#time. and work. and effort. and maybe FOR ONCE. I would like to just take the easy solution. the one that just actually IS a quick-fix.

[kbb306]

1. No, but she would have liked one.

2. She has a little sister and first aid training. She'll be fine.

3. ".....tall."

4. Eh, maybe maroon?

5. She would absolutely give a speech defending her father. He's....not the brightest and they both know it, so she overcompensates.

6. She trusts her best friend Ellie Otten unconditionally. She doesn't have any hard "no" for this, except when it comes to asking her dad about romance.

7. Impulsive, yet stubborn./"Only three words? What kind of question is that?"

8. There's a whole thing about puzzles with her family. Best not to ask.

9. Depends what your definition of "non-sentient" is.

10. A few years ago, she'd have said "old enough for medical school." Now that she has a little sister, she's starting to miss childhood.

11. "I would pay for a medical scholarship."

12. Romance weirds her out (unless it's Jay)

13. "Never let a bully know they've gotten to you."

14. Jay Pinkerton (she's still struggling to accept she falls as fast and hard as her dad once did), singing.

15. Playing nice with people she doesn't like

16. Michigan is near constant sweater weather. Not a lot of concern for fashion in a small town like Eaden anyway.

17. She'll protect children with everything she has. It kills her that ABIGAIL actually wants to stay in That Place.

18. "Tongue? How would that even- ew!"

19. "It doesn't matter how much I study. Logarithms will never be a thing that people actually need, and they will never make any sense."

20. Jazz music (or at least, the town's reaction to jazz music)

21. If anyone actually knows her father and STILL thinks he could be dangerous, that's a deal breaker. I almost wrote a scene like that.

22. Not really a pet name, but her dad's nicknames for her are a treasured memory.

23. Yearns for novelty, knows they need stability. Her family has a big secret to keep.

24. Doesn't spare anyone's feelings but her family's (usually)

25. See #23

26. Effort, all the way. You think a five year old who just fell out of a tree has any real talent for medicine? Dr. Dillon patching her up back then is what *inspired* her, but the skill was all worked for ever since then.

27. Understanding. Forgiveness is earned.

28. If Wheatley's opinion of Jay counts, yes.

29. Aperture. More recently, that time she accidentally shut her own life support off.

30. If taking GLaDOS down wouldn't devastate the little girl She somehow adopted, Sophie would *destroy* Her on behalf of the whole family.

Read more about Sophie here:

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3192879

oc asks that reveal more than you think

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Ask them to describe their love interest.

Do they look good in red?

Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

What age do they most want to be right now?

They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?

Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

Name one thing their parents taught them.

Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?

What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

Do they like children?

Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?

What do they like that nobody else does?

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

Stability or novelty?

Honesty or charity?

Safety or possibility?

Talent or effort?

Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Would they date a fixer-upper?

What recurring dreams do they have?

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

[rrysbabydoll]

Chemetrails Over The Country Club

Pairing: Harry Styles × Reader

CW: Flirting, kissing, teasing.

Synopsis: In Berlin for work, Harry takes Y/N to play tennis with Jeff tagging along.

Harry wasn’t exactly bad at tennis. He just wasn’t good. Not by Y/N’s standards, anyway.

The Berlin sun was unusually warm for April, and the clay courts at the private tennis club were practically glowing under it. Harry adjusted his cap, squinting at Y/N through the net. She stood poised, racket in hand, her white pleated skirt swaying slightly with the breeze. It wasn’t fair, honestly, how easily she fit here, like a painting come to life.

Jeff sat off to the side on a bench, sunglasses on, a bottle of water resting loosely in his hand. “Don’t embarrass yourself too much, mate,” he called, grinning.

Harry laughed, twirling his racket. “No promises.”

He’d been in Berlin for a week, tied up with meetings, fitting sessions, endless rehearsals for a few secret things brewing. It had been busy, almost too busy. So when Y/N had flown out from their house in london to visit him, Harry had insisted they steal away an afternoon for just the two of them. Well, the two of them, plus Jeff, because Jeff was glued to Harry’s side like a second conscience.

Y/N served with the ease of someone who’d been doing it since she could walk — which, in fact, she had. Born into old money, she grew up at country clubs and boarding schools, in a world where weekend tennis matches were as essential as Sunday brunch.

Harry grunted as he tried to return her serve, sending the ball way off into the fence.

Jeff let out a loud, mocking oof.

Y/N stifled a giggle behind her hand. “It’s okay. You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

Harry picked up another ball, tossing it in his hand. “I’ll have you know, I was this close to playing Wimbledon once.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Really?”

“No.” He grinned. “But I did once beat Niall at Wii Sports Tennis, so.”

“That’s not the same thing at all.”

“Agree to disagree.”

She winked at him across the net. Harry's heart stuttered. he could survive any amount of public humiliation if she was smiling like that.

He served, not terribly, not gracefully either. Y/N returned it easily, making him dart left, then right, then lunge forward for a shot he missed by a mile. He stumbled and almost ate clay.

“Alright, alright, time out.” Harry threw up his hands dramatically, panting a little.

Jeff clapped slowly from the sidelines. “That was... admirable.”

Harry shot him a glare before trotting to the net where Y/N was waiting, laughing openly now.

“You’re evil,” he accused lightly.

She pouted mockingly, brushing a bit of dust off his shirt, her touch light. “Come on. Let’s rally a bit. Less pressure.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “If I win a point, do I get a prize?”

She hummed, pretending to think about it. “Depends what you’re asking for.”

Harry smiled, wide and boyish. “A kiss, maybe?”

Y/N pretended to mull it over before nodding. “Alright. One point, one kiss.”

Jeff groaned loudly. “Please, I beg you, don’t make me watch.”

Y/N spun her racket expertly in her hand. “You’re the one who wanted to come.”

“Because you two are feral unsupervised.”

Harry just grinned. “We’ll keep it PG, Jeff. Promise.”

They rallied, slow at first, then faster as Harry found some footing. Every time he managed a good shot, Y/N would cheer exaggeratedly, making him beam like a kid. His form was questionable at best, but his effort? Unmatched.

Finally, after what felt like a thousand tries, Harry smashed a ball past her. It wasn’t clean, and it definitely wasn’t pretty, but it landed in.

“YES!” Harry whooped, throwing his racket up like he’d just won the U.S. Open. “Victory!”

Y/N raised her hands in mock defeat. “Alright, a deal’s a deal.”

Harry jogged over to her side of the court, still flushed from running around. She stood on tiptoe, pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It was barely a brush, but Harry chased it, tilting his head to capture her properly. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, anchoring him. The world blurred for a second, the clay, the bright sky, Jeff’s exaggerated gagging noises in the background.

When they finally broke apart, Harry tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Best game I’ve ever played.”

Y/N smiled lazily. “You’re not terrible, you know. Give it a few months, and you could be halfway decent.”

“High praise,” Harry said, grinning.

Jeff tossed a ball at Harry’s back. “Alright, lovebirds. Some of us have meetings to get back to.”

Harry caught the ball easily and turned to Y/N. “Wanna ditch him and stay here all day?”

Y/N laughed, but her fingers squeezed his for a second, a silent yes.

“Yeah, I think we should teach you a proper backhand.”

Harry groaned theatrically, but followed her back onto the court anyway, racket dragging behind him.

He didn’t care if he looked ridiculous. He didn’t care that Jeff would tease him for weeks. He didn’t even care that every muscle in his body would ache tomorrow.

Because Y/N — sun-drenched, smiling, her laughter catching on the warm Berlin breeze — was looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

[dexxtrosee]

Neverending battle

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

TW: mentions of canon character death, mass casualty event, grief, PTSD, lockdowns

Robby's sitting outside on the steps when you get home.

You reel back slightly, unsure. He has his head between his hands, taking deep breaths with his eyes closed. He's not dirty, still wearing the same cargo pants and black scrub top he left with in the morning. The face full of grief isn’t new either.

There's added weight to his shoulders though, you can see it. It’s almost like he’s doing an effort to stay upright against a crushing weight pushing him downwards, unsure of if he even wants to anymore.

You try your best to get closer without making a sound, slow steps and controlled breathing. His hands clench slightly.

"Jake's girlfriend died on me today."

You freeze.

"Remember I told you I'd give him the tickets so he could go with the girl he told us about? Her name was Leah," his voice breaks when he says her name, "I got to see her alive and happy through a call, and a few hours later I was covered in her blood and she was dead right in the middle of the ER."

You had seen the news, had called him a hundred times before it got through and Dana had answered. He talked to you five, ten seconds maybe, just to tell you to call Jake, to tell you he loved you, that he'd get home late. A watery chuckle was what he got back, and a 'be safe'. They had both sounded wrecked in that controlled way you knew so well, Robby had mastered it ages ago.

Which is why you don’t really know what to do with what’s pouring out of him right now. He hasn't moved, hasn't looked up at you, talking to the floor with his backpack by his side. He never tells you anything, never talks about what eats him alive and wakes you up when he starts crying at midnight.

He can talk about the funny, quirky cases, not with any other details but the fun ones. The girl who broke his arm trying to see how far she could jump, the boy who had a condom stuck inside, the teacher who had an accident in class and had been sneezing glitter for two days.

A month ago he got home laughing his ass off because a bunch of teenagers had gotten to the Pitt in a blind panic from their tongues being blue without "apparent reason", fearing the worst.

They just got high off his asses with a blue brownie and didn't remember, he kept saying, tears streaming down his face from laughing too much. It had made you so happy to see him like that, so carefree and finding something nice at work for once.

The man sat in front of you is a whole different person.

