#THE TITLE WILL MAKE SENSE LATER I PROMISE

[gutsby]

Trigger Tease(r)

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Before his morning briefing, your mob boss husband decides to take a pit stop in the sauna with you.

Warnings: 18+. Oral (f!receiving). Gentle fingerfucking. Praise and degradation. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Bucky talking you through it. Bimbofication if you squint.

Notes: @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast - you inspired me 🪽 I just had to crank out a little teaser for the third installment of Wedded Bliss. I hope y’all like it 💓

Full version here

In between breakfast and the start of your husband’s early briefing, you found yourself situated in much the same way you’d been spending a lot of time these days: pinned up against the wall of a wood-paneled sauna, Bucky’s broad shoulders supporting both of your legs as he buried his face deep between your thighs. You sighed.

“Hold still,” Bucky grunted, voice muffled as he tried to keep your slick, squirming body in place above him.

You yelped and seized a fistful of his hair when he wedged his tongue even further inside you, nudging your clit with his nose almost too teasingly and deliberate.

“I can’t…help it,” you bit back, ignoring the brief glare you earned from your husband as soon as you said it, “Your tongue’s just so— s— James!”

This time, Bucky let out a full-throated groan when you yanked on those poor wet locks of his—‘Gonna make me bald by next Christmas if you keep doin’ that, honey’—and he pried his head from your legs just long enough to knock you flat on the sauna bench close by.

The western red cedar seared hot on your skin, already flushed from the exhaustion wrought by Bucky’s tongue; you hardly had the strength to hold yourself up when he pushed you onto your back and crawled over your body.

“How ‘bout my fingers, doll? Can you take a couple’a those for me?” Bucky crooned above you as he stroked your hair, bathed in pure sunlight pouring in from the windows. His voice was a touch more sympathetic now.

After all, this was your third orgasm of the morning. It really wasn’t fair for him to use that biological weapon of mass destruction he liked to call his tongue when he knew how sensitive your clit would get from just one ‘O’. Even his hands might be too much in your current state.

Bucky was busy peppering your skin with kisses, working his way from the base of your neck to the crown of your head, when you whimpered and tried to fight a smile.

“Finger,” you corrected him, “Just one finger, Barnes.”

You would’ve thought you’d just thrown your wedding ring in his face and told him to eat shit. Just one?

“How’s one finger s’posed to stretch you out for my cock, huh? Practically had you screamin’ when I stuck it in last night,” Bucky wasn’t one to hide his amusement, grinning even bigger when you swatted him on the arm.

“Who said anything about your cock?” You tried to keep cool as Bucky’s fingers trailed right back down to the place you felt yourself throbbing, aching for his touch, “You have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Meeting doesn’t start until I say so, my love,” Bucky reminded you just as his index ghosted over your folds.

In truth, he was willing to play this game any way, and for however long, you wanted it done, so long as he was the one bringing you pleasure. Be that his cock, his finger, or all fucking five on one hand, Bucky just wanted to get you off. It was better sustenance to him than the whole damn meal the two of you had eaten that morning.

Bucky kept it down to one digit and lightly circled your bundle of nerves when he sensed you were ready.

You gripped his forearm and shot a quick look between your legs, still in disbelief as to how he could make you feel this good so soon after you’d cum twice before. You felt his lips drift over to yours and steal a few kisses.

“Always doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praised, moving his finger in circles. When you whined against his mouth, he pressed it even harder, “Such a good girl for daddy.”

“James,” you breathed, clenching your legs together.

“Everything OK?”

“Uh-huh.”

More than OK, in fact. That delectable coil of sweet, euphoric release was already swelling gently in your tummy. Bucky moved his finger even faster.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured low in your ear.

Bucky loved seeing you try to articulate your feelings—relatively fresh and new to your world, still—while he was giving you pleasure. Adored the way you winced and whined and arched your back into his touch as a whole blustering hailstorm of sensations crashed over you.

He sank his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you, as if trying to extract the words from between your lips. Your response, in consequence, came somewhat stifled.

“Mm— feels so, oh—” Your voice broke off in a moan when Bucky tightened his circles, “—so good, daddy.”

“Wanna show daddy how good and cum for me?”

Bucky knew by the way you were whimpering under his hand that the tendril in your stomach had almost tripled in size. It wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge.

“My sweet girl,” he said, rubbing your cunt at the same time he was stroking the back of your head, gently, “Feels so nice down there, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your hips against the bench and nodded. Your breaths were short and ragged, panting helplessly into Bucky’s mouth when he adjusted his hand just a little: pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit, with his index moving down to your entrance. Pushing inside you.

“Another,” you choked, not thinking.

Bucky met your desperate gaze and nodded, knowing this was exactly what you needed to make it over the precipice.

Still, he wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t tease just a bit.

“I thought my wife wanted one finger,” he hummed, brow pinching inward.

“No, no.” You could’ve shrieked when he curled the digit, “Want more— Bucky, please, please, I need more.”

Again, your husband appeared to nod in understanding, but his fingers didn’t budge. He worked his thumb a little faster and watched you writhe on the seat beneath him.

“How many, honey? Don’t wanna hurt my baby.” His words were all kindness, it seemed, but his tone laced with shameless condescension—the kind that said, yes, I know you need this, and no, I won’t indulge you just yet. Bucky was the worst when he wanted to prove a point. You could’ve ripped at his clothes and torn them in two if you weren’t both stark naked and shrouded in steam.

You opted to pull at his hair instead.

Bucky winced, but the smirk never left.

“I said how many?” he pressed again.

“Three. Four.” Fuck if you knew.

Your husband raised both eyebrows and hummed, a single finger still plunging in and out of your cunt in quick succession. He teased the tip of another at your entrance and smiled even more when you whined.

“Needy little thing, isn’t she?”

“Bucky—”

“Just wants to fuck daddy’s hand to get herself off, hm?”

Bucky didn’t bother to mask his sweet, degrading tone any longer as he talked down and teased you to no end. It drove him half-insane to see you squirm around, rut your hips, let him say the filthiest fucking words he could conjure up, and just bob your head to whatever he said. His impeccant wife and her insatiable needs—Bucky couldn’t even begin to express how turned on the sheer dichotomy got him. He stared in your eyes, all glossy and soft, and felt his cock stand even more rigid on his belly.

He didn’t give a shit if he’d taunted you enough or not; he just shoved his middle and ring fingers alongside the first and clenched his jaw to start fucking you hard with all three.

Your whole face contorted with pleasure, tinged with the faintest shade of discomfort at the tail end of it. You’d forgotten how big his fingers felt all together.

“Bucky,” you whined, mindlessly clawing at the wrist that was moving back and forth, fast, between your legs, “B-Baby, slow— slow down a little.”

But Bucky was deep in the zone. He knew you wanted it too—sensed that you liked to play it safe when it came to your pleasure and grew a little timid at times it got to feel too much—and he needed to talk you through it.

Rather than turn his head and keep to himself as he got you up to your peak, Bucky pressed his face down to yours and nodded again—this time with a tender sincerity.

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Bucky kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his fingers wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,

“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”

“My perfect fucking wife, so good at taking my fingers.”

“Gonna be nice and stretched out for my cock, hm?”

Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Bucky wanted you. Exactly how you needed to be, bucking your hips in time with the cadence of his fingers fucking inside you, and soon, those whimpers were turning to moans as that soft little helix inside you reached its breaking point.

Bucky brushed once or twice more against your sensitive spot, and suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his wrist you feared you might snap it in two, and then getting kissed again, over and over while Bucky drank in your every sound, and the few tears that sprung to your eyes as they always did, like sweet nectar.

You were still moaning, curling your tongue feebly against his own and leaning into him as far as you could, when your husband slipped three fingers up between your mouths and pushed them past your parted lips.

“Suck,” Bucky said, gritting his teeth as he watched you, “C’mere, honey, taste your cunt on my fingers.”

You took him in and sucked your arousal off his fingers just like he asked. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his hand, where your juices had no doubt collected too.

That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Bucky could’ve wanted.

He climbed on top of you and took the base of his cock, rock-hard and weeping tears of precum from the tip, almost drunk from the feeling himself. His mouth hung open as he dragged himself over the seam of your cunt.

“I need to fuck you.”

Taglist (STILL HAVE TO UPDATE THIS I'M DUMB AS SHIT): @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx, @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes, @wilsons-striped-ties, @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @fandomsfeminismandme, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic, @dameron-grant-spector, @sushiseoks, @deansapplepie, @mrsjoequinn, @lunaroserites, @first-edition, @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi, @excusememrbarnes, @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl, @diannana, @shawnberry, @yujyujj, @urmomsalex, @mrs-bucky-barnes-73, @athenabarnes, @christinabae, @wintrsoldrluvr, @bethbunnyy, @i-heart-smut @dixsond

#THE TITLE WILL MAKE SENSE LATER I PROMISE #it’s ‘tease’ not ‘teaser’ in the full fic that was just my attempt at humor #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #mob bucky barnes #marvel smut #marvel x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #mob boss bucky #mob!bucky

[heneversmiledagain]

siegfried: oh no your brother is stuck in the afterlife and we're stuck in the modern world. this is a catastrophe

leofwine: fuck it we ballin. hey i get ice cream

#dee rambles #also i have a working title #the train to nowhere #it will make sense later i promise

[k00kiecrumbler]

this have been rotten in my brain for a couple of months and I finally have the courage to draw it...I'm glad I have high expectations for this :]

[ click for better quality]

#terroriser #[ the original title was god have let me live another day and im going to make it everyone's problem] #the most simplest cheeto costume i ever drew...i lose braincells while drawing this masterpiece #the gaming terroriser #[ brian have the most difficult tags section i ever watch. sir wtf. how do i tag you? whatever..] #if anyone asks. no hes not baked. that how i colored eyes to make it seem realistic in a sense... #there was going to be another post below this but i save that joke post in a later time. maybe during my concert for mcr...hmm no promises!

[kaveehs]

Not So Secret — Gojo Satoru

gn!reader, wc 0.8k, fluff, established relationship, high school au, jealous!gojo cuz he’s silly

synopsis: Gojo was not a “jealous” guy, but he also wasn’t the best at keeping your relationship a secret.

a/n: JJK 2 IS HERE SO I HAD TO WRITE MY SILLY <333

In his own eyes, Gojo was not the jealous type.

He hated the title more than anything. Although it without a doubt summed up the tight feeling he would get in his chest when other guys approached you, or the ever growing need he felt to tell the world you were his, he would never call himself jealous.

In part, he blamed his feelings on the fact your relationship with him was a secret. After all, that bit was your idea, but he can’t put you at fault for the reasoning. You wished to keep your relationship with him a secret because of how different you both were.

You were a quiet, straight laced student— you always kept to yourself despite being at the top of your class. He was the exact opposite, infamously known as a troublemaker around school, as well as being dubbed as some kind of “player” by your classmates. You knew the types of comments people would say about your relationship if it were to ever go public.

Gojo understood this completely, but there was just one small factor you overlooked— you were incredibly pretty. You were beautiful and he wasn’t the only one who recognized it. He wasn’t the only one to be intrigued by your personality. Gojo told himself that he was ok with this fact, and he wasn’t insecure either— far from it. His heart always knew in the end, you would choose him over the people that would try to pursue you with romantic interest.

When he saw one of your classmates attempting to drop subtle hints to you today, he couldn’t help but feel something had to change. He knew you would probably make some cute excuse as to why you can’t take the guy’s number, or how you’re focused on your studies rather than relationships, and how you would wonder if they would be convinced or still persist, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he let out a sigh of synthetic relief as he snaked his arms around you from behind. He already knew where you would be— seeing as you texted him which classroom you were in and to come find you later. You were shocked by his actions, smiling meekly at your classmate who was also in dismay.

“Satoru, hi,” you muttered quietly, but Gojo was able to sense the annoyance in your tone. He laughed cheekily, squeezing you harder, fully knowing you would probably kill him for this later. “I thought I told you to come find me later,” you spoke with your jaw fully clenched.

“No could do. Missed you too much,” he sighed dramatically, rocking you back and forth. You could tell your classmate wanted to say something, but bit his tongue and kept quiet.

“Excuse us for a minute,” you said sweetly but apologetically as you dragged Satoru out of the classroom and to an empty one. He could practically see an aura of fire radiating off your body as you let go of his arm and shut the door.

“What was that about?” You crossed your arms, glaring straight at Satoru who’d made himself comfortable on one of the desks.

“What was what about?” He nonchalantly replied to your question. Him pretending to be oblivious set you off even more.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re a horrible actor Satoru,” you marched over to his desk. “What happened to keeping us a secret?”

“Oh, so that’s what you mean,” he nodded in understanding as he sat up. “It’s really hard to do that,” Satoru shrugged, patting the empty space next to him for you to sit. Although annoyed, you complied, arms still crossed and all.

“I know I promised to keep us a secret,” he admitted. “But I can’t stand the thought of someone else trying to flirt with you.”

“So you’re jealous.”

“No, not jealous,” he scoffed, looking at your usual smile slowly creeping back to your lips. “I just think we shouldn’t care about what others think about us.”

“I know,” you relaxed a bit too as you felt Satoru lean his head on your shoulder. “I guess I’m kinda scared.”

He let out a small chuckle, taking your own hand into his. He understood your fears all too well, and wanted nothing more than for you to be confident.

“You don’t have to be,” he shook his head softly against you, interlocking your hands together. “No one’s words can make me think less of you.”

“You don’t have to be jealous either,” you affirmed, sarcasm heavy in your tone. He pouted, pretending to be dramatically hurt by your comment.

“I don’t get jealous,” he clicked his tongue, as if he was correcting you. “But you know, you get really angry. Even though you’re subtle about it, you have such a cute angry face.” He knew exactly how to bring light into your mood, attempting to recreate your so-called ‘angry face’.

“I really can’t stand you,” you exaggerated as you leaned into him, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb. “You really are the jealous type, Satoru.”

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x you #gojo imagine #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo fanfic #[ ʚ♡ɞ ] — rena writes — fluff

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

ooh im glad!!! so, expanding on that then..

how about price with a civvi wife/gf, and when they’re talking over the phone while he’s gone, she’s being kinda cagey and definitely omitting something, but he doesn’t know what. so when he gets back home she tells him she’s pregnant? really just a lot of fluff (and maybe angst? 👀 like about how his job is super dangerous and he might not come home, so he has fears about it?? bc your angst is so good it makes me sob violently /pos)

ive never sent a request before, so if this is too specific or something, feel free to whittle it down or toss it, i don’t wanna bug you lol

have a good day hal, love u!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our Remains

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You disliked hiding things from John. Certainly something as big as this.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, allusions to breeding kink & unprotected seggsy time, morning sickness, angst, major fluff at the end

A/N: This was an adorable request, Anon!! Thanks so much for sending it in.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You disliked hiding things from John. It not only felt like a betrayal of his unlimited trust in you but also a slap in the face for what you had built with each other. The both of you were always honest to a fault when it came to your relationship—like how a bird was loyal to the sky. It was an unselfish principle; a promise of pure love and devotion that transcended touch or given gifts.

You told each other things. Everything. Down to how much you had spent on groceries that day just because it was something to talk about and share; something that made you closer to one another even when you were apart. You told the Brit what you planted in the back garden—what shirt you were wearing!

But now you hold the ringing phone in your hand and for the first time in your entire relationship, you consider lying. 

Your eyes bore into the icon of John’s smiling face, head covered by a black beanie and beard tilted up softly. Affectionately, his name on the device had been changed to ‘Grumpy St. Bernard,’ but now the title made your lips go thin instead of the usual giggling reaction. No heat spreads over your cheeks; no excitement.

Just an overwhelming sense of dread.

The week had started just as the last three had. A special form of hell. At nearly six o’clock you would whip back the covers with all the fervor of a terrified rabbit being chased by a hawk; the taste of bile immediately snapping you to attention as the toilet acts as your commanding officer. 

You imagined John would get a chuckle out of that comparison, but when you’re hurling up your guts in nothing more than a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers and a tank top it’s hard to think about all that. The taste of bile was still lickable from your lips as the bathroom tile digs into your knees, ringing phone still in your palm. 

The idea of a pregnancy test slid into your subconscious in the first week of John’s two-month deployment, the tantalizing thought that was like a hook to a fish. You had pulled on the string, of course, and had instantly drowned in air. But you hadn’t taken one until now. Too nervous, perhaps. Hesitant. 

In your other hand, opposite of the buzzing phone, you held three positive pregnancy tests in a shaking grip. Pink and white plastic mock you from the corner of your vision; two double lines. 

John’s icon dims. 

You press the green circle in your panic, mouth opening and closing yet no sounds escaping. Would you tell him now? Later? Was it right to tell him about this now—when he was halfway across the continent? Fear overtakes your heart for no apparent reason. You didn’t want him to act rashly, especially when John could act so stubborn when he wanted to. 

He was always so concerned about you when he was away but you were concerned just the same. That man was the one who was getting shot at constantly, not you.

“Took you a while to answer. Trying to give me the slip, then, Sweetheart?” John’s gravelly voice helped slightly, making your heart still, even if for a short moment. You close your eyes and tilt your head down, lips quivering at the soft chuckle over the line.

God, you loved him so much.

Blue eyes furrowed in confusion at the silence on the line, the chilled Switzerland air sneaking inside John’s compression shirt as he stood on the hotel balcony. The sounds of gentle conversation twitch his ears from inside the room—the voices of the One-Four-One a dull mumble behind the half-closed sliding door. They had been playing cards before the Captain had easily slipped away to check up on you. 

He tried to call as often as he could. 

John’s hips shift, one arm crossed over his chest as the other presses the phone harder to his ear. Lips pull to a frown, beard bristles going with them, before the lines on the Brit’s forehead grow larger.

“...Love?” Naturally, a sliver of concern wedges itself into his ribs but it subsides when your calming voice spreads honey over the call. John’s shoulders fall back down. 

You breathe deeply, hands dropping the tests onto the bathroom counter with a small clack of plastic. 

“John,” forcing away the hitch to your words, you stare at yourself in the mirror, free hand sliding up to lightly rest over your collarbone as a soothing method. Your eyes are so filled with shock that it throws you off. “I…I wasn’t expecting a call so soon.” 

“Hm, been up since 0500.” the man grunts, looking out over the city and seeing the rising sun before asking softly with a deep-set brow. There was something about your tone…lids narrow at nothing. “Did I wake you?” 

“No, no,” You force a chuckle, having to take a deep breath before ripping your sights from your own reflection. The disgust was settling at you trying to avoid this. But if your own brain could barely process this right now, what gave you the right to tell John when he wasn’t here? “I’ve been up for a few hours.”

Licking your lips, you run a hand over your hair, glancing out of the ajar door into the master bedroom, pushing out bland answers for only the fact that you couldn’t think clearly right now.

Jesus, this was actually happening. 

You study the thrown covers from your morning rush to the bathroom, seeing the pictures on the nightstand and feeling the delicate atmosphere that was sparking—electricity between atoms. A silent moment of realization that everything down to the bare bones of your relationship was about to change. Blinking back to the tests, you dwell in the strange fuzz that took residence in the back of your mind. 

“What’s been going on?” Your voice isn’t right. Too tight. Too…nervous. Why were you nervous? “Everyone good?” 

The Brit frowns stiffly, shifting his feet again and sending a look back into the hotel. Hunching forward, John’s large fingers fix the position of the phone as his voice lowers, ignoring your question entirely. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but there were pros and cons to his line of work. 

