#the violence of language versus her language of violence

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sweet Pumpkin Chapter 1

Summary:  Bucky is struggling with the dating world and knows that if he ever hopes to have a serious relationship, that he needs to get through his touch deprivation issues.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch people, or them to touch him, but after decades of pain he doesn’t know how to accept physical intimacy from others, or how to give it himself.  He hires Y/N, an intimacy coach and professional cuddler, who comes highly recommended.  Will his heart be able to distinguish between a service given versus real love?

Warnings: mentions of past violence and past sexual assault, language, physical intimacy, eventual smut

**curvy reader

Next chapter

Bucky had walked out on his date.  He rubbed his face harshly in embarrassment and shame.  She seemed nice, but was overly flirtatious, and kept reaching out and touching his hand, his arm, even ran her fingers through the front of his hair, then had all the audacity to trace her finger over his lower lip.  He’d pulled back harshly at that point, excusing himself to the bathroom, but instead swerved to the host stand, paid for the food and ran like his life depended on it.  He’d gotten home and immediately showered, scrubbing the spots she’d touched nearly raw.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be touched.  He actually wanted it…craved it.  But not like that.  She was a stranger, and had felt some kind of entitlement to his personal space right off the bat.  

He’d heard of people who suffered from touch starvation.  Sam had hinted at it once when Bucky flinched away from the friendly touch of a fellow agent they had been working with on a stealth mission.  Bucky knew he had a problem, but didn’t realize just how bad it was until the date.  He sighed harshly as he dried himself off from the shower and got into his pajamas for the night.  He picked up his phone and texted Sam.

B: What was the name of that intimacy coach you had mentioned? 

S: Y/N Y/L/N.  I’ll send you her info.

Bucky thanked him once her contact information popped up on his screen.  He braced himself as he clicked on her phone number.  He sent her a message, being vague but asking for help.  He didn’t expect to get an answer back, seeing as how it was almost 11:00 p.m., but was surprised when she texted back within a few minutes.

Y/N: I’ve been wondering when you would reach out.  How does Friday at 7:00 p.m sound?

Bucky gawked at her message.  

B: Do we know each other?

Y/N: No, Sam just talks too much.  ;) 

He rolled his eyes.  Of course Sam had already talked to her about him.

B:  Now I’m worried.

Y/N:  Don’t be.  

B:  Okay.  Friday at 7.

Y/N:  Awesome.  Here’s my address…

***

Friday at 6:57 Bucky stood outside her door.  He was fighting off his panic and stress.  He needed this.  This would be good for him.  If he ever hoped to move on and have some semblance of a normal life he’d have to be able to accept love from others.  He wanted this.  He swallowed harshly and sighed before knocking on the door.

There were shuffling sounds from the other side and then it swung open.  A woman stood in front of him that looked like the physical embodiment of softness.  She was short, plump, and dressed in an all-off-white sweater and sweatpant outfit that looked like it was made of faux sherpa.  She smiled up at him pleasantly, her eyes twinkling.  

“Sergeant Barnes?” she asked.  

Bucky just stared at her for a moment.  Even her voice was soft.  He nodded before clearing his throat.  “Bucky.  Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Yep,” she nodded.  “Come on in.”  She stepped back and held her arm out as a welcome gesture.  Bucky gave her a quick, tight smile before walking inside.  As she shut the door behind him he looked around her apartment.  It was just as soft as she was.  All the colors were muted with pastel greens, more off-whites mixed with rich browns from wooden accents littered around the decor.  There were plants all along the windows, and since nightfall was setting in she had an array of small lamps on and candles lit around the main living room.  In one corner of the room was a large mattress covered in the softest looking blankets and pillows he’d ever seen.  Every surface seemed soft and cozy.

“Are you thirsty?  I can get you some water, soda, juice, even alcohol if you need some liquid courage,” Y/N asked from behind him.

Bucky turned to look at her.  She was watching him, the side of her mouth upturned in a small smirk.  He felt like she could see through him, making him feel unnerved but also strangely understood at the same time.  “I’m alright for now, thank you.”

Y/N nodded and then walked past him to one of the large chairs near the furthest window.  “Well, how about you make yourself comfortable and tell me why you’re here?” she said, plopping down on the chair and grabbing a notebook and pen on a small side table sitting next to it.

Bucky blinked before toeing off his shoes and hanging up his jacket on the hook near the front door.  He slowly walked over to the chair opposite her and sat down.  She was watching him again, the smirk never leaving her face.  “Well, uh, I’m not sure how much you already know about me and my past,” he started, his hands wringing in his lap, not quite meeting her gaze.  

Y/N hummed.  “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, born March 10, 1917, which would make you 107 years old now.  Grew up in Brooklyn, New York.  Drafted to join the army in WWII, where you were unfortunately captured, experimented on and tortured by Hydra.  You’re best friend and newly made Captain America, Steve Rogers, rescued you and other prisoners and then made a team called the Howling Commandos.  You were a sniper.  You fell from a train during a mission and were presumed dead in 1943.  And then reappeared decades later as the fist of Hydra, the Winter Soldier, where you were brainwashed and forced to do their bidding.  From there it gets a bit muddy with specifics and government cover ups, but you made it out the other side a free man.  And now I’m assuming you’re here talking to me of all people because after all that, you now struggle with being physically close to others because you’re afraid of more pain and being taken advantage of, yes?”

Bucky blinked at her in shock, slowly nodding his head.  “Did Sam tell you all that?”

Y/N shook her head.  “I do my research.  Sam said you’re a great guy who just needs some help.  And any friend of Sam’s is a friend of mine.”

Bucky slightly smirked back at her.  “And how are you friend’s with Sam?”

“I was in his grief counseling support group at the VA,” Y/N said.  

“Well you know an awful lot about me, but I know nothing about you.  Makes me feel a bit out of my depth,” he confessed, his eyes narrowing at her.

“What do you wanna know?” Y/N asked, setting the notebook and pen back down on the side table, lifting her feet up to sit criss-cross.

Bucky took that as an invitation to get comfortable and leaned back in the chair more.  “Same stuff you know about me would be a good start.”

Her smile widened.  “Alright.  I’m Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.  Born Y/B/D.  Grew up in Queens, New York.  I came from a military family, but never joined myself.  I lost my brother to an IED in Baghdad.  My parents died a year later from a car accident.  Then I was sexually assaulted by a close friend.”  Bucky frowned.  “I went through a few years of severe depression, got some serious therapy then help from an intimacy coach.  It made a huge impression on my life so I decided to get licensed and trained to be one, too.  Now I’m here,” she said, looking around her apartment.  “Any questions?”  Bucky shook his head.  “So what are you hoping to accomplish from this?” she asked him, reaching for her notebook again but not opening it.

He sighed again, looking down at his hands.  “Sam and I talked about being touch starved.  I’ve been through…a lot of shit,” he paused, swallowing harshly.  “A lot of pain, in all different forms.  But I want…I want to be able to open myself up to physical i-intimacy in the future,” he stuttered.  “I went on a date the other night, and she was nice, but she kept touching me, and I couldn’t…I…” he shook his head, closing his eyes and frowning.

“Where did she touch that bothered you?” Y/N asked softly.

Bucky shifted in the chair, opening his eyes to glance at her.  “My hand, my arm, but it was worse around my hair and my face,” he said quietly.

Y/N nodded in understanding.  “That makes sense.  Our heads, hair, our faces, are a lot more intimate than people think they are.  So to have what I’m assuming was a stranger just randomly touch your hair and your face was triggering.”  Bucky nodded.  “Would it be okay if I move my chair close to yours?”

Bucky glanced at the space between their chairs.  He slowly nodded and Y/N stood, dragging her chair close to where he was sitting.  She sat back down and scooted the chair a little closer so that her crossed legs were next to his legs.  She gave him an encouraging smile.  “So how does it feel having me sit close to you like this?”

Bucky looked down at the few inches that separated their legs.  “It’s fine,” he said.

Y/N nodded then scooted closer until her knees were touching his knees.  “How about now?”

He could feel a small uptick in his heartbeat, but he breathed through it.  “It’s…okay,” he said.

Y/N moved away from him, keeping the inches between them.  “So not very comfortable,” she said with a knowing smile.  Bucky huffed a silent laugh.  “How about if I shook your hand?” she asked, sticking out her right hand.

Bucky quickly shook her hand. “That’s fine.”

“Because it’s formal,” Y/N assumed, her eyes narrowing at him.

“Yes,” he agreed.

She nodded again and released his hand.  “Can I hold your hand?”

Bucky blinked rapidly.  “Okay.”  She waited for him to reach his hand out first, then leaned forward and slowly grasped his hand so that she was holding his fingers.  They sat like that in silence for a moment.

“How does that feel?” Y/N asked, watching his face intently.

“It’s…”  Bucky was breathing deeply, trying to keep any panic at bay.  He couldn’t tell if it was the contact itself or the fact that it was contact with a pretty girl that was making his heart rate spike again.  “It’s nice.”

Y/N smiled and then her thumb swept over his knuckles slowly.  “And that?”

Bucky suddenly felt a rush of emotions.  He couldn’t understand why, but something about her firm but gentle grasp on his fingers grounding him and then the soft affection of her thumb across his knuckles brought tears to his eyes.  “That’s really nice,” he whispered, not trusting his voice.

Y/N kept holding his hand, her thumb randomly rubbing across his knuckles and squeezing his fingers lightly.  She leaned forward a little more.  ���If I gave you permission to touch me, would that help?”

Bucky quickly sniffed then looked at her quizzically.  “Touch you where?”

“My hands, my arms, my face,” she said.  “The same places you were touched and unsure of.”

Bucky glanced at each spot on her body where the girl on the date had touched him.  “Maybe,” he shrugged.  Y/N let go of his hand and put her hands on her knees.

“Would it be easier for me to look at you while you do it or close my eyes?” she asked him.

“Close your eyes,” Bucky nodded.  He wasn’t sure he could handle her deep, knowing gaze while he was allowed to touch her.

Y/N smiled at him then closed her eyes.  Bucky looked at her for a long moment before reaching his hand out.  He touched her right hand first, laying his hand flat on it, then paused.  She didn’t move or flinch, her eyes staying closed.  He then slipped his hand up to her forearm and gave it a light squeeze.  Bucky then lifted his hand toward her head.  His fingers were shaking as he slowly moved some of the hair at her forehead away like his date had done.  Then his fingers traced down the side of her face until he was cupping her cheek.  

Bucky sat there the longest.  Y/N didn’t move, her face completely neutral as her eyes barely moved behind her eyelids.  She was completely trusting in him.  “Open your eyes,” he whispered.  Y/N opened her eyes, blinking a couple of times as she looked at him.  He stared at her, taking courage in her kind eyes.  “She touched my lips,” he said, frowning in trepidation.

Y/N merely nodded at him.  Bucky inhaled deeply, then watched as his thumb moved along her cheek until he swept it across her lower lip slowly.  She still didn’t move, her gaze never straying from his eyes.  When he was done he dropped his hand from her face, but didn’t lean away.  “How did that feel?” she asked quietly.

“Good,” he answered just as quietly.

Y/N’s smile reappeared.  “Good.”  A ping from her phone had her breaking eye contact as she glanced at it.  “Wow, it’s already time,” she said, leaning away from him.  She smiled at him again.  “I’d like for you to keep coming, Bucky, so we could work toward building your trust and comfort level with touch.  Would you like to continue?”

Bucky nodded, his own smile brightening his face.  “Yes, I’d like that.”

Y/N smiled even wider.  “Then I’ll see you next week.”

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess @cjand10 @railmesebstan

[novashelby]

The Girl With the Smile~Coming Soon!

Pairing: Arthur ShelbyxMaid!OFC

Warning(s): Age-gap, canon typical violence, period typical attitudes and language, power dynamics, future smut.

Summary: Matilda "Tilly" Swanson was a klutz who never really wanted to be a maid. Arthur Shelby was a manic wreck who never wanted the maid to begin with. What happens when a miserable old sod starts to find comfort in his younger and silly maid?

Excerpt:

He wanted to tell her that she was shit at her job, but what did Arthur Shelby know of dusting and polishing? Probably more than she, but not enough to intervene. He stood back and watched her wobble on a wooden stool that should have been trashed since before she was born. But the man was a hoarder, or so his brothers accused. He called it memories, they called it trash, and she called it vintage. Bloody fookin 'ell, vintage.

It was when they first met.

"Your home is very old-fashioned, Mr. Shelby," she said, her first loop around the property. Her fingers caressed the wooden fixtures and the marble accents.

"Thank you," he said. "I built it just a few years ago." Was he getting old? He had questioned himself, taking a quick look in the mirror for any stray grays. But it was when she commented you must be a man of old taste, that he answered, "I thought I was quite on trend."

Tilly slowly turned to him, wincing slightly. "Oh, my apologies. Well, you look good for your age? I don't know many fifty year olds who have kept their hair color."

"I'm forty-seven."

I will be posting my full length chapters for this multi fic on here, Ao3, and Wattpad. It will be quite different in what I normally write. It will contain a good amount of humor, fluff, some angst, romance, and of course, smut. However, the smut will be more focused on the emotional side versus raunchy.

Comment below if you want to be added to the taglist! :)

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Unwanted Attention [Hotch x Reader]

Prompt: Having to travel to the middle of nowhere Ohio for a serial killer was bad enough, add to the fact that the local LEOs are looking a little too hard at JJ, Emily, and _y/n_ was seriously testing Aaron’s resolve. Lots of protective Hotch here! This is another @imagining-in-the-margins inspired fic for her Meet Cute Writing Challenge. I’m using the dialogue prompt: “Watch where you’re going!” “… You ran into me?!”

Category: Angst/comfort - (mostly comfort I think).

Word Count: 5.8K

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence (serial killer - kills via strangulation but nothing explicit) unwanted physical touch (groping of the behind and pubic area) misogyny, sexism, the U.S. police, language, brief mention of intimacy. 

A/N: Hi friends! I am very pleased with this one. I love writing Hotch with righteous anger. It just looks too damn good on him. I also love the duality of this man because one moment he is ready to bite someone’s head off and the next he only has eyes for you and he’s checking in and feeling guilty. You could read this story as a standalone or as a prequel to my story, Life can be Terrible, but At Least You're In It. (linked). I want to shout out @criminalskies for hyping me up while writing this. Last, if you enjoyed reading this, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! - Levi 

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

_f/c_ = favorite color 

_l/n_ = your last name

_y/h/c_ = yuur hair color 

Walnut Creek Ohio, who on the team had heard of it? Well apart from Spencer, because apparently he’d read a United States Atlas Map one night when his insomnia was bothering him, and he had retained all the information about nearly every tiny town that existed in the States. Spencer was rambling off facts about the tiny town stating, “There are 908 residents in the town as of 2017. It’s shocking that a serial killer would target such a small community where everyone has to know everyone else.” y/n, JJ, and Reid were all at the coffee station filling up cups. y/n pulled out her _f/c_ thermos. She always made sure that anyone who wanted coffee got to go first because her reusable metal container took about half the pot. y/n had finally wisened up after Emily and Spencer kept complaining about the coffee getting lukewarm, or worse, cold while sitting on the plane. Now her coffee stayed hot for hours if need be. She had bought the teammates that relied as heavily on caffeine as she did as Holiday or birthday gifts and the thermoses were stored away in one of her closets of her apartment, ready to be taken out and wrapped at the right moment. Spencer’s comment pulled her back to the present moments and she replied, “Nothing can stop a person going bad I guess. Not even a small town.” This stopped Spencer's comments on the location of the team's most recent case, and he shifted gears to talk about the psychological development of those raised in rural environments versus those raised in urban areas. y/n continued to listen to Spencer as he spoke, even if she couldn’t always keep up with his mile-a-minute commentary. She listened because Reid was a fount of knowledge and often a comment he made and maybe didn’t even remember would be helpful later on in the case. She also listened because sometimes the other members of the team didn’t when he spoke. It wasn’t that they didn’t think that what he was saying was important, it was just that they were trying to come up with their own thoughts and theories about the case. y/n was also guilty of tuning Reid out sometimes, but when she could listen to him, she did. 

y/n had always been more of a listener than one to contribute to the conversation early on. y/n felt better about talking once she had more information and that normally wasn’t until the team arrived at the case's location or even saw the first crime scene. Once y/n had the bigger picture, she was ready and able to hope in and give her thoughts. Before that time came, she would listen and think about her prior knowledge. Although it might be less exciting than guessing and formulating theories, she found that often some basic information or past cases or criminals was useful when leads dropped or the case seemed to go cold. In her process, she was thinking about the future. As she had integrated into the team full-time at the beginning, Derek teased her for writing so much down in a notebook. She highlighted any relevant information the team stated or facts that seemed relevant. Morgan had joked in good humor but as the first few cases came to a close, the whole team slowly realized that she was approaching these cases from another angle, one that proved to be highly valuable at important points.  

y/n settled next to Emily at her desk and pulled her go bag from underneath the space. The sound of Aaron’s door closing caught y/n’s attention. He was wearing that maroon tie she liked so much. She hadn’t told him that yet, it felt too trivial, but she really liked that tie on him. Aaron caught her eye for a moment and there was a small twinge in her chest before they quickly, discreetly looked away. Nobody knew that they were spending time together outside of work. They had to be discreet because it was mixing work and pleasure and in a place like the FBI, that didn’t just fly. y/n was sure Hotch knew everything about the rules and consequences of breaking those rules, but he hadn’t filled her in on those details. She had looked at the employee handbook but it was all legalese and it hurt her head. If she and Aaron did become more serious, and committed, she would ask him to interpret the confusing language for her. Thankfully they weren’t having a hard time keeping their work and private lives separate, yet. 

Aaron felt the normal thrill of heading out to a new case. He considered the word, ‘thrill,’ thinking it wasn’t the perfect synonym for the arrival of yet another slew of murders, but it certainly wasn’t excitement either. Excitement meant something happy, something to look forward to. ‘Energized,’ his brain offered. Mentally Aaron nodded along, That would work for now. He had to be energized for this work. He wasn’t a young man anymore but there had to be a strength and calmness with him. He was the leader and even with Rossi being on the team for over a year, his agents still looked to him to make this all work. His eyes found y/n’s and there he found the look of thrill. This was still so new to her, even though she had been on the team for a while. He looked away as always, not giving into any desires that lingered when he was paying attention to his newest agent. He was grateful that y/n was professional and polite and had the utmost decorum even though outside of work they hadn’t been entirely professional. The thought of their last non-work meeting at her apartment and her heavy breathing and soft sounds on her lips, as he worked over her clothed body with his hands brought a momentatry flush to his face. 

Hotch sobered as quickly as he had flushed as Dave came up beside him and said, “You ready for this?” Aaron looked over to his friend and bluntly replied, “As ready as possible, but it's still never easy.” Rossi nodded along as they both moved down the stairs and toward the parking lot. This line of work wasn’t easy. Aaron knew that every time his team left for a new case there was a chance that someone might get hurt, or even killed and no matter how good everyone was at their job, that possibility still worried him. y/n’s face popped up in his mind as he found his seat in the jet and he pushed away the thought. His relationship with her had shifted to something he wasn’t entirely sure he had under control. They hadn’t made anything official and hadn’t even said, “I love you,” yet. However, Hotch wasn’t a man who moved quickly, but as long as he and y/n had an open, honest conversation about where their feelings were headed, he wasn’t going to fight it. He had fought so many things, and people in his life that he didn’t have the desire to fight this too. Being around y/n felt good. It felt safe and he rarely got that in his life, so he was embracing it where he could. As JJ went over more of the facts and details regarding the case involving a serial killer wreaking havoc in the tiny town in Ohio, he shifted his full attention to what his media liaison was saying. 

As the jet landed on the tiny airstrip, everyone got out and into the waiting SUVs. Aaron drove with Emily, Spencer, and JJ while Rossi took y/n and Derek. Spencer and Emily were discussing the need to work well with the law enforcement in the town as they were likely ingratiate into all aspects of the community. Meanwhile, JJ was preparing a statement for the media. In the other car, Derek turned from the front seat and asked, “So what are we thinking in terms of prior knowledge _y/n_?” y/n turned her gaze to Morgan’s and said, “Well strangulation is such a common signature that we’re going to have to look for something more specific to get traction here. The photos do look like this guy is strangling people from behind and the unsubs killing fit men someone who doesn't want to face what they’re really doing? Or it could be that they despise their victims so much they can’t stand to see them again, even while killing them?” Morgan nodded and elaborated on the idea that the killer might see these men as a competition of some kind. As having something the unsub lacked. This information allowed those in Rossi’s car to start to form a physical profile of the unsub. As the team made it to the small local police station, everyone got out of the parked cars and a man who appeared to be in his fifties who was balding badly came out to greet them. 

