#and that’s probably healthier for me in the long run

[referencees]

Hbomberguy’s new video was very depressing for me. I know many of yall have been sitting here talking about how none of this has anything to do with you bc you don’t watch the creators he called out (congrats on completely missing the point btw) but I DO. I watched basically all of the people he spent significant time on.

On some levels, yeah I’m disappointed in myself for not even HEARING about any of the past controversies around plagiarism most of them had before his video. But also….I have a full time job, I have bills and responsibilities that I didn’t have when I was 17 and getting great entertainment out of YouTube drama. I don’t have the fucking time or energy to sit and vet creators with the thoroughness and determination that Harris has. My lesson from all this is when I find a video that I find insightful or makes me think…..I’m reverse searching that script.

[gynandromorph]

i'm so glad people like shiloh and jessie because i have a disease that makes me unable to shut the fuck up about them,

[pierswife]

*taps mic*

I have an announcement: Shez's master class promotion attire. That is all.

[lwveless]

worst thing the pandemic ever did to me was this woman kept calling me pretty & asked me to take off my mask so i did. and she just said Oh! Weird how a mask changes a person!

[wildemaven]

Sweet Creature: Chapter One

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (In future chapters)

WC: 4070

Summary: A washed up movie star with a failing career, fresh out of rehab and looking to turn his life around. He moves back to his small hometown to take a break from stardom and help his sister out with his niece— He’s traded the high-life for school runs and crafting. What he doesn’t except is to meet you, his niece’s school teacher who couldn’t care less about his extensive filmography or his dwindling fame.

Warning: 18+ Blog; brief description of drug use, rehabilitation/mentions of rehab stay, getting treatment for drug addiction, absent parents, anxiety, sister giving ultimatum, apologetic Dieter, determined to turn life around, cursing, if I’ve missed anything feel free to let me know.

A/N: Firstly, big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for listening to me drone on about this! And for also being a champ and beta’ing for me too!!

This chapter has some heavy elements to it, and I hope it comes across as a serious tone considering the topic of drug usage. I wanted Dieter to be deliberate in his attempt to better himself. There might be some reference to this characters contents in the future, but this will be the only one containing any actual drugs. There’s a lot of information packed into this chapter to help get the story going. I’ve been so blown away by the responses to this series and I really hope I do it justice! Any questions/comments/or you just want to chat more about this chapter, my ask box is always open!! xx

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Next

A few sharp knocks on the bathroom door. 

“Hello?? Is someone in there?”

No response. 

The slightest twist of the knob. Unlocked. Unoccupied. 

Only the opening of the door reveals quite the opposite. Occupied. 

“Oh! I’m so so sor— Oh my god! Are you fucking serious right now?! You’re getting high at a 6 year old’s birthday party!” 

No response. Just a deadpan look of nothingness from the body propped up next to the toilet. 

“I fucking knew it. I knew you would fucking let her down!! God!!! You’re such a fucking deadbeat, washed up douchebag— so fucking ridiculous.”

“W-whyy a-rrre y-youuu yellllling? Shhhhh!” His speech laden with a hint of sarcasm. 

“You’re a fucking joke! I can’t believe you would do this to your sister!”

“What are you yelling about in here?? Wren is getting ready to open her presents and wants everyone to watch her. Dieter why are you on the flo— are you fucking high?” 

“Ag-ainnn shhhhhhh!” His pointer finger emphatically raised to his lips, the noise too much for his dazed mind. 

“You promised me Dieter! You fucking promised me no drugs! I should have known better, I should have fucking known you’d do this— you don’t care about how much this hurts me to see you like this, constantly letting me down. I’m done Dieter, I’m so fucking done trying to help you if you’re not going to help yourself. Fuck! Get the fuck out! Go! Now!! I don’t want you near us, I won’t put Wren through this. Get help or stay away!”

The door slams, Dieter left alone to ruminate  over what was said in the small tiled space. 

Even in his stupefied state, the words thrown at him were enough to make an immediate impact. The cognitive part of his brain working over time to push through and make a levelheaded thought. 

“Deadbeat”

“Washed up”

“Get help or Stay away”

Reaching for his phone, he dials his lifeline who drops everything for him, probably due to her reoccurring paycheck, his assistant whom he’s thankful doesn’t hate him enough to ignore his call out of the blue. 

“Heeeey! I n-neeeed y-you to c-ommme g-get meee…”

He knew this was it, he had to get his shit together or suffer the consequences. 

*

He feels different if he’s being honest with himself. 

Lighter. 

Healthier. 

Alive. 

365 days clean. He made a commitment to a year long stay at a drug rehabilitation center, followed by a 3 month residency in a sober living facility conveniently tucked away in the Hollywood hills. 

Yet, he feels more lost than he was before he started treatment. 

He can’t remember what living a normal, healthy life is like— a life not high out of his mind 24/7.

This wasn’t his first time trying to get clean, he’d become a regular of sorts at a few different rehab centers scattered through out the greater Los Angeles area. 

Each stay with the same goal and each one a failed attempt at getting control over his life without the drugs. 

It was never “hope this is the time it really clicks for him”, it was always a question of “how long will he go this time before he’s kicked out and checking into the next one”— might have even been a headline a time or two. 

Many centers refusing to even consider treating him based on his past reputation alone. 

His agent’s patience was wearing thin trying to book roles for Dieter, doing his best to convince directors he wasn’t a liability and he could get the job done with zero risk in hiring him— it was far from the truth. 

Each day on set became a game of Russian Roulette, no one really knowing which side of Dieter they would be dealing with while shooting. That in itself was a metaphorical high he chased with each role he booked, seeing how long before some one caught on to his slurred words, blood shot eyes and sluggish demeanor. 

On numerous occasions Dieter thought he was skillful in his ability to mask his inebriated ego. He was combative with the crew and fellow actors— his temperament calm and mellow one moment, then seething and dripping with rage the next. 

He was getting sloppy. The teetering domino of his life had slowly began to tip and once it did finally fall, his entire life crumbling around him. 

*

The traffic is heavier than expected. Dieter wonders if it’s due to others similarly seeking to leave the city in hopes for a break from the dim aura that Los Angeles is. He can feel the weight of the city’s reputation lift from his shoulders with each passing mile as he maneuvers through the stretch of freeway congestion. 

A few honking horns bring his attention back to the conversation he’s currently semi engaged in. 

“This is a big step Dieter. I’m really proud of how far you’ve come.” 

He instantly cringes at the thought of getting back out to sell himself for roles. Facing those who were- and are- tired of his shit. 

The downfall of his career began when he was late for dress rehearsal for a role he some how managed to get— this role having potential to get him in the running for award nominations, propelling his career to new heights. But when he was no where to be found at call time, his assistant went on the search for him and it’s where she found him passed out in his trailer. He was too far gone to even pull himself together, prompting the director to fire him on the spot. 

The rate of speed at which news travels in Hollywood is the equivalent to a fast moving wildfire— once that first bit of gossip hits the ground, it’s spreading through the industry with a sudden surge of ferocity and growing far beyond what is predictable. 

His agent's attempt at damage control was a wasted effort. Directors dumping Dieter’s preproduction roles, actors refusing to work with him and threatening to quit if Dieter stayed on— his list of films beginning to dwindle in a matter of days and by the end of the week, Dieter Bravo was jobless. 

“The next few months will go by quickly, and before you know it you’ll be back out here booking jobs and proving everyone wrong.” 

Vanessa, Dieter’s assistant and full time babysitter, always seemed to have a way to make him feel at ease. And at this point, the only person he knew who believed he could actually turn his life around. 

“I really fucking hope so.” He sighs, this was his attempt at thinking positive. 

“Have you talked to her yet?” Her voice cracking through the car speakers as he continues his drive north on the 101. 

“Briefly. Told her I’d probably be getting in around 6 or so— BEEP!— Watch out asshole!” Throwing a middle finger at said asshole driver who nearly missed clipping his car. 

“She’s proud of you too, ya know. Might not seem like it right now, but she is.”

“Hmm. I’ll just agree to disagree with you on that point. Having a drug addict—“

“Former drug addicted, Dieter.” 

“Right— well, having a deadbeat for an older brother doesn’t really leave a lot to be proud of.”

“You’d be surprised. Hey, I got another call coming in. I’ll be in touch with you soon! Call me if you need anything! Again, Dieter, I'm really proud of you!” 

“Thanks Nessa! I’ll talk to you soon.”

The call ending abruptly, leaving him to sit alone in his thoughts for the next hour and a half—something he hasn’t really taken the chance to experience since, well, a long while. 

The Santa Monica Mountains provide a scenic view as he leaves behind the place he saw as his home for the last 20 years. 

His current destination plugged into his stupidly expensive sports car. 

Home. Where he grew up. 

*

He can’t even remember the last time he visited. Not due to the years as an actor taking him to all areas of the world. The last time he had been home was just over a year ago and he was high out of his mind, barely remembering the trip as a whole. 

His sister had asked if he’d be able to make it to his niece’s birthday. She was turning 6 and had been begging for her uncle to be there to celebrate with— he was easily her most favorite person. The specifics of the getting to his sister’s home and the actual party are pretty blurry for Dieter. 

Dieter spent most of the last year trying to produce a coherent flashback of the day that would ultimately be his last time using, the reason for his commitment to getting his life together. 

He never expected the lowest point in his life would be being caught in the bathroom of his sister’s home doing a few quick lines on the toilet seat, as his niece was blowing out 6 candles a few feet outside the tiny bathroom surrounded by friends and family. 

The moments following are a mixture of hazy clips, fragmented bits of information,

he’s tried to piece together to the best of his ability. 

The rush of someone bursting through the bathroom door, the echoes of laughter and music piercing his ears as he’s hunched on the floor against the wall, little specks of a white powdery residue dusting his mustache. 

There’s screaming as he does his best to focus his blurry attention on the distorted enraged figure in front of him, yelling something about being washed up— his eye lids heavy and fighting against them to keep them opened. 

If he had to recall the exact moment he knew he fucked up, it was seeing the hurt and disappointment on his sister's face— her face wet with tears as she poured out her disappointment and pain over the fact that he was strung-out at her daughter’s birthday party. The weight of his consequences bleeding through him as he vividly recalls his sister telling him to leave and not come back unless he was sober. 

The next day he checked himself in, determined to get his life together for good. 

*

He shakes away the subtle tinge of guilt that starts to bubble up in his chest. 

Remembering the ‘54321 Method’ he was taught in treatment to help ground himself when his thoughts start to become overwhelming…

5 things you see: the sun slowly making its way to the horizon, cars moving swiftly by his own, Live Oak trees rooted among the mountains, the slightest twinkling of the first few stars, his reflection in the rear view mirror— lighter, healthier, alive.

4 things things to touch: the leather of the steering wheel, his jeans fabric soft and comfortable, the cool metal of his rings adorning his fingers, the weight of his sobriety chip in his pocket a constant reminder of how far he’s come.

3 things you hear: the familiar beat of a popular song streaming through the car speakers, rhythmic tapping of his thumbs in tune with the song, his off-key voice as he sings along to the words he knows.

2 things you smell: his olfactory nerve triggered at the distinct scent of his woody amber cologne, that new car smell that still lingers throughout the car’s interior. 

1 thing you taste: a minty tingle on his tongue as he chews his last piece of gum. 

His nerves settle, his eyes focused on the road ahead, deciding he’ll right his wrongs when he gets to his stop— his sister’s house. 

*

The trip took longer than he’d originally planned. Weekend traffic to blame for the 2 hour delay in his arrival. 

‘Welcome to Ojai’— the stone sign greets him, dim uplighting barely making it readable as he turns on to the familiar street. 

The town is all but empty at this time of the night, street lights plus the few restaurants and bars that are open give off enough ambient light to drape the streets in a subtle glow. 

He’s instantly taken back to his childhood, so many memories tucked away throughout the picturesque landscape. 

Growing up with famous parents wasn’t all that glamorous in Dieter’s eyes. 

Dieter’s parents, Dean and Mary Bravo, were both well known in the tv and movie world. 

Dean had been known for his roles in James Bond-esque action films through his career, notably his best work among other smaller productions he worked on. Mary was the queen of daytime television with her numerous roles in soap opera’s biggest shows, a socialite getting invited to glamorous events and elite celebrity parties. 

Together they were Hollywood’s “It” couple, jet-setting to all parts of the world when schedules allowed for it. 

Dieter and his younger sister, while born into this movie star family, were raised far from it. Dean and Mary deciding to buy a home in the mountains outside of the headlines and prying eyes, a place where their kids could live a some what normal life. 

Normal was anything but normal. Dean and Mary didn’t let children hold back their lives and desires of more fame. Leaving them with nannies so they could keep up with the demands of working and living their best lives. 

Ojai, a small village-like town nestled in the valley of the Topanga Mountains, became a literal playground for Dieter growing up. 

Little reminders of his childhood still remain as he ventures further into town. He finds himself slowing the car a bit as he takes it all in, rolling the window down to let the evening air hit his face— it’s crisp as it trickles across his skin. 

The private school he attended all through his schooling years sits on top of a hill that over looks the valley. The school’s reputation was highly regarded and offered a plethora of academic courses and electives. Dieter found the  art and theater programs to be where he excelled most, painting and acting fueled his passion for the arts, propelling him into pursuing one as a full time career. 

He spots Bart’s Books as he drives on, an outdoor bookstore, that had become a daily hangout as a kid. The red wooden shelves still filled with adventures and history to get lost in. He discovered his love for storytelling sitting on the covered patio, nose deep in fictional worlds he dreamed of visiting. 

Across the way, a ‘no vacancy’ neon sign flickers on. Capri Hotel, a newly renovated hotel that still looks like it could have come straight from the 1960s with its mid-century design and modern style. He recalls the summer when him and his buddies regularly jumped the fence to swim in the pool, the cool water under the stars was refreshing during the California heat waves. They managed to only get caught once but worked out a barter with the then owners, they clean the pool and in turn can use the pool at their leisure. The hotel seems to be under new ownership now, but it seems to be doing well. 

On every corner there’s an art gallery. Some still looking as if no time had passed, others adorn new names and a fresh coat of paint. Several galleries offered summer painting classes, where Dieter found he had more creative freedom than in school to explore all mediums and really honing in on his style. He’s always imagined he’d have his own showing of his paintings, friends and family gathering to see his work— a dream he never lived out. 

His car parked and engine killed, he still hasn’t found the courage to get out. He can see a few lights on from the front windows of his sister’s quaint Spanish style home. Trying to not let the vague memories of his last visit deter him from going inside. He sends Vanessa a text, letting her know he’d made it safely and that he’d text her if he needed anything. 

Bags in tow, he makes his way to the front door. Nerves and emotions swirling around, reminding himself to breathe, letting go of the fear and expectations he’d had for this reunion. 

He opts for knocking, assuming Wren would be sleeping at this hour. 

The clicking of locks being turned, twisting of the door knob, the black wooden door swings open to the space that’s haunted him for the last year. 

“Hey, Diem. Sorry I’m so—“ He starts to explain his lateness before he’s cut off. 

“Dieter! Oh my god! I thought something happened to you! What the fuck?!” Her body launches at him, arms wrapping around him securely. He accepts the impromptu hug, dropping his bags to return the gesture. 

“No, no I’m good. Traffic was a nightmare and by the time I thought to call, service was fucked. Sorry for making you worry.” 

“You’re here and you’re safe— that’s all that matters.” 

This greeting is going far better than he had expected, but he hasn’t made over the threshold, still plenty of time for Diem to drop the hammer on him. 

“Come in! Let’s get you all settled in.” She ushers him in, closing the door and adjusting the locks again. 

He takes the space in, noting not much has changed from what he can tell in the diffused lighting, but he feels warm and welcoming even for him. 

“I got the spare room all cleaned and ready for you. New sheets on the bed and a few extra pillows just in case.” She seems skittish moving about the living room, picking up the few toys laying around the room and placing them back in their designated baskets. “If you want to sit, make yourself comfortable. You want anything to drink? Eat?” 

She seems just as nervous as he is and that makes him feel less anxious for some reason. 

“I grabbed some food on the way, I’m good.” Setting his bags down, he makes his way to the couch and sits down, deciding to rip the bandage off so to speak. 

Diem taking his lead, sits on the opposite end of the couch, legs tucked under her and hands resting on her lap. A lull hangs over them for a few moments, neither really know what to say or do. He notices her fingers fidgeting and decides to break the silence. 

“I know we haven’t talked much since the last time I was here,” He sees the brief wince on her face at the mention of it, as if she’d been actively trying to avoid talking about it. “But I want to tell you how sorry I am for—“

“Dieter, you don’t have to.” 

“No, actually I do. And I’m going to. Not only because it’s part of my steps in recovery, but because you deserve it— Wren deserves it.”

“She doesn’t know— about the drugs or you going to rehab.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it. 

“I won’t mention it to her then.”

“I just told her you were busy and that you’d be coming to spend time with us 'cause you missed her.”

“Why did you agree? After all the shit I’ve done and put you through, why are you letting me stay here?”

That gets her attention, her eyes glossy with unshed tears as she looks at him with nothing but love and forgiveness. “Because you’re my brother and I want you here, despite all the shit you put me through.” 

He shifts closer to where she’s sitting, wiping the few tears that had decided to fall. He doesn’t think he deserves her kindness, but is grateful he has this opportunity to do what he’s been wanting to do. 

“I’m sorry for the pain and hurt that I caused you. Not only at Wren’s party, but all the other times I’d said I was clean and wasn’t. For putting you both second to my addiction. I’m sorry for not being here when you needed me most. I promise I’m going to do my best to earn your trust and prove to you that I am committed to my sobriety.”

Leaning back, his hand digs into his pocket pulling out his proof, grabbing Diem’s hand and turns it over placing the chip in her palm. She looks at it then back at him, the most genuine smile graces her face before she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. 

“I love you Dieter! Thank you for not only doing this for us, but for yourself as well. I’m really proud of you.” 

“I love you too Diem.”

Releasing Dieter from the hug, she adjusts herself back to her previous position, now more relaxed with her elbow resting on the back of the couch propping her head up as she looks at Dieter, really taking in how healthy he looks since she’d last seen him. 

“Thank you for also letting me stay here. I needed to get out of the city for a bit, clear my head and shit. Should only be a few months or less, until I can get a few things lined up— have a few potential projects I requested scripts for.”

The thought of returning to his old ways terrified him, he had all the tools and support to continue working on himself outside of treatment, but he didn’t want to chance it. He instantly knew exactly where he wanted to spend the next few months re-acclimating back into this new way of living, away from temptation. Knowing their last conversation was anything but great, he'd decided an e-mail felt less grievous and hoped she’d find it in her heart to accept him back in her home again. 

“Of course. Stay as long as you need to.”

“And I can help how ever you need me to, figured it would keep me busy doing stuff, help out with Wren.”

“Oh my gosh, please! It’s peak tourist season the next few weeks at the Hotel and I’ve got a handful of events we’re hosting too. School runs would be a big help for me.”

“Hotel?” He’s sure he heard her right but doesn’t remember any mention of a hotel that he can recall. 

“Funny story actually-- I bought the Capri last year. Did some renovations and it’s been great really. Keeps me busy most of the time, but I love it.”

Diem was never one for the spotlight, especially with movie star family members, actively avoiding anything to do with Hollywood and its ostentatious air. She always had a knack for making drab things look enticing, so Dieter isn’t surprised one bit by the mention of her being the new owner of the Capri Hotel. 

“And now that I’m the owner, you can swim for free— pool cleaning is encouraged too.” He laughs at that. 

“Congrats on owning a hotel I guess. I’ll definitely be taking advantage of swimming privileges then.”

“Alright. I’m going to head to bed, got an early morning dropping Wren off before I meet with the planner for our next event.”

“I can take her tomorrow.”

“You sure? You don’t want to settle in a bit first?”

“Nah, it’ll be nice spending some time with her.”

“Okay. Prepare yourself for a wild time then.”

She kisses the top of his head before heading in the direction of her room. Stopping before turning down the hall, she looks back at Dieter who hasn’t moved from the couch, one of his hands rubbing at the opposite shoulder and leaning his head to the side to stretch it out a bit— the longer car rides really doing a number on him. 

“Dieter—“ 

His head turns towards the direction of his name being called. 

"Hmm?"

“I’m really glad you’re here.” 

“Yeah, me too.”

Next

[piratekane]

Beatrice sighs as her pen runs out of ink. This is the second pen today and she’s starting to feel like there is something working against her. But, that seems illogical. The more logical conclusion is that Ava has used her pens. She has a tendency to use them until they’re nearly dry and put them back in Beatrice’s backpack, thinking she’s doing a good job returning them to where she found them.

Not maliciously. There’s nothing Ava does that is malicious. Beatrice knows she’s probably thinking: I borrowed this. I need to put it back. And then she does and Beatrice opens her backpack at the student center the next day, intent on getting some work done while she waits for Ava, and finds her pens dry.

She looks through her pencil case but there isn’t another pen, just a precisely sharpened standard pencil, two black mechanical pencils, a yellow highlighter, a soft white eraser, and her red pen - used to make corrections only. She debates using it.

No. It would ruin her notes.

Instead, she pulls out her laptop. She’ll just continue her notes there and transfer them to her notebook later. The extra repetition will be good for her. Her professor asked her a question she wasn’t quite prepared for and she knows she’s going to be thinking about it all week until she has a chance to redeem herself in the next class.

Her screen comes to life and she sighs. This one isn’t born from frustration like her last one; this one is an acceptance, an admitting to herself that, despite what she’s looking at, she can’t help but feel a rush of affection for it.