Above all, he knew when something was up with you.

“Are you alright over there, Sweetheart?” Blue eyes rove the street below, “Feelin’ okay? You sound a bit stuffed up.”

Your heart lurches, quickly stuttering through an explanation of, “O-oh, I think I just came down with something.” The irony wasn’t lost on you. “A stomach bug,” you cringe, “I’m sorry, was it that obvious?”

The laugh that exits is less convincing than you thought it would be, but it does the trick. John sighs in relief, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize, Love…anything bad, then? I can bring some meds from Base when I’m back if you need me to.” He was still concerned for you, but knowing that you’d never lied or withheld the truth from him before there was really no reason to believe that anything else was going on. John trusted you to the end of the earth. 

The Captain rubbed at the back of his neck, cracking his spine as he bent back. It was still early and waking up on a hotel bed without you beside him was torture. John longed for home. Longed for you.

Back at the house, your face scrunches together. 

Bad? You wonder, saying absentmindedly that some medication would be lovely. Was this…bad? 

John had always wanted to have a kid—or, at least, he’d told you as much when he was above you, filling you to the brim and then doing it again a second and third time. Thighs quivering and eyes fighting to stay open through layered bliss as sharp pants rung in your ears. 

“Gonna get you pregnant…watch you swell up…c’mon sweet thing, you can handle another one, can’t you? Need to watch it take.” 

…But was that a true feeling or just a kink? You blank and realize you’d never asked him. More than that, though, was this what you wanted? 

“When do you think you’ll be home, John?” You speak softly, palm flattening over your stomach as you exit the bathroom and sit on the end of the bed, gut swirling but not in a nauseous sort of way. “I…I really miss you, y’know? It would all be better if you were home.”

The brunette blinks softly, lids peeling back in shock for a moment before a thin thread of guilt worms its way into him. 

“Kate said two months, Love,” John speaks slowly, the grumble in his voice trying to convey his unease at your strange behavior, “You know that.”

He’d explained his job when you both had gotten serious, how he would be gone for long periods of time, and the somewhat uncomfortable situations you’d be put in because of it. You’d agreed and never brought it up when John would have to leave in the small hours of the morning and disappear for months on end. It shocked him, really, with how well you adjusted but that was just how you were. One of a kind. 

There was no one else with whom John could see himself building a life—being buried beside in some nice meadow grave plot and turning to dust together. Growing a family with. 

John cleared his throat, tilting his head down slightly before pulling himself back to the present. 

“It’s bothering you that much, eh?” His brows furrow, “Are you sure you’re alright? I can call hospital and—”

“No!” You slap a hand to your mouth, halting your outburst as blue eyes go somewhat wide, jaw slackening. Taking a breath over the shocked silence over the line, you dig your fingers into your cheek before letting your limb drop. “No, John…I-I’m sorry I just…” 

Your voice quivers.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

Eyes burning and nose twitching, you breathe heavily, mouth closing shut because you knew that if you say another word you’ll explode. You were shivering with cold sweat, scared and confused, and wanting John to hold you in his arms; whispering that it would all be okay into the shell of your ear. 

You force through a sob, “I’m just really scared.”

John tenses, one hand going to grasp the balcony with white knuckles. His mind goes into overdrive. “Scared?” the Brit prods, muscles going stiff and mind running, “What in the hell is going on?” 

Authority leaks into his tone, serious and deep. It made him nervous that he couldn’t see you right now—couldn’t stop the sounds coming from your mouth. Why were you crying? Has something horrible happened to you? Were you in trouble but were unable to tell him? John runs over your conversation again, every word and sound, as his heart races. He was wound up like a spring. 

From behind him, the conversation in the hotel room halts. 

You force your eyes closed, now up on your feet and pacing. Tears lightly patter to the floor. 

“John, I can’t tell you over the phone,” you admit, shaking, “that wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be fair to you.” Swiping at your eyes, you spread the salty liquid away from your lashes, sniffling; praying that he would understand. “But I really need you home as soon as you’re able. I don’t want to break up what's going on over there, it’s just really important. I don’t think I can wait two months by myself. You know I would never ask this if I didn’t need to.”

John’s jaw clenches, legs unable to stay still as your anxiety leaks to him. He’s nodding before he realizes you can’t see him, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs. 

“...I’ll see what I can do, then.” The brunette runs his hand over his beard pulling at the strands aggressively. What was so crucial that you can’t tell him over the phone? It was a secure line, John always made sure it was; yet, at the same time, that fact didn’t matter at all. If you needed him home so fervently—then he was coming home. That was that. “How long can you wait for me, Love?” He spares a glance inside. “There are a few loose ends that need to be taken care of here. Might complicate things.” 

You blink around the bedroom, hand wrapped around your middle and trying to run soothing circles into your skin. 

“I…I don’t…” John’s face softens, closing his eyes.

“Breathe, Sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m comin’ home to you. We’ll get whatever this is sorted, yeah? I need you to be brave for me until then.”

Listening, you let the words calm you down, sniffling one last time like a kid who had fallen off the monkey bars before you let out a chuckle. John instantly follows his own advice when that sound wafts over the line. His shoulders fall back once more, silent sigh exiting.

“You said that exact same thing to me when I ended up burning that loaf of bread I was making—two years ago, was it? ‘Breathe, Sweetheart.’” Blue glimmers with love, cheeky tone growing. 

“Hm, nearly set the kitchen on fire, didn’t you? So much smoke I swore someone had set off a charge in the oven.” John doesn’t push you to answer him, though he’s more questions than anything else at this point. You’d said you would tell him when he’s home and he believes you. “Please, Love, at least promise me you didn’t burn the bloody house down, yeah?” 

A laugh strikes his chest, and he’s chuckling slowly in retaliation. 

“I promise, John.”

“Good.” You’re smiling for the first in what seems like ages, tears drying as the flood down your chin stops. You lick away the water stuck in the corner of your mouth when John grunts lowly, “I’ll tell the boys and inform Laswell. But I can’t say it’ll be less than two weeks.”

Nodding to yourself, you say, quietly, “Okay.” Your eyes fall to the framed picture on the nightstand—the image of John and you smiling brightly on your third anniversary. You’d gone hiking, both sweaty and dirt marks on your cheeks, but happy…always happy. Your veins pump blood faster. “I love you, John.” 

The final comment is tender; the words are more silk and soft furs than vibrating vocal cords. 

He blinks away the blush that lights his pale cheeks. John huffs, an infectious smile flickering over his face as his chest wells with affection. Acting like a bird preening itself, he smirks and says, “Well, you’re lucky then…I love you too, Sweetheart.” An exhalation echoes over the call as his tone drops, “Keep safe for me, eh? I’ll call to update tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

When the phone is set down on the bed, tossed down carefully, you try to think over this situation more rationally. You wouldn’t say you were against this—building a family with John. In fact, if not him, then you don’t believe it would be anyone else. 

The Brit was the only man for you. You both knew the risks of having unprotected sex and in reality, you think neither one of you cared about the consequences. 

Nodding to yourself, you wonder how to explain this to him when he comes home as you get to fixing the sheets, one hand always drifting back to your stomach with a growing appreciation.

—

John jogged to his car in the underground parking garage, unlocking it with his fob as his bags are slung over his shoulders. He wastes no time chucking his belongings into the back seat, swiftly sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut as the engine starts. His dog tags bounce on his chest, but he’s half convinced they move from the rate that his heart is going alone.

All through traffic his fingers are tapping against the wheel, grunting stiffly at red lights and shifting his hips. 

It had been three and a half weeks of fixing loose ends. 

“Fuckin’ hell, c’mon,” John huffs, one elbow on the car frame as his hand flattens over his lower jaw. The light slowly snaps back to green after a long minute. 

Pressing on the gas, the vehicle moves forward and continues until the familiar home comes into view on that quiet street nearly twenty minutes later. 

John barely parks the car before he hops out, leaving his bags in the back, and rushes to the door. Taking the key from under the doormat, his mind is focused on only you. He had been unable to stop his worry about you and your unnamed fear, watching the phone with every free instance he could. It had only grown as the days got longer, and no matter how much you assured him that you would be okay until he got back, deep-seated apprehension grew. He didn’t like living under a shroud, especially when it came to your health.

The key in his hand was inserted with a firm wrist and twisted, shoving open the door with a heavy shoulder like there was a cloud over his head.

“Love?!” He calls, not bothering to shuck off his boots before looking around the visible living room and foyer. “Where are you?” 

Long legs move swiftly as an utterance calls from the kitchen, barely taking the time to close the door behind him in his anxiety, “John?” 

The Brit immediately backtracks, skidding to a stop and turning with blinking eyes. His ears twitch at the sounds of dishes being dropped back into water, as his heart steadily slows at the sound of your beautiful voice calling his name. 

He rushes around the doorframe, feet stomping and hand catching the wall as you come into view, staring wide-eyed. 

Your digits are around the fabric of a dish towel, fingers dripping as John finally presents himself to you. You hadn’t heard him until he had called out, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to hear the lock click. 

But now it was like every worry you had was wiped clean at the sight of that gruff face; the hitch in his large chest. A smile slashes your lips after a moment of shocked silence.

“John!” You laugh, rushing forward, and the man lets his face soften—bringing you close to him as you draw near and trapping you in his arms. 

His breath spread out over the top of your head in a great sigh, grumbled chuckles accented by the way John’s great hands wrap around your shoulders. Fingers press you into a solid chest, digging through hair to let your ear twitch at the sound of his heartbeat. 

John doesn't speak until he has held you in his arms for at least three minutes, just pressing his face into your scalp and feeling your warmth against him. You don’t pull away either, breathing in his musk as it instinctually leads to your muscles loosening. 

Minutes later, the Brit pulls back slowly, gripping you by the shoulders and looking down into your eyes. His gaze filters over yours, taking you in before his lips meet yours in a brief yet deep kiss. You melt into it, hands going to grip his cheeks and spread throughout his beard hair, soft strands leaving you shivering when John’s thumbs rub circles into your flesh. 

He pulls back and you fight the tears in your eyes as he connects his forehead with yours. His optics shine with love, bleeding out like trapped stars; silver flecks of devotion and a blue the color of sea storms.

“What’s going on, Love?” John whispers, concern alight and raving as his grip goes to your waist, squeezing comfortingly. “I’m here. Tell me.” 

You blink slowly, lips going thin with tight brows. Swallowing through a tight throat, you nod. 

“Can you go sit in the living room, please?” Speaking carefully, you tilt your head and watch John get confused—his nose scrunching and moving his lips together. You run your thumbs over his cheeks and smile slightly, obviously nervous again. “Trust me.”

Though it wasn’t a question, John replies under his breath, “Always.” 

But still, he holds you, studying your expression and the whites of your eyes with stiff lungs. You were making him fear that something horrible was coming—something he couldn’t control. His heart begins to hurt, but he backs away from you, brows tight as he exits the kitchen and disappears into the living room. 

Taking down a swift breath when he’s out of sight, you fiddle with your fingers above your abdomen, looking down at your still-flat stomach. You knew it was stupid to worry, but how could you not? It wasn’t every day you just told your Lover you were pregnant with his child…

“John loves me,” you mutter to yourself, nodding and getting ready to go through with the plan you’d formed over the three weeks you’d been alone. “And he’ll love the both of us. I know he will.” 

Hand flattening over your stomach, you open a drawer with the other, pulling out a small cardboard box no bigger than a book. Fingers shaking, you lick your lips and feel the slight pull of a nervous, yet giddy, smile. Turning, you exit the kitchen and see John sitting with his nose resting above the clench of his fists, foot tapping. His head immediately snaps over when you come into view, hands falling to hang off his legs as the couch under him dips from his weight. 

You steel yourself and raise the box. 

“Here.” Placing it on the coffee table, you sit across from John in an armchair. 

He blinks slowly, eyes going small with curiosity. The man sends you glances through his lashes as he stares down at the object but he says nothing. Rubbing his beard with one hand, he reaches and grabs it carefully. 

Testing the weight, John is genuinely confused, clenching his jaw and feeling the material in his palm. 

“...What’s this, then?” He asks lowly, glancing at you with a raised brow and lines on his forehead. 

You put your intertwined hands in your lap, prompting with a tilt of your shoulders. 

“Open it.” Off put by your cryptic answers, John nods firmly, grasping the top of the box and pulling lightly, careful not to disturb the contents. It was strange to think, but he was honestly quite perturbed. 

What exactly was inside this box, and why had he been called home for it? He loved being here, no doubt, but the circumstances….

Blue eyes glimmer. You didn’t look overly afraid as you shifted in your seat, just plain timid—like the inside object would change something fundamental about his and yours relationship. 

John pops the top off and looks as you start talking before your throat threatens to shut you up. “I…I know it’s not a life-threatening thing to call you home for,” the man stills as if he was made of stone; a statue as non-breathing and pulse-less as anything, “But I didn’t want to tell you over the phone because that seemed so—!” 

Your voice is drowned out as John’s shaking fingers delve into the box, ears ringing. His fingers flinch off of three positive pregnancy tests and the soft fabric of the plain army green baby onesie that surrounds them; skimming slowly. 

“I found out the day you called and I said I had come down with something.” Your laugh is strained when it exits you, and you stare at the Brit hard, seeing his features utterly halt all expression. Thumbs digging into your skin, your tone drops, speaking slowly, “...John? A-are you okay? Say something to me, Love.” 

It’s only in that long minute of nothingness that you really start to get an all-consuming tenseness to your bones like a rabbit. 

Why isn’t he saying anything? 

John clears his stiff throat, blinking rapidly as he brings out one of the tests, dropping the box lightly to the coffee table with a dull thump. The twin red lines are ingrained into the softness of his retinas as the sun would be if you were to stare directly at it. 

Pregnant. 

His heart swells to an almost painful degree, blue eyes moving to look at you across the table and then dipping to your stomach. The Brit stands up slowly. 

Your lungs are tight, lids moving quickly with wetness growing in your tear ducts. 

“Please, John, what are you thinking—?” Large hands capture your arms, bringing you up as lips meet yours in a passionate and heart-stopping kiss. 

John’s limbs wrap around your hips, bringing you up into the air as gently as a bird, face parting from yours with a series of loud and genuine laughs. You snap your arms around his neck, shocked but not at all complaining as he holds you up with ease, twirling you around in a firm but ever-gentle hold. 

“You’re pregnant?” His whispers meet you, airy and deep with awe. It was like he was in his teens again, running around Herefordshire with his mates—his eyes shone with happiness; pure unabashed love. “Oh, truly, Sweetheart?”

Tears dribble down your cheeks at the sight of him glowing, beard peeled back in a large smile with wet eyes. Hiccuped giggles leave your lips as you nuzzle your face into his neck, the sight of him like this overwhelming. All stress leaves you in a millisecond when your feet hit the ground again. 

“Yes, John,” you sob, overjoyed, pulling back so you both can stare into each other's teary eyes as the Brits’ fingers go to shakily wipe the waterworks from your under eyes. His orbs flicker quickly, looking you over in an entirely different light. “You’re going to be a father.” 

He fights through a scratchy voice, “Me?” The tone is amused, but he can’t articulate how exalted he feels to hear that. A father…him? It was more than he could have ever asked for, and, even better—John whispers out, “You’re going to be a mum.” 

You kiss him, multiple quick pecks that he returns through shared joyous chuckles.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” the confession meets the air as one of John’s hands travels to cup your flat abdomen, fingers flinching over the fabric of your shirt to sneak under. You laugh and shiver at his calluses, as his blue eyes are so soft they could be compared to butter. “And I couldn’t wait two months.”

“Christ, Love,” John lays a kiss on your forehead, needing to be as close to you as possible. You can feel his heart through his chest, and you know yours isn’t any better. This was far more than you could have hoped for. He mutters against your skin, “I’m so glad you didn’t. This is bloody amazing news—I want to be here for all of it.” 

Sea storms lock onto your face with a grunt, “You’re so lovely. Perfect, yeah?”

His warm hand still rests under your shirt, and you doubt it’s going to leave anytime soon.

You feel your cheeks heat and you smile bashfully, heart about to explode.

“You are.” John reiterates. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, Sweetheart. I’m so happy.” 

The air is ripe with tenderness, a soft state of being that just keeps getting better. John had silent tears dripping down his face, blinking to clear them and not letting you leave his hold for a second. 

“Oh, John,” you whisper, digging your fingers into the back of his shirt, looking up. “Me too, Love.” 

While the glee is nearly physical enough to grab, there is a moment of hesitancy in the Brit. He was gone more times than not for work; put into situations that could leave him going through bodily harm. You didn’t deserve that stress—didn’t deserve to sit at home with a swelling stomach just watching the door and wondering if you’d have to become a single mother. You had a child in your womb. His child. Both of yours’ child. 

A family that you both had made.

John swallows and says to you seriously, without an ounce of hesitation in his blood, “I’m telling Laswell to pull me out,” you blink up and listen, letting him continue as his press on your flesh gets even more prominent, nodding to you, “I’m not missing this—not putting you through that worry. Two years, then I’ll head back in. We have enough saved, I give you my word you’ll want for nothing.” 

Blue eyes flicker down, and a small mumble so tiny it nearly disappears hits your ears. You almost start sobbing again. “This is more important. You both are more important.” 

There were few moments in your life that you think you’ll remember when you are old, weathered and wrinkled, but this you tell yourself is one that you will carry to your grave. John and yours’ grave. 

What remains behind, you ask? Simple.

White bones entangled with an eternity of deathless worship, and the generations that will come to lay flowers on the headstone.

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet​, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

#john #john price x reader #cod x reader #cod #cod x you #cod mw22 #mw2 #mw2 2022 #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #captain johnathan price #captain john price #john price #john pr #john price x you #john price fic #captain price #cod mwii #call #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #mw #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #price #price x reader #price call of duty #captain price x reader

[libraryofgage]

Addams Family B-Side (1)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One (you're here!) Rick and Evelyn O'Connell (on the way!)

This is part of a series of unrelated works entitled "Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually" and I think that title is fairly self-explanatory. If there are any other couples you think would be good parents for our Stevie boy, let me know and I'll take them into consideration!

Anyway, the B-Side thing is because this is like taking my Addams Family Steddie au and just flipping the cassette tape hfjsdk

This time, it's Steve that's the Addams and Eddie that's normal!

Anyway, blame @whatthemeepever for this one specifically cuz it's gonna spiral into a wild ride actually, so let's all pray for Eddie in advance

If you'd like a tag for any future parts, let me know!

And, as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't

-------

The moment Steve is born, his father sticks a light bulb in his mouth. When it glows, he jumps with joy and throws Steve into the air. The moment Steve's mother realizes what's happening, she slaps his father upside the head, throws the light bulb at him, and threatens to blow him up again if he sticks anymore into Steve's mouth before he starts teething.

She follows through on the promise exactly two weeks later, and Steve's parents (one smug and the other notably singed but delighted) rebuild their house next door to his father's brother.

Steve's mother chooses his first and last name (Harrington, a reference to some long-lost family friend or other), and his father is reluctantly given the freedom to choose his middle name. In the end, he is dubbed Steve Faustus Harrington, a name his mother is so surprised to find acceptable that she kisses his father as a reward.

And so begins Steve's life.

------

"I can't believe you got expelled," Steve's mother seethes, gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turn white. "Again!"

Steve crosses his arms, sinking lower in his seat as he glares out the window. "It's not my fault they were shitty friends. They got what they deserved."

