#allotment of accommodation

[nhpnews1]

Viral Letter: Touching letter of 8-year-old girl to PM Modi, wrote- PM Dadu, get her home - NHP NEWS

Report: Aditya Kumar Noida. PM Dadu I like to read books, but my mother does not give me books. Because they don’t have money. Adishree, an 8-year-old girl living in Supertech Eco Village 3 / (Supertech eco village) of Greater Noida West, has written this letter to Prime Minister Narendra Modi. She studies in third class. Adishree’s parents had bought a flat in Supertech Eco Village 2 in the year…

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#8-year-old girl wrote a touching letter to PM Narendra Modi #allotment of accommodation #allotment of housing #Answers State News #girl&039;s letter to pm narendra modi went viral #Hindi News #News18 Local #noida news #social media #Supertech Ecovillage 2 #U.P news #UP Latest News #UP News #Uttar Pradesh News #viral letter

[honeysuckle-venom]

Okay, I sent her an email offering to meet to talk about how she's doing, potential strategies for test taking, and possibly getting accommodations. Hopefully she'll take me up on it.

#my post #text post #i took a brief look at her test and i was hoping there would be a ton of extra info and that was why it took so long #but...nope. nothing extraneous and the last answer wasn't fleshed out enough. so i'll have to work with her going forward #and possibly give her extra time on future tests even w/out an accommodation #bc i think she needs it #every other student finished in the time allotted so it wasn't the test #idk we'll see. i think i'll talk to A and J about it probably #(the other psych professors)

[kharatkhake]

What if I talked to everyone I know like I'd never talked to them before? What if I knew them again, loved them anew, breathed their air and thought their thoughts and lived in their world? And in seeking to do that...what if I found the courage to allow them to do the same?

#idk im just thinking #and i feel like...i miss people??? #connecting is hard but i know how rewarding it can be #and i just want to fill my world with beautiful people to light up my days because if i dont then I will die a dead person #instead of being a living person who has lived all the life allotted me and passes that life on to the living beings who come after #i don't necessarily need to be rememebered but i want to have been alive and all living things die but life itself cannot die #only bc there is no death if there is no life #so when i die i want my life to continue being part of life #if i live dead then my life cannot live when i die and i do not fear dying so i want to die well! to die properly! to die truly! #which means i must live first #all this to say that i want to connect with more people and be able to love them better #but it's a challenge for me and i hope i meet the kind of people who accommodate that and who make it easier over time

[soberscientistlife]

Sarah Rector was born in 1902 in Oklahoma to Joseph Rector & Rose McQueen. They were African descendants of the Creek Nation Creek Indians before the Civil war which became part of the Creek Nation after the Treaty of 1866. As such, they & their descendants were listed as freedmen thus entitled to land allotments under the Treaty of 1866

Nearly 600 black children or Creek Freedmen minors were granted 160 acres of land each. This was a mandatory step in the process of integration of the Indian Territory with Oklahoma Territory.

The parcel of land allotted to Sarah was located in Glenpool. It was considered inferior infertile soil, not suitable for farming, with better land being reserved for white settlers and members of the tribe.

The family lived simple lives but not in poverty but the $30 annual property tax on her parcel was such a burden that her father petitioned the County Court to sell the land. His petition was denied because of restrictions placed on the land.

To help cover this expense, in 1911, Joseph Rector leased her parcel to the Standard Oil Company. In 1913, the independent oil driller B.B. Jones drilled a well on the property which produced a "gusher" that began to bring in 2,500 barrels of oil a day.

Rector began to receive a daily income of $300 from this strike. The law at the time required full-blooded Indians, black adults and children who were citizens of Indian Territory with significant property and money, to be assigned "well-respected" white guardians.

In October 1913, Rector received royalties of $11,567. As soon as she began to receive a lot of money, there was pressure to change her guardianship to a local white resident.

Given her wealth, the Oklahoma Legislature declared her to be a white person, so that she would be allowed to travel in first-class accommodations on the railroad, as befitted her position.

Rector was already a millionaire by the time she was18.

Source: African Archives

[interpolanticssuperfan]

nothing natural | ken x fem!reader | part 3 | 18+ only

hii everyone! thank you SO much for the incredible kindness youve shown me and sweet words so far! and thank you all for reading. i accidentally made this chapter longer than i intended to.. oops. i hope i am doing a good job at slow burning because ive struggled with that in the past. warnings: reader goes outside to smoke a cigarette. lol. enjoy and as always feedback fuels me!!

also, i wanted to let you all know that you can listen to the playlist i have been listening to as i work on this fic which is sort of a mix of stuff that reminds me of ken and stuff i think he'd like. idk i love when authors share what they listen to, so you can check that out here.

you can also reply to my posts or message me if you want to be tagged for updates. i am posting a masterlist today for ease of access.

tags: @heyareyoulistening @itsametaphorbriansblog @alyeria

In the span of one hour, you absorbed more information and somehow became more confused the longer Ken spent investigating every inch of your apartment. You explained to him that you did not own this entire building, and that only one unit was allotted to you, but this still impressed Ken.

“Are you friends with all your neighbors?” He asked, squinting closely at the magnets on your fridge, touching them and flipping frantically through the notepad you used for grocery lists, like he needed to see more of your handwriting, more of the things you used every day. Ken murmured to himself as he took in the words: flour, one dozen eggs, croissants.

You’d reinstated yourself at your dining table with your work laptop, creating an elaborate lie for your supervisor as to why you missed the weekly team check in. My cousin’s dog was assaulted by a rabid possum and we had to take him to the emergency vet, please excuse my brief absence… I’m happy to work overtime to accommodate this inconvenience… He was only a puppy…

So on and so forth. You were confident you could schmooze your way out of a write up. Ken couldn’t stand still, couldn’t contain himself – had whizzed through the front door when you unlocked it, bouncing off the walls with questions and comments that flowed freely.

“No, I’m not friends with all my neighbors. There’s gotta be at least forty other people that live here. Are you?”

“I know all the Kens. We are not all friends. But I know all of them.”

“You’re all named Ken.”

“No. There’s Allans.”

“Right.”

Ken gleefully picked up each cookbook stacked on top of a low hanging shelf, tearing through each one and making tiny astonished faces at each new dish he was introduced to. Recipes on the sweeter side piqued his interest – cinnamon rolls, pastries, cookies. You had suspended disbelief long enough to just let Ken do this, let him touch everything even if he moved your belongings out of place. It wasn’t typical for you to have a man over, let alone one who was learning how the natural human world worked. (And had to ask you with stars in his eyes what ovens were for.)  

“These pancakes look divine. They’re putting all kinds of stuff in these. I didn’t know you could put blueberries in them. They taste good, right?” You craned your neck to get a look at the recipe he was referring to.

“If you’re a decent cook! You just have to pay attention to what you’re doing, measuring, how long things stay on the stove. It’s like that for anything you cook. I’m not great with pancakes, for some reason I always tend to burn them.”

“So what’s your favorite food?” Ken asks, setting the book down and taking to the fridge, flinging the doors wide open and surveying each salad dressing, bottle of water, every can of cold brew coffee. He ran his fingers along the labels, as if reading braille, receiving telepathic information about these products from just handling them. It was an odd sight. Everything he held looked so small in his hands.

“Er… I guess I really like sushi. But I haven’t had it in awhile. Trying to save money, make a habit of eating at home. And I just like to make simple things.”

“What’s in sushi?” Ken’s rotating a banana in his hands, picking at the stem to see what it does.

“A lot of things. Usually raw fish. Rice that sticks together to make a shape, seaweed, different kinds of sauces.” It’s making you laugh, seeing Ken size up this banana with a puzzled look on his face. “Do you want to try eating that?”

He shifts uncomfortably, placing the fruit back down on the counter like it had offended him. “We have these in Barbieland but they are not nearly as squishy. Ours are rock hard. And not brown!”

Ken was right – that banana was probably past its prime, but you hadn’t cleaned out the fridge in a few days. You’d gotten sick of refreshing your inbox waiting for a reply from your supervisor, so you got up and pulled a knife from the drawer, setting the squishy banana on a paper towel to cut it.

“Here. Try this,” you cut through the peel and divide up a small end slice into two pieces, holding one out to Ken who seems frightened by it, squares his shoulders.

“There’s something inside that peel?”

“Go ahead, just take a bite! You might like it, how else will you find out what you like?”

“But (Y/N), I’m not… hungry.”

“That’s okay. It’s a very small slice, I promise it’ll be alright, Ken.”

His eyes flash with trust at the promise you’ve just made him, so he abandons his apprehension and plops the bit into his mouth. It’s like watching a baby bird clamor for its mother’s offering of regurgitated seed and berry mix. Ken doesn’t instinctively chew, he just lets it sit in his mouth like he’s waiting for the fruit to do something. You raise up the other banana slice, catch his eye and show him how to chew, slowly, and then swallow. 

Ken nods, although his movements are strange and exaggerated, but eventually allows a smile. “That was pretty good. Mushy.” He searches your face to see if he’s given the correct answer, which is even funnier to you than him trying food for the first time.

“Did you like it? Bananas are on the sweet side.”

“Definitely. I think I really like them. Can I have the rest of it?”

“So you can taste!”

Ken grins to himself, gives you a proud stance and swaggers to the side, popping his hip out as he starts cutting up the rest of the fruit. 

“Oh, yeah. I can taste everything. Nothing I can’t taste.”

“When I go to the store next I can get you some more sweet foods. But you can’t just eat sweets. Fruit is naturally sweet, but for example, you can’t just have ice cream and brownies all the time. Your body will hate you for that.”

“And I can make you pancakes with bananas.” Ken adds, cocky as ever, already physically spreading himself out in your kitchen like he owns the place, thighs open and easy and confident as he leans back. He adjusts quickly to new situations, you’re discovering, with none of the social anxiety most people might feel.

“Let’s save the cooking and… turning on the stovetop… for when I can teach you. It can be dangerous if you’re not familiar with what to do.”

“But what if I want to surprise you, (Y/N)? You wouldn’t want to ruin it, would you?”

“I’d rather ruin the breakfast than have you accidentally catch my apartment building on fire.”

Ken considers this, starts chewing at the rest of the banana slices while still committed to looking cool as he does so. “You’re so right. So, where do you think I should sleep?”

You put some distance between the two of you, since proximity to the blonde had begun to make you feel inexplicably self conscious, and sit back down at your laptop. You hadn’t gotten this far, hadn’t decided where Ken could stay and if he was even going to stay. Stay for what? A crash course in becoming a member of society? Turn him into the perfect roommate who’s convinced you’re dating now? And how in the hell were you qualified to teach him anything about life, fulfillment, health or success when you were far from the epitome of any of those?

“I thought you said you didn’t get tired.”

“There’s something I need to tell you about,” the sudden change in Ken’s tone caught you off guard, so after taking a brief glance at your emails again and confirming nothing of substance had arrived, you folded your hands in your lap and turned your body towards him, anticipatory and patient.

“When Barbie went to the real world, almost everything about her changed. She still looked like herself, but… it was different. She told us that she got a cold.” Ken gestured to his nose, crinkling it up in dismay. “Sniffling. She had to use tissues.” 

“You’re worried about getting sick?”

“No, not… right now.” Ken tried again, attacking it from a different angle. “Barbie said the longer she was here, the more she kept changing. Barbies never got sick before. But she had to see a human doctor, and she started making her own food and eating it. Sandwiches. And her flat feet never went away.” Ken’s distress was evident, but you weren’t sure what he was getting at, couldn’t see what panicked him so much about this topic.

“I don’t understand. What are you saying, Ken?” You tried to keep yourself casual, so as not to freak him out even further; he’d already begun pacing, boots clacking against your kitchen tile with each step.

“I’m saying that the longer I stay here, the less I’m going to be like… how I was.” He sounded so unsure, on the precipice of a conclusion, fearful of what he might learn. “Don’t you get it? I’ll have to brush my hair. Call the dentist. Pay taxes. Wear deodorant. I might get a breakout on my chin, just like Barbie did.” The last part sounded like the nail in the coffin for Ken, who looked weak just recalling the memory.

“Taxes? But you don’t have a job, do you? For all the city knows, you don’t even exist.”

“That’s not the point, (Y/N)! I’ll have to get a job.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. So… it sounds like you’ll become less like a doll?”

“Exactly. And I’ll have to do it alone.” Ken was silent, pensive as you let his confession settle. Perhaps it wasn’t the changes that he dreaded.

It was doing it without any support.

“I see. So you’ll have to sleep. You’ll have to eat. Is that scaring you?” Your intention was to minimize these facts of daily human life, shrink them down to manageable tasks, not to trivialize his valid concerns.

Ken hollowed his cheek, bit the skin in between his teeth and looked around for something to focus on while he reflected on what you asked. Noticing the cage you had set up for your guinea pig, Ken crouched in front of it without so much as a knee crack, raising his eyebrows up inquisitively.

“Who’s this?”

“I should’ve introduced you to her earlier. She’s my guinea pig, her name’s Willa. See her long hair? It’s really beautiful, but she’s pretty high maintenance.” 

Sounds like someone else in this room.

Being so close to Willa appeared to calm Ken down, and you watched his shoulders drop slightly, saw the veins in his neck depress, growing less agitated. “Does she have to brush her hair?”

The cookbooks, grocery lists, the banana had inspired Ken to ask countless questions, but meeting Willa, Ken merely watched in quiet awe.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his purported  jab. “I help her with it every day. She’s got a special little brush.”

“Hers is longer than mine. At least she gets some assistance.”

Ken sighs deeply, not taking his eyes off tiny caramel colored Willa, who has no idea what’s happening, just lounges in the paper substrate fleece and wiggles her nose up at the blonde staring her down. He rubs meager circles on his knees as if to soothe himself, then sighs again, long and dramatic. From minute to minute, Ken’s moods shift so drastically – he could be lovingly describing his newfound obsession with bananas and then just as easily pivot to jealousy over a guinea pig receiving grooming services from its owner. Decoding him was like whiplash.

“Ken?”

“I’ve been putting off thinking about this part.”

“You mean losing your doll-ness?”

“Yeah.” Ken’s voice is small, terrified, unbefitting of how he presented himself. Put together, well dressed, toned, tanned, oozing with charm. It all dissipated with his answer. 

With your foot, you push out the dining table chair adjacent to you, the scrape spooking Ken as he jumps. “Why don’t you come sit here and talk with me? You can bring Willa, she likes making friends. Just be mindful of her.” Nervous, Ken obliges, sticks a hand into her enclosure and waits for Willa to crawl over to him. 

To your shock, she comes without a moment’s hesitation, nosing at his palm and blinking at him. Willa ardently disapproved of your last boyfriend, and she never seemed to like the odd hookup you’d bring over after your explosive breakup. She’d ignore any man in the apartment for the most part, but you couldn’t believe how easy it had been for her to warm up to Ken, snuggling up to him already. 

“Wow. She normally doesn’t like strangers.” 

“Looks like she prefers your friends. She’s so soft,” Ken notes, temporarily forgetting about the needling anxiety he’d been expressing to you, and sits down. At your table Ken seemed larger than life, so full of color and irresistible personality. The most interesting irregularity you had ever entertained. He flattened the backs of his hands on the placemat and smiled down shyly at Willa, gentle like he was convinced the tiniest movement could hurt her.

(A smile that had the power to devastate – could ruin your life, could make you want to throw it all away just to know him; a smile that Ken saved specifically for a defenseless creature that nibbed at his thumbnail.) 

“Go ahead and pet her! They like that,” you encouraged Ken, denying the lump in your throat, who obeys and brings a steady forefinger to Willa’s back, warily petting her in one stunted action. Willa rustles, but doesn’t flee or make any noises contesting his presence. “She might try to run away, so just make sure you keep an eye on her.”

“I promise I will, (Y/N). How old is she?”

“She’s two and a half.” You raise your eyes to Ken, who’s entranced by the small animal and her lustrous coat, indifferent to his surroundings now that he’s connected with this hairy comrade. “How old are you?”

“I have no idea. How old are you?” 

This shouldn’t have surprised you at this point. Nothing could catch you off guard now as you went down the list, dedicating yourself wholly to figuring out what to do with this guy. Given how unadjusted he is to the world, is Ken your responsibility now? What would happen to him if he went out, unprepared, unassimilated, and tried to do things like get a job, buy something from the store? Had he ever seen currency before? 

Would you have to teach Ken math? You failed calculus. More than once. This wasn’t boding well.

“I’m twenty five. You don’t have a birthday?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s how you keep track of your age. Could you look at me for a second? Maybe I can try and guess.” Ken’s reluctant to stop looking at Willa, but does as you say, and it strikes you to admire him overtly like this, free from the guise of contrived modesty, not hiding how strongly you want to see him. He’s open, almost tranquil, those wide eyes continuously following yours, every single aspect of his demeanor softening the more you drink him in.

You couldn’t help but freeze. Pinning him. You could hear the robins chirping outside on the patio. Buses shuttling along on the road outside. Your blood pumping in your fingers, the hot curl of desire in your stomach. At once, everything felt vibrant, felt… exceptional.

Because of him.

Blonde angel, almost porcelain. Kind with your pet. Enthralled with the simplest items you owned. Eager to assist you with any task, however minor. Naively trusting. 

Blind to the ways this world could twist and chew you up. Brand new.

You wouldn’t ever be the source of pain for Ken. In that moment, searching his stark blue eyes for an answer to a question you couldn’t articulate, you wrote it on your heart, that no matter what happened – whether Ken stayed in your life, as a friend or something more – you would never hurt him.

You don’t even remember what you were trying to do with him. Mesmerized, you simply just enjoyed the sight, at a loss for words. What was there to say that wouldn’t fizzle out and die on your lips?

How are you real? (He wasn’t.)

How did you get here? (He’d waited for you.)

Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

“(Y/N)? Did you calculate it yet? Maybe it’ll be easier if I unbutton my jacket. Willa, stay put, I need to do something,” It flew over your head, you couldn’t hear what he said, just gawked and felt your pulse thrum as Ken started to undo the top of his denim jacket. Deft fingers working, you had to be aware of how affected you looked. You couldn’t hide it.

To see more of Ken’s chest physically pained you – it hurt to look, hurt to squirm and act like it wasn’t overwhelming, burning you up. He showed off his defined, carved muscle, smooth and enticing like a joke or something. 

Willa sniffed the salt and pepper shaker, not moving even a millimeter away from Ken as he undid the last button with a muffled pop. 

Where wisps of blonde hair would’ve led down to the tip of Ken’s waistband, there was nothing, just more of that milky white skin, blameless and pure and teasing. Where ribs should have anatomically been, his chest expanded then deflated, ripples of flesh rolling, then relaxing.

All of him on display. All of him so… bare.

Well – not all of him. Not yet.

You hadn’t felt anything like this before, not ever. You were experienced – you weren’t uneducated when it came to sex, or… pleasure. Yet it was impossible that you’d felt true desire in the past, even for the man you’d fallen in love with and been betrayed by, because those memories shriveled in comparison to what you felt in this moment, seeing Ken like this, expectant and unrestrained and so fiercely magnetizing. You saw your future, you saw his body, you saw Ken’s long eyelashes fluttering and pretty like a girl’s, and it was too fucking much, louder than your heart slamming inside your chest.

You began to question if you were even real. If this was happening. Maybe you were the lifeless doll. Harsh stings peppered out along the slope of your neckline – for the second time since meeting Ken, did that really just happen today? – and you made the horrible mistake of telling him the truth just as he was starting to visibly fidget, awaiting your reply.

“(Y/N)? Is this helping? If not, I can –”

“You’re so goddamned gorgeous. Fuck.” 

“What?” Ken blinked, taken aback. He looked like he wanted to say more, to press you, but he couldn’t form a response. 

“I’m. Jesus. I am so sorry, Ken. That wasn’t appropriate at all. I’m… supposed to be helping you. I’m sorry.” Dizzyingly, you shot to your feet, dug your heels against the floor just to feel grounded, and reached over the table for your purse. 

Weren’t you the one supposed to be in charge of boundaries? Teaching Ken how to act, how not to rush things when you met someone you wanted to get to know? 

Ken had flushed a deep shade of peach, an obvious blush that mottled his neck and spread out to his clavicles, nearly reaching his shoulder tips. 

“Did I do something wrong? Can you please tell me what it was?” Ken urged, pupils the size of saucers and still dancing to follow your every move. His face was frantic, lips parted revealing more of his perfect teeth, just another element of his perfect face, everything so perfect about him, and your headache threatened to return in full force.

“No – no, you didn’t, Ken. I promise. I just need to go outside and smoke, it’s not your fault, okay? Can you please stay here with Willa? I’ll only be a minute.”

Ken clearly didn’t know what you meant, or what smoking entailed, but he stayed fused to the chair, biting at his lip again in fragile confusion and not daring to abandon Willa. Fumbling for your lighter through the fabric, you caught the unmistakable downturn of rejection swimming across his features, and the notion that you might have inadvertently let him down made you sicker than the intense wave of lust that had just crashed over you, almost crumbling you, reducing you to nothing but a star cursed to orbit a bigger, more important planet. 

#ken #ryan gosling #ken barbie #barbie movie #ken x reader #ken x fem reader #ryan gosling ken #female reader

[writingquestionsanswered]

how do limit or control my urge to write. i sometimes have studies and projects and other things due, and all i can find myself doing is working on my WIP. it’s like an itch, and all i can think about it and it’s all i can focus on. it doesn’t help that my best ideas pop up at very inconvenient times. how do i accommodate for this while not essentially bottlenecking my writing flow and ideas.

