#i wear a fucking patch that says ''service dog''

[charonte-simi]

Friend, petting his dog: "it's so weird how so many animals enjoy being pet. Like, humans aren't like that. You wouldn't like it if someone just came up and started petting your head like we do to dogs, would you"

Me, suddenly having lost the ability to speak: "ha I mean, ehhh idk it might be, okay ha ha 🤔🤷🏻‍♂️😅😵‍💫

[rrat-king]

I felt bad for possibly asking too many- and I'm content with the ones I asked, but Fig Faeth is truly my favorite character and I'm constantly looking for new content for her- I JUST CANT NOT DO ITTTTT

🧸👻👽💤💝🫂📓🍫❤️‍🔥😺😬😶

(I'm so sorry)

no never apologize I love doing these and i love fig i'm happy to provide good fig content for you <333

🧸 A headcanon about their childhood

when she was six she refused to wear anything other than the princess dress that Sandra Lynn had gotten her as a Halloween costume the year before. going to school? princess costume. going to the store? princess costume. gilears work dinner he brings his family to? fig is in that raggedy princess dress you better believe

👻 A headcanon about what scares them

she is so fucking scared of being known, which is so hard when she's doing something as big as music where her face and her persona are one of the selling points. she just really struggles cuz of how much she was forced to change and being percieved as someone else or even as her true self is just terrifying to her

👽 A headcanon about a weird quirk of ther

she loves popping her and stretching her joints so they make so much noise, sitting in truly what most be the most uncomfortable positions but she says she likes it cuz it's a nice stretch

💤 A headcanon about their sleep

the world could be ending and she would not wake up. she is such a heavy sleeper ever since she stopped trying to trance cuz it barely worked for her to begin with. can fall asleep anywhere

💝 A headcanon about their love language

like our boy riz she is also a huge acts of service girly. she will hunt your banker for you, she will be your guard dog, she will become a paladin for a forgotten god like she will do it all cuz she loves her friends so much.

🫂 A friendship headcanon

she fucking loves cuddling on people and the most pda tolerant friend is kristen so they are fucking always hanging off of each other. the school commonly circulates with rumors that they are dating when in fact they are just Like That

📓 A headcanon about their hobbies

one thing about fig is that the second she gets like, really good at something to the point of it almost becoming a job it stops being fun for her. so she loves hobbies that she's a little bad at. she can't sew but she loves making patches and buttons for her and her friends even if it just kinda shitty painting on fabric and then asking Kristen to sew it on for her or hot gluing bottle caps with safety pins

🍫 A headcanon about food

fucking loves lembas cuz gilear used to bring it home after work trips even though adaine is convinced its like, the most boring food in the world fig loves it

❤️‍🔥 A romantic headcanon

fig is not really a date person, not a typical romance in general, but she does do the typical date stuff with ayda just cuz she wants to show her the like, typical teen deal and what's associated with it aka dates to kroms or to the ice cream shop. she mainly just likes spending time with ayda no matter the circumstances

😺 An animal related headcanon

she grew up with Baxter and she loves him so much. like she was a baby sitting on his back and holding too tight on his feathers and jumping and crawling all over him just like she loves him so much he's basically the family dog

😬 A headcanon about the worst thing they’ve done

fig is really hard for this question cuz she does tend to be pretty intentional in her actions but like, still is a dumb teen who makes dumb teen choices quite a bit. a big one that stands out is her first interaction with ayda and being kinda fantasy rascist

😶 A random headcanon!

this one is pretty basic but she has a tail and its epic. she has so many bangles and ribbons she wears around it its so fun

ask game here!!!

[angrelysimpping]

M!OC x Friend’s M!OC

Joaquim belongs to 💜@inkyquince💜

Contents: Silly, cringey roleplay; don’t be mean to Danny, he’s silly and in love, shush

Words: 652

“Are you willing to trade for…” Danny hesitates, unsure of what to offer. When he’d talked Joaquim into this roleplay, he knew where he wanted to end up, but he hadn’t stopped to think how to get there. Joaquim tilts his head up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he silently urges Danny on. “For some silk. Arrived just this morning”

“Dunno,” Joaquim says with a shrug, grinning wide as he leans back against the kitchen counter, his makeshift ‘stall.’ “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but, but I’m blind.” He taps his shades for emphasis. “I’d have to…feel the goods, first.”

Danny has to bite back a laugh as Joaquim gives him a sharp grin.

Before Danny can think of grabbing a prop of some kind, a blanket or discarded scarf from their tiny living room, Joaquim pushes off from the counter. He reaches out, sure of himself, scarred fingers twisting into the fabric of Danny’s tattered jacket and pulling the taller man forward. Warm hands slip under the cloth, Danny’s breath hitching as they graze his bare skin. Fingers trailing over his sides, tracing the cuts on his left side carved into him by the entity, hand on his right side taking a detour to grind a thumb into his pierced nipple. Up, up, and over his shoulders, before sliding his jacket off.

“Wha-”

“This seems nice,” Joaquim cuts him off, fingers seeking out every inch of the stolen jacket. He pauses for a moment, humming in approval as he finds the ‘Service Dog’ patch on Danny's jacket, right over this heart, before continuing his ‘inspection.’ “But, my spices are rare and of high quality. I’ll need something more than just this.”

Danny knows he could drag things out, that it would be the logical thing to do. Offer the ‘rare’ denim he was wearing only for Joaquim to point out the rips and frayed cuffs. Offer the briefs he had on, stolen out of Joaquim’s clean laundry just that morning, only for those to fall short to the red head’s inspection as well. It would go on for ages, Danny stripping and trading his clothing away for the hope of maybe having something worth exchanging.

He doesn’t, pressing his chest to Joaquim’s. “I’m sure you could find something that interests you.”

Joaquim laughs, letting the jacket fall to the kitchen floor, strong arms wrapping around Danny's lean torso and pulling him closer. “Sure I could, but, as I said, I’ve gotta feel them first. You understand, don’t you?”

Idly, Danny rocks his hips forward, pressing his already hardening cock against Joaquim’s thigh. “Feel away, sir.”

Try as he might, Joaquim can’t help but laugh, breaking out into a fit of giggles even as he presses a kiss to Danny’s collar bone.

“Ahw,” Danny mock pouts, having to hold back a few giggles of his own. “C’mon Kimi, you said we could do my silly idea and you wouldn’t laugh at it.”

“Sorry,” Joaquim manages to get out between giggles, hands traveling down to dip beneath Danny’s jeans. “Sorry, but, you’re just so eager, Danny boy. No build up at all.”

“Is that so bad?” Danny sighs, helping Joaquim rid him of his clothes.

“Nah, but, y’know Dankovsky,” arms wrapping around Danny’s hips and lifting him in one easy, practiced motion, before placing his now naked boyfriend on the kitchen counter. “If you really just wanted me to fuck you in the kitchen, all you had to do was ask.”

Danny laughs again, cupping the side of Joaquim’s face as he leans in close, nose ghosting over a sharp cheekbone. “Fuck me in the kitchen, Joa?” Danny murmurs against his smiling lips, “Fuck me on the kitchen counter? Pretty please?” Danny punctuates the sentence with a quick flick of his tongue, swiping his tongue stud against Joaquim’s bottom lip.

“Whatever you want, pretty boy. Always.”

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (300): Tue 10th Jan 2023

Up early despite it being my day off as I wanted to take the motorbike to get the left footrest fixed. The guy at the garage said that he should have it fixed by the end of the day and to call him up at. teatime to ask about the progress. It did mean that I had to walk all the way back up the hill in my full motorbike gear and carrying the helmet which wasn’t ideal but made more tolerable by listening to Margaret Miller’s Beast in View which I listened to on audiobook. Every time I read a book that I like I buy an audiobook of it and Beast In View was the first book in the Edgar Award winners challenge I read that I fucking adored. I phoned the guy at half 1 and he said that it was already fixed and I could come and get it. I asked how much it would be and he replied £40 which almost made my eyeballs pop out of my arse out of shock as I was expecting him to charge me hundreds. Before going to collect the bike I got the bus to the town so that I could deposit my cheque into the bank. The bank has gone through massive renovations with the row of cubicles with the bullet proof glass being replaced by…a single desk with a bloke behind it. It’s crazy because every time unused to go nun there is see a queue and one bank teller at one cubicle. So their way of dealing with this problem is to completely eliminate the other cubicles so that disgruntled customers can’t say “Why can’t you open another counter?” anymore since there are no other counters. I went to Yo Sushi and had some vegan chicken sushi which was lovely and I also popped into the market to buy some gloves since I left mine in the house and I didn’t want to ride my bike home with no gloves on as they would probably drop off from the cold by the time I got home. I got the bus back to Southwick and walked back down the hill to the bike place to pick up the old girl and the shop had done a great job as the footrest was firmly fixed back in and you couldn’t tell there was ever any damage to it. I also asked the guy if I needed to go to BDS to get it serviced every time or if I could just bring it to him and he said he’d be happy to service it when the time comes. Glad that’s sorted and next time it snows I’ll leave it until a good week after the last of it has gone just in case there’s a little shithead patch of ice that decides to stick around and make me slip off the bike again like last time.

Tuned into tonight’s Hollyoaks.

I was hoping that this year they'd start introducing interesting new characters but even I wasn't expecting a long lost McQueen who's a living Christmas tree!

There was some come comedy early on in the episode as Oscar gave Darren a cape with a big D on it and Darren spent the episode pretending to be a superhero. Oh I hope they do a storyline where Darren gets a head injury while wearing the cape and when he wakes up he believes he actually is a superhero. Later on Darren and Nancy had a bit of a talk outside the school gates and while they did an extra walked past carrying a chair into the school. Why? What was the point of that?

It always makes me laugh to see the unnecessary things they have extras do in TV shows. This extra must've turned up thinking they were going to be playing a pivotal role but they showed up and were told "We need you to carry this chair and don't show your face"

The bulk of the episode featured the culmination of the Eric the incel storyline. At the start of the episode Eric kidnapped Maxine, locked her in his caravan then headed to The Dog with his crossbow to carry out his manifesto. At the start of the show when Eric took Maxine to his family’s farmhouse which has been left abandoned for years what would Eric have done if he took Maxine to the cottage and there was a gang of smackheads with guns in there? The hostage crisis at The Dog where Eric took everyone inside prisoner was a little bit intense but not as intense as it should have been because Eric’s weapon of choice was a crossbow. Why would you choose something that takes 20 seconds to reload with you when taking a group of people hostage. Hell there was one moment where he was sat crouched down with the crossbow pointed at the floor. Why didn’t they all just rugby tackle him to the ground? The episode ended with Maxine arriving and calling Eric out for being a pathetic loser and Eric shot an arrow at her as a police swat team broke in and arrested the creepy bastard. As the episode ended I thought to myself  Maxine better not be dead or else I was done with Hollyoaks for good and my Twitter page was going to change to “Silly Home and Away Tweets” but in the tease for tomorrows episode we see that she is still alive so we’re good. This was a great episode and amazing culmination of this incel storyline but shame on the show for not actually giving Verity a funeral. Two years on the show (plus being unnecessarily killed off) and we don't even get a proper goodbye for her, they just go straight to the wake? Bullshit

[dickplinko]

MY LAST HEADCANON POST DID SUPPER WELL AND PEOPLE LOVED IT SO IMMA MAKE ANOTHER ONE

I have fun ideas but am awful at writing so you get this instead of fanfics

Some of these carry over from the first post so here’s that link for context

•Steve needed to replace the brakes in his car and Eddie helped him and taught him how to change brakes. Steve kept rubbing the grease from his fingers on Eddie. He thought it was cute.

•Steve doesn’t really understand D&D so he says the most unhinged shit “Can I befriend the Bugbear and give him chips” “I eat their kneecaps for a snack” “I will impale them like a kebab” “I will throw my shoe” “I will turn him into a grill” “Steve they don’t have grills” I don’t care roll for grill”

• Steve really likes Eddie’s hair when it’s put up into a messy bun with hairs flying everywhere and it sagging on the back of his head. Eddie noticed this and started wearing it like this

•Eddie skates with Max sometimes and they have chaotic hart to harts and talk about their partners

•Max is blind now and has a service dog his name is bucky and it’s named after robin because she was the first girl that max ever met who was confident in her queerness and max really looks up to her

•Lucas and El braid max’s hair while she’s in a coma. Nancy and Robin visit her quite a bit in the hospital and are there when she wakes up.

• Eddie stops wearing his bandanna when he gets with Steve. Steve is clueless to hanky code but he notices Eddie doesn’t wear it anymore. He asks about why Eddie stopped wearing it and Steve makes this face 😳

• Steve knew he liked men for years and never really thought much of it bc he never met one he was interested in dating until Eddie. He never really tried to hide the fact that me was bi. Everyone is shocked when he came out and he is confused because he thought everyone knew

• the fruity four volunteer at hospitals during the aids crisis because of the lack of medical care for gay men. Eddie gets really scared that him and Steve are going to get hatecrimed because of the homophobia that is running rampant. The four protect each other in public. Nancy started carrying one of her guns in case something bad happens. They four go to protests and try to educate people in Hawkins about the crisis.

• Dustin starts bringing aspects of Eddie’s style into his own. He starts wearing a jacket and it’s covered in a bunch of nerdy patches and pins. Eddie is proud

• Eddie fucking eats up Nine Inch Nails when they start making music He loves them so much. Him and Steve have sex to closer.

• Steve really likes ABBA Eddie thinks it’s cute how into the music Steve Gets

•Eddie takes Steve to concerts with him and he sits on Steve’s shoulders. Steve gets really into rock music and loves going to shows. One day Eddie gets really hurt in the pit and Steve carries him out of the crowd and to the car. When they get home Steve cleans all his wounds and Eddie falls asleep in Steve’s lap while he plays with his fair

•When The Lost Boys comes out Eddie loves it so much. Steve and Eddie talk about how hot the vampires are together

• When Nancy and Robin first start dating Robin like never shuts up and just always is flustered and babbles all the time. The first time they kiss Robin I’d on a tangent and Nancy can’t stop thinking about how cute Robin is and how much she wants to kiss her girlfriend. Mid sentence Nancy just leans over and kisses Robin cutting her off

•Robin geeks out to Nancy about movies all the time they watch movies together and Robin lays in her girlfriends lap while she plays with her hair. Robin just talks about the movie and info dumping to Nancy. It’s so peaceful and Nancy loves listening to Robin talk about things she loves

•Steve and Eddie’s room is covered in posters just like Eddie’s room. It’s a mix of movies, bands, and nerdy things. It’s of thing they both like. Metallica next to ABBA, WASP next to Billy Idol. Back to the future next to Halloween. Breakfast club next to Lost boys. There’s corroded coffin posters. Will made some D&D pictures that are hanging on the wall. There’s pictures of the party on the wall. It’s a personal eclectic space and they love it.

•Eddie loves reading and Steve loves listening to Eddie read. They make a habit of reading before bed Steve in Eddie’s lap while his voice reads. Eddie reads with the same theatrics as D&D. They read The Hobbit, Stephen King, Orwell, And Vanuget. Steve loves hearing Eddie do different voices and the suspense he builds

•The whole hang goes to Eddies shoes and gets super into them. Mike and Dustin even join the mosh pit with Steve looking out for them of course. Steve teaches them proper mosh etiquette.

•Steve ends up getting really into rock music because of Eddie. He gets a bunch of band shirts and makes a jacket of his own. Steve wears a lot of muscle tees and he cuts the sides really low. A flannel wrapped around his waist Eddie loses his mind over this.

•Robin and Nancy go on picnic dates and sometimes they bring max for bonding

•When max got out of her coma she was really struggling with her disability and Robin and Nancy helped her and Max stayed with them for a bit. Lucas and El were over at their place every day to visit.

• Nancy and Robin also get a trailer and there’s is right next to Steve and Eddie’s

• the four of them have a separate walkie channel that they use in addition to the one the whole party uses. They always have chaotic conversations talking about movies. It's a lot of robin and Eddie yelling at each other or steve and nancy talking about their dipshit partners.

[finalfilms]

kimclear dating (soft) headcanons -

texting each other rocks/trees/animal pictures and saying “this is us”

“my girlfriend got mad at me today hope i die”

watching horror movies together can go one of two ways 1) kimberly over explaining every single detail while clear listens 2) clear cheering loudly every time something “fucks” while kimberly laughs

kimberly’s thing is a butterfly, clears thing is a swan. this has no impact on their dating it’s just something i need to say

subtly matching outfits whenever they go out in public together

clear reading to kimberly (kimberly is almost always sleeping with her head on clears chest and clear is playing with her hair)

skating together and getting wendy’s afterward (the food not the girl)

kimberly making clear jewelry and clear wearing it all the time, even if she doesn’t need to

probably getting a cat or a bunny together (i can also see them with a dog)

an ungodly amount of forehead + cheek kisses

clear painting and purposefully flicking paint on kimberly (they end up throwing paint at each other for fun, laughing the entire time)

similar thing when baking together, they end up covered in flour on the floor dying of laughter while the cookies burn

excessive hand holding and always touching each other

clears love language - acts of service

kimberly’s love language - touch

going to family cookouts together. their little cousins are always asking them to play, they hold hands a LOT, and it’s just a nice time in general

kimberly braiding clears hair

doing each other’s makeup

playing animal crossing together

highschool!kimclear would have matching yearbook quotes cause they’re THAT dedicated

making each other playlists that have the silliest names “chicken broth” is clears and “mustard hot dog” is kimberly’s

they would be the couple to go on runs together but kimberly is always complaining about something and clear gets annoyed way to easily

raising a houseplant together

throwing popcorn at the tv during bad movies

kimberly let’s clear draw on her skin. clear will either draw beautiful flowers, cute animals and pretty sunsets or she will draw the most detailed penis you’ve ever seen

they went on a picnic and made each other flower crowns. it was really cute and they had a lot of nice food but then the bees came …

clear swearing at the bees with the ferocity of a massachusetts driver while kimberly tries to fight them with sticks

clear needing to patch kimberly up after a few bee stings

going on ice skating dates (clear is surprisingly clumsy, but kimberly is almost pro)

drinking hot chocolate together curled up on the couch watching a christmas movie

apple picking dates because they love autumn so much (clear is taller than kimberly, so she gets all the apples)

carving pumpkins together (“i wanna eat the seeds” “kimberly no.”)

in all honesty, they are adorable and i miss them so

[pascalpanic]

Miller Morales Mechanic Shop (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Part One of Miller Morales Mechanic Shop

Summary: Something is wrong with your car. What, exactly? You have no clue. So you bring it in to some professionals- who also have a toddler running around the shop.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: language, Frankie is a dad, brief mention of divorce and trauma bc poor Frankie, there is a child heavily involved in this so if you don’t like kids this isn’t for you :)

A/N: WELCOME TO PART ONE EVERYONE! This is such a cute AU and I’m BEYOND excited to start sharing it with you all! I don’t know how many parts this will be or anything but I can’t wait to take it and run with it.

Marisol Morales behaves for very few people. One of those is Ben Miller. Unfortunately, she has decided to break her own rules today.

Frankie loves summer. He loves his little girl playing outside in her baby pool, taking her for walks around the neighborhood with their three-legged dog, all of the fun parts. The hard part is when the nanny goes on a vacation and Mari has to come to work with him.

Benny and Frankie, ever since the chaos that was the Lorea mission, run a small mechanic shop together. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop isn’t necessarily the busiest place in town, but they make enough to get by and have some disposable income too. Mari loves to hang around the shop with her daddy and uncle. She’s there more than Frankie would like, but he supposes it’s not the worst thing in the world. When Frankie and Jules split and Frankie won full custody, he’d hoped a nanny would take care of most everything when Mari is home all day in summer. Sadly, he was in for a rude awakening when no Mary Poppins showed up on his doorstep.

It’s normally not too bad; Benny hung the moon in Mari’s eyes. If she won’t do something for her daddy, which is still somewhat rare, she’ll always do it for her Uncle Benny. That makes the day run much smoother. Mari has a whole host of quiet-time activities and toys to play with, and the men generally trade off periods of either working on the cars or being with the little girl.

Her favorite activities at the shop include drawing on the concrete with thick sticks of chalk and playing with her toy helicopters and planes. Benny insists tanks are cooler, but Mari prefers flying her Polly Pockets in the chopper, running through the garage and making flight noises. She’s a smart little thing; for her age, she’s picked up big words and can make sentences out of three words, which is quite a stretch for a baby just over two years of age. She calls for Benny and Daddy and knows the names of his tools: wench, scu-dwive, and her favorite, win-seeled wipe fwuid. She loves to babble at customers while they get their oil changed.

-

Being shit with cars is no fun. It only increases the anxiety when some light flashes on your dashboard. The lights can mean so many things that you find it ridiculous; “check engine”? Check it for what? To save yourself the anxiety, you find your nearest mechanic and pay them to deal with it.

Today, as you pull over into a gas station, you check your phone and find that the nearest shop is a place you haven’t heard of. It must be new. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop, 0.6 miles away. The name implies something more local and homegrown. You’re more than willing to support a place like that, so you start up the engine, pray you don’t explode, and make your way over to the shop.

It’s nearby, like the map indicated. The outside is a quaint little place, tucked in a strip mall next to a coffee shop, a dentist, and an insurance agency. The three car bays are empty, and knowing next to nothing about how these shops work, you pull inside and park your car, letting it run as you wait for an employee. The bell dinged to let them know you were here, so you stay patient and listen idly to the hum of the talk radio show from your car’s speakers.

After a minute or two pass, you realize that maybe this wasn’t the right place to be. Maybe you were supposed to go in the front or something. Concluding that you probably aren’t where you’re supposed to be, you turn off the car and get out only to be greeted by the sound of buzzing lips.

You can hear a baby’s voice, mimicking some kind of vehicle’s sound, and for a second you’re worried this place must have you hearing things. Then, from a swinging door to the front comes a little girl, running and babbling to herself about her toy helicopter.

She has a head full of dark brown curls, tied back into two puffs with pink scrunchies, and matching pink leggings and a t-shirt far too big for her, the back emblazoned with the shop’s logo. She’s barefoot, tiny feet slapping against the cold cement.

“I told you I had to piss, Fish!” A man’s voice shouts from one end of the garage.

“No you didn’t, dipshit!” Another man shouts back. Being caught in the middle of their argument is quite comical, if you’re being honest with yourself. “She’s fucking two! You can’t leave her alone like that, man!”

