I don't know what I'm doing with my life.

   the  smoky  scent  of  the  backstreet’s  bar  still  lingers  on  yours  and  sinclair’s  clothing  as  the  two  of  you  huddle  together  in  the  cramped  bathroom  stall.  nothing  but  the  single  flickering  lightbulb  that  remains  stubbornly  lit  amongst  the  burnt  out  bulbs  reflects  your  heaving  forms  as  you  pull  from  his  kiss-swollen  maw.  you  watch,  endeared  as  his  pearly  whites  timidly  nibble  at  his  lower  lip.  you  wish  he  would  draw  blood  so  that  you  could  lick  it  away.

“if..  anyone  sees  us–”  he  begins,  and  you  shush  him  by  nudging  him  closer  to  the  stall  door.  beside  his  head,  you  see  a  phone  number  written  next  to  text  that  says  call  me.  a  shitty  prank,  you  assume.

“tell  me  to  stop,  and  i  will.”

he  doesn’t,  and  so  you  take  the  initiative  to  return  your  lips  to  his  own.  your  mouths  perfectly  mold  together;  tongues,  teeth,  and  spit.  it’s  during  times  like  this  that  his  more  passionate  side  crawls  from  the  cage  of  his  nerves.  he  bites  down  on  your  lip,  gliding  his  tongue  across  the  wound  he  creates  to  taste  your  ichor.  you’re  not  sure  whether  the  saliva  he  leaves  behind  is  his  or  yours.

“i  was  gonna  do  that,”  you  half–heartedly  complain,  a  twinkle  of  mirth  shining  within  your  eyes  as  he  stumbles  over  his  words  to  hurriedly  apologize.  it’s  always  fun  to  see  how  swiftly  emil  sinclair  shifts  from  a  being  of  primal  instinct  and  lust,  back  to  a  timid  man  who  murmurs  sheepish  apologies.

“i–  i..  you  still  can?”  he  meekly  offers,  a  faint  pink  stretching  across  his  countenance  from  the  apples  of  his  cheekbones.

upon  gaining  his  permission,  you  do  not  bother  with  wasting  even  a  second  of  time.  the  way  you  eagerly  lunge  for  him  causes  an  aroused  startle  to  jerk  his  body.  you  bite  down  on  his  lip,  and  he  whines  into  you.  you  bite  down  into  the  suppleness  of  his  lips,  but  you  don’t  stop  there.  your  teeth  and  mouth  travel  across  the  faint  line  of  his  jaw,  down  to  the  top  of  his  neck.

sinclair’s  breathing  quickens,  a  warm  tingle  left  behind  wherever  you  had  been  kissing  and  biting  just  moments  before.   please,  please,  please..   reaching  a  hand,  you  begin  to  slip  the  tips  of  your  fingers  beneath  his  waistband.

KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK.  sinclair  jumps  away  from  you,  while  you  stand  in  the  stall  unfazed by  the  pounding  on  the  door.

“THE  TWO  OF  YOU  HAVE  BEEN  IN  HERE  LONG  ENOUGH!”   shouts  none  other  than  outis. you wonder if she was the only one, or if sinclair will be red-faced in front of everyone back at the table.

“pity,”  your  murmur  to  yourself.

He sought you out often, something about you made his head just a bit more relieved from it's consistent drumline of pain that it finds itself in.

The stress of work had been getting to him, so he simply sought you out, plopping himself into your arms. His arms wrapped around you limply - he was exhausted, that much is obvious - and let out a deep sigh. No words were needed, as your hand automatically finds its way to his head, gliding through hair equivalent to silk. How he kept his hair so nice in spite of his work, is beyond you. But it didn't matter, since all you were focused on, was the poor deer you were holding. The embrace itself was warm - something reminiscent of a bygone, yet familiar comfort - and you could feel him melt further with each finger gliding through the strands on his head. A soft smile formed on his lips, a sight to behold - something that brought out a lingering warmth in your chest - which lets the corners of your mouth tilt up.

It was only a matter of time before the both of you answered the call of sleep in each other's arms, the night sky glistening with the soft colors of stars.

Riddle Rosehearts

It was a peaceful afternoon in the Rosehearts household, tea steaming gently on the table, a book resting on Riddle’s lap as he enjoyed a rare quiet moment. That calm, of course, didn’t last long.

“Papa?” a small voice piped up.

