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auteurdelabre · 6 months

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Something to Fight For (Series) (PART 3)

Word Count: 7.7

Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no age or physical descriptions)

Warnings: This is saccharine slice of life with smut and a Soft!Joel. You have been warned. There is swearing, there is smut, but when it gets to those chapters you will have plenty of warning. (That is if there is interest in my story!)

A/N: This is part of a series (lots of angst, pining and smut ahead) Also despite Sarah's young age Joel is early 40's in this because slightly grey babygirl DILF Joel is the best Joel.

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The bus groans the curb at the end of Rancher Street, the doors hissing as they open.

It's embarrassing to be taking a bus to a fucking babysitting job at your age. Equally embarrassing to not have a vehicle in the first place because your ex boyfriend convinced you he needed it more for his gigs and since you were dating and in love at the time, you'd readily accepted that reasoning.

You step off the bus, walking hurriedly up the suburban street with your purse over one shoulder and a Wal-Mart bag in your right hand.

A few houses are bustling with laughing kids, not surprisingly so given that it's the start of a lazy Texas fall. They chase each other squealing with delight. Others are playing hide and seek. You smile at this before looking into your purse at the sound of your phone ringing.

"Hey Mom, what's up?"

"Hi bug," comes your mother's tired voice on the other end of the line. Immediately you tense, the fatigue clear in her tone. Instinctively you’ve curled into yourself, as if the weight of her words will cause a physical strike.

"Is everything okay?"

"Got a bit of good news," she assures you with a soft sigh. "Doctor says maybe April, maybe. But that's only if. . . You know."

"Yeah, I know."

There's a long pause in which you can hear the static sound of hospital beeps and intercoms. Then her voice is back, fainter than before.

"Do you think you might come visit?"

You lower the phone from your ear, unable to listen to this request. The same request you've received for the last eight months. The same request you’ve denied over and over.

"I don't think it's a good idea," you say when you finally bring the phone back to your ear. The house’s address glints in the fading sunlight, drawing your attention. "Anyway, I gotta go to work. Love you."

You close your cell phone before she even has the chance to say goodbye. With a hollow feeling in your stomach you focus on the note you'd written yourself with Joel's address, double checking you’ve got the right place.

You look up to see a modest looking home with dark yellow exterior and white accents. For some reason this strikes you as odd, not meshing with the vision you have of the man.

The lawn is well maintained, the porch sturdy and polished looking. This doesn't surprise you given his career. There is a rocking chair out the front porch and you imagine Joel sitting there and scaring all the neighborhood children.

You knock on the heavy wooden door feeling strangely out of place. You're still not sure why Joel wanted you of all people to babysit Sarah. Joel with his strict adherence to all things his way or the highway.

You hear heavy footsteps over creaking wood floors approaching the door and you subconsciously tense.

Joel opens the door wide and you note that with his hair slicked back from the shower, curling past his ears he resembles his younger brother more. He's dressed in dark slacks and a white button down. A narrow black tie hangs loosely at his lean throat. You'd say he cleans up nice but under all of that he's still annoying Joel Miller.

He eyes the Wal-Mart bag in your hand with suspicion before darting his dark eyes back to your face.

"What's in there?"

"Crayons, coloring books," you glance into the plastic bag to remind yourself. "Snacks. Water."

"You think I don't have those things here?" Joel says in a voice that sounds neither amused or irritated.

“Never been here," you shrug. "Wasn't sure what to expect."

He says nothing more but his broad shouldered frame recedes back, allowing you space to enter. You walk over the threshold, your eyes scanning his place.

The house looks like every other box home on the street, which surprises you. You'd assumed that as a carpenter there would be more artistic touches like in Frank and Bill's home.

It's more nondescript with dark burgundy walls and a kitchen table littered with mail and that mornings cereal bowls (you pray it's from that morning). Joel seems to notice your gaze because he promptly reaches over and takes them to the sink.

"Sarah goes to bed at seven thirty. She's already in her pyjamas. All she needs is to brush her teeth." Joel is rinsing the bowls and putting them in the dishwasher.

"Snacks are in there.” He points to the tall pantry door. "And I've left my cell, her doctor's number and Tommy's, not that it'll do you any good because he's an island away on some romantic retreat. Anything goes wrong you call me."

You nod, your attention drawn to studying your surroundings. This place seems too domestic, almost bland. After a cursory look around you decide that it doesn't fit Joel.

But then again what does? A funeral home? A crypt?

"Shouldn't be home too late," Joel mutters, wiping his damp hands on the fuzzy hand towel hanging from the arm of the stove.

"Okay." You think of his meeting he’s going to tonight. "Good luck with the bid."

"Thanks," Joel says distractedly moving to the bottom of the stairs and calling up. "Sarah! The candy lady is here!"

He must see the confusion on your face because an uncharacteristic smirk is tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"She's been talking about her friend 'the candy lady' every day since she met you," he explains. "Guess you made an impression."

You realize now that this is why Joel wanted you to babysit. Because Sarah won't stop talking about you. You feel strangely touched by that, given that you'd only interacted with her for ten minutes.

You have no time to respond to Joel because Sarah is at the top of the stairs in dolphin pyjamas’ and her freshly washed hair in plaited pigtails. When she sees you her face breaks into a wide smile.

"You're here!"

Holdig the railing she climbs down the stairs as fast as her short legs will allow. You can't help but find her enthusiasm endearing. She stands in front of you seconds later, her cheeks flushed with delight. Her mouth is smeared with that looks like blue icing. In one hand she holds the infamous toad, the other stretches out to you.

"Wanna play Barbies?"

"Not so fast," Joel says as he drops to his knees, capturing her eyes with his as he uses the hand towel to wipe away the icing at the curve of her mouth. "You be good, huh?"

"Yes Daddy," Sarah says but her eyes are on you, distracted. "I have a mermaid Barbie and ---"

"Sarah," Joel says bringing her attention back to him with his tone. "You listen to her and you go to bed when you're supposed to or there's no park tomorrow. Love you."

He presses a kiss to the top of her head and pauses when Sarah presses a small hand to his elbow and holds up toad.

"Don't forget, daddy."

Joel gives a short sigh before giving toad a peck on the top of his fuzzy head. You hold in a smirk at this.

"G'night toad. Make sure Sarah brushes her teeth."

Joel stands, shaking his head amused when Sarah immediately turns her attention back to you almost shouting your name.

"Want me to show you my toys?"

"Sure," you say allowing her to take your hand and guide you into the den. She excitedly begins showing you the large collection she has.

Within minutes you're laughing so hard at something Sarah says that you don't hear Joel leave, closing the door gently behind him.

Sarah is a funny kid. You'd suspected it after you first met her, but an hour later this opinion is solidified. She's currently got her Barbie on a date with her stuffed toad. When you asked her why this was she hadn't even taken a pause before responding.

"You said you had toad boyfriends so Barbie has one too."

You continue on like this for a bit until Sarah decides she wants to show you her Pokémon cards, and then her Polly pockets. It goes on like this until the carpet is littered with her toys.

The den where you sit and play feels warm and lived in. The plush sofa is under a large window. To one side is the fireplace with a television mounted overhead. The DVD player is set up to the side in a cabinet that also houses many kids DVDs and plenty of board games. The coffee table is a light wood, holding a remote, TV guide and several coloring books.

On the other side of the room is a large wicker basket that houses most of Sarah's toys and a built-in unit that holds a record player and a very impressive looking vinyl collection. On the wall hang three guitars, all beautifully maintained but dusty from disuse.

A quick glance at your watch confirms it's almost seven thirty. Normally you wouldn't be too stringent but you don't know how Joel would be if he knew you'd let her stay up. You’re not friends with Joel, barely even on good terms and you have no interest in getting in even deeper to his bad books.

"Okay bug," you say without thinking. "Time for bed."

"My name isn't bug," she says exasperatedly, as if you're the silliest idiot she's ever come across. "It's Sarah remember?"

"I remember," you say good-naturedly as you begin to put the toys she'd brought out back in the big toy basket. "It's just what my mom calls me sometimes. Just slipped out, sorry."

Sarah looks at you for a long while, her tiny face thoughtful. After a beat she helps you load the basket of toys back up. When you're finished she looks over at you seriously, her large eyes unblinking up at you.

"You can call me bug if you want."

You nod before standing, holding a hand out to her.

"Time to brush those teeth," you say cheerfully as if brushing one's teeth is one of the world's most exciting pastimes.

"I already did," Sarah says looking at the Pokémon cards still in her hands. She's not paying attention to you.

"Sure," you say with an eye roll. "Well I'm glad you did otherwise the sugar monsters would never leave you alone."

Sarah pauses, sharply darting her eyes to yours as the cards are dropped into the toy basket. "Sugar monsters?"

"Oh yeah," you say casually. "They eat the tongues of children who don't brush their teeth. I guess because of the sugar."

You pretend to busy yourself folding a nearby blanket. But you can hear the wheels turning in her young head.

"You're lying," Sarah finally says with a conviction that belies the terror clearly shown in her face.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," you shrug with a voice full of sunshine. "But you don't have to worry about that, Sarah. You said you brushed your teeth, right?"

Sarah looks conflicted as you head towards the stairs. After a moment of deep contemplation she comes to a solution.

"I'll brush them again just in case."

"Good idea."

You smile guiding her upstairs even though you have no idea where the bathroom or even her bedroom is. She’s chatting to you, distracting you so that when you push open the first door on your left, you’re surprised to find out it's Joel's bedroom. You know this immediately because this feels like Joel.

Grey walls with navy wainscotting halfway up surround a very neat but very plain bedroom. One large window with closed blinds overlooks an old dresser with a half opened bottom drawer. A white t-shirt is half-hung over it.

The bed itself is plain and made with tan sheets under a navy coverlet and two off white pillows. A white fan stands in the corner whirring the late heat gently. There are no pictures on the walls aside from a framed photo of a horse above the bed.

Jesus, why must men above a certain age put horses on everything?

You think this as your eyes catch sight of the lotion bottle on the nightstand beside the bed. It doesn’t strike you as strange at first, but it's the unopened box of Kleenex next to it that sends you backing out of the room at a quick pace almost knocking Sarah over.

"Oops."

Sarah is laughing at your horrified reaction, pulling your hand to the bathroom.

It's clearly hers because it's decorated with a purple bath mat and she's got a small sparkly purple toothbrush beside bubblegum flavored toothpaste. She even has a purple spotted stool to stand on so she can reach the sink.

You watch her brush her teeth thoroughly, pausing only to ask you if sugar monsters like bubblegum flavored toothpaste (you assure her they do not).

Then she leads you to her bedroom, pressing the door open with both hands as you enter behind her.

Her bed with its ceiling gripped canopy is a light lavender color. The walls are a pale lilac. Her sheets are purple with little white roses all over them. The dresser on the far side is a light eggplant and the fuzzy chair in the corner next to the bookshelf is a mix of purple shades.

"I have never seen so much purple in all my life," you say in awe.

"It's my favorite color."

She pulls herself onto her bed with a grunt, making sure that toad is propped up next to her before slipping under the covers.

"Daddy always reads me a book before bed."

You have no way of knowing if this is true but the sun hasn't quite set in the window and you feel like you can still hear some of the older kids outside having fun. You remember how torturous that felt when you were a kid.

"Which one?"

"Curious George."

You go to her little bookshelf and bring out one of the slim yellow books. You smile at her as you shuffle back, going to sit at the bottom of her bed to read when she sits up.

"You lay here," Sarah informs you pointing to the pillow next to her.

Bossy little thing.

You do as she instructs before opening the book to read. You make sure that she can see all the pictures and you tell the story of how curious George got his own bike.

Sarah interrupts you only once to tell you that she herself has a purple bicycle and you respond with what you feel is an appropriate level of enthusiasm. Other than that she lays next to you quietly looking at the pictures, and twisting a tendril of your hair absently through her fingers.

"You do good voices," Sarah tells you when you finish the book. You know that it's the truth because children could care less when it comes to protecting someone's feelings.

"Thanks, you're a good audience."

You bring the sheets to her chin and smile down at her. On impulse you give her forehead a tiny peck and she grins up at you.

"Night, bug."

"G'night."

You turn on her little star nightlight before you go, shutting the door quietly behind you.

You walk back to the den and pop on the TV. It's only eight, who knows when Joel will be back. You're not really too put out - this evening turned out much better than you expected. Sarah is so sweet and funny, plus seeing Joel with her makes interacting with him a little more bearable.

He's still not your favorite person by any stretch of the imagination, but it is easier to think of seeing him in the future at events hosted by Maria and Tommy.

A buzz comes from your hip and you flip open your phone reading the text that's just come through.

i really think u and I need 2 c each other

With a frown you shove your phone back into your pocket.

You plop onto the sofa and turn on the TV. Friends is playing but even as you watch your focus drifts to the room around you and lands on those hanging guitars from before.

You think of the song that you used to sing in another life, in front of a cheering crowd as you bring down the nearest guitar (a Taylor 314ce if you’re not mistaken) tugging the strap over your shoulder. You strum absently before starting to sing softly.

"We're talking away. I don't knowwwwhat I'm to sayyyawwshit," you fumble the chords but get back in tune. "I'll say it anyway. Today is another day to find -"

You pause when you think you hear the sound of creaking wood. A few moments of silence pass and you pull off the guitar and set it on the sofa. You creep silently to the bottom of the stairs expecting to catch Sarah trying to sneak down but, no, nothing is there. It's just the sound of the house settling.

You give yourself an internal shake before heading into the kitchen. You dig around in the Wal-Mart bag you brought and pour one of your coke cans into a mug with ice. You pull out the coloring book and crayons you bought. You forgot to tell Sarah about them earlier. You decide to just leave them there on the counter as a gift for her to wake up to tomorrow.

You open the book cover open and with a crayon you write a simple message:

To Sarah,

Make the world a little more colorful.

Love Toad

Still sipping your coke you go back to the den, wandering around the space slowly. In the quiet of the night you have time to look around in more detail. There is a large painting of a deer in a beautiful landscape by the back door (men and animals, Christ) and you come upon several framed photos hung on the walls.

One of them is Joel holding Sarah when she was just a baby. Another one of Tommy and Sarah on the Ferris wheel waving to the photographer (undoubtedly Joel). There aren't really any recent ones though and not one of any woman who could be Sarah's mother.

This seems so strange to you. You've known plenty of divorced people that still co-parent. But you barely know Joel and can't ask him why his situation is so different. Maybe if you were to ask Maria... But then again that would mean you had actual interest in Joel's personal life and that was pushing it. As soon as you left this house you would go back to your mutual ambivalence.

You pause when you hear the sound of Joel's truck pulling up into the driveway, a low rumble out the front door. A glance at your watch tells you it's only ten, and you hope everything went well for him. If it did that means Tommy will get to continue to spoil Maria.

Joel walks in a few minutes later. His hair is dry now and you can see the curls wave slightly when he enters the kitchen. You approach him slowly, watching as he shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the back of a nearby chair.

"How did the bid go?"

"Won't know until Tuesday but felt pretty good," Joel acknowledges. "Kathleen's tough to read sometimes. How was Sarah? She give you any trouble?"

"Nah, she was great actually," you admit with a grin. "She's a cool kid."

Joel raises his brows at this and you wonder if telling a parent their kid is cool is weird. For the second time this month you're wishing you knew more about kids.

"She brush her teeth?"

"Yep."

"Good. She's always fighting me on it."

You see Joel reach for his wallet and cringe. You’d forgotten about this part of the evening and for some reason being paid by him feels embarrassing. You’re not a teenager doing this for shopping money. This is just a favor.

"I'm gonna head out."

"I'm paying you for your time," Joel insists, his brows furrowing. "You did me a favor."

"Not really," you reason as you bring your purse over your shoulder. "It was Maria I was doing the favor for. If I didn't, she and Tommy couldn't have gone away."

Joel falters and you hope he didn't take what you said the wrong way. It makes you think of the first time you met, how a simple miscommunication fucked everything from the start.

Maybe it's time to just get everything out in the open.

"Hey, the first night we met," you begin but see Joel's eyes go to the den and harden. Your gaze follows suit and you see the guitar sitting on the sofa.

"Oh shit, I forgot to put it b-"

"You played it?" Joel demands. His tone leads you to believe that no worse thing could happen to an instrument than being played.

"Uh, yeah," you say pausing a moment. "It was covered in dust so I figured it doesn't get played much."

"You always go to people's houses and touch their shit without permission?"

Woah. Where did that come from?

Weren't you just about to lower your proverbial weapons?

Joel is suddenly fuming and you find yourself own anger spiking in response.

"Nope, only when I'm doing them favors."

"Thought it wasn't a favor for me?" Joel snarks.

Fuck this.

You pull on your purse and leave without another word.

/// /// /// /// ///

It's Sunday afternoon. You are at James' apartment in the trendy part of Austin working on the sanctuary proposal.

At least that's what you said you were going to do.

He currently has you bent over his kitchen counter with your jeans and panties around your ankles as he fucks you hard from behind.

"You feel so fucking good," James pants over you, his face contorted in pleasure. He thrusts into you from behind, one hand gently placed at the small of your back. "Taking my cock so well,"

He continues to groan above you as you hold in an eye roll, your cheek rasping against the cool marble counter. Dirty talk doesn't sound right coming from James.

Aside from that, he's really not bad at all, above average in size and he has a healthy respect for foreplay. It's just your mind is elsewhere and you can't really find it in yourself to surrender to the pleasure.

He grunts lowly in his throat, his hips slamming into your ass with vulgar slapping noises. You try to get into it, but after what feels like an eternity you glance over your shoulder between thrusts and just tell him to finish.

"You're distracted," James observes a short while later after you've both washed up. He gives a long sniff, looking at you anxiously.

"Yeah," you nod, sitting across from him at his table. You've got your notes in front of you, along with some amateur blueprints you've come up with. "Lots of pent up energy."

"Normally sex helps with that," James says looking nervous, like it's his fault you didn't come. It's really not, but considering this was your first attempt at a casual hookup you can see why he may be a bit anxious.

"Just a lot on the go," you explain. "Nothing to do with you."

"Is it the grant?"

"Partly," you nod. "I'm pretty pissed off about it. I know that we did what we needed to do, but that doesn't mean I'm happy that the kennels are yet again delayed."

James looks at you nodding. "Wish I could help."

"You did all you could," you relent. "Without you we never wouldn't have gotten money to get the office fixed and apparently it was in critical condition."

"Still, I'm sorry about the kennels."

"Yeah, me too," you admit before going back to the blueprints.

It’s probably not fair but you blame Joel for it. You’re convinced if he hadn’t come in and shoved his big nose into things that weren’t his business you would have your kennels. Then again maybe you’re still just pissed off about last night.

The two of you work quietly across from one another until James pipes up again.

"Do you think we should try more than just sex?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "I'm not interested in, like, role-playing stuff if that's what you're suggesting."

James gives an embarrassed laugh. "No. I meant maybe we should try doing other things like, I dunno, going to the movies or something?"

Going to the movies?

You weren't expecting this from James. You'd thought this casual sex thing was a good idea and could work quite nicely for the both of you. After Paul you'd just wanted a physical release without the emotion. James had been such a nice, easy choice.

Up until now, that is.

"Not really," you say before pausing, considering the bluntness of your reply and the knowledge that you have to work with this man seated across from you. "Unless, you were thinking we should?"

"I mean, I think it'd be nice," James says with a shrug of his shoulders.

You take a moment to look at him objectively. When you'd first started working with one another a few years ago you remember thinking he was decent looking. He'd dropped numerous hints but you'd been with Paul and weren't a cheater, so the attraction had never been something you focused on.