Your mind unhelpully supplies that Leah must have been around those teenagers' age.

"I broke inside the ped's room after Jake told me it was my fault, a-and it is, right? It is. Over a hundred people saved and I let my- I let Jake's girlfriend die."

Irrational anger flames inside your chest.

He's just a boy, you know.

He didn’t see Robby five years ago, though. Didn't spend months having to see him through the car window only, with dark circles around his eyes and thinner than ever. He has no clue about the first time he came back home and woke you up with his retching inside the bathroom, or the way he got paranoic for days and cleaned every single surface again and again. The blind panic that would show up on his face when you so much as sneezed, how he bought packs of facemasks that haven’t run out to this day.

But he’s just a boy, you know. And you know that you would hate anyone too if they were somehow even remotely capable of saving Robby and he died anyway, no matter how crazy it would be. Grief isn’t rational.

"I don't think we're gonna be seeing Jake anytime soon, babe. Sorry."

And he says it just like that, like that boy hasn’t been the shine in his eyes for years.

You sit down next to him, pulling one of his hands away from his head and clutching it between yours. He lets you, but doesn’t move otherwise.

"I think just us two will be fine for a while."

Not like you have any option, but still, he chuckles. "You think?"

Shrugging, you bury yourself into his side, ignoring how tight his entire body feels. You wonder if, this time, it was Jack the one who had to go up and talk. It makes you pull him closer.

"You sayin' I'm not fun enough for you now? Want me to go around pulling odd shit again, like when we first met?"

Finally, he turns slowly and kisses the top of your head. His body trembles slightly, adrenaline rush wearing off. You don’t dare mention it.

"As if I'd need anything else."

You smile.

You'll pressure him into going to therapy tomorrow, again. You're not sure if you should be relieved or worried sick at the fact that your chances at winning seem better this time around, not like the hundred times before.

"Whatever you need, Robinavitch."

You stay outside until his shaking calms down, and let him cry himself to sleep with his head on your chest.

In the morning, he finally agrees.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 9

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, abuse/violence, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Bucky sets you up on the couch. It feels intentional. You'd rather be in bed, alone. You're not just hurt, you're embarrassed.

You warned him over and over. You're out of practice; out of shape; out of everything. 

You sigh. Just the deep breath makes your back tweak. It's just another wall to your prison.

When did you start thinking about this? Maybe the months you spent alone here... Did anyone check in? Steve's wife now and then but she's young and naive and it only reminds you of how bitter you've grown.

"Found it," Bucky startles you as he struts in. He's in sweats and a take, his hair slick from a shower. You smell his body soap wafting in the air.

"Found... what?" You ask, only just able to see him over the armrest.

"Body oil," he wiggles a bittle at you. "When's the last time we had fun with this?"

Frustration swells in your chest. What the hell? That shower must have been a full reset. He didn't say a word on the way home. You didn't either. Now it's like everything is daisies.

"Fun?" You mutter.

"Doc says a massage. You pulled a muscle." He nears and puts the oil on the end table. "Mm, you know I got good hands."

You look at him. Is he try to fix this or forget this?

He bends to nudge your side, "shimmy over."

You can't move much. He helps you turn so you're facing the backrest and he sits on the edge of the cushions. He pushes your shirt up and tugs until you whimper and lift your arms. You twist around to free yourself.

He reaches over you and snatches the bottle. The click of the cap makes you flinch. He smears the oil over your back as you shield your chest. The coolness of the liquid makes you tense.

You're quiet as he traces his thumbs along your flesh. His touch is firm but soothing. You groan and close your eyes.

He works your neck and shoulders before moving down to your ribs where the muscle tremors. He pushes into it and you whine. He tuts.

"Gonna hurt a bit 'til I loosen it up."

You can't speak. You merely wiggle your head in acquiescence. Something about this is disarming. It's like he's reclaiming you. A reminder of his strength. He has you in the palm of his hands, almost literally. 

His hand slides up to your side and toward your hip. He squeezes and you grit your teeth. He fingers curl around to your stomach. You stop him.

"Gonna work on it," you say. "No more fast food."

"Does that mean the rest of the snack cakes are up for grabs?" He teases. He found your stash when he tore your dresser apart.

"In the cupboard now," you assure him. Can you help that you missed him? That you just wanted some comfort?

"It doesn't bother me, baby. More of you to love."

"It bothers me," you snap. "Alright? And... and..." you grunt and roll onto your back. "And you don't seem to care what bothers me."

"You're going to get oil on the couch--"

"Bucky. I didn't ask you to..." you huff and push yourself up, scowling at the effort. You keep an arm across your chest. 

"I'm helping," he argues.

"I know you're trying to but I need-- I need space."

"I'm here. Trying to listen like you want--"

You close your eyes, exasperated. 

"Yeah, well," you flick your lashes open, "I don't really know what to say anymore."

His expression darkens. He stares at you. A shiver ripples over you. You gulp and reach for your shirt. He gets it first.

"You're setting me up. You want me to fail." He accuses. "You're trying to make me the bad guy--" he stops as he twists your shirt, "because you did something...."

"Did something... Bucky I waited for you--"

He startles you as suddenly he swoops the shirt around your neck. He twists the ends together until it's taut around your throat. He keeps the fabric in his metal fist and jerks you. You gasp at the pang it sends down your spine.

You grab onto his hand as your face contorts in horror. "Bucky, you know--"

"Do I know you anymore? I come home and you're cold. All I did was my job. Went out to make the money to support your fucking doodles--"

You slap him. You choke on his name as his reels back and keeps a hold of you. His lip curls and his eyes dialate.

He stands and rips you off the couch. He slams you to the ground with the snare around your neck. He puts you on your stomach and straddles you as you whimper and writhe.

"You think you can win this?" He sneers as he bends over you, hot breath searing over your scalp.

"Bucky--" you clutch the cotton as it tightens. "Why--" your eyes speckle with tears. "What happened to you?"

"Ask yourself that," he snarls and twists the shirt until you can't speak. "Maybe I just want a little bit of respect from my fucking wife."

You get your fingers under the shirt and wheeze. "Then why don't you act like my husband! "Why didn't you answer me for a whole month?"

"This again," he growls and jerks the shirt.

You cough and reach out, desperate to drag yourself away. You know it's hopeless. When you married him, you never thought he'd use his strength on you. Not like this.

He lens forward and grabs your hand. "You always had more time for those drawings than me. I never said a damn word." He grips your middle finger and you freeze. The tension in your joint is electric. "You need to figure out what's important." He wrenches your finger back and your knuckle pops. The pain makes you shriek. "It isn't the doodle." He grips your index next and bends it back. You wail again, blinded in agony. "You'll see who takes care of you when you got nothing else."

[tinkerbellini21]

A Stranger's Jacket: Part 21

Evan "Buck" Buckley x plus size! reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: angst, spoilers, fluff

Author's Notes: Very short update, I am still slammed with final papers! Had to put something up though!

Masterlist | Taglist

You wake up to your alarm, blindly reaching out to shut it off. Buck’s face, buried in your pillow, lifts, flashing you his sleepy blue eyes. But his head must be too heavy as he drops his face back into the cushion. 

Blinking slowly, you adjust to your surroundings. You had the day off and forgot to silence your alarm- although you were going to be woken up by Buck’s alarm in half an hour anyway.

A warm gold peeks through the curtains, casting a glow across the bottom of the bed. 

You scoot closer to Buck’s side, absorbing the heat of his body. You want nothing more than to stay like this all day. 

Resting your head ontop of his, you tug the comforter up to your necks, cocooning yourselves in. Away from the responsibilities of the real world, away from the cool air of the morning.

Buck’s grasp is firm, his arm heavy across your midsection. You rub his shoulders as he slowly comes to a more lucid state. 

Buck groans, squeezing the pillow with the hand that’s buried underneath it before gazing at you, moving from his stomach to his side. Delicately, he pushes a few stray hairs back from your forehead.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” You murmur softly. He cups your neck, thumb lazily stroking your cheek. 

“For loving me— even when I’m drunk.”

“Oh Buck.” You slide your hand down his arm, locking your fingers together. You squeeze tightly, reassuringly. “You’re allowed to let loose every once in a while.”

“But it wasn’t healthy. Not with my medication and my feelings.”

You let him guide the conversation. There was no need to confront him about the situation. You knew your fiance. He would tell you in his own time, which typically meant sooner than later. 

“It’s okay, Buck.” You give him a chaste kiss. “We’re going to have a good day today. I’ll have your favorite dinner and dessert ready when you get off work tonight, and we can watch that movie you’ve been dying to see.”

A pause. Your forehead crinkles as you observe Buck. He’s tense, a myriad of emotions painted on his face. Anxiety, hesitation, radiates off of him in waves. 

“I’m not going to work.” He doesn’t hold your gaze, looking down as he anxiously moves his fingers against yours. “I’m going to see a lawyer.”

“Oh.” 

To say you’re shocked would be an understatement. Or maybe it isn’t the right word. Confused? 

“I uh, when we did the inspection, there was this lawyer who wanted to speak about fire codes. Then he mentioned my leg and how I could sue the city—” He bites the inner part of his lip, like he feels guilty for thinking about it. “I was against it at first. But after last night’s dinner… I think I need to stand up for myself, babe.”

“You’re thinking about suing the city?”

“I just want my job back. Not money.” Buck confesses quietly. He clears his throat, once, twice, and you swipe the pad of your thumb under his eyes as he tears up. 

“I know. We all want you to have your job back.” 

“Do you think this is a bad idea?”

You don’t have an answer. On one hand, you want Buck to feel empowered, to advocate for himself and what he believes is right. On the other, you think about his— no your relationships with your friends, your family. Filing a lawsuit isn’t something to take lightly.

