#the first big toe joint got fucked

[evadingreallife]

Me: owwwwie my foot hurtsssss

The physiotherapist: ok now move it dumbass

[chvnnie]

high 3racha 👀

i—

i’m doing to three different sections instead of one big one? hehe

SMUT — MINORS DIN

“That’s it, baby.” Chan mumbles. His fingers are tangled in your hair, back pressed against sweaty chest. Buried to the brim, he moves his hips in slow, rough circles. Making sure that you feel every ridge of his cock. His other hand hooks around your body, a joint neatly sitting between his pointer and middle finger. “Open.”

You let your lips part, allowing him to place the end on them. Eyes fluttering shut as you inhale, warm smile rolling down your overheated body. The drag you take is long. Longer than it should be considering your position. Once you’ve had your fill, you wrap a hand around his wrist, moving him away.

The exhale feels like your first breath ever; long, deep, filling your lungs so deeply it makes your body tingle. Do you moan from the sensation, or your boyfriend’s cock? Everything is fuzzy — you feel too good to try to figure out why.

“Good girl.” His voice is deep and raspy, usual when he’s been smoking. Placing the joint back on his own lips, he shoves your head back down. Mattress creaking when your cheek hits it.

Your fingers grip on the sheets, the cool cotton making your toes curl. It’s nice, soothing. Whereas Chan had started to become rough again, only easing up for that fleeting moment to share the joint.

This is a first for you. Though your highs have crossed over many times, it hasn’t occurred to either of you to fuck during it. Too hungry, too anxious, too focused on whatever was distracting you from each other’s bodies.

When you got home, Chan was already high. Sitting at the desk in his office, bong in his lap as he clicked through a porn site. He didn’t hear you walk in the room, hazy gaze locked in on the pretty girl in the video.

You sneak up behind him, rubbing his shoulders as you lean over his chair. “What are you doing, Channie?” You whisper in his ear, giggling when he jumps a bit in surprised.

“Missed you.” The words are almost inaudible, soft and groggy. His attention torn between you and the screen. “I couldn’t—I needed. Fuck, baby, I’m so hard—“

You coo, walking to sit in his lap. His arm hooks around your waist, pulling you firmly into his body. Even if he hadn’t had told you, it was more than obvious. Erection pressed against your ass, perfectly positioned for you to tease him a bit. Wiggling as you take the bong from him.

“Play the video.”

It was only a matter of time — how much is up for debate. Stumbling into your shared bedroom, shakily tearing at each other’s clothes. The only pause was for Chan to roll a questionable joint, desperate to combine the high of the weed and your body.

If anything, the high makes your boyfriend more attentive. Balancing himself with a hand on your hip while the other moves from your hair. Sliding down your body in search of your clit.

He’s rough, hips hitting your ass with such an intensity that you wouldn’t be surprised if you bruise.

“F-fuck, Chan.” Your cries are weak, laced with a mind numbing, life altering pleasure. Head rolling back, you glance over your shoulder.

Like a God, well defined and beautiful. Sweat sparkles off his skin, hair disheveled from your fingers. His eyes are shut, taking a long, heavy hit of the joint. Only when he exhaled does he look at you. Smiles lazily.

“My pretty baby.” It’s like a purr, perfectly in tune to fingers teasing your clit. “I love this perfect cunt.”

You whimper, rolling your hips to meet his. Eager, needy. So dizzy you think you’d fall over without him. “Feel ‘o good. So b-big—“

“You like it?” He chuckles when you cry out, the hard thrust hitting you in all the right ways. “It’s all for you, sweetheart.”

Chan stops, cock only midway in. You’re tempted to fuss, to beg him to continue on. What comes over you? What makes you move on your own, hips rolling back as you start to fuck yourself on his cock.

“That’s it.” He puts the nub of the joint out in the ashtray, hand coming in contact with your ass. The impact makes your knees buckle. “Show me how much your pretty pussy loves my cock.”

It’s all hazy. Dizzy. Cold, hot. Like a tornado erupting in your bedroom, helping you find a pace that brings the prettiest moans from your boyfriend. His fingers pinch your clit, rubbing in time with your hips.

Does he twitch first, or do you? It’s hard to tell.

“Make me cum, baby.” His voice is getting weaker, a deep whine as he rolls his head back.

Chan can’t help the way his body trembles as you start moving quicker, crying as your thighs begin to ache. He’s abusing your clit, pulling and rubbing with little care. Normally, it would be too much. Painful, even.

But now, it’s perfect. Clinching around him as he starts to fill you up without warning. Both experiencing an explosion of pleasure you’ve never felt before.

You’ll be damned if you don’t get it again.

///

There’s lipgloss on the pipe. When it meets Changbin’s lips, it’s stickier than he expects. Grape flavor, oddly complimenting the earth taste that fills his mouth as he breathes in. He takes it in deep, eyes fluttering shut. Body starting to tingle.

It’s removed from his lips, a pretty purple shimmer left as evidence. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t exhale. Allowing his other senses to take the lead — hears the pipe hit the table, feels your cold fingers thread through his silver locks.

Tastes grape when you kiss him, softly parting his lips with your tongue.

He moans as the smoke is shared with you. It’s the way you tug on his hair, the warmth of your tongue on his. Nothing in the world will ever be as sweet as your kisses, yet they always feel better when he’s like this. Addictive, as if this is the source of his high.

“Binnie, Binnie.” You mumble when your lips part, tapping the tip of his lightly until he finally opens his eyes again. Beautiful isn’t a strong enough word for you; the purple bra you’re wearing is the perfect shade, panties so soft and sweet with a bow that matches. Fuck, Changbin wants your lips back. “I feel good.”

“Yeah?” He smiles at you, tongue peeking out and wetting his lips. Another taste. “Me too, baby.”

Your legs are over his lap, tucked into his side on the tour bus couch. He gets chills as your hands run down his body, starting to trace the intricate designs sketched into his skin. The moment feels like it could last forever; dizzy, tangled. Nothing else outside the bus matters, everything important between the tiny metal walls.

A line is drawn across his chest tattoo, hooking under the golden chain he wears everyday. Thin, your initial attached to it. Charm between your fingers, you rub the cold metal until it’s warm.

“Don’t want you to go.” The confession is whisper by his ear, breath fanning on his neck.

“Me neither.” Changbin squeezes your bare thigh, watching the flesh mold around his fingers. “But I have a show to play. I’ll be back.”

You lift your head up, lips in a sweet pout. “Stay?”

“Baby, you know I can’t—“

He didn’t even notice that you had let go of his necklace, or that you grabbed the hand on your thigh. It wasn’t under he felt something soft and damp that he looked down — fingers laced together, pressing his palm firmly against your clothed core.

“Are you sure?”

Time has to go on. It can’t stay still in the tiny bus — but Changbin is fine wasting it when it comes to you. The tint windows have started to fog, hands pressed firmly against the glass. The rockstar hasn’t moved an inch, still seated on the couch, only with his head rolled back. And your knees caging him in.

Calloused hands grip onto you, kneading your ass as his tongue sloppily works your folds. His nose is pressed against your clit, nudging side to side to make you spill pretty moans.

“Bin.” You cry out, looking down to see his redden eyes on you. Not once has he looked away from you, watching your chest heave, the way your lips part in pleasure.

Is the weed making him dizzy? Or is it you?

Parting from your folds to breath, he smiles up at you. “What, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, unable to even attempt to answer his questions. The high mixed with the rough way he’s eating you out has rendered you unable to think, let alone speak.

“Aw, cute.” He spits on your cunt, delighted at the sound you make. “Do you like daddy’s tongue that much?”

“Yes.” It’s shaky, and broken, and all you can give.

“Then fucking ride it.”

Using the grip on your ass, he pulls you down. Forcing you to suffocate him, moving you up and down his face. Tongue flat, flicking occasionally to make you squirm.

One hand on the window, the other grabs his hair again. Using the hold for support, you find your own tempo. Rolling your hips quickly, almost roughly, you use Changbin’s tongue the way he commanded you to.

“Damn it.” You curse, tears thick in your voice. “Daddy, y-you feel nice—“

He nips at your clit, a little harder than he meant to. When your thighs squeeze his head, he laughs. “Yeah? Don’t fucking stop.”

It’s sloppy, wet. The sound filling the bus, if not spilling out of it. You try your best to listen, to keep going and chasing a high that only he can bring. Twitching, crying, making his cock swell when you paint his face.

You let it end. Try to move. But he’s not budging. The weed has made him hungry, and he’s not stopping until he gets his fill.

///

The smoke looks pretty. Head roll back against the couch, Jisung watches the cloud float up, up, up. It twirls, morphing into different shapes. Before it reaches the ceiling — poof. All gone. Popped like a bubble, as if it was never there.

Hm. A lazy smile spreads across his face, eyelids fluttering until the eventually shut. What’s it like to be a cloud? He thinks it would feel…soft. Lighter than air, sometimes separating but always coming back together. Like a big piece of cotton candy. Sweet, soft, fluffy.

It feels like fingers tapping lightly under his chin. Raindrops, perhaps? The cloud moves with his head, looking down at his lap.

You. Bright eyed, hints of red dotting the whites. When he looks at you, the room is filled with giggles. Bouncy, the air that keeps him afloat.

“What?” He asks, voice low and steady. Softly, he runs his fingers through your hair. Needing to touch you, needing to feel weightless.

“Just admiring.” God, he knows he’s so fucking stoned, but your voice. Oh, it makes his chest ache wonderfully. A beautiful, lovely sound that keeps his heart beating. “You’re pretty, Sung.”

Heat creeps up his cheeks, turning them a deep rosy red. It feels silly, how shy you still make him. Nerves cause tiny rifts in the cloud, scrambling to pull himself back together so he doesn’t embarrass himself.

“Nah.” Is all he can manage, spinning too quickly to say much more.

You sit up, sitting where your head was just laying. Arms around his shoulders, scooting closer. Hips on top of hips, chests inches apart. The smile you wear he thinks is precious; it compliments you, like the oversized hoodie of his you’re tucked into.

“Don’t be silly.” You rub the tip of your nose against his, giggling when he does. His hands slip under the hoodie, resting on your waist. The lace of your panties makes his toes curl. “You’re the prettiest. Like. So pretty.”

God, he’s so in love with you. Needing you like the cloud needs the sky to keep itself alive.

“Kiss?” He whispers, not wanting the words to be heard by anyone else, as if you’re not all alone.

“How about a bunch?”

It’s sloppy, but neither of you mind it much. Time freezes in the sky; there’s no need to rush. All of it belongs to you two. Plenty of time to take it slow, to take in each other thoroughly. You taste like the sugary candy you shared earlier. It tastes so much better on your tongue.

When Jisung is with you, he feels whole. The lonely pieces of his soul suddenly filled. Patching him together, completing him beautifully.

His hands move up your body, feeling every inch of your warm skin. Always a bit handsy, it’s even more intense when he’s high like this. He can’t get enough of you, needing to feel all of you.

When his fingers brush the underside of your breasts, you whimper a little. Wiggling on his lap, perfectly sitting your barely clothed core on his growing erection. The panties you’re wearing are thin, the texture of his boxers felt through them. And oh, is it so so nice.

Your hips start to roll. Slow like the kisses, your press your cunt against him, moaning into his mouth. The pressure is just right, the rough sensation of lace and cotton scratching every inch you could ever have.

“Baby.” Jisung moans in your mouth, gripping onto your hips again. The hold is tighter, nails puncturing your skin. “Baby, baby, baby—“

“‘S good?” You part from his lips. Swollen, shiny with his spit and your own. Fuck, he needs them again.

Nodding, he uses his grip to push you down a little harder. Making it better for the both of you as his hips begin to roll like yours. Meeting in the middle, grinding against each other.

“So good.” It’s almost like at out of body experience. The high making him fuzzy, your cunt wetting his boxers so much that they stick to his cock. His pretty lips pout out, moaning deeply as he watches your bodies move to a tempo only the two of you can hear.

What is it about you that drives him so insane? Why can he never, ever get enough of you, no matter how much you fill him? The high would never be this good if you weren’t sharing it with him.

You yelp softly, thighs twitching around his body. Jisung looks back at you, brows furrowed just a bit.

“Baby?” He’s whining. He can’t help it. “It’s okay?”

Instead of answering, you kiss him again. Harder than before, clinging to him so fiercely as if he’ll float away. The fuzzy feeling in his stomach is getting out of control, cock throbbing and twitching, and—and—

“Jisung.” You’re nipping at his lip, small tears rolling down your cheeks. “You feel ‘o nice. Want t-to cum on you—“

“Fuck, please, baby?” Beg. Beg, beg, beg. When it comes to you, he’ll do and say anything. Not worthy enough in any way, praying you’ll give him a chance.

And every time—

The strength behind your orgasm takes your breath away. It’s drenching him, covering not only his boxers but the hem of his old t-shirt. Never have you ever squirted so much, so hard. Just for him.

It’s enough to bring him with you, not even a second after. Moaning loud enough to echo, floating higher and higher as he cries your name.

—you’re more than gracious.

[holybibly]

Okay but like, to be between Yunho and Mingi 🥵😭😫 like they're both such bigger than me and I wanna be between them and just be their cure lil doll

Okay, I just couldn't get the idea out of my head, so I'm being a bit rude today.

I was thinking about how you came to be the new beautiful trophy wife of Mingi and Yunho's father. After they got divorced, they both stayed with their mother and became, let's say, very bad. They embodied the whole "stay away from him, honey, he's a problem" look with tattoos, piercings, cigarettes, and leather jackets. And their mother would send them off to their father to be re-educated.