Now though, with his light eyes and sandy brown hair normally hidden under a green cap you can admit he's cute. He's tall and lithe and dresses like a retired pastor, but bad fashion isn't a deal breaker for you.

"Okay. Sure."

He looks impossibly relieved.

"How about Saturday? There's that new zombie flick showing at seven."

"Sounds great"

/// /// /// /// /// ///

"Tommy better get here soon. I refuse to be disqualified because your boyfriend has poor time management skills."

Maria and you are sitting in a booth in the back of the Tipsy Bison. It's a busy night with trivia and wings being the big selling point. You and Maria love both. Maria has just finished telling you all about her weekend away ("I'm so into him. I think I love him!") And is now into her second helping of wings.

"He still has ten minutes," Maria defends, looking at her wristwatch before biting into another piece of lemon pepper chicken.

Tommy has been joining you at your trivia nights every so often and you don't actually mind at all. He fits in with your humor and he's great at the sports categories.

"We wanted to try that new tapas place next weekend. You wanna come?"

"Can't. Got a date."

Maria drops the wing bone onto her plate with a dramatic flair that feels completely unnecessary.

"Excuse me? Since when?"

"Since James asked me," you reply, feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks. You put all your attention on your Cajun wing, hoping that your refusal to meet her eyes will get you off the hook.

"No way!" Maria is smiling widely. "James the accountant?"

"He does some of our finances if that's what you mean," you pause to take the quiz paper and golf pencil from the waitress. "Thanks."

"Have you slept together?"

Maria is staring at you and you write the name of your team at the top of the paper, pretending you didn't hear her. But the flush is back to your cheeks.

"I knew it!" Maria crows victoriously. She slaps the table loudly. "That's why you were in such a good mood on Sunday! I remember thinking 'no one is that excited to work on a weekend'."

"Well, good job detective," you say drolly. "Hopefully you can use those same skills for trivia tonight because I refuse to lose to those bitches again."

You glare over at the booth across from you at the group of silver-hairs that attend every trivia night like it's their job since retirement. They all wear oversized matching blue t-shirts with "Merryatrics" emblazoned on the front.

Myrtle, the leader of the group lowers her pint and slants a sneer at you that you emphatically return.

"We are not losing to Myrtle again," Maria swears. She's about to say something more when she smiles over your shoulder.

"Hey baby!"

Tommy saunters over, pressing a light kiss to her lips. You're about to greet him with a wave when another figure strides into your field of vision.

You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

"Sarah's at a play date tonight so I dragged this guy out to join the team," Tommy says shaking off his jacket and taking a seat next to Maria. “Figured another person can only help.”

"You're soaked!" Maria clucks her tongue, sliding her arms around Tommy's middle.

"It's pissing down rain tonight," Tommy says with a nervous look out the window before pulling Maria closer to him. "Guess you'll have to warm me up, huh?"

You roll your eyes watching as Joel begins shrugging off his own jacket and hanging it off the hook at the end of the booth. He too is damp from the storm outside.

You go to say something cutting about not needing Joel to slow your team down but you can feel Maria's eyes on you.

Remember your promise. Remember the deal you made with Joel.

"Hey," he rasps glancing over at you with a wary look. "Hope you don't mind me joining."

"Not at all," Maria answers for you. "Come sit, it's about to start."

There's only the space next to you in the booth, so you squeeze closer to Maria as Joel slides in next to you. His thigh grazes yours before he orders a bottle of Lonestar for himself and Tommy.

"Storms pretty bad," Joel offers the table. "Heard it might get worse this week."

"Power outage might be just what we need," you say with a laugh.

"Yeah maybe that way we'll beat the Merryatrics," Maria frowns. "Sick of losing to them."

“Bitches.”

You think you can see Joel smirking at that. You shift to look at him out the corner of your eyes. Up so close to him you can see the patch on his chin where his beard doesn't quite touch, the lines between his brows and how dark his eyes are.

He's wearing a dark red flannel over a black t-shirt. You're surprised to find he smells pretty good considering he came from the job site and it’s raining like hell outside. He smells like wood shavings and laundry detergent.

"How did babysitting go?" Tommy asks you from the other end of the booth, his arm slung over Maria's shoulder as she leans into him. "We appreciate it by the way."

"Was no problem," you answer him honestly. "Sarah's a cool kid. Funny."

"Well she sure can't stop talking about you," Tommy says taking his bottle from the waitress. "When I saw her this morning she was working on some coloring page I was supposed to give to you. I left it in the truck."

"That's so sweet!" Maria gushes, her hand on her heart. She looks at you with gratitude and you hope that this interaction is enough to make up for being so hostile with Joel in the past.

"I'm sure you're exaggerating," you say shyly twisting the straw in your new water glass. "We just played some games and I read her a story."

"It's true," Joel rasps from beside you, surprising you. "Sarah can't stop talking about how much fun she had with you. And she's, uh, been asking when you're coming back."

He clears his throat as you glance over at him. It seems you really did make quite an impression on Sarah.

"Really?"

Joel nods over at you. His eyes dart along your face and he looks about to say something when a loud voice breaks over your group.

"Whose ready to do some sick triviaaaaaaaa?"

The four of you glance over at the host, a man in his twenties named Tyler who loves trivia more than he loves baggy jeans (and judging by the fact that you can see his boxers very clearly, he really loves baggy jeans). He makes sure every team has an answer sheet and pencil before he starts.

“First question we have today is about sports!” Tyler shouts over the growing crowd. What type of golf clubs are used for long shots from the tee or fairway?”

The Merryatrics begin writing hurriedly on their answer sheet as you and Maria exchange a look of disappointment. This is not a category either of you know much on. In desperation you decide to use your additional manpower.

"How much do you know about golf clubs, Joel?"

"Not much."

Great.

Thankfully it turns out that Tommy knows plenty when it comes to the category. You and Maria know most when it comes to the Math, Science and pop culture category. Joel has a strangely gifted knowledge of literature. And by the time the halfway scores are tallied you and the Merryatrics are tied for first place.

At the break you and Maria order more wings and the boys order burgers for themselves. Maria and Tommy chat quietly with one another, her head leaning on his shoulder sweetly. You notice she and Tommy have drunk far more than you and Joel.

You pick at your last Cajun wing, feeling strangely left out. You've never felt left out when with Tommy and Maria before. You muse it must be because Joel is here, and they think he is keeping you company.

Joel must be feeling similarly to you because he looks awkwardly around the bar, tipping the last of his first beer into his mouth. Out of the corner of your eyes you watch his lean neck bob as he swallows.

The music is soft in the back of the pub, lively and makes the mood between the two of you feel less tense despite the animosity you're still feeling towards him. As if he can feel your mind drifting to Saturday night Joel has shifted to turn his body more to face you in the booth.

"Sarah really did enjoy when you were over," Joel says in a rush, as if this conversation is hard for him. "She wanted me to ask you to come babysit her again. If you have time. And I'll pay you of course. I do insist on that, 'cuz it's a job and your time is worth something."

Memories of how your last babysitting job ended with Joel don't exactly kindle interest in this proposition. You thin your lips, turning the chicken wing over in your fingers as you contemplate before dropping it next to a half eaten piece of celery.

"And you can play all the guitars in the house that you want," Joel adds exhaling slowly, his focus fixed on you. "I'll even throw in a bongo drum if that'll seal the deal."

You know how much this must hurt him, having to ask you of all people for a favor. It's a testament to how much he loves his daughter and that's the only reason you don't make it more difficult for him.

"I was under the impression that babysitting Sarah was kind of Tommy's thing," you say, wiping your finger tips with the damp napkins provided. "I wouldn't want to intrude on that."

Joel motions to Tommy and Maria giggling to themselves at the end of the booth.

"If I'm honest, I think Tommy'll be even more excited to have you babysit than Sarah. It’ll free up more of his time."

The waitress arrives back with the burgers, placing them in front of the boys. You're thankful for the break. You need to think about this. Yes, you really enjoyed hanging with Sarah but more Joel time isn't exactly worth it.

"Do you and your girlfriend want more?" the waitress asks looking at Joel and motioning to the plate of half eaten wings in front of you. You go to assure the waitress that Joel Miller is not and never will be your boyfriend, but he’s already talking, distracted by your previous conversation.

"You want more?" Joel asks your surprised face. You shake your head and he turns back handing the bone-filled plate to the waitress. "Nah, thanks sweetheart."

The waitress takes it, smiling prettily at Joel before quickly moving from the table. You expect that Joel will be following her form sashaying away, but he’s distracted, looking at you waiting for your answer.

Thankfully you're rescued from answering his questioning look by Tyler who comes back with an air horn he beeps as he gets to the front of the room.

"Y'all ready for round two?!"

By the time you reach the final question Maria and Tommy are giggling drunken idiots and you and Joel are hunched over the beer stained answer sheet, focused intently on the young man with oversized pants at the front of the pub reading off his card.

"And for the final question of the final round," Tyler drawls dramatically. "This planet has the tallest mountain in the solar system.”

Fuck. Space has never really been your thing outside of the odd horoscope you read in the paper.

“And just to keep it interesting,” Tyler calls from the front. “An extra point goes to the team who can name this tallest mountain. You have one minute."

A hushed 'ooooo' goes through the pub at this. You turn your attention to the answer sheet, Maria's hand is gripping the gold pencil so tightly you're worried she might break it.

"Jupiter?" Maria offers through her drunken haze. "That's the one with rings right? It should have mountains."

"What kind of logic is that?"

"What about Uranus?" Tommy suggests with a short laugh that Maria grins at.

"Tommy this is serious and you're drunk," you tell him pointedly. Joel is quiet behind you, rubbing at his forehead with his eyes closed. He's probably just willing the game to end soon. You still haven’t given him an answer about Sarah and you have a feeling he’s just holding out for it.

Myrtle and her band of Merryatrics are writing and then looking over at you with smug smiles. It creates a blind panic in you that makes your mind draw a blank.

“Earth," you suggest inspired as the seconds tick by. "It's a trick, gotta be. Mount Everest."

Maria nods in agreement, and you watch her write down a sloppy "Earth/Mount Everest" on the sheet before a large hand stills your wrist. Joel chest presses into your shoulder as he moves in and drops his voice.

"It's Mars. Olympus Mons."

You look at Joel over your shoulder with a wrinkled nose. "What? How do you know that?"

"Sarah's really into space right now," Joel explains with a shy shrug. "She made me get her a bunch of books from the library. We were just reading one last week and it had this Olympus Mons on it, I’m positive."

You and Maria exchange a look. This answer determines whether or not you beat the seniors team. Myrtle and her team are chatting anxiously with one another. You give one last glance at Joel over your shoulder.

"Trust me."

You consider his words before turning back to Maria who had insisted on writing the answer despite her writing growing increasingly sloppy with each question. You take the pencil from her hand despite her protestations because you can't take a chance at fucking this up.

"Let's do it," you urge. "Mars. Olympus Mons."

You finish just as the final cow bell tolls. The papers are collected and brought to Tyler who says he will be reading out the winners shortly. The four of you are all sitting shoulder to shoulder, watching Tyler tally the scores from all the cards, so intent you almost don't hear Joel next to you.

"Fuck, now I'm not sure if was Mars. Maybe it was Jupiter."

You turn on him with wide eyes and a scowl. "Are you serious?"

"Nah," he says taking a sip from his water glass, his eyes dancing. "Just wanted to rile you up. Seems pretty easy to do."

You want to be irritated at that but instead you laugh in both relief and surprise. "Is it a crime to want to win? To be . . . "

You break off as you search for a word that sounds better than "terrifyingly intense in the face of trivia".

"Passionate?" Joel offers with a quirked brow.

"Exactly," you nod vigorously. "I'm just very passionate."

You smile at one another and you swear for a moment it almost looks like Joel checks you out. His eyes are darting around your face and trying to subtly dart to your collar without being obvious. You feel your cheeks get hot at the thought.

Tyler breaks into this moment with his long, squeaky voice.

"And the winners are... the Quizards of Oz!”

You've won.

After 7 months of trying to knock those geriatric fucks out of the trivia top spot, you’ve done it.

"YES!"

Maria whirls into Tommy's arms, pumping her fist in the air with a shriek. You are equally enthused, half standing in the booth and giving a loud roar of victory before pointing at Myrtle and the rest of the seniors who give you baleful looks.

"BEAT YOU! YES! TAKE THAT YOU HAGS!"

Joel is staring up at you half crouched in the booth pointing aggressively at a group of angry looking seniors before his eyes go over to see Tommy and Maria making out passionately.

You drop back into your seat, your face flushed. Joel looks incredulously from the angry senior citizens group back over to you pink and giggling.

"Do I want to know what has you brutal enemies with a group of eighty-year-old women?"

"They know what they did," you say giving the group of glaring old women a sneer.

The waitress comes over with your bills after this. You all pay and the waitress pulls out an envelope from her apron pocket.

"Congrats y'all," she says handing you the envelope. "Didn't think we'd ever see the Merryatrics lose!"

"S'bout time!" Maria slurs from beside you.

You take the envelope with pride, tucking it into your purse and sighing back into your booth as if you just succeeded in being accepted into the hall of fame.

You notice the waitress push something across the table to Joel, it looks like it is another receipt but you recognize looping handwriting with a name and what you can only assume is her phone number. You notice the tips of Joel's ear pinking as he notices it, but he turns his attention over to you, amused at your blissed-out reaction to winning.

"What's the prize?"

"A ten dollar gift certificate here."

"That's it?" Joel laughs - actually laughs - at this. "All that work for a ten bucks to a pub with barely passable food?"

"It's the principle!" you snicker back, tickled at his reaction.

Joel smiles at you, but this is a new one. This smile you've not had directed at you before. It makes his eyes crinkle until they almost disappear, his teeth shining and the dimple in his right cheek deepens.

"And winning has put me in such a good mood that I'm gonna agree to babysit for you, Miller."

"Really?"

"Yeah," you say beaming. You're still high on the victory. Maria leans over in your direction.

"Great," Joel smiles at you. "Sarah's gonna be -"

"What are you two whispering about?" Maria interrupts with glassy eyes and a crooked smile. She's tipsy and trying to hold in a giggle. "Whisper whisper."

"Babysitting and we're not whispering you fool," you reply, amused at her drunkenness. You dart a look back over at Joel to see that he's holding back a laugh.

"Ooooh," Maria looks over at Tommy. "She's gonna babysit for Joel!"

"I knew it!" Tommy replies equally drunk. "When?"

"Oh yeah, when?" You turn your attention back to Joel.

"Saturday?"

"Sure -" you answer without thinking. But Maria has been listening and moves a hand by your face, waving emphatically.

"Nah, can't be Saturday," she informs Joel with glazed eyes. "She has a date that night with James."

"The co-worker?" Tommy slurs behind her.

"Yeah and she hasn't dated anyone since Paul so she's gotta go and have proper sex with him."

"Maria!" You say with a horrified look. You don't need Joel and Tommy Miller of all people knowing the details of your pitiful sex life.

Maria throws a dramatic hand over her mouth and a smirking Tommy points at her as if she's been caught doing something terrible. "I'm sorry!"

Joel has pulled himself from the booth and is glancing down at you as he pulls on his jacket. You give a shake of your head as if to say "what're we gonna do with these two knuckleheads?' He glances over at his brother leaning a sleepy head on an equally sleepy Maria's shoulder.

"Guess we're the DD's tonight," you sigh as you pull yourself out of the booth. "Yet another reason to stay irresponsible."

He gives a smile that doesn't touch his eyes in return at the joke. You watch his attention dart back to the waitresses' phone number sitting there on the table, looking indecisive. He clears his throat awkwardly before quickly snatching it up and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans.

"C'mon Tommy," Joel says pulling his brother to a stand with a grunt. You do the same with Maria.

You watch as the Millers make their way out the door of the pub, wondering how you just spent an entire evening with Joel Miller and didn't hate it.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #Last of us #tlou fanfiction #joel the last of us #Pedro Pascal #Pedro #Pedro Pascal Joel #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #romance #sweet!Joel

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chvoswxtch · 10 months

Text

sorry

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: is your savior really here to save you? can what is broken be mended?

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of death, blood & violence

word count: the full number of words on this one is 4,444 and I just thought that was really fucking cool

a/n: I wanna thank y'all for being patient with this slow burn. i'm excited to say things are really about to start heating up moving forward. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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“Sweetheart.”

All the raging chaos that had been wreaking havoc on every single one of your nerve endings had suddenly stopped, like the clouds had abruptly parted, sending the perilous hurricane right back into the sea right before it could reach you. As if Death had decided not to knock, but wave a white flag of surrender instead to the only mortal being it seemed to fear.

To him.

The door knob creaked slightly when it was twisted from the other side, the lock still in place providing a barrier between you and the carnage on the other side of it. A deep sigh was muffled through the wood, and your ringing ears barely caught the low volume of that familiar gruff voice.

“S’just me. Open the door for me, sweetheart.”

Frank.

Ephemeral relief shot through your bloodstream, and the shard of glass lodged into your palm was immediately released, shattering into a thousand shiny pieces in the pool of merlot that was still flowing from your hand. Salty tears blazed down your cheeks and slipped past your trembling lips when you whispered his name.

“Frank?”

“Yeah, m’here. Open up, honey. C’mon.”

The relief that the safety of Frank’s presence brought was fleeting and very quickly overshadowed by uncontrollable rage remembering how you had wound up in this situation in the first place.

If he hadn’t left, none of this would’ve happened.

Bloodied fingers slipped over the lock and you swiftly flung the door open like a mad woman to reveal his large figure. The second that Frank tried to take a step in your direction, you shoved at his chest with the surge of adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

“You son of a bitch!”

Frank stumbled backwards in surprise, eyes widening slightly in shock at your unexpected outburst. When his lips parted to speak, you shoved even harder at his chest, letting your fists rain down in a frenzy against his chest like furious daggers.

“You left me! How the fuck could you leave me like that?!”

He didn’t even put up a defense as you pounded away at his chest and screamed at him, allowing you to force him backwards with every devastating blow you threw in his direction. There was a light furrow of remorse creasing between his dark brows, and if you hadn’t been so blinded by your own anger, you might have caught the guilt-ridden expression that tugged his features down.

“You fucking selfish asshole! I hate you!”

The sharp sting of your wounded palm striking against Frank’s cheek in a harsh slap didn’t even register in your brain. You couldn’t feel any sting but the one of betrayal, and the searing wrath that threatened to consume you entirely. He didn’t even flinch when you slapped him across the face. He just took it.

He let you take it all out on him; the fear, the anger, the disappointment, the hurt, the treachery, all of it.

Frank accepted every single verbal and physical lash you struck him with until you ran out of steam. As soon as the ferocity started to disintegrate into the lingering and overwhelming emotions of terror and panic, the red mist of outrage started to clear from your vision, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Walker’s dead body surrounded by a puddle of deep crimson near the foot of your bed. A choked sob caught in your throat and you covered your mouth in horror as the reality and severity of the situation started to soak in. Frank instantly tried to pull your body into his arms, and when you weakly fought against him, he moved to block your view of Walker’s lifeless body to shield you from the bloodshed. His large hands grabbed onto your arms and held them down to prevent you from moving, dipping his head to catch your gaze.

“Hey…hey, listen to me. I need you to listen real carefully. We gotta go, alright? We gotta go now. It ain’t safe here, and we ain’t got much time. We gotta go right now, alright?”

Frank didn’t give you a moment to hesitate before ushering you out of your bedroom quickly, tucking your face into his chest to prevent you from seeing the evidence of his slaughter. Your mind was a whirlwind of disarray and confusion, emotions and thoughts coming down like a tumultuous hailstorm that you couldn’t take shelter from.