Ava has changed her desktop background again. This time, it’s a picture Camila took last weekend. Ava is in a white shirt and white shorts, a white sweatband around her forehead. All of it is stained in neon paint. She’s holding a fake plastic trophy high above her head with one hand, the other looped around Beatrice’s neck, the two of them squished into the frame. Her own clothes are soaked with the same bright colors.

How she agreed to something called a Color Run... The idea of running through cannons of color had not sounded appealing, but Ava had come home with a flyer she found on the bulletin board outside the cafeteria and presented it to Beatrice alongside a bulleted list of reasons why Beatrice should say yes.

She let Ava go through the list: one, you love to exercise. Two, it’s advertised to make the world ‘healthier’ and you’re always telling me I need to start making better choices. Three, imagine if we got Lilith to agree to come and someone blasted her with a color cannon?

The third one hadn’t been convincing. Lilith would never agree to something like that.

Beatrice didn’t tell her that the list didn’t matter; she was going to say yes the moment Ava handed her the flyer and looked at her with those eyes, the ones that always made Beatrice feel like she could free fall and not care what waits for her at the other end of it.

And she had to admit, it was rather fun. The white clothes they bought were completely ruined, but it had been worth it to see the way Ava beamed the whole run, sprinting ahead to circle back around her. She had thrown her arms wide when the color cannons went off, soaking in the powder. Beatrice soaked in her happiness in return.

It hasn’t been long. Spring is fading into summer quickly and Ava has been living with her for two months and every single moment has been filled with the kind of happiness that Beatrice could have only dreamed about when she was younger. The kind of happiness that made each day feel like it was worth waking up for.

She hadn’t gone looking for this, hadn’t expected something like this to just fall into her lap - or literally crash into her table. It’s illogical to think fate sent Ava into her orbit, but if she was pressed, she could admit that each of them must have been in the right place at the right time. Serendipity, Ava said with a rakish smile. We were destined to meet.

If there was such a thing as serendipity, it must be working in her favor.

She opens a word document, the cursor blinking at the top of the page. She titles it Anthropological Theories of Religion and flips through her textbook until she finds the correct page. She likes this class, likes how as she continues through her degree program the class gets smaller, more intimate. She typically likes the professor, though she feels thrown off by her now.

Halfway through a word, her world goes dark. Warm hands slide over her eyes, fingertips pressing against her skin. 

She smiles nearly instantly. “Ava.”

“Not Ava,” says a low voice. But it’s clunky, a poor imitation at something deeper.

Beatrice plays along for just a moment, indulging Ava and a part of herself that likes to make Ava happy. “Oh? Well then. I suppose a stranger has found it appropriate to put their hands on me.” She curls her fingers around a thin wrist, one her hand already knows the shape of, and tightens slightly. “I do know how to disarm you.”

“You could try.”

Beatrice tightens her grip in response and hears a slight exhale that glances against the shell of her ear. A fingertip skates across her brow briefly and then Ava is letting go, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before she sits down heavily in the chair next to Beatrice.

“How did you know it was me? What if I was… Mary?”

Beatrice spares Ava a glance. “Mary knows better. You, on the other hand…”

“I’ve never known better.” Ava says it with pride. “Especially not when it comes to you.”

Beatrice feels her chest tighten. She wonders if Ava knows, if Ava understands how something so simple unspools the tight loop Beatrice keeps around her heart. A part of her thinks Ava must. Ava is able to read her so thoroughly. From the moment they met, Ava has seen through her so effortlessly. It’s thrilling, to be seen like that. 

And it’s devastatingly terrifying.

“Yes, well,” she says quietly.

“One day, you’ll use that to your advantage.” Ava spins Beatrice’s textbook towards her, reading a few of the section titles before she turns it back towards Beatrice. “But you’re also too nice for that, so who knows.”

Beatrice straightens out her textbook out of habit more than anything else. “You’re late.”

Ava smiles sheepishly. “I got caught up.” She doesn’t give an answer past that.

Beatrice nearly frowns. Ava doesn’t owe her any more of an explanation. She just usually gives one.

“But I’m here now!” Ava takes off her backpack, resting it on the floor before she opens it and takes out her own laptop. “I thought you didn’t like typing your notes? Muscle memory or something, right?” 

“My pens are out of ink.” 

Ava’s cheeks flush. “That’s my fault, isn’t it.”

“It’s certainly not mine.” She says it without any malice. “I just need to start carrying more pens.”

Ava still looks guilty. She fishes into the pocket of her jean shorts and unearths a stick of gum, three paper clips, and an uncapped pen. She spreads them out on the table and nudges the pen towards Beatrice. It’s not the tip she likes, thicker than she usually uses, and it’s blue. If red would ruin her notes, this would change the physical shape of them.

She takes the offered pen and closes her laptop. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” Ava smiles and scoops the paper clips up, putting them back in her pocket. 

Beatrice will find them later when she does the laundry and she’ll add them to the jar of pocket-trinkets she keeps of all the things Ava leaves behind in her clothes. It’s made up of coins and paper clips and pen caps - all things that Ava swears she’s going to put in proper places but never remembers until Beatrice is pulling them out of the washing machine.

Ava takes the gum and breaks it in half, offering it to Beatrice. She has coffee and this gum is spearmint. The combination will taste horrible. But she puts the gum in her mouth and smiles when Ava does.

“So, listen to what MacKay did today.” Ava tells the story animatedly, face shifting as she plays each character. Beatrice doesn’t catch every word, too focused on the rise and fall of her voice and the way her hands move as she goes on. Beatrice finds herself smiling along, not at all caring about some girl named Carina or Professor MacKay and whatever argument they’ve gotten into this week.

Ava is halfway through her story, body gearing up to drop the punch line, when her face shifts and her eyes cut over Beatrice’s shoulder. Beatrice frowns, turning to look. A boy is approaching their table, hands locked around the straps of his backpack as he strides towards them.

“Hey, Ava!” he calls.

Beatrice looks back at Ava. She knows this boy, at the very least. But her face is unreadable - a feat Ava doesn’t manage to accomplish very often. He comes closer and Beatrice’s frown deepens.

“Ah,” Ava says quietly.

Ah?

The boy slows as he reaches their table, a smile on his face that someone might find charming. She studies Ava’s face. Does she find it charming?

“Hey, Ava,” he repeats. His voice is smooth, slightly accented. A traitorous part of her thinks of the time that Ava said she liked accents. “I was hoping to catch you after class.”

Ava smiles. “Sorry, JC. I was in a hurry. Had a lunch date.” She hooks a thumb in Beatrice’s direction. “JC, meet Beatrice, my best friend. Beatrice, this is JC. He’s my biology lab partner.”

JC. She’s never heard of him before. Ava talks about everyone and everything. Some nights, she talks until she falls asleep on the couch, her Hobbes stuffed animal clutched in her arms. It’s almost as if she collects stories all day just to tell them to Beatrice later. She knows about every one of Ava’s classmates, is - secretly - invested in her Literary Theory classmates, Robert and Nayara, and their on-again, off-again relationship. She knows about the librarian Ava likes, who doesn’t mind her iced coffee, as long as she uses a paper towel and keeps it away from the books.

But she’s never heard of a JC, or anyone who might use the initials JC.

And it’s not that Ava isn’t allowed to have friends. She is. She has plenty of them. She always says hello to at least fifteen people when they go out, either here to their favorite table in the student center or in the library or walking to the cafeteria if they’re getting lunch between classes. Ava loves people, loves knowing things about them. Beatrice loves that about her.

She just thought she knew all of them. Or has heard of them before. She certainly thinks she would have remembered hearing about Ava’s lab partner. It's odd, now, that she hasn't.

JC smiles at her, his eyes taking a moment longer to shift away from Ava. “It’s nice to meet you. Ava has talked a lot about you.”

Beatrice hides her smile at that. “Nice to meet you,” she says politely.

He completely turns from her, his job of mirroring her politeness gone, his job done. Beatrice finds herself studying him. He’s attractive in a conventional sense. A strong jaw, a good smile. Camila would have many things to say about him and Beatrice works to keep her voice out of her mind. She focuses on Lilith instead. 

Boys, she would probably sneer. Beatrice agrees.

JC runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back a little. Beatrice watches Ava’s eyes follow the motion and fights a visible frown. JC notices, though, and seems to preen a little in a way only university-age boys can when they find themselves to be attractive. She takes a centering breath. She doesn’t know JC. She’s sure he’s a nice person. She’s also sure he’d be a nicer one if he wasn’t standing at their table right now.

“I just wanted to know if you gave any thought to my question.”

“Ah,” Ava says again.

Ah?

JC doesn’t seem bothered. “I know your rule on dating your lab partner. It’s a very specific rule but I think you should give me a chance.”

Dating echoes in Beatrice’s head like a slow siren, like the slow spin of a lantern in a lighthouse. It illuminates JC, floating in the ocean in her mind, with his charming smile and his hopeful eyes. Ava appears next, face unreadable. They rotate around and around until they’re in the same frame.

She blinks and Ava is staring at her, a slight wrinkle in her forehead.

Beatrice keeps her face neutral, unsure of what else to do with it. She certainly can’t shout no. She absolutely will not encourage it. She’s stuck in a sort of limbo where she isn’t sure what comes next and so she waits, poised and ready to do whatever is needed of her.

Ava’s frown deepens.

JC takes the silence and runs with it. “If it’s because you’re worried about things being awkward if it doesn’t go well - and that’s a big if - then you don’t need to worry.” His smile widens and he leans one hand down on the table, his whole body angled towards Ava now. “What do you say?”

Say no, she thinks. Tell him to go away.

Ava has been living with her for two months and Beatrice has been in love with her for at least half of that.

It took some getting used to, this feeling. It took many nights laying in bed staring at the ceiling and pretending like the feelings she had for Ava were just a friendship. An intense one, born of their proximity and Ava’s natural affinity for people in general. 

But love is friendship caught on fire, she’s read before. And her friendship with Ava is a living, burning thing. She knows their love would be incendiary, scorching everything she thought love looked like before.

If - and it’s a big if - Ava ever wanted to love her back.

Why would she? Why would she give up a world of possibility for Beatrice? She’s certainly nothing special. She’s disciplined, polite, considerate to the needs of others - all the things her parents wanted her to be. Ava wants someone free, a little brash, selfish in the right ways. Beatrice is none of those things, can’t even begin to think of how she could be. But Ava deserves to get what she wants after all those years of being denied even the simplest of things.

Beatrice just doesn’t have the qualities Ava could want. Friendship is one thing. Being in love with someone is another. Beatrice is hyper aware of the difference.

It doesn’t stop her from dreaming about it, though. It doesn’t stop her from wishing for it.

“What’s the worst that could happen? We spend the rest of the semester ignoring each other?” he asks, smile charming.

Yes, she thinks. What’s the worst that could happen between them? They could spend the rest of the lease ignoring each other. Ava would never look at her the same.

She’d have to go back to living her life the way it was before Ava - not the worst, but not as great as this.

“I don’t know,” Ava finally hedges.

Yes, Beatrice exhales in her mind.

JC leans forward a little more. “It doesn’t need to be anything big. We could go for one of those iced coffees you like. At the cafe near Venable?”

“She likes the one near the English department.”

Beatrice frowns. Surely that wasn’t her voice. But Ava and JC are both looking at her. So it must have been her. There’s a slight smile on Ava’s face, a slight frown on JC’s. Beatrice clears her throat.

“I’m sorry. I just…”

JC recovers. “The one near Eldridge Hall, sure. I know someone who works there. She can sneak us a pastry.”

Ava hasn’t looked away from Beatrice. “I don’t know,” she repeats.

Beatrice swallows. It’s fine. Ava is - well, not quite a grown up, but certainly not a child. Despite her propensity for Saturday morning cartoons on Beatrice’s Hulu account - which is ruining the algorithm of her suggested shows - and sleeping on the couch upside down like a toddler and eating, God help her, shredded cheese out of the bag after finishing half a gallon of milk without even pouring herself a glass, she is not a child. 

She can make her own decisions. And if that decision is- If it’s- Well. Beatrice swallows past a knot forming in her throat. Well. She can do what she pleases. Including this probably-very-nice-boy in front of them. She’s allowed to do that.

So she smiles tightly, her lips pressing together thinly, and tells herself to get it together. She keeps her focus on Ava and loosens her mouth and it feels a little more natural. She inhales through her nose. She can tell Ava that she’s free to do whatever she wants with whoever she wants.

“You do like a free pastry,” is what she ends up saying.

Ava’s forehead pinches, the corners of her mouth crinkling. “I do,” she says slowly, confused.

“An iced coffee and a pastry.” Beatrice says it just as slowly. “Both things that you enjoy.”

“I do,” Ava repeats.

Beatrice nods encouragingly. Her head feels like it’s on a spring, up and down and up and down. She’s worried it’s going to roll off. 

JC looks between the two of them, confusion on his face. Beatrice sees him out of the corner of her eye and her smile tightens again.

Ava is still staring at her, still frowning slightly. Beatrice forces herself into her most diplomatic smile. 

Don’t you get it? she wants to ask. Don’t you understand what I’m trying to say?

But Ava misses it. Because she breaks Beatrice’s gaze and focuses on JC instead. Beatrice thinks her smile is slightly dimmer. Or she’s just hoping it is. But it still doesn’t ease the pain of knowing there is a smile and it’s aimed at JC. 

She opens her mouth, but he beats her to it. “Listen, you have my number. I’m done with classes this evening. And then you’ll meet me for coffee, okay? And you won’t regret it.” 

Ava says nothing. JC pushes back from their table and smiles, hooking his hands back around the straps of his bag. His eyes wander to Beatrice and he nods politely before turning in a lazy circle and heading back through the crowd as the student center starts to fill up as afternoon classes.

Beatrice looks away instantly, busying herself with adjusting her notebook. It doesn’t need to be straightened out. In fact, she pushes it out of place and the pen Ava loaned her starts to roll across the table towards the edge. She reaches for it at the same time as Ava does.

Their fingers tangle and the pen is trapped under Beatrice’s palm. She pauses, every nerve exposed, and looks up to find Ava already looking back at her.

She smiles, mouth still wound too tight. “I’ve got it.”

“Do you?” Ava asks curiously.

Beatrice frowns, looking down. Their fingers are still slotted together, still laced over the pen. Of course she has it. It’s right there, scratching blue ink against her palm. 

“Because it seems like you’ve lost everything else,” Ava continues. “Like your cool, for instance.”

She pulls back minutely. “My-” Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that?”

Ava shrugs a shoulder. She only does that when she has a secret, when there’s something that Beatrice missed, a cue she didn’t read. “You do like a free pastry,” she mocks, her voice pitched low in a terrible approximation of Beatrice’s accent. “What gotten into you?”

“Oh.” Beatrice bristles. “Well, you do.”

“I know that. You know that.” Ava pauses. “Why does JC need to know that?”

Beatrice doesn’t have a good answer for that. So she makes one up. “Your potential suitors will need to know things about you. That is less a trivia fact and more of a necessity.”

Ava snorts loudly. Beatrice looks around, but no one seems bothered by the sudden noise. “My potential suitors?” She shakes her head. “Bea, honestly. No one talks like you do.”

She doesn’t make it sound like an insult. She never does, never has. She seems more entertained than anything, but not in a way that makes Beatrice uncomfortable or self-conscious. It makes her feel seen. And she loves to be seen by Ava. It uncoils some of the tension in her shoulder that she knows is radiating into her hand, tense under Ava’s touch.

Ava doesn’t move her hand. “Well, thanks to you, I think I’m going on a date tonight.”

Thanks to me. Thanks to the way she said Ava would enjoy herself. Thanks to her, Ava is meeting someone who isn’t her for a coffee at Ava’s favorite cafe where she only brings Beatrice. One of our places, Ava always tells her with a smile. 

“You can say no,” she reminds Ava, her whole body locking up again.

Say no, say no. She feels each word burn in her throat. But why would she? Why would she pick someone like JC over me?

Ava is still looking at her curiously, head tipped slightly as she studies her face. Beatrice holds still, face perfectly impassive from years of practice. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t open her mouth and tell Ava that JC seemed nice but she deserves something better than nice; something spectacular.

Then again, she’s not sure that Ava would feel that way about her.

So she forces her face to relax. Works through each muscle until she’s smiling slightly and nods encouragingly. “But if you like him and can see yourself enjoying your time, you should say yes.”

“Do you want me to?”

The question cuts through her with the intensity of a perfect lightning strike. She pulls back slightly, the only indication Ava’s hand tightening over hers when it starts to slide away. Ava’s face has gone from curious to a level of seriousness usually reserved for her more difficult homework assignments, or when she’s trying to figure out something Beatrice said. 

“I don’t… I don’t think that’s my decision.”

“Well, you’re my best friend.”

Beatrice has never hated a description more in her life. She fights the visceral reaction she feels come alive in her chest. She is Ava’s best friend. She’s admitted that more times than her parents have told her they love her. The first time had been a surprise to both of them, almost too soon after Ava moved in. But it felt natural. Ava slotted into the unknown hole in her life like she had always been there.

But she’d set their whole foundation on fire if it meant one day she could be Ava’s best friend and, and, and.

She widens her smile, feeling like she’s playing a part. “Of course. But I suppose… Well, there’s no harm in trying, is there?”

Ava’s hand slides away now and the feeling that she said the wrong thing rushes in on her. 

“A very diplomatic answer, Beatrice.” She pats the top of Beatrice’s hand before she pulls it into her lap. “Remind me again why you’re not running for student government?”

Beatrice doesn’t smile. She simply touches her notebook, arranging it’s already perfect line. She looks down at the chunky-tipped blue pen sitting on the page, so out of place against the neat, thin, black lines of her notes. Suddenly the idea of writing with it feels overwhelming. 

“I think we better get to lunch.” She puts the pen in front of Ava. “Camila said she was going to meet us there.” 

She needs the buffer, needs to put space between them. Camila is the perfect distraction. Mary and Shannon would know instantly that something was wrong - and they’d corner her until she said what. But perhaps they might not; Shannon seems supernaturally in tune with her and there’s rarely a thing she needs to tell her. Lilith would read Beatrice’s hesitation and be annoyed. Or think it’s Ava’s fault and be cagey when she doesn’t need to be. Camila would be too polite to acknowledge the tension Beatrice knows is radiating off her.

Ava, mercifully, doesn’t argue with her or point out that Camila isn’t meeting them for another 15 minutes and the walk only takes 5. She pockets the pen again and packs her things away, waiting for Beatrice to zip her bag closed.

They walk inches apart, shoulders to themselves. It’s the longest 5 minutes of Beatrice’s life.

~

The door opens slowly. Beatrice looks up from her book, the one she’s been reading since Ava left; the one she hasn’t been reading at all. Ava slips through it, back turned to close the door quietly behind her. When she turns to the living room, she gasps.

“Beatrice.”

Beatrice blinks. “Why are you sneaking back in?”

Ava is still taking deep breaths, hand pressed to her chest. “I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“At…” Beatrice checks her phone, frowning. “Eight o’clock in the evening?”

The tips of Ava’s ears go red just enough for Beatrice to notice. “Well. I didn’t look at the time.”

Beatrice looks out the window at the golden sunset. “It’s still light out.”

“You’re an early sleeper.” Ava sounds like she’s grasping at straws, the pitch of her voice rising.

“Not that early,” Beatrice says flatly. She slips her bookmark into her book, grateful to be closing it. “8 hours a night are important, but if I went to sleep at this hour, I’d be up at four in the morning. That’s too early, even for me.”

Ava toes off her shoes, kicking them towards the shoe rack at the door. One of them lands on the rack but the other bounces off it and away. Ava sighs, fixes it, and runs a hand through her hair when she straightens up.

“How-” Beatrice stops. She suddenly needs to be busy, needs to have her hands moving. She could open her book again, thumb through the pages. But tea sounds better. She stands, crossing to the kitchen and filling the electric kettle.

“I got you a coffee.” Ava pulls out a stool tucked at the breakfast bar, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. “But some kid on a skateboard crashed into me when he cut a corner and took the coffee down with him.”

Beatrice pulls two mugs out the cabinet, dropping a tea bag in each. “Are you okay?” 

“Just my pride.” Ava shrugs when Beatrice looks back. “But I’m disappointed. I got you a mocha chip frappuchino. Lucy put in extra chocolate chips.”

Something flutters in Beatrice’s chest, a sudden thought that overwhelms her: maybe Ava does these things because she feels it too. She pushes it down and smiles. “I do like when Lucy makes my drinks. But, maybe next time.”

Ava is quiet long enough that Beatrice wonders if she left. The kettle starts to whistle and she fills the mugs, balancing them carefully as she carries them to the counter Ava hasn’t moved from. She’s just uncharacteristically quiet. She hums a thank you and curls her hands around the mug, hissing when she finds it’s too hot.

Beatrice can’t help the fond smile; Ava is always rushing into things.

It’s why Beatrice knows Ava doesn’t feel the same way. She’s not rushing into this, not caught up in a whirlwind like she is with everything else. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me how my date was?” Ava finally asks.

I don’t want to know.

“How was your date?” she asks politely.

Tell me it was the worst date you’ve ever been on. Worse than the one you told me about where the boy slurped his pasta and sauce got everywhere; worse than the one where the girl tried to cast a love spell on you.

Ava shrugs. “It was… nice.” She blows on her tea. “JC is a good guy. I knew that already. But it wasn’t… groundbreaking.”

Beatrice is patient, letting her tea cool on its own. “Does a date need to be groundbreaking?”

“World-breaking.” Ava says it so quickly and fiercely, Beatrice has to blink. “It should be life-altering.”