“I think you should meet with the lawyer and discuss options.” You unlock your fingers to bring them up to the back of his head, absentmindedly …scratching his scalp. “I will support you in whatever you do, regardless of my opinions. If you want to do this, I’ll be here.”

“I do.” 

“Then it’s settled.” You nuzzle his nose in an effort to lighten up the mood. You’re rewarded with a kiss, his lips upturning against yours. “Now let’s get some food, shall we? I’m starving, and avocado toast with an egg smmmounds amazing.”

“Anything for my princess.”

After breakfast, you strolled through the neighborhood, the sound sof birds accompanying you. It was the perfect autumn morning for California, 68 degree weather with a slight breeze. Not too hot. Comfortable.

You part ways with Buck mid-morning. He told you he needed to do this by himself. Even while he was doing this for himself, he was still worried about you. He didn’t want to drag you directly into this. 

You’re mashing bananas for the bread you’re making when there’s a knock on the door. You wipe remnants of squashed fruit on a tea towel, briskly walking over to answer. 

Peering in the peephole, Maddie stands on the other side with two cups of coffee. 

You know Maddie. She’s here to apologize for last night. But tension, uncertainty, still rests in your bones. 

You unlock the door, slowly opening it. 

“Good morning. I’m sorry about last night. I was in a bit of a funk.” She steps past you, inviting herself in. Relief washes over you. It wasn’t personal. 

“How are you doing?”

You exhale loudly, rubbing your forehead before sliding it down your face. You follow her into the kitchen, moving back to your bowl as she sits across the island.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I felt bad as soon as I got off the phone last night.”

“It’s okay, I get it.” 

You start to slice another banana up, focusing on the motion of the knife. You’re not sure you could handle a serious conversation right now. 

“Seriously though, how are you? And I won’t take “I’ll be fine” for an answer.”

But once you hear the concern in Maddie’s voice, the care that you’ve grown to love, you break down. Lip quivering, you tilt you gaze up. The knife drops against the cutting board, your once occupied hand clutching at your chest. Your shirt, now smudged with banana. You can’t breathe.

“Woah, hey. What’s wrong?” Maddie launches up from her spot, rounding the counter to comfort you. “You’re scaring me.”

You try to speak, but your words are stuck in your throat. You try again and fail. Maddie waits, hands steady at your back.

“A-Athena called Buck last night. He—” Your eyes close, tilting your head back. 

“He what?”

You envision the scene. Buck is sitting at the table with the couple, learning over dinner that Bobby was the reason he wasn’t cleared for duty yet. You feel the hurt, the sense of betrayal. And you vividly see the look on his face. 

But the worst part? All of this could have been avoided if Bobby had just been honest with him. 

“Bobby’s the reason Buck’s not back. It broke his heart, Maddie. And mine.”

Her hand on your back freezes, becoming a bit heavier. You glance up at her. Her eyes flutter, just like her brother’s, as she processes the information.

“Oh Sunshine. I’m so sorry. I know you—you trust Bobby’s judgement. But when we see someone we love hurting, it’s hard to stay objective.”

“Ye-yeah.” Your throat is closing and opening rapidly. “I-I’m so-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Ugh, no.” You find the strength to laugh at yourself, realizing that you may be overreacting just a little. “This is pathetic, Maddie. I’m pa—”

“No, it’s okay to feel this way. This is hard on you, too.” She pauses, giving you some breathing time. “But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Fuck. 

“What? Are you pregnant?!”

You sputter, laughing loudly as you lean forward to grab the counter. 

“No, no!”

“Then what is it?” Maddie pushes gently, her hand rubbing up and down your arm. 

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.” 

You force yourself to take deep breaths. In for three, hold, push out. After a few cycles of breathing, you trust that your voice won’t shake. 

“Buck is meeting with a lawyer right now— to get his job back.”

“He’s going to sue them?”

“He just wants the job, not money. But I don’t want this to ruin our family.”

Maddie purses her lips, a soft woosh escaping. Her face says it all. 

This is a bad idea. You both know it.

 But this is what Buck wants. 

And you must stay on the sidelines, ready to catch him when he falls. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[otomes-world]

Feel free to skip cursive text. A short drabble without any pretensions to something more and a possible continuation purely because I wanted to return to the "roots" and write something with a yandere tag. Often I catch myself thinking (hi Rook), that in the end I can't decide whether this or that fanfic of mine is yandere or normal one. I leave it to decide in the end, but it doesn't work that way (hi Rook). Feel free to imagine any character but I'll add in tags who would fit more

Perhaps you're not the most attentive person. You can notice some little thing in the text or in life that someone, ordinary, would ignore or not attach importance to. For some reason, when it came to the plane of one person's relationship with other people, everything stopped working as intended.

More than once, having analyzed your flights and mistakes, you were convinced that there was nothing "otherworldly" in your behavior, there was really nothing there. In communication with someone, you tried to either hint or directly talk about your opinion about relationship with someone. Banally did not want it, did not think, "why rush" and a simple lack of interest. You were always extremely honest, believing that at the slightest hint of encroachment in your direction it was worth gently, but without hidden meaning, to put the person in their place.

For some reason, in the new world, things that should not have changed did not work. Should you reduce everything to an interworld mentality? Did such a concept even exist?

Conversations that did not go beyond the scheme: hello, how are you, goodbye. A nod or a wave when seeing each other in the distance of the corridor. Maybe sit on the nearby desks in the same lessons. Much to your frustration there always was someone who thought that you were "playing hard to get". To make this work, you need to have at least some semblance of feelings for the person and have an established opinion. Should we reduce everything to the banal pride of a magician, if such a concept, again, existed?

You were mentally choosing between two options: continue to ignore or approach first, trying to sort things out. The first meant openly playing the role of an uncomprehending cookie, a tree, if you will. Not noticing lingering glances, messages in the chat with "Good day to you, how are you?", a desire to help visible to the naked eye. Pretend that an invitation to spend some time together or work on school project was simple politeness. Think that all the efforts made were nothing more than a whim of a bored soul and if anyone were in your place, nothing would change.

Or act cruelly, but honestly. Dot all the "i's", break the heart before the ephemeral feeling and hope for more, which you could not give, finally take hold in it.

The conversation did not go as planned. He went into the steppe, which, in your subjective opinion, could only happen in a tooth-grinding romantic teenage rom-com. Under no circumstances in life.

"I know you don't feel the same way I do. Yet"

Yet, he said yet. When you were trying to be a sensible piece of society. When you were trying to take the problem seriously. All your efforts to get along and end things of no use to anyone. So you really decided to ignore the hints. Since it didn't work out to end things on a good note, you also would play unfairly.

The new conditions didn't bother him in slightest. On the contrary, it seemed that he was genuinely amused by your irritation and slight dislike for his self-confidence, you would simplify arrogance. Nothing serious, just a series of emotions caused by resentment.

The gestures became more noticeable. The glances that followed your figure were replaced by touches that lingered for seconds longer to pass an object. Speaking of them, why were you always missing some little thing like a pencil or a textbook, when you were exactly, 100%, sure that you had put everything in your bag. He was always there and was always the only one willing to lend you the item you needed so generously.

Instead of invitations came gifts and flowers. Flowers, such a hated word lately. When you turned him back with the roses, he assumed it was because of their bright crimson color. When it turned out that pink, yellow, and somehow purple inflorescences did not cause the desired reaction, other types were used. Chrysanthemums. Lilies. Daisies. Cornflowers. Succulents. It seemed that when all the known worlds of flora ran out, he would simply go around for the second round.

And so it happened, because a bouquet of only one blue rose was waiting on your porch. If he was going to use language of flowers, you would start climbing the walls from frustration.

Naturally, flowers were not the only way to show attention. Sweets, jewelry, hobby items. How did he even know that you liked to do this in your free time? When you returned one or another box, you received two of the same kind the next day. If this was his way of making you accept his gifts, he succeeded.

There was too much of him everywhere at once. Opening a door. Offering a hand. A bunch of all sorts of advice from the book "1000 and 1 ways to woo the object of adoration." He made your life a kind of hell, when everyone around you assumed you were a couple in advance. When everyone around you was genuinely worried about his relationship, as if they were their own. As if they were watching a TV series where you were the very character that made everything stretch out into millions of episodes and seasons.

If you had never felt anything for him before, now you were overwhelmed with absolutely different kinds of emotions. It would be a lie to say that there was at least one positive one among them.

You can be understood, really, but on his part this was a small victory.

[kirietown]

Star Burster | Part II

Pairing: clark kent x f!reader

Summary: clark was a good man, maybe too good for his own sake.

Content: 1800s ahistorical rural kansas AU, arranged marriage, height difference, cheating (on clark with superman), identity play, breeding kink, period typical sexism, smut, possessiveness

18+

[chapter one] [chapter two] — ongoing, cross posted to ao3

Word count: 1.8K

You feigned sickness over the next few days. The Superman didn’t make any appearances, but Clark sure did. In the later evening, he’d stop on by with the latest papers he pressed at the publishing house he worked at. He didn’t come up to see you, though you knew he tried, but your mother had told him of how you suspected you were contagious.

Regardless, he’d stutter outside your door about how Perry let him take the reject copies home. He’d prattled on about ink splatter before sliding the copy under your door. The copies had been turned down for various mistakes, typically typos from that lousy typecaster Jimmy, who according to Clark always tried his best but Perry breathing down his neck made him anxious. He’d said the papers would give you something funny to read while you recovered. It only made the guilt in your tummy feel much worse, hearing him make an extra effort to speak to you when another man had been inside you. The feeling of it still lingering whenever you shifted or paced around your room.