Of course, it was useless, considering they didn't give a damn about all the moral lessons and rules, they were more interested in getting fucked or smoking a joint. The one thing they had absolutely no expectation of was you, their new "mommy.".

You were pretty, juicy, and looked like an amazing fuck doll, with soft round hips, thick ass and plump tits. Oh yes, and you were literally tiny.

If it wasn't for their father, they would have fucked you in the middle of the corridor. You got them a bit too excited, and that's how your game started.

At first, they behaved quite well—not ideally, but still. It started with cute nicknames like "Baby,"  "Doll," and "Sweetie" and gradually became more and more daring. Yunho could squeeze you between his body and the kitchen counter while you were cooking.

"Oh, mommy, I can't wait to try this. It looks so delicious." He would whisper in your ear while his big hand would squeeze your bottom in a possessive way.

Mingi could have quite 'innocently' buried his face between your breasts while you were all watching a film, he was too tired, and your tits looked amazingly soft.

"I'm sure the traces of my sperm will make them look really nice, won't they, mommy?"

It all literally drove you mad. You were not much older than they were; you were only twenty-six years old, and this incredible sexual tension was getting stronger and stronger with every passing second. To get rid of this tingling feeling of excitement that Yunho and Mingi gave you, you even tried to have sex with your husband. But it was useless, especially when one night you noticed the tall silhouette of Mingi in the mirror, smoking a cigarette and masturbating lazily while watching you ride his father.

That was the point of no return.

As soon as their father left on a business trip, they would lay you down on the bed that very night and fuck you like there was no tomorrow. They did everything together, like mirror images of each other.

Your pussy was licked by two pierced tongues, and you were stretched out on two big and thick cocks until you were literally sandwiched between two big and hot bodies, full to the brim and completely out of your mind.

They would whisper such dirty and depraved things in your ears that your toes would curl up at the dark promise that would pierce through their deep, sexy voices.

"This is how we should fuck our mommy, huh? Until she goes all stupid and starts to drool."

"Let's get some pictures, baby. I want to show you to my friends."

"Oh, baby, can't you take all of our dicks in your tiny mouth? If you can't suck a dick, why did our dad marry you in the first place?"

"You don't have a problem with us fucking your ass too, do you? I know you won't; you're such whores."

"Yeah, doll, like that, squirt on my face; let me fucking taste that pussy."

"Hm, you know, we'd like to invite some friends over; wouldn't you mind, mommy? You wouldn't mind playing with them as well, would you?

Your relationship with them became completely different; they would throw your body around like a toy, biting you, sucking you, scratching your skin, and leaving bruises and hickeys.

Even when their father returned from his stupid business trip, neither Mingi nor Yunho would stop.

[livwritesstuff]

The first pair of shoes Eddie purchased for himself when he started rebuilding the life he’d lost when his trailer was destroyed was a pair of Doc Martens.

They were new (well, not new – he’d still thrifted them, but they were barely worn, probably surrendered by some yuppie who liked the style but couldn’t handle the pain of breaking them in) and big and black and heavy with steel toes and thick woven laces.

Those boots went everywhere with him – navigating those first few years of recovering from all the trauma he’d suffered in ‘86, finally leaving Hawkins in 1990, his move to Washington in ’94 to live with Steve while he finished out his psych program, their joint move to Boston a couple years later, his first book release in ‘95 and his second in ‘99, not to mention all the countless big and small adventures that filled in all those gaps.

When Eddie and Steve’s daughter Moe was born in 2001, Eddie temporarily retired the boots.

There was a period during those first few years of her life when she was both very small and always underfoot, a combination that meant concerns about tripping on her were high enough without Eddie adding steel-toed boots larger than his kid into the mix.

So for a while, the boots sat on the floor in his and Steve’s closet collecting dust.

Then Moe got a little bit older and the boots started collecting other things.

“Ed, come look at this,” Steve snickers.

He’s in their closet, trying to tackle the cataclysmic mess that has accumulated over the last year and a half, because trivial things like cleaning had kind of taken the backseat the second they met Moe – as they should; Eddie maintains that there is literally nothing he’d rather do than spend time with his daughter, bar none. Alas she does need to nap sometimes, and he supposes that’s when all the other shit gets done.

He joins Steve in the closet to see that he's holding one of Eddie's Docs.

“Look what Moe did,” Steve continues, holding out the boot.

Eddie takes it, immediately noticing that it’s even heavier than usual. He peers inside to see that it’s filled to the brim with stuff – a small wooden car, a travel deodorant from his last trip to New York for work, a pair of socks, sunglasses, several loose bandaids, one of Steve’s combs, a roll of Smarties (it’s a wonder she didn’t eat them), a veritable cache of treasures in the eyes of their eighteen-month-old. 

The other boot is pretty much exactly the same.

“Oh my god,” Eddie beams, “She’s fucking incredible.”

“She’s inheriting your raccoon behavior," Steve replies with a wicked grin.

“Alright.”

[deansawthetvglow]

anyways. it's cloudy in los angeles when dean and sam come to town. 2007. it's cold and rainy and there's a ghost haunting the set of a horror movie. maybe more than one ghost! and dean fucks tara benchley in her trailer. and he really wants to fuck martin flagg, the movie's writer. and he's got an itch in his system he needs to scratch. so when sam holes up at the motel that night, dean goes to a bar. picks a badge and ladder joint. walks in. knows this is the right spot. big men sitting solo at the bar, processing hard days at work. and dean's got his long eyelashes and wide eyes and freckles dotted across his nose. he's got a hickey on his neck. he pulls up next to a particularly big man. with a nice sharp nose and a clean haircut. and he says "hi". and the guy shakes his hand, introduces himself as tommy. he's kinda funny, and he keeps looking into dean's eyes and then looking down at his whiskey like he's got to control himself, and yeah. this is the one. so dean puts a ten down on the counter, covers both their drinks, and he winks at tommy and heads out of the bar. and like. he knows to give the guy a second, so he stands in the alley and lights up a cigarette and blows smoke into the sky above hollywood. thinks hollywood. bright lights, and belonging. where he could perform and someone would tell him "good job" for it. and then, like clockwork, tommy slips around the corner. stands next to dean, presses his shoulder against his. says "y'know, i'm a firefighter. i think i'm meant to put those things out." and he grabs the cigarette right from between dean's lips and presses it out into the wet pavement with the toe of his boot. and then he looks up again, takes a breath. dean's all dimples and swagger, he's got him--hook, line, n sinker. but he’s gonna make tommy make the first move because he's big and he ought to know what he wants. dean plays it up, bites his lip, says “hey, i was smokin’ that.” and tommy huffs a laugh, mumbles something like “fuck it” under his breath, and then he’s pushing dean back into the brick of the wall and kissing him. and he’s got dean’s head cradled between both his hands and dean melts. like damn, this forest fire of a man is fucking kissing him. movie-magic-old-school-hollywood-golden-age-best-picture style. and dean pulls back a bit, when it seems like tommy’ll never come up for air. says “what’s the rush, big guy?” and when tommy breathes "sorry. sorry–just. i've needed that.” dean says “been a while?” 

tommy closes his eyes and nods, “forever.”

[lazybakerart]

a cute harringrove thing for you: billy being in the middle of trying to do something but he keeps shaking away bits of hair that get into his eyes and steve just comes up behind him, puts his hair into a bun, then casually goes back to where he was while billy's stunned and blushing before he returns to his task with a big grin on his face

The AC's out.

Billy's cracked the unit open with a flathead screwdriver he found under the sink and a few choice words. July hit hard. Sweat drips down his nose as he tries to fix and not kick a heavy metal box down three stories.

In the small kitchen just a few feet behind his hunched back, Steve's popping more ice out and yelling at the radio - a Dodgers game has gone to shit.

Billy swipes his sweat-stuck curls back just to have all of them tumble right back in the way again.

Summers always leave Billy regretting growing out his hair.

He hadn't meant to. A couple months without a haircut grew into a couple years where a couple of half-assed snicks with the scissors he uses for zip ties and toe nails were all he made do with. Every year he forgets how much of it there is when summer arrives to remind him.

Snapping back up, screwdriver in a vice-grip, Billy yanks his hair back with both hands and yells FUCK YOU at the stained popcorn ceiling and his own mane fried with West Hollywood humidity.

"What's wrong now? What happened?" Steve has the honest nerve to say after over an hour of this.

"I'm shaving my head."

A deep sigh and Steve's opening some cabinet that creaks and needs to be oiled - the deal when they first moved in was Billy dealt with the electric shit and Steve got everything that wouldn't have him sizzling when he got distracted.

Plumbing means rock, paper, scissors comes out and goddamnit if Billy doesn't lose every single round.

He and the plunger have built a relationship.

Billy blames dying and coming back with fried nerves and a second-rate case of stigmata making his every joint he's got stiff, his hands getting the worst of it. He'd be a lousy second coming anyways.

"That time of year again, huh?" Steve says.

He stands behind Billy, swatting away his frustrated steel-grip to comb through Billy's curls, pulling them back and away.

"There are these things - they're called hair-ties," Steve gently pulls Billy's hair through elastic, "And I know you like using rubber bands because you're a freak," Slowly he winds Billy's overgrown hair around, "But these are, like, at least twice as good. Now, we just twist," He twists, "And twist some more and - boom! Done. I'm awesome."

Steve spins Billy around by the shoulders twice, his sweaty feet squeaking on the scratched up oak floors. He holds Billy in place, sweaty hands on Billy's sweaty nape, sweaty thumbs running circles, and it doesn't seem to matter much to him that the AC is broken and they're reaching the peak 90s on the thermostat.

Steve's looking at him.

All tender.

All sweet.

A little tipsy from better beer than they chugged in high school. It's been seven years since they hit the highway and left Indiana for good. Three more months and five more days and they'll hit eight.

"Oh no." Steve croons at him. Smile turning cotton soft. Those sweaty hands move to cup Billy's face and those running thumbs rub just under Billy's eyes. "Why are we crying?"

"It's hot." Billy says.

Pinching his ears around his piercings, Steve tells him, "You're hot."

Billy sniffles. Snot drips, meets his upper lip and Steve wipes it off - eight years worth of tears and snot and blood and spunk and so much sweat.

And so much fucking good shit.

From an open window in their cramped apartment, a slice of warmed July breeze catches on the back of Billy's newly bared neck. He tosses the screwdriver somewhere.

"And," Steve pecks him on the lips, bites at his nose to make sure Billy gets heat-stroke, "You've got a great ass."

The AC can wait a little longer.

[cloudy-em]

The Deal - Lip Gallagher x Fem!Reader

To be honest, I don’t know why it started. I made a deal with Y/N that if she pretended to be my girlfriend so I could avoid Andrea, then I’d do whatever she wanted for a day. It was stupid. I didn’t even like Andrea. We had sex at a party one time and suddenly she was following me everywhere. Of all the people I could’ve asked to fake date me, I don’t know why I asked Y/N. Some neo-freudians can claim that it was my subconscious trying to manifest my hidden urges into real life, or a neuroscientist can claim that I’m not a genius and that I’m actually stupid. I’d definitely agree with both perspectives. 

At first I was shocked that Y/N even agreed. We’re close friends, sure, but it was definitely a higher-stakes ask. When she said yes, I felt a bubbling excitement, but I wrote it off as excitement that I could finally get Andrea to leave me the fuck alone. 

It started slow. We’d hold hands at school, skip class to smoke together. Nothing out of the ordinary for us. Usually, I’d hold her hand in the busy hallways to ensure she wouldn’t get pushed around, and we always shared our cigarette and weed stashes with each other. That was phase one. 

Phase two consisted of being seen alone together in public. I’d saved up some money from doing other kids’ homework, so I’d start taking Y/N out on dates. Not under the L or to the Alibi where we could get free beer, but actual dates where people would see us. Little diners nearby, nothing to expensive. We’d go after school most Fridays and get fries or milkshakes to share. Pretty soon, rumors were spreading that Lip Gallagher was no longer available for a quick fuck because he was dating Y/N L/N. 

Phase three was the phase I figured would keep Andrea away for sure. Y/N and I would leave classes and pretend to fuck in janitor’s closets and bathrooms, locking ourselves in and fake moaning, trying not to laugh at each other over how stupid it all seemed. She’d started sleeping over in my room as a “just in case”, and it worked out for both of us. If Andrea was ever walking by the house, she’d see us walking in or out together or in the windows. It worked for her because she got to avoid her home life. We’d share cigarettes curled up in the top bunk together, laughing over how we’d gotten $50 each from one kid’s tutoring session. Andrea didn’t stand down. 

Phase four was the last and final phase that Carl, Ian, and I had planned to keep Andrea away. Y/N and I would go to a party, drink a lot, get a little handsy, and head back home together. Andrea was a party girl for sure, and there’s no way she’d miss one, which made it easy for Y/N and I to execute the finale of the operation. Ryan Bodero was hosting a big party, and Y/N and I thought it would be a good one to finalize our mission. We arrived fashionably late (we smoked a joint together to help us get through the evening) and the party was in full swing. Drunk students everywhere, clouds of smoke, loud music, and enough alcohol to be a full-service bar. I squeezed Y/N’s hand, guiding her through the crowd. She let go of my hand to hold onto my bicep as she stood on her tip-toes to whisper in my ear. 