Controlling Constant Urge to Write

There are a few things you can try.

1 - Figure Out Your "High Creativity" Times

Google "daily timeblocking template" and pick one to print out or make your own. Keep this with you at all times during the day and night, and record every time these urges to write occur for about a week.

You may find that they occur at all times of day, but are more heavily concentrated during certain periods, like mornings or late at night. You might also see other patterns, like they occur more frequently on days when you don't have class or work.

Getting a "big picture" view of when these urges are more likely to occur can help you better schedule your time. For instance, you can try to schedule writing time for the periods when your creativity seems to be in higher gear. You can try to skew studying and project time for periods when your creativity isn't as urgent.

2 - Hard Schedule Your Time and Develop a Routine

Most of the time, our brains love routine. Over time, our brains can rewire themselves to be in a certain mindset during a certain period of time. So, if you can, try setting a hard-ish schedule for when you study and when you write. If you do the tracking exercise in #1, you can use that information to decide when to schedule that time. If you stick to this schedule as well as you can, as often as possible, after a while you may find that your brain has an easier time focusing on studying and projects during the alloted time. 3 - Create a Environmental Signals Specific to Studying vs Writing

Our brains respond very well to environmental signals related to routine. For example, the sun coming through your window, the smell of coffee brewing, a morning run, hot water from the shower... these are all things that--if you experience them every morning--work together to tell your brain it's time to start the day. You can do a similar thing with writing and studying to help get your brain into gear for those things separately.

If you try to study/work on projects at the same-ish time every day, that's a big step in the right direction. But there are other things you can do... try to study/work on projects in the same place, use the same lighting/ambient lighting, put on the same soft music if you can listen to music while you study. Maybe have a particular flavor of tea and a particular snack.

If you try to write at the same-ish time every day--a different time of day than you dedicate to studying/projects--that's also a big step in the right direction, but maybe you write in a different place from where you study/work on projects. Maybe you put on different lighting, different music, have a different kind of drink and snack. These are all things that will signal to your brain "now it's time to write." When you do the other things, the signal tells your brain, "now it's time to study." This helps your brain stay focused on the task at hand.

4 - Keep a Brain Dump Notebook - Another thing you can do is keep a notebook for you that serves as a place to get those ideas out of your head while you're doing other things. If an idea pops up while you're studying, you can take a few minutes to open up the notebook, jot the idea down, and then close it and turn your attention back to studying. It may take a little practice, but you can train your brain to know that once that notebook is closed, you're done thinking about it and moving back to the other thing.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Dear Dire Crowley,

I am writing this letter in advance because there are responsibilities which you so graciously dumped on me I have to tend to. But I am in desperate need of your help.

You see– you haven't given Grim or I the allowance that you promised to hand us for school supplies and other basic necessities. Although I have been saving up to repair some of the damages *the kitchen sink keeps leaking, the floorboards are creaking, the water pipes are not piping* to make Ramshackle more comfortable to live in, there were urgent matters in the school *totally has nothing to do with some nasty students* that cost us madols/thaumarks.

So oh-so-kind and benevolent Headmage, could you please give us our allowance? I know you are incredibly generous and I promise I will continue to actively work hard on my schoolwork AND meet your high expectations. I will deal with all the crazy shenanigans that the NRC students are up to. I will deal with EVERYTHING even the constant overblots you claim are rare.

From,

Your tired and desperate Ramshackle Prefect/Supervisor: A Shrimp!Yuu

Enter; An Unkindness of Ravens.

The mail ghost had dropped off a letter for you in the morning. Pitch black, with a glossy sheen, reminiscent of a raven's feathers. You broke the golden wax seal bearing Night Raven College's emblem and opened the envelope.

Your heart leaps and seizes in your throat.

It’s correspondence from Crowley.

Dear Prefect,

I hope you are doing well down in Ramshackle. The other day I happened to pass your lodgings while on an errand rushing to aid in an emergency in the Alchemy Labs. My, hasn’t the building been spiffied up! The dorm that was once destitute and in disarray is no more. I hardly even recognize Ramshackle without all the leaks, creaks, dust bunnies, inconsistent electricity, and busted water pipes exceedingly rustic charm.

I’ve heard that many of those that temporarily stayed at Ramshackle for the VDC training camp donated their second place earnings toward its renovation and refurbishment. Isn’t it wonderful what the power of friendship can do for oneself? When you so generously give to others, they will give back a hundred-fold.

I have, of course, taken this important work you do for our Night Raven College into account when calculating your monthly allowance. However, let it also be known that I have also taken note of your new living situation—which is significantly different from what was originally provided for you and Grim-kun. These new accommodations take quite a bit of upkeep. Working water, electricity, wi-fi… those amenities do not pay for themselves!! Therefore, I will have to deduct a portion of funds and redirect those to pay for the newly renovated Ramshackle dorm.

As requested, enclosed is your allotted allowance—meant for your school supplies, living expenses, and other necessities. Do not spend it all in one place, and please do keep doing your urmost to meet my expectations!!

Sincerely,

Dire Crowley

Headmaster of Night Raven College

You closed the note and peered into the envelope it had arrived in. It didn’t feel very thick with cash, but perhaps there were some substantial notes tucked onside. So, inverting the envelope, you shook vigorously.

Out drifted a few thousand thaumarks and a flashy coupon. “500 thaumarks off one item of your choice!” shouts the bombastic text upon it. You recognize Sam’s funky scrawling letters, the colors of the Mystery Shop.

The money and the slip of paper drifted to the floor at your feet. You stared blankly at the pathetic trove. Thinking that you must be mistaken, you checked the envelope again—but alas, there is nothing more left to reap.

Trembling, you squatted down and hurriedly collected your bounty. As little as it is, it was still something.

The reassurance did little to quell your undulating emotions.

You crushed the meager amount of thaumarks—and your 500 thaumarks-off coupon—in your hand. Taking a deep breath, you unleashed all of your pent-up frustration in a single roar, shaking your fists at the skies.

“Curse you, C-r-o-w-l-e-y…!!”

Your voice carried across NRC and up to the headmaster’s office, where he happily scribbled away at a contract. Beside him was a platter piled high with sweet treats and baked goods.

(“Certainly NOT purchased with money pilfered from school funds!! Why, that’s embezzlement, which is a grave crime,” he would scoff if you asked him about it. “I work hard to earn my keep; I deserve to spend my wage as I like, fufu.”)

“Ah, I see that my charitable gift has finally reached its recipient!” Crowley hummed. “Good, good. May the Prefect put their money to use, just as I have.”

With that, he sunk his teeth into a tea cake and drifted off on a cloud of sugar and butter.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Dire Crowley #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #Reader #self insert #Two Ravens at the Writing Desk #book 6 spoilers #book 5 spoilers

[sailoryooons]

Bite Me, Jeon | JJK | (m)

☾ Pairing: vampire/ college student! Jungkook x college student! female reader

☾ Summary: Somehow you convince Jeon Jungkook to look into theories of vampirism for a research paper. What Jungkook doesn’t expect, is for vampirism to become a very real and very personal problem for him.

☾ Word Count: 19,376

☾ Genre: Friends to lovers, supernatural, a hint of angst

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Some angst, Taehyung is kinda an ass, blood play (Jungkook is a vampire, guys), ridiculous science and historical accounts that I MADE UP (I am not a scientist!!!), mentions of diseases, explicit language, verbal threats, turning someone into a vampire against their will, depictions of blood, biting, conspiracy theories, recreational drinking, mentions of recreational drug use in the past (briefly), a little bit of pining, sexually explicit content including: oral (f. and m. receiving, m. briefly receives) spitting, blood play and biting, spitting, sub-space themes post orgasm, fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex (pls practice safe sex guys). I think I got everything - pls tell me if I missed something.

☾ Published: May 7, 2022

☾ A/N: HAPPY HALFWAY TO HALLOWEEN EVERYONE AKA HALFWAY TO MY FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR. It's here! This took me absolutely forever to write because I wrote it in so many pieces. It is WAY longer than I anticipated, but as I've always said: I find it nearly impossible to write PWP because I live for plot and world building. This is the beloved sibling to Don't Read Dead Languages, the other installment of my Halfway to Halloween celly (est. post date is tomorrow) And yes - I did create characters in here with the intention of doing their stories for Halloween this year :) Please enjoy.Please keep in mind that I am not a scientist and a historian and I took A LOT of liberties with mythology and historical accounts to make my own plot. While I mention real diseases and historical figures, I quite literally made this up. It's not accurate. Pls don't come for my scientist brain because it doesn't exist.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask |

The lights in your corner of the library are dim and flickering. The air is cold and damp- though that is common for the old part of the library where your group huddles. As the least favorite academic club in your school’s college of history and humanities, the table assignments in the warmer and brighter side of the library are rarely ever given to you.

The creepy table for the creeps, the student-run desk attendants usually murmur when you arrive first to check in for your allotted study time. 

You’ve requested the higher tech rooms over fifty times, but it’s the same response every time: Are you even a real academic club? Leave the digital screens and resources to the STEM majors. 

So Old Stacks it was. It had earned that name when the library was extended to above ground with three more floors. The subterranean parts were now reserved for the original study rooms and table areas that had gone years without updating. Most of the shelving is in disarray, containing old volumes of books no longer referenced. 

Most people dread the Old Stacks. You don’t mind them. There is a comfort in knowing you will be left alone among the silence and the flickering lights. Plus, you know how to accommodate for its quirks now. You always pack sweaters, always bring snacks since the vending machines are a mile away, and you bring a portable desk light. 

Making things work is mostly what your group does. Well- making things real is the focus. 

Sure, your Science and History of the Supernatural club was originally been created as an ode to the long-running television show Supernatural, but it has since developed into something legit, with academics studying the mysteries of the world and working to apply levels of historical research and scientific methods to prove and disprove a number of creatures, stories and legends. 

It's nerd shit, as Jungkook calls it. You don’t even want to get into the argument of what you define as a nerd with him. He has enough anime posters on his apartment walls and spends every cent he earns streaming toward his ridiculously flashy gaming setup. 

Nerd shit. 

Despite him making fun of your group, Jungkook sometimes comes to meetings. Even if it’s because you needed a sixth person to be considered a legitimate academic club. Even if it it’s because you offered to do his laundry every Saturday for a single semester as a bribe to keep the club going. 

Pulling your cardigan closer, you scroll through your tablet with the proposal you carefully put together for review. It’s for your final research paper in your folklore class- an elective you didn’t need to graduate, but an important elective toward your desired dream job of working for a private curation company in charge of recovering, investigating and selling ancient artifacts. Kim Namjoon, a professor who participated in the very group you now led, had given you some tips on what you needed to apply to the prestigious position. 

The subject of your final project is courageous. It leans heavily on a lot of pseudoscience and genuine historical events and documents. You know it doesn’t necessarily matter if the experiment itself yields a factual result. You’re not a scientist, but even a negative result is something worth noting in your paper. 

Jungkook is the first to arrive at the library. He’s got a paper bag shoved under his arms, the first signs of grease ruining the paper on the edges. You can smell the fries immediately, groaning as he sets up next to you with an evil grin. 

“Got your favorite,” he announces in a sing-song voice. 

You hate the way he spoils you with food. Jungkook’s habits at the gym and generally maintaining a healthy lifestyle help him to look… well perfect. Small waist, broad shoulders and thick biceps with a heartbreaking face made to love. 

Not thinking about how lovely his face was had become a favorite pastime of yours. 

“You’re going to make me gain weight,” you growl, snatching the back from him to find seasoned fries inside. You indulge, humming as you bite into the greasy goodness. “This isn’t fair, Jeon.”

“Who cares if you do?” Jungkook kicks his feet up on the table, ignoring you as you try to shove them off. Even if you’re in the worst part of the Old Stacks, you feel the urge to be respectful. “You’re pretty regardless, Indy.”

You smirk at the nickname. He was constantly calling you Indiana Jones and Indy for short. You wished you were as cool, but you’ll never tell him that. “Tell that to my long line of non-existent suitors. And get your feet off the table.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes but moves his feet, much to your pleasure.

Your club members file in one at a time, a mix of science majors and history majors. Jungkook is the only one out of his depth, but he usually enjoys the meetings. He doesn’t always say so, but you find open articles on his computer when he thinks you’re not looking about banshees and werewolves on occasion.

Hoseok opens a bag of chips, his notebooks perfectly placed as he leans on his elbows eagerly. “You’re running your folklore project by us today, right? I’ve been dying to see what you came up with.”  

“Why?” Mari asks, flipping through a textbook with an unimpressed pout. You try to fight the urge to lean over and bop her directly on the fucking head. “It’s just another project.”

Mari will never outright say she doesn’t like you. In general, you suppose she’s nice enough. She’s let you borrow a resource or two and she’ll peer review your work if Hoseok or Elena aren’t available. But she always makes sure to downplay your successes, and there is an undercurrent of something aggressive whenever she directs comments and questions your way.

Jungkook hates Mari. You notice the way he glares over the top of his computer screen at her now, his pout tilting downward and his eyes boring holes in her forehead. She doesn’t seem to notice. Even if she did, any reaction she can draw out of Jungkook is one she enjoys. From the moment Jungkook joined your club to save it, she has never passed a moment to thank him again and again for joining.

It's a topic that is hotly debated between you and Jungkook. He doesn’t think anyone is interested in him. He knows he’s a nerd by definition. He speaks in anime jokes and he doesn’t come out of his room on the weekends when he’s deep into and Overwatch binge. And no matter how many times you tell him, Jungkook has no idea how cute he is.

“Because,” Hoseok shoots back pointedly at Mari. “She’s also submitting this paper to Namjoon who is passing it to his boss at his very secretive artifact agency. It’s important.”

“Namjoon,” Mari sighs, putting her hand over her heart. “We will never have a president of this club like him.”

Jungkook looks at her pointedly. “I think ours is just fine.”

You shoot him a grateful look, ignoring the way Mari scrambles to correct herself and assure you that it wasn’t meant to be offensive. Especially when it definitely was.

Jimin is the last to show up, murmuring apologies as he tosses his things on the table. He looks effortlessly beautiful as always, pink hair styled back and subtle designer clothing hanging perfectly on his frame. Jimin is the type of beautiful that you envy- not because he gets attention, but because he is otherworldly.

“Project time, project time!” Jimin chants, clapping his hands together. He’s an English Literature major with a keen interest in folklore and mythology. You were pretty sure he kept a copy of The Iliad on him at all times. “I’m so excited to see what you’ve got.”

The group settles in and turn their eyes to you as you flip your iPad around. The topic is incredibly out there- even for you- and your palms get sweaty as you sift through your notes and cited sources regarding the topic.

“Okay don’t laugh,” you say seriously, levelling all of them with a glare. “And remember that the actual result doesn’t matter as much as the research and documentation process.”

“Spit it out,” Jimin whines.

So you do.

Flipping through the iPad, you launch into an incredibly lengthy and thorough relationship between the history of the legend of vampires through various time periods, starting the research specifically with the rumors and lack of historical data surrounding Vlad the Impaler, ruler of Walachia, Romania.

At first, the group seems unsure. You can sense their uneasiness on the topic, but you push forward, pulling out historical accounts and journals during the Middle Ages during years when the plague burned through European countries, cross-referencing it with the uptick in supposed vampire sightings and rumors.

The interesting part of your research surrounds a disease known as Porphyria, which was detected in the middle ages during a spike in the plague. There were several variations of the disease, resulting in skin blistering when exposed to sunlight.

“Okay so you get a sunburn with pory-whatever?” Jimin asks.

You glare. “Your skin literally blisters, but let me finish. They did studies on people who got the disease and discovered that ingesting blood relieved most if not all of the symptoms related to those who had it. Furthermore, people who ingested the blood of those with porphyria immediately displayed symptoms.”

“What does this have to do with vampirism?” Mari sighed.

“Though it’s implied in most of these medical documents that it can be passed through family members, look at this specifically family tree I pulled with one of the first patients who underwent testing.”

Jungkook took the sheet of paper from you, pouting his lip and furrowing his brow as he read. You chewed nervously on the inside of your cheek as he scanned the tree and tilted his head. “Wilhelmina Dracia- an ancestor of Vlad the Impaler.”

“Exactly, Jeon!” you announce. “So it got me thinking. There were other undocumented diseases during the plague. Even now, there were small towns marked as killed by the plague but they had no evidence that they actually suffered deaths from the plague. Do you know what the neighboring towns were suspected to have?”

“Porphyria?” Jungkook asked, glancing upward. “Do you think porphyria is vampirism?”

“I think it’s a strain of vampirism.”

“Just a strain?” Hoseok asks, taking one of the papers from your notes. You’re thrilled they’re asking questions and hand him two other family trees. “Wait- I though Anne Rice’s novel was total fiction? Lestat was a real person?”

“I think he was based on a real person. Loren de Lion was a real person born in a farming village outside of Paris.” You tap the top of his family tree. “What name do you see there?”

“Mihai Dracal.” Hoseok holds out his hand to Jungkook for Wilhelmina’s family tree and looks back and forth between them. “No way. They share an ancestor. So why isn’t Loren on this family tree?”

“He produced no heirs. This is where I began wondering about strains. Look at these journal entries from Loren de Lion in Paris and then compare it to these entries by Laure de Lions in New Orleans during the 1900s.”

“I remember this,” Hoseok reads from the newer entry. “It is all so familiar. I fear I am not alone in my dear city of New Orleans. I must flee, for there is no stronger breed of sickness than jiangshi. I hope to withstand this breed, but I must flee the city.”

“Breed of sickness?” It’s Mari who asks the question much to your surprise. And sort of pleasure. “Who calls sickness a breed.”

“Right?”

“Jiangshi?” Jungkook asks. “That’s an ancient story of creatures sucking the qi out of humans. It’s popular in Korean Dramas.”

Mari gestures to another family tree sitting on top of academic papers. You hand them over to her with a smirk. She’s so focused on scanning the family tree that she doesn’t notice. “This family- you associated them with Jiangshi?”

“Yes. In fact, they have a son who recently graduated from here. He owns a popular night club in the next city over.”

“Wait…” Jimin mutters, looking up Kim Taehyung on his phone. His eyes go round and he looks up at you. “You mean he owns Nightshade? That club is not only ridiculously exclusive and membership only, but last year there was a massive story on them. One of their members was arrested for aggravated assault on his boyfriend and he claimed that he was driven to insanity by the occult practices at the club.”

You lift up the article in question. “They were going to go to trial any everything. But the Kim family is stupid rich they’re represented by Min Associates.”

“Seriously? I’ve heard that Min Associates have the best lawyers in the world. You could be caught red-handed guilty and get away with it if they’re on the case.” Mari asks, snatching the article from Jimin. “I’ve heard their son is called the Demon in the court room. No one can beat him.”

You shrug. “My point is, this guy? He was willing to talk until he wasn’t. He was sentenced to a few years and let out on good behavior. No one has heard from him since.”

“So what’s your plan?” Jungkook asks, brows furrowed as he regards you. “Please don’t tell me you plan on getting involved with Nightshade and trying to become a member to see what’s going on. Come on, Indy.”

“Jimin?” You ask and he looks up at you. “Your friend Jin is in the entertainment sector, isn’t he?”

Jimin glares. You give him a soft pout and round eyes, earning a sigh and a roll of his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”

-

A week after you discuss your project with your peers, Jungkook shows up at your apartment with a box full of pizza, your favorite flavor of wings, and soda. You give him a narrowed look, letting him in nonetheless as the smell of grease makes your mouth water.

Though you live alone, Jungkook has spent most of his time at your small apartment two blocks away from school to be considered a roommate.  

“To what do I owe being spoiled?” You ask skeptically as Jungkook places the items on your kitchen counter. He moves confidently, taking out plates and setting them down before grabbing cups for your drinks. It’s entirely domestic and you chew your lip watching him. “That’s a lot of wings.”

“Can’t I just want to come watch movies with my best friend?”

“Yes, but it’s Friday. And on Fridays you usually do your Mario Party stream with viewers.”

“You know my schedule?” His cheeks are tinted pink when he asks, smiling at the ground as he places food on the plates. You don’t answer- of course you know his schedule- and take the plate offered to you. “I just wanted to hangout.”

“Sus.”

Jungkook takes a bite of his pizza, chewing happily as he levels you with a look. “Maybe I want to try and talk you out of your project.” You groan and he gestures to the couch. “Come on, we don’t have to fight while we eat.”

“So we’re going to fight?”

He gives a small smirk. “Maybe. I don’t know. Not during pizza and maybe an episode of One Piece?”

You hum in doubt but join him on the couch, pulling up the extended-top of the coffee table to set your food on top. You both cross your feet and settle in as Jungkook navigates the streaming service easily, picking up where you left off.

It’s hard to remember when exactly you let him talk you into watching the entire anime series, but it seems never ending. Jungkook won’t let you watch episodes without him, but he’s good about keeping a watch-schedule. And you have to admit- you like the show.

True to his word, Jungkook doesn’t bring up your project while you eat. It doesn’t stop you from stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, trying to figure out what about it bothers him.

Clubbing isn’t really your thing. You gave it a good run when you were a freshman, slowing a bit when you were a sophomore. You didn’t mind drinking- wine was pretty much your preference- but being out around a bunch of sweaty strangers while someone always managed to have a bad night in your group was sort of exhausting.

So you limited your nights out to few and far between, but you always managed to have fun.