Aaron stepped forward and extended his hand. The man took it and gave it a firm shake, saying, “I’m Officer Bronson. Thank you so much for you folks from coming out here.” Aaron nodded, replying, “I’m Agent, Hotchner and this is my team.” He indicated to the team, quickly introducing them. First, he gestured to JJ stating, “This is our media liaison, Jennifer Jareau.” JJ stepped forward and took the man’s slightly sweaty hand. Aaron moved through the rest of the team quickly, wanting to get the introductions over with and the real work started. He motioned to each of his agents saying, “This is David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Dr. Spencer Reid, _y/n_ _l/n_, and Emily Prentiss.” Each member nodded as Hotch said their name and Officer Bronson replied, Well welcome to Walnut Creek. I wish it was under happier circumstances. I’ll let you all get inside and out of this heat.” As the team moved into the small building, Aaron asked, “Is there a space where we can get organized and look at the evidence more easily?” Bronson nodded and led the team to a table at the back of a very small station and said, “Sorry it’s nothing fancy. I’ll have someone clean off the files and stuff off for you.” The man turned and semi-shouted, “Anderson, can you clear your junk off this table?” Anderson, a thirty-something-year-old moved around the team and got his things saying, “Sorry Chief.” Bronson looked to Aaron, almost for approval, and asked, “Will this do?” To which Hotch simply replied, “It’s fine.” 

As the team settled a little y/n looked at JJ with a ‘Are you kidding me?’ expression and then looked at Anderson who was placing his numerous files on another table. JJ rolled her eyes in return. The fact that one of the officers had open files possibly containing sensitive or private data out on a table for anyone in the room to see displayed the station's lack of professionalism. The team worked up a preliminary profile and Aaron told Officer Bronson that they were ready to address his unit. Bronson called his team to the side of the room and as the officers sat down, Aaron moved forward saying, “Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for your attention. My name is Aaron Hotchner and I’m the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. This is my team, and we’re here to coordinate with you to try and stop these killings as quickly as possible. If you have any questions please hold them to the end. We appreciate you working with us, and now I’ll let Derek Morgan deliver our preliminary profile to you.” 

Aaron stepped aside to let Derek deliver the profile. Hotch had asked Morgan to deliver the profile because something about the officers sitting in front of him didn’t seem like they were convinced that they needed the team's help. Given the fact that Derek was the closest in age to many of the officers, and he could be just as intense as Aaron if he wanted, Aaron thought that the men would respect Morgan over someone like himself or Rossi. It helped that Morgan also looked more like the policemen now listening with unveiled trepidation about the profile. This was another part of the job that Aaron disliked. He not only had to profile the unsub but the law enforcement officers as well. His team and the local authorities had to work together due to bureaucratic rulings and sometimes the officers didn’t want the Bau's assistance. The idea that the team was ‘taking over’ or ‘standing on their turf’ often caused conflict. Aaron always tried to nip this conflict early. His team didn’t need to worry about that and quite frankly they all had better things to do. Aaron looked at the ten seated men, as he listened to Morgan. Most of the officers were looking at Derek, but one or two were consistently looking over at JJ, y/n, and Emily. Aaron clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to sigh. He could tell whatever conflict his team and this police unit were going to have would be an uphill battle. 

Hotch noticed when the men he was working with paid a little too much attention to members of his team. Hotch couldn’t deny that y/n, JJ, and Emily were all beautiful, intelligent, and capable and that combination was attractive. However, that did not give these men a right to act lewdly or leer at them. As Derek wrapped up the profile, he fielded a few questions from the assembled crowd. With that, Chief Bronson dismissed his men. Aaron gathered the team and they broke into smaller units to look for any clues that might bring them closer to finding the unsub. Aaron, Spencer, and y/n were headed to the high school which was the scene of the latest killing. Rossi and Morgan were headed to the hospital to see the bodies of the victims to determine if there was more to the signature than just strangulation. Lastly, JJ and Emily were going to go to the press to provide a statement for the townspeople who were panicking and holding up the police phones making those who really needed help unable to get it. 

In the evening as the team regrouped at the station, there was the kind of frantic energy they got once the case had really started. y/n had lots of thoughts and was ready to see what the rest of the team had discovered. She knew she wasn’t going to see much sleep tonight, so she moved to the break room where the coffee pots normally were in police stations. As she approached the room she began to overhear a conversation going on inside. The snippet she heard was, “So who are you picking, Blondie, Brunette, or _y/h/c_?” There was a laugh before the other man in the room began saying, “What about all three?” There was more laughter at this and as the unseen man began saying, “But if you’re really making me choose…” y/n walked quickly away before she could hear the answer. As she moved back to the team she thought, ‘These guys really have no standards.’ She felt slightly repulsed but did her best to ignore the feeling. As she stepped back to the table, and Aaron looked over at her, he could see that something was wrong. A few minutes later, when he was finished listening to Spencer’s geographic profile, Hotch moved to stand next to y/n. In a quiet volume, he asked, “Is everything okay?” y/n looked up at him. His expression had the smallest hint of worry,  and she alleviated that fear by saying, “Yeah. It’s nothing.” Aaron nodded and said, “Okay. Tell me more about what you were saying to Derek about the point of impact, we might be able to get a height on the unsub with that information.” y/n nodded and jumped into the conversation. Aaron could tell that something was off about y/n, but he wouldn’t push it. He trusted her to handle things herself and if she needed to, he knew she would ask for help. 

The night wore on and eventually, the team moved to the tiny hotel the town had. There were barely enough rooms to fit them all. The town was very cozy and picturesque in its quaintness. y/n thought about this as she drove Derek and Rossi to the hotel. She assumed it was a nice place to grow up in. To grow old in. y/n wasn’t sure where these thoughts were coming from, but she chalked it up to tiredness and the case. Because for seven men there would be no growing old here or anywhere. The sadness of that realization only made her want to solve this case more badly. There were always a lot of emotions tied to the cases they worked on, and to protect herself, she had to try and stay disconnected from the pain and hurt that the victims and the victims' families went through. But she couldn’t always hold back those emotions and now was one of those times. As everyone settled in for the night and said their goodnights, which just meant ‘I’ll be sitting up in bed reading over the same evidence as you one door down,’ Aaron walked over to y/n and said, “Goodnight, y/n.” His brief interaction with her at the precinct from earlier in the day flashed in his head. He didn’t like it when she looked upset. It made him feel nervous, so he asked, “You’d tell me if something was wrong? Wouldn’t you?” The question came out of left field and y/n blinked for a moment, not really knowing why Aaron was asking. At this point, she had sort of forgotten the rude comments being made by the officers, so she replied, “Of course I would Aaron.” At her response, Hotch infinitesimally relaxed and the two headed for the elevator together. Rossi had seen the interaction between them. He didn’t hear what they said, or that y/n had used Hotch’s first name, but he couldn't help but feel that something was there between the two agents. Perhaps it was the way Aaron leaned down a little bit to be in earshot, or the way y/n looked at his friend like nothing else around her mattered. David wouldn’t say anything yet, but he was sure he was going to start paying more attention to Aaron. Rossi wasn’t against whatever was happening between his coworkers. Aaron had had a rough few months, and he thought the man deserved some comfort.

In the morning most of the team was out hunting leads. Derek and y/n had stayed back for a minute because _y/n_ thought she had seen something new in the geographical profile. They would both head to the sight of the first body once she had looked at the board again. y/n was standing, looking at the map, engrossed in the pins Spencer had pushed into all the significant locations thus far. She just barely acknowledged when Morgan said he was going to use the men’s room. She also didn’t notice when one of the officers came up behind her. The man extended a hand and grabbed her ass giving it a squeeze. At the unwanted touch, y/n whipped around saying, “Hey!” The phrases echoed around the nearly empty office. She looked at the man, clocking his name on his badge, Monroe. There was a moment of silence before y/n incredulously said, “What was that?” Monroe gave a laugh and said, “Sorry, babe. I thought you were interested.” With that, the officer quickly left, as he noticed Derek coming back from the bathroom. Monroe nearly brushed shoulders with Morgan as they both tried to fit through the door at the same time.

When Derek got into the room, he noticed that something was off about y/n. She was standing still with a look of shock and disgust on her face. y/n tried to fix her facial features back to normal, but Morgan had seen and quickly strode into the room next to her. Derek looked her over quickly and asked, “y/n, what’s wrong?” y/n looked to the floor for a second, biting the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t really believe what had just happened. For a moment she thought about lying but knew that Morgan would keep asking until she gave in. She sighed and looked up at Morgan’s worried face, saying, “That guy just groped me.” At hearing this, Morgan turned on his heel, but Officer Monroe was halfway out the door with Officer Anderson. They were both laughing at some unheard joke. It took everything in Derek to not go over to the two men and give Monroe an unadulterated piece of his mind. However, he knew that wasn’t his place really. And he wanted to make sure y/n was okay. He turned back to _y/n_ and asked, “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” y/n nodded her head no, saying, “No. I was just shocked, I guess.” Morgan nodded along and said, “It shouldn’t have happened, period. You need to tell Hotch.” y/n’s widened at the suggestion. It made sense of course. Issues like this were under his purview, but for some reason telling him about this made her hesitate. Before she could think about it too much Morgan repeated himself saying, “Hotch would want to know.” y/n put her palms up and said, “Fine, fine. I’ll tell him when he gets back.” Morgan gave her a look that made her say, “I promise I’ll tell him.” After a second of picturing that uncomfortable forthcoming conversation y/n said, “He’s gonna be so mad.” Derek could understand what y/n was saying but noted, “Maybe, but not at you, y/n.” There was another awkward silence before Derek finally said, “Do you need a few minutes, or would you like to head out?” Desperate for a distraction y/n, almost too quickly replied, “No. let’s go.” 

At the supermarket where the first victim had been found. Morgan and y/n took notes and got the security footage. It seems like they had a real lead by finding the license plate of the van that had dumped the deceased man in the alleyway near the store's load bay. However, the footage was too grainy to make out. After finishing watching the video, y/n moved to call Garcia and see if she could enhance the video quality while Derek asked the security guard who had found the victim in the morning some questions. When she wrapped up her call with Garcia, y/n briefly slumped against the outside wall; closing her eyes. She tried to think about why talking to Hotch about what had happened with Monroe was bothering her so much. She knew that Derek was right. Hotch wouldn’t be mad at her, at all. Maybe it was a feeling of embarrassment? y/n’s logical side of her brain said that she didn’t need to be embarrassed. She hadn’t groped anyone, but the feeling persisted. Maybe because talking about the incident meant being vulnerable in front of Aaron which was all fine and good when they were alone in her apartment. But having to do so at work was entirely different. y/n let out a breath deciding to push all her feelings back for a moment. She would deal with it later. For now, she moved back inside the rendezvous with Morgan. 

‘Later’ came as it always did. It was around five o’clock and the whole team was reconvening at the station. As the SUVs arrived one by one in the parking lot, everyone got out. y/n looked over the team. They all looked a little tired, but when didn’t they on a case? y/n felt the fatigue pull at her, but she knew she would find a second wind once she heard what everyone else had found out. She knew this unsub was here lurking in this little town, ready to kill again. She looked over to Aaron who was speaking to Emily about something. y/n desperately wanted coffee and she walked toward the front door as she got close, Officer Monroe walked out the door. His badge was off and it was clear that he was headed home for the day. y/n wondered if the man had a wife? Kids? The idea of it only made her more disgusted. As they neared each other she refused to make room for him on the sidewalk. She’d make him move aside for her. She wasn’t, however, going to look at him. y/n planted her gaze on the sidewalk. Much like Monroe’s unwanted touch that morning, she didn’t expect to walk into him full force. When she turned her face to the man he said, “Hey, watch where you’re going, sweetheart.” y/n could see that Monroe was actually enjoying this and she replied, “You ran into me!” Monroe smiled at seeing this woman like this -- uncomfortable. He had enjoyed the rush of her skin under his hands, and now he hoped for a repeat performance. Hardly thinking that there were others looking on, he quickly and forcefully placed a hand on her navel and then brushed downward. y/n stood stock still as this happened because she thought that it couldn’t possibly be happening. Not here in public, in broad daylight, in front of the whole team? It just couldn’t be happening. 

Aaron was chatting with Emily about the profile as he looked over the team to see how they were doing. As he looked at Morgan, and Morgan returned his gaze with a facial expression that said, ‘We need to talk.’ Aaron gave the man a nod and Morgan looked over to y/n who was walking forward the precinct. Her shoulders seemed pulled tight under her shirt but in a way that hid that she was trying to hide her stress. He watched as she walked into one of the police officers from yesterday who had been overly enthused by y/n, Prentiss, and JJ’s presence.  Aaron could barely hear the brief conversation between the two and as the word, “Sweetheart,” was thrown out, Aaron stiffened. And then it happened. He couldn’t fully see where or how far down the officer’s hand had landed because _y/n_ was blocking his view, but Aaron observed y/n stiffen, and that told him all he needed to know. 

Before y/n could find her voice and tell Monroe to ‘get the fuck off of her,’ Aaron’s clear sharp voice addressed the officer like a whip. Like a wound aimed at the man who dared to touch y/n. Aaron was over to y/n in an instant. He placed a hand on her shoulder, firmly but gently pulling her frozen body back and behind him. Aaron towered over Monroe, and he felt his blood boil. Aaron let a harsh breath out and said, “If you value your job, and your pension you will get your hand Off. My. Agent.” Aaron highlighted each word that evinced his anger. Behind him, _y/n_ felt a wave of relief from being pulled out of that situation. Quickly Spencer and Emily were pulling y/n farther away from the scene, but she could distinctly hear Hotch say, “Get in your car and leave. Now.” Derek watched as Monroe slinked away to his car looking defeated and small. Spencer and Emily walked with y/n into the precinct, asking if she was okay, and the team as a whole huddled around her to make sure she was really alright. When she had reassured them, everyone except for Hotch moved away from y/n. Aaron placed a hand on her forearm and led her to a chair. She sat and let the exhaustion of the case, disgust at Monroe's actions, and the feeling of his hand on her body overwhelm her for a moment. A shiver ran through her. Aaron knelt down on one knee to be more on eye level with y/n. If his words before had meant to intimidate and accuse, his tone now was one of reassurance and comfort. Aaron spoke professionally but with a hint of something more that spoke to their relationship outside of work. He asked, “Be honest with me. Are you okay? Are you hurt or bruised?” Aaron’s voice helped still her thoughts and she assessed her body before saying softly, “I’m not in any pain.” She didn’t answer his first question because she didn’t particularly feel alright, but she knew she was safe now. Especially now that she was with Aaron. Aaron registered this and asked, “Has this happened before while we’ve been here?” y/n swallowed and replied, “Yes, this morning right after everyone headed out for the day.” Aaron gave her that look that said, “Elaborate please.” y/n bit her bottom lip, wondering how to phrase what had happened. Not finding any more polite or dignified terms, she said, “Morgan had stepped out and I was focusing on the bulletin board and he, um, came up behind me and grabbed my ass.” She could see the anger, the controlled rage fire through him again and she wanted to say something to reassure Aaron that she really was alright, even if she wasn’t. However, he stopped her as the Chief of Police entered the building. Aaron turned his head back to y/n and said, “Excuse me for a moment.” Then with a tone of reassurance, he said, “This conversation isn’t over.” Hotch stood and looked at Emily who understood that he was asking her to sit with _y/n_. Prentiss moved to sit next to y/n. When this was done, Aaron turned his attention to the officer who had just entered the building and said, “Chief Bronson, your office, now.” His intonation left no room for questions or delays and the older man nodded and walked into his cluttered office with Aaron on his heels. Once the door was closed Hotch turned and he felt the anger bubble up to the surface again. As Bronson asked, “What seems to be the problem?” The man sounded nervous. 

From outside the glass-walled room, the team listened as their leader said, “One of your officers just assaulted a member of my team.” Bronson’s response was inaudible, but Hotch’s reply of, “What do I mean?” Could be heard clearly. At this, the team flinched, knowing that the man inside with Hotch was about to have his soul ripped from his body and handed back to him. Everyone listened as Aaron said, “What I mean is that just a few minutes ago, Officer Monroe had his hands on a member of my team in a private area. And that wasn’t the first time this has happened today.” Aaron took a steadying breath before continuing, “As much as I respect law enforcement and what you do, I’m highly concerned about what’s just happened. If someone under your authority thought they had the right to touch a federal agent, I fear what’s happening with normal residents of this town.” Bronson stumbled to find words and said, “Well I certainly don’t condone that behavior.” Aaron let out a harsh scoff, not truly believing the man saying, “Perhaps not, but that doesn’t change the fact that your officer felt entitled to do what he did. And I don’t think Monroe thought he was going to face any consequences, and I can only imagine that he assumed that because you’ve let him get away with behavior like this before.” After this, Hotch’s voice dropped lower so the team outside could no longer hear him. Derek said, “Well I think Officer Bronson has had his ‘Come to Jesus’ moment.’” That comment actually made y/n laugh and she felt a little better now that she could laugh at this whole situation. Hearing Aaron stand up for her like that made her feel warm inside in a comforted sort of way. Aaron finished unloading with the warning, “You’ll be receiving an ethics complaint from the Department of Justice as soon as I’m back in Quantico. You might consider cutting your losses before then.” With that, he got up and left the office. 

Later that evening in y/n’s room, she and Aaron sat. She was sitting on the edge of the bed facing Aaron who was in the only chair in the lamplit space. This was to be a continuation of their conversation from before. y/n looked over at Hotch and saw how perturbed he looked. She felt a tug in her chest seeing him like this. He already had to deal with so much and now there was this. She started the conversation in an attempt to soothe this new hurt by saying, “Hotch, it really wasn’t that bad. He didn’t hurt me, it was just unexpected.” At her words, he dipped his head and said, “It never should have happened, y/n. He touched you without your consent twice, and I couldn’t prevent it.” y/n frowned and felt that Aaron had to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders with this job. She said, “It’s not your fault, Aaron. I know you see how they look at JJ, Em, and I.” Hotch lifted his head and placed a warm hand on her knee saying, “Of course I see, and it bothers me more than I can say. Having these men look at you is bad enough, but when one of them starts to act on those feelings, it's unconscionable.” y/n saw that she wasn’t going to make him feel any better, so instead she put her hand over his and gently rubbed over his knuckles with her thumb. She said, “I’m going to be okay Aaron. And if I’m not, I’ll let you know. Thank you for looking out for me.” Hotch let out a breath at her touch and words, simply replying, “Always, y/n. I’ll always be here.” He wanted to lean in and press his body to hers. To cover her from unwanted attention and hands. But there was still a case, and she looked tired, but he promised himself when this was solved that he would be spending a considerable amount of time either on his or her couch with y/n on his lap and his arms settled around her; as long as that was something she wanted of course. 

The case wrapped up a few days later and the team headed home. On the plane ride back, y/n crashed on the couch facing Spencer. Emily, Rossi, and Morgan watched with a small amount of surprise,  then a soft understanding as Hotch quietly took off his blazer and placed it over her curled, sleeping body. And when Rossi left his office and walked toward his car he stopped and made sure Aaron and y/n didn’t see him as Hotch held y/n and leaned down to kiss her forehead. As Hotch wrapped her in his arms, y/n’s hands moved to his chest, and after everything that had happened on top of the case, at least she knew that she was always safe with him.

[moremaybank]

Hello! I hope you are doing good and i‘d like to make a request if they are open (if not just tell me it‘s fine). So the reader is Kies little Sister and she‘s like the Kook Princess 2.0. She isn‘t really close to the Pogues but she likes them. Jj always kinda found her hot and stuff but he knows kie would freak out if he‘d hit on her Little Sister. She‘s only like 1 year younger of course (no pedophile). Then Jj and John B are on a Party. Kie and Pope are hanging out together somewhere idk. Then John B and Jj see that Rafe is touching Kies Lil Sister even tho she says stop and stuff. He puts his Hand on her Waist and stuff. Jj of course go inbetween and starts a fight with Rafe (physically but only a few Punches and stuff). And Reader is basically like: Why do you care? And then yk what happens lol. It‘s like kinda soft and not rough or anything but she‘s not a Virgin. It‘s just passionate and sweet and gentle yk? Have a Great Day/Night 🫶🏻!

POGUE PRINCESS — j.m

pairing jj maybank x fem!carrera!reader

summary jj gets into a fight with rafe while defending you. you go off at him because he's always so reckless with his life, and it leads jj to confess something you never would have expected.

warnings 18+, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, language, physical violence (jj fighting rafe), rafe grabbing at reader (doesn't go further than that), reader arguing with jj

jj masterlist

little carrera. kook princess, next in line for the throne. you weren't the traditional type of kook, though.

you were kind, always very thoughtful and giving toward the pogues, and you took great strides to help them out any time you could. you were never one to follow the whole 'kooks versus pogues' feud. to be quite honest, you thought it was complete bullshit. why should the pogues be punished for being less fortunate than the kooks who came from wealth? it wasn't their fault, and they shouldn't be treated like parasites for it.

this meant that you were a big advocate, much like your older sister, for equality among the people of the island. you did everything you could to help the pogues.

for instance, you were the one that got the kooks to raise money for backup generators on the cut. you had always considered it unfair that the pogues had to suffer after each storm, especially when they did the majority of the work to keep up the livelihood for the entire island.

you were also the one who started a nonprofit that provided scholarships for kids on the cut. you were inspired by kiara's friend, pope, who had become your own friend, and who was the genius of the group. you saw how hard he had to grind to secure his future, and it inspired you to help him and kids like him, who had to work tirelessly for the slim chance to secure their future.

all in all, you had a huge heart, and you weren't too shy to share it with the world around you. and this is exactly what led jj to fall for you.

completely and utterly head over heels for you.