“Andrea’s over there, by the bar, you wanna get a drink?” she pulled away and smirked. I nodded at her before rejoining are hands and heading over to the “bar”. We stood right next to Andrea. Perfect. 

“Alright, baby, what do you want? I’ll make it for you,” I was playing the role of good boyfriend probably louder than I needed to, but whatever it took. Y/N giggled, twirling her hair and pretending to think. “Hmm, what about a vodka cranberry?” she requested. Of course, after being friends for years, I knew that’s what she wanted. I nodded and kissed her forehead before moving over down the counter to mix her drink. I’d never kissed her forehead before. The only PDA we exhibited were hugs and handholding, but it felt natural to place a kiss there, like I was keeping her safe while I was away. After everything she’s been through, it’s what she deserves. I’m supposed to be her loving boyfriend, afterall. 

I finish her drink and bring it over to her, a beer in my other hand for me. She takes her drink and takes a sip, knowing before she even tasted it I made it how she likes it. She smiled at me, wrapping one arm around my neck in a brief hug and pulling away. It was too soon. “Thanks, honey! I’m gonna go talk to Laila real quick and then I’ll be back!” I watched her walk away, smiling even after she left and leaned up against the counter, looking around the room. When I turned to my right, Andrea was suddenly there. 

“So, you and Y/N, huh?” she asked. Thank god, she’s finally accepting that I don’t like her, and she’ll move on. “Yeah,” I sighed. “Best thing that ever happened to me!” I laughed. “Ha, well, I don’t think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her,” Andrea says. I’m confused, and she can see it on my face, so she grabs my chin and turns my face to where she’s looking. Y/N and Ryan Bodero are talking, a bit too close for comfort, and his hands are on her hips. Only, she doesn’t seem to want them there. I feel my blood boil, ripping my face from Andrea’s grip. 

“Hey, asshole!” I say, walking towards Ryan. “That’s my girl, didn’t you know?” Ryan rolls his eyes and laughs, “No, but I don’t think she cares.” He pulls her closer for emphasis, but she tries to pull away, an uncomfortable look on her face. “Let me go,” she says to him before looking at me, practically begging me to do something. 

“Alright look, Ryan, I get that you have no respect for women, but let me teach you something. When a lady says no, you respect her,” I tell him, smashing my beer bottle on the side of his head. He lets her go and stumbles backwards, but comes back for me. We throw a few punches back and forth. My knuckles are hot, but I barely notice the pain. He can’t treat Y/N like that. I won’t allow it. He gets me in the eye, and I’m sent backwards. I go to lurch forward again, but Y/N touches my bicep. 

“Lip, you’re hurt, let’s go please,” she says. I nod at her, seeing her concern, but I turn to Ryan. “This isn’t over.” Ryan turns back to his friends as Y/N and I walk away. I hear her mutter, “yes, it is over.”

It’s a short walk back to my place, Y/N still clung to my arm, quiet but worried. When we walk inside, she tells me to go sit in the kitchen. I do. She grabs ice and some towels to clean up the blood and put ice on my eye to keep the swelling down. I’m sitting in the chair, and she’s standing in front of me, one of the few times she’s ever taller than me. I can’t help but stare up at her, but she doesn’t meet my gaze, too focused on cleaning the blood from my lip and nose. 

“Lip,” she starts. “You can’t just start fights like that. Someone could call the cops or maybe he’ll press charges! You can’t afford to go to jail.” 

“I know, baby,” the nickname rolling off my tongue like second nature and I barely notice her shoulders tense. “But he wasn’t respecting you, and he needed to be taught a lesson.” 

“No, he didn’t-” she starts to argue. “Dammit, you’re my girlfriend and I love you! Let me look out for you, please!” I’m slightly exasperated, not even realizing my confession. She’s shocked, lips parted like she wants to say something but can’t. I sigh, slouching in the chair, defeated. 

“Look, I know that wasn’t the deal. You didn’t sign up for a real relationship. But we’ve been friends for years and I’ve had a crush on you but I kept trying to get over it because I didn’t wanna fuck things up and here I am fucking things up but the more we fake dated, the more it felt real and I know in reality you’re single and you can do what you want but seeing my girlfriend being harassed by some asshole just made me so mad and I just lost it. I’m sorry.” I don’t usually talk about my feelings. I don’t even remember the last time I talked about my feelings. But I needed her to know that it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing, that I wasn’t just lonely. That I really cared for her. I closed my eyes, preparing for the worst. 

I feel her run her fingers through my hair, her rings gently tugging on the strands. 

“You’re right, baby,” she says softly. I look up at her, and we make eye contact for the first time since we walked through the door. “You’re my boyfriend. I should let you look out for me, just like you should let me look out for you. We’re in this together, right?” I nod, at a loss for words, still processing. I wrap my arms around her, my head hitting just below her breasts as I hold her tightly, her fingers still moving through my hair. 

“What do you say we forget this whole deal and we just date like we’re supposed to?” 

We both liked that idea.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

thank you so much for reading!!

requests are open, so send me a message if you have any ideas or if you'd like to join one of my taglists!

[quigzahhutt]

📓 :P

doing more of these because I've had a moment to ruminate.... recharge the brain batteries

so I've had this idea for ages of like. a Logan/sargebon chronic pain au. vaguely inspired by that one loscar series, however this one wouldn't be as linear and would instead just focus on key moments. as someone who has chronic pain, it's kind of just a way to express my grievances about my illness(es) but also like... i just want Logan to have a good boyfriend

which he does! Alex tries really hard, but hes never really had to accommodate for a disabled person in his personal life before. so yeah, he's a little clumsy sometimes, but Logan is just glad that he's trying at all. Logan has spent his entire life having people make generalizations about him, about his illness, about why he isnt actually disabled, why he should or should not use disabled parking, why his pain doesn't matter because there are people dying

and Logan gets that. hes had plenty of those thoughts himself; those types of comments dont really bother him anymore, but he is glad that Alex is relatively open minded, always trying his hardest to learn and adapt his life to accommodate for Logan's needs. it's really refreshing, honestly

but the first few times after they officially start dating is... rough. Alex tip toes around certain topics because he thinks that he's sparing Logan's feelings by avoiding them, when he's really just making Logan feel like his illnesses or pain are just an uncomfortable topic, something taboo that should be avoided lest Logan gets his feelings hurt

and so that's a conversation they have to have. Logan sits Alex down and tells him that it's arguably more hurtful to avoid the topics than actual talk about them, and Alex seems so sincerely upset about it and Logan can't help but snicker at him, because it's really not a big deal, but Alex has this look on his face like he's just been told the exact date of when the world will be ending

but it's okay, after that. and so whenever Logan starts having a flare up, or a generally achy day, Alex doesn't hesitate to just outright ask what Logan needs, how he can help. and it's really refreshing, because usually people just assume what he needs; they offer a chair, or some unknown herbal medicines, or have you tried essential oils?

so, yeah. it's nice having someone who just asks. despite that, though, Alex is still a little clumsy. one time, he comes up behind Logan and hugs him around his back, and his hand placement and positioning was just slightly wrong and so he accidentally presses down on a sore spot on Logan's shoulders. and Logan tenses up and hisses through his teeth, and Alex pulls away with an apology already tumbling out of his lips

and Logan, for a brief moment, feels so, so alienated. because Alex pulled his hands away like he'd just been burned. even though Logan was the one who got hurt. and it just felt... really bad. Logan was sore, and Alex didn't quite think about it, and it feels so stupid to be upset about it because Alex was just trying to be affectionate

and so Logan pushes away his frustrations, even though he has had to patiently explain this to so many dense people. about his joints, and his tender spots. and he knows that Alex isn't a bad person, someone who is close minded and ignorant, but, fuck. it really sucks to have to feel like a hazard all the time

but Alex is so annoyingly attentive, and when Logan explains that he doesn't want Alex to pull away like that, and instead just rearrange his hands to a more neutral spot that wont hurt him, Alex moves back behind him and carefully slithers his hands around Logan's torso, diligently avoiding any contact with Logan's shoulders or neck. and Logan feels all his hostile feelings melt at the contact, because nobody has ever... done this before

they never usually correct their behavior. they always just nod along, pretend like they heard everything that Logan just said before moving on and immediately acting like it never happened. it's so frustrating, but Alex trying so hard suddenly makes it all feel so trivial

and so they live like that. Alex is actively learning every day, and Logan is finding that he's okay with having to repeat the same things he's told other people a thousand times over, because he knows that Alex will actually glean something from them

and sometimes Logan gets frustrated at himself, because he just can't seem to do certain things on certain days because it's too painful, or he's too fatigued and his limbs feel like they're made of lead. Alex has no qualms in asking what's wrong, if he can help at all, and Logan appreciates it so much

but sometimes it's frustrating, always feeling like a burden. especially on days when Logan is feeling physically fine, but his brain feels like it's hardly capable of producing more than one train of thought at a time. and Logan is trying to work, but he can't think up the right words, and then, fuck, his hands are starting to hurt from working on the laptop, and he has to drag his way in Alex's direction even if he doesn't really want to

because it is frustrating, always feeling like you're asking for help. especially when Alex never stops giving, and Logan feels so selfish, like he's always just taking and taking and never giving anything back. and Logan knows that it's all bullshit, imposter syndrome or whatever, and Alex agrees, and then turns to help Logan with whatever he might need

which he does an awful lot. even when Logan is incapable of sleeping at night, rolling over in bed a hundred times either because of pain or general restlessness for whatever reason, Alex doesn't seem bothered. and when Logan eventually just gets out of bed to wander the house aimlessly, grabbing a glass of water even though he doesn't even feel thirsty, pacing around as the glass grows sweaty between his fingers while he lets his legs walk out any tension, Alex will usually follow behind not too long after

he's a bit bleary eyed and usually shirtless and kind of cold, but he still shows up every time. and he makes sure that Logan knows that he's not annoyed, that he just wants to make sure that he's okay. and sometimes it ends in Alex just watching as Logan paces around, working the restlessness out one step at a time. or sometimes it will end in Alex giving Logan's legs a massage, dutifully avoiding any spots that might be tender

and it repeats like that until they eventually go back to bed, and Logan feels infinitely better, and he feels like he can comfortably curl into Alex's side without feeling like he needs to roll over or adjust his position eight million times. if he did have to do that, though, he's sure that Alex would let him

because Alex seems to have infinite patience, and Logan feels so grateful. because even during sex when Alex is sort of lost in the whole ordeal, horny and hot, he still pauses and adjusts them if needed. and he never seems upset when Logan just can't do it and they wind up just having to jerk each other off, because Logan's legs are hurting too much to stay bent like that, or his shoulders are aching too much to lay on his back, or his elbows are too sore to keep him upright

and Alex will run a bath for Logan afterwards anyway, even if he's kind of fucked out and just wants to go to sleep. and Logan tries really hard not to cry when Alex actually gets settled into the bath with him and begins washing any grime off of Logan's skin and massaging his forearms until Logan just feels lazy and warm and loved

[seasaltandcopper]

♠ Leaving them at the mercy of strangers in a public display (stocks, pillory, cage, chained to something, etc) for your vamp series!

-Lonesome

Set years before the start of the series, during Mal’s first week with the hunters. This swerved a bit off prompt, but I had fun lol

hopefully this is the series you meant. it's the one i mentioned in the tags when i reblogged the prompts, but I know I inconveniently have like three vamp-centric ones, so apologies if it's not

Vampire Hunter AU

Edit: this prompt now has a continuation here

Rating: mature

Warnings: torture, captivity, dehumanization, non-sexual nudity, stress positions, profanity, burns, implied (future) whipping, vampire whumpee, multiple whumpers

They strung Mal up by his wrists in the middle of the room, which was, if nothing else, a change of scenery. After spending who knew how long cramped in a pitch-black cell with nothing but his own thoughts keeping him company, this almost felt like an improvement.

Almost.

Mal tried to think positive. Instead of kneeling, bent double on a brick floor until his legs screamed in agony and the muscles in his neck and back cramped and seized, he got to hang, balancing on his toes so he didn’t dislocate his fucking shoulders, and enjoy a whole different set of muscles cramping up instead.

Variety—the spice of life.

Mal shifted restlessly, fighting a losing battle to ease some of the strain on his shoulders. An ache built in the joints, fiery knots that ratcheted tighter and tighter each time he let his arms take his full weight. A muscle in the back of his calf twinged.

Mal breathed. In and out, bare chest rising and falling, pale skin ashy under the stark fluorescents. Being so…exposed in front of a crowd also stirred up a nervous, squirming kind of shame Mal unsuccessfully tried to ignore.

Realistically, he knew a few flimsy scraps of cloth wouldn’t protect him from this; being tortured would suck whether he was naked or not. It was just one more attempt to humiliate him, to reinforce his “place” as something subhuman, that quickly chipped away at his remaining pride.

Across the room, one of the hunters grinned, tapped his buddy on the arm, and nodded Mal’s direction.

Great.

For the first ten minutes or so after hanging Mal up like a piñata, they’d just watched, joking crudely and laughing amongst themselves. Too many sets of eyes sizing Mal up, like a piece of meat.

Or sharks smelling blood in the water.

Now, it looked like they were finally ready to play.

Slowly, the hunter prowled closer. He pulled a small, folding knife from his pocket. As far as blades went, it was pretty tame. Something meant for trimming twine or nails—only a couple inches long.

Smirking, he held it up for Mal to see. Waved it slowly back forth so dramatically that Mal finally rolled his eyes at the display.