“That seems like a lot to expect for a first date.” Beatrice points out. “At a coffee shop. With your lab partner.”

Ava shrugs. “Maybe I just have high expectations.”

Ones Beatrice can never live up to, it seems.

She smiles, hoping it looks warm and friendly. “You’ll have a hard time finding someone with an outlook like that.”

“I don’t know.” Ava takes a sip of her tea, hisses again. “I mean, a lot of things in my life have been like that. Getting out of the orphanage. Getting into school. Meeting you.” She’s staring at Beatrice now, a smile on her face.

She curls her hands around her mug and fights the way it burns her skin. She’s hardly earth-shattering, hardly worth that much. There’s no way she could be. But Ava is so earnest all the time, means things so completely. And if she’s saying that, Beatrice has to acknowledge that Ava considers her something great. A great friendship that Beatrice could never, ever risk.

But she feels herself flush all the same. “I’d hardly call it that.” She hedges around her next question. “So, no second date?”

She wonders if Ava hears the way her voice trembles; she can certainly feel it in her chest. 

But Ava doesn’t seem to, too focused on taking another, slower, sip of her tea. This one apparently doesn’t scald her tongue. She grins up at Beatrice, hunched over the steaming mug. She’s brought her legs up on the rungs of the stool and her knees are around her ears. Ava clutches the mug tightly to her chest.

She’s in love with a menace. 

“I don’t think so,” Ava says after a minute. “I mean, I don’t really have a reason not to, but…”

Beatrice breathes in deeply, steadying herself. She’s not a reason for Ava to say no. She knows that. “That’s not very encouraging,” she says instead.

Ava shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not looking for anything to change right now. I want things to stay exactly as they are. Things are perfect. And if I went out with him again, I’d just be, I don’t know. Pretending.”

She takes another measured sip of her tea. She feels like she’s walking in the empty space between the points of knives. “You wouldn’t be happy.”

Ava shakes her head softly. “No, I wouldn’t be. How could I be happy if I was pretending all the time?”

Beatrice knows. Because she is. She’s pretending from the moment she wakes up to the moment she falls asleep alone and all the seconds in between. She’s pretending that everything she’s feeling isn’t consuming her from the inside out.

All the books she read as a child, all the romances novels she devoured in her bed with a flashlight illuminating the pages - none of it described the way it feels now. Love is friendship on fire had seemed like such a childish thing to say. Something arbitrary and insignificant. But now she understands what it’s supposed to mean, what she could never understand before with anyone else.

“You couldn’t,” she admits. She’s not lying.

Ava’s eyes are still piercing, still searching her face. She wonders what Ava is trying to find and she keeps the truth as far away from her as she can. Either she finds something else or she gives up, because her face breaks into two and she’s grinning.

Ava slurps her tea, smiling wider when Beatrice looks mildly disgusted. “Alright. The way I see it, we have two options: we have a sleepover night where you let me braid your hair and I let you paint my toenails.” She laughs when the mild disgust turns into outright horror. “Or, I get you back into that really nice sweater you were wearing earlier and we got off in search of a replacement mocha chip frappuchino?”

Beatrice abandons her tea almost immediately. “Do you know what time Lucy’s shift is over?”

Ava jumps off her stool, landing lightly on her feet. She doesn’t bother with sneakers, socked feet sliding into sandals. Beatrice thinks about telling her how ridiculous it looks: her mid-calf socks usually hidden by her high-top sneakers, and a pair of black slides; her jean shorts where the pocket hangs just a little too long past the hem; her crop top with How you lichen me now? hand-stenciled on the front, from the one botany club meeting she attended; her hair half-pulled back in a high top-knot; a crooked grin on her face.

She’s the most beautiful woman Beatrice has ever seen in her life.

And one day, someone else is going to get to call her theirs. Beatrice will be left with the empty space where Ava used to be, her own space in Ava’s life filled up with someone else. Someone better. Someone she wants to rush headlong into the future with. Someone she sees a world of possibilities with.

Beatrice will be happy for her. Or, she’ll exhaust herself pretending.

“Milady,” Ava says, mouth tripping over the sounds. She holds out her arm. “Will you accompany me on this chip?”

Beatrice rolls her eyes. “You hardly made an effort that time.”

Ava’s smile doesn’t falter. “One of these days, I’ll impress you, Beatrice. You’ll see.” She wags her finger at Beatrice. “And then you’ll realize how special I am. You’ll never want to lose me.”

“No,” she says quietly. Ava slips away to grab her phone, abandoned on the breakfast bar. Beatrice waits by the door, holding it open. “I don’t suppose I ever will.”

It’s inevitable. She’ll lose Ava to someone who loves her out loud, someone good enough for her. But she’s going to bury greedy hands into the moments in between and hold on for as long as Ava lets her.

“I think I’m going to tell JC it was nice, but we won’t go out again,” Ava says conversationally as they exit their apartment building, headed towards campus. “He was nice, but… I’m looking for better.”

“You’ll find it,” she says, believing it wholeheartedly. She unthinkingly maneuvers Ava around a crack in the sidewalk. “You just need to be patient.”

“Patience isn’t my strong suit.” Her hand slides to Beatrice’s, their fingers slotting together for a fleeting moment. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait. But I'll try.”

Just keep waiting. Wait forever, her mind screams. Don’t find anyone before I can be who you need me to be.

Ava takes in her silence and laughs. Beatrice frowns, not in on the joke, but doesn’t protest when Ava laces an arm through hers, pulling until their pressed together from the shoulder to their elbows, digging into each other. There’s no space between them, not for a slip of paper or a secret.

Ava hums softly, some tune Beatrice doesn’t know, but would guess is some new song on the radio that she’s never heard. Beatrice lets it bubble in her chest, sinks into it’s familiar warmth, and hopes that whatever God is watching over her lets her keep this moment for as long as she can.

And if he isn’t, she hopes he’s just not paying enough attention to realize she’s living on borrowed time and that she’s running out of it.

[maislovebot]

I love everything you do

Bram Stoker x reader

Title is from training wheels by melanie martinez

Hello! I finally finished the Bram thing!! I actually finished it two days ago but I’ve been so busy with work and school I haven’t found time to proofread it till now:’)

Containing: S5 SPOILERS!!, afab reader, no pronouns, oral sex (afab receiving), riding, domestic fluff & smut, porn with plot, aftercare, premature ejaculation, bath sex, hand jobs, cum eating, clit stimulation, Bram wants to bite reader but can’t for obvious reasons, very brief groping, human/vamp relationship, post-vampirism arc

Bram officially had a body now. Everything with Dostoevsky and Ouchi had been solved, and there were many changes that Bram had to figure out how to deal with.

To start, Dostoevsky is now dead, and Gogol seems to be grieving with this fact. Ouchi is also dead, and now the nation is in a panic knowing that the war hero everyone looked up to was some sort of terrorist, even if all the people personally involved knew he meant well.

Including Bram Stoker.

Bram wasn’t entirely sure how to live now that Ouchi was dead, and he especially didn’t know how to live now that he had a full body again.

But this was certainly a good way to start.

“Alright, Bram. I know things are difficult, but do you really need me to explain this again? You don’t need that much shampoo.” You sighed, seeing Bram with at least seven pumps of shampoo in his hands.

“But if it keeps my hair clean, the more I use the longer it’ll be clean, no?” Bram deadpanned.

“That’s not how it works!” You ran your hands through Bram’s hair. You weren’t really annoyed with him, but you’d be lying if you said Bram’s lack of understanding wasn’t comedic.

“The one pump I told you to use works just fine.” You laughed at him lightheartedly.

Bram looked at your naked form up and down in confusion, your body slightly altered by the swishing of the water in the bath.

“But you used a different amount than I did.” Bram looked so genuinely confused, and it was honestly very cute.

“Yes, because our hair is different. Your hair is much more sensitive than mine because of how long it’s been without being washed properly. You need a different amount than I do.” You spoke to him gently, running your hands through his hair, much more successfully this time. When you met Bram for the first time, his hair was so matted it took hours to brush through. He was lucky he met you a few months ago. If he hadn’t, he’d probably still be living life without even washing his face.

“Once your hair is healthier I bet we can start using more shampoo, but for now this is all your hair can handle.” You smiled at him, wrapping your arms around him. Your naked form pressed up against his chest, and he let out a small whine, so you pulled away.

“Is everything alright?”

Bram nodded.

“Yes, it’s just..” Bram trailed off, and you soon realized what he meant once you looked down into the water at his crotch.

“Bram!” You jokingly flicked his arm. “You dog!”

Bram raised an eyebrow and looked away from you.

“It’s not like I can help it.. I haven’t had a body in so long it’s overly sensitive. My body isn’t used to it, I think.”

You smiled and looked at him right in the eyes.

“We’re gonna have to fix that soon. Not yet though. We still have to wash your hair.”

“Really? Why can’t you make an exception?”

You shook your head, and kissed Bram on the neck.

“You’re gonna love it once I clean you off. Trust me, it’ll make it more enjoyable.”

Bram sighed and nodded his head.

“Alright.”

You grabbed some of the shampoo left from his hands and let the rest trickle into the water, rubbing the shampoo into his hair, gently scratching his scalp. The shampoo that fell from his hands caused the bathwater to have small white bubbles scattered everywhere. Bram rested his head in the crook of your neck, getting your chin bubbly and wet. You slowly trailed it down to the tips of his hair that were recently trimmed, courtesy of you taking him to a hair stylist for the first time in who knows how long. His hair was still long, reaching far beyond his back, but the dead ends were gone. You took the shower head and turned the notch to make it spray a gentle stream of water and aimed it towards his head.

“Turn around and close your eyes,” you warned, “it stings your eyes.”

Bram nodded and turned, his back facing you. He tilted his head up to the ceiling and shut his eyes, the warm water running through his hair and down his back. His new skin was very soft, you couldn’t stop touching it. It felt brand new (although it technically was). The water ran down the front of his face, getting his eyelashes droopy with water droplets. He really looked ethereal. The shampoo was all washed out of his hair, so he turned around to face you and rested his face in the crook of your neck again.

“I’m gonna wash your body now. It’s unscented soap because I’m willing to bet your new skin is sensitive,” you kissed his shoulder, “ just letting you know.” You smiled into his newly washed hair.

“Are you going to use hair conditioner?” He asked.

“Not yet. I don’t think your hair can handle it yet.” You chuckled, grabbing a pastel loofah. You put the unscented soap on it, and ran it under water for a short amount of time, getting it all sudsy.

“Lift your arms!” You said, and he complied. He brought his arms up and washed along the undersides of them, trailing the loofah up and down, until both of his arms were covered with the soap. You slowly moved over to his chest and you began to rub it into his chest, covering his nipples and lower stomach, at least what wasn’t covered in bathwater. He whined a little at your touch and you chuckled.

“You’re awfully sensitive.”

“I haven’t been touched at all in hundreds of years,” Bram deadpanned, “I physically couldn’t have been touched.”

You gripped his chin with your sudsy hand and brought it to level with yourself.

“I love you, Bram.”

Bram let a small smile escape his lips, and he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was gentle, pleading, and generous. He closed his eyes once his lips made contact with yours, as did you. You two stayed like that for a while until Bram moved his hand to rest on your hip, and you began to gently play with his hair. You pulled away to breathe, and Bram gripped your shoulders and pulled you back into the kiss.

You could hear Bram mumble a “no..” under his breath, seemingly saying no to you pulling away from him. You stuck it out for as long as you could before you laid your hands on his chest and pushed him away gently, the soap covering it now running down and collecting at the rim of the water.

“Sorry, Bram. I don’t have the literally inhuman stamina you do.”

“Ah,” Bram responded, recognizing your reasoning. “I forget that I can hold my breath longer than the average human.”

You caught your breath, and Bram grabbed the loofah that was floating in the water to bring it to your naked body, rubbing it along your shoulders, collarbones and your chest. You appreciated the intimacy. He cupped water in his hands and dropped it along your shoulders, watching the soap drip down your body and land in the water, almost sizzling away once it made contact. You began to reciprocate, washing off what hadn’t fallen down his body already.

Eventually, you had both washed each other's hair and bodies completely, although it took longer than normal as you both took breaks in between many of your actions to kiss and caress each other. There was only one thing left, and Bram knew exactly what it was.

“Ah— dear, it’s sensitive..”

Bram whined, your movements causing a pleasurable buzz to be sent to his brain. You were currently jerking Bram off, bringing water up every now and then to wash it off.

“Now, you see, Bram, you aren’t supposed to use soap down there. It could irritate it.

“Alright, understood.” Bram barely got out. You liked this side of him. He was strangely submissive. Obedient, if you will.

Bram was so sensitive, it didn’t take very long for him to come all over your hand with a loud moan and shaking thighs.

“Now, look at the mess you made..” you trailed off, bringing your hand to Bram’s lips.

“Clean it up, Bram.” You demanded.

His movements stuttered, but he reluctantly opened his mouth and grabbed your wrist. He licked your hands clean, tasting himself on his tongue, and you kissed him to taste him too.

“You taste sweet.”

Bram looked away from you, so you grabbed his wrist, and he turned to see what you were doing. You brought his hand down into the water.

“Why don’t you help me out, too?” You questioned.

Bram smirked, then moved his hand away.

“I think I have a better way of going about that.” Bram said as he dove his head down, his head now underwater. You knew he had more stamina than you, but you were still worrisome, so you lifted his head up by his chin.

“I love the idea of that, but shouldn’t we do that outside of the bath? You might drown.”

“I can hold my breath for up to eleven minutes. I learned when some village folk attempted to drown me in 1897.”

You bursted out laughing.

“What’s funny?” Bram questioned, looking up at you from his position of resting on his elbows below you.

“Nothing, it’s just—you went from being a menacing vampire who overruled society to..this.”

Bram smiled up at you, then moved his hand to play with your clit, and you whined, gripping the railing of the tub.

“Are you convinced?”

“Well..” You trailed off.

Bram looked at you, awaiting an answer. Not moving an inch lower.

“Fine, but you better do a good job if you wanna be done before you run out of air.”

Bram nodded, and dove his head back down, his hair floating to the top of the bath. If there was one thing Bram was good with, it’s his tongue. After all, it was about all he could use for a very, very long time. He knew just how to touch you, and you tried to ignore how much practice he must’ve had to have gotten this good.

Your sounds were muffled from his point of view, but he could faintly see your mouth open from where he was, the glare of the bathroom lights reflecting against the water making it difficult to see. He moved his tongue to lap up the precum gripping onto your heat despite the water washing most of it off. It appears your slick is more dense than water, as small amounts of it was staying in place. He teased along your outer lips, then your inner lips, before finally moving along your hole, feeling it clench around nothing. He moved his tongue up to give small kitten licks to your clit, relishing in the way your thighs tensed around his head. The touch he was giving you was gentle, but Bram was going feral from the way your thighs quickly clenched around his head, making him move his mouth around your clit to vigorously suck on it, and you bucked your hips into his mouth, gripping him to pull him closer to your heat, and he could faintly hear you moaning from above the water. He moved his hands up to circle your inner thighs, and moved his tongue down to your hole, tongue fucking you. The movements of his tongue were slow and calculated, as they always were. He gradually switched between sucking your clit and fucking you on his tongue, and whenever he switched he would move his hands to either finger you or rub circles on your thighs, depending on what he was doing.

The way you clenched your thighs around his head and pulled his hair made him bring a hand down to jerk himself off, desperate from the way your body language spoke to him. You finally came, and it only took him about four minutes.

He could faintly see your cum taint the water, so he moved his head up, breathing heavily as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“Hey, I thought you said you could hold your breath long enough..”

“I said I can, not that I should.” Bram kept breathing heavily.

“Bram..” you gently scratched his scalp to calm him down, and once he caught his breath again, he took the opportunity to kiss your collarbones and shoulders, refraining from biting you.

Oh, the things he would do if he was able to bite you without turning you into some mindless, bloodthirsty animal. He instead settled for grazing his teeth over your shoulders, but light enough for it to tickle more than anything, and definitely not drawing any blood. You whined at his movements, wrapping your legs around his hips, and he sat up, grabbing your hips so you’d go up with him, making you hover over him. He laid his back against the side of the tub, and you got the signal, so you jerked him off a few times before dipping yourself down slowly. This is the first time you two were doing anything past him giving you head, as at the time, that’s all he really could do.. and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous. He’d had hundreds of years of experience, and you wondered how you could compare. But if anything, Bram was twice as nervous. He hadn’t had sex in so long he could guarantee he was extremely rusty, and sensitive. He knew he wouldn’t last long.

Regardless, you continued lowering yourself down until you were linked by the hilt, and you felt full. But you also felt so happy to be linked with him. You let out small whines, his size getting to you. Once you two get more practice with one another, you could figure out how much foreplay you’d need to not be in pain, but for now, the sting is tolerable.

“It’s shockingly clean.” you remarked, laughing.

“Well, it is brand new..” he replied, and you bursted out laughing, and Bram looked at you funny before chuckling along with you.

“I swear, you say the funniest things sometimes. But I am curious,” you looked down at where you two were linked, “does it look the same as it did before? Or is it like a new and improved situation?”

“I believe it looks the same, but I don’t remember exactly what it looked like.”

“Damn, I guess you were just born lucky.”

Bram lifted an eyebrow,

“What do you mean?”

You leaned down to kiss him, before lifting your hips up slowly.

“It’s very pretty. Just like you.”

Bram always melted at your praise, and you knew this. His grip on you tightened, before he pushed you down onto his length all the way again, and you let out a loud moan.

“O-oh, God, Bram—”

He kept his grip on your hips, pulling you up and down, before thrusting his hips to meet you halfway.

You slowly gained more control over your actions again, he was still pulling you up and down, but you wrapped your thighs around him tighter, going along with the actions, moving yourself up and down with him. He moved his face forward to kiss and lick your nipples, and you cried out. He used his dominant hand to help you keep your balance, and used his other hand to toy with your clit, and the overstimulation really got to you, making you almost cry a few times. Bram on the other hand, was actually crying. He was so overwhelmed, in the best way possible. He hadn’t felt this sort of touch in so long, and here you are, being his saving grace. It also simply felt very, very good. He could feel that he was close, and he sped up his actions inside of you, before cumming inside of you. His hips slowed, and he felt overstimulated, but he simply couldn’t leave you unsatisfied, so he took a deep breath and kept going at it. The overstimulating feeling made him cry out, his mouth no longer connected to your chest.

In total, he had managed to come two more times before you finally did. As he predicted, he wouldn’t last long. His cock had turned an angry shade of red of the overstimulation, but he didn’t care. He simply needed you to come. And once he finally did, he moved his hands away to grip the sides of the tub, breathing heavily. You two sat there for a short amount of time, before you lifted yourself off, mostly his, and a little of your cum dripped out of you and into the water and onto his stomach.

Your thighs gently shook, and before you could move any further, he gripped your shoulders and pulled you down to kiss him, and he moved his hand down to toy with your clit.

“I need.. I need you to come at least one more time.”

You wordlessly connected your lips to his, diving your tongue inside of his mouth, licking along his bottom lip every now and then. You gripped his arm tightly whenever he rubbed your clit in a particular way that made you go crazy, before he moved his fingers to tease your entrance, kissing you desperately. He placed two fingers inside of you, curling them and dragging along your walls, still playing with your clit with his thumb. You had come twice only a few minutes earlier, so it didn’t take you long to come with a silent scream. You grabbed his wrist, pulling it up so he couldn’t touch you anymore, the overstimulation getting to you. You wordlessly licked his fingers clean, and he watched you, the sight making him hard yet again. Once his fingers were clean, you intertwined your fingers with his, licking along his neck desperately, then kissing him again.

Needless to say, you two went at it even longer, and once you two were done you were both shaking and trembling in each other's hold, your breathing heavy.

“I love you, B-Bram—” you slurred your words, but Bram got the idea. You loved the way he tightly gripped your arms. By this point, his cock was a bright shade of red, desperate for him to give it a break, his body relieved to get what it needed. Your bodies were sweaty, in need of being washed all over again, so you simply turned around and dove under the water, letting the soapy water coat your entire body, washing off your sweat. You turned back around to kiss Bram, but he held you in place with your back facing him, and he kissed your shoulders, resisting the urge to nibble on your skin. You leaned back, allowing yourself to rest on Bram’s chest. His heart wasn’t beating. As it never was, but yours was, and rapidly at that.

Bram always found comfort in your heartbeat. Something about feeling or hearing it calmed him down, it’s similar to the way that ever since he’s gotten his body, he’s been resting his finger under your nose so he could see if you were still breathing. He did this any time you slept. His hands often gently touched your upper lips, waking you up, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you found it cute.

Bram rested his hand on your chest, partially just to grope you but also so he could feel your heartbeat against his hand.

You two simply sat there like that for some time, relishing in each other's presence. You had washed Bram off again, and he was petting your washed hair. Over time, you two began to talk to each other again, and the conversation managed to get to Bram talking about his past stories from his prime when he was a vampire who overpowered everyone, even royalty.

“I’ve met many people in the history books, and in my personal opinion, not many of them have as remarkable of a personality as the books make them out to be.” Bram commented, and you smirked, turning towards him.

“Do you know how long you’ll be alive for?”

Bram went silent. He tried to forget it, but he was commonly reminded of how in a short amount of time, he’d be gone again. You’d be long gone by the time Bram finally met his end.

“Bram?” You waved in front of his face.

“Apologies. Because my ability is genetic, I noticed that most of my family lives for about 300 years. I’ve been alive for 190 of it.”

“Really?” You looked bittersweet, but you quickly pushed the sad feelings back.

