#Scraped Guns N Roses

[yummytiger]

Scraped-Guns N Roses

[hanckocks-dagger]

Red Nightgown Blues

masterlist

John Hancock x afab!reader

Description: After a medical emergency, you realize the only thing you really need is Hancock by your side.

Fill for a truly ancient LiveJournal prompt from the Fallout Kink Meme

Tags: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst, reader is SoSu, no y/n

Warnings: Miscarriage, blood, medical exams/procedures, worries about terminal illness. (I don't go into much detail and none of it is all that explicit, but please skip out on this one if you feel it would be triggering to you <3 )

Word count: 3.1K

Crossposted on my ao3

The bed was wet. Not in a damp, sweaty naked bodies way, but like someone had dumped an entire bucket of water onto your legs. Distantly, you thought back to your dreams, wondering if you'd gotten too high last night and managed to wet the bed. Ugh. Not the most respectable thing for the general of the Minutemen, but god knows you'd pulled Hancock out of enough puddles of his own vomit for it to be your turn.

Speaking of. You twisted in the bed to check the other side of the bed, wincing when your stomach cramped at the movement, muscles sore beyond belief. What the fuck?

The bed was empty, Hancock's hat and coat missing from where he'd tossed them the night before. He didn't tend to wake up before you, but maybe Fahrenheit had dragged him off for some mayoring business.

The front of your shirt and your underwear were uncomfortably sticky, glued to your skin, so you decided it would be best to rip the band-aid off, go strip the sheets and wallow in embarrassment for a while. You raised the sheets slowly, expecting to find a damp spot on the bed, maybe some moisture on the skin, but paled at the sight that greeted you. Blood. Way, way too much blood.

You inhaled shakily, pulling yourself into a sitting position, sending another stab of pain through your abdomen as you did. You shoved the sheets to the side, taking in the wet puddle of blood in the bed, more crusted onto your thighs, your underwear unrecognizable, dyed red.

"Shit," You whimpered, mind already reeling. God, you wished John hadn't left, his disposition much less prone to panic than you were, wanted him to be your voice of reason as your mind spun with possibilities. Was it the sex? You were usually pretty careful, taking your RadX first and finishing off with RadAway. Hell, you couldn't even name the last time he'd finished inside of you. But... maybe your body was tired of it, rebelling. Or maybe you'd had internal bleeding from your last fight, but didn't that usually show up in your vomit?

You rose to your feet, legs shaky, and stripped the bed, using a corner of the sheet to wipe off your thighs, wincing as the blood smeared over your skin. It didn't exactly look fresh, it wasn't like someone had stabbed you in the middle of the night, it looked more like the darker, browner color of your period, but this was... way too much blood.

You balled up the sheets in your hands, leaving them on the floor as you struggled to get your pants on. You needed a doctor. Amari was fine for patching up scrapes, and had even reattached some of Hancock's fingers when they got bitten off by a rabid dog once, but she specialized in brains, not whatever this was.

You pulled a piece of paper from the desk, scribbling out a quick explanation to John so he wouldn't be liable to lose his mind when he couldn't find you skulking around.

Popped over to Diamond City for the day, back before dark <3

On a normal day you would've tracked him down, gotten him to kiss you stupid before letting you leave, but you were shaking, pale and very clearly panicking, and you didn't want him to worry, or insist on following you. You weren't sure you had it in you to keep him from threatening to bite whoever badmouthed him, not today.

You pulled on your shirt, ignoring the way your blood covered hands left streaks on the fabric, shouldered your gun and tucked some caps into your pockets. If you moved slowly, kept out of sight and didn't run into any problems on the way, the walk shouldn't be more than an hour.

Downtown Boston was light and quiet, lit by noon sun bright enough that you wished you could've had John's hat to shade your eyes. Your fingers itched to have his hand to hold, and your fraying nerves had you wishing for his voice to calm you. Your ideas were spinning rapidly out of control: This was cancer, or some other equally incurable illness. You were dying. How could you possibly go home and face John to have to tell him that your time together was coming to an end, that you were abandoning him?

You steadied yourself on a rusted mailbox, forcing a few deep breaths before you lost your mind completely. You'd already passed the first sign for Diamond City, it was just a couple of blocks and you'd be inside the city walls. You’d go talk to Doctor Sun, end your panic. No matter the outcome, knowing was better than this pointless speculation.

You were more lightheaded than you were comfortable being, but kept walking, regretting not having brought water with you in your hurry to get out without Hancock spotting you. You regretted not going to him, either. Sure, you were strong, capable, got through more than most, but wasn’t this the sort of thing partners were for? Shouldering the heavy burdens with you, providing comfort. 

As the gates of Diamond City approached, you considered turning around, trekking back and just falling into his arms, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to make the journey twice in one day, not the way your vision was starting to swim. So, instead, you walked into the gates alone, emerging into the bustling Diamond City, and headed towards the Doctor’s. 

Doctor Sun frowned as you whispered your symptoms to him, putting down his clipboard when you spoke of the cramps in your abdomen, quickly ushering you inside his house.

"Are you sexually active?"

You bit your lip, pausing to consider how to answer. Would he deny you medical service if you admitted to shacking up with a Ghoul? Sure, he was a doctor, but Diamond City's distrust of Ghouls had deep roots. You weren't willing to risk it, kept it to a clipped, "Yes."

He nodded, instructing you to pull your pants down and lie down on the table. You hesitated, the memory of the mess with Doc Crocker fresh in your mind. Still, your gun was leant against the table, and though Doctor Sun wasn't a small guy, you spent your time flitting about the wastes. If the worst happened, you’d be able to fight him off.

The inspection was quick, invasive and painful. Doctor Sun was professional the whole way through, and pointedly did not look at you as you redressed, tears stinging at your eyes.

"I'm sorry to say, but your cervix is dilated, indicating a miscarriage."

You blinked at him, having been bracing for news of your inevitable death. You were pregnant?

"But–" You cut yourself off. Couldn't tell him that that would be impossible. "That's... that's it? It's not... uterine cancer? Or like... cysts on the ovaries or something? A miscarriage?"

"All indications point to that, yes. Otherwise, you seem healthy. Again, I'm very sorry."

The shock of the news left you numb to anything else, no feelings attached to the thing itself. "Uhm, okay. Thank you. Should I... do anything?"

"Well, you've probably lost a substantial amount of blood, so I'm going to administer a blood pack. You should try to keep your diet rich in iron for the next few days, and spend the day resting."

"Thank you," You said blankly, as the doctor went about searching for blood, gave you a glass of water, and took his payment.

When he told you it was safe to leave, you stepped into the market in a daze. How would you have gotten pregnant? Ghouls were sterile, it was one of the few facts that almost everyone seemed to know about them.

You bought some meat, which you ate without tasting it, then walked over to Sheng's for some cold water. The boy looked at you strangely as you passed over the caps, but kept his mouth shut.

The thought briefly crossed your mind that it could have been someone else, as you wracked your mind for any missing memories, any nights with strangers, but besides that time last month when you'd gone with John up to Tenpines to help with some electrical failure, there was nothing. He'd been by your side every night and almost every day.

Again, you felt the sting of tears, confusion overwhelming you. You thought about renting a room to get some privacy, but you desperately wanted company, someone to pull you out of your thoughts. You thought about calling on Nick, but somehow it didn't feel right, so you ended up at Publick Occurrences, saying hi to a distracted Nat before sneaking in through the door.

Piper's house was calm, warm, smelled of ink and dusty books. Piper herself was upstairs, calling down a hello as you entered. "I'm working on an article, come up and keep me company!"

You collapsed onto her bed, watching as she typed at her terminal, hunched over with the world's worst posture, occasionally mumbling to herself as she picked through notes in her little notepad.

"I just had a misscarriage." The words tumbled out without permission, needing to exist out in the open, to be shared with someone.

Piper froze, hands hovering above the keys, before she spun in her seat, eyes wide.

"What?"

You nodded, surprised to find tears dripping down your face.

"Who's... was it?" Her words were indelicate, wincing to herself as she spoke.

"John's."

"But..."

"I know," You used the back of your hand to wipe away the wetness on your cheeks, sniffling. "But I haven't been with anyone else. And Doctor Sun seemed pretty sure."

Piper leant over to pat you on the shoulder, and you caught her hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

"D'you mind if I crash here tonight? He told me to take it easy today, so I probably shouldn't walk back."

"Yeah, of course, Blue. Anything you need."

It wasn't far after dusk when the guilt set in, and you found yourself wishing for a functional telephone. Hancock knew you could take care of yourself, but he also worried for you more than just about anything in the world. If you told him you were feeling depressed while dumping his whole stash of drugs out the window, you were reasonably sure he'd ask after you first. Or, at least very quickly afterwards. 

After keeping you company for a couple of peaceful hours, Piper vanished to go get some dinner for the three of you, leaving you to try to occupy yourself with one of her ancient novels.

Still, you didn't get to wallow very long, a crash from downstairs with the panicked call of your name drew your eyes from the book you'd been reading, a screeching Nat appearing in the stairway, single-handedly holding back a panicked Hancock with her fists raised.

"I told you, you can't come in here, Ghoul!"

"It's alright, Nat," You said, clambering off the bed to reach them. Your steps were slow, the pain in your stomach having died down from occasional cramps to a constant low ache. The second you were down from the stairs, John was pulling you into his arms, peppering your face with kisses, "Where the fuck did you go? What happened? I was–" He caught himself, jaw tensing as he pulled back to stare at you, eyes crinkled in concern. "Are you okay?" He asked, finally, and you didn't miss the quiver in his voice.

"I'm fine," You said, and were surprised to find that it was the truth. Clutched in his arms, the world felt right again, "C'mon, let's go talk in private."

Nat was still staring at John like she planned on kicking his ass, and with as wiry as he was, you weren't totally sure she couldn't. You guided him gently up the stairs, through the room and out onto the roof access. You didn't mind the rowdy nature of Goodneighbor nights, drunken laughter, fistfights and arguments, but there was something about the calm of Diamond City evenings that you appreciated just as much. There were even crickets in the grass, chirping their hearts away over the gentle murmur of people at the bars, bots in the markets.

You led Hancock towards the couch Piper had forced you to help her drag up here some months ago, watching him collapse with unusual gravity onto the cushions, half pulling you onto his chest with him. You relished the warmth of him, the familiar softness of his coat, the ever present smell of cigarettes and Jet that clung to his skin.

"What happened, love?"

You hadn't actually given all that much thought to how you would explain yourself, simply appreciating the relief of not having to tell him you were dying. After some thought, though, you figured the simple truth would be best.

"I came to see the doctor." His grip tightened, already inhaling to ask what had happened, what was wrong, but you cut him off. "I woke up covered in blood. I got scared, figured it would be best to go in on my own and see what was wrong right away." John's fingers found your hand, clutching it tight, and you squeezed him right back.

"I uhm–" God, why was it so hard now? "I had a miscarriage."

The hand you were holding tensed, minutely, then pulled away, John shifting away from your body so he could turn his face to look you in the eyes. He looked... miserable.

"Are–" He had to clear his throat, voice even more gravelly than usual, "Are you okay?"

You nodded, bunching your hands in your shirt, desperate to hold something, "Yeah, the doctor said I should be fine. Just some rest, he gave me some blood."

"And who's– who's the father?" The words seemed to pain him, eyes slipping away from yours to look up at the sky, stars reflected in his eyes. He looked like he was about to cry.

"John," You breathed, hands sliding over to take his hands again, squeezing hard so he couldn't pull away, "You are. Of course you are. I wouldn't– I haven't cheated."

His eyes flickered downwards, just for a moment, but you hoped he could sense the earnestness in your expression.

"John," You repeated, firmly, "I love you. No one else. Hell, we've been attached at the hip the last two months, when would I have even had the chance to run off and get knocked up?"

He considered this, Adam's apple bobbing, "Yes, but, baby, you know I'm sterile, right?"

"I know. I don't–" You had to pause, swallow a lump in your throat, "I don't get it, but that's probably why I miscarried, anyway. Just a– a fluke."

"A fluke," He repeated, then his chest heaved, and suddenly he was curling into you, face buried in your shoulder, arms wrapped around you as he sobbed into your skin. You'd never seen him cry before.

You wrapped your arms around him, only taking a moment to pluck his hat off and toss it to the side, so you could tuck a hand around the back of his head, hold him closer. He had to trust you on this, seeing as you were the only one who could reasonably know if you'd actually slept with anyone else, and even then, you hadn't been completely sure at first.

You kissed the top of his head, whatever skin you could reach, as his hands clutched at the back of your shirt, almost like he expected you to vanish if he let go. You held him back just as tight. Your relationship wasn't new, by this point, but it hadn't been so long that it was unreasonable to assume it wouldn't last the rest of your lives. But now, you felt something shift, maybe just in you, maybe in this thing between the two of you. You loved him and you didn't want to lose him, not for anything, not even a baby.

Eventually, his sobs faded, only the occasional tear spilling onto your skin. His grip loosened, second by second, until he righted himself, cleared his throat, put his hat back on his head. You reached out for him again, though, cupping his face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears on his cheeks. You gave him a weak little smile, not sure exactly what was going through his head. Sometimes, his mind worked a little too fast for you to follow, thoughts too warped by his own insecurities for you to understand.

"What are you thinking?" You whispered, fingers still ghosting over his cheeks.

"Are you– Would you have wanted to keep it?"

You thought about it. Raised the way you were, a family was considered the end goal of a relationship, along with marriage and all that other nonsense.

"No," You decided on, "Not right now, anyway. I'm still getting to know this world, still finding my purpose in it."

He nodded into your palms, turning to press a kiss to the inside of one of them. It sent a wave of soft heat through you, the gesture so achingly intimate.

"What about you?" You asked, realizing that it wasn't something the two of you had ever really addressed. By the time you'd started sleeping together, you'd already known that ghouls were infertile, and had just figured that was that, no need to worry about any accidental pregnancies. Of course, he still pulled out a majority of the time, seeing as it burned like a motherfucker, still setting off the Geiger counter on your pip-boy, but it was just one less thing to worry about.

"I'm not..." He trailed off, "I didn't think it was an option. Just sort of put it out of my mind."

You nodded, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Well, if we ever get to that point, we'll deal with it then, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

You pressed your forehead to his, shutting your eyes, "I'm sorry for not coming for you. I regretted it the second I was gone. Just got scared."

The brush of lips over yours, "I'm always here for you, love, no matter what it is."

"I know." You did, believed it with every fiber of your being. Knew that no matter what, in Goodneighbor or out in the wasteland, John had your back.

"Now, come on, it's getting cold," You opened your eyes, stood up, pulling him up with you, "Let's go bully Nick into lending us his bed for the night, it's not like he's using it."

Hancock grinned, "Lead the way."

Notes: Bit heavier than my usual stuff, but I was just scrolling though the kink meme prompts and this just popped fully formed into my head... I am always a sucker for some good hurt/comfort tho. And this is my first fic where Hancock cries! Usually I'm more masochistic towards my blorbos than that....

[th0rns-n-r0ses]

Okayyyy I see that nobody is talking a whole lot about slash’s happy trail so could you do a fic about late 80s slash x reader

When slash is meeting the reader for the first time and they’re a bit shy and introverted but they can’t help but take glances at slash’s happy trail and what not. Slash takes notice and finds it amusing - also bit interesting since he didn’t think that they’d be interested in him. with smut please :D

I love your work :D

feel your love tonight ~

slash (saul hudson) ~ 2556 words ~ female reader ~ smut ~

~~~~~

After attending a Guns N’ Roses concert tonight, your friends decide to hit the bar after the show. After all, who wouldn’t love an ice cold beer after a 3 hour long show? It’s the perfect way to cool down and end the night. All is going well, you and your friends are flirting around with some guys at the bar, picking them up for the night.

But that’s when you spot him.

His dark, curly hair and an open shirt paired with blue jeans, soaking in the cool moonlight of the evening. Instantly, you recognize him. Slash, the talented guitarist who’s always caught your eye. 

With the way his head is tilted back, you can see the features of his face. His soft lips entice you, a cigarette poking from between them. The embers flare as he inhales, and your eyes involuntarily drift down his body. Sweat clings to his chest as he attempts to cool off, the open shirt exposing his upper body. Your eyes drift lower, and lower, and lower, and your breath seems to stop as you spot a line of hair that starts at the middle of his stomach, reaching down into his pants. You swallow hard, unable to tear your eyes away. And your friends have definitely noticed.

“Hey.” One of your friends whispers to you, shaking your shoulder a bit. “Go talk to him, I dare you.”

You look back at her with wide eyes, then glance at the rest of the table. They’re all smiling and laughing a little, as if they believe you won’t do it. So you give them a determined look, pride swelling in your heart.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll do it.”

You puff your chest out confidently, then glance over at Slash. He’s still sitting alone, gazing at what stars sprinkle the sky, the embers brightening on the cigarette as he inhales through his mouth, then exhales from his nose.

You push your chair back, the metal scraping against the raw concrete of the patio. He glances over for a moment, the sound seemingly catching his attention. You quickly snap your head away, looking at your friends, hoping he didn’t see you looking. But when you glance at him after a few moments, he doesn’t seem to be looking anymore.

So you stand up, looking over at him again. You take in a deep breath, then walk over to him. As soon as he looks over at you, your confident buildup crumbles instantly while you stand before him. Slash sits up and rests his elbows on his thighs, taking the cigarette from his lips.

“What may I do for you, honey?” He asks, his tone gentle as he brushes his curls back and away from his face. All words vanish from your mind, unsure on what to say.

Slash laughs softly, but not at your expense. He understands your anxiety, as it’s not everyday someone gets the opportunity to talk to him. After all, there are so many people in this world and few who get so close to him.

You simply stare down at him, then dip your head as you lean in a little closer.

“Could- Could you sign my shirt?” Your voice shakes slightly as you speak, still starstruck and bewildered in his presence. Slash simply smiles at you and pulls a permanent marker from his pocket, leaning over and signing your shirt.

“I learned to keep a pen on me at all times.” His voice is cool and smooth, like the moonlight that shines down on his skin. “Never know when someone’s gonna ask for a signature. And usually, people don’t carry pens.”

You simply nod in response, not quite paying attention to his words as your eyes drift back to his happy trail. It makes your heart flutter and your stomach jump, something about it catching your attention.

Once done signing his name on the chest of your shirt, he pulls back and sits back. His eyes examine your face, eventually following your eyes to the hair on his stomach. He simply ignores the look, but his eyes dart to your friends, who seem to stare. Slash stands up and stamps out the cigarette, looking up from it at you.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He offers, his tone still soft and kind. You nod in response, following him inside and to the bar. The bartender walks over and Slash orders a beer for him and one for you. You simply glance between the two as the conversation goes on.

“You’re quite cute, y’know that? Although, you don’t talk much.” Slash comments, brushing his hair back again. He gives you a soft smile that matches his tone.

“Oh, thanks! And I’m sorry, I’m just-” Your words trailing off, searching for the right definition.

“No need to apologize.” Slash chuckles, resting his forearm on the bar and leaning on it. “Speaking of, what’s your name? Pretty girl like you’s gotta have a pretty name.” Whether or not he’s really interested or just trying to get laid tonight, his comment gets to you as your face heats up. Your confidence builds up once more, but this time out of comfort rather than pride.

“My name’s Y/N.” You say, your eyes exploring his soft brown ones.

“Y/N,” Slash echoes, looking back into your eyes. His soft, somewhat-forced smile is overtaken with a genuine one. “That’s a very pretty name.”

“Thank you, Slash.” You gently rest your hand on top of his, his warm skin against yours making your heart swell. He glances down at your hands, his smile growing softer. After looking at your hands together for a bit, he shifts his hand to hold yours, both of your fingers winding together in a comforting hold.

Slash nervously clears his throat, his gaze drifting back up to yours. His soft brown eyes have a hint of nervousness in them, and he seems a little shy about his next question.

“Hey, I was wondering.. Would you like to go on a drive with me?”