The first voice is matched to a person as a tall blonde man emerges from the customer service side of the shop. “Marisol Morales, come here,” he insists sternly as he rolls up the sleeves of his jumpsuit. “Come on, you’re gonna trip.” Ben is embroidered on a patch over his heart.

She pouts at him before stumbling forward and continuing to run, stopping as she sees you and looking up in confusion. Her lower lip sticks out in a pout as her eyes scan your face, as if she’s trying to remember if she knows who you are. “Hi,” she finally concedes as you bend to her level.

“Hi there,” you smile and hold out a hand. “What’s your name?” You pick her up, holding her on your hip so that she doesn’t trip, like Ben so desperately feared.

The second, unknown voice shouts for the little girl again before boots clunk on concrete up to you, rounding your car and stopping. This must be the girl’s father, you realize, as you rake your eyes up his body. He wears the same navy blue jumpsuit as the other man, though it’s unsnapped over his chest, exposing the white t-shirt beneath. The patch on his chest reads Catfish. He wears a ball cap and warm brown curls peek out from under it. He has scruff and a hooked nose that perfectly matches the one on the little girl. “I Mari,” she introduces herself proudly.

“Hey, leave her alone, Mar,” the man shakes his head as he hoists her up to hold her on his hip. “I’m so sorry about that,” he says with an embarrassed smile, showing a dimple beneath the scruff on his chin.

“No, it’s not a problem,” you laugh then set her down and tell the little girl your name. “Aren’t you just the cutest?” You chuckle as she looks at you. She blushes and buries her face in the man’s chest, giggling shyly.

He looks down at the little girl then up at you again. “Well, uh, hi. I’m Frankie, and you’ve met Mari already.”

“Your daughter?” you ask as you look at the pudgy little girl, who now stares at you in awe.

Frankie nods and adjusts his ball cap, pushing his hair back with it. “Yep. Our nanny is on vacation, so she gets to hang out around here,” he chuckles and kisses her head, setting her down. “Go see Benny, yeah?” He asks her. She happily waddles off towards the blonde man, who gives you a wave then heads into the back. “What brings you in?”

“Would you laugh if I told you I don’t really know?” You admit with a shy smile. “My check engine light came on while I was on the highway. I don’t know the first thing about cars, so I was hoping you’d figure out what that meant.”

“Nah, no laughing here,” he nods and gives you a genuine smile before looking over at your car. “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’ll have you pop the hood for me and I’ll give it a look?” He asks.

“That would be great. Thank you,” you tell him, the desperation for his help in your voice. Now that you get the chance to really look at him, he’s quite attractive. His eyes are deep set and a beautiful brown, and they crinkle when he smiles. Facial expressions only accentuate the lines in his face, but he’s certainly not old. His eyes still hold his youth.

“No problem.” He leads you to the car and you pop the hood open before getting out. “Could I take your keys?” he asks you. “Just so I can turn it on and off and all that good stuff.”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod frantically and hand them over to him. “I’ll… be in the waiting room?”

“That’s how we usually do it,” he chuckles as he takes the keys from you. “Just shout for Benny if Mari annoys you again.”

That makes you frown. “She’s not annoying at all. She’s adorable,” you smile as you look over your shoulder and see her and the blonde man playing together.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” he laughs and points his wrench at you as he walks to the hood of the car.

Shaking your head, you can’t help but laugh as you head back to the waiting room. You walk in and Mari perks up, turning to look at you. “Hi! Playing helicopter,” she tells you in her stunted speech as she holds up the toy.

“You sure are,” you nod and sit next to her. “Can I play?” You ask, looking up at Benny, silently asking him the question too.

He nods and Mari squeals happily. “Friend!” She shrieks and hands you another helicopter. “Go pew pew, okay?” She drags them across the toy mat like they’re cars, and you follow suit.

“Okay,” you laugh. Looking up at the blonde man, you extend a smile his way and introduce yourself. He’s busy repairing a Barbie dollhouse with a screwdriver.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ben, Benny, whatever you wanna call me.”

Driving your helicopter around the ground, following Mari’s lead, you chuckle. “No preference?”

“Fish calls me Benny.”

“Fish?” You ask and tip your head.

“Frankie, whatever. We’re buddies from the service. His code name was Catfish,” the man explains with a shrug, testing the hinges of the plastic door.

That makes you smile down at Frankie’s daughter. “Really, just buddies? Could’ve sworn you’d be brothers,” you tease the blonde, blue-eyed man. “Does Frankie know how to do his daughter’s hair?” You ask and fiddle with her two pigtails.

“Yes, he does,” Frankie insists as he walks out to the front, cleaning a wrench. “But just barely.”

You look up at him, embarrassed. “Her pigtails just look a little messy. Then again, she was running around like crazy,” you laugh and watch her rush over to Frankie, insisting he pick her up.

Bending down to grab her, Frankie groans at the ache in his joints. “She was. I could use some pointers, if you’ve got ‘em.”

“Of course,” you nod and stand too, brushing the dust from the concrete floor off on your pants. “What’s the verdict on the car?” You ask.

Frankie turned, watching as Benny walks out to the shop, but he turns back to face you. “Oh, right. The engine was misfiring, and unburned fuel was being put into the exhaust system, and that damaged the catalytic converter.”

You nod as you listen to him, really staring at his face more than anything. He’s just so damn pretty, you note as you admire the curve of his nose, his slightly sunken and dark eyes. His lips look beautiful and soft, even though they seem a little chapped. When he stops talking, it takes you a second to process it. “I don’t know what that means,” you admit with a shy smile. “I told you. I don’t know shit about cars,” you laugh, playing it off like you were lost when you were really lost in his eyes.

He shakes his head and laughs, bouncing Mari on his hip. “Your car is gonna need some work. Couple hours,” he shrugs. “If Benny and I get to working on it together, an hour and a half, maybe?” He admits.

“Yeah, that’s great. I can watch Mari,” you offer.

Frankie would never be this trusting normally. You’re a straight-up stranger, but your demeanor is good enough for him. Besides, you’re right here. He can check on the two of you every so often, and Mari seems to love you. “That would be great,” he smiles. “You really don’t have to.”

“No, I have nothing better to do,” you chuckle and look at the little girl. “You wanna play?”

Mari nods excitedly and Frankie sets her down. She rushes back to her toy mat and you watch her go. “Thank you, again, for fixing all this.”

“Just doing my job,” he nods. This time, it’s his turn to admire you. He stares at your face, examining the curves and angles that make you up. Your eyes are kind and warm as they follow the little girl, and he can see that he’s making a good choice here.

When you sit down, Mari comes and sits cross-legged across from you. “What are we gonna play?” You ask her, looking at her wide variety of toys. Her pile includes dinosaurs, Matchbox cars, lots of toy helicopters and planes, Barbie dolls, and a plastic tea set.

“Tea party!” She says and hands you a tiny plastic cup and a felt muffin.

“Oh my goodness,” you gasp in a fake accent. “How delightful!”

Frankie peeks over his shoulder at the two of you. He could really get used to that sight.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @deltadebelleza @tacticalsparkles @queridopascal @wintermuteway @maievdenoir @dobbyjen @beskarboobs

[hollyhomburg]

Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt. 7)

(Hybrid au) (YoonMinJoon x Reader) (Mafia au) 

Summary: After years of abuse, you’ve all finally found each other. But for one of you- the fear still lingers, hidden in the shadows. Yoongi doesn’t want much, just a few more weeks, but he only has until the end of the summer. 

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok, 

Genre: Hybrid au, Polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy, Mafia au

Tags:  Domestic abuse, references to sexual abuse- and choosing to have sex even though you’ve been through sa, physical abuse, polyamory negotiations, Post-traumatic stress disorder, mute characters, brief gore at the end, pregnant m/c, frottage, marking kink, fingering, oral f. receiving, Voyeurism, exhibitionism, implied death but dont worry I do not write MCD!!!!

A/n: just for posterity's sake! i was drunk when i posted this! enjoy! full gangbang comes in (y/n) next chapter! (oh god im going to hell).

W/c: 10.5k

Song Rec: Like Real People do ~ Hozier

~ Series Masterlist ~

2 Years Earlier

-  If Jeon Jungkook where so esoterically inclined, he would write a book on how he had become the most dangerous man in the underworld. It would be a short book though; because Jungkook had only 2 rules for himself. The first was to always get up after he’d been hit during a fight (even if it took him a second) and the second was to know when to mind his own business. 

- Jungkook was always able to get up after being hit, Even when he’d been a street kid, with not a penny to his name and a whole lot of anger in his mouth. ready to spit vitriol at anyone who would pause and listen. He’d always been able to get up. The pain giving him a kind of sick clarity that he eventually sought out instead of tried to escape. Jungkook could never think as clearly as he did during a fight; or when he was in pain. And that was probably because of his father. 

- But whatever. That man was 6 feet under, (his mother on the other hand- no- that bitch certainly had more than one dept to pay still). He didn’t have a lot of time or energy to put into dealing with that particular trauma (why he honestly felt like sometimes- he liked being hit). Most of his energy went into staying alive. Even now- when living and surviving teetered on the same edge. Jungkook had more pressing matters to tend to than dealing with his own fragile mind. 

- The way he would get up and hop around for a second to soak in the clarity after being hit during a scuffle was one of the reasons why he’d been given his street name: The Playboy Bunny; further set in stone with his tattoo of the same moniker under his left eye. A cheekbone he’d tap and say “you want to hit me? why don’t you try your luck and see how well it turns out for you.” 

- He was doing reconnaissance, Sneaking around the back alley with his hood up and his glasses on- disguising his black eye that was sure to get more than a few looks from passers-by. The ears of the playboy bunny tattoo peeking out over the top of his mask. 

- He keeps his eyes on the crowd waiting for some sort of handoff- to see anything at all. But he’d lost his target through the crowd and has no drive to find them in the dizzying rush of people and umbrellas. Not yet. Not when the hum of addiction lurks in his veins. 

- Jungkook pauses lighting a cigarette, when a commotion to the side hidden around a corner- blurs his concentration. The world snapping back into focus when he sinks his fingernails into his palm. Terse voices. A couple fighting in the alleyway perpendicular to his. 

- Minding his own business was a particular skill of his- it took one kind of person to know when to step in, and another to know which problems weren't worth the headache. And unless it involved the acquisition money or some step therein, it wasn’t a problem worth getting into in Jungkook’s opinion.

- But Jungkook can’t stop his ears from hearing snippets of conversation, a low and angry male voice. The sound of a smack. “You just had to embarrass me like that, didn’t you? First, you come out dressed like a slob and then you act like a fucking whore- I swear if I see you give eyes to another man this week I'll beat you five ways to Sunday”

- The sound of a soft female voice, so quiet- almost indistinguishable from the pouring rain, “I wasn’t-” another smack.

- Jungkook has been hit so many times he knows the sound of it, the ragged gasp the woman lets out, also quite- like even the pain takes up too much space. 

- His body starts to move before his mind thinks it through as he gives up position in favor of investigating the noise. There he sees it, ivy growing up the wall next to the back exit of some restaurant. A woman, small crouching in front of a grotesque man. A baggy coat buttoned tight around her small form. hair swept back in a tight bun. Red lipstick smudged. Though you check your hands and think its blood for a moment before you remember you’re wearing it. 

- Jungkook waits for a moment before he watches you stand on shaky legs. you get up. 

- The rest of the underworld might be old grudges and blood feuds but Jungkook was only here to be a businessman. He didn’t have time for ego and arrogance, let alone time for altruism... 

- Usually. 

- He looks on for a moment, too sluggish without nicotine, but Jungkook’s lingering stare almost seems to spur the man on. He’s wearing a jacket with a military patch, a badge; some sort of congratulation for service done no doubt. and Jungkook feels his distaste for the man deepen. 

- “What you looking at punk?” he slurs. Stalking forward as if to shove Jungkook. He almost wants to tut- that would be an expensive action. Jungkook wonders if the man is maybe high or drunk or both. He’s has had his fair share of experience with junkies and he knows one when he sees one. 

- “Nothing, just a pig beating his girlfriend.” The man settles for shoving Jungkook back. And Jungkook lets him. You don’t look up, don’t do anything but lean to the side, like the brick wall is the only thing keeping you up. Jungkook sees the back of your hand, black and blue, the other bruises on your neck. You only make eye contact with him once. Just slightly. Barely in passing.  

- You look like Jungkook used to look. He remembers in the savage bite of an open-handed slap- the fear he sees in your eyes. He looks and looks. And it aches so viscerally as Jungkook watches you go, your hurt echoes through him. You look beaten down and broken like Jungkook used too; before he’d decided he was done taking punches from people who were supposed to love him- Were supposed to care. 

- (Before he realized life wasn't supposed to hurt) 

- He’s never been one to feel things for other people, the empathy sparing him through most of the suffering he’s seen. It’s not that he’s unfeeling; it’s just that Jungkook’s life has forced him to feel concerned only for himself and no one else. His own survival is his first priority; Not others. 

- He watches you walk away, And you don’t look back at him. Rushing to keep up with your husband's steps. He waits until you disappear into the crowd before he lifts his phone to his ear and makes a call. “Hey, I need you to flag all of the cars that leave the parking lot, they’re just a couple, should be coming to you soon.”

- Jeon Jungkook had become the most powerful man in the underworld because of two reasons; by being able to take punches, and by knowing when to mind his own business. 

- But For this, Jungkook thinks he can make an exception.

- (You won't remember meeting Jeon Jungkook, but Jungkook will always remember you).

~.~

Now

-It comes as no surprise that your little speech fades after a few days and the rest of the hybrids quick to return to treating Yoongi with a mix of disdain and fear. Though mostly- this seems to be caused by Minhyung's group and the other canine hybrids. Namjoon hears them whispering about ‘favoritism’ before they catch on that he’s listening in. And in the days following your impromptu departure from the farm, you find people quiet even further whenever Yoongi's brought up. Staring when Yoongi comes close, afraid to interact with him.

- Even Jimin is greeted mostly with silence from all but a few. The bunny hybrids don’t act so skittish anymore, and the cat hybrids could care less used to sticking to their own group. Taehyung seems to have encouraged the other bear hybrids to make an actual effort and they at least say hello now. It’s better than the derisive comments of the dog hybrids, or the snooty noses stuck high in the air of the dear hybrids and other exotic breeds. 

- They know Jimin is close to Yoongi and Namjoon, and now he feels even more like an outsider that before (somehow it doesn't matter as much as before). The only ones who don’t act overtly different are the new hybrids; Hoseok and the small lion hybrid. but They were never around to learn how to hate Yoongi in the first place.

- it's a little cute- the way that Hoseok will always shout Yoongi's name in greeting (though you're unsure if that's just his personality now that he's started to grow into himself). Hoseok is unbothered by Yoongi's reaction; to shy away from anything that will draw more attention to himself. But Hoseok's smile is so bright and elastic that even he has a hard time ignoring the otter hybrid. You hope there will be a friendship there eventually, that yoongi will open up to more than just your group. 

- The little lion kit is a new addition too, she's not the only young feline hybrid you have at the farm but she is the friendliest. She gets pretty close to the other cats that work in the kitchen almost instantly. Probably on account of her young age (she's barely 7) and the eldest cat hybrid seems to be particularly fond of the little one.

- She's curious and kind to Yoongi too- excitedly running up to him more than once to show him a little rock or some flower she found- and yoongi will marvel and nod, and if Jimin is near- he'll lean close and tell her how pretty it is. 

- She doesn't seem at all deterred by Yoongi's lack of voice. one day she even sees Jimin, her ears perking up excitedly, tail swishing. "Hello Yoonies voice!" it's a little cute- even if it does make yoongi splutter a little. But she's not exactly wrong; Jimin does talk for yoongi more these days. 

- She Always comes bounding up to you and giggling happily to be picked up. Her little legs stretching around your waist, small bottom sat atop your baby bump. Making you get the kind of look that makes Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin sigh and look impossibly fond. They can only imagine what you’re going to be like once your little one is born. Your due date is barely 2 months away.

- In truth- you’re starting to get a little bit big. You say it one morning with Namjoon. After he asks you why you’re looking into the mirror with such a displeased expression. The sound of your terse voices alerts Yoongi and he comes to the door to your bedroom to witness your spat. Making a flippant hand movement at Namjoon to back off. Namjoon could smell your distress on you when you looked in the mirror, his voice tense but breaking. “Baby just tell me, why you think you’re not beautiful like that? let me understand. Cuz to me- you look more irresistible every day.”

- It’s not that you exactly wanted him to agree with you that you were nearing the size of a whale- but this doesn’t help at all either. His unending insistence- doesn’t he see? when he looks in the mirror doesn’t he see what you do? His instance that everything is alright doesn't help when you’re feeling this self-conscious.

- Yoongi helps you, fiddling with Namjoon’s closet for a second before he pulls out an extra-large white shirt of his and helps you into it- tying it loosely over your baby bump so that it flatters your waist a little more. The attention that Yoongi shows you clearly making you flustered. Then he drags you to the mirror, tugging your hair out of its bun, the tension going out of your shoulders.

- Yoongi doesn’t know it, but Namjoon does. Your late husband used to always be so particular about your hair, yanking on it harshly if it was left down. and An easy way to avoid him yanking on it was to leave it up. And sometimes you still pull it up convinced it’s safer even though he’s dead and gone. It’s scary how simple it is- but the second your hair comes down your whole body relaxes.

- All the while Namjoon watches from your bed. And you take in yourself, the baby hairs free-floating against your forehead; Yoongi curls one gently around his finger and then lets it go. You take in the way that the fabric hangs now, making you look a little more proportional, Yoongi gives you a satisfied smile behind your back and you have to sigh and admit it. “Okay- okay- I’ll give you this- I’m not a whale”

- “And even if you where you’d be a pretty whale.” Yoongi has the good sense to hurl a pillow in Namjoon’s direction, but it makes you laugh all the same- the heaviness in your chest abated a little. Your sleeve brushing Yoongi’s as you head downstairs, Namjoon trailing behind.

- The beach trip was a nice distraction from chores but the real work comes crashing down on them the next few days. Your little group feels closer than ever, you rarely part from any of them for long and their intention, their little acts of care never fail to make you feel flustered and taken care of.

- Jimin always holds out a hand for you to take when you’re stepping over uneven ground, Yoongi makes a startled noise whenever you so much as get close to a hose that might trip you, always gesturing for you to pause and take a break whenever you’re working in the garden. Namjoon too, always running back and forth from whatever project he’s working on to check on you and make sure you have water or food.

- At night, Namjoon takes your stretch mark cream from you, rubbing down your baby bump and your hips, the little lines of lighter skin on your waist get little kisses from him.  

- Even if you want just a snack, Namjoon and Yoongi will bring you a full meal- convinced that you need to be eating more than you are. At dinner Yoongi fills up your plate- piling it high with more food then you could fit in your already crowded tummy. And he always eyes you suspiciously when you can’t finish the full plate. Namjoon too will level you with a look- asking if you really are full. 

- Since your pregnancy has progressed, you’ve become a little moodier, and a little hornier whenever way the wind blows. And Namjoon doesn’t help that much at all- and by that you mean, he makes it worse. When he comes out of the field with his shirt off and tucked into his shorts all of his thickness, his muscles that make you ravenous. 

- During lunch one day he drags you away to a forgotten tool shed, though it would be easier just to go up the hill to your bedroom- you feel like teenagers sneaking around like this. 

- Namjoon presses into you as he hits the latch on the door, muffling your giggles with kisses as you hide from the hybrids outside, voices that you can dimly hear, unable to pick out any one particular yet- but you know they're there. 

- You and Namjoon might bicker like an old married couple. But you also act like teenagers gooey and giggly and so so so in love. “Do you think that they can hear you like this? Or smell you, my love?” Namjoon is always quick to tell you how delectable you smell when you’re horny. His more sensitive nose-picking it up the second you feel a slickening between your thighs.

- You’re shaky when you respond. “I don’t know, maybe?” Namjoon always has this passionate intense air about him. He’s slightly possessive- but you’d never fault him for that not when it’s all about protecting and providing for you. Not when he always puts your pleasure first (you feel like you may have turned into a slight pillow princess with him). 

- Namjoon heaves you up onto the edge of a bench and then gets on his knees. Gently lifting your leg over his shoulder. He’s always mindful of how much you can move in your swollen state. He checks to make sure he’s not bending your hips in an uncomfortable way. 

- You put your hands back on the dusty bench to stabilize yourself as you lie back, Namjoon wastes no time in pressing his face close to your cunt and inhaling, His nose prodding at the thin fabric of your underwear. One of his ears caught on the hem of your dress. His fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs- so full and healthy it makes him hard in his pants. 

- He’s slow with the appreciation of your thighs and hips. Hands gripping and moving on to touch and feel like you have all the time in the world. But you hear voices outside the tool shed you’ve commandeered and you could just slip out and go back up to your house- but somehow you like this better. The thought of being discovered stirring an unsure heat in your stomach. 

- You can hear Taehyung's voice, and then- like a shock through your core- you hear Jimin’s. Namjoon can feel your jolt. And you realize- his sensitive ears must have known who it was before your own human ones did. He chuckles- teasing his fingers along the hem of your underwear, almost daring to slip inside.

- You almost whine when you think about what you’re being denied- the harsh pull of his fingers that you’re so addicted too, how thick his fingers and knuckles feel (almost as nice as his cock) when they pull out and push in.

- Yoongi and Namjoon have always had the most lovely hands, it’s strange that when Namjoon touches you- you think about Yoongi’s hands. The way you clench around his fingers at that has Namjoon’s tail wagging. "you're thinking about them aren't you," The way you clench around his fingers at that has Namjoon’s tail wagging. Because yeah; Yoongi and Jimin are apart of Namjoon’s pack too, and bonding and group sex are kind of the same thing to hybrids. You’d found that out the hard way when you’d found a group of cat hybrids all tangled together in the grass the other day.

- Namjoon is always so gentle with you because of your condition, but you find your hips jerking with want. His fingers still when he feels the way your wetness has spilled out the sides. His thumb pressed over your clit teasingly. “smell so good when you're like this So wet my love, are you thinking about them finding you like this?” 

- “Y-yes” you confess, and Namjoon growls, nipping at you through the fabric, the feel of his teeth brushing you, over the sensitive skin. The fabric cushioning the feeling, makes you almost gush, and you know you’ll be shakily legged by the time he lets you get down. And that he won’t let you get away from him until he’s taken care of you in this way, sated you in every sense of the word. 