“Our relationship is anything but conventional, but I think we can make it work.”

Bram raised an eyebrow at you, tightening his grip around your waist.

“Well, we won’t have much time together, but we can enjoy what we will have.”

Bram sat silently, taking in your words.

“That’s a nice sentiment, but I doubt I could bring myself to live without you for that long. I’d go mental.”

You began to toy with Bram’s hair, before you turned around and kissed him deeply, the kiss was meaningful and loving, and Bram shamelessly gripped the back of your hair to keep you in place, before you pulled away.

You two were silent for some time again, but then Bram had an idea.

“Wait..wasn’t that Dostoevsky man after the page of that book?”

You nodded.

“Now the Armed Detective Agency has it. If they have any space left on that page, perhaps we could negotiate for them to write down that I’ll become human.”

You jolted up, and looked at Bram.

“Would that really work?”

“Most likely.”

You hugged Bram tightly, resting your face on his chest.

“If we did that..” Bram trailed off. He was embarrassed to say it, but he simply had to tell you his plans for if this worked out.

“If we did that, me, you, and Aya could all be like a family. A normal family.”

Your heart melted at his words. Despite everything, all he really wants is to be like a father to Aya, and a husband to you. You kissed his chest, before pulling away and wordlessly draining the bath, Bram looking at you confused.

“We might as well try to convince them now! No point in waiting.”

You stepped out of the bath and wrapped a towel around your body, Bram soon following and doing the same.

“You’re rather motivated.” Bram remarked.

You smiled and looked at Bram, his new body completely devoid of the many scars you were sure he had before his body was detached, because he had completely regenerated.

You sat down in your kitchen and wrote down your plans on how to convince the Armed Detective Agency, and Bram nodded and made remarks or criticisms every now and then, brainstorming your plan to perfection. Bram was so in love with you, even the way your hand drifted across the paper with the pencil so effortlessly. Even your handwriting was captivating.

He wasn’t sure if these plans were going to work out, but he was determined to figure something out.

He would figure something out.

He simply had to.

Wc - 3.9k

Hope you enjoyed:)

[jungk0oksthighs]

Pi Gasu | Damned If We Do, Dead If We Don't

Pairing - jungkook x reader

Genre - smut, angst, E2L, vampire!jungkook

Word Count - 6.5k

Donating blood for Jungkook is physically draining you, in more ways than one. Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, needles and masturbation, jk & oc argue, light violence

SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s Tuesday, you’re mindlessly tapping a blunt pencil against the desk between your fingers, feeling uninspired and drained. In more ways than one. Donating blood for Jungkook has changed from a fortnightly occurrence to a minimum of twice a week. Truthfully you don’t know how much longer you can keep this lifestyle up, while your bank account has never looked healthier your body feels the complete opposite.

You’re sick. Feeling constantly light-headed and drowsy, similar to last year when you had a nasty chest infection, even getting out of bed is a daily struggle. But with every donation comes a tonne of money, money you’ve been sending straight to your mother to cover the cost of Eddie’s medical bills. Jungkook doesn’t know truly how desperate you are for the money, he’s never asked and it would be fair to assume he doesn’t care – as long as you’re donating.

Your relationship with the vampire in question is equally as unstable as your blood pressure. He invites you over, you get yourself off in front of him while he's chained to the bed he has to replace every time you go there – giving that he breaks at least two of the bed posts each time you go, thrashing around like a handsome shark attempting to be freed. Once you’re finished you head up to his kitchen, donate and leave. The two of you don’t speak between your sinful, morally grey rendezvous, only amplifying your confusion toward the situation. Amplifying your confusion toward him.

College work can wait, you decide you need a nap before you’re capable of conjuring any coherent thoughts. It’s been a while since you felt this ill, your entire body is heavy and weak, simultaneously burning hot and shivering. Maybe it’s the flu? You’re Googling your symptoms when the weight of sleep drags you into unconsciousness, succumbing to slumber quicker than you thought humanly possible.

It's the knocking sound on your front door that wakes you a few hours later, actually, when your eyes flutter open with a lot of effort you register it’s dark outside. You’ve been out cold for at least six hours. Tired footsteps drag on the floorboards as you make your way to the door, using the peephole to ensure you’re not going to be drained of blood as soon as you unlock it. Thank god, it’s just Yoongi.

He's standing on the other side of the door with arms folded over his chest, brows raised and an unimpressed-looking expression. You sigh, unhooking the chain before you greet your next door neighbour. You’re not exactly dressed for company right now, having fallen asleep in nothing beyond an old, oversized Twilight t-shirt you wear to mostly dye your hair. Oh the irony.

“Hey…” You croak, throat feeling full of glass shards and head banging louder than thunder itself when you open the door.

Yoongi’s features shift to concern instantly, he uncrosses his arms and softens his profile into something almost caring when he speaks. “Are you okay…? You look… Are you sick?”

“Mhm, think it’s the flu.” You admit with a cough to backup your claim, covering your mouth, “Don’t get too close to me, what’s up?”

“I-, I uh-, I came for the lasagne dish back…” Yoongi runs a slender finger through his long brunette hair, pushing it away from his gentle features. “Do you have any medicine? You look really sick…”

At this you offer him a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine. Hang on I’ll go get the dish for you, probably best you don’t come inside…” You trail off to nothing while searching your cupboard for the dish in question, but much to your surprise Yoongi follows you inside, closing the door behind him all while he ignores your pleas. “No seriously!” You turn to face him with wide eyes, well, as wide as your eyes can physically get with the weight of the flu resting on your lids, “I don’t want you to get sick, go wait outside!”

“Y/N it’s just the flu, I’ll be okay.” Yoongi chuckles, veiny hands finding your kettle on the countertop before flicking it to boil, “Go sit down, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Yoongi—”

“Sit. Down.” He emphasises his words with a low, assertive tone, pointing to the sofa with raised brows. “Are you always this stubborn?” A small smile briefly tugs the corners of his pink lips, until the kettle flicks back off signalling the water’s boiled and he heads over to your small, makeshift hot drinks station.

You smile back, “Are you?”

Yoongi doesn’t look at you, too focussed on searching for tea, “I’m not gonna ask you again, sit down. You look terrible.” He murmurs, picking out your favourite mug straight away.

“You didn’t ask me to begin with.” You mumble in defeat, finally doing as he says and sitting on the sofa in front of the television. A large, cotton-candy pink blanket is haphazardly thrown onto your frame and the weight of it almost knocks you clean out. When you glare at your unexpected guest he’s grinning ear-to-ear, peeling his gaze away from you.

“Shit, is this rose thorn?” Yoongi gestures to your mom’s homemade tea bags, immediately rinsing his hands below the cold tap after touching it. Though he doesn’t look to be in any discomfort.

“I don’t know what she puts in there… My mom makes her own tea, she sent me some not long ago.” You hum, mindlessly flicking through the Netflix selection, internal organs knotting with shame when you scroll through the ‘Recommended For You’ section:

The Vampire Diaries, The Twilight Collection, The Lost Boys, and one that catches you off-guard so much so that laughter bubbles in your throat, Vampires Suck.

Correct Netflix, vampires do suck. It's refreshing to be at home in your modest apartment with blush pink and mustard furnishings for a change. It's bright, light and homely. The complete opposite to Euphoria's dark seductive overall aesthetic. But even Euphoria is tame in comparison to the hidden sex dungeon in Jungkook's otherwise seemingly normal home. You frown, wondering if the vampire has even noticed you haven't reached out in a couple days. Probably not.

“Sounds like mom’s very paranoid.” Yoongi mutters, choosing to give you a green tea instead. As well as a bottle of water. He places both onto the white coffee table in front of you and before you have time to question him he speaks again, “When did you last eat?”

You sigh, “Seriously Yoongi I’m fine, thank you but—”

“Y/N.” He cuts you off, “Do you have any idea what I do for a living?”

“No…” You admit sheepishly, unable to hold his strong, judgemental eye-contact that's unwavering despite choppy brunette locks tickling his almond-shaped eyes. “I don’t know anything about you, actually.”

Yoongi nods in response, slowly, “Exactly. Trust me, you’re sick. I bet you’re burning up right now-“ You don’t have a second to think before the back of his large hand is on your clammy forehead, he’s frowning when he pulls away, “Shit, you’re really sick. I’ll pick up some medicine for you tomorrow.”

“What do you do for a living?” Curiosity takes over, heart racing in your chest when Yoongi’s adjusting the blanket over your body, tucking every part of you beneath it apart from your bare ankles and feet.

“Keep your feet out, it’ll help regulate your temperature.” He’s completely focussed on making sure you’re comfortable, it’s when his hands graze the swell of your ass over the blanket that you clear your throat uncomfortably and he keeps talking, you assume it's his way of overcoming the sudden awkwardness, “I’m a medical journalist, used to be a paramedic before that.”

“Oh really? I’m a nursing student.” You smile, a genuine smile despite the ache in your body and pounding in your brain… It’s nice to have something in common. “How come you switched from being a paramedic to a medical journalist if you don’t mind me asking?”

At this Yoongi shrugs, eyes his expression almost bored-looking, “I helped a lot of people but it was never satisfying enough for me… Now I expose the people who don’t help others. Medical malpractice is something I’m passionate about, was an easy decision to make.”

“Hmmm…” You nod along with his words, seemingly impressed that he followed his passions and is still helping people by exposing the wrong-doings of others, “That’s really interesting.”

“So,” Yoongi stands in front of the television holding his hips, winning him your complete focus. He’s wearing acid-wash blue jeans, a white t shirt and a grey oversized cardigan today and once again, you can’t help but notice how he doesn’t seem out of place standing in your apartment. “Do you have any soup?”

The next four days are filled with Yoongi coming over and taking care of you, bringing you comfort food and medicine or even just his company. You learn that he’s a very sweet guy, though his external walls are tough and hard to penetrate – on the inside he’s much gentler than you’d expect, much more. It’s day five of riding out the confirmed flu when once again Yoongi is standing in your kitchen area, having just tucked you up on the sofa.

The pounding in your head has dulled, the aching of your joints and muscles has lessened. You still don’t feel 100% but you’re a hell of a lot better than you were, and it’s all because of Yoongi. It’s strange, one minute you didn’t know much about him and the next it was as though you’d known him forever. He’s scanning the contents of your cupboard with pinched brows, but you’re way more focussed on how his slender fingers trace patterns on the cupboard door while he searches for what he wants.

“Shit, no green tea left.” He sighs exasperatedly, “I think I’ve got some at my place…”

You’re smiling, attempting to show indifference when Yoongi closes the cabinet door and zones in on your face. You cough, looking away, “What’s wrong with my mom’s homemade stuff? It tastes nice, you should try it.”

“No can do,” Yoongi chuckles, slipping his shoes back on to head out into the hall and back to his apartment, “My roommate is allergic to rose thorn.”

You frown, prodding the inside of your cheek with your tongue to showcase your confusion, “But your roommate won’t be the one drinking it…?”

“Not directly, no.” Yoongi sighs, brushing fingers through his long brunette hair. Today he’s wearing an all-black outfit consisting of a very tight fitted t shirt and loose baggy jeans, all tied together with a leather jacket that’s currently hung up on your coat stand. “But you can never be too careful where allergies are concerned. I’ll be right back.”

After ninety minutes of waiting for Yoongi to come back to your place the drowsiness of the medication is in full swing and you drift off to sleep on the sofa. It’s an unknown amount of time later when you feel your limp body being shifted around, until your head is resting on something warm with a beating heart and there’s an arm loosely draped over your waist. The familiar woody scent of Yoongi’s cologne is the last thing you pick up on before you fall back to sleep, completely oblivious to your surroundings save for the comforting hold of your next door neighbour.

-

It's been a week since Jungkook last heard from you, if he had a heart it would be yearning for you to reach out to him right now. This is the longest the two of you have gone with zero contact since the night you met, even his employees Jimin and Namjoon haven’t seen you around your college campus or your neighbourhood. Which is unusual to say the least considering they’ve memorised your scent and know where you live. It’s like you’ve disappeared.

The only thing that has stopped Jungkook from directly reaching out to you himself is his pride, that and the fact Jimin and Taehyung have grown suspicious of his recent behaviour. It’s not that he’s in love with you or anything, vampires aren’t capable of such humane complexities. But he’s addicted to you, to the taste of you, to the sight of you, the scent of you. Everything about you lingers in his soulless being like an ache, he misses you. He misses your blood.

He’s due to run out of your donations any day now, giving that he’s being rationing himself to one test-tube per day of the euphoric rush your blood provides. He has three tubes left, and the fact he hasn’t heard a single peep from you in a week makes him feel… Well that’s just it, you make him feel.

Sitting alone in a private dance room at Euphoria he dials your number, wanting to schedule another… meeting with you as soon as possible. It’s when a voice he didn’t expect to hear answers, whispered and smug, that Jungkook stops breathing.

“Hello?” It’s a guy speaking, sounding every bit arrogant which ignites a fire of fury inside the vampire.

“Where’s Y/N.” Jungkook bites, immediately sitting up right on the leather sofa, almost crushing his cell phone in his strong grip. “Who the fuck is this?”

“She’s sleeping.”

Jungkook’s fangs double in length when his question is ignored, angering him further, “Who the fuck are you and why do you have Y/N’s phone?” He spits venomously, nostrils flared and eyes wide, rounded yet still fierce. His voice is bleeding with unsaid threats, anyone in their right mind would be terrified of him in this moment.

“I didn’t steal her phone if that’s what you’re implying…” The voice laughs sadistically, still remaining quiet and albeit unphased by Jungkook’s tone, “She’s here, she’s asleep on me right now—”

“Who the fuck are you?!” Jungkook growls, rushing to his feet, the leather sofa he was sitting on moments before flying back and crashing against the ground, smashing to pieces. His chest is heaving up and down, breathing ragged and mind clouded by the idea of you cosying up next to someone. “Are you in her apartment?! I’ll see you there in five—”

“Good luck with that,” The man sighs, bored-sounding as though this is the most mundane conversation he’s ever had, “Place is drowning in rose thorns.”

Jungkook’s features drop until no emotion remains, “A hunter.”

“Not exactly,” The man audibly shifts, a low delicate hum can be heard in the background and Jungkook’s chest tightens, he knows that’s your voice, “But you don’t belong in Y/N’s world. Stay away from her.”

“Stay away from her?! You think I—”

The call ends, pissing Jungkook off to the point where he’s launching his cell at a wall-length mirror that stands opposite him, smashing it to pieces. He catches sight of his reflection, his profile is tense and seething, equal parts disgusted and angry. His favourite leopard print shirt barely covers his chest, the top four buttons undone at least exposing his taught dewy skin. Tied with black slacks and bare feet, the club hasn’t opened yet and he knows he has to calm down and screw on his business head before customers arrive. But that’s going to be somewhat impossible now.

Who the fuck is in your apartment?! That guy is probably poisoning you with rose thorn. Jungkook’s entire body stiffens, fuck this, why does he care so much?! If you want to fuck around with men—, no. He can’t even bring himself to think about you being intimate with anyone else. Not that he’s fucked you, he’s never even kissed you because every time he entertains the mere thought of it the smell of your blood floods his senses and all he can think about is killing you.

Kissing a human, a few months ago he would’ve felt physically ill at the thought. But now? Kissing you is something Jungkook wishes he had the strength execute properly.

--

As soon as the flu passes you find yourself standing outside the familiar door adorned with a golden ’97’ on the front. You haven’t been to Jungkook’s place in almost two weeks now, you haven’t communicated with him at all but this conversation is something that has to be done face to face. You want out. Out of the donations, away from the vampires.

It’s nothing personal, there’s no bad blood between you and Jungkook but frankly you can’t keep doing this. For whatever reason your blood is special, you understand that, well at the very least you’ve accepted it. And Jungkook wants to know why, rightfully so – it’s just the constant donating is taking a toll on your body, you still don’t feel completely recovered from the flu and there are new aches and pains in your limbs every day. You’ve been to the doctor, mostly because Yoongi forced you to go to the doctor, and they confirmed your bloodwork is all over the place.

You have low iron, borderline no B12, your haemoglobin levels are dangerously under what medical professionals deem to be normal. Truthfully you’re exhausted, the mere thought of gifting any more blood to Jungkook makes your knees buckle under your weight. You feel weak, you feel tired. Which is precisely why you’re standing at Jungkook’s front door, wearing a rich burgundy off-the-shoulder sweater and black skinny jeans, tied together with a pair of black military style boots.

The dark front door swings open before you’ve even had the chance to knock, revealing Jungkook’s wide doe-like eyes shocked and confused to see you here. You swallow, having forgotten how… ethereal he is.

Today he’s wearing a fancy white shirt with plentiful ruffles gathering at the front of his chest, the first to buttons undone and revealing his tattooed dewy skin. The trousers he wears are similar to yours, black and tight fitting, except his are made completely of leather and shine beneath the November moonlight. It’s not a moment later when Jungkook’s features drop into a tight scowl, thick dark brows furrowed and nostrils flared.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is threatening, a little dangerous and lacking any trace of concern.

Awkwardly shifting your weight between your legs you sigh, looking him dead in his faintly stained crimson red eyes, “Can I come in?”

Rather than verbally responding he steps to one side, granting you access to his home. It’s still surprising to you how not gothic and creepy this place is, instead it’s homely and warm. At least this level of the house is, what lies in his basement is far from homely…

You slip onto a barstool in the kitchen, noting how Jungkook is keeping a large distance between your bodies. Right. He’s not tied up this time, he’s probably resisting the urge to kill you right now.

“It’s not because of that,” Jungkook reads your mind with a whispered scoff, “You stink of him, that’s all.” He folds his strong arms over his chest and you have to try not to stare at the bulging muscles flexing and moving beneath the very thin fabric of his shirt. The material is so sheer in fact, that you can see the tattoos that lie beneath.

“Him?” You frown, heart pounding in your chest as the realisation dawns on you – he means Yoongi. “Oh… Yeah, my neighbour has been looking after me… I’ve been sick. That’s actually why I came over…” You swallow again, mouth suddenly feeling very dry when Jungkook makes his way over to you in a few long strides, until he’s at the opposite side of the kitchen island.

His tattooed hands rest on the marble surface either side of his body, arms straight and stare stuck on you. “You should’ve told me you were sick, I could’ve helped you.” There’s zero emotion in his tone, no clues as to what he’s feeling etched onto his face, nothing.

“Helped me…?” Your brows are pinched together again, flaunting your confusion, eyes wandering to the swell of the vampire’s shoulder muscles, round and inviting. In an ironic way they almost look biteable, like large succulent pieces of fruit joining his arms to his equally as enticing body. His taught, big, beefy—

One of Jungkook’s eyebrows raise, the pierced one, his stare is intense and doesn’t falter from your for even a second. “Can you stop that?”

“Stop what?” You blink at him, a little anxious.

“Stop staring at me like that while you’re thinking such obscenities.” He says bluntly, the usual glimmer of flirtation nowhere to be seen.

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away quickly, clearing your throat, “Sorry.”

“If you were sick you should’ve called, you’re a smart girl. I’m sure you know all about what a drop of my blood can do.” Jungkook cracks his neck, eyes fluttered shut as though he’s actively trying not to look at you. “I’ve never let a human feed from me, but if you really were sick I would’ve made an exception.”

“What do you mean if I ‘really were sick’?” You scoff, pursing your lips, “Do you think I’m lying about being ill? Why on earth would I do that Jungkook?” You shake your head in disbelief, fucking vampires and their stupid sexy brooding faces and thoughts.

Of course he doesn’t believe you, probably thinks you spent the week avoiding him to hook up with Yoongi since you ‘stink of him’. Sighing, you mirror his movements, planting your hands down onto the countertop, cocking your head to eye him curiously.

“That’s exactly what I think, actually.” Jungkook looks scary, the tinge of red to his eyes has taken over his whole irises, the once faint stain of colour is now opaque and unmistakably deep ruby. Burning with something indescribable, boring into your soul from across the countertop. “Look me in the eye and tell me he didn’t touch you, tell me his scent isn’t all over you for the reason I think it is.”

You’re laughing, the sound empty and absent, “Stay out of my head! Are you asking if he touched me, or if he fucked me?” You fold your arms over your chest, subconsciously pushing the swell of your breasts up without trying, “Because they’re two very different questions.”

The vampire’s stare darkens, flickering to your chest for a moment so brief it could pass as an accident, “And yet the answer is the same for both, isn't it?”

“You’re right.” You hum, “He didn’t touch me, or fuck me. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Silence.

“Lets say for arguments sake he did fuck me… What could you do about it?” You scoff, frowning at him when you stand, “You don’t own me Jungkook, stop acting like you do. If I want to fuck my next door neighbour who the hell are you to stop me?! You’ve never even touched me yourself—”

“How fucking dare you,” Jungkook’s standing next to you in the blink of an eye, sharp fangs and familiar face bruising dominating his chiselled features. He’s looking down at you as though you’re everything wrong with the world, as though he despises you to your very core and his voice is equally as disgusted. “Show up at my home, drowning in another man’s cologne and try to pick a fight with me. Are you frustrated because I haven’t touched you myself, is that it?” He spits, lowering his head until you’re both nose-to-nose, “You want me to touch you, don’t you? You’re either very brave, or very foolish.”

Jungkook’s breath is hot on your face but you don’t fold, looking up at the familiar monster he’s become with unwavering, strong eye contact, despite the hammering of your heart inside your chest, “Are you jealous that I was with another man?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Of course I’m not jealous. I don’t own you, remember.” He scoffs, wetting his lips. The way his chest is heaving with each and every angry breath he takes is all the confirmation you need to know he’s lying, “The supplies are in the basement, make your donation and get the fuck out of my house.”