~~~

The next thing you know, you’re sitting in the shotgun seat of his convertible with him in the driver’s seat, turning the key as the engine rumbles on. Upon looking up, you notice the full moon hanging over the warm night sky.

His car drives along the open road, winding through the trees as the leaves cut up the moonlight. Slash moves a hand off the wheel, wrapping it around your shoulder. You look over at him with a smile, and he glances at you, his expression matching yours.

As he looks back at the road, your eyes drift back down to the trail of hair on his body. But this time, something’s different. The waist on his pants is loose, letting you look down a tad bit more. You look away quickly, your face flooding with heat. Slash rubs your shoulder, and it’s safe to assume that he took notice.

“You seem to like that thing a lot, huh?” He laughs quietly, his thumb rubbing your shoulder as his fingers slide under the fabric of your shirt. His touch causes your breath to pick up, his warm skin contrasting yours. And you can’t help but feel turned on…

Subconsciously, you scoot closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder as his hand snakes down your arm, rubbing your skin. He turns the car into an open field, driving through the soft grass as he continues to rub your arm.

Slash parks the car, pulling you closer to him as he pulls the key away from the car and stuffs it into his pocket. His free hand rests upon your face, cupping your cheek as he looks into your eyes. His gaze drags you in as you lean in closer to him, your hand slipping to the back of his neck. Now in close proximity to you, his lips brush against yours, almost as if asking for permission to kiss you.

Your lips lock with his, and his hand slips from your sleeve to the small of your back, holding you to him. Slash’s hand moves from your cheek to the back of your head, keeping you close to him. The feeling of his soft, warm lips makes your heart jump inside of your chest, your body craving more of his touch. His tongue slips out from between his lips, touching yours. Your tongue greets his in return, the heat building as you feel your body grow hotter and hotter.

Slash pulls you into the backseat of his car, laying you down on the seat as his lips reconnect with yours, the fire pulsing in his blood as you feel his clothed cock rub up against your thigh. A groan escapes your lips as his hands travel across your body, feeling you everywhere he can reach. Your hands grab at his shoulders, pulling him down on top of you as your tongues dance together in your mouths, the intensity of the moment building between you. 

Slash’s hands glide up your torso, feeling your shape and curves through the fabric of your shirt. He slides his hands back down, his fingers running under the bottom of your shirt and feeling your bare skin under his touch. Your breath catches in your throat as he pulls away from your kiss, pulling your shirt off of you as your body becomes exposed to him. His hands brush across your skin, almost as if he’s worshiping your presence before him.

“You’re so damn beautiful, Y/N.” Slash murmurs into your ear, his voice sending chills shooting down your spine. His lips kiss along your jaw, the touch making you squirm beneath him slightly. Your hands move under his open shirt, pulling off everything that restricts his upper body from yours.

“Oh my God,” You gasp, unable to tear his eyes from his body. His strong build is like heaven, and his lips are like a cherry on top to his entire being.

Slash reaches his hands around your body, unclipping your bra and pulling it away from your body. You lean your head back and groan as your nipples harden from the chill of the night air. Slash’s teeth nip down your neck before reaching your collar, where he stops and sucks on the skin. You let out a moan of desire and pleasure, wanting him more and more with each passing second.

As he releases his lips from the spot on your neck, you can feel his hot breath heat up your skin as his eyes scan your body up and down, taking you in as desire flashes through his eyes. His soft, slightly-wet lips are parted, his tongue slipping out as he licks his lips.

“God, I need you so badly.” He groans as his hand pushes back his hair, showing his face from behind his locks. Slash dips his head back down again, biting and sucking on your breasts, leaving small red splotches as he ambushes your skin with his mouth. You toss your head back, groaning as his lips inch their way closer and closer to the sensitive skin of one of your nipples. As he licks one of them, you feel your back arch as your head leans back, letting out a groan from deep in your throat.

“You make such pretty noises..” He mutters, securing his lips around your nipple and swirling his tongue around it. You moan again, desire and heat coursing through your veins as you claw desperately at the waist to his jeans. Using your ankles, you drag down his slightly-loose pants, pulling them to his knees as he pushes down, his cock pressing against the crotch of your pants. His hands glide down your body as his mouth pulls away from your breast, and he tugs down your shorts to access your body. Slash’s eyes glance up at yours before he pulls down the last of the clothing remaining on your body.

His lips connect to your jaw again, kissing and nipping at your skin. From this, you can tell he wants you to take off his boxers. So you slip your hands under the elastic, tugging it off of him as his cock brushes against your stomach. Your fingers grip his shoulders tightly, preparing for what’s to come. Slash adjusts his position, moving his body so he can access you.

“Are you ready, gorgeous?” He mutters, his voice deep and husky with desire.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m ready-” You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel him slowly push inside of you. You grunt, panting as you try to relax yourself. From biting your lips to suppress any stray moans, you pant as he pushes into you. He leans over you, panting and groaning as his lips hover next to your ear. Slash kisses your cheek, holding you by your shoulders as he rocks his hips, starting the friction between the both of you. Your body squirms beneath his, writhing at the feeling of his cock pleasing you.

“Slash-” You moan, your head leaned back as you grab at his shoulders. His mouth remains at your ear, grunting as he thrusts into you. You whine loudly, panting as your hips move with his. He moans into your ear, then ducks his head down to nibble at your earlobe slightly.

“Oh, my God, Y/N..” He pants, groaning softly as his thrusts pick up in pace slightly. “You feel so good-” Slash tilts his head back, grunting as he pushes himself deeper into you. You shout with pleasure, digging your fingers into his shoulders. His hands move to your neck, his hands resting at the sides as his thumbs stroke the skin on top of it. He presses his head down, sucking on your neck as his hips snap into yours. You groan loudly, tilting your head back not only to give him access but in preparation for your soon-to-come finish.

“Slash-” You groan again, your brain going fuzzy as your mind spins. “I’m so close-” You speak breathlessly, hanging on by a thread as he smiles down at you softly, moving his head up to look at you. His thumb strokes your cheek as grunts escape his lips from his powerful thrusts.

“Me too, baby..” Slash leans down with his lips at your ear again, his voice in a dark and lustful whisper. “I’m close too.”

He dips his head again, his breaths growing quick, deep and sharp as he tips over the edge, spilling into you as your walls clench him tight. He groans your name loudly, his hips bucking into yours before he collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck.

You lay together for around 30 minutes, your positions changed. Your head lays on his chest as your body remains curled up next to his. To protect you from the cold of the night, he pulled out a blanket he keeps in the trunk of his car. Slash strokes your hair softly, looking up at the stars. You sigh, pressing a kiss to his skin.

“I haven’t felt this relaxed in forever.” You murmur, your eyes meeting his. A soft smile dances across his lips as he looks down at you, still petting your hair soothingly.

