhere.” There’s an air of desperation in Red’s voice, a strained tension underlying every word. He’s almost eager, but it’s all directed towards the man in front of you - Ghost - instead of towards the prospect of hurting you.

Ghost doesn’t respond, but he steps close enough to press his chest against your shoulder. The three of you are all less than a foot apart, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to get away. Another tear slips down your cheek.

You can feel Red’s chest heaving behind you, and at first you can’t understand why - he hasn’t had to chase you, hasn’t had to fight, there’s no reason for him to be out of breath.

It hits you when you feel the hard plastic of his mask press into the top of your head. He’s eager, and it’s making him pant like a dog. You’d bet he’s drooling behind the mask and the thought makes you shiver.

You flinch when a gloved hand cups your chin, tugging your face up so you’re staring into the eye sockets of the mask.

His eyes are dark brown, so dark that you almost can’t see them past the shadows and the paint over his skin. The flames roar behind him, giving him a monstrous glow.

“Pretty thing,” he hums, chest rumbling against your side. You try to push away from him, but there’s nowhere to go. “You’re gonna be our little toy for the night. Things’ll get worse for you if you try to run. You hearin’ me?”

It’s pure instinct to nod, to give this man what he wants, but you know you’ll still try to run the second they look away.

“Alright then. Let’s get you home. Johnny,” the man steps away, jerking his head in clear instruction for Johnny to follow and turning away. “Come.”

“Right behind ye,” Red - Johnny - assures, that same eagerness in his tone as he tugs you away from the wall, trotting behind his partner. “It’s gonna be a great night, lass. You and I are gonna have fun.”

You can’t help but whimper at that, letting your body go nearly limp as the man drags you by the elbow. You can’t even fathom the horrors they’ve got in store for you, what fun is to two men hunting for lone girls on Purge night.

You try to let your feet drag, but they hurt too much for that to last long. You consider going limp, making them carry you, but you’re too scared that they’ll just drag you across the concrete and let you bleed.

You only manage to keep up with Johnny because he doesn’t give you another choice. You’re practically hobbling from the pain in your feet, forced to walk on the balls of your feet and lean your weight into his hand where it’s wrapped tight around your arm. He doesn’t give you any slack, doesn’t even seem to notice when you struggle to match his pace.

The three of you have walked several blocks - you can’t quite focus enough to count - keeping to the sides of buildings and dodging other people, when you’re tackled to the ground out of nowhere.

It’s impossible to stop the blood-curdling shriek from leaving your throat. Your bare arms feel torn to shreds as you slide across the ground, head bouncing off the ground and leaving you with black spots dancing across your vision.

You’re hardly able to blink, body alight with pain, and the heavy weight over you only serves to make your panic worse. You moan as you roll your neck, staring wide-eyed up at the dark sky and praying the ringing in your ears isn’t permanent.

Your vision is just starting to clear when the man on top of you - and he’s definitely a man, he’s not even wearing a mask and his expression is mean and you find yourself glad you can’t hear what he’s saying - jerks back, his head pulled back until all you can see is his bared throat.

You can hardly even register what’s happening in the next few seconds. Some distant, detached part of you can recognize that someone slits the man’s throat, that his blood comes gushing out and covers your face.

The first sound you can hear again is your own screaming - it’s an ear splitting sound that melts from the ringing in your ears. When you gasp underneath the man, the corpse, you can feel his blood falling into your mouth. Every breath tastes like iron, and the world is tinted pink from the drops of it falling from your brows.

You can do nothing but pant and shake when the corpse is thrown off of you, replaced immediately by Johnny. You can hardly focus on him, are only really aware enough to know he’s there.

“Hush, bonnie, yer fine,” he scolds, one big hand coming up to cover your mouth, pinky and ring finger holding your jaw shut. “Wanna draw people over? Ye wanna see me and Ghost kill someone else for you, ‘s that it?”

You shake your head on instinct, tears running down your temples, dampening your hair. Your chest aches with the force of your breaths, nose congested from all the crying.