At this you try to push him away, the apple of his shoulder is rock hard beneath your palm when you attempt to move his body away for yours. But of course, as to be expected, he stays exactly where he is. A frustrated sound escapes you, similar to a whine or maybe even a defeated whimper. Whatever description it falls under, it has Jungkook smirking when you step away from him.

“Not so brave now, are we?” He chuckles, eyes raking the spans of your bare shoulders when he swallows.

You stand your ground, “The reason I came here is to call off our… arrangement, whatever you want to call this. It’s making me sick, my blood work is messed up and frankly I can think of better ways to spend my evenings—”

“Stop seeing him then, problem solved.” Jungkook barks, edging closer, voice louder, “He’s the one who convinced you to stop this arrangement, isn’t he?”

Your mouth falls open in equal parts shock and rightfully placed, albeit a little delayed fear, “N-no… Yoongi doesn’t even know about what we’re doing… I haven’t told anyone.” You silently plead with him, nervous of what he’ll do to you if he thinks you’re lying, “I need to stop doing this for my health…”

“I can fix that. I can make you healthy again.” He’s calm now, the fury behind his eyes softening with each passing moment.

“I don’t want to feed from you, Jungkook.”

“Think of it as medicine.”

“Except it’s not medicine.” You sigh, growing agitated.

“A drop of my blood will rid you of any human illness—”

“It’ll also turn me into a monster!” You blurt, immediately regretting that decision when every hair on your body stands to attention as you’re being hurried downstairs into his basement, faster than you can humanly process.

The familiar scent of warm amber and ginger hits you like a train and in the next breath your back is firmly pressed against a brick wall adorned with leather sex accessories. Paddles, floggers, whips, ball-gags, collars, everything a person can think of is pressing against your back. Tears stab at your vision, clouding it entirely when you catch sight of Jungkook’s strong arms caging your body in either side of your face, keeping you in place.

“You’d only turn if you died with my blood in your system…” The calmness, the consideration and purity of Jungkook’s voice surprises you. He doesn’t sound mad, he doesn’t appear to be anything related to angry. Instead his tone is sincere and offers solace. “And you’re an even bigger fool than I thought if you haven’t figured this out by now…” He whispers, lips tracing up your jaw until his fangs are pressed against the shell of your ear, “But I would never let that happen.”

“I’m s-sorry…” You whisper back, dizzy from his words, “I didn’t mean to call you a monster…” Your breath is shaky, eyes fluttering shut in an attempt to calm yourself down. He's going to fucking kill you down here.

“That’s exactly what I am Y/N.” Jungkook’s head is still dipped, lips grazing your ear as the words roll off his tongue, sending a hot shiver down your spine that you can’t even describe. “But don’t do this, don’t stop making donations.”

He pulls his face back on instinct when your eyes open, leaving you staring at each other with open mouths. Your heartrate picks up, until the sound of your pulse is deafening your ears. Your voice is quiet, cautious and calculated when it tumbles from your lips, “…Jungkook, my health comes first. I can make one final donation but after that you’re gonna have to find someone else to test—”

“Except there is nobody else. If you’re sick because of me, let me fix it.” Inked fingertips find their way to your bare shoulder, you tense beneath his touch and you register him wetting his pierced lips, his face is less than arms-length away and it’s enough to make you nervous. He’s not chained up this time, there’s nothing stopping him from killing you in an instant. “Please.”

“Why…?” You exhale.

“If I wanted you dead you would be already, don’t you trust me?” His voice is hoarse.

Your breath catches in your throat but you find yourself nodding, “Fine… But-, I’m… We’re not going to be like bound forever if I do this, right? If I-, if I drink your...”

At this Jungkook’s gaze deepens with hope, flashing with something a little sinister, “That’s not how it works. You’ll be restored to full health and your body temperature will burn it off in a couple days. You only need a drop.”

“That’s it?” You snort, undeniably confused, the media has always made the exchange of vampire blood out to be something akin to injecting heroin. “That’s all that happens? I don’t get addicted or anything?”

“That’s all that happens…” Jungkook smirks, his fangs extending two inches longer than his other teeth, one hand rolling the sleeve up on his other arm in preparation. “You have my word.”

You should be frightened, uncomfortable and scared shitless when his fangs pierce the tattooed skin of his wrist, until a tiny amount of blood gathers round his lips and drips from the open-wound. You should be running for the hills, you should be screaming, crying, throwing up or having an anxiety attack from what you’ve just witnessed.

But the only emotions coursing through your veins are… Curiosity. Bewilderment. Excitement. Is this a good idea? Definitely not. Do you trust Jungkook? You shouldn’t. Are you really going to do this?

You are.

Jungkook’s pierced plump lips are stained red, the skin surrounding his mouth tinted pink, you’ve never seen his lips look so inviting before. Almost swollen and begging to be kissed. Your gaze flickers back to his eyes, they’re crimson in colour and glowing beneath the dim lighting in the basement. He’s… beautiful.

“Stay still.” His voice is barely audible when he takes two small steps closer to you, his bleeding wrist is forgotten about when he edges even closer, hands finding purchase on the wall you’re pressed against. His scent is intoxicating, he’s staring at you with a gaze full of equal parts desire and uncertainty. “Don’t move Y/N…”

“Jungkook…” You whisper, subconsciously wetting your own lips in preparation for what you think is about to happen.

“Please…” He exhales, swallowing thickly, “Stay… Exactly how you are.” His eyes close, dark eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheekbones. When his mouth opens again you register that while his fangs are still sharp and unmistakably inhuman, they’re shorter and less-threatening. His chin starts to tilt towards yours, lips still parted, shallow breaths warming your face.

Slowly his eyes are open again, barely, but his hooded stare is intense enough to make you weak at the knees and win your heart to explode in your chest, “The unfathomable desire to have you… makes me feel human again.”

“Jungkook, please-,” It’s a slender tattooed finger pressing gently to your lips that cuts you off, you know Jungkook is trying his best to keep calm, his features are tight and crumpled with something indescribable. His digit leaves your lips and travels to your chin, angling your face up to meet his.

“Don’t move.” He whispers.

“Okay…”

He hushes you, lightly shaking his head, “Don’t speak.”

It’s the sound of your own gasp that fills the silence when Jungkook’s blood-stained lips are a hair away from yours, the coolness of his metal lip ring pressed against your mouth further confirmation this is the closest he’s ever been. You peer up at him through long eyelashes, breath hitching, zoning in on the two tiny face tattoos that sit beneath his eyes.

Divine. Sinner.

“Please… Stay exactly as you are.” He reiterates seriously, with more determination.

And then he kisses you, showing you exactly how kisses are meant to be.

It’s the way his lips are softly pressed to yours, the metallic yet sweet hint of his blood lingering on them. It’s how his inked fingers quickly and roughly grip your hips, the hold strong enough to shatter your bones. It’s the way he’s pressing you harder and harder against the wall, the way you’re already desperate for more but more of what you’re unsure. It’s the way his fangs graze your lips when his tongue slides into your mouth, accompanied by a drawn-out hushed moan.

Your head is spinning, arms snaking over Jungkook’s broad shoulders just to keep yourself standing. Your legs are wobbly, your heart thumping, body burning with an indescribable heat that you’ve never experienced before. You’re lost to his kiss, simultaneously damned and saved. It’s as though two worlds are colliding, maybe it’s heaven and hell. Maybe it’s vampires and humans. Or maybe, it’s nothing more and nothing less than you and Jungkook.

You do more than simply let him kiss you, you kiss him back. Fervently, intently, as though your entire existence depends on it. It’s Jungkook knocking your legs apart with his thick thigh that wins you to gasp, smiling against his lips triumphantly.

“I can’t-,” He exhales with furrowed brows, the words slipping from his lips and straight onto yours with another kiss, a hungrier kiss. “I can’t stop, how is this possible?” He murmurs.

“I don’t want you to stop.” You emphasise your words with a gentle tug of his hair and something inside Jungkook snaps — He pulls himself to the other side of the basement with a heaving chest, kiss-swollen blood stained lips and wide eyes. Leaving you standing alone, disoriented and yearning.

“You need to leave.” Jungkook says curtly, looking everywhere in the room except you, completely in disbelief of what just happened. “Y/N you need to leave now, I don’t want to hurt you.” The way you know he means that sends a pang of something unfamiliar straight to your chest.

“You won’t.”

“I want to.” He admits, wetting his lips. “I… I want to hurt you.”

"What about the donation...?" You ask sheepishly, feeling confused and embarrassed all at once.

Jungkook swallows, he's breathing through his mouth heavily as though he's attempting to calm himself. "You're the one who said you were done donating. Lets part ways here, while we still can." The venom dripping from his tone makes you scoff, makes you angry.

You shake your head, determined legs taking you over to where he’s stood before any rational thoughts can stop you, “No. You don’t get to kiss me like that and pretend it never—”

Within the blink of an eye he crushes his lips to yours again, the familiar taste of his blood gifting your body a surge of energy. This kiss is different, if the last one were akin to two worlds colliding this one can only be described as two lost, broken hearts exploding and becoming whole. It’s messy, it’s desperate and loud. Both of you moaning and gasping for air while your tongues explore the other’s.

It's not until your back slams into the nearest wall, every accessory hung up hurling to the floor as dust clouds rush from the exposed bricks that you register he’s holding you. Your legs wrap round his waist, hands already deep in his raven hair, his hands are squeezing the fat of your ass cheeks with so much force you feel bruised.

“Jungkook… I want you.” You pant, reattaching your lips to his with more urgency.

He's resting his forehead to yours, peeling away from your lips for just a moment when his dark hooded eyes flutter open, his stare intense and unwavering, completely zoned in on you.

“If I had a soul it would already be yours.”

Suddenly he’s kissing you with everything he has, with everything he is. All his defences shattering only to be replaced by the lust-fuelled hunger surging both your bodies. With your back firm against the wall that’s barely standing, bricks tumbling to the ground from how hard you’re pushed against it, your legs snaking his middle keep you in place. It’s when Jungkook laces his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head that your eyes meet his again.

The satisfaction darkening his chiselled features is unmistakable. As is the relief, the need, the want, lust, desire, desperation and even the hint fear. It’s as though you’re looking straight into an emotional mirror, everything you’re feeling he’s feeling too. After one final kiss, a kiss so passionate not even Shakespeare himself could describe it, Jungkook’s sharp fangs are pressed to your neck and you gasp.

“You… You need to leave, now.” He rasps, finding the strength to pull away from you and aid your feet to the ground. “Leave.”

This time you don’t need telling twice, bruising and wine-coloured veins darken Jungkook’s eyes and you’re painfully reminded of what he is. And what could’ve just happened.

“S-sorry. I’m sorry.” You scramble up the stairs, hurling yourself out of his home as fast as you can, delirious and uncertain of what the future holds. The only thing on your mind being the sincerity behind Jungkook’s hooded gaze when those heart shattering words left his pierced, welcoming lips.

“If I had a soul it would already be yours.”

X

[tswaney17]

I Do Bad Things with You - Part 45

Back again, with a doozy of an update. I recommend grabbing a snack for this one. You'll be here for a while. 😅 This update does feature a torture session, so mind the trigger warnings. Only four parts and an epilogue left! Hope you like it! 💜💙💚

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

Word Count: 11,274

Three days later, Emerie had the adoption process in full swing. Elain wouldn’t lie, having a multi-millionaire husband made people work fast. What should’ve taken weeks (or months to be honest) to get through, only took two days. They would be taking Kaden home that night for the first time so he could get settled, and would remain with them throughout the adoption process.

The hospital approved him to stay in the ICU in the meantime to avoid having to place him in a temporary foster home, a perk of her job, and having the chief of surgery vouch for her. Elain had been worried that with an unfamiliar place, his now-healing arm in a cast, and his fear of people, would negatively impact him. The hospital board agreed—though Elain assuring them that she and Azriel would pay for the board in full probably did something to help sway their decision. She understood why hospitals had boards for making decisions, but sometimes she thought they cared more about the money than their patients.

Azriel had taken the last two days off of work to prepare the spare bedroom for their newest addition—Elain helping to the best of her ability when she got off. Due to Kaden’s small size, he also needed a booster seat that was meant for somebody younger than him. She hoped that it wouldn’t be long before they got him to a healthier weight and could put him in something more appropriate for his age.

They still hadn’t told their family, wanting to wait till after they got the approval from social services when they completed their adoption interviews the following month, but they did let the Moonbeam twins know, seeing as they would be carting him and her to work most days. Kaden was going to temporarily join the daycare group at the hospital until they got him into school. Unfortunately, the year had already started, and they were elbow-deep in research for the best ones in the area to enroll him in as soon as possible.

With the twins expected in four months, and now Kaden, it also meant they had to move—the penthouse no longer serving them and their growing family. Azriel had been in touch with his realtor to get the process started, and she hoped they had a new place and time to settle before the twins were born.

Her husband had some very specific requests for their new home security-wise, and she couldn’t disagree with any of his suggestions. They were going to lose the safety the penthouse provided with combo locks and front lobby staff twenty-four-seven. The first thing Az had requested was something gated, preferably away from others, and large enough to host their entire family in spare bedrooms. He would be able to add in the additional security, but this was the foundation of what they were searching for.

To put it lightly, they were running around like crazy trying to get things in order.

Elain was eternally grateful for her husband who could drop everything to take care of things. Perks of being the CEO, she chuckled to herself. He was going to meet her here later on that evening to pick her and Kaden up, wanting to be the one to bring him to the penthouse for the first time.

Finding that Kaden loved being read to, they had already put together a full bookshelf in his bedroom filled with books of various sizes and reading levels, along with too many stuffed animals, a boatload of other toys, and, of course, clothing. They had stocked up on items for him to last through the next year, even with the possibility of him growing.

Elain was sitting next to his hospital bed, reading him a story about giving a mouse a cookie. She was nowhere near the level of enthusiasm that Azriel had provided when he read “The Three Little Pigs” the other day, but Kaden was enamored by her nonetheless.

A commotion at the children’s ICU front desk caught her attention and she glanced up to find a man in a suit shouting at the nurses, looking agitated, furious, and threatening.

She knew who it was immediately, snatching her phone from the front pocket of her scrubs and shooting a text to the Moonbeam twins.

SOS. Children’s ICU level 3. Now.

Her fingers stroked Kaden’s plump cheek. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, setting the book down on her chair and striding from the room. Elain closed the curtains, shielding Kaden from view before sliding the glass door shut.

But it was too late. He had seen her and the boy and was stalking his way over to them.

Elain’s back straightened as she lifted her chin, meeting him head-on just outside the room.

“Give me my son,” he snarled.

“You mean the boy that has been here for three days and you’re just now coming to claim?”

He flicked his hand, far too close to her face for comfort but she refused to flinch. “I’m here to collect him.”

Elain’s anger flared, but she reined it in, not wanting to give him more of a reason to react violently. “If you want him, you will have to go through child protective services. Because I am not releasing him to you.”

His tanned skin flushed at her comment, his rage rising to meet her challenge. “He is my son—”

“Blood doesn’t make you a father,” she snapped.

Those green eyes took her in, narrowing to slits. “You’re the bitch trying to steal him from me.”

The breath rushed from her lungs. How did he know they were trying to adopt him?

Lorenzo’s mouth curled up in the corner with a cruel smile. “Move, the fuck, out of my way.”

He shifted to his left and she countered, stepping to her right. “No.”

His gaze snatched down her body, taking in her swollen stomach before returning to her face. “If you don’t move, I’ll make you regret it.”

Elain’s heart pounded in her chest, but like hell was she letting him anywhere near her son. Kaden was hers and Azriel’s and this pathetic excuse of a man wasn’t ever getting near him again. “Touch me and I can guarantee you’ll be in a body bag by the end of the week,” she breathed. In her peripheral, she saw Fenrys and Connall jog from the elevator, spotting her across the room. Elain swung her eyes back on Lorenzo’s face. “You’re nothing but an abusive monster and if you want to try and take him, you’ll have to go through me.”

The man swung, palm open to crack across her face.

But a golden-tanned hand snatched it around his wrist, halting him just inches from her cheek, the breeze fluttering the loose hairs over her ear.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Fenrys deep voice purred. “Her husband wouldn’t like it.” Though he sounded amused and wore a slight smirk on his face, Elain saw the darkening of his eyes. A cold look of a predator waiting to pounce.

Connall wore a similar mask, standing so close to Lorenzo’s other side that any large breath would have his chest brushing against his shoulder.

Both males had become not just good friends of hers, but rather protective too. Even more so since they found out she was pregnant. She knew that with them there, Kaden’s father couldn’t touch her.

Lorenzo glanced down at her name badge, pinned to the front pocket of her scrub top at her waist. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in that hyphenated last name.

Archeron-Knight.

Only a fool wouldn’t recognize that name, and if she was correct in her assumptions about who this man was or whom he worked for, then she knew he’d know immediately who her husband was.

She saw the recognition flash across his face; the hint of fear too before he quickly tried to cover it up with a sneer.

Elain wanted to slap the scorn off his face, but she settled on using her words instead. “Unless you get clearance from social services, you are hereby banned from entering this hospital and trying to reach Kaden. If you step foot in that lobby, I’ll be sure to have you thrown out.”

His nostrils flared furiously, but before he could respond, she looked at Fenrys and nodded toward the exit behind them. “Get him out of here.”

Connall gripped his other arm as they lugged him away, curse words falling from his lips faster than she could hear them.

Her heart raced beneath her ribcage at how close it came. He would’ve hit her to get to her boy had the twins not interfered. But Elain would’ve taken it if it meant protecting the little one behind her. Taking a few steadying breaths to slow her heart rate, she turned and slipped back into Kaden’s hospital room.

He was still awake, green and hazel eyes wide with fear. It was obvious that despite the closed door, he had heard his father’s voice.

“He’s gone,” she murmured, slowly approaching his side. “You’re safe with me.”

As soon as she sat on the edge of the bed, he curled into her side, little hands gripping her scrubs. “You stay wiff me?” he asked her in such a soft voice, she almost missed it.

Elain’s chest tightened at him finally speaking. At being comfortable enough to open up to her. She carded her fingers through his soft, inky hair. “Yes, sweetheart. I’ll stay with you.”