“Neither have I, gorgeous. Neither have I.”

~~~~~

[multifandomhaven]

A/N: Call of Duty brain rot has set in lolol I hope y'all enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Y/N was a simple woman, or so she liked to think. She went to work, back to her apartment, and sometimes she'd hit the gym. She was what most people would call bland, a wet blanket. Boring.

She was single, with no kids, and no man in her life - it was lonely sometimes, sure, but she liked it. It gave her time to focus on the thing that really meant something to her - her practice.

"Doctor Laswell, the next patient is ready for you," the nurse called into her office.

Y/N rose from her chair, glancing over the chart in her hand before she entered the room with a small smile. "Hello, how are you guys today?"

The young couple looked from the young puppy in the woman's lap and then back to the doctor. "We're doing okay, just here to get Bella's shots up to date."

Taking the squirmy little thing from her owner, Y/N cuddled it to her chest, chuckling when it gave her a few sloppy kisses on her cheek. "You're so sweet, aren't you, girl."

Y/N loved her job. She had always had a knack for taking care of animals - for the most part, all they wanted was a warm place to sleep, some good food, and love. They were simple, easy to read, and never meant you harm unless you gave them a reason - they were with you for life, unwavering and full of devotion.

Y/N quickly administered the medication to the puppy, rubbing the sore spot down with her gloved fingers gently. "You're so brave, Bella. Such a good girl," she cooed.

Giving the nurse the puppy's record to update, Y/N turned and handed the dog back to her owners. "Okay, you're good to go for now. Just stop by the ladies at reception to make sure you get the appointment set up for her final round of shots, okay?"

The rest of the day went by in a blur, animal after animal treated, and, as much as Y/N enjoyed her job, she was ready to get home to her warm bubble bath. She washed her hands and bid her staff goodbye as they filed out one by one until she was the only person left in the office. She turned the lights off, making sure everything was as it should be before she locked the door and walked to her car.

She unlocked her car before she got to it, ready to sit down and give her aching feet a rest. She reached out to open the door when she felt something hard hit her across the side of her head. She fell to her knees, her vision blurring as she crashed to the ground. Her palms and knees burned as the asphalt scraped away the skin. She blinked quickly, trying to clear her sight.

"Laswell?" The man asked from above her, his voice almost a growl. When she didn't answer he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her face to look at him. "Are you Y/N Laswell?"

Y/N gasped, pain shooting through her head. "Yes, yes, that's me."

Her sight finally cleared and she struggled to sit up, seeing two large men with masks covering their faces. One had a gun while the other continued to land hit after hit to her, her body, her face, anywhere he could. She was crying now, her arms covering her face as she tried to protect herself as best she could.

"Tell that bitch to make it right," the man sneered at her. "Or you're dead."

She was left in the parking lot by herself, blood coming from the cut on her head and her lip. She dug desperately in her purse, finding her phone and pulling it out with shaking hands. She was still crying, tears mixing with the blood that dripped onto her scrubs.

"Laswell," her aunt's voice came from the other end of the line. "Hello?"

Y/N sobbed into the receiver. "Aunt Kate?"

"What's wrong," Kate asked instantly, her voice tight. "Bunny?"

"There were these men," Y/N explained the situation as best she could through her panic. "Can you call an ambulance to the office? I don't think I can drive."

"They're on the way, Bunny, just stay where you are," Kate told her. "I'm on my way to you. I'll see you in a bit."

A few hours later, Y/N and Kate had finally been reunited in the emergency department of the hospital. Y/N was cleared to go home as soon as the bags of antibiotics and fluid were gone - just as a precaution, they told her. They had given her an injection for pain, but still, she found her head throbbing with every movement.

"Okay," Kate mumbled under her breath, pacing from one end of the room to the other. It seemed like time was in an endless loop - Kate would stop to ask questions, jot them down on a notepad, grumble to herself, and then go back to pacing. At times Y/N could've sworn she could see the older woman looking at her, her eyes filling with tears before she would excuse herself into another room.

Y/N frowned, watching Kate's back disappear into the tiny bathroom once again. She wanted to follow her, to check on her, but the pounding in her head kept her seated. Slowly, she brought the ice pack back up and pressed it against the offending pain, grimacing when the ice pack made contact with the bruise surrounding her eye. The television was on in the background, the volume whisper-low, but she paid it no attention.

It wasn't long before Kate came back out, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She gave her niece a small, tight-lipped smile. "Allergies."

"Aunt Kate, please you need to sit down and stop worrying. You're going to raise your blood pressure." Kate still paced the length of the room, just a little bit slower. Y/N tried to cut the tension with a joke, "Or walk a hole in the floor. They probably wouldn't appreciate that..."

Kate didn't fall for it and, instead, she came over and surveyed the damage to her niece's face with a grimace. Gently, she turned her face from one side to the other, her fingers grasping her chin. "Oh Bunny," she whispered.

"I'm okay," Y/N tried to soothe her. "Kate, I'm okay."

Kate almost glared at her, no true malice for her niece, purely frustration at the circumstance. "You're telling me that you're not in pain right now?"

"It'll heal," she said softly. "Come on, you've been waiting on me hand and foot since you got here. I haven't seen you in almost a year and I've missed you."

"Oh, Bunny, you know I've missed you too," Kate's eyes softened slightly and she nodded, sitting on the bed beside her. "Okay. Do you need anything?"

Y/N took her hand and simply held it - something she'd done as a child that still brought her a semblance of comfort. The older woman rubbed her hand softly, her eyes trained intently on her niece. "This is enough for now."

Kate nodded and sighed. "Okay, okay."

They sat there quietly for the first time since Kate had arrived. Y/N's mind was whirling with thoughts and memories. Most from the attack, but in between the awful there were also some from when she was a child - so she chose to focus on the good ones. She peeked around the icepack and asked, "Do you remember the first time you and Rachel took me ice skating?"

"Oh God. You were a wreck - you looked like the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz when he first started walking." Kate laughed. The memory curled the corner of her lips - the younger woman's superpower if she had one - and she shook her head lightly. "You know, if it were up to Rachel she'd be here too - you are her favorite person."

Y/N gave her hand a small squeeze, taking her chance to change the subject. "How is Aunt Rach?"

"She's doing well," Kate admitted. "She's at an art show in New York right now."

Y/N had always been envious of her aunt's artistic ability. Sure, she could draw the basics, but Rachel's work was nothing short of beautiful. She wasn't even ten years old the first time she met Rachel. She was tall, thin, and willowy - she looked like something from another planet to Y/N. She was gorgeous. That day she took the time to show Y/N how to draw a rose - something the younger girl kept close to her heart for years to come.

"She's talented and she knows it," Y/N said fondly. "I miss her."

Kate agreed, a flash of pride in her eyes. "She would love for you to come stay with us - for as long as you'd want to. We both would."

"That's very kind," Y/N felt a surge of appreciation for her words but still disagreed. "But I'll be okay back at my apartment. Plus, I don't want to impose."

"Impose," Kate huffed with a roll of her eyes. "You live alone, you don't have any kind of protection. Your building's security is lacking. And plus, you're my favorite niece."

"I'm your only niece," Y/N sighed. She knew Kate was right, but she didn't want to place any more worry or guilt on her aunt's shoulders. She was still frightened, though. "How does Rachel stay safe while you're gone? Does she have a gun?"

Kate nodded seriously. "Yes, she does. She carries it in her purse, with a concealed carry permit, of course. I taught her how to shoot when we first started dating, just in case."

"Of course you did," Y/N smiled as best she could, wincing when her split lip seared with pain. "So do you think I should get one, too?"

Again, Kate nodded. "You know my stance on that. However..."

Y/N raised a brow. "What?"

"I think I may have a solution," Kate admitted. "You aren't going to like it, but remember, this would be temporary. Just until I know I have the people who did this to you."

Y/N was curious, sure, but she also knew she likely wasn't going to like what Kate had to offer. She waited, watching as the wheels in her aunt's brilliant mind spun, slowly clicking the puzzle pieces together. She pulled out her phone, tapped some buttons, and finally looked genuinely relieved since the first time she'd arrived. "It's damn near perfect."

"What are you thinking," Y/N questioned. "You look like you've solved world hunger."

"I have someone coming to keep a watch on you," Kate told her. "He'll be the one with the gun, so you don't have to worry about that. He'll stay with you until we get these bastards. Until you're safe."

"Are you talking about a bodyguard?" Y/N furrowed her brows. "Kate, c'mon. I don't think that's necessary-"

Kate cut her off. "I have just the person in mind. I've worked with him for a long time, completely trust him. He's top of the line, Bunny."

"Do I have a choice," Y/N asked softly, the answer already known.

Kate, again, gave her a small smile. "No."

That evening, after she was released from the hospital, Kate helped her back to her apartment. She was scuttling around from one window to another, checking the locks as Y/N was nestled in her chair, her body still aching. She had a tablet in her hands, reading over some of the charts of her patients. She couldn't be at work until she was fully cleared, but she still accepted the simpler cases so people wouldn't have to go to the next town over to keep their animals healthy.

"You should be resting," Kate chirped from the doorway of the kitchen. "But because I know you aren't going to listen I brought you a cup of coffee and a bagel."

Y/N gave her aunt a small smile and thanked her with a nod, taking the cup from her hands. Kate lay the plate with the bagel on the table beside her. "I wonder where I get that stubborn quality from?" Y/N joked.

"Watch yourself, smart-ass," Kate chuckled, shaking her head lightly. "But seriously, don't overdo it, kiddo. I know you want things to stay relatively normal, but you still need to take it easy, okay?"

The younger woman nodded. "I promise."

A knock at the door shattered the silence and Y/N gasped and looked to her aunt. Kate stood, her hand by her gun on her side, and walked toward the door. She glanced out of the peephole and lowered her shoulders, her hand moving from her gun to the doorknob. She opened the door and stepped outside, her voice met by another deeper one.

Y/N strained her ears to hear the conversation outside, but couldn't make out any distinct words. Kate's comfort with the person on the other side calmed her worry, so she sat back and took a bite of her bagel. When she heard two sets of footsteps enter her apartment she pretended like she didn't notice, too absorbed in her work, but in reality, she was hyper-aware of the large figure shadowing her aunt.

"Bunny," Kate's called, breaking the silence. "This is John, he's a friend of mine and a damn good soldier. He's going to be watching over you until we're sure that you're safe."

Y/N glanced up from her work at Kate before her eyes shifted over to the large man behind her. Y/N gave him a tight grin, rightfully nervous about having him in her home. He was a stranger, after all, even if Kate did vouch for him. And she knew Kate was only able to stay for a few more hours - with her important work and all.

John gave her a quick nod, his hands in his pockets. "Nice to meet you, Y/N."

"Thank you for your help, John," Y/N said quietly.

John gave her a wink and it was then she noticed how absolutely blue his eyes were. "Your aunt's told me a lot about you."

Y/N smiled at him. "I wish I could say I've heard a lot about you, but Kate keeps me in the dark about most things."

John chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"Anyway," Kate cut their conversation. "The arrangement is simple - John stays with you as much as possible. Of course, you're allowed your personal space, but he needs to be within arms reach of you if you're out. And always in the apartment with you."

Y/N opened her mouth as if to say something, but her aunt held up a finger, signaling that she wasn't finished speaking. "I've spoken to the landlord of your office, Bunny. As soon as you're cleared you can go back to work, but John will be there with you."

Y/N raised a brow. "Don't you think a random guy, no offense, John, just standing in the corner of my office is going to weird out some of my patients? Make them uncomfortable?"

Kate shrugged her shoulders and frowned. "I don't care about their feelings, Bunny. I care about you staying alive."

"It's my job, Aunt Kate," Y/N sighed.

Kate nodded, coming to sit on the arm of her chair. "I understand that, but your life is more important."

Y/N bit back a retort after seeing the look on her aunt's face - she'd seen that look plenty of times and she knew no one had ever won a battle against it. She sank back against the cushions of the chair, her arms crossed over her chest like a petulant child. "Fine."

Kate squared her shoulders, a grin curling her lips. "I'm glad to see you're taking this well."

"This is well?" John piped up quietly behind her.

Kate turned slightly. "This is her being easy. You've got your work cut out for you with this one, John."

John sighed. "I've taken down entire platoons of highly trained soldiers, Kate. I think I can handle a little woman."

Kate chuckled. "You've only just met Bunny. Don't underestimate her."

"Underestimate a Laswell," John murmured with a smirk. "Never."

[mermaidgirl30]

✨My Paper Heart Will Fold✨

A/N: Another unplanned little fic. This just came to me this morning as I was listening to Dayseeker. Joel trying to run from his feelings because he doesn’t want to be hurt again and doesn’t want to admit he has feelings. But he finally admits they’re there 🥹 I am never getting over this man. This is mostly in his POV 😭 I see nothing else but a struggling Joel so in love as I listen to “Paper Heart” by Dayseeker.

“The weight of the world is too much for me to hold. My paper heart will fold.

It's safer if I don't reply. Stay locked up for weeks at a time. 'Cause nothing can hurt me if I wait 'til the chaos collides

It's safer if I don't reply. Stay locked up for weeks at a time. 'Cause nothing can hurt me if I…”

- “Paper Heart” by Dayseeker

Summary: Joel fights himself over his feelings for you, not wanting to admit they’re there. He finally comes to blatant terms that he can’t lose you. He can’t ever lose you. Not ever.

Word Count: 1.5k

Rating: Mature for language (18+ Only)

Tags: Angst, feelings, Joel not wanting to admit he loves you, Joel finally giving in to what he wants

Divider by @saradika-graphics

The sunset slips under the soft, fluffy clouds. Shades of violet and orange bursts of marveling red seem to collide together as they mix into a sea of mixed paint. There’s no noise. The world mute, only the hum of the quiet engine and the low vibrations of a Guns N’ Roses song plays softly through the gravel on the road.

Joel rakes a hand through his rough beard, letting his calloused fingers scrape against every grain like he tries to get rid of every single blaring thought in his mind. He pushes the feelings down, letting them fade into complete darkness as he lets his heartstrings unattach to every single memory of you. He can’t do it though. He can’t.

He grips the leather steering wheel hard as he continues to drive and drive and drive. Putting as many miles and distance away from your house that he possibly can. He wants to turn around so badly. It’s like he’s desperate, clinging to any form of you as he digs his nail beds into the worn leather. He can’t break, can’t let himself slip into feelings he wants to avoid.

You’ll hurt him. You’ll hurt him. But you really wouldn’t. You never would. It’s all in Joel’s mind. In his dark, conflicting mind that twists and twists until he doesn’t even know which direction he’s driving anymore. He just lets the fading sunset drive him down the narrow road as the music changes over to a more somber mood.

He sees the violet color clashing with amber in the sky, and it reminds him of your eyes. Your fucking beautiful eyes that he spent all night gazing into as he watched you lay across his chest as ragged breaths ran swiftly out of your relaxed mouth. Your eyes melding into his like sparks coming off a lightning strike. Bright, encapsulating, blinding.

He feels it in his chest then. That deep, aching feeling as he remembers your fingers curling around his tousled locks, soft lips crashing against his as he inhaled your strawberry scent that seemed to encompass his entire being. He can still smell you on him, on his fingers, on his skin, everywhere.

He clenches his fist at the thought of it all, of the thought of you. He didn’t want to leave. Not really. Not when you just laid your entire heart out to him. Not after you spent the entire night wrapped tightly in his arms as he rocked you to sleep. Not after he realized how he felt about you, too.

Pain sears through him. Hot, coursing pain that seems to take over every single joint in his hollow body. He’s not good at this, terrible at expressing his feelings. He’s been hurt too much, can’t stand the thought of withstanding another heartbreak. He can’t even imagine it. Not with you, not when he’s so deeply in love with you that he can’t even express it himself.

He’s a fool, a fucking coward as he just drives and drives, pretending like this could all go away. Like he can just forget every single feeling you made him feel over and over again like it means absolutely nothing when in reality it means everything to him. You are what drives him to be good, you are what makes him feel complete. You, you, you. It’s always fucking you.

You are the reason he gets up every morning and tries to do better. You are what keeps his battered heart beating. You are what makes him come alive every single night as you tell him how good he is to you, how you can’t see yourself with anyone else. And he realizes then that he can’t lose you. He can’t fucking lose you. He just can’t.

He slams on the brakes so hard that the entire Chevy jolts and throws him forward as his seatbelt pulls hard against his chest. His eyes go wide as he realizes what he needs to do. He turns the truck around so fast that he swears he sees stars. He presses on the gas pedal firmly, going faster and faster and faster until he’s going fifteen miles over the speed limit. He doesn’t care, he needs to get to you. That’s all that matters.

He needs you to hear just how much you mean to him, how much you make him feel alive. For you brought a dead man back to life. A torn, bruised, broken man. You made him feel complete, whole. A feeling that no one else had been able to do. It was you, it was always you. From the moment he met you. He should’ve fucking known.

He can’t run away.

Not now.

Not ever.

He drives and drives and drives until he’s stopped in front of your house. The one where the porch light blinks as moths dance across the shadows and the light blue shutters sit stark against the midnight dark sky. He jumps out of his truck and slams the door with a bang, his leather boots scuffing across cement as he runs up the sidewalk, right to your porch, right to your solid wood door.

He stares for a second, a blank page until every single feeling inside his broken body comes to life like a sharp spark ignited. He feels it all. The way you made him feel the very first day he saw you standing in that busy diner, the way your fingers curled around his calloused hand that second week in the movie theater, the first time your lips brushed against his as you sat in the passenger side of his red Chevy, and the first time your bodies melded into one on those delicate pink bed sheets of yours. Your porcelain skin. So soft, so pure, so very tender.

He knocks once, twice, three times as he raps against it desperately. His knuckles crash against the wood just like his heart beats wildly out of his chest as thunder crashes in the far distance. A storm is coming and not just any storm. A storm so violent it’ll knock him to the ground as he wears his fragile heart on his sleeve.

Vulnerable. He’s so fucking vulnerable as he stands under the shade of your porch, awaiting the moment he’ll crash against the surface and take the breath from you as he confesses it all. Lets his heart pour violently against the roaring wind as he gives you every single thing he’s wanted to tell you for months. He can’t hide from the past pain anymore, can’t disappear under a damp rock as he hides it all away like a blinded coward. He can’t run from you anymore. He needs you. He needs you.

You open the door, pulling it wide as you see him standing there. A mess, his face wrecked as his eyebrows knit together and his brown eyes water, lips trembling as his thick fingers play nervously with the bottom button of his deep blue flannel shirt. He’s such a wreck, but he’s here. He’s standing here on your porch, in the middle of the night. He’s here.