Pace you did, indeed, as your mother had came in early that morning to check your temperature and decided your fever had disappeared miraculously. The truth is her sudden entrance didn’t give you enough time to press a hot towel against your forehead first. Ever since then you had been tending to the various chores you neglected, feigning that it was merely light headedness whenever you winced from the dull aching from your core as you walked or bent over to pick up various tools.

Your day had been long, and yet none of it distracted you from the fact that you’d have to come face to face with Clark any minute now. The late evening approaching and signalling that he had gotten off of work about an hour ago. You didn’t know what you’d say to him, hell, you didn’t know what he’d say to you.

You needn’t think it any longer, however, as you heard the door downstairs creak open. The sound of your parents’ voices greeting Clark, letting him know he could go on upstairs and finally see you now that your fever had broken. The heavy footsteps that followed reminded you of a play you’d seen as a girl, the sound of the prison warden’s heavy boots walking on towards the criminal’s cell. Now Clark didn’t wear boots, he started wearing fancy shoes ever since he got that job at the publishing house. But Clark was a big man, and big men made heavy steps up creaky old staircases. There was nothing delicate about Clark’s walking, it was just as clumsy as the rest of him.

The steps stopped, and you felt your heartbeat race up, as a knock reached your door.

”Enter,” you called, as though you had no clue who was on the other side. Clark then turned the knob, and stepped into your tiny room. An innocent room, with a nice pretty bed and a hand carved vanity made by your father. You even had a fancy book case filled with childish adventure stories and hidden romances. An innocent room for a lady, if not for the sheets you hid in the back of your closet. Your blood staining the fabric, marking it forever with the memory of what you did with the Superman. It seemed he had placed it delicately in your hamper, but once you caught it, you went and hid it. It wasn’t a keepsake but rather a reminder of your own foolishness and your betrayal to the man in front of you now.

”I… I don’t really k-know the last… Last time I’ve been in your room… Like this,” he said first. He stuttered his way through it similarly to how he stuttered his way through life. Head on, and with a quiet determination.

“Like this?” You replied curiously.

“Well, I- I just meant alone with you here, why… Why it’s a little intimate.” He shuffled, and you noted that one of his hands had been discreetly placed behind his back as though to conceal something from you.

“I suppose it is,” the guilt continued to whirl around in the pit of your stomach. It was funny how guilt had a way of manifesting physically, as if you needed the heavy reminder that you had done something bad. A lot of the mine owners in town probably be walking around with a bad stomachache all day, and that’s why they’re always so grouchy. You shook your head away from your thoughts, before you continued.

“Whatcha got there behind you?”

You watched as Clark bit his lip, he hesitated for a moment before bringing his arm forward and revealing an elegant little bouquet of red roses. You recognized it as coming from that fancy little shop near the edge of Smallville closest to the big city. That was the thing about small towns, you knew where everything and everyone came from. Well, until the Superman popped outta the sky and decided that people could be secrets too.

There you go again, you thought. Your mind trailing off, bleeding into other thoughts as though you couldn’t stay in the moment. It was all a distraction really, how could you focus when you knew Clark went outta his way to get you these delicate little red roses? What had you done, what had you done?

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you really weren’t sure what for. You must’ve meant all of it, but you couldn’t say that. If Clark felt your tone was repressing something, he didn’t show it. Instead, he took a step closer to you, as if you were a frightened little animal with your leg caught in a trap. As if he knew that you didn’t understand what kindness looked like, not from someone so big, someone who had to crouch down when he walked through any door.

“I… I think you were right,” he replied. He closed in, his arms moving to bring the bouquet closer to you, and you accepted the offering. The strong scent overpowering your senses, and yet you were still so aware of him. “I w… Was thinking we could start fresh? A clean slate,” he determined. You furrowed your brows, perplexed at his sudden boldness and clearness in his voice. He continued, “I haven’t been the best… Man I could be to you. But that’s gonna’ change now, I can’t- can’t stand the thought of you feeling so… Detached from me. I-I’ll be better, for us.”

“I don’t understand,” you replied breathlessly. Was a clean slate possible when you still felt the impurity of your actions between your legs? The dull pain, the feeling of emptiness, still inside you. When you knew, you knew, oh how you knew that if that man flew through your window again, and offered you that dimpled smile that you’d be ready to welcome him back in faster than— well, faster than him.

“I mean I wanna be your man,” he said. “I—“ He hesitated, his face downcast, shaking his shaggy head of hair before he continued. “I… I don’t wanna be mild-mannered Clark Kent, shy ol’ Clark Kent. I wanna be someone you could be proud of calling your man.”

“Clark,” you said. You hurriedly moved the bouquet to your left arm, and held his big hand in your right hand. “Oh Clark, what a mess we are, huh? I’m proud of ya, and I’ve always been proud. I was- I just wanted to feel loved.”

“Don’t you get it?” He replied gently. “That’s where I— I failed. A-All I want, is well, for you to feel loved.”

“Clark, I—“

”No no,” he said. “L-Like I said, I think we can st-start fresh. H-How’s about a date? J.. Just saying that, well, I feel a bit worse, I don’t think I-I’ve ever taken you out. I promise I’m not a cheapskate, no, just a fool who didn’t appreciate the woman he- he didn’t earn.”

“Well,” you replied quietly. “I’m not some sorta prize you can win at the fair… But, I suppose you could still take me there. I heard it’s opening in two days, just a few roads down… We can treat it as our first.” His words caused your cheeks to warm up significantly. You could feel the heat, and were suddenly thankful for the fact that Clark’s eyes were always partially obscured. It made speaking to him easier since you could avoid as much eye contact as you liked without having to worry about all the formalities.

“O-Of Course!” He chirped. “I-I’ll ask Perry if I can take a half day, and I’ll pick y-you up right after lunch time. How’s th-that sound?”

“That sounds fine,” you replied. Your hand had been absentmindedly rubbing circles into the back of his hand. You had just now noticed how soft they were despite the years of farm work and the repetition of operating the print and press, he had no toughness or calluses. You decided not to overthink it. You let go, and spoke again, “but by a fresh slate, what do you really mean?”

He stayed silent for a moment, as though pondering. “Why, I- I think I mean this symbolizes the start to- to our relationship, no longer o-one our parents set up. B- But a real one, of our own choice. I-I’ll let go of any past… Mistakes, if you can too?”

You remained silent for a moment, the smell of roses slightly suffocating. The vibrant red all of a sudden reminding you of a cape just as bold. But as you looked at Clark, and saw his meek smile and hunched shoulders, you decided to let out a small sigh, the guilt you felt suddenly weighed down harder. “Yes,” you said finally. “So long as you can let go of mine.” It felt manipulative, it made you feel downright nasty to lie, to hide a lie through Clark’s good intentions. A loophole, but how could he really forgive what he didn’t know? Could you live with that? Despite the guilt, despite how it hung around your neck like a noose, a small part of you, a quiet part told you that you could.

He smiled widely, and for a brief moment looking at his little dimples, you felt a sense of deja vu.

…

The next day, you spent some of your time at your granny’s home. Her nimble hands demonstrating how to knit and purl, knit and purl your yarn. It was when you switched colours that you asked her if she’d ever kept any secrets from your granddaddy. The kinds of secrets that ate away at the soul, that made you feel heavy after.

She sat for a moment, continuing her knitting. You were unsure if she heard you until she replied, decidedly, and told you:

“Sometimes,” she began. “Well, sometimes secrets are all we got, y’know… I loved your ‘pappy, but he was a man, and them men don’t know shit ‘bout nothin’. ‘Sides,” she continued. “Feeling heavy ain’t such a bad thing, now is it? I feel heavy after a good supper, I felt heavy when I was pregnant with your mama. A lady ought to feel heavy every once in a while, or we’d just float away.”

You laughed together, a full bellied laugh that continued as she recounted stories about your granddaddy. It didn’t stop the sickness in your gut, the guilt festering.

“But is it really okay for a woman to lie to a good man?”

Your granny scoffed, “ain’t no such thing as a good man,” she finally concluded.

But your granny was wrong, there were good men in this world, and you were entangled with two of ‘em.

[musical-chick-13]

.

[sugucide]

two weeks.

it's been two weeks since kento has been inside of you. He's gone months, hell even years without sex before he met you and he was fine. he didn't even wish for it like most of his bachelor counterparts did.

but now that he's had a taste of you? two weeks may as well be a death sentence. which is ironic, giving the nature of this sex ban. everything you do is inviting: maybe it's just his underworked sex drive or maybe he's reverted back to his teenage years because he sure does feel like an impatient, entitled brat whenever you walk past him.

he can smell you. not the smell of your perfume you spritz on each morning. not the product in you hair. not the moisturiser you use. but you, the scent of your self, your body, the skin he's so often inhaled as he bit down between your thighs or up the column of your neck. he can smell the memories of sex, sweaty and tangled in pheromones and all things primal.

he can hear you. not your words or laughter or the way you hum absentmindedly when you're pottering around the house. he can hear that sharp little intake of breath when you accidentally, or not-so-accidentally, brush against him. he can hear that whining tinge to your voice when you tell him you won't sleep with him, that you're punishing him, as if its moreso a punishment for you than him. he can remember the way you'd moan for him, desperate and glassy eyed and oh so perfect for him as he ruins you from the inside out.

he can't take it anymore.