-

"you're staring again," john b spoke, approaching his best friend and handing him one of the beers in his hand. he watched as jj kept his eyes on you, following your every move as you danced along to whatever song was blasting through the speakers.

the boneyard was jam-packed, and countless inebriated young adults were littered along the beach as they partied.

"how could i not?" jj replied, taking a sip of his beer as he watched you laugh at something sarah had said to you. "i mean, just look at her, dude. she's perfect."

your smile had always been a pick-me-up for jj. it was magical, so much so that it brought a deep warmth to him every time he caught the slightest glimpse of it.

"you know kiara's gonna murder you if she ever finds out that you've been lusting after her baby sister, right?" john b questioned.

"it's not lusting, john b. she's different than anyone i've ever met. i have actual feelings for her."

"well, either way, you know y/n's off-limits. kie's gonna have your damn head."

jj shrugged nonchalantly with a slight smile.

"worth it."

he watched as you caught eyes with him from across the party, giving him a small wave with a flushed face. his heart fluttered, and he waved back at you.

oh, the things he would do to hold you, and kiss you, and tell you how remarkable he considered you to be.

he flashed back to the first time he went to you after getting into an altercation with luke and how that was the first night he realized how he truly felt about you.

"oh my god, please tell me you didn't get into another fight with some asshole kook," you joked as you let jj climb through your bedroom window.

he gave you a small smile, it barely reaching his eyes as he tried to front with you as if he was okay.

"hey," you frowned when he failed to respond, "you okay?"

jj nodded, "yeah, i'm good. just need you to patch me up," he spoke quietly.

"j..." you began, "what happened? you can tell me."

you cradled his bruised face in your hands, and your eyes searched his blue ones, the signature shimmer in them completely snuffed out.

jj sighed, avoiding your gaze. "nothing, y/n. i'm fine, alright?"

"i don't believe you."

once again, he failed to respond, and you grabbed his hand in yours as you led him to sit on your bed. jj followed slowly, dragging his feet tiredly as he made his way to sit on your mattress. he slung his backpack off his shoulders and dropped it onto your hardwood floor before taking a seat.

"you can't say anything," he murmured, his gaze glued to the floor as he dragged a hand over his injured face.

"j," you spoke, "i would never. you can trust me, okay? i promise."

you sat there and listened to every single word that fell from his lips. you felt your heart crack as he opened up to you about his home life. you knew he was struggling to even speak on everything luke had put him through on an almost-daily basis, and the fact that he chose you to vent to wasn't lost on you. if anything, you felt eternally grateful that he trusted you enough to tell you everything he felt, good and bad. and you hoped he knew just how much you cared for him. you held him, spoke sweet nothings into his ear as he cried, tended to his wounds both inside and out, and made it a point to make sure he felt as special and adored as he deserved to be, and then some.

and jj would never, ever forget that intimate moment the two of you had shared and the safety and security you gave him simply by being there and lending an ear.

jj had to tell you. he had to confess how much he loved you, with every fibre in his being, no matter what your sister — or anyone else for that matter — had to say about it. he didn't care that you came from different worlds. as long as you were in his, everything would be okay.

-

come a little closer by cage the elephant blasted through the speakers as you made your way over to the keg, hoping to top up your red solo cup.

"well, well, well," you heard from behind you, and you instantly recognized the voice. "little carrera. damn, you look good."

you rolled your eyes, turning around to face the owner of that voice, the one you dreaded hearing every time the two of you crossed paths.

"rafe."

"how have you been?"

"i was great until you got here," you responded wryly, avoiding his gaze as you swirled the beer around in your cup.

"come on, y/n. don't be like that. you know you love when we partake in this little back-and-forth thing we do," rafe smirked, inching closer to you. "don't act like you don't."

you scoffed, finally levelling his gaze. "it's not acting, cameron. take the goddamn hint."

"nah. don't lie, princess. you want me. you're always wearing those skimpy ass little shorts whenever you come over. batting your eyelashes at me and reeling me in. you don't have to hide your feelings anymore. i'm here. let's do this."

rafe made to grab your waist, but you backed up, removing yourself from his reach.

"oh, so that's how you wanna play this?" he asked.

"leave me alone, rafe. how many more ways do i have to say it before you understand?"

"drop the act." rafe's surged forward, gripping your hips quite harshly as he tugged you closer to him. "you're coming with me whether you like it or not."

"get off me!" you said, shoving his hands away. you felt cold, and you wanted nothing more than to get as far away from rafe as humanly possible. before you had the chance, though, you heard someone starting to yell as they made their way over to the two of you.

"hey! don't you dare fucking touch her!"

your's and rafe's gaze found jj fast-approaching you both, and when he reached, he was quick to strike rafe across the face with his fist. you watched as rafe fell to the ground, clutching his injured jaw while jj tumbled on top of him. his hands were fast, punching and pummelling rafe's face in.

jj's blood was boiling, and he ignored each of your protests. either that, or he just couldn't hear you at all over the rage that consumed him.

"jj!" you exclaimed. "stop!"

you looked over at john b, eyes pleading for help. he nodded, and after struggling slightly, he managed to pull jj away from him. his hands pushed at jj's chest as jj tried to shove past him.

"yo, chill! she's fine, alright? calm down!" john b ordered.

jj's eyes trailed over to you, unable to read the expression on your face as his breathing started to slow. he noticed that rafe had disappeared, assumably having left, and he slowly walked over to you, pulling you aside as his hands found your face.

"you okay, pretty girl?" he asked as he inspected you, looking for any signs of pain or discomfort.

angrily, you turned away from his touch. "what the hell is wrong with you, jj?"

"yikes. gotta go," john b murmured before rushing away from the two of you, knowing you were about to let jj have it.

"what do you mean?" jj questioned.

you sighed harshly, "when are you going to learn that you can't just be out here starting shit with the kooks? what if they have you arrested?"

"are you fucking kidding me right now? rafe was trying to force you into doing shit that you didn't want to do, and you're mad at me?"

"yeah," you stated, "you know what? i am. because you're always doing such stupid, reckless shit that could land you in trouble. and you don't seem to care! you can't keep putting yourself in a position to get in shit!"

"i was trying to protect you!"

"news flash, idiot! i don't need you to protect me! i can do that just fine by myself."

jj scoffed harshly, "yeah, but you weren't! and i'm not just gonna stand there and watch while rafe — or anyone for that matter — hurts you! you clearly don't know me at all if you think i will."

"god, jj. this doesn't concern you. why do you even care?!"

"why do i care? because i'm in love with you, you idiot!"

okay, jj knew he was going to tell you how he felt tonight. but that was not the way he planned on doing so.

awkward.

"what?" you whispered, the anger dissipating from your features you looked up at him.

jj sighed, treading carefully as he inched closer to you. he tucked a loose strand of curls behind your ear, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone and lingering there for a moment.

"i love you. and i know you probably don't feel the same way because you're you, and i'm me, but i can't help it. you're perfect. you're smart, so damn smart. and you're kind. your heart is so big, and you care about me. you never make me feel judged or ashamed to be me. and now i'm rambling because you make me nervous as hell and i—"

you cut jj off with a kiss, not just to silence him but to tell him that you felt it too. the passion, the strong bond, the once-in-a-lifetime connection.

you felt all of it. and you felt it for him.

you felt his muscular arms wrap around your waist and pull you flush against his chest as he deepened the kiss. you let him, your hands sliding from the napes of his neck into his blonde locks. his lips felt like heaven, and you struggled to understand how you lasted so long without being able to taste them. it was almost as if kissing him was now your life force and the fact that you had survived up until now was by pure miracle.

you hesitated to pull away, but you did.

"i love you too," you breathed, watching the reflection of the moonlight from the water on the beach illuminate his azul eyes. "you wanna get out of here?"

jj grinned, his dimple coming to light as he nodded. "let's go, baby."

-

you and jj stumbled through the chateau door, blindly making your way to jj's room there. jj led you backwards, and when the back of your knees hit the mattress, you sat down, breaking the kiss.

"we don't have to keep going if you don't want to. i don't care about the sex. all i care about is being here with you," jj said, smoothing your hair away from your face as he assured you. the look of tenderness in his eyes had you swooning, enough to make your heart clench.

"get over here, maybank," you smiled, fisting your hand in his cotton t-shirt and yanking him toward you. you leaned back while he climbed over you, his arms on either side of your frame to ensure he didn't crush you with his weight.

your lips locked fervently, your hands slipping underneath jj's shirt and to his back as you pushed him further toward you. you could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabrics that separated the two of you, and suddenly, it wasn't enough. you pulled away, tugging at the hem of his shirt and signalling that you wanted it off. jj caught your drift, smirking slightly as he shrugged it off. you followed suit, discarding your top onto the floor.

his eyes landed on your bra-clad chest, his hands moving up your torso to cup them. you let out a quiet moan at the action, and jj took this as permission to slip your bra off. he slid one of the straps down your shoulder, pressing a wet kiss to it before he did the same to the other. his fingers then found your back, unhooking your bra and freeing your tits.

"goddamn," he breathed, palming them once again and feeling the gratifying weight of them in his hands. "you're so fucking perfect, baby. look at you."

he laid you back against the pillows with your head propped up, trailing kisses down your neck as he made his way to your chest. he adorned them with his lips, nibbling here and there and marking you as his. he took one nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing over it as it perked up. he sucked at it and let go with a pop before moving to the other one and doing the same.

once he was finished, he pulled back to look at the love bites he'd left on you. "you look so pretty when you're all marked up, princess," he cooed, fingers trailing over the bruises as they made their way down to the button of your jean shorts. he undid them with ease and slipped one hand inside your panties slowly. his fingers prodded at your entrance and he felt the slick pooling out of you.

"this all for me?"

you nodded in confirmation, "all for you, jj. want you to touch me, please."

"touch you how, baby?" he questioned, slowly sinking his middle finger into your entrance, "like this?" you gasped softly, and he smiled as he began to thrust it into you.

his movements were gentle and teasing as his digit massaged your walls. he curled it up with each pump, flicking it against your sweet spot as he warmed you up.

"more, j. need more." your hands rested on his muscular biceps as you looked up at him pleadingly. he granted your wish, slowly inserting his ring finger as he picked up the pace he had previously set. your toes curled, and you threw your head back, feeling him rub against your g-spot. you ground your hips against his hand, letting the friction of his calloused palm stimulate your swollen clit.

jj watched as you let the ecstasy fill your entire body, feeling you buck your hips as you searched for more pleasure. he encouraged you as you did so, "that's it, pretty girl. use my hand to make yourself cum. coat my fingers so i can taste you."

"shit," you cursed in response, your nails digging into the flesh of his upper arms. you rolled your hips against his palm over and over, chasing your high. he felt you clamp down on his fingers, and when you made eye contact with him again, he nodded, telling you to let go.

"c'mon, baby. you're right there, i can feel you. let me see how beautiful you are when you cum for me."

you let out a breathy moan as you came, squeezing jj's upper arms while you held on for dear life. your walls gripped onto jj's fingers like a vice as he let you ride out your orgasm.

once your breathing calmed, jj pulled his fingers out of you and sucked them into his mouth. he lapped at them while he held his gaze on yours and groaned in satisfaction when your release coated his taste buds.

"so fucking sweet, pretty girl. inside and out," he spoke.

you sat up, and he kissed you, letting you taste the remnants of your release on his lips. your hands trailed down his torso until they found his shorts. you palmed his bulge through the article of clothing, taking notice of its twitch when you came into contact with it.

"can i fuck you, baby? sweet and slow so i can show you how you make me feel?"

"there's nothing i want more."

jj grinned, forcing one of your own on your face as he began to rid himself of his shorts and boxers. he freed himself, and your eyes landed on the thick cock he had the pride of calling his own.

he pushed you back down gently, making sure you were nice and comfortable on the bed. he leaned forward, pecking your lips softly while he guided himself toward your entrance.

"you ready for me, princess?"

you nodded, kissing him again to grant him permission. he pushed into you as he returned the kiss, bottoming out before he started to move his hips. his arms caged you in, cradling your head with his hands as he fucked you deep, his pace relaxed and concentrated on satiating your every desire.

"tell me how you feel, baby. that feel good?" he rasped, maintaining eye contact as he plunged into you over and over.

"so good, j. want you closer, deeper." you wrapped your legs around his torso, your heels pushing at the top of his ass so you could keep him pressed to you.

he obliged, leaning his forehead against yours as he pressed his lips to yours continuously. the passion he felt for you bled through every one of his actions as he fucked you and made you his own. every kiss was magic, every touch was searing, and every thrust was a silent i love you.

you could feel him surrounding you in every sense of the term, and you never wanted this moment to end. you felt so close to him, closer than you ever had with the flames from your past. jj was like the missing puzzle you'd been searching a lifetime for but could never seem to find. and now that you'd found him, your heart would never be able to let him go. the loss would be too great to bear.

"i love you so much. never letting go of you, wanna keep you forever," he spoke as he rutted into you leisurely. his cock was massaging you so perfectly, and you felt the electricity buzzing between the two of you. "you're my princess. tell me you're mine."

"i'm yours, j. i belong to you, 'm all yours," you whispered, cupping his face as you looked into his eyes.

the words were true to your heart. you truly were his. this blonde goofball had captured your heart long ago without you even realizing it, and no one could ever compare to him.

there was no one like jj.

"that's right, baby. and no one else can ever have you."

he granted another kiss on your lips, before moving down to your neck. he kept moving as his lips searched for your sweet spot. he found it right below your ear and began to suck another hickey into your skin as he somehow rolled his hips deeper into your core.

you cried out at his depth, your hand tangling itself in his hair and pushing his mouth further onto your skin. you tugged at his locks, and he let out a muffled groan as you spurred him on.

"right there, j. i'm so fucking close, shit," you whimpered, begging for more.

he came up from the nape of your neck, "yeah? you gonna cum for me, sweet girl?"

you nodded furiously, unable to form a coherent sentence while he fucked you closer and closer to your orgasm.

"i feel you, baby," he spoke once you started to squeeze him, "let go for me. that's it. just like that, mama." his teeth grazed over your sweet spot once more, and you unravelled for him.

your nails dragged down the flesh of his back, surely leaving behind a few marks of your own on him. your eyes clamped shut as the euphoria overtook you, and you hugged him to you as you came on his cock.

"cum for me, j. give it to me. make me yours for real," you pleaded, smoothing his hair out of his face as you felt him twitch inside of you.

"shit, baby. gonna give you all my cum," he grunted as he thrusted once more and erupted inside of you, painting your walls with his release. he stilled when he did so, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he came down.

"holy shit. i'm kinda jealous of all the girls that you've fucked like that," you said, letting out a soft laugh.

jj chuckled against your skin, "you really think i fucked any of those girls as good as i fucked you? no way."

you grinned, shaking your head in exasperation as you looked at him. his hair was a tousled mess, he was covered in sweat, and his lips were swollen from all the kissing. still, though, he had never looked more gorgeous.

you watched as his eyes roamed over all the hickies he'd left you with, and his eyes widened slightly in panic.

"what's wrong?" you asked.

"your sister's gonna kill me."

jj tag list (join here!): @maybankslover @kittyqrt @v-velvetykisscs @hobiibobii @rafesdior @fool4him @hemogloban @pankhoeforlife @rafesmuse @lyn07 @houseofperfecttaste @qualitybelieverflower @dudenhaaa27 @princessbetsy123-blog @tori-loves1 @alexxavicry @kenzi-woycehoski @elijahssuit @skydisneylover @adoreyouusugar

[ventbloglite]

Some of you really need to step back a little bit and acknowledge how ignorant you are towards how misogyny affects trans mascs and how you yourself may be perpetrating said misogyny when speaking ill of trans mascs.

Which is not something you should be doing at all, fyi. You can talk about individual shitty trans mascs and certain community issues you dislike which involve or are perpetrated by trans mascs without just being transphobic towards trans mascs in general.

So many times I've seen the sentient of 'AFAB's have it really easy, everyone accepts AFAB's as trans, everyone loves AFAB trans people, the world caters to you, there is basically no problems for you if you're AFAB unlike AMAB folk' shown in a variety of ways from a variety of people including just outright saying it. Not to mention the belitting of trans masc experiences with transphobia and misogyny + the way those interact because they identify as men even though transphobes still consider them to be women and don't give a shit about their actual gender.

A main crux of transphobia (though many other factors which result in hating us come into play, too many to go into now) is that trans people are seen as and treated as their AGAB and punished for not identifying as it or portraying it 'correctly' by society. So tell me why so many seem to 'forget' about how misogyny impacts trans masculine people. Could it be because you believe that advocating for trans women and trans femmes and fighting transmisogyny somehow must involve being transphobic towards trans men due to that radfem influence you've absorbed? The world will never reach gender equality of any kind if everything is 'men versus women' so can we just fucking not bring that into trans spaces please.

Examples!

I saw recently a post which perfectly pointed out the potential risks associated with someone considered 'male' growing out her hair but OP clearly knew absolutely nothing about the same risks associated with someone deemed 'female' cutting his hair. Instead of not making that post or doing some research, OP thus assumed there weren't really any risks likely due to already believing that AFAB trans people have it easy.

The ignorance! Misogyny heavily impacts the way hair is treated on those perceived as women (including body hair) and women/those perceived as women have no end of people policing what they can and can't do with their bodies often taking things to the absolute extreme to do so. Short hair on woman may seem 'more accepted' but AFAB people of any gender could quickly tell you multiple situations where it's not and results in the same violence, abuse, homo(lesbo/butch)phobia and yes possibly even death depending on the situation even if you still identify as a woman. Pretending this doesn't happen is straight up misogyny btw.

'AFAB's pass easily by doing basically nothing' is another frequent one which makes me laugh. 'Passing' for most trans people is so situational and so dependent on what you do or don't do to strictly conform to gender stereotypes if you're even able to do that at all. To suggest that the world ignores feminine gender markers the moment someone's hair is short and their chest appears mostly flat ignores both the complexity of how humans perceive gender and how misogyny comes into play whenever a woman/perceived woman shows any masculinity let alone maleness. Considering the same misogyny comes into play frequently against trans women you'd think it'd be easy to remember.

This general sentiment of 'Being born with a vagina means your life is easy and everything you do will be loved and supported because society adores you. You don't and will never have any real problems, not like anyone born with a penis.' isn't magically okay and absolutely super different to when misogynists say it about cis women because you're using AGAB language and cite 'because you're men and blah blah patriarchy' as the actual reason you're saying it. It's very clearly same shit different coat of paint. The pool is there, your toes are in, stop preparing to dive for Gods sake.

[goldenseresinretriever]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 11

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Bradley frowns in the mirror. He glances at his phone and frowns again. If he keeps this up he’s going to be late. The truth of the matter is that he doesn’t want to go. It’s Friday. It’s been a week since getting back from D.C. and it feels like it’s been a million years. He’d gotten used to it, waking up with you in his arms every morning. Every night this past week he’s had to stop himself from asking you to come over. He’d put the ball in your court, though. You’d asked him to pump the brakes so he had, and he’d promised to respect that.

On top of that, he hadn’t seen much of you this week. The two of you have been busy working nonstop since getting home early Friday morning. You’d both headed home half-asleep from the airport before having to be back first thing Saturday for a game versus Vancouver. The most time alone you’d gotten together was that Saturday morning when you’d called him into your office to sign the official paperwork that would make your relationship officially disclosed to the rest of the team. He smiles as he remembers your soft smile, shy as you signed your name next to his. He’d been sorely tempted to take you right then and there on your desk but he knew that was strictly off-limits and questionably unprofessional at best. He’d settled with a simple kiss to your cheek that had your skin heating under his lips in a way that he loves so much.

Saturday’s game was followed by two more home games on Tuesday and Thursday with Carolina and New Jersey respectively. It definitely didn’t help that yesterday’s game had been nationally broadcast which meant you’d been absolutely slammed with work and preparations all week. He also knows you went out last night with Mickey and some of his former New Jersey teammates.

It didn’t make missing you any easier. He doesn’t have time to call you but he does it anyway, putting the phone on speaker as he fixes his hair. It’s been too long since he’s gotten you all to himself and he’s feeling selfish tonight. You pick up on the third ring, your bright voice echoing around the empty bathroom as he smiles to himself, his mood already lifting. “Hi Bradley, what can I do for you?” He chuckles.

“What? I can’t call my girlfriend without wanting something from her?” It’s new, this label you’ve put on things. Actually, neither of you has yet to actually use the label but he likes the way it sounds in his mouth. He hears your breath hitch and he knows he’s caught you by surprise. Suddenly he’s wondering if he’s overstepped when your voice fills the room yet again.

“Your girlfriend?” Your voice is tentative and he wishes you were here so he could wrap you in his arms and chase away all your doubts with his lips.

“I know I didn’t sign an official form to be the guy you occasionally kiss and take spontaneous road trips with, Honey.” He hears you giggle and his smile tugs wider.