And she did, notifying Thesan to remove her from the rotation for the rest of the day while they waited for her husband to arrive that evening.

~~~~~

Blood sprayed, showering his torso in tiny, red droplets. He felt his knuckles split at last as he threw another punch into Elias’s jaw, tooth cracking.

Azriel withdrew into the darkest corner of his mind, the place he firmly kept buried deep and only brought to the surface when his fury needed a bloody and brutal outlet. It was the tainted part of his soul that was bred and honed into him as a child. Brought upon by fists and fire.

His father made sure of it.

So did his brothers.

When he delved into the monster, he felt nothing. Became nothing. He had to in order to inflict the pain, the torture, on those who crossed him. Az didn’t let himself think about her, about their growing family. He couldn’t taint their image with the cruel, twisted version of himself that he turned into.

No matter that the man deserved every single ounce of brutalized agony he delivered. Azriel had always used violence as a method for managing his anger. Some may have called it an “unhealthy coping mechanism,” but was truly the only outlet for his fury. It was the reason why he and Cassian would spar as teens, his elder brother the only one of the two who could really throw down with him when he needed to release his pent-up rage.

As an adult, he didn’t let himself cross that bridge too often—at least not anymore—but it was even less so since she had reentered his life. For her, he tried to be a better man, wanted to be, and typically let Ruhn handle the dirty side of things.

But not for this. Not after what he did to his wife. Tried to do to his unborn children. Those acts were unforgivable and Elias would pay for it with his life.

Eventually.

The man spat it on the floor, grinning savagely up at him, despite the fact that he was tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse and hours from death. “Is this how we end things, Azriel? You kill me to satisfy some sick fantasy?”

It had taken Ruhn a while to finally track down Elias’s hiding spot. Some secluded cabin way out of the city. But once he finally caught the trail, he tailed him like a rabid dog until he captured him for good.

He readjusted the sleeve of his right arm, pushing it back up to his elbow. His scarred fingers stained red. “Oh, Elias, how blindly imprudent you are,” he taunted, throwing another punch and nailing him square in the nose.

To Elias’s credit, he didn’t yell or shout, simply hissed, spitting more blood onto the tarped ground.

“This isn’t some fantasy. This is revenge for what you did to my wife. You signed up for this the first time you put your filthy hands on her.” Az grabbed a knife off a nearby crate, flipping it once between his thick fingers. “You will beg for death before I grant it to you,” he snarled, embedding the blade into the top of his thigh.

This time, Elias did scream, fight it as he might, the pain, the surge of blood were too much for him to hold back. His head tilted back in agony as Azriel yanked the dagger out and plunged it into his other leg.

Elias’s body tensed, fighting the restraints that would never give, as he sucked in heavy, rasping breaths. “We were supposed to have been partners,” he wheezed between clenched teeth.

“No. I was forced into a partnership with your uncle. Not you. I gave you a way out and you chose to throw my generosity in my face.” His lips curled up slightly at the corner in a sinful smirk. “Your downfall is on you, Elias. You have nobody to blame but yourself.”

The dimmed fire reignited in those dark eyes at his words. “Your slut is to blame,” he spat with a renewed vengeance.

Quick as a flash, Azriel had his large hand wrapped around the man’s throat, squeezing until Elias’s face turned an ungodly shade of red. His body twitched under the force, but Az didn’t give in an inch as he struggled and fought to breathe. Leaning forward until his lips were nearly touching his ear, he whispered, “If I were you, I would choose your words very carefully. Nobody refers to my wife in such a manner without consequence.” The smirk turned sinister as he watched Elias turn from red to purple. “It’s not so fun being on the other side of this, is it?” he mocked, knowing how Elias put his soiled hands on his wife’s neck, bruising her pale flesh for almost two weeks.

He tightened his hold, squeezing the thrashing man with a sick vengeance. He could’ve easily snapped his hyoid. Literally choke him to death. But that wouldn’t have been satisfying enough and only released his throat when he was on the verge of passing out.

Elias choked on his air, coughing with the might of his lungs. “Your fucking bitch,” he wheezed with as much venom as he could muster.

Ripping the dagger still protruding from his thigh, Azriel gripped his hand and twisted the index sideways until a distinctive snapping sound echoed in the warehouse. Pressing the blade into the joint, he began to cut, severing skin, tendon, and bone.

Hands flexing beneath his grip, screams tore from Elias’s mouth, loud enough that Az was surprised his voice hadn’t given out. Maybe he should’ve shattered that when he crushed his windpipe; at least then he could’ve had some peace and quiet. But he didn’t stop until he dropped the amputated digit onto the floor in the pooling blood that stained the bottom of his dress shoes red.

He moved to Elias’s other side, intending to even out his hands when the ringing of a phone cut through the air. His eyes flashed to Ruhn, leaning on the wall while letting him exact his revenge.

Ruhn pulled Az’s phone that he’d been holding onto out of his pocket. “It’s Connall.”

He stuffed a gag into Elias’s mouth, effectively silencing him before wiping his hands on a rag and taking the phone from Ruhn’s outstretched hand. “Connall,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“Azriel,” he started. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s been a situation.”

His heart plummeted into his stomach. “Is Elain okay? Is she hurt? What about Kaden?”

“Everyone is fine and safe. We had an unexpected visitor today.”

His eyes flashed to Ruhn, though he knew the other man couldn’t hear the conversation. “Who?” he gritted out.

“Kaden’s biological father, Lorenzo, showed up and caused a scene. We’ve removed him from the premises, but I thought you ought to know.”

Another name to add to his list. Azriel swore if one more person went after his wife or family, he was going to lose his shit and rain hellfire on this fucking world. “Did he lay a hand on either of them?”

The very distinct pause had another blood-thirsty sense of fury washing over him. “No,” Connall finally admitted. “He attempted to strike her, but Fenrys caught his arm before it connected. They are both physically unharmed, though by the way she’s comforting Kaden, it appears he may not be emotionally or mentally.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll be in this afternoon to pick them up—Kaden is coming home with us today. Until I get there, I want at least one of you stationed outside of his room and the other monitoring Elain.”

“Already done. Elain informed us that she has requested the rest of the day off and is sticking by his side. We’re posted on either side of his door. Nobody in or out that’s not approved by her.”

The twins deserved a raise, he realized, noting that detail for later. “Thank you, Connall. For the update and keeping them safe. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Always, Azriel.”

The line went dead and he had to take a breath to settle himself. Too many emotions had risen to the surface and he needed to separate himself again to finish what he started. But as he turned to face Elias once more, his overwhelming need to make him suffer hours—if not days—of torture vanished.

He didn’t need to torture the man. Az just needed him dead. “It’s your lucky day, Elias,” he said, striding over to rip the gag from his mouth. “My desire to torture just took on a new face.”

Some sick satisfaction swept over him at the hope that lit Elias’s dark eyes. Because he knew the man thought Azriel was going to let him go, and he was about to rip that dream of freedom right out from underneath him. “Which means, your life has served its purpose.”

True terror blanketed Elias’s face and before he could even voice a shout, Azriel snatched the dagger from the crate where he left it and slashed it across his throat.

Elias choked on his blood, drowning in it as it poured from his lips.

Dropping the knife on the ground, he turned his back on the dying man and told Ruhn, “Bury him on top of his uncle. So, the beginning and the end of their regime can meet in death.”

He left the warehouse without another word, letting Ruhn handle the cleanup and dealing with the body.

As the sunlight warmed his skin on his walk to his car, Azriel released the mask of his inner demon and summoned his true self back into its place. The man who loved his wife and their growing family. He let out a heavy breath, breathing out all of the darkness from his soul. Climbing into the car, he drove away from the warehouse and did not look back. 

~~~

Azriel had done his research in the short time since deciding to proceed with the adoption, needing to know what they would face by taking in Kaden. Lorenzo was, in fact, a part of the Illyrian Mob, though he wasn’t ranked high. He had about three superiors before he reached Nick, let alone Frankie. His death wouldn’t even cause a stir in their pyramid of power.

A kernel of knowledge he kept in the back of his mind because that’s what he signed up for when he went after Elain and Kaden. His death by Az’s hands. Another stain on his blackened soul, but he would taint it for her. For them. He’d carry the weight of the world if it kept his wife and family safe.

But that would come at another time. Right now, he had to focus on the boy they would be bringing home that night. He pulled into a parking spot outside the hospital and climbed out of the car. He and Elain spent the morning installing the booster seat in the back for Kaden before she left for work, and he did a last-minute glance over to make sure everything was ready. Snatching the small backpack filled with proper clothing inside, Azriel strolled into the front lobby of the hospital.

He took the elevator up to the third floor, nodding at the Moonbeam brothers who stood guard outside of Kaden’s room and knocked on the door.

Elain waved him in with a smile on her face as she got up off the stool to greet him. “Hello, Az.” She swooped in for a sweet kiss, his hand automatically settling onto her rounded stomach.

“Hello, my love,” he grinned, leaning forward for another small peck of her lips.

Her eyes glanced down at the hand cradling her belly. Her fingers grazed the fresh wounds that littered across his knuckles. “What happened?”

Azriel twisted his wrist to grip her palm, bringing it up to plant a soft kiss there. “Just work stuff.”

She frowned but didn’t ask him to elaborate. Elain was intelligent and could easily guess how he split his knuckles. But she knew better than to bring it up in front of their little boy, who was watching them closely.

Knowing that he came from a rough home, they made sure to show their affection to each other in his presence, wanting him to know that he was joining a loving home.

Azriel looked around her shoulder, smiling at Kaden sitting on the bed. “Hello, Kaden. I brought you something to wear.” He stepped forward, unzipping the backpack and pulling out a pair of pants, a long-sleeve shirt, socks, and sneakers, that he hoped fit him.

Elain moved to shut the curtain, offering them some privacy as they helped change him from his hospital gown to street clothes. “I’m going to put your bear in your backpack to take him home, okay?” she said, showing him the stuffed toy being placed in the dinosaur backpack.

Kaden’s dark hair rumpled when he tugged the shirt over his head and Az couldn’t help but chuckle as it fell into his eyes. He’d need a haircut soon.

His little hand rose to push it back, but a shy smile tugged on his lips.

Azriel felt his heart soar from that smile. He hadn’t been offered one yet, but spending the last few days here with him had helped tremendously. Kneeling, he helped put his shoes on, tying the laces, and then carefully lifted him off the bed and onto his feet. “Shall we go home now?” he asked.

Kaden immediately took Elain’s offered hand, but he was surprised when he felt small fingers wrap around his pinky. Azriel looked down to find the boy staring up at him.

Every single worry he had about this kid not accepting him as his father vanished from that moment on. He was his, no matter his blood, and Az would do anything to keep it that way. Nobody was ever going to take his son away from him and Elain.

He pushed the curtain aside and opened the sliding glass door, tugging his little family into motion. The Moonbeam brothers fell into step behind them, always guarding their backs but now with even more reason and focus. Azriel had seen the way they stepped up in their protection detail since Elain had gotten pregnant, and he knew that their dedication would extend to Kaden tenfold.

They rode down the elevator in comfortable silence, a pleasant hum running through his body. Viviane looked up at them when they made it to the nurses’ station, a smile pulling on her lips and she clapped Elain on the shoulder as they passed.

At the car, he kissed his wife’s cheek, murmuring for her to get in as he lifted Kaden and strapped him into the booster seat. He ruffled his hair with a large, scarred palm, catching that green-flecked gaze.

Closing the door, Az dismissed Fenrys and Connall for the weekend before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Elain asked, turning to look at the boy in the back.

Azriel glanced in the rearview mirror, watching as he took in the sights around him. “Steak with mac and cheese,” he said out loud, pulling out of his parking spot.

She rubbed a hand over the swell of her stomach. “One baby agrees with that decision very much.” Her light laughs echoed in the car, and he reached over to feel the hard kick from one of the twins.

A little fighter, that one was.

Elain’s cravings had varied throughout the pregnancy. In the beginning, she wanted nothing but carbs. Then she was into Mexican, and Az spent a lot of time making bean and cheese burritos at two in the morning when she woke up hungry. But right now it was barbeque. Steak was his go-to, but last week, she was dipping chicken breast into frosting because, apparently, it was sweet and savory. He had to hide his disgust over the last one, but the image of her utter happiness while eating it brought a smile to his lips.

When they made it to the penthouse, Azriel immediately went to light the barbeque and put the mac and cheese in the oven while Elain gave Kaden a tour of the downstairs living area. Once finished, they walked him up the stairs to her old bedroom where he would temporarily be staying until they bought a new place. “This is your room, Kaden,” he said, opening the door and allowing him to slowly shuffle his way in.

Green and gold eyes went wide at the outrageous display. To be fair, he and Elain might have gone a bit overboard on things to buy, but they wanted to make sure Kaden felt at home and well-loved.

Az had put together two bookshelves against the far wall that were nearly overflowing. A rocking chair sat with them so that they could read together in the evenings before bed. A basket full of stuffed toys sat in the corner, and a large shelving unit was placed next to the dresser and contained everything from a dinosaur set to blocks to racecars.

They had decided to keep the queen-sized bed in there for now, not having had the time to replace it, nor wanting to. So, they purchased kid sheets instead, with a cartoon character on them that he couldn’t remember at the moment.

Truthfully, the bedroom looked like it belonged on the cover of a home décor magazine, but their only concern was comfort.

Kaden glanced up at them, waiting for permission.

“Go on,” Az encouraged him with a gentle nudge on his back.

The little boy ran for the boxes on the shelves, opening the tubs they had organized before sliding them back. He then took off for the plush toys, digging around until he found a stuffed dog.

The squeal he let out had warmth flooding his body and Az turned to share a look with his wife, whom he could tell was experiencing the same kind of utter joy.

Kaden stopped at the bookshelves, roaming the selection before he carefully placed his dog on the rocker and then ran back to them. He threw his arms first around Elain’s legs, making her choke out a sob, and then carefully around his, almost as if nervous to show affection towards him.

Az’s throat grew thick with unshed tears and he crouched to put himself at eye level, holding out his arms to see if he would embrace him.

The little one hesitated for a second before he slowly stepped into his chest and wrapped his arms around his neck. Azriel held him tightly to his body. Felt the heaviness of his worries that this boy wouldn’t accept him disappeared within that embrace.

“We’re happy to have you home with us, buddy,” Azriel whispered, pressing his lips to the side of his son’s head.

His son.

The words hadn’t hit him until that very moment. But as he clutched that little body to his torso, he realized how right it felt to think it. To say it.

Elain sniffed, carding her fingers through Kaden’s soft hair. “Go play, sweetheart. We’ll come to get you when dinner is ready.”

Azriel released him, letting him toddle off back for the assorted containers. He stood back up and wrapped an arm around her waist as they watched him a moment longer explore his new bedroom. “Come on, let’s get you changed.”

Though it was obvious that both of them wanted to stay, they also agreed to give Kaden some space to settle in, so it didn’t feel like they were hovering over him.

Elain padded to their bedroom to swap into some comfier clothes while he went back downstairs to throw the steaks onto the barbeque. They busied themselves in the kitchen, listening to Kaden’s imagination run wild up the stairs. Though not loud, it was something they both kept sharing shy smiles over.

“He seems to love it,” she breathed.

He looked over at her. “You did well in picking out stuff for him. I don’t think I would’ve had any of the right toys.”

Elain laughed softly, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’ll get better at it as you grow into your role as a father.”

They harmoniously worked together to finish prepping dinner, basking in their contented silence—it wouldn’t be long until the silence became a rarity for them—and it wasn’t until a distinct crashing sound had him racing up the stairs, two at a time.

Az threw open the bedroom door.

Kaden whipped around, looking guilty and nervous at the blocks knocked onto the floor. It was clear he had accidentally dropped the container as he pulled it off the shelf.

His son slowly took a step back, like he thought he was in trouble. The evident fear made his stomach clench, sorrow and range dancing through him at the mere thought of somebody harming this child for making any sort of sound.

Elain gripped his shoulder and he glanced at her, seeing that same worry on her face.

He turned back toward the little boy, hoping to calm him. “Are you all right?” Az asked carefully.

A minute passed, then another until finally, they received a silent nod in confirmation.

“We thought maybe you got hurt,” he tried explaining. “You’re not in trouble.”

Those shoulders relaxed slightly.

How often did he get hit or shoved or yelled at, simply for being a kid? It made his heart ache and his blood boil for vengeance on Kaden’s biological father. That man had a limited number of days before Az sought him out.

“Dinner will be ready soon, sweetheart,” Elain cooed, offering him a sweet smile that seemed to provide him some semblance of ease. She gently closed the door and they both paused, holding their breath to see if he would continue playing. After a moment’s hesitation, they heard a car being rolled across the hardwood floor.

She gripped his hand, tugging him down the stairs. “It’ll take some time to adjust to his every sound, but I think we can hold off on running up the stairs whenever he makes a peep,” she teased, shooting him a grin over her shoulder that didn’t touch her eyes. Because she knew as well as him the horrors their little boy faced in his short lifetime already.

Az sighed more to himself than anyone else. “After everything he’s been through, I can’t help but want to make sure he’s okay, one hundred percent of the time.”

“That’s fatherhood calling you, Azriel. Our kids are going to get scrapes and bumps and bruises. That’s just a part of childhood. The best we can do is just make sure we’re there to bandage them up and kiss away the hurt.”

He stopped her, turning her around to kiss her softly. She melted into it. “You are my rock, El.”

Her breath teased his lips as she looped her arms around his neck, securing him to her. “And you’re mine.”