"two weeks is more than enough time for me to think about my actions," he tells you over dinner one night, eyes cast downwards at his plate. "...and to come up with a suitable apology."

you place your chopsticks down at his last words and look up at your husband. "oh? let's hear it then."

over the frames of his glasses, kento's eyes meet yours. "i apologise for worrying you and risking my life for my work."

you tap your fingers against the table. "and will you continue to do it?"

"yes," he admits. "it's my job, one that i do well. if i die doing it, i hope it's in place of someone who didn't sign up for it, like you."

kento reaches over the table and takes your hand. "i can't just stop being a sorcerer. that would be too selfish of me. but i do promise that i will make more of an effort to reduce my chances of getting hurt from now on: no more unnecessary risks. okay?"

though that was all you needed to hear from him, you start to wonder if lifting the sex ban was a good idea when your pent-up husband is swiping plates from the dinner table to make room for you to lay back on it. claiming he can't wait the few extra second to carry you to the bedroom, he has you stripped and laid bare on the dining room table in no time, and he's ready for his meal.

"missed her," he mumbles as he parts your legs with a strong hand and bends down to kiss once at your clit. that's about and gentlemanly as it gets, though, because soon after he's making out with your pussy like he's a virgin. no technique, no precision, nothing but unfiltered need and its so much hotter than you'd imagine it to be.

eyes locking onto yours from between your thighs, he adds two fingers and works you open. two weeks was a long time for the both of you, so he'll need to get you used to the stretch of him again. he scissors his fingers inside of you, curls them upwards to hit your g-spot and smirks like a saint when your back arches off the table in response.

"missed you ken," you ramble on as your climax nears. "missed you so much. hated doing this. love you. loveyouloveyou god i love you."

you cum hard, harder than you've cum in a long time and kento laps it up like he's never tasted anything so good. he savours your taste on his tongue like he would an aged wine, something expensive and delicious and worth keeping bottled. though he's harder than diamond and worried he'll cum in his pants if he doesn't sink inside of you soon. so he stands and undoes his belt in record time (with those lovely hands of his) and repositions you at the end of the table with his leaky cock already pressing against your wet entrance.

he leans over you and shares a kiss with you as he pushes in. he inhales the gasp you let out at the stretch and moans into your mouth as a gift in return. he pulls out almost entirely, so it's just his head nestled in your tight pussy, and then slams in again. hard.

"god kento—" you start, about to chide him for being so rough with you when you notice his face dip into your neck and the sudden warmth filling you from the inside. kento's hips stutter and he bites at the skin of your shoulder to muffle the heavy moans that ache to free themselves from his chest.

"did you just—"

"don't," he cuts you off, cock twitching inside of you with his release. he's plugging you up, keeping you full of him and his cum. "give me a minute and i'll fuck you so stupid that you forget that just happened."

"you just—"

"don't laugh."

"im not laughing! it's just, you know like our first time..."

"shut up." kento's hips pull away and then slam back into yours as he starts a brutal pace with you.

that shuts you up good.

[adore-gregor]

my perception of grades totally changed since i started uni

[cloverapple]

How To Finally Shift If You’ve Been Trying For 2+ Years

⚠️ Little warning before we begin: don’t get scared off! I might sound a little negative at first, but that’s not the point of this post. My goal is for you to reach the end of this and think “Oh, I’m definitely going to shift to my DR now!”

Having said that:

If you’ve been on your shifting journey for two or more years, doing methods, reprogramming your mind, consuming advice, maintaining a mental diet, manifesting, forcing assumptions, trying to create assumptions, etc, etc⏤and you still haven’t shifted your awareness to your DR, maybe it’s time to stop trying to make yourself shift.

Stop trying to shift.

Stop trying to trigger a shift.

Maybe the thing you need at this point in your journey is to stop trying to make yourself shift.

And I’ll explain why by asking you a question:

In these two, three, four, however many years of effort, don’t you think you would have shifted by now?

Think about it. You’ve oversaturated your mind with the intention to shift. You do all your methods correctly. You try to convince yourself that you're already in your DR. You feel symptoms. Sometimes you even "mini shift." And yet… you're still here. Doing the same things. Searching for advice that leads you right back to doing the same thing:

Trying to shift. Trying to trigger a shift. Trying to shift your awareness.

Trying.

Trying confidently.

Trying hopelessly.

Trying angrily.

…Trying.

If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, triggering a shift, or successfully shifting with a method, it would have happened by now.

“But Clover, I still have a lot of soul-searching and work to do! I just need to put in more effort!”

Awesome! Then click away, because this advice isn’t for you. I’m not talking to you.

I’m talking to the person who is tired. Who is drained. Who, despite applying all the sage advice on the internet, is just burnt out from the process of shifting.

And if that sounds like you, let me repeat: Maybe you need to stop actively trying to shift.

Your work is done. And that’s a good thing.

You’ve spent years ingraining the idea of shifting into your subconscious. You’ve impressed the intention to shift so deeply that it’s already there. Congratulations! You did all the mental work. It’s done.

Your DR is already yours. You already have the ability to shift.

So stop trying to trigger it. Stop trying to make yourself shift.

Let go of the “making yourself shift” process.

“Oh my god, she’s going to tell me to take a break.”

LMAO you thought.

Yes, breaks are excellent. They help reset and recharge your mindset. I always encourage taking breaks if you need them. But let’s be honest. Sometimes, even the thought of taking a break feels just as mentally exhausting as staying on your shifting journey.

“Oh no, she’s going to tell me to do nothing at all.”

Once again, you thought.

Instead, you’re going to capitalize on the fact that you’ve already done all this work. The intention to shift is always, always, always in your mind. Your subconscious knows you want to shift. Just like it knows how to shift your awareness.

So, the next time you lay down to do your shifting process...

Instead of trying to shift…

Instead of trying to induce a shift, induce the void, or force an outcome…

Give yourself exactly what you want.

Give yourself the feeling of being in your DR.

Drop the conscious, active intention to shift because your subconscious already has it covered. You don’t need to keep hammering it in. Instead, focus on inducing the emotions you would feel if you were in your DR.

Imagine waking up in your DR. Imagine being there. Imagine spending time with your DR friends, your S/O, whatever makes you happiest. Personally, I lean toward wake-up scenarios. You can listen to music, meditate, visualize, even do a shifting method if you enjoy it—but instead of doing it with the intention to shift, you’re doing it just to give your body and mind the feeling of being there. The happiness, the calm, the excitement, whatever it is for you.

This does not mean you’re lying there thinking, “Okay, this is going to make me shift.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Drop the idea of shifting entirely. That process is done.

And I’ll say it one more time:

If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, making yourself shift, or triggering a shift, it would have happened already.

So let it go. Drop it.

Induce the emotions of being in your DR, and then let go. Once you do that, go to sleep. Or go about your day. That’s it.

So why does this actually make you shift?

Because feeling is the language of the subconscious.

Think about it: The moments in your life that shaped you the most weren’t just things you thought. They were things you felt deeply. Joy, fear, excitement, grief. Emotions imprint on the subconscious. That’s why certain smells, songs, or places instantly bring back vivid memories. Because your subconscious records experiences based on emotions, not logic.

So when you stop trying to shift and instead just focus on feeling like you’re in your DR, your subconscious responds by aligning your awareness to match that emotional state.

Because to the subconscious, there’s no difference between imagination and reality. When you visualize something vividly enough, your brain fires the same neurons as if you were actually experiencing it. Athletes use this trick to enhance performance. Musicians use it to refine their skills. And guess what? It works for shifting too.

When you let go of the effort and just immerse yourself in the emotions of already being there, you bypass the resistance that trying creates.

And that’s when the shift happens.

It happens because you stopped forcing it.

It happens because your subconscious already knows how to shift, you just needed to get out of its way.

So, again, drop the struggle. Drop the effort. Stop trying to shift.

The more precise or perfect you want the shift to be, the more pressure you put on yourself. Your brain rebels against that because rigid control drains energy.

Remember this:

High Emotion + Low Attachment = Flow.

When you feel something strongly but aren’t clinging to the result, your subconscious has room to act. This is why sometimes, when you care less or focus on something in a passing, emotional way, it manifests easily.

This is why people can give up on shifting entirely and shift. This is why people let go of the need to shift and shift. This is why you shift without meaning to.

You: “No, I can’t do this! I need to keep trying to shift or else my subconscious will think I don’t want to shift anymore!”

Me:

*As always, take what resonates, discard what doesn’t, because we’re all different people who need to hear different things :)

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

So hybrid bulls and cows are actually separate species in MY fantasy world, not male and female.

So you work on a farm specializing in male cows and bulls, the only woman that’s allowed there due to… how the hybrids behave around any females.

You milk them… but not in the normal way. As the only woman on the farm, you’re the only one they’ll allow to milk their cocks. They produce a special semen that’s a milk alternative, and very yummy!

The cow’s are fine enough, following you around and nuzzling into you, wanting cuddles and extra attention when you’re milking them… they behave so well, blushing and mooing softly, gently moving their hips against your hand as you milk their cocks dry.

The bulls however… are a different story. They’re very territorial and protective over the cow hybrids, who they’ve formed a friendship with. They don’t like most people, and tend to be loners that only come around when it’s milking time.

But your pay is upgraded when the farm owners notice that the bulls have started warming up to you, even starting to treat you like a heifer, keeping you safe and guarding you from the other employees.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone but you when the bulls started being a bit… too handsy with you. They viewed you as a heifer now… but you were so small compared to any female cow they’d ever seen. A runt, stunted, maybe…

But you had that chubby tummy and plush hips, those plump breasts that would look so pretty full of milk…

Within a month of starting work, you find yourself being bent over by one of the bulls, the cows mooing in distress and trying to comfort you as a fat cock enters your cunt.