He hears his mother laugh, the sound strained and indignant and very quickly followed by his father turning to look at Steve from the passenger seat. His sunken eyes are filled with suppressed delight as he asks, "What did they do this time?"

A few seconds pass before Steve sighs. "They said they couldn't go out later because they had to study for finals. I mean, what kind of bullshit is that? Finals are three weeks away, and they can't spare one weekend for the funeral museum?" he says, scoffing as he looks at his father, grins, and adds, "So, I brought the funeral museum to them, coffins and cremations and all."

His father's eyes light up, sheer joy and pride dancing in them. And for the very first time in Steve's life, his mother pulls over to the side of the road and parks the car.

"Pumpkin?" his father asks.

"Fester," she says, her voice low and somewhere in the range of upset, "do you remember when I tried to kill your entire family?"

"Of course. It was a splendid attempt."

She nods and looks at him with a tiny, somewhat pained smile. Then she turns and sets her gaze on Steve. "Darling, what kind of grades do your friends have?" she asks. "Because if you're anything like me, and I know you are, you tend to befriend people who are significantly dumber than you."

Steve blinks, thinking for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, most of them were about to fail," he admits.

"Then, isn't it possible they really were studying for finals? Especially if they were close to failing at a school where passing is a requirement of attendance? Perhaps you could have suggested going to the...funeral museum after finals?"

A few seconds pass as Steve considers her words, a crushing sense of realization and guilt dropping on his shoulders and traveling to the pit of his stomach. It makes him feel nauseous, and he stares down at his lap. "I fucked up," he finally says, voice quiet and apologetic.

"Of course not!" Fester says, reaching out and ruffling Steve's hair despite the affronted noise from Debbie, "Your plan was beautifully conceived and masterfully executed. Perhaps you should just talk a little more before pulling out the urns next time."

"Incredibly, your father is right," Debbie says, looking pleasantly surprised before turning her gaze to Steve. She sighs and holds out a hand, squeezing Steve's when he takes it. "Don't get so blinded by a beautiful pair of shoes that you completely miss the sale two aisles over, Steve. At the very least, do a little more research before resorting to torture and murder. Personally, I'm very tired of calling the family's lawyer."

Steve snorts at the utter lie. Debbie loves calling the family's lawyer. She does so regularly just to double-check the state of Fester's stocks and bonds and deeds and general worth. "Okay," he says, nodding once, "I'll remember for the next school."

"You know," Fester says, looking at Debbie hopefully, "Pubert is a senior this year. Maybe Steve could go to high school with him."

Debbie hesitates, frowning slightly before saying, "Yes, but it's...public school."

"The best Gomez and Morticia could find! It was highly recommended by Margaret, and Pubert can make sure Steve adjusts and makes friends."

Steve can see the moment his mother agrees. She sighs, lets go of his hand, and fixes her already perfect bob. "Well, I suppose," she says before looking at Steve once more. "And you, Steve? Would you like to try...public school for your junior year?"

"Sure, might be fun," Steve says, thinking about all the movies he's seen that display public high schools as a zoo and the worst place on Earth. It sounds great, and if the place is still standing while Pubert attends, it must be somewhat entertaining.

------

"You've got everything you'll need?"

Steve looks up from lacing his shoes and smiles at his mother, earning a nervous grin in return. Her blonde hair is uncharacteristically frazzled, and Steve feels warm and fuzzy (like a mold growing over his heart) at knowing she's so worried as to appear less-than-perfect in front of him.

"Yes, I've got everything," he says, gesturing to the backpack on the stairs next to him. In addition to notebooks and his pencil case, Steve has also packed a travel mace, a miniature bomb (alarm clock detonator stored separately, of course), a tiny bottle of tequila, and his lucky lightbulb (just in case).

His mother nods once, takes a deep breath, and then turns her head toward the kitchen to shout, "FESTER!"

Something crashes, a cat (they don't have a cat) yowls, and Steve's father slides into the doorway. "Yes, Pumpkin?" he asks, eyes bright and happy and utterly stuck on Debbie.

"Is Steve's lunch ready? You made something normal, right?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.

Fester glances at Steve, a brief look shared between them that's both sympathetic and endeared toward Debbie. "Of course," Fester says, disappearing for two seconds before striding over to the stairs with a pink lunch box decorated with black skulls (Steve chose the color, Fester chose the pattern, and Debbie gave them her stamp of approval). "A turkey sandwich, fruit, cookies, and juice."

"Fruit?" Debbie asks, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Apple slices!"

After a few seconds, Debbie nods, and Fester gives the lunch box to Steve, shifting some so Debbie doesn't see the conspiratorial wink that tells him the juice is definitely poisoned. Steve grins and shoves the lunch box into his bag. He finishes lacing his shoes and stands, holding his arms out so his mother can inspect him.

"You've done a wonderful job pairing your shirt and shoes," Debbie says, walking around Steve with an air of pride and approval. She rubs the sleeve of his pastel yellow sweater between her thumb and forefinger, nodding once. "The plum pants are a bold choice, but it pays off. And, as always, your hair is flawless, dear."

Steve grins, letting his arms fall to his side. "I tried that new mousse you gave me," he says, fingers twitching as he fights the urge to run them through his hair. "It works great."

His mother smiles even wider and kisses his cheek, pulling out a handkerchief and carefully wiping away the lipstick residue she leaves behind. "I knew it would," she says, inspecting Steve's face once more before nodding with approval.

"Pumpkin, it's time for Steve to go. Pubert is waiting."

Debbie huffs softly and gives Steve one last once over before nodding and hurrying him toward the door. "Have a good day at school, try not to blow anything up, and call me if Pubert tries to cut off your head with a rusty knife again," she says.

"What if it's a clean knife?"

"Well, that's fine. Grandmama will just sew it back on."

Steve grins and waves to both of his parents before hurrying toward the sidewalk where Pubert is waiting. His hair is parted down the middle and gelled down, his pencil-thin mustache is immaculate as ever, and he's wearing a three-piece suit. When Steve is closer, he pulls out two cigars and offers one.

"This isn't an exploding cigar again, right? I'm wearing a new shirt," Steve says, taking it and looking it over.

"Nah, that joke only works once," Pubert says, dragging a match against his palm to light it. He holds it to his cigar first, puffs a few times, and then does the same for Steve. "How long till you get expelled again, you think?"

Steve shrugs as he takes a puff from the cigar, letting the smoke linger for a moment before skillfully blowing it out in perfect circles as they walk. "I haven't been to a public school before," he says, tapping the cigar over the sidewalk, "so, hopefully, at least a year."

"Public school is fun," Pubert says, getting a wicked grin as he looks at Steve. "You can get away with a lot."

"And the other kids?"

"Well, they've certainly got a lot to learn. I mean, most of them can't even handle a little cyanide."

Steve scrunches his nose and takes another puff of his cigar. After a few seconds he asks, "Will we have any classes together?"

"You're a year below me, so maybe an elective or two. What did you sign up for?"

"I signed up for, uh, shop class, forensic science, and Gothic literature."

"We'll have Gothic lit together," Pubert says, flashing a smile before asking, "And you know what shop class is, right?"

Steve blinks, suddenly a little hesitant. "Is it not, like, something about shopping?"

"No. It's building things. With wood, usually."

"Oh! So, I can build anything?"

"I guess. I haven't taken it."

"Well, I'll find out. Maybe I can build Dad a catapult or guillotine or something."

As they get closer to the school, more students fill the sidewalks, but Steve notices that most of them seem to give him and Pubert a wide berth. They also stare, looking at Steve like he's some kind of puzzle to be solved, with more than a few flashing sympathetic smiles like he's trapped and can't get away. "You're popular," Steve notes, taking one last puff of his cigar before dropping it into a trash can.

"I would fucking hope so," Pubert says, finishing off his cigar and tossing it into the next trash can they pass. "I didn't flood the place with roaches and vermin to not be known."

Steve grins, listening as Pubert regales him with the tale only to cut it short when they get inside the school and pass the front office. "I need to get my schedule, but Mom said she made sure we'd have lunch together," Steve says.

Pubert waves him off. "Yeah, I'll meet you in the cafeteria. Have fun, cousin," he replies, mockingly saluting him before heading off down the main hall.

-----

Steve's first class of the day was AP Calculus, followed by AP Physics, Wood Shop, and AP U.S. History. When it's finally time for lunch, he surveys the cafeteria for a few seconds before finding a table in a dark corner that everyone seems to avoid. By the time he gets there, Pubert has sat down with a tray from the lunch line.

Steve sets his backpack on the table, sits down, and says, "For a place that's so lifeless, it's not even fun."

"Yeah, it's like that," Pubert agrees, poking some unidentifiable mush on his tray with a spork before spooning some into his mouth.

It's with a somewhat jealous expression that Steve pulls out his lunch box and removes a thermos of poisoned juice. "Is it bad?" he asks, nodding to the tray.

"Utterly repulsive."

Steve sighs and takes a sip from the thermos before pulling out everything else in his lunch box. "They made me wear safety goggles in shop. Safety goggles! It's like they don't know how fun splinters in the eyes are. And everyone is soooo scared of the saws, it's ridiculous," he complains, taking an angry bite of his sandwich.

"What about your other classes?"

"Physics would be better with more practical examples. I mean, who cares about apples when we could learn if a body falls faster than a cannonball?"

"From experience, no," Pubert says, "Anyway, you gonna join any clubs?"

"Maybe the swim team? If I'm lucky, I'll drown," Steve says, perking up a little at the thought.

"Best of luck with that," Pubert replies, stealing Steve's thermos to take a sip of his juice. When he places it back, he offers Steve a sporkful of the mush.

Steve lights up and happily tries it, wondering how something can be so perfectly undercooked and overcooked at the same time. "Impressive," he says, passing the spork back. "Is that freezer burn?"

Before Pubert can answer, a bang from the other side of the cafeteria cuts off all other sounds. Steve glances over to see a boy in heavy combat boots climbing onto his table with a mischievous grin. He's wearing a shirt with a devil head on it and "Hellfire Club" emblazoned above and a vest with spikes, pins, and patches. His hair is just below his shoulders and a little curly, and Steve can see from here the wild glint in his eyes as he stomps down the table while talking.

"I'm tired of the double standards of this lame school. If you're into science or band or some other 'uncool' interest, the administration couldn't give two shits! Oh, the choir room needs new risers so the current ones don't break any necks? Well, that's too bad, we've got to give the football team new monogrammed towels for the locker room!" the guy says, grinning when a group of kids to the side shouts their agreement. "And never mind that our Robotics team has won the school three trophies when the basketball team so valiantly scraped into third place last year for being kinda good at throwing balls into laundry baskets."

"Prick!"

Steve glances at the guy who shouted, taking in his letterman jacket before quickly dismissing him. He looks back in time to see the boy on the table sticking out his tongue and holding his hands to his temples to make horns. There's an even wilder look in his eyes now, a sheer glee at causing a scene and getting under someone's skin.

Steve doesn't realize he's smiling until the boy scoffs, shouts one more line about the school's unfair preference for "mediocre jocks," and hops off the table. He looks over at Pubert and asks, "Who was that?"

Pubert glances at Steve, studying him for a moment before swallowing another mouthful of mush and saying, "Eddie Munson. He does that once a week, usually."

"Eddie Munson," Steve murmurs, glancing over at Eddie's table again and smiling a little wider.

#steddie #steddie fic #addams family b-side #that'll be the tag for this one lol #addams! steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #debbie jellinsky #fester addams #pubert addams #steve deserves good parents actually

[lustlovehart]

since reqs are still open i have a thought,,,,

scara/wanderer falling in love with reader all over again after he forgets them and everything else after the attempt of becoming god feel free to ignore those

A/n: For the sake of this request, he forgets who he is for months instead of just a day.

Summary: He’s had no name for so long, maybe his salvation is the voice that has remained in his head. Though, it seems that voice has turned to reality.

Warnings: Told from his perspective, Wanderer without his memories, but bonus is when he does get them back, Spoilers for Sumeru, Scara wants to kill Dottore, Jealousy, Kinda corny

Puppets are meant to have strings, and yet he is forced to lift his limbs on his own. Puppets have puppeteers make them do what they must yet he has to think for himself.

It makes sense, yet why is he left to walk without a purpose.

It feels like he's forgotten something from his past, yet there is no past for him to remember.

"Kuni... Have you... that isn't my... Huh...? You're just embarrassed I... pictures... Didn't hide... Okay... Think it's sweet... from you...!"

It's like his brain only had memories of some broken past he could no longer recall. Yet, he still finds some worth in the broken words that echo in his head.

"Uhm sir...? Can you please hand me that sunsettia? I have the Mora for it."

His trance is quickly dissipated as the voice in front of him is sounded. It feels familiar yet he doesn't have it saved in his brain.

"Huh...? Oh sure."

With no sure background on himself, nor any real idea of how he came to be, he's stuck working many jobs. His finger tips quickly brush against the hand in front of him, it felt like static rushed up to his chest, though he lacked a heart it felt as if there was one there.

"Thank you, I'll be taking my leave, so, have a good day." Familar...

"Sunsettias and Bulle fruit are kinda different huh? In fontaine, there's this certain candy made out of it, have you ever had it Kuni? No? I'll bring you some when I go back! You wanna come too...? Wha?! Don't act like you didn't say that! Hey don't walk away from me!"

Before he could reach out and ask for your name, you had already walked away from him. It didn't feel like the first time it had happened either.

A week later, all he could remember was that single interaction. His fingers still tingling whenever he remembered you.

It's as if he had some third sense for you, the moment you step into the bazaar his eyes quickly looked toward the direction you had cam in from.

"What is your name" his hands cling onto your wrist, even though you weren't planning to leave any time soon, almost like he felt as if he let go you would disappear once more.

"Wha...?" You're still not too caught up in what it is exactly he's asking so your don't answer, only quirking your eyebrow at him.

"Name?"

"Mine? It's [Name]...?" He quietly whispers it under his breath, like a mantra, a prayer. When he says your name again it's like it melts off his tongue.

Like you belong there on his lips.

"Am I in trouble? I promise i didn't steal anything from the stand sir!"

"What? No no, It's not that." He pauses before he speaks, a little hesitant while he thinks of his wording to dish out, how does he ask without coming off as weird? "I think... You're... You seem familiar."

"Hm? Well I do get supplies here often so maybe that's it-"

"Can we have dinner later?"

"Wait wha? Well, I mean we can, but I only know you as the vendor here, so that's kinda sudden is it not...?" He takes what you say into consideration, but only shrugs his shoulders.

"It probably is but, I wanna talk to you more." He couldn't let the opportunity slip between his fake fingers, for such a long time since he had awoken, it's like your voice had been in his head for such a long time.

No, not like... Your voice has been with him.

------

Months had passed by in such a hurry, yet he still had no title to go by. He didn't have anything attached to his person, so he told you the name he remembers feint whispers of.

"Kuni...?"

He can tell in your expression the name is familiar on your tongue, but does not hold any memories in your head. He doesn’t mind though, it's nice to hear you adress him, even if if the name you speak isnt one he remembers.

It doesn't take long before occasionally meets up turned into daily hang outs. There wouldn't be a second where you two weren't attached by the hips.

The two of you sit on the highest branch of the tree located at port ormos, your head rested on his shoulders while the wind calmly brushes by the two of you.

"Kuni." He doesn’t give you an answer but you can feel his eyes bore into you.

"I have to leave next week. Something urgent came up and… My job needs me to leave sumeru for some time, i’m not sure how long though." His expression doesn’t give too much away, but when you lift your head to look at him, the slight squint in his eyes is all you need to know he’s upset by it. “Don’t give me that look, it probably isn’t gonna be for more than a month anyway so i’ll be back soon.” He turns his head away from you, presumably to hide whatever look he has splayed on his face.

“Don’t be like that, besides, it’s my birthday soon. It’ll give you time to prepare for when I get back.” He still doesn’t answer you. A sigh leaves your throat before your hand reaches up to his face, pulling it closer to your lips as a quick peck is placed on his cheek. It’s enough to stun him a bit, watching his brain short circuit in real time while a smile cracks on your mouth.

“What would you want anyway? You’re not too open about your wants.” It’s nice to know he cares. Though you don't give him a straight answer, once again deciding to mess with him.

"Who knows, maybe I want you-" it doesn't take long before a palm pushes your face mid sentence. "Wha?! I was gonna ask for food."

With the way his face is turned, you'll never notice the way his face is warmed. He's sure if he had one, his chest would be beating sporadically.

He hopes the two of you can last.

------

Bonus:

It had been awhile since he had last seen you, 2 weeks maybe? At the time, when you had told him on your little date, he didn’t think much of it, he had only the memories of the clothes on his back to stick to, so he really believed it was for a simple job.

But with his memories back, he knows what your "job" truly is. Formerly, you were his assistant back in his harbinger days, but now that he is no longer the ballader, he can only seethe in silence at the thought of you being a differnt harbingers aid.

He might even go insane if he finds out you're to be working under The Doctor.

God Forbid, he finds out that man has been messing with you, he'll gladly become a god once more if that means he can protect you, or better yet, destroy him.

Instead of his hiding spot being a place to relax, he's now left with the thought of Dottore in his mind, it makes his hands curls into balls, grassblades ripping apart at how tight he's clutching his fists, he's sure if he was human there would no doubt be blood pouring out-

A sudden weight had jumped on him from behind, arms quickly tightening around him, a familar head coming into view.

"I finally found you." His eyes are right in front of your own, like your eyes are locked onto his and he can't look away from you. "I was worried, about you, ever since I had come back yesterday, you weren't at the usual spot."

Of course he wouldn't be. He had finally remembered his past sins, he no longer felt worthy enough to lay by your side.

But he still had some sense to at least protect you from the shadows.

"I just felt like changing the scenery is all."

"Hm? You've never wanted to do that before. Did something happen?"

His fingers... His fake fingers, tightly grip onto your very real arm.

"Maybe I've grown a hatred for doctors, is that not reasonable?"

"Huh...?? It's certainly random to change a spot for that reason that's for sure."

"If a certain doctor had any copies of himself, I would've loved to rip him to pieces."

"Okay future serial killer..."

He doesn't answer, maybe... Maybe it's best you don't remember his past atrocities with him.

"Perhaps you're one too [Name], who knows, maybe you're just as bad as me."

Your head leans forward, resting your chin on his shoulder while he talks.

"If that's the case, we really are meant to be huh?"

He let's a laugh escape his throat, not the usual one he lets out, filled with joy, it's filled with something more sinister, menacing? Yet it's still filled with some love for you.

"Yeah, that might be why we're together again."

"Again? Did you date a doppelganger?"

"Just sit down."

" Oh wow, that's some new attitude."

---

Wanderer before he got his memories back would probably be really awkward so I tried to incorpate that. (I wrote this really sporadically, so there's probably a lot of mistakes and really rushed I'm so sorry 😔)

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scara #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #vesperwrites #askves #scaramouche fluff #wanderer fluff

[pedrointofolklore]

This is me trying

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel hated you. he hated the risks you took, the danger you put yourself in, the total lack of value you had for your own life. he hated how much he worried about you. click here for part two.

warnings: detailed depictions of depression, heavily implied suicidal ideation, slight violence, angst with a sprinkle of fluff, no explicit smut but it does get very suggestive (minors do not interact), minor character death, enemies to lovers, poor communication, misunderstandings, these fools don’t know how to act, joel is an asshole but then he’s sweet, brief mention of drug use, lots of swearing, age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, boston era/ellie era.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: hey y’all. i just wanted to thank everyone who supported my last story rosebud (here’s a link if you want to read it). this story is a lot different and a lot sadder. i got the title from my favourite pop girlie taylor alison swift.