“Then hush,” he hisses, face so close that you can feel the breaths from his nostrils. You flinch at the loud sound of gunshots disturbingly nearby, desperately pushing against his body to try and see what’s going on. You can hear grunts and moans, the sound of something heavy hitting the ground, and your heart races.

Then, the sounds stop. It doesn’t go silent - not with other Purgers still out, still killing - but the area you’re trapped in is quiet again. Johnny drops a little more of his weight onto you, making it even harder to breathe.

You have to focus on every breath, deliberately making sure you get enough air so that your lungs stop aching. You only notice the movement on top of you after nearly a minute of slow breathing.

Johnny’s hips grind slow and steady against your stomach, and it makes you sick to realize you can feel his erection through his pants. His chest rises and falls with harsh breaths, and his movements are just harsh enough to force your body to move with his.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. Not with shock settling in, his weight holding you pinned to the ground, and the pain in your head shifting to something closer to a migraine. All you can do is focus on your breathing and stare up at the stars.

“Johnny,” Ghost eventually calls, and you can hear him kick what you can only assume to be a corpse out of the way. You can’t help but whimper when he crouches nearby, his boots splattered with blood. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Need-” Johnny gasps, hips stuttering against you before working even more quickly. “Needed to feel her, fuck, Ghost, she’s so fuckin’ soft. Can’t wait to be inside, to fuck her full, feel her squeeze-”

You whine against the hand over your mouth, trying to pull your face away from his grip and only succeeding in dragging your sensitive head across the harsh concrete.

“You’re gonna fuck her out here, where anyone can see? Doubt you’ll be able to keep her safe when you’re pussydrunk.”

Johnny moans above you, dropping more of his weight on each thrust. “Tha’s why you’re here, yeah? To keep me and the lass safe?”

Ghost grunts, fisting a hand in the strip of hair left revealed by Johnny’s mask. “Don’t be a fuckin’ brat, Johnny. You know I don’t have to do shit for you - either of you. Maybe I want to see my mutt get all defensive, growlin’ over his girl. You ever think about that?”

The whine that slips from Johnny’s throat is nothing less than pathetic, his pace becoming uneven as his eyes screw shut behind the mask. “C’mon, Ghost, I’m close, just let me… just watch for another minute, yeah?”

The scoff from Ghost is mean, and even you feel the absurd desire to try and placate the man. He stands abruptly, stepping away from where you’re pinned and leaving you staring at the cooling corpse of a man you don’t recognize.

“You do whatever you want, puppy. Stay here and get yourself off or behave and heel. You know what you’ll get either way.”

You can’t help but furrow your eyebrows as Johnny hisses out shit above you, hips working desperately against you for a few long moments before he drops his entire body weight onto you, knocking the air out of you.

“Okay,” he whispers, seemingly to himself. “Okay, alright, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

He pulls himself away from you with a long oan, pushing up until there’s no place the two of you are touching but you’re still entirely caged in by him. He takes his hand off your mouth to hold himself up and you wince at the string of blood between his hand and your lips.

“Not gonna fuck ye yet, kitty,” he tells you, staring into your eyes with an intensity you don’t quite know what to do with. “Ghost’ll make the both of us regret it, and ye don’t deserve that on your first night home.”

You hardly manage to bite back a whimper. “Please…”

His eyes crease, like he’s smiling beneath the mask. “God, yer so scared, aren’t ye? I can fucking taste it in the air, kitty. It’s delicious. Cannae fuckin’ wait to have you on my tongue.” You shudder, eyes dropping to his neck when his gaze becomes too heavy.

He forces you to stand before you’re ready, leaving you to lean on him if only to avoid crumbling to the ground like a ragdoll. You ite your tongue against a sob at the sight of three corpses around you, a twisted sense of appreciation and disgust warring in your mind.

Johnny herds you like a dog, pushing you by the small of your back and your shoulders as he tries to catch back up with his partner. You’re left stumbling in front of him, unsure and terrified, not quite strong enough to think running away would be a good idea. It doesn’t take long for you to spot Ghost’s large back on the street in front of you, and a part of you resents the fact that he’s already so recognizable.