Riddle looked up from his book to see his son, clutching something behind his back. His expression softened immediately. “Yes? What is it?”

The boy fidgeted a little before pulling out a colorful picture book. “I found this in the library! It says babies come from a lady’s belly.”

Riddle blinked. His heart skipped a beat. “…Ah. Yes, that’s… technically correct.”

The boy tilted his head, eyes wide and curious. “But how do they get in there?”

Riddle’s face went pale in an instant. His teacup trembled slightly as he set it down with a clink.

He opened his mouth once. Closed it. Opened it again. “…That’s… quite the question,” he said carefully, voice a touch higher than usual.

His son just waited patiently, eyes expectant.

“Well…” Riddle began, straightening his posture and trying his best. “That’s… a topic for when you’re a bit older. Much older, in fact.”

“But I wanna know now!”

Riddle’s composure was visibly cracking. His ears were red, and his hand twitched like he wanted to point at something…anything…just to avoid the conversation.

“Er…tell me, where did you find that book?” he asked quickly, slipping into full on parent mode. “Perhaps I should… ah… put it somewhere safer.”

His son blinked up at him innocently. “It was on the bottom shelf in the library. Next to the gardening books!”

“Of course it was,” Riddle muttered under his breath, massaging his temple.

He stood and gently patted his son’s head. “Thank you for telling me, dear. Why don’t you go wash your hands and get ready for snack time? I’ll, ah… take care of this book for now.”

As the little boy skipped away happily, Riddle sighed in relief, clutching the offending picture book to his chest. He definitely wasn’t ready for that conversation. Maybe when his son turned sixteen. Or twenty.

He glanced toward the kitchen, where you were humming to yourself, and murmured under his breath, “You’re handling the next round of questions, my rose.”

Leona Kingscholar

The late afternoon sun was warm, golden, and perfect for napping. Leona was stretched out on the couch in the living room, one arm slung over his face, tail flicking lazily against the cushions. He was deep in dreamland, that rare, blissful state where no one was pestering him about duties or responsibilities.

At least… until a small voice shattered the peace.

“Daddy!”

He groaned, one eye cracking open. “…Im sleeping, cub.”

His daughter, of course, didn’t care. She bounced up beside him, eyes wide with that unstoppable curiosity she definitely inherited from you.

“So, I was with Uncle Ruggie today,” she began, completely ignoring his grumbling. “We were buying fruit, and I saw this lady with a huge belly! I asked Uncle Ruggie why it was so big, and he said she’s pregnant!”

Leona’s tail stopped moving.

“Uh-huh…” he said warily.

“Then I asked him how the baby got in there!?” she continued innocently. “And he said I should ask you!”

Both his eyes snapped open.

That traitor.

He sat up, squinting at his daughter for a long, silent moment while mentally debating whether to strangle Ruggie later or fake dead his way out of this conversation.

But her wide, curious eyes and trusting little face made him sigh in defeat.

Alright. Time to improvise.

“Well, you see, cub…” he started slowly, scratching his neck. “When a man and a woman really love each other, they… uh… wanna get close to each other.”

She tilted her head. “Like hugging?”

Leona froze for a beat, then seized on the opportunity. “Exactly. Hugging. When a woman hugs a man too much, sometimes a baby starts growin’ in her belly.”

Her eyes went wide. “Really!?”

“Yep” he said, nodding, proud of his quick save. “So, you’d better not let any little boys hug you, got it?”

She gasped and nodded fiercely. “Okay! No boys allowed!”

“’Atta girl” he said with a grin, already lying back down.

But then

“What about you, Daddy? You’re a boy too!”

Leona cracked a lazy smile, patting her head. “Family doesn’t count. You can hug me all you want, cub.”

Satisfied with his brilliant parenting, he went right back to sleep.

A few days later…

Leona was rudely awakened again, this time by you standing over him, arms crossed, foot tapping, with your phone in hand.

“Leona Kingscholar” you said in that dangerous calm voice.

He cracked one eye open. “…what’d I do now?”

You crossed your arms tighter. “Why did Jack just call me to say our daughter refused to hug him because she ‘doesn’t want a baby in her belly’!?”

Leona blinked. Then blinked again.

Then snorted, tail flicking lazily as a smirk spread across his face. “Hah. Guess she listens well. Smart kid.”

You gawked at him. “Leona!”