“Joel?” you ask confused, thinking he wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Not after he left without an explanation. Not after he fought battles with himself in his mind. Not after he told you he had to go.

“Sweetheart, I… I…” he stutters, muttering nonsense under his breath until his eyes go wide and an expression you’ve never quite seen settles over his weathered face. He’s so beautiful in the glow of the moonlight, even if he’s a total wreck.

Without anymore hesitation, he crashes his lips firmly over yours as thunder erupts in the sky, blinding lightning lighting up the sky as he slots in between your lips and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s desperate, frantic, full of pain he lets flood out. It’s also tender, soft, endearing as he holds your face in between his calloused hands, fingertips brushing up against your jawline.

It’s loud, stifling as he releases his lips and hangs over you, foreheads drawn together as he looks deep into your glistening eyes. His deep, chestnut eyes say he’s in love. He’s so in love. With you.

He takes a deep breath and lets it all out, no longer able to keep it in. “I love you. I love you so goddamn much that I can’t breathe when I’m not around you. It’s like I’m suffocating on my own air. It’s you, baby. It’s always been you. My girl, my sweet flower. It’s you.”

His lips fall back on top of yours, and it’s like the world stops. It’s just you and him. Only you and him. So you invite him in, lock the door and get tangled up into his entire being as you sink into your velvet sheets. The world dimming as the only light that shines is him on top of you as passion burns through the room.

You let the night slip away as you get lost in each other, collectively revelling in each other until you fall into pure bliss. It’s just you and Joel. Nobody else matters, nothing else exists. It’s just you and him. Two flames igniting a wildfire that can’t be controlled any longer. It’s just warm, fiery love.

Love. It’s love.

[strangelyunfinshed]

Eddie's career as a sound engineer catapulted him into a world he had only dreamt of back in his Hawkins days, getting to rub elbows with many talented artists, including some of the bands he had admired as a kid scraping together change just to buy a single.

Chris Cornell and Eddie's friendship began shortly after Eddie's arrival in LA. Following a day of recording at the Laurel Canyon studio, where Eddie was still finding his feet as an intern, the entire staff was invited to hang out. Amid the buzz of conversation and flowing drinks, Eddie stood somewhat apart, feeling terribly shy and unsure of himself and a whole lot starstruck. He quietly nursed a bottle of Dos Equis, picking at the label as the party flowed around him.

By all accounts, Chris was a really friendly guy. He had a way of drawing people in and making them feel comfortable, always listening without judgment. When he noticed Eddie hovering by his Martin D-28 Marquis, he simply asked, "Hey man, do you play?" Eddie's brows shot into his hairline as he looked around, making sure the question was really being directed at him. A shy nod had Chris encouraging, "What are you waiting for?"

The room quieted down as Eddie picked up the guitar, treating it with the same reverence as if was just asked to hold Chris’s firstborn. Settling on the arm of the sofa, he cradled the guitar in his lap, running his fingers along its neck. The strings squeaked under his gentle exploration, getting a feel for every curve and edge like he would a woman. The sharpness of the bronze strings pressing against his calloused fingers felt familiar, almost second nature. With a hard swallow to muster his courage, Eddie let the first sweet notes of Guns N' Roses' "Patience" fill the air. He nearly missed the key change when the snarl of Chris’s voice joined in with the lyrics.

It was that night Eddie found a kindred spirit in Chris, starting a friendship that continued through their lifetime—helping each other times using music to convey their troubles and, later, their triumphs. Chris even got Eddie to start listening to the Beatles although he was too stubborn to admit it.

Eddie was inconsolable when Chris died in May of 2018—dropping everything to fly out to LA for the service. Then again in October to travel to Seattle for the unveiling of Chris’s memorial statue, placing a small bouquet and a pack of strings at his feet. To this day CursedSound makes a yearly donation to ChildHaven and MusiCares in Chris’s name.

Torn Masterlist

Edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Rest in peace Chris. You aren't forgotten. Remember you aren't alone. Connect with people you can trust. https://988lifeline.org/

[bonezone44]

Muddy Waters, pt. 1 (18+)

'Limewash'

Ezra x F!Reader x Joel Miller

Summary: You live with Ezra in Jackson. Joel and Ezra are sometimes partnered for patrol. He doesn't trust Ezra. He doesn't trust you, either, by association, and because you don't have a job. When you finally meet him, he's even less certain than before.

Word Count: 3,5k

next: part 2 (story masterlist) (my masterlist)

tags: NSFW 18+ (not graphic yet). Intuitive!Reader. Afab!Reader (she/they). Southern!Reader. Established Ezra x F!Reader. Pet names: baby. Eventual smut. Eventual cuckold. Eventual threesome (maybe?). Ezra Enjoying Violence. No use of Y/N.

Author's Note: so this is happening. I'm not fighting it and just letting the story come out. Also doing paintings for them because I gotta. I've been reading so much amazing smut recently, this was bound to come out sooner or later. I'm thankful to @toxicanonymity and @walkintotheriveranddisappear for sharing their amazing work and inspiring my own.

=================================

An irritatin’ snake. 

That’s how Joel saw Ezra.

For starters, the man talked too goddamn much. Drove him goddamn crazy when they were out on patrol or in and taking care of the horses. Fucker always had something to say about something and it rode every last nerve Joel had left in his aching body.

Secondly, he was so charming that Joel found it disconcerting. Ezra could make everyone around him smile and feel special. At the Tipsy Bison, when Ezra drank enough to turn his ears pink and his eyes blurry–there’d still be a flirtatious grin plastered on his face. Hell, people loved the man even more when he was drinking. He would finally stop talking so much and listen for once.

But that didn’t mean he was quiet.

Ezra was what people would call an ‘active listener.’ He’d stare into the eyes of whoever was speaking like they were the only other person in the world. He’d follow along real intently, nodding his head, and asking follow-up questions as if he was damn near desperate to learn the answers. He would laugh real loud at any little pun or joke. Shit, he would make even the dullest Jackson had to offer feel like they were a goddamn movie star.

Goddamn! It annoyed the hell out of Joel.

Because thirdly, and most importantly, they didn’t see Ezra’s twitchy fingers or shaking legs when they were alone at night, circling outside the town on horseback. They didn’t see the shift in his face when he would gun down infected–something sick and excited dancing through him. It was even worse when raiders would show up. Ezra looked downright horny.  He’d stroke his gun like it was his own cock blasting holes in people’s heads.

One time, Ezra killed a man and then turned to Joel with a grunt and said, “Doesn’t that feel divine?” He dragged out the word ‘divine’ like he was scraping up poker winnings–slow, indulgent, and haughty.

“Not s’posed to feel good,” Joel chided.

He gave Joel a boyish grin. “Which makes the taste of it that much more ambrosial, don’t it?” He hummed and stared at the barrel of his rifle. “It is an effusive pleasure to be a batter for the winning team.”

Joel scoffed. “Winnin’ ain’t a sure thing.”

Ezra huffed. “I must riposte, brother. We may succumb to a battle or two, but Jackson is winning the long game.”

Joel always twitched when Ezra would call him ‘brother.’ That serpent would never be his kin. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” Ezra began with his shoulders back and chin high. “Look at history. Look at evolution. Our species thrives with the efforts of cooperation and cohabitation.” He huffed. “And Jackson’s community grows stronger every day.” A gloved finger rose into the air. “Now stay with me for a moment while I explain this.” He paused for dramatic effect to which Joel made no response. “But I believe God sent the fungal plague to start us anew and on an upwardly path.”

Joel’s lip twitched.

“Better the cordyceps than nuclear warheads, in my opinion.” 

Joel glared that much harder.

Ezra held up his palms. “You know as well as I that we were gonna end ourselves on way or another.” He shrugged his shoulder and flicked his head. “At least this way, the earth is still fecund enough for us to plant our virile seed.” Ezra’s left eyebrow curled upward as he chuckled to himself.

Joel huffed all frustrated and leaned forward, resting his elbow on the saddle horn. “How the hell does that make Jackson the winnin team?”

“Raiders are individualistic,” he answered with confidence. “And individualism is a remnant of the old world. Individualism. Capitalism. Monotheism.” He held his palm out wide. “We are evolving beyond it.” He gazed at the dead raider on the ground between them before pointing to it with his rifle. “We’re putting down the dying breeds to secure resources for our symbiotic comrades.” He looked up at Joel again. “And please–” he raised his empty palm. “--do not mistake my analogy for eugenics.” The empty palm found his heart. “We’re killing ideals, not controlling gene pools.”

Joel’s brows shot up. “Are you trying to say that we only killed that man’s hopes and dreams?” He pointed to the body with a thick, gloved finger. “That we didn’t just kill off his family tree?”

“I–” Ezra’s brow furrowed as he solemnly observed the deceased. His lips went tight. “Shit.” He watched the blood soak into the soil. “I guess we are doing a little bit of both, aren’t we?” He looked back up at Joel with that cheerful, boyish smile again.

Joel clenched his teeth. “You gotta be shittin’ me.” He grabbed the reins and tugged his horse back toward the main path.

Ezra held out his arms, gun barrel aimed at the clouds. “No philosophy is perfect, brother. It evolves just as we do on our ascension toward greater realms.”

Joel stopped humoring Ezra after that.

Now you…

Joel wasn’t too sure about you, either. You didn’t have an exact job as far as Joel could tell. You were never on any of the rotations. When he asked Tommy about it in passing, Tommy only said that you ‘contributed in your own way.’

“If you took the time to get to know her, you’d understand,” said Maria.

“Dude, she just gets it,” said Ellie.

Buncha bullshit if you asked Joel.

There was no reason for you to be wandering the town every day without a care in the world, smiling like the sun shined outta your ass and everyone should be kissing you for it. Anytime he did see you in a storefront or at the stables, you weren’t doing anything special. Just… visiting with whoever was doing all the real work.

Like some kinda lazy ass.

He wondered if you were just like Ezra: charming people around you while something twisted boiled underneath.

Were you just as bloodthirsty?

No.

Couldn’t be.

You never ventured beyond the safety of Jackson’s walls and he never saw you arguing with anyone–let alone get into some kinda physical altercation. You seemed pretty happy most of the time. And downright jubilant when you had a few drinks at the bar.

(One time, he saw you gather up a group of women to sit around and play hand games. Hand games. At a goddamn bar. You were singing songs and clapping and even convinced Maria to join and teach everyone the songs that she could remember, too. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Grown women regressing into little girls–and under the influence to boot. There was so much screaming and laughing that the whole bar nearly emptied. Anyone not in on the fun didn’t wanna be anywhere near it. The whole thing bombarded the senses. And then Ellie came home a few days later, clapping her hands and singing the same songs. Joel almost kicked her out the house.)

Were you some kind of a crook? Were you gaining the trust of the people in town as some kind of long con?

It was possible, though unlikely.

And to what end?

You and Ezra seemed so invested. Not just in planting roots for yourselves, but invested in the town in general. Ezra was at every town meeting, offering his opinion and joining the group discussions. Joel never attended himself, but he would hear about it from either Tommy or Maria.

That was another thing! Tommy and Maria liked Ezra, too! They admitted he was ‘interesting’, but couldn’t find any real fault in him.

One night, Joel confronted Tommy about him. 

Joel’s eyes got real wide. “Something’s wrong with that man.”

Tommy laughed. “Everybody’s got somethin wrong with them.”

“You know what I mean.” Joel punctuated his remark with a sneer. Like he was saying something he really meant.

“Look.” Tommy sighed. “I don’t know how to put this, but his wife or partner or however they like to call it–she’s a good influence on him. Keeps him settled, I guess.” He sighed again. “Like… you and Tess,” Tommy added hesitantly.

Joel huffed and clenched his teeth. There was no way. He and Tess were–they were–he and Tess were nothing like Ezra and his ladyfriend. Simple fact. He just didn’t know how to prove it, yet.

For all Joel’s pondering and curiosities–he finally got his chance to talk to you.

You were walking by one morning while he was on his porch drinking coffee. You smiled and waved, he answered by raising his brows at you. But then you stopped dead in your tracks and pointed past him.

“Are those new shutters?” you asked, face all screwed up and confused.

Joel turned his head to see. Even though this was his house. He knew the shutters you were talking about. He turned back to you. “Uhh… yep.”

“When did you put ‘em up?”

Joel’s body tensed. “Last week.”

“Wow. I walk by here every day. I don’t remember even seeing you workin on ‘em.” You shook your head. “How long did it take?” You weren’t smiling or sunny when you asked him, either. You looked downright offended for some reason that Joel couldn’t quite figure.

“Couple days,” he answered with tight lips. He wasn’t sure where your questions were trying to take him.

“Well, shit.” You put your hands on your hips. “How did I miss all that?” You tilted your head and pointed again. “Did you thin out some paint or is that a real lime wash?”

“‘S a wash,” he said. “Don’t gotta prime it or nothin nowadays.”

“Ohh, okay.” You shrugged. “It looks really good.” And while you were giving him a compliment, your face said ‘meh.’

“Thanks.” He glowed a little in his chest. He could tell that you meant it. That you weren’t just being polite.

And Joel didn’t know what made him say it, but he followed up with, “I did the kitchen table, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded his head back. “C’mere. I’ll show ya.”

Next thing he knew, Joel was talking to you about a country music festival he went to when he was 25. It was just him and his old friend, Andrew. Andrew had bought tickets for them and even secured a sitter for Sarah. They spent the whole weekend sleeping and drinking in the back of his truck, singing songs and saying hi to all the pretty girls that walked by.

And when the story was over, and you both said your good-byes, Joel felt more confused than anything. He held a glass of water in his hand. His throat had gone dry. He wasn’t used to speaking that much, because, yeah, Joel just spoke a lot. A lot a lot. More than he’d spoken in years maybe.

And he felt good. Real good. Like a high flutter in his chest that got him all excited to go out and do something. Do something fun just for the fun of it.

But… why?

All he did was show you some work he’d done on the house. Then he saw his guitar and talked about playing again. Then that turned into talking about the music he liked. Then somehow he remembered that festival. Clear as day. After not thinking about it for over two decades.

And all you did was listen.

You just visited.

But it got him all excited. Like he was a little boy making a new best friend.

But… how?

Joel couldn’t make sense of it. And he didn’t have anyone to talk to about it either.

He didn’t like that something so simple could feel so good. He didn’t like that you didn’t do any of the talking. He was supposed to figure you out. Figure out you and Ezra. But this just made him even more confused.

You didn’t listen like Ezra did–all hyped up and dramatic. You made a comment here or there, but nothing significant enough to recall. And you barely asked him any follow up questions.

But you smiled when he said something nice. Chuckled when he said something funny. It was like you were water–rippling out and taking shape in whatever manner he needed you to. Whatever kept the words flowing out of his dry, creaky throat.

But people weren’t water. People were people. They had opinions and wants and needs. And no one could be that easy going, that passive, that submissive without expecting something in return.

Joel needed to figure you out. He just needed to figure out how to figure you out.

+++++++

Now that Joel had officially met you, he couldn’t find you anywhere. He stopped seeing you walking around town. He stopped seeing you in the storefronts. You weren’t around during mealtimes or at the bar at night, either. It was like you up and vanished.

He knew nothing bad had happened. It was a small town. Word traveled fast. If anything had gone wrong, he’d have heard about it an hour later. Two hours, tops. And Ezra would certainly not be walking around so cheerily.

The whole thing was making him all sick in the stomach. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, worrying about you, looking for you. He made to ask Tommy or Maria, but the words never breached his lips. It felt wrong. Like he was gonna expose something about himself that he didn’t want them to know.

If he had known where you lived, he would have shown up at your house. Shit, the man even tried to follow Ezra home a couple of times–lurking in the shadows, stepping real light. But there was always something ruining his efforts. A loud tumble of cans falling over behind the general store. A small group of drunks walking by and talking loud. A goddamn dog barking at him.

Shit.

It pained him–greatly, he might add–but he knew what he had to do. 

He had to talk to Ezra.

Joel waited until they were paired up again for patrol–well, no. That’s not true. He switched shifts with someone to hurry it all up. But nevertheless, he waited until they were alone and out of earshot of anyone else, lest they get the wrong idea about Joel. He was just wondering about her. That’s all. Nothing untoward about it.

Joel cleared his throat, trotting alongside Ezra in the bright light of the full moon. “How’s your uh… ladyfriend doin?”

“Ladyfriend, huh?” Ezra teased. “I like that word. I don’t know how I ever forgot about that one.”

Joel rolled his eyes.

Ezra chuckled. “She’s doin alright.”

Joel slid his jaw side to side. “Haven’t seen her around in a while.”

“Yeah, she gets like that sometimes,” Ezra murmured.

“Is-is somethin wrong? Did somethin happen?” Joel asked, concern evident on his brow.

Ezra’s eyes found Joel. He sized him up as they made their way around the north end of the woods. After what felt to Joel like twenty fuckin minutes, Ezra looked away and sighed. “Look,” he said. “There is no need for you or anyone else to worry–”

“Worry ‘bout what?” Joel’s heart raced in his chest. His hands gripped tight around the reins, leather gloves squeaking. He’d go straight back to town if he had to–patrol protocol be damned.

“She has this feeling that someone is looking for her.”

Joel blinked. “What?”

Ezra sighed again. “She gets the feelings sometimes and sometimes she has misread her notions and sometimes they are accurate.” He stared off. “Disconcertingly accurate, to be honest with you.”

“Once,” Ezra began. “In our early days together, I got shot in my arm.” He pointed to his right bicep. “It wasn’t direct, but it wasn’t a slug, either.” He laughed and shook his head. “This asshole in a fuckin 49er’s cap was firing buckshot.” He looked at Joel with wide eyes. “Can you believe that shit? Buckshot. And the 49ers? Who in the hell liked the 49ers?” He huffed and wiped his mouth. “Now this all transpired down in Louisiana where I was born and raised. At the time, we were somewhere a little east of Houma, which if you don’t know, is mired in swamps and bayous and just… water, water everywhere.” Ezra gazed through the thick of evergreens, sucking fresh air through his nose. “And I was not thinkin clearly at the time.” He rolled his shoulders, eyes blank in disbelief. “Maybe it was the oppressive summer heat or the unrelenting humidity, but I washed the wound with some contaminated water.” He sighed. “As soon as I unveiled my hardship to her, she took one look and said, ‘We’re going to LSU.’” He shrugged. “That’s all,” he said. “And I can remember thinkin to myself, ‘LSU? Where the hell did that idea come from?’ We had been trying to go back east. I wanted to keep trekkin towards Florida, hopin we might find some help along the way, but she told me no. Said we had to go north. Go get our purple and gold on, I suppose.” He grimaced. “We walked a day straight. Now I mean that.” He stressed his words with widened eyes. “Twenty four hours of walkin. No little catnaps under the shady oak trees or dippin our toes into the creek.” He took a deep breath. “A whole day.” He exhaled laboriously.