“Plus I guess it would be pretty awkward if you introduced me to your parents and I wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“Nah, I would have introduced you anyway. They would have loved you.” He says and sighs deeply as he looks into the mirror again. He doesn’t want to go to this dinner. He wants to invite you over and have your laugh bounce off the walls for real. He wants your warmth to fill every room of the apartment. He wants to sit you on the kitchen island while he cooks for the two of you and then he wants you to spend the night in his bed so your scent will be glued to his sheets until the next time he can coax you there.

“Any fun plans tonight, Bear?” Your sweet voice breaks through his thoughts and his lips twitch at the new nickname.

“Bear?” He hears you giggle again and smiles.

“Yeah, because you’re big and scary when you want to be but you’re also a secret cuddler and give the best hugs.” He can imagine the way your cheeks are heating as you continue to rain compliments on him. “And bears like honey.” You add matter-of-factly. This bear happens to love honey but he knows better than to mention that right now. “So? Any fun plans tonight?” He groans then as he’s reminded that if he doesn’t leave soon he’s going to be late.

“Dinner at Mav’s.” He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know exactly how excited he is for that.

“And how are you feeling about that?” You ask tentatively and he sighs.

“Honestly, Honey? It’s the last place I want to be right now. I’d much rather be having dinner with you.” He can’t help the admission as he lets it slip.

“That makes two of us.” Suddenly he really REALLY doesn’t want to go. “But that being said, I’ve had a migraine and hangover all day after last night.” You let out your own groan and a fond but concerned smile touches Bradley’s lips. He wants nothing more than to wrap you up and spoil you rotten. He can tell you’re exhausted and he wants to be one to take care of you.

“Get some rest, Honey, you’ve had a long week.” You groan again and Bradley hears paper rustling. His brows furrow as you confirm his suspicions.

“I’d love to but I’ve got a literal mountain of paperwork that needs to get done before I can leave. And then I have to go grocery shopping because there’s literally nothing in my fridge.” You let out a frustrated whine and Bradley’s about five seconds away from texting Maverick to cancel so that he can bring you here and dote on you. Unfortunately, his mother’s voice in his head takes that exact moment to remind him that Penny’s making dinner and while Maverick certainly doesn’t deserve his respect, she does.

“Tell you what, Honey.” He hears you hum in response. “Finish up your work and come over. I’ll give Tony my spare key and tell him to let you in. Order some pizza and get comfortable and I’ll be back before you know it.”

You’re silent for a long moment before you ask. “Bear?”

“Yes, Honey?”

“Do you have a tub?” He blinks, surprised by the question as he turns around and looks at the free-standing porcelain tub behind him.

“I do.” He hears some rustling from your end before you ask.

“Can I have a bubble bath?” His laugh echoes off the walls of the bathroom at your simple request.

“Honey, you can have whatever you want.” He replies and he’s surprised to find that he truly means it. He’d lasso the moon for you if you asked and he’s not even sure what you’d want it for in the first place. He hears your squeal of delight on the other end of the call and smiles as he imagines you here, in his space, the thing he’s been dreaming of all week. “Honey, I hate to cut things short, but I need to start heading over to Mav’s. I’ll see you after?”

“No problem, see you soon, Bear!” Your voice is much more cheery than he feels but he can feel your infectious attitude raising his mood. He hears the line disconnect and lets out a heavy sigh.

The promise of you waiting here when he gets back is what drives him to finish getting ready. He makes sure to give Tony the spare key and doesn’t miss the look the older man gives him when he tells him to expect the young woman from last week. His cheeks are still pink when he pulls out of the parking garage.

***

When Bradley finally sees the house he can’t help the disgusted sneer that pulls his lips. The house is huge, to say the least. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised, given Mav’s long and highly decorated career, but all he can think about is the house he grew up in. How the lawn was almost always overgrown while his mother was alive and the paint was almost always peeling off the sides no matter how much he tried to help with the upkeep when he had the time. Mr. Peterson from next door had helped out more often than not but Bradley remembers the feeling of the calluses on his mother’s hands when he held them, first as a small child and then later at the cusp of adulthood as she’d laid in the hospital near the end. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in his mother working, but he knew deep down that that wasn’t the life that she or his father had imagined for her when they got married.

Carole Bradshaw was Nick’s Princess, his Queen. He wanted to give everything in the world to her on a silver platter. And he’d been on the road to doing so. He’d made it all the way to the NHL, and he got to play on the regular roster. Things were looking up. Carole could focus on raising their son instead of struggling to make ends meet, filling the kitchen table with her delicious cooking instead of piles of bills that needed paying. It would have broken his heart to see how her life turned out.

They weren’t poor, not by any means. Bradley knew that as much as he knew that it was mostly due to the person whose driveway he was currently pulling into. Maverick had been nothing but generous when it came to money, but there were simply some things that money couldn’t buy and he didn’t seem to understand that from the limited conversations Bradley had had with him.

Bradley thinks back to Dare’s little bungalow that he’d visited barely a week ago. She’d coached the Pittsburgh Penguins to five Stanley Cup wins and yet she isn’t living in this state of excess. What disgusts him the most is that she should be. All of this should be hers too.

He tries to get his temper under control as he strolls up the walkway to the double doors. He hears barking coming from inside and when he rings the doorbell he does his best to smile back at Penny Benjamin. Penny Benjamin is a confusing situation for him. He knows that none of this is her fault, Mav abandoning his entire past and everyone involved in it, but it’s hard not to blame her when she’s here, living in Maverick’s McMansion with her pseudo-husband and dog. He leans down to scratch the ears of the elderly Labrador. “Bradley, glad you could join us, come on in.” He follows her inside, down hallways lined with photographs from over the years of Maverick, Penny, and a little girl who ranges in age across the various photos. “That’s my daughter, Amelia,” Penny explains when she catches him watching.

“Yours?” He asks before clarifying. “Just yours, I mean?” He can feel his cheeks heating as his mother’s voice chides him for asking such an inappropriate question.

She doesn’t seem ruffled, nodding. “Just mine, from my ex-husband. She’s probably around your age, she was barely a few months old when I met Maverick. He may not be her birth father but he’s the only one she’s ever known.” Bradley hates the bitterness that pools in his stomach at her words. The jealousy that he could have been the child in the pictures on the wall, doted on by his godfather who should have stepped into the role left vacant by the death of his father.

He’s doing his best to reign in his emotions as they reach the dining room, but it all goes to hell the moment he realizes he’s not the only guest at this dinner. Seated across from Maverick is none other than Dare. Bradley has to fight to keep his hands from curling into fists at his sides because the woman at the dining table is nothing like the one he’s seen before. Usually Dare is the picture of confidence without looking cocky. She knows what she’s doing and she’s not afraid to show it. She reminds him of you and the kind of woman that he’s sure you’ll grow up to be. Now that confidence is gone and Bradley’s fighting the urge to throttle the man that he’s sure is responsible. She looks unsure of herself and as uncomfortable as he feels to be here if not more. He immediately moves to take the seat next to her, keeping his eyes off Maverick as he does his best to assess for damage. He knows it’s probably nothing that he can see but he wants to because all he sees is his mother after a long day of carrying a burden that’s not hers to carry anymore. He can’t count the number of times he’s seen that face and it breaks his heart to see it now, on the face of someone who shouldn’t have to suffer but who is anyway. All because one self-centered fool can’t be bothered to get his head out of his ass.

Maybe he does it out of protectiveness, but maybe he does it out of pure spite, but he does it anyway. He wraps his arms around the older woman, the way she had done for him in her kitchen while he fell apart in his arms. He knows it’s nothing in the grand scheme of things, but he intends to make up for the sins of his godfather if he can. Be there for the person who was there for his mother, for him even if he hadn’t been able to fully appreciate it at the time. The way her body tenses under him at first is the only evidence of her surprise at the gesture but she reciprocates the hug and Bradley finds himself engulfed in a scent that stirs in his memory. He can’t draw a concrete image from it but he knows he’s smelt it before like these hugs aren’t something new just something forgotten. When Bradley finally breaks the hug to sit next to Dare, Maverick is looking at them, surprised.

“I didn’t realize the two of you were close.” He says awkwardly. Bradley knows he shouldn’t do it but there’s something so satisfying about seeing Maverick as uncomfortable as he and Dare are so he pushes.

“She’s my godmother, why wouldn’t we be?” Sure this thing with Dare was new but that didn’t negate the fact that she’d been around his whole life. And sure he was stretching the truth a little, but measured on a scale of Maverick’s involvement in his life? Dare was winning the godparent race by a landslide. Maverick’s eyebrows raise with surprise, and Bradley watches the confusion swirl in his eyes. He’s fighting the urge to smirk as he feels fingers brush his own and he laces them. His throat is rough as he feels the callouses on her palm and he wonders at how much her hand reminds him of his mother’s, the soft wrinkles on the back contrasted by the rough patches on the front.

Penny breaks the tension as he comes back into the dining room from the kitchen. “Bradley, can I get you something to drink?” He tears his eyes away from Maverick and stares at Penny for a beat too long before he mutters that water would be fine.

“So, why am I here?” Bradley asks once Penny has retreated to the kitchen.

“Dinner, I thought I told you,” Maverick starts before Bradley shakes his head.

“Not here at your house, here in San Diego.”

“Bradley, why don’t we wait until later to discuss-“

“No, we’re doing this now because I need to know.” He’s tired of dancing around the question that’s been plaguing him for almost six months now. Sure, he didn’t exactly regret the move now, but he wasn’t ready to just move on like nothing happened. “Not only did you uproot me from the team I’ve played for my entire career, but you made me leave my friends and my home. I deserve an actual answer as to why. And don’t you dare say you did it for me because if it was for me, you would have picked up the phone to ask me first instead of going behind my back.” In the back of his mind, he’s proud of how level he’s managed to keep his voice but at least part of that is due to Dare’s hand in his, squeezing tight in solidarity and grounding him.

Maverick shrugs like it’s a no-brainer. “I had the chance to work with you, so I took it. I thought it would be a good experience for us.”

Bradley feels all the fight drain out of him. All the pain that’s been caused and Maverick treats it like it’s nothing. Because to him it is. “What did you think? That I’d come to San Diego and suddenly I’d be ready to come over and drink beers and sing Kumbayah? What have I ever done to suggest that I would be interested in a relationship with you at all, professional OR personal?”

“Bradley, I’m your godfather-“

“BULLSHIT.” Bradley’s voice is raised finally as his emotion gets the best of him. “You may think you’re a god but you are certainly not my father. My father is dead, my DAD is dead, and you had every opportunity to step up and be there when I needed you. When my mom needed you. When WE needed you, but you didn’t.” He’s breathing hard. “That’s the thing that you just don’t seem to get. You don’t get to decide when I need you. You don’t get to be my godfather when it’s convenient for you and you’ve run out of hobbies to pass the time. I have a life! I have goals! None of which involve you. You don’t get access to my life just because of some title my dad thought you were worthy of. Because that’s just a word, you have to earn it.” Dare’s grip on Bradley’s hand is bordering on painful at this point but it feels good. It reminds him that he’s capable of feeling. The physical pain complements the emotional pain that’s threatening to tear the heart from his chest. He’s breathing hard and every part of him wants to leave right now. Except that he doesn’t want to leave Dare here. And he feels terrible about ruining Penny's perfectly good dinner. When it’s clear that Maverick isn’t about to argue any of the points that Bradley’s just made he stands and walks into the kitchen to cool off.

Penny’s filling a glass with water and passes it to him wordlessly and he drinks it, hoping to cool his head. “Sorry to ruin your dinner.” He says awkwardly as he fiddles with the glass. She shakes her head and takes the glass back from him, refilling it as she considers her words.

“You’re hurting Bradley, I would hate for something as simple as a dinner to cause you more pain.” He nods silently.

“My mom would be so disappointed with me right now.” He’s not sure why he admits it but it’s all he can think of as he looks around the kitchen at the plates of sides and cooling casserole dish on the counter.

“Really? Because if I was her I’d be proud of you.” He looks back at Penny, eyes wide with surprise. “You stood up to Pete, and told him your real feelings. You were honest with him even if it hurt you to do it. I don’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of. That’s brave.” She reaches up then and cups his cheek gently, a fond smile on her face. “I’m sorry that I didn’t push him more, to be a part of your life, to be there for you and your mom. I was selfish and I never meant for you to get hurt by that.” Bradley shakes his head.

“You were probably scared that he’d leave you too. It seems like that’s all he’s good for.”

“I was scared then, yes. And now I know that I shouldn’t have been because that’s not Pete, not really. He’s a complicated man and doesn’t always have the best judgment but he’s good under it all, I can tell you that much. It’s completely fair of you to not want him to be a part of your life, but if you ever decide otherwise? We’ll be waiting for you.” Bradley swallows hard, unable to look her in the eye. “Can I pack some dinner up for you, sweetie?”

He nods absentmindedly before adding. “Can you pack some for Dare too, I don’t want to leave her here.” Penny just nods and sets about getting out some Tupperware.

“I don’t blame you.” Bradley blurts out before he loses his nerve. “Just because I’m mad at Maverick doesn’t mean I’m mad at you. We choose who we love, we don’t choose who loves us.” She gives him a soft smile.

“That’s a good insight, Bradley.”

“It’s what my mom used to tell me.” He shrugs even as he feels the tears pressing against the backs of his eyes. Penny finishes boxing up two dinners and Bradley takes the two plastic bags from her as they go back into the dining room. “Aunt Dare, are you ready to go?” The words, although new, feel familiar in his mouth like a warm hug. She looks at him surprised and then her eyes fall on the bags in his hand and then shift to Penny who just smiles.

“We can reschedule for another day.” Dare nods and a silent conversation occurs between the two women as she stands and follows Bradley to the front door. Penny sees them out. Maverick still hasn’t gotten up from the table.

Once the front door closes behind them, Bradley and Dare walk to their cars in silence until they get to them. “Do you have any plans for the evening?” Bradley asks, tentatively. He knows you’re probably still at work since he’s barely spent thirty minutes here. He also knows you’d want him to do this instead of worrying about you. Dare shakes her head, still quiet, considering him. “What do you say we take dinner to your place?” She smiles gently and then wraps her arms around Bradley. He relaxes into her embrace.

“Thank you, Bradley,” she whispers into his hair and his heart clenches at the thickness of her voice. “Dinner sounds lovely.” She says as she lets him go. “I’ll meet you there.”

They get into their cars and Bradley follows Dare back to her place. He frowns to himself when he sees the overgrown yard. She lets them in and he excuses himself to the bathroom while she dishes up Penny’s food. When he gets back, he’s just about to sit down at the kitchen table when a shout from Dare in the kitchen makes him freeze.

“Maverick, get off the counter RIGHT NOW!” He whips around, expecting to see a man but instead, a burst of orange fuzz speeds out of the kitchen in a blur. Bradley follows the blur as it perches on the arm of the sofa, regarding him with yellow eyes. The orange cat is more fur than cat and looks fairly old despite how spry it clearly is. “Maverick Mitchell the Third, you know better to get on the kitchen counter.” Dare comes out of the kitchen, an unamused scowl on her face as she sets her hands on her hips and glares at the cat. “Can’t you see we have a guest?” The cat, Maverick, turns to regard Bradley curiously. “Bradley, that’s Maverick.” She says to Bradley, her scowl melting into a look of fondness. Bradley gives the cat a half-hearted wave, still recovering from the shock of the cat sharing a name with his godfather.

“He wasn’t here last time.” Bradley blurts out lamely and she chuckles, bringing out two plates.

“He was locked in my room. I didn’t know if you were a cat person and I didn’t want to appear too much like a crazy old cat lady.” Bradley smiles at that.

“You’re not old.” He points out.

“But still a crazy cat lady noted.” She smiles back and Bradley laughs, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“Your words, not mine.” They laugh together and the tension from earlier seems to seep out of both their bodies. “So, you named your cat Maverick?” He says as they dig into the food. It’s delicious and he makes a note to mention it to Penny the next time he sees her. Dare nods thoughtfully.

“Pete was always just Pete to me. I hated that nickname, so I never used it. Then when I got the cat to fill the void it just felt right.”

“Maverick the Third?” He asks around a bite of chicken casserole.

She shrugs. “I’m old after all.” There’s a lull in conversation as they east before Dare speaks up again. “Thank you, Bradley, for what you did today.”

“I meant every word of it. I know you’re upset that you weren’t around more when I was younger but you’re here now and I want you in my life if you want to be.”

She smiles and he can see the shine of tears in her eyes as she says “I’d like that very much.” He scoots his chair closer and reaches his hand out to hold hers. The sight of her wedding ring still on her finger makes his heart ache subtly. He can’t right every wrong that she’s suffered, but he can do his best.

“Aunt Dare, do you have a lawnmower?”

***

A few hours later Bradley’s riding the elevator back up to his apartment, reeking of dried sweat and freshly cut grass. It's the last he could do but he’d felt the conviction to get it done tonight. Admittedly it had been a while since he’d cut grass but he figured it looked alright when he finished. The sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon and he hopes you haven’t been waiting for him too long. The idea of feeling you in his arms propels him out of the elevator and through the door. He could really use one of your hugs after the evening he’s had.

“Honey?” He calls out for you as he enters the apartment, but he’s met with silence. A glance by the door tells him that you’re here since your sneakers are lined up neatly. He walks down the hall. “Mom, I’m home.” He calls out the photo as he passes by, more preoccupied with finding you. A glance at the living room tells him that you’ve been there. A blanket is rumpled on the couch where you were clearly wrapped in it and a pizza box lies abandoned on the kitchen counter but there’s still no sign of you. He doubles back and checks the guest room first but it’s pristine. Remembering your request for a bubble bath, Bradley heads into the master bathroom and while the room is still sticky with humid warmth and the tub contains remnants of said bubble bath, you’re still yet to be found. He heads back to the living room and tries the balcony. He knows from your last visit that you enjoy the view. He walks the entire length of the wrap-around balcony but it’s empty.

He’s genuinely starting to worry for your safety when his eyes fall on the glass door leading into his bedroom from the balcony. Not even a week ago you stood where he does now, blatantly ogling him as he got changed for game night. Now it provides the answer to his quest. You’re curled up in his bed, facing the window. The lights are still on but by the steady rise and fall of your chest, he can tell you’re asleep. He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as he heads back inside, coming into his bedroom from the hallway. You’re indeed asleep, on the side of the bed you favored in D.C. As much as he wants to talk to you about the events of the evening he can’t bear to wake you when you look so peaceful. Stress doesn’t mar your features as you sleep and he begrudgingly trudges to the bathroom to shower before slipping in beside you. He knows he should wake you up, and give you the option to go home but he’s feeling selfish tonight so when he comes back to the bedroom to still find you sleeping soundly he turns out the lights and slides into the bed beside you. He’s resigned himself to staying on his side of the bed when you scoot your body up against his. He reaches for you instinctively, pulling you close and when you curl against him all is right in the world.

“Goodnight, Bear.” Your half-asleep voice murmurs as you drift between dreams.

“Goodnight, Honey.” He whispers back, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as he lets the warmth of your body and the steady beat of your heart lull him to sleep.

[riizegasm]

We Fall, We Fail || H.SH and P.WB

❀ pairing: Park Wonbin x fem!oc x Hong Seunghan, cameos from zb1 members

❀ genre: apocalypse!au, angst, slice of life, minor fluff

❀ word count: ~7.6k

❀ warnings: explicit language, suggestive scenes, minor character death, difficult conversations around grief, mild gore (description of major injury), reference to fear of SA, open/ambiguous ending, poly!hanibani

❀ summary: In the new world, trust is hard to come by. As the past eclipses the future, it becomes harder and harder to move on. To let go is to fall, and to fall is to fail.

❀ A/N: Welcome to part 2 of the first work on my new blog! I've been sitting on this part for a couple of months, so it is truly my baby. As always, likes, reblogs, and replies are always welcome. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 || masterlist

It’s nine versus eight. Joohyun knows that they are outnumbered, and the sheer size of some of the other men warrants being counted as more than one person. She sighs as she peers up at a man with a baby face who is overly tall and has muscles that bulge through his tight black shirt. Even though their leader assured them that they came in peace, Joohyun knows that it wouldn’t be difficult for them to choose violence. 

“So you want us to believe that you came here just so you wouldn’t be lonely when the first snow hits?” Shotaro sounds incredulous, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

A man with inky black hair rolls his eyes, crossing his arms to mirror Shotaro’s stance. “That’s not really what we said. The more we’ve seen of the farm, the more impressive it is. We could help you and you guys could help us. We’d be building a community.”

“And who said we need any of your help?” Seunghan spits. 

Sungchan cocks his shotgun in lieu of speaking, stepping closer to the group of nine standing below the porch. Joohyun knows how scary he must look, having put on a good amount of muscle in the past few weeks. Even though he would never shoot the men in front of them, the threat is enough to have the group taking tentative steps back. 

“Your story isn’t adding up, so I suggest you start saying shit that makes sense before we have to kill all of you.”

Sungchan’s threat is an empty one, but his tone is icy enough to be believable. It forces the group into silence for a moment, before the shortest of the bunch steps forward. 