He adjusted the sling on his rifle to keep one hand on it and one protectively over your head while leading you out the front door. When the sharp chill of the night time breeze swept across the glaring cut in your palm, it seemed to snap you of your clamorous haze, and you gripped onto Frank’s bicep tightly with your good hand to pause his guidance.

“Wait! My phone-”

“Leave it.”

“No, I can’t. I got them confessing on tape. I need-”

When you went to turn around, Frank clamped down onto your shoulders a little forcefully to stop you. The firm force behind his hands and the surprise from his actions stopped you right in your tracks. There was a stern look of inflexibility in his eyes as he looked down at you.

“You ain’t goin’ back in there.”

“Frank-”

“I’ll get it. Where is it?”

The clipped tone of his voice was one you were all too familiar with. It was the one he used when he wasn’t in the mood for an argument, or when something wasn’t up for debate.

“Behind the coffee machine.”

Frank gave a curt nod and handed you the keys to his truck, gently pushing you towards that direction with his palm flat against your lower back.

“Get it started. There’s a first aid kit in the back. Wrap that hand to stop the bleedin’, I’ll take care of it later.”

As Frank disappeared back into your home, you sprinted towards his truck, keeping your head on a swivel for anyone suspicious or anything out of place. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, you could feel the pain starting to lick at the torn wounds in your hand and across your fingers. Fresh tears welled up in your eyes, both from the throbbing affliction in your palm, and from how incredibly overwhelmed you were. A sharp hiss left your lips when you started to wrap your hand in gauze, the agony only growing louder in volume the tighter you wrapped it. You didn’t know much about first aid, but you knew enough to know to keep pressure tight on an active bleed.

The sound of the truck door abruptly opening had you jumping in your seat, and Frank shot you a look of concern at your reaction. Quickly looking away to focus on your hand, your vision started to become blurry again with warm tears, and you bit down on your bottom lip harshly to will them away. Frank set your phone down in the middle console, eyeing you warily.

“Lemme see.”

“It’s fine.”

Frank pursed his lips at your snappy response, reaching his hand over towards the first aid kit in your lap.

“Here-”

“I got it.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I said I got it.”

Frank let out a deep exhale of frustration when you raised your voice at him in another terse quip, dragging his palm down his face in agitation before putting his truck in drive and peeling off down the street. The pain in your hand was almost unbearable by the time you finished wrapping it up, and there was already a maroon bloodstain forming in the center of the crisp white material. A few stray tears slipped past your waterline when you closed your eyes, and you swiftly wiped them away, turning your head to look out the window so that you didn’t have to look at Frank.

Letting out a shaky breath, you attempted to try and control the cyclone of emotions devastating you from the inside out. There were two dead men in your home right now, and it suddenly dawned on you that Frank had killed them. A shuddering breath left your lips when you finally had a moment to process that epiphany, and you swallowed the sob that threatened to escape your throat.

“We have to call the police.”

“No.”

Snapping your head in Frank’s direction, your eyes widened in bewilderment as you stared over at him in complete disbelief and confusion.

“Yes. Frank you just…killed two police officers. They’re dead, in my home, and you weren’t exactly quiet about it. We can’t just-”

“They were gonna hurt you.”

Frank’s jaw was set harshly, making the outline of it appear even sharper. He kept his hardened gaze ahead on the dark road. The cold and detached tone of his voice stunned you silent for a moment. There wasn’t a visible shred of guilt on his face or in his voice about what he had done, and you didn’t know whether to be horrified by that or not.

When Frank’s eyes flickered over at you, the palpable anger on his face softened into something that resembled regret, as if he could see on your face how you felt about him in that moment. He urgently looked away, unwilling to see that reflection of himself in your eyes. Loosening his grip on the steering wheel, he let out a deep exhale through his nose.

“They were real cops, ran their badge numbers. We can’t call it in cause we don’t know if they got anyone else in their precinct workin’ with ‘em. I got a friend in Homeland, I’ll call her. She can handle cleanin’ up the mess and start lookin’ into ‘em, maybe find a lead.”

A layer of perplexity nestled on top of your trepidation at Frank’s words. All of a sudden, a thought emerged from the back of your mind about the whole situation, and you stared at him curiously.

“How did you get their badge numbers that quickly? And how did you know they were even there?”

Frank glanced over at you, his own face twisted in puzzlement as if you had just asked the most obvious question in the world.

“Put cameras ‘round your place when I got assigned to ya. I get alerts whenever there’s motion ‘round ‘em. Saw ‘em comin’ up on the camera and ran their badges, but then I heard ‘em say somethin’ ‘bout ‘needin’ to do it quietly’ and figured that meant trouble.”

After a minute of silence, he let out another deep exhale and ran his hand through his unruly dark hair in clear frustration, shaking his head slowly while he looked back at the road.

“You never shoulda opened that door.”

You clenched your hands into fists at his accusatory tone, glaring at the side of his face while your panic swiftly subsided into defensiveness.

“They were cops, Frank.”

“Didn’t mean ya had to open the door. Cops ain’t always the good guys, you know that. You shoulda known better than to open the door for anyone-”

“You shouldn’t have fucking left me.”

Frank immediately went silent and tensed up. You watched as a muscle feathered along his strong jaw. Scoffing dryly at his reaction, you slowly shook your head in annoyance while glancing out the window, brows knitting together in agitation while you tried to figure out where you were.

“Where are we going?”

“My place. We needa lay low for a bit.”

The anger poisoning your bloodstream left no room for the excitement you would’ve felt under normal circumstances about getting to see Frank’s home. It was something you had admittedly fantasized about after several glasses of wine, imagining scenarios in which Frank would take you back to his place, and you would get to experience the real him in more ways than one. But at the moment, you weren’t sure you even wanted to be around him at all.

»»———　　———««

You don’t know what you were expecting Frank’s place to look like, but it was certainly far more empty than you anticipated. The walls were completely bare, void of anything personal, and that seemed to be the running theme. The furniture was scarce, a modest couch and simple coffee table accompanied by a minuscule wooden stand with a small tv. Apart from Frank’s black denim jacket draped over the back of the couch, his rifle on the island, and a backpack in the corner of the room, it didn’t even look like anyone lived here.

Frank had silently gestured for you to take a seat on one of the plain metal stools at the kitchen island. You hissed when he disinfected the cut above your brow, carefully placing a thin white bandage over the tiny cut, and you prepared yourself for what was next.

The alcohol swab burned, even with Frank lightly dragging it over the cut in your hand and across your fingers as quickly as humanly possible, and you swore it would’ve hurt less holding it over an open flame. He might as well have been performing open heart surgery on your palm with the way he was meticulously pulling tiny glass fragments from the cut with tweezers.

You watched intently while Frank carefully and expertly stitched up your palm. He didn’t have anything to give you for the pain other than a bold shot of whiskey, and you winced with a noise of discomfort every time the needle pierced your irritated torn flesh, weaving the jagged edges back together with the thick black thread. Frank mumbled a quiet apology whenever he heard your noises of affliction, doing his best to keep his touch light and delicate.

The silence surrounding the two of you was deafening, but you didn’t want to be the first to break it. Frank had yet to explain himself from this morning, and you were still incredibly pissed off at him for leaving. On top of that, you were also uncertain of your feelings about his nonchalance towards killing Walker and Cavella. The logical part of your brain rationalized the fact that Cavella had threatened to kill you, and he might have if Frank hadn’t shown up when he did. But Frank seemed completely indifferent about executing them.

He hadn’t even glanced at Walker’s body when he led you out of your room, like it wasn’t even there. The only shock that had been evident on his features was from your outrage towards him. There wasn’t an ounce of penitence detected in his tone when he voiced his justification. They were gonna hurt you, so he hurt them first. It seemed that simple to him, and in his black and white reasoning, there wasn’t a stitch of gray regarding repentance.

As Frank finished up the final stitch and wrapped your wound up properly, one of his large hands reached for your wrist, his thick fingers coiling around it completely. He lightly pulled your hand towards him, your fingertips barely grazing against his gray henley while he inspected his own handiwork. Frank paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought while he stared down at the gauze placed over your palm silently.

“I’m sorry.”

When your eyes flickered up towards his face, Frank was already staring at you, and his eyes were back to that warm chocolate brown that you adored. They seemed to be glowing with remorse under the dim amber light above the island. His plump lips were downturned at the corners in a frown, and you could see the guilt tinting his entire face. The heartwrenching look in his eyes nearly knocked the wind out of you. It sent a pang echoing throughout your chest, and all you wanted to do was surge forward and hug him, to do anything to make that look go away.

But you needed answers.

“Why…”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence. Your voice broke off towards the end, and you had to look away to keep the onset of tears welling in your eyes from slipping. Frank carefully tightened his hold on your wrist, tilting his head to the side slightly as he followed your movements to try and catch your eyes.

“I shoulda said somethin’ before I left. Shoulda told ya I was gonna try and work somethin’ out. I’m sorry I didn’t. I…I was angry ‘bout the file-”

“Frank, I didn't read it. Okay whatever was in there that you didn’t want me to know about, I still don’t. I don’t know where it came from, and I’m sorry I never told you about it, but I would never do that to you. And the fact that you think that lowly of me-”

Frank let go of your wrist and leaned in closer to wrap his strong arms around your back, pulling you into his chest once your resolve broke. He cradled the back of your head with one of his large hands and held it against his chest protectively, pressing his lips in a soft kiss to the crown of your head as he shushed you quietly. Once the floodgates opened, you couldn’t stop them, and every emotion that you had experienced in the past twelve hours was pouring violently out of you.

“Hey, hey…s’alright. S’alright, I’m sorry. I shoulda listened to ya. I shoulda believed ya. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just…I fucked up, alright? I fucked up, and you got hurt cause of it. This…s’all on me. M’gonna fix it, yeah?”

Frank gently ran his fingers through your hair while he held you in a tight embrace, letting you wring out all your tears into his shirt, providing the safe space you needed to navigate and expunge all your emotions. He didn’t say anything while you cried, he just held you and did his best to comfort you with his apologetic touch. You don’t know how long you sat there with him like that. It felt like every drop of moisture in your body had been depleted from your eyes, but for the first time all day, your heart didn’t feel so heavy in your chest.

Once you felt a sense of calmness after your cathartic release, you slowly retracted from his embrace so that you could get a good look at him. Frank looked absolutely desolate, and it broke your heart. There was a faint red mark burning on his right cheek, and the corners of your mouth melted downwards in shame when you reached your hand up to lightly trace beneath it with your fingertips.

“I’m sorry I hit you.”

“Reckon I deserved that-”

“No, you didn’t. You saved my life-”

“After I put you in danger cause I was bein’ an asshole.”

You could see the evident self-condemnation in his eyes, and you felt guilty for contributing to those feelings of shame that he felt about himself. Frank didn’t flinch away from your touch, and you swore you felt him subtly lean into it. His sorrow filled eyes hadn’t torn away from yours once, and you couldn’t look away from him if you tried.

“I don’t hate you.”

You could see his body visibly relax at your words. All the tension in his broad shoulders and lingering in the crevices of his features seemed to evaporate, and his evident relief was illuminated in his eyes. There was the most miniscule of a smile skirting over the edge of his mouth, and you would’ve missed it if you didn’t know him so well.

“Wouldn’t blame ya if you did.”

“I don’t.”

Frank stared at you silently while he processed the unwavering tone of your candor. You could see the conflict clearly on his face, and you wanted to prevent him from losing whatever war he was waging against himself. Letting out a soft sigh, you reluctantly dropped your hand from his cheek to run it through your hair, glancing around the nearly empty apartment before looking at him again.

“What now?”

Frank sat up a little straighter when he finally let go of you and reached across the kitchen island to grab his phone.

“Nothin’ ‘til I get ahold of my contact at Homeland. ‘Til we talk to her, you stay here. And you can’t talk to no one, alright? Not Ellison, not your friends or family, no one. Can’t trust nobody right now, you got that?”

A slight furrow formed between your brows as you stared at Frank in confusion.

“Frank, someone had to have heard those gunshots. I wouldn’t be surprised if cops were all over my place right now, and two dead cops are gonna raise a lot of attention. It’ll probably be on the news. And if Ellison sees it and can’t get in touch with me, he’ll probably report me missing.”

“Better people think you’re missin’ ‘til we figure this out. No one can hurt ya if they can’t find ya.”

“But if anyone checks those cameras, won’t they know I’m with you?”

“No ones got access to those cameras but me and Russo, and I cut ‘em off soon as I pulled up.”

The mention of Billy’s name abruptly caused more inquisitions to bubble around in your head.

“Why haven’t you called Billy for help?”

A look flashed across Frank’s face that you didn’t recognize, and it was gone before you could decipher what it was or what it meant. He gave a light shrug of his shoulders as he pursed his lips.

“Got his hands full right now.”

“What…what about Steven? Aren’t you supposed to be-’

“Fuck Steven. He’s someone else’s goddamn problem right now.”

You bit your lip to contain that smile that threatened to spread seeing the face Frank pulled at your question. He spit those words out as if they tasted bitter, his large nose scrunched up in a sour expression, and for some reason that spread heat in your lower belly.

“So, you’re not his bodyguard?”

Frank arched one of his dark brows and gave you a pointed look hearing the amusement lacing your teasing tone.

“You really think I woulda agreed to that?”

“I don’t think he would have. He’s scared of you.”

Frank’s eyes seemed to sparkle with delight at that, and the faintest of smirks tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Then maybe he ain’t so stupid after all.”

A knowing smile fought its way across your lips, and a sense of relief spread through you when he mirrored it. Frank stared at you for a moment, as if there was more he wanted to say, but he quickly glanced away and grabbed his phone while standing up.

“You should get some sleep. Take the bed.”

“Frank, I’m not-”

“You ever gonna stop arguin’ with me and just do what I ask?”

Frank tilted his head to the side as he looked down at you in pure entertainment, eyebrows lifted slightly in question with a light smirk on his lips. Glancing away with a light smile, you crossed your arms over your chest, shaking your head slowly before looking back up at him with a tiny grin.

“No, probably not. But your couch seems a bit small for you.”

Frank chuckled lightly, his eyes flickering over to his couch before landing back on you.

“Appreciate the concern, but I’ve slept in far worse conditions. I’ll be fine. Go on, get some sleep.”

»»———　　———««

When you awoke the next morning, you felt more refreshed than you had in months. It was hard to fall asleep initially, brain still buzzing with the cataclysmic events of the day, and the knowledge that Frank was sleeping just on the other side of the thin wall. Being on good terms again filled you with a rush at the thought of sleeping in his bed, and you may have clutched one of his pillows to your chest pretending it was him. Frank’s bed was nothing special in theory, but there was something about being nestled in pillows and sheets that smelled just like him that lulled you into a peaceful and serene sleep.

Frank was already awake when you walked out into the living room, and you could tell by the look on his face that something had happened while he had been waiting for you to wake up. He immediately stood up from the couch when you entered the living room, giving you a once over as he motioned in your direction with his chin.

“Sleep alright?”

“Uh…yeah. What’s going on?”

Frank eyed you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his next words carefully. He let out a soft sigh, turning his phone over in his hands and glancing down at it before looking back at you.

“Got a lead. There’s a location upstate the rest of ‘em might be hidin’ out at.”

That one sentence instantly sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you were suddenly wide awake.

“Where? When do we leave?”

Frank’s brows pulled together as he looked at you in puzzlement, shaking his head lightly.

“No, not we. You’re stayin’ here.”

Your lips parted as you stared over at him incredulously.

“What? No. I’m coming with you-”

“It could be dangerous-”

“More dangerous than being left alone? Do I need to remind you what happened last time you left me by myself?”

Lifting your wounded hand up as evidence, Frank clenched his jaw as his eyes flickered between your hand and your face.

“No one knows you’re here. You’re safer here-”

“I’m safer with you.”

Frank pursed his lips into a dissatisfied pout as your words hung in the air. You could see the hesitation lingering in his eyes, and you quickly pounced on it, walking over to stand directly in front of him. You stared up into his eyes with a pleading expression, shaking your head slowly as you spoke in a calmer voice.

“You can’t leave me again. I’ll stay out of your way. I’ll do whatever you say, I swear. No arguing. No pushback. Just…don’t leave me alone. Please.”

He seemed to visibly soften hearing the vulnerability laced in your voice, and when he let out a deep sigh of exasperation, you knew you had won. He gave you another pointed look, his voice dipping into a more serious tone.

“You do what I ask, when I ask. This shit goes sideways, I needa know you’re gonna listen. You got that?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

You could see that Frank wasn’t pleased about the thought of you joining him, but you knew you were safer with him in a potentially life threatening situation than you were on your own. If anyone could take these fuckers down, it was Frank, and you wanted to be there when he did.

tags: @twoshields @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @ferns-fics @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @yeah3459 @collaps3r @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @annalism @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #frank castle series #the bodyguard series #bodyguard!frank castle fic #bodyguard!frank castle series #bodyguard!frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher fic #the punisher series

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stressed-and-fluff-obsessed · 7 days

Note

Lee!Vox Ler!Alastor perhaps???

Of course!

Short Circuiting

Summary: After Vox suffered another defeat from the infamous Radio Demon, said demon decides to pay him a little visit

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vox stared at the screen in front of him that displayed a large “No Signal” on it, a defeated and angry expression on his face before his face changed and red strings ran from his mouth to the edge of his screen and black rings emitted from his pupil in his left eye.

Just then he called Velvette and Valentino and they picked up almost immediately, “What is it Vox?” They asked him, noticing the fact that he was angry but didn’t seem to care.