The hunter stopped and arched his brow, taunting, “Think that’s funny, leech?”

“Of course not,” Mal said, dryly. “You and that nail file are terrifying. Really.”

Egging them on was stupid; Mal knew it was stupid. And for the most part he’d bitten back the snark and profanity and played it smart. He watched. Listened. Looked for opportunities, openings, any weakness he could exploit.

But every now and then Mal’s mouth still got the better of him.

The hunter snorted. Glanced at the pocket knife and made a show of looking it over before shrugging and folding it closed.

“Yeah,” he conceded, mildly. “Never was a big fan of knives, anyhow. Not for this shit.” The man waved a dismissive hand, and turned back to the gaggle of hunters. “Hey, Niall, pass me the No. 3 Braided?”

A couple of the hunters laughed. One of the women whistled. Another scoffed, the sound almost lost to a louder protest of, “What happened to starting small?”, that kicked off another round of jeers and abrasive laughter.

Unease prickled like sweat on the nape of Mal’s neck. He swallowed, fidgeting and letting his gaze drift from the hunter to the crowd behind him. The other man, Niall, strolled forward a moment later, a length of something heavy and black coiled in his hand.

A whip. That was a fucking whip.

Niall passed it over and retreated back to the sidelines to watch. Tension settled over the room. Anticipation.

Given the floor again, the hunter hefted the tool, then tilted it to give Mal a better look. Against his better judgment, Mal did. Something in the pit of his stomach tied itself in queasy knots.

“This here is one of my favorite correctional tools in our kit. Sleek, got a bit of weight to it, feels real good in your hand.” He unlooped a single coil, letting the tip dangle. “Comparable to your standard bullwhip—little shorter, because we’re not driving cattle with it. But the craftsmanship is what really sets this thing apart. You got your standard woven leather cording, but then see that there…?”

He dragged a finger down the length, angling the whip again so it caught the overhead light. Dull shine Mal first mistook for well-oiled leather came into terrifying clarity, all at once.

Oh, god…

“Silver thread,” the hunter confirmed, enjoying the dawning horror settling over his captive audience. “All braided in with the leather, can barely even see them. But when it hits one of your kind—” Casually, the hunter pressed the whip to Mal’s stomach, just above his navel. “It adds a little extra zing to your swing.”

The reaction was immediate.

Pain sizzled across Mal’s skin as the interwoven silver burned on contact. He hissed through his teeth, and tried unsuccessfully to flinch away. Bare feet skimmed the concrete, yanking hard against the shackles anchoring his legs to the floor, a precaution to keep him from kicking.

Smart. Because without it, the asshole in front of him would’ve already been dead.

Grinning, the hunter held the silver-braided loop there for a few more seconds, watching his captive squirm. When he finally relented, a bright red line of blistered flesh marred Mal’s belly, like he’d carelessly leaned against a hot stove.

Shit.

Mal was breathing hard, now. Shaking, from more than just the strain of the position. Fear—real fear—danced around the edges of his consciousness.

Anger, too. Bone-deep, stubborn defiance Mal sometimes swore he’d been born with. It’d kept him going this long. Helped him weather things that were, theoretically, scarier than a ragtag group of human bullies.

In reality, he’d never faced anything like this before.

Ears ringing, Mal stared the hunter down, fangs bared in a snarl.

Face darkened with cruel glee, the hunter leaned in close. Just shy of Mal’s biting range, but enough the heat of his breath puffed against Mal’s skin, like he was sharing a secret between the two of them.

“Most of them scream by three.” The muffled thwick of leather hitting the floor echoed in Mal’s ears. “But I bet you’ll make it to five.”

Tag list: @whumpsday @writereleaserepeat @thecyrulik @lookbluesoup

[din-miller]

The cure for the world was a feather, sweet promises

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count: 7k

Summary: In an apocalyptic world everyone has their secrets. Everyone's been hurt to the point of no return, hearts heavy with guilt and grief. Everyone's carrying a heavy burden on their back. You wish your burden wasn't in the form of ash coloured wings.

Warnings: Wing fic, wing grooming, reader has wings, female reader but no pronouns used, protective Joel, 7k worth in fact, readers age isn't mentioned - joel is 58, set in Jackson, broken bones, angst, hurt/comfort, first kiss, getting together, mentions of human experimentation, works for either TV Joel or game Joel (my beloved <3)

The mattress under you creaks as you roll out of bed, back aching in protest. You had taken quite a fall yesterday while out on patrol. An infected had startled your horse and you got thrown to the ground, back first.

The way you had landed sent a blinding pain across your back and you had to bite your lip to prevent the scream that threatened to escape past your lips. You didn't immediately feel the snap of your wings ulna, but you had heard it.

Now in the dawn's faint light you feel the pain. Hear it silently scream out for you to take off the harness you had stitched together years ago with scraps of rusted steel, duct tape, bolts of all sizes and various strings and wires.

It was a desperate attempt at patch work at first but as time went by you've learned how to build the harness to keep your wings tucked against your back twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.

You can't remember the last time you've spread your wings out, let them stretch to their full length. They've been confined for so long that you've grown numb to the constant pain of the bending of bones and joints.

It's only when you hurt them that you're reminded that they're as much a part of you as your toes are; that they need attention and love too. But as much privacy as Jackson does allow you, it's too big of a risk to even take off the harness in the safety of your own room.

In public you keep your back as straight as possible, wear clothing that is too big for you in the hope it hides any bulging of the harness. You make sure to keep pressure off your wings. That your back is never pressed against anything. Whether that be a wall, chair, or Joel's couch during movie night at his and Ellie's place.

You're careful, so fucking careful. You calculate every move, avoid taking stupid risks. You're not putting your life here in Jackson on the line.

You hit the shower first before getting ready for the day. It's a whole affair; trying to wash your back with the harness, then trying to dry out your wings so it doesn't soak through your clothing. By the time your wings are dry, shirt for the day on, Ellie's knocking on your bedroom door, "Hey, you ready?"

You wince at the loudness of her voice. As much as your roommates love her, they also love getting adequate sleep. You quickly open the door, "Shh, it's barely even sunrise, could you keep your voice down?"

The sixteen year old gives you a sheepish smile, an apology falling from her lips. Using her foot she nudged the door open enough to grab your backpack, swinging it over her shoulder. Ellie ignores the displeased look you give her. Sure your back still hurts from yesterday's fall, but you're able to carry your own damn backpack yourself.

You go to protest but Ellie quickly cuts you off, "Tommy told us what happened yesterday on patrol and Joel would have my head if I let your injured ass walk around with this on."

You let out a deep sigh, cause yeah, he would. He's protective over both you and Ellie, never wants to see pain in the eyes of the people he cares for. He's respectful when it comes to his protectiveness. He pushes it as far as he can and when you tell him to back off, he does. It's hard not to fall in love with a man who cares enough to respect boundaries.

Last year a man passing through Jackson laid his slimy hand on your forearm and Joel had his gun pressed to the man's temple within milliseconds. Joel's voice was final as he barked out to the man that he had just signed his death wish.

You had known Joel long enough at that point to know that the finger on the trigger would pull back without much remorse if the man got violent or threatened you in any way. You had tugged on Joel's plaid shirt, telling him that it's not worth it. You knew he'd listen, and he did. Of course he argued later that night that you didn't say anything about rendering the asshole unconscious with the butt of his gun.

How you managed not to grab Joel's shirt and yank him down to kiss the life out of him is beyond you.

You ruffle Ellie's hair and push her towards the front door, "Joel got the horses ready for us?"

She shakes her head with a bright smile, "We're taking the truck this time. Joel figured it would be more comfortable for you. Plus it has working air conditioning in it!"

"He didn't have to do that, especially since I know it probably cost him something."

"He promised Old Man Sammy he'd cover one of his shifts this weekend." Her shoulders raise in a shrug, but she's grinning at knowing Joel would sacrifice a day off just to make sure you're comfortable.

She's aware there's something between you and Joel – hell all of Jackson knows there's something between you and Joel. The only one who doesn't seem to know is Joel himself and it's a fucking tragedy in your opinion. You've spent many nights imagining what it would be like to kiss him, to hold him, to love him.

Of course doing that would ultimately be the unveiling of your secret. Something you would never allow to happen, not with so much to lose. You'd lose days like these where Joel and Ellie drag you down to the swimming hole.

You're not sure you'd be able to survive in a world where you're not watching from the sidelines as Joel teaches Ellie to swim, both wearing matching swim trunks and carefree smiles.

"I take it by the lack of a swimsuit you're still not joining us in the water?" Ellie's been trying to get you to swim with them since you joined their outings, "I need someone to help hold Joel's head under water."

You walk beside her down the porch's steep steps. You can't respond because you're too busy collecting your jaw off the ground. It's been a few days since you've seen Joel, the man out north on weekend patrol and let's just say the weekend did him good.

His skin is sun kissed, glowing in the early sunrise of the day. His hair is slick back, freshly washed and you can smell his shampoo from here. It's the same one you use but it undoubtedly smells better on him. The tip of his nose is a little sunburned and you have a strong desire to kiss it.

Ellie gleefully hops into the trunk bed, patting the space next to her for you to sit. You give her a nod letting her know that you'll be there in a second.

"I hope you don't mind the change of transportation. I figured ridin' in the truck's bed would be more comfortable on your back," His eyes soften as he gives you a once over, "Are you in pain, sweetheart?"

You duck your head, hiding the blush across your face. You should be used to the nickname, it's all he ever calls you. In fact you don't remember the last time he's used your name.

"Nothing a day out with my two favourite people won't fix." You grin, jumping into the back with Ellie.

Joel hums in response and swings his arm behind the passenger's headrest, eyes briefly locking with yours before checking his surroundings to safely back out of the driveway, "The road is pretty smooth but let me know if any bumps hurt your back."

You give him a playful salute, "Copy that, Nurse Joel."

This time Joel's head dropped to his chest, face turning red and he softly chuckles at your words. Ellie bumps her shoulder against yours and sends you a knowing look. You ignore her, which only adds fuel to her annoyingness.

Joel drives as far as he can before walking on foot becomes necessary to reach the water. It's stunning; the view from the swimming hole. Seated halfway up on one of the smaller mountains that surround Jackson, you get a sense of freedom you're rarely subjected too. You never take these trips for granted. Before you met Joel and Ellie a stunning view like this would be a faint blink of the eye memory, nothing special.

"You never get used to the view," You say in awe, "It takes my breath away everytime."

Besides you, Joel makes a noise of agreement. He won't verbally say it but you know he treasures these moments just as much as you do. Just as Ellie does too.

Speaking of Ellie;

"Your kid's trying to get herself hurt." You nudge Joel with your hip, tilting your head to where Ellie is balancing on a formation of rocks lining a cliff.

"Hey, hey, be careful over there, Ellie," Joel calls out and she just waves him off. He shakes his head, "I'm serious kiddo, we're higher than you think."

"I did this last time and I was fine," She says as if that's a selling point and Joel will stop walking towards her. He doesn't and she rolls her eyes, "I'm fine. Besides, if I fall, which I won't, there's a river below me."

"A river with very sharp rocks, you mean. Not the softest of landings," You remind her, trailing behind Joel, "Just get down from there before you give Joel a heart attack, alright?"

She groans but listens, "Okay, fine, ruin my fun."

It happens before you can even blink. One moment Ellie's calling you both assholes and the next moment the cliff gives way, a scream tearing through her throat as her body disappears from view.

"Ellie!" Joel's cry echoes all around you, the fear laced in it is equal to the fear rushing through your veins.

Your shirt hits the ground first; the harness is next. By the time it hits the dirt below, you're already in the air. You're not thinking about the consequences, about how you just tore your life in Jackson apart. Your mind is focused on Ellie and her screams that are sounding farther and farther away with every flap of your wings.

You're blind to the pain of your wing's broken bone. Your fear and adrenaline numb any feeling. You're unsteady as you fly, it's been so long since you've spread your wings out, you're not used to the span of them. That paired with the broken bone almost causes you to miss catching Ellie's hand in yours.

Your fingers dig into the skin around her wrist, bruises already forming beneath the skin. You manoeuvre your body so you're underneath her, your back facing the water below the two of you and you pull Ellie tight against your chest. In this position you can't tell how close you are to the water's surface and you're not sure you can make the sweep upward back to where Joel is.

The chances of you sinking below the water is high but at least it'll be you who gets the painful blow of breaking the water's surface. You close your eyes, wings flapping rapidly as the wind harshly hits them. You're falling faster than your mind can think.

The tip of your feathers slap against the water, the sound loud against your ears and Ellie lets out a cry, no doubt her ears are ringing too. You feel this surge of protection, like a parental urge to keep the kid tucked against your chest safe and unharmed. With all the power you have in you, your body straightens and wings flutter in steady motions until you're flying upwards back to solid ground.

It's not a gentle landing, far from it, but you're the one who gets the brunt of the impact and you're thankful for it. That means Ellie's still safe, still unharmed. Your body flips and rolls, sand kicking up in every direction but your wings shield both yourself and Ellie as they wrap tightly around your bodies. With one final roll you come to a stop, back hitting the ground and you can't stop the scream that tears from your throat.

"Ellie!" Joel drops to his knees, hands grabbing fistfuls of your feathers until he can see the girl, "C'mon, I got you, I got you."

With great pain you manage to stand up giving Joel access to the teenager wrapped around your stomach. She falls into his embrace with no hesitation, cries mumbled into his chest.