Perhaps it was the mysteriousness of the club that Jungkook didn’t like. After revealing your topic of interest, you had scoured the internet together to show him what you could find on Nightshade and its members. There was a website for the club, but the only information available was that it was an exclusive night club, and that memberships were limited. There was no information to apply. There was nothing but an address, a business license, and a small blurb on the owner- Kim Taehyung.

The infamous Kim Taehyung was easier to look up. He was a wealthy businessman in the next city over and was a wealthy contributor to your school. He participated in plenty of charity work- particularly organizations that specialized in raising money for rare blood diseases and their study.

That was interesting and on brand for your paper.

Every photo you saw of the man was nothing short of stunning. Dark hair that was usually styled back, eyes that could cut through a camera lens, and a face that belonged in high fashion. He was heartbreakingly beautiful. Even Jungkook had whistled and stared for a while.

Taehyung, as stunning as he was, had private social media and there wasn’t much beyond a few articles from business and entertainment magazines who had posted how elusive the club owner was. Even the articles containing information about the lawsuit against his club were difficult to find.

A few blogs were dedicated to uncovering and guessing what exactly went on at Nightshade, but they were thus far unsuccessful. You had no idea why you thought you were going to be the one to figure it out, but you were determined.

Jungkook leaned back and sighed. You chewed on your lip, watching as he leveled his gaze at you. You shifted nervously under his stare, unable to read his expression. Your heart and stomach fluttered- for reasons completely unrelated to knowing he was going to question you.

“I think you should turn in your paper without the investigation on the end,” Jungkook said finally. “You’re not an investigative journalist. Your class is about folklore and where it intersects with history, and I think you’ve done that. You’ve combined science, popular legends and historical documents and family trees to support your guess. I think that’s enough.”

“It isn’t,” you insist, shaking your head. “It’s a competitive job. Namjoon only started working there last year after his massive discovery in Egypt. This company- it’s the private sector, which means a lot of benefits and a lot of money. It would send me all over the world and give me assignments I’d never get at a museum or as a professor.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Your paper is good enough to get you in.”

“It’s not. What happens when they ask if I discovered what was at the club?”

“This is for a company that specializes in archaeology and history. They’re not Buzzfeed Unsolved.”

“It would demonstrate a lack of dedication for me not to do this.”

“How? You’re pulling from multiple types of sources and the Center for Disease Control for crying out loud! What about this fucking club is that important to a historical paper?”

“I need to know if I’m right!”

You shout it at Jungkook, making him flinch. You close your eyes and heave a sigh, running a hand over your face. You soften as you murmur, “What is the point of the paper if there isn’t an answer?”

“So that’s what it’s about. Proving you’re right. And if you’re wrong?” You shrug. “At the end of the day, this is folklore. You applied science and history, but… vampires, Indy?”

A sour feeling enters your stomach. You stand up and begin cleaning and Jungkook groans, knowing he’s upset you. You don’t care if he knows. You stomp to the kitchen, chucking the crumbs into the trash and shoving dishes into the sink. You’re cleaning and refusing to look at him as he calls your name from the couch.

You know the idea of vampires is… ridiculous. In reality, you know that your little club is laughed at. Ridiculed. No one takes is seriously. They won’t even let you rent a room in the library proper.

Your throat tightens as you fight the urge to cry. You don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook, especially over something so stupid. But being right is more than just… having put together a convoluted puzzle piece. It means your worth of a prestigious job and it means… well it means the museums you already applied to and failed to get in were wrong about you.

“Talk to me.” You flinch, not realizing Jungkook moved to the kitchen. He’s standing right behind you when you glance over your shoulder. You turn away and rub your face quickly on your shoulder, trying to hide that a tear escapes. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying, Jeon.”

You hear him laugh. “Okay, well I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

When you don’t answer, trying to stop the burn in your eyes and the weight of the rejections, Jungkook steps forward and wraps his arms around you, squeezeing You place your hands on his arms and squeeze back, knowing he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.

“I’m sorry, Indy,” he whispers, his voice sincere. “I just care about you and even if we don’t find vampires, something about this place and Kim Taehyung gives me the creeps.”

“We?” You sniff, laughing slightly.

“Of course. You didn’t think you were going alone, did you?” He squeezes and places his chin on your shoulder. “Indiana Jones always had a sidekick. Sidekick Jeon Jungkook reporting for duty.”

A few minutes pass in the kitchen with Jungkook just holding you. And you let him. He’s warm and he smells floral, making you smile as he sways you back and forth a bit. You melt into him. You want to stay like that far more than you should.

Just when your nervous it’s going to get awkward, you murmur, “I didn’t get the apprenticeship at The Metropolitan or Louvre. They said that I didn’t stand out enough.”

“Oh, Indy…”

“And I don’t blame them. My projects and papers have been basic. Organized. Perfectly executed but… there is nothing special about them. Nothing special about me.”

“That isn’t true at all.”

The vehemence he states this leaves no room for argument, drawing a smile from you. He settles back on your shoulder as you murmur, “I just… want to do something different. Step out of my comfort zone, you know? I just want to be special.”

“You are to me, if that counts.”

Fuck. It counts so much more than Jungkook realizes. Every time he shows up to a club that he doesn’t have to be a part of, every time he brings you pizza, or lets you come watch him stream, or he talks you through an anime you don’t quite understand- you do feel special with Jungkook. Maybe not in the way you want most, but in a way that counts.

Jungkook sighs, pulling you from your thoughts. “Jimin said Jin can get you in, but there’s a shit ton of applications and documentation we have to do.”

You spin around. He drops his embrace, chewing the inside of his cheek as he looks down at you. Your heart skips as you grab his arms, nails digging in. “Seriously? Just like that?”

He laughs without humor. “Jin said that he can submit an application on our behalf. Not that it would get accepted and Indy… it’s pretty intense. We have to have background checks, blood tests-“

“Blood tests?”

He grimaces. “I knew you’d fixate on that.”

You ignore him. “This is perfect. It just lends itself to my paper. Who needs a blood test to get into a nightclub? There has to be something they’re looking for- maybe ensuring there’s no disease or latent vampire genes? This is great! Jungkook this is great.”

He winces but mutters, “Yeah. I guess.”

-

Jungkook exaggerates about a lot of things. For example, there was one time during Halloween where he swore that he was so drunk that he was going to die. Instead, he vomited in your Luna backpack two blocks away from your apartment, and then cried because you wouldn’t get him tacos after.

Or there was the time around Christmas where the two of you had edibles at a party, and Jungkook fucking swore he saw Santa Claus and his reindeer. You had a pretty difficult time explaining whilst high out of your mind that it was an airplane, Jungkook. The things that fly in the sky.

And of course, every world-ending time he lost a match or had a bad stream. Those were the days that the sky was falling and he was never going to recover from this financially- and he would send you the same Tiger King meme over and over again.

Those were all great examples of his usual reaction to minor things.

Jungkook was not exaggerating about the application requirements to potentially become a member at Nightshade.

While they did not require any up-front cost to the application, there was cost implied by the amount of blood work you had to get done- and sign a twelve-page legal agreement that you were consenting to provide medical history and knowledge.

Additionally, you were expected to provide STD results, which led you down a rabbit hole of wondering if Nightshade was a sex club- which, was currently in the lead for the most popular theory of what went on behind its closed doors.

And when the formal invitation and approval arrived, there was a very strict list of attire that required you to go beyond the realms of your closet.

Mari of all people was assisting you in the attire part. You generalyl dressed pretty simple. Heels weren’t a necessity when you weren’t working at a fancy museum just yet, and you never had formal events to attend since Jimin dropped out of his fraternity, calling them boring.

“I think the velvet is the way to go,” Mari says appreciatively, tapping her chin. “You have great legs, may as well show them off. And the red doesn’t totally wash you out like the green did.”

You struggle to take the compliment and look at the dress in the mirror. It’s skin tight and leaves little to the imagination, the hemline coming higher up on your thigh than you’re used to. The off the shoulders are a smooth fit, but the neckline dips dangerously to the top of your breasts.

It’s far more daring than anything you’ve worn before, but the entire night is supposed to be daring.

The plan is simple and stupid. Get inside the club, observe what’s going on, and report if there’s anything vampy. According to the nondisclosure and legal agreements you had to sign and get notarized after approval, there’s a probationary period until your inducted as a full-time member. You skipped over the levels of sponsorships, not intending on becoming a steady member of Kim Taehyung’s possible sex club.

A single night of investigative work. That’s what you’ve promised Jungkook, who is still set on going with you. He even booked a night in a hotel room in the next city over so that you don’t have to worry about rushing there and back.

You try not to think about sharing a hotel room with him alone. Because while you’ve done that in the past, it’s different now. You feel different these days.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turn to Mari. She’s been more interested in you as a person since presenting the paper. Though she hasn’t admitted to it, you have a sneaking suspicion she was impressed and has decided to give you a chance at being an acquaintance.

Even if she is still giving less than ideal compliments.

“You don’t think the crimson is cliché?” you ask, brushing the soft, velvet material. “I feel vampy in it.”

“You look hot.” She shrugs. “Well, if you don’t get a vampire to go all ‘I vant to suck your blood,’ you’re probably going to get laid. If not by Jungkook, maybe by some masked stranger at the sex club.”

“It’s not a sex club.” She gives you a look and you grimace. “Okay, it might be a sex club. And sex with Jungkook are you drunk? We’re best friends, Mari.”

“Yeah,” she mutters as you walk into the changing room, heart set on the dress. “Best friends who need to fuck.”

“I heard that!”

-

The red neon above the door taunts you as you walk down the sidewalk. On either side of the tinted, glass door is a security member. The one to the right of the door holds his hand out for your invitation. You hand yours over, trying to keep your hand from shaking with nervousness and excitement. Jungkook does the same, standing close behind you as they open the door to a dark hallway. 

Scarlet, crushed velvet makes up the interior of the hallway. The lights above are dimly lit chandeliers, the soft gold glow barely enough to cast light down the entire length of the hall. The line to get into the actual club starts here, hidden away from the eyes of the outside world. You realize it’s to keep member identities hidden. 

Jungkook is still close behind you, his chest almost against your back. You join the line of finely dressed patrons, sending a silent thank you to Mari for her making you choose the red dress and pair it with the sky-high heels. Jungkook sticks out in his leather jacket and ripped black pants and yet somehow when you turn to look at him, he looks right- though you’re not entirely sure about dress code.

Shadows fall over half of his face in the hall. You find yourself staring at him over your shoulder as his dark eyes scan the line, mouth fixed in what you label as his serious expression.

A lock of dark hair falls into his eyes. Instead of looking disheveled, he looks beautiful, an angel of shadow. You want to run your fingers along the recently shaved undercut. His hair was still long, but the sides were cropped short, making his choice of slick-backed hair even better.

Jungkook’s eyes drop down to you and his features smooth out into softness. “What?”

“You look so serious,” you opt to say. It would be weird if you told him you were staring at how beautiful he was. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Of course I did,” he answers, frowning. “Who else is going to protect my girl?” 

The way he says it is so casual. It means nothing to him and everything to you. You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, instead turning your attention to the pictures on the wall. Your eyes nearly fall out of your head when you realize the black-and-white photos are people caught in different throes and moments of pleasure.

You divert your eyes to instead look at the people in line.

It’s a wide variety of people, though one thing is the same: everyone has an invitation, the matte black of their cards absorbing the light in the hall. The couple in front of you is murmuring quietly to themselves. The woman is dressed in a floor-length, emerald dress made from silk, her hair twisted up in an elegant bun. Her earrings catch the light, drawing attention to her slender neck. 

Glancing down at yourself, you don’t feel nearly as well-dressed. The velvet dress clings to you like a second skin, the hemline dangerously short for you. It’s certainly a daring outfit, but with just a simple gold necklace around your neck with your birthstone- a gift from Jungkook- you start to feel out of place. 

As though he senses your uneasiness, Jungkook bends down and murmurs, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just wish I looked a little nicer.”

The line moves forward. You’re three away from the door, heart rate kicking up. You can just barely hear the vibration of the music, though you cannot tell where it’s coming from. 

“What do you mean?” you hear the frown in Jungkook’s voice. You gesture to the woman in front of you and he scoffs. “I think you look absolutely beautiful. Hey- look at me.”

Heart skipping, you turn around and look at him. Jungkook brushes a loose strand of hair back into your French twist, eyes searching. He’s so painfully beautiful that you look at him, unblinking. “You’re always breathtaking,” Jungkook murmurs, smiling softly. “But tonight? You are devastating.” 

Jungkook has no idea the way his words affect you. Suddenly you’ve forgotten about the line and the club. It’s just you and Jungkook in a softly-lit space, and he’s watching you with those eyes and his soft smile. The one reserved only for you.

The moment breaks into pieces when the security guard asks you to move forward. In a daze, you hand him your invitation, your expensive medical results, legal forms, and two forms of ID. He runs the IDs through a scanner and thoroughly looks over the paperwork before asking you to hold out your wrist. He places a delicate, gold bracelet around your wrist with a red gemstone charm. 

“Welcome to Nightshade, Miss L/N.”

You step forward and watch as he repeats the process for Jungkook. Instead of a bracelet, he gives Jungkook a more visible lapel with the same stone. “Welcome to Nightshade, Mr. Jeon. Please ensure that your bracelet and brooch are displayed at all times. If you are warned more than once that it is not visible, you will be escorted out and your probation period will be revoked. You will wear this entry level color until a sponsor elevates your membership.” 

“Oh,” you breathe out. “Okay.”

“Sponsors are the members inside wearing mother of pearl broaches and bracelets, and are the only members who may invite you to a private room tonight. If any full-time member wearing emerald or sapphire invite you to a private room, please report them to any staff member immediately. Enjoy your night.”

The conversation is done and the line is pushing you through the curtained doorway. The stairs lead down down down. You look at Jungkook, unsure what you’ve gotten yourself into. He places his hand on your shoulder and says, “We can leave- that’s totally okay.”

“No,” you protest. “Let’s do this.” 

“Even if it’s a sex club?”

You shoot him a look as you begin a careful descent down the stairs. The further you go, the more you can feel the music humming through the ground to your ribcage. “Even if it’s a sex club.”

When another security guard opens the door to the main club, you think that maybe you’re not far off your guess. Music pulses from the middle of the dance floor where bodies twist in a writhing mass. There’s a DJ booth situated above the crowd on a catwalk, lights coalescing on the dance floor in colors you’ve never seen. 

Jungkook is attached to you as you push into the club. The air is cooler than you anticipated, a shiver working up your spine. The bar is near the door, long and carved from dark marble. Red lights are fixed beneath the bar counter, making it look as though the bartenders are gliding through a sea of red. 

A set of stairs leads upstairs to a landing where you can see private booths roped off with velvet markers. A security member stands at the foot of the stairs, letting people pass through after they display their jewelry. Some booths are curtained off while others have people lounging openly, watching the people below. 

You have no idea where to start. Jungkook nudges you on your lower back, starling you. He gives you an encouraging grin and nods toward the bar. “Let’s get drinks.”

With a nod, you let Jungkook lead the way. You’re too nervous to feel anything besides light panic when he wraps his fingers around yours, tugging you along. Your other hand clutches his elbow, securing yourself to his side as you move through the crowd. No one shoves and steps on you. Everyone is polite, parting as you navigate toward the bar. 

You’re almost dizzy with the dark space and flashing lights when a bartender appears in front of you immediately. He’s beautiful, blond hair slick back and uncanny amber eyes flicking between you two, smiling as he looks at the stones on your jewelry and shouts over the music, “Welcome first timers. You drink for free tonight, but please ensure you drink responsibly. What can I get you?” 

“An old fashioned for me,” Jungkook answers loudly. He pulls you in closer, placing you next to him with his hand appropriately placed on your back. “A vodka soda for her, please.” 

The bartender flashes a smile. “Coming right up, pretties.” 

Jungkook leans a single elbow on the bar and gazes out at the crowd. Colors splash across his golden skin, turning him red then blue then green. The music is loud, filled with bass and following a techno sound. You nod your head, looking around those at the bar. 

You don’t really know what to look for other than the cliche: bite marks on necks, hickies that look suspicious, patrons with fangs. There’s plenty of mirrors behind the bar, reflecting the bottles and club-goers back to you. Everyone appears in the mirror- no weird missing reflection. 

Everyone looks ordinary, for the most part. There are a few men and women who look so beautiful it’s painful to look at, but there’s nothing about them that screams vampire. There’s no pale, smooth skin or burning red eyes. There’s nothing that seems… supernatural at all. 

The bartender appears again with your drinks. Jungkook hands over money to tip him, but the bartender waves it off. “No tipping here. We’re paid handsomely. Enjoy your evening. My name is Emil if you need anything.” 

Emil flashes a smile. There are no fangs, but there is something about the way he glances between the two of you that sends a cool tingle down your spine. He moves away quickly, taking another order. You stare at him a second longer before you take the cold glass from the paper coaster. 

“Something about him seems… off,” you mention to Jungkook. 

Jungkook nods. “He’s very perfect looking.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jungkook shrugs. “This feels surprisingly ordinary.”

“Come on,” Jungkook murmurs, sipping his drink and gesturing to the edge of the dancefloor. A dark alcove with a soft, blue neon sign that said private glowed next to where he was pointing. “We can observe near there.” 

It feels as if the dark hall leading to private rooms goes on forever. You glance down at it, hypnotized by the way the space seems void of light and life. You and Jungkook sip your drinks, swaying to the music lightly. You're surprised at how strong the drink is, feeling light-headed by the time you’re halfway done. 

A woman comes up and asks Jungkook to dance, glancing at you from the side of her eyes. He politely declines and she pouts before she glances at you and slinks away again. It’s hard not to smile at Jungkook as he turns his focus away from her immediately, dark eyes still searching the crowd. 

Instead of observing for your own project, you keep watching him instead. Another woman comes up to spark conversation with him- she includes you this time, welcoming you to your first night there. She asks if you need any help and you fight the urge to ask her what it’s all about, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself. 

The woman wears a green jewel- so she is some sort of level higher than you. Perhaps she has a sponsor. She eventually asks Jungkook to join her for a drink and he politely declines again. She has the same reaction as the first, pouting lightly as she vanishes.

You can’t help but get a sick feeling in your stomach. You must be making a face, because Jungkook asks if you’re okay. “Let’s get a drink,” you respond. “I think I’m still nervous.”

And you are. But the inky feeling doesn’t go away when Jungkook is propositioned at the bar again- this time by a man. He’s beautiful with dark red hair and stunning green eyes. He wears a sapphire, glittering on an extravagant broach on the lapel of his suit. 

“You’re an exquisite pair,” the man calls, leaning further on the bar to address you. “You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen- I could just eat you up.” 

Jungkook makes a face. The man notices and he smiles- his smile reminds you of the bartender and you prickle again, straightening. “Ah, you don’t share. What a shame. I love the dynamic you two have- the shadow to her light, the darkness to her innocence. Well, I am here most weekends if you ever change your mind and want to share.” He hands Jungkook a card. “Have a wonderful night.”

You don’t know if it’s the base or your heartbeat pounding anymore. The way the man implied Jungkook doesn’t share- share what? You? 

In a way, you are his to share. He has no idea how much you are his. The thought of him not knowing as he sips his drink makes you toss yours back. He raises his eyebrows as you order another one, making it a double. 

Jungkook came all the way here with you because he’s your friend. Your best friend. Because he never lets you suffer through things alone. And instead of doing what you’re supposed to for your project, you’re being painfully awkward and letting Jungkook’s many suitors make you jealous. 

Finishing your drink with a half-gag and a spinning head, you pull his hand. “Let’s dance.”

“We already did that.”

“No. Let’s dance.”

Jungkook doesn’t ask what you mean. He follows your lead, throwing back the whisky with a sour face. You drag him onto the dance floor. A buzz has settled into your veins and you pressed yourself between people, pulling Jungkook behind you. You’re no stranger to dancing with him, but the music is in your bloodstream, humming as you become alive.

You sway your hips, tilting your head back and closing your eyes as you let rhythm and instinct guide you. Jungkook is quick to follow. He molds himself against you, hands tracing your hips to settle on your waist. Electricity shoots through you and you almost stumble. His fingers are firm, gripping you and pressing you to him so that you can feel his chest against your back.

This is different. You don’t know why, but it is. You feel the artful movement of his hips, feel Jungkook’s break on the back of your neck and shoulder, the way his fingers pull at you, greedy. Your breath shudders out for you. You can smell his cologne- floral and soft on his skin. You don’t know if it’s the cocktails or Jungkook against you, but you’re drunk and dizzy with elation.

Pulling at your hips, Jungkook turns you around. You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. He guides your hands to loop around his neck and settles his own hands dangerously low. Jungkook has never had his hands on the top of your ass before, but they are now. His forehead is almost pressed against yours as he takes the lead, guiding your hips with his. 

Your thighs are burning but you don’t care. The project has long been forgotten as his breath turns into yours. You fixate on his eyes, lips slowly curling into a smile. He grins back at you, pulling you closer, slotting a leg between your thighs and oh. 

That is different. Jungkook’s jeans rub against your clothed core and you let out a sound that sounds like a moan. You snap your mouth shut, flushing from more than the heat on the dance floor. Jungkook’s grip on you tightens a fraction as he looks at you. And you know without a doubt that he heard it. That he knows the effect he has on you.

“What was that, baby?”