- But he can also tell how shy you are, the heat under your skin at the thought of being discovered. always unsure how much of your dirty talk is a real want and not just something you like in theory. Namjoon knows the idea of sharing you with the others might seem like the most natural and hottest thing; to love you alongside them. but to you- a human, hybrid sex and hybrid bedroom dynamics aren't as given. 

- So he leans close, sliding your underwear down your legs slowly, letting you feel the heat of his palms on your skin. You're getting worked up a little too quickly, your heaving breaths needy. God damn pregnancy hormones you'd say if you could think beyond the plush feeling of his lips pressing a kiss to your clit. “Gotta clean you up for them, if they smelled you like this- then they’d know wouldn’t they?” 

- You prove Namjoons initial assumption wrong. “What if I-” you whisper- gasping quietly as Namjoon drags the fabric to the side and glides a delicate lick over your folds. “What if I want them to know?” the pleasure thrumming through your body as Namjoon licks up your slit. Namjoon stills, ears perked, eyes flashing in the half-light. The snarl against your cunt loud and echoic.

- The voices outside fall silent and Namjoon doesn't stop his ravenous licking no matter if you have to bite your lip to keep your noises in. One of your hands scrambling to pull at his hair and find something to grip onto and anchor yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. Jimin is the first one to puncture the silence, “What was that?” 

- Then comes Seokjin's voice “all of you- move along- whoever it is they probably don’t want the three of you listening in like a bunch of horn dogs” which is basically a confirmation that they were listening in, and that Yoongi was there too. 

- When you finally exit the toolshed with weak legs, sure you’re going to have to at least got change your underwear. You find a bleary-eyed Seokjin a few dozen feet away, obviously upwind of the toolshed. he levels Namjoon with a tired expression. “You both have dirt on your knees” Namjoon has the good sense to look shy at that. You hastily brush off the spots on his, and he on yours.

- If Jimin and Yoongi smell anything on you later- they don’t say anything and the idea that they might make you feel hot all over whenever they lean in too close. You think you see a blush on Yoongi’s face more than once, and maybe see him adjust his pants out of the corner of your eye, but Jimin seems blissfully unaware.

- You have a check-up at the doctor’s office in the coming days. And although only Namjoon is allowed in the room with you (they have a two-person maximum because the ultrasound room is tiny), Yoongi and Jimin also accompany you. Namjoon comes bounding out after, waving the picture and smiling so so wide, both Yoongi and jimin leaning in close to get a better look- they’re so enamored with the little photo. And when you get home- Namjoon shows anyone that asks how the check-up went, eventually hanging it on one of the two fridges in the kitchen.

- Jimin is the only one who seems to notice the jealous looks- because you went out for ice-cream after and come home with them still partially melting (you’d had another craving- french-fries dunked in ice cream of all things). One of the other hybrids having heard Jimin talk to Tae about the beach trip too. They come to you at the end of the day, 2 bunnies, a cat, a fox and one of the bears- a mish moshed group of hybrids; petitioning you to start the beach trips for everyone.

- You can only fit so many people into the back of your truck so you pick a day and start a raffle for spots. Jimin throws his name into the hat just in case but to his surprise, Yoongi doesn’t. No matter how much Jimin bugs him too; He won’t agree to accompany Jimin to the beach again. Shaking his head with a roll of his eyes back tipped back against the grass, his sunhat crumpled. Offering up a few sweet tomatoes to soothe Jimin’s sour nerves. 

- The peace lasts for a couple of days before they’re right back to treating Yoongi like shit and for some reason, it pisses Jimin off more. No matter how many times he’s heard Namjoon asks Yoongi to please tell him when anything happens. The snake hybrid seems unable to fight back.

- Jimin asks one of the hybrids why she won’t look at Yoongi (after the snake has already gone up the hill to retrieve another dish for dinner) and beyond a startled look, she just says “none of us can smell him” she throws a stack of paper towels down onto the table angrily. The deer hybrid across from them stumbling with their silver wear But she doesn’t need to re-iterate herself. Jimin understands- it’s hard to trust someone who can lie to your face- and in the world of hybrids where emotions can be decreed from a simple sniff, Jimin can’t say he doesn’t see where they’re coming from.

- Doesn’t excuse their behavior, however. After all- Jimin can smell Yoongi’s emotions through his scent and he didn't realize that was something strange until now. To Jimin, Yoongi’s scent is soft and sweet- something gummy and soft like a marshmallow. But that’s probably because he spends so much time with the hybrid. The others only spend so much time around him and are unused to his scent. And the fact that he never talks and never tries to socialize doesn’t help.

- Jimin can’t imagine not wanting to smell more of it- not leaning in whenever the other hybrid passes. Jimin wants to bury his face in Yoongi’s neck and rub his cheek all over it. The same way that Namjoon does to him in the morning if he shows up before he’s changed from his pajamas. And he knows he smells soft like sleep- an alluring smell to the older alpha when he comes down the stairs, ears straight up eyes wide as he takes in all of Jimin's vulnerability.

- and it might have to do with what Taehyung had said- that alphas eat up that sort of thing. 

- Namjoon smells good too, his scent all soft mornings and sleepy walks, the older hybrid large and so pliant in his sleepiness, eyes swollen and face puffy as he hides in Jimin’s shoulder. Sending his pine scent all over so that it sticks to jimin no matter where he is. So that jimin will smell like Namjoon all day. 

- One of the cat hybrids at the sink rolls her eyes. But when you come down the stairs smelling much the same. You touch his arm so softly in passing, like you can’t believe you’re allowed. And Jimin’s senses are a dizzying blur of cream, peaches, pine, and marshmallow. 

- when he goes back to the barns, hazy at being scented by Namjoon so thoroughly. Taehyung levels him with a funny look and a chuckle. "you're more devious than anyone gives you credit for" thought Taehyung means it good-naturedly- it's good to have a friend to ask how to go about flirting with. the other hybrids gathered on the couch in front of the tv; some cartoon playing- pretend like they're not listening in. 

- "How do you know so much when you don't have a pack of your own Tae?" he asks over breakfast, the two of them clutching breakfast burritos on their way to check Tae's bees. Tae doesn't meet Jimin's eyes "you're just lucky- most hybrids dont find a pack so easily Jimin" his words aren’t jealous- only a little patronizing. And Jimin accepts it because he knows he has a lot to learn.

- Taehyung is right- out of all of the hybrids at the farm, there are only a few who have paired up or even made stronger groups or multi-person packs. the bunnies and the cats don't form set generally- though there are a few pairs and more than a few throuples.

- Jimin as caught Yeonjun making out with a tabby more than once- has learned to avoid certain sections of the woods all together because everyone knows that's where the bunny hybrids like to go in the afternoons. The canine hybrids are the only ones who have packs, though there are more than half a dozen loners like jimin and namjoon.

- It's hard for Jimin to cohabitate with them even though there are other larger predators and more than a few prey hybrids living in Jimin's barn. he hadn’t really realized until taehyung pointed it out that each different pack occupied one corner of the punk room. More than once- the room in the barns has felt hostile if only for the packs that have claimed either corner of the bunkroom. it's usual to wake up and find more than one of the pups cuddling with another in one single bed. 

- Having reciprocated love in his pack shouldn't feel like an impossibility to Jimin. But still, when Yoongi steps close- an inch too far away, his fingertips barely brushing- Jimin just- yearns. It’s a soft sort of yearning, the kind that has jimin jumping up whenever Yoongi needs something. Has him settling a think knit blanket over Yoongi’s nobly knees during movie nights, and sticking his own feet underneath the edge of the blanket. Feet Pressed to the clothed line of his calf. Maybe nothing will ever come of it, But Jimin yearns with everything he’s got regardless.

- In the late hours of the night, when Jimin lies awake thinking about the three of you. An instinct welling inside of him that says he should walk up the hill and fall asleep on your couch just to be closer to you three (the pack instinct- Taehyung calls it, looking a little bit sad himself when jimin asks him, the other hybrid moving away before jimin can ask exactly what that means) Jimin wonders if his feelings will ever be reciprocated.

- But love is a strange thing, it’s not just about saying it with kisses or touches- though Jimin wants them too. There is love in the small things, in building something together so that’s what Jimin tries to do. Every day- he takes to gardening with a new vigor. Shouting in joy when you harvest some of the tomatoes- filling up a whole gallon bucket with the amount that have ripened over the last week. Your peppers and cucumbers are beginning to produce more too.

- Jimin and Yoongi run to Namjoon just to give him a handful. The alpha gives each of them a sweet nuzzle in thanks, even if Yoongi chirps and moves back after a moment. A flush high on his cheek. Namjoon looking up at Yoongi from where he’s stopped- cheek on the elder's shoulder. The snake relaxing after a moment. 

- You spend the rest of the day showing Jimin and Yoongi how to prepare the tomatoes to make a sauce, roasting them on low heat. Cutting garlic so so carefully, and whenever Jimin looks across the prep table- Yoongi’s gaze darts away. halfway through- yoongi stoops down, sticking his socked feet into jimin’s lap, and it feels so nice, to have their weight there. 

- You go over to Yoongi at one point, and he tips his head back to look up at you. The back of his head is at the right height to lye up against your baby bump. And Jimin watches, as you slowly, so slowly, brush the hair out of his eyes and away from his forehead. Yoongi’s eyes flutter closed and he tips his face into your hand. Letting out a low happy grumble when you take his action as positive reinforcement, and drag your nails over his scalp. In Jimin’s lap, Yoongi’s toes curl. 

- It feels strange- and Jimin can’t quite put his finger on it- but it almost feels like Yoongi is letting you all touch him more than ever. Suddenly okay with touches- as long as it’s in a more private setting. Jimin can’t say he’s unhappy about it. Maybe one-day yoongi will even let Jimin scent mark him. 

- Jimin smiles at Yoongi’s happy little snake grumbles. And keeps chopping his garlic. Is happy to receive the same kind of scratch from you a few minutes later. Though he might abandon his chopping in favor of rubbing his face all over your stomach when the instinct strikes him. Jimin unintentionally lets out a growl when you start to move away. Slapping a hand over his mouth and apologizing, no matter how you and Yoongi laugh.

- Still, despite the happiness, you have in your kitchen, in your house, whenever you’re around each other. The rest of the world is not so kind.

- An adoption day comes at arguably the worst and best time. There is still a fair amount of friction between your group and the rest of the hybrids. And a few outsiders at the farm only make it worse. Though Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon aren’t the only hybrids who wear red stickers to indicate that they are not available for adoption.

- Hoseok surprisingly- grabs a yellow sticker. And the three of your hybrids watch- as Seokjin hovers around him- a red sticker on his own lapel- wary of all and anyone who interacts with the otter hybrid. His glares putting off all but the most attentive patrons. That's where it starts.

- Jimin is unfortunately caught in the middle when seokjin confronts hoseok. off to help the three of them bring down 3 trays of cut watermelon for the hybrids and the patrons. The dinner tables have been set out on the side of the field piled high with Hors d'oeuvre. You’re there with Namjoon greeting the humans. Games are set out too- for the hybrids and humans to play. 

- it’s no secret that they’ve gotten close, and jimin had assumed they’d talked about it- but apparently not. Seokjin is so angry he’s nearly crying. “why- hoseok- why do you want to leave the farm?” Hoseok’s little otter ears are tight against his scalp. “I just- I didn’t want to assume?”

- “Oh- so you’d rather just- throw away everything that we’re trying- all of this- you don’t you dont want to stay do you-” Jimin has never seen seokjin looking so lost, and he knows enough to guess that Seokjin’s anger is at least in part to due to some trauma (later- Jimin will find out that Seokjin’s mother left him with his last owner- an abusive man- to save herself).  

- Jimin knows enough to get in between them, telling them to calm down and spend a minute away from each other. Jimin ends up with Hoseok- “it’s hard Jimin- how do you, how do you have so much sureness with Y/n? with Namjoon and yoongi too? How do you look at them and trust that you should stay?” Hoseok's eyes remain on Jimin's red tag. 

- Jimin sighs, thinking it through, “do you look at Seokjin and know he cares about you? like- do you know it in your bones?” Hoseok bites his lower lip, “yes- but-” 

- “Then you should stay Hoseok,” Jimin walks Hoseok up to the main house where the stickers sit on the prep table. Changing out his yellow one for a red one. And when they head off back down the hill, Seokjin is waiting on the path with Yoongi, apologizing and dragging Hoseok away to the barns where Seokjin’s own private room is. Hoseok goes willingly, smiling up at the older hybrid. His narrow shoulders cuddled under one of Seokjin's wide ones. 

- jimin has to admit, an otter and an alpaca are a weird combination for a hybrid pack (But no stranger than a pair of puppies and a snake). His thoughts drift towards Taehyung- and Jimin hopes that his friend won't end up alone. it must not be easy- to see all of you pair off like this. 

- in some ways, that adoption day is full of just as much bullshit as they usually are. there are always people who dont understand the effort it takes to take care of a hybrid- they aren't just like any ordinary pet. it's easy to spot the ones that view them as pets- and less like people. You get a few rich people looking to adopt a companion as always. 

- A substantial group of families also look to adopt similarly aged companions for their single children. And you agree to more than one possible test weekend. You’re always so particular about letting the children go, so wary and so careful in the way you let them interact with the families.

- Though they don’t have parents here- there are more than a few good role models and parental figures. More than one child chooses a red tag for themselves. And they always know have a right to it- no matter how young they are. You make it clear to the group of them; If they don’t want to be adopted they don’t have to be. 

- You even get one couple- the woman withdrawn and sad, and a slightly jealous look at your own pregnant stomach says more than any words could. It’s pretty common for women who can’t have children to adopt hybrid children. and though some of it doesn't sit right with you, You aren’t one to judge. 

- Jimin spends most of the adoption day helping you balance the need for food and for games. running back and forth to the house to help. Though there is a little work that needs to be done here and there just to keep the farm running as usual. grey storm clouds roll in halfway through the day, puncturing the blue sky- foretelling scattered showers and storms. and jimin hopes it will cut the adoption day short so that you can return to your routines. 

- Jimin is just helping Yoongi putting away a broken badminton net When it happens- Jimin isn’t certain why it does. Only that he hears the words outside the shed after Yoongi's just excited to grab the broken rackets (Namjoon isn't the only clumsy hybrid you have at the farm). 

- “oh sorry- ew gross,” a shrill female voice says, and then he rounds the corner and sees yoongi picking himself up from the dirt- a rich lady and her peacock hybrid looking down at him like he’s the dirt beneath his shoes. The peacock hybrid has Yoongi’s sun hat in his hands and there is another hybrid- a wolf hybrid from the farm with a green sticker on his shirt, who growls down at yoongi.

- His shoulders shake too the way they do when he’s been touched and he doesn’t want to be. Jimin has seen you brush your fingers over the back of Yoongi’s hand, has even felt the coolness of the snake hybrid through the fabric when the elder grabbed his sleeve. Has touched him even more intimately as of late. But he knows that Yoongi can’t tolerate being touched by people he doesn’t trust- doesn’t want to touch him. basically, anyone, that's, not you, Namjoon, or Jimin himself. 

- “Hey- what the fuck!” Jimin spits, grabbing the sunhat out of the hybrid's hand with a growl, his ears flat against his head. If Jimin had elongated canines like Namjoon they would be barred in anger as he shoves the larger hybrid back. Yoongi shrinks impossibly smaller behind him.

- Jimin is hot and itchy from the heat and the humidity, and he really just wants to shower and cool off. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with entitled people today. And more importantly- no one touches Yoongi on Jimin’s watch.

- The hybrid looks surprised to be talked to in that way, he’s nearly a head taller than Jimin let alone the slightly taller feathers that poke out of the top of his head that give him the appearance of several more inches- but Jimin’s intimidating enough with his set expression to send the hybrid huffing away. Feathers fluffed.

- The peacock's iridescent feathers stand up on end as he grabs the hand of his human owner, her diamond tennis bracelet glittering in the sunlight. “This was getting boring anyway. Sorry” he tosses over his shoulder at the canine hybrid, who looks so disappointed his ears pinned back against his head. They only give him that- barely a look, before they’re heading off down the hill in the direction of the line of cars parked on the grass.

- The wolf hybrid deflates audibly- watching the woman and the other hybrid disappear down the hill. promises of home and family disappearing in a moment, but Jimin has to think- if they’d be discouraged so easily- were they really worth it? The wolf hybrid doesn't seem to think so- Turning his angry tear-filled eyes on Jimin. 

- But Jimin can see the hate in his eyes and knows not to mistake the tears for only sadness. “You both ruin everything” he growls out- before they too run back towards the barns- no doubt to tell the others how Yoongi had sabotaged their adoption. Even though that was far from the truth. in all honestly- yoongi just bumped into the lady- or more probably- the lady bumped into him when he was on his way out of the shed.

- Jimin holds out his sunhat to Yoongi, who takes it from Jimin carefully, Jimin doesn’t linger on the fact that his hand still shakes. Jimin’s hand lingers somewhere close enough where Yoongi could touch it could reach out if he wants too. If he wants to get that kind of comfort from Jimin's touch- then Jimin will willingly give it. 

- a faint flush coats the elder's cheeks. Oh no- he must be overheating then, Jimin feels a rush of concern. He knows what you would do, hover your hand close enough to Yoongi’s forehead, usher him upstairs for a break in the air conditioning, and a glass of icy lemonade.

- All they can hear is the shouts of laughter at the games the others play in the fields, “I understand why you don’t want to stay in the barns, why you don’t want to socialize with some of them, they’re so unkind to you it makes me crazy.” Jimin shakes his head, sour anger filling him like a rotten peach.

- Yoongi, looks more than pacified, looking up at Jimin with an indecipherable look. Most of the time, Jimin can get a good guess on how he’s feeling but not now- not that indecipherable heaviness he finds there. or the strangely heavy marshmallow scent that’s fluffed around them. Jimin lets go of Yoongi’s hat.

- After a moment Yoongi nods, and Jimin takes it as a thank you. They’re done for the day and dinner won’t be for another few hours or so. Jimin is ready to avoid some of the strangers and hopefully take advantage of the empty showers. The sky is grey with incumbent storm clouds when Jimin makes his way to the shower buildings which he finds blissfully empty; except for the bear hybrid Jackson that tosses a greeting at Jimin before exiting.

- Jimin doesn’t even bother to flick the lights on, instead of settling for the calm light that comes through the skylights, grey and hazy. the storm clouds have started to roll in properly. He hums as he disrobes, goes to grab his favorite strawberry body wash, and picks the last shower at the end, disrobing in relative comfort, glad for a moment of privacy.

- The blissfully Coldwater does wonders for his overheating muscles, relaxing his body deliciously from a day spent walking up and down the hill. he digests the chaos of the day- seokjin and hoseok fighting, yoongi getting shoved. you'd looked frazzled the last time he'd seen you, smile strained as you made small talk with most of the humans, Namjoon always close incase you needed someone to lean on.

-  Jimin had been able to tell that your feet were sore just by looking at you. Namjoon will probably make you sit down before long, maybe he already has. You’ll probably cut off the adoption day because of the rain. Taking down names and information before you send them on their way. You rarely let a hybrid leave the farm after one adoption day, needing to have more private meetings and house calls to willingly part with one of them. You just want to make sure you dont release them back into another abusive household. 

- He hums as he washes, lingering in the water and taking a longer shower than he usually would. He hums, testing the way his vocal cords wrap around the acoustics of the empty high ceilinged room. 

Then he hears the scuffling of someone in the bathroom too and cuts off. A little abashed at being caught. The rustling getting closer and its a moment before he realizes that the rustling is coming from his own section of the bath. he smells him the second before he pulls the shower curtain gets pulled back. 

- “Yoongi!” Jimin shouts, furiously grabbing at something to cover his nakedness. Jimin furiously tries to cover his crotch, grabbing one of the large bargain bottles of shampoo and hold it there even as cold water runs over his face. Getting into his wide eyes. “Yoongi what the fuck! You’re naked!”

- Jimin is glad that the rumors about snake hybrids having double the appendages as a normal hybrid are false but he can’t stop his blush or his wandering eyes as he sees the snake hybrid in full. Or the hot lick of arousal that shocks him through his core- especially when he recognizes the heaviness to Yoongi's scent as being arousal. 

- there is a single moment, jimin can smell yoongi- can see the want in his eyes, can feel his own scent fluff out to meet his, yoongi sags under the weight of Jimin's scent as the surprise dissipates. "do you-" Jimin's face must be brighter than a tomato. He reaches out a tentative hand, "do you want to-" 

- Before Jimin can do much more than that Yoongi’s lips are on his, tentative but firm and passionate, the fire leaking into him from Yoongi as jimin stumbles in surprise. The kiss tastes like thank you and Ive wanted to do this for longer than i care to admit and everything yoongi can't say, can't let slip past his lips. jimin drops the shampoo bottle which narrowly misses his foot as Yoongi’s hands come up to encircle his jaw so softly like Yoongi is holding the most important thing in his world. Jimin is so shocked that for a moment- he doesn’t kiss back and Yoongi retracts- not before Jimin chases his lips and the snake hybrid returns to him.

- It’s the first time Yoongi’s ever touched Jimin so bare, and the snake’s hands on the back of his neck feel cold and shivery but good. As Jimin’s back hit’s the wall and their fronts press together for a moment, just brushing. Then colliding with more force as they both realize how good it feels to be so close to someone you trust. It’s dizzying- intoxicating, and Jimin knows his mouth is moving sloppily even if he wants to kiss Yoongi with just as much intent. 

- The snake hybrid bites- actually bites- down on Jimin’s tongue. And a strangled whine comes to live and die in his throat. A snarl in his ears from Yoongi's mouth as the snake hybrid keeps his biting, moves to Jimin's throat- bites hard Enough that Jimin knows he'll leave a bruise. "leave more- yoongi please mark me" jimin feels hot with the thought of it- the thought of all the other hybrids being able to smell yoongi on his scent gland. 

- Jimin doesn’t know where to put his hands, he knows enough to know that Yoongi doesn’t like to be touched and unsure if it extends to right now. but it seems okay if he’s doing the touching. His hands sliding down Jimin's back to his waist. He’s a good kisser, the best that Jimin’s ever kissed (not that there have been many) and he tips his head forward to put as much scalding force as he can into it when yoongi leaves his neck in favor of his mouth, trying to match Yoongi’s intensity even if he can’t match his skill.