Knowing she's safe and that Joel's got her, your legs give out, body crumbling to the ground, knees stinging on impact. Your fingers claw into the soil beneath you, chest heaving with unsteady breaths and your ears are ringing.

You had been so careful.

You can faintly hear Ellie telling Joel she's okay, that she's not hurt and that eases the twinge in your chest a little bit. You won't look for yourself though. Not when you know all they'll see is the monster you truly are. You'd rather a clicker tear you apart than see the fear and hatred in their eyes.

The ringing in your ears is near deafening and you can't make out the words falling from Joel's lips but when you dare to look up his eyes are dark, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He's a man capable of great violence, a man who won't hesitate to eliminate any threat near him. And that's what you are, isn't it? A threat to him, to Ellie, to Jackson, to all of mankind.

You push yourself up onto your feet, stepping back to put distance between you and them, drawing your wings tight around your near-naked body, hoping to bring yourself some comfort.

You had been so careful.

With every step you take back, Joel's brows pull taunt as he watches your wings enclose your body. His voice is conflicted, like he doesn't fully believe himself when he says, "I'm not goin' to hurt you."

You want to believe him, really you do. Only he's not the first person to find out, far from and this always ends up one way; bloody and another burden to carry.

You won't hurt them. Not even to save your own life.

You turn on your heels, wings aching and you're not surprised when you barely manage three steps before crumbling to the ground for the second time.

Footsteps rush to you but you hold out your hand, eyes not daring to look any higher than Joel's boots, "Please, don't come any closer! I'm so sorry, Joel. I'm so sorry."

He stops, boots close enough to reach out and touch and you wonder if you were to reach out and seek that comfort you so desperately need, would he kick you? Press you to the ground with his boot digging into your chest, gun pointing at your head. The thought alone had you scooting back against the nearest tree, far from his reach. He tries to approach again but Ellie's jumping in to stop him.

"Joel," Ellie hisses, tugging him away from you, "Back off, okay?

"I-,"

She shakes her head, eyes pleading with him to listen, "I know what she's going through. Let me talk to her."

"Ellie, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Do you have any other ideas? 'Cause I'd love to hear them."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Joel silently debates with himself as he spares a brief glance at you before giving a timid nod to her, "Alright, fine. Just be careful, okay?"

She knocks his boot with hers, a silent reassurance that she will. Her movement is slow as she steps towards you, a piece of fabric in one hand that looks familiar. Ellie sits cross legged in front of you. Not as close as Joel was a few seconds ago, you couldn't reach her even if you were to lean forward.

"I figured you'd want your shirt," She smiles at you, her body language showing no sign of fear. Ellie tosses over your shirt and her next words catch you by surprise, "I cut two slits down the back for you."

You turn the shirt over in your hands, unable to stop the laugh that escapes past your lips. She wasn't joking, she actually cut two uneven slits for your wings. You look up at her and she's grinning so fucking brightly and you have to steady yourself enough to ask, "You're not afraid of me?"

"Afraid?! Fuck no, this is the coolest thing ever!" She exclaims, hands gesturing towards your body, "You have fucking wings, man!"

You watch her body language closely as you let your wings relax, trying not to expand them to their full length. The smaller they are, the better. You've found in past experiences that people fear you less when you appear small, fragile. Less of a threat.

"You want to know why I'm not afraid of you?" Ellie asks, voice sobering as her fingers slip underneath the cuff of her rash guard. Joel is at her side in an instant, grabbing her wrist, stopping her, "Joel let go of me!"

"Ellie," He warns and you're taken back at how much trepidation can fit into one word, "I'm not letting you do this."

"My body, my choice."

"Dont-," Joel's hand tightens around her wrist when she tries to pull away, "Don't try to use that against me, that's not a card you can pull in this situation. This isn't show and tell, Ellie. This is the real world and there are consequences."

You scoot back a few inches, eyes darting between the two as they're expressions turn more and more enraged by the second. You have no idea what's happening, no idea if you should step in or leave while they are distracted. Slip away into the morning fog, heart heavy with all the goodbye you couldn't say.

You don't want to leave, not when there's actually a chance that they don't see you as a threat, but if staying means causing a rift between them, then you'll go.

The fact is, they need each other more than they need you.

Ellie finally manages to free her wrist from Joel's grip and is pulling her sleeve up so fast that the seams threaten to rip apart. Joel swears and his hand goes to his gun, eyes drilling into your head as he stands between you and Ellie. With you sitting down, Joel's knee is the only thing that is actually separating you from Ellie, but it's enough that you keep your movements slow.

Your eyes drift over to Ellie's bare arm, your eyes widening and breath catching in the back of your throat as you stare at the healed over bite. Half of your brain is telling you to run; that she's infected, but the other half just sees Ellie. The sarcastic teenager you've known for the last two years. The kid you'd kill for, die for. Someone like you, who got dealt a rougher hand then most. So you don't run. You don't let the scars tell who she is, because what they say is that she's a monster.

"May I?" You ask, mostly to Ellie but asking her anything right now is basically asking Joel too.

"No."

Ellie rolls her eyes at Joel's gruff response and extends her arm towards you, perturbation flashing across her face when you run a finger across the scars. Ellie's small frame gives an involuntary shiver at the sensation before her muscles go stiff under your touch.

"I won't hurt you," You promise as you study scars and the lines that spread out in various directions, "The scars are old."

"Almost three years," Ellie nods, not moving her arm as you continue to trace the lines, "Kinda gross looking aren't they?"

"No, I don't think that at all."

Joel lowers himself down beside you, a few feet off to the side but you can still feel the warmth radiating off of his body. A silence fills the air, no one knowing what to say next. Ellie looks between you and Joel, unsure of what to do as she covers her arm back up and you fiddle with your shirt that you still haven't tried to put back on, in an attempt to chase away your anxiety.

Surprisingly it's Joel who breaks the silence, "Can I ask why your, uh, wings are still out?"

"My guess is because they're a fucking mess."

"Ellie!" Joel barks, sending her a look of disapproval.

"What? I'm not saying anything that isn't true. I mean look at them; the feathers are bent in all different directions, matted together and it looks like one of the wings is broken-,"

"They don't go back in." You cut her off, voice barely above whisper as you wrap your arms around your knees.

Her face falls at the unmasked emotions that lingers in your words. She then turns to where your harness is still lying on the ground. Ellie glances back at you and you nod.

You don't mean to, but you flinch when Joel stands up beside you without any warning. His body freezes at your reaction and he stares down at you uncertain of what to do. He looks troubled and you feel awful for it.

"Sorry, I wanted to take a look at the harness you wear," He offers awkwardly, "I don't have to. Y'know what, nevermind, I crossed a line. Sorry."

"No, please Joel, I should be the one apologising. I didn't mean to flinch, I just wasn't expecting you to stand up." You explain getting to your feet to properly meet his eyes, wanting Joel to know you're not afraid of him.

He briefly touches your shoulder letting you know that your apology isn't needed but he'll accept it anyway. He then looks over at the harness, "May I?"

"Of course."

"You built this?" He asks as he picks it up, clearly impressed with your craftsmanship despite the way it's completely falling apart.

Most of the bolts were so rusted that they completely snapped in half when you took the harness off. You hope it's intact enough to still be able to wear. The people of Jackson wouldn't spare a second thought before putting a bullet between your eyes or even set you on fire.

"It's nothing fancy, but it does what I need it to." You pause, giving it a good inspection, "Or at least it did."

"What happens if you can't put it back on?" Ellie asks, her face falling as she says your name, "You're not coming back with us, are you?"

"I can't, Ellie. Just like you can't ever show your arm. The world's too narrow-minded, they'll only ever see us as threats."

Silence fills the air once again. Ellie doesn't look at you, the trees suddenly more interesting but you can see the way her lips twitch downward.

"Y'know, I think I saw a few supplies in the truck," Joel passes the harness over to you, fingers lingering over yours like he's telling you that he won't go back to Jackson until he knows that you can come home with them too, "I'll head down and get them. I'll be quick."

You're so caught up in the way his rough padded fingers are deftly slotting between yours and what that means, you almost miss what he said. Panic kicks in, "Wait, you guys are leaving me?"

"It'll just be for a few minutes, sweetheart," Joel reassures, thumb rubbing circles against skin of your inner wrist, soothing your fears, "Ellie will be here and I'll give you one of my guns. You'll be safe, I promise."

The panic eases and you're left feeling somewhat dumbfounded, "You trust me enough to leave her alone with me?"

"The world might be narrow-minded but I see you for who you truly are," He hands you his gun and it doesn't escape your notice that he never actually said what you truly are in his eyes, "I'll be back, okay?"

You nod, telling him to be safe as you watch his figure disappear into the morning fog leaving you and Ellie behind. You set the gun down beside you. You've never fully been comfortable with the weight of a weapon in your hand.

"Sooooo," Ellie drags out the word, eyes still focused on the greenery, "I meant what I said earlier; they're a fucking mess. I don't want to push you into anything, but we have a shit ton of water at our disposal…"

You know she's right, and while she might have said they needed cleaning under the notion of believing the wings disappear beneath your skin, it'll still prove to be a challenge getting them settled against your back neatly.

The broken wing is unfixable, there's no denying that. The feathers on the other hand are dilapidated almost to the point of no return but with a little grooming they'll be nearly presentable again. Not that anyone is ever going to see them.

You sigh, reaching out a hand to pull her off the ground, "Alright kiddo, what do you have in mind?"

Ellie looks down at the hand wrapped around her lower arm, your palm flat where her scar lays underneath her shirt, "You're not afraid of me, right?"

"Never in a million years."

She nods and you briefly catch a flash of relief in her eyes before she's looking away from you. Ellie steps out of your space to stand in the shallow part of the water. She kicks at the lukewarm water, beckoning you over with a tilt of her head, "It'll probably be easier with you sitting in the water. That way I'm not reaching up and pulling at your wings when I wash them."

You kicked off your shoes and socks, fingers lingering on the button on your shorts, not sure if it would be appropriate to stand even more naked in front of a young teen when it would cost you nothing but an uncomfortable ride home in wet shorts if you kept them on.

Ellie must have sensed your dilemma, "We won't look. Joel and I, we aren't that type of people. Take them off, keep them on, it's your decision."

You ponder over your options before letting your hand drop to your side, "I'll be in the bed of the truck on the way back, the sun should dry 'em off before we get back to Jackson."

You made sure to stress the 'we' part. Whether it was for your own state of mind or Ellie's you're not too sure. She flashes you a smile before ushering you into the water which is lukewarm against your feet, the sun is almost directly above you, warming the water. A small blessing.

"Okay," Ellie came to a stop a few feet in front of you, eyes scanning the water to find a safe place away from any rocks or sharp objects so that you can sit down, "This should do. Just sit right where I'm pointing. Good, that'll work."

You cross your legs, wings extended to their full length and held up high so they didn't touch the water but low enough that Ellie can easily reach them.

"Holy shit!" Ellie's mouth drops open, eyes wide in wonderment, "They're fucking huge! How have you managed to keep these hidden for years?!"

"Lots of scrap metal and twenty-something old duct tape," You keep yourself still as you possibly can, not wanting to scare the kid as she slowly circles to stand behind you, "I once used wood, terrible idea. Got mouldy really fast. Smelled awful."

"That explains why you hate sitting on the porch after it rains." Her voice has lost that childlike excitement it held a moment ago.

"Are you okay?" When she gave a light hum you looked back at her, taking in her clenched fists, stiff posture and downcast eyes, "Really? Because a second ago you were bossing me around and now you're hovering ten feet behind me."

"Excuse me for not fucking knowing how to wash wings," She snaps, shoulders slumping down, hands unclenching, "I don't want to hurt you. I've already done enough damage."

"What are you talking about, Ellie?"

"If Joel can't fix the harness, we'll have no choice but to leave you here and that's my fault. I shouldn't have been up there, I knew it was dangerous and… and I'm sorry."

You don't argue the last part because she's right, she knew the risks. Instead you stick to reassurance, "Joel will fix the harness."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because it's Joel." You state easily, despite previously having concerns yourself about if the man would leave you here to fend for yourself. You're eighty percent sure that you're going back home with them. That Joel won't leave you out here to die. But to Ellie, you'll pretend you're a hundred percent positive.

"Right," She nods, hands rubbing together to warm them as her eyes trail the length of your left wing, brow scrunching together, "I have no idea where to start. Seriously, when was the last time you washed them?"

You thought back to the last time, "Before I came to Jackson. About three years."

"Three years?!" Ellie exclaims, "Is that safe?"

"I'm not sure," You reply in honesty, probably not you imagine but it's not like your bathroom is big enough to let your wings out, "I shower with the harness on, but they do at least get somewhat washed."

At the first soft press of hands against your feathers you let out a sigh, wing ruffling underneath Ellie gentle touches.

"You okay?" She checks in.

"It'd tell you if I wasn't," You promise, "If you start at the base and brush your fingers outwards, the natural oils will make it easier to untangle the feathers. Go slow though, and don't freak out if any feathers come loose; it won't hurt me."

"What about the broken wing?"

"Leave the area around the broken bone for last."

"Okay," She nods, taking a deep breath, "Yeah, I can do that."

She works in silence, save for a few comments here and there about how soft the feathers are and how fucking filthy the majority of them are.

The silence is interrupted by rustling in the bushes behind you and Ellie. You're quick to spin around, pushing Ellie behind you, using your body as a human shield.