Joel hated you. It had to be his worst kept secret.

You hadn’t done anything to him. You used to think about it constantly, desperate to know what his reason was for despising you like he did, but you eventually accepted that he didn’t need a reason. He just didn’t like you. 

Joel wasn’t particularly likeable himself. He was rude and intimidating and one of the most morally bankrupt people you’d ever met, but you didn’t hate him the way he hated you. You were Tess’s lackey—Joel tolerated you, and you supposed he wasn’t obligated to do any more than that. Although, he didn’t do it very well.

You’d existed in each other’s orbit in the QZ for a while, and finally met one night in the boarded-up old mall when you’d gotten to a stash of painkillers just before them. Joel wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot you between the eyes if Tess hadn’t been there.

Tess saw something in you—not a friend, not a life worth sparing by virtue of humanity; a business investment.

And it was a smart investment. You were young, agile and clever, incredible at slipping by unnoticed and gathering information. You knew all the best routes, the best times to take them, and you could swindle anyone out of their rations just by batting your eyelashes. You were willing to take the lead, to be the first one in and out to make sure the coast was clear.

It wasn’t the threat of death or the promise of mercy that made you join them—it was the sense of purpose it gave you.

Joel was adamantly against it. Things worked fine the way they did them, and he saw no reason to add another person into it.

“Don’t need to fix something that ain’t broken,” was how he’d put it.

You didn’t dispute that. Joel and Tess had survived for years, and they were clearly more than capable of getting the job done, but what you lacked in experience, you made up for in stealth and speed—something their aging knees struggled with.

Tess convinced Joel, which you soon found out she was very good at. You also found out that his compliance didn’t mean hiding his resentment.

He thought you were a careless, impulsive loose cannon, and he’d told you so after a particularly dicey deal with a particularly dicey FEDRA agent.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days.” He followed you into your apartment uninvited. Tess made him walk you home, and you were sure he only did it because he wanted to berate you.

“Why do you care?” you asked, tossing your keys onto the counter. They slid off and hit the floor.

“You’re with us,” Joel replied. “You'll get us killed.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes—you knew that infuriated him. “Am I on crack or have you not doubled your profits since I showed up?”

“I think you’re dangerous,” Joel said, ignoring you. “Always sneakin’ around, goin’ places you shouldn’t, playin’ mind games with FEDRA. Your luck’s gonna run out sooner or later, and I just hope I’m not around when it does.”

Your face burned with red-hot anger as you tried to fight the stinging in your eyes and the blurring of your vision, but you were too far gone. The tears fell, and they were ceaseless. You felt pathetic, but you knew this would happen. You didn’t often cry from sadness or pain, but anger always managed to bring it out in you.

“Who the fuck are you to tell me that?” you hissed. “You’re saying you don’t sneak around? You’ve never scammed anyone? You’re a smuggler, Joel! Be fucking real with me.”

“It’s different,” he said, clenching his jaw.

“Why, because you’re older? Because you have more experience?”

“‘Cause I don’t think I’m fuckin’ special.”

If his words were the dagger, the pure contempt in his tone was what plunged it into your stomach, twisted it, and left a gaping hole for all of your despair to come pouring out of, leaving behind a puddle of melancholia for him to gaze at in all its miserable glory.

It was the only time you might have hated Joel as much as he hated you. Working with him and Tess wasn’t perfect, but it was all you had, and now he’d managed to make it all meaningless. Your help wasn’t helping.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat.

You should have quit then, and you thought about it. After pounding your fists into Joel’s chest and screaming at him to get the fuck out of your apartment, you sunk down onto the floor and cried. You cried until you ran out of tears and were left with a nothing but a throbbing headache. You took a pill, passed out, and woke up to you discover that you’d lost the energy to really care about any of it.

You didn’t quit. If anything, you became even more audacious, but you never confused it with courage or bravery. Bravery was perseverance in the face of terror. Joel and Tess were brave. You weren’t like them.

Joel laid off after that. He wasn’t anything close to nice, but whatever animosity he held towards you was only ever expressed as quiet seething, and you could live with that.

Any fulfilment you got out of working with Joel and Tess dissolved, but for what it was, it still worked.

Until it didn’t.

Tess was dead. The buffer between you and Joel was gone, and you had no choice but to work together and get the immune girl to Colorado.

You wondered if there was a silver-lining in this wreckage. You thought that circumstance might force Joel to finally get along with you, and so you did the one thing you never did—you tried. You tried to help him, tried to speak to him like he was someone you actually wanted to speak to, tried to rein in some of your more annoying traits so you wouldn’t get on his nerves.

None of it worked. All you could get out of Joel seemed to be irritated mumbles and blank stares, and you couldn’t even blame him after what happened to Tess.

You never really knew if Tess actually gave a shit about you, or if she only ever cared about having an extra pair of hands around. Either way, you cared about her.

So, once again, you tried. When Joel and Ellie were sleeping—or at least pretending to—you walked down to the stream and tried to cry for her, but you couldn’t muster the tears. You even tried to get angry, mentally cuss her out for leaving you behind, but your eyes were dry.

You stared into the water, gazing at the way it sparkled in the starlight, and thought that the world didn’t deserve such a pretty sight. You couldn’t cry, but a deep sadness overtook you, weighing you down like lead.

Joel didn’t hate you.

He just hated how impulsive and reckless you were. He hated that you were smart, intuitive, and so maddeningly beautiful. He hated the risks you took, the danger you put yourself in, the total lack of value you had for your own life. He hated how much he worried about you.

There was a time he had disliked you. He used to think it was arrogance—that you truly believed you were so special that you could get away with anything. It was when he called you out on it that he realised how wrong he was.

Your reaction was frightening. You cried and screamed at him, pushed him out of your space. He didn’t know you were capable of such a strong display of emotion, but he’d struck a nerve, and those were the repercussions.

He recalled how the blows to his chest didn’t hurt, like there was no force behind them. You weren’t weak at all, you just couldn’t find the willpower to really hurt him. He wished you had hurt him. Maybe getting it out of your system would have helped. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to feel so guilty.

It became so obvious to him what was happening, and he felt like an idiot for not understanding it sooner. It wasn’t that you thought you were special, or immune to the consequences—you just didn’t care what happened to you.

Now Tess was gone, and he had this horrible feeling that he was going to lose you too.

His way of dealing with it was to push you away even more. He told himself it would make things easier when you inevitably left him.

Things came to a head one night after the three of you left Lincoln. Joel had been driving all day, and he would be doing it again the next day. He was in desperate need of sleep, but as he stared out into the eerie darkness of the woods, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible would happen if he didn’t stay awake.

He heard the rustling of a sleeping bag sometime after midnight. He thought it was you just rolling over in your sleep—something you often did—but then he heard the faint sound of dead leaves crunching under feet, and you were by his side a moment later.

“What are you doing, Joel?” you asked in a soft, sleepy voice that made his chest ache.

“Keepin’ watch,” he replied bluntly.

“But you’re driving tomorrow,” you said. “You need sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ve slept, so I can take over,” you offered.

“I just told you I’m fine.”

“I’m just trying to help—”

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

You backed off, hanging your head in shame, and he instantly felt horrible—you were being nice to him and he was still being a complete asshole.

Joel tried to tear his gaze away from you. He wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening, that he hadn’t just done that, but his eyes stayed on you. He watched the shame dissolve and replace itself with indignation. You pulled your head up and glared at him with a fire in your eyes that threatened to burn right through him.

“I get it, okay? I’m sorry.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“I never meant for you to get stuck with me. I know it’s your worst fucking nightmare. If I could switch places with Tess—“

“Stop.” He wouldn’t hear that. He couldn’t. It would kill him. “That’s not—I’m not thinkin’ that. I’m glad you’re here, understand? I need you with me.”

You let out a bitter laugh. The sound hit his ears like a gunshot. “You just told me you didn’t. All you’ve done—all you’ve ever done—is act like I’m a fucking waste of space.”

Joel’s mouth when dry, his heart dropped to his stomach, and he thought he might vomit. It shouldn’t have shocked him like it did, but hearing you say it made him sick. He put the gun he’d been clutching down on the ground, disarming himself in more ways than one. “I don’t think that…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just—fuck—I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Are you gonna leave?”

“Leave this mission or this mortal coil?"

“Either, I guess.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Your voice was just a whisper, and it felt like you were ripping Joel’s heart out and crushing it in your hands.

Fuck no, he didn’t want you to leave, and that was what scared him the most; feeling attached to someone so detached (and yes, he was a hypocrite). He wouldn’t be able to take it if he woke up one day and you were gone.

But he couldn’t keep doing this to you. It was selfish and cowardly and it just made everything worse. He made everything worse.

“I can’t do this without you,” he told you. He hadn’t known how true it was until he said it.

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.” He felt suddenly impassioned. “You can’t…if you…just don’t. Promise me you won’t.” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t let the words out of his mouth and into the universe. You both knew what he meant.

“I promise,” you said. You sounded oddly tranquil, but Joel was destroyed, even though he knew he didn’t have the right to be—this was entirely his fault.

“Can you let me keep watch so you can get some sleep?” you asked again.

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Just need to know where you are.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and glossy, and for a second he thought you might start crying. Before he could think of something to do or say, your hands were on either side of his face, pulling him down into an urgent kiss.

He didn’t know what was happening, what you were thinking, or what he was thinking, but it didn’t matter, he just knew he needed to kiss you back. One of his hands found your waist while the other splayed out across your back, pulling you flush against him.

It was nowhere near sweet. It was intense and unyielding—a frantic clashing of teeth and bruising of lips. It was intoxicating, earth-shattering, but felt so right, like it was always meant to happen—or needed to happen.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, somehow bringing him impossibly closer to you. You hiked a leg up around his hip and tugged his pelvis forward. He ran a hand down from your waist, brushing it over your ass and gripping your thigh.

You rolled your hips into his, eliciting a deep, involuntary groan from him. He was painfully hard. He knew he would regret this, but he set your leg down and managed to tear his mouth away from yours. 

He missed the feeling immediately, and he didn’t have the self-control to pull away completely. His hands were still on you, pressing you against him. You looked so pretty and ruined gazing back at him; breathless and flustered with pink, swollen lips.

Fuck.

You had just kissed Joel Miller, the man you hated. 

You didn’t hate him.

You kissed the man who hated you.

He didn’t hate you.

You kissed the only person you had left. You kissed him even though it made no sense. You kissed him because you wanted to.

You started it, but then he stopped it. His eyes were dark, his face was flushed, and the bulge in his jeans was not going away. He looked like he was in pain, struggling with his own conscience.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.” He grinned softly and reached a hand up to tangle in your hair. It was an unexpectedly sweet gesture. “I liked it.”

Your heart melted. He was so lovely, so dear. You never imagined in your wildest dreams that Joel Miller could be like this.

“Just don’t wanna take advantage,” he said.

“You’re not. I kissed you,” you reminded him.

“I know, but you're upset, and you don’t like me much, and you’re tired. Don’t want you doing anything you don’t actually wanna do.”

You did want it, but you were also overwhelmed and exhausted, and more importantly, it would have been a majorly fucked up thing to do with a 14 year old sleeping 20 feet away.

“But if you still want it later”—he gave you another chaste kiss—“you can have it.”

You giggled, kissing him one more time. You didn’t know when you'd be able to again.

His gentle smile faded, and he looked into your eyes with devastating sincerity. “I got you now, okay?”

“I know, Joel.”

“Do you have me?” he asked.

“I’m trying.” You hoped that would be enough, because it was all you had.

“That’s all I need, sweetheart.”

a/n: so i wrote most of this when i was sick with the flu and i fully intended for it to be a one-shot, but i love this dynamic and i’m thinking of exploring it further. let me know if y’all would be interested in seeing more of these two. (edit: this a/n is now redundant bc i did in fact write the sequel).

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #the last of us #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction

[theemissuniverse]

“WHEN THEY SEE YOUR SCARS” MK MALE CHARACTERS PART 2

SUMMARY : title is self explanatory

WARNINGS : If you made it this far, obviously big triggering warning with sh

MASTERLIST 1 , MASTERLIST 2

MORTAL KOMBAT 1 CHARACTERS

Kung Lao

He is mad. Not at you but at himself. How could he not have seen the signs before? Did he make you do this? He doesn’t waste any time. He gently takes your arm and brings you closer to him while staring at your scars. “What is this?”

You felt your world ending when he saw your scars. You immediately tried to take your arm back. “Nothing.” Kung Lao wouldn’t let you go. “It’s not nothing. Are you hurting yourself?” When you don’t respond, Kung Lao forces you to look at him. “Answer me.”

He sees you start to cry. He sighs and pulls you into a hug, kissing all over your face. “I don’t mean to be so harsh, baby. I just love you so much.”

Kenshi Takahashi

He is stunned to say the least. Never would he had thought you were doing it. Never. He doesn’t really know how to go about the situation at all. He feels he’s not qualified for this.

But he loves you. He loves you so much that it hurts. While you’re lying in bed, Kenshi will kiss all over your body. From your face to your neck to your chest. From your chest, to your stomach and then to your arms.

He then hovers over you. His hand is placed on where your scars are at. “I love you.” He plants a very sweet kiss on your lips. He’s afraid if he stops kissing you, you’ll disappear. “I will help you. I promise.”

Syzoth

He is not familiar with self harm so he’s very confused by the marks. “What happened there?” You quickly covered the marks with your sleeve and let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Sparring accident.”

Syzoth knows that you’re lying. He can always tell but why would you be lying? It just didn’t make any sense to him. Later, he sees your scars on your thighs. It started to click to him because you didn’t want to have intimacy with him anymore and only wanted to give him oral.

He kisses your cheek and places his hand on your thighs. “Why are you doing that?” It’s a stupid question but he genuinely doesn’t understand. When you start crying, he pulls you into a hug and doesn’t let go.

MORTAL KOMBAT 11 CHARACTERS

Kabal

He doesn’t know what to say. There are no words that he can offer. Especially he knew that whatever he said, you still would most likely feel the same.

Kabal just stares at them. Like he’s frozen in time. He doesn’t know how to go about it in the slightest. You notice his staring and quickly tried to cover up the scars that remained on your arm.

He won’t let you. He stops you with his hand and keeps staring at them. It’s pure and utter silence. A pin could be heard if it was dropped. Instead, he brings you into a hug and holds you tight offering no words. Just actions.

Erron Black

He’s seen this a million times. Not from you but from other people. In his line of work, a lot of people did it but he had never thought you’d be the one to do it. (He shouldn’t ever thought that.)

Even though Erron has seen this before, he absolutely doesn’t know how to go about it. He’s having a hard time trying to formulate words to not make him sound like an asshole. “Don’t do that.” It’s a stupid statement but he genuinely doesn’t know how to go about it.

That’s when you turn to him, confused. “Do what?” “You know what.” It clicks for you that he’s talking about your scars. You start to cry and Erron brings you in a hug. “I know, darling.”

Nightwolf

He’s having a panic attack about it. His lover hurting themself? He couldn’t bare the thought of it but he knew this wasn’t about him. It was about you.

Nightwolf knows that if he goes about it the wrong way then he’ll scare you off. He’s just afraid that the way he picks will make you feel even worse than you already do.

He makes sure you have a great day. Getting you whatever you want, feeding you, massaging you, the whole nine yards. And then when you’re in your best mood, he brings it up. “I know about your scars.” It’s as if time has stopped for you. You just sit there, quiet. Nightwolf leans in and kisses you. “I love you. I need you to know that.”

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 #mk #mortal kombat 11 #mk1 #mk 1 #mk11 #mk 11 #kung lao #kung lao x reader #kenshi takahashi #kenshi takahashi x reader #mk syzoth #syzoth x reader #syzoth #mk kabal #kabal x reader #Kabal #erron black #erron black x reader #mk nightwolf x reader #mk nightwolf #nightwolf x reader #nightwolf #mk headcanons #mortal kombat headcanons #mk x reader #mk11 x reader #mk1 x reader

[wires-and-hellfires]

Hi could you do Alastor x Vox's sister that's staying at the hotel. Vox didn't know they were in hell and they are not a tech demon like him if this makes any sense.

Vox only realized it was his sister because unlike her brother who's good with tech she opposite like the best equivalent comparison I can think of is someone who's so bad at cooking that they could burn water.

Sorry for the long request you dont have to do it if you don't want to

look at how well you took care of me

Pairing: Alastor & fem! reader (queer-platonic), Vox & sister! reader

Description: Vox comes to the realization that he may have made a mistake... he can only hope it's not too late.

Warnings: The battle in episode 8, violence, murder, injuries, alcohol, Alastor as a warning in itself, Rosie being Rosie,

Author note: Hi hi! Thanks so much for the request!!! I don't write romantic relationships for Alastor, but I loved this idea so I hope a QPR is okay! The title is from "Whispers of Your Brother's Blood" btw. This was tons of fun to write and it kinda got away from me but hopefully it's okay.

Part 2 with a reunion coming soon!

Meeting Alastor was likely the best thing that happened in your entire life, including your time on Earth and in hell.

You weren't stupid. You knew how Alastor treated people, hell, how he used to treat you, and yet, somewhere along the way he showed you more kindness than anyone else.

You met through Rosie, which was likely the best way to come face-to-face with the radio demon.

Rosie found you when you first arrived in hell, and despite very obviously considering eating you, she saw potential of some sort. Perhaps it was your steady gaze or the way you gripped the broken glass in your bloody hand like a knife, but she took you in and showed you life in hell, even if you didn't share her... dietary choices.

When Alastor came for their weekly gossip session meeting, she introduced you two. At first, he seemed to disregard you. You didn't mind.

You did your best work behind the scenes anyhow.

Alastor mentioned a man from the Weapons District who had been speaking badly of Rosie, laughing that he was practically volunteering to be a guest on his broadcast. You could hear the static in his voice from your spot in an armchair across the room. He wasn't joking.

Which meant you had to act first.

Later that night, you bid farewell to Rosie with a smile, claiming you had errands to run, which to be fair, wasn't entirely untrue.

The man was easy to find thanks to Alastor's description. He reeked of cheap booze and tobacco, already drunk in the bar you tracked him to.

Sliding up to him with promises of "a good time" and more booze, he stumbled out of the bar after you, straight into the back alley.

He was dead within 10 minutes. A mugging gone wrong, they'd say.

How tragic.

During the next meeting between Alastor and Rosie, Alastor invited you to sit with them, much to Rosie's delight. And if his smile seemed a bit too knowing and he made a few jokes about drunks in dark alleys? Well, that could stay between the two of you.

And that's where it started.

Every visit, regardless of what you were doing, Alastor would ask if you'd like to join them. You three would chat over tea, sharing gossip and talking shit. You couldn't tell if he genuinely enjoyed your company or if he just found you entertaining, though you suspected those two things weren't too different with Alastor.

And when someone was a bit too careless with their opinion about Alastor in the bar you frequented one night? The radio demon didn't need to make an appearance, you would destroy that scum yourself-

The next day, Alastor paid you a visit personally.

In the parlour, he expressed an interest in your... skillset, laughing about how you worked in the darkness.

He offered you a deal for your soul.

Whatever care he had developed for you likely saved your life when you refused.