“D-don’t be rough with her! She’s little!” one of the cows protests, stroking your hair and cooing softly to you. The bull huffs, hot air hitting the back of your neck as he fucks into you.

“Being as gentle as possible… little thing, couldn’t take me being rough even if I wanted to be…”

Your cunt was stuffed full with cum, several bulls mounting you until you were a blubbering mess. Once the bulls were done, you were surrounded by cows, getting kisses and snuggles… but they wanted to mate as well…

They pressed down on your belly, cum pooling between your legs as they cooed and gently fucked their own seed into you. By the end of the work day, you were spent, curled up in the hay with several cow hybrids as the bulls guarded the door.

You were payed handsomely for your efforts, and offered an even bigger paycheck to let them mount you at least once a week to let out their sexual frustrations.

They became more territorial around you, but when you weren’t in the picture, the bulls were much calmer and didn’t attack anyone that brought out food or came to give them check ups.

And when you became pregnant… well… let’s just say you were tucked away in the barn, living there with the cows and bulls as your belly grew heavy and swollen.

The cows tended to you, making sure you received all the human comforts you wanted along with their endless affections, and the bulls kept you safe.

———————

A/N: omg… ask me more about this concept because… I’m in love

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @chubbumblebee @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Picture this: Dragons using their caves to age cheese. Dragon Cheesemakers!!

The dragon coiled his enormous body, completely blocking the entrance of the tunnel that lead to the caves.

“No,” he snarled, smoke pluming from his nose.

The cheesemonger pinched the bridge of her own nose. “Look, I explained this to you at the start,” she tried once more. “I make cheese.”

“Yes,” the agreed, nodding his scaly head.

“Then I bring the cheese here.”

“Yes.”

“Then you store all the cheese in your cave, keeping it at the perfect temperature and humidity.”

“Yes.” He sounded particularly proud of this part.

“And then when the cheese has ripened,” she concluded. “I come to pick the cheese up again.”

A thunderous scowl clouded his maw. “No.”

“But that’s how it works!” she cried in exasperation. “I make the cheese, you store the cheese, I sell the cheese, I make more cheese!” She peered up at him. “You do realise I cannot bring you new cheese until I have sold this cheese.”

The dragon considered this for a moment. “Ah, but what if—” he began. “What if you go and make more cheese. And bring me the cheese. And I put it in my cave, with the rest of the hoard. And then I keep it there forever.”

“No,” she said flatly.

It was remarkable how much a dragon could look like it had just swallowed a lemon.

“You can’t keep cheese forever,” she insisted. “It will spoil and go bad!”

“You said it would get better and better!” the dragon roared indignantly. “And I take good care of them! With the air flow and the humidity and the temperature!”

“And that is great,” she said, trying to smile through her frustration. “But when a cheese is ripe, it’s ripe! Then you should not be kept anymore, it should be eaten.”

The dragon scraped it’s formidable claws against the stony ground and sulked.

“Look…” The cheese mongering business did not tend to require a lot of sweet-talking, but she was making an effort. “I’m sure the cheeses that aged in your cave are the best cheeses people have ever tasted. When they find out how delicious they are they will want us to make loads more. Maybe several caves’ worth!”

The reptilian eyes stared at her with disgruntled, reluctant interest. “Several caves?”

“If we’re lucky! And I could make so much cheese that I could bring you new cheese as soon as I pick up the aged cheese. Your cave would never even be empty!”

This seemed to strike a chord. The dragon lifted his head a little.

“And that would really be much better for the rest of your hoard,” she continued with fresh inspiration. “Because if you leave cheese too long, it might go bad and spoil the cheeses next to it too!”

A nervous ripple went through the beast’s scaly body, but he clearly was not convinced just yet. “But what sort of a hoard is it if I have to give it away,” he complained.

“Well! Cheese is not just any old hoard! It’s a developing creation! And you will have a hoard that is constantly developing too. Constantly changing, but, if we do this right, never shrinking.”

The dragon looked at her solemnly, wavering with uncertainty. Perhaps she shouldn’t hold it against the poor thing, it must be a difficult concept to wrap his head around.

“And I will tell you what,” she said encouragingly. “If business is good, I can start investing in some really good crumbly cheeses. You can keep those in your cave for five whole years!”

“That is quite a long time for humans, is it not?” he said, sounding a little more cheerful.

“Very long. Especially when it comes to cheese. Cheeses that have been aged that long are very expensive.”

In retrospect, she should perhaps have led with that. Gourmand or not, a dragon was still a dragon after all. A glittering, toothy grin appeared on her recalcitrant business partner’s shout and he moved just enough for her to move past him into the mountain.

“Tell me more about this expensive cheese that crumbles.”

She hid a smirk. “If you help me carry some of the current ones out, it would be my pleasure.”

[physalian]

Avoiding Plot Holes by Seeding Doubt

Having an “expert” character conveniently fuck up right when the plot needs it to happen, when they otherwise would never, always loudly looks like the hand of the author sabotaging things. Which is exactly what’s happening.

However, if you set up that scene in a way where that fuckup is possible and warranted, you can turn “this is so contrived” to “omg I knew that was going to happen”.

Some suggestions!

Firstly, if we’re dealing with humans, humans are not machines. Variability in skill even at the expert level happens. Go watch the Olympics or any professional sporting event and people have terrible days all the time.

In fiction, a conveniently terrible day because that’s just how this works doesn’t fly. Diablos ex machinas tend to go over easier than deus ex machinas, but a character failing at a critical challenge in the narrative for no reason screws with a lot of the tension and expectations. “For no reason” takes no effort by the author to set up and pay off, and it reads as cheap.

Behavioral variables

I am a novice archer. I write expert archers. I do not write supernaturally accurate archers. From the very beginning of my story, my expert, with four centuries of experience, isn’t nailing perfect kill shots with every hit. A) he doesn’t need to and B) leaving his enemy to die slowly and painfully is a low he will absolutely stoop to if he thinks it’s warranted.

He’s as good as he has to be and if he gets the job done, he doesn’t care if it’s a little messy. Him being messy and overconfident is what gets him in the end, too. If he’s trying, he’ll do better, but most of the time “eh, I got close enough, they’ll die eventually” is his mindset.

“Expert” in fiction being “this is a character who will reliably pass the challenges set up for them by the narrative”.

So if you have an “expert,” allowing them to get a little bit lazy and overconfident, or simply not think of themselves as needing to be perfect in a given situation, you allow yourself a lot of wiggle room for them to majorly fuck up.

Doesn’t work very well if I throw my archer into an archery tournament, but I haven’t done that, and I’ll get to that later.

Environmental variables

Using the archery example once again: Archery is finnicky and precision is key. So if you’ve got your archer, or any marksman, in a windy environment, they have to work that much harder to factor in the wind when setting up their shot.

If it’s rainy, or the sun’s in their face, or it’s dark, or it’s loud and they can’t focus, these things aren’t exact data points the audience is going to do the math on. Or, if they and their enemy are moving, which, in combat, is highly likely.

Physiological variables

Maybe your character didn’t get enough sleep, or they’re stressed about this moment, they’re cracking under the pressure, they’re doubting themselves, the enemy got into their head, or they’re distracted worrying about something else. Or they got drunk the night before, they ate too much or too little. They’re sick, their hands are sweaty, they’ve got a sinus headache. They’ve got cramps, or hot flashes, or earlier they pulled a muscle and it still tweaks.

These are all, once again, introducing doubt into the narrative so that, when they fuck up as the plot demands, the audience should consider “well they weren’t at their best, I believe it”.

—

The sloppy way to do this is to go, in the moment:

“But because it was windy, X missed his shot”.

Is this the first time the reader is learning that it’s windy? Pretty convenient to introduce it right as it becomes important.

Rather, establish your variable beforehand in a disconnected moment. Try to ground it to a different element, otherwise it might look like it’s being mentioned for no other reason than “this is important”. Or, if it’s environmental, bury it with the other sensory descriptors.

When establishing the scene and setting, casually mention how the wind is interacting with the characters—making their hair a mess, throwing pollen everywhere, making skirts billow, etc.

Have another character complain about this variable bothering them

Have the character instantly regret the decision they made the night before for unrelated reasons. Like, if they got drunk, now they’ve still got a headache.

Depends on the story and the audience, of course, but I personally think having the narrator explicitly call out the variable fuckery going on reads a bit hammy. I like letting the audience figure out what went wrong with the clues I give.

If the scene demands, I'll also let my characters get annoyed and upset about their shots going wrong and blaming the environment. So long as it's not "hand of the author here to tell you what went wrong" you've got options.

I wouldn’t pull this trick too many times, otherwise your “expert” ends up consistently not an expert and then their sudden success looks suspect and contrived.

If you are writing some sort of tournament where this character is deliberately setting themselves up for success and is considering all these variables… a great example I like is Todoroki vs Bakugo in My Hero Academia season 2.

Dude is an uncertain mess throughout the rest of his tournament once his “fuck you dad I’m gonna win by half-assing it” suddenly isn’t enough to beat Midoriya. He’s forced to face some Tragic Backstory and it throws him off his game—establishes doubt.

He has a string of successes once he starts taking baby steps with the other half of his powers, and in the finale, he’s up against someone where he really does have to give it his all if he wants to win. His brute force powers are up against someone who has honed his very specific and powerful abilities for a decade.

And he can’t do it.

The final fight stops being a matter of power metrics and who would win if they both were competing at their best with all the tricks in their playbook available, which is what most of the tournament had been up to this point.