"It's me, lower the gun-," Joel's eyes flicker down to both your and Ellie's empty hands, "Which is currently on the ground out of your reach, isn't it?" He spares a glance at the ground where the gun is, "We'll talk about that later."

You grimace, "You know how I feel about weapons."

He sent you a look, "Later."

Ellie tapped your shoulder motioning for you to turn back to face forward, giving her access to your wings again, "I've been checking our surroundings every ten seconds."

You can hear Joel sigh, clearly tired and you can't help but blame yourself for that. You cleared your throat and skipped any small talk, "Did you manage to fix it? The harness?"

"I got the tools I was looking for," He held them up to show you, "I originally was goin' to fix it in the truck but I didn't wanna leave you both alone for too long."

"We can handle ourselves," Ellie reminds him, almost argumentatively, "We're not useless."

"In the thirty seconds it takes to reach the gun you'd mostly likely be torn apart by clickers or shot by a raider."

Ellie points at you, your name falling from her lips, "If you haven't noticed, can fly."

"They can't even outfly a pigeon let alone a bullet," His voice is harsh, and you can tell he regrets it by the way he runs a weary hand down his face, "Look, I'm just tryin' to keep you alive and I can't do that if you don't listen to me."

Your back is still turned away from him so you awkwardly shuffle to properly face him, water splashing up onto your stomach as you do, causing you to shiver and bring your hands up to cover yourself. Thankfully your chest band leaves you with some level of modesty.

If this was under any other circumstances you might have tried to appear attractive, to capture Joel's attention, maybe even a lust-filled gaze. Yet, as it is, his eyes barely ever leave your wings, and when they do it's to focus on fixing your beat-up harness.

His knees loudly protest when he lowers himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged in front of you, boots digging into the grass underneath them. Silence fills the air as both Ellie and Joel work; save for the odd grunt from Joel when a piece of the harness doesn't line up the way he planned.

Every once in a while Ellie fingers will get caught in the mess of your wings and you can't help but hiss in pain. In those moments Ellie's fingers abruptly stop all movement and Joel's head snaps up. You're always quick to reassure them that you're okay, but it's not until Joel gives Ellie a slight nod that the girl goes back to working on cleaning your wings.

"Your wings, they're, um," Joel scratches the back of his neck trying to find the right words, "Well, I didn't realise how big they actually are. How the hell did you fit them in the harness?"

"Didn't really have a choice." You shrug nonchalantly, running a finger through the water in front of you.

"Sorry," The apology fell from his lips, "Small-minded question, I didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"You have questions, I understand," You gave him a soft smile, "It hurt at first, keeping the wings folded, but as time went by it all became, I don't know, numb? If that makes any sense."

"I think I got all the feathers untangled," Ellie announces, fingers freely brushing through them, "I can't seem to get them cleaned though. As hard as I try they're still grey."

Right, of course she would automatically think the wings to be white. You climb to your feet, wincing slightly at the sudden rush of wind against your broken wing, and turn to face her, "You've done perfectly, kiddo. My wings are actually grey, not white. I should have mentioned that earlier."

"Huh," She picks up one of the feathers that fell loose and studies it as you both make your way back to shore, "I don't know if I'd call them grey; maybe an ash colour."

"Ash?" Joel repeats, "What the heck kind of colour is ash? It's grey."

"A dull grey," Ellie holds the feathers up to his face, "Also known as 'ash'."

Joel grabs the feather before she can smack him with it. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in the feel of it. It dawns on you that he probably didn't even register the feeling of them when he was trying to get Ellie from your grasp earlier.

"It's softer than I imagined." He mumbles, running the tip of his finger up the length of the feather.

Your eyes watch the movement and there's this sudden tingling feeling inside of you and you exhale a shuddered breath. The sound caught his attention. He glances up at you, then to the feather, then back up to you again. The realisation that he's basically stroking a part of you, or at least, was a part of you, settled in quickly and he awkwardly cleared his throat;

"We should collect the feathers, I don't want someone findin' them. The bird population has grown over the years but they're ain't a bird around here that's big enough to have feathers the size of these."

Ellie nods and gets to work scooping up all the feathers floating around in the water without a complaint.

Joel extends the feather in his hand to you and you shake your head and cup his hand, curling his fingers around the feather. Joel raises a brow, a silent question and you lean in close enough to whisper, "Keep it."

His eyes flicker up to yours, feather soft against his palm and he holds it so delicately, a smile pulls at the corner of his lips, "It would be my honour, sweetheart."

You dip your head down, blush as bright as the sun, crawls up your neck to settle on your cheeks. You can hear Joel chuckle tenderly, which only deepens the shade of red your face bares.

"What do we do with the broken wing?" Ellie asks, breaking the spell between you and Joel, her fingers fidgeting anxiously with the feathers in her hands as she comes to stand next to you.

"Nothin'. There's nothin' we can do." His voice is rough, because he can't do a goddamn thing to stop the pain you're in and you know he's taking the weight of that, "We'll have to leave it as it is."

"What if we wrap it, come back here in a few days and check on it?" She suggests, voice hopeful, "It won't be a perfect fix but it's at least something, right?"

You gently say her name, moving to face her, dropping Joel's hand, "Why do you wear a long sleeve rash guard everytime you go swimming? You can't risk anyone seeing your bite. It's the same for me. As soon as I put that harness on, it doesn't come off again."

"We'll protect you."

Joel sighs, "Ellie-,"

"I'm not stupid I know, I get it, I understand. I do, I just…fuck," She swears, looking off to the side, fingers tightening around the feathers, "I don't like seeing you in pain, okay."

"The bone will heal. Maybe not perfectly or painlessly but it will, I promise you that," You cup her cheek, tilting her head up to yours, eyes meeting, "I'd take a hundred broken bones over losing you."

"You shouldn't have to." She huffs, once again the self-blame boiling to the surface, "You've spent your life keeping your wings hidden, keeping yourself safe and I took that all away in seconds."

"I wasn't born with them," You start, figuring after all they've done for you today they deserve to know the truth, "But I chose to have them. I thought it was the right thing to do."

"You chose to be like that?" Ellie asks, her eyes falling down to where her scars are; scars she didn't ask for. Her eyes are full of confusion with a brief flash of hurt, "Why? Why would you choose to live like this?"

"Because they were a promise to a new life, a new beginning," Your eyes drift to the cliff, memories playing out in front of you as you recall them, "They told us they found a way to make a cure, but that's not what they actually wanted us for. They wanted to build an army, a way to fight the infected. The Firefly's wanted soldiers and they got monsters."

Joel makes a noise in the back of his throat, moving to close the gap between you and him, "You are not a monster."

"I'm far from a hero," You spare a quick glance at Ellie, before admitting, "I wanted to save the world and now I hide from it."

"There's no such thing as heros; not anymore. Besides, Ellie and I? We don't need a hero, we need you. Always," Joel briefly rests his forehead against your, "And don't you forget that."

You slid your fingers into his. Voice barely audible as you ask, "And if the harness doesn't work?"

"It will."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then we make a new life far from narrow-minded assholes," Joel glances over at Ellie and she nods, "The three of us."

A promise.

Your eyes drop down to Joel's lips, a hunger igniting within you and your wings wrap around the back of his legs, pulling him in closer to you. It's a cheeky move, rather daring too but Joel just smirks, arms wrapping around your waist to steady himself.

Your heart's beating so fast you wouldn't be surprised if Joel could feel your racing pulse through your clothing. Going by the way he squeezes your hip and his smirk grows wider, you know he can. He's clearly also enjoying being the reason why you have to take in a sharp breath to steady yourself. You breathe out his name and he hums in response, knocking his nose with yours.

"Okay," Ellie chirps, breaking the spell that surrounds you and Joel once again, reminding you both that she's still here, "I'm gonna give you two some privacy."

"Stay in hearing range." Joel calls, not looking away from you.

You do glance over at her, if only to send a light-hearted glare, "Stay away from any cliffs."

She sends you finger-guns in reply, earning a chuckle from you. Joel raises a brow, smiling, "Fingers guns?"

"Finger guns." You confirm, eyes dropping back down to his lips. They tilt up smugly, the bastard, and you rush to chase it away.

It’s shy, the first press of your lips against his, and it's also soft, and oh, so gentle. That comes as a surprise to you. Joel's always struck you as a rougher lover, but this is so much better. It's intimate, caring, it's giving you the comfort of knowing he's not leaving you, he's not afraid of you, that you're not a monster.

-

I left the ending open a little bit. Just to let you decide if the harness was fixed or if Joel, Ellie and yourself found a new life somewhere else (of course Tommy would eventually find out because honestly Joel wouldn't be able to function without him for very long)

So, do you keep your wings hidden or do you get to fly high in the privacy of the house/property that Joel made for you with his own to hands? That's for you to decide.

Thank you all for reading this!!

[blackcatruse]

𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔰

«prev. ❃ next» ❃ first chapter ❃ m.list ❃ ao3 pairing: r. haitani/fem!reader ↳ she/her, fem descriptors, nickname ❃ chapter synopsis: questions need answers, and they must be obtained by any means necessary. working with the enemy? fine. word count: 1.5k chapter cw(s): swearing, possible ooc, joint dislocation, torture, implied beating a/n: rindou can have a little POV as a treat. this is written in 3rd person POV with reader referred to by her nickname

There were only a few sounds that Rindou Haitani could stand. The first was the heavy bass and high energy of typical club music. The second was the echoing clang of gym equipment. The third was the beautiful call and response of the pop of bones and the following screams. It was music to his ears, and perhaps it let him feel just a bit of smug pride.

Rindou, without a second thought, dislocated the man’s right ring finger. There was the initial pop, a moment of silence, and then a muffled cry. Fat tears were rolling down his captive’s flushed face. Once the scream died down in his throat, the man sniffled. Once. Twice. Too many times. Rindou gripped the man’s right middle finger.

“P-please,” the man stuttered. “Pl-please, I swear I don’t know anything.”

Was he telling the truth? Rindou considered it a possibility, but the man had eight other fingers that were still fine. After that, there were ten toes. Rindou could work his way up each extremity, snapping and cracking until the man finally broke. Judging by the man’s current state, Rindou figured he could at least get to one arm before he got any real information from him.

“I don’t believe that,” Rindou said coldly, yanking the finger.

The man physically jerked forward in the chair he was bound to as he shrieked. “I, I swear! They didn’t tell us anything. Who they were or what they wanted they just said to make a deal with—”

Another brutal pop and the man’s index finger was out of line. The thumb was the last one to go. Before Rindou could take hold of it, a low whistle sounded from behind him. He turned to see Ran, twirling his baton in a braid and dragging the unconscious body of another captive. “You’re being particularly cruel today,” Ran noted with a smirk.

Rindou watched as his brother tossed the limp man into Rindou’s victim’s line of sight. It was almost comical how afraid he looked. But Rindou didn’t feel anything like he usually would.

Ran came up and looked at the man cowering in the chair. “I’d say my guy was the lucky one here.”

“Did you find out anything?” Rindou asked, returning to the situation at hand.

A tired sigh escaped Ran’s lips. “Nothing. You?”

“Nope.”

“Well that’s a waste.”

“I told you we—” the man started.

Rindou was all out of patience. Running into Lotus only served to set him off, and there was nowhere else to direct it right now than at this idiot sitting before him. The man’s thumb was swiftly cracked and the man screamed until he sounded hoarse.

“I don’t think they know anything,” Ran said, putting a gloved hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s pointless to go further than this.”

Rindou dropped the man’s hand and let it lay limp, the fingers bulging at wrong angles. Ran was probably right. But then that meant everything they’d done was a waste of time. It was already a pain in the ass to chase those two motherfuckers down and figuring out that the effort was for naught? Rindou really wanted to break something.

Leaving one man bound to a chair and the other unconscious on the floor, the Haitani brothers strolled out of the warehouse. Someone would find the two men eventually. It was a nice day out, surely someone would be around. Rindou stretched his arms, feeling the tightness in his shoulders ease up. Maybe he needed to go to the gym and imagine Lotus’s face on the punching bags. Something about her just got under his skin and he knew she knew it. The next few months until those big jobs were completed were going to be a fucking nightmare.

Still, she would be out of his hair sooner than later. Maybe it was because of how well she got along with Ran. Rindou didn’t need two of his elder brother running around and tormenting him.

“What’s got you so riled up?”

Sometimes Rindou hated how perceptive Ran was when it came to his moods. Sure they’d grown up together and relied solely on each other, but Rindou would like to think he could at least have some privacy with his emotions.

“It’s nothing,” he gritted out. “I’m tired. I’m irritated that this wild goose chase went nowhere and—”

“It’s about Lotus, isn’t it?” Ran cut him off.

Rindou’s jaw dropped briefly before he snapped it shut and clenched his teeth together. “She acts like she’s hot shit. It’s fucking annoying.”

Ran’s eyebrows raised in a way that Rindou didn’t like. “So it is about Lotus?” 

Jumping off the dock was more and more tempting for Rindou with each silent second that passed by.

“And you’re sure it’s not because you’re jealous of my flirting?”

“I will throw you in the ocean,” Rindou threatened. “I could never be jealous of you flirting with her. It’s kind of gross, actually.”

“So you like her?”

“When the fuck did I say that? Asshole, stop hearing what you wanna hear.”

“Awwww, don’t pout Rin,” Ran cooed in the patronizing tone Rindou knew unfortunately well. “I can give you some pointers.”