He chuckled and rolled over, muffling his laughter in a pillow. “What? I was improvisin’, herbivore. Better she learns that than the real thing.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re impossible.”

Azul Ashengrotto

It was a calm, quiet evening drive, or, well, it had been.

Azul’s hands rested neatly on the steering wheel, eyes on the road, the faint hum of the engine mixing with the rhythmic tap of his fingers. The wind through the open window made him feel almost relaxed after a long day of paperwork.

In the backseat, his daughter was happily swinging her legs, clutching a little plush octopus that Jade had given her earlier.

“I had sooo much fun with Uncle Jade today!” she said brightly. “He even let me watch TV!”

Azul’s smile twitched. “…He did, did he?”

He loved his business partner like a brother, but too much screen time for his little girl? That was not on the list of approved activities. He made a mental note to discuss this with Jade later.

“What did you watch, sweetheart?” he asked, forcing a calm tone.

“A documentary!” she chirped proudly. “It was about octopuses! Did you know they come from eggs?”

Azul blinked. “Ah, yes, I’m aware.”

“Uncle Jade said that baby octopuses hatch from eggs, and I saw it!” she continued, eyes wide. “So… does that mean I came from an egg too?”

Azul nearly swerved.

He cleared his throat, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “N-No, my dear, absolutely not. You did not come from an egg.”

She tilted her head, confused. “Then… where did I come from?”

He tried to choose his words very carefully. “From your mother’s belly.”

For a blissful three seconds, there was silence. Azul allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Maybe that would be the end of it…

“But how did I get in Mommy’s belly?”

Azul froze.

His jaw locked, his eyes flicking toward the road like they could save him from this question.That was the exact moment he realized, he made a terrible, terrible mistake.

The car went quiet for several seconds.

Finally, Azul inhaled deeply through his nose, straightened his tie, and with the smoothest voice he could muster said

“That… is an excellent question, darling.”

A pause.

Then, with a perfectly polite smile that masked his absolute internal panic

“I think… your mother can explain that one far better than I can.”

“Really?” she asked. “But you’re smart, Daddy!”

His eye twitched. “Y-Yes, well, even geniuses know when to defer to the proper authority.”

She beamed, totally oblivious. “Okay! I’ll ask Mommy when we get home!”

Azul’s knuckles went white around the steering wheel. “…Wonderful.”

By the time he pulled into the driveway, he was sweating. The moment he saw you at the door, he gave you that please handle this before I collapse look.

You blinked, already suspicious. “Azul? Everything alright?”

He adjusted his glasses with a stiff smile. “Oh, yes, my pearl. Our daughter just had… a few educational questions for you.”

And then he fled to his office before you could ask why.

Jamil Viper

It was one of those calm afternoons when everything was, for once, normal. Just Jamil quietly chopping vegetables in the kitchen while the smell of spiced curry filled the air.

Then, his son came in, dragging his favorite toy snake by the tail.

“Dad?”

Jamil hummed without looking up, still chopping onions with practiced ease. “Mm?”

“I’m lonely at home” the boy said, lower lip puffed out. “I want a little brother or sister to play with.”

Jamil paused, his knife hovering in the air. Ah. There it was. The kind of conversation he was not emotionally prepared for before lunch.

He turned slightly, offering a patient smile. “That’s… not really something you can just get in a minute, you know. It’s not that easy.”

“But why?”

“Because…” he started, already regretting opening his mouth. “…babies are… complicated.”

His son tilted his head, clearly not satisfied. “Where do babies come from, then?”

Jamil froze. His expression didn’t change, outwardly calm, perfectly neutral, but internally, he was screaming.

He stood there for a long moment, considering all his options. Then, with the same cool composure he gave the smartest answer he could think of

“You should ask your mother.”

And that was that. Or so he thought.

Five peaceful minutes passed. He went back to chopping vegetables, humming softly to himself, mentally congratulating his quick thinking. Then tiny footsteps returned.

He didn’t even turn around when he heard his son’s voice again. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Mom said to tell you…”

The tone. Jamil already knew this wasn’t going to end well. He slowly turned, raising an eyebrow. “…What did she say?”

“She said, ‘I carried, now you explain it.’”

Jamil blinked. Once. Twice. Then stared blankly at the wall like his brain had just blue screened. There was a long, painful silence. The kind that only happened when Jamil was truly defeated.

He finally exhaled, setting down the knife and rubbing his temples. “…Of course she did.”