“And I… started gettin feverish toward the end of our journey.” He closed his eyes. “I could feel every little pellet as it pulsed and bulged with pus beneath my skin.” He shuddered and opened his eyes. “I thought I was gonna start devolving into the Thing. Thought I was gonna have to strap dynamite to my torso and blow myself into smithereens.” He threw his arm up, exasperated. “She wouldn’t let me search any of the Eckerds or pharmacies we passed. Wouldn’t let me stop walkin neither.” He laughed dryly and sighed. “We make it to the LSU campus. We walk up to the gates.” He threw his arm up again. “And those people took us right in. No questions asked.” It was a good thing, but Ezra sounded so frustrated. “Got me cleaned and bandaged. They fed us.” He shook his head. “They even gave us each a new pair of shoes. Nike’s.” He looked in Joel in whole-hearted disbelief. “Swoosh on ‘em and everything.” He huffed out a laugh. “She just knew. She knew where to go and how to get us in. Didn’t need a map. We were out and exposed, walkin along the main roads. And when we got there, she spoke to the doctors and got me a change of clothes, too.” He chuckled. “She slept about a week straight after all of it was said and done, though. Poor thing could barely stay awake long enough to eat.” He hummed. “She had exhausted her mind, body, and soul to get me to where I needed to go.” He smiled with tender warmth. “I am forever grateful to her for that.”

“Sh-she just… knew?” Joel asked.

“She just knew.”

“Y-you think she’s right this time, too?” 

Ezra threw his head back and laughed. “Now, she is resolute to be right and true this time.” He grinned. “Her worries are beginnin to snake themselves into my mind, as well.” He turned to Joel with a playful smirk. “Past few days I could have sworn someone was following me in town.” He shook his head, still smiling. “But I know there’s no real danger in Jackson and the daily reports offer nothing of significance. I am inclined to believe that she has misread her notions again.” He sniffed. “‘Cause the real danger–” He pointed to the words with his chin. “The real danger is all out here.” He narrowed his eyes as his breaths grew heavy.

Joel watched as Ezra gripped the horn of his saddle with both hands, leather gloves twisting and creaking. He lewdly rolled his hips into the rise of his seat with a grunt.

Ezra turned back to Joel with a devilish grin–leaning toward him with slack shoulders. “Let’s go kill us some infected, brother.” He bit his lip before turning and trotting deeper into the trees.

Joel sucked his teeth. “Sick fuck,” he said under his breath and followed.

+++++

The following morning, Ezra woke you up on the couch after returning home from patrol. He pet your shoulder while you laid wrapped in your blanket.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered.

“Hey,” you mumbled with your eyes closed.

“How you feelin?”

“Like shit.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he cooed.

You didn’t move. Only grunted.

“Guess who was askin’ after you?”

You grunted again.

“Joel Miller.”

‘Joel Miller?’ you thought. ‘Why?’

Then it clicked.

Fear left your mind and body and was quickly replaced with fury.

You shot up with a gasp. “Oh my god!” you shouted.

“What?” Ezra reeled back with his palms up in surrender. “What?”

“That’s who’s been lookin for me!” You balled up your blanket with righteous anger and hopped up from the couch. You threw the tangled wool fabric to the floor. The fact that it was too soft to make a sound when it hit the wood just pissed you off even more.

“Him?” Ezra’s eyes glittered, a small smile on his lips.

You squeezed your fists tight. “That motherfucker!”

+++++

-----

part 2

(story masterlist)

(my masterlist)

[sugolara]

Lost

ft. K.B x S.T x I.M x fem! reader

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, every country is forced to close down it's borders and airports to prevent anyone from coming in and out. Though, it's to late for some people. The dead has rose and is looking for revenge. Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, angst, lots and lots of blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn

previous || series m.list || next

Closing the door behind them, only F/n separated from the males as she headed off to replace her worn out boots and clothing. Since it wasn't a sporting store, shoes were only available though she didn't mind as she figured it would be best to have a change of style—at least in what covers her feet. After that she took a quick glance at the males and changed out of her clothes when they weren't looking her way. Lastly, she grabbed a new jacket with quite a few pockets than the average jacket.

Done being dressed she wandered around the store, letting the boys—who also looked her way—finish doing their business. There wasn't much to be useful, but she did enjoy messing with a few children toy, however, that only lasted a few minutes as she grew bored. Placing that aside, she checked her gun that hung on the holster around her right thigh. Thankfully, the chambers were full.

"Let's go, F/n." Izuku softly shouted at her as to not alarm the dead. At the call of his voice—and name—she headed off for them as they used the backdoor to exit. Cautiously looking both ways, they entered the alley where brick walls of buildings surrounded them.

"Where do you think a nearby grocery store is?" Izuku asked, looking at the map that peeked from Katsuki's bag, "It looks like we're in an outdoor mall so maybe one should be close by, right?"

"If only someone hadn't lost the bag of supplies we would have been stocked..." Shoto drew out and though he didn't specify who, they all knew it was F/n as she was the last one to hold them.

"What's your problem?" She glared at him, "Did you forget I was running from the hundred of dead that could have mauled me to death if I wasn't paying attention? I guess you did since you were the one to fuck up the whole plan and have me and Izuku separate."

"Even if that was my fault I would have expected for you to be aware." His eyes narrowed at her, "Isn't that who you're supposed to be? I guess you forgot and thought to blame me because you can't keep up with who you are."

"You think you know?" She tried moving to him, but with Izuku holding onto her wrist made her unable to. The last thing he wanted was for a fight to break out and it was astonishing that it wasn't Katsuki and Shoto fighting like in the high school days.

Thankfully, or not so thankfully, the sound of a vehicle roaring by them had caught their attention. Quickly, did they duck down in hopes their figures would be less seen, though it was hard to tell rotter and human apart these days.

"You think it's one of them?" Shoto asked, referring to the camp.

"Better not be." Katsuki bitterly said, his ears listing close to the vehicle, "If it is, then they've been following us for a while."

Standing to their full height, they cautiously proceeded. The freckle male hummed at Katsuki's comment, "If they were, they would have killed us long ago. Why wait it out when we destroyed their community?"

"Because there sick and twisted fucks." F/n shrugged. She long forgotten about the argument with Shoto and while Shoto did remember, he wasn't really in a mood to put up with her. Afertall, he was trying to rekindle their relationship even if it would go nowhere.

"They're probably playing around until we get off gau-Shit!" She yelled as her foot had suddenly collapsed. She hissed when her foot scraped against the concrete and upon seeing as she stepped on a manhole with her leg getting stuck, the sound of Katsuki's laugh reached her ears.

"Dumbass!" He barked out, clutching his sides.

"Shut the fuck up before its your face eating shit next." She gritted out, seeing a couple tears pool on his closed eyelids, but Katsuki didn't care as he carried on.

"Kacchan..." Izuku pulled her out carefully as his eyes gave his friend a disappointed look, "She scraped her ankle. She could be bleeding."

"As if!" He said and let out a long sigh that helped relieve his cackles.

"Stop or you'll attract anybody near us." Shoto huffed and rolled his eyes, continuing on without them, "Children, I swear."

"Moving on!" Izuku chimed out, happily helping the girl on her feet then following after the bi-colored male, "We should go the opposite way of the car. We have no idea how many people or who it is were coming across. That said, we'll continue with our original plan."

And they did for the past hours, going into stores that contained food even if they were just snacks. Luckily, they managed to find at least water and snacks to keep their energy up. It wasn't long until dark hit and they were left without any light to guide them. Keeping aware of their surroundings and how much noise they let out, their eyes search for a vacant building that didn't have too much damage so they rest.

But tonight had different plans for them as a shriek startled them. Quickly they ran after the noise thinking it might be one of them from the camp. They didn't need someone following them to what could be a place to live forever. With weapons out, the cries got louder and when they arrived, only Katsuki and F/n kept their weapons raised at the sight. A male who appeared the same age as them had broken its leg, bone sticking out of its calf, clutching as blood squirted everywhere. No doubt it was painful, but if he didn't keep quiet they would meet a much worse situation.

"Dumbass fell off the roof." Katsuki said, eyes looking to the roof of the building where it seemed like the male had slipped on slippery roof slab, "That's what you got for thinking you can jump roofs."

The boy whimpered, trying to get up, but with the blonde pointing the gun at him the injured male knew to stay down, "You better stay down there. Who the hell are you anyways?"

"I-I wasn't following you or anything! I swear!" He yelled out with pained grunt.

"Kacchan." The freckle male rested his hand on his friends, putting the gun down.

The blonde merely rolled his eyes, though placing his gun back on his holster, "Who else is with you?"

"Like he'll tell the truth." Shoto pointed out, looking at F/n, "Tie him up somewhere or get this over with."

"Alrig–" Izuku interrupted her, hands near her gun so as to not shoot. He furrowed his brows at her, "No! No! We aren't doing that! We'll just take him with us!"

Katsuki scoffed, "And have another mouth to feed? We can barely find shit for just the four of us. And you want another?"

"He's right." Shoto crossed his arms, eyes looking at the freckle male hoping he'd understood, "Just let it go."

A glare was set on his freckled face, "Are you kidding me! I thought you two would at least understand!"

"We do." Shoto shook his head at his friend, "It's you who isn't understanding."

"Pl–" The boy whimpered out when the blonde stepped on his other leg to keep him quiet from saying anything. Whatever words were to come out from the injured male were sure to get to Izuku and while Katsuki did want to save him they couldn't afford another person in their group, especially an injured one. The kid was dead weight and he'd get them all killed. Besides, who knew what it took to heal a leg with its bone sticking out.

Instead of continuing to think of what's wrong, he searched the male's clothing finding a set of keys, "What's done is done."

"Seriously!?" Izuku scoffed out, eyes narrowed as he looked at Katsuki, ignoring Shoto who looked at the rotters coming nearer and ignoring F/n who had already made up her mind on what to do, "Just because the world went to shit doesn't mean we have to! We're people for crying out loud, we don't kill and we still have our humanity! Its the only thing we have left in this fucked up place and you know this is wrong!"

"Humanity!?" The blonde scoffed, standing up as he glared at his childhood friend, "Where the fuck was humanity when those people who kidnapped you tried to fucking kill you!? Not only that, but they tortured people! You think they got humanity because they're human!?"

"Guys." Shoto tried to intervene, but his words were deaf to the arguing males.

"There is no damn humanity, Deku! Fucking face it!" He jabbed the freckle males torso, "Quit living in a fucking fantasty and wake up! If you keep thinking that everyone we come across are good fucking people then you'll be the first to die and I fucking guarantee it, just you fucking wait! Stop thinking in the past or else everyone you know and love will die because of your stupid belie–"

The sound of a single bullet emitting through the wind startled them. As tired as she was, she didn't care that she broke probably a ton of rules that kept her from staying—besides, she kind of had forgotten most of them. Nevermind that, she placed her gun back to where it belonged, ignoring the boy who had pleaded for life now dead as her tired eyes strayed from Izuku to the blonde, "It's night and we're all tired so we should find somewhere to sleep."

She didn't bother waiting for them as she grabbed the keys from the blonde's hand, looking for the vehicle. She disregarded the look Izuku gave her, most likely a betrayal that she had just killed someone. And while he did feel an immense anger coursing through him, he swallowed thickly, shoving that down as he followed behind.

Then did Katsuki, though his thoughts had swarmed around his childhood friend. 

[beoneofus]

beeeeeeeeeeeep.

“ hey... It's been a while. ”

shuffling could be heard, followed by the rustling of rough pants and the scraping of shoes against a hard floor.

“ I, uh... man, I don't even know why I'm calling you. ”

his voice was... it was raw. toned with what seemed to be sadness. acceptance lingered, but grief followed.

“ I guess- I guess I just miss you, y/n. ”

the sound of his shaky sigh and voice, that struggled to stay steady, made tears roll from your tearducts and well up on your waterline. you had to squeeze your eyes shut in order not to cry. the phone you held to your ear shook painfully, as did the strong breath you inhaled.

“ it's been so long, hasn't it? a year, this friday.. ”

the male on the other side of the phone let out a wobbly breath.

“ a year since you've been gone... ‘s funny how you were just here, like, two seconds ago smokin’ a joint with me and laughing... an’now you're not. ”

a pathetic, pain filled laugh was let out. you could only imagine him scraping tears from his cheeks furiously with the butt of his palm.

the thought alone had you slapping a hand over your mouth, a sob following after. muffled.

he sighed again, before a flop and the plop of something heavy was heard. he must've hopped over the arm of the couch, to lay on it... he always did that when you were around.

but.. now you weren't. you had to run away.

“ ... I'm not one to believe in heaven or hell, man.. ” he paused, and you could only guess to wrack a hand through his hair. “ but, I just know you're the prettiest angel in the sky right now. ”

god, here comes the hiccups.

“ I love you, y/n. just... keep rockin’, darling. I miss you every day... ” it sounded like he was sadly smiling now. “ and I always listen to the mixtapes you made me. ”

you sniffle, harshly wiping away your now falling tears.

“ guns n roses will always be our band, babe. remember, you're my little rose. ”

your breath was shaking violently by now, and so were your shoulders. you missed him so fucking much.

“ and... and I guess this'll be the last voicemail. ” another pause rang out. It was longer, however... because he didn't want to hang up. “ goodbye, y/n. please- remember to stay alive. that's all I ever wanted for you. ”

and then the voicemail ended with a beep.

your legs crossed criss-cross-apple-sauce, leaned back against the couch that sat you thousand of miles away from paul. your eyes were practically glued shut, squeezed so tight that your lashes bent upwards against the fat of your upper cheeks. your lips, trembling, pressed together in a suction tight bite.

it was so hard to keep it together, which is why you finally broke. the dam fell, leaving you to heavily sob. your hands, after dropping the phone, flew straight to your eyes. the butts of your palms press to your skin while you try to rub away the tears and itchiness so helplessly, but nothing works. you can't stop crying.

but, you had no choice. you had to fake tour death and get out of santa carla for personal reasons that involved not only your little brother's life, but your own.

the only biggest regret you had, was not saying goodbye to paul before you did it.

[tummymoth]

Of (Tattoo) Guns N' Roses [3]

Chapter 3: Right Next Door to Hell (read on Ao3 here)

Chapter Summary: Xie Lian falls and ends up hurting himself thanks to an old injury at work, and between that and a visit from his landlord, it just goes downhill from there.

Additional Info: florist!Xie Lian, strong language, slice of life, mentions of bruises, scarring, injury, etc., Jun Wu being creepy in general, if you're familiar with Chinese tea etiquette you will enjoy this, angry!Feng Xin, vaguely disappointed!Mu Qing, Xie Lian being in denial

Word Count: 7,014

<<Beginning <Previous Next>

As it turned out, Xie Lian didn’t need to concern himself with keeping busy. Not even an hour after Eming’s owner departed, his phone rang incessantly with people looking to request arrangements. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into the general public, but he wasn’t about to complain about the uptick of business on what would have otherwise been a sluggish end to the week. 

In the span of only a few hours, Xie Lian had received some 200 orders—a couple in person, but mostly over the phone. This was well over twice the average on any given day. Smaller ones took only about 30 minutes to fulfill, but it seemed that these new customers wanted exceedingly elaborate arrangements with exceedingly rare blooms. 

As these requests continued to pile up, the turnaround times grew from a half hour to three weeks. In short, it was simply not possible for one man to fulfill such a high demand. 

While the poor florist had been running around his shop like a headless chicken, Ruoye watched with calm eyes, dutifully moving from his cat bed on the windowsill to follow the sun as it followed its usual course across the sky.

It wasn’t until it came time to close up shop that the calls finally petered out. The floor was covered in stems and loose leaves thanks to the whirlwind of orders, and Xie Lian wasn’t sure if the sight of such a mess was something to celebrate or lament. Regardless, he had a lot of cleaning to do. 

He had just grabbed the mop to start on the puddles in the back room when the world slipped out from under him. 

Thud! 

One moment he was standing upright. The next, he found himself winded and at eye level with the now-fallen mop handle and a smooshed pile of flower cuttings. 

Luckily—well, the stinging pain in his arms led him to doubt the actual luck of his circumstances—his elbows had taken most of the impact from colliding with the unforgiving floor. Using the table as support, he went about hauling himself up with a pained groan and tried to not focus too hard on the bruises already forming. At least it wasn’t his head that hit the floor; he’d take some unsightly marks for a week or two over a concussion. 

Still leaning on the table, Xie Lian gave himself a once-over. Damp flower cuttings littered his clothes. He rolled up the now-soaked sleeves of his cardigan to examine the damage. The floor of his workroom was smooth cement, so aside from angry red blotches marring his otherwise pale skin, he saw no scrapes or open wounds and let out a relieved sigh. Good.

As regained his bearings, he felt soft fur gently butting against the part of his arm that wasn’t pulsating in pain. Ruoye had sidled up to him to ask for more pets. Xie Lian happily obliged with a light laugh. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that, little one,” he said. “How embarrassing.” Ruoye slowly blinked at him and leaned into his hand. They remained this way for another minute or so before the florist pulled away, much to the cat’s protest. 

“I need to keep cleaning, or else we’ll be here all night!” 

He dusted off whatever he could off of his clothes and took a step to fetch the fallen mop only to be stopped by a sharp, shooting pain in his right ankle. He hissed in pain and immediately shifted his weight to his left side. A pull of his pant leg revealed that it was already slightly swollen; it probably twisted when he fell. His first instinct was to brush it off of course, but Mu Qing would kill him if he caught wind of Xie Lian neglecting his injuries, however small they were.

Xie Lian scanned the room for the ice pack he used to always have on hand, but his phone started buzzing in his pocket yet again. A helpless sigh wrenched itself from his lungs, making Ruoye prick up his ears in response as he stole a glance at the clock. Two minutes until closing. Maybe they could call back tomorrow? The invoice sheets he used to document orders were piling up just from today. Surely it would be okay to let this one go… 

He shook his head and shoved a hand in his pocket to grab his phone. No. Up until today, the business had been almost agonizingly slow; he needed to take all the orders he could to keep up with the rent for both the shop and the apartment. Who knows when it will be this busy again? 

He accepted the call and gently laid a hand on Ruoye’s back for emotional support.

“This is Royal Florals. You’re currently speaking to Xie Lian, how can I help you?” He tried his best to conceal the tiredness in his voice. 

“I apologize for the late call. I understand you’re almost closing,” a familiar cold voice sounded from the speaker. “This is He Xuan.” 

“It’s no trouble at all!” Pinning the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he indulged Ruoye in a few more pets before he pulled away. The poor cat meowed in protest as Xie Lian hobbled to the mop and continued cleaning up. “Today was more hectic than usual, but I always have time for loyal customers.” 

“Hectic you say?” 

“Mn! The shop’s been getting nonstop calls since about—” he paused to do some mental math. “Five-ish hours ago?” 

“I see.” 

“But that’s neither here nor there! Is there something wrong with the arrangements?” He wrung out the mop before continuing. “You were only here a few days ago, so they should be good for about another week.” 

“It’s nothing like that.” A long-suffering sigh sounded from the other end of the line. “My boss has me doing some inane task that’ll keep me at my desk for that entire week and I can’t avoid it.” 

“It sounds like your boss has no shortage of work for you,” the florist said with an easy laugh. 