He’s an overeager shadow, unable to decide if he wants to tug you forward or chase you from behind. He ends up almost circling you, shifting from your back to your side to your front and back again, always moving, always rushing. It leaves you unstable and nervous, unable to predict what he'll do next.

Chills run down your spine at the thought of this man… taking you. If you’re this terrified of him fully clothed, you’re loath to think of how you’ll react when he gets you where he wants you.

The two of you only manage to catch up to Ghost because he stops for a cigarette. His pale jaw is exposed when he tugs the mask up enough, and you try your best to memorize the scars covering his face, telling yourself that you’ll remember him, that you’ll never let him near you again once this night is over.

The look he sends Johnny is approving, the look he sends you is distinctly smug. It makes your teeth grind, makes you really wish you still had that knife so you could lurch forward, thrust the blade into the solid center of him and twist, pull out again and aim a little higher, then again, then again, then again-

“Made your choice, then?”

“Yes, sir. Wanna be good.”

Ghost hums, flicking the butt of his cig then dropping it to the ground, the cherry still glowing. “Settin’ a good example for your girl, huh? That’s my boy.”

The sound Johnny makes is animalistic, and despite the harsh grip he’s got on your arm you try to lean as far away as possible. There’s a building energy under his skin, a twitch in his fingers, that unnerves the animal part of your brain in ways Ghost doesn’t.

“‘Course. Gonna teach her how to be good, too, gonna keep her perfect for us.”

Ghost is completely stoic with the mask tugged back over his face, nothing but his heavy gaze as he stares you down. It’s hard not to jerk away from Johnny and run, no matter how futile you know the effort would be.

He reaches out a big, gloved hand towards your face, moving quickly enough that you can’t fully flinch away and hide your face in your shoulder or chest. His thumb strokes across your cheekbone, smearing the sticky mess of liquid across your face and huffing a sound just loud enough for you to hear.

“Cat got your tongue, girl?” He rumbles, a faint note of something in his voice lost in the sounds of anarchy behind you.

You try to shake your head, unable to manage anything more than a, “Please.”

Johnny scoffs beside you, wrapping both of his massive arms around your shoulders and holding you close. “Broken record, this one. Hasn’t said much else since we nicked her.”

“That’s alright,” Ghost rumbles, give Johnny one firm stroke over his mohawk. “I’m sure you’ll drag all sorts of pretty sounds out of her tonight. Now, let’s get goin’. Don’t want your little toy gettin’ her nerve up and earnin’ herself a punishment so early in the night. Come, now.”

Johnny laughs, loud and harsh as he tugs you to follow him and Ghost. You know you should be upset about what he’s said, know he should be doing exactly what he warns against and try to get away.

But you’ve got no energy left to fight. Everything hurts, your system is overrun by fear and just the tiniest drop of adrenaline, and your best chance of making it through this night is passing out and forgetting any of it ever happened.

A few tears, stragglers, drip down your cheeks when Johnny tugs you beside him. The places his fingertips squeeze against your arm have gone numb, and your feet feel like they’re on fire. Your arms are sluggishly bleeding and you’re not convinced you don’t have a concussion.

It’s hard to hold back sobs when you think of how much worse it’s going to get. Staring at the broad back of Ghost, feeling the feral energy of Johnny hardly contained by your side, all you can hope is that they let you survive the night.

You close your eyes as Johnny guides you, take a deep, steadying breath, and pray for your own strength. You tell yourself that maybe next year you can seek them out, find them at the very start of the Purge and get your revenge.

It’s a comforting enough daydream to lessen the aches of your body, to shine a spot of light after the hurricane of your future.

#this might very well be incomprehensible #when i say unedited i mean i haven't read this since i originally gave up on it #i just remember liking the way i wrote johnny and being said i wouldnt get to post it LMAO #anyways. no one say anything mean about it to me if it sucks #remember that this is not the first version i posted lmao #ghoap x reader #bo writes #dark fic #also sorry for the random tag lumi lmk if you want me to untag you lol

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