“Meet me in the meeting room in ten minutes.” Vox began, voice laced with venom as he stood up, “We have a lot to discuss.” He growled that last part before slamming his fist onto his desktop, ending the call and the faint hum of television static entered the air as Vox stormed out the door, not bothering to close it on his way out.

~~~

“So what is it you wanted us here so urgently for Vox?” Velvette asked him, scrolling on her phone beside Valentino as Vox paced angrily. “Alastor needs to be stopped. That prick is getting more and more powerful and it’s not good for our business.” Vox informed them.

“Well how exactly do you plan to stop him? It’s not like he’s just a simple sinner, he’s one of the most powerful overlords!” Valentino pondered aloud, swirling his drink before taking a sip

“Oh I think I have just the idea. Alastor is helping little Princess Morningstar with her silly little hotel, luring him here with that information will be the way to do it.” Vox grinned evilly, “And what do you plan to do if he doesn’t accept?” Velvette interjected, “Oh trust me.” Vox began, turning around so he was facing away from the other Vees and began walking out the doors, “He will.”

~*~

“What is it you wanted me here for Vox?” Alastor asked the TV demon, grin visibly more strained as if he didn’t want to be there as he stood in Vox’s observatory.

“I have a proposition for you Alastor, you are a powerful overlord capable of so much more than being a simple hotelier for Princess Morningstar’s little hotel, how about you join the Vees? You’ll be able to do so much more~” Vox proposed watching as Alastor’s face morphed into one of his regular nonchalance.

“Thank you but no thank you old pal! I’m quite happy at the hotel!” Alastor grinned, “Well that’s unfortunate, looks like I’ll have to do THIS then!” Vox exclaimed before dropping into a crouch, sinking his claws into the floor and releasing a large sum of electricity through the floor.

Luckily Alastor realized and jumped out of the way before the electric shocks got to him but in turn, with a flick of his hand four shadowy tendrils burst out from the floor and slammed Vox against the wall, each tendril holding a limb in place.

Vox began to panic as the hum of TV static filled the air again as Alastor meandered closer, Vox began to struggle, pulling at his restrained limbs and sending bolts of electricity through the tendrils in an attempt to get away but it was no use so when Alastor finally reached Vox he had given up struggling.

“You of all demons should know better than to attack a superior demon.” Alastor lectured

“Yeah yeah just kill me and get it over with you old timer.” Vox muttered, looking up in confusion at Alastor’s snickers, “Kihill you? Now why would I do that?” Alastor asking him, voice laced with pure curiosity

“Well that is why you have me pinned here against my own wall is it not?” Vox grumbled in annoyance at Alastor’s oblivion, “Oh heheavens no my friend! I simply just have you like this to teach you a lesson on respect~” Alastor stated

Before Vox could question what that meant he felt one clawed finger start to prod harshly at his upper ribs and exposed underarm making the TV demon inhale sharply with a poorly concealed twitch of his mouth.

“My my looks like someone is a little ticklish~” Alastor teased, adding another finger to walk down along the length of Vox’s sides and occasionally slip to scratch at his stomach making Vox double over in his restraints as the smile he’d been fighting off threatened to make its way onto his face.

“Come on old pal don’t fight it, it’s only going to get worse from here~” Alastor taunted making a subtle shudder go through Vox’s body.

When Alastor finally moved around to skitter his fingers over the fabric of Vox’s suit on his back is when the TV demon finally broke and soft laughter filtered out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“There now isn’t that better?” Alastor grinned, “Screhehehehew yohohohou!” Vox snickered, “Well that’s not good, this lesson is on respect remember?” Alastor spoke again, “Ihihim nohohot a kihihihid!!” Vox growled through his laughter but hated the near whine to his voice.

Alastor then shifted back to his front and rested his hands on Vox’s stomach, vibrating his fingers into the sides that made the TV demon arch with a yelp, “Ahahahahalahastohor!” Vox howled, “Yes my friend?” Alastor snickered, “STAHAHAhahahahaHAHAP!!” Vox resorted to the one thing he thought he would never do, pleading with the Radio Demon.

“Mmmm no I don’t think so~” Alastor grinned once more, raising his hands to drill into Vox’s lower ribs making Vox’s laughter jump an octave. “DOHOHohohohohoHOHON’T!!” Vox snarled through his desperate laughter, “Don’t? Don’t what?” Alastor teased, ever present grin widened slightly.

Vox shook his head in defiance, no way in the seven rings was he falling for that! He just had to stay here and endure this, surely Alastor would get bored soon right?

“Ooohh what’s this?” Alastor’s voice suddenly cut through his thoughts as the deer demon’s ears flicked before his nimble fingers began lightly tracing and scratching the edges of Vox’s screen that had just started glowing a luminescent blue.

The sound of television static refilled the air and Vox’s face flushed that same luminous blue and soft giggles poured out of him, “Dohohohon’t!” Vox practically whined as one of his melt spots was targeted by his rival, he would never let Vox live this down…

“No need to be embarrassed old friend! I find this rather endearing~” Alastor taunted making Vox growl, “Still not learned your lesson? No matter we can fix that!” Alastor chirped and Vox noticed Alastor’s hand drifting up towards his antennae and immediately started protesting.

“Wait! Wahahahait I swehehear if yohohohou gohoho ahahahany higher yohohou are going to rehehegret ihiHIHIT!!” Vox suddenly uncharacteristically yelped loudly and dissolved into hysterical cackles as Alastor’s hands shot down to rapidly squeeze at his ribs but he still felt something fiddling with his antenna.

Through his hysterics Vox looked up and cracked one eyes open to see a shadowy tendril playing with his antenna and noticed Alastor’s teasing grin as he kept up the playful torment, “Y-YOHOHOHOU’RE GOHOHOING TO REHEHEGRET THIHIHIS!!” Vox snarled through his hysterics and just managed to make out the sound of Alastor tsking.

“Now that just won’t do! Still have an attitude, let’s fix that!” Alastor chirped before moving his tickling hands around to claw at Vox’s back. “FUHUHUHUCK OKAY YOHOHOHOU WIHIHIN I GIHIHIHIVE!!” Vox laughed, desperation present in his voice

“Do you now?” Alastor crooned, “YEHEHES DAHAHAMNIHIT ALAHAHASTOHOHOR I GIHIHIHIVE!!” Vox cackled, fans kicking on to cool his heating body, with a jolly laugh Alastor released Vox from his tickling fingers and the tendrils holding his disappeared leaving Vox to slump against the wall, letting out any residual giggles

“Dahahahamn yohohou Ahalahastohohor!” Vox growled, staring the Radio Demon in the eyes with a defiant grin on his face. “Haha this was fun old pal but I really must be going! Till next time!” Alastor grinned before merging with the shadows and leaving Vox to himself and only one thought was on his mind that night.

He was totally doing that again.

(Sorry if it was bad this was my first fic I tried but I hope you like it! :) )

#lee!vox #ler!alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel tickle #answered

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can-ya-guess-my-curent-obsession · 9 months

Text

L- Lost: /Losing their S/O in a crowd/

A/N: nothing much to say- besides I think I wrote to much for 2d's

Request: open

Edited: no

Pairing: The band x GN!reader

This is apart of my crack alphabet

Tw: Panic, Murdoc acts a bit toxic(and it's not ok don't let people treat you like that), idk if i missed something

°•□•°•□•°•♡•°•□•°•□•°•♡•°•□•°•□•°•♡•°

-Bold of you to assume 2D wasn't the one getting lost

-It take's 2D a hot minute to realize S/O wasn't even there anymore

-At first he wouldn't realize it, so he would go about walking around doing whatever you two were doing- when he realized you two aren't holding hands anymore, so he looks back to go grab your hand when he realized S/O wasn't there

-Like Murdoc he comes to a freeze- as the info that his S/O is now gone sets it

-2D snaps back to reality when someone accidently bumps into him

-"oh- sorry didn't mean to-" the stranger was cut off by 2D's unintelligible panic talk before 2D scrambled away leaving the stranger confused

-2D would scramble all over the place looking for S/O panicked, to anyone who was looking from an outside perspective would be sincerely confused- I mean he doesn't look crazy or anything but he looks very lost

-And especially if you guys are on tour in a unfamiliar country or place for the first time

-Because if so- he's panicking get's worse

-Eventually he sees someone with a phone- and the realization that he should check his phone

-2D sighs in relief thinking that you probably sent him a text- in which you didn't and panic sets back in

-He spends the next half an hour looking for his S/O when 2D see's his S/O too busy looking at something to notice 2D

-2D stumbles over to S/O a bit winded and babbling about you being gone

-"Luv- where have you been-?" 2D said pulling you into a bone crushing embrace, "Why didn't you answer da' phone?"

-"oh sorry Stu... I got distracted, and my phone is dead so I couldn't answer any text-" you say as 2D still didn't let go

-After some reassuring hugs and a kiss and you two go back to whatever your doing- as 2D basically forgetting what just happened

-He panics a bit but stays in place

-At first he just waits their hopeing S/O wanders back but when two minutes has passed and no sign of you

-Murdocs next checks his messages, and he had zero from you

-So now he's stressed as hell, but he tries to keep calm

-And walks around casually like nothings wrong, while he's sweating bullets and his eyes are darting all over the place looking for you

-every few minutes Mudz takes out his phone checking for a message

-He eventually find you and jogs over to you and grabs S/O by the arm and starts to grumble out frustrated nags

-"The hell- have' ya been, I've been looking all over the fucking place-" Murdoc would snap at S/O, as he drags S/O back to the car

-"Jeez sorry- just got distracted..." S/O would respond

-"Well why didn't you answer yer fuck'en phone?"

"Uh... I left it at home..."

-Murdoc would face palm

- you two didn't get to finish the outing because murdoc was stressed and just wanted to go home and relax

-But the next day you two went back out but this time Murdoc kept his arms around S/O's waist or shoulders

-She looks around for a second before checking her phone to see if you texted her, and when she see's you didn't she would immediately start searching the area for you

-And Noodle finds you immediately- no joke, she take like a minute and then finds you

-"Hay S/O- where did you go?" Noodle said as she placed a hand on your shoulder as she walks up behind you

-"oh hey sorry Noods, I didn't realize I lost you..."

-Noodle accepted the apology and you two went about your outing but this time Noodle walked behind you to make sure you don't wander off

-The most rational out of all of them

-Like Noodle, Russel immediately checked his phone and sighed when he saw no texts

- He would calmly look around for you- it took like ten to thirty minutes to find S/O

-And when he found S/O he didn't ask any question, he just walks up to S/O puts a hand on their shoulder and says "Hey baby- come on we have things to do"

-"Oh- hey Rus look what i found.." S/O would point at the thing that distracted them

-"yeah yeah- lets go hon" Rus would hold your hand as you two go about your day- and he would look over his shoulder every once in a while to make sure you're still there

#gorillaz x reader #murdoc x reader #2d x reader #stuart pot x reader #noodle x reader #murdoc niccals #russel hobbs x reader #murdoc niccals x reader #russel x reader #gorillaz

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aysufs · 5 months

Text

Al-Fudayl b. 'Iyādh رحمه الله stated:

"Being humble is that you submit to the truth and adhere to it.

Even if you heard it from a child, you accept it from him.

Even if you heard it from the most ignorant of the people, you accept it from him."

【At-Tawādu' wal-Khumūl Pg.118】

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peppermint-toads · 1 year

Text

i am too lazy to format this but here’s a sad but sweet eddie christmas blurb thanks

When Eddie woke up that morning, it was business as usual. He rubbed his eyes and stumbled with bare feet through the little hallway into the kitchen so he could put a pot of water on for his hot chocolate.

A long time ago, Wayne had explained to Eddie that other kids got toys and clothes and shoes on Christmas Day, but they couldn’t really afford all that. It was hard at first to see all his peers smiling faces when he returned from winter break, each of them boasting about their best prize. After a while, though, Eddie got used to it. And they always made sure to have Christmas dinners together, which made up for it in Eddie’s eyes.

So, when he saw you sitting on the floor of the trailer, in front of the tiny tree, holding your mug with two hands and looking up at Wayne where he sat on the couch talking about something, he was floored. Him and Uncle Wayne had been setting out the same falling-apart tree for as long as he could remember, sparsely decorating it with yarn and some paper ornaments Eddie had made in class in elementary school.

What was new about the scene, though, was the little pile of presents you had carefully placed under the tree, all neatly wrapped and covered with silky ribbon. He almost teared up when he saw the red stocking embroidered with an ‘E’ filled to the brim slouched over against the tv stand.

“Oh, Eddie! Good, you’re awake.” You smiled. “There’s cinnamon rolls and coffee in the kitchen.”

Eddie couldn’t possibly care about the cinnamon rolls when you had apparently gotten him gifts, at least an armfuls worth. And he’d only gotten you one thing, one tiny little thing. Oh god, he’d only gotten you one thing, what was he going to do—

“Take a seat, son.” Wayne insisted, knowing exactly what thoughts were barreling through his mind. His uncle always knew what to say, his words immediately coaxing Eddie to the floor next to you.

He could smell the peppermint coffee lingering on your breath as you offered him a sip. He nodded easily, not entirely convinced this wasn’t a saccharine dream.

“Me and Wayne picked out some presents for you. You know, after all you’ve been through we thought maybe you needed a break.” And that time Eddie did start crying a little, unsure of what else to do. But mostly he couldn’t hide the boyish excitement that bubbled to the surface.

He tore into the wrapping paper, sparing you a sheepish glance after he thought about how long it probably took you to wrap them. You just nodded at him, giving him all the permission he needed to tear in.

Wayne watched, leaning back into the couch and sipping his coffee, secretly indulging in the scene in front of him.

Cassettes, an Iron Maiden tee, a Legend of Zelda poster you picked up at Wal Mart after he’d come home from The Wheelers’ house raving about how awesome it was, and a few other things he needed like boxers and socks. Wayne even picked him out a new fantasy book.

When everything was opened, wrapping paper wadded up around the two of you on the floor, all that was left was guilt. He couldn’t believe he even allowed himself to accept all these things from you, yet his heart was open and swelling and happy.

He handed you your present from him, staring down and picking at the carpet beneath him.

“It’s not much. Certainly not all this but—”

“Eddie,” you stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I know I’ll love it.”

Not that Wayne ever had any doubts about you, but that moment solidified what he knew was certain. He nearly spilled his coffee when you tackled Eddie to the floor with a hug, the necklace he gave you clutched between your fingers. You were both a fit of giggles until you sat up, asking Eddie softly to do the clasp of your necklace.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader fluff

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pottypet · 1 year

Note

Can you tell us about the biggest mess you've made in a diaper

Thanksgiving Mess

After my accident in Wal-Mart my boyfriend started requiring that I wear diapers whenever we went out in public together. So if I wanted to attend Thanksgiving dinner with his family I would have to wear one so I don't embarrass him in front of everyone by accidentally pooping in my panties. I was hesitant to wear such an embarrassing thing to dinner but I didn't want him to be upset with me so I agreed.

I wore my diaper under my skinny jeans and hoped it wouldn't be too noticeable. My boyfriend assured me that no one would be able to tell I was even wearing one. I felt confident in my outfit and we went on our way to his parent's home.

We sat at the table with his entire family and chatted away before his mom brought the food out. I stuffed myself with ham, turkey, green beans, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, and so much more. After about 40min of eating I was entirely full. Once everyone was finished with their dinners we stayed at the table and continued conversing and joking around with each other.

After a while of talking with his family I started to feel my tummy shift. It felt like my dinner was about to go right through me. My face went pale as I felt my cheeks clench, trying my best to keep my cool and to stop myself from losing control.

His family continued their conversations and didn't seem to notice me in discomfort which I was grateful for. I couldn't hold it in anymore. A thick gush escaped my body and squirted out into the seat of my diaper. I knew I wasn't finished though so I prayed that no one could tell what was happening and continued soiling myself at the table. Gush after gush of thick, soft, poo began filling my diaper, squishing up my crack and spreading over my cheeks. My entire Thanksgiving dinner was coming out into my diaper. I could feel my diaper getting bigger and heavier and started to worry that I might have a blow-out.

I was nearly finished messing myself when his older brother noticed. A wet squirting noise came from my diaper when he got everyone's attention. "What was that sound??" he asked. "...and what is that smell?" his sister chimed in.

"May I be excused?" I asked as I stood up from the table, hoping to escape the situation. I was unaware of how I looked before his family began freaking out. Apparently my diaper had poofed out so much that it was extremely visible in my jeans. And the weight of the mess in my diaper had caused my jeans to sag, exposing my diaper's waistband to everyone. His whole family could clearly see that I was wearing a diaper... and that it was full.

"Oh my god... she's wearing a diaper!" his grandma shrieked. "She shit herself!" his cousin shouted. "If you want to pack your pampers full then go take a seat at the kid's table!" his uncle laughed. "Awee does the baby need a diapey change??" his brother teased.

My face turned bright red as I quickly left the room. My boyfriend followed me out into the living room. I thought he was going to comfort me but when I looked he was holding a diaper bag. "Let's take care of that messy diaper" he sighed. "In here?!" I yelped.

I accepted defeat and layed out on the floor like a toddler, feeling my hot, squishy, mess all over my bottom. My boyfriend took my jeans off and then, to my surprise, his family entered the room. "We want to see how you change such a big messy diaper!" his brother laughed. My boyfriend laughed along and then unfastened the tabs on my diaper. I wanted to disappear, I was mortified.

He opened my diaper up and exposed my mess to everyone. Brown sludge was caked up my crack and all over my cheeks. The entire diaper was filled with it. "Oh my god, she's destroyed that thing!" his mom shouted. "Poor girl had quite the accident!" his grandpa said while shaking his head. "My kiddo never poops that bad!" his sister laughed.

My boyfriend began wiping me clean, letting them all see my bum up in the air.

#diaper check #diaper humiliation #diaper kink #messy diaper #pantypoop

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your-mom-friend · 2 months

Note

hey rem, I’m just curious, no judging—what’s the reason you left your religion? I found that you’ve been struggling more since you started to lose your faith, so I just wondered what made you take that decision?

Well, since you asked so kindly

I left my religion slowly, over a long time, for a lot of reasons.

The easiest one that most people accept is that I do t like Islam’s treatment of queer people, since being queer is a huge part of my identity and people are usually ready to accept that answer.

But it is not so cut and dry

The reason is that I do not believe in the concept of an all-powerful, all-knowing, and completely passionate and caring deity that presides over the universe.

If Allah exists, then he allowed a five year old child to be groomed and abused, by a man that styles himself as an Islamic Scholar, for almost nine years. He allowed that trauma to happen and allowed that man to die before he could face any justice for his crimes.

And for what? Because it’s part of his plan? If an omniscient and omnipotent being needs an innocent child to suffer like that for his plan to come to fruition, he is either not as compassionate as he claims or not as powerful as he claims.

People will tell me that he will burn in Jahannam for eternity for his crimes, but why was the crime allowed to happen at all?

Do you know why Muslims pray five times a day? The Quran tells the story, saying that on the night of Al Isra wal Miraj, the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) ascended to Jannat (heaven) and was able to speak to Allah, who told him that every Muslim was to pray to him 50 times a day. He accepted, and as he descended through the layers of heaven, the prophet Musa (Moses, peace be upon him) told him to go back up and negotiate it lower. 50 to 45 to 40 and so on until it went to 5. That’s why there are five daily prayers.

What sort of God is so egotistical that he needs every single believer to pray to him 50 times a day to prove they love him? If he is all knowing, why start with 50 and not just command it be 5? Why do you need 5 at all? Why do you need people to constantly tell you that they love you?

I have my own religious trauma, from things taught in classes to the fucking pedophile calling himself a priest who came to my home 90 minutes a day 6 days a week for 8 and a half years, who was too religious to celebrate a birthday or let anyone else do so but apparently not enough to avoid abusing children