- Yoongi takes a step forward, and Jimin’s cock brushes his hipbone, and he can’t stop the way his hips jump at the contact, brushing into Yoongi further. Jimin’s blood boils with arousal. Yoongi is equally as hard compared to Jimin. And Jimin doesn't know if its water or precum that he feels on his skin. Can't look down to check.

- By the time Yoongi leans back and finishes running his fingers through Jimin’s hair and over his shoulders. Jimin’s so wound up he feels like he’s about the pass out. The cool water cascading over his back doing nothing to settle him. Yoongi moves his hips- testing the waters, as he grinds, works jimin’s hips into an unsteady rhythm. and jimin moans. 

- Yoongi pulls back, looking at jimin, their noses brushing, like he can’t bear to have jimin farther away from him than this, want heavy in his eyes, and Jimin tastes the words on Yoongi’s lips as good as if he’d said them. “Yoongi” jimin breathes. Palms pressed carefully to the shower wall so that he won’t reach out and yank Yoongi closer. But he’s Weak against the wake of this of all this feeling.

- “fuck- kiss me again- can we- ” Jimin feels strung out, his body heavy with something like heat- maybe Jimin is actually having a heat and it’s not just in his imagination (he wouldn't really know what it felt like- never having had one before because of his malnutrition). But This kind of kissing is certainly enough to trigger one.

- Yoongi opens his mouth for a second, almost like he’s about to speak- or to try to, Jimin’s never been sure if he can- if it’s muteness or just Yoongi being selective. And then in the next moment, Yoongi’s gone, almost tripping on his way out of the showers with how fast he’s leaving jimin. A whine dies in his throat and jimin starts after him, But then Yoongi turns back. Gesturing with a hand for jimin to stay put. Yoongi looks angry, and it takes a moment for Jimin to realize that the anger wasn’t directed at jimin- only at Himself.

- Jimin stays in the shower, water thundering down around him as the sky overhead thunders too. Jimin listens to the faint sound of Yoongi dressing and then leaving the showers. Jimin lets him go. So sure that he has absolutely no idea what just happen- or even if he didn’t imagine the whole thing.

- jimin’s hand on himself doesn't feel nearly good as Yoongi’s did. 

- Yoongi’s hands shake all the way back up the hill, and he hopes his wet hair won’t be too suspicious especially when a mixed group of hybrids crosses his path. Returning to the barns as most of the adoption day festivities have ended.

 - Yoongi’s careful to keep his eyes averted. And like usual- the conversation comes to a halt when Yoongi passes them by. It no longer bugs him the way it might have once. They have a good reason not to want to associate with him. Yoongi’s body shakes with the weight of the things he’s done and the things he’s going to do.

- you gather with 3 families on your porch as you take down their names and contact information. You send yoongi a concerned look as he quickly heads inside the house. Pausing only for a moment before he decides to go to Namjoon first. Later- later he’ll ask you too. 

- Stupid- he’s been so stupid recently. Touching you- indulging in these short sweet touches because he wants more so badly. Knows he can never have it doesn’t stop the wanting. If his owner ever found out what he’s done- if she ever found out what he’d almost done with jimin- she’d surely have Jimin’s hands for it. 

- And as much as Yoongi wishes it were any other way- Jimin almost touching him does remind him of far worse times. Though he’d been the one to initiate it this time- the memories still linger. 

- Times when foreign hands touched his skin as he’d thrashed and screamed trying to protest against the taunting words of his owner. “I’ve never been interested in snake dick but if you want him for tonight you can have him- just be careful- he bites” and he shakes with those memories. Though its been many years. like most kinds of torture- eventually, his owner had grown bored with using yoongi's body as a bargaining chip. Yoongi wonders if he’s ever going to be able to be touched that way without feeling the revulsion at his own body.

- Jimin had come close, but he'd known- known that yoongi didn't want him to touch him. Had seemed more than willing to be touched himself. the revulsion hadn't hit him until the end. 

- The places he’s been touched without his consent feel black and decaying- or like ink, every time someone touches him- Yoongi’s surprised that ink doesn’t come away on your hands soft and delicate. But it didn’t change the fact that Yoongi wanted it- and wants it still. 

- he wants to see you soft and sated the way you look sometimes in the morning when he can smell Namjoon on you- wants to cause it- maybe, someday in the future if you'll let him. He knows you’d be gentle with him. Wouldn’t put your hands anywhere he didn’t want. Would check in with him- going as slowly or as quickly as he wanted too. Namjoon would be able to be gentle too- Yoongi’s sure of it.

- He wants it, even though he knows that want only put you all in danger. He’s an incredibly selfish person. He hopes he never gets to have that intimacy with you, for your sake.

- yoongi should only let himself dream of something good before he goes- sinks back into that life. But the temptation for more is too strong sometimes, his want filling him up like sticky sweet syrup that pollutes every moment. 

- Namjoon is on the second floor of your house and Yoongi takes the stairs two at a time. Folding laundry in what will one day be the nursery for your child. He’s taken the ultrasound up here now- hung it up so he can look at it. and Yoongi is reminded of A few days ago when he gushed about the development of your child to Yoongi in the kitchen comparing them to the size of a fruit. “a cute little cantaloupe- the cutest little cantaloupe”

- You and Namjoon have made the decision not to find out the gender, but the walls of the nursery are still pained blue, puffy clouds above and little flowers below, dandelions and daisies, a stalwart sunflower that curls over the arch of the door half-finished. Yoongi knows you work on the mural it whenever you can. But Namjoon gets a little paranoid about the fumes- you compromise and keep the windows open along with the door to your balcony to allow as much air circulation as possible.

- The crib, a fluffy white thing is already piled into the corner. And Yoongi remembers the first few weeks here when you and Namjoon had overzealously ordered it. He’d come downstairs after dinner one night and found both of you puzzling over the directions. And he’d shooed Namjoon away as he’d helped you put it together. The three of you ending up giggly and punch drunk tired by the time it was fully put together. And then had to carry it all the way up the stairs. 

-A mobile of little felted flowers that Seokjin made you as a thank you present a hangs above the empty Crib- colorful and cute. And Namjoon has set the laundry on the unused changing table in neat stacks. All of the other furniture is piled into the center of the room so that you can paint the walls. He turns when he hears Yoongi, his tail swishing.

- “Hey Yoon- what you get caught in a rainstorm or something?” the rain splatters against the windows with a soft patter and Yoongi drips onto the floor. He never bothered to dry off after the unintentional shower with jimin. Yoongi makes a shrug that means ‘something like that’ and if the younger hybrid hovers on the way that Yoongi’s lips look a little kiss bitten and swollen he doesn’t say a thing. Namjoon knows better than anyone- what they talk about and what they don’t.

- He hands over the slip of paper; “jimin should move into the main house, you and I could clean out one of the storage rooms and move the stuff into the attic.”

-  Yoongi watches Namjoon’s eyes rove over the words a few times. The hybrid purses his lips, “I’ve talked to Y/n about this- and she agrees- but I don’t know if he wants too? He seems pretty comfortable in the barns, he likes Taehyung and they’re friends. and we kind of want to leave it up to him if we can.”

- Yoongi snatches the paperback from him, annoyance flickering in his chest as he rolls his eye. Didn’t Namjoon see that nothing would change if they didn’t push him a little? Jimin is the type to take that kind of abuse again and again if it means not making a fuss. And Yoongi knows it’s only a matter of time before something happens again. He turns it over onto the other side and using the wall as a place to write.

- “He’s already being treated differently because of me” 'me' being double underlined- so that Namjoon really understands what he’s trying to say. Yoongi just wants to make sure Jimin is safe before he goes. Before he needs to leave and before it gets too dangerous and too near a time when his owner will physically retrieve him. Not that Namjoon knows that Yoongi’s presence has an expiration date. Namjoon searches Yoongi’s face for a source to his desperation and finds none.

- Yoongi has never felt worse for keeping secrets. Maybe in another world- Yoongi would have confessed and asked Namjoon, with all of his connections to the police, for help. Yoongi knows enough to put the whole crime system out of whack and yet. Years of negative reinforcement and beatings have taught him to keep his mouth shut and that isn’t going to change now; not when Yoongi’s life isn’t the only one at risk and he knows you’ll all live if he plays by the rules. He doesn't care about his own safety anymore. 

- The second he sees Yoongi’s distraught expression Namjoon steps closer Taking off his flannel and tugging it around his shoulders. Namjoon might not make moves to scent mark Yoongi but dressing him in his clothes is as good as he gets. Namjoon’s comforting alpha scent fluffs around him.

- Yoongi wonders if jimin feels the pull the same way he does. Dynamics are more mobile in snake hybrids and downright non-existent in humans. but they’re more set in canines. Namjoon puts his hand on Yoongi’s clothed arm and Yoongi shuffles close after a second. His nose centimeters from Namjoon’s neck taking in deep breathes to try and steady himself. He didn’t realize he was shaking.

- “It will be alright Yoongi, I promise. He’s gonna be safe.” Namjoon adds quieter. And below them both- in the first floor of the house, he can hear your voice, echoing louder and laughing at some sort of joke, Namjoon’s tail starts wagging at the suggestion of you. “I want them to feel safe too.”

- Yoongi wants to write “he should take my room- I won’t be staying in it soon anyway.” but Yoongi needs to make sure- before he leaves. Jimin has to be included in your little pack. He doesn’t want to think- about what the three of you will go through when he eventually has to leave. The days are counting down to the end of the summer. 

- He’s fucking selfish, so selfish, to kiss Jimin like that when he knows he won't be able to stay in the hybrids life. He’s selfish every time he begs affection off you, every day he keeps Namjoon Company when he’s cleaning up the other barns. Yoongi writing out words in the dust when Namjoon asks him questions. Eyes only searching when Namjoon turns his back. Looking for any sort of hidden compartment. Completing his task even if it’s the last thing he wants to do. Betraying you like this.

- Jimin spends the rest of the day wondering if the kiss with Yoongi was just a dream. But later at dinner, Yoongi won’t meet his eyes, and jimin knows he didn’t imagine the kiss. Guilt sticks to Yoongi, more distracting than honey stuck between your fingertips.

- Both of them go to sleep still thinking about the kiss. Jimin wondering if it will happen again and Yoongi thinking that he’d like it too. His fingers running over his lower and upper lips, mind awash with the memory of jimin’s mouth on his. And night falls heavy like a weighted blanket on the farm. The sky a big sheet with holes poked through for stars. A heavenly breeze tempting away the summer heat.

- All of the hybrids safe and snoring in their beds. Some even paired- if they’ve got it. Two furry bodies packed close on a single bed. Some even dream of homes they mind one day live in or of the people that one day they’ll get to love. The idea of being kept and treasured lulling them into a drowsy haze of anticipation and security. 

- That night, Namjoon knocks on Yoongi’s door. the hybrid leaning up against the doorframe as he watches the snake get ready for bed. “you know... you could sleep in our room if you want, we have an air conditioner in there too.” yoongi has a notepad ready, he knows that Namjoon likes to open all the windows and even the door to your balcony to let the fresh air in so that it feels like you're sleeping outside. He steels himself to think of someone other than himself before he writes- “I’m okay- thanks though” Yoongi writes out. 

- Namjoon lifts one of Yoongi’s blankets to his neck before he leaves, thoroughly scents marking it before he leaves it with Yoongi. And Yoongi sleeps easy that night with his nose pressed to the blanket. Safe and secure in his room. Nothing bad happens to yoongi that night even though he cuddles close to the blanket, and when he wakes in the morning. his heart beats a steady thumping rhythm- his whole body humming with anticipation. 

- It’s different to feel excited about being in love, excited for a day spent close to the people he cares about. And he knows he won't take a single day for granted. 

- The crickets and cicadas chirping in the field. And in a low tone on the tree outside, a morning dove gentle and unassuming. The sun rising over the hills. Tastes of idyllic and smells of Eden. Like lavender and honey.

- A hand outstretched, scrambling in the dirt before it goes still, fingers just a few inches from safety. Blood mixing in with the sand. The morning is not perfect for everyone.

- But even you would say the morning was peaceful, if not for the dead body dumped at the end of your driveway. 

Kofi

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part V

Word Count: 2,005 Warnings: PTSD. Allusions to sex (it borders on the edge of smut but we should know by now I'm shit at that). Hint of a praise kink. Bit of marking kink. Death. Ben Affleck. Author's Note: The last few chapters have taken a lot out of me, I put a lot of my own experiences with PTSD and mental health into them. I tried to make this fluffy, I needed that comfort after a hard week and I feel lighter for it. As always, thank you so much for your kind words and loving this like I do.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

“Fuck you.” Benny stares straight into Tom’s eyes. "This is my fuck you money.” The held breaths are louder than gunshots, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come.

Cold Camp Davis grunts a laugh, “We don’t have enough men to carry all this money so we might as well be warm.”

Benny giggles like a child as he grabs a strap, zippo clicking to ignition again.

The laughter that bubbles up is like a light, warmer than the thousands of dollars burning bright against his eyes.

Frankie, you might as well take your salary out on the front lawn and pour some kerosene on it.

He hears it so clearly in his head and in his heart, Leah teasing him for all the lights being on the first time he took her home.

Tom stands up, dumping an entire case down to tinder in the cold air.

Eight dates in and she’d already witnessed one of his attacks. It was the third date, he’d wanted to take her home that night. His body on hers for hours. Wanted to make breakfast the next morning, having already committed to memory the way she takes her coffee. Instead, she spent that night holding tightly to his hands as his panic crescendoed in the backseat of his car.

If it wasn’t then that he realized he loved her, it was in the way she turned to look at him when he quietly said,

The lights being on make me feel safe.

It wasn’t pity, like he’s used to. It wasn’t the look somebody gives a broken man with a broken mind and a broken soul. The only change he found in the already soft features was an understanding behind the dark eyes staring back at him.

This fire makes him feel safe now.

He’s always straining in the dark. It’s not just about watching his six. It’s all twelve hands on deck with two eyes and a ringing in his ears so intense he can feel it in his toes.

But here? It beats back against the edges of gloom that have continuously threatened to consume him.

He can sweep enclosed spaces in minutes, assess the situation and the danger within. It’s a lot harder in the extended wilds, nothing but the moon to guide the eye.

Before Leah—and for a while there after—he combed room for room upon his arrival home. He’d ask her to stay in the car, his conceal carry coming out as soon as the door would swing open.

He’d sheepishly grin, collecting her from the passenger side after his survey and she’d hug him. Holding tightly around his middle section, pressing her cold hands up under his shirt to that hot place where his heart beats and whisper with genuine gratitude,

Thank you for protecting me, Frankie.

It was never condescending, that’s all he ever wanted to do. Protect her. Protect himself. Protect the men giggling like schoolboys around him right now.

And he liked being told what a good job he did at that. —————

“What's Frankie short for?” Barely audible, her breath fanning across his chest as she continues to catch it. Like willing waves of normalcy in the aftermath of a hurricane.

“Francisco.”

“Francisco,” she repeats, dragging out the o. “Do you like it?”

“Used to make me feel like I was in trouble, very harsh coming from pissed off higher ups and even angrier parents but it sounds…” he thinks on that for a second, the events of the night still rippling through his body, “a lot sweeter in your mouth.”

“Watch yourself,” she hums a kiss into the flat plane of his breast before sinking her teeth into the flesh there, biting as hard as she can.

A chuckle vibrates from deep within him, “one hell of a bite too, I won’t soon forget.”

He looks down into her eyes, bright with mischief as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth now. He’d had hickeys before but never like this. He surveys the purple marks across his body, somehow burning brighter than the rest of him, and a contentedness pools in the pit of his stomach. Her stamps on him in easily hidden spaces to match the lipstick stains she’s started marking across his right cheek in the moments before they walk into the bar or the restaurant.

Little ways she says mine.

And he is hers. He knows it in the steady way his lungs rise and fall underneath her now.

He brushes a soft wave from where it tickles across her nose, “is Leah short for anything?”

Her nose scrunches, “not a goddamn thing.”

“Do you know what it means then?” His large hand is sprawled across her lower back, the weight of it an anchor.

Don’t leave me, it says.

“I don’t know,” she drawls, the slight twang coming forward in moments of exhaustion and inebriation, “just think my mama liked the sound of it is all.”

His heart is blazing underneath her cheek as she settles against him once more, her soft voice tumbles towards him, “Francisco…” as her eyelashes brush against his skin and he swears he can count them all on sensation alone.

“Yeah, baby?”

He feels a smile tug at her lips, stopped in its tracks where she’s rooted into him. It’s the first time he’s called her that.

“I have nightlights.”

The light makes her feel safe too. —————

He’s standing over Tom’s body and he hates to admit it but the feeling washing over him is one of relief.

Relief mingled with guilt.

Guilt that nobody was watching his six, his back wide open to the world behind it. Five seasoned fucking veterans and nobody watching the higher ground.

Relief at the silence he knows will engulf the group now. No more orders from a child who should’ve never been granted the lead to begin with.

Guilt because he was climbing up a fucking rock when he should’ve been doing his job as a friend and brother.

Relief that it wasn’t his brains splashed across stone.

His head is fucking pounding and it has been for days, pain dulled by consistency but never not there.

At least I can feel my fucking head.

He thinks of all the other things he can feel now, the things service beat from his body.

The ache in his limbs, heavy with exhaustion.

He’s dreading adding the dead weight of a dead body to the load.

The pang in his stomach, too used to consistently hot food.

He wants black coffee and bacon and tiny spoonfuls of sweet potato puree he airplanes into his own mouth to show Luna it won’t hurt her. Hell, he’d take the mushed peas right now.

Benny’s sobbing. The one amongst them all that never breaks is the broken one now.

He’s staring off again at everything and nothing, Santiago and Will unfurling bags for the body.

What a present to bring home.

It was always the risk they faced, they knew it.

If you were lucky, truly lucky, you came home whole. Untouched, unscathed, unmarred. The safe deployments, the technical shit, the brains behind the operations never seeing bloodshed. Everybody else though? Some were held together by duct tape and pure grit.

Others tied up in a flag with a bow.

Daddy’s not coming home but here’s a purple heart for the dress uniform he’ll never wear again.

I should’ve done more.

He’s not getting a purple heart for this.

I should’ve held on tighter.

He didn’t die in service to his country, he died in service to himself.

I should’ve made a bigger issue of the weight.

Another family he’s failed to protect.

I should’ve said no. —————

The darkness is cut through with a warm glow in every outlet as the clock tips over the edge of midnight.

Wednesday, the eleventh of October.

Nose to nose, the excitement of the day hangs over them like a wave threatening to crash. A giddiness in their bed forcing sleep to the edges of thought.

“Do you think they’re gonna know?” Her voice is soft, featherlight. Trying not to disturb the peaceful bubble they find themselves in now.

“No,” he lifts to press his lips gently into hers, “but I can’t promise I won’t shout it out on the altar.”

Panic takes her eyes, he knows it all too well and he’s gripping tighter before she can inhale. Fingers splayed across the small of her back, the weight of it a comfort to the tender bones and aching muscles.

I'm right here, it says.

“Breathe, breathe,” he’s speaking softly into her hair, “it was just a joke, baby.”

“You're not funny, Francisco Morales.” She speaks it like a fact, like she doesn’t spend hours in his arms filling his head with the music of her laughter. She says it like he isn’t watching smile lines appear in real time, falling more in love with each one.

“Would it be so bad though? If I did? If people knew?” It’s hope in his voice that she’ll say yes. That he can announce to his best friends all at once, every single one, before Santi leaves again. He doesn't want his happiness to arrive by text message. He wants to see the light of congratulation dancing around him.

“I don’t want to jinx it,” she’s scared, “besides… it’s not traditional.”

He scoffs, “what about us has ever been traditional, mi alma?”

“I'll make you a deal,” her fingers run through the stubble along his jaw, thumbs lingering over the patches, “don’t shave this tomorrow and you can tell the boys.”

“You want me to keep this malnourished shit on my face? For our wedding?”

Her giggles vibrate against him, “Yes. I have plans for it after you say I do.”

He growls, “this deal sounds pretty sweet to my lazy soul, what do you get out of it?”

“Hmm…” she brings her hand up to tap on her chin, “well, to begin, I’m getting a hot husba—”

“Debatable.”

“I'll fuck you up, Morales, take the compliment.”

He laughs a kiss into her, “what else?”

“Benny and Will will become automatic attack dogs around me, I’m fairly certain they will clear their schedules for all of April to stand guard outside the room. My own personal security team.”

He laughs again at the truth in her words, “what else?”

She pushes forward again, taking his lip between hers. A soft kiss with the burning desire for more.

“I’ll wake up on Thursday morning with a rawness between my legs that I’m usually only gifted on the weekends.”

His grip tightens, any suggestion of sleep leaving his body in a rush of blood straight through him, “I will never shave again.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time, my love.”

He rolls himself into her at that, kissing down her jaw. Her neck. The sensitive skin of her breasts, low lying cotton barely above indecency. He raises the hem, the curve of her belly burning hot against his lips, two hearts now beating inside her.

He grabs the elastic around her hips and gently pulls, kisses so soft across her pelvis they feign an innocence to his true intentions. Her legs kick out to help discard the fabric tangling her ankles as he settles broad shoulders at the base of her being.

Her fingers twirl through the soft curls that have been crushed against a pillow for hours by her side.

He kisses her soft thighs, slowly dragging his rough cheek against the delicate flesh.

“Francisco,” her fingers flex tighter as he looks up to meet her eyes, “don’t be such a fucking tease.”

He smiles wide, the devilish grin splitting his face as he drops his eyes to where she wants him, the fever that’s taken over her body in the last three months beckoning him in.

His hands are heavy on her hips, clenching deep purple into her. Marks in easily hidden spaces, his little ways of saying mine.

TAGLIST: @justanotherblonde23​ | @greeneyedblondie44​ | @icanbeyourjedi​ | @princess76179​ | @bbuckysbeardd​ | @notcookiebelle​ | @knivesareout​ | @phoenixpascal​ | @lexi-b-writes​ | @empress-palpat1ne​ 

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who's willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XVIII

February 10, 2278.

The plan is set. DeLoria went ahead and travelled to Underworld yesterday to tell Dr. Barrows that we are planning to transfer Percy. It will happen tomorrow, at night, when the courtyard is clear, and the tin cans are sleeping. Our only problem would be the night guards.