“A few members of our group were recently killed,” the man states softly. 

Someone hisses out his name in warning. Matthew, Joohyun catalogs in her mind. By the way Shotaros shoulders sag, she assumes that she may as well begin to become acquainted with the men. 

“I mean, they killed my girlfriend, Yujin’s sister, and our friend Miyoung, all of the women in our group. They then forced us out of our shelter and we’ve been wandering ever since. We came across your farm and the houses up the street and fuck, we just thought it would be worth a shot.”

Matthew sniffles after he relays the information, tightening his hold on the straps of the camping bag he totes on his back. The other men have all cast their gazes elsewhere, some seemingly holding back tears of their own. Joohyun wonders if this is their first time admitting what happened to them out loud. 

A firm hand curls around Joohyun’s waist, a familiar silouhette making its presence known behind her. Wonbin’s fingers curl into the tight fabric of her tank top, cold from the late fall chill. Joohyun can feel his deep inhale before he speaks. 

“We know what it’s like to lose people,” he begins, clearing his throat when his voice starts off hoarse. “But we simply can’t accommodate more people here.”

A man instantly protests, a pink blush poised high on his cheekbones. “That’s not what we meant. There’s an abandoned house just up the road that we’re hoping to live in. We just wanted to be in contact before the first snow hits, you know, like good neighbors.”

“Neighbors?” Anton questions, cocking his head cutely.

“Forget it, Hanbin. I knew this was a waste of time,” the tallest of the group mutters. 

“Wait!” Shotaro calls just as the group moved to retreat. “We can be neighborly. Why don’t you guys come by around lunch tomorrow so we can talk more?”

“Taro,” Sungchan warns. 

Shotaro doesn’t pay the man any mind. “I mean it. Come by and we can see what we can do for each other.”

.         .         .

Two years and nine months prior

It feels like little more than a rumbling underneath Joohyun’s feet. The building is shaking just enough that spare belongings clatter to the floor. Some of the monitors instantly fade to black as the lights flicker twice before they go out completely. The sunlight streaming in from the window is the only thing illuminating the five faces in the room. 

“What the hell was that?” Wonbin questions, grip tight around the neck of his guitar. 

Jaeri looks around nervously. “I don’t know but I really don’t—,”

Her sentence is cut off by the shrill sound of an alarm, then the overcom comes to life with a buzz of static. Never had Joohyun been so happy to have yearbook in such an old building. 

Attention all Fairden University students, faculty, and staff! This is not a drill. Due to nearby bombings, we are currently required to shelter in place. You are not permitted to leave the building or travel between floors under any circumstances. I repeat, this is not a drill. Please do not leave your current floor. Thank you. 

Tears are spilling over Joohyun’s cheeks before she can fully process the message. Across from her, Wonbin isn’t faring much better. Tears glisten in the corner of his wide eyes, making them sparkle in the quickly disappearing sunlight. 

For months there had been speculations of war. News reports would go on and on about rising political tensions across the world and warn civilians of the possible consequences. Any time Joohyun got on the phone with her family, they warned her to be careful in college, knowing just how perilous the world could soon be. She guesses their speculations were correct.

“Holy shit,” Anton breathes out. “Look at that smoke cloud.”

A thick plume of brownish-gray smoke is quickly taking over the sky. In the distance, a few birds scatter, fleeing before they could be absorbed by the cloud. Joohyun envies them.

Jaeri quickly grabs Anton’s arm and pulls him backwards. “Stay away from the windows! We don’t know what kind of bomb it was.”

There’s a brief pause before the building shakes again, smoke completely blocking any external light. It seems stronger, so much so that there’s the vague sound of a window shattering somewhere. The overcom whirs to life again. 

Attention all Fairden University students, faculty, and staff! This is not a drill. Due to the localization of the bombings, we believe medical centers and hospitals are being targeted. Fairden University Hospital has just been hit. Please continue to shelter in place. I repeat, this is not a drill. Please continue to shelter in place.

Dread ices over the blood in Joohyun’s veins, tears immediately coming to a stop. It seems that Wonbin has come to the same realization, tears coming as full on sobs now. 

“Seunghan.”

Joohyun’s voice is a mere whisper in the darkness, but she hopes that it serves as a prayer to be answered. 

.         .         .

Eunseok does his best to prepare some roasted vegetables and seared meat before their guests arrive. They’re limited on quantity, so portions must be rationed, but Eunseok still tries to give the meal all he’s got. It’s evident in the way that he flits around the kitchen and scurries into the pantry that he’s on a mission. 

Joohyun can’t help but smile from her position by the wall, content to watch as the meal comes together. It’s only when a figure blocks her view and a warm pair of lips are pressed to her forehead that she snaps out of it. Her vision is blurry from the person’s proximity, but the woodsy smell is enough for Joohyun to immediately identify her boyfriend. 

“How are you feeling?” Joohyun questions softly, peering down to examine Seunghan’s ankle. “You look a little swollen.”

The man sighs, placing another wet kiss to her forehead. “It’s fine, princess. You know you don’t have to worry about me.”

Seunghan is simultaneously the least and the most pressing of Joohyun’s worries. Despite the fact that he’s as healed as he’ll ever be, he can’t quite walk without a limp or run at all. In this world, speed and agility are everything, and Seunghan has neither. Joohyun knows that with newcomers on the way, a quick escape is far from likely. She just hopes it won’t cost them their lives.

“I can see you worrying,” Seunghan coos. “Trust me, the meat from that deer that Sungchan caught yesterday will heal me.”

“You said that about the last deer two weeks ago,” Eunseok mutters, standing over the little fire pit on the old stovetop. 

“And look at me! Soon I’ll be sprinting around the house.”

Joohyun can’t find it within herself to chuckle along with the boys, eyes flitting down to the permanent swell of Seunghan’s ankle. As much as he has always been one to joke through the pain, Joohyun knows he’s still hurting. Sometimes she hears his mumbled curses and stuttered groans after standing too long. She and Wonbin take turns to massage the injury, hoping to rub the pain away. Instead, it lingers like a stale taste in the mouth. 

A light rap of knuckles against the back porch door seems to spring Seunghan into action. Before Joohyun can protest, or even encourage him to grab a weapon, he’s swinging the door open. 

The nine figures slowly stream into the kitchen, a few greetings mumbled between them. It isn’t until Shotaro enters the room that anyone seems emboldened enough to really speak. There’s a flurry of repeated introductions and a few pleasantries after Shotaro thanks them for coming. However, the chatter is instantly silenced when Sungchan enters the kitchen, shotgun in hand. 

“Uhhh, should we have brought our weapons with us?” The tallest boy who introduced himself as Gyuvin asks. 

Shotaro laughs nervously. “No, not at all! Sungchan just likes to be extra careful. But he’s putting it away now. Isn’t that right, Sungchan?”

The man’s response is not much more than a brief grunt before he disappears up the stairs. 

It isn’t until Sungchan returns that Shotaro urges everyone to get comfortable, allowing them to sit sprawled across the living room. He helps bring Eunseok bring out the minimal portions of meat and vegetables, clearly pleased with how everything has turned out. He’s quick to settle on the floor, not having brought out a serving for himself.

“Thank you guys for this, seriously. I know we already did introductions, but again, I’m Hanbin. It means a lot that you guys are willing to even be in contact with us.”

Shotaro smiles like he always does. Joohyun fights the urge to roll her eyes at his enthusiasm. Instead, she plays with the fingers on Wonbin’s left hand, leaving his right available to eat with.

“I think we’re all just glad to see people who aren’t trying to kill us, for once,” Shotaro admits.

“We don’t know that.”

“Joo.”

At the quiet scolding, Joohyun chooses to fill her cheeks with food. She can feel the subtle pinch of Wonbin’s fingers on the back of her hand, forcing her to roll her eyes. She knows that on any other day, Wonbin would be right there with her, dishing out shady looks and sarcastic comments. The thought that it has changed in front of these strangers makes Joohyun’s head spin.

“Listen, we get it,” Hanbin says after a moment of tense silence. “But we seriously just want to be cordial. It’s helpful to have allies, especially right before winter hits.”

“And you guys seem kind of cool,” Matthew interjects. “I like the whole deep brooding vibe you guys got going on. It’s like some real angsty shit! I dig it.”

A stunned silence falls over the living room, the only interruption being the clang of a metal fork against a bowl. Hanbin looks mildly horrified from his spot next to Shotaro, while other members of his group look equally shocked. Joohyun’s jaw clicks with the force of clenching it, scar on her cheek beginning to throb from the pressure.

It’s a deep chuckle that interrupts the silence, shocking everyone from their stupor.

“Fuck,” Sungchan laughs, hand over his belly. “I like you, dude.”

Wonbin pinches the back of Joohyun’s hand again as the entire room bursts into quiet laughter. He must have noticed the same thing that Joohyun has. It’s the first time Sungchan has laughed in months.

.         .         .

One year and ten months prior

Eunseok stumbles over his words, hands shaking with the effort to get them out. Sohee’s hand is smoothing over the expanse of the older’s back, as if his touch could physically ease the words out of Eunseok’s mouth. After a few more seconds of stuttered syllables, Eunseok visibly deflates, mouth snapping shut. Jaeri just smiles at him sadly.

“It’s okay,” she coos. “You’re making progress. Full words are gonna be coming out in no time.”

Joohyun watches the encounter from Wonbin’s side, tuning out the boy’s mindless humming. It’s become his habit, she noticed, to fill the silence with random sounds since everything started. At first, Joohyun assumed it had been to distract himself from the sounds of bombs and gunfire. Even when that passed, and the majority of the world died, she realized that the silence could be even scarier.

The air in concrete ruins that they’ve taken up shelter in are a little too warm for the spring, making for a comfortable home for the night. Despite the warmth, Shotaro is bundled up in a thick jacket, flat on his back on the dusty floor. Joohyun imagines that it’s far from comfortable, but comfort is a luxury they gave up when they decided to flee campus a few months ago.

The rest of their group is sprawled about the space, some talking quietly while others choose to stare into space. Joohyun can’t imagine that there’s much to talk about when they’ve spent the past few months practically attached at the hip. But by the enthusiastic smile on Seunghan’s face as he gushes to Anton, she guesses that some of them must have found something to discuss.

“We haven’t talked about it, you know,” Wonbin states, barely audible.

Joohyun doesn’t turn to regard the boy as she speaks. “Talked about what?”

“Seunghan.”

“Bin,” Joohyun sighs, looking around to see if anyone else has caught wind of their conversation. “I told you it was only one time, and that I was mad at you. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You never said that you didn’t want it to happen again. And you weren’t mad when I told you that I’ve also been in your shoes.”

Joohyun’s hands are balled into fists, broken nails biting the flesh of her palms. “So what? We both cheated on each other with the same person. That doesn’t mean shit.”

“Maybe it should.” Wonbin turns to face the woman. “Maybe I want it to.”

“For fucks sake, Bin! The world is over. Now isn’t really the time for wants.”

“Just because you won’t let yourself want more doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t.”

.         .        .

The neighbors end up being more personable than Joohyun expected. They joke and laugh, smile politely, and give calm input when appropriate. They even leave politely, thanking everyone before heading out in a single file line. It isn’t until the last one, Gunwook, passes through the door that Joohyun lets out a heavy sigh. 

Sungchan lets out a loud groan from the couch, where Anton is tucked under his arm. It’s odd for him to be so touchy lately, but Joohyun finds herself smiling anyway. It’s a glimpse into the Sungchan she used to know. 

“I can’t believe those were the first people we’ve spoken to in almost a year,” Sungchan mumbles, running the hand not holding Anton through his hair. “It was exhausting.”

“I thought it was kind of nice. And you seemed to like that Matthew dude,” Sohee chirps. “So sad what happened to them though.”

Joohyun sighs. “Yeah, as if I needed a reminder of what happens to women in times like these.”

Wonbin prickles from his place on Joohyun’s right. The hand that he had gently slung around her waist tightens into a protective grip, subtly bringing her closer to him. 

“You know we’d never let that happen to you, baby.”

“I’m sure they told their women the same thing,” Joohyun shrugs. 

“Princess,” Seunghan mumbles, crossing the room to stand in front of her, “no one’s gonna lay a finger on you. We would have no problem killing anyone who even thinks to get close.”

Joohyun can barely register the sound of Shotaro mumbling something before the other men are shuffling to leave the room. Seunghan and Wonbin still have her trapped between them, faces twisted into hard expressions that she hasn’t seen since Jaeri’s funeral. The weight of their stares forces her shoulders into a pathetic slump. 

“You know that, right, princess?”

Joohyun merely shrugs. 

“We would die for you, baby. Time and time again. No one would dare hurt you as long as either of us could help it.”

Wonbin’s lips are warm against Joohyun’s temple, lingering in less of a kiss and more of a secure presence. Seunghan reaches out to grab her hand in his, guiding it up to his mouth to press a light kiss to her palm. The simultaneous press of lips to her skin is enough to have Joohyun reeling, a burning sensation spreading throughout her body. She fights the urge to break free from their grasps.

“I love you, Joohyun. We both do.”

It’s odd to hear her name spoken aloud. Neither of the men have called her by her name since before the world ended, choosing instead to use pet names to soften the blow of their words. This time, though, Seunghan’s words are sharp and piercing, slicing through the air with a finality that leaves no room for questioning. She wonders if Seunghan knows that doubts are blooming in the back of her mind anyways. 

“Seriously, baby,” Wonbin mumbles against her temple. “Don’t let their stories scare you. We would protect you with all we have. Nothing is ever going to happen to you, I promise.”

Joohyun fights the urge to scoff. The boys should know better than to promise anything in the end of the world. She’s sure Sungchan promised Jaeri the same thing. Clearly, it was a promise he was in no way able to keep. 

Joohyun squirms until she’s free from the grasp of her lovers, forcing a pathetic smile. “I’m going to go help Eunseok clean up.”

.         .         .

One year and nine months prior

“Promise me you won’t freak out,” Wonbin mumbles into Joohyun’s hair. 

The entire length of his body is pressed behind his lover’s, the few extra inches he has on her allowing him to rest his cheek on the top of her head. She hadn’t moved when he sidled up behind her, staring diligently ahead. They’re standing far enough from the edge of the cliff that they aren’t really at risk of falling. But Joohyun knows that one too forceful move could have them both tumbling. 

“I can’t promise you things like that. You know this, Bin.”

The man’s sigh is little more than a deflation of the chest behind her. 

“Fine. At least promise me that you’ll really think about what I’m saying before you respond. 

Joohyun nods. “That, I can do.”

“Okay,” Wonbin mumbles, inhaling deeply. “I want to date Seunghan. I want you to date him too. I want us to be together, all three of us.”

As promised, Joohyun is silent, letting her lover’s words truly sink in before responding. For a moment, her head is blank, mind fully absorbed in the sight of the thick woods that lay beyond the valley. Then she imagines all three of them trekking through those very woods together. 

Joohyun imagines Wonbin kissing her forehead while Seunghan holds her hand. She imagines stumbling into one sturdy chest while another comes to support her from behind. She imagines splitting one portion of food into three. She imagines watching as heated kisses are exchanged over her shoulder. She imagines crying as two funerals are held at the same time. 

“What does that mean for us?” Joohyun finally questions. 

She can feel the stutter of Wonbin’s heart in his chest. 

“It means that we just love one more person as much as we love each other.”

Joohyun sighs. “You already love him, though. Don’t you?”

“I do. And I think you do, too.”

The night that she spent with Seunghan flickers through her mind in flashes of heated kisses and skin on skin. He told her how long he had been waiting, how much he wanted it. He also refused to bring up Wonbin, kissing Joohyun harder every time she mentioned his name. Ten minutes was all it took for Joohyun to forget about her boyfriend completely.

In front of them, the forest is blooming with lush greens and colorful flowers indicative of late spring. The weather has finally warmed up enough for them to ditch their jackets, comfortable in light flannels and sweatshirts. There’s a cloud right where the top of the mountain kisses the sky. It kind of looks like a racehorse, diligently pushing forward.

“I don’t care what you do, Bin. But don’t speak for me.”

It takes a lot of strength for Joohyun to release herself from Wonbin’s firm grasp. Once she is free, though, she moves as far away as possible. She’s turning to go back to the cabin where the group has set up camp when she hears the faintest whisper of her lover’s voice.

“One of these days, I’m going to get you to stop running from me.”

Joohyun knows that she shouldn’t respond, that conversations like this escalate into unhealthy encounters that leave both of them sore in the morning. But she can’t help it, ankle twisted in a bear trap of her own making.

”You have to stop giving me things to run from first,” she spits.

Wonbin just chuckles, cold and bitter. “You’re running from yourself. That doesn’t have shit to do with me.”

All of the times where Wonbin has said the exact same pair of sentences flood Joohyun’s brain. Their first fight, then again on Wonbin’s birthday, then again when Joohyun gave him the silent treatment, then again at Anton’s party, then again and again and again. No matter how many times he says it, it will light a fire in Joohyun’s core every time.

”Fuck you,” Joohyun seethes. “It’s the end of the world and you’re just worried about not having enough holes to fuck. I’m not the problem here. Go be with Seunghan for all I care.”

Joohyun skips dinner, spending the entire afternoon and evening sitting by the makeshift fire pit on the side of the cabin. It’s warm enough that she didn’t feel the need to light it, staring instead at the pile of ashes at its core. It’s a shame that they look so close to how she feels, sullen and dejected. All of the fight has left her body, leaving her in a hollow heap on the ground.

It’s well after dark that someone approaches her, the sound of shifting soil under hunting boots being the only sign of their presence. Joohyun doesn’t look when they come to sit next to her, far enough that they aren’t touching, but close enough to share body heat. Even when the clear their throat, Joohyun’s eyes remain trained on the barely visible ashes.

”He told me you guys were fighting about me.”

Joohyun scoffs, somehow even more offended by that thought. “It wasn’t about you. Bin just acts like he hates me sometimes.”

”He loves you more than I thought was possible,” Seunghan protests. “It scares me sometimes. I’ve known him his whole life and he’s never loved anyone as much as he loves you.”

Except for you, Joohyun wants to admit.

”Listen, the world is fucked and you guys make each other happy. Don’t give that up over petty fights.”

Joohyun imagines that if Seunghan knew that their arguments were deeper than petty fights he wouldn’t be saying this. If he knew the way that they hurled insults at each other like knives and then soothed the wounds with kisses, he wouldn’t be encouraging them to keep loving each other. If he knew that he was a lone knife, twisting and turning where he has been lodged in both of their thoracic cavities, he would leave Joohyun to burn out like the ashes in front of her.

”Whatever it is,” Seunghan continues. “You guys should talk about it. Shutting each other out like this can’t be good.”

Joohyun knows that it’s what Wonbin deserves. He deserves a partner who will speak up when something bothers them, not someone who lets her grievances stew under the surface of her skin until they boil over in concoction of insults and curses. He deserves a peacemaker, someone who is content in giving and receiving love. He deserves Seunghan.

But Joohyun is selfish. And maybe, just maybe, she thinks she deserves a bit of him, too. 

.         .         .

The first snow is little more than a light dusting, but Anton is bouncing off the walls with excitement anyways. His eyes are wide as he takes in the sight before him on the porch, causing Joohyun to smile. It’s easy to forget that just a few years ago, they all were calling him their baby. Times like now make it easy to remember. 

“This is like the perfect amount of snow,” Anton says in an overly muted tone. “I’m glad it’s fun snow and not fighting-for-our-lives snow.”

Joohyun makes a noise of agreement as she rocks back and forth in one of the rocking chairs. It was just last year when they had that kind of snow. It came down in blankets over the course of multiple days and shut them into the little abandoned camping store they called home. It also killed two members of their crew. 

Joohyun thinks that the two of them may have wanted to die. Eve and Lana were lovely people, if not a bit pessimistic at times. But when the snow hit, they both seemed to lose the light in their eyes. One day, Eve dug her way out of the snow and simply sat in the cold. Nobody could get her to come back inside, even trying to physically force her to. Within 24 hours she was gone. 

The next day, Lana went outside to sit next to Eve’s lifeless body. With a simple flick of a hunting knife against her own wrist, she sealed her fate. And when the snow finally stopped, their bodies were embalmed in a red-tinged ice. 

Joohyun shudders at the memory, feeling a deep chill in her veins. 

“It’s not even that cold!” Sohee exclaims, running out to the grass. He leaves behind delicate footprints, barely visible on such a light layer of snow. 

“It’s not, but you should still be careful,” Joohyun warns. “If you guys find a way to hurt yourselves, Shotaro will kill me.”

“I will!”

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Shotaro slides onto the porch. He settles in the rocking chair adjacent to Joohyun, fully bundled up in a thick jacket and tattered scarf. His cheeks have taken on a rosy hue from the cold, giving him a youthful look that contrasts the deep bags underneath his eyes. 

“I heard you screaming last night,” he begins, just soft enough for Joohyun’s ears. “I was on my way to you when it stopped. I didn’t know the nightmares were back.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Shotaro sighs. “But we need to. Why haven’t you been sleeping with Seunghan and Wonbin, anyway? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

Joohyun presses her lips together tightly, letting them instantly turn white from the pressure and the cold. Something in the back of her brain is telling her to go back inside, but she tries her best to fight it. She knows that this conversation is long overdue. 