There are many arguments to be made about why I dislike Islam, most of them can be boiled down to something someone or the other will argue to be “misinterpretations of the text” or “a cultural thing” or “personal choice”

But in the end, at my core, I do not believe in the concept of a perfect, unerring God. The “Perfect” god of Islamic and Christian faith, insofar as I have seen, has allowed untold carnage, depraved abuse, and unspeakable violence to occur with the promise that one day, if you’re good, if you follow the rules, and pray every day, things will eventually, some day, somehow, turn out fine.

I respect Muslims. I respect Christians. I respect every single religion and every person of faith because I believe they all want to be good and do good because I think that is the nature of humanity. Who they choose to attribute that good to is none of my concern. I believe that everyone is human before they are their religion. Neither goodness nor badness can be attributed to a religion. They all have supremacists and extremists and people that will give their lives away trying to do good and make the world a better place. But if a god comes and declares that they are responsible for all of that, including the bad, and are just letting it happen for “divine purpose”? I reserve the right to question that.

And for the record, sweetheart, I am not suffering more since I’ve left my religion. I’ve been suffering the same for a very long time, and it’s only now that I’m in college, away from home, that I’m getting the space to process all of it. And sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Right now it’s just worse than usual because the holiest month of the Islamic year is about to start, and it is always tough on me.

#rem rambles #ask and ye shall recieve #anon asks #ex religious #religious trauma #ex muslim

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wearelondonhq · 11 days

Text

(Lou, 24, she/her) welcome to london, ASRIEL BELACQUA. Did anyone ever tell you that you look just like JAMES MCAVOY? well, no matter, we hear that you are 40 and working as a TEACHER. we also hear that you currently HAVE your memories from HIS DARK MATERIALS and have a tendency to be AMBITIOUS as well as QUICK TO ANGER.

— WELCOME TO LONDON, asriel belacqua! you look very familiar, do we know you from somewhere? anyways, take your time settling in because whether you want to or not, it looks like you’re going to be living here for awhile! // welcome lou, please be sure to follow our checklist here!

#submission #multifandom rp #fandom rp #town rpg #city rpg #au rpg #mumu rp #fandom rpg #hdm rpg #oc rpg #his dark materials rp #wal: accepted

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year

Text

threw a punch in a bar | knj

(or, nothing good happens when a man you’d accidentally knocked out in a bar fight tells you to run.)

→ pairing: namjoon x f. reader → genre: zombie!au | crack, smut → rating: explicit. minors dni. → warnings: swearing, alcohol, a guy gets pushy in a bar, this results in a bar fight (mentioned broken bones, but nothing is described in explicit detail), vague american setting in order to drag the us healthcare system, side vmin, taehyung has klepto tendencies but he steals from wal-mart so it’s fine, really mid smut including: kissing, very slight dom!joon, grinding/thigh riding, implied oral (f. receiving), fingering, reader drops a bryce harper quote during sex, namjoon’s dick is big but we knew that, this is cancelled out by his horrible dirty talk, unprotected sex, vmin’s dumpling fight but make it settlers of catan. this is technically a zombie fic, but the circumstances are 99% in the background. there is nothing gory here, just sort of found family vibes centered around an apocalypse. also when i said the smut is mid i meant it. everyone has himbo tendencies except yoonjin. → wordcount: 11k → a/n: started this forever ago after doing one of those twt pause games on who i’d be stuck with in the zombie apocalypse. my result was vmin & namjoon, which birthed the idea of vmin spending the entire apocalypse subtly trying to convince you to sacrifice yourself for them. i was going to publish the draft of this on halloween but decided to finish it, went into a trance, and added 9k words, so please accept my late and humble offering. → thank yous: lauren, bee, and jess as always for all of their help: beta’ing, general feedback, constructive criticism, telling me when my shit doesn’t make sense. @effortandmore / @hot-soop / @the-boy-meets-evil

Any bartender worth their salt knows you don’t mix tequila and brandy.

Jimin, apparently, is only worth enough salt to rim a margarita glass.

All because he’s chaos incarnate: an absolute hellion of a person who causes problems just because. The type of person who calls a drink something innocuous like Tipsy Meow because it sounds sweet and he knows it’ll get people to order it. Sometimes he even serves them in glasses with cats painted on them, which is really cute and endearing and gets people to order that drink in the cute cat glass despite the fact that that drink in the cute cat glass is tequila and brandy.

In any other bar, that drink would be called something appropriate and applicable, like a Knockout.

Because that’s what it does—starts bar fights.

Which Jimin knows, because he’s actually a very competent bartender, but he likes to cause problems on purpose, especially on Tuesday nights when there’s not much else going on.

“Why did you do that?” Yoongi asks, watching some poor, unsuspecting woman practically skip back to her table with two Tipsy Meows in hand.

Jimin just smiles and shrugs. “Because,” he answers, eyes twinkling with something underhanded, “that tall guy at the high-top? He’s been eyeing her all night. She wouldn’t go for it on a good day, but after one of those?” A low whistle under his breath.

Yoongi just stares. He’s known Jimin a long time, going on six years now, so he’s never truly surprised at how duplicitous he can be, but sometimes he pretends for appearance’s sake. “Evil.”

“Not evil,” Jimin retorts, eyes rolled, “just bored.”

Snorting, Yoongi whips the towel off his shoulder and starts wiping down the bar. “Then do a fucking crossword puzzle.”

Jimin waves him away. “I’m not good at them. I’m good at this.”

“Getting people to fight in our bar?” Yoongi clarifies. Jimin nods. They stare at each other for a minute before Yoongi shrugs and finds some menial task to busy himself with. “Whatever. You’re on clean-up duty, though. The last time you pulled this shit, I was sweeping up glass for three fuckin’ days.”

Because he’s chaos incarnate, Jimin’s response is a sarcastic salute, two fingers pressed to his forehead as Yoongi flips him off in return.

Something is wrong.

You’ve been to this bar countless times, have always ordered the same thing. Always made sure to stick to your limits, because college had been both an exercise in adulting and maintaining a functioning liver.

Maybe it’s because the mint-haired guy didn’t make your drinks this time. Truthfully, you’ve been wary of him for a while, convinced he’s been watering them down just to get you to buy more. Not that you’re complaining. In all the years you’ve been coming here, you’ve never made a fool of yourself.

Now, though?

Now you’re very rapidly approaching find the nearest trashcan ASAP territory. I’m going to regret this in the morning territory. This hasn’t happened since that frat party sophomore year territory.

Yeah, that party. You’d drank something god-awful that night, too. Got roped into a game of strip poker in a seedy basement and walked away with $2,000, three nickels, and a half-used KFC gift card, only down a sock. Some douchebag frat bro hadn’t liked that very much, accused you of cheating and gave you a real hard time about it. Long story short, you’d been fueled by too many of the suspicious drinks and knocked him out.

This feels a lot like that.

Because you’re drunk, yes, but there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. Something that’s itching for a fight. Something that’s been dormant for a long time.

(This is a startling realization, because you’re not a violent person, despite all evidence to the contrary. You’ve only ever thrown one punch in your life. It’s really not your fault that it wound up being the punch heard ‘round the world.)

Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it. Your sixth grade history teacher had that quote hung on the wall and you haven’t thought about it until now. Because there’s a guy approaching your table—probably six-foot, wearing an expensive watch and polished shoes—and he’s been eyeing your friend all night. Had made a few crude comments to his buddies that you’d regretfully overheard, and you’re all out of sorts because the mint-haired bartender hadn’t made your drinks, so he’s nearly got his elbows on the table when you say—

“Fuck off, asshole.”

Both your friend and the guy look equally shocked. “Excuse me?” he says, looking back to the idiots at his table in disbelief.

You roll your eyes, blood beginning to boil. “I said fuck off. She’s not interested.”

“And she can’t speak for herself?” he retorts, all faux-chivalry now that everyone’s attention is on him, even though the bar is practically deserted at nine o’clock on a Tuesday. “Your friend’s a little uptight, huh?” he says, shifting his attention fully away from you.

God, you always do this—befriend the most wholesome people in the room. The ones who always assume the best in others; the ones who can’t say no; the ones who feel guilty speaking up. This friend is no different. Looks at you like a deer about to get rearranged by a car, all wide, panicked eyes and a tight-lipped smile, only polite out of obligation.

What happens next is shocking to everyone except Jimin and Yoongi. Safe behind the bar, the two of them watch as you tell the man to fuck off one more time. He refuses, his attention still laser-focused on your friend, reaching for her. Someone appears to his left—another stranger, this one taller and wider in all the right places and exuding far less scumbag energy—and places a large hand on his shoulder. Leans down to say something to him that you don’t catch. Whatever it is, you’re assuming it’s said in that brand of tense politeness men use with other men before they threaten to knock them out.

Regardless of what’s said, the original douchebag just snorts derisively, jutting his shoulder backwards to get the stranger’s hand off of him. This really bothers you, for all the obvious reasons. Why can’t this idiot take no for an answer? What’s his fucking deal?

Apparently you voice the latter out loud, and the bastard is laughing again, lips turned upwards in an ugly little sneer. Far too quickly, you go from bothered but mostly in control to seeing red and cocking back. All because the mint-haired bartender hadn’t mixed your drinks. Now you’re punching some pushy asshole in the jaw and are probably going to get arrested.

“Oh shit,” you hear, but it sounds like you’re underwater. It’s certainly not a voice you recognize, but you only know one person in this bar and you just punched someone to make sure she didn’t get harassed by some asshole who couldn’t take a fucking hint.

Pain erupts in your hand. There’s probably something broken, maybe multiple somethings, but you don’t have much time to dwell on it before someone’s grabbing you by the elbow and dragging you out of the bar.

A shame, you think; you’d really like to see how much of a pissbaby that guy turns into when he catches sight of his own blood.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

You groan. Whatever room you’re in is far too bright and far too loud, which means you’re probably at home already being lectured by Hoseok. You crack an eye open, and—yep, that’s Hoseok, usual human embodiment of sunshine who is now staring at you like a grumpy little rain cloud. “What’re you talking about?” you grumble, fingers flying to your temples to ease some of the throbbing pain.

Hoseok must be pretty pissed, because he just watches you clutch at your aching head and doesn’t say a word. Usually you can guilt trip him into making you coffee and buttered toast. Grabbing you some pain killers, at the very least, but he’s not budging. You swallow hard.

“Do you remember anything from last night?”

“Not really,” you answer. You’ve been awake for approximately three seconds and your two brain cells haven’t connected to form a rational thought yet, let alone conjure up whatever shenanigans you got into the night before. “I think I went out for drinks with the new hire from work, but that’s it.”

“Mehmehmeh but that’s it,” Hoseok mimics under his breath, voice pitched far too high to ever pass as yours, looking more and more incensed by the second. Everyone told you he’d be too neurotic to live with. You should’ve listened. “Do you remember drinking too much and punching a guy?”

Ah, that would explain why your hand is fifty shades of purple, you think. “Ah, that would explain why my hand is fifty shades of purple,” you say.

Hoseok looks like he’s ready to explode. “Can you fucking take this seriously,” he seethes. “You’re too old to be getting wasted and starting bar fights! What in the actual fuck is wrong with you? You broke a man’s nose, you fucking maniac! What if he calls the cops? God, what if he sues you? Do you have lawsuit money? Because I sure as fuck don’t, not that I would bail you out of jail for this, anyway, because you don’t deserve it—”

“I broke someone’s nose?” Far too late, you realize you should’ve kept that proud wonder out of your voice.

Hoseok’s up and screeching before you can plug your ears. “You are un-fucking-believable! I have to leave. I can’t sit here another second and listen to this.” He’s fussing over his clothes and hair as soon as he’s on his feet, distress seeping out of every pore. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot and I made sure to save you two slices of bread,” he grits out, as if it’s causing him immense pain to be nice to you right now, before adding, “and there’s also aspirin and water on your nightstand. I would not recommend taking it on an empty stomach.”

And then he’s gone.

You microwave the mug of coffee and choke down the toast that’s grown suspiciously hard. You swallow two aspirin with coffee even though you know better and should be drinking the water, but the water has been sitting out for god knows how long and probably has dust particles and other gross things in it. You take a long shower to wash away the bar grime and hangover remnants and nearly crumble to the floor in pain when you try to wash your hair.

Right, your hand.

It’d been easy enough to ignore when you were focusing on not vomiting and taking your painkillers, but not so much anymore. Even if Hoseok hadn’t told you you’d punched someone, you could’ve pieced that much together—the bruising is severe and the swelling even more so. Trying to bend your fingers feels like a fate worse than death, so you salvage your shower as best you can before getting dressed one-handed and ordering an Uber to the nearest urgent care.

Which, much to your horror, is packed.

Every seat is taken except for one next to a man with a baseball cap pulled low and a thawed-out ice pack in his hand. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you sit next to him, and you’re almost offended until you spot the AirPods in his ears. God, he must’ve been here forever if he’s brave enough to plug his ears in a place that unashamedly sends you to the back of the line if you don’t answer when your name is called.

You need to know what you’re getting into, so you tap him on the shoulder and ask, “Hey, how long have you been here?”

The man seems flustered. He reaches for his phone and sends it plummeting to the floor, and when he retrieves it you notice the screen is cracked to hell so this must be a common occurrence. “Oh, uh. I’m not sure,” he says, voice all nasally like he’s got a bad cold. “Maybe two hours or so?”

You groan. “Two hours? Are you for real?” He just nods, still not meeting your eye. You pull out your phone, too, then, and put in the web address for the hospital. “D’you think the wait times are less shitty at the ER?”

“Maybe.”

“You didn’t look? No offense, but you sound pretty awful. I figured you’d want to get whatever it is taken care of sooner rather than later.”

The man snorts. Sounds painful. “Yeah, well. I work at a shitty nonprofit and the only insurance tier I could afford had a two-thousand-dollar deductible, so I’ll take my chances here.”

You hum in sympathy. “Do you believe in karma and reincarnation and all that? Because I do, and I think I must’ve been pretty fucking terrible in a past life to be born in a country without free healthcare in this lifetime.” The man beside you grunts in agreement. “Like, shit. What if I was Norwegian in a past life? Or, like, Canadian?”

“Only worth being Canadian if you’re not Indigenous.”

“Hm, yeah, that’s true. What human rights violations have the Norwegians committed?”

“No clue.”

“I’m gonna Google it,” you decide. Then, a second later, “Not great being Indigenous in Norway, either.”

“Is everyone shitty?” the man asks, pressing the warm ice pack back to his face. You wince on his behalf.

“Yeah.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him pause his music. An album cover you don’t recognize, because this guy definitely strikes you as the underground type: paid Spotify account with immaculate playlists full of artists no one else has heard of, either. Probably imports half of his own shit, too, so his playlists only work on his own phone and everyone yells at him when they try to play his playlists and get nothing but silence.

“What about you?” he asks, and it’s a question that should sound greasy but just sounds really sad with his clogged nose. “Are you shitty?”

“Yep,” you answer instantly, holding up your hand. You’d managed to wrangle an elastic bandage around it, but the bruising is obvious and not easily hidden.

The man whistles. “Damn, how’d you do that?”

“Punched a guy in a bar fight, apparently.”

In hindsight, it should be obvious, the cruel joke the universe is playing on you: you, with your mottled, probably-broken hand; the man next to you, with a black eye and an ice pack pressed to his nose. Right church, wrong pew, your mother always used to say about you, and you’d taken it then as a nod to your creativity and ingenuity, but now you’re thinking you might just be fucking stupid.

Because the atmosphere immediately shifts. The man goes stiff, pauses, tenses his shoulders. Then he asks, “Yeah? What bar? I might’ve heard about it.”

And you might be fucking stupid but you’re not dumb, so you just shrug. “Oh, I don’t know,” you reply, doing your best impression of a person with nothing between their ears. “My coworker dragged me out, and I like her fine, y’know, but if I’m being honest, I don’t know how long she’s gonna last. I think she’s too nice. Well, I thought she was too nice, but then she invited me out for drinks and invited me to this crazy bar with horrible, violent people—”

“And you punched someone,” the man finishes for you, cutting short your tirade.

“Supposedly punched someone,” you correct. “I have no recollection of it, but that’s what my roommate said. He was shrieking and used his Serious Mom Voice so I’m inclined to believe him, though.” You try to wiggle your fingers and have to suppress a scream. “Plus I can’t move my hand, so there’s that.”

This is the part where you get yelled at. You can feel it. The man beside you is about to blow up, demand your name and phone number so he can report you for assault, probably also demand some money because he’d just talked about his god-awful insurance and you’re the entire reason he’s here, but the universe may be cruel but it’s also fair, because—

“Nam…joon?” a bored medical assistant calls out. The man startles, curses under his breath that no one even attempts to pronounce his name correctly, drops his phone again, and if you weren’t glued to your chair in fear you might’ve picked it up for him.

Namjoon stands—he’s fucking massive, and if this is the guy you actually punched, you’ll spare a second later to marvel at yourself—and looks down at you. Sends you the meanest, most murderous glare he can muster, clenched jaw and all, and then he’s disappearing behind a door.

You… feel bad.

It’s not like you’d meant to punch him. You hadn’t wanted to punch anyone! And that has to count for something, so when he comes back out you’ll plead your case and offer to buy him a late lunch, because if he’d been waiting hours you’ll be waiting longer, and maybe he’ll find you just endearing enough to forget that you’d broken his nose and the two of you will become friends. You’ll do the Best Person speech at his wedding and laugh about the time you’d punched him, or maybe you’d be marrying him and—

Pump the brakes.

You love a good enemies-to-lovers, but maybe not so much in real life.

The wait is torturous.

An hour ticks by. You text Hoseok, tell him about the man you’d met and ask if he thinks it’s The Guy, and Hoseok writes back with a very pointed, I fucking hope it is. You’re not sure what that means. Does he hope Namjoon is the guy so you can apologize? So you can make sure he’s okay? Surely he wouldn’t be hoping for Namjoon to even the score and break your nose, too, but he was really mad this morning so you wouldn’t put it past him.

Another half hour. If you’d been paying attention, you would’ve realized how eerily quiet the waiting room has grown. No idle chatter, no coughing, no pained groans. People seem to be going in but not coming out, and you’ve been paying attention to that much, at least, so you can catch Namjoon.

And then the door slams open.

Namjoon stands there, nose stuffed with a cartoonish amount of gauze and a large splint across the bridge. He’s breathing hard. Looks like he’d just ran a marathon, which doesn’t make sense because how large can the backend of an urgent care really be, but then his eyes found you and—

“Run,” is all he says.

Nothing good happens when a man you’d accidentally knocked out in a bar fight tells you to run. Fucking stupid but not dumb, though, so you’re up and out of your seat before he can repeat himself.

Although you’re not sure where you’re supposed to go. You’d taken an Uber, and you can’t really order an emergency one of those. Besides, all Namjoon had said was run but not why, so you’re also not sure if it even is an emergency.

So here you are, standing in the middle of the parking lot like a bozo while Namjoon fumbles with the keys to a pickup truck. “Hey!” you call out, stomping towards him. “Are you gonna tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

Namjoon looks up only long enough to catch your eye. “You need to get out of here,” is all he says. Which is supremely and deservedly unhelpful.

“Why? I ca—I took an Uber here, I don’t have a car. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go or why I had to run out of there or if this is DEFCON 5 or DEFCON 1—”