"Partners or nothing," you had offered. When his grin sharpened, you knew he was intrigued.

He was the flashy showman, broadcasting the screams of overlords and inspiring fear across all of hell.

And you?

You were the shadow on the wall, charming those who would be too stubborn or too afraid to usually talk, convincing them to give away the information you needed to build your empire further.

Those who knew of your existence understood the consequences of speaking out. The radio demon didn't take well to those who threatened you.

In a dangerously comforting way, it all felt far too close to your life on earth. Sure, you weren't killing nearly as much back then, but flirting for information, gathering secrets and destroying those who opposed you or those close to you?

Yeah, that was familiar.

Your brother would be proud, you thought.

Or maybe he'd be just as unappreciative as he was in life.

Half a decade at Alastor's side, the two of you taking the phrase "partners in crime" very literally.

As a show of trust, he once allowed you to help with a broadcast, as long as you promised to keep quiet. Admittedly, he quickly discovered your... less-than-ideal skills with technology, but you appreciated the thought nonetheless.

You relied on one another. You leaned on him and he would lean back.

And then he disappeared.

No goodbye, no warning at all, not even a body.

Just... gone.

After five years, you moved into an apartment in Cannibal Town, further isolating yourself. Finding work wasn't difficult, but you refused to use your skills for just anyone, and there were few people you trusted more than Rosie.

You arrived late one night, two years into working with Rosie. Setting the keys down on the counter, the dull buzz of static spread through the room.

Alastor was holding you before you even hit the ground, legs giving out in relief.

And yes, he wasn't the most physically affectionate demon, but for you?

For you, he could make an exception.

The hotel could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he had apologies to make and a partner to comfort.

The next day, after Alastor pitched his ideal to the princess of hell, he brought in Niffty, Husk and you as help, and if everyone thought you were a soul under his command, well, it was easier that way.

However much you didn't want to admit it, you grew to care for everyone. Losing at cards with Husk, cooking lessons with Angel, sparing with Vaggie, watching musicals with Charlie, crafts with Niffty, failing at inventing with Sir Pentious...

And doing absolutely everything with Alastor. After his reappearance, you were reluctant to let him out of your sight, and the radio demon was all too willing to keep you close, even if Husk seemed concerned over it.

Which was probably why when Alastor tried to get you to leave during the night before the battle, you refused.

You could tell his desperation to keep you safe drive you out of the hotel by the static in his voice, his subtle requests turning to false threats and finally a plea that neither of you would admit to leaving his mouth.

"I'm a lot of terrible things, Alastor, but I am not disloyal. I will stand tomorrow with you and everyone else. You're not leaving me again."

And for the first time that you've met him, he lets it go. No further bargaining or attempts to trap you, just a sigh and "Whatever you want, my dear," with a tighter smile than usual.

The next day, everything goes to shit.

Alastor and Adam are fighting, with Alastor firmly kicking his ass.

Then Sir General Pentious yells to unjam a cannon near you, and while pushing random buttons and gesturing angrily, you scream, "I don't know how to use this shit!"

You don't see the VoxTech drone nearby recording everything for the Vee's future entertainment.

With your back turned, you cry out at the feeling of a spear slicing across your back.

The pain of the blow sends you stumbling forward into the side of the cannon, causing it to finally go off, turning the angel behind you into pieces.

The force behind the machine sent you crashing into the wall of the hotel next to Angel, who turned to you in shock.

At the sound of your pain, Alastor's focus breaks for only a second.

It's enough for Adam to gain the upper hand, breaking his staff in two and sending him to the ground.

As he fades into the shadows, he focuses on your energy signature and pulls you into the darkness alongside him.

Across hell, at the top of V Tower, Vox swore wildly at the screen.

What a fucking coward!

Alastor running away to die off camera had to be the biggest disappointment in his entire afterlife.

Scratch that, second biggest disappointment. Still a pretty big bummer though.

Saving the other views of the battle for later inspection, he and the other Vee's watched as Lucifer slammed Adam into the dirt in delight.

It was 3 hours after the extermination was cancelled that he found the footage of you and the cannon. Of you hitting the wall and disappearing, but you're not dead, you can't be dead oh please not again-

How long have you been in hell? He assumed that you had been killed permanently before he arrived in hell after you, or maybe you'd even been sent to heaven, despite your sins. If anyone deserved to be forgiven, it was you.

But no, no no- You'd been here, the whole time, in that stupid hotel with fucking Alastor-

Vox's fans speed up in an attempt to keep his whole system from crashing.

Your appearance had changed, sure, but he would recognize the sight of you cussing out technology anywhere.

He would recognize his little sister anywhere, even in death.

This was all his fault.

You and Vox grew up close. Always the two of you, there could be no one else, the sheltering of your parents ensured that.

Over time, Vox's mastery of technology grew, and so did his influence. When he needed someone he could trust to keep things clean and running in the background, you were the obvious choice.

He took you for granted, Vox knew that now. You had argued about something stupid before a job one night, he couldn't even remember what he said, only that he went too far. When you left to go do some "clean up" for a previous situation, he resolved to properly apologize for once when you got home. And to say thank you. He wouldn't forget this time.

But you never came back.

You were found shot dead in an alleyway by a couple of employees from a nearby bar later that night.

Did Vox send you on a job that was too much for you? Were you distracted from the argument?

Either way, it was his fault you were dead. His fault the one person he loved, his baby sister, lay in a casket.

It didn't take long for him to get put into the ground himself.

Arriving in hell felt like a second chance. He would find you and everything would be alright again.

And yet, you were nowhere to be seen.

The drones around the hotel (or what was left of it) circled, scanning for a sign that you were there. That his ignorance hadn't killed you for a second time.

On the screens, the clean-up of the rubble continued.

Vox twitched.

Vox hadn't prayed since he was a child in the front pews of the neighbourhood church. Back when purity was still an option and repentance was unnecessary.

Now, he didn't know who he was pleading to. Does God listen when demons pray?

Please. Please, let her live. Let Alastor have saved her. Let me make this right.

Please.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x reader #alastor & reader #alastor x reader

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Still Untitled

[jungkook x reader] [ 1k+ fluff]

A/N: Something short and sweet. I initially wrote a lil bit of smut, but it came out a bit perverted and I don't think it fits the character of Jungkook in this fic. I still have no title for this, but I'm so glad to receive such great lovely feedback!

Untitled

-

Before you can talk yourself out of it, your feet are walking towards Jungkook.

A breathy and meek hi leaves your mouth, the sudden greeting has him turning around to face you. Before you can backtrack, your hand extends to offer a carton of banana milk to Jungkook.

You're not sure if you're glad he's being super quiet, but wanting to get this done in one go, the words swiftly fly out of your mouth.

"I'mreallysorryaboutlastnightImistookyouforsomeoneelse," you expel in one shaky breath.

Jungkook looks perplexed, probably unsure what to make of the sudden apology, you assume. You were contemplating if you needed to elaborate, but as soon as Jungkook took the milk from your hands, hesitantly—you observed—your legs were quick to find their way back to your space and hide behind your propped up easel.

Had you stayed a second longer, you would have witnessed Jungkook break out a childish grin and blush. His hold on the carton was so gentle, one would have thought he was holding something far too fragile than a drink.

-

The class had passed quickly, which you were thankful for, for the first time. As soon as the clock hit 5:00, you rushed to bag your stuff—no plans of staying extra hours for today. You're still mortified from yesterday and while you don't think a lousy apology makes up for your misplaced accusation, you also don't have the courage of facing Jungkook.

At least, not now, you reason to yourself. Promising to scrape more courage for next time.

In your haste of leaving, you forgot to unhook the strap of your tote from the chair and as you lug your bag behind you as you speed walk, the chair topples and your things tumble out and scatter to the floor, much like the smithereens of your dignity.

A whispered curt curse is heard from you before you rush to pick up the rolling colored pencils.

"Here," Even with your head downcast and eyes glued to the floor, you know whose tattooed hands are handing your pencils towards you.

"Thanks," you clear your throat and glance at the man you wronged. "I got it," you softly say, a subtle way of shoo-ing him away, once again.

You stood up abruptly after shoving everything inside your bag. You see Jungkook lift the chair upright and thank him. You get a response in the form of a smile.

You made three streps before you heard your name called. With obvious reluctance, you face Jungkook and raise your brow in question. Afraid if you open your mouth, something judgmental comes out. Or maybe just that you choke from the clawing embarrassment.

"Do you wanna get coffee?" Jungkook adjusts his backpack on his shoulder. This time, he's taking Namjoon's advice. Just ask her to go out, even if it's just getting coffee after her class. It's a better way to get to know each other. Pick up lines are lame, his hyung said which earned a loud yelp of disagreement from Seokjin. Still, Jungkook thinks Namjoon made more sense.

Plus, he remembers those times whenever he sees you on campus, you always held a cup of coffee. And today, before class, he noticed you had nothing with you other than milk—which even turned out to be for him. He'd get all giggly later, for now, he has a bigger daunting task.

Throughout the class, Jungkook was internally hyping himself up to ask you for coffee. He almost felt pathetic when he saw you quickly pack your things and rush out, already thinking he'll have to run after you. But lo and behold, the universe bought him time.

"I-It's kinda late for coffee, don't you think?" You covered your uneasiness by clearing your throat and pretending to look at your watch. It was too quick of a glance to read the time, he notices. He knows you're evading him. Panic rushes into Jungkook. While on good days, he prided himself for thinking on his feet—those days helped him win rebuts with Seokjin—this moment would have been the one time where the words he uttered couldn't be more nonsensical and embarrassing, "Well, drinking coffee before bed will keep you awake at night is a myth, anyway." The words trailed off one by one as it reached the end, but you heard him loud and clear.

You were to quick to mask your visible confusion by pursing your lips, as if considering what he just said. But Jungkook knows how stupid he sounded. There was no redemption from this.

But just when Jungkook was ready to wave the white flag, he heard you snort a laugh. He looks up and sees your lips break out in a grin—one you tried to hide with an adorable nose scrunch, but your amusement still shone through with a tight-lipped smile. Then, finally, you look at Jungkook and this moment, he'll forever remember because you're looking at him with adoring eyes.

"Fine, then," you agree, lips still toying an amused smile. "Since you're so desperate for coffee you're making stuff up. But I'm getting a decaf."

Your turn and walk towards the approaching evening, and Jungkook follows suit with a lovesick smile.

-

"Wait... you thought I was Kim Jongkook?!"

You sheepishly smile, your fingers on the table scratches the surface, an anxiety tick. But you also look like someone desperately digging for a hole where you can escape to. You want to be away from this awkward confrontation where you have no excuse, no rebut.

“It really was an honest mistake. I’m sorry for lashing out on you.” Your head hangs with shame as you apologize for the nth time.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook noticed and took note of your tick. He really was just teasing you, enjoying your adorable puppy eyes, even more so that it's directed towards him. But perhaps, he had his fun. He smiles and comforts you—saying it’s fine and he understands. Right as you look up at him, your names are called for your ordered coffees.

In the same breath which he decides he wants to always be this close with you, he's also unsure how much he can hold back from wanting to just kiss you. And so, as much as Jungkook didn't want to break away from the moment, he stands from his seat, “I’ll get it. Just… you won’t leave, right?”

You would think he was teasing, making a jab from the couple of times you walked out from him, but seeing his pensive eyes had you retracting your assumption. “I’ll be here,” you smile reassuringly.

-

Your trip for coffee, but as per Jungkook's delusion—your date— lasted longer for hours. Small conversations were shared between the tiny round table that held your cups of drinks. No more hole-scratching on the table and downcast embarrassed eyes.

Jungkook thinks his heart may burst from happiness.

Unfortunately, your phone pings, breaking the bubble that enclosed you and Jungkook, one that temporarily kept you away from the outside noise. “Oh, sorry. That’s my alarm.” Your eyebrows furrow as you glance at your watch. This time, really looking at the time, Jungkook observes.

“I should be somewhere now, actually.” As you quickly gather your things, Jungkook matches your pace—grabbing your littered cups and tissues on the table, picking up the proof of your shared evening.

“This was really nice, Jungkook. I now partly feel bad for judging you too quickly,” you tease as you watch him trash the stacked cups.

“That’s not good enough,” Jungkook crosses his now free arms, biceps bulging that were not missed by your eyes. He sees the trail of your sight and that was just what he needed to be confident enough to ask for another coffee date. One that you agreed to without hesitation.

He grows giddy and excited. Wanting tomorrow—Thursday—to come sooner. He doesn't mind if the day ends quickly now as you part ways. And it isn’t until you round a corner that you both stop turning around to check on the other.

-

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #bts #bts fic

[mayolive-writes]

Ease Your Mind | Jungkook

Part One of the Seven Series: Seven Masterlist

Title: Monday - Ease Your Mind

Pairing: idol!jungkook x AFAB reader

Summary: Jungkook is finally coming home after a long tour. Work has been fun and fulfilling, but there’s no place like home. After being deprived of your attention for so long, He knows exactly how he wants to spend the week ahead.

Wordcount: 1128

Genre: Fluff, smut, pwp, established relationship

Warnings below the line, minors DNI

Warnings: fluffy hours bro, soft/slow sex, protected sex, vaginal penetration, they are both kinda subby, pet names (bun, koo, hon/honey), very brief overstimulation, jk is Clingy™️, if I missed anything, let me know and ill add it!

Notes: It took me a bit to determine how I wanted this to play out and what I wanted their dynamic to be like. Like I already said, they’re both kinda subby in this one, not enough people explore subxsub dynamics smh. But that won’t be the case for the whole series. I attempted to proofread but cannot promise perfection. Feel free to comment/reblog/like, I love getting feedback! And if you would like to be added to the taglist just leave a comment :)

Enjoy!!

⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘

The days leading up to Jungkook’s return seemed to stretch beyond time, but it all becomes worth it as you count down the seconds, watching people exit from the terminal, eagerly waiting. You ease your weight from foot to foot, an eagle eye watching.

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually you’re forcing down the urge to yell out his name as you see him emerge. Attention is the last thing he wants after a long plane ride. Instead, you discreetly make your way to eachother before quietly embracing. Your heart doesn’t soar, but rather fills with relief and comfort, absorbing the warmth that you missed so much.  His arms wrap tightly around you, and you regain a sense of safety you didn’t realize was missing. Although you might never get used to Jungkook leaving, you’ll always be ready for his return.

Most of Jungkook’s face is obscured by a dark mask and wide bucket hat, but looking up you see his eyes watering, folded into crescents from the smile beneath his mask. Tears fill your eyes, and you squeeze him tighter. Not a word has been spoken yet, but it isn’t necessary.

You sit down in your car, drained from the long morning, relieved but tired. Jungkook grabs hold of your hand once more.

“How was the plane, Bun?” The only response Jungkook gives is to rest his head against the seat and release a long, exhausted sigh. You squeeze his hand, gently caressing the skin that you haven’t felt in months, but that still feels familiar and soft.

You drive home in effortless silence. In the passenger seat, you hear Jungkook dozing off, his head knocking against the window once or twice during the ride. Before waking him up, you watch his peaceful sleeping face, his lips parted lightly, breath low, and the crease between his eyebrows nowhere to be seen.

As you finally walk through the front door, Jungkook falls against you once more, hugging you close.

“I missed you.”

The soft background noise of the TV rouses you. Through bleary senses you feel Jungkook’s warm breath on your skin, feel him huddled close to you, and smell the peachy shampoo on his hair. It wasn’t a surprise to you when Jungkook said that before doing anything else, he wanted to simply lay with you on the couch, and watch something mindless. It was always his first request coming home from a tour. Each time, you would oblige.

You carefully shift towards the TV to occupy yourself while Jungkook continues to sleep. Time passes slowly in his arms, warm and secure.

Through the window, you watch as the sun sets, and the sky darkens with gray clouds. As the clouds stir, so too does Jungkook. It’s gradual, the way he awakes. A few grumbles, a bit of stretching, and a couple yawns later his eyes are open, and you feel them fixed on the back of your head. You adjust your position once more to meet his gaze and are quickly absorbed. His eyes look brighter, if not a bit foggy, after a much-needed nap; their gaze soft and tranquil.

Jungkook whispers, “Hon, I’m gonna be honest,” you nod, “I really, really need you right now.”

Oh.

Oh…

There’s an immediate shift in the air around you as your heart races. It doesn’t take long before he presses you gently into the couch and captures your lips.

Jungkook speaks with increasing desperation between each soft kiss, “missed you,” kiss, “want you,” kiss, “need you” kiss, “please, please—”

He whines quietly, and you allow yourself to get lost in his desperation, “need you too, Bun.”

Inching his hands beneath your hoodie, Jungkook revels in your soft skin that he spent months pining to feel beneath his fingertips again. You squeeze him closer, tugging at the roots of his hair when his lips attach to the crook of your neck. He steals this moment to suck a deep mark into the warm skin, easing the sting with a swipe of his tongue.

He doesn’t stop.

With swift movements, he removes your hoodie to uncover more skin. Or, to him, a wider canvas. One by one, bruises bloom along you. Neck, collarbones, chest. Wherever they can reach, he lets his lips touch. Jungkook ends up towering over you, the look in his eyes a crossroads between adoration and desire. He meets his forehead to yours, heat radiating off his body, “haven’t had you in so long…”

“Well, you have me now.”

“Never wanna leave you again,” He breathes you in, and you feel his hips rut into you.

No amount of over-the-phone intimacy could make up for the months spent apart from you. It’s no surprise that it takes little to no time before Jungkook is easing himself into your folds, face buried in your neck, uncontrollable whimpers escaping the both of you.

He works slowly for both your sakes, cautious in his movements, barley able to control himself. One hand holds your waist as the other intertwines with your fingers, his grip unbreakable. The way he slides through your walls with ease, gently rocking in and out as he desperately holds onto you makes your brain go numb. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him tighter, needing more.

“H-honey, I don’t think I’ll l-last long.” He whines in your ear and his prediction is correct, only a few more thrusts cause him to break. Despite him coming, however, he doesn’t stop, “M-more, need more.”

“Keep going, Koo, please keep going—” You softly beg, “

His thrusts are faster and deeper now, fueled by need and desperation. “Oh, god, you feel so good” Jungkook cries.

“I’m so close, please, please—” you feel yourself become feverish as your high approaches, hands grasping at Jungkook’s back, the graze of your nails causing him to groan in pleasure. Your back arches, a final stifled moan escaping your throat. But still, Jungkook continues to drive his cock into you. The overstimulation makes you whine and squirm, gasping for relief. Gradually the feeling gives way to pleasure once more. Your limbs feel weak, your brain lost but begging for more until you’re both whimpering against eachother.

Countless minutes pass as you and Jungkook cling to eachother, refusing to let go. His hands stroke up and down your body, and in return, your fingers brush through his hair. Rain patters against the window, creating a lull.

You mumble, “feel better?”

“Much better, baby.”

“We should shower, Bun.”

Jungkook snuggled in closer, “don’t wanna”

“Too bad, so sad. Promise I’ll wash your hair.”

He raises his head from your chest, showing off his puppy eyes, “Really?”

The week ahead promises to be tiring, but it’s good to be home.