He Xuan grumbled something under his breath to the tune of, “You have no fuckin’ idea,” Xie Lian was sure the prim and proper man wouldn’t use such vulgar language; he must’ve misheard him. Regardless of what was actually said, the slip in his usually dispassionate demeanor was still audible. “I’m calling ahead of time to ask if you offered delivery services.”

“Ah, well…” the florist found himself eyeing the formidable stack of invoices with apprehension as he swept. Unless  Mu Qing or Feng Xin stopped by to help during the busy season, it was only him running the shop, so there was no staff to spare for deliveries. “You need this next order by next week, correct?”

“Correct.” 

Well, those two owed him a few favors anyway. 

“It’ll get to you by then,” he beamed. His mouth opened to exchange the usual pleasantries of “thank you for calling,” and “have a good day,” when it occurred to him that, despite the numerous times He Xuan had stopped by to pick up arrangements, Xie Lian had no idea where he worked. “Before I let you go, where is this order going to?” 

“Crimson Elysium Studio.” The name sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps he had passed by it on a walk around the city? “Do you need the address?”

“Please, if you don’t mind.” 

Once He Xuan had given him the address and additional details of how to get there (“It’s a little out of the way, but if you make a left here you’ll end up right at the front door.”), both men bid their goodbyes and ended the call, leaving Xie Lian to limp through the rest of his closing duties before his working day could officially draw to an end. 

“Ruoye, come!” 

“Mrrp!” With a soft trill—or was it a chirp?—Ruoye jumped down from his windowsill and came to the florist before rubbing against his pant leg. Once the harness was slipped on and his messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, he wrapped a white scarf around his neck—the temperature was dropping, after all. Both man and cat made their way out of the shop to go home. 

Thanks to Xie Lian’s ankle, the walk was slow but uneventful. Ruoye had taken to sniffing at the ground from time to time, much to his dismay (“Don’t stick your nose there, it’s dirty!”), but there were no other delays in getting home. 

Upon entering the apartment building, Xie Lian gave the man at the front desk a wave as he always did. He didn’t look up from his computer and waved him up with a noncommittal grunt—as he always did. It was a rather quiet complex, given that the only sounds on the first floor were the clacking of a keyboard and Ruoye purring as they walked to the elevator. That wasn’t to say the stillness was bothersome; it was a welcome deviation from the cacophony of the city outside. 

He reached out to press the button to go up only to be stopped short by the receptionist calling out.

“Elevator’s out of service.” Xie Lian’s heart sank. Almost as if on cue, he was hit by the soreness that came with running around all day. Fatigue washed over him in a dull wave, sharpened only by the pain in his ankle. 

“Ah, that’s a shame,” he said as he turned and did his best to muster a smile at the receptionist. “Third time this month, no?” He laughed lightly. “Is there a way I could file a work order with maintenance?”

Clack clack clack.

With no answer, he bit the inside of his cheek and began the five-story trek up the stairs—Ruoye followed close by his side. This was nothing. Going from the first floor to the second is just one flight of stairs. He only needed to do that thrice, along with a bonus floor. No big deal. He repeated this mantra to himself with every step he climbed to drown out his body’s screaming complaints. 

By the time he reached the door of his and Mu Qing’s shared apartment, Ruoye was a solid five paces ahead of him. It looked as if Ruoye was leading Xie Lian up the stairs rather than the other way around. After five flights, his pained limp was reduced to little more than a pitiful stagger as he fumbled for the right key. 

As they clinked against each other, he heard lowered voices coming from the other side of the door. One sounded as if it was two seconds from simmering over with cold rage—Mu Qing, probably—while the other was calm and unperturbed. He couldn’t place who the second speaker was. Maybe his roommate had a guest over. One of his friends from the hotel he worked at?

After some fumbling with the lock, Xie Lian finally eased the door open. 

“Mu Qing, I’m back!” he declared as he shrugged off his dirtied cardigan and gingerly kicked off his shoes. “I’m sorry I’m so late, I got caught up with work for a bit there.” Adopting a self-deprecating smile, he turned to close the door and unwrapped his scarf. 

“Who’s our guest? Feng Xin said he wouldn’t be here for another,” he checked his phone for the time, “thirty minutes or so?” The florist busied himself, slipping Ruoye’s harness off as he waited for a reply. 

As Ruoye made a beeline to his room to lounge on the cat tree (one of the few purchases Xie Lian didn’t thrift, but it was money well-spent), he finally let himself relax. He congratulated himself on a long, but fruitful, day of work. It was the weekend. The shop was closed tomorrow, so tonight he was free to do as he wished before embarking on a day full of errands. He could practically taste the dinner he, Mu Qing, and Feng Xin were going to share tonight. 

Xie Lian gingerly followed Ruoye to his room to change out of his clothes and give him his dinner. There were still a few damp spots on his back. Gross.

“Have a seat, Xie Lian.” He stopped short. Oh, he did know that voice. The familiarity of it made his blood run cold. Xie Lian’s smile solidified into stiff stone rather than a contraction of muscle, legs feeling wooden as he froze in place. Back ramrod-straight, he turned to make his way toward the living room. 

It wasn’t an extravagant space by any means. There was enough room for a three-seater sofa, an entertainment system, an upholstered chair Xie Lian had thrifted, and a coffee table in the center of it all. He saw the back of Mu Qing’s head in the middle of the three-seater. 

Jun Wu sat in the chair. 

Xie Lian’s teeth gritted with the effort of trying not to wince as he walked, favoring his right leg all the while. 

“Good evening, Jun Wu,” he supplied. His tongue gracelessly fumbled around the words as he took a seat next to his roommate on the end of the couch farthest from Jun Wu. “To what do we owe the visit?” 

“He decided to surprise us,” Mu Qing said. Thinly veiled disdain dripped from his voice. “Usually, it’s required of landlords to give a 24-hour notice, but we’re blessed with someone who operates outside of tradition.” Xie Lian elbowed him in the side. 

“This isn’t an inspection,” Jun Wu smoothly replied. If he took offense to Mu Qing’s gripe or noticed Xie Lian trying to quiet his roommate, nothing on his face gave it away. “I was just discussing some policy changes in the building over a drink. As your landlord, it’s important to take the opinions of my tenants into account.” 

Xie Lian looked over at the coffee table and sure enough, there were two cups of tea with the steam long gone. The one on Mu Qing’s side was untouched, while the one on Jun Wu’s was nearly empty. There was a third cup, flipped over and most likely reserved for Xie Lian upon coming home. “Care to join us? It’s been quite a while since we last talked.” 

“Here, let me.” Xie Lian lifted the teapot and filled Jun Wu’s cup a little over halfway. The pot was still full; its weight and the faint aroma of camellia and red dates helped ground him, but neither offered anything beyond mild comfort. 

Mu Qing bristled. “You shouldn’t have to—”

“Thank you. You’re a wonderful host as always.” Jun Wu offered him an upturn of the lips and poured Xie Lian’s tea in turn. After a beat, the older man took his cup with one hand and finished half of it in one go.

“Of course,” the florist replied as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt like an intruder despite being the one that lived here. 

As he lifted his cup with both hands and sipped at his tea, the skin around his throat suddenly felt too tight, but he tried to swallow around the discomfort before setting his cup back down. “What new policy changes were being discussed?” he asked, feeling Mu Qing tense beside him. 

The tension in the room wasn’t something that hung in the air, thick enough to cut. No, it held a solid undercurrent of disquiet beneath their feet. Xie Lian dared not breathe too hard or make sudden movements, in case it became the tipping point to make this mindfield of a conversation erupt into little more than violence and ugly words slung at each other.

“Well,” Jun Wu started as he uncrossed and recrossed his legs. The only creases in his cream-colored, tailored slacks were the sharply ironed lines that ran down each leg. It was easy to tell that his pants were tailored because of how the hems fell right above smartly shined Oxford shoes. Hardly a strand of hair was out of place and his hands were folded neatly in his lap, which only added to the meticulously crafted image of perfection he always embodied. 

Xie Lian felt almost offensively under-dressed in his ratty crewneck and thrifted jeans. It didn’t seem like Jun Wu minded. His features were serene, friendly even. 

“Given the recent developments in the area, I found it prudent to present the idea of raising rent. I’m planning on renovating the building and other complexes, and that requires all members of our community to contribute accordingly.” He leaned closer to reach for his cup, and Xie Lian resisted the urge to veer away. 

“What do you think, Xie Lian?” Jun Wu asked before finishing off the last of his tea. Obsidian-black eyes never once left the florist’s face as he drained the cup of its contents. Feng Xin had described them once as shark eyes with a distasteful expression on his face the first time he had the displeasure of meeting him (“They’re devoid of life and suck up all the goddamn light in a room, and that’s before he even opens his mouth. I don’t understand how you two can even stand being near that asshole”). 

As he opened his mouth to speak, he found his mouth had dried up. 

“Ah, well…” He cleared his throat and swiftly took a sip of tea to wet it. “I think that if changes are made to increase a property’s quality of living, then a proportional raise in its monetary value would be reasonable.” 

Xie Lian kept a pleasant smile on his face and schooled his expression into one of gentle passivity and calm, but he was desperately scrambling for words that matched the professional airs his landlord adopted. Anything that would compensate for how bedraggled he looked in comparison to him. 

“Emphasis on ‘proportional,’” Mu Qing said to Jun Wu before turning to his roommate. “Prettying up the first floor and throwing up some facades on the building doesn’t justify—” 

“Feng Xin is going to be here in a bit,” Xie Lian cut in. He tried to keep his voice as light as possible despite the feeling of his stomach being weighed down by rocks. “Why don’t you get started on dinner, Mu Qing?” 

The look on his roommate’s face was incredulous. “I’m not leaving you alone with—”

“Please?” 

After a brief moment of hesitation, Mu Qing excused himself to begin cooking. Xie Lian could faintly hear the rustling of his apron being removed from its hook, soon followed by grumbled curses and complaints from the kitchen. He prayed to whatever gods were out there that his landlord couldn’t discern what was being said over the clanging of pots and pans being fetched from their cupboards. 

Jun Wu nodded his head and continued as if their exchange didn’t happen. “The property value of the area as a whole is rising, and I need to match market rates. I wouldn’t normally discuss these matters with tenants, but your parents understood business, and I’m sure you do as well.” 

“Of course.” Xie Lian tried to ignore the rush of ice-cold water running down his spine at the mention of his parents. 

“How is it, by the way?” 

“Pardon?”

Jun Wu nodded at Xie Lian while gesturing at his own throat. “You seem to be healing up well.” He leaned closer to examine Xie Lian’s neck. “The color hasn’t fully gone back to normal yet. A shame.” 

“Ah, thank you.” He leaned back with a good-natured laugh and scratched the back of his head before subconsciously tracing over the raised line that marred otherwise smooth skin. 

“Terribly sorry.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“And your flower shop? How is it?” Jun Wu uncrossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. It seemed he took on a more casual air now that Mu Qing wasn’t in the room.

Xie Lian knew he didn’t owe the man information. He knew it was better not to divulge any details of his affairs, professional or otherwise. But he had known him since the beginning of his adult life and depended on him heavily after the death of his parents. They had been close. As a matter of fact, it was only recently that the mention of him poured dread into the base of his spine. So, he poured another cup of tea and indulged Jun Wu in small talk until the conversation eventually wound back to what he was here to discuss in the first place.

“How much would the rent be raised by?” Xie Lian asked as he took a small sip of his tea. It had gone cold.

“20 percent.” 

He choked. There was no way he could afford that.

“Ah…”  

“But if that’s disagreeable with you, I’d be more than happy to grant a credit for the first six months of your lease upon renewal. It would cover the rent increase for the first half of next year; I just need a favor.” 

Ju Wu leaned closer as if to confide in a secret. 

“I’m ashamed to say it, but I’m inundated with odds and ends that need to be wrapped up by the end of the year. My office also needs renovations to remain up to date with the changes to be put in place, which just means more paperwork. If I had someone around to assist me, it would be immensely helpful.” 

Xie Lian was unsure where he was going with this but nodded to let him continue. He vaguely registered that the kitchen was dead silent.

“You would bring a… A youthful energy to the atmosphere that I think is desperately needed. What do you think?” 

“Ah, well—”

Tak! Tak! Tak!  Xie Lian dared to breathe out a sigh of relief. Feng Xin had arrived, thank god. 

“Well, I see you’re expecting a guest,” Jun Wu said as he stood up. Even after who-knows-how-long of sitting, there was still nary a wrinkle in the fabric of his clothing. “I won’t trouble you any further.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’ll walk you out,” the florist said as he followed him to the door and pointedly disregarded the protesting pangs of his ankle. He silently thanked whatever deities were out there for Feng Xin’s impeccable timing and opened the door to see his friend scrolling through his phone. 

He looked fresh from a post-work shower. His hair wasn’t up as it usually was, and the damp strands left some water droplets on his shirt. 

“You would not believe the fuckin’ day I had at work, Xie Lian,” he groused with a smile that was too sharp to be considered jovial as he put his phone away. “It’s gonna be one hell of a newsletter tonight, I’ll tell you that,” he snorted and looked up, catching sight of who he was escorting out the door. The sardonic smile on his face morphed into a look of shock. 

“Hey, why the hell is he—” 

“I’m just walking Jun Wu out, you can go in ahead of me.” Xie Lian’s voice jumped up a semitone or five as he rushed Feng Xin inside. “I’ll be right there!”

Once he had been unceremoniously shoved inside and the door was shut, Xie Lian turned toward Jun Wu with his mouth open to bid him farewell (and maybe apologize for Feng Xin’s crass behavior). 

“Thank you for stopping by—” he was stopped short by Jun Wu seizing his hands. They were warm, too warm; it felt like burning hot coals on his skin—though that was surely due to Xie Lian’s surprise. He wanted to jerk back but found that, despite Jun Wu’s calm demeanor, his hold was anything but gentle.

“Do think about my offer.” His mild tone contrasted with the ironclad grip he had on Xie Lian’s hands. “I understand you run a business, so this would be after hours,  naturally.”

Unable to meet Jun Wu’s eyes in such close proximity, he kept his gaze trained on where their hands met and hoped that the marks from fingers digging into his skin would fade within the next hour or so. He felt rather than saw the older man’s eyes burning a hole in his skull as the seconds passed. 

“Haha… Jun Wu, it kinda hurts,” Xie Lian said, trying to laugh it off. He still didn’t raise his head to meet his gaze.

“...”

One minute stretched into an eternity before he was released.

“You know where to contact me.” 

Jun Wu turned on his heel and walked down the hall before Xie Lian could so much as get a word in. Soon, the only indication that he was even there in the first place was the sharp clicks of his shoes hitting vinyl-lined stairs and the white imprints on his hands that quickly faded and turned red as blood rushed back. 

Xie Lian limped—honestly, it was kind to even call it that—back into the apartment and shut the door behind him before slumping against it with a shaky breath. He gritted his teeth and massaged his temples. With nowhere for the built-up tension in his body to go, his entire being felt like a live wire. God, why were his knees unsteady? It wasn’t like he was hurt. 

Jun Wu wasn’t incorrect in saying that it had been a while since they last spoke; the florist had been actively avoiding him for a little over seven months at this point. Here he was, thinking that get away with it until the end of the year. 

Silly him. 

His ankle pulsed with pain once more, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the memory of when it was first broken, or if he had pushed himself past his limit today. Either way, it really did need to be iced, and probably wrapped. Where did Mu Qing keep the bandages again…? Maybe he could try and pilfer through their cabinets without him noticing. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

His eyes snapped open to see Feng Xin staring him down with his brows furrowed in confusion. Well, Xie Lian knew it to be confusion. To anyone else, the personal trainer had three different facial expressions: mildly pissed, thoroughly pissed, and furious. The one he currently had on his face fell somewhere between the last two. 

“Ahaha… which part?” He mentally lined up several excuses to explain Jun Wu’s presence in their apartment but was grabbed by the shoulders as his friend shook him back and forth. 

“Don’t ‘ahaha’ me, I’m talking about the part where your shit-ass landlord decided to drop by and grabbed at you before he left!”

Xie Lian shushed him and did his best to hold up a hand in a show of surrender. “The walls are thin, Feng Xin!” The last thing they needed right now was a noise complaint from their neighbors.

“What’s our resident mendicant so upset about?” Mu Qing called from the kitchen, not bothering to poke his head into the living room. 

The sounds of food sizzling on the pan made Xie Lian’s stomach growl. Feng Xin released him and headed to the kitchen to assist with dinner. Now that attention was diverted away from him, Xie Lian took the opportunity to hobble toward the kitchen island.  

“The landlord was holding hands with Xie Lian!” Feng Xin exclaimed as he handed Mu Qing various seasonings to throw into the pan. 

“You’re making it sound a lot weirder than it actually was.” Xie Lian laughed and took a seat. 

“It’s not just ‘weird.’” Feng Xin turned and pointed an accusing finger in his direction. “I saw you two through the peephole. It was weird as hell and you were uncomfortable.” 

“I’m starving, and it’s been a long day. We could talk about it after dinner. Do you two need any help?” 

“No.” Mu Qing immediately shut down the idea. Xie Lian deflated and leaned on one hand with an elbow propped up against the counter, much to Feng Xin’s amusement. 

He nudged at Mu Qing with his hip. “The reason why he’s so bad at cooking is ‘cus you never let him try.” 

“No, it’s because all the dexterity he has is reserved for tending to plants,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the cutting board as he prepared vegetables for another dish. “His cooking tastes like…” he paused in his actions to think. “A bad omen.”

Feng Xing whistled lowly. “Okay, harsh. Let him chop some veggies to help you out then.” he looked over Mu Qing’s shoulder as he worked. “Maybe he can learn through observation. You’re a professional chef, aren’t you? I thought experts were supposed to be good teachers.”

“He’s past saving.” His eyes flicked over to where Xie Lian was sitting. “No offense.”

“None taken.” There was a time when Xie Lian was an earnest student and begged Mu Qing to teach him some basic skills in the kitchen (“You always do the cooking and I feel awful making you take work home! Please, I want to feel like I’m pulling my own weight around here”), but he had managed to simultaneously burn and undercook the vegetables Mu Qing had laid out for him to stir-fry. 

In the most cordial way he could manage, he told him that he was a “culinary calamity” and should never be allowed within three feet of a stove that day.  

Dinner—a hearty hot pot to combat the chill outside—passed by quickly with Feng Xin delivering his work “newsletter” as promised (“I don’t know what the hell he was on when he said the program I made for him was full of shit, but that’s someone else’s problem now, thank god”). While his increasingly animated gestures and irreverent asides managed to coax a snort out of Mu Qing from time to time, Xie Lian found paying attention difficult.

He nodded at all the right parts and made noises of affirmation to show that he was indeed listening to Feng Xin’s story of how a belligerent client of his was angry enough to throw weights around and almost crush his toes, but his mind was still stuck on Jun Wu’s earlier visit. 

By the time his story concluded, the pot was empty. 

“I can take the dishes.” Xie Lian made to grab at the dirty bowls. “Thank you for the food, Mu Qing.” 

“Of course. I don’t mind cooking if it means we can avoid food poisoning and boiled chicken,” he replied, glancing pointedly at Feng Xin.

“Why does it feel like I’m also being targeted?”

Mu Qing turned to the target in question with a peevish smile. “Because I’m not sure if you’re aware that food doesn’t have to taste like drywall for it to be healthy. I’ve seen those sad excuses of a meal you post online, you meathead.”