Azriel felt those words settle into his heart and spread all over his body. Warmth and love and the undying faith that he knew to be true. Together, they could take on the world.

~~~~~

The next few weeks had been a blur. Kaden blossomed under their care, speaking to them in a quiet voice, though they could tell he was a bit behind in his speech. They hired a speech therapist who worked with him three days a week after school. Kaden loved school, even if he was shy with the other kids, and they did find out he’d never attended one before, which also explained his developmental delays. He mostly kept close to his teacher, who had been informed of his past and fears, but a few of the kids in his class kept trying to engage with him and only the day before were they informed that he accepted an invite to play with one of the other children.

After dinner, they’d each take turns reading to him and with him, hoping to help catch him up to his classmates. Both Kaden’s teacher and speech therapist had recommended it, and she and Azriel would do everything in their power to help their boy succeed. And though he was calling them by their given names now, they were working toward momma and daddy.

It was progress, Elain had said one night. “Every day, I see a little bit more of the boy he’s supposed to be.”

There were a few rough challenges they had to handle. About a week and a half into living with them, Kaden woke up late evening with a nightmare. Elain didn’t think she would ever forget it…

Azriel was on his side, head propped on his fist as he spoke to her belly. It was something he did every night, wanting the babies to hear his voice as much as possible. Sometimes he read them stories, sometimes he sang, and other times he just told them about his day and how much he couldn’t wait to meet them. Whatever it was, Elain always had to choke back tears at the love and joy that shone on his face when he talked with their children.

It was nearing eleven o’clock when they heard Kaden’s desperate scream.

Her husband launched out of bed, tearing down the hallway to reach their son’s bedroom. Elain hurried behind him, though her waddling—yes, she was fucking waddling now—slowed her down a bit. When she reached his room, Az already had Kaden’s crying form tucked into his chest.

“You’re okay, Kaden. You’re safe. Nobody will ever hurt you again,” he murmured, pressing kisses to the top of his head. His golden eyes met hers, blazing with a fury she only saw when his family was threatened. “Love, can you get some clean sheets out?”

Her brows raised in surprise, but with the hallway light on, she could see the dark stain on the bed where their son had wet himself from fear. Elain’s heart ached, but she nodded, slipping to the cupboard just outside the door and pulling out new linens.

She set the bedding on the dresser and then headed into the bathroom to start the water in the tub. “I’ll trade you,” Elain said, indicating for the child.

With one last kiss on his head, Azriel placed Kaden into her arms and began stripping the bed of its soiled sheets.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She rubbed his back in comfort, hoping it would slow the tears still rolling down his red cheeks. Once he calmed down enough, Elain helped him out of his pajamas and got him into the bathtub.

As she was gathering his clothes from the floor, he asked her, “Is Azweel going to punish me?”

Her head snapped up, catching Azriel in the mirror whirling around in shock at the question. She could read the devastation on his face. The hurt of being associated with that monster. Knowing she had to carefully address this, Elain knelt by Kaden at the edge of the tub. “No, sweetie,” she murmured, running a hand through his soft hair. “Azriel isn’t going to punish you, sweetheart. It was an accident.”

It became clear that this wasn’t the first time Kaden had an accident and received corporal punishment for it. A level of anger she’d never felt before kindled in her gut as Kaden’s bottom lip quivered.

Gathering his clothes, she stepped out of the bathroom, finding the bed already remade, and Azriel standing there looking as if he’d been slapped.

“He thinks I’m going to punish him?” he asked in disbelief.

But that wasn’t quite right. “No, he believes that he will be punished for an accident because he likely has been before. You are stepping into the role of his father, Az. It’s going to take some time for him to see the difference in how you respond to things versus the man who sired him. He will see it, though. I promise you that he will.”

Az chewed on his bottom lip, a habit he did when he was anxious about something. “Should I go in there?” he worried.

“I think it’s important that you do.”

He nodded, picking up the clean sleepwear for his son, and stepped into the bathroom.

Elain tossed the soiled pajamas into the hamper before leaning against the wall, just outside the bathroom to listen to her husband.

“Hey, buddy. You ready to get out now?” Azriel kept his voice whisper-soft, not wanting to give Kaden anything to worry about.

Water sloshed and she heard the distinct sound of the drain popping.

“I heard you ask momma if I was going to punish you…” there was a pregnant pause and she held her breath for the rest of that sentence. “No matter what, Kaden, I will never punish you like that. Whatever happens, I promise you that you won’t ever have to fear me, okay? I love you so much, Kaden. And I will always, always protect you.”

A wave of tears washed over her, rolling down her cheeks. Damn hormones. She glanced into the bathroom, catching Kaden as he slipped his arms around Az’s neck, hugging him tightly.

Her husband rose to his feet, still clutching their son in his arms. He turned, catching her watching them, and shot her a pleading look.

Elain knew what he was asking her for. Could read his desire to continue holding his son. So, she reached out a hand for him. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

They walked back down to their bedroom, Az lying down on his back so Kaden could sleep on his chest. Elain snuggled in next to him, her hand rubbing up and down their son’s spine until he drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

“You’re good with him,” she whispered.

“We’re good with him,” he amended. “I don’t think I could let him go, now.” He left the rest unspoken. How, if social services didn’t approve of the adoption, they would fight until their dying breath to change their minds. Because like hell were they letting anyone take their boy away.

But she didn’t doubt that they would be seen as the best thing for Kaden. And she would use that confidence to power through their interview which could change their lives forever.

Much like the little boy sleeping on her husband already had.

Elain blinked, drawing herself from her memory. They were on their way to the adoption interview, and though she had confidence that this would go their way, it didn’t stop the butterflies from erupting in her stomach from her nerves.

Almost as if he could sense it, a large, scarred hand reached across the console to squeeze her knee. Az glanced at her once before returning his eyes to the road. His touch instantly soothed the anxiety running through her.

“Ewain,” Kaden called from the backseat.

She twisted her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can we get ice cweam?”

Azriel let out a chuckle as she smiled at the little boy. “I think we can do that after the interview.”

“Yay!” he cheered, throwing his arms into the air and kicking his feet wildly in his booster seat. Despite fall having rolled in a few weeks earlier, summer had yet to lessen it’s hold on the city and a cold bowl of ice cream did sound appetizing.

At that, her husband laughed, deeply and so full of love as they pulled into the parking lot of the social services office. Azriel collected Kaden from the back who grabbed both of their hands, nearly swinging between them as they walked into the building.

“Mr. and Mrs. Archeron-Knight. Welcome,” a woman said from behind the front desk. “Please follow me.” She escorted them to the back into a private room. Half of it was set up with a couch, desk, and two chairs, while the other half was clearly designed for children, including a small table with coloring utensils and a cubby holding various toys. “The interviewer will be in shortly. Please make yourself comfortable.”

They moved to sit on the couch together, Az gripping her elbow to ease her down. The joys of being pregnant with twins.

“Can I go pway?” Kaden asked, shooting them those puppy-dog eyes that neither could resist. They were definitely in for trouble with that face.

“Of course,” she told him, brushing a curl behind his ear.

He went straight to the table, grabbing a coloring book and some crayons to occupy himself, humming lowly while his feet swung beneath his chair. Kaden had a love of art; something his Aunt Feyre would go nuts for.

“We’ll have to get him more coloring supplies,” Azriel murmured, pressing his lips to the side of her head.

A knock sounded from the door before it was opened, revealing a young woman with dark hair braided back, and a beautifully tanned complexion that could only be from her heritage.

She smiled brightly at them. “Hello Azriel and Elain. My name is Nesryn. It’s lovely to meet you both.”

At the sound of a new voice, Kaden’s head whipped up and he quickly made his way back over to them, wiggling to place himself between their bodies.

Her brows raised in response to his shyness.

“Kaden is still a bit uncomfortable with strangers,” Elain said, running her hand along his back as he buried his face into her torso. “We’re taking it slow in introducing him to people so he doesn’t feel overwhelmed.”

Nesryn’s lips turned up at the corner. “I can’t say that’s entirely a bad thing, or surprising for that matter given his history.” She took a seat opposite of them, using the table as a buffer between her and their son. “I took a look through his file and, frankly, the number of past injuries is highly concerning. I know that Emerie was originally on his case, and she will be conducting his interview because I believe she may have a better chance at working with him but given her close relationship with you, Elain, she’s asked me to conduct your interviews to prevent any biases.”

She nodded. “I think that’s fair.”

Flipping open the file in front of her, Nesryn leaned back in her seat and asked, “So, why do you want to adopt Kaden?”

They shared a look before Azriel responded. “To put it point blank, he’s our son, without a doubt.”

“When Kaden was first brought into the hospital, I connected with him instantly,” Elain added. “He seemed timid with the nurses and other doctors, but with me, he relaxed. I knew from that initial meeting that he was brought into our lives for a reason. Even with his nervousness around men, he opened up to Azriel fairly quickly too. Almost as if he knew he could trust us to love him.”

Nesryn nodded, noting something down in her file. “And how has he progressed with you since he’s been living with you?”

“He’s communicating with us, will tell us what he wants to eat, and asks if he can do something. His food intake is good and I can see he’s beginning to put on some healthy weight,” Az explained. “He’ll sit with us as we read bedtime stories and let us kiss him goodnight.”

She smiled. “It sounds like you have a solid routine for him, would you agree?”

Elain tucked her foot behind her ankle. “Yes. We try to keep a set schedule with him as much as possible. Dinner time, bedtime, when we wake him up to get ready for the day.”

“How’s he sleeping?”

Azriel glanced at her, a question in his eyes and she nodded. “There was an incident the first week. He woke up one evening with a nightmare so terrifying for him that he wet the bed.” Nesryn’s brow cocked, but she didn’t interrupt. “We comforted him, cleaned him up, and put new sheets on his bed, but it was a question he asked that concerned us…”

“What was the question?”

He sighed, lips parting. He hated having to admit this, but it was important to be honest with the social worker. They had discussed whether or not to talk about that night earlier and decided if it was brought up, then they would. “He asked Elain if I was going to punish him.”

Nesryn noted that down and he fought the hackles that rose as a result. “Did you punish him?”

The question caught him off guard. “No! Of course not. He didn’t do anything wrong and I would never punish him in the way he was asking.”

“What way is that?”

“We believe corporal punishment was used on him in instances like this,” Elain spoke up, seeing how the question twisted at Az’s insides. “After he asked me that, Azriel went to speak with him and reassured him that he would never punish him like that. That he would always protect him.”

The woman smiled. “That was probably the best thing you could’ve offered him at that moment.” She turned her dark eyes onto her husband. “I don’t ask these questions to pry or to insinuate anything, Azriel, but just to get a feeling of how well you two respond to it. I could see that you were upset by that question and I wanted to make myself clear. You both have shown me that you would make excellent guardians for Kaden already.”

She flipped through her file, checking off a few boxes. “Now, I do need to address the obvious.” Her eyes flashed to Elain’s rounded stomach before returning to meet their gaze. “You’re expecting in a few months. That’s a hefty change for you both. How do plan to balance having newborns with a newly adopted child at the same time, along with the additional financial obligations that come with it?”

“You don’t need to worry about the financial aspect. We are more than capable of handling whatever expenses come our way,” Az told her.

Nesryn huffed a knowing laugh. “True, but I’m still required to ask it.” It was no secret to her how wealthy they were.

“As for balance, I think it’s important to note that even though Kaden will not be our biological son, at no point will he ever feel like there’s a difference in the love we show him in comparison to the twins. He will always be our son, no matter what. And we will do everything we can to ensure that he’s settled, included, and as much a part of our family as anyone else. There is no limit to the love we can give him.” Elain said each and every word with her whole heart, feeling Azriel take her hand as they huddled closer to the little boy still sitting between them.

“While Elain will be taking a generous maternity leave, I will also be taking two months off from work to be at home after the twins are born. And then will work from home for a good portion of the few months after while we establish a rhythm, to settle with our three children, and to make sure that Kaden is as comfortable as possible.”

Her whole face lit up with a smile. “I’m happy to hear that. Many fathers aren’t able to take time off like that and adjust their schedule to help out, so knowing you plan to, I believe will make all the difference in adjusting to your new life.” She skimmed through her notes and then closed the file. “Well, I must admit that you two would make wonderful parents to Kaden. I don’t have any concerns with approving your adoption of him.”

The air whooshed from Elain’s lungs in one giant breath. Relief and happiness and so many other emotions rushed through her until her eyes grew misty. “Thank you, Nesryn. That means a lot to us. Truly.”

“Always a pleasure.” She stood from her seat. “I’ll send Emerie in for Kaden’s interview now. You two will need to step out of the room for it, so we can try and get unbiased answers from him.” She indicated to the mirror on the side of the room. “You’ll be able to watch through there. His interview won’t be as extensive as yours was.”

“And if he doesn’t answer her questions?” Az asked, nervous for the same reason she was. Would that affect their ability to adopt him if he refused to speak?

“His questioning is just to get an idea of how he’s feeling. If he doesn’t respond, then we will notate that and go with just your interview.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief.

A moment after she bid them farewell, the door opened and Emerie walked in. “Good morning,” she beamed, stepping up to the coffee table. “I was hoping that perhaps Kaden and I could chat over there,” she pointed towards the area where he’d been coloring earlier.

Elain glanced at the boy, still tucked against her side. “Do you want to go color again?” she asked him softly, brushing his hair back.

Kaden peeked up at her, his green-speckled eyes wide. He dipped his chin in confirmation.

They got him set up at the table to continue his drawing from earlier when Az knelt next to him. “All right, buddy. Emerie here wants to talk with you for a minute by yourself. Momma and I will be right outside the door if you need us. Okay?”

Elain kissed the top of his head on her way out the door. They made their way to the side room where the one-way glass was, watching as Emerie made attempts to communicate with their son.

“Do you like living with Elain and Azriel?” she asked him as she worked on her own drawing. Nesryn explained that it helped reduce the anxiety of feeling interrogated.

Kaden nodded, not looking up from his drawing.

Silent communication was better than no communication, she thought, relieved to see that he did like being with them.

Azriel gripped her hand in his large, warm one.

“What do you like about living with them?” she encouraged, picking up a new color.

He was quiet for a moment, then told her, “They’re nice.”

“He’s talking to her,” she breathed, throat constricting with emotion. They had done that. They had broken through his barriers to help him speak.

“Nice, huh? Was your dad not nice?”

Az shot a look at her, puzzled by the question.

Kaden shook his head, grabbing a yellow crayon, but didn’t elaborate. Not that she expected him to. Elain realized early on that Kaden didn’t like to talk about his biological father, even with them. She hoped that in time, he would open up about it, but they weren’t going to push the subject with him.

“Did he hit you?” Emerie asked quietly.

His coloring slowed, eyes never straying from the paper in front of him.

She reached out to touch his hand, but he snatched it away from her. “You can tell me, sweetie. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I don’t fucking like this,” Az growled, tensing as she pushed their son into speaking.

“Did he hit you, Kaden?”

His head snapped up, crocodile tears rolling down his cheeks. “Where’s Azweel? I want Azweel!” he shouted, voice cracking in desperation.

Elain felt that pain in the pit of her stomach; her husband already moving.

“Fuck this shit,” he snarled, throwing open the door to the interview room and hurrying to collect his son.

“Azriel!” Emerie started.

“This interview is over,” he snapped, cradling Kaden’s crying form to his chest.

Elain reached his side, her palm running along Kaden’s arm in comfort as he clung to his father’s neck

Emerie rose from her chair, arms crossing. “I know that it’s hard to watch, but if we can get a verbal statement from him, admitting to his father’s abuse, we have a stronger case against him!”

“Do not raise your voice in his presence,” he said forcefully. “What you’re doing isn’t helping him. He’s not ready to talk about what he went through and I will not stand by and watch him have to relive his abuse when he is not ready for it.” Azriel was a force to be reckoned with when it came to his family. “I don’t think you understand the trauma a child goes through after living in an abusive household. We have worked so hard to get him to open up to us, to progress forward, and if you push him, we’re going to lose all the growth we’ve made.”

“If and when he’s ready to talk, we will be there for him, but we’re not going to continue like this,” Elain added, standing with her husband on this.

Footsteps sounded behind them and Nesryn walked in, skin turned a ghastly pale color. She held her phone in her hand as she looked at them all. “We don’t need to worry about building a case against him…”

Emerie frowned. “Why?”

“Because they just found Lorenzo’s body.”

~~~

They were silent in the car, the last hour replaying over and over in her mind. After hearing the news about Kaden’s biological father, chaos broke out. Phones were ringing and both Emerie and Nesryn were arguing with their superiors about how nothing changed their minds.

Elain, for a brief second, thought she was going to lose her son in the madness. Only Azriel’s strong presence at her side kept her from breaking down completely. But when the dust settled, they received the stamp of approval for Kaden’s adoption.

She had wept with joy, kissing her husband, still holding their son to his chest, before she descended upon Kaden’s head until he giggled at her.

But now, as they were headed home, having stopped to grab an ice cream to go, she couldn’t stop the question from passing her lips. “Did you do it?” Elain asked, glancing at Azriel behind the wheel.

His eyes shot to hers for a brief second before returning to the road. “No,” he told her honestly. “No matter that he deserved it and I should’ve.” Azriel’s words held a dark and dangerous tone and she knew that he would’ve ended that man if the opportunity had presented itself to him. Not just for their son, but for the time Lorenzo nearly attacked her too.

She breathed out a sigh of relief. Elain couldn’t exactly blame him for wanting Lorenzo dead. The man had tortured the sweet boy in the back seat for years. Left hurt, scared, and to fend for himself. She saw a lot of her husband in him and she knew Az saw himself too—saw the trauma of his childhood in those green and golden eyes.

“Should we be worried?” If he didn’t end Lorenzo’s life, somebody else did. And the timing was just too coincidental for her not to have concerns.

Azriel let out a heavy breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Elain looked over her shoulder at the boy humming while he ate his ice cream, most of it smeared on his lips. His feet kicked happily over the edge of his booster seat.

“No matter who did it, nothing will ever happen to him, El. I promise you that.”

She looked back at her husband. “I never doubted that. I’m just worried at why it was done.”

He grabbed her hand, kissing her knuckles. “Let’s not think about it right now and focus on our growing family.” Az ran his thumb over the back of her palm. “We need to let our siblings know.”

Elain pulled her phone from her purse. “I know. I was thinking of dinner. What about tomorrow night? You could barbeque again—ooh, barbeque…” Her mind wandered to Az’s grilled specialties, which he made for her three times a week to curb her cravings.

His chuckle pulled her mind back from thoughts of food and the growl in her stomach. “I can barbeque, my sweet.”

“You spoil me.”

Az’s head tipped back in a laugh. “You’re the one growing two babies inside of you. I think making your food is the least I could do.”

Her grin split her face as she typed out a message to her sisters. HerH

“Momma, I’m all done!” Kaden shouted from the backseat.

Elain whipped her head around at the name, sucking in a sharp breath. For a moment, she just stared at the little boy, replaying the sound of him calling her momma. Tears welled in her eyes and it took her a minute to realize he was holding out his empty paper bowl and spoon for her to take. With a shaking hand, she reached out and collected the carton, heart hammering in her chest.

“Tank you!” 

“You’re very welcome, sweetie,” she managed to spit out, still in shock.

Azriel pulled into their parking spot in the penthouse garage, turning off the ignition to smile broadly at her.

He called me momma, she mouthed at him.

Leaning across the console, he kissed her, cupping her jaw and letting his thumb swoop over her cheek. “You’re his momma,” he whispered only to her.

Her phone dinged twice and she lifted it to read the text from her sisters. “Dinner for tomorrow is a go,” she told him.