His son watched, eyes bright. “So? Where do they come from?”

Jamil gave him a long, serious look, the kind that could silence a whole room.

Then he said, in the calmest voice possible “You know, maybe it’s time you and your mother both went to visit Uncle Kalim. I’m sure he’d love to explain it.”

“Really? Yay!” the boy cheered and ran off toward the living room, leaving Jamil staring into the middle distance.

He sighed deeply, muttering under his breath, “If Kalim actually tries, I’m moving out.”

Vil Schoenheit

The court of Princess Schoenheit’s tea party was in session.

Plastic tiaras, sparkling tulle skirts, mismatched dolls and at the center of it all sat Vil and his little daughter, sipping “tea” from pink plastic cups with all the grace.

“Thank you for the invitation, my darling” Vil said smoothly, crossing one leg over the other with dramatic elegance. “This blend of chamomile is divine.”

His daughter giggled, her golden curls bouncing. “Thank you Papa! I made it myself!”

“Of course you did,” he said proudly, pretending to take a delicate sip. “Flawless as expected from my daughter.”

They continued their sophisticated chatter for a while, discussing her stuffed animals latest scandals and who would host the next tea party. Then Vil, in his ever graceful way, decided to bring up some real world news.

“By the way, my dear” he said, smiling warmly, “Uncle Rook and his wife going to have a baby soon.”

Her eyes widened, her little hands gripping the teapot with excitement. “Really?! Then we can have another tea party guest!”

“Indeed” Vil said with a pleased hum. “Another precious little one to add to our circle.”

But then she blinked, her expression turning thoughtful. “…Papa? Where did Uncle Rook get the baby?”

Vil froze for half a second. His perfectly trained smile faltered, just a flicker, before returning in place. Oh, Seven help him. He should have seen that question coming.

“Well…” he began, setting down his cup “when a man and a woman truly love one another, a stork brings them a baby. That’s how it’s always been.”

A harmless tale, of course. She was too young for anything more, and honestly, a touch of whimsy suited the occasion.

But instead of the awe he expected, his daughter grimaced. “Eww, I don’t like boys, boys are gross.”

Vil blinked, then immediately, immediately, nodded in full agreement.

“Yes. Yes, they are” he said, leaning closer. “They are terribly messy, often inconsiderate, and most of them do not even moisturize.”

She gasped in horror. “They don’t?!”

“Tragic, isn’t it?” Vil said with a sigh, hand pressed dramatically over his chest. “Which is why you mustn’t even bat an eye at them. Keep your standards high, my darling. Only family, your Papa, and perhaps Uncle Rook are exceptions.”

She nodded with determination, her little brow furrowed. “Okay! I’ll only love you, Mommy, Uncle Rook, and Grandpa. No boys.”

Vil smiled, satisfied, and very proud of himself. “Excellent choice, my love. I see you’ve inherited my taste and my wisdom.”

He lifted his teacup again and took another imaginary sip.

Idia Shroud

The lab was quiet, soft hum of machines and the frantic tapping of Idia’s keyboard. His hair glowed a low, steady blue as he mumbled to himself about codes, fully immersed in his latest program.

Everything was perfect, until a small voice broke his concentration.

“Dad.”

Idia flinched so hard his knee hit the underside of the desk. “Huh?! Wh-What-oh, it’s just you.”

He turned to see his son standing at the doorway, arms crossed, cheeks puffed out in the same adorable pout that Idia could never say no to.

“Uh… hey, champ. You look kinda serious. What’s up?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “I want a sibling.”

Idia’s hands froze over the keyboard. His glowing hair flickered from blue to pink. “Y–You what?!”

“I want a brother or sister!” the kid said firmly, stomping a foot. “I’m alone. Everyone else has siblings to play with! Uncle Ortho has you, but I don’t have anyone. It’s not fair!”

Idia’s brain short circuited for a second. He stammered, trying to form words while his son glared up at him. “O-okay, first off, buddy uh… that’s not how it works. You can’t just… order a sibling.”

“But why not?”

“Because…uh…it’s complicated! You see, um… getting a baby is a… uh… long term… cooperative side quest, and uh…requires two players, okay?”

The boy tilted his head. “Then where do babies come from if it’s so difficult?”

Oh no. Idia’s internal system crashed. He could practically hear the Windows error sound in his brain. He needed an answer. Any answer.