“I don’t like spending the night with them. It just makes sense for each of us to have our own space.” Joohyun shrugs. “Plus, the bed is kind of small for three people.”

“It’s bad enough that you’d prefer having nightmares to being with your boyfriends?”

Boyfriends. Joohyun hasn’t used that word in years, or at all in Seunghan’s case. It had always seemed a little too trivial for her liking. Sure, Wonbin was her boyfriend of almost four years, but it was different when Seunghan got involved.  They weren’t simply dating. They were lovers. 

“You wouldn’t get it,” Joohyun mutters. “They’re so intense.”

Shotaro cocks an eyebrow. “We’re eight people left out of probably 10,000 on Earth. I’m sure your relationship problems can’t be that intense.”

Joohyun stands, long black hair falling in front of her face. A few strands tickle the scar on her cheek, which sends a zap of pain across her face. It’s enough to distract her from Shotaro’s apologies and requests for her to stay as she pushes her way back into the house. 

Sungchan looks confused upon seeing Joohyun enter the kitchen, hands halting where they had been twirling a Swiss Army knife. It takes Joohyun a moment to realize that her eye is twitching, which is likely what’s confusing the man. 

“Everything okay?” He questions. 

“It’s fine.” Joohyun winces as a sharp pain radiates across her face. “Everything is just fucking fine.”

.         .         .

One year and seven months prior

Joohyun punches with all of her might, knuckles crunching against the face beneath them. The man recoils, stepping back as blood begins to drip from his nose. She instantly scrambles for her backpack, unwilling to part from the supplies that the group is expecting her to return with. Right before she reaches the pack, a hand pulls her back. 

For a moment, Joohyun is okay with dying. It’s preferable to whatever else this man has in store for her. She talks about scenarios like these all the time with Jaeri, where you find yourself alone with a random man who wants much more than your supplies. She wonders if it’s going to hurt. She knows he won’t be gentle. 

The rough grip on her shoulder spins her around, briefly allowing her to take in the man’s twisted smirk and a bright glint of metal. She doesn’t register the sharp sting on her cheek until after she’s been pushed to the ground. 

“You fucking bitch,” the man seethes. 

The blood dripping down Joohyun’s face along with her sweat clouds her vision. All she can make out is the shuffling of her backpack and the sound of footsteps as the man runs away. She tries to move after him, falling back to the ground when her limbs protest in pain. At least it’s not the pain between her thighs that she was expecting. 

Joohyun’s vision grows splotchy, nausea swimming in her stomach. Thick, warm blood streams down her face before the world fades to black. 

When Joohyun comes to, the first thing she registers is the sharp throbbing pain in her face. It’s rhythmic, almost in time with the movement of her body. She opens her eyes to little more than a squint, the harsh glare of sunlight burning her retinas. A flinch is as far as she gets before she realizes she’s being held. 

“Oh thank god you’re awake! I’m gonna get you back to...”

Joohyun can’t make out the last bit of the sentence as she passes out again. 

A sharp pain in her cheek is what wakes her up. She flinches away from the sensation, but she can’t move far. Her eyes are weighed down as if they’ve been cemented together, preventing her from looking around the room. There’s a gentle shush, just barely audible over the rush of blood in Joohyun’s ears. 

“That was the last one. You’re all done now.”

It takes a lot of effort, but eventually Joohyun is able to open her eyes, blinking frequently as light floods her vision. As her view clears, she’s able to take in the smiling figure above her. He simply cuts a string before making a noise of satisfaction. 

“Taro?”

A sweaty palm on her shoulder stops her from moving to sit up. 

“Woah, don’t move. Your ribs are still pretty fucked up. And don’t speak! I don’t want you busting your stitches.”

“Stitches?”

Shotaro hisses, friendly smile morphing into a wince. “What did I just say? Seriously, just take it easy. I’ll go get Seunghan. He’ll explain everything to you.”

Joohyun doesn’t protest as Shotaro leaves the room, the various points of pain on her body finally registering. There’s the sharp pain on her cheek that throbs with every breath she takes. Then there’s the dull ache encompassing the left side of her chest, making each breath feel heavy and effortful. Her knuckles also hurt, but their hot throb is negligible compared to her other injuries. 

“Glad to see you’re awake, princess.”

Joohyun turns her head quickly when Seunghan enters, biting back a groan when her body protests. Seunghan’s gaze sweeps over her body, face twisted into a wince as he takes in her broken and bruised state. He’s still in the clothes that he wore when they left for the supplies run, so Joohyun assumes that not much time has passed. 

“Taro doesn’t want you to talk, but I can let you know what happened,” Seunghan says as he sits at the foot of the bench Joohyun is resting on. “I think he went to go get Wonbin, but I already told him. I forgot that motherfucker packs a punch.”

Seunghan brushes his hair off his forehead, revealing the dark reds and purples forming around his right eye. Dread instantly pools in Joohyun’s core. There’s no way Wonbin did that because of her. 

“I guess I deserve it, though,” Seunghan continues. “I should have never left you alone.”

“It’s not your—“

“Stop. You’re not supposed to be talking until your face heals up.”

Seunghan runs his hands through his hair again, obviously distressed. Joohyun craves to reach out and comfort him, but her ribs protest at the thought of moving. 

“So, I guess after I left to check the store across the street, somebody must have found you and tried to take your stuff. Instead of handing it over, you fought back. And then, he did this to you,” Seunghan clears his throat. “When I came back, you were passed out and your face was all bloody. He cut your face down to the fat, you know. So I carried you back with the flesh hanging out of your fucking face.

“Thankfully you’re okay, but…fuck. I should have been there to protect you. I’m so sorry that I left you alone. I understand if you never forgive me, princess. But I’m so, so sorry.”

Joohyun doesn’t register her tears until their salt stings the fresh stitches in her cheek. Despite the pain in her body, she reaches out to cover Seunghan’s hand with her own, using the last of her energy to give it a faint squeeze. The action finally has the dam breaking, and Seunghan crumples around a sob. 

“It’s not your fault.” Joohyun’s face stings with the simple sentence. The beads of sweat forming around the injury from the sweltering temperature drip down her cheek, pooling in the injury and adding to the pain. 

“It is. And I’m so, so sorry, princess. I already know Wonbin’s gonna hate me forever. And I understand if you do too.”

Joohyun shakes her head in protest, ignoring the way it makes the room spin. “He loves you. Me too.”

.         .         .

The kisses being trailed up the side of her neck distract Joohyun from the force claiming her mouth. It’s almost a competition of who can make her the most breathless. As Seunghan tangles his hands into Joohyun’s hair, Wonbin bites down on a particularly sensitive spot, causing her to moan at the dual sensations. 

Heat rushes through Joohyun’s stomach, core tightening as she shifts forward. The hard lines of Seunghan’s abs meet the softer planes of her stomach, made thinner by the lack of food. Wonbin’s broad shoulders almost encompass her from behind, pressing her further into Seunghan’s space. 

Joohyun lets her brain float away while the men love her body. Occasionally she flinches at a sharp press of fingers or lets her jaw drop open in an aborted whine. She can’t help but let herself lose all sense of space and time, the haze that encompasses her being all too welcoming. She can vaguely register Wonbin’s sweet smile as he presses a kiss to her temple and Seunghan’s short coo as he showers her with compliments. 

When the fog clears, Joohyun is once again sandwiched between two bodies, hands stroking over every inch of exposed skin. A dazed smile crosses her face, creating a dull ache around her scar. A press of lips against it soothe the pain before it can cut too deep. 

“You back with us, baby?”

Wonbin’s voice is much raspier, voice clearly worn from their earlier activities. The familiar gravely sound just makes Joohyun’s smile grow. 

“Yeah,” Joohyun clears her throat, “I am.”

Seunghan presses a kiss to the back of her neck, right above the clasp of her chain. Its gold color remains bright, somehow not faded over time. The small pendant in the shape of a bow usually sits right in the center of her clavicles. Now it’s shifted, laying askew from the night's activities. Joohyun moves to fix it with trembling fingers, sighing when gravity forces it out of place again. 

“Taro told us that the nightmares are back,” Seunghan whispers, lips still attached to Joohyun’s skin. “We didn’t know.”

A sharp pain tugs at Joohyun’s chest, forcing her to gulp down air like a fish out of water. “It’s not—it’s just not a big deal.”

“Baby, you used to stay awake for days because of them. Now you want us to think it’s not that bad?”

“That was different,” Joohyun protests. “That was before we found the farm. It’s better here.”

Seunghan sighs, a rush of hot breath tickling the back of Joohyun’s neck. “At least try sleeping with us more. Maybe that will help. I know being with Jaeri helped a lot, right?”

Joohyun shifts, attempting to pull away from the men she’s sandwiched in between. The tangle of legs seems endless, making Joohyun unable to identify where her legs end and where her lovers’ begin. The grip around her waist tightens further, keeping her in place. She struggles against it for a moment, heart racing in her chest. 

“Relax, princess,” Seunghan coos. “You’re okay. We’re just not ready to let you go yet.”

“We’re not letting you run away from us anymore,” Wonbin adds. “You’re safe with us. We just want you to know that.”

Joohyun has never imagined safety to feel so constricting. She never imagined safety as a weighted blanket but rather a gust of wind under wings. She never imagined safety to be a pull, but rather a push. She never imagined safety to be her two biggest desires, but rather never having the desire for anything at all. 

.         .         .

Their new neighbors stop by only after a particularly heavy snow storm hits and then clears. Hanbin claims it’s just to check on them and make sure everyone is okay. Joohyun holds her breath throughout the encounter, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’s almost convinced that the rest of the boys will come by with guns blazing in order to take them by surprise.

They don’t, of course. 

Hanbin, Taerae, and Yujin only stay for about an hour, catching up with Shotaro and Sohee. Joohyun overhears them talking about a supply run that will need to be made soon, someone even suggesting that both groups could come together to make it easier. A wave of nausea passes through her stomach at the thought. Leaving her closest friends in the hands of barely acquaintances sounds like the worst idea anyone could have. Her stomach lurches when she hears the faint sound of Shotaro agreeing.

After they leave, an odd silence is left filling the farmhouse. It’s not exactly silence, since Sohee has started to speak quietly with Eunseok in the kitchen. But it’s enough for Joohyun’s mind to fall blank, an inability to process sight or sound overcoming her central nervous system. It’s both a calming emptiness and an alarming constriction. She is only shocked out of her reverie when a figure bounds down the stairs, wood creaking loudly enough to draw her attention.

“You don’t look so good, Joo,” Sungchan whispers as he comes to a halt in front of Joohyun’s swaying form. “Are you feeling alright?”

Joohyun clears building thickness from her throat. “Yeah, I’m totally fine.”

”No, you’re not. Should I go get Wonbin?”

”No!” Joohyun doesn’t know where she found the breath to be able to yell. “You guys don’t have to call him or Hani every time you think something’s up.”

Sungchan sighs, shoulders sagging in defeat as he takes a seat next to Joohyun. The worn wooden planks sigh under the change in weight, greeting the man as he plops down. He’s quick to copy Joohyun’s position, knees pulled to his chest and head tipped back against the wall. His limbs are way too long and much too bulky to be constricted in such a position, but Sungchan doesn’t complain.

“Do you miss her?”

The question catches Joohyun off guard. Even though the “she” in question is unnamed, Joohyun has no trouble deciphering who Sungchan is referring to. The two of them had never spoken about Jaeri’s passing directly, and Joohyun isn’t sure that Sungchan has spoken about it at all. She imagines she should be asking him instead of the other way around.

“Of course I do. She was the only one who got what it was like to be a girl throughout all this bullshit.”

Silence.

“Do you?”

Sungchan lets out a loud exhale through his nose, lightly tapping his head against the wall a few times. It’s an odd rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. Joohyun is about to warn him about the possibility of a concussion before the man moves to speak.

“You wouldn’t believe how much I miss her. But I think more than that, I’m angry.”

“That those guys shot her?”

Sungchan lets out a short chuckle. “Well, I mean, yeah. But that wasn’t what I meant.”

Joohyun turns to the man, waiting for him to continue. His gaze is fixed on a random point on the opposite wall, eyes glazed over with a layer of unshed tears. Joohyun imagines that if she looks really hard, she can find reflections of Jaeri in his irises.

“I’m more mad that I wasn’t better to her. I didn’t treat her as well as I could have. I should’ve made the most of the time we had together.”

Joohyun never pictured Sungchan and Jaeri’s relationship as anything other than perfect. The two always looked at each other like they hung the stars, never fighting, never anything other than absolutely smitten with each other. Joohyun can’t remember a time when their relationship had any cracks or holes. The two stuck together as if they were the air they needed to breathe.

“But you guys were like perfect.”

Sungchan chuckles again. “We weren’t, at all. But I wish I didn’t see those imperfections as such a problem at the time. I wish I just said ‘fuck it’ and let all the minor stuff go. All that mattered was that I loved her and she loved me.”

”But it’s complicated,” Joohyun protests. “We’re living in hard-as-fuck times. Of course there were going to be issues. I’m honestly surprised we didn’t see any of them.”

“It is tough. But I should have been grateful that I had someone by my side throughout it instead of worrying about petty shit. Look at you, for example. You have two people who love you and will be with you through anything. That’s all that matters.”

“But—,”

Sungchan stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “Respectfully, Joo, there are no buts. It’s the truth. Take it from someone who lost their everything. They should be all that matters in this fuck-ass world.”

A distant chatter grows louder as two pairs of footsteps descend the stairs. Joohyun doesn’t even have to look around the corner to know who it is, being able to recognize their voices anywhere. But she does, unable to prevent the small smile that crosses her face at the sight of her lovers. Sungchan chuckles beside her.

“That smile is the only thing that matters, Joo,” he whispers. “Don’t force it away.”

Wonbin and Seunghan enter the small hallway just as Sungchan is getting on his feet. They barely acknowledge the large man in front of them, breaking into twin smiles when they lay eyes on Joohyun.

”What were you two up to?” Seunghan asks, reaching out a hand to help Joohyun off the ground.

”Nothing,” Sungchan chirps. “I was just telling Joohyun how much we all love to see her smile.”

Wonbin raises an eyebrow, head tilting in confusion. “I mean, we do, but—,”

”Don’t say but, Binnie,” Seunghan interrupts. “We all do love to see you smile, princess.”

Instead of wiping the smile from her face, Joohyun scrunches her nose, feeling the deep throb of the scar on her cheek. She struggles not to shrink under the two pairs of eyes on her, not paying any mind as Sungchan moves into the kitchen. She wonders if they can see the minute movement of her cheek in time with her heartbeat.

She just smiles harder and lets them look.

.FIN.

Part 1

[murfpersonalblog]

The Babygirlification of the Modern Vampire - marinashutup

The first half is mostly just her love of Baldur’s Gate 3′s Astarion, and Twilight’s Edward Cullen; but she actually starts cooking in the last ~15 minutes, about major themes about vampires & vampirism in general; and why audiences relate to monsters so much:

Toxic cycles of abuse & vampire guilt (30:58 - 32:56)

Considering the vampire cycle of abuse, is it really any wonder that so many vampires are angsty brooding and hate themselves? 

“This is the skin of a killer, Bella!” (Edward Cullen)

The overwhelming desire to drain innocent victims -like Elon Musk drains Diet Coke cans and Twitter's net worth aside--vampires are basically groomed into believing they need to be sadistic, unempathetic, tyrannical monsters. Sure, monsters don't have a lot of say in their nature, but the culture of  enslaving, torturing, and brainwashing certainly doesn't help.

This is also making me think a lot about the way that artificial family dynamics are replicated within vampire lore.

Cazador is described as the patriarch of his coven, and he repeatedly calls his Spawn his children. He uses infantilizing language, referring to Astarion--a 239 year-old man--as “boy” and “child.” The Zar family is also a literal family lineage of vampires, and there's a whole side story where you learn that Cazador turned his own niece at the age of 13 without her consent. Incidentally, she was kind of a bada** because she rejected the whole creepy family cult thing, changed her name, and refused to ever leave her room. Honestly, Queen Sh*t. 

In real life toxic family dynamics, abusive parental figures often think of their abuse as serving a greater good. In the minds of many abusers, corporal punishment functions as a way to correct perceived mistakes and reinforce desired behavior in victims. The schemas passed down from vampire Masters to their spawn are inherently rooted in a cycle of abuse. 

In vampire mythology, including Dracula, Interview with the Vampire, and Buffy, vampire lineage often requires that all vampires are both victim and predator. The original trauma of being preyed upon by a monster who has power over them, viciously attacked and turned against their will, is part of a cycle of violence that gets repeated every time a vampire feeds or creates another vampire. In many of these narratives, the dichotomy of vampire-versus-prey / Master-versus-Spawn mirrors the abuser-victim dynamic.

The Role of Choice (35:43 - 38:17)

The role of choice is the primary theme running throughout Baldurs Gate 3, but it's also a major recurring concept within vampire narratives. 

In Twilight, Bella spends three and a half long-winded books begging Edward to turn her, to allow her to exercise her choice, and become a vampire--and he just keeps edging her. There's a lot to be said about Bella's motivations for this, and whether or not her desire is valid or rooted in a teen girl's struggle with identity. The books don't really grapple with the weight of that choice in a satisfying or intellectually curious way, but it's undeniably a substantial part of the text. 

In Interview with the Vampire [the 1994 movie], after mortally wounding Louis, Lestat presents him with the choice he never had--

“I'm going to give you the choice...I never had.” (Lestat, IWTV 1994)

But the so-called “choice” that Lestat offers his targets isn't really a choice at all. Mortally wounding someone, and then offering them the option to become a vampire or die is a false dichotomy of choice, that Lestat manufactured to suit his own needs: 

"If I leave you here...you die.” (Lestat, IWTV 1994)

Like, sir!? Have you ever considered the third option of NOT bringing your targets right up to the point of death, and instead simply letting them go?! 

He targets Louis because he knows he's emotionally vulnerable. Louis’ grieving the loss of his wife and daughter, behaves recklessly because he actively wants to unalive himself. He begs for death, but when the moment comes, he hesitates.

"Have you tasted it enough?” (Lestat, IWTV 1994)

Lestat promises that the gift of Darkness will rid him of pain and grief, and Louis agrees, but only reluctantly.

When Astarion first meets Cazador, his experience mirrors Louis. He's similarly bleeding to death when he's given the option to die or become a vampire; a choice he references with a degree of sarcasm:

"Eternal life, or bleed to death on the street!” (Astarion, BG3)

Cazador also leaves out some pretty major details about the consequences of being a vampire spawn, and it's doubtful Astarion would have actually consented to being turned had he been informed of them. I think it's also pretty clear in the way that Astarion talks about his experience that the process of being turned was a major source of trauma for him, and not something that he would choose a second time.

"I don't want to turn into anything else.” (Astarion, BG3)

I think it's also clear in the language he uses to describe his experience that he does not enjoy being a vampire. He pathologizes vampirism with medical euphemisms, describing it as a “condition,” “complication,” and “affliction.” 

Even Cazador himself seems to struggle with the monster he eventually became. If you use Detect Thoughts while Cazador is asleep in his coffin, his thoughts betray an eerie internal monologue.

Abuse Survivors vs Abuse Perpetuators (42:19 - end)

Some survivors of parental abuse unconsciously replicate the same behaviors and ideals from their own abusers. That's why you sometimes see generational trauma pass down within families, from abusive parents to their children, to their children's children.

Astarion's romantic relationship with the player also morphs into this weird power dynamic thing--and, like, I get it, I get it! You can actually have him turn Tav into a vampire spawn. But it's pretty clear that he will then start thinking of you [Tav] as a subordinate.... 

But mirroring his transformation from human to spawn, Astarion's Ascension fundamentally changes who he is as a person--

"Something tells me he's not the same person we knew.” (Karlach, BG3) 

And what I think is so interesting about Baldur’s Gate 3 is that it presents players with the complicated choice between persuading Astarion from making a decision that would clearly damage his progress healing from abuse, and letting him make his own quote unquote choice to Ascend. 

To me, persuading Astarion NOT to go through with the ritual and save the imprisoned Spawn is an essential step in the character's healing journey. Instead of rooting his aspirations in the twisted ideals that Cazador and the vampires before him glorified, this decision shifts how Astarion views himself, and who he identifies with. Truly seeing and valuing the Spawn’s humanity is Astarion choosing to identify with Cazador's other victims and honor the humanity within himself by aligning himself with the Spawn. It means he too is a survivor worth saving. It means choosing to be better than Cazador-- choosing to form his own identity, and choosing to break the centuries-long vampire cycle of abuse. And that's really powerful. 

But of course, you can also choose to let your pansexual elf boyfriend double down on becoming a toxic Alpha Vampire Who Wants to Rule the World. Some players actually prefer letting Astarion Ascend, and live out his fantasy as a kinky vampire Top, creating a polycule of Spawn Submissives.