Basically—it stops being a numbers game, and starts being an emotional one. If you have a character you need to fail at something, but who wouldn’t otherwise, consider shifting the battle from external to internal, so the task failure is just the catalyst for the real meat of the story: what this loss means to this person in the long run.

**Side note there are of course a ton of anime tournament fights probably better than this one, Rock Lee’s whole arc against Gaara is one of them, I just don’t remember it well enough to comment on it.

Not every reader is going to be savvy enough to go “well that’s going to be important later”. Use betas and editors to help gauge how vague or obvious your foreshadowing is.

But even if you have readers sussing out your foreshadowing: Part of the fun is figuring out how the journey will end, even if we know when and where. Otherwise tragedies and prequels wouldn’t be made.

The dramatic irony of knowing variable fuckery is at play when the character is unaware can be so fun as the audience. Horror films are kind of built on it.

[luveline]

Hiii!! Could I request a bombshell reader x Spencer where someone (a local police maybe) says something rude to her about her appearance or something and normally it doesn’t really get to her, but something snaps and she kinda shuts down/is rude to Spencer until he coaxes it out of her? Sorry it’s long I had an idea and ran w it loollll

ty for requesting angel! confident fem!reader, 1k

Spencer shouldn’t expect his colleague to hold his hand, especially one so confident. What sense would that make, a woman as established as you are, who smiles without a lick of worry nor smugness, wanting to hold his hand? 

But you do it all the time, is the thing. In the car on the way to crime scenes, in the hallways of the office, under the round table. It started as a tethering for his distractedness, when one day he’d wanted to talk but hadn’t had the presence of mind to walk at the same time, so you’d taken his hand and led him to the office. You’ve been taking it at your discretion ever since.  

Spencer knows something is wrong —you haven’t tried to hold his hand all day. And even if you aren’t interested in him romantically, Spencer has come to crave the touch. He’ll accept platonic hand holding. Anything, really. 

“You’re staring very deeply, Dr. Reid,” you mutter, shades from your usual lightness. 

“I’m thinking.” 

“Aren’t you always?” 

“About you.”

“Well,” you smile fleetingly. “You should always be thinking about me.” 

“You’re truly humble.” 

His joke doesn’t land, it crashes and burns; your smile fades completely into a short, sharp line. Your gaze moves back into the restaurant, waiting for the team's food order in silence once again. 

Spencer’s pinky finger twitches across the gap. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. 

“Fine.” 

You stay quiet, Spencer worries. He takes the bags before you can when they bring your food to the collection desk, two lumps of heat he holds to his thighs as you begin the walk back to the hotel. Tonight, the team will pick at their food together and rehash the same arguments they’ve been making all day, filling in each other's gaps, and tomorrow the work will start again. He can’t have you this unhappy again tomorrow. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, watching you turn to him from the corner of his eye, “you know you are, we all do, everyone who meets you. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, or to feel better, but… I’m here for you. If you want to talk. It’s been a hard couple of days, and talking about traumatic events as they happen and directly afterward make them easier to recover from.” 

“I’m not traumatised.” 

“Upsetting,” he corrects. “Having a shoulder to cry on is good for you, and I can be that shoulder. You know, if you need me to be.” 

He can’t know this in the moment, though maybe one day you’ll tell him, further down the line when the hand holding is better defined, but you look at him and you love him. To know Spencer is to love him. Or at least that’s how you’ve always felt. You’d love to cry on his shoulder about what transpired that morning if it weren’t embarrassing to think about, you’re upset over a throwaway comment made by nobody important. 

Spencer offers his company earnestly. He stammers. It’s amazingly sincere, as he usually is. He won’t mind if it’s embarrassing, he’ll just listen. 

You clear your throat. “I know I’m not to everyone’s taste. I know that the way I… present myself isn’t what most men like. People love confidence, but not when it’s bossy, not when it’s– when it’s vain. And I am vain. I think about my appearance a lot, I think I’m beautiful most of the time, I try so hard to have that be true.” You eye him thoughtfully. “Do you realise that?” 

He shakes his head gently, one ear toward one shoulder and then the other, as though balancing. “Sort of. I know you put effort into your appearance, but I also assume a lot of it to be natural.” 

“Right, well. It’s not natural. Not really. My natural beauty wouldn’t be all the beautiful to most people. And I’ve accepted that, I know what I like about myself, and–” You’re losing the thread of your point, an upset creeping into your melodic tone and turning it ragged. “When people tell me they don’t like how I look now, I guess it hurts because I know they wouldn’t like me before, either, and I feel defeated because I know I can’t win.” 

“Who said they don’t like how you look?” Spencer asks, confused, on his way to annoyed. 

“Officer Friendly.” You look to your shoes, watching the steps you take. “Guess he wasn’t as nice as we thought.” 

“What did he say to you?” 

You shrug. “Same story. He doesn’t like girls who wear makeup. Doesn’t like uppity women.” 

“Did he call you that?” 

“What are you gonna do if he did?” you ask without malice. 

“Morgan’s teaching me self defence for a reason.” You smile at his light joke, though it doesn’t last. He transfers the takeout bags into one hand, the other held out to you, his fingers sliding down your arm to your wrist. “You know you’re beautiful, with or without makeup. And you’re not uppity, you’re out of his league. There’s a difference.” 

“You’re flirting with me.” 

“No.” He wishes he had the wherewithal sometimes, but this isn’t flirting. “I’m being honest with you. Men like that don’t like you because they know they’ll never, ever have you, or anyone like you. There isn’t anyone like you,” he adds, sliding his hand into yours. 

He squeezes all your fingers together twice in quick succession. 

“Don’t let a jealous chauvinist halfwit make you think you’re not good enough,” he says. 

You curl your fingers around his before he can take his hand back. Slowly, you squeeze his hand. Then, smiling, you let him go. 

“I’ve never heard you say something mean like that,” you say. “Halfwit. That’s crass.” 

“I was going to say he’s an asshole, if that’s better.” 

Your laugh echoes off of the sidewalk. “That’s perfect. Say something meaner.” 

The insult he uses next doesn’t bear repeating. 

[nymphaea-blue]

Love and Deepspace boys as dads

Info : 3.1k+ word count whole (around 650 - 900 per part), includes : Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, reader is female, reader and LIs are married, mentions of arguments, possible lore spoilers or slightly inaccurate lore references.

Notes : I did my best to keep the parts even :D They are all so supportive, I love the game because of this so I had to include that in the fic as well <3

Rafayel

﹒　⁺ I see him as a girl dad, he would probably have twins.

﹒　⁺ He loves his little daughters more than anything! They are the light of his day, even when they mess up sometimes. He has no issues taking care of them if you aren't able to because of missions.

﹒　⁺ Rafayel would be very patient. Yes, he has his moments when even he loses a little control, but overall your kids would be well behaved so there rarely were moments when he needed to get angry at them.

﹒　⁺ The playful type. He likes to take them out somewhere fun, perhaps to go swimming or maybe to a nearby amusement park, or even on a small vacation in a different country with you by their side of course.

﹒　⁺ They would be half lemurians! The girls are naturally excellent swimmers and they are very loyal, as well as interested in arts, but they look human and don't have a tail. He loves to sing them lullabies in Lemurian and he would try to teach them a little about Lemuria as well.

﹒　⁺ After they grew up, he was even more invested in their lives. He knew all the drama, everything that was happening in school and you bet if your daughters ever came home crying he would be quick to do something about it. Rafayel would also not mind doing skincare with all of you! He did it even before he knew you (in this lifetime) so now he just got to do it with the entire family.

﹒　⁺ He still makes sure the two of you get plenty of time together and he takes you out on dates, even well after he became your husband. He does his best to split the responsibility 50/50 but with how frequent his exhibitions seem to be, it’s hard, though he is always fully supportive of you and appreciates the effort you make for the family.

“Mommy look, look!” Your daughters called out to you as you were relaxing on a towel nearby. Since you were free from work and Rafayel finished his pieces for the exhibition, it was a perfect day to spend it on the beach, especially because the weather was warm and it was right in front of your home anyways.

As you looked over at where the girls were, you could see a sandcastle being built, with your husband, Rafayel, helping them with it. It was very visible which parts Rafayel worked on and which ones the girls did, but it was endearing since they tried to replicate what he did. 

“Awh, it looks wonderful! Good job, girls!” You cheered them on, they were trying their best and it was all that mattered, they had fun with their dad too, it wasn't surprising since they got a little bit of his artistic spirit from him.

“Heyy, I'm here helping them as well, you know.” Your husband pouted playfully as he got up and walked towards your resting spot.

He kissed your forehead gently after he adjusted your parasol to make sure the sun won't blind you.

“How are you doing, cutie?” He checked in on you, the beach day was also a way for you to take a break and relax, with constant either work or motherhood activities you felt very tired out as of late so Rafayel decided that he would keep the girls busy for a while so you would be able to relax a little. He does his best to help out daily but you understand that he is in fact a world famous painter so his job does keep him busy sometimes. “Much better, thank you Rafayel.” “Don’t thank me, I’m your husband and they are my kids too you know. Just let me know if you ever need a break, okay? I don’t mind ignoring Thomas every once in a while if it means I can spend some more time with my favourite girls.”

Zayne

﹒　⁺ I think he would have both a girl and a boy, with around a 4 year gap between them.

﹒　⁺ Ever since your oldest son was born, he took a lot more rest days from his job. His job was important, yes, but family came first, especially after you got pregnant with a second child. Zayne was very active in their lives and he was there to keep the entire family in check - especially when it came to health.

﹒　⁺ I think he picks up the kids from school almost daily and he is never late. He makes them school lunch while you handle breakfast for the family and later on he gets the kids dressed when you prepare yourself for the day. The responsibility is very even and no one feels left out or overworked.