“Those ‘sad excuses’ happen to be helpful to my clients!” Feng Xin’s tone was indignant, making Xie Lian huff out a laugh as he gathered up the remnants of their meal.

“Oh, that’s what you call it? I pray for their taste buds,” Mu Qing snarkily replied and rolled his eyes before he caught sight of the state of Xie Lian’s hands right as he was about to pick up the small pile of dishware. “What happened?”  

Xie Lian froze and set the bowls down. “Hm? Oh, these. I fell at work today. I’ve got two more on my elbows if you wanna see.” 

He had barely begun folding up his sleeves when Mu Qing grasped one of his wrists and rotated it so that the back of his hand was visible. The florist winced upon seeing that the red oblong marks still hadn’t gone away; there were sure to be bruises by tomorrow. His fingers grazed the marks to check for swelling before he lined them up with the red splotches in an imitation of how Jun Wu squeezed them. 

“Christ…” Feng Xin breathed as he realized the extent of the injury.

“He did this?” Mu Qing spoke quietly and his face gave no sign of emotion, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of rage roiling beneath the surface. It was clear who “he” was.

“Ah,” Xie Lian began as he yanked his hands back and splayed out all ten fingers, palms facing his friends to show that, really, there was no harm done. “I didn’t even notice them,” he lied. “You know I tend to bruise easily.” He shoved them into his pockets.

“He wouldn’t let you pull away,” Feng Xin argued. “I saw you try.”

“Staring at people through the peephole is creepy, you know,” he laughed hollowly as he tried to change the subject, only to be met with two unamused faces. “He probably meant nothing by it.” 

“Right…” Feng Xin drawled out before getting up. “I’ll get the dishes, then. You sit down.” 

“But—”

“Siddown.” 

Defeated, Xie Lian slumped back down in his chair while Feng Xin washed the dishes and Mu Qing grabbed the first aid kit from one of the cabinets. It was kept in the kitchen because—as Mu Qing has mentioned on more than one occasion—the chances of the florist wandering into the kitchen against his better judgment and finding a way to set fire to himself were nonzero, so protective measures were necessary.

“Bring it here.” White box in hand, he gestured vaguely at the stool. As Xie Lian obediently raised his leg, Mu Qing sat down and carefully propped it up on his lap to examine it. 

“I fell and twisted it at work,” Xie Lian gave a rueful chuckle that quickly turned into a hiss of pain when Mu Qing gently prodded at the swollen area, receiving a glare as he flinched away. 

“Why is it like this from just a fall?” His tone was skeptical.

“The elevator was out of order,” he uselessly supplied. “This one is actually on me, I promise.”

“Tell me you took a taxi home.” 

“Ah well…” his eyes flicked over to Feng Xin's back as if it could offer any assistance (it did not). 

“Christ, Xie Lian. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Mu Qing pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and grabbed a roll of bandages as well as a vial of medicated oil from the first aid kit. He didn’t wait for a response as he started carefully wrapping the injury after dabbing some oil on it. His fingers were deft and gentle as he started at the ball of his foot, winding the bandage in figure eights until it passed and reached his ankle.  

“You were busy cooking.” 

“I wasn’t,” Fenx Xin called over his shoulder as he placed a freshly washed bowl on the drying rack and got started on the next. “I just like playing sous chef and getting in his way when he’s trying to work.”

“I’m slipping arsenic in your food next time,” Mu Qing murmured, his brows furrowed in concentration as he snipped the bandage and smoothed it down. 

“And this is probably just a flare-up from an old injury. It’s not like it needed immediate attention.”

“A broken ankle from less than a year ago is not an old injury by any stretch of the imagination. You need to actually pay attention to your health so I don’t need to keep worrying about it.” His words lacked any bite to them as he focused on making sure the bandage was properly secure. He set Xie Lian’s foot down and held out his hand expectantly. 

“Oh, I can do it myself. You don’t need to—”

“Give me your hands.” 

Properly chagrined, Xie Lian complied and let him apply oil on the forming bruises in small, circular motions. “Thank you, Mu Qing.”

“For what.”

“Caring for me. You don’t have to.” 

He rolled his eyes and tossed the vial of oil back into the first aid kit, turning his back to put it away. “You can thank me by trying it out for yourself.” Xie Lian could faintly make out the tips of his ears turning red.

The image of his roommate tending to his injuries so attentively sparked memories of when his ankle was broken earlier that year—along with a litany of injuries that needed aftercare after his stay at the hospital. They had a conversation almost identical to this one, and he had promised that he’d take better care of himself. The nostalgia of it all made him smile in spite of the scolding.

“So what was that he was saying before he left, by the way?” Feng Xin asked as he patted his hands dry. 

“Ah, well…” Xie Lian bit the inside of his cheek in thought before explaining his and Mu Qing’s current circumstances—with the latter jumping in to mention how ridiculous the exorbitant increase in rent was—and took care to omit the other details that would make Feng Xin worry.  

“You’ve forgotten the part where he wanted a glorified secretary without the hassle of paying for one as if you actually have time for that,” Mu Qing snarked as he returned to his seat. 

“You heard that…?”

“Heard what?” Feng Xin looked between the two of them.

“Well, he said I could help him out after hours whenever I had time.” As he filled him in, he noticed Mu Qing go rigid next to him. His face had become unreadable. “He was nice enough to take my schedule into account, and—” 

“That motherfucker!” Feng Xin sprang to his feet.

“...?!”

“He wants favors from you after business hours as an alternative to fully paying the rent he decided to raise.”

“Right, but it’s only because he knows I’m busy with other things during the day,” Xie Lian said, already knowing where he was going with this. “I already said that.”

“For fuck’s sake, he grabbed you on his way out. That’s not normal behavior!” Feng Xin jabbed the countertop repeatedly with a finger to drive his point home.

“He’s trying to extort you,” Mu Qing followed. “Because clearly, dodging charges of vehicular assault at the beginning of the year wasn’t enough for him.” 

“Wha—No. Okay, listen. My ankle—even from back then—was my own fault. It’s nothing.” Xie Lian quickly waved off the idea and any accompanying memories that came with it. “You both are jumping to conclusions; letting me and Mu Qing rent here in the first place was already a big help on his part. There’s no way he would do something like… like that.” He turned to Mu Qing, expecting that he would agree with him. 

“Sure. You’re avoiding him because of nothing then,” Feng Xin sassed as his roommate eyed him critically. “Forget about your ankle and,” his eyes flitted to Xie Lian’s neck, “whatever the fuck happened seven months ago. Are the bruises on your hands also ‘nothing’?”

“Ah…” Xie Lian’s mouth dried up. 

“You’re not seriously considering it, are you?” Mu Qing’s tone was flat. 

“It will be really hard to keep the apartment if I don’t…”

Feng Xin slammed his hand on the counter. “Forget that, find a new place! You don’t need some jackass constantly harassing you just because he can.”

“He did us a favor by letting us stay here. I don’t want him to feel that we’re spitting in his face when he’s been kind enough to help us.”

“I wouldn’t call giving us a lease and taking our money a favor, Xie Lian,” Mu Qing cut in. 

He opened his mouth in protest. “But—”

“Fuck his feelings, and fuck his ‘help.’ I’d spit in his face and piss in his breakfast too if he tried to pull that on me. Who the hell does he think he is?!” Feng Xin demanded, throwing his arms up in disbelief.

“A god, probably,” Mu Qing scoffed.

“He’d be a shit one.”

“You almost sound like my cousin,” Xie Lian said as he balked at Feng Xin’s vulgarity. It was rare to see him this incensed, and it seemed that crass words had a tendency to boil over whenever it got to this point.

“Ouch.” The offense of being compared to Qi Rong was enough to interrupt his tirade. 

“I’m sorry.” Xie Lian massaged his temples and shut his eyes. “I don’t want to fight. It’s been a long week, and I’d rather we actually spend time for ourselves instead of spending time worrying about things like rent and work.”

“We’re not fighting,” Mu Qing said, meaningfully glancing over at Feng Xin. 

Feng Xin crossed his arms. “Of course not. I’m worried about your piece-of-shit landlord trying to—”

“But you’re right. It’s been a long week,” he continued as got up to go to the living room. “It’s going to be an even longer night for our leech over here while he gets destroyed in Smash.” 

“Your what?!” Feng Xin called out as he leaped up and ran after Mu Qing. “You’re not getting away with that, you bastard.”

“Last I checked, winning 3-0 last time means I already did.”

While the two bickered, Xie Lian stepped down from his chair and gingerly put weight on his right foot. His ankle still ached, but the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as it was an hour prior. Mu Qing did an incredible job taking care of him, as always. How much longer was he going to have to clean up Xie Lian like this before he got sick of it? Surely he must have reached that point by now—

“Xie Lian!” He whipped his head to see Feng Xin looking at him expectantly from the couch with a third controller in hand. “You ready to lose, or what?” 

He banished all thoughts of injuries and landlords from his mind and smiled as he walked over and took the controller. “I got some practice in with Mu Qing earlier this week. Maybe today’s my lucky day.” 

“As the one he was quote-unquote ‘practicing’ with, I can assure you that it’s not,” Mu Qing said as he took a seat next to Feng Xin. 

“I improved a little bit!” he protested. 

“You jumped off the platform three times.” 

<<Beginning <Previous Next>

A/N: It has been FOREVER good lord, is everyone still here ? :') so sorry to have neglected this fic. I don't have a life-changing canon event to share like all the other Ao3 writers do, I've just been working and studying a lot. But I'm back now ! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Things will pick up, I promise :D

[x-heesy]

𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗗𝝠𝗬 𝗣𝗛𝗨𝗡𝗗𝝠𝗬

𝗜𝗙 𝗬𝝝𝗨 𝗖𝝝𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗖

𝗜 𝝠𝗠 𝝠 𝗗𝝠𝗡𝗖𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝝠𝗡𝗗𝗪𝗜𝗖𝗛 🎧💃🏽🕺🏼🪩🚀💥

𝝠 𝗧𝗥𝝠𝗖𝗞 𝝠 𝗗𝝠𝗬 𝗞𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝝠 𝗗𝝝𝗖𝗧𝝝𝗥 𝝠𝗪𝝠𝗬

𝗚𝝝𝝝𝗦𝗘𝗕𝗨𝗠𝗣𝗦 / 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝝠𝗧𝗜𝝝𝗡𝝠𝗟 𝗕𝗘𝝠𝗧𝗦 /𝗜𝗡𝗧𝝝𝗠𝗬𝗦𝝝𝗨𝗟 / 𝗘𝝠𝗥𝗚𝝠𝗦𝗠 / 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗭𝗭 𝗜𝗭 𝝠 𝗚𝗜𝗙 𝝠𝗧𝗧𝝠𝗖𝗞 / 𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗗𝗥𝗨𝗚𝗦𝝠𝗡𝗗𝗦𝝝𝗖𝗞𝗦𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗛𝝝𝗟𝗘𝗦 / 𝗣𝗨𝗡𝗞𝗦𝝠𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗗𝗘𝝠𝗗 / 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟 𝗬 𝝠𝗦𝗦 / 𝗚 𝝝 𝗗 𝗜 𝗦 𝝠 𝗗 𝗝 / ΓЯДCҜФFΓHΞDДУ / 𝗗𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗗𝝠𝗥𝗞𝝠𝗡𝗗𝗗𝝠𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥𝝝𝗨𝗦 / 𝗣𝗛𝗨𝗖𝗞 𝗜𝗧 𝟰 𝗣𝗛𝗨𝗡 / 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛𝝝𝗨𝗧𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘𝗪𝝝𝗨𝗟𝗗𝗕𝗘𝝠𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗧𝝠𝗞𝗘 / 𝗪𝝝𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗨𝗟 𝗜 𝗖𝝝𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗬 / 𝗪𝗘𝗜𝗥𝗗 𝗜𝗦 𝝠 𝗖𝝝𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧 / 𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗡 𝗧𝗪𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗 🎧 / 𝗟𝝝𝗦𝗧 𝗜𝗡 𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝝝 / 𝗧𝗛𝝠𝗡𝗞𝗦 𝗟𝝝𝗥𝗗 𝟰 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗞 / 𝗜𝗠𝗙𝗥𝗘𝝠𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞𝝝𝗨𝗧 / 𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗧𝝝𝗗𝝠𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞𝝝𝗨𝗧 / 𝗦𝗨𝗕𝗕𝝠𝗦𝗦𝗠𝝠𝗦𝗦𝝠𝗖𝗥𝗘 / 𝗦𝗛𝝠𝗞𝗘𝗪𝗛𝝠𝗧𝗬𝝠𝗠𝝠𝗠𝝠𝗚𝝠𝗩𝗘𝗬𝝠 /𝗗𝗥𝝝𝗣𝗕𝗘𝝠𝗧𝗦𝗡𝝝𝗧𝗕𝝝𝗠𝗕𝗦 / 𝗥𝝝̈𝗛𝗥𝗧 𝗪𝗜𝗘 𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗖𝗛 / 𝗜’𝗠 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝝝

#panicdynamicpandemic #trackoftheday #gifattack #gifmania #moody #edm #electronicmusic #shakewhatyamamagaveya #raaaaven @luna-zylum @bko69er @derflaneur @boanerges20 swaaaag #electroshockboogie #dancemfdance #partymusic #lostinmusic #thankslordforhiphop

I'm sick, demented

I came to represent it

I rose from the grave

I had a close shave

The cops tried to lock me down

'Cause the Glock they found was stolen

That's how I'm rollin'

Calvin Klein's no friend of mine

So I don't like Marky

Or the monarchy

Don't start me up like a rolling stone

Or I'll leave ya sulking like Maculay Culkin in home alone

So get a grip like Steven Tyler

I used to trip with the divine styler

Back in the days there were Irish ways

And Irish laws, stand up for the 'cause

When it's time to rock a funky joint

I'm on point

When it's time to rock a funky jam

I'm the man

When it's time to rock a funky joint

I'm on point

When it's time to rock a funky jam

I'm the man

Well it's the D to the a double N-Y-B-O,

Why I rock shit like Ronnie Dio

It's a black day, avenge quick run get the vest ?

I'm down with the hill 'cause I still got the skill

To turn the party out

Its all about the skyscraper

Your girl caught the vapors

So I might videotape her

I make a lot of papers so I don't have to scrape the

Bottom of the barrel

I rock fly apparel

Now I could pull your car

Stating up the Harley Davidson

I got the gun, so the drama, you could save it

Well it's the mad bum rushin'

Funky with percussion

From la to flushing

I get your girlie blushin'

I'll cut you like a butcher

But it ain't Joe the Biter

The old rock a loop 'cause I'm super like Schneider

When it's time to rock a funky joint

I'm on point

When it's time to rock a funky jam

I'm the man

When it's time to rock a funky joint

I'm on point

When it's time to rock a funky jam

I'm the man

I'm ill, retarded

So don't get me started

I might lose my cool

Ya lose if we do

'Cause I can stomp a hole in the soul of a monk

With the rhymes in my head and the beats in my trunk

I got skill kid

And I run the mill kid

For all its worth, I'm gettin' mines on earth

So step to the next head

Or like Sadat X said

"He's gone and that's how it flows to be

Don't stand so close to me"

When it's time to rock a funky joint

I'm on point

When it's time to rock a funky jam

I'm the man

When it's time to rock a funky joint

I'm on point

When it's time to rock a funky jam

I'm the man

𝗧𝗥𝝠𝗖𝗞 𝝝𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝝠𝗬: On Point by House Of Pain

[whatilistenedtoatwork]

From April 15th to April 19th, 2024

15-04-2024

GORKY'S ZYGOTIC MYNCI “The Blue Trees”; PAUL CHAMBERS “Bass On Top”; MIKE OLDFIELD “Tubular Bells II”; THE CORAL “Coral Island”; JEAN MICHEL JARRE “En Attendant Cousteau”; BILL RYDER-JONES “Yawn”; NOODLES “Ivy”; THE KATHRYN TICKELL BAND “The Kathryn Tickell Band”; THE BREEDERS “Title TK”; DE DANNAN “Anthem”

16-04-2024

CAB CALLOWAY & HIS ORCHESTRA “Cab Calloway 1930-1931”; FAIRPORT CONVENTION “Unhalfbricking”; BUCKWHEAT ZYDECO “One For The Road”; R.E.M. “Dead Letter Office”; ERIC BOGLE “Singing The Spirit Home”

17-04-2024

THE FALL “Code-Selfish”; THE SHAGGS “Philosophy Of The World”; RICHARD THOMPSON & DANNY THOMPSON “Industry”; U-ROY “Right Time Rockers”; SARAH VAUGHAN “Sarah Vaughan Sings George Gershwin, Volume 2”; GUNS N' ROSES “Appetite For Destruction”; THE JAMES TAYLOR QUARTET “In The Hand Of The Inevitable”; DOC & MERLE WATSON “Doc & Merle Watson's Guitar Album”; SMALL FACES “There Are But Four Small Faces”; BEAUSOLEIL “Bayou Cadillac”; AVENGED SEVENOLD “Avenged Sevenfold”; THE MONKEES “Headquarters”; BUFFALO TOM “Quiet & Peace”

18-04-2024

THE BREEDERS “Pod”; ERIC B & RAKIM “Paid In Full”; CARTER THE UNSTOPPABLE SEX MACHINE “101 Damnations”; THE CURE “Faith”; GRATEFUL DEAD “Workingman's Dead”; DOLLY PARTON “In The Good Old Days (When Times Were Bad)”; BIKINI KILL “Pussywhipped”; DAVE SWARBRICK “Rags, Reels & Airs”; THROWING MUSES “Chais Changed”; CAB CALLOWAY & HIS ORCHESTRA “Cab Calloway 1937-1938”; SUDED “Bloodsports”; THE CURE “The Head On The Door”

19-04-2024

MARTIN CARTHY & DAVE SWARBRICK “Byker Hill”; SEBADOH “Bubble & Scrape”; CAN “Out Of Reach”; JEAN MICHEL JARRE “Chronologie”; UNDERWORLD “A Hundred Days Off”; THE FALL “Levitate”; TIMBER TIMBRE “Hot Dreams”; ROBYN HITCHCOCK & THE EGYPTIANS “Queen Elvis”

[suchananewsblog]

Duff McKagan Recognizes Mental Health Awareness Month With 'This Is the Song'

Guns N’ Roses bassist releases first new solo music in four years today Duff McKagan is helping to raise attention for Mental Health Awareness Month with “This Is the Song,” the Guns N’ Roses bassist’s first new solo recording since 2019’s Tenderness album. “This is the song that’s gonna save my life as I scrape for sanity,” he croons while strumming an acoustic guitar. “Tried Lexapro and what…

[yummytiger]

Scraped-Guns N’ Roses

[aenais]

You’re an Idiot Darling - Ch. 1

Rating: Explicit (18+ only) | Mando x Reader

series masterlist | Word count: 2.7k 

Summary: The Mandalorian needed you to fix the Crest, but then, he went and got stabbed. Now, he needs you to fix him up, too.

A/N - this is the first of a multipart Hurt/Comfort series. Later chapters contains smut.

WARNINGS for this chapter: Violence, no use of Y/N, knives, Star Wars guns, minor antagonist death, swearing, blood

Everything was cast in liquid gold. As dusk fell, the junkyard glowed. Piles of litter and scrap metal glimmered in the final rays of sun—drenched in buttery light.

Despite the scene, something else on the horizon had caught your eye. You rose, wiping the sweat from your brow. No way, you thought. There’s no way.

The Mandalorian’s beskar armor gleamed in the dwindling light as he made his way toward you. You grinned. 

The setting sun rippled across the broad planes of him as he approached, and for a second you saw the same dark, intimidating hunter you’d met so many months ago. You remembered that day distinctly: scrambling out of your workshop as the Razor Crest all but collapsed into your docking bay. In your line of work, that was what you called a “crash landing.” 

“Seems like spaceport control lets anyone on-world these days,” you called out. “Or did you just crash that kriffing ship onto my planet again?” 

Predictably, the bounty hunter said nothing in response. You snorted, all too familiar with his deadly stoicism. After you fixed his Maker-damned ship that first time, he seemed to realize you had a knack for working miracles at a bargain price. So he came back a few weeks later—his nameless green baby in tow. Then, after a month, they came back needing fresh repairs. 

And then, it happened again. And again. Until months had passed, and you’d both become part of each others’ routines. Trust didn’t come easy to Mando; distance and secrecy were just as much a part of his armor as the beskar itself. But after all this time, you’d caught glimpses of what lay beneath it all. It was…unexpected. Soft-spoken. Sarcastic. And stars, did the sight of it entice you to peel more and more of his rigid surfaces away. 

Fuck. 

You hated yourself for it. For these fat, kriffing feelings you’d begun harboring for the Mandalorian. 

You had no idea what he looked like under there; you didn’t even know his name. And yet, this inane, cavewoman part of you felt a thrill up her spine each time he showed up in his piece-of-junk ship. You reveled in the easy banter that crackled between you—shivered at every accidental contact with his massive frame. The coolness of his pauldron on your bare shoulder, or the warmth of his gloved fingers on your arm: every morsel of his touch was engraved into your mind.

Stars, you just wanted to help him. Not with tools and scrap metal, but something softer. Warmer. You wanted to ease the tension from those hulking shoulders after a bad hunt, take all his stress, rage, and frustration away. You wanted the devastating strength beneath that armor to shift and quiver beneath your hands; the calluses from his blaster to scrape against your skin; that rough, throaty baritone to whisper your name, snarl praise right into your ear—

BANG! 

You froze. 

A gunshot had pierced the night. 

In horror, you watched as half a dozen men leapt from the shadows behind Mando, carrying blasters. You grabbed your own gun, barreling toward him. 

“Don’t!” Mando growled in your direction, but you weren’t listening. Six men—mercenaries, by the look of them—were converging on him. He was a frenzy of violent motion: his blaster in one hand and a wicked-looking vibroblade in the other. Darting back and forth, he slashed one man with the knife, then turned to shoot another point-blank in the head. 

It was carnage. Chaos. 

Amidst it, you caught sight of a small, glimmering object. Mando’s kid—his little floating crib. And behind it, a single attacker emerging with his blaster raised, aiming for its surface—

You didn’t think twice before taking aim and shooting the man where he stood. 

The mercenaries went still, watching their comrade fall. You didn’t dare slow down. Even with the distance between you, you could see the taut silence that had overtaken Mando’s frame. You watched the slow shift of his helmet in your direction. 

Then, you watched him realize the mistake his attackers had made. As the mercenaries stood dumbly in shock, Mando holstered his blaster. And with a lightning-quick flick of his wrist, he unleashed a bombardment of dart-like bullets from his vambrace. Whistling birds, you remembered. They were bullets made of beskar. Tiny, but just as lethal as the man that wore them. 

They rained upon the mercenaries, dropping them like flies. By the time you came to where he stood, all six men were on the ground. 