Logistics won’t be a problem. Dr. Li said that the machines that I thought was keeping Percy alive were just there to monitor her, and that she can live without them. Barrows will know what to do. He revived Reilly, the wounded, comatose merc leader Percy and I helped a few months back, after all. Maybe he can wake Percy up too? Dammit.

I’m not sure how we will pull this off, but screw it. Anything’s better than scribes probing and poking my partner with their needles.

I was servicing my shotgun this afternoon when Dr. Li stepped in the room. She looks at me with scrutiny, carrying a bag. I assume she’s preparing to leave. She’s not wearing her lab coat. It would be impractical for travel, anyway.

“Charon, was it? May I have a word with you, before I leave Persephone in your hands?”

I nod, not looking up from my task.

“What are you to her?”

Well, that made me pause.

“I’m her partner. That’s all you need to know.”

The doctor drags a chair and sits in front of me. I look up, and she looks pensive, her frown similar to Percy’s when she was waiting for the results of her lab test.

“I told you before, I’m not sure about the nature of the relationship the two of you have, and it’s probably not in my best interest to pry. But I’ll be frank. I’m seeing signs of codependency.”

My eyes don’t leave her, demanding her to explain in silence.

“Your world revolves around her. Almost to a point of obsessiveness. That isn’t healthy. Persephone doesn’t seem the type to enable that… but I can be wrong.”

Something twists in my gut.

There’s a little truth to what she’s saying, about how my world revolves around Percy ever since she waltzed in the Ninth Circle in September, and that makes it sting more than it should.

But she knows fucking nothing about what Percy and I went through to get where we are now.

“I don’t care. I don’t have to explain anything to you. Go away.”

Dr. Li looks at me, uncertainty in her eyes. “Fine. I just want to let you know that I’ve been put in a similar situation before. With her father, James.”

I guess first impressions can be deceiving. What else had James done?

“If Persephone is anything like her father, get out while you can,” Dr. Li tells me, voice barely a whisper, but she’s firm.

This time, I stand up and glare at her. I towered over her, but she kept seated to her chair, defiant.

“I didn’t know James much. But if there’s someone I certainly know, it’s Percy. She’s not her father. Give her some damn credit.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“This is the only thing I’ll say to you, doctor: she wanted me to have a life of my own.”

Dr. Li gave me a faint smile, but the relief in her eyes is telling.

“I suppose I can give the two of you the benefit of the doubt.”

She stands up and straightens her clothes, puts back the chair where it was, and heads to the door.

“One last thing,” she says, looking over her shoulder.

“If Persephone wakes up, tell her not to look for me.”

I didn’t respond. I just nodded.

Li’s  words lingered on my mind throughout the afternoon. “If?” No. When. Percy’s waking up.

...it’s too late. My mind wanders to a possibility of a future without her.

I stand up, parting the plastic curtains around her bed, and take a long, hard look at her. The muscles of her face relaxed, expression blank in her sleep. Almost lifeless.

Usually, her brows would be knitted in concentration, like when she’s figuring out how to use fission batteries to power the motorcycle she’s tinkering with, or when she’s cleaning up a wound I have from shielding her against gunshots.

One look at her eyes, and I can tell when she’s afraid, angry, or just happy to see me. The more I think about it, the more I realize how I missed the cues. My eyes weren’t the only ones lingering on her more than necessary. She does that to me too. Whether what she felt for me is the same as I feel for her, the desire and the fondness, it did not matter. The trust and devotion in them are enough.

When she’s not using her voice to express her anger or frustration, her mouth’s usually smiling, grinning, or open in her laughter. Kind words came out of it for the dog, the kids in Big Town and Lamplight, Gob, Nova, and even Moira from Megaton, and me. Above all, it’s sweet, as I found out before she ran in the chamber.

I try to imagine a world without her, and the knife twists deeper into my gut.

I remember the question she asked me, on New Years’ Eve.

 December 31, 2277.

The last day of the year, and I’m back to where I was when it started, but with better company.

The stench of alcohol and jet-addled sweat no longer lingered in the Ninth Circle. I don’t think I can even call it that now that the sign is gone. Ahzrukhal’s shelf of watered-down piss was cleaned out in favor of a common pantry. A section was being separated by sheets, converted to a common house with a number of beds and mattresses. The tables and chairs still remained, where ghouls can sit down and rest, if they desire.

DeLoria was sitting in the corner, looking utterly fucking lost. The only other human in the room was that relic hunter Percy accompanied while looking for a piece of parchment, and she wanted nothing to do with him. At least the dog kept him company.

The greaser sighed in relief when he saw me and Percy.

“About time,” he greets, patting Percy in the back and giving me an acknowledging nod. “Watching you mope and cry because he wouldn’t wake up has gotten boring.”

“Shut the fuck up, Butch,” Percy replies in jest, punching the boy’s arm.

For some reason, it’s comforting to see that these two are at it again.

Percy drops to a knee to give Dogmeat a long hug and kisses on his forehead. Then, the dog comes over to me too, and I carry him, allowing the mutt to lick my face with affection.

“At least give me credit for showing up to rescue your asses, Grognak.”

“Grognak? You came up with that all by yourself?”

“Yeah? You sure as hell looked like him when you smeared them mercs against the floor and carried Charon all the way here,” DeLoria teases, making clubbing motions with his arms.

“If my dog didn’t run away and left you panting after him, you wouldn’t have found us. I should be thanking him,” Percy teases back.

Butch pouts and I couldn’t find the strength to hold back a snicker. Percy ruffles his hair and laughs, earning her a hard glare.

“Hey, watch the hair!”

“Thank you, Butch,” Percy finally relents, offering Butch a smile. Then, she turns at me with an expectant look.

“...thank you,” was all I could say. He’s not so bad. Maybe.

“And thank you,” Percy coos at Dogmeat, voice pitched a few octaves up, ruffling his ears as I held him.

“Isn’t that right, boy? Who’s the smartest, bravest, and toughest doggy in the whole wasteland? You are!”

Dogmeat gives my friend some licks and happy barks. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Holy shit, I think I’m gonna barf,” DeLoria remarks, pretending to dry heave.

“Fuck off, Butch. I’m trying to spoil my baby here.”

They fought for the entire afternoon.

We spent the rest of the night in Underworld, under doctor’s orders not to engage in anything strenuous. Butch got to know the local ghouls, and though he still looks half-terrified at the sight of my people, he’s polite enough not to call them zombies. Probably because Percy punched him when he called me one, or he’s outnumbered. Might be both.

Carol was thrilled to see us again, giving Percy a hug that she reciprocates just as hard. Percy lapped up all her attention. Carol’s probably the closest thing she has to a mother now.

We were having dinner when Percy brought it up.

“I can’t believe this is my first time counting down to the New Year in the wasteland,” she comments, chewing on… whatever the hell we were eating.

“Huh. You’re right,” Butch adds, wiping the grease off his mouth.

“We should celebrate!” Percy quips, enthusiastic. “Maybe we could take us to Tulip’s place and get new stuff for the new year. We never really had that much stuff in the vault, did we Butch?”

“Yeah, they were mostly shitty hand-me-downs. But, uh, I’m still kinda broke Perce. It was supposed to be my first day on the job days ago but all that shit happened…”

Percy blinks, and wipes her lips with a handkerchief. “C’mon boys, let’s go shopping. My treat.”

“For real?” Butch asks, looking a little giddy.

“Are you complaining?”

“No.”

“Let’s go then.”

We went to Tulip in Underworld Outfitters. She was glad to see Percy as usual. While they caught up with each other, DeLoria got a new pair of jeans and a shirt.

Percy found a tattered red scarf. My friend ran her fingers against the fabric, lingering where the holes are.

“I’ll learn how to sew, and I’ll patch you up in no time,” she says to no one in particular. The greaser rolls his eyes.

“Still talking to things, I see,” he teases her.

“No I’m not. I don’t talk to inanimate objects.”

I snort, and join DeLoria. “Yes you do, Percy.”

She crosses her arms and pouts. “Yeah? Name one time.”

“You were talking to that robot you were fixing for the Big Town kids,” I say, and Butch gives me a conspirational look.

“Ha! And you used to talk to them plants in the hydrowhatever garden in the vault too.”

“Hydroponics. Plants tend to grow better when you give them extra attention, you know,” Percy retorts, cheeks going red.

“You used to talk to Mr. Bubbles,” Butch cuts in, and Percy gives him a playful jab.

“You were talking to your Mr. Handy while it was shut down for repairs,” I chime in, and Percy lets out a mock gasp.

“Not you too, Charon! I can’t believe it, you two are teaming up on me,” she laughs, running a hand through her hair. Butch was laughing, and Tulip was looking pretty amused as well.

“You vaulties bicker like a married couple,” Tulip comments.

DeLoria smirks, wagging his eyebrow, while Percy rolls her eyes and huffs. Yeah, they’d make a nice married smoothskin couple. A beautiful smoothskin girl with a smoothskin pretty boy.

Just how things are supposed to be.

“More like a caveman arguing with an astronaut,” Percy scoffs. 

“For the record, you’re the caveman, Grognak.”

Putting a hand on her hip, Percy flips DeLoria the bird and looks around for other items. Then, she turns to me, a black shirt in her hand.

“Try it on, big guy. You could use some more clothes,” she says, and I nod.

I take off my shirt and put the new one on. It covers me, but the sleeves are too tight for my liking. I turned to Percy and caught her eyes flick down for a brief moment before looking me in the eye.

“So, is it comfortable?”

“It’s fine. The sleeves are too tight.”

“I’ll just cut them off. We can use the scraps for cleaning,” she replies, eyes averting mine. She clears her throat and goes back to Tulip’s counter. Butch was leaning in the corner, nose wrinkled, avoiding looking at either of us.

Yeah, pretty boy’s jealousy is showing again. It will never stop amusing me.

We left after Percy paid for the items. She looks at her PipBoy display and smiles.

“It’s almost midnight,” she says, and she turns to me. “Hey Charon, know a place where we can get away from all the noise?”

I think about it. “I know a way to the rooftop.”

“Nice. C’mon, let’s get some air.”

“The air’s gonna kill us, Perce,” Butch remarks, and Percy rolls her eyes at him.

“Says the smoker,” she replies.

Percy and Butch fucking bickered again as I led them outside, to an exterior fire escape. We climbed up the stairs until we reached the top in a single file; I’m in front, Percy in the middle, and DeLoria at the rear. I had to carry Dogmeat. He was terrified. Shaking.

We sit on the edge of the roof, Percy in the middle, and the dog on my lap. Percy produces some bottles of Nuka, whiskey, and scotch from her bag, along with some packets of food. Butch ate a snack cake in one bite and chases it down with whiskey. Percy unscrews the scotch, drinks straight from the bottle, and shudders. She passes the bottle to me and I take a long swig of the stuff.

“New Year's in the vault was boring,” Butch comments, looking in the distance. There were Super Mutants roaming about. “It's always streamers and trumpets. I wanted to see what the fireworks looked like.”

“Fireworks will set the vault on fire,” Percy replies as she grabs her Gauss rifles and loads it with a microfusion cell. “I don’t think anyone produces them now, either.”

“But,” she says as she lies on her belly and angles her rifle downwards. “We have ammo.”

A mutant fell in the distance. The big, dumb, green bastards never knew where the shot came from.

“How did you celebrate New Year's way back, Charon?” Percy asks.

Huh.

“We used to put up trees.”

“Well, we can’t do that unless we get a vertibird to Oasis and chop one down,” she chuckles.

People also kissed as the clock struck twelve, but I didn’t tell her that.

“Let’s just make our own traditions then,” Percy continues. “Like shooting up these guys.”

Aside from Percy’s gunshots, we’re silent, drinking and eating as we waited the minutes away.

“So, what are you guys planning to do this year?”

Butch puffs out his chest. “I’m gonna lead a gang. The Tunnel Snakes are gonna slither again!”

Percy chuckles softly.

“That’s a start. When this is all over, I’ll start my own garden. What about you, Charon?”

What kind of question is that?

“I go where you go.”

Percy sits and looks at me.

“Don’t you have plans of your own?”

[nazariolahela]

Something Domestic: Chapter 16

A/N: Hey y'all! This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

I’m sorry this is so late. January has been crazy busy for me at work. Just wanted to let y’all know that next week is the final chapter in Riley and Liam’s story. I promise I will have that one out on time. 😉 

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow @aworldoffandoms @dcbbw @ladyangel70 @texaskitten30 @sunandlemons @jlynn12273 @indiacater @jared2612 @rainbowsinthestorm @drakesensworld @badchoicesposts @msjr0119 @katurrade @blackcoffee85 @cynicalworlds-blog @hopefulmoonobject @cmestrella @sugarandspice-milkandhoney @superharrietsuper @custaroonie @lady-calypso @ritachacha @olympianpantsuit @desiree-0816 @the-soot-sprite @kate-mckenzie @narrytheworld @octobereighth @lynne1993 @queen-anastasia-universe @loveellamae @sarzkh31​ @iaminlovewithtrr

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Riley makes a tough decision, and Liam finally confronts Madeleine.

“Miss Riley? Can we go see Dora and Diego again?” Andrew asks, tugging on my sleeve. We’re walking down Broadway on our way to lunch. After that, we’ll make our way to the Children’s Museum of Manhattan. Today is an in-service day, so he has the day off from school. It’s kind of nice to be able to go out in public again with the kids I watch. I haven’t encountered a single paparazzo in over a month. I smile as I adjust his stocking cap and wipe the snot running from his red nose. I then pull the collar of my winter coat up and we continue our walk.

“We will. But we need to eat first. Okay, bud?”

“Can I have chicken nuggets? Dad says I can’t have them, but Grandma always sneaks me some when she comes over.”

I giggle. Andrew is such a fun kid. He’s the sweetest nine-year-old I have ever met. And always so polite. I’ve been his nanny for almost a month now. Every morning, he greets me at the door of their townhouse with a picture he drew the night before. And every evening before I leave, he invites me to stay for dinner and offers to share his food with me. His dads hired me after Madeleine kicked me to the curb. Thankfully the agency didn’t terminate my employment. During my first interview with Adam and Derek, I asked them if my tabloid issue would be a problem. They looked at each other and smirked. Then Adam reminded me that neither of them were interested in me that way, so I have nothing to worry about. 

Truthfully, they’re the nicest couple I’ve worked for. They go out of their way to make sure I have everything I need to take care of their son. They’ve even invited me to move in with them to be a live-in nanny. Both Adam and Derek travel a lot for work, so I spend a good amount of time with Andrew. Derek’s mom stays with him in the evenings and on weekends when they’re both gone, but she’s getting older and they fear she won’t be around too much longer. They offered me free room and board, and a personal vehicle to use at my leisure, but I can’t seem to commit to giving up my apartment. 

We arrive at Fred’s — one of my favorite spots in Manhattan — and grab a table. It’s my preferred restaurant in New York City that allows dogs. Even though I haven’t had a dog since high school, I love coming here because it reminds me of my parents’ old Lab, Coco. The waiter arrives at our table and I order the Turkey Club for me and the Sesame Chicken Fingers for Andrew. As we eat, Andrew talks about their upcoming trip to Cabo and asks me if I’m going to come with them.

“I don’t know, bud. I’d have to check with your dads.”

“They said that if you moved in with us, you could,” he replies and shoves a chicken strip in his mouth. I guess that’s one of the perks of being a live-in nanny. You’re basically a member of the family.

After lunch, we head over to CMOM. Andrew helps Diego rescue animals and plays the drums at Dora’s house. I laugh as I snap photos of him on my iPhone, sending them in a group text to Derek and Adam. After a few hours of fun, I gather Andrew up and we make our trek back to his townhouse. On the way home, we walk past an ice cream shop. He grabs my hand and begs me to buy him a treat. My mind wanders to when I used to take Philip here and my eyes begin to water. Nope. Not gonna cry.

“Sure. Let’s go, bud,” I reply as we enter the shop.

We arrive home shortly after and I send Andrew upstairs to wash up for dinner. A few minutes later, the door opens and Derek’s mom, Patricia walks in. 

“Hello, dear. How was your day? I assume my grandson was on his best behavior?”

I laugh. “He always is.” She smiles and pats my shoulder before making her way into the kitchen to start preparing dinner. I follow her into the kitchen and pull ingredients out of the fridge for her. 

“So, how are things with the boy toy?” she asks as she cuts up some vegetables. 

“I think I’m going to have to break up with him.”

She stops cutting and stares at me. “What’s going on?”

I chew on my bottom lip. “I’m in love with someone else.”

She points the knife in her hand to a stool, motioning for me to sit. “Spill it.” I tell her everything about Liam and me, the kids, the divorce, and the tabloid scandal. I then tell her about Josh and how nice and how good looking he is, and how bad I feel for wanting to dump him. Her brows form a deep V as she listens to my sob story. Then, she reaches over and places her hand on mine.

“Let me tell you something, dear. Before I married my Elliot, there was someone else. Sure, he was a whole bowl of eye candy and a demon in the sack, but he wasn’t what I needed. We didn’t have that connection.”

I frown. “But, he’s been so good to me these past few weeks. I feel like an asshole.”

“You will for a while, sure. But it’s not fair to give him false hope with another man waiting in the wings. The best thing you can do is be honest with him.”

“But what if he hates me?”

She chuckles. “If he truly cares about you, he’ll want you to be happy.”

I nod, taking in her words, then check my watch. “Shit. I gotta go meet Josh. I’ll see you in the morning, Patricia! Thanks for everything!” She waves as I grab my bag from the living room and rush out the door.

***

Half an hour later, I sit at Starbeans, fiddling with the cardboard sleeve of my coffee cup. I replay the events of last week. After a month of not talking to Hana or Liam, I was able to reconnect with both of them. My heart feels full again. Except now I have to work up the courage to break things off with Josh. To be honest, it’s always been about Liam. Even after no contact for a month, I held out hope he would find out who leaked the story and come crawling back to me.

Speaking of. I can’t believe that bitch Madeleine set me up. I try to figure out why she would do that to me. I’ve never been anything but an exceptional nanny to her kids. Why would she try to ruin my life? Liam said it was because she never wanted the divorce, but wanted to continue fucking other men. Philip and Charlotte are the perfect children and from what I learned from his friends, Liam was a wonderful husband. Some people are never happy, I guess.

I spot Josh strolling into the coffee shop. He’s wearing his signature charcoal gray suit, his phone pressed to his ear, and his black leather messenger bag draped over his shoulder. His brown eyes sparkle as he locates me and makes his way over to my table. In another life, I think I could be happy with Josh. But ever since I met Liam, I haven’t been able to look at another man like that. He ends his call and leans over, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I motion for him to take a seat.

“Let me grab something to drink,” he says, moving toward the counter.

I point to the coffee cup sitting across the table. He smiles and takes a seat, bringing the cup to his lips, and takes a sip. “So, how was work today? Did you and Andrew do anything fun?”

“We did. I took him to Fred’s, then we visited CMOM.”

He smiles. “That’s awesome. Glad you guys had fun. And how are things with Hana? Have you guys been talking?”

Josh is aware of mine and Hana’s falling out. I practically talked his ear off about it on our first date. Instead of running for the hills at the first sign of my crazy, he sat there and listened, offering advice on how to fix our relationship. Another reason why I feel bad about what I’m about to do. It’s only been a few weeks, but he’s a great guy and I really like him. The only problem is my heart doesn’t belong to him. Patricia’s words ring in my mind. It wouldn’t be fair to string him along while pining for another man.

“Things are good. We’re having dinner later this week.”

“I’m glad you two could make up. I know how hard it’s been not having her in your life. What about Liam?”

I pause, “What about him?”

“Your friend Drake said you guys were going through a rough patch as well. He didn’t give up too many details, but he said you guys were close.”

I chewed my bottom lip. “Oh, I...I actually used to work for Liam. I was his kids’ nanny. Until I was let go.”

He cocks an eyebrow and waits for me to continue. “His ex-wife was jealous of our relationship, so she leaked their divorce to the tabloids and blamed me for it.” I then proceed to tell him everything about the last few months. 

Josh nearly spits his coffee. “Wait...you are the homewrecking nanny?” He sputters, wiping his chin. “How did I not put two and two together? You said your old boss fired you because she thought you were sleeping with her husband. And when I saw him at the bar last week, I remembered reading about it in the tabloids.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why I didn’t recognize you from the story.”

Well, this is awkward. “Yeah...that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Look, Josh. You’re an amazing guy, but Liam and I…”

His face falls. “Wait, are you breaking up with me?”

My stomach turns. I’ve only broken up with one boyfriend. He was the star quarterback of my high school football team, and it was after I caught him feeling up the head cheerleader under the bleachers after homecoming. I lean across the table and take his hands in mine. “I’m so sorry Josh. I never meant to hurt you. The truth is, I’m in love with Liam. I have been. And it’s not fair to you to pretend that I’m not.”

He sighs and drops his head. “You know. I always thought this day would come. You’re obviously way out of my league, but I was hoping my luck would change. Is there anything I could have done differently?”

I shake my head and squeeze his hands. “You are an amazing guy and you’re going to make some woman very happy someday. I just know it.”

He nods and stands from his seat. Leaning in, he presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “See you around, Riley,” he says, then turns and walks out. When he’s gone, I exhale and rub the ache in my chest. Just then, my phone chimes. I look down to see a message from Liam. Weird timing. I look around the room to see if he’s here, then open the text.

Here we go. I gather up my purse and hail a cab to my apartment. I drop off my tote bag and freshen up. Twenty minutes later, I arrive in the lobby of Liam’s penthouse and the memories of my firing come flooding back. A woman I don’t recognize sits at the receptionist's desk. She can’t be older than 18. She looks up from her phone and plasters a huge smile on her face. “Good evening, ma’am. How can I help you?”

“Riley Brooks, here to see Liam Rhys.”

She nods and reaches into the desk drawer, pulling out a familiar black envelope. “Mr. Rhys requested that I give this to you. You can just head on up.”

I swallow and take the envelope. I swear this is déjà vu. I take a deep breath and make my way to the elevator, pressing the keycard to the panel. As the car makes its ascension to the penthouse floor, I can’t stop the tears from falling. Being back here brings back so many memories. When the elevator car reaches the top floor, I quickly wipe my cheeks and step into the foyer. Nothing has changed here. Except for the energy. I move further into the townhouse, taking it all in. I hear shuffling and turn to see Liam coming down the stairs. His blue eyes light up as he sees me, and he rushes down the stairs two at a time. Scooping me up in his arms, he plants a slow, sensual kiss to my lips.