“Well…” he began nervously, sweating bullets, “you see, when a-a woman… eats… uh… too many jelly beans… it… starts growing in her belly, and uh…. ta-da! Baby!”

He even added jazz hands. Jazz hands.

His son blinked. “…Really?”

Idia nodded furiously. “Y-yeah, totally. I mean, you know how sugar’s like, uh… energy and life force, right? And moms are super powerful beings, so, uh… yeah! Jelly beans equal baby. Science.”

The kid seemed to consider this seriously before gasping in awe. “That’s so cool!”

“Y-yeah… cool…” Idia muttered weakly, turning back to his monitor in the hope that the conversation was over. His hair slowly dimmed back to a relieved blue as he heard his son run off, muttering something about jelly beans.

Peace returned for a blissful five minutes. Until he heard you call from the kitchen.

“Idia! Sweetheart!”

The tone was too sweet. “Y-yeah?”

You appeared in the doorway holding a bowl full of jelly beans, and your son right behind you, grinning proudly.

“Would you care to explain” you said, eyes narrowing, “why your child is trying to feed me jelly beans every minutes and saying it’ll give him a sibling?”

Idia turned pink to the tips of his hair. “Uh…uhhhh…uh, you see, it’s-it’s a science project?”

You stared. “A science project?”

From behind you, your son proudly offered another jelly bean. “Mama, eat more! I want a baby sister!”

Idia just whined. “I’m uninstalling myself from this whole conversation…”

Malleus Draconia

It was supposed to be a quiet evening in Briar Valley. The sky shimmered faintly outside the castle windows, and Malleus was in his study, writing letters and sipping tea when an unmistakable sound echoed, the screaming of small children.

He sighed, setting down his pen. “…Ah. The little thunder and lightning are at it again.”

He strode down the hall with regal calm, though a faint flicker of worry glimmered in his green eyes. Opening the door to the twins bedroom, he was met with chaos.

Toys were scattered everywhere, his daughter face was red and tear streaked, and his son stood with his arms crossed, looking both defensive and guilty.

“What is the meaning of this?” Malleus asked gently, voice deep but calm as always.

“She said!” “He said!”

They both started at once, their little voices overlapping until Malleus lifted a hand, and the air itself seemed to hush.

“One at a time,” he said. “Sweetheart, you may speak first.”

She sniffled, rubbing her eyes. “Daddy, he said I’m not your real daughter! He said you found me in a box on the street and took me home!”

Malleus blinked, his ears twitching slightly in disbelief. He turned his gaze to his son. “Is this true?”

The boy scowled, chin raised in defiance. “Well, she started it! She told me I was the street baby first!”

Malleus closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. the kind of breath.

“Children” he began “Neither of you were found in any box on any street. You are both our beloved children.”

The twins exchanged wary looks.

“Then where did we come from?” his daughter asked, tilting her head curiously. “If we weren’t found, how did we get here?”

Malleus smiled fondly. “You both came from your mother’s belly, of course.”

That answer, he thought, would settle it. Simple, truthful enough, and free of unnecessary details. But instead of relief, the twins only looked more confused.

His son squinted. “…How did we get in there?”

His daughter nodded eagerly, wide eyed. “Yeah! Did Mama eat us?!”

Malleus froze. The calm, regal smile on his face went utterly still, as if his soul had momentarily left his body. He stood there in dignified silence for a long moment. The twins blinked up at him, waiting.

Finally, with all the composure, Malleus cleared his throat. “…Perhaps…” he said slowly, “you should ask your grandfather Lilia. He is… quite experienced in such matters.”

He thought that was a brilliant deflection, wise, strategic, perfectly logical. Until he heard your voice echo down the hall

“MALLEUS DRACONIA!”

He visibly flinched as your footsteps approached, fast and furious.

“I swear!” you said, appearing in the doorway with your hands on your hips, “if you ever let Lilia educate our children about that—!”

Malleus’s expression turned sheepish, shoulders slightly hunched like a guilty child himself. “Ah… my love, I was merely suggesting he might… elaborate upon the biological aspects.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Biological aspects, huh? Do you want him to tell them about the ‘romantic fire of youth’ and ‘fae rituals’ again?”

Malleus winced. “…Perhaps not.”

The twins looked between you and their father, utterly lost.

“Does this mean we were found in a box?” the boy whispered.