The name makes you flush. He’s never called you that before. Suddenly he seems closer than he was and the urge to close the distance between your mouths is clawing at you. You twist your fingers in his shirt, ready to crush your lips to his in a sudden bout of courage- a presence appears in your peripheral, something ominous and demanding, making you look.

Your mouth almost falls open- or maybe it does. Standing beside you is one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen, and you can’t help but fixate on the man in front of you. 

It finally dawns on you that this is what you picture when you hear about vampires. The man is tall with broad shoulders, his gold skin almost glowing beneath the dark collar of a button-up shirt. His hair is ebony, wavy strands falling into a pair of amber eyes that burn so brightly you feel as though you’ll disintegrate on the spot.

Looking at him scrambles your brain. Something in his gaze is pulling pulling pulling. You stare and stare. Something is screaming at you to look away but you’re fixated, the world falling away piece by piece until there is nothing but muted sound of the music and a faded canvas of bodies behind the man in front of you.

He smiles. You know that smile. It’s got the same edge to the bartender, the same sharpness as the man who gave Jungkook his card.

Jungkook. 

You blind and the spell fades a little as you turn to look at Jungkook. His hands have moved from your waist to over your shoulders, crossing in front of you and hugging you to him. He’s staring at the man, enchanted for a moment. Then he blinks and he’s frowning, muscles coiling against you. 

“I’m Taehyung,” the man introduces, tawny eyes flicking between the two of you. You can’t help but think he has the gaze of a tiger, hungry and feral. “Aren’t you two the most heavenly thing I’ve seen?”

Taehyung.

You realize it’s Kim Taehyung standing in front of you. The subject of your project and oh my god if you didn’t believe in your theory before, you do now. Kim Taehyung looks the epitome of supernatural beauty and graze, eyes flickering back to you as his rose red lips twitch in a smile. 

“Cat got your tongue, pretty girl?” Taehyung purrs to you. People have made room for him to stand unbothered, but their eyes shift to him like a magnet.

“You’re wearing diamond,” Jungkook notes, eyes fixated on the jewel settled in the hollow of Taehyung’s throat and the single glittering earring. Taehyung smiles at Jungkook, pleased. “You’ve got a keen eye. I am, in fact, wearing diamonds. I’m the only member you’ll find here who does, though. Unless Yoongi is around, of course.” 

The name Yoongi sounds vaguely familiar, but you can’t recall where you’ve heard of it. Taehyung doesn’t give you a chance to ask, gesturing toward the dark alcove where the private rooms are. Your heart thunders.

“Join me,” he says lightly. Something in his voice tells you it’s not a request, it's an order. His eyes drift to Jungkook, whose grip has tightened over you. “I play nice.”

“The bouncer said only people with mother of pearl are allowed to invite us to private rooms.”

“Good girl, you listened.” Taehyung seems genuinely pleased by this, but you squirm at the way his voice croons. “As your friend pointed out, I’m wearing diamonds. The rules don’t apply to me,” he winks. 

Though Jungkook lets go of his protective hug, he doesn’t let go of your hand. You cling to him a little unbalanced and drunk. He keeps a firm grip on you, looking down to make sure you’re okay. At least, you think that’s why he’s looking at you and you nod, following Taehyung who has appeared on the other side of the dancefloor. 

Weird. You don’t remember seeing him walk there. 

A shiver crawls up your spine as Taehyung steps into the pitch black of the hall. You pass through the threshold- your ears pop, making you wince. You open your mouth, stretching your jaw to adjust the pressure once again. 

The hall isn’t nearly as dark as you thought it was. The same velvet material lines the walls as the hall for the queue. There are no pictures, but metal sconces lighting the way with dull, gold light. Black doors with small plaques on them are lined on either side of you, varying from unoccupied to occupied. 

Taehyung moves smoothly through the hall, passing all of the doors. You can hear nothing from any of the doors or behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, the hallway is dark as ever and no sound from the club reaches you. 

“You won’t find what you’re looking for the way we came, Y/N.”

Your heart freezes when he says your name. You didn’t tell him your name. You turn to look at Taehyung. He’s standing at the end of the hallway in front of a large, wooden door. There is nothing that labels the status of the door’s occupants. You tighten your grip on Jungkook’s hand, suddenly hating yourself for coming here. To hell with your project, to hell with your theory. This was a terrible idea.

“Follow me,” Taehyung calls. He opens the door, walking into a dimly lit room. 

You glance at Jungkook. His gaze is darker than you remember and his face is taught. “You’re safe with me,” Jungkook murmurs. “He’s not going to hurt you. Plus, this seems a bit theatric.”

“He knows my name.”

“You had to provide them a name and a blood test,” Jungkook points out. “I’m sure he would know your social security number, if you asked.”

The thought is unsettling, but Jungkook’s assurance for your safety warms you. It’s not just the liquor you consumed heating you. It’s the way he takes the lead, gently pulling you down the hall to the room where Taehyung vanished. It’s the way he ducks his head in first before nodding that it’s okay for you to enter. 

It’s the way he called you baby right before Taehyung had interrupted whatever was happening on the dancefloor. 

A lounge is what waits beyond the door for you. You arch your brow at how ornate and intimate the setting is. The floor is dark wood to match the small bar built in the back of the room. It smells like cigar smoke and spice. A record player in the corner plays soft jazz, setting the mood to match the soft chaise lounges, crackling fireplace and glittering sconces. 

It looks like something out of an old 20s crawl space during prohibition. You can’t help but let go of Jungkook’s hand and wander over to a shelf with books and knick-knacks, hands hovering over signed cards from Louis Armstrong and a stunning portrait of Ella Fitzgerald with a personal message to Taehyung.

You turn to look at him. He’s leaning on the bar with a smirk, sipping on what appears to be whisky neat. 

Your heart begins to thunder as you trail away from the mementos of a time that Taehyung seems to be fond of. As though he was there. As though he is intimately familiar with it. Jungkook only has eyes for you as you near him, offering his hand silently. You take it on instinct, though you were never really hand holders before. 

“I’m a bit nostalgic,” Taehyung announces with a lofty sigh. He walks around behind the bar and tosses a mixing cup in the air before catching it. He starts to pull bottles from the shelves, glancing up at you with a distinct gleam in his eye. “I don’t keep much of my prized possessions here, but it does help me feel at home.”

“And where is home for you?” Your surprised you ask the question, voice far more confident than you feel.

Taehyung appears delighted as he makes a drink and gestures to Jungkook. “You were drinking an old fashioned, right? Sorry I didn’t use the smoker, I have a feeling you won’t really care.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Taehyung arches a brow and produces another drink. “Vodka soda,” he calls to you, mouth lifting in a crooked grin. “I insist. Drink.”

There is no fighting his words. You find yourself moving toward the bar without remembering to make the decision. Jungkook is in tow, walking slower than you, as though he’s not as confident with his decision to approach.

The glass cools off your fingers as you lift it from the varnished top, hesitating while Taehyung looks at you through his bangs. You’re struck again by how intense his gaze is. He smiles slowly and something sparks inside of you- not the same way it does for Jungkook, but at a sudden wrongness.

You think it might be instinct, but you can’t put the drink down. You’re either unwilling or unable- you don’t know which.

Taehyung lifts his own drink and murmurs, “Salude,” before sipping his, amber eyes bouncing between you and Jungkook.

Both of you sip the drink- except you don’t just sip. You take a few gulps and set it back down, surprised at how much better his alcohol tastes than his bar.

“Why don’t you sit?” Taehyung gestures to the chase lounges. “You have questions, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

He pouts as he rounds the corner of the bar, walking over to you. Jungkook steps in front of you and Taehyung gives him a single annoyed glance. That single glance is enough to make you petrified.

In a single flash of emotion, you see something else in Taehyung’s face. Something cold and ancient and absolutely terrifying. You’re locked into place as you blink at him, but he’s smiling as he pats Jungkook on the shoulder and moving to a chair of his own, plopping down.

“I admire how protective you are of your girl, Jungkook. It’s admirable, really.” Taehyung sips his drinks as you and Jungkook stand frozen at the bar. A vein throbs in Jungkook’s neck as he stares at Taehyung, working his jaw. “However, if I wanted her, you couldn’t stop me. Now sit.”

Again, the decision to sit down is not your own.

Jungkook almost sits you on top of him. You’re sitting so close that your thigh almost overlaps his, a hand going tightly around your waist to tether you to him. You haven’t forgotten the low sound of his voice when he called you baby and you certainly haven’t forgotten the way his thigh felt between your legs. 

You can barely concentrate on your fear with Jungkook’s fingers on your waist, burning through the fabric of your shirt like an exposed flame. You shiver. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, his focus entirely on Taehyung. 

“You have questions, do you not?” Taehyung asks, kicking his feet up on the edge of his chair. He looks at you specifically, eyes dancing behind the sparkling rim of his glass. “I’m intrigued.” 

“You know us.”

“That’s not a question. And if it was, you’re wasting the time I’ve carved out for you.”

You fidget next to Jungkook, plucking at the rising hemline of your dress. You stare at Taehyung, watching as his eyes dip to your exposed thigh. You fight the urge to cover yourself- Jungkook splays a hand over your thigh, covering most of it. You want to sigh in relief and thank him, but instead your focus goes back to Taehyung. 

“Why did you carve out time to let me ask questions?” You ask. “You obviously know who I am and my intention of coming here. I’m not sure how you managed, but you did.”

“Good girl, asking better questions already. Let’s just say I was intrigued. Let’s just say when Seokjin gave me the tip that someone was looking into me, I did my homework.”

You grit your teeth. Jimin had asked Seokjin to get you an in- he wasn’t supposed to tell him what you were doing it for. You struggled with your momentary annoyance, realizing the danger that you were now in. You had come to Nightshade with the intention of breaking the NDA you signed and risking Taehyung’s clientele and business. 

That wasn’t nothing. And now he was watching you carefully as you struggled to come up with an answer. 

“Don’t be too hard on Jimin,” Taehyung purrs. “He didn’t tell Seokjin that you were doing research on vampires. Seokjin has… a sixth sense, if you will. He pulled the information from Jimin’s mind, just sitting there for the taking.” Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees as he cocks his head to the side. “Tell me about your research.”

Again, the urge to tell him doesn’t come from yourself. It comes from somewhere else, a strong sense of powerlessness along with it. 

So you tell him about your research. Every detail, starting with what turned you onto the subject and where you started. Jungkook’s pressure on your thigh increases as you speak, his eyes never leaving Taehyung for a moment. He’s so still that you almost forget he is there as you ramble, discussing Taehyung’s family tree and the journal entries that pointed you in the direction of what you believe is a third strain of vampirism. 

Taehyung is a good listener- or at least, he mimes listening well. He nods in all of the right places and hums when appropriate, even complimenting you throughout your explanation, which is the most unsettling. You hate how sincere and curious he seems. It’s almost as though he is fascinated at watching a child figure something out.

When you finish, Taehyung sits back, arm resting along the length of the couch. You notice the rings on his fingers. They look old. You can barely make out a signet ring and something that looks like a family crest.

Taehyung catches you looking and grins, flashing his hand at you. “You really are the cleverest little thing, aren’t you? You managed to put together a mostly accurate theory about strains of vampirism and you must realize by now what parts of your theories are correct.”

You lick your lips. Your mouth feels dry as you nod. “You must have arrived in New Orleans like the document suggests. You have…” you gesture around. “A lot of influence from that period and a love for the culture and music. You pushed out the vampires there.” 

Taehyung hums, setting his chin in his palm. “I did push them out. I don’t have any love for the strigoi. What you believe are strains aren’t strains at all- they’re breeds. But you had the right idea- congratulations.” 

“So… you’re a vampire?” you ask softly. Any excitement you have is gone. Taehyung looks lethal and you realize that if he doesn’t intend to let you walk out, there is nothing you can do.

You’re fucked. 

“For lack of a better term. Technically a jiangshi. I can walk in the sunlight, though it is a little irritating. I drink blood to survive. I don’t age. And I have a certain influence over people.”

“Compulsion,” Jungkook offers.

You're surprised he speaks. He’s been painfully silent the entire time. Taehyung looks just as surprised, a boxy smile spreading across his face. “Oh? You know a thing or two about it?”

Jungkook grimaces and gestures to you half-heartedly. “She likes watching vampire diaries.”

You feel heat flush your face and push onwards, “That’s why when you told us to drink, we couldn’t resist. Or when you told us to sit.” 

“That’s true. I don’t like forcing people to do things, but the two of you are incredibly stubborn. But come on, darling. Please ask me something interesting.”

“Why? You’re not going to let me report what I find here.”

“No, but consider that I’m having fun and I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about what I am for a very long time. Though this club was established for the vampires that are around to feed in privacy, most of the humans who consent to being here for long periods of time come back because of the euphoria and high they get from being fed on. While they’re somewhat aware of what’s happening, we compel them to forget most details.”

“That seems incredibly non-consensual.”

“Not at all- they’ve signed plenty of papers consenting to what happens here. We only make them for get the supernatural part- many of them know they’re sharing blood- but the exchange is remembered often in a sexual nature. The people who frequent here are one-hundred percent here of their own desire and volition.” 

“And you want to answer the questions I have because it’s entertaining to you. Not because of any desire to let me finish my project.”

His grin was feline. “That would be correct.”

You glare. “I have no more questions.” 

For a moment, Taehyung just stares at you, eyes sharp. The next second, he’s laughing boisterously, the sound filling the room. His hand goes to his abdomen, pressing against his crisp shirt as he continues to laugh. You stiffen beside Jungkook and dig your nails into the chaise, knowing that he’s laughing at you and not with you.

Temper flaring, you stand abruptly, Jungkook’s hand falling from your leg. The rejection from your favorite museums is still burning in your mind. You feel the same hot embarrassment that drove you to tears with Jungkook in your kitchen. 

Taehyung's voice is like thunder when he says, “Sit.” 

You immediately follow, gnashing your teeth as you try to fight his stupid compulsion. “Ask me the questions you had before coming here.” 

Your mouth works over the words. There is an ache in your jaw as you clench your teeth together, feeling a strain working its way up your throat. Taehyung smirks and murmurs, “You’ll kill yourself fighting compulsion. Please don’t make me use my leer.”

Though you have no idea what his leer is, you let out a strangled breath. “Where did vampires originate from?”

“Egypt. The daughter of the goddess Sekhmet was sent to our plane to slaughter the Egyptians for their constant disobedience and disrespect of Ra. She produced offspring while she ravaged Ancient Egypt. Sekhmet was imprisoned in the city of the dead- I believe your friend Namjoon is acutely familiar with her.” 

That takes you by surprise. What would… you gasp lightly. Namjoon had come home after a harrowing research trip in Egypt. He had promptly quit his job at the school and joined the private acquisition company that specialized in ancient artifacts and history. 

“Is Namjoon a vampire?” you blurt, unable to help the question.

“No. He got lucky that his little tomb raider friend was versed beyond normal means in the supernatural. I believe you’re familiar with her branch of the Illuminati’s recovery business.” 

“T-the acquisition place Namjoon works at is a part of the Illuminati?”

“We’re going off track,” Taehyung sighs breezily. “Please focus and go back to asking questions for your paper.” 

“You mean questions about you?” You scoff. “You’re painfully cliche.”

Jungkook brushes his fingers on your arm in warning and murmurs, “I got it.”

You’re unsure what he means but he sits forward, glare on his face. “How many breeds of vampires are there and what- in a summary, please- is the difference between them?”

“Oh?” Taehyung turns his attention to Jungkook. “You’re not a history major.”

“Her research is important to me and I know it inside and out. Answer the questions.”

“I come from an ancient line that can stretch our heritage back to pre-dynastic China. The Mongol Empire drove my kind throughout regions of Asia. I was born in what is now considered South Korea. The differences between vampiric creatures are typically abilities and background, nothing more. The family trees you’ve mentioned in your research are not family trees by blood, but by turning. We share names as a part of our heritage and power.” 

“What do you mean, abilities?” 

“Just like different snakes have different types of venom and skin, vampires have different attributes. I’m not dead, though that might be hard to believe. Immortality and being alive are not mutually exclusive.”

“How does one make vampires?”

“The surest way is by consuming the blood of one. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t need to die to turn. Vampire blood contains a virus-like component that your blood cells will attack once it enters the stream. The moment your blood cells attack the vampire-cells, they’re infected and replaced with the same genetic material that makes up vampiric plasma.” 

“I said simple,” Jungkook mutters. “So it’s a virus?”

“It works like a virus and it can spread through blood contamination, but it is a crude way to identify the gene. Think of it as genetic material.” 

“So the plague?” You ask.

“Not the cause of vampires, but rather- people shared blood hoping that it would give immortality and healing abilities. Hence the massive spread of disease. The vampires you’ve identified in the Dracul bloodline are associated with what you’ve called porphyria- the disease gave them more mobility to openly interact with people during the plague.” 

“Another breed?” 

“Yes, the Upir,” he sighs. “Similar to strigoi. They come from the same region and have the same sensitivity in sunlight. Their blood has a thermal reaction to UV rays, so while they won’t burst into flames, they do get a mean sunburn faster than most people. They also tend to have blood lust far more than I’ve experienced.”

“What’s roughly the size of the population of vampires?” 

For the first time that night, Taehyung shows genuine emotion. It’s brief, but you recognize pain flashing across his eyes, the twitch of his mouth toward a frown and the way his nose flares. You know the answer before he says it. 

“Not many. At our height, there were probably around ten different breeds. Now? There’s two. Jiangshi and the strigoi.” 

“Why?”

Taehyung gestured to the room around them. “There are almost no places in the world like this. What you see here is years of work and methodical planning to come up with a way for my people to feed safely. There is too much science and technology in the world for us to thrive without getting caught. And like I say- vampires aren’t born. They’re made.”

“Getting caught?” Jungkook asks, brows furrowing. “Are there like- hunters or something?”

Taehyung’s smile is strained. “There are those who know we exist, and who would prefer for us not to exist.” He claps his hands together, rubbing his palms together softly. You realize that the fireplace is dying and your glass has long been finished. “This has been nice. Thank you both for indulging in some discussion, it’s been so nice to talk freely with such curious minds. Perhaps we can do it again sometime.”

“Wait?” You ask, shooting to your feet. “You’re just letting us go?”

“Of course. I’ve collected my insurance. You’re not going to go running your mouth once your boyfriend turns.”

It’s not Taehyung calling Jungkook your boyfriend that makes your heart catch. In fact, you hardly gesture that. It’s the self-satisfied smirk on Taehyung’s rose-red lips as he stands languidly, lifting his glass filled with amber liquid toward Jungkook before he downs it, strolling to the bar.

Jungkook is fixed in his spot, face sheet-white and eyes round as he stares at Taehyung. His knuckles are white as he holds his glass. His hands are shaking- there’s nothing left in the glass, the old fashioned drained dry.

Slowly, Jungkook’s eyes dip down to the glass before they drag back up to look at you. You’re frozen in mute horror, mouth parting lightly as Taehyung’s words settled into place, locking onto your shoulders and pressing with more weight than you’ve ever felt.

“You’re lying,” you growl, spinning to face Taehyung. You can feel the tremor in your voice and your hands.

You never expected Taehyung to answer your questions so succinctly without something being in it for you. You wouldn’t have asked the questions at all, had he not compelled you to do so.

There’s no way someone as carefully planned as Taehyung turned Jungkook on a whim. Your brain begins firing synapses, putting together reasons that Taehyung wouldn’t turn Jungkook. His entire club is built on the foundation of secrecy and he said it himself- years of planning.

So why turn Jungkook?

Taehyung leans on his elbows against the bar lazily, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “I’m not.”

“What do you get out of turning him?” You demanded. “There’s nothing. You wouldn’t-“

“I get your vow of secrecy for starters. I won’t help him during his transition if you run your mouth. Additionally, you seem to be a prime candidate for the open position your friend Namjoon has created at the Illuminati.”

“You want access.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Maybe I do.”

“You’re a vampire,” you spit between your teeth. “Compel them.”

“They know all about me, I’m afraid. Despite Yoongi’s influence with them, the Iluminati don’t like me.” His smile is predatory. “They’re not particularly fond of my involvement in stealing one of their artifacts.”

Taehyung gestures to Jungkook and says, “I will happily protect the little fledging provided your word you talk to no one about this place and that you provide research when I call on you. Yoongi is not nearly as dedicated to my projects as I need him to be and his loyalty cannot be bought. Yours can.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook murmurs.

You’re not thinking. Nothing makes sense and nothing matters. You see red on the edge of your vision and you hardly register your arm moving as you throw your glass at Taehyung. It surprises the vampire, based on his wide eyes. But he moves quickly, a blur of movement as the glass shatters against bottles behind the bar.

A horrible scream rips out of you, obscenities new and old as you leap over the coffee table with more agility than you expect. Taehyung grins wider as you behind to throw whatever you can at him, screaming at him to undo what he’s done.

What he’s done to Jungkook. Not you.

Nothing has been done to you for your prying. For your need to come here. For dragging Jungkook along.

Something horrible and terrifying is working its way through you and you feel the tears in your eyes as your rage peters out with a choke.

Guilt crashes on you so succinctly that you collapse on the chair, face in your hands as your tears spill over, hot on your palms and salty on your lips. “Fuck,” you whisper. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Taehyung announces, vanishing from the room.

You lift your head to see Jungkook is still standing in his spot. “Jungkook,” you plead, though you don’t know what you’re pleading for exactly. “This is my fault. I will find a way to fix this, Jungkook I am so sorry. Fuck this is all my fault, please, I-“

“Y/n.”