“God, how I’ve missed you,” he says, gripping my hips and pulling me against him. His tongue darts out, slipping between my parted lips. Our kiss grows fervent and his hands slip under the hem of my sweater, his fingertips slowly dragging up my sides. I haven’t felt him in so long, my body almost forgot how good it feels when he touches me. We start pawing at each other’s clothes, not noticing Leo stroll into the penthouse.

“Jesus, you two. Get a room.” We break apart as Leo approaches. He inhales deeply. “Smells like sex in here. You two waste no time, huh?”

I shoot him a death glare and Liam just rolls his eyes. “Well, we’re here, let’s get this show on the road,” he says to his brother.

Leo smirks and reaches into his pocket, retrieving his phone. He begins tapping on the screen. “All in good time, little brother. You have to be patient.”

Liam sighs and grabs my hand, guiding me to the sofa. We both take a seat and watch as Leo finishes his text and slips his phone back in his pocket. He sits on the adjacent sofa, wearing a shit-eating grin. I look at Liam in confusion.

“What’s going on?” I ask. Leo holds up his finger. Moments later, the elevator chimes and the doors slide open. Madeleine strolls in, her nose buried in her phone.

“Let’s make this quick, Leo. I have to pick up the kids befo-” she stops when she looks up and sees Liam and I sitting on the couch. Her eyes narrow when she looks at me. “What is she doing here?”

Liam snorts. “I should be asking you the same thing. This is my house.”

“Your brother brought me here. Said we needed to talk.”

Leo takes this moment to stand up and motion for Madeleine to sit. “Have a seat. You, me, my brother, and his nanny need to have a chat.”

“I don’t have time for this,” she snaps and turns to walk away.

“Madeleine. Sit.” Leo says, his tone flat. She stops in her tracks. After a few moments, she sighs and moves to sit on the chair.

Leo grins. “Well, since we’re all here. Let’s get down to brass tacks. I’ve asked you all here because we have a bit of a conundrum. My charming brother here has been trying to get to the bottom of this tabloid scandal for the last month.”

“Why are we still talking about this shit? The divorce is final,” Madeleine huffs, rolling her eyes.

My blood boils. “Because ‘this shit’ damn near ruined my career. And I want answers!” I shout. Liam places his hand on my back rubbing it in slow, soothing circles. I take a deep breath. “I want to know who did this to me and why.”

She smirks. “What do you want me to do about it? I don’t care about your career. I care about my kids. Whoever leaked it put them in danger.”

Liam sits up, void of emotion. “You mean you?”

His accusation catches her off guard. “Wh-what? What are you talking about?”

He turns to his brother, both of them sharing an amused look. Madeleine’s eyes dart from Leo to Liam, then to me. “What are you guys getting at? You think I did this?”

“We know you did, sweetheart. And we have proof,” Liam says.

“Bullshit.”

Liam looks at Leo and nods his head. Leo pulls out his phone and taps a few buttons before placing it face-up on the coffee table The audio begins playing.

“So, what’s going on with you and my brother?”

“We’re divorced. What do you mean?”

“Are you getting back together?”

*laughter* “No. Not even a little. To be honest, I don’t know why I married him in the first place.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. What about your new guy?”

“Rashad? Eh...he’s nice. But ohmygods, he’s so boring.”

“Boring? How so?”

“All he ever talks about is his stupid firm. If I have to hear one more time about international contacts and the Portera Group, I’m going to pull my hair out strand by strand.”

*laughter* “Well, what’s going on with the nanny situation? I trust Belinda is working out well.”

“Better than I could have imagined. At least I don’t have to worry about the kids when they’re in her care.”

“C’mon, Maddy. What was wrong with Riley?”

*laughter* “Where do I even start? I should have never hired someone right out of college. All these young girls see is a paycheck. They don’t give a shit about the kids.”

“That’s odd. I never got that from Riley. She seemed to really like the kids.”

“That’s what she wanted you to see. How many times did she put my kids in jeopardy with the fucking paparazzi? And those stupid ass tabloids. My kids don’t need to see lies about their parents in some trash rag. Charlotte told me she looked through one of them and saw a picture of herself. Then she started asking me questions. They’re only six and four, but they’re not stupid. That’s why I had to get rid of her.”

“Get rid of her?”

“Yes. I had Mara leak the divorce story to the tabloids and blame Riley.”

“Wow. Why couldn’t you just have fired her?”

“Liam would never go for that. He’s so pussy whipped. That was always his problem. He only saw her as a piece of ass.”

*laughter* “You know my brother never could resist a pretty face. That’s why he ended up with you.”

“And I ended up with the wrong brother. You know it’s always been you. I just wish you wouldn’t have waited so long to see it.”

“Madeleine. I didn’t want to interfere with what you and my brother had.”

“Leo. Don’t give me that. I was never in love with Liam. I thought you knew that. How many times did I call you when I was married to him? If you would have said the word, I would have left him for you just like that.” *fingers snapping*

“What about the kids?”

*laughter* “That’s what family court is for. Do you actually think the judge would let him take them? I can play the neglected wife quite well. The only reason he agreed to joint is because I manipulated him into playing the ‘perfect marriage’ card. You should have seen the look on Riley’s face. After the tabloid story leaked, all our friends thought he cheated on me with the nanny. The whole thing played out just like I planned it.”

“Wow. You are one diabolical woman, Maddy.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

The audio ends and everyone sits stunned. Except for Leo. He just leans back — a smirk on his face — examining his nails. Liam’s face is beet red and he takes several deep breaths, trying to control his rage. Madeleine’s mouth hangs open in disbelief, all the color drained from her face. I sit back, trying to swallow the baseball-sized lump in my throat. Finally, Leo breaks the silence.

“So, what do you have to say for yourself, Maddy?”

Her face twists up in anger. “You set me up, you asshole.”

I leap from my seat. “You set me up! You hateful bitch!” Liam grabs my arm, trying to pull me back down. Thank gods his grip is strong because I’m two seconds away from leaping over this coffee table and tearing her face off.

“You broke up my family, you skank.”

Liam’s voice booms. “Don't pin this on her. You broke up our family when you slept with another man.”

“You could have made this easier on yourself if you would have just agreed to my deal, Liam. We could have had the perfect family front and you’d still get to keep your whore.”

“Fuck you, Madeleine,” I spit out.

“Okay, okay. As fun as this is to watch. It’s getting a little too heated for my taste,” Leo says, standing up to step between us. “We all know Maddy here is a hateful shrew. But what do you want from her, Liam?”

“Sole custody. Or I take this to the judge.”

“You wouldn’t,” she snaps.

“Watch me.”

She stares him down with a look of absolute hate. Her eyes dart to me, then to Leo. After several long seconds, her head drops back and she rolls her eyes. “Fine. You can have sole.”

Liam nods. “I’ll have my lawyers draw up the new paperwork. Now, get the fuck out of my house.”

She scoffs then gathers up her things and stomps out. Leo turns back to us, a huge smirk on his face. “This was fun. Let’s do it again sometime.” He leans over and claps his brother on the shoulder, then winks at me and heads toward the elevator.

Once we’re alone, Liam turns to me and frames my face in his hands. “I’m so, so sorry, Riley. I had no idea.” I place my hands on his chest and nod, trying not to cry.

“I never realized she hated me that much. All I cared about was being Philip and Charlotte’s nanny. I didn’t take this job because I thought you were hot. I took it because I love kids and I felt this was a good fit. Falling in love with you was just a bonus.”

He grips my chin in his thumb and forefinger, tipping my face up towards his. “You’re in love with me?”

“Of course, I am.”

He smiles and leans down to claim my mouth with his. The kiss is soft at first but quickly grows rough and passionate. He lets out a low moan and I take that as an opportunity to slide my hand beneath the waistband of his pants.

“Fuck, Riley,” he growls.

I grab his hand and walk him up the stairs to his bedroom. Once we’re there, I push up his shirt and plant featherlight kisses across his chest. He grasps my face in his hands, pulling it to his and kissing me hard. The kisses become hotter, teeth tugging lips, and hands roaming every inch of each other’s bodies. We shed our clothes and I climb onto his four-poster bed.

“You know. I saw this bed on my first day here, and I almost jumped on it to test it out. Good thing I didn’t, huh?”

“If I came here and saw a beautiful woman like you in my bed, I’d have thought I’d died and gone to heaven,” he smirks.

I wrap my hands around his neck and pull his body on top of mine, his weight pinning me down on the soft mattress. His stiff cock finds my pussy, nudging at my opening. I grip his length in my hand and stroke it up and down my clit. He trails kissed down my neck, across my collarbone, and to my breasts. He takes one of the pink buds in his mouth and begins to suck. The sensation shoots to my core. He moves to the other one, giving it a gentle nibble. Pretty sure I’m dripping wet right now.

He continues kissing his way down my body, his tongue drawing a line down my naval until he reaches the apex of my thighs. His hot breath sends a shiver through my body. His tongue flicks my clit and I nearly come on his face at that moment. Another stroke of his tongue against my folds elicits a moan from me. Before long, I’m writhing against his face, my orgasm slamming into me. I lay on the bed, struggling to catch my breath as he looks up at me, his face shiny from my arousal. He kisses his way up my body and captures my lips.

“Condom?” I ask. He nods and reaches into the nightstand to retrieve one from the drawer. He tears it open and rolls it over his cock. I lean up and capture his lips in a sweet kiss, then he thrusts into me. I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him close.

“Riley…” he grunts.

“I’m right here, Liam.” He presses his forehead against mine and grips my ass, his hips pistoning as he drives his cock into my pussy. I feel another orgasm tear through me with blistering heat. I look up at him and see his eyes close as his orgasm follows shortly after. He collapses on top of me, breathing heavily and dotting my neck and face with kisses.

“Wow…Holy shit, Riley.”

Yep, pretty much how I feel right now. Who knew that it could feel this good after a month. I run my hands through his hair, caressing the soft strands. He sucks in a deep breath, then rolls off of me, and pulls me into his chest. He plants a soft kiss on my shoulder.

“Can I tell you something?”

I turn back to look at him. “Sure.”

“Earlier. When you said you were in love with me. Did you mean it?”

I nod.

He smiles and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Good. Because I’m in love with you, too.”

[cyberneticlagomorph]

> 🔴 cyberneticlagomorph is live on caster

Music plays over a cute screen of a cute doodle of Jack sitting on an upturned teacup, kicking his legs peacefully. His eyes are closed, tail thumping contentedly.

Jack's voice comes in clear over the music as the chat in the corner of the screen starts to become lively as people log in, "Right, ok so... I'm doing things a little-- well, a lot different tonight."

A pause, and the cheerful music stops.

The stream changes then, to Jack sitting in a very lush vivarium with plenty of climbing trees and ledges and places to hide, Jack himself is sitting on a lush cushion on the ground, a long cord snaking away from his back and curling around to the monitors in front of him. He's got a handheld camera, that much is obvious at least.

"Tonight's stream is sponsored by the Lobotomy Corporation! These guys are doing me a solid and keeping me under close observation while I game tonight, so hopefully nothing horrible will happen this time... god I hope I didn't just jinx myself." He makes a sour face, after a beat he clears his throat, "Anyway... let's get this started, yeah? The site went down for maintenance last night, so we probably won't have any problems this time... hopefully."

He's visibly uncomfortable, maybe even afraid. The camera cuts off and we are met with that familiar splash screen. Jack logs in, the loading screen that follows is a sketchy drawing of something vast and terrible reaching up and up and up in order to devour the sun, Jack finds himself reading the tooltip text aloud, "Sand fallen, sun consumed, the War was all for nothing, our stuffing is the only softness left in this world - Stitches 5:24"

A shudder seems to rip through the entire stream, a concentrated wave of unease.

For a lot while there is only a heavy silence until the game finally loads in.

Jack's avatar is outside the doll hospital again, rocking back and forth in a cute idle animation. He can finally see the town around him, brightly lit by lanterns full of green fireflies. The streets are made of obnoxious bowling alley carpet, and the grass is an assortment of fluffy shag rugs.

The town itself is full of players wandering here and there, going into shops, and chatting with each other. Someone flying on an obnoxiously pink cloud swoops low enough to nearly decapitate Jack, he barely has time to duck. The sky is normal again, dark purple with green stars, and that sad, jagged moon hanging limply in the sky.

For the first time, he can hear the background music and it sets him at ease. He wanders away from the hospital, looking for something to do.

The cloud flyer swoops back around and coasts next to Jack, low enough to make polite conversation, "Sorry about almost running you over like that, I just got this thing and I'm still learning how to drive it..." her avatar is almost as pink as her cloud, some sort of frilly undead opossum with a skeletal tail and toothy mouth where her sternum should be, "You ok? You look kind of lost."

"Oh, uh, it's fine!" Jack stops, unsure of where he even wants to go, "I'm new, I just got past the weird door tunnel monster like, yesterday."

"The Snarl, you mean?" The possum tilts her head, "I'm Keerah by the way, but yeah the big scary boss thing at the start of the game is called the Snarl, you're supposed to try and run from it but it always catches you and you end up in this damsel in distress situation and black out it's An Ordeal!"

Silence, "I just sorta... ran straight at it?" Jack laughs awkwardly and fiddles with his claws. Keerah gawks.

"No way?? No... way??? You can DO that??" She makes a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat, "Jeeze, that's probably what broke the game last night, you went full hero and confused it."

His head snaps up, "That can happen!?"

"No! No, I was just teasing, sorry." Keerah reaches over and pats Jack's paws, "The glitches have been a thing for awhile but they've never been this bad before, like sure sometimes an npc would lag out or something but never whatever the hell last night was." She shivers, "Hopefully maintenance fixed everything... so, where ya headed if you don't mind me asking?"

Jack just shrugs, trying to keep his mind off of the... everything, "Dunno, I'm like brand spanking new at all this, I don't even know what the main storyline is..."

"Oh that's because there really isn't one! Quests, plots, and character motivations all vary by server, so players have complete control over their play experience," she grins in a wistful kind of way, "Isn't it great?"

"Yeah... great... uh, where do I want to go if I want to take up a quest?" Might as well actually play the game instead of standing around, waiting to get spooked

Keerah points towards the massive Lego brick wall that seems to wrap around the entire town, "Head back towards the doll hospital and go north until you hit the barracks, you can't take any real quests until you learn how to fight, y'know how it is with these kinds of games..." she looks like she's turning to go at first but stops herself, "Oh! Before I forget, let's add each other as friends!"

She produces a cute pink coffin shaped smartphone and holds it out for Jack to take. There's a moment of awkward silence, "I don't... know how to do that yet."

"Just check your pockets, it's ok, this game really hates holding your hand when it comes to mechanics, everyone was a confused noob once in their life!" Keerah smiles again and the caster chat fills with heart emojis. Jack will now die for this complete stranger.

He finds his pockets, and his phone, along with the prescription bag he got from Ribbon. He hands it to Keerah and watches her enter her information into his contacts the same way one would do a normal phone.

Cool, not everything in here is ridiculous then.

The phones are swapped back and the two part ways.

The barracks aren't hard to find, a squat Lego brick building sprouting from the inside of the huge wall like a tumor.

It's dim inside, and crowded with new players sparring against each other. Some with swords, some with magic.

Others seem to bend the darkness to their will.

Another player let's out an ear splitting cry and sends their sparring partner flying through a nearby wall.

"Well... looks like I'm in the right place..." Jack muses. A mangled looking stuffed dog strides up to him, missing an eye and more patches than plush, his fur has been stained camo print and he looks deeply unpleasant to be around.

"You there!" He barks, the remaining fluff on his top lip looks like a droopy mustache, "What's your business here?"

"I came to train!" Jack barks right back, the old dog looks taken aback but just starts to laugh heartily.

"Well then, why didn't you say so! Welcome, new recruit to the first day of your new life in service to Haven and all those who live safe within her walls, my name is Sargent Barker and it's my job to whip limp ragdolls like you into shape!" Barker turns quick on his heel and marches away, "Come along now, we don't have all night."

Jack follows, his excitement evident in the way he wiggles, bouncing up into a rare binky. Barker stands before a wall covered in weapons, each polished so bright that Jack can see his reflection.

"Now then, I can't train you until I know what you want to be, so go ahead and pick whatever speaks to you, and we'll go from there." The old army dog stands aside, hands behind his back. He's wearing little polished black boots on his feet, that's not entirely important to the situation right now, but Jack things it's awful cute...

The wall glimmers with promise and dulls with the dust of heros past. Jack stands there, trying to decide, while the chat loses its entire mind trying to get him to pick the sick looking anime sword in the top right. His hand ghosts over the one thing that looks out of place, a bandaid with a smeared lipstick print on it. He looks at Barker, and the Sargent tilts his head, "Ah... the Ragged, toys that have been loved to death by their humans and are now more patches than fluff..." he clears his throat, "Not that I'd know anything about that! They're a peculiar class of folk, can heal themselves as well as their friends on the field of battle, and they know more than anyone how to strike down the Fears that plague mankind, would you like to be one of them?"

A pause. That didn't sound like him at all, he broke things, he didn't fix them! He was a manmade monster, not fucking Mercy! He opened his mouth to reply to Barker when the cheerful background music slammed to a literal screeching halt. The entire world seemed to bend and slant, like a cardboard box in a trash compactor. The npcs lost their textures, t-posing brokenly as their heads twitched and snapped back in ways that shouldn't be possible.

"Another glitch, hopefully it will pass." The fear in Jack's voice is evident, he can taste his own lies.

None of the players seem to be able to move, just standing there, helplessly watching as the world becomes flat and colorless. Textures and lighting melting away until there is nothing but the bare framework of the game all around them. Escape is impossible, any attempts to log out fills the screen with endless error messages.

Jack swore and screamed, but made no sound.

The ground beneath them all became a chasm yet again. That same impossibly black pit that stretched forever and ever.

Hands snaking up through the emptiness, grabbing players the way one plucks fruits from the vine.

Long and disfigured fingers with far too many joints wrapped around Jack, leaving him only slivers to see through.

Down.

Down.

Down.

The darkness swallowed him whole and the entire stream suddenly goes dark.

[be-more-chill-evan-hansen]

BLACK FRIDAY SPOILERS

The following post contains spoilers for the new musical, Black Friday, by Team Starkid. Continue reading at your own risk. 

MY FAVORITE PARTS FROM THE BLACK FRIDAY DIGITAL TICKET + OTHER COMMENTARY (IN ORDER OF HOW THEY APPEAR) WHILE WATCHING IT FOR THE 4TH OR 5TH TIME [contains very harsh and explicit language]

**These points will be brought up in another post (involving the Hatchetfield Universe theories)

The ENTIRETY of the Wiggly jingle at the beginning

Jaime saying “his belly’s so squishy!” while jumping up and down

The tights

“Uncle Wiley, where does Wiggly come from?”

James Tolbert (Team Starkid choreographer-turned-actor) STOLE the show

Curt Mega’s dancing in that song killed me

“DO THE WIGGLE!”

ROBERT AND JAMES DANCING WAS EVERYTHING

**Paul still doesn’t like musicals? (I have a theory of where this show takes place in the Hatchetfield Universe but that’s for another post)

The way Paul looks at Emma when she’s on her Cabbage Patch Kid rant!

“I’m Paul. I’m Emma’s...boyfriend.”//“Well, we haven’t put a label on it yet.”//“But we are intimate.” (Bonus: Emma’s glare)

Paul is still awkward I love him.

“I do not get flashbacks. I remember bad things vividly.”

“Thank you for your service.”//“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Ski-ball sucks.” (I wholeheartedly disagree but whatever)

Grace Chastity is Tom’s babysitter for Tim confirmed

Okay. Okay. Okay. OKAY. 

TOM JUST WANTS TO MAKE IT UP TO HIS SON BECAUSE HE FEELS GUILTY ABOUT THE CRASH I’M SOFT

DYLAN SAUNDERS STILL STEALING HEARTS

WHY DO YOU GIVE DYLAN ALL OF THE HEART-WRENCHING SONGS????? I DON’T NEED TO CRY AT 4AM

THE LIGHTING 

 “Excuse me, miss. Do you think it’s okay for me to park here?”//“Yeah, it says ‘no parking at any time’ but I’m sure the loading trucks can just park across the street. Does that work for you?”

“If I won’t support my drinking habit, who will?”

“Hark, the herald angels sing. Glory to a newborn king. A fuckin’ furry little monster’s gonna make me a pile of cash.”

“Tell me, Lex. Do you know why they call it Black Friday?”//“Because it comes after Thursday?”

“Well, friend-o. I have a feeling that these little babies are going to take you so far into the black that you ain’t never comin’ back.” *long uncomfortable pause*

“Oh, you’re gonna make a killin’. That’s an Uncle Wiley’s Toys guarantee!”

FRANK HUGGING THE BOX OF WIGGLYS

“Hark, the herald angels sing. Glory to a newborn king. Peace on Earth, and lots of money. MONEYMONEYMONEYMONEY just for ME.”

JON’S VOICE AS WIGGLY I CAN’T

“mALL security we got a shoplifter. Drop that doll!” (His voice crack killed me oh my God)

HIS OUTFIT (The first time I saw him I went “Oh my God he’s emo”)

“Where’s my sister?”// “Oh no.” *stares dramatically* “Hannah?” *even more dramatic* “Is that what you’ve been telling me every day for the past four weeks? To pick up your kid sister?” *grabbing Lex* “Oh, I must’ve forgot because I’m so stupid.” Ethan needs to take up drama

“Do I gotta put a leash on you like a dog, or my cousin Oliver?” 

“Don’t pull her.”//*voice crack* “I’m nOt.”

“Alright banana split.” i’m not crying 

“You see this hat? This was gifted to me by a great warrior.” *Lex laughs*/*Ethan turns around slowly* “Don’t you fuckin’ laugh.”

“I’d make a great dad, I’m just sayin’.” (Ethan isn’t a horrible person he’s just misguided)

“My mom’s a bitch!”

Honestly the way Ethan looks at Lex

*in the middle of singing* “That’s not how cameras work, babe.”

Hannah’s dancing

ROBERT’S WIGGLES DURING “We’re missing in action.”

“Dear mom, it’s been real."

“I’d say you did your best, but I’m not a liar.”//“Oh, L-I-E-R, babe.”//“We get it Ethan, you’re a good speller.”

“PS: Get yourself a new trailer, because this one? Is BROKE AS SHIT!”

Robert in skinny jeans. Can Robert wear skinny jeans more often please?