﹒　⁺ He fully believes in raising kids to be smart, kind and helpful but also responsible. I feel like he would be against giving them a phone or access to the internet before he was sure they would be ready for it and even after they get it, he would remind them to not spend all day on the internet and he would do his best to go out with the kids so they would be able to play around outside.

﹒　⁺ Zayne never gets mad at the kids, he just can’t. Even if something does happen, he handles it with a straight face and a calm voice while he helps them to navigate the difficult situation. The only time he would get slightly annoyed at them would be if they dare to disrespect you - he is a firm believer that since you gave birth to them and took care of them so well, they should respect you, no questions asked.

﹒　⁺ The twins make frequent visits to his office, he just can't say no to them when they come in… He is still very professional and will make them wait in the waiting room if he has a patient but otherwise they are free to hang out with him and he likes to teach them about his job.

﹒　⁺ He is a little sad to see your kids get older. It's amazing that they are becoming more mature and responsible but he also has a hard time keeping up with them after they become teens. 

  “Okay, open up, you need to take this for your fever.” Zayne said, his tone fully professional, his doctor mode still on it seemed. The kids caught a cold and your husband was extremely worried about this, though it was also cute to see him like that.

“Noo, this will taste horrible!” 

“Yeah, it always does!”

The siblings said almost in unison, and your poor lover just sighed in response. It felt like the hundredth time he tried to get them to take their medicine but it always needed lots of fighting for them to do so. Deciding that it was enough of watching Zayne suffer, you entered the room.

“Sweethearts, you need to take this like your daddy says so, you don’t want to be sick all the time, do you?” You tried to persuade them sweetly as you sat down next to them on the bed to bring them some comfort. “I’m not taking this, it tastes like toothpaste!” “Besides, if I’m sick I can skip school.”

“..What if I give you sweets?” You decided to take a different approach, it was bound to work. Your kids instantly agreed of course, it would help to fix the taste of the medicine and it would be like a little reward to them and hopefully, they would get better soon. Your husband just watched in slight disbelief that the attempt worked.

“Giving them sweets after doing something they should do anyways can teach them bad habits.” “Do you want some too?” “... Yes.”

Xavier

﹒　⁺ I think he would have a little boy, one kid is plenty enough but he also thinks about having a girl in the future as well.

﹒　⁺ He was the one to take care of him after he was born and he let you rest instead. Xavier treasures his sleep a lot but when your little star wakes up, he is the one to get up from the bed and cuddle him to sleep again.

﹒　⁺ I think he would read him bedtime stories as well, though you often find him asleep with the book in his hand. It was adorable, really, because somehow he could fall asleep while taking care of him but who were you to complain, at least you could rest a little.

﹒　⁺ Xavier would prefer to take care of the kid most of the time and let you work or hang out with your friends (just not Charlie perhaps). He is still your partner at work of course and whenever at least one of you isn’t at home, you hire a nanny to care for the little sunshine. But overall, he takes a lot of the responsibility, though he loves every single moment of it because he never thought that he would be able to live long enough to see a little clone of you and him combined sleep so softly in his arms.

﹒　⁺ He is very protective of your kid, just as much as he is about you. Xavier does his best to keep him away from wanderers, he doesn’t even want your child to look at them because the little one will have nightmares later on. Whenever a wanderer attack does happen, he handles it with ease and then checks up on the two of you, he is always so worried as well

﹒　⁺ When it comes to parenting, he would look like a relaxed type, but he is very protective. During childhood he is very fun and relaxed, he lets him play around and explore and has no issue going to the cinema or to a playground with him. Teenage years are a different world though, especially if your kid gets a partner - you bet he will do a background check on them, their parents, their ancestors, whatever, just to make sure they are enough for your son.

﹒　⁺ He handles any upset situations with ease and a mostly calm face, he does his best to talk with your kid and explain the situation before trying to even punish him somehow. Afterwards however, in the comfort of your bedroom, you see that he is disturbed by those conversations often and he might get more clingy and more silent after this. It just pains him whenever your kid does something bad and mostly because later on he has to do something about this. Worry not, however, give him a few kisses and reassuring words and he will be asleep in your arms in no time, almost like a baby.

“... and then the knight saved the princess. The end.” “Read me another one daddy!” You came back from a night out a few minutes ago, but the sight of your husband reading a bedtime story to your son was so cute you couldn’t help but observe from the door. Though soon enough, Xavier noticed you and you swore the room almost got a little lighter after he saw you there all alive and well.

“Welcome back, dinner is ready if you are hungry. I will heat it up for you in a second after I finish here.” He greeted you with a smile after you came closer to them, he leaned in and gave you a sweet kiss on the lips as a welcome gift.

“No need, I can heat it up on my own, do you want some as well?” You asked him, it would be nice to eat with him, spend some quality time together. All you wanted to do was rest in his arms, to be honest.

“Sure, I can eat a little. Heat up a portion for me too please.” You nodded, it was nice that he agreed, at least you would have some company and you would be able to tell him about all that happened on the night with your friends. You were working hard lately and Xavier was actually the one to propose that idea to you. Your gaze soon drifted to the little one in his bed, already all tucked in and looking sleepy. “Hey baby, I missed you.” You gently kissed his forehead and he murmured something in return, it was clear he was close to falling asleep. “I will go to the dining room soon, just have to finish putting this one to bed.” You nodded and headed to the kitchen to head up the food for the two of you. After about ten minutes though, you noticed that he still hadn't come, you even managed to change into your pajamas already but he was nowhere to be seen so you decided to check your son's bedroom again.

Sure enough, you found Xavier, asleep with a book in his hand while he leaned against your son's bed. You smiled and covered him gently with a blanket.

You sure loved this sleepy star of yours.

Sylus

﹒　⁺ He would have twins 100% and more kids too if you are up for it. It would probably be two girls.

﹒　⁺ He is a rich dad. He buys them whatever they want, but he makes sure not to spoil them too much so they will still be respectful towards hard work and money. If they ever need something for their school trip or perhaps their hobby, he will often buy them it. Their birthdays or holidays are very prosperous and full of joy, Sulus gets the best gifts for everyone because there is no better use of his money than to make his own family happy.

﹒　⁺ Sylus does his best to not get kids into his dark business, they don’t need to worry their pretty heads about it. He keeps them a secret, only Luke and Kieran know and oftentimes, he actually orders them to stay at the mansion and keep the kids and you safe in case something happens when he is away on business. 

﹒　⁺ Disrespect isn’t something that he would tolerate, but he handles it well. Sylus is cold during those talks, because he thought the two of you raised them better, but he understands that the kids make mistakes sometimes and he tries to make them realise their mistakes. In the end, he can never be too harsh on them, he tries but he is too much of a softie when it comes to your kids. 

﹒　⁺ You take care of the kids most of the time and pick them up from school. Sylus is a busy man, you knew this even before you got married so it was fine. He however feels guilty that he can’t spend as much time with them as he would like so he tries to make this up to them and you as much as possible. If you ever tell him that you need a break and feel tired then you already know that he suddenly has the next day off and he is up and with the kids the entire time while you get sent to a spa or on vacation somewhere.

﹒　⁺ He would try to help them with homework after they enter school, but he is always so confused about this. Don’t get him started on arts and music, he doesn’t understand this at all and he doesn’t know how one even teaches such a subject when it comes to the talent and abilities of the individuals, which not all have (like him).

﹒　⁺ I think the kids would somehow get some of his dragonic traits. They love to hoard things like toys or your jewelry in their room, they get so annoyed when you give one sibling more attention than the other and of course, they even look a lot more like Sylus rather than you. The cocky bastard has strong genes. Of course they can’t have a tail, horns or wings, but the twins dressed up as dragons once for halloween and Sylus was ready to cry on the spot.

   Currently you were at the table, drawing with the twins as an afterschool activity. The entire day was a bit hectic, you had a hard mission at work, then you had to rush to pick the kids up, the girls got into a little bit of trouble at school so you had to listen to the teacher scold them which sucked and now they were very energetic after school while you were absolutely drained. You did your best to appear happy, it wasn’t all their fault that the day sucked so much for you and you didn’t want to take it out on them. “I’m home, girls.” Sylus said as he finally, finally came back. He left yesterday morning and didn’t come back until now. You missed him and were worried despite knowing he would be able to handle himself. The girls ran up to him for hugs immediately.

“Daddy! Where were you? We missed you!” The girls said and then they eagerly began to talk to him about what he missed. Such energetic kids they were.

You just watched, resting your elbows on the table, you had a moment of rest it seemed.

Sylus, who noticed that you didn’t go up to greet him, hurried the girls to their room for a moment before he approached you. “Hey there, kitten. Missed me?” He asked as he gave you a kiss and a slight side hug as he noticed how tired you looked. “I did, you sure took your sweet time to come back.” You responded, with a little more bite than you wanted. But Sylus didn’t get mad, rather he seemed worried.

  “How are you holding up? Did the girls give you trouble?” “A little. I’m just… tired, it was a rough day.” You sighed, you didn’t try to hide that you were exhausted, it was visible and you knew he would do his best to help so there was no point.

“I see… how about I take them somewhere fun now, get them to use up all their energy so they will go to sleep nicely and then later on, we can spend some time together, hm? You just rest right now, catch up on some sleep and selfcare.” He proposed while he rubbed your shoulder. He knew taking care of kids could be exhausting sometimes so he would be more than happy to let you rest now and then treat you someplace nice later on. 

“That sounds nice, thank you Sylus..” “Don’t thank me, just go rest, I will take care of our little angels."