“I am so fucking stupid. I should have never brought us here. You were right, this wasn’t worth being right and I am a selfish, prideful idiot who-“

“Y/N,” he says your name again, softly but with purpose. You look at him through tear-stained eyes. “Let’s just go home.”

“I…”

Jungkook softens. “We don’t even know if he’s telling the truth, Indy. I don’t feel any different. The drink didn’t taste weird. Come on.” He holds out a hand. You drift to him, fingers yearning for his as you stretch your hand and lace your fingers with his. He gives you a squeeze and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Everything is going to be okay.”

-

Nothing is okay. A few days ago, you woke up to an empty hotel room in a city an hour away from home. You can’t remember falling asleep, spending the entire night stressing and looking for any signs of vampirism as the night stretched on, but Jungkook was fine. He was normal- albeit, nervous and tired.

Then the morning came. You had launched out of your bed to… nothing. Jungkook was nowhere to be found. His things were in his room, but his cell was gone and his clothes from the night before were folded on the dresser. You even went as far as to extending your stay another night, spending every moment calling and texting him.

That night, you had gone back to the club. Tear-stained and with bloodshot eyes, you marched up to the nondescript building, only to be turned away at the door. The bouncer wouldn’t answer your questions. Didn’t even blink when you gave him Taehyung’s name and threatened to go to the police.

He had simply said, “You should go to the police if you think your friend is missing. Have a good night.”

Every phone call, text and voicemail went unanswered into the late night. You don’t remember crying more than you had that entire day, worried to the point of making yourself physically ill, only finding comfort in the cool tile floor beneath your bruised knees and the cold touch of the toilet as you sagged against it.

You had to return home eventually. So you did. Dodging the text messages of your friends. Making excuses.

We found nothing you assured them with unsteady hands, sniffling in the dark of your room. We did get a little sick, though. Jungkook has a fever.

No we don’t need anything.

I’m just going to take that part out of my research.

No you can’t come over.

Yes you can send me the notes for class.

Sitting in the dark of your living room, the silence presses in. You look at your text thread with Jungkook. Everything is burned into your mind with startling permanence.

The internet is no longer comforting. You scour the internet and pour yourself over every article you can find. Your search history looks like you should check yourself into a mental ward. Signs of vampirism. How do you know if you’re a vampire? Cures to vampirism.

You revisit your research and begin a new project. You comb through the genetic findings and family trees, wondering if you missed something. Taehyung had said that vampirism was like a virus- plenty of viruses could be cured. So why not vampirism?

­Takeout cartons are piling on your counter and the sink smells something awful. You don’t take the time to clean- you have a single mission. Something stops you from calling the police- you know they won’t believe you and Taehyung’s threat… it holds sway over you.

Your searches and notes are littered- no, consumed with ways to kill a vampire.

It’s the thought of sticking a stake through Kim Taehyung that has you sitting in the living room in the dark, eyes burning. You scroll through the texts- you’ve sent over 100. Each one goes unanswered, but they’re delivered. Which counts for something, you think. It means Jungkook’s phone is on and even though he isn’t answering… he’s alive.

The thought that perhaps it’s about you occurs. You realize that maybe… maybe Jungkook doesn’t want to talk to you. Maybe this is real, and Taehyung did something horrible to him by turning him into a creature of legend and Jungkook rightfully blames you.

It’s fair. It’s what’s right.

You swallow past the lump in your throat but the tears break free anyway. You’re tired of crying but you can’t seem to find a way to stop. Jungkook is gone and you miss him.

The hole his lack of presence creates is pronounced and dangerous. For the last few years, the thought of you and Jungkook not being you and Jungkook had never occurred to you. You did everything together and nothing else… nothing else was like what you have.

What you had.

There are no updates on Jungkook’s streams. There are comments on social media and his YouTube page asking where he’s gone and why he isn’t streaming. You scour through them, hoping that maybe he’s logged in to look at comments or to tell people he’s taking a break.

But there’s nothing.

And it’s like Jungkook doesn’t exist anymore.

-

Something in your kitchen wakes you up. You’ve taken to not sleeping in your room- not a meaningful decision, but one driven by falling asleep on the couch crying or researching. Nights driven watching Jungkook’s favorite shows while staring at your phone.

Rubbing your eyes, you look around the room, eyes darting to the kitchen. At first, nothing looks different. The room is pitch black, your laptop dead with the cord unplugged. Someone in the parking lot drives by, lights flashing in your first-floor unit and-

A figure is standing in your kitchen. Your heart pitches to your stomach so violently that you feel like you might launch into a cardiac episode. A scream works its way up your throat and lodges itself there, unable to be set free.

You’ve never felt terror like this in your life.

And then the light over your stove flicks on, revealing Jungkook standing in your kitchen.

Your breath gets stuck for a new reason entirely. His hair is damp and hanging in his face. He’s in a giant t-shirt and sweats, his normal casual wear. Your heart begins pounding in your chest as you jump to your feet, ready to launch yourself at him.

“Please stay there,” he almost whispers. You stop moving. “I… just stay there.”

“Jungkook.” His name is soft and teary in your mouth. “Are you okay? Please tell me what you need.”

“Just need you to stay there I can… smell you.”

You inhale sharply and nod. You open and close your mouth. There are so many questions you want to ask but you shove them to the side. You just want to hug him and to ask what he needs you to do. You don’t care where he has been, you just want to know that he’s okay and help him. To fix whatever is broken.

To say sorry.

“Tell me what to do,” you murmur. “Tell me how to make this right.”

“I don’t know, but please don’t blame yourself.”

You break. You feel the seams rip loose as you collapse in on yourself and begin to weep in earnest. You just want to go back to the way things were. Before you ruined it. Before whatever… whatever was happening now.

It’s not fair that you’re crying. You’re not the one who has gone through hell and back- well you have, but it feels selfish. Why are you the one crying when Jungkook- perhaps a vampire- is standing in your kitchen looking lost. More lost than he’s ever looked.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, violently wiping your face. “It’s selfish of me to cry. I have no right to be crying.”

“Indy, it’s okay to cry.”

You shake your head. “I did this, Jungkook.” You bite your lip and nod as you think about it. “I wanted so badly to be right, to make myself feel important. I was… I was too obsessed with trying to prove something new to myself, as if it would make me feel better about the museum rejections.”

He drifts forward, soundless. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is when it results in whatever has happened here. I missed you in a way I don’t know how to describe. I don’t know- I don’t know what happened to you but it’s my fault and I’m sorry.”

“I voluntarily went with you,” Jungkook says firmly. “In fact, the hotel room was in my name.”

“But you went because of me, because you supported me and I…” You shrug. “I wasn’t punished for my vanity and you’re… I don’t even know.”

On instinct, you stand up and step toward him. You can’t help but seek his comfort and to comfort him in return. What you don’t expect is the snarl that ripples through him, vibrating every dish in your cabinet.

“Don’t come near me,” he hisses, eyes narrowed.

You startle, gasping and skittering backward as your hand flies to your mouth to hide the sound coming out of you. Jungkook’s eyes flash silver in the dark, like a predator whose eyes have been exposed to light.

A scream threatens to break through and a gross terror slides into your mind unbidden- is Jungkook there to kill you for what you’ve done?

It is both ridiculous and firm in your mind, taking root as you step back unsteadily.

“No,” Jungkook whispers, voice something like pleading. “Please don’t do that. Please don’t… please.”

You’re unsure what he’s asking, but you can see him better with the kitchen light on and he looks… defeated. His bottom lip wobbles and his eyes are round- no longer narrowed the way you saw them a moment before. No dangerous flash. Just brown, and just… Jungkook.

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head because you don’t know how to form words. You don’t want him to apologize, but you don’t know how to shape the words through your fear. “I’m sorry that I came here, but I wanted to see you. I didn’t know you would… smell so good and I… I scared you. Taehyung told me not to come here- told me it might be too tempting but I did anyways.”

“You don’t understand,” he continues, unbidden. “You fell asleep in the hotel room that night and something happened to me. You always smell good but you smelled even better and then I could hear the soft pulse in your neck… your heart beat. It sang every song I ever wanted to hear and there was a brief moment where I… where I thought it wouldn’t be so bad, if I just tasted you.”

Jungkook looks at the floor, eyebrows pinched and fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt, hands unable to keep still. “It was the worst moment of my life,” he whispers. “For a split second, I thought- what would stop me from leaning down and taking what I wanted? What I’ve always wanted? So I left. I had to leave. I found Taehyung and he kept his word.”

“He’s helping you?”

“Yeah. He’s not… terrible, despite what he’s done to me. I don’t like him, but he’s helping. Didn’t want me to see you, though. Thought I might…”

He trails off. You know what he was going to say. Taehyung thought that Jungkook might kill you. Because he now drinks blood for a living, and because you smell nice.

Jungkook takes a step forward and you take one back. He looks at you and lets out something that sounds like a whine, a soft sound that is so desperate you almost run to him and throw yourself into his arms, danger be damned. You want to.

But keep keeps you rooted as a million emotions flit across his face.

Jungkook has always been intense when he’s upset, but this is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. He’s standing in the dark of your kitchen, but his eyes almost glow. Headlights in the parking lot flash by your window briefly again, lighting his eyes up like white beacons of fire. You take a step back and he makes a noise in the back of his throat, needy like a whimper.

“Please don’t be afraid of me,” Jungkook whispers. 

Of course you’re afraid. You haven’t seen him in days and he manifested in your kitchen like a shadow. He looks like your best friend and he sounds like your best friend, but he’s altogether different. There’s an edge to him as he soundlessly moves across the kitchen, tentative steps to you. He makes no sound, unusual for him. 

But it's Jungkook. And the soft pleading in his dark eyes that you can just register in the dim light and the way he wavers at the threshold of the kitchen, watching and waiting for your consent… it makes you crack. 

“I’m not,” you whisper.

“You are.” You hear the tremor in his voice. “I can smell it on you- just like I can smell everything else. You’re terrified of me and it’s my fault.” 

“Jungkook-”

“I shouldn’t be here.” 

He walks- no he glides to your door, moving with a grace that is more than just his usual, lithe steps. You bolt after him, reaching out to grab his arm as he reaches for the door. He reacts faster than your eyes can pick up the movement, wrapping a strong hand around your wrist and yanking you forward.

A sound of surprise laced with mild fears escapes you as he pins you against the hardwood door, caging you in as he steps forward. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, question dying on your lips as you really look at him.

Jungkook’s eyes are dark as midnight, but there is something glinting in them, sharp and shining. His hair hangs in his face and he’s breathing is shallow. His eyes are searching and burning and he presses a little bit closer to you and he’s warm warm warm. You shiver, despite the warmth and the smell of him- like rosewood and citrus, making your head dizzy. 

You’ve always been close to Jungkook, always ignoring one another’s personal space. But this feels different. This feels hotter as his hands skate up your sides until he reaches all the way to your jaw, angling your face to him. Your pulse hammers under the pads of his finger, and you watch his focus shift from your face to your neck.

You can’t see the little canines peeking behind his lush mouth. But you suspect that they’re there, two little sharp points that could bite into the soft flesh of your neck. The fear you had moments ago is suddenly dulling, replaced with something else that burns in the pit of your stomach. 

Everything you know about the fabric of the world has changed with him. And still… you’re pleading with him, murmuring, “Don’t leave.”

“You don’t understand,” he murmurs, almost a growl. He presses his forehead to yours and you push toward him instinctually. You’re drawn to him and your head is still spinning but you want nothing more in that moment for Jungkook to close the distance between you, to press his soft, pouty lips against yours. “If I don’t leave right now, I never will.”

“Please don’t,” you whisper. “Please.” 

“Baby…” 

Jungkook has only ever called you that once. Your mind flashes to that night, the single time during your friendship that you thought you could be more. When the touches weren’t familiar and they were intimate and you had been drowning in Jungkook. The night this all started, the night that Jungkook’s journey as… the word vampire sounds ridiculous and instead, you focus on the way he makes you feel. 

The pet name licks a flame inside you and you bring your hands up to pull at his waist, suddenly greedy for the feel and the smell of him. Your fear is gone. “Bite me, Jeon.”

Jungkook makes a sound that sounds close a moan and you echo it. Every emotion that changes his face pulls you in in in. Your fear is replaced with something headier- needier. You angle you head, exposing your neck.

“Will it help?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

He seems distracted and despite the rollercoaster of emotions, you smile. “Feeding,” you mumble. Your hands slide to his face, fingers delicately touching the bags under his eyes. “You look so tired. I just want to help.”

“I haven’t fed from a person.”

“How… do you?”

“Blood bags, like Vampire Diaries. Sometimes in cups.”

You trace your fingertips along his cheek bones. Brushing dark strands from his face, you cup his cheeks softly, searching. Jungkook is still there- your Jungkook. He’s reflected in his eyes, in the careful way he holds you and watches you.

“I trust you,” you whisper. What you really want to say is what’s weighed on you throughout his entire absence: I love you.

You love him. You know you do. it burns dully right at the center of your chest, flaring into an inferno when he gives you a gentle nod and leans forward. You feel your heartbeat quicken, threatening to burst from your chest as you drop your hands to clutch at his shoulders.

Jungkook’s breath hits your neck and you moan deep in your throat again. He echoes the sound but its deeper as he hesitates, lips so close you can feel him breathing. You twist your fingers further in his shirt, pulling gently and you feel him smile as he chuckles nervously.

A breath gets stuck in your throat as Jungkook brushes his mouth against your pulse point, a ghost of a kiss. You can’t help but shiver and his grip tightens on you. His name falls out of your lips in the soft voice. You feel it on your neck as he presses a firm kiss to your throat.

“That feels nice,” you sigh.

It does feel nice. His mouth is soft and intimate as he begins kissing your skin. It’s hard to focus on anything but the way his mouth presses closed mouth kisses down your throat, pausing at the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Are you sure?” You nod your head, unable to come up with a response as your eyelids flutter shut. “Tell me if I need to stop.”

“Okay.”

Carefully, Jungkook kisses his way back to a spot on your throat that he seems to favor, nosing your delicate skin first before he brings his lips to your skin. His teeth scrap your flesh and you let out a breathy sound as Jungkook slowly bites down. The skin breaks and immediately the pinch of his teeth sends a sharp pain through you.

You tighten your hands but you don’t push him away, the throb dulling as he makes a sound deep in his chest. You pant against him, head cloudy. You feel lighter than you remember and you sag against your door, feeling the pull of Jungkook’s greedy mouth against you. His tongue laves at your neck and you moan loudly then.

Jungkook pulls away from you, gasping. He hides his face in your neck but you grab him- you want to see him. He protests and you pull his neck harder, moving his face away from your neck to in front of you.

For a moment, you don’t do anything but stare. You’re mutely aware that there is blood running down your throat. You can feel the hot liquid trailing on your skin, slowly dripping. Your neck hurts- but it’s a very soft pain, barely there.

Jungkook looks terrifyingly beautiful. Lips ruby, blood staining his chin. His eyes are black, pupils expanded as he stares at you in painful stillness. You know you should be horrified but you’re not. You know you should be concerned that he just bit into your neck, but you’re not.

“Kiss me,” you demand. You don’t know where the strength in your voice comes from. You push into him, tilting your mouth towards his but not closing the distance, letting him decide. “Please.”

Jungkook responds immediately. He presses his lips firmly against you, stick and wet with your blood. It’s just a press of lips and his mouth is soft soft soft and you inhale through your nose sharply, knees going weak and buckling.

Tightening his hold around you, Jungkook pulls away, staring down at you, eyes wild and bloody lips parted. “Can I really kiss you?”

“Please.”

This kiss is different. You can taste the salt and iron on Jungkook’s lips as he slots his mouth against yours, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. Your tongue brushes his bottom lip and he growls, pressing your lips open to slide his tongue against yours.

Jungkook’s hands slide down your waist to your ass, squeezing firmly as his tongue explores the warmth of your mouth. Your hips cant against his, seeking friction where you want him most. You whine into the metallic kiss, sweatpants too thick for the feeling you want.

Growling into your mouth, Jungkook presses you flat against the door. You can feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest as the kiss turns messy. Jungkook’s teeth catch your lip and you feel the pinch of broken skin before blood slowly blooms in your mouth. Jungkook sucks your lip into his mouth, moaning as his tongue brushes over the wound.

It spurs you forward, the way he claws at you and kisses you as though he might die if he doesn’t have you sends you into a frenzy. You push into him, as though you can meld yourself to him. Your teeth nip at him back, sharply catching the corner of his soft mouth.

Jungkook breaks away and makes a sound of surprise, hand shooting to his lips, swollen from kissing you. You’re panting against the door, staring at him as he wipes the bottom corner of his mouth. His finger comes away scarlet.

“You bit me,” he smirks looking down at you. “You little vampire.”

You blush. The blood is drying on your neck, itchy and cracking as you extend your head again, showing off the bruised and marred flesh. “Don’t you need…. More?”

“I’m hungry for something else entirely, baby.”

The way he is looking at you sends you into overdrive. You make a sound, wiggling against him and he smirks, eyes looking you up and down. You must look a pathetic mess, stained with dried blood, clothes disheveled and lips swollen. But when Jungkook looks at you like that- gaze dark, hungry for something deeper- you don’t care what you look like.

There’s just Jungkook. He’s all you can focus on as your hands slide up his neck, carding through his hair and looking at his face without the shadow of his bangs. He’s ethereal as always, but gone are the cute, round eyes you’re so familiar with. Gone is the soft smile, replaced with two tiny fangs as Jungkook bites his bottom lip.

You can’t help it- a hand drifts down to his mouth, thumb gently prying his lips open. He obeys, letting you brush the pad of your thumb against the newly exposed fangs. They’re small and white, two sharp canines under your touch.

Jungkook’s tongue darts out, licking your thumb playfully as you retract your hand and make a face of fake disgust. He grins. “Sorry,” his voice is low. “Can’t help myself.”

“You didn’t have them earlier?”

He shakes his head. “Only come out when hungry and…”

“And?”

“Aroused.”

Your brows shoot up. “I see.” Your fingers trail his jaw. He’s so painfully perfect. “We should fix that.”

“Thank fuck,” he mumbles, hands shooting to grab you by the waist and haul you up.

You squeak, jumping a little last second to help him secure you in his arms. You’re a little higher than him now, arms wrapped around his neck as he carries you to your bedroom. He navigates the dark easily. You wonder if it’s the years of being in your apartment or supernatural sight that helps him.

It doesn’t matter. The heat from his body is real. He’s still a living, breathing person. He’s altered- you see it in the way his eyes dilate when he lays you on your bed, gaze drifting to your neck. You see it in the way his eyes flash every time they catch the light.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jungkook says softly. His gaze doesn’t feel as innocent as his words. He climbs onto the bed, supporting himself so that he’s hovering over you. “I don’t tell you often enough- wasn’t brave enough to. But I think you are singularly the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You don’t know how to take the compliment. Your head automatically turns to the side as you grin into his forearm, placed next to your head. He laughs and leans down, nosing the side of your face, breath warm as he whispers, “Why does that make you shy? You weren’t shy a moment ago when you bit me.”

“It was different. That was physical.”

“So you only like me physically?”

“No!” you snap to look at him only to find that he’s grinning, back to leaning over you. You want to smack him for teasing you, but the feeling in your stomach and your chest make you fidget under him. His eyes track every movement, every reaction. “I like you… a lot.”

“As more than a friend?” You nod, eyes not meeting him. “Why can’t you look at me, then?”

“Because I’m afraid.” You feel Jungkook start to pull away and you grab at him. “Not of you! I’m afraid you don’t feel the same way. Because I’ve liked you for a very long time, and I didn’t know what to do about it.”

Jungkook presses you back down, head going to the side of your neck he hasn’t bitten. You’re pliant beneath him, head tilting to give him access. You’re already trained for what he wants or needs, ready to give him more.

Instead of biting you, he peppers your neck with wet kisses, tongue tasting your skin. “Indy,” he mumbles. “I have been in love with you since the first moment you walked into our Intro to Classical History class.”

“Really?”

His tongue licks along your jaw. You arch up into him, thighs rubbing together for friction. Of course he notices, smirking into your skin as he continues mapping your face with his mouth. “Yeah,” he breathes. “You wore the world’s tightest pair of jeans I’ve ever seen and an over-sized Tokyo Ghoul shirt- I remember being a little sad it covered your ass.”

You gasp as one hand moves from next to you to slide down your front, palming a breast gently. “You’re so gross, Jeon.”

He hums. “That’s nothing.” His hand goes further, tapping the outside of your thigh. “Open up for me, baby.”

Again, you follow his instruction without hesitation. You make room for him to settle on his knees between you. He sits up, eyes consuming you as you look up at him, batting your lashes. He inhales and his eyes flutter shut, fists opening and closing before he opens his eyes again. They’re zeroed in on you, making your heart catch.

“I can smell how wet you are,” he murmurs. He drags a fingertip along the sliver of skin showing between your shirt and sweats. “You’re dripping for me, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to do something about it?” He’s teasing you and you feel yourself flush. He pinches your skin slightly, making you squirm. “You gotta tell me what you want.”

“Want you.”

“Want me where?”

“My pussy, Jeon. Just do something.”

His saccharine smile makes you melt. Jungkook grips your sweat pants, pulling. You lift, helping him as he throws the clothing somewhere. You start to close your legs again but he grabs your knees, prying you open and tsking at you. “Such a pretty pussy,” he says, voice husky. “So fucking wet and pink. I told you,” he murmurs shuffling to his stomach. Your heart launches to your throat when he kisses a knee, eye-level with your dripping cunt. “I’m fucking starving.”