“One,” Namjoon answers. “It’s definitely DEFCON 1.” Door unlocked, Namjoon meets your gaze again, deadly serious. “I’m not fucking around. You need to get out of here. Right now.”

This has to be a joke. He’s mad you’d broken his nose and now he’s getting his revenge. Still, you’re not all that keen to pay hundreds of dollars in medical bills for them to tell you something you already know, so you’ll play along. “Fine. Can I get a ride, then?”

“No.”

“So it’s an emergency but you won’t give me a ride.”

Namjoon glares at you. “You broke my fucking nose!”

“But I also broke my own hand, so we’re even.” It’s absolutely not a fair trade, but Namjoon seems to chew it over nonetheless. “Hey, c’mon, you wouldn’t leave me here! You’d feel too guilty.”

“How would you know?”

“Because you work at a nonprofit and care about human rights violations, and I am a human with rights, and it’d definitely be a violation to leave me here in a DEFCON 1-level emergency when I don’t even know what’s going on—”

Namjoon slaps a hand over your mouth. A large hand. A very, very large hand that easily covers half of your face. You’ll blame your pathetic whimper on fear. “I saw some shit in there, okay?”

“What kind of shit, though. Urgent cares are weird. Ominous little vortexes where reality is altered. You ever been in one at night? Like 28 Days Later vibes—”

“Yes!” Namjoon snaps his fingers. “Yes, that! Exactly like that!”

Your relief is palpable. You sag a little. “Oh! So it was just weird in there? What, did you get a creepy doctor or something?”

“No.” He groans. Runs his hands down his face. “Not the vibes part, the—”

“The zombie part?” you whisper.

Just then, the entrance slams open, people pouring into the parking lot. Most are screaming, which prompts you to scream in response, so Namjoon screams too and drops his keys. You’re picking them up before you can think twice, pulling the door open and pushing him inside of the truck. There’s something to be said about the way you manhandle him, how ripped his back feels through the thin fabric of his t-shirt and the view of his ass as he climbs over the center and into the passenger seat, but whatever weird shit is going on takes precedence.

You climb in behind him. Shut the door and lock it, and then you’re rolling down the window to adjust the side mirrors while Namjoon just shoots you an exasperated look. “We don’t have time for this!”

“Do you want us to crash and die? I’ve seen movies like this, okay, and someone always dies some stupid, avoidable death because they forget something obvious.”

“Yeah, it’s usually don’t read the weird Latin incantation in that book or don’t go outside to investigate weird noises, not checking your mirrors!” He pauses. “Hey, wait! They’re not even your mirrors! You’re fucking up all my shit!”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I’m getting us out of here.”

During Namjoon’s stunned silence, you turn the ignition and peel out of the parking lot as best you can with one good hand, tailspinning onto the main road, tires squealing. “That was… kind of hot.”

“What, me telling you to shut up or my driving?”

“...Both?”

“I—yeah, that’s fair. You’re big, but you seem like the type to enjoy getting pushed around.” Namjoon stays quiet, and when you dare a glance over at him, his cheeks are red. “Did you get a boner when I punched you?”

That actually gets a laugh out of him. “Don’t go there.” You shrug.

The two of you drive for a while. There’s nothing in the rearview mirror. No one behind you. Really, the world around you seems normal, quiet, still. It almost has you second-guessing everything you’d seen, all the things Namjoon had said. And you don’t know him beyond breaking his nose, but everything in you is screaming to trust him.

So you do.

“Hey, do you mind if we swing by my place? It’s, like, two minutes away, and I should probably grab some stuff.”

Namjoon just shrugs.

Surprisingly, there’s very little time to panic. Namjoon sets about grabbing whatever he can from the kitchen and the bathroom while you shove clothes into a large duffel. You grab your laptop and chargers and Namjoon’s scoff is loud when you ask if you should bring your vibrator, too, but he doesn’t say no, so into the bag it goes.

Hoseok comes home in the midst of your ransacking. You meet him in the living room and, aside from the small look of confusion, he seems much happier to see you than he’d been this morning. “Hi,” he says. Sounds normal, too. Doesn’t sound like he’d seen some weird apocalypse shit outside. “Where is there a tall man in our kitchen shoving all our food into bags?”

“Ah, right, that.” You suck in a breath. “Hobi, go pack up whatever you care about and meet us back here in five minutes. There’s some Train to Busan shit going on and we’ve gotta get moving.”

“Yo, what the fuck!” Namjoon yells from the kitchen. “Are you just saying that because I’m Korean?”

Hoseok had looked dubious before, but seems to fall into blind trust upon hearing the strange, tall man in his kitchen is also Korean. “Hey, me too!” When Namjoon comes skittering into the living room, they shoot matching finger guns at one another and do a weird bro-dap. “Oh!” Hoseok says, recognition blooming. “Are you the guy? The nose guy?”

Namjoon just glares at you.

“That’s him,” you answer instead. “Go pack, please. I’m serious.”

Hoseok is scared of everything: spiders, his shadow, carousel animals, your neighbor’s dog because it’s fifteen years old and blind and lost half its fur. He once had nightmares for a week after you’d made him watch the first Goosebumps movie and insisted on sleeping in your room. Had nightmares again after he saw a particularly sinister Squishmallow at Wal-Mart. So, yeah. It’s imperative you convince him to come with you because he stands no chance on his own.

You don’t expect him to shrug and go off to pack.

“Hey, did one of you grab any ibuprofen?”

“Yeah, got it,” Namjoon replies.

“What about allergy medicine? I get really bad sinus headaches so I’ll be miserable without it, but if it’s too much I guess I could—”

“Pack it,” you shout back.

There’s a loud crash from his room. Another smaller one seconds later. “I’m fine!” he calls out. “Hey, cool! I found a bag of Twizzlers!”

“Hoseok—”

“Bring the Twizzlers, please!” Namjoon says, cheeks warming again. “What? I like them.”

It’s your turn to glare. “If I get eaten over some goddamn Twizzlers.”

“At least you’d be strawberry flavored?” Namjoon offers, as unhelpful as ever. Then, before you can respond, “Hey, man, are you almost ready? I texted my roommate and he’s good to go but I still need to pack up all my shit, too.”

“One sec!”

Approximately fifteen seconds later, Hoseok reappears in your living room with a bookbag, a duffel bag, and an oversized rolling suitcase.

“This isn’t a vacation, Hobi,” you deadpan.

He looks at you like you’re a moron. Fucking stupid but not dumb, you remind yourself. “Okay, but I’m not leaving all my nice clothes here to get eaten by zombie moths or whatever. There’s Off-White in here.”

Namjoon nods in understanding. “Valid.”

It’s not worth the argument. The three of you pile back into Namjoon’s truck, you stuck in the middle of the bench seat this time while Namjoon drives. Hoseok babbles the entire way, seemingly unfazed by this bizarre situation in which you’ve found yourselves. He tells you about the cafe he’d met a friend at, the latte he ordered and didn’t like. You can only tell he’s starting to get nervous because he devolves into more and more unhinged chatter. One second he’s telling you about a dog he saw wearing a little sweater and the next he’s rattling off the digits to his social security number.

“Forget you heard that,” you say to Namjoon.

He looks pained as he replies, “Unfortunately I have a god-tier echoic memory so I am physically incapable of doing that.” He feels your stare. “I’m really sorry, I can’t help it! Tell me something else so I forget it!”

“Okay: I think you’re about to run over that guy.”

Namjoon jerks his eyes back to the road and gasps, hitting the brakes so hard Hobi nearly goes flying into the dashboard. He’s moaning, bitching about his seatbelt probably breaking a few ribs, and the tiny man standing in the road in front of you hasn’t budged an inch. Stared death right in the eye and dared it to take him.

“Fucking Jimin,” Namjoon curses. At both your and Hoseok’s blank stares, he clarifies, “My roommate.”

“Is that seriously your roommate?” Hoseok asks, still pressing against his ribs to check for fractures.

Namjoon, huffing and puffing and finally at a complete stop, just nods. “Yeah.”

Hoseok is finally silent. Then, “That tiny, terrifying little man is your roommate and you managed to get knocked out in a bar fight? What, was he busy that night?”

There’s an obvious reply on the tip of Namjoon’s tongue, but before he can spit it out the tiny man is banging his fist against the window. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” he screams. “Open the door so I can kill you! Did you not see me? I told you I’d be waiting by the mailbox! I even packed all your shit for you and this is how you repay me, by almost hitting me with your stupid truck? You’re fucking cra—wait, who are these people?”

Hoseok, obviously scared shitless, grimaces as he waves hesitantly. “Hi!” you say, though Namjoon’s roommate probably can’t hear you through the thick glass. “I’m the person who broke his nose!”

Then the roommate is smiling. “Oh, that was you? You look different than I remember.”

When you look to Namjoon for answers, you find him slumped against the steering wheel. “Jimin’s a bartender,” is the only explanation you get.

You look out the window again. Small, but no mint-colored hair. “Ah, I had my suspicions about him. …I think.”

Namjoon cranks down the window just enough to tell Jimin he’ll have to hop in the bed with all the luggage, and then the four of you are off again. There’s one more stop, to Jimin’s boyfriend’s place to pick up him and his roommate, and all you can do is hope one of them has a larger vehicle.

Just like before, this drive is suspiciously unremarkable. You’ve long since resigned yourself to believing Namjoon and what little he’d told you, but you can tell Hoseok’s skeptical. Along for the ride, of course, because there’s always the small chance you hadn’t been lying and then he would’ve been knee-deep in shit, but skeptical nonetheless.

“Can I just ask—are you sure about this?” He’s looking out the window. Looking at all the normal cars and houses and businesses. Nothing about the outside world screams looming zombie apocalypse at all. “It seems pretty quiet.”

Namjoon sighs. Grips the steering wheel a little tighter, knuckles flashing white, but he seems okay. Adrenaline, maybe. It’ll hit later. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“You saw something?” Hoseok prods.

“I—” He nudges you. “Did you notice how most of the people in the waiting room just seemed to have bad colds? Sneezing, coughing, all that?” You nod. “I didn’t really think anything of it since it’s still flu season, but once I got called back, everything just felt… off.”

He sucks in a breath. Keeps driving. Keeps talking. The nurse who’d taken his vitals seemed exhausted. Cracked some joke about being glad Namjoon was there for a broken nose and not whatever respiratory thing was going around. Told him a doctor would be in shortly to patch him up, and when she left his room she hadn’t shut the door all the way. Left enough of a crack for Namjoon to see what was going on: frazzled nurses and doctors and techs huddled around, panicking. Namjoon thinks someone called for an ambulance.

True to her word, a doctor did come in to pack and splint his nose. Then, in the middle of jotting down the name and phone number of his pharmacy, a scream.

“An old man came in. I saw him when they took me back. He was just sitting on a bed because it was so crowded, wasn’t in a room. I guess at some point he passed out. Didn’t have a pulse. I think he was who they called the ambulance for, but while I was waiting for the doctor I kept hearing this weird moaning.”

Hoseok shudders. “Yeah, I know where this is going.”

“Right. So the doctor comes in, fixes me up, and next thing I know, someone’s screaming. Guess that old dude wasn’t as dead as they thought he was.”

“Could they have been wrong?” you ask tentatively. It’s so quiet outside, maybe everyone had just—

“No,” Namjoon says, and he does it with so much conviction you don’t argue further. Jimin bangs on the back windshield, holding his phone up to it so you can see.

It’s all over Twitter. Not even Facebook, where you’d expect a zombie apocalypse conspiracy to begin. No, there are posts all over Twitter and Instagram and even the local news station’s website. Hoseok looks a little green.

“Okay, so it’s definitely real and this is definitely happening,” you mutter. “Does anyone have a plan?”

There’s no plan.

Not even in a hyperbolic, we say we have no plan, but somehow we’ve conveniently got a small arsenal of weapons, kind of way. There’s simply no plan.

Jimin’s boyfriend is named Taehyung. They have a needlessly tearful reunion, and you wait in Taehyung’s tiny kitchen for twenty minutes while he packs. He’s roommates with the mint-haired bartender that you like. His name is Yoongi. He has all his stuff packed and waiting by the front door, and you like him so much more for it.

“Should I pack condoms?” Taehyung yells from his bedroom.

“Are you fucking ser—” Yoongi starts, then seems to come to a realization. “Yeah. Yes, you absolutely should.”

“‘Kay! Be out in a sec!”

Namjoon appears then, in the midst of shoving his battered phone in his pocket. He looks around the room, taking stock, and his eyebrows knit in confusion. Fuck, he’s so hot and you’re taking the express train to hell for thinking it. “Hey, has anyone seen Jimin?”

Jimin and Taehyung are gone. There are weird noises coming from the direction of Taehyung’s room. Yoongi looks positively haunted. “Sorry!” Jimin calls out. “Be out in a sec!”

“Tae said that exact thing five minutes ago!”

“Are you calling him a liar?” Jimin yells back. Sounds genuinely angry and genuinely prepared to defend Taehyung’s honor. You’ve never met a tinier, scarier person.

“I’m calling you both zombie food!”

Hoseok sidles up next to you. “Is it just me or is that other tiny man really hot?”

“His name’s Yoongi,” you tell him.

Hoseok just sighs, like he’s carrying all of the world’s burdens on his thin shoulders. “I’m learning a lot about myself.”

You watch him mentally tabulate through all the stages of grief while Namjoon and Yoongi think up a plan. Namjoon’s large but clumsy and mostly useless, and Yoongi is small and deadly. You can hold your own, they decide, so Yoongi adopts Hoseok and Namjoon becomes your problem.

“Wait a second,” Hoseok almost wails. “Why can’t I stay with her? She’s my roommate!”

Yoongi looks offended. Probably is. “You don’t think I can defend you?”

Hoseok flushes crimson. “I-I didn’t say that…”

He’s halfway through a stuttered, awkward apology when Jimin and Taehyung appear, not at all looking like they’d just been getting off together. Sure, Jimin’s hair is a little mussed, but Taehyung—

Taehyung is only holding a box.

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “Taehyung.”

“Please don’t use that tone of voice with me,” Taehyung whines. “You know this is my emotional support jigsaw puzzle.”

“All you’re bringing is a jigsaw puzzle?”

“And condoms!”

“You’re not bringing any clothes? Medicine? Food?” Namjoon asks, because he might not be the oldest but he has the most overworked single mother energy out of all of you. “Jimin, go help him pack a bag of clothes, at least. Yoongi, can you grab any extra house stuff and toiletries you have laying around? Laundry detergent, soap, shampoo.”

Taehyung scoffs, sound dissipating as he disappears back down the hallway. “We can just steal that stuff.”

Hoseok looks like he’s about to pass out. “I am not turning into a criminal!”

He does.

You all do.

The six of you pile into two separate vehicles—you and Hoseok with Namjoon again in his truck, and Jimin and Taehyung behind you in Yoongi’s beater car. The plan is to drive to Namjoon’s cousin’s house in the middle of nowhere and bunker down there for a while. It’s plenty big—“His parents are politicians, so he’s got money,” was Namjoon’s explanation—and far enough outside of the city that it should buy you enough time to come up with something better.

Step one, though: Wal-Mart.

“Don’t worry, I steal from here all the time,” Taehyung says, breezing to the front of the pack like he’s leading the rest of you into war. Yoongi throws his hands up. Jimin looks lovestruck.

Hoseok hangs back by the cars, still traumatized from the Squishmallow experience, and you stay with him. You’ve seen Zombieland, and you won’t be able to do much fighting with a broken hand. At best you’d be able to fire a gun or whack someone with a pipe, but you’re not trying to go kamikaze mode on some innocent bastard in a Wal-Mart who’s also just trying to survive.

You’ve known Hoseok for a long time—since your sophomore year of college, when he was failing the stats class you shared and you took pity on him and offered some tutoring—so you’ve seen him in various states of distress. You know all of his tells, and the way he’s gnawing at his cuticles is a glaring one.

“Hobi, hey,” you say, moving to gently pull his hand away from his mouth. “Try to relax, okay? Don’t make yourself bleed.”

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” he replies. Anguish is clear on his face. “Everything feels fucking overwhelming and scary.”

“I know. I know it does, but if we’re gonna get through this we’re gonna need you, all right?” He nods but he’s shaking, still looking tormented and green around the edges. You pull him into a hug that has him nearly sagging in defeat.

Slowly, your shoulder grows wet and warm. Hoseok’s crying, body shaking from the weight of all his fear, and all you can do is hold him. “You’re my best friend, Hoseok,” you whisper into his hair. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You feel him nod. Then, in the smallest voice, “Yoongi too?”

Figures. Hoseok’s a horny little demon at the best of times—the thin walls of your apartment can attest to that—so it makes sense that impending doom would exacerbate it. “Sure, Hobi,” you assure him, scratching softly at his scalp.

You get him calmed down. Tucked into the backseat of Yoongi’s car so he can lay down. He’s asleep not long after, fatigue finally catching up, and you just stay. Park your ass at the edge of the seat, leave the door open, waiting. There’s a gentle, warm breeze, and you wish you could bottle it. Wish you could do more in this moment than just experience it, because it’s the last chance you’ll have at something resembling normalcy.

You might never be able to hug Hoseok in a parking lot again.

“We’re back!”

You look up, not at all surprised to see Taehyung skipping towards you, arms full of stolen goods. “I see that. What’d you get?”

“Oh, a lot of stuff,” he answers. Yoongi pops the trunk of his car and they set about shoving it all inside. “It was packed in there! Felt like Black Friday, except everyone was fighting over bread instead of ultra hi-def TVs.”

Wary, you look over your motley crew. “Are you all okay?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi answers, voice gruff. “It was mostly civilized. Don’t think people really realize what’s going on yet. Is Hoseok sleeping?”

You nod. “He, uh—had a moment? He got really upset, so he’s sleeping it off… if that’s okay?”

Yoongi just shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. Who’s riding with me?”

“Me,” Jimin says. “I’m not taking the bitch seat in the truck.” Taehyung immediately pouts, some unspoken bond clearly broken now, and Jimin scoffs. “Don’t pout at me. You know my ass requires a full seat.”

“But—”

Namjoon pointedly slams Yoongi’s trunk closed. Hoseok doesn’t stir an inch. “Jin’s expecting us so we need to get moving. Taehyung, shut up and get in the truck.” Then, to you: “Guess you’re with me again.”

Fine by you, especially since Namjoon ripped the sleeves off his shirt.

Not even Namjoon’s arms can salvage this drive.

Taehyung fiddles with the radio the whole time. Flips between radio stations that are all depressing carbon copies of one another. Complains that Namjoon’s truck is too old to have a CD player and that he doesn’t know how to work cassette tapes. Complains endlessly about Namjoon’s driving, too, although you can’t really blame him for that one.

“Hey,” he eventually says, elbowing you a little too hard in your side. “I don’t wanna be rude or anything, but—”

Namjoon tries to snort and immediately regrets it. “I don’t wanna be rude or anything, but I’m about to say something extremely rude.”

“I was not!” Taehyung defends, but when you quirk an eyebrow at him to continue, he says, “Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for me and Jimin in the unlikely event that the three of us are cornered by a zombie and are facing imminent death and only two will survive? Because I think you should be.”

You blink. “Um.”

“It just makes the most sense logically,” he continues, as if he hadn’t just volunteered you to be a zombie chew toy. “Jimin and I are soulmates. Platonic and romantic. And you’re—” He pauses. “Um. New. And Jimin might not look like it because he’s small, but he’s scrappy and can easily protect me, which means you’re redundant. Not to mention your hand is broken, so.”

You study him. “So, what are you bringing to the table?” you ask. Taehyung looks at you like you’re stupid. “I’m just saying, if Jimin and I can both defend ourselves, why wouldn’t we team up in the name of long-term survival and ditch the weakest link, which would be you?”

Namjoon laughs loudly beside you. His whole body shakes with it, a sound somewhere between a guffaw and a dog panting, and it’s a nice contrast to the death glare Taehyung’s sending you. “Jimin wouldn’t do that to me.”

“People are unpredictable when they’re staring death in the face.”

Taehyung’s silent the rest of the way.

It hurts to admit it, but you’re rethinking your all-politicians-are-evil, eat-the-rich stance, because it starts like—

(Seokjin’s parents’ place is truly in the middle of nowhere and safeguarded to the nth degree, harder to get close to than Area 51. The house itself is deceptively large and modern, clapped in black-stained red cedar. Single-level. Expansive windows you’d thought were an oversight until you got closer and realized they were made of armored glass.

“Shit, is all of this really necessary?” you ask, stepping inside. There’s definitely insider trading going on here. “Are these people on the goddamn Supreme Court?”

“That’s not funny,” Namjoon says.

“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure that”—you point to a nondescript door with an ominous symbol on it—”is some kind of rich people bomb shelter and the only politicians I know that would require this level of security are the I just voted to strip half the country of the ability to make their own reproductive decisions kind.”