Taglist: @alpha-mommy69 @jkslaugh97 @eyesforjungkook @skzthinker @sporadicarcadebanana @kookswifesblog @hipeople123456-blog

#bts smut #bts fanfic #bangtan sonyeondan #bts #Jungkook smut #jungook fanfic #bts imagines #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts scenarios #Jungkook #Jungkook imagine #Jungkook x reader #Jungkook fic #Jungkook x y/n #smut #kpop smut #female reader #Jungkook fluff #bts fics #jeon Jungkook

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

Hiiiii it's 🌻 anon :)

could I request Jason and New Rome native, legacy gf, who are attending a Roman festival together? maybe something with how they both grew up here and speak Latin with each other 🥺

✮⋆˙ lanterns, guide me home; jason grace x legacy of ceres! reader blurb

content: jason grace x legacy of ceres! reader blurb warning: none! author's note: so painfully soft. actually thats a lie, there is a dash of angst in here. but i love love love this one so much it just- this boy misses home but it's not a place, it's a person. also that title...guys come on, you know its good dont play with me rn

jason was basically buzzing. it was, easily, his favorite day of the whole entire year. consualia, to celebrate the harvest that year or something or other. jason didn't care as much for the meaning as you did. which made sense, considering your connections the the harvest and plants and all that jazz. what jason cared for was how hard new rome always went. resturants stayed open for longer, nearly everybody clambered into the streets and just celebrated each other. and jason's favorite part? the string lights that ran through every block and down every street. you couldn't turn a corner without seeing one and jason could feel the electricity just buzzing off them, surely to match his mood. plus, you and him had developed a tradition of your own back when you were children. he'd only every missed it once, this past year, as juno had stolen him away right before the holiday. his heart squeezed and squished at the thought of you, celebrating alone. he promised to make up for it this year.

"jason!" you cheered as you swung the door of your parent's apartment open. jason went to say something but you, like always, took his breath away. sure, it was a dress he'd seen before, but he couldn't help but feeling like he was falling in love for the first time. gods know what, but something jolted the boy back into action, proudly presenting you with the flowers he'd brought.

"aww, you didn't have to, baby," you cooed but took them from his hand, squeezing them to your chest.

"uh, yes, i did! you think im not gonna get my girl flowers on a day like today?" he taunted with a wide smile that left you laughing.

"whatever. you don't even know the importance of today," you mocked, wrinkling your nose up at him.

"nope, not a clue. i know why it's important to me though," jason mused, smiling down in a way that had you melting. which he got to watch in live time.

"y/n, ill get those in a vase for you, honey," your dad mused, ever the son of ceres, holding his hands out for the flowers, which you reluctantly passed off. jason and your dad nodded at each other and jason went to open his mouth and ask about what he thought about the lastest war games but you were already tugging him down the street.

jason let you lead the way, the pair of you parting from the massive crowds and walking down some desolate street. but you two knew where it led, knowing smiles shared as you turned another corner. in the grand scheme of things, it was nothing. just a fountain, not too hard to find around new rome. but to you and jason, it was everything. it was where you first celebrated consualia together as children, playing hopscotch and other childish games. later, i'd be where you first kissed, once again on consualia. jason had shyly shoved flowers to you, stuttering out that he liked you. and you kissed him, squishing the flowers between your chests. so, every year, the two of you came back, watching others pass by your little bubble of nostalgia.

"i brought aureus coins. ya know, to make wishes on!" you mused, rooting around in your purse. and jason couldn't tear his eyes away from you. you. you. you. his darling girl. who he was robbed of a year with. the tears were rapidly blurring his view of you, his least favorite part of crying. due to recent events, he'd become increasingly grateful for every vivid memory he could make of you and everything else.

"found them! okay, this one's yours and-...oh, jase," you instantly stopped, looking back at jason and reaching your hands out to the poor boy, your coins clattering to the ground.

"i-i'm so sorry. it's just- i-...you were alone last year and i can't stop picturing it," he spit out, every second making it harder to keep the tears in. and you were gracious, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling his chest to rest against your shoulder and allowing his tears to run along your skin.

"it's okay, jase, we're okay. it wasn't your fault. plus, she gave you back to me. one year alone will always be worth that. i got my boy back. i couldn't ask for more," you whispered against the side of jason's head, running your hand through his hair and over his shoulders comfortingly. and he squeezed your waist and held you tight and pressed kisses anywhere his lips could reach, never wanting to part from you again.

the two of you stayed like that, holding and caressing the other with soft hands and gentle words. and jason had the fleeting thought that he couldn't be more grateful for his harvest on consualia this year- getting you back had been the cream of the crop for sure.

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #jason grace #jason grace x you #jason grace x reader

[the-one-who-lambs]

"Propose," for @bamsara

HI YOUR DOODLES INSPIRED ME HERE'S A POETRY ATTACK. rambling below the cut.

At first, the death waltz is a misstep.

A sickening skeletal crack, a shape of an invisible scythe.

Sincerity is too kind a lie, but His sacrosanct

Protection (you think)

Lets you rise once more.

Death cannot keep you, but you would let Him

If he welcomes you.

You only believe what He thinks you should know.

The flames engulf you after the smoke does,

But your soul has nearly shed its corpse when you see them.

You stand in the vast chain-bound sanctuary and breathe

Fully (your lungs don’t remember being choked).

It is the first of a fitful of

Scorn and surprises and bone fingertips pressed against your skin.

He helps you to your feet.

Your heart should not beat here. In the infiniteness of your bosom it awakens.

The very semblance of the jagged-bare flesh

Encircling your neck is an intimacy in itself.

The blissful torment of the swordsman’s blade

Releases (so close to peril)

And He is already in your periphery.

Call it duty. Call it love.

Choose it as the last decision you’ll ever make.

Fate’s a tarot pull. You draw your card with eyes sealed shut.

You are a disgraced, depraved approximation of a person.

The chill of his embrace is warmer than the hands

That build the bonfire. It is in the name of

Someone (you shan’t say who)

And in the ashes of your grief your reflection

Stares back with three eyes.

The temptation to burn yourself seeps out,

Ichor-like. You don’t die tonight, not yet.

A careful drip of poison. The aftertaste of iron

In your mouth: communion seeping into your own goblet.

A moonshine moment of annihilation, however brief

Before (infectious, echoing, comforting)

You bleed out. You hope you die today.

He hopes you die today. It’s an

Ambrosial veil between you.

You slip beneath it with a sweet hello.

It’s never quite intentional until

The myths surrounding Him fall away.

The secrets you keep are shared, kept safe

Until (your reunion, this time, was not quite an accident)

They are intertwined: you are inescapably

Lonely and in your separate spheres

You vie for dominance. It’s a furious, bloodsoaked rendezvous.

It was always He who waited, but you’ll be patient.

He feels you in every dream. You

Stop time with your voices.

It’s His frustration melting away

With your kisses (you’re not there yet)

And makes Him yours, in freedom,

Dependent on nothing nobody you himself

The fetters are invisible but you hear them

Rattling every time your heart beats.

Your breath need not return anymore so you

Relearn to dodge the aim of an arrow, the pierce of a blade.

Living is foul, a promise half-hidden,

Desperate. (It lingers on your tongue.)

Death bound you together. You know how to die.

You have to remind yourself that heaven lays barren.

It will not hold you

Should Death keep you apart.

Get appreciated idiot /pos /lh

So, this was inspired by this post, which was super wholesome and sweet, but I couldn't write this without infusing it with the urgency and anxiety and sense of danger that looms over The Rehabilitation of Death. Bits and pieces of references to your AU are sprinkled in throughout. I hope you (and my readers and your readers as well) enjoy picking apart the themes here!

I actually wrote this live on stream last night! I made sure none of my friends were streaming before I started because I didn't want to miss anyone if someone was already live, but then you started streaming like 10 minutes later and I was like FUCK now I wanna watch you. But after a couple of hours on my new extra-hard CotL save (OUCH), I switched to writing and just... hoped you wouldn't pop in because I wanted this to be a surprise. For most of the writing part of the stream this poem was titled "IF SARA STOPS STREAMING SEND ME A WARNING."

Anyway, we don't usually get to talk more than a couple times per week because we both have Shit To Do, but you are SO FUN to be around and I am so so glad I met you!! Your friendship is a blessing and your creativity is a gift.

Also posted to AO3 as onethirdofimpossible here!

#hannah's rambles #cult of the lamb #narilamb #cotl #narinder #the lamb #poetry #Hannah writes #trod au

[btsgotjams27]

Sweet Tooth ~ JJK | 6

✨ title: sweet tooth | series (ongoing) ✨ pairing: vampire!jungkook x donor f!reader | ✨ rating: m/18+ ✨ genre: vampire!au, supernatural!au, eventual romance, slow build, eventual smut ✨ summary: Bills and rent are piling up, so your roommate suggests you look into a gig she stumbled upon. But it's not what you expect. OR ✨ Jungkook runs a vampire blood bank, and you service clients with your blood. ✨ playlist | ✨ read on AO3 | Wattpad ✨ a/n: hi all! i'm SO SORRY that it's taken me over a year to get out another chapter. i'm a clown thinking I could work on multiple ongoing series at one time. i hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think.

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] | next ~ the 200

✨ chapter 6 ~ the sinner | word count: 7.2k warnings: blood drinking, vampire bites, mentions of dead bodies and blood, kissing, touching

Dreams can bring out one’s deepest desires or darkest fears.

Jungkook couldn't determine if this dream was real or not. The dream had an ominous sense to it, like a dark cloud towering over him, ready to rain on his parade. But there was no sign of the parade. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He rolled onto his stomach, his duvet hardly covering his bottom half. A smile crept on his face as he reveled in dreamland. The feeling of the dream shifted once he got back into the thick of it. Warm. Fluffy. The complete opposite of Jungkook’s nature.

Giggles and kisses filled the room. Limbs entangled, lips swollen, messy hair, and clothes scattered everywhere. The two of you had been like this for days on end.

Jungkook’s arm is draped over you, pulling you as close as he could. Removing your hair, he trails kisses from your shoulder to your nape and finds the most delicate butterfly he’s ever seen. His fingers ghosted over the ink on your skin, making you shudder underneath his touch.

“Jungkook, what are you doing?” More giggles erupt from your lips as you squirm. 

His soft lips press against the butterfly. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” Taking his time, he explores the fragility of it—the fine lines of the wings, even the shading is light-handed and refined. “What else are you hiding?” he asks, fingers trailing down the dips and valleys of your body.

“I’m not hiding anything. Maybe you’re too busy paying attention to other parts of my body.” You smirk, looking over your shoulder. Jungkook’s hand grips your waist, then starts to wander across the expanse of your stomach, down to your core. You pull away from him, protesting that you need something to eat, otherwise, you’ll starve to death.

“Mm–don’t go, please,” he objects, pouting with his doe eyes.

“Jungkook, I know you hear my stomach growling with your supernatural hearing. I need food in my belly or I’m going to become the monster.”

You playfully push him away as he tries to give you another kiss. Grabbing his shirt from the ground, you slipped it on, draping it over your body with nothing underneath. 

He grins, cocking an eyebrow, watching you walk away from him. Swiftly, he brushes past you, arms up, blocking the doorway. The two of you were now having a staring contest.

“I’m hungry too,” he says, his dark eyes raking over you from head to toe. The veins around his eyes protrude, letting you know what he desires.

“You already ate me out earlier,” you remind him, taking a step forward, but he doesn’t budge.

Jungkook’s tongue was playing with the sharp ends of his teeth. His eyes turned into a darkened hue, focusing on the artery alongside your neck.

You blinked at the hungry vampire standing in your way. “You can’t always get what you want, Jungkook.”

He grunts, and then sighs, relaxing his arms, face now unstrained and back to normal. He holds your hands. “Later then?” You nod. “Promise?” he asks with starry-filled eyes.

Shaking your head, you smile. “Promise.”

A deep hunger stirred within Jungkook’s body. It was an insatiable craving, but not for blood, like something was trying to escape from the depths of his soul. In his many years as a vampire, he’s never felt this type of unrest or longing. Perhaps this dream was attempting to awaken a longing within, something that had been buried deep. This sense of yearning he couldn’t ignore if he tried. He couldn’t fathom the feelings and emotions of this dream. At times, it was like déjà vu, like he’d experienced this before, he couldn’t shrug it off like he’s done with others.

He had noticed himself entering your dreams more than usual this week. When it came to others, he often did it out of curiosity and boredom, but to his surprise, your dreams were far more interesting than he could have imagined. Like there was an invisible string pulling him, wanting him to explore these dreams with you. There must be a significance. There must be something in these dreams indicating more than meets the eye.

Jungkook awoke, breathing a deep sigh as he laced his fingers behind his head. He turned his head toward his door when he heard the shuffling of feet down the hallway. One could only assume it was Taehyung and Ji-na again.

There was no one remotely interesting enough these last few years to even want that with, but the corners of his mouth curved up, and his heart wavered, thinking back to the dream of you and him cuddled up with kisses and giggles. He hadn’t found himself smiling like an idiot in a long time.

He sat up, ruffling his dark locks, then removed his duvet, walking toward his disheveled desk, which was littered with paper and candle jars. Unsure what he was looking for, Jungkook shuffled through his sketches and came across the same butterfly that inked on your skin. It must be an odd coincidence.

Jungkook’s brows knitted together thinking how weird it would be of him to try and see if you had this tattoo. He’d have to see it by chance or find a way to weave it into a conversation. And he didn’t know it, but the effect of this butterfly would ripple into something bigger—a long-hidden truth.

A knock and creak from the bedroom door breaks Jungkook out of his reverie. He turns to look at the angelic blonde man standing at the door.

“Jeon Jungkook is smiling? It must be my lucky day,” Jimin teases as he sips his cup of coffee.

“What do you want?” Jungkook covers up the sketches scattered on his desk.

Jimin walks into the room, and his eyes flick to the desk, then to Jungkook. “Just coming by to check on you. Can I get you anything?”

“Nope. Just gonna get some breakfast this morning.” He stands at the corner of the desk, blocking Jimin’s view.

“Still on your diet?” Jimin raises an eyebrow while taking another sip of coffee.

Jungkook tilts his head, clenching his jaw. “I can’t stray from it. You know that.” It’s been years since he’s had a taste of human blood. He’s lost count at this point.

“Okay.” Jimin holds his hands up in protest. “It’s just a question, and I’m a curious being.” He turns around, striding back to the door.

“Don’t you have things to do?” Jungkook asks, stopping Jimin in his tracks.

He turns back, stuffing his hand in his pocket. “Yeah, I’m heading to the blood bank now to confirm appointments with Mrs. Kim.”

Jungkook clears his throat, taking a step forward. “Who’s scheduled tonight?”

Jimin suppresses his smile. In all the years he’s known Jungkook, he’s never seen him so adamant about a donor. “If you’re wondering if ___ is coming tonight–she is. I confirmed with her separately, and she’s also spending the night.”

Two weeks have gone by since Jungkook saw you last. He enjoyed the impromptu trip to Busan, but with all the dream walking he has done lately, it’s like you never left his side.

As Jimin’s ready to leave, Jungkook stops him with another question. “Any new developments in Daegu?”

“Nope, it’s nothing but crickets there.”

“And you’ll tell me if anything comes up?”

“Have I ever been unloyal to you?” Jimin raises an eyebrow, scanning Jungkook from head to toe. He’s appalled by the question.

Jungkook grins. “You know I’ll have your head if you do.”

“How long have we been friends and you still talk to me like that?” Jimin questions, shaking his head. “I’ll be sure to inform you if anything or anyone shows up,” he says, turning around to leave Jungkook to the secrets hidden behind him.

Friday nights are times to make plans and hang out with friends, but it’s your time to work–that is if one could even call donating your blood to vampires ‘work’. The job was simple and unconventional, and you were happy to see your debt decreasing, thanks to these vamps.

In your eyes, Jimin was truly a gem. He was always texting you and making sure this was something you wanted to do. Growing up, you had to look out for yourself, since no one else was around.

When you pulled up to the gate, you didn’t have to ring the buzzer, it automatically opened, letting you in. Like normal, you pulled into the driveway behind an all-black Rolls Royce. Someone must’ve gotten a new car or there’s a possibility of a new client. Either way, none of that was important because you needed to focus on the task at hand: another round of donations.

Before greeting you, Mrs. Kim patted her mouth with her hankie which displayed crimson red from her coffee mug filled with blood–a typical sight at this point. You wondered why she just didn’t drink from a straw to prevent making a mess.

“You’ll be in room 7 today. Your client’s already inside,” she says, going back to reading her book.

From the basket sitting on the corner of her desk, you grab your buzzer. You’ve done this a few times now, but you figured this is something you’d never get used to.

You’re always curious and at times intimidated when it comes to these appointments, only because you never know what type of vampire you’ll come across. Will they be like Lucas? Someone who can’t control themselves? Or will they be like Jin? Gentle and understanding, the perfect balance of kindness and control with some humor thrown in. You quite liked his unorthodox approach.

As the door creaked open, your tense shoulders dropped and your heartbeat returned to normal when you saw Jimin sitting on the couch awaiting your arrival.

“Finally. I’ve been waiting all day,” he teases.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” you comment, sitting beside him, and setting your bag down. “Why are you booking an appointment with me, anyway? You could probably have my blood whenever you want if you ask nicely.”

Jimin grins. “That’s tempting, but I shouldn’t.”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion. “Why not? Afraid you’ll become addicted or something?”

He lets out a chuckle. “Yeah, something like that.”

The two of you quiet down and you realize that you’ve missed being in Jimin’s presence. He has a demeanor that’s quite different. Jimin’s like a safety net, ready and willing to catch you if you fall. His willingness to provide and protect is something you appreciate. And you’re even more thankful for it now that you’re involved in the world of vampires.

“So, pick your poison: neck or wrist?” you ask, meeting Jimin’s gaze, in which he beams a grin, and your eyes focus on the small chip in his front tooth. A part of you thinks he’ll choose neck because you still remember the first meeting with him and JK, where he bit into that woman.

“You decide,” he answers, taking you by surprise.

Your heart races, and you’re sure Jimin can hear the blood pumping through your veins. It’s never your first choice to be bitten into your neck. You found it rather intimate, especially with the other person being so close, their breath all hot and warm against you, and yet they were only going to draw blood from you and nothing else. But curiosity gets the best of you when your eyes drop to Jimin’s lips. Tilting your head, the natural rosy, plush lips are more intriguing than they should be, and you wonder how soft they’d be pressed against the column of your neck.

“Neck,” you reply, glancing at the vampire before you.

Jimin raises an eyebrow at your unexpected answer. “Are you sure?”

Clearing your throat, you squeak out a ‘yes.’ Turning back to Jimin, you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for another blood donation.

His hand reaches out for yours, gently squeezing it. “Hey—if it’s too much, you can tell me to stop. Okay?” Jimin catches your gaze, ensuring you understand, and you nod in agreement.

Inching closer to him, you strain your neck to the side, waiting for him to pierce into you with his sharp fangs, but Jimin takes his time—he doesn’t dive right in.

“Are you scared my blood tastes bad or something?” You tease to lighten the mood.

It’s quite the opposite, he thinks—well, at least that’s what he’s heard through the grapevine. Jimin ignores your question. “Do you want to see what it looks like?”

His question catches you off guard. “What? You feeding on me?”

He hums. “Aren’t you curious?”

The world of vampires was opening up new fascinations, and you’ve only seen what they’ve shown in the movies and from the interaction you’ve had here at JK’s. What’s the harm, you think?

Curiosity tends to get the best of you, so you agree. You’ve seen Jimin feed on someone but you’ve never seen what you look like being fed on. Your mind goes back to the first time with Lucas and nothing could’ve prepared you for it. 