Despite his implications, Jungkook doesn’t go right where you’re hoping. He places hot kisses on your inner thighs, hands rubbing up and down your legs as he bites and worships them. You’re trembling, eyes fluttering shut as your hips twitch toward him.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, pleading. You don’t have it in you to be embarrassed being on display for him. Your core is throbbing for him to touch you, to do anything. He huffs a laugh as he presses his mouth dangerously close, nipping you as a lone finger brushes you from entrance to clit, pressing slightly. “Fuck.”

Jungkook’s eyes are glittering as he brings his finger to his mouth, glistening finger vanishing between red, sinful lips. He hums again, eyes focusing on your wetness. “Fucking delicious.”

You can’t stop the obscene moan that escapes your mouth when he ducks his head down, flattening his tongue to lick you slowly from hole to clit, where he pauses to circle his tongue a few times around the pulsing bud.

And oh fuck does it feel good. Every thought empties from your mind. It’s just the hot feeling coursing through you and the feeling of Jungkook’s tongue licking you slowly up and down. A guttural sound escapes you when he fastens his mouth to your pussy, sucking gently before popping his mouth off.

In a daze, you open your eyes in just enough time to see him let a line of spit drip out of his mouth onto your clit. Your hips jerk and you curse again when he grins, glancing up at you and murmuring, “I’m going to eat this fucking pussy until I’ve had my fill.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you time to consider what he means. His mouth is back on you, sucking and licking, making an absolute mess out of you. Your hands shoot to his hair, fingers twisting in his black locks as he gives appreciative sounds, tongue tracing your clenching hole.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Please.”

You don’t know what you’re asking for. Jungkook seems to, alternating from tracing his tongue through your folds expertly to sucking his clit into your mouth. His mouth sets of sparks with every lewd sound- and Jungkook isn’t quiet.

With anyone else, you might be embarrassed that the way he eats you out audibly, without shame and without a care in the world. It turns you on more, essence leaking out of you that his searching tongue catches.

Your orgasm is quickly approaching, that tight feeling mounting in your stomach as your breathing gets shorter. Your eyes are squeezed shut, hips rolling to time with his careful licks and sucks. You’re hot all over, a furnace under Jungkook’s mouth.

The dam breaks. You jerk forward, gasping as your legs squeeze Jungkook’s shoulders. You can hear nothing beyond the roar of your blood in your ears, see nothing but blinding stars behind your eyes. You sag back onto the bed, twitching and thighs shaking as Jungkook diverts from giving your clit attention to licking at your entrance.

Boneless, you try and move up the bed but Jungkook’s hands grab you by your ass, pulling back down toward his mouth. You look at him, feeling drunk as you see his dark head of hair between your legs.

Jungkook’s eyes are fathomless as he growls, “Did I say I was done, baby?”

“Sensitive,” you whine.

He kisses your inner thigh, leaving a wet mark of spit and your cum. “I’ll go slow,” he promises, not taking his eyes off of you as his tongue snakes out of his wicked mouth to prod at your hole. “Mmm. Want to taste you more.”

“Fuck,” you moan as his tongue relieves some of the pressure at your aching hole. But it’s not enough- not nearly.

Jungkook senses what you need, a hand leaving where he’s gripping you to trace between your legs. Gently, his finger circles the ring of your clenching muscles. Eyes finding yours, he raises a brow. “Is this what you need, baby? Need my fingers?”

“Please.” He kisses your clit, making you twitch. “Jungkook.”

“Sorry,” he smiles, though he doesn’t sound or look sorry. “Just wanna make you cum again.”

There’s not going to be a problem there. You swear as he slowly inserts a finger, brushing against the softness of you in all the right parts. You know you’re going to cum embarrassingly fast, especially when he inserts another finger, gently brushing your g-spot as he brushes his mouth over your thighs, wrist moving slowly.

You melt at his touch, letting him bring you to the edge again. You can’t stop the sounds coming out of your mouth or the way you writhe in his arms. He lets you squirm, attentive on fucking into you at a steady pace with his fingers.

When he deems you ready, he brings his mouth back down, tongue slowly laving at your clit.

You explode.

For a moment, you’re nowhere and everywhere all at once. You can’t think beyond anything other than the surging euphoria. You can’t recall ever cumming that hard, nearly unable to breathe as you float back down.

It takes a moment for you to realize Jungkook is kissing your lower stomach, hands rubbing up and down your quaking thighs as he looks up to you, eyes completely fucked out and mouth covered in your juices.

“You did so good,” he coos, placing a wet kiss on your navel. “You taste divine- better than blood. Much better.”

“Want you,” you mumble, surprised you manage to articulate the desire still burning in your stomach, hot and needy. “Please.”

“Yeah? Still want me?”

“Of course.”

“Fuck,” he mumbles, getting to his knees again. “You’ll have me, then. You’ll always have me- have always had me.”

Soft light filters in your room from the window. You watch in awe as he rips his shirt off. You’ve seen him shirtless before- he’s always been beautiful. But now in the glow of the dark room, Jungkook is a god.

You sit up, hands seeking. His skin is warm and flushed as your palms skim up his stomach and around his waist, careful and meaningful with their worship. Your mouth follows to pay penance, kissing at the newly exposed flesh, nipping at the delicate skin above his sweatpants.

Jungkook tilts his head to the sky, as if in prayer. Your tongue darts out to taste him, skin sweet and slightly salty from sweat. He lets out a soft mewl. Your fingers dig into his skin as they drag down, nails tracing red scripture in their descent.

You love him. Gone is the feral heat between you a moment ago when he licked at you with hot fury. Your touches are soft. Jungkook brings his hand to your hair, brushing it out of your face as he looks down at you, eyes round and curious.

“You’re hypnotizing.” You pull at his pants and he lets you, shifting to discard the sweatpants and boxers. You nearly collapse at the sight of his heavy cock, bouncing. Its tip is weeping and pink, begging for attention. “All of you is perfect.”

Your tongue darts out to taste him, kitten-licking the tip. He moans deep in his throat, eyes shut as his fingers tangle in your hair. You suckle the tip of his cock, tongue tracing lazy circles before you pull back with a lewd pop.

Gently, you bring a hand to stroke him, nearly keening at how velvety his skin is. His cock jumps in your hand, making you smile at how much you affect him.

Slowly, you stroke him, bringing him back to your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you take more of his cock into the warmth of your mouth, humming delicately at the salty tastes.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans loudly. You’ve hardly set a pace when he pulls you gently off of him, making you pout. “I can’t,” he pants. “I’ll cum in a second and I don’t want to cum down your throat tonight. We can do that another time. I just want to fuck you- please let me make love to you.”

Jungkook’s choice in words have you spinning. Make love. You don’t know what that’s like- you’ve fucked men before, but never with meaning. Never with intentions beyond pleasure.

Carefully, Jungkook pulls your shirt off, tossing it in the dim room. He presses you back down on the bed, bringing his mouth to yours. Your tongues tangle as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. You feel his cock brush your wet entrance and you groan into him.

The kiss tastes like a mix of him and you and the faint saltiness of blood- you don’t care. It’s a part of him, so it’s a part of you. Jungkook shuffles himself so that his mouth is pressed against your jaw, hot breath in your ear as he places open-mouthed kisses there.

“Condom?”

“I’m clean,” you gasp as his tip grazes your clit. “We got STD tests together, remember? I haven’t… since.”

You feel his mouth curve upward. “Me either. Taehyung mentioned vampires are… sterile.”

“Fine,” you mutter. “I don’t want kids- I want to adventure the world- with you.”

“Fuck.” His voice shakes when he says it.

Spurred by the need in his voice, you reach between you, gripping Jungkook’s cock in his head. He shakes above you as you brush the tip up and down your slit, gathering your essence to make him slick. You position his blunt head at your entrance, looking up at him. He doesn’t hesitate, rolling his hips forward to push into you.

The pressure doesn’t hurt, but you feel all of him. You make a sigh of relief and discomfort as he slowly slides into you. Jungkook fills every inch of you, the drag of his cock delicious. He bottoms out and stays there for a moment, stealing a searing kiss from you.

Your fingers wind in his hair. “Please move,” you mumbled between pressed lips. “Wanna feel you.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate, groaning as he slides his cock all the way out and pushes back in slowly. His pace is slow but deep, making it hard to breathe. Your hips roll in time to meet his thrust, an almost lazy pace like you have all the time in the world.

Your mouth is busy as you kiss Jungkook on his lips, jaw, chin, ear. It’s more teeth and tongue than anything, especially as he starts fucking into you with a smooth pace.

Everything in your mind goes haywire. You can barely think. You want to touch Jungkook everywhere, pulling and pulling him until he’s down on his forearms, chest pressed against yours. You moan at the feeling of his chest against your pert nipples, creating mind-numbing friction.

Jungkook notices. He ducks his dead down as he pumps into you, hitting deep every time. He wraps his mouth around a nipple, making you sing. Everything is overwhelming. You feel every part of him pressed against you and you want more. More more more

You want to drown in Jungkook.

You want him to sink his teeth in and never let go.

Turning your head to the side, you let out a high-pitch whimper. You can’t stop the noises coming out of you, squeaking and struggling to stop the shaky quality but you feel so fucking good as he fucks into you.

“Feels so good,” you gasp at a particularly deep thrust.

“Yeah it fucking does,” Jungkook agrees, licking at your neck where your blood has dried. “You’re fucking squeezing my cock, Indy. You gonna cum?”

“Yes yes yes yes.”

“Fuck I love the way you look right now. Dreamed of this for years.”

“Pervert- fuuuuuck Jungkook.”

“Cum for me, yeah?”

You nod and whisper, “Bite me.”

He grunts and bends down, immediately sinking his teeth in. There’s no pain this time. Heat blooms through you, a white-hot flame that catches you so off guard you go rigid, cumming with a scream.

You float. Jungkook slows his movements, fucking you gentle through the white noise in your ears and the heavenly feeling of weightlessness. It takes you a few moments to come back down from your high, feeling the way Jungkook’s mouth pulls at your neck greedily.

Tired and spent, you grab Jungkook by the hips, fingers sliding against sweaty skin. He detaches from your neck and kisses you, messy with spit and blood again. You don’t care, moaning into him without abandon, digging your nails into his ass.

Jungkook loses his slow pace and begins to slam into you, kiss turning to teeth bumping into teeth. He growls into your mouth, the snarl sending shivers down your body as you hold into him.

He fucks you with wild abandon, chasing his high. His moans get higher pitched and you run your nails down his thighs, pushing yourself into him with whatever energy you can gather. “Cum for me,” you beg. “Give it to me, Jeon. Come on.”

With a loud moan, he buries himself into your shoulder, shuddering above you. His muscles clench as he cums and pants your name, shivering above you for a moment.

Gently, you run your hands up and down his sides, kissing the side of his fact. You can see his mouth is covered in blood- and it doesn’t nearly freak you out as much as you expect. Because it’s Jungkook, and even though this is weird and he just drank your blood… you’re his. You have been for a long time.

Jungkook pulls out of you and collapses next to you, an arm going around your waist. He peeks at you from his sweaty hair and you can’t help but feel your heart leap in your chest.

“You didn’t kill me,” you murmur. “Pretty impressive, Jeon.”

He grins, tired. “It’s because I love you.” He shifts so that he can hold your gaze in full. “I know I have a lot to figure out, and I understand if you don’t-“

“I want to,” you cut him off. “Because I love you too.”

“Yeah?” He brushes the hair from your face. You nod and nip at his wrist, making him laugh. “Maybe you’re a little bit of a vampire too, hmm?”

“I’ll leave that to you,” you yawn. Jungkook pulls you close and nuzzles you. You don’t care that your sweaty and sticky with cum and blood. You just want to be close to him.

And your happy. Despite how afraid you were while he was gone. Despite the fact that there is an entire unknown ahead of you. It’ll be okay because you have Jungkook and he has you.

“By the way,” Jungkook muses. “Were you researching how to kill Taehyung?”

You hesitate. “I was kind of mad.”

“I see. And now?”

“Jury is still out.”

He chuckles. “Love you, Indy.”

“Love you, Jeon.”

-

Dear Miss L/N,

Thank you for applying for our entry level Acquisition Agent position here at Ilum Agency. We have received many applicants for the position, and take careful considerations to presented research, experience in the field, and recommendations.

After reviewing your final research project regarding Vampirism: Throughout the Ages, and additionally receiving recommendations from Kim Namjoon and Min Yoongi, we are pleased to offer you the position. Upon written receipt of this offer, you will receive a formal offer letter with your job responsibilities, salary and additional benefits.

Warmest Regards,

The Director of Acquisitions

Ilum Agency

Sector 11

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot #bts smut #bts fanfic #bangtan boys #vampire jungkook #vampire bts #minors dni #minors do not interact #blood and gore

[chickadooz]

I've always wanted to do giveaways, but I have so little income that doing so would result in negative profits for me and unfortunately that defeats the purpose of having a Ko‑fi in the first place.

But after some thinking, I've got an idea for how to both make money to reach my goals and do giveaways. That is, to do both at the same time. If I account for the cost of buying and shipping the item in my goal, I won't go into the negative.

So for the duration of March 2024, if I reach 100% of my current goal, I'll give away an art or photographic print of the winner's choice. If for some reason a photo the winner wants is not currently in my INPRNT shop, I can add it for them. INPRNT can also ship to most countries I can think of, so there shouldn't be any restrictions on entry.

Since the prices for items are actually considerably cheaper for me to buy as the artist, I can offer all sizes. Some listings are slightly different because of the original image resolutions, but generally it includes prints of the following sizes (in inches):

For art prints:

4 x 6

8 x 11

12 x 17

17 x 24

And for photographic prints:

8 x 11

12 x 17

Since I've posted screenshots of my goal on Tumblr you'll probably notice that I've adjusted the goal price to accommodate this, but it's the only way the giveaway can happen so I hope you understand.

If somehow the goal isn't met in time, any tips I received during that period will still be going towards my goal. Nothing given would be wasted, so you don't have to fear that. If this ends up being really successful, I'd love to do it more in the future. So please consider participating! 🧡

If we reach the goal within the allotted time, I'll make a new post with rules for entering the giveaway. Note that you will have to provide me with your shipping address for the print if you're chosen as the winner.

Link to my Ko-fi.

#photography #animal photography #wildlife photography #nature photography #lensblr #photographers on tumblr

[jaqobis]

💜 with katniss and peeta (i'm giving you a real blast from the past here)

the two victors from district 12 stay curled around each other long into the night.

it isn't comfortable. the bed is barely large enough to fit the two of them, and they had to do a lot of negotiating to avoid dangling elbows and feet. but they managed; and this is a far cry from the worst place peeta has ever held her in his arms. district 13 isn't safe, but it isn't an area. it isn't the capitol. it isn't long days and nights on a train where their every move is watched.

oh, peeta is under no illusions that they aren't being watched here. a lot of resources went into extracting them from the arena, and he knows — they both know — it's only a matter of time before coin asks for her repayment. the war is in full swing now, and katniss is the mockingjay. they need her. peeta is, he knows, far more expendable to the cause — but he isn't expendable to katniss, and that's why he's here instead of a capitol interrogation facility. he isn't under any illusions about that either.

katniss sleeps about as often as he does, but she's been quiet, breathing steady, long enough that he suspects she's been lulled into rest. he likely won't be far behind her — he's exhausted, and these quiet moments are the only reprieve he gets. there's no painting in district 13, of course. there's barely any drawing. he gets the occasional allotment of pencils and papers, but rarely, and usually with a specific expectation of them. what use is letting him articulate his fear through art? but if he wants to depict some of the capitol's atrocities, and if he'll just turn his drawings over to coin's people so they can copy and disseminate them...

she shifts in his arms abruptly, and he moves to accommodate as she turns to face him. katniss looks at him with her dark eyes, haunted and unblinking, before bringing her lips to his. it isn't gentle. she crashes into him with enough force that he has to free one hand to brace himself on the side of the bed, lest they both topple over. but only briefly — because then he draws that hand around her shoulders, pulling her closer, opening himself to her. he's hungry for this too, is the truth. his family is gone. his life, such as it was, is gone. his district is gone. even his chance to die for the girl he loves in the arena is gone. all he has left is her, and this war.

that's all he has left, so there's no reason not to cede to this, to her. he kisses her, and again, and again. he pulls back slightly, only to find her throat with his mouth, but she untangles her arms to lay her hands on both of his cheeks and draw his mouth back to hers. or, she tries; he breathes out a laugh before he can stop himself, and he can feel the curve of a rare smile pulling at her lips.

"don't go anywhere," she says, with mock severity.

he raises his eyebrows, unable to keep the mirth out of his voice. "yes, ma'am."

still smiling, katniss closes the distance between them once again.

send a heart and a ship for a brief snippet! + now on ao3

#i am so rusTY but i'm always here for a peeta in district 13 au #the hunger games #everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #ask games #astromechs #my writing #long post #my fic

[muddyorbsblr]

relinquish the crown: atonement or debasement

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: before the main story; during 'from a world away'

Summary: The visiting prince from Alfheim wishes to prove to you that he's a man reformed, but wasn't quite prepared for what you had in mind.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4k [i hope you have a coffee or a tea ready]

Warnings: themes of incest (he's adopted but still); Damien (yes he's a warning now); other than that, none really [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: fluff between Loki & YN…that is all

"Princess, allow me this moment just to thank you for allotting me your time for the day," the crown prince of Alfheim, Damien, stated as he walked by your side and continuously tried to take your hand since you left the war room. "So where shall we begin? Perhaps you could show me your favorite spot in the--"

"Did you mean what you said earlier, your highness?" you cut him off, killing his sentiment mid-question. "About wanting for the opportunity to prove yourself reformed?"

The confusion that flashed across his face for a touch longer than a moment told you that the words were exactly that. Words. Empty promises, utterances meant only to appease your opinion of him, but the prince had no intentions to actually show action to follow through on this promise.

He stumbled over his words. "I erm--I uhh--Of course, Princess! My behavior and treatment toward the women in this realm was wretched, and cast a blindingly unbecoming light on me in your eyes. And in the eyes of so many others, I can only guess. And while I admit I'm deserving of that light, I would like for the chance to dim it somehow. Show you I've grown and changed. Matured, even."

More empty words, you thought to yourself, forcing yourself to give him an accommodating smile as you felt the beginnings of another headache pounding away at you. "Very well then. That is where we shall begin."

Damien gave you a smirk, stepping closer to you and gently taking your hand in his to raise to his lips. "Princess, I am truly and deeply sorry for my beha--"

"Oh no, Prince Damien," you cut him off once more. "You can apologize to me all you want, but it would all be for naught." You gave him a smirk of your own when you saw the confusion take residence on his features. "For you see, I am not the one whose decency you besmirched. It is not my place to forgive you for the actions you committed upon others. These actions, namely, being sending whichever companion you'd chosen at that time out of your chambers with clothing ripped to near shreds."

"Your highness surely you don't mean you want me to apologize to--"

"The women you did  disgrace," you answered his unfinished question. "Every. Single. One of them."

He most likely couldn't hold back the incredulity that flashed across his eyes for the briefest moment to save his life before he straightened out his expression to one that seemed nearly fearful. Interesting choice. "Very well, Princess. If that is what must be done to earn your time."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, striding on down the hall on your way to the robe laundering facilities, hoping to find Halley and Narda on their way to retrieve your grandmother's dresses . "Wonderful. You can start with my friends, the Queen's ladies in waiting." The way his shoulders slumped for a fraction of a second before he made a visible effort to straighten his posture before resuming his strides did not go unnoticed.

You soon crossed paths with Halley, already carrying an armful of the Queen's robes. "Princess! I didn't expect to see you here at this hour," she greeted you, wide smile already gracing her features as her form began to shake in her attempt to curtsy despite the load she was carrying.

"Please, my friend, none of those formalities. Especially when you are carrying such precious cargo," you said jokingly, motioning towards the robes in her hands. "There's actually someone with me at the moment that wishes to speak with you." You motioned towards the prince, noting the panic that showed on her face before she tried to curtsy once more. "Halley, really it's quite alright, I am sure that the visiting prince will understand the need to forego that pleasantry, is that not right, your highness?"

"Of course, Princess," he responded, exerting considerable effort to not grit his teeth before addressing the lady in waiting. "Lady Halley, it has come to my attention that my behavior--" His gaze flickered to yours for the briefest moment and caught your pointed glare, making him stumble on his words. "I have come to the realization that my treatment of you when last we met was unbecoming of myself and you were undeserving of such behavior. It would be my honor for you to accept my most sincere apology."

Halley's eyes widened, blinking rapidly as if trying to reorient herself on what had just transpired before her eyes. You gave her a single nod, silently telling her to humor you, hoping that she would get the message that you were the one that had put him to this task. "O-Of course, your highness. I would be more than delighted to accept your apology. It is wonderful to see you once more gracing the halls of the palace. If I may ask, what brings you to Asgard once more?"

"Truth be told, I wish to court the princess." She blanched at his candor. "In hopes of winning her respect and earning to right to court her, first I must amend my wrongdoings and show that I am someone worthy of her grace and respect."

"How…admirable," she commented, her tone rife with hesitation before turning her attention to you. "Princess, may I have a quick consult? About the…Winter Solstice festival?" You both walked over a few feet away from the visiting prince before she spoke once more in hushed tones. "Are you truly to let him court you? Surely you can feel how hard he is pretending to be sincere as well."