Namjoon chokes.

“Gross,” a voice chimes from behind you. “Please don’t debase and sully my parents’ good name by even joking that they’re conservatives.”

Jesus, is everyone in this family stupidly attractive? The man before you is shorter than Namjoon but still tall, legs as long as his shoulders are wide. Hair styled neat but dyed blond. Kind eyes and plush lips, and there’s the Kim family resemblance.

“Hi, I’m Seokjin,” he says, offering you his hand. Definitely raised in a family of politicians. “I hear you’re the one who broke my cousin’s nose.”

“I, uh, might’ve done that, yeah.”

Seokjin smiles. “Cool. Welcome. Please make yourself at home and we’ll chat strategy later.”)

Which becomes—

(Later turns into days.

For the most part, life proceeds normally. Seokjin gets periodic updates from his parents who have left the country entirely—(“Damn, they just left you here?” someone asks, and that’s how you meet Jungkook)—about the government response, or lack thereof, along with whatever useless psychobabble the CDC is sending out. None of it bodes well for the future, so you spend most of your time trying to stay in the present. Right now, you’re okay. Right now, you’re with a group of people hellbent on staying alive. Right now, you have enough food and shelter in a house in the middle of nowhere with armored glass windows and a bomb shelter.

The eight of you eat meals together and play games and talk about your Before lives. You already knew Namjoon worked at a nonprofit and that Jimin and Yoongi owned a bar, but you learn Taehyung was in grad school for art therapy. Hoseok, of course, split his time between the dance studio and the streetwear boutique his sister owned. Seokjin was some bigwig corporate attorney.

Jungkook, of all things, played minor league baseball.

Needless to say there won’t be any scientific breakthroughs from any of you.

“I was supposed to go pro this year,” Jungkook huffs, forcefully grabbing the microphone for the karaoke machine. He’s been singing “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor for four days.

All things considered, you somehow managed to fall into the best possible outcome, even if one of Taehyung or Jimin still tries to convince you to sacrifice yourself at least six times a day.)

Which culminates in the one possible downside—

“Yoongi wants Hoseok to move into my room,” Namjoon says, appearing in the doorway of your (now-solo, apparently) room. He takes up nearly the entire frame. It makes you feel a little lightheaded.

“Oh,” you reply stupidly. “Okay. Are you here for his stuff?”

“No, I’m here to ask if I can move in with you. I’m not really interested in spending the rest of the zombie apocalypse third-wheeling.”

Sarcasm seems like your best defense. “Wow, after all we’ve been through. We’ve got a real enemies to lovers vibe going on. I’m pretty into it.”

Namjoon flushes down to his toes. “Haaa, what? We’re—that’s not—we’re not even lovers yet.”

You give him a second, but he doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said, so you can’t help but smirk, to press on the bruise just to watch him squeal. “Yet?”

Now he turns full-on crimson. “That’s not what I meant.”

Somehow he’s still cute, even with the yellow-green bruising beneath his eyes and his sheepish, hunched posture. Namjoon is the kind of guy that makes you feel bold, makes you want to mess him up, but he’s also the kind of cute that has you relenting, easing off.

“Sure,” you finally say. “You can move your stuff in here.”

He smiles, dimples flashing, and he’s only gone a few minutes so you have no time to catch your breath before he’s back, dumping his clothes on the bed to put them in the dresser. He doesn’t mention sleeping arrangements because there’s no point: all of the bedrooms have single, queen-sized beds. Naturally, you and Hoseok had bunked together with little fuss, having fallen asleep in each other’s beds a million times after years spent living together. You assume it’d been the same for Namjoon and Yoongi and their decades of friendship.

You’d joked about being enemies to lovers; clearly you’d chosen the wrong trope.

“How’s your nose?” you ask, wordlessly moving to help sort and refold the t-shirts as best you can. They smell nice: something soft and clean and inherently Namjoon.

“Still sore,” he answers. Says a small thank you when you push a stack of black tees towards him. “Jungkook’s been helping me with the packing.”

“He’s had a lot of broken noses?”

“He’s had a lot of broken everything.”

It hits you, then, how much of an outsider you are. That the six of them are all connected, have history. And Namjoon must notice, because he grows serious. Gets shy all over again when he says, “Hey, we’re all glad you and Hoseok are here.”

You snort. “Yeah, as a sacrifice.”

Namjoon laughs a little, too. “Taehyung’s only so insistent because he’s useless. He accidentally stepped on a stink bug once and cried. He’s not really built for something like this.”

“Are any of us?”

“You are, I think,” he says immediately, no hesitation. “You’ve been really calm, haven’t panicked at all. It’s helped me a lot—all of us, really.”

Oh, you’re embarrassed. “I have to be, living with someone like Hobi.” Why are you embarrassed? “One time he saw the red light on the coffee machine and slept in my room for a week because he thought there was a demon in our apartment.”

Namjoon can’t help himself. “Was there?”

You sigh, over-dramatic and theatrical. “No, just me.”

He laughs, loud and unashamed, but it sounds a lot more like everything’s going to be fine.

Hoseok had been a cuddler.

You’d always wake up with him wound around you like a snake, limbs akimbo as he snored quietly. But, like all things Hoseok did and does, there was grace in it. He kept a normal body temperature. He didn’t hog too much of the bed or the duvet. He didn’t kick you or elbow you in the side of the head. Aside from the cuddling, which has never really been your thing, Hoseok was a perfect bed-sharing partner.

The same cannot be said for Namjoon.

His broken nose has him snoring at obscene levels. It doesn’t lessen when you shove a pillow over your head, either, which is not the way you fantasized about going lightheaded in bed with him. Not to mention his stupidly large body is stupidly large and requires a lot of space. What had started as a clean split down the middle has you grasping to the edge, trying desperately not to fall off. Every time you try to inch closer to the center, Namjoon unconsciously protests and sends elbows flying, and arms that size can do a lot of damage. He sleeps so hot you always wake up in a thin sheen of sweat just from the proximity.

You’re not sure you sleep at all for the first three days.

And then things start to shift. Like your roommate, Namjoon is a cuddler too, but in vastly different ways. Hoseok’s would be subconscious—he never dared to touch you when he was awake out of respect for boundaries and personal space, but Namjoon doesn’t have those hangups. He climbs into bed one night and immediately fits himself to your back before asking if it’s okay, and yeah, of course it is. You couldn’t have waterboarded Hoseok into touching you purposely the way Namjoon does casually, so unthinking, just does what he wants.

It makes you ache.

So you become sleepless for other, new reasons.

His snoring lessens, gives way to these breathy little sounds that border on soft moans. Still obscene. He stops forcing you to the edge of the mattress and instead presses you into it, the weight of his massive body leaving you with nowhere else to go. Every time he touches you, either knowingly or not, he leaves trails of heat in his wake.

Even in sleep, Namjoon is a tease.

Sometimes his hands will drift—too close, too far, both simultaneously—and you feel your breath hitch, wondering if he’s awake, if he’s doing it on purpose. Sometimes you wake up with him wrapped around you, hard cock pressing into your ass, the small of your back. Sometimes he’ll rut once, twice, and come to and disappear to the opposite side of the bed in shame and embarrassment, leaving you frustrated and pretending to be asleep.

Because you’re not… sure.

You know you’re attracted to Namjoon. You know he’s some degree of attracted to you in return. But the outside world is so volatile, the situation you’re in so unstable, that you’re afraid to push. Afraid the delicate house of cards will come tumbling down, that you two will fuck to get it out of your systems and make things horribly awkward, ruin the good thing you’ve got going.

But you can only take so much, is the thing. There’s a very large man with a very large cock at your back and you’ve had enough of this game.

“Namjoon,” you say, rolling in his arms so you’re face to face. You poke him in the stomach when he doesn’t stir. “Namjoon.”

He jolts awake, hands immediately moving to you—checking that you’re still there, that you’re safe. “Wha’?” he slurs, voice thick with sleep, deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Wha’ happened?”

Now you feel awkward. He’s concerned with your safety in the midst of a fucking apocalypse and you’re just horny. Still, sometimes the only way out is through, so you blurt out, “Do you want to fuck me?”

That grabs his attention. He’s fully awake now, propped up on one elbow, gazing down at you like you’ve completely lost your mind. Fucking stupid but not dumb, like a mantra. “Uh.” He pauses. Swallows. Pushes sweaty hair off his forehead. “Did—did you, uh, get bit? Are you feeling okay?”

You glare, though it’s useless in the dark. “I’m fine. How’s your dick?” You dare a glance downward. Still hard is the answer.

Namjoon embarrasses easily in a way that is both horribly endearing and horribly inconvenient, because instead of feeding you some greasy line like want to find out? he’s reaching down to adjust himself in his sleep shorts, stumbling over apologies as he goes. “Shit, fuck, I’m so sorry, this is so awkward, I’m sorry—”

“Can you answer my question, please?”

Namjoon stills. Puts that giant brain to use. “Um. Which one? You asked me two.”

“Well, I can clearly see that your dick is still very hard, so let’s start with the first one.”

There’s a sound that you think is meant to sound like a laugh. A pained a-haaa that sounds more like Namjoon begging for divine intervention in the form of death. “The, uh, doIwanttofuckyou question?”

“That would be the one, yes.”

“Is… is there a wrong answer?”

“No.”

He nods, tongue darting out to wet his lips. It’s lewd, a cruel and unusual punishment for your fleeting moment of horny delirium. Gets even worse when he tugs the plush bottom one between his teeth, staring at you all the while. Sizing you up, it feels like. Deciding between what he wants to do and what he’s actually going to do.

Just like the last week of your life, everything goes from zero to one hundred in a split-second.

“Do you wanna talk about this first?” he asks. You’re just staring at one another and he already sounds fucked out. Obscene.

“What’s there to talk about?”

He reaches for you. Two fingers beneath your chin and a thumb on the hinge of your jaw to keep you where he wants you. “What you want.” Leans in, his lips so close to your ear. “What you don’t.”

Around you, the world narrows. Nothing exists outside of this bed. Not the weird house in the middle of the woods. Not the apocalypse. Not a goddamn thing except Namjoon and his big hands and the way he’s touching you. “Tell me what you want,” he says, words skimming along the column of your throat, “and I’ll do it.”

You wonder if he’s talking about big-picture shit or just sex. If he’s someone who needs something concrete to hold onto before he fucks or if it even matters anymore. Would he still want to sleep with you if you’d met under different circumstances that night at the bar, or is it just something to pass the time while you wait out the end of the world?

Although, you feel like the world might end if you don’t finally fuck this man, so maybe it doesn’t matter.

“I’m clean and I have an IUD I’ll have to figure out how to remove in three years if I live that long. I’m down for mostly anything as long as you ask first but I draw the line at most bodily fluids. Oh, also—don’t kiss me if your tongue goes anywhere near my ass. I think that’s it, though. What about you?”

Momentarily stunned, Namjoon’s hands stop moving. “I’ve never eaten ass before.”

“Oh. I mean, we totally can if you want to, but—really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because your lips are pornographic,” you admit, completely void of shame. “Like, you have the kind of mouth that looks like it’s done a lot of dirty things.”

Namjoon laughs. “You also said I look like I like getting pushed around.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Do you?”

He’s growing bold. His response is a low chuckle, more vibration than anything, and he reaches for you again. Seems like he can’t keep his hands off of you, needs to be touching you always, even before when it was harmless, and this time he goes for your hips. Fits his large hands to your waist, the tops of your thighs, presses his thumbs into your hip bones. “Most people don’t try.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” you reply dazedly.

His lips move to your neck, trace the neckline of your sleep shirt, dip below to nip at your collarbone. “Where’s your hand, baby?” he speaks into your skin. Finds what he’s looking for and pins your arm above your head, gently like you’ll break. You think you might. “You can push me around when you’re healed. Can I kiss you?”

You must nod, because Namjoon drags his lips from your throat to your jaw to the corner of your mouth, and then he’s pressing them to your own. This is gentle too, Namjoon careful with his own injury, and it’s not lost on you that this is your fault. You’re not going to get the filthy, primal fucking you want because you’d thrown a punch in a bar, but this isn’t a bad consolation prize, you think.

Because Namjoon is good at this. He’s easy to rile up but rock-solid once he pushes past it. And, sure, he kisses you gently, but he means it. Whimpers into your mouth like you’re doing him a favor, and you think you might be able to do this, just this, forever.

Your free hand fists the thin cotton of his shirt as he licks into your mouth. It should be gross, because it’s the middle of the night and you no longer have the luxury of your favorite toothpaste, but you find it hard to care when he drops his weight, that massive body of his pressing into you, against you in all the right ways. This time it’s you who whines, and it’s a small sound but it seems to drive Namjoon a little crazy.

“Wanna hear you,” he says, pulling back, and you’re about to ask him what that means, if he just wants you to start moaning like some bad porn, but then he’s grabbing your leg to wrap it around his waist and pressing his hips to you harder.

“Oh fuck,” you sigh. Even through his sleep shorts you can tell he’s big—big and really fucking hard. Forget a zombie apocalypse, you’re not sure you’ll survive this right here.

What Namjoon wants, Namjoon gets. You’re unabashed as he grinds his cock against your core, careless about your volume. You’ve suffered through almost everyone in this house either fucking or jerking off, and you can take a little ribbing, so you’re going to enjoy this. What’s the point in modesty if you’re all going to die, anyway?

So you just keep babbling, words spilling out of your mouth before you can filter them, writhing and whining all the while. “I know, baby,” Namjoon says, hands all over, mouth not far behind. “Keep going,” he urges, hands to your hips to move you the way he wants.

“Thigh,” you say, barely able to get the word out of your mouth with the way he’s moving against you. “Wan-wanna ride your thigh.”

He keens. “Shit, yeah, okay.”

Namjoon fucks like it’s the end of the world.

You get off on his thigh but he deems it not enough. Strips you bare and situates himself between your legs. Puts that sinful mouth to use and gets you off again. Asks you when the last time you had sex was and laughs at your answer, all condescending heat, and he uses the slick from you and his mouth to stretch you on three of his fingers.

You’re going to ruin this man’s hair once you have two working hands. Maybe just ruin him in general.

The build-up is dizzying. One second he’s slow and sensual, content to take you apart, continuously bring you to the edge just to yank you back—and the next is all feral urgency. He can’t make you come, can’t kick his shorts off, can’t peel his briefs down those thick thighs fast enough.

“Will you ride me?” he asks, so intent on taking your one rule to heart. As long as you ask first. But some things don’t need to be questioned, like when Hobi asks if you want to take an edible and watch the Spice Girls movie and will you sit on Namjoon’s massive dick.

You huff, already halfway in his lap. “Clown question, bro.”

As you sink down onto him, you understand why he’d laughed when you said it’d been awhile, why he got a little cocky. Three fingers hadn’t been anywhere near enough, but the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, is delicious.

“I was go—ah, fuck—gonna suggest you don’t ca-call me bro, but I don’t think I care when you feel this fucking good.”

“Yeah?” you stupidly ask, and you’re usually better at dirty talk, but there’s not much you can do when all of your brainpower is going towards riding the best cock you’ve ever had in your life. “Tell me.”

Namjoon moans, grips your hips to move you again. Back and forth at a steady, torturous pace. “Baby,” he whines. “Feels like one of those wa-water wiggler toys—”

Okay, so clearly neither of you are at your best right now.

And that’s how it goes. You brace yourself on Namjoon’s chest, nails of your good hand digging into his pec, your broken one held in his. Time seems to drag on forever and stop all at once, and you’re oversensitive and admittedly a little in pain and a lot exhausted so you’re probably not going to come again, but you find yourself dangerously close watching Namjoon chase his own orgasm.

Head tilted back, neck on display, mouth dropped open. You want to shove your fingers inside, so you do.

He comes immediately.

Namjoon kisses you as the two of you come down, whispering more praise in between each one. Tells you how good you are, how beautiful, that he’s glad you broke his nose. Then he realizes the dumb thing that has come out of his mouth and pauses, looking confused and delicate. He’s so cute you kiss him first this time.

And then you pull back and realize he’s got blood all over his face, gushing from the nose he’s so glad you broke, and he’s out of the bed and into the bathroom before you can blink.

“You can’t do that, we’re soulmates!”

Jimin scoffs, placing the Robber on Taehyung’s hex tile anyway, ruthless as he watches his boyfriend miserably discard half his hand. “Your fault for building a city there. I’m coming for your ore tile next.”

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. You hadn’t expected the house’s sardonically-named Royal Couple to be on the brink of disaster twenty minutes into a game of Catan, but you’re safe for now in your small part of the world, surrounded by all of these people you’ve come to love, Namjoon especially, so you’ll take all the manufactured, external drama you can get.

“Told you he’d turn on you, Tae,” you chime. He gives you the finger. “You can’t trust Libra men.”

“What about virgins!” Jungkook calls from the kitchen, where Yoongi has convinced him to drink tequila and brandy to see if he can get him to punch Namjoon, too, and Seokjin laughs so hard he looks like he’s about to keel over and die.

Yeah, you think you’re going to be fine.

#bts imagines #bts fic #namjoon fic #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon imagine #btswritingcafe #thebtswritersclub #btshoneyhive #bts smut #bts scenarios

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nishloves · 6 months

Text

𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄!

f!reader x kyojuro rengoku // fluff, angst // spoilers ahead! // masterlist

w a r n i n g s (part2) : blood, drinking, mentions of insomnia

w o r d s : 4.5k

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | (ch3-10 coming soon!)

you're sure that all your perfect stars were aligned when you met him.

"A party?" You mumbled, straightening out your now fixed haori as you looked at your kasugai.

"Master Ubuyashiki has prepared a feast for the hashira for their outstanding work!" The crow chirped, opting to sit on your shoulder as you folded your haori, stretching your legs and leaning back on the tatami floor.

"Sorry for yesterday, Karase," you said to your crow as she chirped, which you thought of as an apology accepted.

"I could see this party going down for so many reasons, plus hashiras out of work?" You grumbled to yourself.

"Oyakata sama must have something in his mind."

"Alcohol!"

"There's alcohol present too? Wow, I'm pretty sure we all are going to pass out."

Being demon slayers most of you didn't indulge in any type of alcoholic beverages for most of the year, there were some exceptions but most of you highly refrained from drinking, the party could be fun but you couldn't help feel trepidation, no hashira at work? Not a single one?

"When is the party anyway?"

"In an hour."

"IN AN HOUR!"

Your crow flew off again.

"You aren't very fast! Are you?" You scoffed, you could swear that your kasugai was giggling, even if crows can't really giggle.

You sighed as you fervently rummaged through your closet, should you just wear your uniform? Or would that be too weird? It wasn't as if you didn't have a life outside of the corps! It just... seemed like that.

You rummaged through your seven pairs of uniform and ten pairs of casual clothes, of which several were worn out because you wore them at home... did you really not have a life?

Maybe you should invest your hard earned money on clothes instead of cinnamon.

You looked at the time,

"I'm gonna be late, aren't i?"

You fervently threw on a decent white kimono covered with yellow and red flowers while managing your very very wild hair.

Somehow you got ready in fifteen minutes and stepped out of the house.

"Where is the party, Karase?" You asked your prankster crow as she peered at you.

"The sound hashira's house!"

"You're sure Oyakata sama planned our vacation and not Uzui san?" You asked, your brows furrowed.

"Oyakata sama was the one who planned it, for sure!"

Ren...Rengoku again?

You whipped your head towards the sound of his voice as you saw him laughing, "Hello l/n kun! Are you well now?"

You eyes widened as you noticed his apparel, draped in red kimono, his cloth was full of swirls of golden and yellow leaves with black cuffed sleeves, his hair tamed and collected into a low ponytail as you shamelessly gaped at him.