“I’m not here to make friends with her.” Rindou crossed his arms, nearly frowning. “I didn’t even know she existed until that night, but apparently she’s a big deal? Whatever. She’s just a street rat.”

“For someone who claims to hate her, you sure do talk about her a lot,” Ran noted.

Whatever deity is out there, give Rindou the patience to not throttle his brother. Ran made him want to rip his hair out sometimes, but that would really just be letting Ran win. Rindou’s teeth ground together as he bit out, “Because you asked, dipshit.”

Ran chuckled and Rindou’s hands twitched at his sides. He was not going to strangle his brother. He was not going to strangle his brother. He was not going to—

“I think it might be worth it to befriend her, or at least butter her up,” Ran said. “In our brief encounter earlier, just bantering with her got her to spill some interesting information.”

Rindou scoffed, “Yeah, at the cost of her knowing that we’re dealing with shit right now.”

“Don’t be so shortsighted,” Ran chided. “Anyway, let’s get back to Kakucho, I don’t like that we couldn’t figure anything out.”

Kakucho inhaled sharply at the brothers’ report before dragging his hands down his face. “Nothing?” he grumbled. “Fucking hell, what’s happening out there?”

Rindou stayed quiet, letting his brother do the talking. He trained his expression to be blank and occasionally chimed in to verify what Ran had reported. Which is where they were now.

“I wish we knew,” Ran said nonchalantly. “But we did run into Lotus in Kabukicho.”

“You went into former Reaper territory?” Kakucho’s stare was unnerving.

Rindou squirmed a little, but Ran waved a flippant hand. “He hasn’t been seen in the area in a while. He abandoned his turf so the rest of us crawled in. That’s beside the point though. Lotus told us something I think may be of interest.”

Kakucho glared at Ran, but said nothing. The elder Haitani continued, “She mentioned that someone was trying to set Wuxing up.”

Rindou thought it was convenient that Ran left out the part where he told the girl what they were doing in the area. However, he wasn’t going to ignore the way Kakucho sat up a little straighter. “What an interesting development,” he murmured. His pensive expression didn’t last long before he glared at the brothers before him. “Why the hell would she tell you that? What purpose does it serve her?”

It was a valid question. Lotus had no reason to give away that information. She was clearly afraid of Wuxing, but fear wasn’t loyalty. Rindou didn’t understand her and it kind of made him feel like he was going insane.

“Would you believe that I sweet-talked it out of her?” Ran was playing with one of his braids like a teenage girl.

Kakucho looked at Rindou and upon seeing the flat expression, knew that Ran was, as always, full of shit.

“He and Lotus get along a little too well,” Rindou remarked dryly. “Their banter is obnoxious.”

“Building rapport is so important,” Ran whined immediately. “Who knows what else she’ll tell us if we just try to be friends?”

Rindou hated that Kakucho looked like he was contemplating Ran’s words. There wasn’t a need to become “friends” with someone from a rival gang. The deal was strictly about business. If anything, befriending her was more of a liability. However, Rindou did know that Lotus hated Wuxing more than she hated them, and they could use that to their advantage. But he wasn’t about to admit that out loud. In this particular case, emotions trumped logic and Rindou wanted nothing more to do with the Wuxing runner than he had to.

Please do not reupload, translate, or steal my work! If it isn't here or on my ao3, it's not me! Likes & reblogs appreciated! <3 Dividers courtesy of @/cafekitsune & @/firefly-graphics

[randomwriteronline]

Do you think love can bloom even despite Greg Farshtey if we don't have mouths between two sets 15 years apart?

so a friend got me a g2 Kopaka--

Mata Pohatu was a gift from my beloved beautiful chum @cantankerouscanuck and when i went to pick up my other boy my friend n i ended up doin a lil photoshoot at their house bc i couldnt resist trying to make them kiss, which was Fucking Hard due to the mata build's terrible posability but thank god Pohatu's got at least one loose leg and Kopaka has many more joints and is so stable. homeboy was holding this whole thing together all by himself like the gallant gentleman he is

my only regret is not having a proper camera with cool lenses and all to properly devote an insane amount of effort to this stupid thing... have a documentation of our tribulations under the cut instead XD

first problem we incurred in (aside from my shaky ass hands making some pictures blurry) was the height difference.

it doesnt look terrible bc kopakas got his knees bent in the photo but effectively the only way pohatu got to his face was by standing on his tippy toes, and while his steel toed boots did give him the added cms necessary they did NOT let him stand on his own, so either we held him up or he fell over even when propped against a wall. we tried pinning him to the wall with kopaka but he still slipped so both cute ideas had to go down the drain

(we also tried a classic kabedon pose but kopakas fucking pauldrons SUCK for arm mobility so tragically, that was also scrapped)

the good news was however that they COULD hold hands! sorta. kinda. im still counting it. the mata hands have axels for fingers, so they fit snugly in the handpieces the 2015 gang has :)

only problem with it is that

straight in the tits.

(me trying to browse a tag in peace but overly horny fanart pops up)

BUT ANYWAYS. the hand holding did provide some stability and so we started trying out poses by seeing how far we could tilt pohatu while keeping him standing - this because he has another problem, that being that his head bobs up and down with no way to keep it up or down on its own, so we had to work with gravity

came out a lil foreboding, like kopaka is threatening him. but we're getting closer!

thankfully me being a big ol sap helped in figuring out how to make the whole thing more tender bc i love that shit. so we decided to push pohatu's loose leg out to balance him and one of his arms up, like he was reaching for kopaka's mask, which was also very good bc kopaka's hand lodged itself right between pohatu's tiny elbow and hip so he looked like he was wrapping it around his waist. then we adjusted them a lil bit, teaked them here n there, and

OH YEAH.

OH YEAH BABY WERE GETTING SOMEWHERE NOW

we had to uh. briefly stop. and laugh really hard for a second bc pohatus entire head fell off. i dont have photos for that but it was so sudden and unexpected that we had a fit of hysteric giggles

as you can see however, their faces are Not touching. this is due to the aforementioned problem with the Mata neck, plus the fact that kopaka couldn't bend further down to close the gap on his own, though tbf cut him some slack hes already holding the both of them up as best as he can

so we meddled a lil bit to pull pohatu more upright and strengthen kopakas pose so they wouldnt topple over, considered a maskless version, scrapped it bc they looked VERY silly, and THEN. AT LAST

THE ELUSIVE BONKLE KISS..........

from as many angles n lightings as possible bc im Unwell

AND a cool version from the hand-holding side bc the transpieces look great and i find it very sweet :)

but yeah that was a fun time :D it was great and the lads have been untangled and retired on a shelf where theyll stay nice and tight hehe

hope yall enjoyed these, they were great fun to make and i think they came out really well despite my shitty hands and cameras. maybe ill do more or not, who knows ahah wait what was that.

that sound... its like. plastic smacking plastic... to mimic kissing...

you dont think... the bionicles... they couldnt... no...

oh... oh good heavens. oh theyre canoodling in there

[mariatesstruther]

maria miller facts that are 100% true because i said so - for @clickergossip because you’ve been feeding me so well

she was the copy editor of her high school yearbook AND a cheerleader AND captain of the debate team

she still does her stretches every couple of days even post-2003, so even in her 40s she can still do some flips, a backbend, the splits, and a pretty decent toe touch

tommy is a big fan of this 😏

she TOO used to smuggle and do some shady, morally dubious stuff when she was living in a QZ with her father, mostly to keep them both fed and safe and healthy. she never tells him, and he never finds out. the first time she admits this to anyone in jackson is to tommy after he tells her about his past with joel and tess

while the world ended she was at work all day, while kevin was at home with her husband. she never fully found out what happened to them; all she has is that, by the time she got home, the house was trashed and there was blood all over her floor and her walls. she tries her best not to think about this at all

she and dina’s older sister talia are best friends. after talia is killed, maria pledges to herself that she’ll watch out for dina as much as she possibly can, and she basically ends up being dina’s #1 supporter during the pregnancy and first year with JJ. she and dina trade stories about talia and promise to make sure JJ knows how amazing his auntie tal was

sometimes JJ reminds maria so much of kevin that she has to step out of the room

maria has a secret stash of weed that her and talia kept in a jar under a loose floorboard in her house. she rolls joints with rose petals 🌹

maria is lowkey extremely scared of horses, but she doesn’t tell anyone for the sake of keeping up her reputation. one day when she and tommy are cleaning out the stables, a snake startles one of the horses so bad it bucks and kicks over a metal barrel. maria jumps so high and screams so loud it startles tommy, too, and suddenly he and her and this fucking horse are all needing to take a deep goddamn breath together. when she finally admits it, he’s like: ??????? ive seen u ride and get on a horse like you were born on a farm????? what?????

still, from then on, tommy is almost always at maria’s side when she has to mount and dismount her horse. because he talked to a few certain people about a few certain things, she pretty much exclusively rides this calm, beautiful blonde thoroughbred named cleo

maria first recognizes joel in ep 1x06 by his accent and the cadence of his voice. it’s so close to tommy that it immediately throws her, and when he says he’s looking for his brother, well—she obviously needs to know his mf name right away

maria needs to move closer to joel on her horse in that scene because she is severely nearsighted. homegirl needs glasses BAD. she can’t see for shit

tommy searches for glasses for her on every patrol. it is his ultimate life’s goal to find his wife some mf corrective lenses

it takes maria three weeks to convince tommy she is okay to go out on patrols while pregnant. it’s not like he’s being controlling or anything, but her pregnancy is very triggering for him anxiety- and nightmare-wise, and she wants to wait until both of them are comfortable with the decision before she takes any risks. they both settle on the compromise that it feels safe enough for her to go out on patrols with larger groups, as long as they stick to areas that have already been cleared of infected and are accompanied by the dogs

maria is a cat person. she would take care of her neighborhood strays as a kid. by year 10 in jackson, there is a thriving colony of strays that basically live out of her and tommy’s tool-turned-cat-shed at the back of their house

along with tommy, the entirety of the jackson community is invested in making sure maria has a safe and peaceful pregnancy. people start going to tommy and joel with problems that used to come to her, and part of it really annoys her because she knows she’s just as capable as she’s always been. still, a larger deeper part of her is deathly terrified to have this baby, so she ultimately appreciates the extra help and rest

she doesn’t ever tell joel or ellie, but she has a Very Emotional Pregnancy-Brain Breakdown because she’s anxious that ellie will never like her and joel will never like her and then tommy will leave and she’ll be alone with a baby she id scared to have and then the baby will never like her, either. it takes tommy an hour to calm her down—by the end of it, he’s crying a little bit too. he hugs her and kisses her and promises that he’ll never, ever leave—that’s it’s in his dna, his blood, to love her, just as much as it’s in his blood to be joel’s brother—and that he’ll spend his life at her and their child’s side. she believes him

when he does leave in tlou 2, she goes into their bedroom and trashes it completely—rips all the clothes out the closet, pulls down the dressers and shelves, throws his stupid fucking knick-knacks at the walls until they break, strips their bed her bed and rips the sheets. she locks herself in her home and doesn’t speak to anyone for two days; it’s the longest in jackson history that maria goes without working, aside from the week baby miller was born. the members of jackson make sure to leave her alone

when tommy gets back, she continues to refuse to speak to him while simultaneously sitting at his beside in the infirmary for a week straight

seth and maria have had beef that literally stems from the very start of establishing jackson. he’s just a fucking ass. FUCK seth like i will make a whole post about her beef with seth

maria and joel have mutual hate for seth. we’ve discussed this already over here lmfao, they get together and drink and talk shit about him at least twice a week while tommy and ellie have mischief time

sometimes maria and ellie will hear joel or tommy say some southernism that’s so unfamiliar and twangy to them it’s ridiculous, and together they instantly break out into hyper-exaggerated accents to mock them. the miller boys rolls their eyes but they obviously find it to be pretty adorable and hilarious

maria and ellie are not allowed to be on the same team for board game night anymore because they win everything and it is no fun for tommy >:(

tommy does metalsmithing and makes trinkets and jewelry with charms for maria whenever she gets the chance. the first time he makes a loc charm for her, she cries

maria knows how to make those cool patterned woven bracelets out of string and yarn. she teaches ellie how to make some so that she can make valentine’s day bracelets for dina

she visits jackson’s preschool sometimes and it’s so fun because all the jackson littles absolutely LOVE her. at first they think she’s kinda scary because she’s the Serious Boss Lady everybody and their families talk to upon first entering jackson, but one day at the beginning of the schoolyear she comes in and shows the preschoolers that she can do a cartwheel—from then on they’re all absolutely obsessed

[blubushie]

EVERY SCAR YOU HAVE, BUSH MAN! AND HOW YOU GOT THEM! PRONTO!

Ok firstly "bush man" reads so much different than "bushman" for some reason that's weird

Anyway! We'll do this top-down

Right side of forehead, just beyond hairline. Got this wrecking an old paddock basher of a '67 Mustang on a mate's property when I was 15. My face hit the steering wheel. And the car caught on fire! So now I'm afraid of fire.

Horizontal scar on eyelid just under left eyebrow. I was 3 years old, jumping on the couch, and slammed face first into the coffee table.

Cut on left side of neck, just under jaw. Had a knife held to my neck. It was pulled away too fast.

Cut on right outer forearm. Blocked a knife. It's barely noticeable now since my arm hair camouflages the scar. Much more obvious when my arm is shaved.

Right inner wrist, oval scar I got while trying to get out of handcuffs as a teen cuz they forgot where I was in mental hospital so I was left unsupervised too long.