"Of course I won't, Halley, I'm not ridiculous," you answered her, doing your best not to let out a bout of chuckles that would give away that you most definitely were not discussing the festival. "But I would not miss out on the chance to watch him strain himself trying to impress me by 'bearing his punishment bravely on his shoulders'." You held up a hand to signal her to stifle her laughter, motioning toward the dresses that would drop from her hands if she hadn't.

"Well then in that case, let me not keep you, Princess Y/N," she said in a louder tone, no doubt for the obviously eavesdropping prince's benefit. "I am sure you have quite the arduous day ahead of you. Prince Damien?" She turned to face the prince, slightly bowing her head in a show of respect. "I wish you the very best of luck. The Princess is one of the most intelligent, most compassionate people I have ever met. You would be very fortunate to have her by your side if she were to allow your courtship."

She began to walk away back down the hall to your grandmother's chambers when you called out to her one more time. "Would you happen to know where I can find Narda?"

"The storage closets," she answered back without turning her gaze. You could practically hear her knowing smirk from the tone in her voice. "Just follow the sounds, Princess."

You had an inkling that the sounds that she had been referring to were sounds of pleasure, but you still were not prepared to actually hear the sounds emanating from the thick, wooden, closed door of the storage closet. Out of respect for her privacy, and decency considering your present company, you knocked loudly on the door three times. "Narda? Are you in there, I need to speak with you about something."

The next sounds were hushed, frantic whispers that you were unable to decipher even if you would press your ear against the wood. A few moments later the door opened to reveal…not the lady in waiting quite yet. But another familiar figure. Tall, broad, and blond.

"Fandral…!" You couldn't help but smirk at the discovery.

"Princess…" he trailed off, side stepping past you with his eyes trained to the ground and refusing to meet yours. "I suspect I will see you at training in a while? Considering your attire--"

"Not for another few hours, do not worry," you cut him off. "I was training earlier and saw no reason to change." He kept walking down the hall, undoubtedly to tell your father that you'd caught him in a compromising position and begging him to ensure that you don't tell another soul. "Fandral!" The warrior turned to face you, expression still sheepish despite his straightened stance. "If you hurt her, I will kill you myself. Am I understood?"

Everything about him relaxed at that moment. "I would never dream of hurting her, Y/N."

His words had you breaking out into a warm smile. "Good. And do not worry, one of these days you will get me back for what I just witnessed. Quite possibly it will be worse." The playfully scandalized look he gave you finally dissipated the tension in the hall, causing you both to break out into chuckles before he waved haphazardly in your direction and resumed his march down the hall.

"Y/N, I didn't expect you," Narda greeted you with a deceptively casual tone, a chill running through your body when you saw her expression jolt into one of apprehension when she spotted your company.

"I surmise you didn't expect anyone, dear friend," you shot back, lightly elbowing her side when she made her way to you. "I have someone here that wishes to speak with you." You motioned towards the prince that had her visibly frozen where she stood, and if you stared long enough you could swear that the memories from her last encounter with the visiting prince were returning to her so loudly that you could see the tawdry flashbacks yourself.

"Erm…Lady Narda, good afternoon," Prince Damien began, his gaze constantly flickering to you as you resumed to look on at what was transpiring in front of you with a warrior's stance. "I would very much like for you to know that I deeply regret the way I treated you when last we saw each other. It was unbecoming of me as a gentleman and you were completely undeserving of such treatment. I hope that you will accept my most sincere apology," he addressed her, bending his body to bow and keeping his gaze trained to the cobblestone pathway.

Narda looked to you, eyes questioning this turn of events. "He wishes to court me, my friend," you offered in explanation. "He is doing this in hopes of proving that he has in fact become someone worthy of my time."

"Ah," was her only response, nodding her head in understanding before addressing the elven prince. "In that case, I wish you the very best of luck, Prince Damien. If you are to succeed, you would have a fiercely protective partner by your side." She curtsied and began her way towards the laundering facilities. "Shall I retrieve your dresses as well, Y/N?"

"Oh no, please don't burden yourself. I'll retrieve them after my training with--" You cut yourself off, a mischievous grin stretching across your face. "With your beloved."

"Your highness!" she squealed, a brilliant smile overtaking her features at the thought.

"Tell me I'm wrong." As expected, she said not a word. "That's what I thought. We're off to the kitchens. I will see you tomorrow, my friend."

You'd made it down the length of a few halls on the way to the kitchens before the prince spoke again. "Did you truly mean all of them, Princess?"

"Yes." Your tone made no room for argument, the resounding timbre echoing throughout the empty hall and once again making his features flinch. "Did you truly think that it would stop once you'd apologized to my friends?" You stopped your strides and turned your entire body to face him, stepping so close that he could feel the irritation radiating off your body if he paid close enough attention. "You truly wanted to get the opportunity to know me, Prince Damien? Then know this, my priority will always be that the people who work for me and my family are treated with the respect that they deserve. That they are rightfully compensated for the work that they do and that they will be filled with the right motivation to keep on doing these jobs well for the decades and centuries to come.

"So I take it quite personally when visitors come out of the blue and disrupt that peace. When I walk down the hall and encounter a member of the palace staff and it seems as if the light has left their eyes because they were just sent away from said visitor's guest chamber with robes ripped to shreds without a second thought. You wish to know me? Then today you will know the basics the best way you can, by hearing what these women have to say to you when you inform them of your intention to court me. Today you learn the basics from the best people who can teach them to you. If you survive, then perhaps  tomorrow I will allow you to learn the ancillaries."

The prince was so visibly shaking when you concluded your impromptu tirade that you were almost certain he would be leaving Asgard with his metaphorical tail between his legs by next daybreak. "Lead the way, then, your highness," he said so mutely you could have sworn you heard a scared little whimper from him at the end.

You assessed his features with a once over before turning once again and resuming your walk towards the kitchens. "We will save the chambermaids for last. If my memory serves me right, that was the concentration of your attentions, especially considering I had to redirect and rearrange their duties during your prior visit so that those who fell victim to what charms you attempted to be brandishing about did not need to be subject to a repeat performance. This trip to the kitchens would be beneficial to you. Give you a chance to hydrate before that surely trying task." The way the prince flinched at the vitriol in your tone did not go unnoticed.

When you walked through the doors to the kitchens, the staff immediately stood to attention and greeted you, relaxing the moment you held your hands up and gave them a signal to be at ease once more. "Your highness, what a pleasant surprise," the head cook addressed you. "To what do we owe the honor of having a second royal grace us this beautiful afternoon?"

His wording had your brows knit together. "Second?" Normally the only other royal that would find their way into these parts of the castle was your grandmother, ensuring that any whimsical craving from either yourself, your father, or from Volstagg could be satisfied at a moment's notice. And those visits would only happen twice in a moon.

"Yes, your highness. Prince Loki is currently in the back. Something about post-training rituals?" Your ears perked up at the words, the dull aching in your head that had been plaguing you since you started this apologetic tour through the palace dissipating somewhat. "Are you here for the same?"

"Not quite," you answered, straightening your back and addressing the entire kitchen now. "I assume that at least a good handful of you acquainted yourselves with the prince Damien on his previous trip to Asgard." The shifty gazes and subtle nods were all the response you needed. "Those of you who have not had the displeasure, I recommend stepping out and taking a momentary breather. Alternatively, stay and stand witness. Because for those who would remain, the prince wishes to speak with you. Individually, not collectively."

The effort it took to hold back the smirk when you spotted how the elven prince's jaw clenched in evident frustration should have been considered its own bout of training. The staff broke out into two groups, not a single one from the group of unacquainted taking the option of stepping out, but rather corralling to the side as the formerly acquainted group stayed where they were and the prince walking over to the one closest to him and starting with the same spiel he'd already spouted twice before.

You surmised that this effort would take quite some time, so you approached the head cook. "The Prince is still in the back," he answered your unspoken question, motioning toward the small room in question.

He chortled at your response when you motioned toward the scene transpiring before their eyes. "Enjoy the show." And then you made your way toward the small back room, a slight smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you spotted Loki sitting by his lonesome, munching away at a sandwich. "Post-training rituals?"

A smirk began to grace the god's face. "I thought that was you I heard outside, little Princess." He pushed out the chair next to him, moving his plate a few inches to the side so that it was in front of both seats. "Are you hungry?"

The tension that had settled right between your shoulders since you walked out of the war room with the elven prince relaxed immensely at the gesture, the ache in your head also waning away once you situated yourself in the empty seat. "A touch famished, if I may be completely honest."

You felt your body settle into a sense of complete comfort at the feel of him tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Darling, you should know by now. You're always free to be honest with me." He scooted his chair to be closer to yours, wrapping his arm around you in a warm embrace as you rested your head on his shoulder, nibbling away at the half of the sandwich he saved on the plate for you.

"Alright then. Being completely honest? You owe me an apology."

"And whatever for?"

"I only went through the horrendous exercise of humoring this prince because you advised me to give him a chance." You felt his muscles tense against you, letting out a sigh that fanned the hairs at the top of your head. "It's so far proving to be an immense waste of my time. He claims he wishes to prove himself reformed and yet when given that chance he whines and makes faces as if he's no more mature than a child just learning how to walk and speak."

"Ah, so I take it the tour of the palace apologizing to the women he bedded and discarded as if they were barely people in his eyes was not his idea of proving himself?"

"He presumed that giving me that apology was sufficient enough to prove his point."

"How daft."

"Imbecilic," you agreed, feeling a bit more yourself as the sound of your combined laughter filled the room. "On a lighter note, do you remember how we suspected a few weeks ago that Fandral's been in a secret courtship with a lady within the palace?"

"Yes, and he's been keeping his mouth shut and being shockingly good at keeping this particular secret no matter how I've tried to finagle--"

"I know who it is," you declared proudly, giving him a boastful close-lipped smile around your food as he looked upon you with wide eyes and mouth agape.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense, little Princess. You know it's cruel to tease." You should have known better than to keep goading him, shaking your head defiantly despite the tips of his fingers ghosting over your ribcage, already lightly tracing lines over your training gear. "Tell me."

"I only meant to tell you that I know who it is. You'll have to find out the name all on your own, my Prince." You reached over to grab the goblet on his side of the table and took a sip of the drink, your brows furrowing when your lips met water. "I half expected this to be wine."

The god let out a few chuckles as he took the goblet from you and downed the rest of the drink before setting it back down on the table. "If you expected wine then you've been spending far too much time with my brother."

"Of course I have. You know, seeing as he is my father, after all," you shot back, already bracing yourself for him to attempt extracting the little morsel of gossip from you. The time to adequately prepare had long gone, however, already finding yourself unable to maneuver out of his hold.

"You still owe me a name, little Princess," he cooed at you, his other hand already poised at the other side of your torso. "You need not make this any harder on yourself."

The slightest wiggle of his fingertips against you made you jolt in his arms, already moving you to stand in your attempt to escape. "You are far too resourceful to resort to this to get a simple name--LOKI!" You broke out into a fit of giggles as you tried in vain to squirm away from his relentless tickling at your ribs. "You'll never…get me to break…" you wheezed through your laughter.

He kept at you for a few moments more before he finally relented, keeping his hands at your sides as you both stood from your seats. "One day I will find what gets you to break, darling." His hold tightened on you for a fraction of a moment, tickling you once again and causing you to let out a high-pitched yelp that pierced through the low buzz of the conversations taking place outside the room. The silence from the other side seemed like a presence in and of itself.

"Is everything alright in there, Princess?" Your entire body slumped and went slack in Loki's arms, letting out a frustrated sigh at the sound of the other prince's voice floating into the room and reminding you that you still had an entire group of palace staff to visit and have him apologize to.

"Everything is just fine, your highness. Carry on," you called out, righting yourself and straightening your stance and meeting the gaze of the god before you. "I should go. We still have the chambermaids to apologize to, and that would be the concentration of his attentions in his prior visit." You scrunched your nose at him before stepping out of his hold. "I suppose you could consider us even."

"Even?"

"Yes. You claim I owe you a name. And you…still owe me an apology."

He stepped closer to you once more, framing your face in his hands, thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to wipe away at a stray crumb. It was at that moment that a bizarre image flashed through your mind for the briefest moment.

You were seated across each other at a small table during a festival, speaking about pollen that drove whoever had inhaled it to madness until they mated with the one they loved most. You had also shared your meal with each other that day.

Before you could focus on the image, it faded from your mind as quickly as it appeared.

"Darling?" Loki's voice brought you back to the present moment, the concern rife in his expression as he looked upon you. "Are you alright? Was it your head again?"

You assessed yourself, your confusion intensifying when you realized that there was no accompanying ache with that image, no pounding sensation that you were constantly tempted to pound back at just so that you could convince yourself that you'd tried something. "No," you mumbled, shaking your head as if it would shoo away the remaining remnants of that image that lingered. "Must have just been my imagination."

If only you knew that it wasn't simply an image conjured by your mind. But rather it was a memory. A memory not too far past, of the Autumnal Equinox festival. A memory from a time when you were finding yourself madly in love with the god that held you so delicately in his hands. A memory you would have still had with you with its full context had you not asked your grandmother to cast that blasted spell on you.

Had you known that morning that the woman that Loki spoke of during the masquerade ball, the woman he deemed dangerous to love…was you.

A/N: Wait hold on what just happened--Was that a memory? 👀

Hope you all enjoyed this little 'deleted scene' vibe from the last chapter. I knew that if I included this in 'from a world away' it would make the chapter way too long, and I was right. That chapter would have been 11.6k words if I included this 🤣🤣 Brace yourselves, because another entry into the 'locked away' chronicles is also coming today. And then I'm working on part 2 of 'the final Lady Sharpe' and also…'the tea ninja' 🥴

‘everything’ taglist: @sailorholly @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina

Loki taglist: @calumance @severuslovebot @moonlightreader649 @i-stand-with-loki @nixymarvelkins @infinitystoner @lokisgoodgirl @purplegrrl27 @thedistractedagglomeration

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #dark!loki #dark!loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki odinson x reader #relinquish the crown #muddyorbs writes

[coldtwaer]

To deal with a Karen 

(or “a subversion of the ‘eat the underpaid worker’ trope")

Tags: One-shot, Vore, M/F Vore, open-ended Vore (fatal or non-fatal based on preference), Same size Vore,  Stores, Karens, Revenge 

Warnings: Language, Very small amount of prey discrimination (don’t worry the one who does it gets what she deserves >:) )

Word count: 1275

Rowan hated his job.

It was even more annoying that his coworker and surprisingly friend, Dennis, was being especially cheerful on one of the days when Rowan would rather be at home or doing anything else. 

“Good morning my favorite manager!” Dennis waved with a smile on his face. There was no telling why the man was so nice. Especially when he worked a 9 to 5 at a shitty supermarket. 

“Good morning, Dennis” Rowan replied with a small grumble. There was nothing ‘good’ about this morning, but he didn’t want to hurt his friend’s feelings. Well, crush’s feelings, but he would never admit to that. 

Dennis looked like he wanted to continue the conversation so Rowan quickly added “We have a lot to do so get to work”

With a small sigh, Dennis nodded and went to his cash register to ring up the early bird customers. Rowan dug his black and red faded hair as he looked at his coworker doing his job, in some ways that positivity felt contagious. But he couldn’t think too hard about that right now. After all, there was work to be done

—-

The morning went on normally and turned into the afternoon. Rowan went to the break room to have his lunch break, which was a relief because he was starving. His stomach growled to confirm the fact. He started digging through his bag to try and find where he had put his lunch in the first place. But there was a problem, a major problem. It wasn't there.

“Shit” Rowan muttered with frustration. Of course, this just had to happen on the same day he skipped out on breakfast since he had already been running late. Well, there wasn’t much he could do about it now and he didn’t want to leave Dennis and his other coworker Luka on their own just so he could get something to eat since even going to his house and back would take longer than the measly ten minutes allotted to him. However his hunger did put a thought in his head that he did not like.

“No, I will not be eating my coworkers” Rowan put a hand on his stomach and tried to soothe it the best he could. He knew that as a pred these kinds of thoughts were normal but it didn’t make them feel any less weird. Then again it wasn’t like he had never swallowed someone down before. 

Before he could continue to complain internally about his gnawing hunger, he heard a fuss going on outside the break room. It sounded like some kind of argument. Rowan peeked his head through the door to see what was going on which he found out very quickly when he looked over at Dennis’s cashier station and saw a woman yelling at the colorful-haired man. 

“Do you know how long I’ve waited in this line just for you to tell me this coupon is expired? You shouldn’t even be selling these cheap quality things for the price you are.” The Karen said as she put her hands on her hips

“I’m sorry Miss but I can’t control the price of the item or that the coupon is expired” Dennis’s smile was clearly forced at this point which probably meant that this conversation hadn’t been pleasant from the start. Rowan frowned at the fact that such a good person has to deal with people like this customer.

“Well as someone who works here, you should know how to properly accommodate customers. Or maybe I should just get your manager” the woman said with a huff.

Rowan scowled as he debated whether he should intervene but Dennis had dealt with plenty of rude customers before so he decided to trust his skills but he would keep watching just in case.

“The manager is currently attending to other matters right now so he will not be able to help you anymore than I can” Dennis's eyes went towards the break room where he and Rowan made eye contact for just a moment. 

Those gentle green eyes Dennis must have some kind of power because even though it was brief, that look was enough to make Rowan’s heart beat faster.

“Well, you aren’t doing anything to help me! Honestly, if they must hire prey like you they could at least choose competent ones” the Karen bluntly stated

Dennis froze at her words and his eyes became a bit teary.

“I’m sorry Miss…” he looked down. 

That was it. That was the last thing this woman would

say to Dennis. Rowan had made up his mind. He quickly walked to the station and behind the counter.

“Excuse me, I’m the manager, may I help you?” Rowan asked as he made sure to gently move Dennis further behind him to discourage him from dealing with the situation any further.

“Yes! You see I-“ 

“Yes, I know about your problems with the item price, your coupon, and apparently my coworker. And you know what? I think I have a solution that will work for both of us” Rowan gave a smile.

He then turned to go from behind the counter but before he fully exited he discreetly whispered to Dennis. “Sorry to do this to you but I need to ‘deal’ with this customer so I need you to watch the store for a bit” his stomach growled.

“Uh, okay, at least don’t be too mean” Dennis whispered back.

Rowan sighed and reluctantly nodded before making his way to the woman. “This way please, I will help you as quickly as possible.”

——

Inside the break room, there was a small office room for the manager to do paperwork. Aka Rowan. He brought the woman inside and made sure to close the door behind him. “There should be some coupons over there on that desk for you to pick from,” he said keeping the same facade. 

“Thank god someone here sees reason. You must be a pred like me” The woman made her way to the desk which meant her back was now facing him. Perfect.

“ I don’t see any coupons here,” the woman said with confusion in her voice. 

Rowan laughed. His black painted nails sharpened into claws before they pieced the woman’s arms and injected their venom. “And you won’t find any” he replied.

“What the – I can’t move! “ the woman panicked.

“That’s the point, it’s been a while since I’ve eaten another pred so I don’t need you thrashing around too much.” Rowan licked his lips as his stomach groaned and whined for this woman to be in it sooner. 

Rowan wanted to tell off this woman for what she had said and done but he remembered what Dennis had told him. Damn, that pretty man. So he simply opened his mouth wide and brought her in. 

The woman's paralyzed body made it easy to swallow and she practically slid down his throat. He lifted his head and started to use gravity to help push her down. Eventually, he was able to finish.

He took some deep breaths and he held his now heavy stomach. “There you go…right where people like you belong” 

His stomach gave an appreciative gurgle for the woman that was now inside it. Rowan sat down on the swivel chair that was by the desk and started rubbing his stomach with one hand and he rested his head on the other. It felt good to be full.

He decided that he would relax for now since eating her still had taken a lot out of him. He thought about Dennis, about those green eyes…

Rowan hated his job…sometimes.

#vore blog #sfw vore #v.ore #vore writing #soft vore #same size vore #open ended vore #vore story #male pred #female prey #unwilling prey #willing pred #v0re

[declaration-of-dramas]

The Chapel of Matilda

The Chapel of Matilda, known colloquially simply as 'Church' is the main community hub for every family on the island.

The catacombs below entomb not only corpses but living sims too, as the building is also used to provide temporary, emergency accommodation for tired priests and the mentally unstable.

(It also houses 3 rabbithole rugs, made invisible for aesthetics)

Next to the church are the tiny village allotments, here is where food is grown for The Founder and his flock. Friar lisle likes to spend time here alone. Surrounded by an abundance of produce, he feels safe in the knowledge that he is the Founder's favourite above all other sims in the world.

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#sims 3 #sims 3 back story #ts3 medeival #medieval simblr

[soberscientistlife]

Sarah Rector was born in 1902 in Oklahoma to Joseph Rector & Rose McQueen. They were African descendants of the Creek Nation Creek Indians before the Civil war which became part of the Creek Nation after the Treaty of 1866.

As such, they and their descendants were listed as freedmen thus entitled to land allotments under the Treaty of 1866 made by the United States with the Five Civilized Tribes.

Nearly 600 black children or Creek Freedmen minors (as they were called) were granted 160 acres of land each. This was a mandatory step in the process of integration of the Indian Territory with Oklahoma Territory to form what is now the State of Oklahoma.

The parcel of land allotted to Sarah was located in Glenpool, 60 miles from where she and her family lived. It was considered inferior infertile soil, not suitable for farming, with better land being reserved for white settlers and members of the tribe.