"Is there something on my face?" he asked, his brows scrunching slightly as he tried to register your expression.

"No- NOT AT ALL," you cried out, mentally slapping yourself for staring at him for too long, "I- I just never saw your hair tied back."

"Oh? Does it look bad?"

You eyes flickered along his golden ones, a smile twitching on your lips as you grinned, "Not at all, you look very cool!"

The tip of his ears and cheeks reddened as he blinked rapidly, did he get you to smile like that?

He should say something, compliment you on how your kimono complimented the undertone of your skin, how your eyes twinkled under the sun rays or rather how neatly your hair was done— but you had turned around, the moment had passed.

"Did Uzui san tell you about the party? You both are rather close," you asked, calming down your nervous and shy jitters as you managed to look ahead at the road, you knew you won't be able to converse with him if you look at him.

"Surprisingly no, I hadn't had a chance to talk to him for weeks," he replied honestly as he looked at your figure leading the way to the said hashira's house.

Rengoku had walked this path many times before, he didn't need any guide or whatsoever, but whatever you were doing was making him happy, so he didn't ask you to slow down.

Walking with you was better, he quite liked your company.

"Were you running late for the party too?"

His face flushed again as he looked away from you for a second; for someone who was known to be very punctual, this tardiness didn't suit him at all.

"I was," he said in a rather soft voice, "Though I was sure I would make it in time if I make a run for it."

You realised he hated calling the cabs.

"Why not call the cab?"

"And waste an opportunity to exercise?"

Or he was just very passionate.

You looked back at him, "Am i slowing you down?" You asked with guilt laced in your voice as you looked forward, "If you want we can still make a run for it, I am a hashira too—"

"No! You already overwork yourself, I am not letting you not rest on a rest day," Rengoku retorted, his strides widening as he easily caught up to you.

"You aren't slowing me down, l/n kun, I feel honoured to walk with you."

Did this guy ever blink?

You smiled slightly, "What's so honorable in walking with me?" You asked, playing with the sleeves of your kimono as Rengoku held your hand to help you cross the road. Your heartbeat fastened, he knew you could easily cross the road, hell you're a hashira! You could easily do any normal thing. But, you being a hashira wasn't an excuse for him to not be gentle with you.

"Shinobu would have chomped your ears off if you had tried to help her," you giggled, causing Rengoku to shiver at his imagination. "she would have," he agreed letting go of your hand,

Hold it again please.

"I'm glad I'm walking with you."

You could only hum and smile at the male bashfully as he grinned at you.

You both were the ones flirting, right?

"You're late."

"Not by much!" You retorted as Uzui grinned at you and Rengoku, not opting to remark on why you both were together.

"Well whatever, alcohol is there," he pointed to the distant corner of his very huge garden, "and food is there."

"Why are food and alcohol so far away?"

"I don't want to handle your drunk asses," he said; you could see his admittedly very pretty wives trying to serve hashiras with refreshments.

"Fair enough," Rengoku said as he walked further, his eyes very very set on the food.

"That was a rare sight," Uzui said, his lips widening into a smirk as you flinched.

"What do you mean?" You asked, being well aware of what he meant.

"You and Rengoku; I thought it was only Mitsuri and Obanai."

"It's not like that!" You retorted as you put your hands in the air, "We just met each other on the way!"

"So you aren't dating?"

"Not a chance," you replied, feeling a little disheartened.

"What a shame," the elder man said, turning to the direction of the party, "You don't look as flamboyant as me but still," he grinned back at you, "You look pretty today."

"Am I ugly otherwise?"

"I did NOT mean that, you just look depraved of food and sleep usually, you've rested well, that's good," he smiled at you as you followed him towards the party, not before noticing Rengoku devouring some type of meat and complimenting one of Uzui's wives (her name was Suma?) for the food.

"Glad that you could make it Y/N-san!"

"Thank you for hosting us, Hinatsuru-san," you smiled at the pretty lady who pushed a glass of sake in front of you, "Have fun!"

You looked around at the scene of the party; Uzui was trying to get Rengoku to slow down; Sanemi and Shinobu were into a deep conversation you had no idea about. Himejima san was snatching alcohol away from Muichiro and passing him an orange juice as Obanai looked at everyone annoyed, while Mitsuri tried to make him smile.

This is the closest to peace you all can have, isn't it?

Your gaze flickered towards the corner of the garden, where the water pillar sat alone with a drink in his hands.

Your heart throbbed, even you weren't that introverted.

You sauntered towards him, trying to keep him a company.

"Giyuu san," you called out, sitting in front of him.

"l/n," he nodded at you, his eyes softer than before.

"What are you doing?" You asked.

"Drinking."

You smiled at him, you knew that he was severely misunderstood, but who wouldn't misunderstand him if he gives them this sort of answer.

"Do you like it here?"

"Sanemi asked me to not be a buzz-kill so I'm sitting here."

You internally cringed as you looked at the wind hashira who was still engrossed in his conversation with Shinobu. He didn't have to be so mean.

"Don't think too much about it, you're fine, Giyuu san."

"I suppose... I should say thankyou."

"Well done!" You grinned at him, suddenly aware of the numerous stares on you both as you paid them no heed; Giyuu was known to be arrogant afterall, but not many of his rumours were true.

"How are you doing? I heard you got wounded," he asked, his eyes on you as you shuffled nervously.

"I wasn't particularly wounded! I was just... Burnt out, too exhausted to move, I didn't have any injury," you said, scratching your nape out of embarrassment.

"Why didn't you visit the butterfly mansion?"

"Well, i didn't see any need for it— it wasn't as if I was wounded and many others had to be treated with more priority," you replied, embarrassed out of your wit's end.

He gave you a disapproving glance, "Urokodaki san wouldn't like that."

"Hey! I sincerely didn't think that I required it!" You retorted as you sneezed, your body accepting the allegations you were trying to deny.

Giyuu passed you his handkerchief.

"Get a check up at the mansion soon, alright?" He said, his gaze averted to the empty glass sitting in front of you both.

You gave him a small smile; you had first met Giyuu three months before his final selection at Urokodaki's hut. He was your senior at the previous Water hashira's house. But, all your ties were cut after you had cultivated your own breathing style. It hurt you to see him being so painfully misunderstood, because you knew that he cared. He cared in his own way.

Yet when you see the Giyuu in front of you and the Giyuu you remember, there's a vast difference.

How could there not be?

You won't pry for his well being though, you don't need to. You suddenly remembered to write to the old man Urokodaki, you would soon.

"I will, Giyuu san," you replied, leaning back on your chair.

"l/n?"

"Yes?"

"What if... you come across a demon that doesn't kill humans?" Giyuu asked, his gaze still fixated on the empty glass.

"What? That's impossible, isn't it? A demon not wanting to eat human flesh?" You laughed, but something in Giyuu's demeanor made you think that it wasn't a joke.

"Only Muzan can do that right?" You asked, more alert than before as you tried to keep down all the foreign voices at the party.

". . ."

"Giyuu san," you said, your eyes squinting, "Did you see someone like that?"

"l/n, i-" the water hashira looked at you, he seemed uncomfortable, "there's a new demon slayer—"

"y/n kun! What are you doing sitting with Tomioka san all alone? Hasn't he bored you to death by now?"

You whipped around to see Shinobu grinning at you as Sanemi scoffed at the water pillar.

"Well— he hasn't. He's alright."

"Tomioka san, you shouldn't try to seem likable!"

"...people don't dislike me."

"Oh wow! Do you seriously believe that?" Shinobu gasped as you looked at Tomioka, you couldn't ask him for an explanation now— he looked too uncomfortable even in front of you to open up right away, it wouldn't be nice if you make him unload his baggage in front of everyone.

"Don't bully him, Shinobu," you nudged your friend as she grinned at you, "What do you need?" You asked with a smile.

"Has Tomioka's language skills rubbed off on you," she retorted as Sanemi rolled his eyes, "Well whatever, let's us all drink; This party exists so that we can strengthen our bonds and take a break, we should honor Oyakata sama's wishes."

"You should join us too, Tomioka san, even though it's not really required—"

"He will join us," You answered on Giyuu's behalf as you pulled him at front.

"She said it isn't required—"

"It is." You shut him up.

"Alright."

You all gathered at the huge table at the centre of the garden, Uzui sat at the head's seat while Rengoku sat just in front of you, he passed you a smile which you happily returned.

"Oh y/n kun! You look pretty," Mitsuri gasped as she looked at you. You blushed.

"Thankyou so much."

You felt Obanai's glare. Was it too hot today?

"Let us all drink and get to know each other well!" Shinobu announced as she beamed at others— she looked so passive aggressive at times—

You weren't against the idea, but was it safe for all of you to become drunkards? Plus, there was Muichiro.

"That excluded you, Muichiro kun, you shall eat rice," Himejima pushed a bowl in front of the boy's place. At least one problem was solved.

You were still astounded at the fact that everyone actually attended the party, although it was master's order.

"Are we sure we should all drink?" You voiced out. "We have to return back to our homes and prepare for our next mission— should we drink at all?"

"You worry too much, y/n-kun!" Shinobu smiled at you, "Uzui san, Rengoku san and Shinazugawa san all can hold their liquor— Kanroji kun isn't even affected by it. We will be fine! Plus we all have exceptional tolerance."

You reluctantly nodded at the insect pillar.

"Though, I am not sure about Tomioka san, did he ever drink with his friends before?"

"I haven't."

YOU SHOULDN'T ADMIT THAT!

"Ah... Poor Tomioka san..."

"I am not poor..."

Yeah, you couldn't help him anymore.

Your eyes flickered towards Rengoku from Giyuu who was already eyeing you intently as an unknown blush crept up to your cheeks, yet you couldn't help but notice that, Rengoku was also staring at the handkerchief in your hands, very intently too.

Turns out you can't actually hold onto your liquor and it's pretty easy to get you drunk— along with Mitsuri.

Somehow you're sitting next to Rengoku now, as Obanai sits in your previous place between Mitsuri and Giyuu. Uzui shamelessly made out with his wives while Muichiro and Shinazugawa talked to Himejima, you could barely make out Giyuu and Shinobu quarreling on something.

But despite this admittedly exciting background, you could only focus at Rengoku.

"Did i tell you that you look very handsome today, Rengoku san?" You giggled as you laid your head on the table, looking up at Rengoku as he beamed at you.

"Hmm yes! Today! Before the party!"

"Did i now?" You pouted, covering your face with your hands, "Can I tell you again?"

"Haha! You may," he smiled at you, his heart racing because of your cuteness, how could someone as strong as you come off as such a little fluffball?

"But, i don't think you like me!" You pouted, smashing your face into the table as Rengoku tried to steady you.

His heart clenched, did he do something to make you feel that way?

"Why do you think that?" He asked, his voice quieter than before as you gazed up at him, "You didn't talk to me at the party even once!"

"Did i not? I'm sorry for that."

"You should be," you huffed as you leaned your head on his shoulder, making him blush slightly. "Don't be mean to me!"

"I promise I will not be," he smiled at your antics as you rested yourself on his shoulder, feeling more safe than ever. "l/n kun?"

"yes?"

"You look beautiful."

"Thankyou," you giggled as you closed your eyes, falling into a deep slumber.

Being with Rengoku always made you feel safe and secure, yes, you did fall asleep in front of him too much when you shouldn't— but did it matter? You were drunk and your crush was finding you adorable. You were on top of the world.

Shinobu's eyes fell upon you both as Rengoku's chest swelled with warmth, he loved it whenever you would get so vulnerable and light-hearted with him, it made him feel like you trusted him. Trusted him enough to show your inner child to him.

"It's cute how she fell asleep so easily after drinking," Shinobu said, her eyes on you.

Rengoku furrowed his brows, fell asleep easily? More often than not he had seen you dozing off earnestly.

"What do you mean?" He asked Shinobu as the insect pillar patted your head.

"She has acute insomnia because of her paranoia, it's hard for her to fall asleep usually— that's why I always urge her to visit for a checkup, but she rarely does," Shinobu said as she looked at Rengoku, "though the situation feels better now."

Rengoku's golden eyes flickered towards your figure which was half sprawled on him, his hands clutching your arm so that you don't fall as he tried to hide his smile, did you feel safe with him? He wondered as he got up from his seat, steadying your half limp body.

"I will get going," he announced to Tengen as the latter just nodded at him.

"Will you drop her off?" The sound pillar asked as he motioned towards your figure.

"Hmm. I will," Rengoku smiled at him as he picked you up gingerly, afraid of waking you up.

He called a cab as he placed you down on the seat, requesting the driver to drive slowly.

He chuckled as he saw you snuggling deeper into the seat, a small smile on your face as you lazily gazed up at Rengoku.

"Hehe, I like you very much, Rengoku san."

The second time you had met Rengoku was two months after the final selection, at the foothills of a huge mountain where you laid severely injured as the yellow haired man scrambled towards you.

"Shit— it really is you, l/n," you could hear his loud voice as you tried to breathe softly, energy draining from your body as you saw the flame haired man patch you up.

He smiled at you when he saw that you were conscious, "Hey there! I never assumed we would meet this way."

"i hope we don't ever meet this way again," you could hear him say.

"Reinforcements..." You muttered out, your voice strained as the man tried to help you lay down.

"Don't sit up, you would lose blood that way!" He scolded as he laid you down, "and for reinforcements— the stone pillar was sent here when it was determined that the demon was a lower moon."

You looked around yourself, corpses of demon slayers laid out in the open ground as tears welled up in your eyes, you were so useless— so helpless against the strong foe.

"The stone hashira took care of the demon," Rengoku said as he helped you sit up after patching your wound at your stomach. You saw a wound on his shoulder, blood seeping from it.

"You're hurt," you whispered, you hand on his arm as he smiled at you, "Himejima sama was fast, I didn't get hurt badly."

You nodded as you leaned your head back, trying to relax.

You remembered that a number of demon slayers were sent behind the demon, numerous of lower classes trying to make up for a lack of hashira as you winced in pain.

"You're strong," you said, your eyes on Rengoku as you saw his eyes widening slightly, "Not really, I was useless against the demon," he said, his smile unfaltering.

"I have to train a lot more," he said, crouching in front of you.

"At least you were able to give him a fight," you muttered, looking down at your hands as Rengoku's hands went up to your face, he levelled your chin up to look at him as he said, "I knew you would make it out alive. You know why?"

"... Why?"

"Because you're strong too," he smiled at you as he turned out, his back facing you, "come now, get on."

"What?"

"Let me take you to the butterfly mansion," he grinned at you as you smiled at him. Grateful for having a friend.

It had only been a few months and Rengoku had gone up from Mizunoto to Kanoe; while you were still a Mizunoe. It was embarrassing but you were alright, you would train harder to get on to the same level as him. He was the motivation you needed in this cruel world, even if you didn't register it yourself.

While you dreamt happily, Rengoku was stuck in a dilemma as he held you in his arms in front of your house. You weren't waking up at all, should he break into your house? Or should he take you as a guest to his family mansion?

He heard you mumbled some incoherent sentences against his chest as his heart swelled, along with a little guilt. He couldn't help it, could he?

He moved towards his house with you in his hands.

He would keep you away from his father's gaze and take care of you in his own house, until you wake up.

He cursed at himself as he admired your soft figure, how was he to stay strong when you were so cute in his arms?

When you woke up in a different room than yours you groaned at yourself, were you a nuisance to sound hashira last night?

Bracing yourself for incessant snarks from Uzui, you readied yourself before stepping out of the admittedly pretty and traditional room.

But, you were met with a different entity entirely, a little boy with very similar looks to Rengoku as your eyes widened.

"Senjuro kun?" You asked, your mind racing as you tried to figure out just what you did last night— but, it was all a blur, any memory after the sound hashira's house was a total blur.

Also, this permeating headache was nearly killing you.

"l/n san! Good morning," the boy smiled at you as he passed a tray towards you, you felt queasy looking at the food as you swore you wouldn't drink anymore.

"Good morning," you muttered out, your throat dry as you realised just how horrible you must be looking, should you really step in Rengoku's mansion like this? The thought of your physical condition made you more sick, you didn't care about the way you looked in front of Uzui— he was honestly like a big brother. But, Kyojuro Rengoku was another deal—

"This is for your hangover, you will feel better after this," the boy said as he passed you the fluid and you drank it in a gulp.

"That wasn't very tasty."

"It isn't supposed to be," Senjuro laughed at you as he took the dish from your hands, "you must have drunk a lot for nii-san to carry you here."

"You're telling me Rengoku carried me here?"

"Precisely."

"Wow, i must be such a burden."

"I don't think he felt the weight."

"Did you- did you just affirm that I am a burden?" You asked incredulously as Senjuro laughed at you.

You came to know Senjuro and Mitsuri because of Rengoku, yet— yet, you were closer to them than Rengoku. In the past, you had a habit of running away whenever Rengoku approached you, so that wasn't a surprise.

"I should go and say sorry, shouldn't i?" You said as Senjuro shrugged, "Someone made you hangover drink."

"Thankyou, dammit!"

"Mention not."

"Where is he?" You asked the boy as he smiled, "I think he just went towards the market to prepare for his mission."

"He has a mission today?"

"That's why he didn't drink yesterday," Senjuro said as he pulled a broom out of nowhere and went towards the garden.

"I would advise you to hurry to meet him before he actually steps into the market, you won't get to talk to him after that."

You rushed out of Rengoku's mansion but, really... You were late, or the hashira was too fast as you panted outside your house.

Your home was closer to the market than Rengoku's, so if he was returning anytime soon, you would meet him in front of your house.

"Oh? l/n!"

His loud voice boomed around your house as you smiled at him, waving at him sluggishly as he trotted towards you.

"Are you alright?" He asked, a smile on his face.

"I am, thanks for carrying me yesterday."

"It's no problem!"

"And sorry for being such an inconvenience—"

"You weren't," he cut you off as you noticed a change in his glances towards you, were you still dreaming?

"I- did I do anything weird yesterday?" You asked, playing with your cuffs as you looked at him bashfully.

"Haha! Not really, you were just singing some sappy songs on the way, do you not remember?" He asked, his glare more demanding than before.

"I was?" You squeaked as you looked at him, embarrassment flooding your cheeks, "I-I am sorry, I don't remember anything of yesterday," you admitted.

"oh... I see."

Did something happen yesterday? Did you say anything?

"It's alright, l/n, you were nice to me even when you were drunk," Rengoku smiled, he didn't lie— he hated lying, but half-truths weren't lies right?

"Yet again sorry—"

"It's alright, you didn't mean it... you didn't mean anything."

Something in his words made you snap into reality more than before as you looked at the food in his hands.

"Oh right, today's your mission right? When are you leaving?" You asked as Rengoku looked at the food in his hands momentarily.

"I will be leaving tonight," he said, "Something about frequent disappearances at the mountain, I hope it's not a demon."

You hummed at affirmation as you looked at his golden eyes, which ignited certain spark in your heart.

"Rengoku san?"

"yes?"

"When you return, can I treat you to a meal?" as a date, you wanted to add but you couldn't.

But, the flame haired smiled widely at you, as if just the offer was enough to fill warmth into his heart.

"Sure l/n kun, I will look forward to it!"

"Take care... Rengoku san," you said as a slight blush graced your features.

He looked at you in sheer silence for a while as he raised his hand to pat your head, full adoration in his voice as his eyes crinckled, "I will, l/n kun. Promise me you will take care of yourself too?"

You smiled, "I will."

more at chapter 3! (coming soon)

not kidding, I wanted to publish this chapter within ten days of ch1 but it stretched to 11 days T-T

though, I do hope you all had fun reading it!

tags : @atmosphinx @sanjunlvr (you seemed interested in the fic so I thought to tag you, if you don't want to be disturbed, kindly let me know! thankyou <;3)

kny tmi! - canon

rengoku possibly burst his eardrums when he was fighting the lower moon 2 for his position as a hashira— that's why his voice is too loud lol.

as far as I remember, when shinjuro stepped down as his position as a hashira rengoku went into a hashira meeting unannounced on behalf of his father when he wasn't even a tsuguko! thus, he had to kill a lower moon asap to become a flame hashira and step in his father's position!

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