Right thumb on the knuckle. Scraped it learning to ride a bike.

Left bicep and left forearm. Bites from juvenile crocodiles during a croc survey in the Top End.

Left middle finger, 2cm vertical line stretching up from nail. Jammed finger in door of Matilda & the skin flayed off when I yanked it on reflex.

Numerous bite marks from different animals on my arms and hands. Scratches too. It's too many to keep track of.

Scarification on right breast from First Nations initiation ceremony.

T-anchor double mastectomy scars.

Right side at waistline to almost centre of stomach is a long slash. Was disembowelled by a pig and almost died.

Barely-noticeable scar just under shoulder blades to right of spine from where the porcelain of my body armour cut my back after I was shot the first time.

Tacklebox is fucked, I'd rather not go into detail about those. I am intersex so the whole area has quite a bit of scarring from alterative + reconstructive surgeries.

Large rectangular scar on right thigh. This was a debrided burn wound I got from falling into a fire while drunk. My jeans melted into my leg and I refuse to wear synthetic fabric now.

Small patch on my right arse cheek where a skin graft was taken for the burn wound on my leg. Only one particularly deep spot needed a graft.

Miscellaneous scrapes and scratches on my legs from years of a rough and tumble childhood in the outback.

Left foot, raised scar over Achilles' tendon. Got razorwire in my shoe, cut me and the wound got infected. This was cleaned by maggots after a debridement.

Right foot, U-shaped scar on underside of big toe at the joint. Stepped on broken porcelain as a kid. Didn't need stitches luckily.

NOT A SCAR: knot on 8th right rib. Was jumped by 3 blokes for being MLM and beaten. One of them kicked me in the ribs and fractured it.

NOT A SCAR: permanent callous at shoulder pocket where my rifle rests when shouldered from shooting so many years professionally.

[pyreflydust]

Thinking about how I've seen it said that kids tend to cry more because every new Big Pain is the biggest pain they've ever experienced and how as we get older and experience Bigger Pains the older ones seem Less Big.

Thinking about this mostly in context of getting stung by a bee for the first time in over twenty years and having two minutes of MOTHER FUCKING OW HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO WALK LIKE THIS (of course it was on my foot! I didn't see it! It got between my toes because I was wearing sandals!!!)

and then

nothing.

Every other bee sting has been bad enough to make me cry and actually I'm more distracted by the pain from the broken tooth crown I was on my way to have fixed at the time and the toe doesn't hurt at all anymore.

Inspected it for bits of stinger, there's nothing. The toe hasn't swelled and I soaked my feet when I got home in case but really the other foot needed it more for a different reason (shitty joints I think) and it was only a precaution on the side of the bee sting. It simply does not hurt anymore.

[hottpinkpenguin]

Hi! I was wondering if you'd be willing to do a gender neutral reader x Zipco one shot. Maybe something like them both being sweet on each other but both thinking the other isn't interested. Ending with a first kiss or more or whatever you feel! Thanks for considering!!

A/n: this got steamier than I thought it would when I started. What can I say, I love a broody biker man <3 Thanks for the request anon!!

Long Time Coming - Zipco X GN!Reader

WC: 2142 Warnings: mention of past domestic violence relationship; alcohol use; steam

**K i know this gif isn't from the movie but i could literally not find any on tumblr so dont hate me

You leaned back in your chair in the bar, taking in the motley crew of bikers that had become something like a family over the last few months. Johnny was standing over by the pool tables, one arm slung over Benny’s shoulder to keep himself upright, the other clutching the neck of a beer bottle and conducting a very off-tune rendition of Elvis’ All Shook Up, vocals provided by the very drunk duo of Wahoo and Corky. Kathy had kicked off her heels and was doing a rather uncoordinated jumble of the monster mash, trying to adjust to the sloppy cadence of the drunk chorus that kept falling behind the beat of the jukebox. Your cousin Cal was laughing so hard at the antics he almost had tears in his eyes. Cockroach was off in a corner whispering something naughty in his wife’s ear, judging by her giggle and the bright pink flush on her cheeks, as he played with the ends of her hair. Funny Sonny was smoking a joint near the front door at a table with a fast-asleep Fat Jack across from him. Every few minutes, Funny Sonny would try to flick a pretzel crumb into Fat Jack’s open mouth between his snores. Most of the crumbs fell short of their target, dotting Jack’s beard and his chest.

And then there was Zipco, seated solemnly at the bar studying the bottom of the whiskey and coke in his hand as if he were reading tea leaves. He was the one somber face in the tavern, and judging by the furrow in his brows his emotions were churning like a storm. You chewed on the inside of your lip as you watched him from across the smoky bar, wondering what it was - or who - that was causing him such grief. Of all the bikers, you knew him the least and thought about him the most. 

Zipco shifted on the barstool, and you could see the muscles in his back tense and move against the black of his t-shirt. Enjoying your unobstructed vantage point from the relative anonymity of the dimly lit bar, you greedily drank in the sight of his side profile, his face partially obscured by his perpetually mussed hair and shaggy beard. He lifted his glass to his mouth and took a sip, his forearm and bicep flexing appealingly as he did so. The sight made you feel thirsty suddenly as your mind fed you imaginings of his thick arms wrapped around your waist, his big hands spread open and roaming across your skin. You wondered how he’d taste - probably like whiskey and cigarettes, you thought, with a small squirm - and how that scruffy beard would feel against your lips.

“Jesus Christ, y/n, take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Cal slid into the chair next to you, jarring you out of the daydream that had your toes curling in their shoes. Embarrassed, you ducked your eyes and scolded your cousin.

“Shut the fuck up, Cal.”

“I’m tired of watchin’ you makin’ eyes at each other,” he continued, ignoring your protestations with a confident swig of his beer.

“‘Ey, Zip! Get over here!”

“Christ on a fuckin’ cracker, Cal, what the hell are you doin’?” You jabbed your elbow as hard as you could muster at his ribs. He dodged, protecting his beer with one hand and batting away your arm with the other. Zipco turned on his stool, one eyebrow raised in annoyance or curiosity, you couldn’t tell. 

“The fuck you want?” he shouted at Cal. His eyes landed on you momentarily, and your heart pirouetted in your chest. Your imagination picked up right where it’d left off, feeding you intrusive pictures of Zipco’s body hovering over yours, the heat from his skin warm against you as his lips devoured your moans.

“Come over ‘ere! You and y/n are both drinkin’ alone, nothin’ sadder than a solo drunk.” You felt yourself dissolve into embarrassment at Cal’s words. Panic set in as you saw Zipco actually stand up from his stool and begin making his way across the bar towards you. What the fuck were you going to say? 

“Cal, I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” you growled murderously, which only made Cal’s smug smirk widen. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied smartly as he stood up from the chair and offered it to Zipco, who settled with an unintelligible grunt. As Cal left, snaking through the crowd towards the pool tables, he looked back at you and winked. 

“Your cousin’s a shithead,” Zipco commented gruffly, his bluntness shocking a laugh out of you. “Sorry, I know he’s kin to you. But he’s a shit.” 

You smiled, feeling a millimeter more comfortable now that Zipco had broken the ice.

“No argument here,” you agreed with a queasy, nervous-sounding laugh. 

“How’d you end up in Chicago, anyway?” Zip asked stiffly. He was searching for something to say, just like you. It was a safe question, and it should have had an easy answer. But you found yourself chewing on the inside of your cheek, wondering just how much of your backstory you should tell him. Should you tell him the truth - that you wound up here after Cal found you half beaten to death by your boyfriend - or just offer something vague and mysterious, like ‘oh, I blew in on the wind’? You felt very self conscious as the silence between you stretched longer and longer.  

“Long story,” you finally managed glumly, dark memories pressing in on the edges of your mind. Zipco was visibly fidgeting next to you, acutely aware that he’d inadvertently stepped on a sensitive subject. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with embarrassment and pain. 

“Didn’t mean to pry. Cal never said much ‘bout how you ended up here. And I’m… curious.” Something about the way he muttered the last word plucked a string in you. You fought to suppress a small smile at the confession that Zipco was curious about you.

“My ex was a piece of shit,” you offered quietly. “When I ran out of escape plans, I called Cal. He brought me here.” There was a lot more to say about that long story, but you let those sparse details suffice. Zipco looked at you, bashfulness replaced by something hotter and more dangerous.

“He give you this scar?” Electricity leapt through your veins when Zipco’s fingertips connected with the jagged line of scarred skin that snaked down your forearm - courtesy of a broken bottle in your ex’s hand. You jumped reflexively at the contact. The scar wasn’t sensitive anymore, but you were surprised that anyone had noticed. You took great care to cover it most of the time, eager to avoid prying questions. Somehow though, the question in Zipco’s voice felt inviting. There was a protective streak stitched in between his words that beckoned you closer. Mouth gone dry, you nodded wide-eyed at him. 

“I didn’t think anyone had noticed…” 

His eyes captured yours, the anger bubbling in his gaze softening at the sight of you drinking him in. An unexpected intimacy tangled together in the space between you, tightening like the laces on a corset. Your head was spinning, heart pounding, palms sweating slightly. Your lungs seemed to forget how to breathe, spasming futilely in your chest. Unable to bear it anymore, simultaneously you both dropped your eyes to the table. 

Feeling warm and overwhelmed, you took a healthy swig from your beer, followed by another, hoping for a dose of liquid courage. So far, all the booze had done was whet your appetite for other vices. You swallowed thickly as you snuck a glance in Zipco’s direction. He looked deliciously casual in his jeans, riding boots and black t-shirt, the signature leather jacket long discarded in the hot, summertime air of the smoky bar. Suddenly, an idea struck you.

“It’s a little hot in here, don’t you think?” 

He nodded. “Always is. No fuckin’ ventilation in this shithole.”

“I’m gonna get some air,” you said, letting your words hang in the space between you two like an offering. You wondered if he heard the invitation. It took a moment, but when you saw comprehension dawn on his face, the sparkle in his eyes and the quick smirk told you everything you needed to know about his eagerness.

“I could use a fresh cigarette myself.” You rose first, Zipco trailing you like a shadow. You wondered if anyone noticed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on anything but the prickling awareness of Zipco close behind you, so close you swore you could feel the tease of his breath on your neck. 

When you stepped outside, the quiet of the dark, sleeping street and the cool of the air was welcome. Your body turned without needing input from your brain towards a particularly shadowy alleyway next to Junker’s. You could hear Zicpo’s heavy steps close behind you. 

The quiet of the August night helped you think more clearly, ratcheting up both your commitment to the moment and your nervousness. You reached a wall, turning to face Zipco. The streetlight glinting in his gaze looked like starlight. He was close enough for you to smell the mint of his aftershave and the grassy, woodsmoke tang of whiskey on his breath. Your heart surged up into your throat at his closeness.

“I’ll take a cigarette, too, if you’re having one.” Your voice was a half-note higher pitched than usual, fluttering at the edges. 

He smiled gently, moving a half-step closer to you.

“Now that I’m out here, I’m not sure I need a smoke after all,” he murmured. His eyes flicked back and forth between yours, the questions hanging in the air beginning to vanish one by one as your body language answered each one. You felt your back come into contact with the bricks of the wall behind you just as his lips found yours. The feel of his mouth against yours unleashed the restraint you’d been fighting to maintain. You kissed him back with a needy pressure that you could tell surprised him by the small gasp he let out. He barely let a moment pass before he was matching you, a strong hand coming to cradle the back of your neck. His skin was calloused and warm, just like you’d imagined. You felt your bones melt as you relaxed into his embrace, letting his arms and the wall behind you hold you upright.

The kiss morphed from needy to excited to probing, each of you happily responding to the other as you found your rhythm. Zipco was utterly silent against you. The almost ferocious focus with which he moved and held you was intoxicating, and pretty soon you were gasping and sighing and moaning enough for the both of you. Your hands had found their way up into his hair, raking across his scalp and trailing down the side of his neck, dancing underneath the collar of his t-shirt. He shuddered slightly against you, his lips curling into a smile against yours. Hot summer night and barely-private alleyway be damned, you were too far gone to care as your fingers began sliding downwards, looking for the hem of his shirt.

The front door of the bar opened, letting the sound inside pour out into the street. You broke away from each other’s lips as Cal stumbled out with a bleary-eyed Fat Jack and Johnny close behind. Zipco rolled his eyes, bracing for what he knew was about to come as he placed a hand on the wall next to your temple, granting you a measure of privacy and obscuring your face from the bar-goers.

“‘Ey, you two, tonsil-lickin’ session is over! Pack it up and get a room!” You barely stifled a giggle at Cal’s quip, leaning your head against Zipco’s arm and smiling up at him. His face was flushed as he matched your relieved smile. 

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long time,” he admitted with a devilish smirk. 

“Rude to keep me waitin’ then,” you shot back. He ducked down, catching your lips again, this time softer and more tender. 

“Seriously, guys, get outta here. As annoyin’ as it was to watch you two pine after each other for weeks, somehow this is worse.” 

Cal was so close he was practically making it a threesome. Despite the self-congratulatory grin he wore, the note of sincerity in his voice kept you from hitting him. You and Zip broke into matching laughs at Cal’s invitation, and before you knew it, you were settling in on the back of Zipco’s bike, its engine purring underneath you and your cheek pressed against the leather of his jacket. You smiled at Cal, knowing you’d never hear the end of it, as he winked at you before Zipco drove off into the night.