They glanced back at their son, oblivious to the shared moment. Tomorrow, their siblings would find out they had a new nephew. And she couldn’t wait to share the news with them.

~~~~~

Azriel was on the balcony, checking on the two chickens he had on the grill. His wife’s obsession with anything barbeque still made him smile. He did his best to mix up the way he prepped it so he and Kaden didn’t grow tired of it, but Az didn’t dare to tell his wife no when it came to whatever she was craving.

It was a quarter till six when he heard the elevator ping and made his way back inside to greet his siblings. “How do you all manage to show up at the exact same time?” he asked, sliding the glass door closed behind him.

“Impeccable timing?” Cassian supplied with his signature shit-eating grin.

Az simply rolled his eyes, calling for his wife. “Elain! Everyone is here!”

“Be right down!” she hollered back.

They had decided to have Elain bring Kaden down to meet everyone at once, hoping it would be less intimidating for him. He wasn’t sure how their family would react to the adoption, but he didn’t believe they had anything to worry about.

“We brought wine,” Feyre announced, heading towards the kitchen in search of glasses.

There was nothing he could do but let her further into the dining area, watching as she paused at the table, brow furrowing. “Az, do we have somebody else joining us? The table is set for seven.”

Before he could answer, absolute silence descended upon the room as Elain appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying what looked like a sleeping Kaden in her arms. She managed to take only three steps down before Az reached her, taking the little boy from her arms. “Come here, bud. Momma shouldn’t be carrying you right now.”

Even in his sleepy state, Kaden willingly went into Azriel’s embrace, arms sliding around his neck.

“He was asleep on the floor when I went into his room,” Elain told him, taking his elbow as they made their way down the stairs to where their gaping family awaited.

“Question,” Cassian started, looking utterly bewildered. “Did you two have a previous child that we don’t know about?”

Elain laughed softly, running her fingers through their son’s dark locks. “Everyone, we’d like for you to meet our newly adopted son, Kaden.”

Azriel turned so he could see his aunts and uncles. “Kaden,” he murmured quietly, running a hand down his back. “Kaden, this is your Uncle Rhys and Aunt Feyre,” he said, then turned towards their other siblings. “And your Aunt Nesta and Uncle Cassian.”

Those green eyes peeked out from his chest, glancing at the four new adults before he turned his face and buried it into his neck.

He chuckled, hoisting him up higher in his arms. “He’s a little shy.”

Their siblings remained frozen like statues. Much to his surprise, it was Nesta who managed to snap out of her reverie first, stepping forward and presenting her daughter propped on her hip. “Hello, Kaden. It’s nice to meet you. This is Sutton,” she told him, angling the almost one-year-old so he could see her better. “She’s your cousin.”

That had him turning to look at the little girl in his aunt’s arms. “Baby,” he whispered, fingers grappling with the collar of Az’s shirt.

He kissed the top of Kaden’s hair. “That’s right, buddy. She’s a baby, like what your brother and sister will be.”

“Does anybody want to explain what is going on?” Rhys demanded, startling the boy in his arms.

“Lower your voice,” Az said fiercely, taking a step back from the group to murmur words of comfort into his ear. “Would you like to go color before dinner?” he asked, already moving towards the coffee table where Kaden had left out coloring books from earlier.

He gently set his son on the floor, kneeling to kiss the side of his head before rising and ushering the adults further into the dining area to give Kaden some space.

“Kaden was brought into the hospital a while ago with a fracture to his arm that required surgery,” Elain explained. The cast had come off the previous week and his surgical site was healing well. “X-rays showed that it wasn’t his first fracture.”

“Or his second, or his third,” Az practically growled, still furious at how much the boy had suffered at the hands of his biological father.

“Four fractures?” Cassian breathed in horror.

Elain touched the back of her head. “He had one on his skull, here. Likely the result of being pushed into the corner of a low-lying table.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Because of the obvious abuse he suffered, he’s very timid around adults, particularly males. Despite that, he connected with me in the hospital. Clung to me,” his wife told them, looking at their son with such love that he had to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her close to him, wanting to bask in the warmth she radiated.

“We were approved for the adoption yesterday, and go to court in a few weeks,” Azriel announced.

Silence descended one more before Cassian cleared his throat in obvious discomfort over what he was about to say. “Not that we aren’t truly happy for you both, you do remember you’re having twins in just a short while, right?”

Elain’s eyes snapped to her brother-in-law, going impossibly dark. “Well, fuck me, Cash. I’m pregnant? Who would’ve thought?”

Azriel snorted in amusement at the hostility.

Cassian’s tanned face went pale. “I didn’t mean it like that, Elain—”

“Then how did you mean?” she snapped, not even letting him finish his sentence.

It surprised him that Cash, of all the siblings, made a comment. He had always been the more accepting of the group to changes and surprises.

His brother scratched the back of his head, knowing he’d dug himself into a hole. “I just meant that newborns are a lot and you have two on the way. Taking on another child could be more than you anticipate.”

Jesus Christ his brother was burying himself in a grave.

Elain stepped out of his grasp, shooting daggers at Cassian. “Azriel and I are well aware of the responsibilities that will come with adopting a child and having newborns. We’ve discussed things endlessly to ensure that Kaden feels welcomed and loved even with the twins’ birth.” She crossed her arms as she stared him down. “But I’m curious, would we not see the level of support that we have shown you since Sutton’s birth?”

At that, Cash blanched. “Of course you would.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Forgive me, Elain. It was not my intention to question your ability to parent and raise three children. I know you’re more than capable of it.”

She turned her attention on the rest of the group. “Does anybody else have any opinions they’d like to address?”

A chorus of declines sounded from the rest, making him chuckle.

“Good.” Elain turned to face him. “How are we doing on the chickens?”

Azriel glanced down at his watch. “They should be done. We can start bringing stuff to the table and I’ll carve.”

His family went to scatter, Nesta slowly approaching Kaden with Sutton in her arms and asking to join him on the floor. Nesta laid her daughter on her stomach, sitting back against the couch with some toys. He watched as his son cautiously stepped toward his niece. A smile touched his lips, already seeing a life-long bond between the two children.

Feyre and Rhys followed Elain to the kitchen, helping her pull dishes from the fridge and finish setting the table.

Cash took a half-step toward his wife when Azriel reached out and snagged him by the crook of his elbow, forcing him to look back at him. He lowered his voice to ensure the others couldn’t overhear him. “Don’t you ever speak to my wife like that again,” he warned.

Regret flashed in those hazel eyes so much like his own. “It won’t happen again.”

He nodded, releasing Cash’s arm. “Good. Now help me with the chicken.”

Gathered around the table, the family welcomed their newest addition, growing more and more excited for all the new changes coming their way.

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

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[emry-stars-art]

Hello! I just wanted to say your art is gorgeous and I love the attention to detail you give to your work! This royal au is scrumptious and I'm so grateful you shared it with us! Second, for Jean's role, I was wondering what you thought about making him a blacksmith? It would make him useful for Riko without having any power (not a guard, etc.)but also give a reason for Jeremy to seek him out (and get swept off his feet), perhaps once he's escaped and is in Palmetto. Feel free to ignore tho!😊

IGNORE THE MENTAL IMAGE OF BIG POWERFUL BLACKSMITH JEAN MOREAU? SAFE IN THE UNNAMED TROJAN KINGDOM, BULKING UP AND FEELING ACCOMPLISHED WITH THE WORK OF HIS HANDS??? I WILL NOT

I’ve been really invested in the idea of the “perfect court” now that we’re in a royal au, and since Kevin and Riko were both technically royalty, Nathaniel was/had the potential to be a noble, I think Jean should also be high end?? Like while at Evermore they all have different duties right, maybe Jean was an attendant to Riko or something. Whatever he was there, we know he wasn’t treated well. Probably not allowed to pursue his own interests, just like everyone else.

But Kevin and Nathaniel both escape, and they find new jobs that fulfill them. So Jean should as well!! He gets to the Trojan kingdom, probably with the help of Renee still (which is. A whole thing about politics and family lines in this au strangely enough) and he doesn’t have to be a noble anymore if he doesn’t want to. He’s probably already renounced his nobility in the way he left Evermore. I don’t doubt Jeremy, who I’m imagining as another prince because that’s the image my brain gave me, would hesitate to reinstate him as Trojan nobility if Jean asked (as long as it’s far enough down the timeline obviously). Instead, Jean kind of slides under the radar, and once he’s all settled he finds work in the smithy. And he really enjoys it! He feels stronger and healthier and he gets to make such amazing things, he doesn’t even have to make weapons if he doesn’t want to. The workers all choose their own specialties and jobs, filling in gaps as needed

Then one day the royal family or the prince is making rounds, coming to see how things are running, and Jeremy is kind of wondering if he’s seen this blacksmith before? Like he’s pretty sure that’s a familiar face, but he definitely would have remembered seeing someone like him around the kingdom before now, so he brushes it off.

(Really he’s seen Jean Moreau at summits and other large gatherings, only once or twice. Back when Jean was much less healthy and when he still tried to make himself smaller to fit into Riko’s shadow. So yes he recognizes the face; but this is a much different man than the person he saw across grand halls.)

And for my lovely jerejean enjoyers: if Jean ends up talking to or in close proximity of the prince, for whatever reason? Jeremy can definitely blame his red cheeks on the heat of the forges 💫

Sliding a couple process pics under the cut

(Find the royal au writing masterpost here 💕)

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

Hiie!

I can't find any posts about this yet. What are your pros/cons on bioactive enclosures? I've seen alot of opinions online but like, professionally what's the move? I'm a naturalist at a state park and we are getting new terrariums and I want to go bio to display native plants alongside the animals! Can live plants and reptiles do well without the "cleanup crew"?

Also, if moving in the bioactive direction, do you recommend buying an active soil like biodude? I've seen people online using soil, moss, plants, isopods, worms from outside in their tanks. How do you sanitize/quarantine? Are parasites an issue?

Askinf for corn snake, king snake, box turtles, if that makes a difference. I already sent our vet these same questions, I'm casting a wide net for all the info I can get :) Thank youuuu I love this blog sm 💗

Hello hello, very good questions!! I don't keep any of my personal snakes in bioactive enclosures (I don't enjoy trying to keep plants alive and I'm not the biggest fan of insects), but at my wildlife center we've been moving to keeping several of our display snakes in bioactive enclosures for the past few years and they're really nice in educational settings!

Like I said, I don't like bioactive enclosures for my own pets - aside from the additional hassle of bugs and plants, I keep a lot of snakes with special needs and more sterile enclosures make things easier on me. I wouldn't recommend bioactive enclosures for special-needs animals because they make it harder to spot problems like abnormal waste.

On the flip side, though, they're really great tools in educational settings because the naturalistic look sells the whole setup and (as you mention!) is perfect for highlighting native flora. They also never need deep-cleaned, which is a huge plus. They're time-consuming to set up but they can save you time in the long run.

If you're going bioactive, you really do need a cleanup crew. An ideal bioactive enclosure is a minature, self-sustaining ecosystem, and your cleanup crew is essential to getting the nitrogen cycle a-flowin'. Aside from doing the obvious and helping to clean up messes, insects also aerate the soil by burrowing through it, keeping everything healthier. You can totally try to set up plants without the clean up crew, but you might have a bit of a time with regular cleaning at maintenance without their help.

I asked our soil biology expert at my wildlife center, and she says that pre-packaged soils from the Biodude and the like can be super convenient and helpful, but there's also no harm in DIY-ing it if you'd like. You can buy the topsoil, moss, etc. you need at garden centers, and often much cheaper! She agrees with me that there is enough risk of parasites and other dangers such as fertilizers and pesticides with dirt/worms/etc. straight from outside that's it wise to buy it instead just to be safe. Be sure to look for organic topsoils without fertilizer or vermiculite - soils have ingredients written on the bags so be careful to look and make sure! Kellogg brand is my go-to soil for reptiles.

No matter where you get your soils, a good way to sterilize them is with heat. What we actually do at work is just pop it in the microwave! About five minutes per batch works well. This is really important because it kills any mold that may be sneaking in. You don't have to bother with this step if you buy a pre-made soil like the Biodude's, they come safe and ready to use.

Your cleanup crew (springtails and isopods are probably the easiest to work with, I prefer them to anything else honestly) shouldn't need quarantined, though. They should be good to go as soon as you bring them in.

Once you get everything set up, I recommend letting the enclosure cycle for at least a month. We learned from hard experience that your cleanup crew can easily be overwhelmed the presence of your reptile if they're not acclimated to their new home!

All the best!! If you all do decide to go bioactive, I'd love pictures - there are few things better than seeing happy snakes in beautiful enclosures!

[ao3commentoftheday]

A few months ago, I posted about the term "proshipper" and how it had changed over time from meaning "someone who is in favour of the idea of shipping characters in the media they consume" to meaning "someone who is probably a real life abuser of children."

To say that there has been some definitional drift would be an understatement.

Anyway, I posted basically the same thing on tiktok a few weeks ago and today I got a comment thanking me for sharing and the commentered ended with the statement, "being an 'anti' sounds exhausting."

I've been (over)thinking about why 'antis' are they way they are for a long time now, and this really does hit the nail on the head for me. People who are involved in 'anti' culture probably are exhausted. All the time.

I've never been a part of that area of fandom, but from an outside perspective it seems like it requires:

constant vigilance over your own public behaviours

distrust in your friends because they might turn on you if you ever did something they considered "problematic"

fear that something you enjoy might actually make you a "bad person"

a near-constant state of emotional distress - either anger at what others in fandom are doing, moral outrage that is being harnessed towards harassment, shame over your own thoughts and feelings...

a need to police your own thoughts to ensure you aren't accidentally shipping something "wrong" or liking an "abusive" character etc.

constantly shifting goal posts for what is deemed acceptable or cancellable within your own community

constantly changing definitions of terms to suit the agenda of the loudest person in the room

immense pressure to abandon people you are close to if they are deemed unsuitable by rest of the group

feeling like you're surrounded by literal child abusers with nowhere to turn that's safe

If that doesn't sound physically, emotionally, and mentally draining then I don't know what does. Anger and outrage can be like a burst of adrenaline, but the thing is: anger and outrage, like adrenaline, don't last forever and when they run out you feel empty and burnt out.

So why do people go down this route? That's a great question, and I don't know the answer. There are probably various reasons, depending on who you ask and that person's particular background, but a lot of it seems to centre on the idea of control.

Controlling yourself. Controlling the people around you. Controlling strangers. Controlling the internet. Only one of these is possible, and if you don't know which one then take a second and try again.

It's not entirely shocking that a very controlling thought pattern is gaining in noise, if not popularity, right now. We're still in a global pandemic. There's political and economic uncertainty everywhere. Violence and discrimination are at extremely high levels. It feels like the world is going to shit sometimes, and like everything is out of control. And if you're a teenager, you have even less control over your life than the rest of us do.

I don't like the behaviours of 'antis' and I don't share their beliefs. But I do feel badly for them. I hope they find healthier ways to gain a feeling of control, and I hope they get some rest.

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

I can't help but think about what if Buggy was raised in White Beard's ship rather than with the Rogers? In my heart of hearts I really do want to believe that Rogers cared and treasured Buggy like he did Shanks but afaik Shanks feels like a favorite; he's given the strawhat, and there's the Wano flashback of the Roger pirates about to face off the Whitebeards, and Shanks is wearing Roger's current captain hat on top of the straw hat while he's munching on some chocolate (😭) and idk, it makes me feel for the little clown

Whitebeard seems like he's a better father figure than Rogers considering his treasure is his family, so I wonder if he would have a better understanding of how Buggy feels, and how to raise a kid who doesn't take to battle as quickly as the other kids (let's say Marco bc he probably is the only other kid in the ship). Would Whitebeard celebrate and praise Buggy for his creative inventions and bombs? Would he encourage Buggy to be the flashiest boy of the Grand line, and to wear his red nose proud bc no matter what, he loves Buggy the way he is anyway? Idk I'm just thinking about what if Buggy wasn't broken and jaded :')

I'm still a Shuggy enjoyer so I want Shanks to be still a part of Buggy's childhood. What if Shanks is interested in Whitebeard's youngest bc he's also a kid too, and he's super eye catching. Shanks probably tries to fight Buggy but he gets overwhelmed by Buggy's bombs or whatever, or because Buggy's too good at dodging and/or running away (Whitebeard probably clues in that Buggy's not battle heavy, but he has immense potential when it comes to escapes and getting out of danger). Shanks just falls in love with this kid who he can't quite grasp and always looks forward to seeing again. Or maybe Shanks also gets adopted as a Whitebeard, but Whitebeard's parenting polishes Shanks and Buggy's strengths in a way where one doesn't feel inferior to the other and they're both happy kids. Lots of maybes...

Case and point, Buggy as a Whitebeard would maybe fix him 😭

buggy as a whitebeard pirate… i do think he ends up mentally healthier for it, but not necessarily because “roger’s a bad dad”—imo he’s not trying to be anyone’s dad, he’s buggy and shanks’ captain, it’s a different relationsh—*a long hook drags me offstage*

ahem. anyway.

potential upsides to being a whitebeard pirate:

if buggy’s in whitebeard’s crew, he is whitebeard’s family. there’s no room for doubt, he joined the crew this morning and has already been called ‘son’ three times.

lots of support, resources, etc. should he eat the chop-chop fruit. this is a crew with a lot of devil fruit experience, they know how to deal with the limitations that arise. if buggy mopes and complains about not being able to search for treasure underwater, i bet somebody comes up with a diving suit or a little submersible boat he can use; if he wants to swim, they find him a fresh water pool; etc.

there’s not just two kids around—he’ll get less focused attention, yeah, but the same is true for everyone. cap’n dad might play favorites, but i think that not being the favorite hurts more when there’s only two options. when there’s five, ten, dozens of other kids fighting for his attention… well, buggy might be bitter about not being the favorite, but he surely knew the odds weren’t in his favor. also, not being codependently reliant on one single peer/friend can do wonders for your mental health.

no childhood trauma over the crew breaking up and the captain dying!

potential downsides to being a whitebeard pirate:

he never gets to leave the nest. whitebeard pirates who want leadership roles can become division commanders; if they want an independent leadership role, i guess they can become captains of whitebeard subordinate crews? but it seems to me that they only leave if they die, retire, or turn traitor. i think buggy would find that stifling. whitebeard: the world’s most powerful helicopter parent?

there’s not just two kids around—if focused attention turns out to be something buggy really needs, that’s a shame, because he’s not gonna get it.

this is not a crew that cares about finding treasure or going on grand adventures. i don’t think buggy is gonna be too happy about whitebeard’s “the real treasure was the family we found along the way” ethos. though maybe he just ignores this, the way ace ignored whitebeard’s lack of interest in the pirate king title.

adulthood trauma over the captain dying and the crew falling apart/being destroyed by a traitor!

[utilitycaster]

I know there have been many Takes about Laudna and Orym after latest episode. Yours saying that this is not a bad development for Orym is interesting to me because my knee-jerk reaction while watching was being horrified he went so cold about Bor’Dor’s death. But after some time, I guess him finally choosing to be pragmatic after days torn by his own idealism would be a much healthier route for him in the long run.

I want to know what you think about Ashton, though. Some people are saying, they “let” Laudna kill Bor’Dor because they thought it’s what she needed. That sits wrong with me because Laudna made that decision and she’s not a child, but Ashton is my favorite character and I can’t help think I am biased lol.

Please excuse my badly structured sentences, I’m not native speaker.

Hi anon! Your English is great!

I think this is a revealing question in that, in fandom, I think a lot of people lead with "well, obviously, my favorite character is clearly morally in the right, or, failing that, the character I don't like is morally in the wrong" rather than considering the situation, the context, the genre norms, what makes for the most interesting story, etc. So recognizing that Ashton's your favorite and that might be coloring your opinion puts you ahead of a lot of people.

Anyway: I think it can be true both that Laudna made her own decision and that Ashton could, had they wanted, chosen to make an effort to stop her and they didn't. I don't think that means Ashton is responsible for what Laudna did per se, but I also don't personally think he had a moral imperative to save Bor'Dor. I think someone who thinks he did have that moral imperative might disagree, but they should also be blaming Laudna just as much in that case.

Someone else remarked to me that based on the discourse you'd think Orym - the only person who did not attack or restrain Bor'Dor - executed him in cold blood. Just to recap the fight: we only really had one round during which Orym gave Prism a potion to heal her up and did bait and switch to protect her; Ashton hit, with non-lethal intent; Deni$e restrained Bor'Dor; Laudna cast Hunger of the Shadow, knocking Bor'Dor unconscious; and Prism punched him. The following round was technically not run as combat in initiative order, and had it been, Bor'Dor could theoretically have died of a failed death save before Laudna's turn, but Orym and Deni$e made no attacks and Ashton chose to lead away Prism. Probably any of the three martial class characters could, had they wanted to, stopped Laudna. None of them did.

Which I think goes back to the second paragraph: In the end? I think most people are making their judgments of whether or not they think Bor'Dor should die, and even further back to whether or not the Ruby Vanguard is a cultish, terrorist organization, deciding on whether his death was justified or not, and then, if they think it was not, pinning blame on the character they like least. You can argue for any, though frankly, I think Orym is the weakest argument: Laudna is the one who literally killed him, both knocking him unconscious and taking the final death save. Prism took the most death saves with her punch. Ashton dealt a significant amount of damage and did not intervene when Laudna had an unconscious Bor'Dor at her mercy. Deni$e is the one who initially brought up her suspicions, forcing Bor'Dor's hand, and similarly made no physical effort to stop anyone. Orym indicated his approval to Laudna and did not try to stop her.

I think that had Bor'Dor not attacked the party, and had instead simply run away, tracking him down and killing him would have been excessive, but on the other hand, he had a lot of information that could have been extremely dangerous to Bells Hells, so at the very least I think they needed to take him prisoner; but he's not wanted by any specific legal system, so I think he'd just be their hostage, dragged along, indefinitely, as they attacked his friends over and over again. There isn't a nice, neat solution where everyone is happy. Deradicalization is an admirable goal, but it requires a massive amount of effort and resources that I don't think Bells Hells have, and no one should be expected to deradicalize someone who is actively committing violence against them. Once Bor'Dor attacked, to me, this became self-defense and an admission that he was lost: that he'd spent several days with them during which they were kind to him, but because of their ideologies, he attempted to kill them anyway. At that point, I don't fault any of the characters present for killing him/letting him be killed in response.

I guess the last point I'll make is that while, in terms of empathy, there is obviously a huge difference between killing someone regretfully, and killing someone and relishing it, they are, in the end, dead either way. I don't interpret Orym's behavior as cold, but rather merely calm acceptance that he can no longer avoid the inevitable war - and I do think that acting as though Orym's subjectivity in this situation is problematic while ignoring that Prism and Laudna were in no way objective either is an incredibly poorly considered argument, and deeply unfair- but in the end, whether Orym is stoic or whether he breaks down crying, Bor'Dor is still dead. I am not going to fault a character for having an outward emotional reaction that doesn't match what I think it should be when I think their motivations were reasonable.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

give me dragon rider stories written by horse girls

Give me dragons with differences like horses / mules / donkeys have

don’t care if one spits more fire than the other, tell me there’s dragons who’ve been working with humans for THOUSANDS of years and we’ve specifically been choosing the ones who’ll go along with social pressure even or especially when they’re scared- so when the rider’s their biggest social pressure in their life, they’ll fly into a thunderstorm if their rider tells them to- plenty of fear but no questions- they’ll be scared shitless and have no idea what’s going on or why but if their flock leader said this is where we gotta go then into the storm they go, relying on the rider for every change in pitch and yaw and heading but they’ll DO IT even if it KILLS THEM

(and it’s so easy to kill them in so many small ways, the wrong diet, too much exercise at the wrong time, not kept warm enough- a dragon bred for fire breathing and they have a huge fire bladder that can get twisted inside them if they do too many arial acrobatics on an empty stomach and if the twisting ruptures the bladder then it’s a slow and painful death)  

then there’s the dragons hatched from wild eggs or caught and trained while young, and they almost never have actual riders because of the danger those riders would be in but they can be flown anyway by people on other dragons or even from the ground, they know how to take care of themselves and their flock- they don’t care or understand if the flock is other tamed dragons, or ridden ones, or even humans and animals like horses and dogs- they’ll protect and play with them either way, they’ll actively face danger and die fighting for their flock with a ferocity that’s terrifying- a wild dragon tries picking up one of THEIR horses as a snack and gets one of it’s horns ripped off in the following fight while the horse runs safely away

(but they’ll hunt anything that isn’t their flock which means OTHER horses and other PEOPLE aren’t safe around them- unless they’re kept very well fed and no urge to go hunting their own food ever comes up)

and the dragons in between, the ones hatched from eggs that had one wild parent, the ones who are healthier and stronger than either parent, more hardy than refined but more refined than wild, and they respect a social bond but the self preservations instinct is stronger and riding them isn’t about telling them what do to it’s about ASKING and then WAITING while they consider the situation- if a thunderstorm scares them they won’t fly it, if you try to force them then they’ll chew off their harness and drop you from five hundred feet- better YOU than THEM- but…… if they think it’s doable… if you started them with strong winds and worked up to wind storms, to small squalls, worked with them to learn HOW to ride in increasingly bad weather, made them feel safe and confident around thunder and lighting with you on their back as extra ballast and counterweight, if they can look at the storm and go ah yes we’ve done stuff like this before- THEN they won’t just go into the storm for you they will FLY it themselves they will KNOW how to handle the winds and the updrafts and downdrafts and the poor visibility and even if you have no idea what’s happening or can’t focus on it for some reason they will get you BOTH through it safely, because they wouldn’t have gone into it in the first place otherwise

(hunting isn’t something they jump at but they’ll do it in a pinch and while they won’t win any races or fire breathing contests they also won’t keel over and die from getting the wrong amount of food and rest- they’ll rest when they’re tired and eat until they’re satisfied and you’ll never get 110% or even a 100% of effort out of them since they are always saving some of their reserves for themselves- but they also will probably be with you the longest, staying spry and healthy through generations of human riders, and not burning themselves out until LONG into old age)

give me dragons like horses and mules and donkeys and riders who don't have a get out of free card when climbing on top a creature that could kill them just by rolling over for a back scratch

give me dragon riders with no telepathic bond, no way to communicate directly with their dragon through any shared language

and who love their dragons so much they find a way anyway

give me riders who look after dragons even when the dragons don't beam emotions direct into their heads or talk and act like a large scaly person who for some reason is fine being a permanent taxi service

give me dragons and riders WORKING TOGETHER through so many mundane barriers! that thrill when a giant flying lizard creature comes over when you call them and nuzzles you just because you are theirs-

or the dragon who plays keep away when you're trying to put the flying tack on them, gleefully enjoying a game of chase while you swear internally but also smile- the dragon who stands steady and calm as you show another new rider where all the straps should go so your saddle doesn't catch in the dragon's joints wrong, a dragon who is fine with you moving limbs and wings around as you explain how to secure things so they catch under the dragon's belly just right....

the trust of a dragon who could and would kill you with one snap of it's jaws the moment it didn't trust you anymore

that magic of two creatures who maybe shouldn't ever have ended up partnered like this, but are both happy that they did anyway

GIVE ME HORSE GIRL DRAGON RIDERS

[nogenderbee]

Hi hi! Its me, 🍪 anon here with my blue lock request~

As you know I'm a fanatic chigiri fan so may I ask for chigiri, nagi, rin and reo with fem!s/o that has anemia? Maybe like she comes to one of their game but suddenly she pass out in the middle of their game because of the heat and there's too many people? Oh and if you don't know anemia is a condition in which the body does not have enough healthy red blood cells (probably didn't search it on google cause idk how to describe it) that could lead someone to feel weak and tired all of the time. I have anemia and sometimes i hate it because suddenly somehow my visions getting black all of the sudden💀 but I'm fine really with some medications my body is healthier. That's all from me now. You could decrease the characters if you think its too much! Stay healthy and hydrated always ok? Plus don't overwork yourself too much <333

~ 🍪 anon out ~

Omg hello my dear 🍪 anon! Unfortunately I don't do Rin so I did the other three! And thank you so much for explaining since I really didn't knew that but I hope I got that somehow right... Anyway tho, I hope you enjoy this one nonetheless <3

Chigiri, Nagi, Reo with reader who has anemia

TagList: @miya-akane

⊱ Chigiri always had his medication for you, it doesn't matter where you're going or where you are, he always has it close to him

⊱ the only time he doesn't is at his game, he usually just leaves them in his locker of if you're coming to watch him then he definitely have you the bag just in case

⊱ he's usually giving you a quick glance to make sure you're doing alright and when he sees that you are, he'll give you a small smile

⊱ but on the next time he decides to check on your he sees that you passed out and he's panicking

"Huh? YN? Oh no... what do I do?! It's still long before break ends..."

⊱ like or course he won't just leave his game but then again, he does care about you

⊱ if it's like 5 minutes before break starts, he decides to go immidietly when the break starts hoping that you'll be alright

⊱ if it's more than 5 minutes, he'll demand a break right now for at least a little

⊱ once he's next to you, he definitely will take you somewhere on side and just wait for you to wake up, if you still won't by the time his break is over, he'll get someone he trusts to watch over you

⊱ alright but Nagi right there, probably would forget to bring your medicine if he ever took it out so he always keeps them close to him

⊱ like maybe he has some sort of small bag that he carries everywhere and even manages to play matches with it

⊱ he gives you glances usually when he's bored which is pretty often so he definitely notices that you passed out pretty quickly, maybe he even saw you do so

⊱ when he sees it, he doesn't care about anything else but you and trust me when I say he's ready to run out of here without telling anyone a word

⊱ and he does that... he just scream he'll be back in a second or something like that

⊱ he'll also get you on the side, probably some of his hidden spot that's far away from public

⊱ like I said before, he doesn't care about anything else but you in this moment so he'll stay by your side untill you wake up even if it means he'll have to skip his match

"Hi, are you alright? You've been out for quite a bit... Here, I heard it should help you."

⊱ he'll literally be so worried about you and I promise you, he asked everyone he could for advices on what he should do

⊱ I know I say everyone brings medicine with them but Reo would literally bring even too much of it

⊱ but he does it out of worry, he prefers to have too much or it then to some day realize he didn't brought enough

⊱ when you came to his match, he looks your way at least once every minute and if he sees the slightest motion of weakness from you, he'll only send you glances 10 times more often

⊱ and oh boy, if he sees you getting weaker, he'll demand a break and he won't let go so easily

⊱ so it's possible that he'll be right be your side before you leave even pass out

"Are you alright? You literally passed out there... Oh no, don't get up! Here I brought you some stuff that should help you..."

⊱ he's quick to take you to some more private spot, he brings you anything that can help you along with some cold drink to cool off

⊱ he'll want to stay by your side untill you wake up again but if he absolutely has to go then he'll leave someone he trusts to watch over you and give them THOUSAND of things they have to know

❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