Hannah doing the “smoking” thing with her hands.

“Hannah! What the fuck is this [imitating it]?That better be fucking FLOSS.”

UGH LAUREN AS LINDA MONROE IS LEGENDARY

“That’s called a bribe, sir, and it’s illegal...or it should be.”

“I have four boys. Four beautiful, blond, boys.”

“Do you really think your children are better than everyone else’s.”// “In so many words, YES.”

“I hope you don’t get a Wiggly. I hope you fucking die.”

“Well, my children were accidents.”

“Stop crying, Gerald. I wasn’t talking to you.”

The way Tom and Becky looked at each other when they met again ugh.

Whatever that song is called when the Hatchetfield citizens were gossiping about it like I think it’s called “What Do You Say?” or something?

“Tom’s put on some weight.”

“I heard Tom is seeing things.”

Jon is serving looks.

The dance they did when they said “all the years that had fun” killed me

Curt Mega is a treasure

“It’s cold out.”//“Nothing really.”//“How are things?”//“Haven’t seen it.”

“Oh my, God, it’s a train-wreck.”//“My favorite.”//“Give me my tub of popcorn.”//“Just skip to the fucking.”//“She’d never--.”//“Either way this is torture porn.”

“I think I’ll step in and save her.”// “You don’t have half of a chance, bitch.”

“THERE, she looked at his crotch.”//“He looked at her boobs.”

“I like dolls. I’m just kidding. I don’t like dolls. At least, not like that.”// “I missed you.” *everyone freaks out*

The dance that looks like a beating heart around them I love.

“Did you know if you spend money, your kids will love you maybe.”

COREY DORRIS NEEDS APPRECIATION BYE

“Give us your fucking money. Give us your fucking cash.”

SERIOUSLY I CAN’T WAIT FOR THIS RECORDING

“Do we have any morality.”

“What’s a grown man going to do with 85 dolls?”// “Well, one will stay in the box for posterity. One will be used exclusively for bath time.”

“If you’re going to make with the hysterics, TAKE IT TO MACY’S.”// “How dare you. Are you hearing this, Gerald? Yes, call my attorney.”

“I’ll tickle one doll, and one doll will tickle me.”

The bidding war.

“Get your hands off her.”// “Fuck YOU.”

The lighting slowly gets red when they start bidding.

“$800.”//“$3.”//“Can I use these coupons?”

“Well, if you’re not going to sell me that doll, I guess I’ll just gonna have to take it.”

“If he gets one, I’m getting four.” *Linda climbs the counter like Draco*

So the lighting during “Feast or Famine” is just???? The green and red??? Like holiday colors but at the same time it’s representative of greed and rage???? 

Just all of “Feast or Famine”

“What’s shaking banana, you okay?” I’M HAVING FEELINGS UGH

“What’s up with that grammar. Even I know it’s ‘more badder’.” Ethan no

ETHAN NO

“Give me that fucking doll I’m in a hurry.” Okay, Jeff you freaking gremlin man

WHO BRINGS A KNIFE SHOPPING?? Unless he stole that, too.

“Do you see him? Do you see him? Do you see him?”//“YES, I fucking see him!”

James as “Obama” I’m crying

“I’ll hold onto the little...uh...whippersnapper.”

“While you three devise a strategy, I’ll hold on to the little friend.”// “Shut the fuck up!”

“You’re nothing more than a Harvard Law School community organizing prick!” I’M SCREAMING

“Take one step closer to my fwendy-wend and I’ll rip your fucking throat out with my own teeth.”

“No, he’s mine! Back off or I will send a laser-guided ballistic missile to your house in Denver. You’ll be scraping off what’s left of your kids off the FUCKING pavement.”

“MORRIS. Give me that COCK-SUCKING MOTHERFUCKING COCK-A-DOODLE-DOLL” CURT MEGA IS A TREASURE 

“I’ll bite your dick off!”

THE AUDIENCE (AND MY) REACTION TO MCNAMARA 

*Obama voice* “Oh, I’m gonna vomit.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I let myself in.”// “Into the oval office?”

“Monsters and Men” IS A BOP

*yeets the Wiggly off stage*

“DECK THE HALLS” IS A BOP

I would 100% watch “Santa Claus is Going to High School” unironically

“Jingle! Jangle! If anyone sees two elves in my locker, I’ll get expelled for sure.”

The dancing UGH

Lauren is the cutest elf ever

PART THREE OF LAUREN AND ROBERT DOING A CUTE DANCE TOGETHER

“What the fuck am I watching?”

Becky talking about her ex-husband breaks my heart. I would die for her.

“You say you killed your family. I hope I killed mine.” My heart is breaking help me

Becky and Tom are freaking CUTE

“Take Me Back” is the cutest song ever

All of the times the characters mention other dimensions and stuff??? Each has a different context, but Joey’s character did say that Hatchetfield was a special town earlier in the show so????

All of the making out I’m done

Becky’s leg

“I knew you weren’t Santa.”//“A red tricycle.”//“SANTA!” *starts making out*

“This is the best movie ever!”

Robert has to make out with two people every day.

**PEIP deals with Paranormal, Extraterrestrial, and Interdimensional stuff, so if TGWDLM was Extraterrestrial, and BF is Interdemensional, will Nerdy Prudes Must Die be Paranormal? Will we see PEIP again? [I’M GOING TO MAKE A SEPARATE POST ABOUT THE THEORIES WITHIN THE UNIVERSE]

**“There are many dimensions, sir.”

“You want to send me into the fucking Twilight Zone to have a sit-down with the devil?”

“They will build him his birth canal.” Ew

Sherman Young is so freaking creepy

“Wiggly is good. Wiggly is just.”

“Bring forth the infidels.”

*as Linda walks onto the stage* “MOTHER MOTHER MOTHER”

“I dislike that word, Gerald. Cult. No, it’s a new, exciting religion that I started.”

“I’ve met God, He had nothing nice to say about you.”

“Adore Me” is a BOP

“You’ll kneel before me. Kiss my toe.”

“I will destroy everything, and then I will destroy everything. I guarantee I’ll destroy everything in my path. Unless I get what I--shit, Gerald.”

The followers repeating “I get what I shit.”

THE TIE AROUND JON’S HEAD KILLS ME

“I want you to know what I mean when I say my evil shit, ‘kay?”

TEAM STARKID PLEASE MAKE LAUREN A VILLAIN MORE OFTEN

“What’s shaking banana?” DON’T DO THIS TO ME

Evil Ethan hurts me

Hannah doesn’t deserve this

“I’m in the Black and White now. It’s just like California. It never ends.”

“I swear on my own grave.” I’M

Hannah calling Wiggly out on his bullshit

“Well, Webby is a stupid bitch.” JON UGH

“I’m going to eat you riiiight the fuuuuck nowwwww.” This scene just makes me want to give Hannah a hug

“We don’t get tricked. We’re grown-ups.” GROWN-UPS ARE THE ONLY ONES BEING TRICKED I CAN’T WITH THIS MUSICAL

“Tom, how could you? You let her get away!”

Dylan jumping at an audience member

I know people think that Ethan’s magic hat thing was bullshit but like the syringe missed Hannah so like?? 

“You think that in the Netherlands they care about some toy? Hah! Nah, they’re too busy enjoying their free vacations and free health care.”

Made In America is A BOP

THE SNIGGLES

BIG WIGGLY

I feel like Made in America won’t have the same punch on the soundtrack.

Joey’s falsetto

R.I.P. General John McNamara

“MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKER!”

“Uh, oh, Mr. Prezy-wez. It seems you’ve misplaced your bomby-womb. Don’t worry. I’m sure it will turn up somewhere.”

“We’ve lost Moscow, sir.”

“He baited us into World War Three.”//*Wiggly giggles* “That tickles.”

“Is this what I live for? To be choked in a toy store?”

“Black Friday” is such a beautiful song though

“Did I need her more than she needed me?” I’m crying please stop

“I’m authorizing you to use my firearm.”

“Monsters and Men” reprise is PERFECT

“Kids don’t want that piece of shit.”//“What?”//“They’re all into Fortnight, dude!”

“I mean, you’re like 40! You probably think your life is over!”

“Everyone is dying, and that includes me, too.” Jeff is a lyrical genius but he needs to back off of whatever angsty juice he’s drinking.

“If I fail you one more time, the punishment won’t match the crime, cause there’s no pain that could ever explain how I let you down.”

“I failed you once, and I will fail again.” I cried when I watched this the first time

“If I Fail You” is such an emotional song

“Alright, let’s go.”//“Fuck, yeah! Should I move these boxes first?”//“Fuck, yeah.”

Charlotte? Where did you come from???

“The only man that’ll have her now is Jack Daniels.”

“And you, you little shit.” Says Draco, the little shit.

“A magic hat? That’s ridiculous. Only dolls are magic.”

“Is this some kind of a joOoOoOoke?”

“Answer me, or I’ll cut your mouth open with my FUCKING KNIFE.”

“You’re a fucking moron.”// “Then you’ve been out-fucked by a fucking moron.”

Lauren’s wiggles during “He will wigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle his way into life.”

“Wiggle” is such a silly song but the harmonies and choreography????? Iconic.

ROBERT’S TWIRL???

JAMES’ DEATH DROP????

EVERYONE’S SEPARATE WIGGLES????

The crying when Becky shot Linda.

“Gerald? It’s Gary. Yep, we need to talk about the will. Goldstein!”

The red light that symbolized Wiggly being on fire.

The followers deciding to burn with Wiggly.

“I have this cooky, reclusive Biology professor.” *audience loses their shit*

“What am I supposed to do without my iPhone?”//“Wear a watch?”

“What If Tomorrow Comes” is such a haunting song

Kendall’s voice is so GOOD!

HOT CHOCOLATE BOY?

MR. DAVIDSON?

BILL?

The dabbing

Hannah and Lex hugging

Paul hugging Emma and Bill

The Hot Chocolate Boy and the Cinema Kid holding hands honestly adorable and I lowkey ship

A little bit of instrumentals from “Not Your Seed” in the end-credit music?? (From the lyric “Look what happened, nightmare time.”)

That’s it. It’s very long, but those were either my favorite parts or small things I noticed. Mostly just my thoughts.

[angelicthor]

forgive me father

pairing: priest!bucky barnes x reader

summary: father james isn’t your average priest. 

warnings/genre: +18 only, smut - pretty much pwp, unprotected sex, spanking

masterlist 

a/n: another repost but this had some major editing - 2016 me couldn’t write for shit, thats for sure 

Church was not where you wanted to be heading on a Friday night that was for sure, but your mother was unable to make it and you promised her that you would drop off the cakes she had made for the bake sale. You hadn’t actually entered a church since you were a girl, preferring to a lifestyle that was slightly at odds with the way the parish would have you live.

The heavy wooden doors were open and you walked straight in, finding it empty. Your brows creased in confusion as to where the priest could be and you decided to go look for him, venturing to the back of the church towards the office space there and knocking on the closed door, the sound echoing loudly throughout the otherwise silent building. The door swung open and your mouth dropped open at what stood before you.

He cannot be the Priest...

You looked into the pale blue eyes of the man before you, taking in the dark brown locks that fell to his shoulders and his jawline that looked sharper than steel. The roguish smirk that graced his face gave him every vibe a priest should definitely not have.

“A-Are you the Priest?” You stuttered out, unsure just how a man that looked like that lived a life of celibacy.

He chuckled as he tapped the white collar around his throat and your eyes fell to his slender fingers, mind racing with the sinful possibilities of what he could do with them.

“This thing’s a bit of a clue, ain’t it doll?” He asked bemusedly, the deep timbre sparking all kinds of wicked thoughts. The dark glint in his eye made you wonder if he knew what he was doing to you?

You'd never seen a priest like him before, that was certain: when you used to come to church as a girl with your mother they were all balding old men who wore socks and sandals, there was never anything even remotely sexually appealing about them, but this guy was roaming his eyes over you like he wanted to put you on your knees and teach you how to worship and god help you, you would let him.

He tilted his head back towards his office, “Did you want to come in?”

Nimbly nodding your head, you followed him into the office, shutting the door behind you.

“I-uh, I just brought my mom’s cakes for the bake sale, she couldn’t make it so I said I’d drop them off,” You told him, licking your lips to try to counteract the sudden dryness of your mouth, his eyes following the movement like a hawk.

You stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as he came back from around his desk to pluck the tin out of your hands, his fingers running over yours more than they needed to. Your breath hitched as your head snapped up, noticing how close you two actually were to each other.

“Thank you,” his husky voice could be felt on the skin of your face, a burning igniting in your cheeks in response. You watched mesmerized as his teeth captured his bottom lip, pulling it inwards, and all you could think was about how much you wanted to bite his lips yourself.

Shaking your head at your shameful fantasies, you introduced yourself to him.

“I’m Father James,” He extended his hand out to you, “But my friends all call me Bucky.”

His touch electrified you, sending a slight shiver down your back and you could not figure out what it was about this man that made you react in such a way.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in service, Y/N?”

Your eye’s went wide, worried you’d offended him for not showing up to services.

“Uh- No,no, I’m not a very religious person I guess?”

His eyebrow raised in question at you, “Oh, why not?”

Your head titled to the side and without thinking you answered him, “I don’t know, I guess I just like sinning to much to give it up.”

Your mouth fell open when you realized what you said, your brain scrambling to think of an excuse that could get you out of what you’d just revealed. Whilst you were sputtering for something - anything - to say, you failed to notice how Father James' breathing accelerated as his gaze darkened.

He cut off your rambling by pressing his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his large hands carelessly dropping the tin and pulling your hips flush against his so you could feel the hard bulge already there. You gasped into his mouth and he took the opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth in a dirty kiss. You were stunned to say the least, thoughts racing with how a priest that you had just met no less, was now kissing you with an unrivaled passion; you thought about how wrong it was, not only was he a priest but you were in a church, that was like double the sin and oh my god his lips feel nice.

Hell - I'm definitely going to hell.

When he gently nibbled on your bottom lip, you were gone, surrendering yourself completely to him, eyes slipping shut as you threaded your fingers through his hair and returned his attentions tenfold.

Oh fuck it, I never took a damn vow.

He walked you backwards until the back of your legs hit the large wooden desk in the center of the room, his lips leaving yours to trail kisses down your jaw and throat as you clung to him. He effortlessly lifted you onto the desk and you marveled at his hidden strength, hands trailing down his arms and feeling the defined muscles hidden under his shirt. A particular sharp nip where your shoulder had you gasping, eyes shooting open and meeting his, feeling just as disheveled as he looked.

“So darlin’, just how much do you like sinning?” His voice was raspy, thick with desire which only served to fuel your own.

The feeling of his hard cock pressed against your core coupled with the lust-blown look in his eyes gave you a burst of confidence and so you slowly traced the front of his shirt with your fingertip, lips ghosting along the shell of his ear as you whispered; “Why don’t you find out, Father?”

The growl that tore from his throat caused your pussy to clench in need; his lips returning to yours with renewed vigor as his hand slowly crept up your thigh, pulling your skirt up with it. His fingers starting to stroke against your clothed core where wet patch was already visible, only adding to the stimulation you could feel on your clit as you whined into his mouth, your hips rolling to try and increase his gentle pressure on your swollen clit.

His fingers pressed harder against you in response, a high pitched cry escaping you as you shamelessly rutted against his hand, ignoring the smug smirk that played on his lips as he watched you so desperate for his touch. His hands left you much to your chagrin, quickly pulling the dress over your head, leaving you in just your underwear in the middle of his study. He unhooked your bra and flung it to the side before pushing your shoulders down onto the desk and languidly pulling your panties down your legs, dropping them on the floor without a care before slowly lowering to his knees right in front of your bare core. Yanking your legs apart, he hooked your knees over his shoulders, hot breath fanning over your wet cunt as your writhed at the sensation, silently pleading with him to touch you already as you fingers tugged at his hair. You could feel the corners of his lips turn up into a smirk as he ghosted his mouth down the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.

“Please.”

The word tumbled from your mouth like a desperate prayer and it was all he needed to hear before he dived between your folds, tongue working dexterously over you as he lapped up your wetness as if it was being poured from the holy grail itself. His tongue traced around clit in light circles that made you dizzy before your body lurched as he inserted on thick digit into your tight cunt before quickly adding another, curling them against your front wall until he found the spot that made you cry out like a heavenly choir.

It didn’t take long for you to fall apart, his talented tongue paired with his fingers ruthlessly hitting just the right spot inside off you overloading your senses until your toes were curling and your back arched as pleasure flooded your every nerve.

“Fuck Doll, you taste divine” he groaned against the skin on your thigh, biting softly before licking away the sting as he watched you come down from your high.

Wordlessly, you pulled him up to you, pressing your lips to his in a hurried kiss and tasting yourself on his tongue. The combination of your arousal and his own taste making your head spin.

“James, please, I need you - fuck - I need you to fuck me,” your voice was strained, your desperation leaking into your words.

He chuckled at you when you tried to buck your hips into him, smirking down at you: “You only had to ask Doll.”

He made a show of slowly unbuckling his belt and pulling down the zipper to his pants, pushing them down just enough so that he could free his hard cock from his boxers and pumping his length slowly in his hand as his eyes greedily wandered over your naked form. He made no attempt to removed any item of clothing and you eyes widened as you realized he was going to fuck you whilst wearing his clerical clothes, dog collar and everything.

You yelped when he flipped you over, pushing your chest flat against the desk, sensitive nipples pressed against the cold wood causing you to hiss. He lifted your hips so your toes barley touched the floor, hands wandering over your skin, tracing over your sides and back as you wiggled beneath his touch, desperate to have him fill you already. One hand traveled down your back, grabbing a handful of your hair whilst the other had a death-grip on your hip. You knew he was adding to the collection of bruises he’d already caused on your skin.

Your hands clawed at the desk beneath you as he ran the tip of his throbbing cock between your glistening folds, your arousal already returned tenfold since your orgasm. You tried to push your hips back but his grip remained strong: “Fuck. James please, please-”

The scream that tore from your throat cut of your plea as Bucky bottomed out, thrusting his hips flush against your ass. Giving you no time to adjust, he set a brutal pace, slamming his hips forward, watching with sadistic glee as your ass bounced against the force of his hips. You let the cries fall freely from your lips, adding to the grunts Bucky was releasing as well as the sickening sound of skin slapping against skin.

“Fuck! So - oh fuck - fucking tight, doll,” He panted out through gritted teeth, “So fucking wet too, this all for me Y/N?”

You moaned in response but apparently that wasn’t what he wanted as his hand came down harshly on your left cheek, the skin throbbing where his hand had hit.

“Fuck, yes! Yes! All for you, James, only you.”

You arched your back up more, pulling him deeper within you so he hit your g-spot with every thrust. You both groaned at the new feeling, your pleasure building within you, begging to be released.

“Please, so close, so fucking close. Don’t stop,” Your begging payed off as his fingers crept to your clit, rubbing tight circles over it, pushing you over the edge and into oblivion.

Your legs shook as your hands clawed at the desk beneath you, needing something to cling to as your orgasm pulsed through your body, filling you with euphoria. The feeling of your slick walls clamping down on his cock threw Bucky over the edge too, his hands grasping your hips as his stuttered into yours. An animalistic growl falling from his lips as you milked him of his cum.

His body collapsed on top of yours, arms caged around your head as you both came down from your highs. The silence of his study now filled with deep breaths and pants as you tried to regain composure. You could feel him pressing soft kisses to the nape of your neck and confusion washed over you at what the hell had just transpired.

“So, uh, what kind of a Priest are you exactly?”

You felt him smirk against your skin before he nipped the lobe of your ear, whispering darkly: “The bad kind.”

[the-winter-witcher]

I was going to ask if flowers reader and Geralt were on the job 24/7 or if they get time off and then I thought about how some service dogs are trained to know that their vest means they’re working. So now I have the image of geralt and reader torturing someone but wearing bright yellow vests with patches that say “working: do not pet”

They are on the job 24/7 but this has made me giggle so much!

Instead of do not pet they're aimed at Jaskier and they say "working: do not fuck"

[smokeycemetery]

JA ONE XTC

JA • • •

KEVIN HELDMAN lives in New York. This is his first piece for "Rolling Stone." (ROLLING STONE,FEB 9,1995)

THE FIRST TIME I meet JA, he skates up to me wearing Rollerblades, his cap played backward, on a street corner in Manhattan at around midnight. He's white, 24 years old, with a short, muscular build and a blond crew cut. He has been writing graffiti off and on in New York for almost 10 years and is the founder of a loosely affiliated crew called XTC. His hands, arms, legs and scalp show a variety of scars from nightsticks, razor wire, fists and sharp, jagged things he has climbed up, on or over. He has been beaten by the police -- a "wood shampoo," he calls it -- has been shot at, has fallen off a highway sign into moving traffic, has run naked through train yards tagging, has been chased down highways by rival writers wielding golf clubs and has risked his life innumerable times writing graffiti -- bombing, getting up.

JA lives alone in a one-bedroom apartment. There's graffiti on a wall-length mirror, a weight bench, a Lava lamp to bug out on, cans of paint stacked in the corner, a large Metropolitan Transportation Authority (MTA) sticker on the side of the refrigerator. The buzzer to his apartment lists a false name; his phone number is unlisted to avoid law-enforcement representatives as well as conflicts with other writers. While JA and one of his writing partners, JD, and I are discussing their apprehension about this story, JD, offering up a maxim from the graffiti life, tells me matter-of-factly, "You wouldn't fuck us over, we know where you live."

At JA's apartment we look through photos. There are hundreds of pictures of writers inside out-of-service subway cars that they've just covered completely with their tags, pictures of writers wearing orange safety vests -- to impersonate transit workers -- and walking subway tracks, pictures of detectives and transit workers inspecting graffiti that JA and crew put up the previous night, pictures of stylized JA 'throw-ups' large, bubble-lettered logos written 15 feet up and 50 times across a highway retaining wall. Picture after picture of JA's on trains, JA's on trucks, on store gates, bridges, rooftops, billboards -- all labeled, claimed and recorded on film.

JA comes from a well-to-do family; his parents are divorced; his father holds a high-profile position in the entertainment industry. JA is aware that in some people's minds this last fact calls into question his street legitimacy, and he has put a great deal of effort into resisting the correlation between privileged and soft. He estimates he has been arrested 15 times for various crimes. He doesn't have a job, and it's unclear how he supports himself. Every time we've been together, he's been high or going to get high. Once he called me from Rikers Island prison, where he was serving a couple of months for disorderly conduct and a probation violation. He said some of the inmates saw him tagging in a notebook and asked him to do tattoos for them.