In Baldur’s Gate 3, you can make whatever choice you want. That's kind of the whole point.

“There are a lot of thirsty people around here.” (Halsin, BG3)

[docholligay]

The Witching Hour by Anne Rice

You’re either into what Anne Rice does, or your are not into what Anne Rice does. Reading an Anne Rice book is a akin to riding a bull. You have to take everything you think about urban fantasy, and you are almost certainly thinking of the frameworks set up by its popularity in the early aughts, and toss it out the fucking window. Anne Rice doesn’t care.  Fuck the devil, says Anne Rice, and absolutely not in a paranormal romance way. Anne Rice longs for violence and death, and she is going to make you look up a fucking word, and you are going to learn SO MUCH about New Orleans. 

Anne Rice is smart dumb literature. This is a tub read about a family of witches and is it a gift is it a curse, holy fuck there some weird sex shit in here book. But it also has prose that has been accused of being purple (it is not) because it is rich and textured and uses more than first level English. This is trash for people LOVE the act of reading, and the art of language. 

Is it good? I am not sure I would say it is. On a story level. It’s pretty…pulpy. This book more or less holds together under its own weight--I will be candid and say that’s not actually true of every Rice book. But this time period of her writing, I love being able to find gothic genre fiction that is fucked up and still loves the written word. I love that her books are not short! I know I complained about it earlier, but that was more, “Oh my god I only have so much time and I have other books to read” and not, “I hate long books” because no I love long books I love description I love you asides that allow me a depth of place and character I love you books that presume I like to fucking read. 

ANYWAY yeah! I liked it even though i don’t think it was good because I love her trash ahaha. 

The first thing is: Is this better than her vampire books? For me, this is a difficult question because her vampire books come packaged up with a lot of nostalgia. I read them when I was a teenager, and I absolutely fell in love with them. This was my unbelievably stupid fantasy series that a teen is way too intense about. So for me, no, this isn’t as good or better than her vampire books because I’m not reading it with that haze of thirteen year old Doc. 

But I will say that even her vampire books are…not great. They are FUN. But I really think only Interview ever does anything beyond the text itself, and so much of that has to do with Anne Rice’s writing it as a way of working through her own personal tragedy. Claudia is the closest she ever really gets to saying something true in her books. So I don’t know that The Witching Hour is a WORSE book, but because it’s an Anne Rice special written outside of the things that I hold a lot of internal affection for, it doesn’t give me the same sense of joy that the objectively stupid vampire books do. It’s just silly. I don’t have FEELINGS about Rowan or Mary Beth or Stella the way I do, say Armand, or Lestat, or Marius. 

This book is at its absolute best when it’s doing what I think Rice has a real gift for: historical urban fantasy. Say what you will about Rice, and I do all the time, but she is in love with New Orleans, and she knows a lot about it, and often I find myself reading a book of hers and feel compelled to go look something up. I ended up reading a whole bunch of articles about the history of Haiti because this book made me realize I didn’t really know much about Port-au-Prince. Everything serves New Orlenas, in her view, and it’s true that she is most at home there, and I think it really tells in the texture of the novel, versus when she is in Europe, for example. 

I loved the structure of learning about each of the witches leading up to Rowan. The way we look at everything in the taillights, and know what’s coming but it still is a delight to read the lead up. I would love to read more about the historical witches--the book loses me a little bit when we return to Rowan, I just don’t find her very compelling. She’s a thing for Lasher to act upon more than she is her own woman, at least in this book. She’s brilliant and perfect and gorgeous and everything, but she lacks a sort of internal fire. 

This is the weird thing about Anne Rice, is, she’s one of those women who writes terrible female characters. With the exception of Claudia, I guess. She’s largely disinterested in woman on the whole, at least as far as sussing through their motivations and ideas. We even understand these women, the Mayfair witches, THROUGH the men who study them, more than we do through them for their own sake. So I guess I say I wish more of the books focused on the historical witches, but if they had to hold up their own book, would Rice LET them? Could she write them as doing it? 

Anne Rice is always going to Anne Rice and you would think I would know that by now, but I still was a bit surprised to see Rice’s obsession with violent sex and rape as a kink. Not actually rape, in this book, it must be said. She’s very clear that everything is consesual, but the number of times she talks about the sex she has with Michael and how much she loves that it’s like a rape, and how much she loves rough sex.I caught myself laughing about it after a certain point. 

I KNEW she was going to fuck that demon. I knew it from the second we started getting shaded to the idea, because I know Anne Rice, and the things she loves and how she works, and there was always going to be horrible, monstrous demonfucking. I will give her full credit in that I didn’t expect the incest thing to actually work as part of the plot, but it does. It’s a very weird fucking purebred dog type idea, and I don’t hate it, which shocked me since incest is such a squick for me. But it seemed weirdly…perfect? I know, I know, I am also disgusted with myself it’s fine. 

Would I read the next one? I would be open to reading it, but I don’t know that I’d be chomping at the bit to do it of my own volition. I am gonna read some of the old vamp[ire chronicles though because it has made me nostalgic for it.

[talenlee]

Story Pile: Ronin

The first time I watched Ronin I was sitting on a friend’s sofa down the road from where I was living with my parents. It was the early 00s. I was learning about movies from a fan of movies, seeing things I’d never seen before from someone I wasn’t good at being friends with. The second time I watched Ronin was last night.

1998 was a long, long time ago. 1998 was a time when people who grew up with the cold war in their lives were realising that maybe it was definitely over, and now, four years after the collapse of the Soviet Union, they had to come up with something else to do to justify all that spy stuff that was done. You know, all those listening programs and the manipulations and the lies and the counterprogramming and the language skills and peeing in weird places, like, that had to be for something, right?

Right?

Ronin is a 1998 sorta-spy movie, sorta-crime movie, mostly action movie made by people whose work I cannot meaningfully put in a good context but also had a script written by a guy people recognise called David Mamet. He wasn’t credited because, the trivia goes, there was a fight about it, and that makes it a thing to know about this movie, to show that you have done your time in the trivia mines.

The movie centres on a character named Sam, and is framed around the imagined story of the Samurai tradition of the Ronin. Sam is a former spy (maybe) doing crime work (maybe) for a non-state actor (maybe). He has to retrieve a case (or not) and it’s for this purpose or another. To describe the plot is to deflate it because this isn’t really a movie built around a plot as much as it is a movie built around a sequence of very tightly controlled events. Every single scene is setting up something for the next scene and there are very few times where something is set up in scene A only to fail to pay out until scene D.

It’s a movie that’s very well made, in that nothing feels to me like it’s out of place or weird or inappropriate. It is full of real-seeming things to me, creating a very tangible sense of excitement when you see a car plowing another card off the road. It even has a whole lady character in it, and her name isn’t something ridiculous like Vaginas O’Clock, which means that in the genre of spy action stories of the time, she’s doing okay!

Despite the way the movie feels really cool and like it’s perfectly put together, there’s something about it that nags at me. It’s that the opening uses title cards to explain what a Ronin is, in a German style script, and then the ending is narration, offered by a specific actor in their specific voice, relating to the experience of spending their time with another character in that movie. And… like, I can see why there’d be a challenge in making those two bookends the same, but not that hard of a challenge? As it is, it’s a movie introduced by one thing and concluded by another, for some reason I don’t understand. It’s a seam, it makes me think about why they couldn’t do this a better way.

Ronin is a type of movie that I used to think of as a Dad Movie in that it was the kind of movie a Dad would sit down to watch with glee knowing that broadly, sure, okay, there was violence in it if a kid walked in and saw it but it wasn’t going to involve having to explain anything to the kid that wasn’t a matter of degrees. If I was thirteen and my dad was watching this movie, I could probably (?) watch it with him, and he wouldn’t have to come up with an explanation for anything that made him uncomfortable to see me around.

It means that Ronin is a movie that largely is made up of sequences of people kicking ass and being cool, split into two halves where the first is a team coming together for an exciting heist and then the second half is where it’s all gone a bit wrong. Just describing what’s in Ronin is a kind of analysis itself; what someone notices in how they outline the movie versus what they choose to leave out presents something because this is a movie that is deliberately dense with information and sparse with explanation. Characters have relationships and backstory that are never explained because to the story that you’re getting here, in Ronin, it doesn’t matter at all.

And the whole thing is centrally about a bromance between two cool guys doing spy stuff! That’s fun!

I didn’t find anything in Ronin of a greater message, I think. It’s more like it’s archetypal; this is a movie about dudes, and rocking, and the way that dudes rocked, in that particular period of space and time. I mean it’s a well-made tersely directed movie created by people who are really good at making movies. You see, I say, waving my hand as if holding a vape, When Jean Reno, holds a gun, and he is sad, that, that is cinema.

Saying it like that feels as if it is to say that there’s nothing to Ronin is to imply that somehow what’s here is insubstantial. It’s not. It’s really cool, it’s extremely interesting and unmoored from most of its parameters, it’s got all these scenes of characters being really good at their jobs doing things that are cool, with style. If you’re familiar with the time and the space and the metaphor, you might be able to appreciate some subtly inferred and cleverly constructed meaning. To me, the meaning that’s there is the fantasy of an American spy successfully doing the thing that they supposedly do because they’re good at their jobs and they can get the results they want through the actions they commit.

All spy movies are fantasy movies.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sweet Pumpkin Chapter 4

Summary:  Bucky is struggling with the dating world and knows that if he ever hopes to have a serious relationship, that he needs to get through his touch deprivation issues.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch people, or them to touch him, but after decades of pain he doesn’t know how to accept physical intimacy from others, or how to give it himself.  He hires Y/N, an intimacy coach and professional cuddler, who comes highly recommended.  Will his heart be able to distinguish between a service given versus real love?

Warnings: mentions of past violence and past sexual assault, language, physical intimacy, eventual smut

**curvy reader

Previous chapter Next chapter

Bucky took her out on dates as often as he could, and when they weren’t going out, he was spending time with her in her apartment.  She came over to his apartment once in a while, but he preferred her space.  He was taking it slow with her, wanting to make sure they were both comfortable with each other and the way the relationship was progressing.  He was ready to go all in, but knew with her past and his past that it was going to have to be handled with care.  The farthest they had ever gone was making out with each other while Y/N straddled Bucky’s lap, and that was okay with him, as long as she was okay with it, too.  A couple of months later Sam came to visit him after a long stint of missions.

“Hey Buck,” he said, hugging him.

“Hey Sam,” Bucky greeted him, hugging him back.  “How were the missions?”

“A mess,” Sam rolled his eyes and sighed.  “But what else is new.  How are things going with you?  You still working with Y/N?”

Bucky blushed.  “Uh, yeah I was.  It was really helpful.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at him.  “What was that look?”

“What look?”

“Did you just blush?”

“No.”

“You did!  What did you do?”

“What do you mean what did I do?”

Sam frowned.  “You’re dating her now, aren’t you?”

Bucky fought a smirk.  “Maybe.”

Sam sighed again but smiled.  “I hope there was no unethical client-therapist type of relationship going on?”

“No, no no no,” Bucky quickly shook his head.  “We didn’t do anything like that.”

Sam nodded.  “But you’re happy?”

Bucky finally smiled at him.  “Yeah.”

He considered Sam a great friend, never needing to fully explain things or speak a lot.  They just understood each other silently.  Sam smirked.  “You better make her happy, or I’ll have to kick your ass.”

Bucky snorted.  “You wish, Birdman.”

***

It was a holiday weekend, and Y/N had taken the time off from her usual clients.  Bucky was laying with her on her bed in her room, talking and casually lounging on a slow Saturday evening.  They were cuddling together, Bucky being the big spoon this time with her back against his front.  His fingers slowly tickled along her side, over her hip and down the side of her leg and up again.  She was playing with his metal fingers.

“I can never get enough of this,” Y/N said suddenly.  “This is just the coolest thing.”

“What?  My arm?” Bucky asked, huffing a laugh.

“Yes!” Y/N exclaimed, pulling his hand up.  “Like…not just the technology aspect of it but the artistry!  To manipulate metal into something that looks lifelike, the ability to make it so you can feel things with it, adjust grip and strength like a normal hand.  And this gold peeking out,” she said in a breathy, reverent tone, her finger sliding along the edge of one of the plates in his palm, “it’s beautiful.”

Bucky smiled at how much she admired a part of him that he still was insecure about.  “It’s definitely useful,” he said nonchalantly.

“I’m sure,” Y/N laughed.  She flicked his palm.  “Can you feel that?”

“Yes,” Bucky said.  “It’s more like a pressure thing.  I can’t feel things like pain with it.”

Y/N hummed before pulling his hand closer to her face.  She glanced back at Bucky then focused on his fingers.  She moved her head forward and kissed the tip of his pointer finger.  “How about that?”

Bucky shakily inhaled.  “It’s…yeah, barely.”

Y/N started kissing along his other fingers, twisting his hand each way she wanted.  She then licked at his pointer finger and sucked it into her mouth.  Bucky eyes widened at her actions.  He could feel the pressure of the sucking, but it was watching her mouth lick and suck that had him hardening in his pants.  

“Fuck, pumpkin,” he groaned.

Y/N popped his finger out of her mouth then looked back up at him, feigning an innocent smile.  “Yes?”

“You little tease,” Bucky said lowly.

“You like it,” Y/N said, her ass pushing against his groin.  “I can feel you like it.”

Bucky’s forehead leaned against her shoulder as he restrained himself from thrusting his hips against her.  “Pumpkin,” he warned.

“What do you want, hot stuff?” Y/N asked quietly, rolling her hips back against him again.

Bucky peered up at her.  “I wanna…God, I wanna do a lot of things to you,” said.  “Do you want to?”  Y/N gave him a reassuring smile.  “I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for–”

She quickly turned in his arms to face him, her hands cupping his face and her leg hiking up over his hip.  “I’m ready,” she whispered, kissing him.  “I want to.  I trust you…with all of me,” she rubbed her nose on his then bit her lip.  “I…I love you, Buck.”  Bucky let out a sharp breath at her confession, his eyes widening again.  “I’m in love with you…a lot…probably way too much,” Y/N huffed a laugh, breaking eye contact and looking down.

Bucky lifted her head with his finger under her chin and kissed her deeply.  “I love you Y/N,” he breathed against her lips.  “I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you from the moment you let me touch your face that first day.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and turned watery.  “I want you,” she said, “but um…it’s been a long time, and I’ll need you to be patient and gentle with me.”

“I can’t remember the last time I ever did this,” Bucky said.  “So we’ll take our time.  As long as I get to have your softness,” he said, kissing around her face randomly, “all over and around me.”

Y/N sniffed and nodded at him frantically.  “Please,” she whispered.  

Bucky nodded then kissed her again deeply, his hands slipping up into her hair and down her neck to her back, pulling her close to him.  Y/N’s hands were everywhere, sliding from his neck to behind his back, to his front and down his chest.  He maneuvered himself so he was hovering above her, breaking the kiss so he could start to kiss down her throat, licking and sucking at her skin, learning all the little spots that made her writhe and squirm.  He pulled at the lower hem of her shirt, and she nodded, giving him permission to pull it up and off of her, revealing her nakedness up top.  His hands immediately went to her breasts, softly massaging them, his thumbs rubbing against her nipples.  Her fingers pulled at his shirt, and he quickly pulled it off.  Y/N stared up at his upper half, her fingers tracing along his scars and dips in the muscle.  Bucky dipped his head down and licked her left nipple then sucked it into his mouth, making her moan.  

He gave each of her breasts ample attention before kissing back up to her mouth.  “So beautiful, pumpkin,” he whispered, nipping at her lower lip.  “Can I see all of you?”  Y/N nodded again and he focused on her pajama shorts.  His fingers dipped into the waistband of her shorts and underwear and pulled them down, Y/N helping him by lifting her pelvis.  He threw them off to the side and stared down at her pussy.  “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he breathed.  “Can I taste you?”

Y/N nodded again and he quickly shimmied down the bed until his face was aligned in between her legs.  He spread her legs wider with his hands then kissed right over her clit.  Y/N gasped and her hips jerked.  “I’ve got you, pumpkin,” Bucky said, licking her lower lips.  He licked, sucked, and kissed everywhere, alternating between sticking his tongue as deep into her as he could and then flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue until she was shaking.  He finally sucked her clit harshly, and it was enough to make her cum for the first time, a long, high pitched groan emanating from her throat as her fingers gripped at his hair harshly, her legs shaking against his shoulders.

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed as she started to come down from the high.  “Bucky…honey, fucking hell.”

“I love it when you call me honey,” Bucky said, kissing her thighs as he sat up and crawled back up so he was hovering over her again.

“I thought you liked hot stuff,” Y/N said breathily as she laughed.

“Both.  Both are good,” he chuckled as he leaned down and kissed her.  

Y/N’s hands moved down and started to push at the hem of his pants.  Bucky quickly got out of his pants and underwear, kicking them off his legs until he was kneeling between her legs completely naked.  She stared at his cock, her eyes slightly widening.  “Now I’m nervous,” she said, looking hesitant.

Bucky laughed again.  “You’re making me feel really special, pumpkin,” he said.  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”  He gripped his cock in his hand, pumping himself a few times.  “Do we need a condom?”

“No,” Y/N shook her head.  “I’m on the pill, and I’m clean.”

“I’m clean,” he said, then shuffled forward and slid the tip through her slit, making her shudder.  “Are you sure you want this?” he asked quietly, watching her face carefully.

Y/N smiled up at him.  “I’m sure,” she agreed.

Bucky smiled, then aimed himself at her entrance.  “You ready?”  Y/N nodded, looking down.  Bucky tsked and his metal hand softly grabbed her chin to make her look at him.  “Words, pumpkin.  Are you ready?”  

“Yes,” Y/N said, nodding frantically.  Bucky smirked then let go of her chin.  He started to move forward, and Y/N gasped at the stretch.  He went slow, making sure she wasn’t in physical or emotional pain.  When he was finally in as far as he could go he huffed a heavy breath and Y/N whined.  “Holy shit,” she said.  “That’s…fuck, that’s amazing.”

Bucky tried to keep his wits about him.  She felt so good, and he hadn’t done this in so long he was afraid he’d cum too fast.  “Jesus Christ, Y/N,” he breathed, his top half folding over on top of her, his forehead resting against her shoulder.  “You feel so good.  So perfect.”

Y/N hummed and turned her head to kiss his ear.  “Please Bucky, please fuck me.”

Bucky groaned and his hips rutted into hers, pulling a high pitched grunt from her.  He lifted himself back up, his hands gripped her hips, and he started thrusting slowly.  The feeling of being swallowed up in her over and over again was addicting, and he knew he was ruined from that moment on for any other person.  Y/N reached down and pulled his hands away from her hips, then intertwined her fingers with his.  He leaned over her again so that their hands were up by her head.  She stared at him with those intense, knowing eyes of hers.  It all felt so incredibly intimate, soft, special, that he could barely look into those eyes.  He kissed her again, and she released her hands from his grip to wrap around his back, keeping him close and chest to chest with her.  

Bucky wrapped his metal arm under her neck, his forearm turned upward so his hand could tangle into her hair while he kissed her, his flesh hand reaching down and hiking her left leg higher over his hip, helping him drive further into her.  “Sweet pumpkin,” he murmured against her lips.  “Thank you.”

Y/N’s nails scratched down his back.  “For what?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

“For trusting me,” Bucky breathed.  “For wanting me.  For loving me.”  His hips started to move faster, chasing his release.  “Fuck, I’m close…”

Y/N hummed at his change of pace.  “Thank you for being so soft…and sweet…and gentle with me,” she whispered.  It was as if she was afraid of ruining the moment they were in.  “Please honey…”

Bucky moaned loudly at the pet name, hugging her tighter and keeping his face near her face.  He snuck his flesh hand between their bodies and started rubbing and flicking at her clit.  “I’ve got you, Y/N.  Can I cum inside you?  Please?”

Y/N moaned and nodded.  “Fuck yes,” she said lowly.

“Goddammit,” Bucky swore, his thrusts getting harder.  He flicked her clit quickly and then she stiffened, her back arching as she shook under him and came with a loud cry of his name.  The way her pussy squeezed him had him seeing stars and he came with a long groan, kissing her again and licking into her mouth.  They panted against each other’s mouths, Bucky resting his forehead against hers and staring at her.  He reveled in the exhausted, fucked-out look on her face, and kissed her everywhere he could reach, making her giggle.  “So good, pumpkin.  My god…so fucking good.  My pretty, sweet pumpkin…”

Y/N sighed, her breath huffing against his face.  “God, I love you,” she breathed, a tired smile on her face.

Bucky kissed her lips again, giving her short, chaste pecks and nuzzling his nose on her nose.  “I love you,” he said quietly.

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess @cjand10 @railmesebstan

[fangbangerghoul]

Ao3 Masterlist

ALL OF MY FICTIONS: MDNI, 18+

Starfield Tales

Updated: 04/24/24 Word Count: 155,010

Ghoul series:

1. Neon City Delights (completed) TW: Drug use, SA, Cannon Violence

Walter Stroud has finally decided to talk to you (Main character) like you are a person at Constellation. So, to prove to yourself and the companion the association has assigned to you as of late, Sam Coe, you now get to walk the streets of your hometown to complete a mission with your lead. What happens at the Astral Lounge doesn't need to be told, right?