The family lived simple lives but not in poverty but the $30 annual property tax on her parcel was such a burden that her father petitioned the County Court to sell the land. His petition was denied because of restrictions placed on the land.

To help cover this expense, in February 1911, Joseph Rector leased her parcel to the Standard Oil Company. In 1913, the independent oil driller B.B. Jones drilled a well on the property which produced a "gusher" that began to bring in 2,500 barrels of oil a day.

Rector began to receive a daily income of $300 from this strike. The law at the time required full-blooded Indians, black adults and children who were citizens of Indian Territory with significant property and money, to be assigned "well-respected" white guardians.

In October 1913, Rector received royalties of $11,567. As soon as she began to receive a lot of money, there was pressure to change her guardianship to a local white resident.

Given her wealth, the Oklahoma Legislature declared her to be a white person, so that she would be allowed to travel in first-class accommodations on the railroad, as befitted her position.

Rector was already a millionaire by the time she had turned 18. She left Tuskegee with her entire family and moved to Kansas City

[ashwin-the-artless]

Cities

Here's a post that strongly intersects with @your-tutor-abacus' blog, but I think I'll write about generics and let it reference this post when it goes to write about specifics.

The cities on the Sunspot (`etekeyerrinwuf) are build very differently than most cities on Earth (or, at least U.S. cities) and there are good reasons for this.

We all tend to take for granted what we've grown up with, so when we write about living and doing things in the cities where we've grown up, we'll tend to reference metropolitan civil structures without explaining them. Unless the story has a moment that specifically deals with why those structures exist, then we might get introspective an analyze them.

But, when you gone from one culture to an alien one, it absolutely prompts analysis and you can find yourself obsessed with it for a while, so I'm claiming this subject.

What are Sunspot cities like?

Unlike Earth cities, which have mostly grown up naturally around various human settlements that gathered around important resources, Sunspot cities were designed from the the ground up deliberately.

Some Earth cities were created in similar ways, especially the colonial ones. A country will pick a spot where it wants a city and hire a bunch of professionals (or politicians) to socially engineer the city to meet some sort of national ideal and to practice social engineering in the process.

There are still some real fundamental differences between that and what happened when the Sunspot was built.

Unlike any place on Earth, or the Earth itself, the Sunspot is a constructed world, built literally from the ground up (or inward) to be a safe place for its inhabitants to exist with sufficient resources for everyone.

It's a spaceship, not a planet, even though it's big enough to have multiple cities in it, and a whole ecosystem of plants and animals. And it had to be designed to be indefinitely sustainable.

Part of that was, in contrast to its predecessor ship, was making sure that every living thing on the ship (including every person) had equal access to resources in order to minimize conflict.

So, wherever you might live on the Sunspot, ports in the floor and/or ceiling deliver everything you could possibly need to thrive there.

You, as a living being with a biological vessel, get an allotment of ship resources, and it's probably more than you'll ever use, because the population is kept low enough to do that (which is a dire concern on a generational starship, but a false one on Earth, really).

This means that neighborhoods, communities, and cities are not built around your typical sets of resources. In fact, Belowdecks, they aren't built around any resources.

Abovedecks, in the Garden, the primary resource considered is psychological. Each city is built in an area of the Garden where the environment may best fit the psychological needs of a predicted portion of the population.

So, there are cities in the plains, the mountains, the forests, the shorelines, near rivers, and under the water to create a wide range of possible living conditions and psychological amenities.

But, besides that, the organization of neighborhoods and specialized buildings is totally different than Earthlings may be used to.

Because, the one resource that the ship systems cannot control, just by virtue of the two Living Rights, are people. Community.

But community can be encouraged and accommodated.

So, all quarters and structures Belowdecks are modular and reconfigurable. Designed so that wall can be constructed or removed as needed. Hallways are left permanently in their original locations to make navigation easy and accessible to all, but between the hallways people can do just about anything.

But, by default, the Founding Crew set this up with sets of personal quarters arranged to surround communal gathering spaces. And those communal gathering spaces have been used for libraries, audiences, galleries, warehouses, kitchens/cafeterias, and Artistry collectives of all types. And the resulting structure overall resembles the arrangement of cells in living tissue, with the community spaces serving as the cytoplasm and organelles contained by the cell walls of the living quarters. Each cell developing into a specialized purpose according to its inhabitants whims and agreements.

And then, the Abovedecks cities where designed in a similar way, except that the potential cells were originally simply foundations for buildings, and they were placed spaced out enough so that their development would have minimal impact on the environment around them.

It's been over a hundred and thirty millennia since then, and the cities and communities have evolved a lot. But the basic structure and pressures (or lack of pressures) from resources remain. And certain collectives or types of Artistry have gathered or dispersed in each city over time and given them their respective characters.

Some cities, like Gopra Pyle, have a huge central collective that unifies all the smaller collectives around it, and have developed sort of a singular municipal Art project that everyone's proud of that has spanned generations of contribution.

Others, like Frra, are more diverse, sometimes homogeneous and sometimes divided, with four major collectives to countless collectives more evenly distributed throughout their perimeter.

So, like, in most cities on the Sunspot, you're not going to find anything like a commercial district or industrial site or set of warehouses. You might find an audience with surrounding libraries that's frequently utilized by the local government, and that might look like a governmental district in an Earth city. But the civic pride that is displayed by that area by its architecture and activities is going to be unusual to Earth sensibilities, and likely a lot more fluid and less focused.

With the Network, the resource tubes, and tram system, almost everything aboard the Sunspot is decentralized. And it shows.

If anything in a city serves as a landmark or gets your attention, it's usually a communal work of art commemorating a past even, serving as a meeting place that you too can use, or just sitting there trying to be beautiful.

#Sunspot Chronicles #city planning #urban planning #xenoanthropology #culture #science fiction

[imagine-darksiders]

I'm in desperate need of Darksiders comfort. Strife or War preferably. Just something fluffy and loving, real butterflies in the stomach, aching heart kind of comfort....you know what I mean? It was a long day at work.

Please note, I've never been pregnant, lol. So sorry for inaccuracies.

Set post-resurrection, Y/n and War are friends, and Y/n is 7 months pregnant. Sadly, the baby's father isn't in the picture, but with War around, you're getting all the extra help you could possibly need... or want.

-----

There are many things you were warned about regarding pregnancy; The cravings, the nausea, the emotional ups and downs as your hormones readjust to accommodate the tiny cluster of cells growing inside you.

And then, there are the aspects of pregnancy that nobody warned you about, and despite yourself, you can't quite swallow down the bitterness at your doctors, family and friends who omitted some of the ugly truths about what you were to face.

It would have been nice, for example, to have been forewarned about the heartburn at night keeping you tossing and turning until the birdsong filtered in through your bedroom window. Or perhaps how, at night, the simple act of rolling over in bed becomes a tedious performance consisting of three acts.

Shaving your legs?

Forget about it. Same with wearing anything that has shoelaces.

You've lost count of the strangers who'll invite themselves to touch your belly without a sniff of permission.

But what you really weren't prepared for... what you hadn't factored in at all... was the persistent and often overbearing presence of one, mountainous figure...

Lazing on the window seat of your modest, little flat, legs tucked comfortably up until your knees touch the prominent bump protruding from your belly, you let out a gentle sigh of contentment, relishing the feel of smooth, cool glass pressing against your warm forehead.

It's raining outside, yet the early morning sun has managed to find a scant few breaks in the overcast sky where shafts of light tumble down onto the city below and cast an ethereal, golden mist behind the drizzling rain.

Droplets pitter patter steadily on the window panes and your eyes languidly trace the downward journey of one until it mingles with another and together, they hurtle to the bottom.

Several storeys below you, in the building's shared allotment, stands a colossal horse with a coat so dark it resembles fireplace soot. No Earth-born steed has eyes that burn with all the fires of Hell laying behind their sockets and sturdy legs that are cracked and split like molten rock, revealing the rivers of liquid fire running beneath its skin in the place of veins.

The rain does nothing to extinguish the unnatural fire billowing up from the beast's hooves, and yet, despite the horse's wild and terrible appearance, you can only watch on in amusement as it makes a valiant effort to ignore Mr Bronte's three, young daughters, each of whom are clad in their bright wellington boots and keeping a tight grasp on their equally garish umbrellas. They've taken to offering the giant, stoic animal a series of vegetables that they've 'borrowed' from their father's beloved patch.

So far, the horse has bent its square, blocky muzzle down to accept three carrots, a radish, and an entire head of lettuce, nothing in his body language betraying anything other than grudging resignation.

You let your lips quirk into a grin.

It's a well-known fact that the Horsemen's legendary steeds have no need of food or water to survive in the same way that Earthen horses do.

So to see him eating these 'gifts' can only pinpoint to one of three reasons.

The first, that he enjoys the taste.

The second, that he enjoys rankling poor Mr Bronte by hiding the evidence of his daughters' harmless mischief.

Or the third, your personal favourite, which states that the horse has simply come to accept that the children are absolutely smitten with him, and as humiliating as it may be for the war beast to be coo-ed at and fussed over, he's about as honour-bound as his rider, and would never dream of harming the strange, noisy foals that play around his titanic legs.

He must not realise you're watching, because his ears suddenly flick forwards and even from up here, behind a layer of glass, you can make out the gruff, resonant whicker as the youngest sister slips over on the muddy grass and lands on her backside with a thud. He lowers his head again to investigate the fallen child and the eternal fire burning inside his nostrils glows brightly when he gives her a sniff.

Undeterred by the fall, she just kicks her legs happily and raises a hand to stroke her tiny fingers down over the soft skin between his flared nostrils, prompting the horse to unleash a blast of hot air into her face and sending her toppling onto her back where she proceeds to squeal and giggle hysterically in the mud alongside her sisters.

“It's a shame Ruin doesn't like kids,” you call out to the room, drumming your fingers absently on your bump. Behind you, from somewhere deeper inside your home, you hear a responding grunt, followed by the heavy footfalls of an armoured giant making its way from your kitchenette into the living area.

You turn as a vast shadow blots out the light of your overhead bulb and tip your head back to offer a tired smile up at the stony-faced behemoth towering over you, looking far too large in a space designed specifically for humans.

War, a Nephilim, and one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, glances down at the hand resting on your belly, and his stark-white brows drift together, deepening the ceaseless frown that hardens his chiselled features.

“If you are concerned that Ruin will not accept your offspring, you needn't be,” he booms in that firm and deliberate way he always does, “He is as loyal to you as I am. And that loyalty will endure through to your descendants.”

You have to stifle a fond snort.

Most children inherit jewellery or silverware from their older relatives, but you're going to hand down a fearsome horse and his equally formidable rider.

Wonderful.

“Thanks, pal,” you tell him, “I appreciate the reassurance. But I was joking about him not liking kids. Have you seen what they're up to out there?”

A single eyebrow slides up War's forehead and nearly disappears behind the lip of his blood-red hood as he steps forwards and peers down through the window. After a beat of silence, he lets a low grumble travel up from his chest into his throat, his expression flattening in distaste.

“He is going to damage my reputation.”

Sadly for the Horseman, you're quick to jump to his steed's defence. Scoffing, you point out, “War, the other day you were caught trying to throw out my succulents because they were 'too sharp.' Let's face it, if anyone around here is damaging your reputation, I'm sorry to say, it's probably you.”

The only response he grants you is a curl of his lip. You just shrug and at last take a moment to give the Horseman a brief once-over. He's been stomping around your flat all day, after all, fetching cushions and pillows from your bedroom and dumping them in a pile inside the living area, and you're curious to see what he's found this time.

You spare a glance down at his oversized prosthetic hand, and for the sake of his pride, stifle a sound of endearment. Dangling from his metal fingers is a little, patchwork blanket. Like the rest of your home, the blanket itself seems far too small in War's grasp.

He follows your gaze and squares his jaw defensively, giving you a determined look. “It is raining,” he states flatly, as if that should suffice for an explanation.

Quirking your brow, you feign an expression of surprise and turn towards the window again. “Is it? I thought it looked quite sunny.”

As expected, War is silent for a few moments and you don't have to see his face to know he's looking at you gone-out. Utterly incredulous, he shoots several glances between you and the window and carefully hedges, “But... But it is quite clearing rai-... Ah.” He grumbles something under his breath and his almighty chest rises and falls around a long-suffering sigh. “Sarcasm.”

You swivel around to face the Horseman and blink innocently up at him.

His nostrils flare, exasperated. You've might've felt guilty if you thought he was really upset with you.

But you've spent enough time around War to know that humour is lost on him. He's insanely literal, and he's usually a good sport about being the butt of a joke, provided he even understands the joke in the first place. Comes with the territory of being the youngest sibling, you suppose.

“Sorry,” you smile, swinging your legs around and off the window seat until your fluffy socks hit the carpet, “You're right, it is raining. But, what does that have to do with my old baby blanket?” It was one of the few things you could salvage after returning to the home you had before the Apocalypse ended the world.

You'd almost forgotten you even had it, but with the way War has been scratting about your apartment these last seven months, you're hardly shocked that he's begun to stumble across lost knick-knacks from your past.

“It is raining,” he says again, slowly this time, as though you need help catching up, “Which means it is cold. There is a draft coming through the window. If you must sit there, you will use this-”

You can only sigh petulantly as War pushes the blanket towards you – the third one he's tried to foist upon you this morning alone.

You wonder if he's at all offended by the slowly growing pile of throws that sit neglected on the seat beside you.

“War, I keep telling you, I'm really not cold,” you try to explain, pointedly not reaching out to take the blanket from him, “And if I do get cold, you'll be the first to know. I promise.”

But War, predictably, is as stubborn as he is high.

Rather than wait for you to reach out and take it, he instead sends you a withering glare and bends down to deposit the soft, rectangle of fabric across your lap.

Well. You can't say you didn't see that coming.

You'd like to say that his behaviour only came about after he discovered your pregnancy. But alas, you'd be wrong.

War has always been the protective type - of his siblings, his horse, his weapons, and most recently, you.

But that carefully concealed concern for your well-being had started well before your pregnancy.

There had come a turning point.... It was just after you almost gave up your own life to shield the massive warrior from one of Silitha's venomous bites. After enacting his bloody and devastating revenge in your name, War had rushed your convulsing body all the way back through the Spider Queen's lair to Vulgrim, and it was only thanks to the demon's illicit health potions and your own antibodies that you made it through the night.

War was entirely silent as he sat beside you near the makeshift campfire whilst you writhed and sweated on your bedroll, working off the last of the venom before he slowly turned his head to peer down at you, his face drawn and haggard. It was the first time you ever saw him look so tired.

He'd met your drooping gaze and held it fast. “Don't ever do that again,” he'd growled, though it had lacked any of its usual bite, “I will not lose the only friend I have.”

And then, he fell silent and turned away from you to stare into the nearby campfire, retreating into himself for the rest of the night.

From that moment on, whether you liked it or not, you were clan, and War would have your back through anything and everything.

Pregnancy included, evidently.

Giving the Nephilim a dramatic sigh, you relent. “Fine, fine. I'll keep the blanket on. Happy?”

His expression remains as rigid and severe as ever.

“Right,” you add knowingly, “You don't do 'happy.'”

War doesn't respond, which isn't entirely unusual. He merely turns about and starts lumbering towards the door that will take him through to your bedroom. You've long given up trying to convince him that it's meant to be a private place.

He only makes it about halfway before the ringing of a doorbell cuts abruptly through the peace of your flat. Instinctively, you brace yourself.

Sure enough, the tuneful 'ding-dong' hasn't even faded into silence before War is reaching over his shoulder and tearing Chaoseater from its place strapped across his back.

“War!” you hiss, using the seat below you to heave yourself upright, more than tired of this routine after seven months of it. Forgotten, your baby blanket slumps to the floor at your feet. “Stop that. It's just my food order.”

To your chagrin, the mountainous Horseman ignores you.

Facing the door, he takes several long, measured steps back to crowd right into your space, trapping you against the window seat. While you might have appreciated War's protective tendencies when you were being threatened day in and day out by demons, you do not appreciate it when he stands between you and food.

“War! Will you relax!” you scold him firmly and make a fruitless effort to shove your way past the wall of bristling flesh and metal, “If you scare off one more delivery guy, they're gonna blacklist my apartment.”

“You cannot be certain of their identity,” he argues gruffly, and like a predator, begins to stalk towards the front door, his broadsword humming eagerly with the anticipation of a kill.

Although you might adore the Horseman, sometimes, he makes you want to tear your hair out.

Even carrying seven months' worth of extra weight, you march around the Nephilim at record speed and cut in front of him, making a bee-line for the door.

You feel a burst of heat flash across the nape of your neck as War's indignation rears its head and he aims a growl down at you, reaching out with his massive gauntlet to catch you by the collar, but missing by mere centimetres. “Don't you dare-” he begins.

Too late... Your fingers find the door knob and you yank it open, forgetting, in your haste, that the chain lock is still fixed into the wall beside it. A painful jolt rips up your arm as the metal catches violently and the door halts in its tracks, kept from opening any wider than a scant, few inches.

"Whoops!" you call aloud for the sake of the person on the other side, "Sorry, just a second!"

Sliding the chain free, you move to pull the door open properly this time, only to find your attempt abruptly thwarted when a mammoth palm hits the wood with a jarring 'slam,' effectively preventing you from tugging it open again.

"War-" you begin.

"Y/n."

"War!"

From behind the door, a timid voice squeaks out, "Uh sh-should I.. leave?"

"No! No, I'll be right with you," you hastily call, craning your neck over a shoulder and glaring up into the Nephilim's hood, meeting his cool, blue gaze.

"You are vulnerable," War grumbles under his breath, as if he doesn't want the delivery boy on the other side of your door to hear such a damning confession.

Scoffing boisterously, you counter, "I am hungry?"

You know him well enough by now to recognise what's going on inside his thick, stubborn head. He's strategising, weighing the risks of opening the door against the risk of letting you go hungry.

"War," you say, low and firm to let him know you're being serious, "You're a good friend, and a very capable protector-"

Despite himself, the Horseman's broad chest begins to swell at the praise.

Resisting the urge to tut, you continue, "-But I don't need you to protect me from the delivery guy, okay? Or Mrs Riley from down the hall. Or the cashier at the supermarket."

Slowly, War's chest proceeds to deflate.

"I'm not saying I don't appreciate you looking after me," you add, coaxing your lips into a patient smile, "Really, I'm not. I don't know where I'd be with you... But, having said that, if you stand between me and my dinner one more time, I am going to name this baby after Strife."

And with that threat now spoken aloud, War's eyes widen and he all but rips his hand away from the door, giving you ample room to slide the chain across and pull it open to reveal the gangly, fidgeting delivery boy on the other side.

Needless to say, he almost drops the plastic bag of food when he catches his first glimpse of the armoured giant standing right behind the comparatively tiny human who opens the door to greet him.

"Sorry about the wait!" you exclaim cheerfully, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a crumpled twenty and a handful of coins, "Fifteen, wasn't it? Here, keep the change."

The boy's jaw is almost unhinged and he can't seem to tear his gaze off the Horseman. You can only imagine the look he's being subjected to by your fearsome housemate. Trying not to rush, you stretch out a hand and slide your fingers around the bag's handles and pry it out of the boy's stiff fingers.

With your other hand, you push the money up against his chest until he snaps out of his horrified stupor and a palm automatically darts up to catch the payment as you pull away, letting it fall into his waiting hand.

"Uh-uh, I... err," he gulps, his frantic eyes flicking down to meet your gaze, and then, inevitably, darting to the very noticeable bump on your belly. He must come to his own amusing if incorrect conclusion at seeing you standing in front of him, visibly pregnant with a Horseman of the Apocalypse behind you, because all the blood seems to drain from his face at once and he draws his lips into a tight, unyielding line.

You feel the beginnings of a growl thrum through the Horseman's chest behind your head and chirp out a quick, "Thanks! Bye~!" to the poor, slack-jawed sod before you carefully close the door and slide the chain lock back into place, heaving a sigh of relief.

You've got your food, War didn't completely traumatise another kid just trying to do their job, life is good.

With the prized bag in hand, you turn on your heel and aim a grateful smile up at the Nephilim behind you, taking in his rigid posture, thunderous scowl and clenched fists.

".... You look tense."

What he doesn't look, is amused by your observation.

Sliding the food bag's handled up onto your forearm, you crook your finger at him, beckoning him to lean down as if you mean to tell him a secret. Bemused, the Horseman squints suspiciously, but it's testament to your friendship that he bends himself at the waist anyway and turns his ear towards you, inadvertently opening himself up.

You close the distance, resorting to stand on your tiptoes so that you can reach the pale cheek that sits behind that blood-red hood.

Tender, puckered lips catch the solid line of his clenched jaw and feel it go slack with surprise as they press a chaste kiss to the Horseman's skin, pulling away just as unexpectedly as they arrive.

"Thanks for letting me get the door," you tell him with a coy wink.

War has frozen in place, bent at the waist even when you drop back onto your heels and grin toothily at the baffled scowl keeping his brows stitched together across his forehead.

Then, shaking your head, you give the Horseman a hearty pat on his shoulder pauldron and waddle towards the kitchen, happy to pretend that you hadn't seen the hand of his gauntlet lift up to reverently touch the spot you'd just kissed.

#darksiders #darksiders genesis #War x Reader #y/n #domestic fluff #pregnancy #protective War #nesting #Ruin #honse #one shot #light hearted