It sounds right. Wherever he is, JA dominates his surroundings. With his crew, he picks the spots to hit, the stores to rack from; he controls the mission. He gives directions in the car, plans the activities, sets the mood. And he takes everything a step further than the people he's with. He climbs higher, stays awake longer, sucks deepest on the blunt, writes the most graffiti. And though he's respected by other writers for testing the limits -- he has been described to me by other writers as a king and, by way of compliment, as "the sickest guy I ever met" -- that same recklessness sometimes alienates him from the majority who don't have such a huge appetite for chaos, adrenaline, self-destruction.

When I ask a city detective who specializes in combating graffiti if there are any particularly well-known writers, he immediately mentions JA and adds with a bit of pride in his voice, "We know each other." He calls JA the "biggest graffiti writer of all time" (though the detective would prefer that I didn't mention that, because it'll only encourage JA). "He's probably got the most throw-ups in the city, in the country, in the world," the detective says. "If the average big-time graffiti vandal has 10,000 tags, JA's got 100,000. He's probably done -- in New York City alone -- at least $5 million worth of damage."

AT ABOUT 3 A.M., JA AND TWO OTHER WRITERS go out to hit a billboard off the West Side Highway in Harlem. Tonight there are SET, a 21-year-old white writer from Queens, N.Y., and JD, a black Latino writer the same age, also from Queens. They load their backpacks with racked cans of Rustoleum, fat cap nozzles, heavy 2-foot industrial bolt cutters and surgical gloves. We pile into a car and start driving, Schooly D blasting on the radio. First a stop at a deli where JA and SET go in and steal beer. Then we drive around Harlem trying a number of different dope spots, keeping an eye out for "berries" -- police cars. JA tosses a finished 40-ounce out the window in a high arc, and it smashes on the street.

At different points, JA gets out of the car and casually walks the streets and into buildings, looking for dealers. A good part of the graffiti life involves walking anywhere in the city, at any time, and not being afraid -- or being afraid and doing it anyway.

We arrive at a spot where JA has tagged the dealer's name on a wall in his territory. The three writers buy a vial of crack and a vial of angel dust and combine them ("spacebase") in a hollowed-out Phillies blunt. JD tells me that "certain drugs will enhance your bombing," citing dust for courage and strength ("bionics"). They've also bombed on mescaline, Valium, marijuana, crack and malt liquor. SET tells a story of climbing highway poles with a spray can at 6 a.m., "all Xanaxed out."

While JD is preparing the blunt, JA walks across the street with a spray can and throws up all three of their tags in 4-foot-high bubbled, connected letters. In the corner, he writes my name.

We then drive to a waterfront area at the edge of the city -- a deserted site with warehouses, railroad tracks and patches of urban wilderness dotted with high-rise billboards. All three writers are now high, and we sit on a curb outside the car smoking cigarettes. From a distance we can see a group of men milling around a parked car near a loading dock that we have to pass. This provokes 30 minutes of obsessive speculation, a stoned stakeout with play by play:

"Dude, they're writers," says SET. "Let's go down and check them out," says JD. "Wait, let's see what they write," says JA. "Yo -- they're going into the trunk," says SET. "Cans, dude, they're going for their cans. Dude, they're writers. "There could be beef, possible beef," says JA. "Can we confirm cans, do we see cans?" SET wants to know. Yes, they do have cans," SET answers for himself. "There are cans. They are writers." It turns out that the men are thieves, part of a group robbing a nearby truck. In a few moments guards appear with flashlights and at least one drawn gun. The thieves scatter as guard dogs fan out around the area, barking crazily.

We wait this out a bit until JA announces, "It's on." Hood pulled up on his head, he leads us creeping through the woods (which for JA has become the cinematic jungles of Nam). It's stop and go, JA crawling on his stomach, unnecessarily close to one of the guards who's searching nearby. We pass through graffiti-covered tunnels (with the requisite cinematic drip drip), over crumbling stairs overgrown with weeds and brush, along dark, heavily littered trails used by crackheads.

We get near the billboard, and JA uses the bolt cutters to cut holes in two chain-link fences. We crawl through and walk along the railroad tracks until we get to the base of the sign. JA, with his backpack on, climbs about 40 feet on a thin piece of metal pipe attached to the main pillar. JD, after a few failed attempts, follows with the bolt cutters shoved down his pants and passes them to JA. Hanging in midair, his legs wrapped around a small piece of ladder, JA cuts the padlock and opens up the hatch to the catwalk. He then lowers his arm to JD, who is wrapped around the pole just below him, struggling. "J, give me your hand, "I'll pull you up," JA tells him. JD hesitates. He is reluctant to let go and continues treadmilling on the pole, trying to make it up. JD, give me your hand." JD doesn't want to refuse, but he's uncomfortable entrusting his life to JA. He won't let go of the pole. JA says it again, firmly, calmly, utterly confident: "J give me your hand." JD's arm reaches up, and JA pulls JD up onto the catwalk. Next, SET, the frailest of the three, follows unsteadily. They've called down and offered to put up his tag, but he insists on going up. "Dude, fuck that, I'm down," he says. I look away while he makes his way up, sure that he's going to fall (he almost does twice). The three have developed a set pattern for dividing the labor when they're "blowing up," one writer outlining, another working behind him, filling in. For 40 minutes I watch them working furiously, throwing shadows as they cover ads for Parliament and Amtrak with large multicolored throw-ups SET and JD bickering about space, JA scolding them, tossing down empty cans.

They risk their lives again climbing down. Parts of their faces are covered in paint, and their eyes beam as all three stare at the billboard, asking, "Isn't it beautiful?' And there is something intoxicating about seeing such an inaccessible, clean object gotten to and made gaudy. We get in the car and drive the West Side Highway northbound and then southbound so they can critique their work. "Damn, I should've used the white," JD says.

The next day both billboards are newly re-covered, all the graffiti gone. JA tells me the three went back earlier to get pictures and made small talk with the workers who were cleaning it off.

GRAFFITI HAS BEEN THROUGH A NUMBER OF incarnations since it surfaced in New York in the early 70s with a Greek teen-ager named Taki 183. It developed from the straightforward writing of a name to highly stylized, seemingly illegible tags (a kind of penmanship slang) to wild-style throw-ups and elaborate (master) "pieces" and character art. There has been racist graffiti political writing, drug advertising, gang graffiti. There is an art-graf scene from which Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiac, LEE, Futura 2000, Lady Pink and others emerged; aerosol advertising; techno graffiti written into computer programs; anti-billboard graffiti; stickers; and stencil writing. There are art students doing street work in San Francisco ("nonpermissional public art"); mural work in underground tunnels in New York; gallery shows from Colorado to New Jersey; all-day Graffiti-a-Thons; and there are graffiti artists lecturing art classes at universities. Graffiti has become part of urban culture, hip-hop culture and commercial culture, has spread to the suburbs and can be found in the backwoods of California's national forests. There are graffiti magazines, graffiti stores, commissioned walls, walls of fame and a video series available (Out to bomb) documenting writers going out on graffiti missions, complete with soundtrack. Graffiti was celebrated as a metaphor in the 70s (Norman Mailer's "The Faith of Graffiti"); it went Hollywood in the '80s (Beat Street, Turk 182!, Wild Style); and in the '90s it has been increasingly used to memorialize the inner-city dead.

But as much as graffiti has found acceptance, it has been vilified a hundred times more. Writers are now being charged with felonies and given lengthy jail terms -- a 15-year-old in California was recently sentenced to eight years in a juvenile detention center. Writers have been given up to 1000 hours of community service and forced to undergo years of psychological counseling; their parents have been hit with civil suits. In California a graffiti writer's driver's license can be revoked for a year; high-school diplomas and transcripts can also be withheld until parents make restitution. In some cities property owners who fail to remove graffiti from their property are subject to fines and possible jail time. Last spring in St. Louis, Cincinnati, San Antonio and Sacramento, Calif., politicians proposed legislation to cane graffiti writers (four to 10 hits with a wooden paddle, administered by parents or by a bailiff in a public courtroom). Across the nation, legislation has been passed making it illegal to sell spray paint and wide-tipped markers to anyone under 18, and often the materials must be kept locked up in the stores. Several cities have tried to ban the sales altogether, license sellers of spray paint and require customers to give their name and address when purchasing paint. In New York some hardware-store owners will give a surveillance photo of anyone buying a large quantity of spray cans to the police. In Chicago people have been charged with possession of paint. In San Jose, Calif., undercover police officers ran a sting operation -- posing as filmmakers working on a graffiti documentary -- and arrested 31 writers.

Hidden cameras, motion detectors, laser removal, specially developed chemical coatings, night goggles, razor wire, guard dogs, a National Graffiti Information Network, graffiti hot lines, bounties paid to informers -- one estimate is that it costs $4 billion a year nationally to clean graffiti -- all in an effort to stop those who "visually laugh in the face of communities," as a Wall Street Journal editorial raged.

The popular perception is that since the late 1980s when New York's Metropolitan Transit Authority adopted a zero tolerance toward subway graffiti (the MTA either cleaned or destroyed more than 6,000 graffiti-covered subway cars, immediately pulling a train out of service if any graffiti appeared on it), graffiti culture had died in the place of its birth. According to many graffiti writers, however, the MTA, in its attempt to kill graffiti, only succeeded in bringing it out of the tunnels and train yards and making it angry. Or as Jeff Ferrell, a criminologist who has chronicled the Denver graffiti scene, theorizes, the authorities' crackdown moved graffiti writing from subculture to counterculture. The work on the trains no longer ran, so writers started hitting the streets. Out in the open they had to work faster and more often. The artistry started to matter less and less. Throw-ups, small cryptic tags done in marker and even the straightforward writing of a name became the dominant imagery. What mattered was quantity ("making noise"), whether the writer had heart, was true to the game, was "real." And the graffiti world started to attract more and more people who weren't looking for an alternative art canvas but simply wanted to be connected to an outlaw community, to a venerable street tradition that allowed the opportunity to advertise their defiance. "It's that I'm doing it that I get my rush, not by everyone seeing it," says JA. "Yeah, that's nice, but if that's all that's gonna motivate you to do it, you're gonna stop writing. That's what happened to a lot of writers." JD tells me: "We're just putting it in their faces; it's like 'Yo, you gotta put up with it.'"

Newspapers have now settled on the term "graffiti vandal" rather than "artist" or "writer." Graffiti writers casually refer to their work as doing destruction." In recent years graffiti has become more and more about beefs and wars, about "fucking up the MTA," "fucking up the city."

Writers started taking a jock attitude toward getting up frequently and tagging in hard-to-reach places, adopting a machismo toward going over other writers' work and defending their own ("If you can write, you can fight"). Whereas graffiti writing was once considered an alternative to the street, now it imports drugs, violence, weapons and theft from that world -- the romance of the criminal deviant rather than the artistic deviant. In New York today, one police source estimates there are approximately 100,000 people involved in a variety of types of graffiti writing. The police have caught writers as young as 8 and as old as 42. And there's a small group of hard-core writers who are getting older who either wrote when graffiti was in its prime or long for the days when it was, those who write out of compulsion, for each other and for the authorities who try to combat graffiti, writers who haven't found anything in their lives substantial or hype enough to replace graffiti writing.

The writers in their 20s come mostly from working-class families and have limited prospects and ambitions for the future. SET works in a drugstore and has taken lithium and Prozac for occasional depression; JD dropped out of high school and is unemployed, last working as a messenger, where he met JA. They spend their nights driving 80 miles an hour down city highways, balancing 40-ounce bottles of Old English 800 between their legs, smoking blunts and crack-laced cigarettes called coolies, always playing with the radio. They reminisce endlessly about the past, when graf was real, when graf ran on the trains, and they swap stories about who's doing what on the scene. The talk is a combo platter of Spicoli, homeboy, New Age jock and eighth grade: The dude is a fuckin' total turd. . . . I definitely would've gotten waxed. . . . It's like some bogus job. . . . I'm amped, I'm Audi, you buggin . . . You gotta be there fully, go all out, focus. . . . Dudes have bitten off SET, he's got toys jockin' him. . . .

They carry beepers, sometimes guns, go upstate or to Long Island to "prey on the hicks" and to rack cans of spray paint. They talk about upcoming court cases and probation, about quitting, getting their lives together, even as they plan new spots to hit, practice their style by writing on the walls of their apartments, on boxes of food, on any stray piece of paper (younger writers practice on school notebooks that teachers have been known to confiscate and turn over to the police). They call graffiti a "social tool" and "some kind of ill form of communication," refer to every writer no matter his age as "kid." Talk in the graffiti life vacillates between banality and mythology, much like the activity itself: hours of drudgery, hanging out, waiting, interrupted by brief episodes of exhilaration. JD, echoing a common refrain, says, "Graffiti writers are like bitches: a lot of lying, a lot of talking, a lot of gossip." They don't like tagging with girls ("cuties," or if they use drugs, "zooties") around because all they say is (in a whiny voice), You're crazy. . . . Write my name."

WHEN JA TALKS ABOUT GRAFFITI, HE'S reluctant to offer up any of the media-ready cliches about the culture (and he knows most of them). He's more inclined to say, "Fuck the graffiti world," and scoff at graf shops, videos, conventions and 'zines. But he can be sentimental about how he began -- riding the No. 1, 2 and 3 trains when he was young, bugging out on the graffiti-covered cars, asking himself, "How did they do that? Who are they?" And he'll respectfully invoke the names of long-gone writers he admired when he was just starting out: SKEME, ZEPHYR, REVOLT, MIN.

JA, typical of the new school, primarily bombs, covering wide areas with throw-ups. He treats graffiti less as an art form than as an athletic competition, concentrating on getting his tag in difficult-to-reach places, focusing on quantity and working in defiance of an aesthetic that demands that public property be kept clean. (Writers almost exclusively hit public or commercial property.)

And when JA is not being cynical, he can talk for hours about the technique, the plotting, the logistics of the game like "motion bombing" by clockwork a carefully scoped subway train that he knows has to stop for a set time, at a set place, when it gets a certain signal in the tunnels. He says, "To me, the challenge that graffiti poses, there's something very invigorating and freeing about it, something almost spiritual. There's a kind of euphoria, more than any kind of drug or sex can give you, give me . . . for real."

JA says he wants to quit, and he talks about doing it as if he were in a 12-step program. "How a person in recovery takes it one day a time, that's how I gotta take it," he says. You get burnt out. There's pretty much nothing more the city can throw at me; it's all been done." But then he'll hear about a yard full of clean sanitation trucks, the upcoming Puerto Rican Day Parade (a reason to bomb Fifth Avenue) or a billboard in an isolated area; or it'll be 3 a.m., he'll be stoned, driving around or sitting in the living room, playing NBA Jam, and someone will say it: "Yo, I got a couple of cans in the trunk. . . ." REAS, an old-school writer of 12 years who, after a struggle and a number of relapses, eventually quit the life, says, "Graffiti can become like a hole you're stuck in; it can just keep on going and going, there's always another spot to write on."

SAST is in his late 20s and calls himself semiretired after 13 years in the graf scene. He still carries around a marker with him wherever he goes and cops little STONE tags (when he's high, he writes, STONED). He's driving JA and me around the city one night, showing me different objects they've tagged, returning again and again to drug spots to buy dust and crack, smoking, with the radio blasting; he's telling war stories about JA jumping onto moving trains, JA hanging off the outside of a speeding four-wheel drive. SAST is driving at top speed, cutting in between cars, tailgating, swerving. A number of times as we're racing down the highway, I ask him if he could slow down. He smiles, asks if I'm scared, tells me not to worry, that he's a more cautious driver when he's dusted. At one point on the FDR, a car cuts in front of us. JA decides to have some fun.

"Yo, he burnt you, SAST," JA says. We start to pick up speed. Yo, SAST, he dissed you, he cold dissed you, SAST." SAST is buying it, the look on his face becoming more determined as we go 70, 80, 90 miles an hour, hugging the divider, flying between cars. I turn to JA, who's in the back seat, and I try to get him to stop. JA ignores me, sitting back perfectly relaxed, smiling, urging SAST to go faster and faster, getting off, my fear adding to his rush.

At around 4 a.m., SAST drops us off on the middle of the Manhattan Bridge and leaves. JA wants to show me a throw-up he did the week before. We climb over the divider from the roadway to the subway tracks. JA explains that we have to cross the north and the southbound tracks to get to the outer part of the bridge. In between there are a number of large gaps and two electrified third rails, and we're 135 feet above the East River. As we're standing on the tracks, we hear the sound of an oncoming train. JA tells me to hide, to crouch down in the V where two diagonal braces meet just beside the tracks.

I climb into position, holding on to the metal beams, head down, looking at the water as the train slams by the side of my body. This happens twice more. Eventually, I cross over to the outer edge of the bridge, which is under construction, and JA points out his tag about 40 feet above on what looks like a crow's-nest on a support pillar. After a few moments of admiring the view, stepping carefully around the many opportunities to fall, JA hands me his cigarettes and keys. He starts crawling up one of the braces on the side of the bridge, disappears within the structure for a moment, emerges and makes his way to an electrical box on a pillar. Then he snakes his way up the piping and grabs on to a curved support. Using only his hands he starts to shimmy up; at one point he's hanging almost completely upside down. If he falls now, he'll land backward onto one of the tiers and drop into the river below. He continues to pull himself up, the old paint breaking off in his hands, and finally he flips his body over a railing to get to the spot where he tagged. He doesn't have a can or a marker with him, and at this point graffiti seems incidental. He comes down and tells me that when he did the original tag he was with two writers; one he half carried up, the other stopped at a certain point and later told JA that watching him do that tag made him appreciate life, being alive.

We walk for 10 minutes along a narrow, grooved catwalk on the side of the tracks; a thin wire cable prevents a fall into the river. A few times, looking down through the grooves, I have to stop, force myself to take the next step straight ahead, shake off the vertigo. JA is practically jogging ahead of me. We exit the bridge into Chinatown as the sun comes up and go to eat breakfast. JA tells me he's a vegetarian.

IF YOU TALK TO SERIOUS GRAFFITI writers, most of them will echo the same themes; they decry the commercialization of graf, condemn the toys and poseurs and alternately hate and feel attached to the authorities who try to stop them. They say with equal parts bravado and self-deprecation that a graffiti writer is a bum, a criminal, a vandal, slick, sick, obsessed, sneaky, street-smart, living on edges figurative and literal. They show and catalog cuts and scars on their bodies from razor wire, pieces of metal, knives, box cutters. I once casually asked a writer named GHOST if he knew another writer whose work I had seen in a graf'zine. "Yeah, I know him, he stabbed me," GHOST replies matter-of-factly. "We've still got beef." SET tells me he was caught by two DTs (detectives) who assaulted him, took his cans of paint and sprayed his body and face. JA tells similar stories of police beatings for his making officers run after him, of cops making him empty his spray cans on his sneakers or on the back of a fellow writer's jacket. JD has had 48 stitches in his back and 18 in his head over "graffiti-related beef." JA's best friend and writing partner, SANE SMITH, a legendary all-city writer who was sued by the city and the MTA for graffiti, was found dead, floating in Jamaica Bay. There's endless speculation in the grafworld as to whether he was pushed, fell or jumped off a bridge. SANE is so respected, there are some writers today who spend time in public libraries reading and rereading the newspaper microfilm about his death, his arrests, his career. According to JA, after SANE's death, his brother, SMiTH, also a respected graffiti artist, found a piece of paper on which SANE had written his and JA's tag and off to the side, FLYING HIGH THE XTC WAY. It now hangs on JA's apartment wall.

One morning, JA and I jump off the end of a subway platform and head into the tunnels. He shows me hidden rooms, emergency hatches that open to the sidewalk, where to stand when the trains come by. He tells me about the time SANE lay face down in a shallow drainage ditch on the tracks as an express train ran inches above him. JA says anytime he was being chased by the police he would run into a nearby subway station, jump off the platform and run into the tunnels. The police would never follow. KET, a veteran graffiti writer, tells me how in the tunnels he would accidentally step on homeless people sleeping. They'd see him tagging and would occasionally ask that he "throw them up," write their names on the wall. He usually would. Walking in the darkness between the electrified rails as trains race by, JA tells me the story of two writers he had beef with who came into the tunnels to cross out his tags. Where the cross-outs stop is where they were killed by an approaching train.

The last time I go out with JA, SET and JD, they pick me up at around 2 am. We drive down to the Lower East Side to hit a yard where about 60 trucks and vans are parked next to one another. Every vehicle is already covered with throw-ups and tags, but the three start to write anyway, JA in a near frenzy. They're running in between the rows, crawling under trucks, jumping from roof to roof, wedged down in between the trailers, engulfed in nauseating clouds of paint fumes (the writers sometimes blow multicolored mucous out of their noses), going over some writers' tags, respecting others, JA throwing up SANE's name, searching for any little piece of clean space to write on. JA, who had once again been talking about retirement, is now hungry to write and wants to hit another spot. But JD doesn't have any paint, SET needs gas money for his car, and they have to drive upstate the next morning to appear in court for a paint-theft charge.

During the ride back uptown the car is mostly quiet, the mood depressed. And even when the three were in the truck yard, even when JA was at his most intense, it seemed closer to work, routine, habit. There are moments like this when they seem genuinely worn out by the constant stress, the danger, the legal problems, the drugging, the fighting, the obligation to always hit another spot. And it's usually when the day is starting.

About a week later I get a call from another writer whom JA had told I was writing an article on graffiti. He tells me he has never been king, never gone all city, but now he is making a comeback, coming out of retirement with a new tag. He says he could do it easily today because there is no real competition. He says he was thinking about trying to make some money off of graffiti -- galleries. canvases, whatever . . . to get paid.

"I gotta do something," the writer says. "I can't rap, I can't dance, I got this silly little job." We talk more, and he tells me he appreciates that I'm writing about writers, trying to get inside the head of a vandal, telling the real deal. He also tells me that graffiti is dying, that the city is buffing it, that new writers are all toys and are letting it die, but it's still worth it to write.

I ask why, and then comes the inevitable justification that every writer has to believe and take pleasure in, the idea that order will always have to play catch-up with them. "It takes me seconds to do a quick throw-up; it takes them like 10 minutes to clean it," he says. "Who's coming out on top?"