2. Settling with the Stars (completed) TW: Cannon Violence, Alcohol

Being grounded to a planet is worse when you know you could be out doing something better with your time. Sarah Morgan wants our main character to lay low while others have been out doing quests of their own. How has our main character been settling with their down time since their near-death experience at Neon City?

3. Fleeting Pleasures (completed) <Masterpost> TW: Violence, Murder, Addiction, CNC

Our characters Crimson Fleet Arc. After going undercover our main character now has to balance who they are versus who they have to be and the line starts to blur. (Sam Coe x MC x Delgado)

4. Cellar Door (on hiatus) TW: Grief, Isolation, SA

"This famous linguist once said that of all the phrases in the English language, of all the endless combinations of words in all of history, 'cellar door' is the most beautiful." - Karen Pomeroy from Donnie Darko

To discover the unknowns of time, space and the grand universe like a true adventurer was everything to the Constellation members but at what cost? In this small epic discover what eternity really means with our main character.

5. Heavy Metal Lover (in progress) (Fic Masterpost) Tw: cannon violence

Ghoul and Delgado are back! Ghoul is stealthy, aggressive, indulgent, and stubborn as hell. Delgado is rough, creative, intimidating, and a manipulative Crimson Fleet leader. These chapters will be windows into Ghoul's Crimson Fleet life if the ending of Fleeting Pleasures never happened.

This takes place separately from Fleeting Pleasures in a universe where Ghoul finds her footing within the Crimson Fleet. This AU is a year after Ghoul joining the Fleet and the Constellation and Sysdef foregoing any hold they felt they had on her.

Starfield Shorts

Offbeats/One Shot's:

Capacity Limit (Sam Coe x fem!reader) TW: Bondage, Cannon Violence

Reader and Sam Coe are on a mission to eliminate Spacers and Reader keeps picking up too much shit.

Tear You Apart (Pirate Sam Coe x fem!reader) TW: CNC, Facefucking, bondage, light forced voyeurism, it's very explicit and it's a pirate being a pirate so just be wary. This isn't your Sam Coe from Kansas anymore.

You are now Starborn in search for the remnants of what you have left behind in your new current universe. You rush to be reunited with a new version of those you cared deeply but things go awry.

soft leather and spurs (softdom!Sam x fem!reader) Tw: praise kink, soft breeding kink, language?

You are leaving the bar for the night after playing a game of let's meet like strangers with your favorite cowboy.

Bonus Stories:

Ghoul Adventures (Halloweenedition, in progress)

This Halloween edition of Starfield tales takes our Main Character and some of the crew of Constellation on a spelunking adventure in search of what is causing all of the spooky rumors at the local citizen outpost.

Ghoul Files (a miniseries in progress) TW: Smut (I honestly don't think I have anything too hardcore in this series to tag, I will update if that changes)

This is the start of entries from Ghoul's life. Not all entries will be cannon to the current series. These entries are also little tidbits to hold you over in between chapters and series! Some will be Crimson Fleet oriented; some will be regular Ghoul activities!

Ghoul's Time at Sandrock

Short 1000 words or less chapters:

That Damn Rock (completed) fem!builder x Owen Tw: Fluff, slice of life, maybe a smooch

Builder, Ghoul is struggling with gathering materials.

What Did I Get Myself Into? (completed) fem!builder x Owen TW: Fluff, slice of life, fun stuff

Builder Ghoul tries to socialize like a normal Sandrockian.

Baldur's Gatekeep, Gaslight, Gouge Eyes 3

Collection of BG3 inspired Fics:

Thorny Feelings (completed) OC Ghoul x Bearlytolerable's OC Valentine Blanche TW: smut, anal, cunnilingus, light bdsm, magic

Valentine follows his dear friend Ghoul out into the woods away from the camp of companions they've been traveling with in Faerun.

100 Followers Celebration - Bloodweave (completed) Gale x Astarion Tw: fluff, hurt/comfort kind of

While the party is taking a short rest; Astarion and Gale strike up a conversation.

100 Followers Celebration - Calm Nights (completed) Halsin x Astarion x Ghoul Tw: bathtub, relaxation

Halsin, Astarion, and Ghoul finally settle for the night into a paid room for the night after long voyaging.

Bonus Posts

Masterpost Character Editions:

Sam Coe: Collection of oneshots and features Sam Coe from Starfield

Delgado: Collection of fics featuring Delgado from Starfield

Owen: Collection of fic that features Owen from MTAS

[shirohige-pirates]

Birds of a Feather

CisFem Reader x Marco

CW: Violence, blood, language, adult themes and scenes. 18+ only

Summary: Life has not been kind to you. After a string of bad relationships, you're a little jaded and a little depressed in all honestly. The worst day of your life seems to be the turning point, but the roller coaster ride that follows could either throw you soaring free, or have you caged forever?

Chapter 12: The Firebird

Getting out of the car, you already saw Kid leaning against one of the bay door frames. The day was barely started and he was already covered in grease, shop uniform giving way. Knowing him he’d been working all night and hadn’t slept yet, versus having gotten up early enough to be in that state.

“Usopp here yet?” You call out, heading up to the shop proper, Marco coming up behind you.

“Yep,” Kid answers, squinting against the morning light as he cleans his hand up a little with a rag that’s seen brighter days. “Only just got here though, so you haven’t kept ‘im waiting much, Mouse.”

You roll your eyes and jerk your thumb toward Marco. “Eustass Kid, Newgate Marco,” you step aside as Marco steps up. “Marco, Kid.” You say, finishing your lazy introduction.

“Pleasure.” Marco says, taking Kid’s mostly de-grimed hand and giving it a shake.

“Sure thing.” Kid tilts his head toward the parking lot. “That yours?”

Marco looks back at his car and smiles as he looks back at Kid. “It is.”

“… Lemme put her up on a rack so I can get a good look at ‘er and I got a hood arm for you, no other charge.” Kid offers, still squinting against the light. Looking back and forth between the two of them you realize Marco’s the only person you know who could look Kid in the eye, damn giants.

Somehow Marco looks smaller than Kid, but probably because he’s not nearly as broad.

Marco looks to you and you smile. “I’m not gonna lie, I’ll be under the rack getting my fill too, if you’re okay with it.”

Marco chuckles. “Alright, it’s a solid deal, yoi.” He admits. “I’ll bring the car up. That bay?” He asks, pointing to one that looks like it has a lift in it.

“Yup.” Kid answers, his tone a little more friendly and a little less business.

“I’ll go talk to Usopp while you do that, and get things rolling.” You state, heading into the shop proper to find your car and Usopp.

The young artist is setting up his gear near your car. You start to say something to him, but the sight of your car catches your attention. In several pieces to make it easier for the paint job, everything has been reworked. If it wasn’t for the distinct body style and design of the interior, you’d almost wonder if it was your car.

“We either replaced or refurbished just about everything.” A familiar voice says from behind you. Looking over you see the wild blonde hair of Kid’s childhood friend Killer, one of the co-owners of the shop, poking out from behind the frame of a van with flames down the side of it. He turns to get a better look at you, lifting up his welding mask and giving you a smile.

“We kept what we could, but strictly original parts barely make up 10% of her now.”

“Did you guys redo the entire frame then?” You question, giving a wave to Usopp as Killer comes over to walk you through what they did to the car.

“Just about. You didn’t have near as much rust as we expected to find. Kid might not say so, but you took care of her really well, honestly. The engine had to be scrapped. There wasn’t enough machining to save it, and truthfully, the newer engines are just far too efficient.” Killer starts pointing at a few places while he explains. “Replaced all the clips and lines, new brake assemblies and tires. You got that sky blue base color, so we went with white for the interior. You had that dingy 70s silver before, so Kid didn’t think it was too different to bother saying something before hand.”

“Nah, white’s fine. It’ll be a challenge to keep clean, but y’all do detail jobs, right?”

“A-yup. Heat an’ Wire mostly, but I don’t think you’d hear a single complaint if this was the car they were cleaning.” Killer continues on. “Left the manual windows, and there’s an emergency release for the seat, but we did add fully adjustable controls to the seats.”

“Oh, programmable?” You prompt and Killer tilts his head.

“Here Kid was worried you’d be irritated by technology invading your precious time-capsule.” Killer grunts and you wave him off. “Yeah, you can put things were you want and save three different settings, so have fun with that. It’s still good old fashioned key-bound entry,” he continues on. “Kid says since you won’t have to worry about jumping her with the new, well, everything, that we could set you up with one of those magnetic keys for extra security if you wanted?”

“Hmm, I’ll have to think about it. Restored like this I’m going to have to get a new coverage policy, that’s for sure. It’d be cheaper on my end with the added security of a fancy key like that. Any chance I could have three for this car?”

“Three keys?”

You nod. “For now, one for me, one for the shop, and one for my house, in case I lose the one I keep with me.”

Killer tilts his head a little, and then nods. “I don’t see why not. I think we can order up to four for a single ignition without raising any concerns.”

“Perfect.”

“Whaddya think of her now, Mouse?” Kid asks, coming over to where you are with Marco not far behind.

“I think I’m going to go kick Victoria’s tires if you don’t stop calling me that.” You grumble.

Kid snorts. “Yeah, well, don’t kick Vicky’s tires, or your new car’s tires.” He warns. “Steel-belted, you might actually break a toe.”

“Hells Kid, are the windows bullet proof too? The security on this is already high enough as it is.” You tease, and Kid seems to consider.

“I mean, they could be.” He muses.

“No, no, that’s -,” you pinch the bridge of your nose and shake your head. “Thanks Kid, you guys did a great job.”

“Of which you had no doubt.” Kid retorts. It’d be arrogant, but he and the guys have the skills to back up his statement.

You smile and sigh, seeing no reason to give him an actual response. You turn to Usopp and give him a smile. He’s the only person in the entire shop that isn’t towering over you, it’s refreshing.

“Let’s talk design, Usopp.” You begin cheerfully. “The faster we get on the same page the faster I can look under Marco’s car’s skirt.” You hear Marco cough as Usopp laughs. Pulling a paper out of your pocket you unfold it and hand it off to Usopp. “I was thinking this kind of design.”

Usopp looks at it, looks to your car, and looks back at it. “That’s the original insignia design for the most part, isn’t it?”

You nod. “The expansion of the tail feathers would be unique, and I was thinking, one chain could go down each side of the car, and the third could come down through the headlight assembly?”

He tilts his head and looks back and forth again. “Yeah, I can see it. Do you know what colors you want to go with?”

“I think so. So if we do the outline of the wings in a kind of teal, with a metallic gold accent? I was thinking maybe a less metallic gold and more of a… hmm… dandelion gold for the chains.”

“Hm… rimmed in the metallic gold would be a nice touch.” He offers.

“Ooooh, yeah, that would. If the clear coat was a gloss finish too and not matte that would add to it.” You agree.

You’re too distracted with Usopp to notice, as Marco covers his face with a hand, listening to the two of you talk. Kid notices, looking over at him for a second before looking back at you. He keeps his voice low.

“You alright?”

“Huh? Oh - yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

“Wait, what if we invert the gold and yellow on the chain?” You prompt, and Marco makes a strange pained sound only Kid hears.

“You sure?” Kid presses a little. “If you’re going to hurl in my shop, step outside first.”

“No, I’m fine, yoi.”

Kid’s eyes narrow for a moment, and he seems about to say something when his eyes go wide.

“Oi, Mouse, I’m borrowin’ your boy toy for a minute.” He barks, grabbing Marco’s collar and pulling him away from everyone else.

“Hey, hey, don’t you-!”

“It’s alright.” Marco says, waving you off and giving you a smile as he and Kid go to the other side of the shop.

Your face twists a little, but Killer pats your shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on ‘im, stay focused with Usopp for a bit.”

“Yeah, thanks Killer.” You murmur, turning back toward Usopp after giving Kid and Marco one more glance. Kid didn’t look happy, but Marco didn’t look bothered, so you did your best to pull your attention back to Usopp.

“The phoenix?!” Kid hisses, caught between disbelief and anger. “You’re Marco the gods-damned phoenix?!”

“Was.” Marco answers flatly. “Twenty years ago. Been a vet for over a decade.”

“The Whitebeard pirates were legendary.” Kid states. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. Caught between admiration and disbelief, he finally settles on the only thing that’s coming to mind for him. “Is she in danger?”

“No one’s been safe since Roger tried to right the world.” Marco answers a little more sourly than he means to. “But in danger because of me? No, not so far as I know. We stopped being pirates and the government stopped being a problem. Less trouble to just leave us be, yoi.”

“… Are you really immortal?” Killer asks, looking over his shoulder and giving a thumbs up before turning his attention back to the other two.

“I age,” Marco replies, tilting his head a little. “Past that, I don’t know. Nothing’s even so much as left a scar on me, yoi. But I’m not exactly testing the limits of things by taking care of cats and dogs.” He’s quiet for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked with her about this yet, so I’d prefer-.”

“I’m not going to snitch,” Kid grumbles. “Talking about that stuff’s gotten fuckin’ touchy over the years, and considering mine keeps the shop running smooth I ain’t so stupid as to go around yappin’ about someone else’s business.”

“Happy to have your understanding.” Marco says quietly.

Having finished with Usopp, you came over to the other three, looking a little tentative until Kid waved you over directly.

“We all good?” You prompt, looking from one set of eyes to the next.

Marco smiles. “Exceptionally.”

You narrow your eyes a little and Marco looks taken aback for a second before you turn on Kid. “You didn’t go and do that whole big brother routine, did you?”

Kid rolls his eyes. “The hells would I go and do that? Yer doc’s alright.” He grumbles. “Let’s look under this car before Usopp paint’s the whole damn shop teal an’ gold.”

He pauses for a second, and turns and looks at you. “What made you pick those colors anyway?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking back over your shoulder at your car. “Just seemed right.”

[yngsuk]

In [Julia] Kristeva’s thought, entry into the social order is predicated on abjection, or separation from the mother, which precedes and precipitates the child’s entrance into the Symbolic, or law of the Father. The Black, however, lacks a similar corporeal tie with the maternal, instead revealing the ontological, psychic, and material ruptures reflective of a political ontology borne of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. For Black motherhood is sutured to a history of property relations, rather than kinship ties, and is illuminated by the state’s and civil society’s reach which extends from and beyond the ship’s hole: the severing of kinship ties of ascent and the erasure of maternal claims to descendants, whether on the plantation or via the foster ‘care’ and carceral systems. Blackness as deathly marker within the Symbolic, Imaginary, and Real is so intimately tied to the metaphoric and material reality of the corpse (and we have thousands of bones laying in the bottom of the Atlantic ocean to support this claim) that [Hortense] Spillers’ elaboration of the reduction of African bodies into flesh illuminates a critical facet: the material and psychic violence attendant to the construction of racial Blackness—in and through chattel slavery and its successive iterations—precedes one’s subjective and phenomenological experience of it. For antiblackness as a political and ontological outcome of a series of historical events—Sub Saharan racialized slavery, the Trans-Atlantic slave trade and the birth of modern racial capital—is prior to one’s entrance, but perhaps not one’s formation, in language or the Symbolic Order. Temporal aphasia operates by way of retraction where what remains unsymbolizeable in language—the Real, or the violence that precedes the id for Black people—gives way to speculative theories such as from Spillers who reveals the distinction between searching for communicability versus the rules of order, for understanding and expression versus systems of power: language versus her aim to “posit a grammar of a different ‘subject of feminism’.” And if violence is the a priori psychic and ontological construction undergirding Blackness, our methods for interpreting and articulating not only the machinations of the Black psyche, but also Black intramural relations, must be attuned to the effects of these “high crimes against the flesh” of “African females and African males” who still register this foundational “wounding”—what Spillers defines relationally as “social irreparability.”

Selamawit D. Terrefe, Speaking the Hieroglyph

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 - Pix11 clip makes me so sad for Claudia

As a New Yorker, I caught second-hand embarrassment watching the latest clip promoting Game of Thrones Ann [sic] Rice's Interview with a [sic] Vampire. 😭 But Jacob did his thing, as usual! 👏

Anyways, the clip itself was VERY interesting, from what I could tell with the audio + accents + French + lack of subtitles.

Sweet precious baby Louis, always the optimist in denial that things were getting better, not progressively worse. Louis of all people should know a thing or two about scar-tissue: some wounds only heal on the surface, but the trauma & PTSD can last forever.

I love how while Louis' waxing poetic about them "healing," Claudia's counting change (a la Bricktop 2.0--Louis "letting a woman count his money"); visibly holding back her frustration with their reality.

They had to pickpocket!? 😨 Louis! Don't stash Lestat's useless arse in a dump before making sure the alimony & child support checks get cleared! Like, I can understand them losing all their NOLA luggage while running from bombs & revenants in WWII Europe, but what happened to all Les' Parisian bank accounts!? You know how LOADED that guy is?! Louis, you really let your man take care of all the finances like that!? 💀

Jfc, Lou, The First Wives Club ain't teach you NOTHIN. 😒

Lemme calm down.

Now here's where the clip lost me; I couldn't understand a word he was saying in French--same, Claudia. 😅

But this bit right here really gets to the heart of the matter: "Truth and reconciliation;" them looking for the truth about vampiric origins & history (and the truth about Lestat's past).

Then we get this remark from Claudia:

I couldn't tell if this meant that A) Claudia was correcting Louis' French (Truth versus Trust, and her going "What?" cuz he got the translation wrong); or if B) Louis was correcting hers (her going "What?" cuz she still doesn't know any French). And if so, that got me wondering--Claudia lived with Loustat for 20+ years--how could she NOT know any French by then? 🤨

Like, I don't mean just through casual exposure/immersion; I mean cuz we learn in TVL that vampires are (preter)natural mimics. Lestat never learned how to play violin or even how to read or speak English. He picked it all up passively with the Dark Gift; a vampire who (barely) passed as human by mimicking them.

Which makes me NERVOUS for Claudia, if her powers are so dang low that she doesn't speak French by now. 😰

As for Louis, I had to laugh here; him calling French the "mother-tongue." Like, book!Louis was the same way about going to Paris--he wasn't born in America; he was a settler/colonist from France who got rich off of his Louisiana purchases in slave labor & plantations. Going to Paris really was going back to the motherland for him, and Louis was APPALLED when the Theatre mocked him for his French having an accent.

But French is clearly not AMC!Louis' native language (the DPDLs spoke English at home, NOT French--not even when Monsieur Bouillabaisse de Lioncourt came to dinner). And we also know from the OG pilot script that Louis knew (at least some) Haitian Creole, too, when he'd chat with Oncle Vervain Mayfair (GOD I wish they'd kept all that in!). French is more what bougie Creoles would speak to be cultured & educated & show off; not to converse with regularly.

If anything, French is more Louis & Claudia's father-tongue; from Lou's French White great-great grandfather; to the MIA Papa DPDL we never see; to Claudia's biological father "whose daddy gave her away to a mean old auntie" (and who left her for dead to die of PLAGUE in the books); to Absentee Father/Maker of the Year Lestat himself. What's more, French is the language of ANGER, VIOLENCE & verbal ABUSE in the de Lioncourt household/family/coven--Loustat only ever spoke it when arguing around/about Claudia.

So to have Louis talking in French to Claudia about mother-tongues is just hysterical, like boyyyyy if you don't stop--get Lestat's thumb out of your mouth for ONCE. 🤣

[jessread-s]

✩📜🖋️Review:

You should read this book and I’m going to do my best to tell you why.

“Babel: An Arcane History” is told primarily from the perspective of Robin Swift, an orphan from Canton who is brought to London by the mysterious Professor Lovell in hopes that he will one day enroll in Oxford University’s prestigious Royal Institute of Translation (Babel). Once there, Robin learns the art of Silver-working—manifesting the meaning lost in translation using enchanted silver bars—and that serving Babel means betraying his motherland. Caught between Babel and putting a stop to imperial expansion, Robin is left with the difficult choice of giving in or fighting back.

“Babel: An Arcane History” is both thought-provoking and incredibly insightful. Kuang challenges colonialism and the patriarchy, captures the complexities in relation to translation, broaches topics like nature versus nurture, and speaks to the necessity of violence with regards to revolution. She stretches the mind, appeals to her reader’s emotions to evoke feeling, and she does all this through her well-developed characters.

The novel’s length allows for the reader to become fully acquainted with Robin and his cohorts. Following Robin throughout the many stages of his life and reading singular chapters written from the point-of-view of other characters like Remy, Letty, and Victoire creates a sense of familiarity surrounding their very real struggles, inner conflicts, motivations, and for some, showcases their development from Babel scholar to revolutionary. Robin’s viewpoint in conjunction with Kuang’s descriptive prose also immerses the reader in the Oxford environment and politics, which contributes greatly to the plot.

Kuang does not hold back in her commentary on race, class, gender, education, and language while masterfully weaving in elements of fantasy and history. I cannot recommend enough that you pick up “Babel: An Arcane History” and see its brilliance for yourself.

Cross-posted to: Instagram | Amazon | Goodreads | StoryGraph