“I know when to stop, unlike Lucas,” he reassures as you’re contemplating his question.

“And if I die?” Which was a possibility. You knew the risk of getting involved with vampires.

“Then I’ll personally put a stake in myself. There’s an option for your wrist too,” he reminds you.

You answer by standing and walking over to the full-length mirror. Is this what the mirrors are for? So vampires can watch themselves? Was this some kind of kink? You suppose there’s a kink for everything.

Jimin stands behind you, catching your gaze in the mirror. He’s been doing this for a long time and can see the concern in your eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asks, gently stroking the side of your neck.

“I trust you,” you reply, elongating your neck so he can have better access. Your breathing slows, but it’s the opposite for your heart rate—it increases when you see Jimin’s eyes turn dark and veins protrude through his delicate skin. His fangs appear and his nose nudges against the nape of your neck. He inhales the soft floral scent you spritzed on before leaving. Your eyes fall to his lips, thinking about how plush and pillowy they must be. 

His lips ghost over your shoulder before meeting your eyes in the mirror again. “Ready?”

You hum in agreement and expel a single breath, and that’s when Jimin takes the plunge, piercing his fangs into your neck. His soft, plush lips mold against you. You’re lost in a trance, forgetting that you opted to see what feeding on you looked like. The sensation is overwhelming, almost euphoric. Having Jimin feed on you was the complete opposite of Lucas. Maybe it’s because you know Jimin, have had an actual conversation, and most importantly, you trust that he won’t hurt you—get carried away.

With your mouth agape, your eyes focus on Jimin as he’s relishing on you, your blood–the one thing that keeps him alive. Your gaze falls in the mirror, watching yourself lean back onto him for support. Your chest is heaving, breaths have fallen short as Jimin continues feeding on you.

He wraps his arm around the front of your waist, steadying your body. His lips are painted scarlet red when he pulls away from you. “Are you okay? We can take a break if you want.”

Your eyes are glazed over, wandering toward the ceiling and then around the room before meeting Jimin’s gaze. Shaking your head no, you tell him to keep going.

Although vampires aren’t mind readers, they’re keen on reading body language and social cues, and he didn’t want you insensible before him.

He pierces his wrist, holding it up to your lips, encouraging you to feed on him. Vampire blood isn’t the tastiest thing in the world, but you know it’ll quicken your recovery. Without hesitation, you consume his blood, sucking his wrist for a few seconds.

Jimin steps away, retrieving a silver Hershey’s kiss from a bowl beside the sofa. He’s asked Mrs. Kim to provide them whenever you’re scheduled for an appointment. Unwrapping the chocolate, he hands it to you, quickly popping it in your mouth. Sugar always speeds up the recovery, at least that’s what you believe.

“Still not used to this, huh?” He takes a seat and you do the same.

You relish in the rich taste of the milk chocolate and the crunchy almond that’s hidden within. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” you comment, turning to face Jimin. “How’s my neck?” You’re always worried there’s going to be a mark left behind, but you know there won’t be.

“It looks good as new,” he confirms, lightly trailing his finger along your neck. “If you’re tired, you can rest in your room.”

“My room?” You let out a soft chuckle. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You’re not. You’re always welcome here.”

“Do you treat other donors like this?” You raise a brow, wondering if others receive the same treatment.

Jimin shrugs. “It’s different with you.” He stands, playing with the silver chocolate bells in the bowl, avoiding your gaze.

Your eyebrows are knitted, and your lips thinned. “How am I different?”

He clears his throat, regretting the words he’s spoken. “I mean—you’re Ji-na’s friend, so of course, we’re going to treat you like you’re one of us.”

“One of you? You act as if I’m a vampire already.” You wouldn’t be surprised if Ji-na hadn’t been asking Taehyung to turn her already.

“No, no. Let’s keep you human for as long as possible.”

“You say that as if you’re predicting my future.”

Jimin lets out a nervous chuckle. “I might have drained too much blood from you, huh? Should I walk you back to your room?”

Light laughter and chatter fill the hallway as the two of you continue toward your room. Your eyes wander to Jimin’s room and you poke your head in.

“You’re a curious cat, aren’t you?” Jimin asks, standing behind you before walking in.

“Can you blame me?” You shrug with intrigue as you follow him. The world of vampires only existed in film and television—at least until you were introduced to them, all thanks to Ji-na.

Jimin crawls into a reading nook that has been built beside the window. He watches and lets you wander to your heart's content. Your hand lingers from one book to another, seeing if anything catches your interest. One can only assume that being alive for so long can become boring and you’d have to find new hobbies.

“Have you read all these books?” You stop to pull out a modern book cover among the ancient-looking ones. “The Notebook?” With the novel in hand, you turn around to find out Jimin’s answer.

He pushes himself off his seat, strolling over to you. “Why yes, I’ve read all of these—including The Notebook.” He plucks the book out of your hand, returning it to its place. “What’s that phrase? ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’?” Jimin raises a brow and folds his arms across his chest.

You feel bad because you’re only teasing—you quite liked the book and the movie. Avoiding his gaze, you focus on a nameless brown leather-bound journal jammed in between The Great Gatsby and The Alchemist.

“I’m not judging—as you said, I’m just a curious cat,” you reply as your finger stops on the leather-bound book, ready to pull it out, but Jimin places his hand over yours, blocking you from grabbing it. Your head snaps in his direction, your eyes gleaming and your lips curve into a smile. “And what are you hiding?”

His grip becomes tighter as he pulls your hand away. He grabs the book, tucking it behind his back. “I’m not hiding anything. There are some things I want to keep private.”

“I wonder how many years of secrets you have hidden away.” You mirror Jimin, arms folded and your body is leaning against the bookshelf.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He raises a brow and sports a smirk, then he backs away, retreating to his reading nook. The leather-bound book is still hidden from view.

You shouldn’t pry, but you know Jimin isn’t the type of person to feed you a string of bullshit. Taehyung definitely would and as for JK—you’re sure he can’t stand the sight of you.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You take a stride toward him with hands behind your back, trying to seem as innocent as you can.

“Go for it.”

“How did you, Taehyung, and JK all meet?”

Jimin pats the spot next to him. “You should get comfy because it’s a long story.”

1945.

The flickering wrought-iron street lamps illuminate a darkened alleyway. It’s late June, but the intermittent summer rain drenches the pavement along with pockets of puddles.

Five people are in this alleyway—only three are alive.

“What a pity.” The man shakes his head and clicks his tongue at the scene before him.

Jimin and Taehyung look up from enjoying their latest meal, which were two young women they had come across in a bar. They had gotten carried away, taking it further than expected, practically draining every ounce of blood in their bodies.

“You've made such a mess of these poor women.” The man standing before them is unrelenting in his curiosity of the two friends.

“What’s it to you?” Jimin asks, wiping away the blood that has dribbled down his chin.

The man shrugs. “There’s a way to ensure everyone has a good time.”

Jimin and Taehyung both stand, facing the mysterious man of the hour. Most people would be terrified, running for their lives, but not this person—rather, he was giving advice.

Taehyung steps over one of the bodies, strolling towards the man. “You should leave before you get hurt.” He tries his best to intimidate him by standing tall and puffing out his chest, but he recoils when the man doesn’t stand down.

A snicker leaves the man’s lips, placing a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. “I too, was once a young vampire, but hear me when I say you don’t have to live your life like this.”

Taehyung removes his shoulders from the clutches of the mysterious man and swiftly wraps his hand around the man’s neck, pressing him against the brick wall. The veins around Taehyung’s eyes protrude, fangs on display in an attempt to scare the man further.

What Taehyung doesn’t know is that the mystery man has 100 years on him, and could kill him before he could even say a word.

“Taehyung, don’t be stupid,” Jimin scolds his best friend, walking over to the two men.

Taehyung relents, letting go of the man. He adjusts his tie before reaching for something in his back pocket. He pulls out a wallet and plucks a card, which sits between his index and middle finger. Jimin and Taehyung stare at the man and the card then snatch it out of his hand.

The bunny on the card amuses Jimin. He flips the card over and sees the initials ‘JK’ and a phone number.

“Call me,” the man says. “If you want a job.”

Jimin and Taehyung look on as the man walks away, waving a hand and going on his merry way around the corner. The two briskly follow only to find this ‘JK’ person has disappeared without a trace.

Present Day.

“Has JK always been so mysterious?” You wonder if he’s shared more with Jimin and Taehyung since he’s known them longer—he must’ve because they’re practically at his beck and call.

A light chuckle leaves his lips. “Jungkook is…well…”

“Well, go on, spit it out. You can’t keep a girl guessing.”

“He doesn’t like others prying into his past.”

“Why not?” A slip of your tongue and you want to kick yourself.

“Let’s just say that he’s not the same JK you know now.”

Your eyebrows are knitted, mulling over Jimin’s words. You suppose everyone has skeletons in their closet. Things they’d like to keep hidden. Maybe some secrets are better left unsaid. With immortal life, you can only assume they’ve seen things they want to forget, and done things they regret. Could JK be trying to live a better life now because of his past?

“And what about you?” you ask, propping your hands as you lean back. Jimin’s collection of books gave you a small look into the kind of life he’s led, and you hoped that the two of you could become friends. He’s been kind to look after you during this donation process.

The corner of his lips curved into a smile. “What about me? I’m an open book—mostly.”

You lightly tap your feet on the floor, a lopsided grin on your face. “Open book, hm?” It takes everything in you to not blurt out every single question you’ve had listed since this whole vampire charade began. The questions are endless and you wouldn’t want to bore or annoy him. But if you could only ask him about one thing, it would be about what he’s keeping hidden behind his back.

Jimin scans your face. He raises a brow wondering if you’re going to poke the bear, but you don’t. You recede.

Your lips thin into a smile. “I’ll save my questions for another day. I should head to bed, and I’m sure you have more important things to do.” You stand and Jimin does the same. Turning back, you face him, placing your hands on his shoulders, reaching to place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for always taking such good care of me. You don’t know how much it means.”

He’s taken aback by your gesture. If only he could tell you the reasons as to why he feels responsible for you. Maybe your gratefulness would change.

“Have a good night Jimin.” 

Slipping into a pajama set, your mind wanders to tonight’s appointment with Jimin—surprised that he was your client. You figured he would get some perks considering he was in charge of scheduling and keeping the peace within the vampires and their donors. If there was a vampire you’d want to be paired with, it would be Jimin. You can’t pinpoint exactly why you feel connected to him, but you feel as though you have a good friend on your side.

When you slide under the fluffy duvet, the white sheets are cool to the touch—it’s quite pleasing after an appointment. Donation days always brought great anxiety, and even the pep talks on the drive-over became more unconvincing. But once a donation was over with, the adrenaline rushing through your veins was smooth sailing again.

And now you’ve only had more questions to add to your list: What kind of person was JK before you met him? What is Jimin hiding in that book? Should you keep galavanting around with vampires trying to make ends meet? Maybe you’d do a few more months of appointments to save enough and then have Jimin wipe your memories. At least they wouldn’t be all of your memories—just anything about vampires.

But you’ll cross that road when and if that day comes.

So much for saving money because when you had it sitting in your bank account, it looked splendid, especially when there wasn’t a minus sign. Bills? Paid. Spending money? Finally.

You had a few hours to kill before tonight’s appointment and you wanted to check out a candle studio in town. You’ve driven past it many times and always noticed the window display.

The quaint studio was tucked between a coffee shop and a plant store. You made a note to check those out the next time you’re in the area, not realizing this town had such charm.

A bell rang and the door creaked when you pushed it open. Your eyes immediately fell to beautifully decorated shelves with a variety of candles: tapered, pillars, wax melts, and jars. The fresh, clean aroma of the studio filled your nostrils as you analyzed and read through the different labeled candle jars. You whip your head back when you notice a familiar butterfly—it’s almost identical to the one you have tattooed on the nape of your neck. But it’s just a coincidence, right?

“You’ll love the smell of that one—” A woman comments when she sees you eyeing a particular candle. She picks it up, twisting off the black cap, and the scent inhabits your space. Tilting it toward you, she encourages you to smell it.

There’s a soft, sweet floral scent to it. “Mm, you’re right.”

The woman smiles, twisting the cap back on and placing it on the shelf. “I thought you would.”

“Um, I couldn’t help but notice the butterfly on the label. I have a tattoo just like it,” you comment, turning around to point to the nape of your neck.

“Oh.” The woman’s voice falters, and she steps back.

You turn around, watching as her expression changes. “Is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She clears her throat. “No, I apologize. That’s a beautiful tattoo you have. Please let me know if you have any questions about anything.” She runs off, past the counter, and behind a pair of velvet purple curtains.

Confusion sets on your face, and you can’t help but wonder if your tattoo and the butterfly on the label aren’t a coincidence. You chew the inside of your cheek, gazing in the direction of the curtains, unsure what to make of the awkward run-in. There’s not much to do but brush it off, and maybe you’ll check out the other shops next door.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say when you accidentally bump into someone.

Turning around you see a beautiful woman. She looks around the same age as you, with such striking features—her brown almond eyes are dusted with a smoky glam look, and her lips are stained ruby red, her long, dark waves frame her face, as if she walked out of a movie set, even her outfit was sultry and seductive. And you’re sure if she had a partner, they probably worshiped the ground she walked on.

She scans you from head to toe before asking, “Which one do you think my boyfriend will like?” Walking over to you, she picks up the candle the shop owner showed you earlier. “This one or this one?” She picks up another candle next to it.

You can't help but wonder why someone looking like her would be found dead in a place like this—JK's home was far and secluded from observers, and the small town was simply a rest stop. And you’d kill to look like her–especially in a white corset top, black leather wide-leg pants, and heels.

She gives you another look, waiting for an answer, but continues, “My boyfriend is oddly obsessed with candles, and I want to surprise him with something new.” She untwists the lid of the candle with the butterfly label. When she takes a whiff, she ponders, letting the scent invade her nostrils before letting you smell it again.

With another inhale of the candle, you close your eyes, and a faint memory returns–you’re unable to recognize any faces, but you know it’s you and someone else. All you can hear are giggles. All you can feel are arms wrapped around you, and lips giving you kisses on your shoulders.

You open your eyes, taking a step back. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

The woman raises her eyebrows, mouthing, ‘Okay’, brushing off the interaction with you.

Sprinting out of the candle shop, you race to your car, unlocking the door, and slipping into the driver’s seat, your hands gripping the steering wheel. Blood pumps through your veins like you’re on an adrenaline high.

The imprints of memories only started once you involved yourself with vampires. Could this be a side effect? Could someone be doing something to you? Is this what happens when you drink vampire blood? Maybe it’s something you can ask Jimin.

A knock on your window brings you back to reality. You take your hands off the wheel and roll down your window to find the woman from the shop.

“Can I help you?” Maybe she needed some more recommendations.

She crouches down, handing you the candle from earlier. “Can you give this to my boyfriend for me?”

There must be some kind of mix-up because you don’t even know who she is, nor her boyfriend. “I’m sorry. I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

The woman shakes her head and grins. “No, I haven’t.” She holds the candle out further, waiting for you to take it, and you finally do.

“I don’t understand.”

“Tell JK that it’s from Eden and that I’ll be seeing him soon.”

A lightbulb goes off. Is this JK’s girlfriend? Was she a vampire too?

You swallow and peel your hands away from the wheel, your hand trembling as you hold the candle. You sense the same iciness that you've felt too often from vampire encounters with a mere touch of her hand.

“You’re cute—a bit timid. I can’t possibly see the appeal but who am I to judge,” Eden comments as she scans over you. “You have nothing to be scared of. I won’t hurt you—for now at least.”

You turn to place the candle in the passenger seat and press the ignition button. You roll up your window, preparing to bid farewell to this woman named Eden.

As you reverse, she stands—poised, waving her fingers as she watches you drive off. There’s a sense of relief when she’s out of view from your rearview.

First, the weird brush-off from the shop owner, then an interaction with someone from JK’s past. This isn’t a coincidence, is it? Just how deep did this vampire rabbit hole go?

You feel silly. It’s almost comical. Being afraid of a candle. You side-eye in the direction of it, shaking off the ridiculousness that you’ve concocted in your mind. As the car idly sits in JK’s driveway, you’re not ready to face the man of the house yet. Maybe Jimin could be the messenger and give it to him. Though, you’d hate for this Eden woman to find out that you didn’t personally hand it to JK.

“Why do I have to do it?” you mutter to yourself. With an exasperated sigh, you unbuckle, turn off the car, and then swipe the candle into your hand. A string of curses is grumbled as you slam the door shut.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,” JK says, scaring you as he creeps up from behind.

“Jesus Christ!” The hand holding the candle is held against your heart.

“Again, it’s Jungkook—not Jesus Christ.”

You roll your eyes at the cunning vampire standing before you. “Sorry—I can’t help it. You’re always sneaking up on me.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so jumpy,” he says with a snippy attitude as he walks past you.

“Wait—” You sprinted beside him, holding out the candle. He doesn’t say anything, but his pinched expression says it all—like he’s annoyed that you’ve stopped him with this trivial thing. “Someone named Eden wanted me to give this to you, and she said that she’ll see you soon.”

He takes another look at it, then you, ignoring the candle in your hand. “I don’t want it. You can have it.” He walks off without a care in the world like that name didn’t mean anything to him. Maybe things didn’t end well with her and he hates her guts, or it was a toxic relationship and he wants nothing to do with her. JK opens the front door, walking through it, leaving it open for you.

Throwing your hands up, you’re baffled by his dismissal of this supposed gift. You didn’t want it, it wasn’t yours to keep. You trample through the front door and hallway, following him toward his room. Just as you approach, he closes the door, locking it behind him. A puff of air escapes your lips, making a face at the painted black door.

“I’m leaving it out here for you!” You have no clue if he’s heard you, but there was no way you wanted to keep this candle. The fear of this supposed girlfriend was enough for you to not want to be involved. You set it on the ground, and you can see JK’s shadow, pacing around from behind the door.

As if you hadn’t had enough weird interactions today, throw JK’s into the mix too. Were you off your game or was he in a bad mood? Considering the two of you recently spent time together, you thought you chipped away at his hard, mysterious exterior, but perhaps you were wrong.

Tonight’s stroll to the blood bank feels endless. The wind has picked up, and leaves and what seems to be a trail of white daisies are floating and dancing around you. You’ve never seen daisies or flowers being grown around JK’s place, but yet here they were.

It’s quiet when you enter. Normally Mrs. Kim is chatting up a storm with schedule mix-ups but she’s passed out with a book on her chest. Her coffee cup of blood is full and hasn’t been touched. You suppose any job could be boring, even being a receptionist at a vampire blood bank.

There are no other donors except you and you’d get an earful if you decided to wake Mrs. Kim from her slumber. So you lean over, taking a peek at her scribbled calendar to find your name.

___ - Room 2

When you look around the waiting room, there’s something different, almost eerie. A candle on Mrs. Kim’s desk is holding onto its last shred of hope, trying to stay lit. You narrow your eyes to focus on the label—it’s the candle that you left outside of JK’s room. How did it end up here? Maybe Mrs. Kim grabbed it or JK dropped it off.

The fire from the candle danced back and forth but lost its battle and became extinguished. It’s normal, you think, for a candle to die out on its own.

Your hand is ready to turn the knob of Room 2 when your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

Jimin 8:27 PM

All appointments have been canceled for tonight, but you’ll still get compensation. I had to attend to something in Daegu with Taehyung. Feel free to stay the night and leave tomorrow if you’d like.