“Stars, Mando,” you panted, doubling over. 

Stoic as ever, he loomed over you. 

“You can shoot,” he said finally, the words deathly quiet. You turned your head to look up at him. 

“Um. Yeah.”

“Is he…?”

“Alive. Only stunned,” you answered the unspoken question. 

He said nothing for a moment. You flipped the blaster in your hand, flicking the weapon’s safety on before tucking it into the waistband of your trousers. The motions were easy and practiced. When you faced Mando again, you found him silently watching them. 

“Where’d you learn how to shoot?” he asked. 

“Uh,” you started. He was observing you with rapt curiosity, fixated on the gun currently sticking out of your pants. Kriff, why was he looking at you like that? “Don’t—don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.” As a lone mechanic on a crime-ridden planet, you did business with enough seedy people to acquire a sparkling education in self-defense. Learning to shoot was a necessity, more than anything. But Mando seemed…oddly intrigued by this unexpected skill set of yours. The way he was looking at you right now—with that dark, keen interest? 

Oh, stars. Cavewoman You stirred.

FOCUS, you screamed at yourself, shaking your thoughts away. Six men had just attacked Mando, and the logical part of your brain demanded to know why. “Mando, who the hell are these guys?” 

“Mercenaries,” he replied, tart and abrupt.

Well no shit, tin can. You knew he’d given a half-answer on purpose—there was more he wasn’t saying. “But why exactly are mercenaries after you?”

He went silent. “Well?” you prodded. 

“Well, what?” 

Fuck. This was classic Mando. All terse replies and feigned ignorance when he wanted to avoid a question. But the fact that he was evading meant…something was wrong. What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into this time?

“No. We’re not doing this.” You shook your head irritably. 

“Doing what?”

“This!” you snapped. “This beating-around-the-bush routine you pull when you don’t want to tell me the truth!” 

“I’m not—” But Mando hesitated. Going quiet again, he gazed at you. 

In the time that’d passed since he showed up, the sun had dipped fully below the horizon. By now, the sky’s reds and purples were fading into perfect black. He appraised you beneath the falling darkness, marking the indignant stare you were giving him. You watched him with scrutiny of your own, taking in the broad, shadowed expanse of his armored shoulders. 

“Please,” you said suddenly, your resolve fracturing. For you knew Mando. When shit hit the fan, his first instinct was to push people away, especially when they wanted to help. It was the conditioned habit of a man painfully used to doing everything alone. After all the time you’d known each other, you tried to convince him he wasn’t alone. He had allies. Friends. And they could help him when things went wrong, if only he let them in. 

“Please,” you repeated. “Just—just tell me what’s going on.” 

Maybe he saw the anger bleed out of your face, or heard the tremor in your voice. Because when he looked at you this time, something in that rigid stance had softened. He loosed a heavy sigh. And then, impossibly, he spoke. 

“I don’t know for sure, but…I think they’re Guild. And it’s not me they’re after.” His voice was a tight growl through the helmet when he said, “It’s the kid.” 

Your heart dropped. Well, that explained why he didn’t want to tell you.

You’d fixed enough ships for enough bounty hunters to have a working knowledge of how they operated: bound by the Bounty Hunter Code, Guild members were forbidden from attacking each other. You figured that also forbade threats against each others’ adoptive children. Which could only mean…

“There’s a bounty on his head,” you breathed, the realization knocking the air from your lungs. Mando nodded gravely. 

You stepped past him, rushing towards the floating crib that hovered a few feet away. Jabbing the controls at its side, you watched the lid slide open to reveal a familiar green face. The child cooed when he saw you, his huge, glassy eyes twinkling in the dim light. 

“Hey, little guy,” you murmured, stroking his chubby cheek with your knuckle. He giggled at the touch, and you felt your heart clench. How could anyone send a hunter after him?

“Since when?” you asked, feeling Mando come up beside you. 

“Months now.” You turned to find him gazing at the child. While the beskar revealed nothing, you imagined his features were drawn with concern beneath it. 

Months, you realized. That could easily mean the entirety of the time you’d known the two. Sometimes, in these rare moments when another chunk of Mando’s secrecy fell away, you often felt unmoored: left wondering what else lay hidden beneath all his silence. You found yourself asking if he really even trusted you. If, after all this time, you even knew the bounty hunter at all. 

But today, he’d already revealed far more than you were used to. Silently, you thanked the stars for it. At the very least, it was a start. 

“I’m gonna hazard a guess,” you drawled, letting derision drip into your voice, “that these guys are the same reason the Crest needs repairs?” 

He grunted an affirmative. Kriff, you didn’t like the sound of that. “How bad is it this time?” you asked, afraid to hear the answer. 

A beat. And then—

“Bad.” 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Mando gave an apologetic little dip of the head. “Shouldn’t you be glad?” he chided. “It’s more credits out of my pocket.”

“Hard to be glad when I know I’ll be spending another sleepless night fixing that dumpster fire of a ship.” 

Images of the Razor Crest’s decrepit engines and carbon-scored hull rose to mind. By now, you knew every inch of that damned ship by heart. The Crest was, frankly, an embarrassment. Just remembering the maddening details of her ancient schematics had your expression souring in distaste. 

Then, Mando said, “Hey,” and your eyes snapped to him. “Be nice,” came his gruff voice through the vocabulator. 

And suddenly, a slew of…other images rushed to mind. Memories of late nights in your hanger with the dark ship looming over you, and the Mandalorian pacing back and forth as you worked. You remembered lighting the fire when the open air got cooler—sitting with him by the crackling flame. Just talking. At some point, the curt, businesslike nature of your conversations had given in to rippling chemistry: the edge of your snark sliding perfectly against the wryness of his sarcasm. And though some part of him always remained distant from you, sometimes, a certain closeness bloomed beside the heat of the fire. 

Your bare leg beside his armored thigh. The accidental brush of beskar on skin. That time he stood watching you repair the ship’s circuits, and leaned in to rub his thumb across your jaw. The way he froze when you jumped at the touch. And murmured, “Easy. There was grease.”  

“We need to get back to my hanger,” you said, forcefully shooing the thoughts away. Focus—you needed to focus. 

“What’s the damage to the ship?” you asked, turning from him and beginning to pace through the junkyard. 

“One of the thrusters, her hull took a hit—comms were down, too, or I’d have let you know we were coming,” he said. Then, he paused, watching as you sidestepped around the heaps of junk metal and rummaged through a pile or two. “What—are you looking for something?” 

“My rucksack,” you growled, rifling through the scraps. “Kriff, it’s around here somewhere.” It was the whole reason you were in the local junkyard in the first place: restocking your inventory of spare parts. You enjoyed mechanic work, but the job had a tendency to make one feel like a glorified Jawa sometimes. 

“I can’t leave without it,” you said. “In any case, I’ll need some of those parts to fix the Crest, and….wait.” 

Something clicked in your head. “Mando, if your comms aren’t working, how’d you know where to find me?” 

You turned to find him following after you, the kid’s pod trailing close behind. “You told me about this junkyard once,” he replied. Yes, you had. “I would’ve checked the market next, then the taverns in town.” All the other places you’d ever mentioned to him, even in passing.

“Were you just…going to check everywhere till you found me?”

“Lucky first try,” he replied. 

You scoffed. At his nonchalance—at the fact that he even remembered such tiny things about you. Then, you fought the warmth bubbling up in your chest at the sheer domesticity of it. 

Your rucksack lay beside a heap of junk metal a few steps away; you made a small sound of relief, grabbing it. “Let’s get out of here,” you said, heaving the bag over your shoulders. “It’s already dark, and let me tell you, this side of town isn’t a place you want to be this late at night.” 

“Which is why you carry a blaster.”

If it was supposed to be a question, it didn’t come out like one. As you walked, Mando was watching you with that keen curiosity again. You gave him a look. 

“You know, Mando, all this disbelief feels a tad offensive,” you said drily, unable to stop the grin from spreading across your face. “Sounds like sexism to me. Pure misogyny.”

“Really,” he deadpanned. 

“Yeah, really.” 

He took a slow, careful step towards you. Your breath caught. 

“That’s rich,” he said quietly, “considering how often you’ve used the phrase testosterone-fueled jackass as of late.” 

You both stopped in your tracks. There was barely a foot between you now. His powerful shoulders were a wall of steel in your face. Shit, you thought, fucking shit. Because as Mando stared down at you with that little tilt of his helmet, you felt your blood begin to pound in your ears. 

Your brain’s circuitry was frying. Switching off every thought but the sight of him, his heat, and his scent. Apparently, from this close, he smelled like gunpowder, warm leather, and musk. 

You tried and failed to fight the needy, sordid thoughts that revelation brought to mind. 

Maker, he was a jackass, wasn’t he. He was a complete and utter bastard for being so perfectly unaware of the effect he had on you. For months, the Mandalorian had been luring you into an unstable orbit, wearing your guard down while keeping all his armor on himself. He made you crave stupid, reckless things. And stars—sometimes, between the heated arguments and passing touches the two of you shared, you found yourself wondering if he craved those things, too. 

It really couldn’t have been just platonic. Right? This strange, fascinated way he reacted to the sight of a gun in your hand—it…it wasn’t normal. But then again, there was no logical way that Mando was somehow aroused by seeing you get violent. That made absolutely no sense. 

…Or did it? 

You were this close to just asking him, honestly. But then, your gaze flicked up to his helmet. And the question died in your mouth. 

He was motionless. The dark line of his visor was silently fixed upon something in the distance. In a moment’s notice, he went completely tense before you. 

“What?” you breathed, feeling the air shift. 

He said nothing. 

“Mando? Mando.”

Talons of fear grazed their way up your throat. 

“Mando!” you cried. You turned to follow his line of sight, only to find:

A bright plume of dust on the otherwise dark horizon. Rippling and writhing, it steadily moved closer. You had no idea what you were looking at—you only knew that it was gaining on you. Fast. 

Then, you listened. You heard the telltale rattle of engines, rumbling through the quiet night. Speeder bikes. 

Fuck. Fuck. 

You looked closer, and sure enough: the glow of their headlights. More than twenty mercenaries riding speeders, hurtling right toward you.

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[cevansbrat0007]

Make Me: Part One

Summary: Always give Daddy what he wants. Read Part Two + Read Part Three

*Warnings: Smut, DubCon, Backdoor Play, Daddy!Kink, Mean Daddy!Chris, Brat!Reader, Punishment (mentioned), Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Minor edits have been made. This is the first piece of Chris Evans fanfiction I ever wrote, so please be kind. Thankfully, I’m pretty sure my writing has grown since then. Not beta’d. Semi Proofread. All mistakes are my own. Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged! ___

Part One

You step out of the shower, taking your time drying your skin before searching for and applying your favorite body butter. A small sigh escapes you as work the last of the creamy remnants into your legs and arms. The scent of Almond Rose fills the bathroom - not that you mind any. And frankly, neither would your boyfriend. He couldn’t get enough of the smell either. 

You throw your kinky curly hair up into a messy poof and don one of your boyfriend’s shirts. It’s much too big for your frame, and you love it. Just as you go to put on a pair of panties, you hear someone yell your name from the floor below. You jump like an idiot before dropping the panties and hurrying to the top of the stairs. Just in time to hear your name again. 

“Baby, where the hell are you?!”

You groan, eyes rolling heavenward before replying. “Yeah, Chris?” You frown when you don’t hear anything. “Chris? Chris, what’s wrong?”

“C’mere! Like now! It’s an emergency!”

“Shit”, you mumble. “Hang on babe, I’m coming down right now!” And with that, you race down the stairs, taking them two at a time just in case there turns out to be an actual emergency. You could never be too careful with this man. You turn the corner and fly into the living room, only to see the cause of your distress stretched out on the sofa with a beer in one hand while the other is lazily tucked behind his head.

Everything seems…fine. Nothing’s broken or on fire. Chris is one piece. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, he almost looked half asleep. What the hell was this fine ass man’s problem? 

You take a deep breath. You count to ten. And then you summon the patience to look at your boyfriend in his beautiful blue optic stems and ask him just that. “Chris, honey. Where. Is. The. Flipping. Emergency?” He grins cheekily and scrapes a rough hand over the beard you love to feel between your thighs. 

“Baby…the game’s about the start.” You find yourself blinking at him in disbelief. Once. Twice. 

“The game?”

“Uh huh. You promised to watch it with me. And you’ve been upstairs forever.”

“Chris…it’s been, like, an hour.” You grumble.

“I just didn’t want you to miss the starting half.” He adds with a pout. That damned pout of his should be illegal.

“That does not qualify as an emergency”.

“It does if you’re a Patriots fan like me!” He responds with a laugh. A laugh that has the power to make you melt. Even when you don’t want to. Like now.

 Instead of replying you simply roll your eyes and throw your hands up in the air before turning to head back upstairs, effectively dismissing him.

“Hey wait!” He calls after you. “Baby, come back. You’ve hardly spent any time with me today, and I…need my girl. Come lay down with me, baby.” You turn to look at him, completely ready to be taken in by his pleading puppy dog eyes. And there was that damned pout again. 

After a moment he can see you’re still not sold, so he’s forced to pull out the big guns. His voice lowers almost to a soft growl. Gone are the pleading eyes and pout, only to be replaced by something…darker. 

“Daddy misses his girl.”

He pats his chest, inviting you to join him. You can feel the moisture pooling between your thighs. “Come to Daddy, baby. Now.” 

God, girl, you think to yourself. You are WEAK.

“Okay”, you relent. “Just…just give me a minute to go upstairs and throw on some shorts real quick”. You turn to head back towards the stairs when you hear him growl again. 

“Why the fuck does my girl need to put on shorts?” Uh oh. 

“Umm…” You bite your lip as you feel your cheeks heat. Which is embarrassing because you’re a grown ass woman. “Because when you yelled before I thought it was a real emergency and didn’t have time to put on any panties.” You struggle to keep from clenching your thighs together as you watch his eyes darken and his curious smile turn predatory. 

“That’s okay, baby girl. You know how Daddy feels about panties. You know you would have been in trouble if he’d caught you with them on, don’t you?” He quirks a brow when you don’t respond immediately. 

“Yeah, I mean, um…yes.” Chris never did like having anything between him and his pussy. 

He frowns at your answer. “Yes…what?”

“I meant to say yes, Daddy. Sorry Daddy.”

Appeased, he relaxes back into the couch. “S’alright. Now bring that pretty pussy over to Daddy. He’s missed her all day.”

You sigh in defeat as you make your way over, secretly wondering where all your earlier fire had gone. Your inner feminist fumes. She tells you that you shouldn’t like to be spoken to this way. That you deserve more respect, that your body belongs to you, not to some man who calls himself “your Daddy”. 

Well, you didn’t know what the hell was wrong with you, or her, for that matter. All you knew was that that little primal part of your brain that still had the nerve to exist was telling to shut the fuck up and shake your sexy ass on over to your man. So that’s what you did. 

Once you’re close, two big warm hands grip your waist and pull you down on top of a well-muscled chest. You snuggle in, tucking your head under his chin. “Mmm, sweetness. You smell delicious.” You feel his chest rumble beneath you. Shit feels good. 

“Thank you, Daddy. So do you.” He doesn’t respond, but you feel his hands slowly slide down your back to cup your ass. He gives it a playful squeeze, which is your cue to get comfy. And with that, you turn your head to watch the game. 

Now if you’re being honest, you don’t really understand what’s going on. Football isn’t your sport. You’d much prefer basketball. Yeah, no. Football is definitely more of Chris’ thing. But that’s alright. Any excuse to cuddle up with your man is good enough for you. 

After a while Chris begins to gently knead the globes of your ass cheeks and you feel yourself start to doze.

Although you suddenly come awake when you feel something graze your back hole. It takes you a moment to realize it’s a finger. A finger that is slowly, methodically rubbing circles around your puckered ring. “Shh, sweetheart.” You hear Chris say, sounding amused. “Daddy just wants to play. Go back to sleep.”

Wait, what? Yeah, sure, you and Chris had briefly discussed the idea of backdoor play here and there, but you’d never actually agreed upon anything. You begin to squirm, which leads to his other arm coming down around your waist, effectively locking you in place. But that doesn’t stop you from squirming. 

“Settle down, sweetness.” A hint of warning in his voice. It’s playful, but you recognize the tone. “Daddy just wants to open you up a little. Get you comfortable with the idea of me touching you here.” 

You shake your head to clear out any remaining cobwebs. “Um, I thought we said we’d discuss that later? As in later, later.” You even managed to put a little base in your voice. Good for you. Then you feel that same finger gently begin to press into your hole. You whimper and renew your efforts to free yourself from his hold. 

“This is later.” You growl against his chest, which only makes him laugh harder. “Baby”, he coos, “didn’t Daddy promise he would take care of you? Start out by getting you used to my fingers, then we’d work you into a plug? Isn’t that what I said? You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”

“Uh, Daddy…” You hiss softly as his finger continues its assault. “In case you haven’t noticed you’re kinda big down there. It’s, uhh…” You squeeze your eyes shut. “It’s probably not gonna fit and I’m not willing to chance it.” Next to your brain, your booty is your most prized possession, and it deserves to be protected at all costs.  

You’re grateful when Chris finally pauses his invasion. “I see, honey. My baby’s worried Daddy might not fit.” You stop struggling and give a silent sigh of relief. If you could just get him to listen…

“Uh huh. Yes, Sir. It’s gonna hurt and it won’t fit. I know it. You can have my pussy though. Or-or my mouth. Whatever you want.” You sound pathetic, even to your own ears. But you’d much rather have him ravage your mouth or your cunt than wreck…well, you know.  

Chris pretends to think for a moment, almost as if he’s considering your offer. “How about this? Turn around and let me get a good look at your cute little asshole. Let me see for myself, hmm?” 

Oh hell no!That man has fucked you from behind dozens of times, and if he hasn’t noticed by now then that was just too damned bad! You are simply not equipped to handle him back there. 

“Come on now, baby. Be my good girl like I know you can.” He condescendingly taps your ass. “Turn around and let me see. I’ll be gentle. Scout’s honor.” With that said, Chris loosens his hold. 

His mistake. You manage to propel yourself out of his arms and scramble to the other side of the room. Chris Evans? A boy scout? Yeah, right. 

He sits up now, no longer enjoying himself since he’s lost control. Usually you were his good girl. His baby girl. And you wanted to be good for him, you did. You wanted to submit. But there was another part of you that was screaming at you to FIGHT. To fight this, fight him. Maybe you didn’t have to be his good girl all the time. Your ass was on the line here.

 Literally. 

“If my sweet baby girl knows what’s good for her she’ll bring her little ass over here right the fuck now...” You know he’s not joking. Mean Daddy has arrived and you’ve just taken away his favorite toy. And you know that if you don’t start complying real quick, he’s gonna punish you. Which meant it was officially time to run.

You shake your head and take one step back. Followed by another. And another. Slowly working your way towards the kitchen. Towards escape. Chris snarls as he notices your retreat. He slowly rises off the couch to stand at his full height. Mean Daddy is intimidating as hell. 

“I mean it, little girl. Do. Not. Fucking. Test. Me.” His nostrils flare with every step he takes. You can clearly see the veins throbbing in his neck. And dear Lord, have his biceps always been that big? Yep, it was time to run. But not before you summon the courage to fire one last parting shot. 

“Fucking make me.”

Oh, this was gonna be fun.