Turning around, you’re ready to head back to the main house and find something or nothing to do. But white petals from a daisy are littered on the ground and stop you in your tracks. Did you trek them in from outside or did you not notice them from earlier?

Maybe it’s better to go to your room and lock yourself in it until the next morning. You'd drive back home, but you hated how dark it became around here. Plus your sleepy eyes always come at the worst time. So a hot, relaxing bath and curling up in bed seemed like the better option.

Being in a large house shouldn’t be frightening, you think to calm your nerves. Bubbles are plastered onto your skin as you soak in the warm bath. The plinking droplets from the faucet is like white noise distracting you from your thoughts of being alone. With your eyes closed, you’re ready to drift off into dreamland, but you probably shouldn’t fall asleep in the bathtub.

You grasp the chain from the tub stopper and water begins to drain. Water sloshes and splashes as you reach for a towel, and beads of water run down your skin, trickling into it. Your feet press into the tufted coral bath rug which has ‘Let’s get naked’ embroidered in. You giggle at the thought of it because it doesn’t go with any decor in this large house. Maybe someone bought it as a joke—your guess is Taehyung.

The conditions are perfect when you slip under the covers—a fresh set of waffle-patterned pajamas drape your body and fuzzy socks warm your feet. The only thing left is to close your eyes and let your mind drift away.

And you do exactly that.

No one remembers the beginning of a dream. You’re plucked from reality and thrown into the dark abyss of your mind.

Dark clouds loom the expanse of the sky and thunder rumbles with a promise of rain. You’re focused on your shoes and the cherry red that paints it. You look up to see bodies scattered on the ground.

One. Two. Three—No four bodies surrounded by pools of blood in front of you.

There’s a fifth body. Someone is hovering, ravishing its lifeless soul.

The munching and gulping fill your ears as you approach. It’s when you crouch down beside them, you realize who the person is.

“JK?”

He snaps his head in your direction. The veins around his red eyes protrude, and his mouth is stained with his victim’s blood. He tucks his legs and feet as he kneels with his hands in his lap.

“Are you okay?” You knit your eyebrows together, and a trembling hand reaches for his shoulder, but he moves away.

JK shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“Just—come back with me, it’ll be okay.” You attempt to grab his arm but he resists and pushes you away.

“No, it’s not okay. I’m not a good person—look at me. I’m a monster. I can’t stop killing people.”

“JK—please. We’ll figure something out,” you plead.

“It’s cute you think that you can help him.”

You whip your head around to find Eden.

“Come on, baby,” Eden says, pushing you out of the way, and making you fall to the ground. She grabs ahold of JK by the arm, linking hers to his. “You need to get out of this little funk. Who cares if you can’t remember your past? Think of the future we can build together!”

JK reluctantly trails alongside Eden. He looks back with tear-filled eyes. But you have a feeling you shouldn’t try to take on Eden. It would only get you a one-way ticket to the morgue.

You watch as the two disappear into the distance, and the inevitable rain releases its downpour on you. As you turn around, there are piles upon piles of bodies—all drained of their blood. You cover your mouth and your heart’s racing. Did JK kill all of these people? Is this what he meant when he said he’s a monster?

The uneasiness of the dream awakens you. The hair on your body stands frozen by the mental image of the piles of bodies. It’s just a dream, a figment of your imagination, a thought that’s been buried deep and has now resurfaced.

You’re sure that at one point or another JK has killed more than he’s wanted, but it’s in a vampire nature. It’s what they’re meant to do. Maybe the JK you encountered in your dream was full of remorse and regret. At least, that’s what you suspected.

But dreams can bring out one’s deepest desires or darkest fears, and maybe becoming a sinner who couldn’t be brought back to reality was JK’s.

✨ next chapter ~ the 200

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts x reader

[adobe-outdesign]

Kung Fu Panda 4 Rewrite Thing

Been chewing on this movie for a while now and wanted to take a shot at improving it. Some parts are a bit rough but I think this gets the general idea across.

As a rule, I'm trying to keep most of the characters and elements/plot beats in place rather than spinning things off in a completely unrelated direction. I also am aware of the restrictions placed on this movie, such as an unwillingness to rehire high-profile VAs and runtime limitations. This is just meant to be a "what if" kind of thing. That said:

We open with a stylized sequence of Po telling the story of his and the Five's latest battle. As it ends it's revealed he's at the grand opening of Mr. Ping's brand new bigger, better noodle shop location, talking to the customers.

As one of them asks where the Five are now, Po explains that they got summoned to their own individual missions, but they'll be back soon.

(Yes I am still having them be MIA, as Po needs to be alone with Zhen for part of the movie. However, they'll only gone for the first part of this rewrite and for a very specific plot-related reason.)

(The thing with Po needing to give up his title of Dragon Warrior makes no sense for multiple reasons, so let's just drop that plot point entirely. I get that it's meant to tie into the "change" moral, but I'd rather have Po imparting this lesson onto Zhen instead of learning it himself, as otherwise it undermines the character growth he had in 3.

Also, Po isn't carrying the staff around with him constantly in this rewrite, as it looks a bit silly and isn't plot relevant here.)

A messenger shows up to report that the Jade Palace is under attack. Po decides to rush over just in case Shifu needs backup... which he does, because he's being kidnapped in a small one of those magic-proofed cages from the actual film.

(Shifu being kidnapped was tossed around in the writing room originally and I want to keep it in this rewrite because it A) gives Shifu something to do, and B) I want to allow Zhen to openly be working with the Chameleon in order to help flesh out her character and avoid the lackluster plot twist, meaning she'll need new leverage against Po later on.)

The figure behind the kidnapping appears to be Master Elephant, which confuses Po as he's been missing for several months. Right as he's about to land a finishing blow, the figure shape shifts into Master Chicken, throwing Po's attack and resulting in him getting a bad head injury. He does his best to pursue the attackers, but can't keep up. Dismayed, he returns to the Jade Palace...

...And finds Zhen trying to steal something, using the commotion outside as a distraction. Po fights, but he's still badly injured and can't give it his all, resulting in Zhen being able to slip away with her prize—a dust bunny from under the furniture. Po is baffled.

(Side note: I would probably redesign Zhen so she actually looks like she matches the other characters' style, but I digress.)

Feeling dismayed, he returns to the noodle shop, where both his dads work on treating his wounds and comforting him. As Po explains what happened, Mr. Ping mentions that customers have been circulating rumors about a shapeshifting sorceress in Juniper City. Po decides that that's where he needs to go, promises his dads he'll be safe, and leaves.

(I'm cutting Mr. Ping and Li's subplot, because as much as I love them they don't really add much to the plot. It also feels like it goes against Mr. Ping's characterization in KFP 1 and 2 in particular.)

This is where we can have the scene of the Chameleon vs. the crime bosses. This can mostly stay the same except one of the bosses attempts to attack her when she shape shifts, causing her to retaliate with a magic-based attack. She also needs to straight-up kill the guy to establish her and her sorcery as a legit threat.

Po arrives at the Happy Bunny tavern to look for a ride to Juniper City. As he talks to Fish and Chip, he notices Zhen nearby doing some black market trading with Granny Boar to obtain a white feather. Po confronts her and she tries to run out with the feather, causing the boar family to pursue in a big fight scene.

Po and Zhen manage to escape, Zhen stashing the feather. Po threatens to have her sent to jail, but Zhen confirms she's working for the Chameleon and can lead Po to her so he can rescue Shifu. Po dislikes this situation, but has no choice but to agree.

(Unlike in the actual film, I would make it so her lair is hidden in some fashion; magic that keeps it camouflaged would be appropriate for a chameleon, or it could be underground or hidden behind something. Regardless, it should be impossible to locate without Zhen's assistance.)

On the boat ride over to Juniper city, Zhen says that she has to "obtain" one more item from the local history museum or she'll be in big trouble with the Chameleon. Po doesn't like this detour, but once again has no choice in the matter.

Po asks why Zhen would want to work for someone so obviously evil, and this is the point where Zhen admits she was adopted by the Chameleon and we get her backstory.

(I would establish that the Chameleon has an actual name, but only Zhen uses it. It shows that Zhen is closer to her than most, not quite seeing her as a mother but not fearing her enough to use her preferred title. Also, the Chameleon's the only KFP villain without a proper name and that bothers me.)

The backstory can be the same, but the part about her living on the streets and meeting the Chameleon for the first time should be merged into a single flashback.

Zhen says that Po couldn't understand, but Po reveals that he's also adopted, and that he probably would commit some noodle-related crime if his dad asked him to. Still, Zhen insists that people don't change, and that includes her.

They arrive at Juniper city (Po is impressed at its size but he very much is not acting like he's never seen a city before). Zhen covers up her muzzle and tucks her tail under her clothes so she won't be recognized.

Zhen is ready to break into the museum, but Po says that he's got this and goes up to the guards to tell them that he has some official Dragon Warrior business to take care of and will need to borrow some ancient artifacts.

Unlike in the actual film, everyone ready acknowledges him as the Dragon Warrior. The guards are more than happy to loan him whatever he needs... until Zhen's tail pops out and the guards recognize her, prompting them to attack.

During the scuffle, Zhen uses a chi blast to knock back one of the guards, but almost gets taken out by the other guard coming up behind her. Po defends her but gets mildly injured as a result.

After the fight, Po asks about the chi move and Zhen states that the Chameleon taught her the basics.

Zhen confirms that the Chameleon is a master of chi, and that the sorcery she uses is a specific type of chi manipulation.

(The reason I'm connecting chi to her powers is that it makes them feel a bit less out of left field, and helps 4 feel like a logical progression from 3.)

Zhen admits that she's not very good at using chi, but Po points out that it took him years to use chi in battle. He also compliments her on her kung fu, and she confirms she's self-taught.

(In this rewrite, Zhen is good at fighting but not quite at the level she is in the actual movie. This is to address the issue of who taught her if the Chameleon doesn't know kung fu.)

He takes a moment to give her a few pointers, which causes her to ask why he took that blow for her earlier, figuring there's a catch. Po just says it's the right thing to do, but Zhen is skeptical, figuring he only did it because he still needs her to lead him to Shifu.

The reminder of Shifu prompts Po to move on, and they grab the item Zhen was after, a 500 year old set of blades, then run for it.

Po and Zhen arrive at the Chameleon's lair, and Zhen shows Po how to get inside and tells him where Shifu is being held. She says that she'll take the items to the Chameleon, which will distract her while Po breaks him out. Po thanks her, and the two separate. Zhen warns him of booby traps on the way out.

There are indeed booby traps, such as those saw contraptions from the actual movie and a bunch of guards. It takes Po a few minutes, but he eventually gets through them.

Po finds Shifu being held in a dark room. Shifu is glad to see him, but warns him to be careful as the Chameleon's likely not far away. Po explains Zhen's distraction and moves to free him... only for a cage to fall down and trap him as well.

"Shifu" is then revealed to be the Chameleon in disguise, who slips through the bars via shape shifting into a mantis and thanks Zhen for her help. Zhen apologizes to Po, who's naturally upset ("I mean, I know you were evil, but I didn't think you were THAT evil").

Zhen hands over the three items she collected, and it's confirmed what they are: a dust bunny that contains a clump of Tai Lung's fur, a feather from Lord Shen, and a pair of blades once wielded by Kai.

Po mistakenly interprets this as the Chameleon being a collector of kung fu memorabilia and tries to chat about the Jade Palace's collection, much to her bafflement.

The Chameleon explains that a trace of a person's chi remains long after their death, and demonstrates by doing The Tongue Thing on Kai's blade, stripping its chi, and immediately taking his form.

(As you may have picked up on, this rewrite removes the spirit world elements entirely. While they are really interesting, I think cutting them is the best option because:

1. There is so much plot involved with bringing Po's old enemies back that you could make that an entire movie in and of itself. It's hard to do it justice when you're cramming it in around the edges of this movie.

2. It makes the Chameleon too similar to Kai in terms of abilities.

3. Having her rely on stealing other's kung fu makes her come across as weak despite being a powerful sorceress.)

Po asks her if her goal is to take over China, but she says no; she just wants to end the practice of kung fu for good, and prove that sorcery is the superior option. To prove it, she has Shifu brought in.

While having your chi stripped does not remove one's kung fu abilities in this rewrite, it is still removing part of one's life energy and thus weakening them severely for a period of time—ergo, Shifu is still unable to fight at his best. Still, he manages to hold his own.

Instead of using kung fu, the Chameleon relies on the brute animalistic strength and inherent abilities of the forms she takes, switching whenever she's loosing to keep her opponents on her toes and even transforming into Shifu himself for a period. She also uses a few chi-based attacks.

Just when it looks like Shifu is about to win the fight, she uses her tongue to strip the chi from the fur clump, taking the form of Tai Lung. Shifu is so shocked and distraught that he fails to attack, allowing the Chameleon to land a serious blow.

She returns to her original form and states that when the blood moon has risen, she will battle and take down every master in the middle of Juniper city, where everyone can learn just how useless kung fu and the people who teach it are. She leaves Po in his cage panicking over Shifu, who's unresponsive.

Zhen follows the Chameleon outside, where we get the "does the blood moon always rise so slowly" gag. Noticing that Zhen looks troubled, she asks what's wrong, and Zhen talks about how Po encouraged her to do the right thing. Even though she's been told that kung fu masters are elitist, selfish people, she couldn't see any of that in Po.

(Side note: I want to establish in this rewrite that while the Chameleon will claim up and down that Zhen is only a pawn for her to use, she does care about her to some extent, even though probably loathes the fact she does. For example, when talking to Zhen here, she might pick some rubble out of her fur or something to show there's a teeny tiny bit of actual affection hidden there.

The reason for this is that all other KFP villains have had an emotional anchor—Shifu for Tai Lung, Shen's parents for Shen, and Oogway for Kai. The Chameleon being abusive but having some real love for Zhen and Zhen struggling with her gaslighting adds a lot more depth to both of them.)

The Chameleon finally reveals her backstory, which should be told in a hyper-stylized way à la the flashbacks in KFP 2 and 3. Just like Zhen, she grew up on the streets as an orphan, broke and starving. She admired kung fu greatly and wanted to learn it, but everyone turned her away for having no money to pay for lessons.

One day, she found a shiny jade amulet on the streets that someone lost, finally giving her a much-needed break. She is able to use that money to enroll in classes.

The problem was that while the money changed her financial status, it didn't change the way people saw her. Her master still considered her a lowly gutter rat and treated her as such, verbally insulting her and beating her down during training sessions. It's very much like how Shifu treated Po in KFP 1, except worse, especially because the Chameleon is a small and fragile animal.

Finally, during one training session she became too injured to move. Her master told her to quit and started to walk away, only for her to grab his leg with her tongue to trip him up. However, at the peak of her self-loathing, she instead discovered her chi stealing abilities and transformed into him. It's not shown, but it is implied she killed him.

As the flashback ends, the Chameleon shifts into Zhen and tells her that no matter how much you change, you can't change the way other people see you. Siding with Po, she says, will only get her hurt. Zhen nods and unexpectedly hugs the Chameleon, telling her she knows, and runs off.

Cutting back to Po, we see him frantically trying to break the bars of his cage. Zhen comes forward and drops down on her hands and knees, apologizing for everything. Po says that she came back, and that's what matters.

She reveals that the "hug" was actually just a way for her to get the key off of the Chameleon, and she uses it to unlock Po's cage. Po runs over to Shifu and he and Zhen heal him with chi, and we get a callback to the "I'M NOT DYING YOU IDIOT" scene from KFP 1.

However, while Shifu's not dying, he is very badly injured and can barely walk on his own. Po asks how they can take on the Chameleon and her army with just three of them, but Zhen holds up the key and suggests they get an army of their own.

Running downstairs, Zhen reveals where the other masters are being held. To Po's shock, the Furious Five are among those captured. Tigress confirms that the summons they received were traps laid by the Chameleon, and she already has their forms.

Also down there are the other crime bosses, as it feels like they just disappear in the actual film after their scenes.

Zhen only manages to unlock the Five's cages before before the Chameleon snatches the key back with her tongue, revealing that she knew Zhen was lying to her. Behind her, her army assembles.

Tigress confirms that that the Five will take on the army, and Po faces off with the Chameleon one-on-one. She strips the feather and uses Shen's form to fly up and take the upper ground, trying to kick a cage onto him. Zhen helps deflect it, and the Chameleon tells her to stay out of the way. Po and her continue to battle.

Despite Po's best attempts at blocking it, she does finally stick him with her tongue. He grabs it and throws her a distance in her fragile base form, injuring her but still giving her some of his chi in the process.

The Chameleon takes on Po's form next, and we get a fight similar to the one in the movie, though once again with her using less kung fu and more magic and physical attacks.

She mentions how she was rejected and tries to tell him that he should be on her side, because a bit fat panda like him must have been treated just as badly as she was. Po denies this, but Shifu admits it's pretty accurate. Po says he's not helping.

Po admits that she has a point, except she forgot one thing, and we get a callback to the "I'm THE big fat panda" moment from KFP 1.

The two attack at the same time. As the dust clears, it's revealed that neither are doing great—Po has gotten a lot of little injuries and the chi stealing has weakened him. The Chameleon is struggling to shapeshift at all, with the attempt causing her pain, and instead settles for trying to blast him. Zhen steps in and manages to redirect the attack back at her.

The Chameleon takes the blow and ends up back on the floor as a parallel to her flashback. Zhen reaffirms that she disagrees with her worldview—people can change, and she's going to prove it. If the Chameleon wants get to Po, she'll need to get through her first.

The Chameleon kind of laughs this off at first before realizing she's dead serious. She states that Zhen isn't even good at fighting, but Po disagrees, giving Zhen a confidence boost. The Chameleon struggles to her feet as if readying an attack, everyone braces themselves... and she surrenders, too injured to fight and unable to bring herself to hurt Zhen.

(There are a few reasons why I think her surrendering makes for an interesting defeat here:

1. There's no spirit realm portal to yeet her into in this version;

2. There's only so many times Po's enemies can be yeeted directly into the spirit realm before it gets old;

3. It adds character depth, and;

4. It ties back nicely in to the theme of change and that it's never too late to do the right thing.)

Zhen helps the Chameleon up, Tigress does the same for Po, and Monkey does the same for Shifu. The five reveal that despite being exhausted, they still managed to wipe the floor with the Chameleon's army, which Zhen thinks is incredible. Po introduces Zhen to them formally, and Shifu asks if they can save the introductions for after they get medical treatment.

Later on, Po (carrying the staff Oogway gave him) approaches Zhen, who's sitting under the peach tree by the Jade Palace. He asks her if she's doing okay after everything that's happened. She says she's alright, but is pretty scared of what's going to happen next, given that the Chameleon's in jail and she has nowhere to go.

Po reveals that him and Shifu have been talking, and he plans to open a new school as part of the Jade Palace that will offer free kung fu lessons to anyone who's interested in learning. Zhen asks if there are any spots open, and we end similar to the actual movie, with her training alongside the five.

the credits still end with the Jack Black cover of Baby One More Time because it slaps

#kung fu panda #kfp #kung fu panda 4 #kfp 4 #po #shifu #zhen #the chameleon #outdesign posts things #outdesign attempts to write #been chewing on zhen and the chameleon's characters like a dog with a new toy #apparently tumblr removed the ability to add sub bullets so sorry if this is a wall of text. hopefully the images help a bit